#A Dead Man's Home cod

[dollygirl808]

A Dead Man's Home

Childhood best friend! Simon "Ghost" Riley x Nurse!OC Ava

(Emotional, hurt/comfort, injury, breaking and entering, angst? Romance? Kinda.)

While this story is SFW, please be respectful and know that my blog as a whole is not, and is 18+ only. It's also possible that if I make this a series it'll contain smut. Thanks!

Big Masterlist

Ava gasped, falling back into the door she just closed as she saw him- just sitting there, apparently napping. Naturally, she screamed.

The man startled awake, a gun appearing in his hands as he shot up straight and pointed the gun at her, pretty blue eyes meeting hers. And then he relaxed, dropped the gun which bounced off the cushion and skittered under her coffee table. The masked man leaned back on her couch, hissing under his breath and pressing his hand into his side, which was currently bleeding through his black shirt.

There was a nice black leather jacket thrown over her dining chair, and a pair of heavy black combat boots that she almost tripped over.

"What're ya screaming for?" He asked, grimacing when speaking agitated his injuries. "Jus' me, love," He told her like it was obvious, thick British accent making her head reel. First his eyes- so familiar yet so different. Then his voice.

"W-what?" She took a stuttering breath, feeling her knees grow weak as she stared at the man currently bleeding out on her couch.

Then, slowly so as to not cause too much pain, he lifted his hand and peeled away the torn, bloodsoaked balaclava and revealed his face. Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt like she couldn't breathe.

"Si.." The tears welled up immediately, a hand coming up to cover her mouth as her voice trailed off. She felt rooted to the spot, unable to take a single step closer. His face is plenty recognizable in the dark of her apartment anyways, and there was a little light peering through the closed curtains.

Whatever face she's making must be ugly, twisted in disbelief and heartbreak and relief all rolled into one- she's always been an ugly crier, he told her so plenty of times. She must look so silly right now because he chuckled, low and deep, although the movement makes him grunt in pain again.

"Hey love," Simon rasped, chest rising with every heavy breath.

"Si... S-simon?" She asked, voice breaking off into a near silent whisper, the tears already gathering at her hand pressed to her face.

"Yeah. 'S me love,'' He told her, and that's all it took.

Ava burst into sobs, crumbling right there in her spot by the door to her knees, both hands pressed tight to muffle her opened-mouth wailing.

"Shit-" Simon cursed out, forcing himself to his feet and limping over to her. He kneeled in front of her, bruised and gloved hand hesitating before softly touching her hair like she was a wounded animal, as fragile as porcelain under his blood stained palm.

The single featherlight touch is all it took for her to throw herself at him, falling into his chest as she took them both to the ground despite his groaned protest of pain, crying into his blood-soaked shirt and clenching the fabric between his fingers like he might disappear again.

This isn't exactly what Simon expected when he came here, half delirious from blood loss, clumsily prying open her window out in the open where anyone could see. Really, she should get a security system, it was way too easy to break into her house. But that could be talked about later, after they've both calmed down and had some time to talk.

He could feel his own emotions swell, his nose and eyes burn. But he doesn't cry, no- he's far too gone for that, committed too many crimes, killed too many people. A single tear is all he allowed himself, pressing his cheek to the top of her ginger curls, letting the single droplet soak into her hair. He knows she felt it, too, but she doesn't say anything.

She's too busy cursing at him and hitting his chest and arms, and crying into his shirt and clinging to him, but she knows.

Ava sat up, half straddled over his waist from where she tackled him, cute puffy cheeks all angry and pouty as she glared down at him through teary eyes, and she slapped him. Hard, right across his face.

"You- you fucking asshole!" She sobbed, using the sleeve of her blue nurse's scrub to wipe at her teary face, but even as she tried to stop the waterworks they just kept coming.

Simon grabbed her wrists when she started pressing the heel of her palm into her eyes, pulling her hands away from her face with just one of his. His thick, scarred thumb swiped away a tear on her cheek, looking up at her with such longing as he did it. And she can't help but smile, lean into his touch as disbelieving little giggles bubbled out of her.

"I know. M' sorry Ava," He told her, voice reverent as he looked up at her as a thing to be cherished, treasured. And she was, to him. The closest thing to family he had was right here, in his arms.

"Don't Ava me!" She snapped at him, hitting at his thick muscled chest, and he let her, although it lacked any real venom or aggression. "You died! You left-!" The tears welled up again, and she hiccuped out another sob, cutting herself off.

"You left me, Si," She whimpered out, bottom lip quivering as she blinked at him through tears, fingers clenched into his black shirt again.

He swallowed thickly, barely able to meet her gaze, "I know.. 'M really sorry love." He wiped at the fresh salty tears on her face then rubbed his thumb against her cheek, and it didn't take long for her to melt into his touch again, un-clenching her hands and resting them against his middle just where his shirt was bunched up around her thick thighs.

"I missed you, so much Si- you have no idea."

"Missed you too, love," He breathed out.

Ava went to scrub at her face again with her sleeve, only to see blood on her scrubs that wasn't there before. She stared at it, blinked, then blinked again as if it would go away.

"....You're bleeding," She stated, chocolate eyes shifting from her bloodied sleeve to his face.

"Yea," He nodded once, concise, just agreeing with her statement.

They stared at each other for a moment, both silent for different reasons, Simon because he didn't have anything else to say, and Ava because she was praying for the strength not to kill him a second time and wring his neck.

She settled for smacking the side of his head before scrambling off of him, rushing to her bathroom for her first aid kit.

"Ow- what was that for?" He huffed, sitting up and dragging himself to leave back against the couch, not having the energy to stand up again.

