fanficsandcodposts

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Hello! A few updates below :)

My long-fic "You are safe with me" is under an editing hiatus. It will most likely be gutted and re-written

"Nerdy Little Maus" pt 2 is in the works! (I only have time to write on the weekends)

I received a few likes on my suggestion of a TF 141 Coal Miner AU and I will be working on that idea <3

Thank you for all the love on my one-shots with Ghost and Soap! Gaz is next and in the works :)

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// GHOSTSOAP x sailor song! (🔊 ON ) // suggestive imagery ⚠⚠⚠ individual panels:

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The aforementioned dark circus!AU

cw: slavery/human trafficking

Price is the ringmaster, and co-owner of the show. He’s the man who bought you from the auction block, because he saw something in you. He’s the man that holds your freedom in his hands.

Who are you? You’re the costumer for the circus. You spend endless hours in a cramped fitting room, fixing rips and tears, sewing sequins onto bodysuits— fighting with performers over what would suit them.

Ghost is a clown and an illusionist. He makes it a point to get on your good side— he needs your handiwork to make his act. Secret pockets, flaps, and panels on his costume are an integral part of it all. He bought his freedom years ago, but remains loyal to Price for reasons unknown to you.

Gaz is a trapeze artist. You receive a lot of gifts from him— apologies for how often his tight costume is prone to ripping, and what a pain it is to replace the embellishments in a way that’ll hold up through the whole show. He’s graceful in the air, and an incorrigible flirt on the ground.

Soap is the daredevil. He sustained a brain injury a long time ago, and it’s dulled his sense of pain immensely. You spend as little time on his costumes as possible— knowing most of them are one-time uses before they’re rendered into scraps with scorch marks. He’s constantly getting kicked out of your little workroom— if he’s got no costume to discuss, he’s got no business with you, you’ve tried to explain.

König is the Goliath, the strong man, able to lift other performers with ease as well as a whole host of other things. His height staggers the crowds, emphasized further by some cleverly integrated platforms in his shoes. His size makes it nearly impossible to make him things unless it’s entirely from scratch— something he apologizes for profusely.

Nikolai is a beast master. A natural command over tigers, elephants, and any other caged creature he happens upon. And he looks at you like you’re about to be a part of his menagerie.

Rudy is a roustabout— he works the set pieces and props, suspends the tent— and has to wrap it all back up with. It’s time to move on. It makes little time or reason for him to speak to you, but he always makes a point to visit you and bid you goodnight when he can manage it.

Graves is a fire-spitter. Often spotted without a shirt and holding a bottle of liquor by the neck, he was acquired when Price’s circus took over another. He’s got marks of disobedience— whipped when he tried to run away— scars still plain to see as they web across his back. He’s always asking you to run away with him— and you’d can’t for the life of you figure out how serious he’s intending to be.

You? You want to keep your head down and earn enough to buy your freedom in a few years. Then? You’ll say goodbye forever, and if you ever smell sawdust again it’ll be too soon.

Your hopes are dashed when Price comes to check on you late into the night. He hears you singing the way you do when no one is around, sees you weaving a needle in and out to the rhythm, looking ethereal even under the lamplight that flickers every few minutes or so.

Now he’s looking to make you the jewel of the entire circus— taking center stage with your costume and voice for all to enjoy. Something that will surely keep you chained to the circus indefinitely— Price isn’t known for letting star attractions walk away.

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TF 141 Coal Miner AU? 🤔 I could maybe make it work...

if you have a niche sport/job/hobby it’s your sacred duty to make the most specific incomprehensible AUs with the characters you like. no more coffeeshop aus no more college aus you have to put those guys in a microbial lab. your fave is a high school english teacher. that show is about bowling now sorry. THIS IS MANDATORY!!!

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John Price who has claustrophobia.

Everyone knows that Ghost doesn't necessarily like the tunnels and tight spaces on ops. He gets a little more rigid and pays more attention. With his past and his stature, all things considered, no one blames the Lieutenant when he gets a bit nippy in the cramped spaces.

But Price? He is fighting his way to the surface.

He keeps his fear locked down hard, focusing on the mission, his men, the weight of a weapon in his hands, but each soldier catches the way his eyes watch the ceiling like it might collapse, or the too tight walls that threaten to squeeze the air from his lungs.

