you are already dead.

[chwlnddu]

moved

[valtsv]

big fan of characters with abandonment + attachment issues so profound that they leave claw marks in everything they touch but would sooner gnaw off their own leg than admit they just want someone to stay for once. in a totally normal well adjusted and not at all projecting way of course.

[vilicity]

Last one.

[deadwar-arch-deactivated2026051]

@pseudowar : slam DUNKS gary in here for scars meme for simon thanks

If someone told him years ago that he'd be laying in bed next to a person that he loved wholeheartedly, he probably would've told them to fuck off. Yet --- here he is now ; raking his nails along Gary's back while they lay together. Their clothes are... somewhere and everywhere. Not really cared for at the moment.

Simon lays here with eyes closed, slow breathing and giving a kiss to the top of Gary's head. It's not until a few minutes later that he feels the other's fingers trailing along his body and he waits, but they move to another spot on his torso to do the same. He opens his eyes to watch, gaze falling upon the way his fingers slowly trace over the many scars along his chest and stomach. It pulls something in his chest. It pulls it tight. The touch against Gary's back pauses momentarily. He trusts him. There's absolutely nobody else in the world that he trusts more than him -- body, mind, and soul. All of it. This isn't the first time that Gary has seen them and it's not the first time he's traced them either, but each time feels the same. He feels too exposed and each scar is a reminder of how ugly his past is.

He stays still for a minute, glancing from Gary's fingers to his face that he can barely see. He's looking at them. Simon takes a slow deep breath. Again, he trusts him. If it were anyone else, they wouldn't have a hand left, but he doesn't mind it here. He doesn't mind it if it's him. ' Got that one from an IED in Moscow. Ain't as bad as it looks. '

[chwlnddu]

Gary knows most of the stories already, not because of Simon (or Ghost) but because of his military record, his medical history. All things that Simon (and Ghost) had given him access to months previous - a makeup for things that neither could explain, a token of remorse and regret as he (they?) vowed to make things right, do better.

He knows the stories, and still, when Simon tells him about the one under his attention in the moment, he listens. He listens and hums and lifts his head to blink up at him. Presses his palm flat to the scar and smiles something soft. Lifts himself up and wiggles a little until he can press a kiss to the mark. Tracing the damaged skin with his mouth and tongue in a manner that's intimate but nonsexual despite their mutual nudity.

"Doesn't look that bad." Not in comparison to what remained from his time in Mexico - the scar from the meat hook still somehow fresh despite how long ago it was from. The burns from the fire they'd both survived. "Prettier than the ones from Brazil." He wiggles back to his original position, stretches out once more against Simon's side and places his palm back over the mark that had started them talking again. "A reminder that you lived."

[shirtlessboys]

Samantha West

[all-the-bones-ever-deactivated2]

this hit me like a truck

[tyaz]

I think I'm pretty normal = I would get off on getting hunted for sport by the person of my desire

[becomingvecna]

[chwlnddu]

queue set up over here too. sorry for being afk, if you follow only this blog and were unawares - we lost a cat due to some pretty horrific circumstances and are still coming to terms with it.

[whumprat-blog]

characters who die and are resurrected

but will always remember exactly what death feels like

[bruisedmettle-archive]

It's been a rough day ⸻ a rough day in a line of other rough days that is so long he can't even remember where the line starts or imagine where it will end. The days begin to merge together: wake up, read the paperwork left at his office,  call to check on Kick and Soap,  listen to whatever information  (  or frustration in a lack thereof  )  the team has gathered, the occasional overseeing of drills,  go to the hospital to check on Kick and Soap  ...  and so forth and so on, over and over; sometimes he remembers to eat; sometimes he remembers to  rest ⸻ but rarely does he remember to check in on their newest and quietest addition to the team. A thought that has failed to cross his mind until now, as he sees him making his not-so-great-escape to the admin roof with that sheepish expression that he truly had no reason to wear.

Several emotions play tug-of-war in Kyle's head in that moment:  guilt, sympathy, curiosity, sadness  ...  guilt.  How could they  (  alright,  he;  Ghost and Price are often this way  ),  have forgotten so completely to touch base with him ?  To make him feel like a welcome and appreciated part of the team ? Gary hadn't been involved in the creation of this mess; he was just brought in to fill in the gaps and help pick up the pieces and be their new permanent piece, should their missing piece never return. This kind of neglect is almost cruel.

So Kyle offers him a strained, but polite smile in return, raising his hands to question,   ‛   Doing alright ?   ’

[chwlnddu]

It is with great regret that Roach finds himself fully dislodging himself from his original plans, his ladder abandoned as he turns away to face his teammate. Guilt and shame melting into something a little more pleasant as no scolding or threats come - instead a bit of a surprise, words being signed at him instead of spoken. A little gesture that goes a long way for him, has that final bit of awkward tension blending from his shoulders, that itch for nicotine retreating behind the basic human need for socialization - something that has been somewhat lacking when it came to the 141 and himself.

