A/N: Hey there all you lovelies, friendly reminder: making fun of someone’s hobby for your own cheap entertainment isn’t edgy — it’s just pathetic. And if you don’t like what I post or reblog, here’s a wild idea… scroll past it. Don’t trip over the internet on your way out.
You hadn’t meant for anyone outside the team to read your journal. It wasn’t even a diary in the traditional sense — more like a quiet corner of your mind where you wrote stories to work through difficult missions, loss, and the nights that refused to let you sleep. The characters in those stories weren’t always real, but the emotions were.
It was just a notebook. Old, leather-bound, kept tucked away in your rucksack.
But apparently, someone found it.
The first hint came when you walked past the break room and heard laughter — the loud, wheezing kind. A voice imitated your handwriting, reading exaggerated lines from one of your stories in a mock-dramatic tone:
“Oh, and Simon’s mask looked like a shadow, guarding me from the world—”
More laughter. You froze.
“Mate, this is gold,” another voice said. “They actually write this down? What a freak.”
You stepped in, expression carefully neutral, and reached past the small group to grab your journal off the table. The ringleader — a private named Collins — was grinning like he’d just won the lottery. His friends smirked.
“Good stuff, mate,” Collins said, leaning back in his chair. “Bit personal though, innit? You should publish it. Make us all laugh.”
You met his eyes and said evenly, “Thanks for your… feedback.” You turned and left without letting him see your hands shake.
You didn’t cry. You didn’t even tell anyone. If they saw you unfazed, they wouldn’t win. Still, that night the words echoed, warping into something uglier each time they replayed.
The next day, however, someone else noticed.
Soap was the first to pick up on it. He’d been joking around with you in the hall when you smiled a little too mechanically. “What’s wrong, bonnie? That smile’s faker than Gaz’s hairline.”
You shook your head. “It’s nothing worth talking about.”
But later, when you were out on the range, Ghost wandered over. He didn’t say much — didn’t have to. “Price wants to see you,” was all he said before walking with you back to the briefing room.
Price was there, arms crossed, the air heavy with an unspoken seriousness. Gaz leaned against the wall. Soap sat forward in his chair. Ghost stood in the corner, unreadable.
Price’s eyes met yours. “Collins.”
You stiffened. “What about him?”
“We know what he did,” Gaz said.
You opened your mouth, but Price cut you off. “You should’ve told us.”
“It wasn’t a big deal,” you muttered, even though your throat tightened.
Ghost’s voice was low, dangerous. “It was. And we’re handling it.”
You frowned. “You’re not going to—”
“We are,” Soap interrupted. “You don’t get to decide on this one, lass. Not after he decided to drag your name through the mud for sport.”
Price’s gaze was firm. “You’re part of this team. No one humiliates one of ours and walks away smiling.”
That night, Collins and his friends were having a little get-together in the rec room. Music blared from someone’s speaker, cheap beer cans littered the table, and the same journal — your journal — sat right in the center like a trophy.
They didn’t notice the door open until Ghost stepped in.
The music stopped with a sharp click.
“Evenin’,” Ghost said, voice calm but heavy enough to silence the whole room. “Mind if we join?”
Behind him came Soap, Gaz, and Price. The air went colder.
Collins swallowed. “Uh… sure, we were just—”
“Reading, were you?” Price’s voice was quiet, but it carried the kind of weight that made even seasoned soldiers sit straighter. “This,” He walked over to the table, picked up your journal, and looked Collins dead in the eye. “belongs to one of my people.”
“Just having a laugh,” Collins said weakly. “No harm meant.”
“No harm meant?” Gaz repeated, stepping closer. “You went through their private things. Made them the punchline to your little comedy show.”
Soap leaned forward, bracing his hands on the table. “Do you know what they write here? No, you don’t. And you wouldn’t understand even if you did — because it’s theirs. Not yours. Not your mates’. And definitely not for your cheap amusement.”
Collins opened his mouth, but Ghost’s slow step forward shut him right back up. “You think humiliating someone makes you clever?” His tone was flat, lethal. “You don’t even understand the kind of people you’re playing with.”
Price set the journal down deliberately. “You owe them an apology. Not a lazy one. Not because you’ve been told to — but because you understand exactly what you’ve done.”
Gaz tilted his head. “And if you don’t… we’ll make sure you do.”
They didn’t hurt him. Not physically. But the way 141 dismantled Collins and his friends’ smugness was surgical. Every word dripped with precision, peeling away their bravado layer by layer until they sat pale and silent.
Collins finally stammered out a shaky, “I’m sorry.”
Price didn’t blink. “You will be if it happens again.” He picked up the journal and turned to leave. “Party’s over.”
When they handed the journal back to you later, it felt heavier somehow.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you said softly.
“We did,” Gaz replied. “You’re family.”
Soap grinned faintly. “Besides, you should’ve seen their faces. Priceless.”
Ghost’s eyes met yours briefly. “They won’t try it again.”
Price’s voice was quieter now, but it held the same steel as before. “Don’t ever think you have to deal with that alone. Not while you’ve got us.”
You swallowed hard, tucking the journal close to your chest. “Thank you.”
For the first time since that break room, you felt the tension in your chest ease. They’d made sure of it — not just by confronting Collins, but by reminding you of something you’d almost forgotten:
The reason why you should boycott this movie is because it does not get the book right at all. It does not convey the theme of the book. And also, people from all sides of the political spectrum and religions are hating on this movie because it has no clear plot or point to the movie. You're gonna make a movie based off a book like this You should get it right.
If you want to watch Animal Farm, go watch The One made in 1954.
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