callsign-songbird

[callsign-songbird]

[callsign-songbird]

Tw: mental health? Description of a wound, breakup, implied alcoholism and ptst. I didn't proofread this, read at your own risk

It's better this way. It had to be. Soap's thumb hovered over your profile, hesitating for a moment before clicking on in. A year. An entire year since he had let you go. John could still remember the tears in your eyes, tears he had caused. He could still remember your smile. The sound of your laugh haunted his waking and sleeping hours. But it was better like this.

A bubble popped up at the bottom asking if he would like to continue talking to this profile, making his lower lip quiver for a moment before he steeled himself and hit continue. You had unfriended him. Not blocked, but unfriended. It stung, but he understood.

He had never been good for you. So gorgeous, so perfect, everything good that the world had to offer compiled into one person, one person who had managed to love a mongrel like him. Despite how often he was deployed, how often his demons pushed him to isolate and take comfort at the bottom of a bottle rather than in your arms. He scrolled for hours, reading back through your conversations that had gone untouched for an entire year. He hadn't let himself open these messages, too afraid to do something stupid and risk hurting you again.

No matter how much his heart ached, how many tears stung his eyes, how full of hollow agony he was he would never risk hurting you. Not again. He wasn't an idiot. Leaving you had been easy at the time, a logical thing. At the time, he had been setting you free, trying not to be selfish. She could never give you everything you gave him. She could never give you the time, the emotional vulnerability, the love that you deserved and showered him abundantly with.

You had been so perfect. Which is why he had to let you go. He had to let you be happy.

So why, an entire year later, did it feel like there was a hole in his life where you had been? Why did his apartment in Glasgow feel so barren without your presence to light it up and bring warmth to the drab space, a presence that had long since faded without a trace to be found.

Memories were all he had left of you, and God how they haunted him. The linen wrapped around his knuckles and shattered mirror in his bathroom were enough to attest to that. But it hadn't been enough. The pain hadn't been enough.

Everyone knew it. The way to distract from pain was with more pain. But it didn't matter how many fights he picked on base, how many serrated blades to shoulder he took, no matter how many times Price chewed him out, it was never enough to come close to distracting him from more than hollow spot in his chest.

Where his heart used to be didn't feel empty anymore. He had long moved past that. It felt like there was a festering wound where his heart should have been. It felt like he was rotting from the inside out. Puss running through his veins, maggots eating through flesh and muscle, bones splintering like rotten wood, mushrooms sprouting in his lungs and from his eyes. All metaphorical, of course, but just as real as the pain of knowing that he could never have you again.

It was better this way. Repeated like a mantra as he threw his phone across the room, listening to the small thing crack against the drywall and bounce on the carpet before leaving him once again in the silence of the room where the only noise was his labored breathing as he slowly spiraled, loosing touch with time yet never seeming to lose touch with reality, with the reality of the life that he had brought upon himself.

It was better this way.

[callsign-songbird]

What's up sinners, back with more horny Ghost thoughts. B']

Thinking about Ghost having a long and hard day. Thinking about him not wanting to do much work, because he's been working all day. He gets home, pours a glass of bourbon, and sits on the couch with his shirt off just for you to see. He hasn't even showed yet, he just got home. And all he wants is a pretty little thing on his lap.

Thinking about him cooing mockingly in your ear, telling you to work for what you want. One calloused hand resting on your hip, guiding you while you slide your slick, puffy folds over the textured pockets on the thigh of his cargo pants. Thinking about his gravely voice and mancurian brogue calling you cute while you hump his leg like pathetic Pup.

Thinking about him putting in none of the effort to get you off, not tonight. He just wants to sit back and enjoy his drink and his show. And God are you entertaining.

"Work a li'l harder lovie, I don't think you really want to cum, do you? 'Atta girl."

