#but they have to be about something I like enough to continue to be enthused long term

[annabelle--cane]

absolutely not committing to this in any way but would anyone find it amusing if I made like. a certified door posts blog or something.

[re-lmayer]

i can't afford rent because of my abusive ex and desperately need help. if i don't pay, it will cause a domino effect where i'll be homeless, lose my emotional support animals, and eventually i can be sued and my paypal account seized. i'll also fail this college semester, which will mess up all my student grant funding and getting a degree

i'm disabled and was recently hospitalized for a nervous breakdown, and stress is making me sick. i've been diagnosed with an ulcer

there's a lot of ways to help me and my cats. you can commission me on kofi, donate directly via paypal, check out my crowdfunds on youpay, share my twitter and bluesky threads, and of course reblog this post. sharing is free!

more context under the cut. it will be updated as things change

my ex boyfriend is an abusive alcoholic. he's raped me, tried to medically neglect me, stranded me at our new apartment alone with no food and a clogged toilet, and most recently refuses to pay any rent and is content to allow me to become homeless despite legal obligation

i have been granted a hud/section 8 housing voucher, but to use it a unit must pass inspection

the apartment i applied for didn't pass, and needed repairs. the landlord told me he'd accept the first applicant that could pay first month rent and a huge deposit. the housing authority told me i'd lose my voucher if i didn't proceed with this exact unit

originally, i was supposed to be on my own. but i was shoved between a rock and a hard place with the voucher and deposit. i couldn't afford the deposit despite friends crowdfunding for me, so... i asked my boyfriend for help

he needed a place to go himself, because he broke his lease bringing me and my cats in. (i was unaware of this, and had no suspicion he'd do something that would compromise his 2 bed/bath apartment)

my doctor also prescribed caregiver after my hospitalization so it seemed mutually beneficial from a financial standpoint, even if i wasn't enthused about it

we couldn't afford movers, so over the course of march we'd been moving things by the carload ourselves. the queen bed was too big, so the night before last he informed me he was dumping it while he had help from a friend to move it. i had a bedframe and mattress from the last place i'd lived, but it had already been taken to the new place. i thought we'd agreed i'd basically move in to the new place early so i'd have somewhere to sleep

come saturday night, i messaged him that the toilet was clogged. he refused to bring a snake, and told me i was using him because i don't hug and kiss him enough. (i'm a csem victim, asexual, and autistic and don't like physical affection)

he's decided he doesn't want to proceed with the unit, and it hasn't passed the inspection, so my voucher doesn't cover it yet. i can't afford the rent out of pocket, and i'm broke because i'm disabled. we agreed he'd pay rent until the voucher kicked in, then he would be added to it as my caregiver, because he'd take me to medical appointments, ensure i get my medication on time, ensure i'd and bathe, etc.

but that ship has sailed. now i'm left in a lurch, and desperately need help. a large portion of the security and pet deposits were nonrefundable, so all the previous effort would go to waste if i can't stay

because i was recently hospitalized, i don't know how i'll survive homelessness. my cats are prescribed emotional support animals, and losing them would be devastating

these are text messages from when he refused to bring the snake and dumped me:

after this, he proceeded to continuously ignore me when i'd bring up rent, that he's on the lease, and going to the bank to pay the landlord

he never responded to the above and then proceeded to act like nothing happened

he didn't respond to any of these except agreement to let me get my cats with the help of someone from my weekly ywca meetings

he is now proceeding to STILL not respond or accept responsibility despite me explaining to him in great detail what the repercussions will be if he doesn't help pay rent. he continues to say "you"

as of august 29, i don't have enough to pay the rent on my own, but i am keeping all of these text messages to present in eviction court if it comes to that. i also intend to take my ex to small claims court

the landlord's maintenance guy also """plunged the toilet""" after leaving me without a working one for five days, and after i was informed there was a problem with the entire complex's pipes. i was not here, so i can't vet if it was true. they """plunged""" without permission, and then sent me an invoice after the fact. i also can't afford this fee, and find it predatory in nature. the maintenance company is owned by the landlord

i have reached out to legal aid to ask about the legality of the landlord handling the situation like this. i will reach out to them again if i get an eviction notice

[lvmimis]

cw: slightly inebriated smut (only tanjiro is tipsy, really). tanjiro being his soft self. fem!reader. modern au, characters are a little older than college age. one (or more) silly jokes. pussy eating. penetrative sex.

Your boyfriend is far too social, you think to yourself as you tip your red plastic cup to your lips, drinking the last of the punch Tanjiro handed to you before returning to practically schmoozing the crowd, the remainder of your friends and old classmates gravitating around him like moths to a flame. It’s not his fault, you remind yourself again, taking another sip, the alcohol hitting the back of your throat with an airy gulp. He’s popular and social; he shines like the sun always, while you are somewhere closer to hot summer rain, sweet at times but intense and easily transitioned to thunder and stormy weather if suboptimal conditions arise. 

Similar to now. 

You can already feel your social battery slowly drain to the end of its lifetime, dreading what will ensure thereafter. Shinobu and Mitsuri had enthused you earlier in commenting on outfits and filling you in on gossip (Zenitsu having a restraining order against him ordered by two girls in the exact same neighborhood and Inosuke accidentally eating cat food Gyomei had left out for the neighborhood stray then asking for more), but now Obanai had quickly captured the latter girl’s attention again and they were off to God knows where in this party house, while Shinobu had decided to turn in early and disappeared without comment. You find yourself perched on a high stool while the remainder of the party continues to rage, loud music making your head pound with the bass. At some point, Tengen and Rengoku started doing competitive keg stands and you’re almost sure that if you see Tanjiro do this too you’re going to head upstairs and go to bed without another word. Instead, he’s playing a drinking game with Sabito and Giyuu, Sabito with a pingpong ball in hand and aiming a little too seriously at the arranged cups. Murata stands at the other end of the table frowning and you wonder when he’ll ever win a game.

The Demon Slayers are a rowdy bunch when they party. 

You reach the end of your drink and consider a second when you suddenly feel a hand clap onto your shoulder, squeezing hard enough that it startles you to the point of nearly falling off your seat.

You yelp, and Inosuke is grinning once you turn, and you think again about the cat food before you ask what he wants. 

“What do you mean what do I want- JANJIGO YOUR GIRLFRIEND WANTS TO LEAVE!”

Inosuke’s loud voice cuts clear through the music, enough that Kanao and Aoi whip around from their lazy positions cuddled on the couch to look in your direction.

“I did not say-” you hiss at him, but Tanjiro’s already quick to come over, smiling all the while. Inosuke grins and disappears, and you consider throwing something at him, your face is so warm and embarrassed, but you’re quickly distracted by Tanjiro’s gentle voice.

“Hey, are you tired?” he says breathily. He’s already easing you off the seat, taking the cup from your hand to discard it, and holding your other hand gently with the other. He’s pleasantly buzzed, soft red on his cheeks matching the tint of his dark eyes. He’s disarming you with how cute he is, and overly affectionate, his face nuzzling into your neck practically as he leans in. 

“Tanjiro~, there are people around…” you remind him as he starts to kiss your neck, but he whispers a soft ‘so?’ and you realize there’s not much you can do to deter him from being too handsy, and decide to pull him away before you end up embarrassed. He’s practically laughing as you pull him up the wooden steps of the rented home, and you move so quickly upstairs, you end up stumbling, only to be scooped up and pulled close to get kisses between giggles.

“What are you-”

“You’re clearly too drunk to walk,” he teases, although he’s slurring his speech far more than you are, eyes gently lidded as he looks at you. Warm around the ears, you decide to abandon that fight, and remind him where the room you’re sharing with Mitsuri is, thankful that you’re not sharing with Shinobu and your roommate is nowhere to be found.

“Don’t drop me,” you remind him. 

“Wouldn’t ever for the world.” 

…

Tanjiro’s coordination despite inebriation is a bit too good. Not content to just drop you off and see you in the morning (as you expected) by the time the door is closed, he’s at your neck and then your chin and then your lips, until you’re kissed every inch from your forehead to the center of your breasts, and he’s pulling off your jeans, lips still closed around your nipple. Hands heavier than usual under the influence of more than a few drinks run all over your body, and play with your pussy as he kisses you, spit-slicked fingers toying with your clit and your insides until they’re wet, then further wetted by the motions of his tongue. Sloppily he makes out with your pussy, head between your dangling knees until you’re moaning and squeezing your thighs shut around his head; something that doesn’t stop him, only spurs him further. 

“Sorry for leaving you alone down there,” he whispers against your pussy, then slurps further, and it’s almost laughable that he chooses now to apologize. You laugh and whisper that it’s fine but then he licks a long stripe through your cunt that makes your back arch as you let out a moan and your fingers tug shakily on strands of his hair. He says a playful ‘ow’ that has you whispering sorry but shuddering all the while.

“I’ll give you all the attention you need, okay?” he promises. You nod as he gets up and pulls his shirt over his head, your eyes practically swimming with desire as you watch him. He catches you enjoying the show and winks and you would die for the cringe if not for the act that he’s quickly turning you over onto your belly, taking a handful of your ass hostage before pressing his chest to your back. 

Slipping inside you, he groans a bit.

“The door’s locked, right?” you murmur, trying to distract from the stretch between your folds.

“Yeah,” he says through a grunt. You're not sure if he actually knows for sure but you do know, he'd never lie to you. You sigh, as he pushes in to the brim, and then lets you settle around him, letting his fingers pet your hair gently, and his other hand plant carefully into the mattress beside you. Still folded over the edge of the bed, he gently grips onto your scalp, and then he’s thrusting in, slow, then fast, then faster, then hard as your breaths deepen and you let out a moan. Skin slapping against skin, your voices melding together, Tanjiro is soon a little too exuberant, and a little too strong, soon lifting you off the mattress until your trembling arms are trying to find purchase on his slightly bent knees. Just seconds into this position, he has some mercy on you and it’s a normal stand, gentle, slow, loving - he kisses your neck as he moves you up and down, careful, until he slows, resting his arm against your tummy and breathing in your scent.

“I love you, you know that,” he says, breathily. You savor the twitch of his cock inside you as he eventually lays you down, additional, slower strokes accompanied with deep kisses. Your heart flutters as you keep going. 

You know that. The social butterfly will always come back to you, whether you’re a thorny rose or a bright daisy, your special fragrance always carrying him home.

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

And we start off with, well.

Yet another cooking loather, Lee, brings about what may likely be a harbinger of things to come for this household.

No, Lee. Fires do not flee before a zombie imitation, even if yours had actually been a decent one.

Sage, can’t you use your vampire powers to do something about this???

Wow, you become immortal once and everyone assumes you can do everything. Sheesh.

Lilac however very conveniently has a fear of fire to vanquish.

Yes, you do have to do everything yourself around here.

As everyone has been cheated the FOCUSED moodlet, I do have them perform a mental skill building activity every now and then. Lee hasn’t been given a reprieve from cooking, but at least sunshiney Tiago is entertaining him through memes, which he may not necessarily consider to be consolation-

Oh wait - he likes them. Is this the beginning of a beautiful (and surprisingly wholesome) friendship?

Look Ma, no fire! And yes, it's breakfast time ladies, so stop admiring Mister's wood work and head downstairs.

Tiago continues to be entertaining. And Sage enthuses about the thrill of the steal to Giovanna - who is surprisingly into it?

Lee is just getting cozy with Lilac on the ottoman when Forest (who was skill building upstairs and missed the fire) says hey girl, he heard there was a bit of a catastrophe earlier, but luckily he may have found a hose that he can show you upstairs?

(Yeah, today is not Lee's day...)

And this of course brings about chore montage hour! Tiago grinds on handiness, Mister goes fishing, budding buddies Giovanna and Sage tend the garden (with geeky Sage even finding some time to game later) - aaaand rather fittingly, Lee is stuck on cleaning up after the animals 💩

Moojito is likely wondering where that nice young man Spencer got to. He took much better care of her. Hooves down, 2/10, leaving a terrible review on Yelp...

Meanwhile NEAT sim Giovanna is dismayed at the mess in the kitchen, and Forest's sunny post coital bliss isn't enough to stop his EVIL trait from kicking in and slinging some insults Lilac's way. Oof.

@riverofjazzsims @ravingsockmonkey @fl0pera

@igglemouse @panicsimss @simsfvr

[sheepheadfred]

Ectoberhaunt Day 24- Time Loop

Summary: Jazz came back home after being away for some time, but something feels wrong. Her hair is down and she lost her glasses and seems more serious and sullen. And why does she look so sad when she looks at him?

dp magia au

Ao3 link

Jazz came home.

Danny was excited that he didn't care if his parents would now gush about her achievements to her face instead of just comparing them. He got good marks but not as good so he understands, he missed her, too.

He put on his trusty space themed headband he got once to match her, she helped him pick it out before she left for that exchange program. He was practically vibrating with excitement to see her again. Being an exchange student for so long, he hopes she wasn't lonely like he was. He has Sam and Tucker but it's not the same, they don't live here for starters. He hopes she made friends there, even if she wasn't going to stay.

But now, he's concerned.

She looks different, that can be expected after being away, but why is she so cold?

Like she has been through heartbreak many times and has become numb to it.

She looks like the version of herself from his dream. The one from last night.

What happened?

Who hurt you?

He tries not to think about it too much, for now. He just wants to spend time with her, his big sister.

Mom and dad already went back to the lab, doing who knows what, allowing them to catch up. Danny found a cool space exhibit and wanted to show her! And tell her about all she missed! And maybe she will do the same! And-!

"It's so nice that you're back, Jazz! It's been quiet without you around to drag mom and dad out of the lab. Well, I guess the lab might have been noisy but that doesn't count. Don't worry, when we didn't have much Tucker had me over. But it's mainly been Nasty Burger honestly. It became kind of embarrassing getting food from them all the time when his parents aren't that much more well off. Sam offered, but we both know her parents hate me just for being related to our parents. You know how it is."

Jazz's hands clench into fists. Not the first time this has happened for either of them.

"I mean," Danny continues, wanting to tell someone who'd understand, "They must have been caught up in some project again. They still believe that things like missing person reports to suicide are linked to some supernatural phenomenon making them do it!"

Danny laughs it off for how unbelievable that idea is, trying to get Jazz to join in.

(Maybe she would have long ago.)

Instead, all it did seemed to make her more upset. This was not how he wanted today to go at all.

"But! Now it can just be us for now! You can even tell me all about whatever you did during the exchange program. You must have helped other people quite a lot over there, right? Betcha got some new, nerdy friends, right?" Danny tries to nudge her, giving a smug smile and pulling out all his 'obnoxious younger sibling' energy into it.

That was enough to get a reaction. Though, not the one he was hoping for.

She turns to look Danny dead in his bright, hopeful eyes. Halfway to whatever destination her brother wanted to show her. Bright and enthused and so full of life.

"My dearest brother, do you treasure the life you currently live? Do you consider your family and friends precious?"

"Jazz, what are you talking about," Danny is taken aback. What has gotten into her to make her this cryptic and cold? "Of course I do! You should know this!"

His sister somehow managed to look more serious, "Then don't change who you are. You must stay as you have been or everything will be lost." She sounded so desperate for him to agree.

She then just walked off, as if looking for something.

Something that has caught her ire.

Leaving him there, excitement extinguished and replaced by confusion.

"Man, that is wack! Not even back for a day and she says some weird stuff and jets?! What the hell, man?"

Tucker voiced Danny's thoughts without needing to read his mind. He and Sam met up with Danny to hang after Jazz decided to be cryptic and ghost him. All Danny could do was shrug in response.

"I don't know, Tuck. What's crazier is that I've seen this version of Jazz before. Being all cool and weird, not her usual psycho babble weird. I saw her in a dream, or something. Last night's dream, actually."

"Maybe that dream just meant you missed her. It's been a while and you have been thinking about her a lot, right? On top of your parents saying all that stuff about otherworldly creatures." Sam offered. It wasn't an unreasonable suggestion, after all.

"Oh! Or maybe it was some kind of premonition. That she traveled across time and space to see you again after some kind of tragic fate!"

"Tucker, you buffoon! that doesn't make any sense! If that was true, why'd she ditch? Be serious!"

Danny, not wanting to deal with another argument between them on top of Jazz's odd behavior, snaps at them. Tucker was joking, he knows that, but that cryptic warning and her sad eyes makes him concerned his friend had a point. He needed a subject change.

"Shut up! Just- Can we not... for one day?"

"Sure, man. Sorry." Tucker apologized, "I was just... trying to lighten the mood. Didn't realize I crossed the line."

"Hey," Sam started, "let's go to the music store in the mall! Something nicer to think on and the new Dumpty Humpty album is probably out by now."

"Don't your parents want you home for something today?" Danny doesn't want to be the reason she gets in trouble. Her parents already hate him for his parents and encouraging her true goth-y self as it is.

"Pssh! I don't care," she replies with a devious smirk, "Besides, my friend needs me more than whatever they want to force on me this time."

With no other objections, the trio heads out from Nasty Burger. Eager for a new topic and distraction.

Finding some tunes to try, they all separate and spread throughout the store. Danny tries to listen when he hears a cry for help echo in his head.

It sounded frantic.

Desperately calling for him.

Danny assumes so as he seems to be the only one reacting to this voice.

This scared voice.

Something inside him told him that he had to find whoever this voice belonged to. Had to make sure they're alright.

Making up his mind, he left the music store by himself and headed to where the voice seemed to originate from. Mentally apologizing to his friends for ditching.

A shady looking back alley feeling a darkness settle around him. An almost unnatural darkness.

He continued on into it, looking even when common sense screamed at him to turn around and find his friends. He was drawn to the voice and he needed to know why.

It wasn't until something shifted and fell in front of him that he found the source.

A small, cat-like creature of green, gold, black, and white with a large singular eye on its head above a cute, cat-like mouth. It's ears twitched and its tail shifted, it limped to him before collapsing.

Danny can't believe something this odd would exist! Its hurt, though, covered in scrapes and burns and open wounds and struggling to breathe.

So naturally, Danny scoops it up. He's not sure how it can speak in his head but something in him knows that this thing is where the voice came from. And something out there wants to hurt it!

Danny holds the creature close as an unknown person approaches him, realizing just how much danger he is in right now.

And out comes... Jazz?!

What?

She seems to be wearing the strange clothes she had on in his dream. Serious and scholarly but still a bit childish with long flow-y garments and small bows adding in for flair.

In her hand is... a weapon?!

A bow with energy where the arrows would go that turned into some kind of staff, a bo staff like his mom uses maybe, as she noticed him. Possibly it's inactive form, he thinks.

"Jazz... What's going on? Why are you attacking this poor creature?"

She looked hurt but determined as she tried to approach when Tucker unleashed a fire extinguisher on her, clearly still irritated at how she treated his best bro, and pulled Danny away.

Sam met up with them on their way out, having followed but lagged behind for one reason or another as Tucker ran ahead with the fire extinguisher.

The three run further into the alley, deeper and deeper into the dark as the world distorts around them.

None of them knowing just what they were walking into.

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

Again!

She failed to stop first contact again!

Jazz doesn't know how long she's been at this, having long since lost count, but nothing will stop her. Not now. It can't.

She refuses to stop until she can find a timeline that allows him to grow up away from this wretched life style.

So he can live. Whether they live in it together is something she tries to tell herself that she doesn't care about. Trying to convince herself and failing.

He's always so quick to throw his life away. Making a wish for someone else when he could so easily use it selfishly, like against bullies or to get more attention from their parents.

Danny, her baby brother, for him she will loop this same cursed month again and again to protect him. Like she always has.

She barely remembers a time when she didn't try to warn him. Where she just stayed and listened to his excited rambles from space to their parents' usual neglect. When she stayed and they had a blast together. Before the horrors.

It's been a while since she paid attention to what they were up to at the beginning. She really hates that they were right now that it finally registered what they were doing and theorizing about. One thing she's grateful they don't know the whole story about.

They wouldn't be able to see it, anyway.

She almost wishes they could.

Not like it would come true, she already used her one wish. No regrets, can't afford them, but it has still made her bitter in some aspects she misses about her past self.

She's been doing so well these first few days back at the beginning of her loop, keeping that creature from contacting and contracting her brother. Not saying much, the first days back tend to be the simplest.

How she hates them. Those creatures who grant wishes promising miracles and purposefully neglecting the cruel truths paired with said miracles.

Calling for his help, her kind baby brother of course would check it out. Whenever this happens, that's the exact path he chose no matter the other variables.

Those damn Observii and their sinister cute act! Their stupid manipulations! Their honeyed words and misleading wording! Always keen to take full advantage of any and every little weakness and vulnerability!