...

The tunnel smells like mold and gun oil. Old concrete, old war. Somewhere up ahead, water drips slow and steady, the sound too rhythmic to be comforting. Gaz shifts his grip on his rifle, listening to the team’s footfalls.

He’s behind the Captain, same as usual. Soap is behind, covering their rear. Ghost is up front, cutting through the dark, though Gaz can see the tension in his shoulders. Ghost never liked tight spaces. Makes sense, considering everything.

But Price?

Price walks like nothing gets to him. Like he belongs in places like this, in shadows thick with dust and the weight of earth above. He’s all straight spine and low voice, gun raised, eyes scanning.

Still, Gaz notices it. The way Price keeps glancing up, like he’s waiting for the ceiling to crack and fall in. Like every groan of shifting stone is a whisper only he hears. He doesn’t say anything—of course not—but Gaz sees the grip on his weapon, how his fingers flex, then still. Sees the barely-there shift in his breathing when the walls close in tighter.

They stop at a bend to regroup. Ghost signs something ahead—two tangos. Nothing big. Gaz watches the Captain’s hand as he signs back. Steady. Clear. But his knuckles are white. His jaw’s tight.

Gaz steps up beside him, lowering his voice.

“You alright, sir?”

Price doesn’t look at him. Just mutters, “Fine.” Quick and flat, like a door slamming shut.

Gaz doesn’t move right away. He lingers, just enough for Price to glance his way. Those blues are too sharp, too alert, like he’s bracing for something that hasn’t come yet.

Then Price turns away, presses on like nothing’s wrong.

...

Later, when they’re topside and the tunnel’s just a bad memory clinging to their boots, Price lights a cigar with hands that no longer shake. Gaz watches him from across the battered rooftop, both of them catching their breath in the golden hour haze.

Ghost sidles up, gives the Captain a once-over.

“You good?”

Price doesn’t answer right away, just stares out at the horizon.

“We’re all still breathing, aren’t we?”

Gaz nods to himself. Not much else to say.

But he tucks the moment away. Adds it to the growing file in his head labeled "Things You Don’t Say Out Loud."

...

It’s hours later when Gaz goes to him. After the transport, the packing up, the meeting with Kate...

The sun’s dipped low, casting long shadows through the broken frame of the old safehouse. Most of the team is down for the count, sprawled or tending gear. Ghost sits near the door, head back against the wall, mask still on but eyes half-lidded. Soap's head is resting in the bigger man's lap, asleep, apparently. He nods when Gaz passes, like he knows exactly where he’s going.

Price is out back.

Not far, just at the edge of the scrub behind the building, half-shielded by an old stone wall. There’s a cigarette burning between his fingers, mostly forgotten. He’s staring out into the dark, listening to the wind shift through the grass. The stars are trying to push through the haze.

Gaz is quiet when he gets there, just steps up beside him, close enough to be counted.

Price doesn’t look at him.

They stand like that for a while, the silence between them easy and heavy all at once. And then—when Gaz lets his eyes drift from the horizon to the way Price’s other hand is clenched—he reaches out, calm and sure.

His fingers wrap around Price’s.

It’s not much, just a rough grip. But Price doesn’t pull away.

For a minute, he lets it happen.

Lets someone see him. Not as the Captain, or the man who never flinches, or the one who leads without hesitation. But as John, who sometimes has to fight to breathe when the walls close in and the dirt above feels too heavy.

Gaz doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t speak. Because what is there to say? He knows he can’t pull Price out of those tunnels, can’t erase the memory of every mission where the air felt too thin.

But he can be here. Right now. Standing in the open, under a sky wide enough to breathe in.

Eventually, Price pulls his hand back. Stubs out the cigarette that burned down to the filter. He doesn’t thank Gaz. Doesn’t need to either.

Just mutters, “we're movin' early tomorrow. Get some rest.”

And Gaz nods. “Aye, Captain.”

He walks back inside a little steadier. And Price watches him go, still breathing slow, still here above ground.

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Thank you to everyone who got me to 250 likes!

❤️

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"why do you write?" because it’s the only way to silence the characters pacing around my brain like victorian ghosts with unresolved issues that prevent them from moving on.