He flinched from the bright light when she flicked on her living room switch, "For letting me squish you under me while you bled out, you moron!" She scolded him, dropping to her knees once again, this time with a white box that had the medical symbol on it.

She slapped away his hands with a click of her tongue as he tried to lift his shirt up, then pressed a thick pill into his palm and handed him her water bottle as she lifted his torn shirt for him, gingerly unwrapping his hastily-done bandaging.

"What'dya do that for anyways?" She glanced up at him as she tore open a disinfectant wipe, just to be safe. As he was about to speak she pressed it to his wounds, making him hiss out in pain. It brought a small little smile to her face.

"Little sadist," He sighed fondly, "Did it cause I missed you," He smiled softly at her despite her sadistic little revenge, eyelids all droopy as he leaned his head back against the couch cushion.

It made her heart skip a beat again, her breath stutter as she prepared her suture needle and thread. "What're you looking at me like that for?" She huffed out, tucking her chin to her chest as she stared pointedly at his wound instead of him.

"Like what love?" He asked, tilting his head to the side to look at her more.

"Like you're about to bleed out, that's what you big brute." She fished out her phone from her pocket, tossing it at him.

"You'd never let me bleed out love," He teased with a charming smile, somehow still managing to be stupidly attractive even with blood splattered on his face. He caught her phone easily, and raised an eyebrow at her in the form of a question.

"Use the flash, can't see shit on the floor," She told him, and set her emergency kit on between his legs as she half laid over his lap and half on the floor to get a better angle.

"Don't know yer code, love," He turned the phone to face her so she could unlock it.

"It's the date you told me you were joining the military." He hummed, barely noticeable pause before turning it back to face him as he put the date in- he remembered of course, the first time he broke her heart, when he said he'd be gone for months on end, only coming back every once in a while.

So, she spent the next hour properly patching him up, plucking him in the thigh or stomach whenever he let the light move. There were only two wounds that needed to be stitched, one gnarly jagged tear across his side that she couldn't even make a guess as to where it came from, and the other on his thigh, dangerously close to the femoral artery.

The rest of his wounds are mostly big, ugly bruises that must hurt like a bitch, and possibly a few broken ribs. When she tried to make him go to the hospital he put his foot down and refused.

"Simon," Ava sighed out, pinching the bridge of her nose, "I just don't understand, you could be seriously hurt, I'm not a doctor, I can't diagnose you," She told him, exasperated.

He sighed as well, blinking slowly at her. "Love- I'm dead. Y'remember that, don't ya?" He asked, poking his thick finger at the dog tags around her neck, the ones with his name on it, "Can't go to the hospital. They'll find my death certificate and it'll cause trouble."

Her face softened into a mournful little smile, the stinging of oncoming tears making her lip quiver again at the memory. It nearly made the corner of his lips quirk up in a smile, that was a trait from their childhood that he missed seeing. She always looked so cute like that, cheeks all puffed out, nose red with her bottom lip in a pout.

"I just... don't want you to die on me again, Si," She murmured, curling her legs under her as she scooted closer to him on the couch.

"You won't love, promise," He vowed to her, his expression almost adoring as he stroked his thumb over her cheekbone, then his hand fell down to her neck and slid into the hairs at the back of her neck.

"C'mere," Simon pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her as she buried her face in one of his old shirts, the gray fabric stretched thinly over his thick muscled form, barely fitting him anymore.

When she handed it to him with a defiant blush, she threatened to kick him in the ribs if he ruined her favorite sleeping shirt. He huffed a laugh into her hair at the memory, and she nuzzled closer, burying her nose into his scent. Even if it was tainted by bloodshed and gunpowder, it was still him underneath it all. Her Simon.

---

Ava felt herself drifting off, when suddenly her world shifted as Simon hauled her up into his arms bridal style, making her squeak at him indignantly to be put down.

"I just stitched you up, you stray mutt!" She hissed at him, heat rising to her cheeks, "I'm too heavy and you're too injured to be carrying me Si!"

"Yer not," He rolled his eyes like what she said was a ridiculous, unfounded rumor with no truth to it, a smirk tilting the corner of his mouth, "Now where's yer bedroom?"

A furious blush spread across her face, "Put me down!" She wriggled like a worm on a hook to get out of his grasp, but despite having to limp from his injury and likely having a few broken ribs, he didn't so much as falter in his hold on her. In fact, he completely ignored her as he began limping down a hallway in search of his current objective.

"Stop squirmin'. Won't help you," He chuckled, amused as he opened a door, found it to be a bathroom and kept looking.

Ava whined, pushing her face into his shoulder, "This is humiliating Si," She mumbled.

"Love, 'S just us. Now are ya gunna hide or help me?" He prompted, tilting his head to look down at her with his pretty blue eyes.

She pouted, and refused to look at him as she pointed to the slightly ajar door of her bedroom. The man just hummed in acknowledgment and limped his way over, pushing open the door as they shuffled through, and he sat with her in his arms still.

When she squirmed and complained, he graciously allowed her to sit on his lap instead. "D'ya work tomorrow?"

She shook her head, "No, thankfully. I have the weekend off."

"Good," He sighed out, and promptly fell back onto the bed. "Let's sleep in tomorrow."

She had gotten changed into a t-shirt and shorts earlier when she let him borrow- or have, his old shirt back. And he was just wearing that and the boxers he wore when he came in, his pants being ripped and blood-soaked. As well as uncomfortable for sleeping in.

She crawled off of him, careful not to put any pressure on his wounds, and laid down as she usually would, covered pulled up to her chin.

"I never consented to you sleeping in my bed," She told him.

Simon cracked an eye open, looking over at her, "Want me to sleep on the couch, love?"