Jazz can feel tears prick at her eyes thinking about it.

She must stay strong, be strong, for Danny.

To keep him safe from that horrible fate that befell him time and time again.

[freesia-writes]

Chapter 4: A Shop Visit

Enjoy a warm and fuzzy tale of romance, suspense, adventure, and self-discovery as Hunter finds his path after the events of TBB. Banner/dividers by @pinkiemme ~ Master List ~ Previous Chapter

Chapter 4 - Word Count: 2.2k - FANART BY @nika6q!!

Hunter wiped his hands on the rag before tossing it on the counter, scrutinizing the rows of neatly-trimmed filets spread across the butcher block in front of him. It had been an oddly quiet day, aside from a very boisterous group of women from the school who had stopped by on their lunch break. Why they were in search of raw meat at an hour when most people would be eating prepared food, Hunter had no idea. But he had a sneaking suspicion, after recent conversations, that there was some sort of challenge going around the office that involved his attention, and their enthusiastic questions about his sausages only furthered his increasing need for caution. 

It was nearing time to close, although he wasn’t in any hurry to get home to the empty house. Omega would be home the following day, so he’d busied himself with extra hunting time as well as some organizational tasks around the butcher shop that he’d been putting off for a while. He found it strangely cathartic as he wiped the counters after putting everything away, enjoying the smoothness of the stone surface as his mind wandered across the various aspects of life on the island.

The gentle tinkle of the bell hanging inside the door caught his attention, and he ventured out from the back room. It was another one of the office ladies, the one he’d spoken to about the emergency beacon for Omega. She was wearing a long brown skirt with a plain blue shirt tucked into it, and her brown hair was tucked into a loose braid at the base of her neck. He wracked his memory for her name, surprised that he was coming up entirely blank, but was saved from speaking by her gentle greeting. 

“Hi,” she said, offering a halfhearted wave as she carefully closed the door behind her. Her eyebrows lifted slightly as her eyes flickered around the shop. “Man, I’ve never seen any place so clean,” she admitted with the faintest chuckle that was oddly endearing. Or perhaps it was just the most emotion he’d seen from her. “Also… We Meat Again? Did you come up with the name?” She was fighting to keep her face neutral.

“I lost a bet.” He grinned at the memory, shaking his head fondly.

“Ah, well… It’s fantastic. I’d like to open a cheese shop next door and call it… uh…” she faltered, clearly not having thought this far into her own joke. “Something cheesy…” She cringed, then continued, “Are you all wrapped up for the day?”

“Just about,” Hunter said, leaning on the counter opposite her. “But what were you looking for? I think your coworkers bought enough sausage to go around for quite a while…” 

“Yeah…” Her gaze found his face for a moment before returning to their leisurely perusal of the signs, glass cases, and other elements of the storefront. “They have a bit of a herd mentality sometimes.” Her tone was hard to discern, and Hunter tilted his head, assessing her body language. She seemed a little bit sheepish and a little unsure of herself, and he didn’t get the sense that she was part of the whole office debacle, which put him at ease a bit. “Anyway – I’ve been telling myself for weeks that I was going to stop by and check the place out, so… check,” she said with a small smile, moving her index finger in the shape of a check mark in the air. 

“Can I get you anything?” he pressed, rubbing his hands together slowly as if itching to make himself useful. 

“I don’t want to make you undo all your tidying,” she answered, eyeing the slabs of meat in the case.

“It’s alright; it’s a quick clean-up if you’re not asking me to butcher an entire caraboose,” Hunter said, smirking at the resulting shock on her face that quickly melted into mildly enthused humor.

“I’m not sure I’d want to see that,” she said with a smile, pointing toward the thinly-sliced fambaa fillets. “But if you wouldn’t mind wrapping up a pound of those bad boys… perhaps then my mouth will stop watering.” He nodded, a courteous grin of his own passing across his face as he moved into action. 

“They were bad boys,” he mused, laying out the butcher paper before fetching the steaks. “Took advantage of some nearby stampeding kod’yok to try to sneak up on me. Probably would have taken a decent chunk out of my leg if I didn’t have enha… If I hadn’t been paying attention.”

“You… uh… You hunt this all yourself?” she said, eyes widening slightly as he gave a curt nod. “That sounds intense. How do you do it?” 

Hunter shrugged, folding the thick brown paper in careful layers to create one neat little package, “I was trained from a young age… had lots of practice… And it seemed to address a need around here, so I’m glad to have a place to apply my… skills.” 

“You’ve been a butcher all your life?” she asked, shifting her weight to her other foot to pull her shoulder bag into reach, digging absently for her wallet. 

“Not entirely. Did some other stuff here and there. Whatever it took to get by at different stages of life,” he answered evenly, weighing the package and printing a small label. “How about you?” he continued, shifting the focus.

“I know how that goes,” she said, delicately placing the money into his hand and taking the package from him. “Um, I had a few different jobs on Coruscant. The last one was an administrative aide for a senator’s office. I thought it would be glamorous,” she admitted, again letting out that quiet chuckle as though laughing at herself, then turning somber. “Needless to say, it was decidedly not what I expected.” 

“So you came here?” Hunter asked, tucking the money into the drawer beneath the counter. 

“Yep,” she said. “The thrilling adventures of Lyra. Coming soon to a holoscreen near you.” He chuckled, running the towel across the counter again as he committed the name to memory. “But really… It’s wonderful here. So peaceful and quiet. It’s like closing a door on the chaos of the Core Worlds.”

“Been here long?” 

“Not really… Almost two years now. But long enough to feel pretty settled.”

“Hm. Any inside info I should know?” 

Lyra laughed again, almost nervously this time, shrugging as she looked at the counter, “About what?”

“The island. The planet. The comings and goings. We’ve been here for a number of months, but it seems to be almost too quiet. I guess I have a hard time believing that anywhere could be a perfect little safe place.”

“Ah,” she said, nodding slowly. “I know the feeling. But as far as I’ve seen, the Empire doesn’t seem to know nor care about anything out here, so that keeps most of the issues away. Not a lot of conflict otherwise. Haven’t even seen many pirates. There aren’t any valuable natural resources other than what sustains everyone on the planet itself, so it just doesn’t get much attention. It’s been a nice change of pace, for me at least.”

“Sounds like the sort of place the unsavory type might go to disappear…” he mused, brow furrowing slightly. Crosshair often accused him of seeing threats anywhere and everywhere, which was ironic coming from the snarky sniper, but the sense of responsibility that had rested heavily on Hunter’s shoulders for the entirety of his created life so far was hard to shake. He sensed an immediate wave of discomfort emanating from Lyra, and he turned to face her more fully. “Sorry,” he said, realizing what it may imply. “I just mean… You haven’t seen any shady types lurking around, have you?” 

“Just that tall, scowling, gray-haired man with the eye tattoo,” she said, keeping her face carefully neutral. The flashes of humor and wit were so fleeting that Hunter questioned whether they happened at all. She must have known who he was from the school’s initial orientation day, or from Omega’s enrollment paperwork, where all of her brothers had been listed as emergency contacts and trusted guardians.

“Mmm,” he agreed, tightening his lips to hold back a smirk. “Yeah, we should watch out for that one. Anyway… Sorry if that’s an odd thing to say. Just trying to get a feel for a new place, you know…”

“I get it,” she said, in the same gentle tone she’d used in her office when he’d asked her to keep the emergency beacon. He couldn’t tell what it was about her that created an air of compassion, understanding, and quiet assurance, but it had a settling effect that he appreciated. “It’s nice to feel safe,” she finished, simply and quietly. 

“It is.” 

They stood silently for a moment, pleasantly surprised by the sense of agreement and the notable lack of awkwardness, then Lyra took a step back, tucking her bag behind her shoulder and lifting her chin slightly to give Hunter another tiny smile. 

“Thank you so much for these,” she said, nodding toward her purchase. “I’m excited to try out a dry seasoning rub that I haven’t used in years.” 

“Sounds fancy,” Hunter commented, his interest piqued. “You like to cook?” 

“I do,” Lyra admitted, running an hand absently up and down the outside of one arm. “Maybe too much,” she laughed, a little self-conscious. “I love being home. I have a little garden with herbs and vegetables, way too many pots and pans, and a disproportionate love of food. So I enjoy coming up with new recipes and trying new things.”

“Well I’m sure your family members aren’t complaining. Or whoever gets to eat it,” Hunter corrected, realizing he still didn’t know much about her situation. 

“Just me,” she said with a small shrug. “Well, that’s not true – I take some meals to neighbors at times. But it’s just me and my cozy little cottage. And the critters in the garden, I suppose. I’m not very exciting.”

“Excitement isn’t always all that it’s cracked up to be.” 

“Very true,” Lyra agreed. “Well, if you ever need some fresh herbs for all your steak adventures that Omega talks about, I’m happy to share. I’ve got a trick or two up my sleeve in the thrilling realm of meat marinades.” Every word of hers felt somehow self-effacing and unapologetic at the same time, and Hunter found a small smile on his face. 

“And you said you weren’t exciting,” he said dryly, earning a little snicker from her. “Although, to be honest, I’ll take all the help I can get… As grateful and appreciative as Omega and Wrecker are, I think we’re all getting a little sick of the same three meals. I wasn’t really made for… domestic life.” His tone grew somewhat sad at the end, echoes of his creation and purpose surfacing above his efforts to find his way in a new stage of life. 

“I think we all find ourselves thrown into situations we’d never would have guessed, at some time or another in our lives,” Lyra mused, a nearly imperceptible ache in her own slightly husky voice. Her gaze grew distant for a moment, caught only by his sharp senses before she shook her head minutely and seemed to return to the present. “Feels like getting a new pair of shoes. Awkward and clunky at first, then you wear them in until they seem to fit perfectly. You know?” Hunter’s hum of agreement was lost in her words as she continued, “Unless they’re high heels. Those are just cruel and unrelenting.”

“Now that I definitely wouldn’t know about,” he said, ducking his head to run an idle hand over his hair, most of which was pulled back near the top of his head. 

“You’d be wise to keep it that way,” Lyra said with a smile, feeling the conversation coming to a close. “Anyway… Thanks again for this,” she said, patting her bag, “And I’ll see you next time!”

“See you,” Hunter echoed, watching her slip demurely out the door. He sighed, casting a glance around the shop and mulling over her words. The only shoes he’d ever known had been combat boots, made as much for him as he had been made for them. It had been simple, in a way… And then his singular, straightforward trajectory exploded like a firework into a million different paths, leaving him scrambling to try to choose the best one for him and his squad. It was hard to believe that now, after years of chaos and tumult, he could settle into something like a simple island life. 

He finished the few remaining clean-up tasks and turned the sign on the door before locking it behind him, taking a deep breath of the fresh air before starting his walk home. Part of him wanted that sense of autonomy and freedom that nat-borns took for granted, and yet part of him balked at the thought. Why? He had no idea. But he shrugged off the thoughts as much as he could, resolving to continue on, one step at a time… while remaining prepared for anything.

.

Previous Chapter ~~ Master List ~~ Next Chapter

Join the tag list with the discord server link or filling out my form.

@lightwise @have-a-hiddles @littlemissmanga @dystopicjumpsuit @523rdrebel

@solstraalaa @skellymom @photogirl894 @youreababboon @anything-forourmoony

@reader6898 @moonstrider9904 @hipwell @lamiliani @catoo

@ilarria @padawancat97 @yve-barr @lucyysthings @flowered-bicycles

@maddiedrmr @techhasmjolnir @arctrooper69 @spicy-clones @ezras-left-thumb

@cw80831 @dreamie411 @meagmcc12 @waytoooldforthis78 @hunter-lvr

@baddest-batchers @yunggoblin @sweeticedtea @imperfectxprincess @ivyyyyy

@callsign-denmark

[dragon-susceptible]

Different Path Taken Ch32 P1

Have a bit more angst :3

Callisto sitting down beside him was unwelcome.  Callum pouted at the elf. “I’d rather be alone right now.” He said pointedly.

“Tough,” They replied unrepentantly, rolling their neck atop slender shoulders and raising an inky black brow at him as they eyed him lazily, reminding him of nothing more than a large wary cat. “Andromeda says ye had a rough day.”

Callum frowned deeper. “What did she say?” He asked warily.

Callisto shrugged. “Not much other than that.  Somethin’ to do with Claudia, I would venture to guess, since everyone else was together for most of the day.”

Hugging his knees to his chest, Callum frowned down at the ground again. “Claudia was . . . mean to her,” He said reluctantly. “And to Lujanne.  She was really rude, just because they were elves, and I didn’t even argue with her.  I mean, I told her she was wrong, but then I just left.”

Callisto tilted their head and replied evenly. “Sometimes that’s the best thing you can do, Callum.  Some people . . . don’t want to listen.  They’re comfortable with their hatred.”

Callum flinched at the description of Claudia as someone comfortable with hatred. “Claudia’s not like that,” He insisted. “She’s always been sweet, and kind, and I know she does bad things sometimes, but it’s always for a good reason.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself even to his own ears.

Silence reigned for a moment and he looked over at Callisto curiously, finding the elf just watching him with an odd look in their burnt orange eyes. “Are you sure?” They asked softly. “Or are ye just looking at her with moonlight in your eyes because you’ve got affection for her?”

The accusation stung and Callum bridled at it. “You just -” he bit his tongue before continuing don’t understand because you don’t have any friends, hating how close to the surface the cutting remark had been.  It was too cruel.  Callisto arched a brow at him. 

“Listen, Callum . . . sometimes friends just . . .” Callisto trailed off for a moment, before sighing. “Sometimes someone you consider a friend turns out to be different than you thought, and you have to choose between that friendship and something else - your other relationships, or even your values.  Some friends aren’t worth fighting for.”

That had Callum’s back going ramrod straight and determination taking over as he frowned deeply at the elf. “No.  Friends are worth fighting for, no matter what.  I’m going to go talk to her again.  I have to try to get through to her one more time.”

Callisto surveyed him with cool orange eyes when he stood up.  They didn’t make a move to stop him, but they shook their head with a slow sigh. “Don’t go alone,” They advised. “And . . . just, be prepared to be disappointed, Callum.”

“I won’t be.” Callum said firmly and turned back towards the temple where he’d left Claudia and Andromeda earlier, hoping she would still be there.

He didn’t think any of the elves had followed him.  If they had, they weren’t close enough for him to notice or hear, so he hoped that was enough as he entered the moth house in the temple and found Claudia there. “Claudia!”

She turned to look at him with surprise and frowned. “Oh, Callum.” She wiped something on her hands discreetly off on her robes and tried to smile. “Gotten over that little spat from earlier?” She teased.

Callum took a deep breath and smiled back. “Sort of.  I’m sorry for running off like that.  I just really needed some time to think.”

“Well, I’m glad you thought to come back and see me.” She beamed, and twirled in place, walking over to the wall of runes.  Ram had said they were ancient writing - but refused to translate them, saying it was sacred texts and such words had power he wasn’t in any position to unlock. “All these runes are probably incredible spells.” She enthused.

Callum winced. “Maybe,” He said hesitantly, highly aware of how secretive the Moonshadow were about such things, and how disrespectful she had been about their culture before. “It’s just too bad humans can’t do magic without a primal stone.”

“What?” Claudia turned to look at him in bafflement, one of her brows furrowing deeply as the other raised.  She laughed at him. “Yeah we can!”

“No, I meant primal magic,” Callum specified, already kicking himself for taking this direction with the talk. “Not, you know, your kind of magic.”

Claudia stiffened and her face went a little more distant, and she postured her shoulders haughtily to stare down her nose at him. “Oh?” She prompted. “My kind of magic?”

In too deep now. “Dark magic.” Callum whispered, hiding his mouth with his hands, well aware the elves could be lurking anywhere around them.

Claudia scowled down at him and then leaned down to get close to his face, holding her hands up mockingly but not quite actually hiding her face.  She sounded as if she were speaking through her teeth when she replied, just as quietly, “Do you always whisper when you’re being judgmental?”

“Sorry,” Callum said reflexively, and winced, backing up. “I didn’t mean it that way, I just . . . I loved learning magic and I feel sad now that I can’t.”

“But you can,” Claudia said, uncomprehending. “If you want to,” She specified as he looked back at her, presenting him with her dark magic spellbook.

Callum hesitated, his mind echoing with the way Runaan spoke of dark magic as a poison that crept into the hearts and minds of those who used it, the way Ram hinted at dark magic feeding some deeper evil, the way Skor’s jaw tightened and his eyes went flinty at the barest mention of it, how all the elves recoiled from it as a concept.  How could he make Claudia understand how much it affected them, how wrong it was, when he didn’t even fully understand it all?

Would she even care?

Maybe magic wasn’t the way to get her to see the truth.

“I wanna learn Primal Magic,” He said instead of trying to explain. “But you have to be born with that kind of magic inside you.”

She gasped excitedly and nearly bounced in place. “That’s the great thing about Dark Magic,” she insisted. “You just take creatures that do have that magic born inside and -” she squeezed her book enthusiastically with a slightly manic grin, as one of the moths fluttered around her - “Squeeze it out of them!” The moth landed on her shoulder and she looked down at it and just beamed, rubbing her face against its soft wings. 

How could she talk about killing something and then be so affectionate with it in the same breath?  Callum couldn’t stop his own recoil, wondering if this was how he felt how much worse must the elves feel.  Before he could formulate a response, Claudia’s face went offended again.

She scoffed frustratedly and put her hands on her hips, disturbing the moth, which flew away as she accused, “Wha - You’re doing it again, Prince Judgy Face!  Look, here’s how I think about it,” She said, holding her hand up and inviting the moth to land on her - he worried violently about its wellbeing as she talked. “Humans weren’t born with magic.  We were born with nothing.  But we still found a way to do amazing things.  That’s what Dark Magic is really all about.”

Callum looked from her to the moth, wondering what she would do if he reacted too poorly, and bit his lip. “I’m sorry.  It’s just not for me,” He said diplomatically, and breathed a sigh of relief when she shrugged and let it go.  He took another deep breath and opted to try one more time, changing tactics to Aunt Amaya’s bluntness, tempered with Gren’s diplomatic tone adjustment. “Actually, I really wanted to talk to you about  . . . earlier.  And the elves in general.”

Claudia raised an eyebrow at him and kicked out her hip, folding her arms, skeptically. “Okay.” She dragged it out. “How come?”

“They’re friends.” He said firmly. “And even if they weren’t, they’re still people who deserve respect, Claudia.”

Claudia’s neutral expression melted into anger again. “What kind of respect could they possibly deserve?” She demanded. “Callum, I know you think you came here willingly, but Moonshadow elves are masters of illusion.  I don’t even know if you saw what really happened earlier!  Or even right now!  They could be completely lying to you.  You and Ezran belong at home, in Katolis, where it’s safe.  Plus, we can’t let Xadia have that baby dragon back.”

“We can’t let a baby go back to his mom?” Callum challenged, ice sinking into the pit of his stomach as his heart burned. “And Katolis isn’t safe, the elves were with us when the king -” He choked on it. “When my stepdad died, we could see all of them!  Whoever killed him did it from the inside, so there’s no way Ezran is safe there until we know the truth.  You and Soren could go home and hunt them down for us, that would be really helpful!  But he and I have to get Zym home to his mom if we want to make peace with Xadia.” 

Claudia scoffed again. “Xadia’s never going to go for a peace,” She said in exasperation. “The more leverage we have on them, the better - which means we need the dragon to stay here.  Besides, he’s adorable!  Why would we want to give him up?” She asked brightly.

A wave of disgust so strong it made him nauseous rolled through Callum’s stomach. “But what about his mom?” He demanded, thinking about his own mother, the way he had missed her, the way her death still ached down to his core. “She’s going to miss him, she’ll be angry that we have him.  Isn’t it worth easing her pain?  Wouldn’t she owe us for that?”

“A baby dragon is a powerful weapon,” Claudia said seriously. “Every magical creature can be used for spells, and the kind of spells that could be cast by an archdragon are insane!  The dragon wouldn’t repay us for anything, and we can’t risk her using all that power against  us.”

Dread suddenly sank into Callum’s being and he was asking the question before he could fully finish thinking it. “Any magical creature?  Even elves?”

“Oh yeah,” Claudia said thoughtlessly. “I used some hair from one of them to track you here.  Elf parts are really easy to make spells out of - I have three or four spells in this book just for their horns!”

He was going to be sick.  Callum’s stomach roiled and he shook his head, backing away from her.  Callisto was right.  She was never going to change her mind - she was never going to see the elves as people. 