[callsign-songbird]

Ans if you get a little snippy and ask if you can help him, he'll 100% take it as an invitation <3

do not wear leggings around soap he will stare unabashedly at your camel toe and readjust himself for the duration of your conversation

[callsign-songbird]

Ans if you get a little snippy and ask if you can help him, he'll 100% take it as an invitation <3

do not wear leggings around soap he will stare unabashedly at your camel toe and readjust himself for the duration of your conversation

[callsign-songbird]

I'm living like it's the early 2000's. 2009 Modern Warfare 2 on the Xbox, a code red in my lap, and Ghost and Captain MacTavish in my ear crooning about how good I'm doing as Roach

This is how life was meant to be

[callsign-songbird]

Tired Ghost ~

Today was a really good art day, and I'm incredibly happy with how this turned out! I did some tests to try and do his pretty blonde lashes off to the side, but it just wasn't happening, and I wasn't going to push it :)

[callsign-songbird]

The Charliem, in my walls? Oh gosh, well, now I'll just have to share more of my brainworms

(Hi, Charlie! You might know who I am just based off of the callsign but I can't leave asks from my cod page, so anon will have to do XD)

So, I was daydreaming and my mind came up with such a Saint thing to say that I'm frothing at the mouth and had to tell you!

So, picture this. Saint and the rest of the pack in the mess hall, eating dinner after a long day. The op they had just gotten back from was a brutal 3 day endeavor with little sleep, less water, and almost no food. But they were all alive, which was the important part.

As they all eat ravenously (even Ghost had rolled up his balaclava to eat quicker) Songbird couldn't help but notice the figure standing vigilantly at the head of the table, arms crossed over his chest in a relaxed stance, watchful eyes taking in his pack and making sure they were all satiated.

"Aren't you going to eat, Alpha?" She called out, her head cocking to the side in curiosity. He must have been starving. He hadn't touched a scrap of food the entire op in favor of making sure that they were as fed as possible on the meager rations.

"Ye should ken be'er by now, bird. Alpha won't eat until we 'Ave. So shut yer' tweeter and just eat, ya' daft little thing thing." Soap's words were followed up with a playful ruffling of her hair, but Songbird was too busy thinking over his words to get upset like she usually would have, mumbling softly to herself as she turned back to her food.

"Wow... that's a lot of restraint..." She could hear an amused chuff come from the alpha who's eyes had been drawn by the bit of commotion, her eyes squinted just a bit in amusement as he spoke lowly.

"It's not restraint if it's easy."

(Alright, that's all, love you charlie, byeeee <3)

Ohhhhh I love love love this. You absolutely nailed it. It’s incredibly to me how yall have picked up on some of Saint’s mannerisms when they’ve only had, like, 4-5 speaking lines

Also, “shut yer tweeter” is sooooo good. Like, absolutely heard that in Soap’s voice. A++ characterization I’m living in your walls 💕💕

[callsign-songbird]

Omg!! The little Soap is so adorable, ahhhh!!! Trust me, you're not alone in being pretty new to the Fandom, and welcome!!

Sooo, Call of Duty - specifically Modern Warfare.

I'll just say some stuff - I have NEVER played the game. But, I did watch all of the remastered cutscenes on youtube, which led me to get hooked on it.

Joining this.. fandom? It's a little intimidating for me and it freaks me out, since I have zero clue what I'm doing, or even WHERE to begin with this. Which leds me to - this.

Ocs! Whenever I join a fandom, I make ocs! But in certain occasions, I transfer other ocs from different fandoms I'm in, refix them a bit, then put them in a new fandom. This is one of these cases - Objects. These guys, these creatures are looking at now - they are my objects ocs. Specifically one team - Star Punchers. Now when I'm draw their refs for this, they're going to be human (Of course). I just hope I just get somewhere on this instead of just bugging out and dipping. I wanna at least give this a chance, meet new people n' stuff. Sooo-

As a small, very, VERY small start - I drew Soap :D, and uh, yeah.

[callsign-songbird]

Has anyone else seen this video with Brandon Farris and Cameron Domasky?