Ava pursed her lips, glancing away before looking back at him, "No," She admitted, voice quiet. He hummed again. He did that a lot, actually.

"You can cuddle with me.. I guess."

He smiled, "Thanks love."

It took him a few more minutes to move again, thoroughly exhausted, but eventually he dragged himself next to her under the covers, his least injured arm tucked under her head with his other wrapped around her soft stomach from behind, pulling her into his chest with only a small squeak of protest.

He pressed his nose into the nape of her neck, taking a deep breath filled with her smell, forehead pressed against her curls up in a bun. "Missed you," He mumbled against her neck, voice filled with warmth and pure adoration. Her breath hitched.

"I- missed you too," She told him back shakily. It was hard to keep her composure when he used that tone with her, so raw and exalting, hot against her skin.

"G'night love," Simon whispered into her shoulder, pressing a kiss to the skin there.

She breathed deeply, closing her eyes, trying to will her heartbeat to slow down, "Goodnight Simon.”

---

Thee end, that's all for now. Idk if ill write more because I wasn't supposed to start any new series bc I have too many in a cod fandom alone (7 now if you include this one) but you can have it and enjoy!

Taglist: @cringeycookies

[laswells-ashtray]

COD characters as a list of stupid things my family members [or I] have done:

Price: Kept a hacksaw under the couch cushions and used it to saw open bottles of Red Kola.

Ghost: Killed a man.

Gaz: Saw a man he hated in public, and drove away to a shop only to come back with eggs and egg the man.

Soap: When in secondary school, got in a fight that was so bad that they ended up locking the other kid in a cupboard and having a teacher stand guard because he was trying to beat the kid with a metal stool.

Laswell: Carried around a plank of wood in her car to beat the shit out of someone with, if necessary. It was called Woody.

Nikolai: Poisoned a man.

Valeria: Got jumped by a man and his wife only to walk away the only one without injuries.

Alejandro: Got banned from attending school meetings on his own because on three separate occasions, he almost beat the shit out of one of his son's teachers.

Rudy: Was the last one to see his ex-husband and told him to drop dead, three days later they found the ex-husband dead and partially fused to his couch because he had literally went home and dropped dead that same day.

Graves: Smoked a wasp because an eight-year-old told him to.

Alex: Got caught smoking on his wedding day as a grown man and begged the person who caught him not to tell his mother.

Farah: Met a man who worked in an ice-cream van and was so charmed by him that she ended up marrying him and staying with him for life.

And obviously, some additions:

Adler: Married and divorced three ex-cons only to start sleeping with three different married prison guards.

Mason: Decided the adequate way to treat his schizophrenia was with meth.

Woods: Stole his four-year-old son's Nerf gun and shot a ten-year-old in the eye with it.

[wombywoo]

do you have any ghostsoap favorite fics, perhaps?

boy do I....

I should preface this by saying that I'm pretty...particular with what types of fics I enjoy reading (I only like certain character interpretations/tropes/writing styles, etc) so bear with me...

These are all mostly canon-compliant, non-AUs, ones that I regard highly~

Seasons--by StinglessWasp: This is pretty much my go-to fic rec for anyone into CoD and ghostsoap in general. It showcases everything I love about these characters, in a setting that feels as authentic to the games as possible, while also exploring the depth and sincerity hidden under the surface. So well-written and paced--the dialogue and military references all contribute to that 'feels like a mission out of the game' experience. Plus, I just love this interpretation of our boys--the humor, the inner struggles, the intimacy--Wasp 100% *gets* these characters and it's a joy to read <3

Except You, You Can Stay--by Iravaid: While this one isn't *technically* ghostsoap until the last chapter, in my opinion, it's required reading for anyone who gives a shit about Simon Riley. This is *the* character study--an intimate dissection of Ghost's past that seems so realistic and grounded, you forget how ludicrous those comics really are. Ira takes such care in treating these heavy topics with delicacy and effectiveness. Each chapter has you going 'oh wow, this is even better than the last', but as a whole--it's a stunning, fleshed-out glimpse into Simon as the character he was always meant to be. And the final chapter which eases you into his relationship with Johnny is so authentic and sweet, it just makes perfect sense that they should be together, and that this poor poor man deserves some goddamn love <3

bleeding in the house of god--by revolvermonkcelot: This is a really great 'missing scene' fic, a perfect opportunity to explore the in-between moments that the game so carelessly chooses to gloss over. I can't praise Monk's writing enough--it's slick and crisp and very tasty; the imagery just jumps off the page and you can practically feel the sweat. Plus, the dialogue exchanges between our two boys are so well-timed and in-character--love all the slang and British references~ This whole fic reads like an addition to their mission flirting, and I'm all for it! You can truly tell this author has such deep understanding and experience with this franchise (winkwinkwink, this is a joke) Read it--it's good!