“They’re my friends,” He protested weakly when Claudia stopped to give him an annoyed look. 

She scoffed again. “I mean, I wouldn’t do it right now, it’d upset you.”

Just because it would upset him?

Callum shook his head. “This was a mistake.” He choked out and turned on his heel, fleeing his former friend again as the sobs bubbled up from his chest. 

They weren’t even people to her!  No wonder she didn’t respect them!  She looked at his other friends and just saw spell parts!  No wonder they were so afraid of her!  What had Skor been through with dark magic before?  Had someone cut part of him away to steal his primal magic?  What about Runaan?  Ram?  What if someone tried to hurt Rayla like that?  The idea stole his breath from his lungs and he couldn’t see for the tears, and he stumbled to a stop to heave his lunch into a bush.

He bolted for the main house he had been sharing with Ezran, Ellis, Ava, Rayla, and Runaan.  He had to talk to Runaan. 

[shiorihyugawrites]

The Dumpster Behind The Club - Eren x Reader Oneshot

You and Eren are out to a club with friends and you got drunk and accidentally flashed someone with your boobs. Eren is now upset and is aggressively fucking you outside the club.

18+ Only | Minors Do not Interact

“Take it, you dumb fucking whore,” Eren drawled out as he aggressively fucked the inside of your mouth.

Tears were streaming down your face. Your makeup was ruined. Your hair was a mess and your drenched cunt was dripping wet on the asphalt outside. Saliva dribbled from the side of your mouth as you struggled to catch your breath from Eren mercilessly using your mouth as his personal fleshlight. And it was making you so horny.

Though I suppose that this is what you wanted from the beginning. Eren and you had been a couple for a few months now and had decided to spend this Saturday night at a club downtown with your friends. I jumped at the invitation, greatly needing this outing as your new job has been keeping you fairly busy these last few weeks. It was also cutting into the quality time you spent with Eren.

Eren’s love language is physical touch, so naturally, he wasn’t very enthused about my  I guess I should rewind to how I got into this predicament in the first place.

jampacked work days. Recently, we haven’t been able to get much alone time together- and I can tell it's been frustrating him. Being able to have sex twice a day used to be the norm for us, now, we’re lucky if we have enough time/energy to do it three times a week. For someone who was as horny as Eren, that was a big shift to deal with. And he already had a brash, and aggressive personality, but this just made it worse.

“You’ve been denying me these for days, but had no problem flashing them to a group of random men?” Eren growled as he continued to fuck your skull, but this time he had one hand tightly squeezing your breast as he fondled your taut nipple between his rough fingers.

You tried to respond but could only gag on his dick, as snot began to bubble from your nose. Eren stuffed his cock so far down your throat that you couldn’t even breathe.

You didn’t have a high liquor tolerance, and you’re a horn dog when you drink, so it only took a few drinks for you to feel as frisky as a cat in heat. The red mini dress you wore was only secured by a thin piece of fabric that wrapped around your neck to tie in a halter. It felt like it was a little loose so you went to the bathroom to fix it, with Eren tagging along with you.

There was a group of guys standing near the bathroom and unfortunately, you would have to walk past them. They all ogled me as I walked by, and one of them was about to open their mouth to say something, but I saw him look above me before closing his mouth and giving a brief nod.

I spun my head around to see Eren giving a death stare to the entire group, looking like he was ready to take someone’s head off if they dared to say or do anything to me. 

Eren was an intimidating man. Sure he was beautiful, but his aura was powerful and with his domineering personality, it wasn’t hard for him to command rooms and receive respect everywhere we go together.

But I was so caught up in the thoughts that I didn’t feel when the straps of my dress suddenly fell and my tits bounced as they were free from their thin restraint. I quickly went to cover my breasts but it was too late. The guys had already seen it, based on the lewd looks on their faces. They got more than enough for their imaginations. I felt so embarrassed.

“Oh my gosh, I-” I started to say, but a hand suddenly shot out and grabbed my upper arm dragging me away with an unprecedented level of force. 

I looked up to see Eren with his eyebrows furrowed and his jaw clenched as he sunk his fingers deep into my arm and dragged me further out of the club. I caught a glint of his green eyes and he looked mad as hell. 

“Eren stop, you’re hurting me,” I said trying to wiggle out of his grip but it was no use. 

“Shut the fuck up!” He barked over the loud music as he shuffled me across the dance floor, towards the back where I saw a large black door with an emergency exit sign lit up above it. 

He opened the door which led to outside, behind the club where it was pretty dark and secluded. Two large dumpsters were back here and despite the graffiti art, they were pretty well kept and looked relatively clean.

“What the hell is your problem?” I asked trying to pull my arm from his grasp. “Are you angry because my dress fell? God Eren, it was an accident! You don’t really think that I purposely-”

“Yes I do,” He firmly stated as green eyes darkened. He began slowly stalking towards me, effectively trapping me between the wall and him. He stared down at me as if I was his last meal. And I saw that fire in his eyes…I know that look all too well.

He suddenly leaned down to place his lips right next to my ear.

“I do think that you would purposely pull your dress down in front of a group of men just to rile me up because I know you’re that much of a whore.” He said huskily in my ear.

My pussy immediately began clenching as I heard him say that. A shiver ran from my nape all the way down my spine to my pussy and I swear it felt like I was zapped with electricity. I suddenly felt bashful, and I knew that my face was as red as a tomato so I didn’t even dare to look him in the eyes. But Eren wasn’t going to allow me that respite. 

“Get on your knees.” He said as he leaned away from me to unbutton his jeans.

“Ere-”

“Get on your fucking knees, now!” He said menacingly as he gripped a firm hand around my neck. 

The sound of his voice was enough to make anyone unable to resist his commands. Besides, you knew better than anyone that Eren doesn’t take disobedience lightly. His domineering gaze never faltered as he watched you slowly kneel on the concrete ground. The feeling of tiny rocks piercing your skin was painful but not as painful as the ache between your legs was. If Eren didn’t give you some sort of relief soon, you felt that you were about to explode.

He slowly reached his hand up to gently cup your chin in his hand and rubbed his thumb over your plump lips. How can one person be so damn attractive?

“Keep it open,” Eren directed as he squeezed my cheeks together until I felt my mouth was forced open.

He moved his hand from my face to pull down his briefs and let his cock spring up. I let out a heavy sigh through my parted lips as I greedily stared at his cock. My core became wetter every second as I felt the alcohol soar through my bloodstream - adding even more pleasure to my already euphoric state. 

Eren was a big man, so naturally, his dick would have to correlate to his size. And boy did it not disappoint!

I can’t tell you exactly what its size is. But I do know it has to be at least 7 inches. And with very impressive girth as well! His dick has a little upward curve to it that never failed to hit that sweet spot inside of me. Eren was the only man to ever make me cum through just vaginal stimulation. And he was cocky as hell about it too. Always bringing up how no one else will ever be able to fuck me as good as he can. To be honest, he’s probably right. 

He gripped the back of my hair to pull me closer to him. He grabbed the base of his cock and slid in past my parted lips, immediately hitting the back of my throat and making me gag and want to pull back, but Eren was having none of that as he forced my head to stay still as I took his entire length in my mouth.

He held it there for about ten seconds before he finally pulled out and I gasped for air; coughing as my breath finally became free. Eren sexily groaned as he pulled out. His eyes closed before he opened them to stare into mine again. That freedom didn’t last long as Eren grabbed my head again, with both hands this time, and began aggressively fucking my skull with an insane level of speed.

“Take it, you dumb fucking whore!” He menacingly growled as he looked down at me. Well, that was a short recap of how I got myself here in the first place.

His fondling of my breasts was enough to make me loudly moan around his cock, the vibrations of his giving him visible chills. I took a quick peak up at him and I wish I could frame the wicked smile was was plastered across his face. He was enjoying himself so much.

“You love this don’t you?” He asked condescendingly. “Nowhere you’d rather be than to be guzzling down my cock on the side of a dumpster, right baby? Look at you, your pussy juices are dripping on the ground by desperately you want me.”

I gave a muffled affirmation as I held onto his thighs tightly to steady myself as he continued his brutal assault on my throat. The filthy words he was saying to me also egged me on even more. I loved when he got aggressive like this.

Eren and I have been together long enough for him to know me like the back of his hand. He knew that I loved being treated like a princess, just as much as I loved being degraded by him like a cheap whore.

His pace picked up as my eyes became glassy and his breathing became erratic. The sounds that were coming from my lips were absolutely sinful. The gushing and that garbling of my spit, mixed with his precum was spread all over my face and the top of my dress. I knew wouldn’t be able to last much longer like this. I was starting to get lightheaded due to the lack of oxygen. 

Sensing this, Eren quickly pulled my head off his dick and spun me around so that I was pressed against the brick wall. I felt his dick piercing into my back as he used his large hands to continue massaging my breasts as he moaned pure filth into my ears.

“You’re such a nasty fucking girl,” He said nibbling on my ear. “I knew sucking me off in the back of a dumpster would make you so fucking wet.”

“Eren,” I moaned, throwing my head back as he reached down to give my ass a hard squeeze before reaching his fingers to my core and spreading my pussy lips before rubbing a finger up and down my clit.

I felt my knees buckle from the slight touch, and I heard Eren chuckle as he brought his finger up to see the amount of wetness on it. He barely touched me and my slickness dripped from his finger onto the floor. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this horny in my life.

“Look at how much you’re feigning for me baby,” He said rubbing his thumb over his index finger with my cum in it. “I barely even touched you yet.”

“Eren please,” You begged as he began rubbing your folds again.

“Please what?” He replied darkly.

“Fuck me.”

That was all he needed to hear, and he wasted no time scrunching up my dress to my waist and ripping my panties off of me. I was in such a turned-on state that I didn’t even care. I felt him shuffle himself a bit more behind me for a few seconds before I felt the tip of his cock prodding at my entrance and I let out a cry of pleasure as I turned to look at him over my shoulder.

“Oh fuck,” He hissed as he slowly pushed into my slick. Feeling every ridge and pulsation that my pussy had to offer. “You’re so fucking tight baby, you’re swallowing me up.”

I couldn’t even say anything coherent in response to him. My brain had been turned into mush as I languished in the feeling of Eren being inside me. His dick stretched me so painfully, yet so deliciously good. I felt him slowly pull out, leaving just his head in before he rammed back into me, jolting me forward and pressing my face against the wall.

“Oh God, Eren!” I cried out as he began pumping into me like a jackrabbit. The lewd slapping sounds from his hips meeting my ass with every thrust was transporting me to cloud nine.

He suddenly took one hand and used it to keep my face smashed against the wall. The other had a harsh grip on my waist as he dominated my pussy; occasionally he’d let go of my waist to issue a hard slap on my ass cheeks that left marks.

“If you could only see how your pussy is gripping my dick right now, you’d cum in a second,” Eren grunted in your ear, never once letting this thrust’s speed falter. “I should’ve fucked you like this in front of those guys back there. Let them see how much you love to take my dick, and let them see how wet you get for me.”

“Only for you Eren,” I mewled out as I felt myself creep closer to my release.

“That’s right baby, only for me,” Eren grunted as his thrusts started to become slower but much more forceful. He stopped pressing my head into the wall and moved his fingers down to my clit to play with it. 

I tried to move my hand to his hips to make him go a little slowler, but he roughly pushed my hand away before quickly grabbing my arm and pinning it behind my back. 

“There’s no mercy tonight baby girl,” Eren growled out menacingly as his thrusts got even more violent. “You’re going to take everything I have to give.”

You let out a euphoric scream as you felt your orgasm about to reach its peak. Eren was fucking you like he hated you. Every thrust had your whole body jerking forward, yet you ran back to his dick every time because you knew he was the only one who could fuck you the way you loved. That combined with what his fingers were doing to you…you knew you weren’t going to last for much longer.

“Eren, I-I’m gonna cum!” You cried out as your pussy began to tighten.

“Fuck, I feel it, baby, “ Eren said through gritted teeth as his thrusts began to become sporadic. “Keep squeezing my dick like that, oh fuck.”

Both of you were now panting excessively. Eren’s face was flushed red as his eyes were locked on watching his dick move in and out of your tight hole. A frothy white substance began to form due to you guys’ lewd activities, but all of this just turned Eren on even more.

He knew you were about to cum any second now so he began massaging your clit even more before you felt the thread finally snap and you came undone on his cock. Your pussy relaxing and contracting around his dick as you loudly rode out your orgasm. Based on the sounds Eren was making, he was right behind you.

“FUCKKK!” He roared and his hip stuttered in you before he released everything he had in you.

You felt his cock shooting him warm seed in your womb - filling you to the brim with it. Eren was panting heavily as you felt his cock start to go limp inside you. He had his arms wrapped around your waist, and head buried in the crock of your neck as he peppered kisses up and down there. He slowly pulled his dick from you and you shivered at the loss of contact. 

Immediately, his and your cum began to leak out of you and Eren quickly dipped two fingers into your pussy before bringing it up to your lips and making you suck in them. You moaned as you tasted the concoction that both of your juices made.

“Delicious, isn’t it” Eren cockily asked while watching your tongue swirl around his fingers. 

“Hmmm, the best, as usual,” You said in a sultry tone before giving him a wink.

He grabbed the back of your nape and pulled you in for a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue immediately flew into your mouth as he tasted the flavor of his cum mixed with yours. You moaned into his mouth as you felt him reach his hand down to grab your ass and give it a hard squeeze. 

“You’re so fucking perfect,” He breathed in your mouth. “You’re making me want to bend you over again.”

Despite just having an orgasm, your pussy immediately began to pur at those words. Eren knew how to rile you up.

“You’re making me want to let you,” I flirtatiously replied as I grabbed his now-hardening dick in my hand.

“Let me?” He asked incredulously as he chucked before leaning down to stare at me with those intimidating emerald eyes of his. “Your body belongs to me baby girl, and I’ll fuck you whenever I want, wherever I want, however I want.”

Shit.

That was all it took to have my pussy aching for him again as I reached a hand up to wrap around his neck and pull him down for another kiss. Eren was right, deep down I knew I was such a slut for him, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

~

Masterlist | Patreon

[14dyh]

i saw ur prompt list (i am just absolutely obsessed w hange) can you write the soulmates trope? w past lifes and stuff

Meet Me at St. Mary's | H.Z.

Pairing: Hange Zoë x female reader Summary: Y/N shared a special moment with Hange at the bridge over St. Mary's. Word count: 1.0k A/N: so this is my fluffy apology fic after my last angsty Hange fic, i'm still sorry guys (i was about to upload this last night but i had a fever so it was kinda late, thanksss for the request anon!! :D)

Y/N always had a strange feeling about the river at St. Mary's. It appears as something neither deep nor shallow, but the dark waters streamed silently as though in desire to consume her. She passes by the river silently with a shudder. Not daring to look back or stare for too long.

However, that noon as she opened the love letter Hange slipped between her hands earlier that day, it only contained a few words, and that was enough to bemuse her.

"Meet me at St. Mary's."

Y/N laid down in her bed, eyes wandering the ceiling as her thoughts raced. Why St. Mary's? Why meet her lover at a place so surreal and horrific?

The next evening was a cold Sunday. Anyone who passes by would tell you that the weather was breezy if you asked. But Y/N would tell you that the air was sharp and biting, the waters streamed unforgivingly below the bridge. Too steady, too calm to be natural as her reflection stared back at her. It feels like a masked horror surreptitiously watching, waiting… waiting to pull her in. She was too absorbed in staring at the depths to notice Hange's presence approaching.

She jumped back a little in surprise as Hange hugged her from behind, kissing her softly on her temple.

Y/N could only smile softly before wrapping her arms around their body, taking in the sound of their heartbeat and the whiff of their perfume reminding her of the flowers she used to love from childhood. Y/N took their presence in and it was enough to make her breathe again

"I swear I've held you like this before," Hange murmured as their grip loosened but never let go, a small smile curling at their lips.

The familiarity of their touch surprised her, it was as if her soul attached itself to their embrace, yearning for something she once had. The park had gone quiet, like a still painting of people, mostly lovers, passing by. The birds of the night chirped, the faint glow of the street lamp illuminating the bridge where the two held each other.

"Do you remember anything else?" I murmured, tracing my thumb over their hands. My gaze remained on the river. Shallow yet so unfathomable. I want to know if Hange knew these flashes of memory... that it wasn't just me.

Y/N remembered holding their hand like this, her body recognized and yielded to their touch like a soft flower gently bowing down. It wasn't from this life but somewhere else… at another time that she couldn't quite put into words.

Too ineffable as she would describe it.

Hange lowered their head, their lips gently pressing on her hair. The river streamed quietly beneath, people pass by the park silently, absorbed in their versions of this night.

"Isn't it strange?" Hange laughed softly, facing Y/N this time, their soft demeanor dropping to an enthusiastic one as they held both of her hands on theirs. They told her the moment they first held her hand and the first time they kissed her. A version of events would flash in their mind, a distant memory coming close. No amount of science could have explained that even if Hange tried. This strange familiarity only enthused Hange even more, providing them with an unusual rush of emotions that feels too good… too right.

"It's like…" Hange gave a soft sigh, a smile forming on their lips. "I know you even before I learned your name."

Their words caught Y/N's heart, a spark running through her fingertips as her lover spoke.

"So I hope you don't mind this little experiment of mine," Hange continued, looking around. "I always see a vision of you in this bridge. Somewhere a long time ago… I just couldn't quite remember… "

But Y/N knew. She was starting to remember no matter how faint the memory was. Maybe it was this bridge that triggered these wisps of memory. It wasn't something that the mind could remember. Minds are fragile and could deteriorate, but the soul always knows.

"Then allow me to make you remember…" Y/N whispered, pulling her lover into a soft kiss. Hange's body melted against hers, remembering this same touch, this same soul pulling them into a loving embrace.

People tell you that love was developed out of practice, of learning and falling apart, all the same like a vicious cycle. They tell you that having one true love is a huge illusion, no vow or marriage could determine that.

But Hange remembered the myth of this river, under the bridge where their lover once embraced them.

It was said that two lovers rowed by St. Mary's river, cursed to travel the waters for eternity for their love for each other angered the gods. No worship, no form of devotion to a deity could imitate such things. When the two pass by under the lovers' bridge, lovers connected by their souls will be forever bound to each other, something that the two mythical lovers never had.

Hange gripped her tightly against their body and began to think.

Even if their love angered and ripped through reality, even if it defied the fragility of life and led them to punishment… they are willing to go through it over and over again.

Their will remained as boundless as the love they have for her. Their one and only.

Hange gently pulled away momentarily, their lips placing kisses over her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, and her jaw.

"I remember this…" Hange muttered in between each soft kiss, their lips helping them to remember.

All the while, Y/N held a soft smile, her cheeks heating up despite the breezy night. The starless sky never felt so bright.

A tear slipped down her cheek as she held them once again. Maybe it was because of relief, of recognition, or of finally finding her haven, she didn't quite know.

As the lovers held each other under the moonlight, the people passing gradually vanished one by one, even the birds had quieted, and a faint swoosh could be heard from below the river.

[emilysidhe]

I just finished A Desolation Called Peace by Arkady Martine, the sequel to A Memory Called Empire, and I *loved* them both, but I’m still going to point out a few nit-picks I have with it, in order of petty to significant:

I do love and appreciate Mahit’s prioritizing her need to keep her sense of self as non-Teixcalaanli by refusing to live in the City until she’s certain that her love of its culture won’t consume her. Nevertheless, as a reader I continue to be more stressed out than the text wants me to be about how and when the Stationers’ visa applications are being processed when their sole-ambassador-who-has-no-staff is two months’ space travel away from her office on Teixcalaan. The one line about having her mail forwarded did not help!

A high-tech space empire typified by massive bureaucracy and high education standards that’s made first contact with aliens at least once before *must* have actual, qualified xeno-linguists somewhere in its government or academia. Three Seagrass assigning herself and Mahit to the task of deciphering an unknown alien language basically because she’s bored at her desk job and wants an excuse to see Mahit again is a way bigger deal than the characters or the text ever acknowledge. They are already having a border war with this species and the stakes of figuring out how to talk to them are so high, and Three Seagrass is like, “Well, as a poet, I’m really good at my own language and Mahit must be good at figuring out foreign languages and cultures since she understands ours so well, so that’s basically the same as being an actual linguist right?” No. I understand that taking someone with official qualifications along would have added another original character to an already expanded cast, and undercut Three Seagrass’s already flimsy excuses to drag Mahit into this, and created a third wheel to get in the way of developing Three Seagrass’ and Mahit’s relationship, but if the author wasn’t going to do it, there should have been either a stronger in-universe justification for Three Seagrass and Mahit to have at least no worse chance of success than a real language specialist like the Fleet requested, or a greater acknowledgement of how huge a dereliction of duty deciding to take an unqualified crack at this herself actually was.