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Soap X Reader (F)

Why does it take a bullet to get you to confess your feeling for your handsome Sergeant, Johnny? (TW-Blood, War, Violence, Emergency Wound Staples)

The mission took a turn for the worse in the dry, arid, desolate city ruins of Iran. Enemy forces were advancing quickly, and everyone was going to have to survive through a deadly firefight if they were going to make it to the extraction point. You did have one solace, though; you were side by side with your favorite handsome Sergeant, Johnny. It was quite a sight, seeing you two sweep through entire buildings, 'cleaning house' so effortlessly. This is what you two lived for, of course: the thrill of the fight and the satisfaction of the kill. As you both swept through yet another building, successfully clearing it, you stole glances at Johnny. He carried himself with raw confidence and authority. When he rushed into a room, the very walls seemed to expand to accommodate his powerful presence. It was frightening yet incredibly sexy. It's possible you had a love-struck expression, even if you didn't Johnny was always such a tease. Either way, when he caught you staring, he winked at you and flashed his signature cocky grin before he began to advance again. You rolled your eyes and gave an amused huff as you followed closely behind.

You had been pining after him for months, desperate to tell him how much you adored him and his beautiful baby-blue eyes. You loved his silly little mohawk, and God, could you listen to him talk for hours, completely fixated on his thick Scottish accent. Unfortunately, you had not told him yet how much you liked him. You were scared he wouldn't feel the same as you. Now, sadly, you may never get the chance.

As you and Johnny fought through a decently well-preserved building, bee-lining for extraction, a stray bullet struck you on the right side close to your navel. The sheer white-hot, burning pain caused you to fall to your knees with a sharp wail of agony. Once Johnny shot and killed the group of three hostiles, he turned to you, eyes wide with panic.

Johnny dragged you deeper within the building, where he found a spot that somehow had all four walls and a semi-in-tack door that kept hostile eyes from spotting the two of you inside. You tried desperately to muffle your cries so as not to alert any more enemies to your location, but the pain only worsened with every passing second. Johnny laid you down on your back to assess the extent of the bullet wound. "Ah, Christ! Alright, bonnie, stay with me; I need to rip yer shirt to see how bad those bastards gotcha." With a quick jerk and ripping of wet fabric, Johnny was able to examine the bullet wound clearly. Luckily for you, the bullet only grazed your side. It wasn't as bad as Johnny imagined it would be, but still, by all means, it wasn't pretty and bleeding like crazy. Johnny knows if he can't stop the blood loss, he will lose you forever.

Johnny quickly pulled off your med pack and went through the items you kept on you for emergencies. He opened a clean rag and pressed it down hard on the wound. You yelled out in pain at the sudden, intense pressure, but quickly, your cries were muffled by Johnny's now bloodied hand over your mouth.

"Shhh, m'sorry bonnie, please, got to be quiet." Johnny whispered softly; his gaze was pleading, begging you to be strong for him. Johnny called out on the coms, "Ghost, we need backup. Got a lass down; m'doin my best to stabilize the wound." "Fuckin' hell, I'm on my way, but these bastards are everywhere. Stay there and stay alive; that's an order!" Ghost's gravelly voice rang out through the coms. "You got it, LT. Please hurry." Johnny's voice cracked slightly, letting his mask of confidence slip. You knew immediately he was extremely worried.

Even though you were lying still on your back, the ceiling began to sway above you. The sound of bullets ricocheting off nearby buildings started to quiet. You clamped your eyes shut as you suddenly felt cold, unable to stop yourself from shaking. "Ah-Ah, bonnie nun of that aye? Focus on ole Johnny, m'not gonna lose you like this." Johnny took one of his strong hands off your wound to go through your med bag. He let out a soft "Jeysus" when he pulled out your emergency surgical skin stapler. "Alright, bonnie, deep breaths." After four staples were clamped into your side, your wound stopped leaking fresh red blood significantly. Johnny didn't notice, but after the first staple, you had passed out from shock. "No, no, no!" Johnny frantically picked you up to hold you in his arms. He slapped at your face, not violently but with enough force to try to get you to wake up. Finally, your eyes began to move, and you opened them to see Johnny's desperate baby blues peering into your own as relief washed over him. "There ya are, don' fuckin scare me like that." He said with a strained chuckle.