The Dead are all Living--by Kabbal: This fic blew me away when I first read it. It's such a unique take on the retirement trope, I just adore this interpretation of Simon as an aging recluse while he builds his home. I tend to lean towards more subtle, grounded characterizations of Mr Riley, and this really fits the bill. All of these glimpses and fragments into his post-military life contribute to an overarching love story; the scenes with Johnny are so poignant, it's like you're pining alongside them both. I love how not-perfect they are; flawed and difficult and real. There are some moments and lines that just....struck something in me so deeply. I'm sure I'll still be thinking about it for a long long time <3

Portrait of Taction--by a_platypus: Another Simon-centric fic that I absolutely love. The character voice in this is off the charts, I can hear him so vividly in all of his inner dialogue and stunted attempts at conversation. Simon is so endearingly dense in this fic, you're just waiting for him to finally get his act together, but the clumsy, oblivious steps he takes in his relationship with Soap are truly a treat to read. I love this version of Johnny too--confident and considerate, but still hopelessly crushing on his superior. It's comedic, well-written, and the paragraphs describing Soap's journal give some of the best insights into his character I've seen <3

come on, haunt me--by flyby2: This was a really good long fic that I took my time savoring. What could have been a typical 'on leave' fic instead took time to develop a unique spin on the backstories as well as throwing our boys into some wholesome encounters. Both Soap and Ghost felt very true to character, and I appreciate the exploration of PTSD and the subsequent struggles that come along with...all that. There was a really nice balance in having their romance spread across the chapters, and I can promise a very sweet, happy conclusion <3

in the mess of it all--by flowersferns: A lovely one-shot that exhibits some of my favorite aspects of these two characters. I'm a sucker for 'one of them is hurt, the other is freaking out, they are both idiots in love, etc'. There are some really great dialogue and character moments in this, plus the overall prose hits hard. Love this take on their romance--the mutual trust, the familiarity of their bond. And just the general theme of impermanence--the inevitability of what this relationship means for them--two soldiers, willing and ready to sacrifice their lives at a moment's notice, still clinging to each other because...god...that's all they have---big fan of this :'D <3

Lapsus--by Lisbetadair: Another really great one-shot and 'missing scene' fic. The authenticity in the writing is spot-on--it's like you can feel Soap's pain right off the bat. I love how smoothly the banter flows between the two, and the attention to detail and references all help lend to that 'hardened military man' exterior. Ghost smelling like flowers because of a face wipe is such a delightful addition, plus the scene where Soap is, ah, donald-ducking it in just a t-shirt with his jewels out is such a funny mental image, I still think of it fondly from time to time. It's funny, it's surprisingly cute, it's very in-character. Stick around for some awkward but adorable cuddles <3

I'm sure I have more to recommend, but these are the ones I can personally endorse for now~

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hello there!

I’m fairly new to the COD fandom, but have completely lost my heart to those 4 lads already 🥺 Especially, Ghost and Soap ❤️

Anyway, I was wondering if I could request something for your Imagines and What Ifs masterlist? Cause I’ve just been absolutely knackered today! I was at a 30th birthday yesterday and I really only knew the birthday woman, so it was a little overwhelming to be around so many new people and in so much noise for a whole day, because I’m not actually that social or good with people 😅

And I would have loved to have one or all of those lads here to nap with me, cuddle with me and generally just having the laziest day ever today. Maybe one of them would even wash my hair for me later? 🥺

Nevertheless, I was wondering how you see the lads relaxing with their bird or even taking care of her when she is completely knackered, for whatever reason ❤️

I love this, but I’d like to flesh it out through headcanons rather than the imagines series. A cozy day with the guys sounds wonderful, and I love talking about 141 in a soft way. Deadly and dangerous in the field but absolutely gentle partners when they’re home.

Written w/ gn!reader

MDNI (for suggestive themes)

Ghost naps like the dead. This man is a brick when he’s asleep which makes him the perfect body pillow. Whether it’s a lazy morning or afternoon, naps with him are elite sleeping experiences. Since he’s unlikely to move, you can make yourself as comfortable as you want without disturbing his peace. If he wakes before you do, Ghost remains where he is because he doesn’t intend on interrupting your rest. There’s no rush when he’s home with you, and simply having a good cuddle and ordering takeaway to eat in bed makes him happy. He loves lazy days even more when the both of you are naked and curled up together that way he can touch you whenever he wants.

Price’s version of a lazy day isn’t full of naps and cuddles but he’ll do it for you. Lazy mornings are for snuggling and breakfast in bed (made by Price because he won’t allow you to lift a finger.) He will eventually force you out of bed, coaxing you to do your morning routine with him. After that, it’s cuddling on the sofa, maybe a movie or a few episodes of whatever show you’re watching together. You can stay on the sofa all day if you want, surrounded by blankets and pillows. Price might do some work around the house, occasionally checking in for kisses and a quick snuggle.

Gaz takes lazy days seriously. There’s no sleeping away in bed all day with him without a plan. You can be as relaxed and lazy as you want, but Gaz is going to make sure you enjoy every moment. Calming white noise? He’s on it. Meals in bed? Done. Need a cuddle partner? You can have him as long as you need him. If you want to move out into the living room, he’s building a blanket fort on the sofa, or if it’s nice outside, and you have a balcony/patio, he’ll set up a place for you to snooze in the sun. Any self-care is done by him and him alone. You don’t need to lift a finger. He’ll draw a bath, get in with you, and see to it that your hair is washed.

Soap loves a lazy day, and he’ll be more than happy to sleep the day away with you if you allow it. Forget asking for cuddles, Soap will already be reaching for you, wrapping you in his arms, falling asleep again the moment you’re curled up against him. Nothing is getting done, and Soap is happy to move at your pace. If he wakes before you, expect him to remain at your side, playing with your hair or rubbing your back. Of all of them, he’s more likely to be forward with offers of intimacy because lazy sex is his favorite. If hunger is involved, Soap won’t cook, but he’ll order takeaway or bring lots of snacks to bed for you to pick from.

main masterlist

[altcvnningham]

canis major

adler x bell!reader

summary: adler doesn’t go back to berlin to forget, but he isn’t so eager to remember, either. after leaving you for dead on that clifftop in the arctic, he knows best to leave the past well alone. too bad that past seems to be alive and walking right in front of him; though where he wants to forget, it seems you’ve already beaten him to the punch. or; bell survives solovetsky and only has a hole in her head and amnesia to show for it. read on ao3

tags/cw: bell!reader, amnesia, light angst, referenced adlerbell, somehow bell survives the ending of cw, adler can't let shit go, adler is not capable of remorse but mayyybe a lil guilt?? dog symbolism always, no pairing yet but hopefully i continue this as a spicy drabble series idk wc: 2.7k

a/n: sooo this is my first fic for the cod fandom and the first fic i've posted online in a long time so hopefully this lil ramble suffices!! i've had adlerbell brainrot and wanted to get at least something out before bo6 ruins all of my headcanons so here's a snippet of something i hopefully find the motivation to continue into a mini series. enjoy :')

Sometimes, he goes back to Berlin.