Avoiding explicit spoilers, I didn’t like the resolution to the Darj Tarats subplot. Him being present in the final scene felt very contrived and also pointless. I kept wondering why, from a story perspective, he was even there - right up until his final line, which was like, “well, I guess I know why he had to be here for the story now, but I’m not sure this justifies him adding nothing to that whole previous scene.”

Also, why was he there from a character perspective? Like, he tells Dekakel Onchu that he’s going to do something, and then he doesn’t really seem to try to do that, he just - yells at Mahit in front of the Teixcalaanlitzlim like he thinks if he just berates her harshly enough she’ll make the battle go how he wants with - idk, magic I guess? - even though the general he wants her to manipulate is standing right there listening to all this. I get that he’s supposed to be a ruthless and power-abusing man who has spent so long obsessing over one idea for a master plan that he’s lost sight not only of the moral ramifications but also practical questions about whether it would even work the way he envisioned even if his agents obeyed him completely and has nothing left but to take it out on them when they don’t and it doesn’t, but I’m not sure that he’s intended to come off quite as foolish and shortsighted as he ultimately does.

Anyway, despite what it sounds like, I did genuinely love both of these books (somehow it’s easier to list problems than to genuinely enthuse about all the things I loved!), and I’m really looking forward to rereading them in the context of what I now know from having read them and to seeing what else the author writes in this universe.

[theirishwolfhound]

AHoGiSoG- Chapter 2: Bruises and Bitemarks

Summary: With the day continuing on, Crow catches up on his schedule and finally opens up to his friends mostly. Long post ahead so settle in and enjoy!

Content Warnings (MDNI): pining masked as envy, homoerotic sparring but they're almost fully clothed, brief mention of needles Word Count: 16,758

Their mission was simple, a normal recon: get in, understand the landscape, and find their target before making a plan of attack. It was simple enough. They would be departing more than likely the next day. Price needed to remain at base just to make sure everything there ran smoothly. Gaz and Wolfhound would work together to scout the landscape, the latter would devise the best plan while the later found the vital points of land to work with. Soap and Ghost would be there as the countermeasures, just in case things were to go haywire or if someone got injured. They would be outfitted with two, small two-person tents and anything else they would need to manage until they got what they needed out of the mission.

They would be dropped off near Mount Konzhakovskiy Kamen in the more southern part of the Northern Ural. Then, they would have to make their way to Mount Telpos-Iz, closer towards the Nether-Polar Ural. Their lead had only spoken of the Eastern side of the Northern range so they would have to search the span of the area until they found what they were looking for. While it would help keep them from being detected and give them the best knowledge of the land, their mission could take at least fifteen days with their current conditions. Given their estimated timeframe, they were hoping that they would not have to hike the whole path. 

To say that Crow was happy to go camping on a recon was an understatement—he loved the idea of the plan—though seemed to be the only one enthused about camping. That was just the ranger in him after all, he’d never be able to get rid of that part of him, but this is what made him a vital part of the mission. He knew much more about wilderness survival than the other operatives in that room, that was his specialty: surviving. His change of demeanor did not go unnoticed either, as the other men could practically see him buzz with faint excitement at the prospect of this mission. They knew that he would do the mission alone if he could, but even for him it was a bit taxing to do it alone. While it wasn’t his first mission with the Task Force, it was at least up his alley.

Johnny was a bit relieved that his friend seemed to be doing a bit better and seemed genuinely enthused about this mission. It would have been a first for him after all, while Crow never complained but his eyes never lit up in the same way they did now. He glanced towards Ghost, Kyle, and Price- all three of them seemingly relieved as well- then spoke happily. 

“It’ll be a skoosh, we’ve got Irish here ta’ guide us.” He smiled at Crow and gave the man a nod before laughing. 

“Grand,” Crow chuckled softly and shook his head playfully. “Means it’ll b’ on meh if it winds up a haymes.”

“Nae danger, ya’ cannae make a mess unless ya’ try too hard.” Johnny reassured him. 

The Irishman huffed out a soft laugh. “Is been donkey’s years since I was a guide.”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” Gaz chuckled then shrugged, just barely understanding what the two men had said. “And if not… Well, then that’s just how it works innit? Nothing goes to plan here, everything is bonkers.”

Crow crossed his arms over his chest and laughed softly before finally nodding in agreement so that the meeting could finish up. He sat back in his seat then focused on the screen that Price stood in front of, a faint smile remaining on his lips throughout the rest of the briefing. He kept his hands on his lap, holding them similarly to how he held Simon’s—to how he held Malakai’s—the simple thought of that caused his mind to drift faintly. It was nice, sure, but it was definitely something he wanted to keep between the both of them. Crow’s gaze remained unfocused, distant, until he felt a faint tap on his boot from under the table, which made him glance over to the man across from him. 

Johnny had paid close attention to the Irishman during the meeting, he was worried for him after the interaction that morning so when he noticed his eyes grow a bit glassy he intervened. He watched Crow for a moment, his gaze kind and smile sweet, only to nod with relief when the other man nudged his foot back. The Scotsman’s smile never faltered as he turned back towards the projection of the map on the screen.

17:36

The meeting would go for about two hours, the team discussing their plan of action until they finally felt comfortable with it. A little too comfortable as Crow nearly fell asleep with his head on the back of his chair and arms over his chest, but he knew what his job was so no one woke him from his brief rest. Once they were finished, they left, continuing on with their afternoon. They had thirty minutes before the rest of the soldiers and the recruits would be finished with their scheduled activities. 

The Irishman knew he needed to go get something to eat, so he suggested an early tea break for the five of them just so that he wouldn’t have to eat alone, to which they agreed. Price and Gaz led the way, happily chatting with one another while Ghost and Soap walked behind them, the latter chiming in to the conversation in front of him. Crow walked a few paces behind the four, observing just how close they were with one another. He used to watch them with envy when he first joined, missing the closeness he shared with Malakai and their old team, but now he watched them with fondness. They were the closest people he had to family now, and he was grateful for them, though he still had moments where he felt like he didn’t belong. It was nothing they did, in fact they had always made sure he was involved even if he had originally been less than approachable, it was just his own thoughts. 

However, as he watched them, he noticed that Soap and Ghost turned their heads slightly to look back to him. He made brief eye contact with both of them before the Scottish man beckoned him to join them. For a second Crow did not know what to do, but he couldn’t help but smile and quicken his pace to walk between the two, lightly nudging the both of them.

“Shouldnae fall too far behind, freckles, dinnae want ‘hose eyes ta’ look lost wee cuilean’s,” Soap teased, clapping Wolfhound on the back gently once he had caught up. 

“Oh eff off,” The redhead laughed softly and lightly slugged the man in the arm, who took notice of the faint red coloring now adorning the Irishman’s ears. “I’m nae a coileán, ya’ fool.”

“Bounded ova’ like one,” The Scotsman rebutted. 

“Oi, be nice,” Price scolded sarcastically from the front as they walked, chuckling slightly as he listened to their bantering. While he could not understand the two at times, he could only tell that they were playfully antagonizing one another. “Both of you.”

“Aye, Scot, stop actin’ the maggot,” Crow quipped and gave the younger sergeant a taunting smile. 

The two Celts playfully narrowed their eyes at one another before laughing with one another, as if they were two merry schoolyard children. Soap knew how to brighten Crow’s mood just by initiating a conversation that only he could really understand. He loved watching the way the Irishman’s eyes squinted when he laughed, and the way that his dimples formed on both cheeks. Johnny then glanced over to Simon, who had faint amusement in his eyes as the two of them laughed and bickered. He could tell the lieutenant had a faint smile on his face from the way his mask shifted. 

They were cohesive, a bonded unit in the Scotsman’s eyes, and forming an unshakable bond with Crow, while being a tedious task, was slowly becoming a reality. 

The five of them soon arrived at the mess hall, Ghost heading over to claim their table while the rest of them went to gather whatever they wished to have for evening tea. Price would return with a coffee and biscuits, Gaz with an orange and water, and Soap with a quick snack and water as well. It would take a few minutes for Crow to return, carrying a sandwich on a plate and a cup in his other hand, which he set in front of Simon before he had the chance to get up. The man had made him some tea as it had been a part of their compromise, though it did catch him off guard for a few seconds. As Crow sat down to start eating, Ghost let out an amused huff and pulled his balaclava up slightly like he had done at breakfast. He brought the cup up to his nose and took a few inhales before sighing and blowing on the tea so that he could take a sip.

Slowly, Ghost nodded and took a moment to relax, listening into the light chatter of Soap’s voice blending with Gaz’s as they joked to one another playfully. “Thank you.” There was a pause, then, while continuing to not look at Crow, he spoke again. “You’re feelin’ a wee bit better?”

“Aye… a wee bit, t’anks to ya…” The freckled man said sheepishly. 

“No need for thanks, red,” Ghost said before sipping from his cup once again, closing his eyes thoughtfully before speaking soft enough for only Crow to hear, though the others did not seem to pay much mind to their conversation. “If you ever need to talk about anything, you know you can come to us.” 

“Ah.. Aye, I know… speakin’ ‘bout what ails me is… difficult… is why I acted out earlier,” The Irishman replied before eating a little bit more. He hummed a little then spoke up once again. “...but I've been ‘ere fer ‘alf a year now… I trust the lot of ya’... so.. Maybe I will some time soon.” 

“That’s good to hear, Wolfhound,” Ghost chuckled, now turning to listen in on the conversation that was being held between the other men. 

Crow too would tune into their conversation, only to realize that they were sharing laughs about previous missions they all had been on or encounters they had had. John shared a memory from when he was still a Lieutenant back around 2009 where he had to deal with rowdy recruits, while Kyle joked about a relationship he had back in secondary school that wound up being more trouble than it was worth. On Johnny’s turn, he continued the trend of lightheartedness and began to boast happily about a memory from a football game back in secondary school. 

“Right! So, it was a pretty shitty sunny day, we were tied and it had beena hell of a game already, got really dicey in some parts,” He mused using his hands to gesture a bit as he spoke happily, his voice beaming with pride. “Now I dinnea ken wha’ ye’ know about football, but this game was a bloody chess match. We played a buncha fancy school boys, wee bastards they were, gave us a tough time…”

The Irishman chuckled softly, watching the Scotsman speak and tell his tale, though he stopped listening fully. Rather, he focused on the way his voice sounded, enjoying the joy in his friend’s voice. It was warm and smooth, like scotch and nothing like the British men’s. Ghost’s stood out from Gaz’s and Price’s deep smooth ones, if he had to describe it he would be compared to a cinnamon whiskey. Yet all of them had pleasant voices, he could listen to both Johnny and Simon talk all day if they wanted to… which he knew Johnny would do given the chance. Mans just loved to talk, and the little lad just loved to listen.

Before he knew it Soap’s story was over, but he continued to stare unfocused with a faint reddish hue rising to his freckled face as he hummed softly. It took Kyle snapping his fingers in front of Crow’s face to finally drag him back down to Earth. “Cad?”

“Zonin’ out there, lad? Or are you just takin’ the piss, eh?” The older sergeant teased. 

“Jus’ thinkin’,” Crow replied. “Hearin’ Johnny talk ‘bout football reminded me o’ a time when I was a scout back home.” He hummed softly. 

“Well now ye’ got ta’ talk about it,” Soap chuckled.

The Irishman shrugs, only to nod and laugh quietly. “I used ta’ teach kids how ta’ play kickball at te’ summer camp I worked at as a scout, b’fore I was a ranger… one spring when te’ pond still had ice, some lass kicked te’ ball onta the ice an’ I had ta’ fetch it.” 

“I can only imagine that didn’t go well,” Price chuckled softly. 

“It did not,” He snickered, lightly rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I crawled ta’ te’ middle of t’pond and get te’ ball… at te’ time I had ta’ weigh fifty-four kilos, so obviously te’ ice cracks under me. I wasn’ scared of fallin’ in, I was afraid of t’ese kiddos laughin’ at me,” Crow laughed. “Then… I had te’ brigh’ idea ta’ stand up fully… in te’ middle of te’ pond… so, eh, I fell in te’ ice cold water.”

“Did ye’ have to swim back to the bank?” Soap asked as he laughed, picturing a much younger Wolfhound’s predicament of retrieving the kickball. The other three chuckled, enthused by the show of humility, watching Crow’s face go from a more neutral expression to a more embarrassed one, his cheeks gaining more color to them.

“Nah, I climbed back onta the ice, I couldn’ swim in neck deep water,” He mused before shaking his head shamefully. “Crawled back on my belly ta’ shore.”

“And how did those kids react?” Ghost asked, a smirk showing on his exposed lips as he brought his cup up to his mouth. 

“Some were worried, te’ others laughed t’eir arses off. My scout master t’ought I was a, uh, dosser… but te’ kids had my back for t’at at least. Told te’ ‘hole truth tey did… at my expense… but I was awake fer te’ rest of te’ day.”

The other men chuckled, though Soap’s was more like a laugh that drew a bit of attention from the soldiers that walked into the mess hall. It was lively, enjoyable even, enjoyable enough for Crow to finish eating so that they could continue talking. He wondered what it would have been like if he was in a much better mental space than he currently was. Would they have all been closer? He definitely knew that he would have been happier to be well knitted amongst the group rather than being the only one stitched in with elastic strings, seeing that he had the higher chance of stretching away from the rest of the group given one string breaking. But that was a thought for later, something he would add to the list of things he wanted to tell them, and something he’d bring up in his next therapy session. For now they would share more stories, except Ghost who only chimed in to back a few of the stories Soap told about the missions they’ve been on, but that didn’t disrupt the flow. 

19:04

The rest of their break was spent together until Price and Gaz had to dismiss themselves to handle paperwork, leaving the other three men to find something to do until dinner. Normally Crow would have just gone back to his room and painted, but he knew he needed to make up the hours he spent napping. He took his dishes to the drop off then went to sit back down with Simon and Johnny, though now he was across from the both of them. He listened as they spoke—well, he listened to Soap talk anyways—and tried to figure out what he could do until dinner time. He could go train—hell, even go for a walk—but he wasn’t sure if the other two had plans. The Irishman watched them, only to lightly tap on the table in front of the other two. 

“If ya’ two fellas aren’t busy… would ya’ want ta’ join me at ta’ gym?” He asked while cocking his head curiously. 

“Sure! I dinnae s’why not,” Soap mused while standing up to take his snack plate and Ghost’s teacup to the dish drop off. 

Once The Scotsman came back, the other two would stand up and the three of them would head out of the mess to go walk towards the gym. Soap made sure to keep Crow between himself and Ghost as they walked, happily chatting away as the other two listened to him speak. It was blissful in its own way, like it was the right thing to have happen. Though as Wolfhound walked with them, he began to finally notice what he had been walking behind for the past six or so months. Soap spoke with more passion and affection when it came to stories about himself and Ghost. Crow noticed it when Soap was simply talking around Ghost, as well as the subtle way the two drifted closer when walking next to one another. He saw the way that Johnny looked at Simon: the way his eyes lit up and maintained contact no matter where they were. 

He blinked a little then furrowed his brows in slight thought. Was it love, admiration, or both? It was hard to tell, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was some sort of affection. From the stories he’d heard, the two were practically a package deal when it came to missions so they had plenty of time to form that kind of bond— hell even Price and Gaz were a duo. The way Johnny looked at Simon reminded him of how Malakai looked at him: a gentle fondness, or at least something close to it. He had overheard that the British man was more mellow than he was before the Scotsman joined 141, and Crow figured—now that he watched them closer than he had before—that it was Soap's doing. That’s when it dawned on him, or at least caused him to think a bit harder about what was going on between the two duos.  

‘It would explain their late night meetings… if they were even work related in the first place,’ The Irishman thought to himself with a chuckle and a suspicious look crossing into his curious expression before he lightly nudged the Scottish man. 

“...am bheil thu maille ri Simon?” He asked once he had his attention. What little Scottish Gaelic he knew was due to him having nothing better to do in a Ranger’s tower, and it always seemed to take Johnny off guard so that was a plus. 

“Dè? Carson a tha thu a’ faighneachd??” The Scotsman asked in reply. Hell, his voice even went up in pitch, his eyes widening slightly as a faint flush of color rose to his cheeks. 

“O’Neil, MacTavish…English for fucks sake.” Ghost said with a faintly amused, but mostly annoyed, huff.

“Sickner fer you,” The Irishman replied, he didn’t need a proper answer from either of them, the look and way Soap’s voice sounded gave it so cleanly away. He had sounded the same when his old captain had clocked him for dating Malakai, but he never thought he’d get the chance to pull it on another man. Crow took a few long strides to walk in front of the two, turning quickly on his heel to lock eyes with Soap while moving backwards. He raised his brows teasingly then smiled a bit, nodding with faint approval. They were both good men and deserved someone just as good for one another, but now he also had something to tease the Scot with. He was glad to finally have something over both of the men now: even if they weren’t dating they were most definitely fucking. “Deagh roghainn.”

With that he flashed a cocky smile and turned away once again to head into the gym, leaving Johnny flabbergasted and Simon confused as to what was said. Though one look over to the Scottish sergeant and he could tell that he was embarrassed by the Irishman’s words. It was quite entertaining, and he knew Johnny would tell him what was said later. After a few moments the two would enter the gym as well, and make their way to join their red-haired friend who sat on the ground to begin stretching. 

Soap said nothing, only giving Wolfhound a playful yet pointed glare. He was really only upset about being taken off guard like that. He could tell that the older was entertained by it, and he knew he couldn’t let the Irishman have the upper hand over him. It was a fun little challenge to the Scot—a playful rivalry of wit—but for now they had to warm up for training. Ghost would focus solely on stretching, not paying any mind to his companions, while Soap’s gray-blue eyes occasionally drifted over to the Irishman. Watching him bend and stretch with ease, it was a bit odd how nimble he was but he had to make up for his smaller stature somehow. He then realized that he was staring, and Simon had noticed, but how could he speak when Crow— while a bit easier to read than Simon— never let much of his personal life slip out, save for a few stories here and there, so he had no clue where to start. 

“So… Wolfhound, what’s yer plan here? Need a spotter or so?” 

“Bold of ye’ ta’ assume I lift t'at much,” Crow replied playfully, his attention briefly shifting over to Johnny. “I run, an’ do more yoga t'an anythin’.” 

“Is that so, lad? No sparrin’ either?” Soap asked. 

“Not as often, no. Te’ other boys like harder sparrin’... I prefer light… don’t like t’many bruises on me t’be honest… an’ I try not ta’ get put inna position where I could get hit in te’ face..” 

He had to admit, while he never saw Crow as too much of a roughhousing type of man, it was still interesting to hear that he went for a lighter practice for that reason. His thoughts briefly went to when Crow had first joined: when the task force had tested him in a fight, he nearly kicked their asses up until Simon struck him in the face. Then again, it was a real fight, not practice, there was a difference— but by God did the lad know how to use a knife. Johnny hummed in thought, only to turn and lightly pop Simon on the shoulder to actively drag him into the conversation, even though it nearly earned him a swat upside the head from the Englishman. “What if we go first, yeah? Then wind down with a sesh with ya?” 

“Kssh,” Crow's exaggerated inhale was quick to be followed by a playful eye roll. “Fine… but I’m gonna do other t’ings before sparrin’ ya’.”

He didn’t need much convincing. Though he already knew that he might lose any match with them. He was quick sure, but he hated hand-to-hand combat due to himself being thrown and bruised many times before. It was basically exposure therapy—something he and his therapist joked about—and was easy to handle when you trusted the people you were working on it with. That and he really needed to find more people to work out with, rather than doing so alone, at night, when he couldn't sleep.  

Though despite trusting Simon and Johnny, Crow still hated being overpowered most times. It was a fact that lingered in his mind for years and years, even when he play fought with Malakai. Cisgendered men had a slight advantage over him, and he hated that he ended up liking it. He and his passed lover had managed to find a way around the discomfort by adding a sort of reward system to their sessions: turning them into more intimate moments with Crow’s lead. While his therapist would be proud of him for going out of his comfort zone, he did not want to risk the chance of acting out on instincts that he and Malakai instilled. He couldn’t back out of this, not without giving a reason, but he couldn’t admit that he had basically pavolved himself into getting turned on by sparring to avoid having panic attacks. However, he pushed those thoughts away into the deeper parts of his brain, and then moved to sit on the bench as he watched the other two stretch out and get ready for their sparring match. 