After you took some painkillers from your med pack, you were able to sit up with your back against the dusty concrete wall of the room. The sound of gunfire was now more distant, but at any moment, the situation could take a turn for the worse. Johnny sat in front of you, observing you, seemingly worried if he took his eyes off of you for even a second, you'd vanish.

"Do you think everyone else is doing okay out there?" You spoke softly, taking a sip of warm water from your canteen. "Aye, Ghost should be here any minute." "Yeah. That was scary back there. Imagine if I died and I never got to see what Ghost's face looks like." You attempted to chuckle at your joke, but the pain held you back. "Ya, forgive me, but I will not be imagining that, bonnie. Y'now I've seen Ghost's face, and honestly, he's not even close to being as handsome as me." Johnny answered in an amused tone, but you picked up on the hint of jealousy. "I never imagined he would be as handsome as you, Johnny. That would be a tall order to fulfill." You spoke sweetly to him, flashing him a reassuring smile. Johnny looked over at you with a grin of satisfaction. "Yer just saying that because I saved yer bacon." "No, I mean it, truly. I guess I've just been so afraid to tell you how much I like you because I didn't know if you saw me more as a friend." Johnny stared at you as his expression shifted to confusion. After he rewired the part of his brain that short-circuited, he spoke bluntly. "I thought ya had a thing for Ghost?"

"Ghost?" You blurted out, now you were just as confused as Johnny. "Why did you think I had a thing for Ghost?" "Well, it just seems like wherever he is, you follow. You ask me questions abou' him, and I don' know." You let out a soft chuckle of air, staring into Johnny's gorgeous baby blues. "I'm always around Ghost because you are always around him, dummy. He's your best friend, right? I just needed a reason to talk to you." Johnny stared back in awe; your confession hit him like a cold ocean wave. All that time wasted by being jealous of Ghost when it was him you were so desperate to be around. "M' a bloody idiot." Johnny blurted out while gently shrugging his shoulders. "Wish you had told me sooner, bonnie." "Well, I told you now, Johnny." Your voice was clear and sweet.

Johnny still sat dumbstruck, watching your every movement. "Why did you give me the nickname Bonnie, by the way? It's cute, but I never understood it." "Bonnie means beautiful." Johnny grinned as he reached his hand over to caress his thumb over your cheek. "You've always been my bonnie lass."

You peered into Johnny's baby blues and then looked down at his plush lips. "Now I wish I told you sooner if this is the thanks I'd get."

As your heart raced, Johnny chuckled and pulled you closer for a kiss. Your lips found each other in a sweet melding of souls. You could taste the faintest hint of gunpowder and iron. It was slow and needy, but it satisfied the desire for more, if only for a short time. You pulled away from his mouth first, breathing in a soft breath. You held on tightly to his tactical vest, waiting to see if he'd offer you another taste.

Suddenly, loud footsteps were heard racing down the hallway towards your location. Johnny's eyes widened with fear as he turned to see hostiles rush into the room, guns pointed at the two of you. Luckily, Ghost was right behind them, and with two clean headshots, the enemies went down. Ghost immediately got to work to help Johnny partially carry you to the extraction point. Everyone made it safely home on that mission, and you were so thankful the bullet didn't take your life.

Now, as you sat on your med-bay bed with fresh bandages over your healing wound, you opened the note that was attached to a fresh bouquet of red roses and smiled at the message.

"I'm taking ya out on a proper date as soon as you're all better. It's killin me not being able to be with you. Apparently, 'I'm too loud and bothering the other patients.' What a bunch of shite! Ah well, soon there will be plenty of time for us to be together. Hopefully, in more ways than one ;). Get well soon, bonnie lass. Xoxo Johnny."

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❤️

Soap MacTavish sketch 🧼

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König X Reader (F) ~Nerdy Little Maus~ When the reader successfully gets into a Dark Web Forum and makes a name for herself, how unfortunate for her she's a little to trusting with her client. How fortunate for the client, König, though that she falls right into his trap for him to take his nerdy little maus, all for himself. (Daddy Issues, Sugar Daddy, Kidnapping, Corruption Kink, Size Kink, Female Reader) Ao3 Link No TW - Part 1

Life had not been kind to you when you were young. Your mother passed away tragically, leaving you to be cared for by your father, who took the bottle to cope with her death. You tried desperately to gain his favor by excelling in your studies, but sadly, his drinks kept all his attention.