Stumbling out of the muggy bar into the dank alleyway out the back, Adler fishes out a pack of cigarettes from the front of his jacket; two firm knocks of it against his palm before he plucks one out with his mouth, pockets the box, and flips open his lighter. The clink of the metal echoes into the empty around him, the sudden quiet suffused with the sounds of passing cars on the street, muffled laughter from inside the bar, and the distant barking of dogs. Strays.

The cigarette ignites, glowing a cherry red, and he gasps around the filter greedily. Upon exhale, he sighs.

Adler isn’t a sentimental man by any means. What little he clings to, he does so with a loose grip, less than happy but stolid enough to allow whatever else he deems unnecessary slip through his fingers. Places, people. Things. Memories. Tucks the important things- logic, rationality, work, duty- into orderly compartments at the forefront of his mind, archived and marked off ‘til he needs it, while the rest, the mess, gets done away with, thrown into the great black gorge of oblivion. Anything else that stays- more often than not a thorn in his side, an unbidden, wriggling tumour he can’t find let alone cut out- is sequestered to a dark aperture in the back of his mind, anchored deep where it can’t come back up. Yet somehow, some nights, they always do. The smell of his ex-wife’s hair. The day he got his scar. Vietnam. The lab. Solovetsky—

The next word, the name, forks across his mind like lightning, and he bites his tongue before he can think it. It sits at the back of his mouth, nestled like an aching cavity in his molars. A tremulous breath that he forces down with another drag of his cigarette. Out with the rest. Out with the rest.

The barking doesn’t cease. Dogs, a pair of them, he can hear a couple streets over. He pictures them from the gravelly register of their snarling- maybe German Shepherds, a Bullmastiff or a Rottweiler. Their fight enunciated by the violent rattling of chain-link fences, segregated, the only threshold that keeps teeth from necks.

But no, not a sentimental man. He tells himself that the itch to revisit Berlin every Summer is for superficial reasons, and by no means is renting out a shithole hotel room opposite a sewer-laden river considered a vacation from anything other than the luxuries he gorges himself mindlessly on at home- maybe this is to keep him humble, more than anything. It doesn’t do well to remind himself of old times, not when he’s lived the life he has. Remembering seldom accompanies itself with the bittersweetness of reminiscence, and the taste it leaves in his mouth is always acrid. He doesn’t miss Berlin any more than he misses that dismal safehouse, or that sterile room he wheeled you into, questioned- tortured- no, interrogated- well, he doesn’t care to remind himself of the picture. Or the person he strapped to the gurney. But he catches himself thinking back to the city divided more than he likes to admit, and for whatever ostensible reason it is that drags him back here, he relents to it every time.

He tells himself it’s the weather, the cool rain a nice reprieve from the scorching California heat. Or that the food is better, not so much overprocessed shit and sugars. Can take his coffee as black as he likes without the waitress turning her nose up about it and double-triple-checking if he’s sure. And it’s the people, maybe, who leave him well enough alone. Or the drinks. The views, some places. The- air.

Not like Arctic air. Not like—

The one dog’s snarl rips bloodcurdling through the night, all froth and venom, and as the chain-link fence screeches and judders in its rusted welding the other mutt quiets a moment. Cowers under the meaner dog’s ferocity. Then, like it had been wounded, it lets out a low, anguished howl, beast reduced to a scared little pup. Adler holds the smoke in his chest around a stifled breath anticipating a release. But the first dog just grumbles, the fence clinks, and there isn’t much noise after that.

But the quiet doesn’t last long- just as Adler drops his cigarette and snuffs it with a wrench of his heel, another sound resonates, yowling through the alley.

The grinding of tires upon wet asphalt crunches from just beyond the alleyway entrance. The streetlamp overhanging the entryway glares bright yellow as it bounces off of the garishly coloured taxi cab, pulling up to a groaning halt outside the bar.

He thinks nothing of it, pulling at the collar of his leather jacket. It’s getting cold, and he’s left his drink inside. Wouldn’t want to waste good beer. Adler turns, and makes for the door.

And you step out of the car.

A half-finished cigarette bounces on the sidewalk before you exit, the softened heel of your boot following soon after in a splash upon the flooded curb. Your German is rusty- always has been- but it’s easy enough to utter a quick and easy danke as you pull yourself up out of the cab. The door shuts with a slam, and you tilt your head back to gaze up at the sign above the bar- Der Fluss Lethe glaring in faded lightbox red- and you let out a contented sigh, your breath suspended in the frigid air. Pink, bitten fingers pluck at your gloves, fingerless faded green knit, shovelling them into your jacket pocket.

Adler’s fist is already curled around the handle of the back door as he clocks your presence in his periphery, a stranger like any other- but your image resembles the one that coagulates in the borders of old memory, the dried blood of you he hasn’t been able to wash his hands of since ‘81. Enough that he does a double take, his eyes wide behind tinted glasses, and he stops, his heart following suit.