'I'm alright.' A blatant lie. If he was alright, he wouldn't be sneaking up to hide on the administration building's rooftop in the middle of the night. Wouldn't be sneaking about as it were... But this lie comes too easily for him to feel shame for it, hands already going through the motions of forming it before he'd realized what he was doing. 'And you? Know things have been -' He pauses, unsure on what word to use, then goes with the most basic. 'Busy.'

[tlirsgender]

I am obsessed with fictional guys being really weird about each other. Hard at work in the plausible deniability mines. You know those pairings who would jerk each other off before they'd kiss

[chwlnddu]

got home and @warties & @deadwar are bullying my boy???

[chwlnddu]

THEY KEEP DOING THIS :(

[chwlnddu]

got home and @warties & @deadwar are bullying my boy???

[embeddedecho]

somewhere between his last brief and the moment a familiar form appears in his periphery , alex LOST TRACK OF TIME . something about the sun slowly creeping below the horizon makes it easier to think ... harder , too , in some ways . thoughts flowing easily flow unchecked , forming connections and hypotheticals that could drive a man mad .

makarov has given them a lot to think about . 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇 , maybe .

so , he WELCOMES the interruption . welcomes the still - steaming cup of coffee even more so . he turns just in time to catch a movement of lips and to glean their message .

“  better now ,  ”  he offers with a grateful smile which disappears quickly but briefly behind weathered ceramic . NEEDS MORE SUGAR , he thinks , but he's not the sort to complain about free coffee .  “  thanks for this . think some company could do me some good .  ”

[chwlnddu]

From what Roach has come to understand, things were - more complicated than what he'd originally been lead to believe by CIA Station Chief Laswell and Captain Price. Tense, because of the American General's betrayal still hanging thick and low over them. Dangerous because of Makarov's continued freedom. Hard, with one of the 141's forming members out of commission for what could be a long, long time... It's a bad time to have been recruited, an uncomfortable spot he found himself in - but -

But he still finds himself to be honored to be among them. Grateful for the chance to prove himself to the Captain that had become legendary, and all the associates he kept.

And he is all of that and more as his offer for simple company is accepted. Warmth curling the corners of his lips, causing dirtied features to scrunch, a scar to stretch, a little smear of sunscreen on the side of his face to disappear into what would, in time, become crows feet. He's dirty, and tired, and too hot beneath all his gear - but he knows better than to leave a man like Alex alone, can see that he, like the rest of the family-like team, would carry the weight of it all alone if given the chance, the opportunity to let it sink in and settle.

So he doesn't let it happen. He abandons his coffee on the half wall of the roof they occupy, and turns to give Alex his full attention. Hands made free so that he can communicate properly, switching from BSL to ASL with very little effort at all. 'Who is importing you books with Fabio on the cover, and how can I get their number?'

[chwlnddu]

gary: opens a can of soup everyone that's ever known him: appearing in the doorway bc he's boiled water to nothing before

[roseypeached-arch-deactivated20]

@chwlnddu cont.

David is a social butterfly. He loves conversation. Few do here, but a lot of them talk as a distraction, to take their mind off of whatever they've done or are about to run into. That being said, he occasionally does seek them out, mostly to check in and if they need anything. So, seeing Roach in a corner, he makes a straight line for him with a bag in hand and his own drink of sweet tea in the other. The closer he got, the more aware he is of how uncomfortable the other man seems to be.

' Yeah. Just watched a few Marines nearly knock themselves out. Not sure what the fuck they were up to, but --- idiots. Came to check in on ya. ' He grabs a chair and sets it next to him, but leaves a bit of space. He doesn't want to make it worse. He gently sets the small paper bag on the arm of Roach's chair. ' Not sure if it's somethin' ya like, but I got some extra of the bread I made earlier. Hell of a lot better than the cheap jerky. '

[chwlnddu]

The snort comes from him unbidden, the smallest of sounds that seems infinitely loud coming from the ordinarily silent man - but he can't help it. Eyes flicking over to the unit of American Marines that have been slowly overtaking the outside space. The promise of comforts they were rarely afforded - food and socialization and a distinct lack of uptight commanding officers - has turned the little gathering into a large one, and he can now see SAS officers blending into the fray - their very own blending and minds and cultures, UN be damned.

He wants to tell the other man that it's just because they've spent all week in uniform, doing drills and cleaning and becoming one spirit, and that this is the perfect opportunity for them to become themselves again, to be who they were born to be, and find friends among allies - but he thinks the other man already knows. Eyes slipping from the other men to study him with intent. Rolling over his attire as he tries - and fails - to recall this American's name in particular.

A crushing blow to his pride - he's pretty sure they've met before, but he doesn't even remember a fucking call sign or rank - one that's soothed by the offer of food, and he bites again at his jerky and chews it, examining the back from a small distance with a look akin to amusement. 'Thanks.' He doesn't admit that the jerky is stolen from one of his own team, instead choosing to pull the bag closer and peer inside. 'You bake?'