You were taking a computer science class in high school and excelling at learning code. The teacher, Mr. Johnson, was impressed at your ability to pick up the new information so quickly. Mr. Johnson pulled you aside one day and handed you a flyer for an ethical hacking competition; he truly believed you had what it took to win. For a few weeks straight, you stayed after school studying with a small group of other students, learning everything Mr. Johnson knew to teach. On the Saturday of the competition, your father begrudgingly permitted you to go with Mr. Johnson, Mrs. Johnson, and a few other classmates as a group.

You won the competition that day and were awarded a $10,000 scholarship to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). The joy you felt as you stood on stage accepting your scholarship brought tears of happiness to your eyes. It was a shame your father was too busy-(drunk) to see how you glowed with pride at the most significant achievement of your life thus far.

Now, you sat in a dingy studio apartment. Staring at your Dell laptop at overdue bill emails. Student loans, rent, and credit card payments all accumulated with no significant income to pay them. You graduated from MIT but at the cost of over $80,000 in student loans. You couldn't find a job in the computer science field; the only work you landed was as a bartender at the bar down the street from your place. At least you were good at making drinks; tips kept the lights on, but you were sure you'd never make it out of the financial ruin you sadly got yourself into.

Whenever the manager encountered computer issues, you were always the first one he'd call. One day, while on the clock, you sat in his office, updating his pc to Windows 10. He watched as you had no issues clicking here and there; it was almost infuriating because, to him, what you did so effortlessly would have taken him hours to achieve just step one.

"You know, sweetheart, you need to get out of here and get a job in the computer field." Mike, the manager, said gruffly as he leaned arms crossed on his office door frame.

"Would if I could, Mike. I've all about givin' up on that dream." You replied, still staring at the blue computer screen.

"Don't cut yourself short. You are young, beautiful, and way smarter than any of the other idiots I have working here. Bring in the most money, too. I would miss that, though, if ya leave."

You let out a half-hearted chuckle. "Yeah, well, I use my pretty privilege more than my fucking MIT degree. But it helped me pull a $100 tip last week from the bachelor party, though. So don't worry, I'm not going anywhere, Mike."

Mike stands quietly and clears his throat, waiting a brief moment before he speaks again.

"Don't tell anyone I told ya, alright? But my buddy David knows a kinda underground Dark Web group that is always looking for someone like you. You know, that knows how to do computer stuff." He talked as he gestured vaguely with his hands.

You turn your head to Mike with a curious, almost dumbfounded look. "I don't know, Mike. The Dark Web is a pretty scary place I've heard. But they have open computer science jobs?"

"Yeah, from what I could understand, it's like a job forum, I guess. They have special passwords and whatever, but if you get in, they post jobs for people to take up and work."

You couldn't help but chuckle at Mike, but you appreciated his thoughtfulness in thinking of you, so you decided to take the bait.

"Sure, you give me the info, and I'll look into it, boss man."

A few days later, you received an email from someone you guessed was Mike's buddy, David, on your day off and clicked the link that opened a new web browser to a black screen. You fiddled with the settings on your old Dell laptop while sitting cross-legged on your thrifted couch when you increased the brightness to see a small set of instructions.

"I'll be dammed." You spoke quietly as you began your journey to unlock the puzzles hidden in the code.

It took five hours to finally get to the last section that unlocked access to the Dark Web forum. Sure enough, there were jobs from all around the world posted. As quickly as your excitement grew, worry flooded over you. These were not regular hacking jobs. Some were as simple as finding passwords to ex-lovers' accounts, but others were looking for classified government data locked away behind high-security firewalls. The thought of possible jail time or worse was frightening, so you shut your laptop and went to shower before bed. That night, you couldn't sleep, primarily due to the fear of the unknown but also because some of the jobs posted had the amount of money they were offering when completed. The memory of a 10,000 dollar payout for a hacking job bounced around your mind, toying with you. It danced along in bitter-sweet harmony with the memory of the 10k scholarship you won so many years ago.