He’s seen enough bodies in his time to fill the morgue in his mind twice over, and plenty ghosts to wander coldly among the unmarked graves. Vietnam alone is an unwinding cemetery stretching endless, catacombs along the inside of his skull, lined with what his old shrink would call remorse. Guilt. As if the feeling mattered. As if self-reproach could turn self-flagellation into something so incandescent as redemption. As if the bile in the back of his throat could bring back the dead.

And it couldn’t, because it isn’t… that’s not—

Bell.

It’s in the way you stand, your back rigid, that slight slouch to your shoulders, always dragged down upon you like they bore the weight of the whole world (and they did, once, do you remember?). The pelting of rain smacks off of the lapels of your jacket and ricochets like stars, caught in the light of the streetlamp overhead, but for all he knows or cares it could be raining diamond and all he sees is you- the wrinkling of your nose as you accommodate to the cold, how your cheeks flush at the chill (as they had those nights he pulled you into the darkroom, evidence of your apprehension drowned in the red glow of safelights); your hair is longer, unkempt, but still that same colour (clumps he’d find in his clenched fist when you’d argue yourselves into a wrestling match, pinning each other by the throats to dented walls in Die Landebahn); that scar upon your brow; that wavering line of your lip, pursed and hiding behind your reticence as you always did, and your eyes- your eyes—

—you feel someone watching—

—your eyes turn, and fix upon him with the startled softness of a doe, hunter betrayed by the snapping of a branch underfoot. Adler’s heel crunches against broken glass, his hand lingering right in that threadbare threshold upon the doorhandle, and he can’t speak, can’t move, can’t think—

Open the door, Bell, open the door—

—and you stop outside the cab, your breath caught in your throat. You see a shadow in the alley, in the shape of a man.

The darkness of the alley gives enough cover that you don’t see much, but what you do make out of the man prickles at a part of your mind long dormant: the haughtily broad set of the shoulders; the halo of blond tinted red just beneath the flickering exit light above the door where he stands; the shadow of a strong, clenched jaw; and in the brief glinting of passing headlights as cars rush on behind you, you see a face half gorged by a thick, forked scar, a fissure struck down his furrowed expression. A pair of dark aviator glasses hide those eyes that you know are looking at you, reflecting back nothing but your own bewilderment.

There is something you know. Deep inside that half rotted head of yours, where an incomplete recollection of your existence before you awoke bleeding on that clifftop lies, you feel a twinge of recognition. Familiarity. Something. Something stirring deep in your marrow- a fear inherited, a conditioned surrender, a faded polaroid, a kiss? Your migraine, chronic, comes clawing back with a vengeance, as it does most nights, but this time with a savage fervour that wrenches your face into an involuntary grimace. Where the hole in your head had once been all those years ago it tickles and burns, burrowing into your brain and groping greedy fingers along remnants of memory. It claws at you, digging through your amygdala to find something fresh, something old, something palpable, real, something- anything. Searching what little remains visible to you in the thick fog of your own mind to pin a meaning to this feeling, an answer to your question, a name to that face.

You’ve seen him before. You swear. Somewhere. In a dream, reoccurring, behind a red door. You don’t know how, or why you’d think you recognise him- in those dreams, the door never even opens. Your hand ever stuck on the handle, jammed and impenetrable, what sits behind it forbidden to you. Like not even your own mind wants you to know. It confines you to your ignorance, almost blissful.

Adler’s heart kicks violently in his chest. He shot you. He killed you. He’d heard your death rattle on that clifftop in Solovetsky and the sound was almost like singing, your last word, your last breath. A miserere for your short and fractured life. And he’s looking at your ghost, standing there all owl-eyed and as beautiful as the day he found you bleeding out on that airstrip. Before he took you. Before he took you and collared you and made a damned mess of things.

The only thing separating you from the Bell he knows he killed- his Bell- is the star-shaped scar split across your left temple. The only wound he never had to sit and heal as he belligerently patched you up, poking and preening you like his prize dog. Yet in spite of never seeing it before, he recognises the wound all too well. He put it there himself.

And as you stand there for that brief moment- no more than twelve seconds stretched to an eternity- he thinks for a moment that you’ve put it together. You recognise him. You see him. As he is. You’ve figured him out, Bell, as you always do. You’re the only one to have gotten away with it, nearly. Or so he thought. And now he’s watching a corpse having dug itself out of the grave he put it in, standing there, staring at him. Suppose you’ve always been a dead man walking.

You could do it, he thinks. Turn. Fling your heel round and barrel towards him with all the enmity of a cornered animal. He thinks of the strays, barking. Can picture your mouth frothing at the sides as you sink your teeth down into him- gnarled canines, hooked to your chain-link fence- which he probably deserves. Not an unfamiliar feeling by any stretch, but one faraway enough to seem almost sweet now through the hazy lens of nostalgia. If there truly is a sentimental bone in his body after all, then maybe it’s just for that. Still, he holds his breath, awaiting the killing blow he’s surely due. But it never comes.

You release your held breath, finally, tearing your eyes away from the callous faced stranger. It’s a ridiculous notion. Just an uncanny instance of déjà vu. You don’t know that man any more than you know yourself. You settle on a more rational answer- just one of those faces. And with a disgruntled sigh you rub the scar upon your temple to soothe the ache, turn around, and enter the bar alone.

Adler sighs, his heart sinking from up high in his throat back down to his chest. His hand has latched onto the doorhandle for so long it’s gone numb from the cold, bruised knuckles bluer than they were before (bar fights- not here, but another, as there will always be). He wrestles his jaw pensively, knowing he ought to take it off, keep the door closed, turn away, and leave. Slink back, tail between his legs, to that shithole hotel room to drink himself into a stupor. Let you haunt him there, instead. As you always have.