Crow’s eyes danced over the way that their muscles flexed and moved with them, though he stopped himself and merely rubbed the bridge of his nose. Gender envy—at least that's what he thought it was—was a bitch-and-a-half to deal with considering most of the men around him had a body he wanted. By the time he looked back up at them, Simon had removed his jacket and remained in a shirt and pants while Johnny remained in his joggers. He wasn’t surprised by Ghost’s tattoo sleeve or any of the scars that littered either of their bodies, just as he wasn’t surprised that either of them held attraction to one another. Both of them were attractive men—to be fair the other operators were also just as attractive—it only made sense… at least in his mind it made sense. He would have made a move if he were either one of them, who wouldn’t.  

When the two men got up to head towards the mats, the smaller man moved to head over to one of the treadmills within viewing distance. He would start his own exercise as the other two exchanged quips and jokes while beginning to circle one another. All was mostly quiet in the gym despite the comments that the older two exchanged and soon Crow would turn his attention to his own work out. Lightly jogging to the sounds of Soap’s taunts towards Ghost and his own thoughts about this predicament he’s agreed to put himself in. Pining for men who were out of his league, like an ant that wanted to be with a group of stars to form a constellation, while still mourning his passed lover, as if unrequited passion would help his emotional state.

Occasionally, the Irishman would glance over towards the two, watching Simon grapple Johnny and pin him to the mat. With the slight confirmation of their relationship, or situationship, Crow now noticed the sensual nature of how their hands ran over one another. He could almost remember the feeling of similar loving hands on his own person, holding him firmly but lovingly… He had to shake the thought out of his head before his mind wandered more, a faint flush of color rising to his cheeks as he began to run a bit faster on the treads to distract himself before ideas ran rampant in his mind. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to think or do. He had spoken to Malakai before about death, since they were soldiers bound to die old or at war, and what to do if one of them had passed before the other. Both agreed that they would have wanted the other to move on, but the thought of that was hard enough to process when he was alive. How could he do it now? 

He felt guilty for lusting after other men, but he couldn’t really help it. Whether it be the fact that he had to give himself his testosterone shot later that night and his body knew that, or that he hadn’t had any form of intimacy in over a year by that point. It wouldn’t have been that long had he and Malakai gone on their last mission together alone, but with a full team of people who were trained to listen to every little sound in their environment, it made it hard to share time in a tent. Maybe it was the grief toying with his emotions, making him want—making him lust—for that touch again.

He stumbled slightly as he lost focus, sucking in a breath as he reacted quickly. His hands quickly gripped the bars on the side of the equipment, as he hopped up and placed his feet on the sides of the belt. He managed to not get thrown off the treadmill and quickly looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. Luckily for his ego no one had. Crow’s ears burned with embarrassment as he turned the speed back down to a fast walk. He did not want to risk slipping and being launched off the treadmill. It happened once; it was not fun, especially since he nearly took out his bad knee. He took his hands off the railing once he was back on the moving belt and then rubbed his neck slightly as he sighed. He wondered if his friends were happy together like he had been a year ago. He glanced back at the two, listening to Johnny’s laugh as he tried to wrestle Simon to the ground but fail as he got flipped and thrown into the mat. They definitely seemed happy and he was happy for them. It was nice to see and he was almost jealous of them—almost angry—but he knew that it was mostly the desire to have what he used to have.

Crow’s lips twitched into a faint grimace as he saw the way their eyes met and held a passionate emotion. He knew it was love and he couldn’t help but think selfishly to himself. Why couldn’t he have that still? Why couldn’t he still be happy? 

It was an odd thought, he did not blame Simon or Johnny whatsoever, but it did make him question his beliefs. He knew the Lord worked in mysterious ways, but why did he have to suffer from the actions of other men? These thoughts were normal, at least that's what his therapist said. Selfish, you’re being selfish, you dumb hormonal bastard. Crow told himself as he redirected his gaze away from his friends, not wanting to show his distraught as it was no one else’s fault but his own. His emotions were conflicting and it confused him greatly, unsure if he should feel jealous over the two of them or excited that he was finally going to have hands on him once again. He needed to talk to his therapist about his flowering emotions since they had been budding for a while and he had only just acknowledged them, and about potentially getting a medication prescribed for his sleeping problems now that Simon was involved. However, it would have to wait until after the mission. For now he put a pin in it, shook his head as if to shake the stress away, then picked up his walk to start jogging, then light running, once again. The red-haired sergeant managed to finally zone out, his thoughts going quiet to his relief, enough to not realize that he let the men spar for longer than they all had expected. Though by now they both sported new bruises and faint aches from their training.

Simon had pinned Johnny to the mat, the blade of his arm just barely pressed into his throat as his other hand kept the Scot’s wrists above his head. Both of his legs kept the younger man’s lower half to the mat, practically straddling him. They stared at one another briefly, both a bit breathless from their session— though that didn’t stop Soap from smirking up to Ghost, who in turn narrowed his eyes in a playful manner. He pushed himself off of the sergeant then stood up to walk off the mat, watching Wolfhound run on the treadmill. Eyeing the shorter man’s legs then trailed up to his back, only to turn and look at Johnny with raised brows as if teasing him for staring earlier. The Englishman would then walk off the mat towards where their stuff had been set down.   

“Oi, freckles, you’re up!” Ghost called as he plopped down onto their bench, finally breaking the redhead’s trance so that he could turn off the machine and hop off. It took a few seconds for him to come to a halt as he slowed the pace down until he came to a stop and all the while the lieutenant did not take his eyes off of him. He watched as the Irishman stalked silently over towards the water fountain to take deep sips, then back towards the mat where he left Soap laid out to catch his breath. 

Johnny panted happily as he looked up to the smaller man when he slipped his shoes off to walk over to him—only to take Crow’s hand when he offered to help him onto his feet. He sprung onto his feet with the help and dusted himself off playfully, smiling widely to the younger man. “Light sparrin’, aye?”

“Aye, full speed but less power… no face hits, m’mouth guard is in my office.” Crow confirmed. He, unlike the other two, remained in his long sleeve shirt and camo pants since he felt more comfortable in them— and because he was worried how he’d react if either of them touched his bare skin.

“Right, if I hit ya too hard, hit back,” Soap warned playfully, flashing his signature smile to the other man—though seemed a bit taken aback when he only got a smirk from Crow, who’s pupils shifted to make it seem like he was either a dog on guard or a fox sizing up a larger animal. Frankly, both ways sent a faint shiver up the Scot’s spine and he couldn’t explain why but he merely laughed with excitement. “Ghost, ref us, yeah?”

“Scared, Johnny? Lad’s pint-sized,” Simon teased while sitting back a bit on the bench to watch the two a bit more closely at Soap’s request. 

“Of Crow? No.” The Scotsman laughed, causing the other sergeant’s brow to raise slightly— sure Johnny wasn’t afraid, this was a game to him, but he wanted the other to watch. 

All of the negative thoughts that he had earlier slowly pushing their way back into the forefront of his mind; the fear, the jealousy, the anger, the desire. His lips curved a little more before he forced a frown and he furrowed his brows, scanning over Johnny as the taller man smiled back to him. His eyes trailed over the Scot’s bare chest and stomach, watching as a few beads of sweat ran down his skin. God he’s such a bear, what I wouldn't give to— He quickly shook his head and returned his gaze to the other’s face, a faint rush of blood scorching through his body and to his pale face. He pulled his hands up and took a few steps back to let the other know that he was ready to begin whenever. While Soap noticed the change of demeanor, he did not want a repeat of that morning to happen, so he decided to not press the matter and mimicked Wolfhound’s pose— shifting his weight from leg to leg. 

They watched one another for a brief moment, then shared a nod to initiate their match. Crow would begin to circle Johnny, his gaze locked onto the Scottish man with a rather wild look in his eyes. It was a bit unnerving, but it made the fight almost better. Almost immediately, the Scotsman would move in close to throw a quick jab with his fists, his arms and hands moving to try and fake the Irishman out. Though Crow was quick to duck under the man’s arms and gently jabbed him in the side, his strikes were quick and precise before he quickly backed away to put a bit of space between himself and Johnny—who took his place right back in Crow’s space. He is a nuisance on the field and in training, the older thought with a chuckle. Simon has a lot to deal with outside of work.

When he managed to finally step away from the other man for a little bit of space, Crow felt John’s hands grab his wrists, pulling him down slightly and back in with a short huff of a laugh. The Irishman was quick to wrap his hand around the other man’s head after breaking his grip, lightly grabbing a fist-full of his mohawk to pull his head down enough to hook his arm under his jaw with a fluid motion— while the Scotsman’s arms wrapped around the smaller man, one under his arm and the other over his other shoulder. Soap spun slightly, pulling Wolfhound along with him, to unravel the grapple that he had been placed in and to pull the other man to his side while sliding one arm around his waist. Crow felt his feet leave the ground as Johnny lifted him onto his side and spun him forward, their chests flush with one another as he quickly moved his hand to try and wrap back around the older’s neck— shivering as he felt John’s other hand slide around his upper back. It was hard for Crow to try and find a grip around his friend, his legs flailing slightly as he tried to contort himself enough to wrap it around Johnny’s neck, all the while Johnny practically held Crow in a sideways hug, listening to the Irishman grunting and cursing under his breath. 

Johnny could only laugh and soon took a knee so that he could press the middle of Crow’s back into his other leg and pushed down slightly, immediately earning a sharp grunt as the smaller man’s body stretched to alleviate the faint discomfort. He took advantage of Crow’s arched back to hook his arms under him in a better grip only to lose it as the other pushed up with one foot to roll his chest back into his. Crow slinked one of his arms over John’s shoulder and held himself up with his free hand and foot, his eyes closing briefly when he felt a hand on the back of his neck and waist. With a low groan, both due to the touch and the fact that the other sergeant’s thigh was now pressing into his ribs, Crow pulled Johnny down then rolled more, his chest now on the man’s thigh so that he could plant both feet back on the ground and push upwards with his back to make the other stand back up. Despite John’s hand on the back of his neck— which the same arm was also holding Crow’s shoulder in a lock— and his other arm keeping him in a close hold, Crow squatted down to grab the man’s ankle. 

Though this motion gave the taller man the opportunity to finally slide both arms under the smaller’s arms and interlock his hands behind his neck, forcing him to let go of his leg to balance on his hands and knees while his head was pressed inward towards his own chest. He grunted at the feeling of Soap’s chest pressing to his upper back, a faint flush of warmth rising to his face, before he pushed his body up with his arms. As Wolfhound moved Soap loosened his head lock and laughed as he felt him wrap one of his legs around his own, only for the other one to join. The moment he had been lifted off the ground, Crow knew he was going to lose the match, since he knew that John would never let him get off the ground once he was back down— but to feel an arm wrap around his neck to prevent him from continuing his attempt at a grapple really solidified his loss. 

He groaned a little louder and tried to pry the arm from around his neck only to pause for a moment, breathing heavily as the other remained bent at the waist to keep him in a headlock. They stayed like that for a few seconds before Crow finally submitted and tapped John’s leg, unraveling his legs from the other and taking a deep breath as his neck was released. The redheaded man turned to look up at the other, giving him a faint glare that was only met with a smirk. 

“Bha thu airidh air sin.” The Scotsman teased, causing Crow’s ears and face to burn with faint embarrassment. Crow liked that a little too much to admit, but he was quick to hop back onto his feet, fixing his hair before turning back to John— who was still smirking.

“Again.”

The longer they sparred, the more they learned a little something about one another: Crow learned that Johnny annoyingly wanted to throw him off guard, and Johnny learned that Crow was very foxy. It was almost like a dance between the two of them, the pair always close together due to the younger’s persistence—which got rather overwhelming in a good way to the red-haired man after the first match. He felt his breathing hitch slightly and he knew he was going to need an out soon before he did something stupid, but he wasn’t going to let the other win easily. With a quick thought, Crow closed the distance fully between them, their bodies flush with one another, and wrapped one of his legs around the back of Johnny’s to try and yank it out from under him despite a familiar little rush of heat beginning to seep into his blood. 

It was a good attempt, considering the Scot wavered on his feet, but it wasn’t enough and opened himself up for a shot at a takedown. Johnny was quick to seize the opportunity, quickly reaching down to grab the leg that supported most of Crow’s weight and yanked it out from under him. The quick counter took the Irishman by surprise and he let out a yelp as he was tossed backwards onto the mat, though before he could recover he felt the other man’s foot press lightly into his stomach. His gaze was quick to shift up to meet the other’s and he grimaced at Johnny’s smug smile— as erotic this position would have been, he was going to wipe that damned smile off his face. He slid his hands around the other’s leg, hooking one around the back of his ankle while the blade of his other arm drove into the man’s shin just below the knee. With a calming breath, he flexed his core and rotated his hold, pushing the blade of his arm through Johnny’s leg as if it wasn’t there. For an added kick, Crow kicked one of his legs up to wrap around the thigh of the leg that was pinning him, hooking his heel into the other’s hip. In one fluid motion, the Irishman sent Johnny into the ground, using his own momentum to spring up to his feet, ready for any retaliation that followed. He stared down at Soap, who now lay flat on his back breathing heavily as he tried to regain the air that had been knocked out of his lungs—a look of surprise on his face. 

Johnny was never going to hear the end of this from either Simon or Crow, but he should have kept his guard up and he knew that because Crow was a slippery little bastard. He lifted his head up to look at the red-haired man, eyes drifting over Wolfhound’s face then and to his scarred lips that tugged into a faint smile, then grunted as he laid back fully once again. The Scotsman glanced over to Ghost’s position, he could tell by the way his eyes gleamed that the Lieutenant was amused at his take down— but in all honesty it was worth it, as Crow’s determined gaze and pleased smile made a faint warmth spread through his chest. He wasn’t afraid to admit when he found people attractive and Crow was one of them, but it was mostly due to his attitude rather than his looks— he was cute, and Johnny liked his men quiet as they had the most interesting personalities when alone, but he wasn’t sure if the older wanted to hear that. Crow never took compliments well, seeing that he normally told whoever gave him one to: “Feck off, stop being sappy.”

The Irishman gave Johnny a few more moments before finally offering him a hand up off the ground, helping the Scottish man off the ground once their hands locked with one another's. Once Johnny was off the ground, Crow lightly patted his shoulder and gave him a faint smile. "Sorry, mohawk... didn't want ta' lose twice t'day." He chuckled softly. 

"Dinnae apologize, red, it was fun." He laughed and lightly patted the other's shoulder. "I think I need ta' rest before going at it again wit' ya'... my leg still feels a bit weird." 

"Winded, MacTavish?" Simon asked, his rough voice holding a teasing nature— only for him to grunt as he stood up so he could approach the younger men. "Good form, O'Neil, the only problem is that you got yourself in that position in the first place." He scolded lightly, which caused the Irishman to groan and wave him off slightly. 

"Aye, ya' try ta' take out a brick wall ov'a Scottish bastard when yer m'size." Crow sassed slightly, his hand patting Johnny's upper back when the Scot headed towards the bench. "B'sides I was too close ta' him fer it ta' work." 

"Too close or too unsure?" The lieutenant asked, quirking a brow as he stepped fully onto the mat and over to the sergeant— closing the distance to be as close as the sergeants had been. "With more confidence you'd be able to do it." He said before quickly using his foot to sweep one of Crow's ankles out from under him, then moved in to fully send him to the ground with a hard shove. 

The Irishman was taken aback, a short grunt of surprise slipping past his lips as his balance was almost immediately yanked from him— though now he felt how Johnny, who now laughed, felt as he himself was winded the moment his back hit the mat. He blinked then quickly sprung to his feet, narrowing his eyes at Ghost in bewilderment, a twinge of red coloring his cheeks. "Oi! I wasn' ready!" 

"Hostiles won't wait for you to be ready, freckles." The older man countered. 

Crow stared at Simon, his expression going from shock to faint annoyance before he rolled his eyes and brought his hands up. He couldn't risk getting caught off guard again, even though part of him knew it wouldn't really matter. Ghost has more combat experience, and he's more of a nuisance than Soap, Crow grumbled softly to himself and crouched slightly as the lieutenant began to stalk around him. It was rather clear to the Irishman that he was not sparring a friend, like he was with the Scotsman, rather he was training with his lieutenant, Ghost not Simon. This was not a light sparring match, judging by how hard he had been sent into the ground, it was more like a test and he could only assume he was actually going to get hit.

Was it more nerve-wracking to spar Ghost than Soap? Absolutely, one had easily readable facial ques while one fucking stared into your soul— which was rather disconcerting and made it hard for Crow to focus for more reasons than one. He shuffled on his feet and kept his attention on the larger man's movements trying to not to look him in the eyes. Unlike the previous match, where it was more close and involved, this one was cautious and calculated. 

While he never sought a match out willingly, he only sparred when he had to or when it was for a demonstration, he could see why he should start doing so more often— specifically with the masked man since he was far less predictable for him than the Scot. The two continued to move slowly, until finally Ghost quickly stepped in and took a swing at Wolfhound. He brought his arm up to block the hit, which stung a bit, and reared back to strike the man in the ribs. 

The lieutenant would take a quick step to the side and quickly grab the sergeant's arm with both hands to twist it into an awkward position behind his back, which made the smaller man groan slightly as his body turned to avoid any harm done to his shoulder. He then spun Crow more to work on driving him into the mat below, forcing his knees to buckle and his body to drop. He let out an audible growl of annoyance as he was pressed down into the mat with Ghost's weight on him. While it wasn't the worst position he's been in, it was the more humbling one, and he did not want to be in it any longer than he needed to. The Irishman’s upper torso and head were forced down into the mat— which his head was less so since the older man did not wish to apply too much pressure on his upper jaw— as Ghost pressed against his back, leaning over him just enough to keep him from squirming too much. 

"Come on, red, how would you get out of this on the field?" Ghost asked him with a faint mocking tone, and pressed his arm further into his back— earning a low groan from the smaller man as he bent in a little more to relieve the pressure on his back. 

“Is fuath liom tú. Is fuath liom é sin. Is dick tú.” He hissed back and used the one hand that he had free to pat the mat. "I wouldn't even be in t'is position on ta' field." 

Watching him surrender, Ghost let go and pulled off of him— letting him lay on the mat for a few seconds before grabbing the back of his shirt to pull him off the ground. "You don't know that for sure, Crow." He warned lightly, watching the other squirm a bit before he set him down on his feet. 

"I will make sure," The Irishman huffed while pulling his shirt down to tuck it back into the waistband of his pants, only to turn and lightly smack the taller man in the shoulder. “Bawlbag.”

The lieutenant narrowed his gaze slightly at the taunt then took a few steps towards the sergeant, who would step away to keep a bit of distance between them— the man’s hazel eyes following the other as he worked on staying away from Simon. Crow glanced over to the other man, his gaze holding a more taunting expression as he did his best to avoid being put into another grapple. He crouched slightly and watched Ghost intently, waiting for his next move before letting out a low huff. The moment the taller man moved in to strike he would duck under his arm and then pulled his fist back to strike him in the sternum, earning a low grunt from Ghost. He slid past him to get behind the older man and turned to face him once again— only he turned his body in time to feel the other’s hand on the back of his head. 

He reached up to push the other’s hand off while his head was forced downwards, though was soon surprised by Ghost dropping his level to spring forward and wrap his arms around his waist. The lieutenant slid his arms down slightly, now holding closer to Crow’s thighs, while remaining on his knees not even seeming to mind that the Irishman wrapped one of his arms around his neck while his other one went between their bodies to try and dislodge the hold. With a fluid motion, Ghost lifted them both up and hooked his right leg around the back of Crow’s left and pulled back while his front pushed forward— sending the both of them to the ground, with the smaller man’s back being pressed onto the mat. He kept the sergeant pinned to the mat with his weight and hold while the other briefly struggled and used his two most free limbs, his right arm and leg, to try and free himself.

Crow paused for a moment, eyes widened as he finally felt a faint fuzziness he hadn’t in a while, which for a moment he enjoyed. The rush of adrenaline and endorphins took him a bit by surprise, though he was quick to spring back in action and pressed himself up against Simon to fight back. It was a sudden burst of strength that nearly took the British lieutenant by surprise, and had he not originally stabilized himself after pinning the sergeant he would have been thrown off balance. Low grunts and almost guttural growls sounded from the redheaded man, earning a confused glance from Johnny as he stood up and walked onto the mat to see what was happening. The Irishman’s struggle continued until he finally cocked his head slightly and sank his teeth into the Englishman’s right upper shoulder blade— the stimuli from the previous matches finally catching up to him. It was a hard and firm bite, one that was used to pinch the taller’s skin and shirt that was worn and hold him still. His action earned a faint grunt of pained confusion before Ghost shifted his weight off Wolfhound enough to grab near his lower jaw and roughly press his head into the mat. They both stared at one another, Crow’s eyes filled with what he could only describe as a glare while Simon’s held some sort of bewilderment— though he soon narrowed his gaze and raised his brows, giving the younger’s jaw a firm squeeze. 