On your next day off, you entered the forum again. It was too hard to resist the temptation of a simple job paying your rent for the month. So you avoided the big, scary ones and stuck to hacking into wealthy civilian accounts. You created an online persona account that allows the clients to send money and messages as needed. You called yourself "Cookie," a play on Cookie pop-ups for advertisers to gather your online information. Soon, you grew a small following and became recognized for your impressive hacking abilities and Trojan Virus creations. You told yourself repeatedly you were only ruining wealthy people's lives. What is a million dollars stolen from a billionaire anyway? It only took eight months to pay back almost all your debts. You've paid your rent up, no more credit card bills, and you've paid $5,000 into your student loan debts. You felt on top of the world and proud of your mischievous achievements.

It had been a long shift at the bar, and you entered your tiny apartment completely exhausted. You reheated some leftovers and took your regular seat on the couch. You open your laptop to see a new message on your Dark Web account.

"Hallo, Cookie. I am very impressed by your work. Care to look at a job I think you would be perfect for?"

You stared at the message as your curiosity peaked. You click on the stranger's profile to learn more about the mysterious sender. There is no profile picture, but in a small bio, the sender had "Austria" with a cute little red and white flag. They identified themselves as male, and his username was "TheKingCol."

That's interesting, you thought. You haven't worked with many international clients thus far. Your eyes began to cross as exhaustion set in deep in your bones. So, you decided to pick back up with the stranger tomorrow after sending him a message.

"Thank you for your message; yes, I would like to speak further with you. Let's chat more tomorrow."

You woke up later than usual with the sun high in the sky, peeking through your closed curtains. You stretched your body, and after a trip to the bathroom, you returned to your laptop. A new message was waiting for you, and you clicked it open to read. It was a Word Document link with what the client needed. He needed a Trojan Virus, and it had to be discreet so that the victim downloading it wouldn't know it was a fake link.

"That's not too bad." You thought to yourself.

You had created multiple Trojans up to this point, but it helps tremendously if you know what would make the victim unsuspecting to download the disguised Trojan.

"Hello again. I received your instructions, but I would like to discuss more details needed to create the perfect Trojan you are looking for, if possible."

You sent the message and waited a few minutes before your stomach began to growl. You stood up and began to rummage through your fridge for anything you could make to resemble breakfast and settled on making two fried eggs and a buttered piece of toast.

Once you ate your food, you returned to your seat to see another message had come through.

"Ja, may I call you to discuss details?"

You stared at the email, re-reading it. You quickly googled what language is spoken in Austria, and it said that mainly German is spoken. "He must not be a native English speaker," you thought, but that shouldn't be a problem. You, however, only knew English and maybe one or two words in Spanish.

"I'm sorry, I do not make phone calls or talk to clients outside the forum." You sent the message back and waited while you took sips of coffee from your favorite mug.

"Ah, but can't you make an exception for me? I understand your concern, little maus. I see you are a woman, no? Your father taught you well not to trust strangers on the internet."

You scoffed out loud at his message, placed your mug on the coffee table in front of you, and typed him back before thinking.

"Let's be clear that my Father has never done shit for me, first of all." You instantly regretted the message sent, normally you would write messages but always caught them before you tapped the enter button. There is no way to unsend a message like on Facebook. Airing out such dirty laundry to a client was entirely uncalled for and absolutely embarrassing.

"I'm sorry, that was very unprofessional of me. Please ignore that comment." You sent another message as quickly as you could type it. A few agonizing minutes later, you received a response.

"Is that so? A woman needs a supportive father to look after her, you know. No need to apologize Liebling. Here is my phone number; please call me if you decide to proceed. I will not discuss any more details by message."

That was the last message he sent before his profile was marked as "offline."

A day later, you paced around your living room. You held your phone tightly in your right hand. There was something about what he said that stuck with you long after you read it. Why on earth did you let your daddy's issues slip through to a prospective client? Embarrassment washed over you all over again, and soon enough, the anxiety of calling a client outside the forum was an afterthought. Before you knew it, you had typed in the number and hit the green call button.

The phone connected, but on the other side of the receiver was quiet.

"Hello?" You called out. "It's um, Cookie, from the forum." A second passed before you heard a voice from the other end.

"Ah, my little maus, so happy you've finally called."