But he doesn’t. He has no idea what idiocy compels him, what soft, dewy-eyed weak link in him snags on that chain, to willingly wander back into the viper den of reminiscence, but he wrenches his fist around the handle, pushes, and lets himself back into the bar, the thick, hot air hitting him like a drug that he breathes in, tart and sour with the cloy of sweat and alcohol but still faintly- just faintly- of you. Like rain carried along the wind.

And Russell Adler is not a sentimental man.

But from across the bar he hides behind his beer glass, watches as you move about, a phantom, weaving through the faceless mass of people celebrating a championship he cares nothing to follow. You take your order at the bar with a smile he’s never seen on you before, boots folded to tip-toes as you lean over the liquor-stickied top, your perfect mouth pink and sweet and laughing and alive. The world seems to move about you in a haze, an indistinct mist of blurred faces and bottled voices and beyond all the light and life and joy that seems to burn bright around you like a halo all he sees is you.

Maybe, then, he’s a fool.

But it isn’t lost on him, how your fingers skirt across your hair in an attempt to hide the scar upon your temple. Nor is it lost on him how you wince at the feeling, the stars in your eyes dimmed for just a split second as you shiver, like a touch imperceptible running fingers down your back. Nor even the way you fight the urge to look, to follow the feeling of his eyes fixed upon you, and surely not the way you lose that fight, surrendered to it, your sweet face turning and finding him in an instant. Without so much as trying, like instinct, like something as pathetic and saccharine as fate. Your heart called to it, a lighthouse in the fog. Port in the storm. Ships passing in the night but called crashing to the same shore.

(The pieces of you are scattered everywhere, Bell. He finds you in every split seam inside himself. Splintered shrapnel dug through his temporal lobe, severing synapses ‘til they go dark. Even stars die quicker than that. Quicker than you. Is that what it felt like for you, too? When the lights went out, was it him you last saw- or the sky, waxen, over the Arctic? A waning night, a distant moon. The inconsequence of death- brief celestial ephemera.)

The stranger across the bar looks at you, offering nary a smile, eyes indiscernible behind shadowed sunglasses. And where you ought to find his apparent coldness disconcerting, instead you wring out of your chest with a white-knuckled caress a feeling like… comfort.

Sometimes, Bell, you go back to Berlin. You don’t quite know why.

[mockerycrow]

Talk About Sensitivity In The COD Fandom **Important.**

THIS IS NOT A DEBATE POST. DO NOT BOTHER.

Hey, everyone. After the reveal of Makarov in the trailer (as well as general concern), I think a chat about sensitivity is important. Since the trailer’s release, I have seen a major increase in simping for Makarov posts as well as genuine romanticization of Russia and/or Russian Soldiers. First, I want to talk about the romanticization of Russia and/or Russian soldiers because it’s seriously getting out of hand. I need you guys to realize that Russia is an ultranationalist country and yes, maybe not everyone who lives there believes what their government does, but it’s important to know a big portion of their population does. I have seen multiple posts and edits of this man right here (pictures below).

THIS GUY IS NOT SOMEONE YOU SHOULD LIKE, AND PEOPLE NEED TO UNDERSTAND THAT HE DOES NOT LIKE YOU. This is one of the most popular Russian Soldiers amongst the internet due to the way he wears a mask, gear, has an accent, and is buff. He makes videos teaching soldiers how to kill people—innocent people in Ukraine who are just trying to survive. I have seen people straight up ignore when someone tells them what this man has done, so let me put it this way—he does not like you. He wants you dead. He is racist, a homophobe, transphobe, antisemitic, etc. He absolutely hates The West, and he does not like you unless you are a cis, straight, white 100% Russian. Even if you’re a woman, he DOES NOT LIKE YOU. If you American, HE DOES NOT WANT YOU ALIVE.

[This part is not targeted; just a general statement.] Second; there is a serious problem with how you guys address Makarov as a character. There is absolutely no problem enjoying him as a villain because I do too, but you guys have to realize that Makarov is an ultranationalist—which is exactly what Russia is right now, an ultranationalist terrorist state. “But he’s fictional, it doesn’t matter! it’s not that deep!” It actually is that deep. I keep seeing content for Makarov and I can’t force anyone to stop making “fluffy fics”, but I need y’all to have some fucking decency towards victims and people affected by the war. I know people who are affected by the war who feel ill seeing posts painting Makarov in a good light. If you are going to write Makarov, do NOT romanticize him as a character—do NOT paint him a decent or good light, because you can’t. Write him like the bastard he is. And no, this isn’t a “let people write what they wanna write” situation. You can do that, but please be expected to be judged and blocked by me and many others. Makarov is quite literally the characterization of everything that is wrong with Russia, and what HAS been wrong with Russia. Makarov is not a bad boy, a rebel, etc, he’s a fucking terrorist. Please be for real. “But the military in general is bad, so why does it matter specifically around Makarov?” Please see above my previous reasons. Thanks.

The overall message of this point is to be fucking respectful. There are actual people dying and slaughtered for no reason other than ruined pride and a lot of Ukrainian folk seek comfort and distractions in the internet and their fandoms. This ruins it for them and quite frankly, sometimes how Makarov is being written? It’s completely insensitive. Anyway, below are a few links where you can directly support the efforts and the people of Ukraine. Peace and love, and please write with critical thinking.

[sevs-corner]

Tf 141: Mafia AU!

Chapter 1: “The rain falls but they fell harder”

{A/N: the unofficial part 1 to this brainrot series of minee🫡}

OG Post Links (if you want to read more crumbs of this slowly building brainrot of mine lol) from oldest to latest <33

Preface:

It was right around fall when you got the news of been evicted out of your home- the reason being? Your roommate bailed and sold you out. Giving you only so much as a couple of hours to pack your things and leave as they had left too.