Private Island for sale?

Former military stronghold?

15 ghosts?

Is anyone else thinking what I'm thinking? 😏😶‍🌫️

[callsign-songbird]

Is it an anxiety flare-up, or is your praise kink acting up again? Don't worry, baby, he's sorry. It just means that he has to fuck you into the mattress and tell you how cute you are and how good you make him feel until your brains spill out of your ears and leak into the mattress. He obviously hasn't been praising you enough if it's getting this bad. He'll fix it baby, just ssshhhhh your pretty little mouth for him. If you can still think by the time he's worn out, that's okay. That just means that he'll have to clean you up with his tongue until the job is finished. <3

[callsign-songbird]

This needs to be seen by more people, because I'm dying laughing

yada yada flirtatious but somewhat self-deprecating comment about how you look better in the dark leading [cod character] into putting on the night vision goggles mid-sex

[callsign-songbird]

Baby John Price. Pillow princess John Price. John Price that forgets his own strength when your riding him and grips your hips so hard with trembling, sweaty palms that his fingers dig into the bone of your hips hard enough to leave bruises and small little half-moon indents in the fat there where his neatly trimmed nails almost broke this skin.

John Price who whines and squirms below you when you make him feel good, his toes curling into the mattress while he makes the highest, whiniest, sluttiest sounds you've ever heard. And when it becomes just a little too much squirming? Well, Just grab his face by the jaw and tell him to look at you. He'll stop. Sure, it will be accompanied my a spurt of warmth in your belly and some light shuddering groans while fat, wet tears prick his blue eyes and gloss them over like the ocean.

But it will be much easier to get your fill once he's all spent and loose, whining and crying about the overstimulation that you know he can take. He could pull you off at any time if he wanted to. But he doesn't. His big meaty paws just find their way back onto your body, shaking almost violently while he grabs you wherever he can reach with one hand while the other reaches down to circle the neat little bud nestled in your puffy folds so nicely.

He drags the bit of his spend that's been pushed out while you're riding him and drags the slick mixture of your juices and begins tracing letters over your clit over and over.

J-O-H-N-P-R-I-C-E

Over and over like an unspoken mantra on your body. All the while, he's still such a mess. He's still hard inside of your sweet cunt, begging for just a little break, just a second, you just feel so good, but he just can't- and you just don't care. You're so close to the end, and God, he just looks so sexy like this, such an ego boost.

The strong Captain Price who's dominant over everyone and has control over everything is a bottom for you. Cries big fat tears for your cunt. And that thought has your back arching while your nails grip into his shoulders and you see stars.

Below you, you can vaguely feel the aforementioned man shuddering and clutching your waist for dear life as his own orgasm is ripped from him once again by the way your walls pulse and squeeze against him so fervently for his spend. You can hear his choked sobs of pleasure about just how good you feel, how good it hurts.

For a second, both of you just freeze there in time, suspended in the heat of the moment, surrounded by the fire and vapor of your own passions that engulfed you both in sweltering heat. And then you both just collapse. It's not graceful, it's not sexy, it's not what you see in porn. No. It's you starfished over Prices torso and panting while your face nestles into the thick pelt of hair between his pecs. It's Price splayed out diagonally over your king-sized mattress and huffing for air while he comes down from his high and rubs at his wet eyes, trying and failing to pull himself out of the subspace you never fail to put him in.

And things are fine like that for a little bit, but they can't stay like that. It usually depends on whoever comes to first.

If you manage to pull yourself together and off of Price, it will likely be you heading into the adjacent bathroom to grab a damp rag and gently cleaning Price up while muttering soft words of praise about how good he did, how amazing he made you feel while gently scritching his beard or carting your fingers through his sweat-slicked hair to place gentle pecs on his glistening forehead before cleaning yourself up and climbing back into bed with him.