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*typing with tears rolling down my face* man i love writing what a fun hobby!! <- completely sincere but also definitely still crying

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started reading the city of gods and monsters and got to thinking about an immortal au

the 141 has been around for hundreds of years. simon's seen things.

things no one else should have to see. he's lived through plagues. through nuclear explosions. through civil wars. through world wars.

he's seen things you don't see in the history textbooks. he's watched the people he cares about die. simon has lived and breathed death for longer than people have been speaking english.

and he's learned to live with it. he has his team. johnny, kyle, price. they've lived through it all. together.

and then he meets you. and he thinks for the first time in his life how unfair it is that he will never die.

he meets you and for the first time in centuries his heart beats for a purpose other than to keep him standing.

he meets you and a silver ring around both of your fingers is not nearly enough.

he meets you and thinks how unfair it is that the little terrors running around the garden look more like him than you.

he meets you and he watches as your hairs start to grey. beautifully, like silver thread weaved through a tapestry.

he meets you and holds your hand as your joints begin to lock up.

he meets you and still tenderly brushes your face as it wrinkles and ages.

he meets you and he holds your hand as he counts your breaths in the night.

he says goodbye as your cold fingers curl around his own.

he watches his lineage from afar, his great great grandchildren, and their great great grandchildren. he knows you would've loved them.

how unfair it is that he is to live. how it was all worth it to have known you.

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I can't make anything better if I don't know what's wrong or what im doing right :(

a feel like the new generation of fanfic readers NEED to understand that clicking on a fic (interaction) does nothing. ao3 has no algorithm. your private discord discussions of fic do not reach the authors. if you do not actively engage with writers they will stop posting. this isn’t social media this is community.

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Love this lol

Deal with the Devil gone wrong (for the Devil)

Devil (smirking, voice silky): "In exchange for your deepest desire... I want your firstborn."

Soap (without hesitation): "Aye, deal." He immediately starts undoing his vest.

Devil (blinking, caught off guard): "...Wait—wait, what are you doing?"

Soap (cheerful): "Warming up! You want a kid, right? Let’s make one." He’s already got his shirt halfway off.

Devil (alarmed): "Wh—NO! That’s not what I—That’s not how this works!"

Soap (tilting his head): "You said firstborn! That means one of mine, yeah? I figured we’d get a jump on the process."

Devil (flustered): "No! I meant the future child you have with someone else! Not—not me!"

Soap (mock offended): "Aw, you don’t want to co-parent with me? I’d make a great dad. Good genes, nice arms, soft voice for bedtime stories."

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Thinking about Simon seeking out his ex-girlfriend after their break up 2 years ago

Please, don't go, Simon.

That was the last thing you begged as tears streamed down your flushed cheeks. Simon said nothing as he turned and threw his rucksack over his shoulder. The door felt heavier that night; it took more force to shut it behind him. He hurried to his car and drove off, only glancing once in his rearview mirror. You deserve better; it's all for the best. Simon told himself. You needed someone who could love you properly. It is all his fault you fell for him, a man who doesn't know how to love. He knew you noticed the hesitation when he would answer, "I love you too," but it wasn't because he didn't mean it. He did love you, but it terrified him.

Now, he stood in front of a quaint home in the suburbs. The sun has set, and only the street lamps illuminate the small piece of paper with your home address written on it. Johnny had forced the issue for Simon to reconnect with you again; being estranged for two years, Simon had all but imagined it was too late to tell you how sorry he was. Still, to this day, he loved you more than anything, and he hated his past self for running away from the best thing that ever happened to him.

Simon took in a deep breath. He felt too exposed without his mask, but he hoped you would see how serious he was—no more hiding. He was nervous to see your face again. He wondered how you might have changed in the two years since he last saw you. Do you still wear your hair long, or maybe you cut it short? Do you still get red in the face when you accidentally snort when you laugh at something you find hilarious? Most importantly, though, will you still have love in your eyes when you see me again after all this time?

Simon stopped at your bright maroon front door and placed the small piece of paper in his jacket pocket. He reached up his right hand and produced a loud knock on the wooded door. He held his breath as he heard footsteps approaching from the other side. He nervously looked down at the ground as the door swung open, then looked up to see you. You looked just as beautiful as the day he walked away. You stood staring at him with wide eyes before you finally spoke, "Simon?" Simon stood stone still, unable to speak; his heart was racing so quickly he worried you could audibly hear it pounding in his chest. He took in a breath to form a word that fell dead on his lips. A man rounded the corner holding a healthy-looking baby. "Whose knocking at this hour?" You turned to look at the man and child, and before you could turn back, Simon had already begun to hurry down the steps to your front porch.