No one said anything, not even Soap who watched Ghost hold Wolfhound down as if he was correcting a dog for biting. Hell he even curled his lips like one, which stunned the two men. They were both still until the sergeant’s foot caught the lieutenant’s waist to try and kick him off— which was an awkward and straining angle for him to put his leg in. His teeth remained bared in a snarl despite the hand that pressed into the soft space between his jaws, a low growl like sound reverberating from his chest as he worked on kicking the larger man off. While it  was often that he held up to his codename when it came to the rest of the 141, but mostly when it involved him being calm and gentle— he never really acted like this before, not even on the field, and it made the two wonder just where this part of him had been hiding.

Ghost grunted as Wolfhound’s heel dug into his waist more but did not relent, he was going to wait until the other got him off or gave in again. He felt the man strain more under him, though he wasn’t expecting to see that Crow’s glare had grown glassy. As if he were not fully there. It threw him off for a moment, relaxing his hold a bit— though the lax grip on his jaw allowed for Crow to quickly bite down on his hand and press his heel further up, now into Simon’s abdomen. 

“Oi!” The lieutenant hissed, yanking his hand back before sitting up slightly to grab the sergeant's ankle to pull his heel away from his stomach. He yanked his leg up and forced his body back down so that he could stop the younger’s struggling. “I don’t know how you were trained before you came here— but we don’t fuckin' bite during training, you’re not in any danger enough to take off my damn skin.” 

Crow stared at Ghost for a few moments, his breathing harsh from his struggle before he tried to pull on his legs, one of which was still pinned under the larger man and the other held off the ground. The way he was scolded seemed to bring him back to reality for a few moments, his snarl turning into a faint smirk while heat rushed to his face. He let out a nervous laugh, and then cleared his throat a bit. “Ah… If I had brains I’d be dangerous, tas on me— sorry leifteanant.” He said a bit breathlessly. “I… uh, spaced out, tas all… forgot where I was.”  

Simon reached down and flicked Crow in the forehead, earning a sharp whine, before tossing his leg to the side and standing up. They both watched as the Irishman rolled to the side and pushed himself up from the ground to stand up and look at them sheepishly. 

“Jaysus, Wolfhound— dinnae take ya’ fer a biter.” Soap mused. While his comment earned a side eye from Ghost, it did seem to make the Irishman's ears burn with faint color. 

“Definitely left a bruise for sure.” The Englishman huffed and rotated his right shoulder to try and ease the dull ache in his arm. 

“I'm sorry.” Crow reiterated, he was — mostly—sincere and briefly looked up to give Simon an apologetic glance. The way his eyes softened mixed with the way that his brows raised with worry made his pout look like a guilty puppy. Whether he did this out of genuine regret or to get off with just a faint scolding neither of the other two knew.

“Right… well.” The older sighed and moved to pinch his brow a bit, turning his head away from Crow briefly— he couldn’t even look at Soap when he gave him the puppy eyes, Crow’s were somehow more effective. “...don't do it again.” He huffed— going with the idea that the Irishman did only act out of stupidity. While Ghost did not understand the reason for being bitten, he could only assume he’d find out eventually. “Else you'll lose some of your damn teeth, hound.” 

“Aye. Aye, I understand.” Crow replied with a huffy chuckle and rubbed his arms lightly. “...sorry, sir.” 

“Dinnae worry about Ghost, freckles.” Soap reassured, walking over to the two so that he could wrap an arm around Crow’s shoulder. “He's been through worse than a bite.” 

The cheeky smile that Johnny gave earned a groan from Simon, though the two shared a chuckle— all the while, Crow looked between them, knowing exactly what he meant. His embarrassment slowly melted away as the two reassured him, somewhat at least as they were now laughing about it, but he still seemed flustered. He definitely owed Simon an answer, but that was a conversation for later— he did not have the mental spoons to give those answers yet. He flinched slightly when the Englishman raised his hand, though grunted as he only gave his forehead a light smack with his palm. ‘Probably payback, or a warning,’ Crow thought. Subconsciously he leaned into the Scotsman and sighed a little, finding a faint comfort in the company of them both. He barely pulled away when he felt Soap's hand tighten on his shoulder, snuggly holding him to his side. 

“I t'ink I need a smoke.” Crow sighed softly and laughed a little bit. “...we still ‘ave almost a whole hour b'fore dinner an’ I don't wanna go back without one...” 

“We can join if ya’ want, freckles.” Soap offered with a smile, only for Crow to nod a little bit.

“...aye, it would be nice… we can swing by my office fer my smokes.” He then lightly pulled himself out of Johnny’s arm, giving him a brief pat on the shoulder before heading to the edge of the mat to slip his shoes on. The Scotsman would walk over to the Englishman, lifting the sleeve of his shirt to inspect the bite mark on his shoulder, wincing slightly at the bright red mark. He looked to Simon, raising his brows before whistling and walking away to pull his shirt on— tossing the taller man his jacket in the process. He knew that there was going to be a nasty bruise there just because of how red the original mark was, but now he knew what he could tease Crow with if he taunted him after this. The two of them made their way off the mat and slipped into their trainers, sharing a brief look between one another. 

Soap turned his gaze to Wolfhound, who waited patiently for the two of them only to turn and lead the way out of the gym towards his office. It was an awkwardly quiet walk, as the Irishman kept his distance until the other two caught up when they made the brief stop at his office. They watched him walk in to grab a lighter and a pack of his cigarettes before exiting the room and locking it once again so that they could head out towards the nearest smoking area. 

20:02

This time their walk wasn’t as awkward, seeing as the three walked together and actually made some small conversation. It wouldn’t take long before they reached one of the few areas away from the base’s entrance, the three of them sitting on one of the benches. By then the sun had already sank into the horizon and the air was a bit crisp, but it was still a pleasant evening. Johnny sat in the middle of the other two, watching as Crow opened his pack of smokes to offer him and Simon one. 

“Didn’t think you smoked Sovereigns, Crow.” Simon mused as he took one from the pack. “Thought you for a vape guy.” 

“I like m’air tarred or clean, not fruity— t’ank you.” The Irishman replied holding his lighter to the paper so that he could light it, then passed the lighter to Soap and Ghost. 

With that they shared a brief laugh and went silent, enjoying the night air while they smoked. It was genuinely enjoyable, the occasional scuffle of Crow’s shoes or a faint mumble from Johnny would break up the silence just enough to keep it from turning sour, and just what they needed. None of them would speak until their cigarettes were almost fully smoked. 

“So… Irish.” Soap started turning his head to look at the smaller man with a playful smile. 

“Oh no.” Crow sighed with a soft chuckle. 

“If ya’ had to pick a sport… what would it be?”

The Irishman hummed a little then tapped the filter of his cigarette to his lips, having to think relatively hard about what he would pick over the other. “...uh… televised sport wise… rugby...” He replied.

“Rugby, eh? Why that one an’ not football?” Johnny asked. 

“...’ave ya’ seen te’ boys t’at play rugby?” Crow replied— he remembered Malakai's only reason to watch the sport was to watch the men as well, he himself also did not understand what the game was about. “Mmm… fine.”

The two laughed, while the Irishman’s ears and cheeks reddened slightly. He felt a little more comfortable making jokes like that now that he knew the other two were at least bisexual, or some other form of queer. It was nice to know he wasn't the only, mostly, gay man in the 141, though he knew there was a chance that some of the other soldiers were as well. Crow took a drag out of his cigarette before puffing the smoke out of his nose, thinking before laughing softly. 

“I ‘aven't watched a game inna while t'ough.” He shrugged, leaning back to press his shoulders into the backrest of the bench. “So maybe t'ey aren't as fine as t'ey used ta’ be… straight men blessed wit fat fuckin’ asses… unfair to all te’ gay lads, but at least te lassies get ta’ ‘ave em.” 

His bluntness managed to get an audible laugh from Ghost, well more like an amused snort, while sending Soap into a howling laugh. 

“Where did that come from, O'Neil?” The Englishman asked as he shook his head slightly, chuckling softly as the Scotsman's laugh died down to a snicker.

“What else are ya’ holding back from us, freckles?” Soap asked. 

“Ah, te’ closet, obviously.” Wolfhound answered first then rolled his eyes a bit, earning another brief chuckle. “A lot, uhm, actually… but… I'll tell ya’ a bit. Like how I used ta’ be a real rager at te’ pubs back when I was on t’Watchdogs.”

“Yer old squad, yeah?” The Scotsman asked and to which Crow nodded, taking a much longer drag of his cigarette to finish it off. He held the smoke in his lungs as he leaned forward to snuff out the cherry and think for a moment. 

As he finally exhaled through his nose he coughed a little laugh and turned to the other two giving them a look of amusement then shook his head as he stood up. “Teres a lot… tat I want ta’ tell you boys… I’m.. just worried is all.” He admitted with a small smile. 

“Worried? Of what?” 

“Reactions.”

The answer was a little confusing, too vague to make any real guesses as to what he was talking about, but they did not press, at least not now. To them Crow was just a more personal kind of man, someone who liked to be alone or quiet since today was the most he had spoken— at least about non-work related topics— in the past week. But Crow knew it was a good sign of healing and trust that he could finally show. 

Simon and John would take a few more moments to finish their own cigarettes before finally deciding to press the matter. 

“Are… ya’ worried about a negative reaction to the things you want to tell us?” The Englishman would ask, sitting back on the bench with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Only on some.” The Irishman replied and moved to stand up from the bench to stretch his legs. 

“Go on, tell us one thing, red.” John mused, looking at Crow with a smile. “Dinnae have ta’ be a big thing… just a thing, y’know?” 

Crow looked at John, his eyes moving from the other’s smile to his eyes then over to Simon before he sighed a little. He gave a small nod then ran his tongue along his teeth while he thought. It was a hard decision, his mind having gone blank the moment he agreed to give out one detail about himself. He really didn't have much to choose from… either a few things that he isn't bothered by or a lot of things he hated telling people. 

With a shrug he laughed a little then turned to face them with a small smile. “Here, t'is one is'a good one.” He mused. “...I'm covered in tattoos.” 

“Well ya’ cannae just keep ‘em hidden after sayin’ that.” Soap said teasingly while Ghost raised a brow, then with a motion of his hand ushered Wolfhound to continue. “Else I’ll say yer bluffin’.” 

Crow scoffed, rolled his eyes, then pulled his shirt out of his pants before pulling it over his head— opening his arms as if to say ‘see’ then laughed a little as he noticed Soap’s shocked expression. “I like gettin’ ink. Feels amazin’.” The smaller man said as he walked forward to them, letting the two look over his nearly fully covered torso and arms, only to turn and show them the expansive back piece he had. The flora and fauna seemed relatively specific to the man. Deer, butterflies, centipedes, wolves, and birds… carnations, marigolds, ivy, and trees… they just somehow suited him. John eagerly reached forward, grabbing one of Crow’s wrists to look at one of the symmetrical, forest half sleeves— turning his arm to examine it before looking back to the other tattoos. 

“Jaysus… I’m jealous.” He laughed and lightly poked the smaller man in the gut. “I needta get more ink..”

“I recommend my artist… lass tells me ta’ draw an idea then runs wit it.” Crow chuckled then gestured to his chest piece. “This one hurt te’ most… tattooed ova’ my nips and some scars… don’t recommend that.” He laughed, though his words caused the Scottish to look back to his chest curiously, he was so focused on the other Celt’s reaction he didn’t notice the way the Brit’s eyes examined his left arm. On each upper arm, just below his shoulders, were more contained tattoos— on his right arm was a wolf and two crows, or ravens, in a mountain covered crescent moon, while his left had a masked feminine head with snakes for hair in a crescent moon of pomegranates. 

He wasn’t stupid when it came to tattoos, Simon had his own tattoos with meanings special to him, and for Crow to have so many without any of them having meaning— it was highly unlikely they had no meaning, but he’d heard stories that it was for empowerment and survival. The Scot raised his eyes to the Irish sergeant’s then over to his chest piece as he spoke about it, sure enough he could see what he meant. The symmetrical centipede tattoos followed the curve of his pectorals, large enough for the legs and body to span close to his sternum and down his ribs. Just under the tattoos were faint, but thick, scarring and it confused them. It was not often people just had incisions like that and were still able to join the military, since transplants could impact their ability to perform.

But then it sort of clicked, causing the sergeant to look back up to Crow’s face with a little bit of questioning, while the lieutenant seemed to not be surprised. Simon had seen Crow’s medical and personal file, he just knew better than to out someone. It would have been like someone yanking off his mask without his consent— he might not have cared but it definitely wasn’t kosher. But Crow was unbothered, he did not mind his body and was rather proud of it, he was just more comfortable in less revealing clothes. They just would have never seen the scars had he not mentioned them. 

“So you’re—” Soap started. 

“Oh yeh, told ya’ I had a lotta secrets.” Crow chuckled, moving to pull his shirt back on then shook his hair out a little. 

“...neva would’ve known.” John mused while the Irishman laughed.

“Aye, well ya’ just don’t go tellin’ people ye’ weren’t, uh, born in te’ body you want… I needed ta’ make sure te’ rest ov’ya weren’t gonna freak out.” He said then waved his hands a bit dismissively. “But… in te’ time I’ve been ‘ere… you lads an’ te’ rest ov’ 141 proved trustworthy.” 

It was a fair reasoning, and they couldn’t argue with that. He had the right to be cautious, times were not so kind even in the year 2022, but they couldn’t deny that it looked like the admission lifted a faint weight from his shoulders— and to hear that he had trust in them and the team made the wait feel a bit worth it. John looked over to Simon for a few moments then nodded, glancing back to Crow with a smile. “Thanks fer tellin’ us, freckles.” 

“It was gonna be found out one day.” Crow shrugged and tucked his shirt back into his pants. “Rather it b’on my own terms t’an any ot’er option..” 

The Scot nodded then smiled teasingly, his eyes flicking down to the faint outline of the man’s packer, opening his mouth to ask a question before the Irishman held up a finger and pointed at him in warning. 

“Don’t ask, I know ta’t look.” He replied and rolled his eyes, only to laugh and shake his head. “It isn’ real, don’t ask t’at to any trans person yeh? It’s not nice.” 

“Yes, sergeant.” John replied playfully while Simon merely shook his head and chuckled. 

“Glad you got that off your chest, yeah.” Ghost said then shrugged a little. “Along with other things.”

Wolfhound slowly turned his head to look at the man in slight disbelief then swiped his tongue over his teeth as he tried to keep himself from even looking amused by the joke, compared to Soap who laughed. “Yep.” He said as dryly as he could, but couldn’t help but laugh slightly while he smiled. How could he not be amused by that— why didn’t he think of that. 

“Shut up. God. Stupid joke.” The smaller man said, finally beginning to chuckle softly, rolling his eyes. The Englishman could only chuckle softly and watch as the Irishman fought his amusement. He took a few more moments, trying to compose himself before gesturing to the building. “Let’s go eat, I’m sick of yer shite.”

20:56

That went a lot better than Crow ever thought it would, he honestly thought it would have been more awkward than that— but here he was walking alongside his friends towards the mess hall, nothing had changed like he thought it would. To say he was relieved was an understatement, it felt like the majority of the weight he had been carrying had finally been lifted. His steps felt lighter and he didn’t feel like his mind was clouded in a fog as much anymore. To know that almost every person he confided in about himself found nothing wrong with him was relieving— though he felt a bit childish keeping things locked down for as long as he did. He put trust in these men nearly half a year ago, and he just now trusted them enough to start coming out of his shell. But he was fairly certain that they did not blame him, and he knew that if he told his whole truth there would be even more understanding as to why he never opened up. Additionally, there hadn’t really been a good time to speak about himself, since he was mostly silent when he first joined their ranks due to his personal problems and the missions going on. There was so much happening between all of the commotion with other minor missions and threats that he decided to wait until some time had passed. 

In reality, he just made no effort to be openly friendly up until early April, around his third month in the group, but shit happens almost every day for this group so it was just a longer process than he originally thought. Seeing how Laswell had requested Ghost’s time around two weeks ago to assist in the assassination of the Quds Force General, Ghorbrani. Shit just happens. Yet, here they were, acting like they had been friends before and he wouldn’t want it any other way. 

The walk to the cafeteria was relatively quick, the three of them arriving alongside some of the other soldiers, only to head to their normal table and sit down. Crow relaxed back in his seat for a few minutes, watching as Johnny and Simon went to go grab their dinner, making a plan on how to explain about what happened earlier— wanting to apologize for his outburst, since he shouldn’t have snapped on his team the way he did. He continued to stare off in thought until he felt a hand brush his shoulder, a comforting pat drawing his attention to the person behind him. Though when he turned no one was there, until he heard a snort from his other side. 

Kyle snickered softly as Crow finally turned to look at him, watching as the younger man glared playfully at him. “Gotta keep those eyes open, O’Neil, don’t want you gettin’ hurt on our mission.” The man teased while the younger scoffed. 

“Garrick, don’t be rude.” Crow laughed, slugging the other in the shoulder playfully before rolling his eyes and laughing softly with the other sergeant. Though slowly, his laugh died down to a quiet chuckle. It… finally felt right, something felt right and Crow just couldn’t really place a finger on it. It felt similar to a warm welcome, the one he had originally pushed away when he had first joined. It was vastly different from how he felt when he was comfortable with his therapist, it was more… genuine. Acceptance, maybe. All he knew was that he had a revelation— that these men, the ones he could trust his life with, could also be trusted with himself. Sure it took half a year, and a few extra online therapy sessions, but maybe he could just start trying to let the others finally, especially now that he’s having the odd thought about them every once in a while. 

“You okay, Crowley?” Kyle asked gently, a small smile on his face. 

He hadn’t noticed that he had zoned out, until Gaz got his attention. 

“T’at’s a new name, hmhm..” He teased while shaking his head slightly before lightly slugging the other in the arm. “Yeh, I’m fine… jus’ tryin’ to t’ink about what I need ta tell you lads.”  

To say that dinner was a rather new experience for all of them was an understatement, Wolfhound was quite the character under the front he presented normally. He had brought up what happened that morning, apologizing to his friends for taking out his emotions on them before telling them a little bit on what had happened before he had transferred to the Task Force. The news was received about as well as Simon had taken it— though Johnny and Kyle seemed a little concerned with the news about Crow’s deceased lover, mostly for their friend’s mental state. Price on the other hand was mostly thankful that Crow promised to get better at taking care of himself for any future mission’s sake, and for his own sake. Yet telling Kyle that he was transgender went swimmingly, with the older man going ‘Oh, I could’ve guessed.’ which earned a blank stare from the youngest. Though now, Crow felt… better. 

Better was the only way he could describe it, as it wasn’t much different than how things had been before, but at least it wasn’t worse. Originally he had been scared of some sort of backlash, though when he had told Price, before joining up with the Task Force, about his identity he was told that there would be no problems with who he was. His therapist was right, the man was normally right, and months of online counseling had helped him get to this point. He really owed that man some sort of gift for putting up with him. Though it could have been so much worse, and he knew that, though here he was… enjoying his time with his team— his friends— as they ate dinner and spoke on other things. It was like there was a brief lapse in his grief, allowing him to smile a bit more than he would normally. He felt warm and giddy but it could only last so long as he began to reminisce. He hadn’t noticed just how much he needed this, how he needed friends to be himself around.  

He grew quiet, his eyes flicking down to the table as he let the voices around him become nothing but white noise while his thoughts began to play memories of his previous team. It was this sort of down time that he missed with the Watchdogs. Where he and Malakai would always enjoy the time they spent with their team, cuddling up to one another as the other three bickered and joked during dinner. Like when Collie, their medic, threatened Rottweiler, their fresh sergeant, to not pull any shrapnel from whatever wounds he was bound to get because he had glued googly eyes to the things in her room when she was out. Or when Malinois, their corporal, forgot he had unscrewed the lid to the salt shaker and completely ruined his food that night— though he still ate it with the most disgusted face Wolfhound had ever seen on a man.

A hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present and he looked to his friends who had quieted down when he began to stare off. He gently placed one of his hands over the one on his shoulder, looking to his right only to meet Johnny’s somewhat worried gaze. Crow gave the man’s hand a squeeze then smiled a little, his hand lingering on the top of Soap’s to finally return the affection that had always been given to him.  

“I’m okay.” He breathed out and sighed softly. “I’m jus’... rememberin’ my old team… old times. You lads remind me of ‘em…” Crow smiled then lightly looked between his comrades and friends before nodding slowly. “..Malakai would’ve loved you all… ‘bout as much as I do.” His voice was soft and he hadn’t even noticed that he was close to tears at the moment, though the smile on his face was the most genuine one the group had ever seen. Most of his smiles had been little, and brief, but this one was one that allowed the small gap between his front teeth to show— one that tugged on his face enough for the slight indents of his dimples to be seen, one that slightly hurt and caused a dull ache in his plated jaw. He sighed happily then let go of Soap’s hand, shaking his head slightly before lightly laughing, rubbing his eyes slightly. 

“That’s pretty gay, red.” Gaz’s teasing reply only caused Wolfhound to laugh a little more, thankful for the lift in the conversation.

“So am I.” He mused, earning a laugh from his friends, sitting back in his chair with a happy sigh. “When we get, eh, te time… we should go to a pub… I owe ye lads a pint or two alongside some stories. Jus’ fer putin’ up wit me.”

21:45

By the end of the meal, the men were winding down with cups of tea— or in Crow’s sake a cup of bitter juice— and casually conversing with one another. They were winding down for the night, some of the other soldiers having already gotten up to go to their bunks or to the common room while the operators remained at their table. Their conversation was light and enjoyable, a perfect way to end the day especially after all of the revelations and mixed emotions from earlier. Though now Crow was intently watching the way the other men interacted with one another, trying to see if his earlier suspicions were correct. Low and behold he picked out the subtle hints of how the two duos interacted with one another— then saw how they mingled with the other duo. The way they looked at one another, the way they smiled… it would have been obvious beforehand had he actually spent the time to put thought into it rather than thinking they were all just friends. 

Late night meetings my ass, they’re so fucking. The ginger thought to himself and let out a chuckle when the others laughed at something Johnny said. No doubt about it, given all the flirting and teasing over the coms… He let his eyes linger on the four of them then shifted in his chair a bit so that he could lean on the table lightly. A slowly pooling warmth made his legs close and adjust the way he sat so that he could try and focus on the conversation, though the longer he took in their features the more he realized that he was acting like a bitch in heat. He bit his inner cheek and bounced his leg slightly as he closed his eyes. A Scottish bear, a pretty otter, a daddy of a captain and a mysterious hot mess. Lovely crowd, truly. Crow shifted in his chair, only making his situation a bit worse with the rubbing of his boxers, before slowly standing up shaking his head before downing the rest of his cranberry juice. 

The sudden movement drew the four men’s eyes, only for them to meet his when he looked between the four. “Gotta go shower, an giv’ m’self a needle ta’ te’ thigh.” He said while patting his hands to the very top of his thighs, giving them a small smile. “I’ll see ya’ lads fer breakfast, yeh?”

“Aye, get some rest, bud.” Gaz said, smiling back to Wolfhound.

“Goodnight lad,” Price added while Ghost merely nodded.

“Cadal gu math, chuilean.” Soap’s teasing comment got a playful glare from Wolfhound, the man merely making an exaggerated face of disapproval. With a huff he slid his empty cup to the Scot before turning to walk out of the mess hall towards his room. He did not know how long he had until Ghost came to his room that night, but he figured he had enough time to shower and give himself the rest of his upkeep… maybe a bit more if he was so inclined. His normally calm pace turned brisk as he made his way to his room, pulling out his keys to unlock the door and shut it behind him once he was inside. He didn’t bother locking it since he was expecting someone and simply decided to shower with his bathroom locked instead. 

He stripped himself of his clothes after that door was secured and set his packer off to the side, he wouldn’t be wearing it for the mission just for the fact of practicality. He didn’t want to have it fall from its spot in his underwear— it was quite the hassle on the field when it happened, and if this mission was going to take more than a week it just wasn’t worth it. The ginger man turned on his shower and let the water warm up, as he went to the mirror to inspect himself. He felt cheesy, checking himself out as he showed off to no one but himself, but it made him wonder if one day he’d be able to do so for someone else again. Once he was done he reached over to his cabinet to pull out a sterile needle and his bottle of testosterone, setting it on the counter for him to use after he’s cleaned up. 

Crow hummed a little to himself then pressed his hips into the ledge of the counter, lightly biting the bottom of his lip as he let his thoughts run wild. He had felt so many conflicting emotions that day, too many emotions, but that didn’t stop his own body from acting out. He sighed softly to himself and opened one of his bathroom drawers to pull out his stroker, finally heading to hop in the shower for a needed release alongside a well deserved cleaning. 

All in all his shower did not last terribly long, no longer than ten minutes since he still needed to administer his medication as well as do his nightly prayer. He would clean his toy out then let it air dry as he toweled himself off, smiling faintly to himself as he enjoyed the foggy headspace he was in. He picked up his comb to run it through his hair and brushed his teeth before finally removing the needle from the packaging to load it up with the correct amount of testosterone needed. He used to be terrified of this process, though now he was able to do it with ease, as if he were just putting a straw into a juice box. It was over and done within seconds, and once he placed a bandaid over his application spot he tossed the used needle into a sharps bin for later disposal at the medics. 

He looked himself over in the mirror once again, sighing softly as he wrapped his arms around his torso in a hug, closing his eyes to imagine it were someone else holding him— the warmth from his shower only helped by keeping his skin warm. With a sigh he slowly let his arms fall to his side and he gazed at himself once again. 

“C’mon lad, he wouldna’ wan ta’ see us like t’is, y’know… stop bein’ a fanny…” He said plainly to himself, watching his own lips move before he huffed and pointed at his reflection. “Docter Hall would tell us we need ta’ lis’en. Kai wants us ta’ be happy— so why can nay be happy? Man up. We cried in fronta Ghost fer fecks sake, yelled at our lads. We cannot be doin’ all t’at.” 

He sighed, staring at himself for a few more seconds before dropping his hands to the counter and leaning on it, staring down into the sink. “We’re too hard on ourself… It ain’t fair… ta’ us… ta’ anyone..” He breathed out while pushing himself away from the counter to exit the bathroom, once he unlocked the door, and pulled some clean boxers on. “Damn… post wank emotions, feck off.”

Once he was at least in his underwear did he finally search for his rosary, lovingly touching the beads as he held them in his hands. Kneeling at his bedside as he did every night and morning, he began his prayer. Speaking the mantra he had been conditioned to say since he was little, though now at his own choice to do so. 

22:37

His nightly routine nearly took a whole hour, but he was so focused that he didn’t even notice how long it had been. The only thing that finally got his attention from his prayer was a sharp knock at his door, which earned a faint curse as he glanced at the door. “It’s open, Ghost.” He didn’t need to ask who was outside his door, there was really only one person he had been expecting and only one person who had a reason to be knocking that late at night. 

Almost immediately the door opened rather quietly— Crow never got used to how such a big man could move so silently— and the behemoth of a man entered. He’s yet to have anyone step foot in his room before, normally making whoever was coming to get him stay outside the door until he came out, but now he had someone standing in his only personal safe space. Crow stood up from his kneeling position to sit on the edge of his bed and looked to Simon, crossing his legs over one another. 

“Y’only wear that to sleep?” The man at the door asked, cocking a brow and crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at the mostly unclothed man.

Wolfhound looked down at himself then back to Ghost. “Aye? Only in m’room t’ough… Do y’wear all’o yer clothes ta’ bed? Freaky if y’do.” He replied with a chuckle, gesturing to the chair at the small desk on the other side of his room. “Chair is ove’tere… yer welcome to it.”

“Call me a freak then,” Simon replied as he went over to the desk. “But commando is worse.” 

As the Englishman spun the chair around to face the bed he turned the lamp on, glancing over to the Irishman who chuckled softly. “I’m na’gonna sleep like t’at eva’.” He said as he pushed himself further back on his bed, not bothering to turn off the overhead light since Simon had begun to walk towards the lightswitch. Though the lieutenant would take the time to observe the young man’s room. It was neat and clean: boots near the door, dirty clothes in a small basket, while books and papers were stacked properly on the desk. Small canvases of painted landscapes and many maps lined the walls to keep them from being too barren.

 “I’ve books fer ye’ if ye’ want ta’, uh, read…”

“I’ll be okay, Crow… just lay down an’ get some rest.” Simon said in reply with a faint chuckle as he flicked the lights off and returned to the chair to sit down, sitting silently as Crow crawled under his covers to get comfortable. The calming golden glow of his lamp filled what would have been darkness, making the room feel warm and slightly more comforting. 

“...thank you, Simon.”

“... just close your eyes, O’Neil.”

The Irishman would lay back on his bed with a soft chuckle, the way Simon had spoken was soft and genuine, making his heart flutter in a way he hadn’t expected it to. He was glad that the both of them were not directly next to one another, he felt stupid for smiling shyly like a damn schoolboy. Crow pulled his covers a little closer to himself, staring up at the gentle, warm light that illuminated the other half of his room— and casted Simon's shadow onto the wall next to him. He sighed softly and then laid his arms over the top of his blankets, hugging his chest briefly. It was quiet for a little bit, as Crow was actively trying to sleep and actively failing at doing so. Soon the silence became too much, and he sighed softly then opened his mouth to speak.

"...Simon... What if t’is doesn't work? What if I'm doomed ta’ jus’... lay awake forever?... jus’ wasting yer time..?"

“You aren’t… I promise” Simon spoke quietly, his voice soft and gentle as he kept his eyes fixed forward at nothing in particular. “...and if it doesn’t work, then we’ll try something else.” He added after a moment of silence. “We’re a team after all, remember?”

"...aye.. I remember.." Crow said while finally glancing over to the man who had seen him crying earlier that day, one he had sparred with and made tea for. It felt odd, having another person in his room again especially after he lost his fiancé in a previous mission.

But oddly enough... It felt right too.

The room would be silent for a few minutes, only the sound of soft breathing being heard as well as the occasional shuffling of either of them moving slightly. Then Crow's voice would cut in gently once again.

"...before... I lost my lover... he and I used to lie awake at night... and talk about what we wanted with our future..." He said with a sad chuckle. "... we bought a house in Middlesbrough... little family home closer to the countryside.."

Crow sighed softly bringing his hands to his head, laughing softly as he did so. "I wanted horses... and him? ...chickens... he wanted chickens."

"...it’s okay to miss him, Crow." He spoke softly as Crow began to reminisce to him about their dreams with their late fiancé, about what their life could have been had the mission not gone wrong.  Simon turned his head to Crow when he felt the younger man’s eyes on him, his gaze holding no judgment towards the operator. His words, while reassuring, sparked a faint pang in the sergeant’s chest.

"...I can’t even begin to imagine the amount of pain that you still feel." Simon continued to speak, his tone shifting into one that was more soothing and comforting. He understood what it was like to lose loved ones, but really only a familial sense— but he had an idea on how much it hurt due to the slight edge in Crow’s voice.

"...I saw it happen, y’know?" Crow said softly, blinking slowly as he took in a breath. "...I know as a soldier... we're supposed to expect te’ death of our friends and comrades.. but.. I...I wasn't prepared t’hold him in my arms... not prepared ta’ have his blood on my legs..." He mumbled, letting his arms go lax above his head, only to slowly turn onto his side— facing away from Simon to stare at the wall when their eyes briefly met.

"...he got shot in te’ head... on a recon that wasn't ‘sposed to have hostile insurgents in te’ area... our intel lied or... missed somet’ing and it cost me m’lover... my whole life… and I can't help but wish that it was me, sometimes. I wish I was te’ one who got shot so t’at I didn't have ta’ live with te’ grief and guilt t’at I feel everyday... and m’therapist says it's common... says survivor's guilt is something t’at most soldiers experience at least once..." Crow said while lightly moving to pull his pillow to his chest for faint comfort.

Simon shifted in his chair and looked at the back of Crow’s head with a gentle expression, one that was meant to convey that he understood and sympathized, even if the Irishman couldn’t see it. "It's normal to feel this way." The lieutenant spoke with a nod, and it was very true— grief and guilt were normal feelings to have after experiencing something traumatic or tragic. It was common amongst the ranks especially when one forms bonds with fellow soldiers, only to lose that soldier. Sometimes he felt it too, it just came with the territory— just as the fear of losing people came with it— but he tried to not show it.

"But you need to be kind to yourself… you’ve gotta take care of yourself." He continued, voice soft yet a bit firmer. "He wouldn't want you to be so hard on yourself."

"...you can't blame yourself, either." Simon spoke slowly, turning his own gaze towards the walls once again. "For something that wasn't your fault."

Crow squeezed his pillow softly and he closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath to keep his emotions in check— he could not cry in front of this man again, he had to do it in front of someone else before Simon ever saw tears in his eyes again. He then rolled over to face Simon, sighing softly. "I know... I'm workin' on it... swear it.." He paused for a few seconds then flicked his eyes to the lamp on his desk. "...can I hold yer hand again?" 

The question got his attention, Simon’s eyes drifting over to Crow then would let out a faint chuckle and tilt his head slightly. He slowly rolled the chair towards the bed and leaned forward slightly to make it easier for Crow to take his hand again, much to the Irishman’s surprise.

"...yes." The man spoke while the other thought he could hear a smile. 

Crow remained on his side, curling up slightly as he gently took Simon’s hand in his own— their calloused palms brushing against one another as their fingers interlocked in a somewhat firm hold. One determined to make sure the other got comfort, and the other desperate to feel the touch of another. The Irishman stared at their hands, while the Englishman passively watched his face. 

After a good while, Simon noticed the way that Crow’s eyes fluttered shut and lazily opened, as well as the slight changes in the man’s breathing. It seemed that he was finally getting closer to sleeping. His hand tightened around Crow’s, the man squeezing gently and offering him a safe comfort that he hadn’t had all that much of recently. And in reply, Crow gently pulled their hands closer to his chest, as his head lulled further into the dip of his pillow. The room was silent for a few beats, and Simon would notice a difference, an improvement as Crow’s grip slowly released his now numbing hand.

“…that’s it, pup…” The lieutenant spoke quietly, watching as Crow slowly began to drift off into sleep. Simon squeezed his hand one last time before releasing his grip once Crow’s body finally went limp in relaxation, slowly adjusting his chair back again to relax. Once he was certain that the younger man was asleep, he stood up and silently moved the chair back to the desk so that he could turn off the light and head to the door. 

“...Goodnight, Crow…” Simon whispered, his voice just loud enough that it would only be heard by Crow had he been awake. It was quiet— a perfect quiet for this night, as the only sounds now were the faint and steady sounds of Crow’s deep breathing and the ticking of the nearby clock hanging beside the door.

23:51

[knaveumineko]

Gotta say, I’m gonna miss seeing this blog update every now and then. Plenty of people liveblog their playthroughs, and that has its charms, but it was nice to see some longer-form posts from someone going through it, especially when you have the perspective required to turn a more critical eye on the story.

Overall, I think I had a similar experience to yours with Umineko: I enjoyed all of it immensely, and then the last episode was a bit of a stumble. Sure, the antics are enjoyable enough, but this isn’t a series I got into for the antics.

Thank you for reading!

This blog is by far the most substantial thing I've ever posted online in any capacity, and I've been happy with the response I got to it. My initial motivation for writing it was simply that, after finishing Episode 1, I was so enthused that I could not sleep at all (I'm sure my frantic pacing would have bothered the neighbours had it continued much further) and it was necessary to let the words spill out of me somehow, but Discord just isn't the right medium for the way I wanted to express my thoughts on it.

I've enjoyed liveblogs before, but I don't think I have it in me to maintain the hyper-animated persona necessary to communicate my enjoyment of each individual scene through the art of keyboard-smashing. Also, while vicarious excitement through the eyes of a new fan is fun, I think the way a lot of blogs zoom so far in on their reactions to each individual moment precludes further reflection on the broader story, and risks undermining the emotional impact of the story by ruining the pacing through fragmentation. More importantly, it introduces an amount of overhead that would be unsustainable for both my interest in continuing a blog and my enjoyment of a story, personally. You can see that my Episode 1 blog is structured very differently from everything after it, which was powered by the rush of excitement that led to me creating the blog in the first place. I later struck a balance that didn't make writing the blog feel like too much of a chore once that wore off. If I do this again, I might like to find another compromise on the reaction/reflection spectrum, where I look for natural stopping points that allow me to share thoughts on the story as it develops.

I'm going to use this as a springboard to talk about what I'm doing once this blog is done.

I would like to read a bit of the extra content for Umineko. The one side story I have read already was awful, but I'm holding out hope for some of it to be worthwhile. So far, my list includes Last Note, the manga for at least Episode 8 (which I'm told diverges a lot) and the stageplays. I also saw some of the anime in a Discord watchalong, which was a strong contender for the worst TV show I've ever seen. I invite my readers to tell me if there's anything else they think it worth checking out, unless it's Angel of 17 Years. Yes, you're very funny. Regardless, I won't commit to blogging any of this stuff. I'll post something if and only if I have anything worth saying about it.

I wouldn't be against reading another Ryukishi work. I held off on reading VNs for a while, but I can't be too good for them after reading all of Umineko, so the floodgates are open. As far as When They Cry specifically is concerned, I found the small amount of Higurashi I read for April Fool's Day interesting enough, although I've heard there's some questionable content in there that might put me off. I'm probably more interested in Ciconia, but for now I don't want to read it until it's out of Limbo (even if it's cancelled, I would at least read it knowing that it won't have an ending, but I don't want to be in the awkward spot of not knowing when or if the series will ever continue). If I do read more When They Cry, I will probably blog it, and you'll hear about it here. I might even rebrand this to a more general When They Cry blog if that happens.

If I ever decide to liveblog something other than When They Cry, it'll either have its own blog, or go on my main. Speaking of which:

I technically have a main blog @notcoru. It's very sparse, because I didn't use it at all before I started posting here. It will probably be more active once this blog is wrapped up, and will remain a dumping ground for any time I feel the need to write a few hundred words on a subject. Mostly whatever I'm reading or watching, I expect. If you have any interest in hearing me talk about something that isn't Umineko, head there. I should probably link to it somewhere on this page, really.

[iambrengo]

Story: Ice, Fire, Shock

Short story centered around my two characters: Matío and Tazzia

Content Warning: Violence/Blood

The small pigeons perched on the railing fluttered away as Matío walked by, knocking built-up snow loose. The sound of rustling leaves were drowned out by freezing wind as he gained altitude. The usual trek up the scaffolding was now a painful hike, having to trudge through snow and ice. 

“Hylia’s sake. Almost t’ere…”

Matío checked himself and his gear several times along the way; he really couldn’t afford to be unprepared today. Of all days, especially, since he agreed to help the ailing, freezing Rito Village. He continued to circle the pillar that the village was built upon, yanking his scarf to his face when the wind was fighting against him. Whenever it wasn’t, his eyes would center on an orange, flickering glow just around the corner. The home where he agreed to meet up with a group, tasked to plan out a safe route to gather food outside of the village perimeters.

Matío gripped the post as he swerved around and rushed into the building. A fire was blazing in the center which the hylian wasted no time basking in its heat. He took a deep breath, soothing his lungs with warm air. His focus was on the sudden change in temperature for a moment. When he opened his eyes, he finally noticed the other person in the building with him. Like the fireplace, she was orange, glowing, and the sight of her made Matío feel warm inside. 

“Glad you made it safely, Matty,” the Rito woman said.

“Tazzia…”

Even the hushed sound of the Rito’s voice felt like a soft flame against frozen ears. It lured him in until he was close enough to nuzzle his head into her neck. They exchanged a long hug which the hylian took gratefully, mostly because her feathers were soft enough to ward away the cold. Like Matío, Tazzia was all bundled up in winter gear. Even her feathery body wasn’t enough to stave off the cold completely.

“How're ya holdin’ up, lass?” Matío asked with his head still under her beak.

“I’m fine,” Tazzia replied. “I’m surprised you were able to arrive on time.”

”I’m jus’ as shocked, t’e blizzard ain’t gettin’ any better.”

He settled down next to Tazzia, taking his backpack off and checking his gear one more time. Basic survival gear, small rations, more bladed objects than any man would ever need. It didn’t stop there as Matio unclipped his tool belt which held both his prized saber and dagger, both fashioned from the horns of lizalfos. He could get by without some of his other gear, but even Tazzia knew that those two blades never left his side.