If Price comes out of subspace first. He is the king of aftercare. He can PICK. YOU. UP. for Pete's sake. He'll be so gentle pulling you off, shushing your soft whines and laying you so nicely on your back. He'll go and run a nice warm bath for the both of you, and while it fills, he brings a nice damp rag to clean up his sweet thing with, so gentle as he runs it through your puffy folds to clean up the sticky feeling he knows that you hate. He holds you too, always so touchy and clingy after sex, especially such an intense session for him. He'll cradle you in the tub with your back against his chest, holding you close and pressing the deepest, most passionate, slowest kisses into the crook of your neck while the sound of the water lapping at your skin fills the otherwise silent bathroom. You don't need any words when John Price is doing aftercare. There likely will be some conversation, but it's not a requirement. He can tell you exactly how you make him feel without words through the sheer feeling of his skin on yours alone.

[callsign-songbird]

Baby's first attempt at comic panelling |･ω･)

The cat's name is "Dove - like the soap brand"

[callsign-songbird]

To the person who went through and liked and reblogged almost ten of my posts, I would just like to thank you for making me grin like an idiot and kick my little legs <3

[callsign-songbird]

(I was going back through some files on my laptop and found this old thing I wrote, No, I am not going to edit anything, so, Enjoy!)

Thinking about Simon. Thinking about the callouses on his hands, not just his fingertips. Thinking about the way his hands are so rough against your soft skin, massaging is and manipulating the soft flesh in malleable circles. the way he would pepper kisses along the surface and fan his soft breaths along your neck. this is a man who has lost everything and drug himself through hell by only his bootstraps to spit in the devils face, and paid the price for it. so to have something as beautiful, as decadent, as absolutely divine as you looking up at his with those big, wet eyes while the pumps his cock into you and pushes you to the point of overstimulation, whining and begging him to stop. he doesn't feel worthy. You are his goddess, his life, his love, the breath in his lungs, everything he lives and exists for. Price could tell the day he met you too.

Simon had always been utterly devoted to Price. After Simon accomplished his mission, Price was the one to pull him out of that lonely pit, dust him off, and offer the husk of a man a job doing what he did best. and from that day forward, that was what Simon was. A soldier. Not just any soldier, though. He was Price's soldier. Any order or request Price gave was carried out down to the letter. it didn't mind if Price was asking for a coffee, mentioned that he needed his boots shined, or even needed some *other* acts of service, Simon was always right there. And then there was you. One day, Simon came back from off-base with Price's coffee, and he faltered. It was tiny, miniscule even. Simon overlooked Price's comment about being parched. As small as it would be for anyone else, that was monumental for Simon. He started leaving base more, becoming more and more distracted. Then, one day, Simon comes to Price with a question that he doesn't know how to answer at first.

"Captain, how does one... Approach a woman with the intent of... a relationship?" Price about spit out his coffee, choking momentarily and disguising the action as a cough, but Simon knew. Simon always knew. Price gave the best advice he could, but he was utterly confounded as to where this development had come in. He watched Simon nod his head and head out of his office, large gloved hands stuffed in his pockets and brows knit up beneath his skull balaclava. Price really knew that he shouldn't be worried, Simon was nothing if not dedicated, committed, and diligent. But this was a big change, and Price momentarily worried for whatever pretty little thing had caught Simon's eye.

This was where Soap and Gaz came in. Troublemaking pair that the two of them were, and other than Price, Soap was the closest one to Simon on base. Whenever Simon craved dominance, he went to Price. Whenever Simon craved submission, he would take it from Soap. Not like he was complaining, no. The military was a bunch of guys getting real close and sweaty with each other, coming to rely on and depend on each other, and Soap had never been shy about what he had.

