between you and me — yeah, finest task force in the whole damn business. id be out here braggin’ flat-stick if we were actually allowed to… but hey, rules n all that.
admittedly, declans soldier attire isnt the most unique. he gets a gas mask when hes working with chemicals and diving gear when hes on underwater missions. as for his regular uniform, he has a mask with shark teeth on it, as well as thicker armor on his legs because of the large chemical burn that made his right leg weaker.
he wasnt supposed to be here. not like this. not with dirt under his nails and death in his throat, prying into a grave that shouldve stayed shut. this wasnt loyalty. this was something feral. something broken. a desperate, pathetic betrayal dressed in grief.
the cemetery was still. too still. the kind of silence that presses against your ears like pressure at the bottom of the ocean. but inside declan, a storm raged. his lungs couldnt catch enough air. his heart hammered like it wanted out of his ribcage. like it knew this was wrong. disgusting.
around him, graves slept in peace. but not this one. not his. not the man buried under his shoes. the one who had taken bullets at his side, laughed with blood in his mouth, cried when no one else was looking. this grave should have been sacred. instead, declan was ripping it open with shaking hands and a rusted shovel.
when metal struck wood, it sounded like a scream. hollow. final. he couldnt turn back now. his knees buckled and he dropped. clawing at the dirt with bare hands. wet earth packed under his fingernails, filled the creases in his palms. his skin tore, bleeding and raw. he didnt stop. couldnt. not until the coffin was cracked wide open like a wound.
the stench hit first. rot and iron. it punched him in the gut, bile surging up his throat. he wanted to slap a hand over his eyes, his mouth. act like he wasnt the one responsible. but he didnt look away. couldnt. he stared at what was left of his brother in arms. sunken, twisted, eaten by time. declans fingers trembled as they moved, inching towards the corpse in tattered clothes. slow and blind, his hands slipped beneath the cloth. then, grasped cold metal. the dog tag. still there. still his.
he gripped it hard, like it might anchor him. like it could rewind time and bring breath back to punctured lungs. he pressed it to his chest and felt nothing but his own heartbeat under the palm of his hand. frantic, guilt-ridden, alive. but this? this wasnt closure. this wasnt a twisted way of remembrance and honor. this was desecration. and still, he held on.
the shame came in waves: scalding, relentless. it crawled beneath his skin like fire ants, hollowed out his gut until all that was left was the husk of the man he used to be. a man who had honor. a man who still had a heart. a man who didnt dig up his dead. vomit tore from his throat like tides, acid stinging at his teeth and gums. he was sick. body and mind.
the grief was louder. greedier. it howled through his bones, snarled against reason, tore apart what was left of restraint. he told himself it was for legacy. for memory. for the fallen soldier. but it wasnt. it was for himself. it always had been. he knew he was being selfish deep down. but he couldnt bring himself to care. atleast, not with the adrenaline pumping in his veins like the newest drug. if he keeps the memory of the man, someone will return the favor. right?
declan closed the coffin with hands that wouldnt stop shaking. started burying it again with a mind too numb to feel. every shoveled clump of earth was an attempt to drown out what he did. silence the corpse six feet under. he patted the dirt, solidifying it once more.
mud clung to his skin. cold gnawed at his bones. and the silence. that silence. it wrapped around him like a noose. no forgiveness. no peace. just weight. by the time he stood, he had dirt staining his clothes. vomit staining his lips. an unspoken apology staining his heart and mind. the only thing he had to show was the dog tag clenched tight in his fist. he knew nothing had been healed. nothing had been made right. now, it was only heavier. only worse. and it would stay like that. forever.
7. Who in their squad do they trust most, and why?
|| previous ask game ||
declan trusts gaz or farah the most.
gaz seems the most willing to follow his morals, and spit needs that kind of stability in a teammate. farah is the best when making decisions and the most expressive about wanting to keep her team safe, which declan obviously feels safe and comfortable with.
Got any phobias developed from work? Just wanna tell ya everything’s gonna be fine (probably)
... reckon i got a tad fear of bein’ forgotten. nothing flashy like spiders or drowning, but... give it a couple generations, and suddenly no one even knows you were here. like you never left a dent.
suppose its hard to use that against me if anything ever goes pear-shaped, eh? weird sorta bright side to it… but its there.
I've been wondering, does Spit have any trauma? Sorry if this is a strange ask!!! Love ur oc!
of course declan has trauma: i think most military folk do. some examples of his trauma arent super unique or as traumatic as other ocs, but its what he goes through.
he deals with a lot of guilt. a lot. hes been in charge of many soldiers when they died, and even had to mercy kill some: just so they dont have to suffer.
in an earlier writing piece, we saw that declan has dug up his friend / brother in arms grave to steal his dog tag. it was an attempt to "keep his legacy alive" and he feels terrible everyday he sees it. of course, its always in his pocket, so...
he projects, terrified of being forgotten by the world and not making an impact. its almost exhausting to him, trying to do everything he can to stand out and leave his mark.
not only does he exhaust his mind, but his body is constantly tired as well. to avoid thinking of all hes done wrong, he abuses adrenaline and forces himself to always be moving and not think of the grief.
though, something always engraved in his mind is the image of his leg. on one of his classified ops, demon core, his right leg had been burned with chemicals. he saw his own bones, had to deal with the surgery, and the physical therapy. its hard for him to top that pain.
[📿] : if they died right now, is there something they want to be known for? how about something they hope nobody remembers?
|| previous ask game ||
declan would want to be known for his loyalty to his family, friends, and fellow soldiers. not betraying or backing down on people he loves. when someone thinks of him, thats the one word he wants everyone to know. god forbid they forget that.