”Whe’e are t’e ot’ers?” Matio asked.

”Hm?”

”Whe’e are t’e ot’ers?”

”I’m sorry-“

”Where. Are. The. Others.” Matío clarified.

Tazzia chuckled before she answered. “They’re here. Just helping around at other houses; They’ll be over in a moment. Did you hear that we might be getting help from the Hylian champion, too?”

Matío stopped checking his gear and turned to her.

”Link?”

”Yep.”

”Hm…a’ight then.”

“You don’t sound so enthused,” Tazzia tilted her head in which Matío went back to his backpack.

”Oh no, I’m grateful for sure. Never met the bloke, is all. Only heard tales an’ hearsay,” Matío went on, turning his attention to his swords. “Ey certainly hope he got more t’an jus’ a title an’ story t’ show.”

Tazzia’s brow flicked up at him. ”You have a lot of guts to speak so… honestly about the supposed legendary swordsman.”

”Ye got guts, too, for describin’ him as a “supposed,” legendary swordsman.” Matío laughed at his own remark. “So what if he got a title, I’ll believe his skills when I see it.”

Tazzia couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Such a loving, charming, handsome man she saw him as, blanketed by a thin layer of ego, garnished with a shit-eating grin. Tazzia understood whenever her Rito friends said she could “do better”, but their version of better was her version of lame. Something about his honesty tickled her fancy, like it was almost rare to come by, nowadays. Many couldn’t compare to who Matío was as a person, no matter how dense he could be at times.

”Oh, that reminds me!” Tazzia exclaimed. “Look what I found earlier today.”

Matío stopped what he was doing to give her his attention. He was met with the orange Rito holding a sword in her hand. Similar in shape to his curved saber but much shorter, nearly half its length. Instead of a soft blue, it was dark gray steel. Most would see it as a small side-arm. Very few would recognize the shape and where it came from. For Matío, he recognized it as his old sword.

”I’ve been lookin’ e’erywhere for this damn thing!” Matío took the blade from her hand, looking all around it. “Whe’e did you find this?”

”Under my hammock,” Tazzia answered him. “I remembered you lost it after our night together, right before the upheaval hit. Remember?”

”Can’t ever forget t’at,” Matío snickered before he put the blade down and leaned in to kiss Tazzia on the tip of her beak. “It’s surprisingly in good condition, all t’ings considered. T’ank you, babe.”

“Of course, hun…” she gave him one final kiss before she turned her attention to her own backpack, making sure she was equally as prepared. Matío, in turn, kept his eyes on the blade. He felt a strange ache in his hand as he held it, which he was only able to get rid of when he held the blade in a reverse grip, the tip pointing away from him. This way, the blade felt much more comfortable; much more… familiar.

Blade held in a reverse grip, footsteps silent as ever, covered by the darkness of night.

Matío crouched down between two fellow Yiga, all of them sneaking their way through the alleyways of a small village. Every subtle noise made them each perk up like stray cats. His breath was slow, but heavy, trapped behind a white mask bearing the heretical symbol of the clan.

”Ye still haven’t told me who t’e mark is.” Matío whispered.

“The usual,” the Yiga in front of him replied, ”Just somebody who failed to hold their end of the deal.”

”Again?”

”Yep. They promised us the location of the swordsman, and we’ve been waiting for too long.”

”So… what’s the plan?”

The Yiga turned to him and took out a small tinderbox. His face was completely covered, like Matío’s, but he could still tell there was an evil smile behind that mask.

”We set an example,” the Yiga snickered. Matío gazed at the tinderbox, squinting behind his mask.

“Jus’ the mark’s place, right?” Matío asked, which the Yiga replied with a nod. Understanding their mission, he reached to grab the tinderbox.

Matío yelled as he yanked his hand away from the fire pit, a piece of burnt firewood falling out of his hand and back into the pit. A trail of smoke followed as he gripped his wrist, seeing the wood burnt through his snow glove and reached his skin. Tazzia, in response to his yelling, dropped everything and rushed over to him.

”What did you do?!” Tazzia asked with worry.

”Nothin’!” Matío immediately replied out of anger. “Was jus’ tryin’ to stoke th’ fire.” They both saw his glove had a large hold in the palm and his skin underneath was red from the burn.

”Take your glove off.” Tazzia commanded. “You burnt your hand.”

“Oh, I did? yer so insightful,” Matío jested as he took his glove off. The damage was pretty clear, his palm and a few spots on his fingers were red and blistering. Tazzia was getting some quick treatment ready, a nearby bucket and a container of water taken from her bag. He wasn’t paying attention to her, however. His eyes were fixed on his hand. He tried to ignore the pain the best he could. His mind fogged up as time began to slow around him.

“Matío.”

He gripped his wrist, “Matío” splotches of blood across his fingers. Standing alone in the street, surrounded by burning buildings. “Matío” He couldn’t hear any screams from the ruins, but he knew they were there.

“Matío.”

All he could hear was sizzling wood, crumbling dirt, a distant ringing, “Matío.” someone calling out to him. A crying command “Matío” for him to fall back, but he didn’t, he couldn’t. “Matío” He stared blankly into the distance, the carnage around him, the results of his actions, bled into a collage “Matío” of orange, red and black. 

Matío Matío Matío Matío Matío Matío Matío Matío Matío

“Matío!”

A feathery hand pressed against his chest. His eyes fluttered as he was brought back into the world. He felt his hand begin to burn again.

”You okay, Matty?” Tazzia asked with concern, making Matío pause for a moment. ”You look like you blanked out.”

“Yeah.” He replied with his normal tone, now that he was back to reality. “Neve’mind that. Jus’ tried to ignore t’e pain, is all.”

Tazzia gave him a look of curiosity and worry, but she moved on. She grabbed his hand and pludged it into a small bucket of water. He seethed as the pain came back, but he kept his hand in her control.

”Keep it in there, don’t take it out unless you need to,” Tazzia instructed.

”Yeah yeah, gotcha,” Matío said.

”Will you be okay to help us with that hand?”

”I’ll be fine, lass. You don’ need to worry ‘bout me.”

Matío averted his gaze, but he knew she still had her eyes on him and he knew she didn’t believe him.

“Matty,” Tazzia said with a somber tone. “You can talk to me after we’re done helping the village today… If you’d like, of course.” 

The benefit of knowing and loving him for this long was that she knew things about him that many others didn’t. Secrets, history, regrets, she was one of the few that he ever disclosed these things to. Matío was lucky that he places his trust in the right person because, despite it all, her beak was sealed.

”Yeah, sure,” Matío said. “Later.”

She placed her wing against Matío back. He nodded and remained still as Tazzia kissed him on the cheek. The burning pain turned to stinging, which allowed him to manage it better. While she left him alone at the bucket so she could finalize her gear, he was alone with his thoughts again.

End

End

end

end

end end end end end end end end end end end end

[sirspazingtonthefourth]

The Strength it Takes to Continue: Chapter 1

1.6k words. Gojo and OC's. Fluff, but a little angst along the way. Found family. Content warnings: cursing.

Summary: Shoko drags her classmates to meet her family. Gojo, in particular, isn't enthused about the idea.

A/N: Heyo! So, I wrote another short-ish fic. It's also found family. It's also parentifying a character. I don't have an excuse for this. Hope you enjoy this entirely self indulgent fic.

There had to be something better he could have been doing, instead of letting Shoko drag them all to visit her sister’s family. Apparently, they’d been wanting to meet her classmates for weeks now, and she had taken this assignment as an excuse to visit them. And since she told Yaga about them, he’d allowed her to make arrangements to stay with them until the curse they were after was destroyed.

Gojo, for no less than the sixth time as they walked down the street of the suburban neighborhood, groaned. Loudly.

“Quit complaining, Satoru. Just because you think you’re too good to socialize doesn’t mean that we are going to forgo it,” Suguru chided.

“And suck it up before we get there. If you insult my sister or her family, you can sleep on the porch.”

“I’m not going to insult them!” he said indignantly. He at least knew enough manners to avoid doing that. “I just don’t see why we have to stay in a tiny house with people that can’t overhear us talking about the mission instead of a nice, private hotel room that will actually fit all of us. Not to mention that I’m pretty sure this place used to be a graveyard.”

The cursed energy in the air wasn’t that strong. It had been centuries since this was a burial ground that anybody knew about. But people had still come here to mourn, once, and that energy lingered enough to attract a few smaller curses.

“Oh? Is the great Gojo Satoru scared of a few fourth grade curses? You should have just said so. I’m sure Yaga would have been happy to-”

“I am not scared, Suguru! Or did you forget about our last mission when I took out that first grade by myself?” Gojo sniped back, shoving his best friend a little.

“Then staying here should be no problem.”

“Both of you, quit it. We’re here.”

Shoko stood in front of a small two-story house. The paneling was a light blue, with dark wood accents around the windows and doors. The house itself seemed a little old, though it was likely only built a couple decades ago. For whatever reason, the concentration of cursed energy was stronger here than the rest of the street.

She knocked on the door as he and Suguru stepped closer. Gojo could make out a little bit of chatter through the door, and the pattering of small feet before Shoko spoke again.

“And remember, we can’t say shit about the mission. I don’t want them getting worried about this when none of them can even see curses. Well, except for-”

“AUNTIE IEIRI!!!”

A toddler, barely above Gojo’s knee, shrieked from the now open door and flung herself into Shoko’s arms. “Mommy! Auntie’s here! Auntie’s-” She caught sight of him and Suguru, standing behind Shoko, and stopped talking. She looked like she was trying to hide behind Shoko, but wasn’t quite willing to let them out of her sight.

“Auntie? Who are they?”

“Ieiri, it’s so good to see you!” A woman came around a corner and hugged Shoko, the toddler still in her arms and refusing to let go. The woman pulled back, glancing at the two other students behind her sister.

“Oh, you must be Ieiri’s classmates. I’m Saito Emika, it’s nice to meet you.” She gave a quick bow that the two boys returned.

“Geto Suguru, ma’am. Thank you for having us.”

“Gojo Satoru. Thank you.”

“Please, come in. Kouta! We have guests, come say hi!” They all stepped inside the house, taking up a decent portion of the entryway, and Mrs. Saito walked back around the corner she’d come from. Shoko didn’t let the girl down as she stepped into her slippers, clearly a more permanent fixture in the house than the spares that Gojo and Suguru stepped into.

“Think you can be brave and say hi to my friends?” Gojo heard her whisper to the girl. She hesitated before nodding and squirming to be put down. She couldn’t stop fidgeting as she stood before the other two sorcerers.

“M-my name is- is Saito Hi-Hikari.” And she bowed, almost tipping over from going too fast. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The bow was low, really low. Probably too low for your aunt’s friends, Gojo thought. But then again, she seemed really young. Maybe she was erring on the side of caution? Did he bow back, or was he not supposed to? Why was he worried this much, this kid was, like, two!

Geto responded before he did, bowing to the little girl, and, not wanting Shoko to get mad at him for disrespecting her niece, Gojo followed suit.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Saito. I’m Geto Suguru, and this is my friend, Gojo Satoru.” They all stood from their bows, and the youngest Saito shuffled her feet a little before turning and tugging on Shoko’s sleeve.

“I’m going outside, Auntie.”

“Alright, munchkin. Have fun.” The young girl smiled wide and bolted towards a room opposite the front door with a few toys, a bookshelf, and a door to the patio and small backyard.

There was the sound of footsteps from above, and then a man, presumably the husband, came down the stairs to their right. “Sorry for the wait, I needed to finish getting the spare room ready. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Saito Kouta.”

His bow was far less formal than his daughter’s, and just like before he and Suguru returned it, with Suguru being the one to thank him for letting them stay first.

It wasn’t that Satoru wasn’t grateful. Okay, maybe he wasn’t as grateful as he could have been, but the two years he’d spent learning and growing alongside Suguru and Shoko had taught him that he tended to offend people if he didn’t think through what he said, and he knew Shoko would make good on her threat to make him sleep outside.

So he did his best to stay quiet as Mr. Saito led them around the corner his wife had disappeared behind. There was a small hall, with a bathroom at the end, a small office to the right, and the kitchen to the left where Mrs. Saito was finishing up some onigiri.

“It’s nothing fancy, but I figured you might appreciate a snack, since dinner’s in a few hours. Here, grab one and then we can sit and talk for a bit.” The kitchen was almost a hall in its own right, opening up to the dining room on the other side. It was almost like the house was just one long passage from the entryway to the dining room.

He snagged an onigiri and took a bite. It was fairly standard, tuna mayo, but she’d also mixed in some miso paste for a little extra flavor. It was simple, and it was nice.

Stepping into the dining room involved a four inch drop that Gojo had missed, and he was grateful that he’d ducked his head to walk through the door because otherwise he would have hit his head as he stumbled. He ignored the giggles from his friends, opting to look around the well-lit room.

The room was large enough to double as a sort of living room. The table was set up next to windows that faced the backyard, and two cream colored couches were pushed against opposite walls closer to the windows that faced the street. The floor was dark blue, and the white walls would have been drab if they hadn’t held various pictures of the small family in varying, colorful frames.

Gojo settled on the couch opposite the Saito’s in the seat closest to the street. Suguru settled next to him, and Shoko sat on the last available seat.

“So, what have you lot been up to recently?” Mr. Saito opened.

“Oh, nothing much. Our teachers are having a grand old time drilling it into our heads that we have to do well on college entrance exams. They’re almost to busy doing that to really teach us anything, so far,” Suguru responded, and Gojo mostly tuned out.

He responded when he had to, deciding that running his mouth and accidentally upsetting Shoko or her family was not a good idea. If he didn’t need to speak, he was running through the mission. The curse was decidedly in town, but they were in the suburbs, so it might take a bit to get there. It had already killed three people, but the time between attacks was a few weeks, so there wasn’t much danger of another one until tomorrow. It liked to go after-

Movement on the other side of the room.

He glanced over, relaxing when he saw it was just Hikari. She had her head peeked through the doorway, staring at Shoko like she was trying to will his classmate to see her. He turned his gaze back out the window, but kept an eye on her out of his peripherals.

After another minute of watching she decided that staring would do nothing. She carefully stepped into the room, hanging onto the doorway so she could quietly lower herself.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Gojo, why are you still wearing your glasses?” Mrs. Saito asked.

“I’m really prone to migraines. Light makes them worse, so these help block the worst of it out,” he answered easily.

“Oh, that sounds awful. If you need, we can tell Hikari to be quiet so she doesn’t- ah, well, speak of the devil. When did you get here, Little Light?”

All eyes turned to the young girl, who looked like she wanted to shrink.

“I, um. I need to ask Auntie Ieiri something.”

“What is it?” Shoko asked. No one could have missed the way the young girl glanced around the room before leaning up to whisper in her aunt’s ear. He was pretty sure no one missed what she tried to whisper into her aunt’s ear, either.

“There’s a monster in the backyard.”

“Another one?” The little girl nodded.

“I tried to do what you showed me, but it didn’t do anything to this one. It just got angry.” Shoko heaved out a sigh.

“Hikari,” her mother chided, and the girl looked over. “Aunty’s having a conversation with us and her classmates. It’s rude to interrupt.”

“But the monster-”

“I know you’re scared of the monster, but if you just tell it to go away then it will, I promise.”

“No it won’t! They never go away! I need Aunty to help me!” The girl stomped her foot, fighting back tears.

“What about Gojo?” No. There was no way Suguru was going to suggest that he babysit the kid and help her get rid of whatever “monsters” she was scared of.

“What about me?”

“Well, you’re just sitting there staring out the window. It wouldn’t hurt you to go and help her.”

“Suguru-”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Shoko said, and turned to her niece. “Gojo knows the same kinds of tricks that I do. He’s even better than me at some of them, so he can help you just like I can.”

Great. Now Shoko was going to get mad at him if he didn’t do it. Thanks a lot, Suguru.

“Alright, fine.” He stood, stretching a little before turning towards Hikari. She stared back at him, nervousness making her fidget with her fingers as he walked closer. “Come on, kid. Let’s go get rid of a monster.”

He walked past her, heading for the door to the kitchen. He glanced back when he didn’t hear her following.

“You coming, or am I supposed to go find this thing on my own?”

He took a step, tripping on the four inch step into the kitchen and, this time, hit his head squarely on the door-frame.

“Ah, son of a-”

“Satoru,” Shoko said in a low warning.

“… bulldog? I guess?”

“Hmm. You’re on thin ice.”

“I didn’t even do anything! I tripped! I’m the victim here!” He glanced down at Hikari, who was trying to muffle her giggles by squishing her hands to her face. “Don’t you start. Come on, let’s go.”

Masterlist

[softacademia]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Sydney Conroy (@acambridgechronicle)

I hate the relationship this period of life is creating with my email.

I have found a slight rhythm with job searching while not having internet at home (resentfully, exhausted, and annoyed) but I have been noticing how adverse I feel to opening my email.

It’s the place now of potential rejections of jobs, and a graveyard of rejections from journals. It’s where an email will likely come through to tell me that my viva will have to be in October or November and I will not get to close out the Cambridge chapter as ‘cleanly’ as I would like. It is a place where my searching brain will latch on to evidence that I am not good enough - I have not done enough to get this position, I am not savvy enough for whatever role I have applied to, that I exist outside the lines of job descriptions and AI screeners will disqualify my application.

I see the potential of a mindset shift here, that my email might also be a garden for possibilities & opportunities, but that’s not what it feels like in my body. I feel anxious checking it, like the lack of an enthused reply is a reflection on something more than just an absent email.

I feel worried about that because I know the job market as I’m entering it - I know people in my faculty who have applied for hundreds of roles, I know people ghosted by employers after multiple interviews, I know how few people get a genuine reply from their applications.

And there is nothing good down the road for my mental health if I continue this way, as though no replies or rejections mean something about the state of my career or a reflection of my abilities.

As hard as I am trying to fight against it, I also feel myself operating out of a scarcity mindset as my six weeks left in Cambridge quickly come to a close. I have resorted to some ‘easy apply’ button clicking on LinkedIn because it makes me feel good to have upped my number of applications that day. Not that I feel the most aligned or thrilled to pursue that role.

Taken together, I’m feeling way more afraid and uncertain and desperate than I imagined feeling at this time. These feelings are really trying to sink me back into patterns I have tried to become less familiar with.

#softacademia #oxbridge #cambridgeuniversity #universityofcambridge #mentalhealth #wellbeing #academia #student #gradschool

[poswiecenia]

@kushtibokt - "Father has mentioned quite a bit about your ability to make connections around Teyvat." He drops casually, like a passing comment, though it is a kickstarter for something else he's been pondering to request. He hadn't come here merely to make small talk with the ever-famous traveller from beyond, but if he hasn't learned how to haggle to make his requests... "I can imagine it, too. With all your feats, it's a certainty that the doors to many places are left wide open for you, with plenty people willing to respect your name enough to not get in the way for your business." He slips the Fatui mask out of his face, shifting his gaze towards her and flashing a winning grin. "So, do you mind if I join you on your next trip to Sumeru? I have a couple personal things I need to check there, but I can't possibly go there without someone to secretly escort me into the city." He glances down to the mask on his hand, inspecting it close without really paying it much mind. "I won't be wearing any Fatui gear, if it worries you that much to be seen with a Fatui agent. I just really need to pass inconspicuous within the crowd for the time we stay there. Plus, if they see me as your ally, there is less likeliness people will be tense about me. What do you say?" \ unprompted ask.

( 🌙 )      ALL SHE WANTED to do was eat her lunch . .

  ❝    YEAH . . ?    ❞     THE STAR'S BROW raised , suspicious , as she listened to aventurine talk , staring at that mask of his 'fore blinking as he removes it to continue his request. it wasn't entirely out of the ordinary for those of the hearth or even fatuus that knew of her from tartaglia or another harbinger to come to her with a request but . . aventurine had never been in her preview before.

THE TRAVELER FOUND the request . . odd. especially so when he states that he plans to accompany her without any form of fatuus garb. she's left with more questions than answers , truly , but . . stars why did she feel that she was going to be in over her head on this. after her last interaction with the knave left much to be desired she . . would rather not gain ire from the woman whatsoever.

SEEMED THAT SHE was at an impasse.      ❝   WHAT ARE THE odds of you telling me what you're up to ? with you enthused over not being bothered or others being tense because i'm with you . .

do i HAVE TO WORRY about some underhanded tactic that i'll have to explain away to lesser lord kusanali later on ?     ❞     she was thinking about allowing this. she hadn't a clue why , it felt like a trick --- with all the peppering of her exploits and talents . .