So imagine his surprise when Simon hasn't scruffed him, shoved his cock down Johnny's throat, or even shot him that warning glare in nearly a month now. He mutters under his breath and tosses back another glass of amber warmth, whining out about his relationship issues to Gaz. Gaz simply pats his back awkwardly while sipping on his own glass. "I dunno mate, maybe he's got a new girl." They both take one look at each other and burst out laughing so hard that their sides hurt, but that's all it takes to sew those seeds of doubt. Not like he *really* cares, no. Sure, the dominance is fun and keeps his high drive satisfied for the most part, but he's more worried for his friend than anything. Ghost never shared his life with anyone, so if it really was a girl, well, things could get complicated. Simon was like an animal, with a strict chain of command in his head. It went Price, him, Soap. He was Price's, and Soap was his. and he was fiercely protective of that hierarchy. But if it wasn't enough? If he was thinking of adding a little bird to the mix? Heaven forbid a civilian? Well, things might get complicated.

So that's how He, Gaz, and Price ended up following Simon off base one day. Though, Price only came to keep them out of trouble and out from under Simon's feet, much to Gaz's delight and Soap's chagrin. They tailed Simon from a safe distance, dressed in civilian clothes to avoid attention. They watched as he stepped into a shop and came out with a small plastic bag and- heaven forbid- Price had to harshly clap a hand over Soap's mouth to keep him from the boisterous laughter that threatened to spill out from the cage of callouses and chorded steel beneath flesh. Flowers. In Simon's other hand was a dainty bouquet of flowers. Pink roses, white lily's, baby's breath, and pink orchids. It was a nice arrangement, and for a moment, Price and Soap were on the cusp of jealousy, overridden only by sheer curiosity. Who the hell was it that had managed to enrapture the stoic and cold lieutenant like that?

They followed all the way to a small park, jaws nearly dropped ad the slight skip in Ghost's step. It was almost indiscernible to the untrained eye, but these men had spent years with Simon, grown accustomed to the three kinds of steps this man had. Cool and calculated, Hurried and determined when shit hits the fan, and enraged with quick and heavy footfalls. This was none of those. The way Simon bowed his head, his shoulders slightly hunched in, the soft almost nonexistent trembling in his hand that was unbecoming of a sniper.

Simon was *Nervous* they all realized.

Then they saw you, and none of them could understand. You were ok. Kind of average, not exactly a model but certainly not ugly. any one of them would shag you, if that meant anything. But the longer they watched, the more they came to understand. They way your cheeks flushed and your eyes lit up at the bouquet, a soft giggle leaving your lips. Simon's eyes squinted beneath his mask, the tell-tale sign of a smile leaving the three men breathless. This little thing had their Lieutenant wrapped around her little finger, and yet, she didn't seem to have any ill intent. you we're all soft smiles and sweet words. A bit of an odd duck from what the three could tell by tailing the two of you on your outing, but it only made you more endearing to them. What was more surprising though, was the Lieutenant.

None of them could comprehend the hold you had on him. With Simon, there always had to be something firm and ironclad. With Price, it was his dominance. With Soap, he was the firm one with strict rules and harsh punishments, And yet, this was none of that. He seemed to treat you so gently, as if you were the most precious aerogel and would shatter at the smallest bit of force. Simon's gruff voice was gentle when he spoke to you, the hand on the small of your back protective, yet soft. None of the men knew how to take it.

Then came the nail in the coffin. In front of a house, presumably yours, you turned to Simon, looking up at him through those long lashes of yours. Your hands slipped out of his and rested on his chest, palms flat against the fabric, slowly snaking up until your fingertip brushed under the hem of Simon's mask. Each man watched as the Lieutenant tensed, like a spring about to snap. What they didn't expect was for him to give you a single curt nod. Slowly and gently you worked the fabric of his mask up, caressing every inch of unearthed flesh with your fingertips as if it were a treasure you were unearthing. Eventually, Simon's mask rested over the bridge of his nose, your delicate hands cupping the sides of his face as if he were more precious than solid gold. Slowly the two of you leaned in, and the men were astounded to see their lieutenant drawn into a kiss more gentle and passionate than they thought him possible of.