"Wait!" You yelled as you shut the door behind you and ran after Simon. He almost made it to the road before you grabbed onto his strong bicep. "Stop running from me!" You managed to choke out. Simon turned to you, but he wouldn't meet your gaze. He stared down at the cracked cement when he spoke. "I'm sorry."

"That's it?" You stared at him, crossing your arms tightly. "It's been two years since you disappeared, and you've come all the way here just to say you're sorry?" Simon finally gained the courage to look at you again. His eye found yours, and his heart began to sink. There was that same sorrowful expression, only this time, it bared more weight. "Ya, just wanted to apologize for what I did."

You tilted your head to the right as you gazed upon Simon's features, highlighted by the street lamp above. He showed up on your front porch without a mask, exposing his scars and his slightly crooked nose you adored. You had collected snapshots of all his imperfections that made him unique. Kept safely in your mind's memory, in hopes you would never forget them. "I'm sorry; I should have never come here." Simon looked over to your home and then back to you as his jaw flexed. "You have a beautiful family." You looked at him, puzzled; then, finally, it hit you. "Simon, that was my brother and nephew." Simon shifted his stance and stared back at you. Relief washed over him, and he finally relaxed his shoulders. "Oh, I…I just assumed. Sorry." You stood comfortably in the silence before you spoke again. "Yeah, well, after you left, I couldn't stay in the apartment anymore. I moved out here and have been renting this beauty for a little while now." You looked over to your home proudly before you looked back over to Simon. "It's pretty close to the zoo, so my brother and his family are staying with me to save some money."

Simon cleared his throat with a quick cough and looked around the quiet neighborhood. It was in an attempt to compose himself; while the worry was gone that you were with a new partner and child, he still needed to make this long overdue apology count. "Well, are you going to say anything or just stand there?" Your voice broke through the heavy silence. "Look I..I fucked up, big time. I'm sorry. If there is anything I can do for you to forgive me, say it, and it's done."

You looked up at Simon, eyes still filled with heartbreak. You were so angry at him for leaving; every other partner paled in comparison to him. You loved Simon Riley for the man he was. You had thought you had worked through most of the insecurities and given him enough kisses of praise to cover his fears of inadequacy. You accepted all of him, but that had to have been terrifying. Maybe you pushed too far too quickly. You meant it when you told him you loved him, and you thought he felt the same. You can only do so much for someone who needs to work on themselves. Sometimes, it's letting them figure it out on their own. However, he's done a good job of working on his ability to apologize, it seems.

"Do you love me, Simon?" You asked straightforwardly, getting directly to the question you wanted confirmation on. "I do, I love you. More than I've ever loved anyone." He answers with a slight grin and half-hearted chuckle. You take a deep breath in your nose and exhale out your mouth with a huff. "If I let you back in, Simon, I swear to God, if you walk away again, I'll never forgive you." You say as you poke your finger on Simon's chest. "My love, the only way I'd ever leave you again is in a body bag." Simon holds onto your hand that was poking him, and his left-hand reaches up to caress your cheek. Automatically, you fall into his touch, closing your eyes at the sweet, welcoming feeling. Simon retracts his hand, and before you can protest, he pulls you into a warm embrace.

"Not a fan of crowds, but I would like to go with you to the zoo, if you'd have me?" You hum into Simon's chest as you breathe in his scent of gun-power and sandalwood. "Sure, we can go together, Simon."

[fanficsandcodposts]

I'm working on my story bible for 'You Are Safe With Me.' While I work on that I thought it would be fun to make some posters?, I guess you would call them that.

Dialog from my story but photos I downloaded from Pinterest. I take 0 credit for the pictures, only the words!

Main Characters from the story so far under the cut! Thanks <3

Ao3 Link

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Captain John Price

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

The Colonel, König

[fanficsandcodposts]

How can something be canon about an oc. The whole point is theyre not canon

Because I am god and I said so.