The next week around base was unusually tense. Soap and Price sharing knowing glances in the hallway while Gaz didn't know how to comfort either of them. Oddly enough, though, Simon was beginning to return. It started slow. He stopped overlooking what price would say absentmindedly and the devotion returned, he would Scruff Soap again when he did something stupid or lipped off. Eventually, he was even back on his knees for price and forcing Soap back onto his. Why the change? No one understood. it's not like it was overnight either, no, this took nearly a year.

"Honeymoon phase must be up." Price surmised over a drink with Soap, eyeing Simon as he grabbed the next round from the bar. "Och, ya' don' think sir? Ya think Ghost would let somethin' like that happen?" Soap mused, his gaze focused on the same imposing figure. Then the little bell over the bar door Jingled, and they watched the Lieutenant's eyes melt in unprecedented warmth. A look they had only seen once before. Sure enough, there you were. Such a small nervous little thing, looking around like a lamb in the middle of a wolves den. in many ways, that's exactly what you were. From the moment that door opened, you were being eyed up by dozens of hungry soldiers, licking their chops and already standing to try their shot at you.

But no, Ghost would never allow that. Not his pretty little bird. His long strides made quick work of the distance between you, grabbing some poor private by the face and ripping him away from you. A hand snaked around your waist and pulled your flush against Simons chest. A soft squeak left your lips as Simon glared around the bar and placed his claim, walking you back to the bar where he could retrieve the round of drinks for the table and order one for you.

Simon brought the drinks and you back over to the table, sliding into the booth beside Johnny and gently guiding you to your rightful place in his mind, firmly on his lap. Your pretty face was so red, obviously embarrassed from the way you gave a small wave and bowed your head. like a scared little rabbit, they mused. "Thought I'd bring her 'round to meet you proper, so you don't have to stalk me 'gain." The Way he glanced between Price and Soap was impossible to miss, looking for their approval. Price took his time taking you in, every facet of your face, your demeanor, your actions. A satisfied nod immediately put Simon at ease, rolling his shoulders to relax them. Meanwhile, there was no questioning how Soap felt. You were so much prettier and sweeter up close, such a delicate little morsel. He had that look in his eye, that sparkle, that hunger. He had no issues trying to chat you up, encouraging you to drink your fill and call him 'Johnny'.

"This 's our pretty little thing." That simple line seemed to make everyone at the table pause, yourself included. Theirs? That meant? None of them should have been surprised, really. Simon clung tight to his hierarchy, and apparently you weren't going to break it, no, He had just nestled you in next to Johnny, under the category of 'his', maybe even below Johnny. "Our?" Your soft voice rang out as you looked over your shoulder at Simon, pulling an amused smirk to his lips beneath his mask. "Of course, love. Y're ours. You'll get used to it, lovie, don't you worry your pretty little head over it."

[callsign-songbird]

Nut really COD related but, you know the phrase "You're only as strong as your weakest link"?

Give me that in a villain.

Give me a person who commits at least one absolutely vile, heinous act , and yet genuinely believes themselves to be the good-guy. Give me a villain who does the most cruel things with ease as if it were just a regular Saturday afternoon, yet falters at the act of stealing candy from children.

And then break them.

Not with something huge and dramatic. Break them with something small, something honestly underwhelming. And then let it spiral and spiderweb out like cracks appearing in glass or the ice below their feet and threatening to plunge them into the depths of their own guilt and conscience.

Think of years of justifications washed down the drain, so many horrendous acts done with their own hands that they have to bear the full guilt of now, even though they were already dealing with a fraction of it as if it were the whole. Give me a villain who loses absolutely everything as soon as they lose their sense of self.

And then have the protagonist pick them back up. Will they ever truly forgive the villain? Maybe. There are certainly plenty of people who won't, the villain included. But even if the protagonist still harbors a deep hatred, let them help to pick up the pieces of someone who was broken far before their shattered peices had cut anyone.

Give me that.