Luckily, your desperation was quenched when your co-worker happens to hear your ramblings during the night shift. With no choice but to accept, you accepted to take care of their place and move into the new city bustling in anxious steps. You could only live off your friend’s current supplies, so you needed to find a job fast.

"Turn left... turn left- WHERE?!" Almost feeling the urge to throw down the piece of paper your co-worker handed you earlier, you could only feel the pressure rise in your veins as heaved- trying an attempt to calm yourself-- seeing as how you got lost for the umpteenth time. The amount of turns you made in these wet streets and cuts through the alleyways made you quite hopeless in your situation.

A 'simple, turn right then left!' they said to you while handing the small folded note in your hands just in case. Besides having the direction written, it also had a weird doodle on the underside but paid no mind to it as you were more focused on the instructions of your co-worker, easily understanding it with no issue.

Yet it seems that you didn't as you stumble in front of a quaint...

"Bakery? Now how did I get here this time..."

The building in front of you was quite run down, but the words on the window were still quite visible despite the rain padding onto it . 'Homecooked goods,' it says in white cursive writing, which complemented the natural red bricked border. There were a couple plants that you took notice of wilting, making you frown quite a bit- knowing how, if they were given a bit of more loving, it would look quite beautiful and an even more attractive bakery.

Although you had to shake that thought away, deciding that it wasn't your objective coming into the bakery (yes, it was still equally important to you but finding your co-worker's place was more of an immediate concern.)

Knowing that you had lost all hope at this point, stumbling into so many dead ends that you decided to cut your losses, man up, and ask for directions around this place. For quite a well-known and popular town, this part of it was quite desolate.

Hence, when you started marching towards the bakery, you noticed how there were quite amount of similar cars out front. All black, sleek, fancy- wait... maybe this was a fancy bakery? Or not a bakery at all? What if you can't get any help or information from this place-?

"Johnny wasn't even- woah!"

At that moment, you happened to stop in front of the door and get hit right on the nose by the wood door and solar plexus punched by the quite fancy handle it was accompanied with.

"fUCKKKKKKKKK...." You swore silently, landing on your back and scattering all of your belongings as you clutched both your nose and stomach in (mostly shock) anguish with the person who gutted you mercilessly (accidentally) quickly asking if you were okay.

"Oh my- dearie, where are you hurt? I'm so sorry!"

You could feel the person talking, resting their hands on yours as it gently prodded yours away.

“Mighty careless of ya’, Garrick.” Someone jabs at the person you assumed had knocked you out.

“Ain’t a new sight to see LT?” The voices continues on while another replied with a grunt- which you are quick to piece together that there are three people now who had seen you land on your ass quite… gracefully.

“Oi,” another joins in, “what’s the hold up by the door? You’re bloody blockin’ the way.” A quite irritable one at that, you note.

“Sorry sir,” you hear the one besides you talk, “I accidentally hurt 'em when I opened the door.”

You hear another padding of footsteps as the one besides you shuffle away. You couldn’t see anything at the moment from how teary-eyed you were.

“Are you okay?” The newest voice grunts, right besides you, and you could smell the beer on his breath so you blanched away from him.

“I-i’m fine…” you managed to get out, albeit in quite a nasally tone as you pinched your nose to subside the pain.

“Doesn’t sound like it lassie,” the voice snickers and you turn to them with a closed-eye glare.

“Who are you to assume how much pain I’m in right now?!” You grumble in irritation, unable to control your emotions anymore for how shitty your day has been.

The straw that broke the camel’s back per se.

Lucky they were quick on the uptake.

“Can I see it?”

“Huh?”

You whipped your head to the other side, hearing the same voice that apologized to you.

“Can I check your nose?” He giggles, “Gotta know if we have to take you to the hospital or not.”

“No need to,” you insisted yet your hands fall to your side, letting the man to check it himself- which you had identified once your vision started clearing up from the tears.

"Shh, shh- no need for tears.." you felt a thumb rub at your cheeks gently, and you could barely make out the silhouette of the other man as he hushes you.

Bulky, scruffy beard, but was mostly covered the scarf around his neck, as well as the hat perched on top of his head- making it unable for you to see his entire visage.

"Seems nothing's broken," you hear the gentle man mumble to himself and you could feel yourself stiffen less.

"Thank fuck," you chuckled, "I don't have enough to get that fixed if it was."

"You wouldn't have to pay for it," he replies, eyes now staring at you with more... softness? If you had to make sense of it somehow.

"Why not?"

You stared at him as if you couldn't comprehend the intent behind his actions.

"'Cause he hurt you, lovie." The man, now clearer in your sight, explained- and his, 'oh his dark blue eyes' made you inherently stutter out a response.

"I-it's alright-- wasn't lookin' where I was going is all!" Your hands shake in front of you, widly shaking your head know as you show that you are unable to accept the generosity of the man. As much as you'd appreciate being treated to free healthcare- that seems too much for something that was a mistake (on your part mostly.)

"I insist," the kind gentleman insists, "I, too, was in deep conversation that I wasn't aware that somebody was on the other side of the door."

He grabs your hands, forcing them to calm down and for you to make eye contact with him- hoping that you would see the sincerity in them.

Yet all it did was make you more nervous, now seeing him in his entirety, from his clear cut jawline to how his eyes sparkled under the street light.

'Pretty.' is the first thought that comes into your head as you continue to be whisked away in the hues of the warm comforting--

"Let me help you up."

You yelp, feeling your arms being tugged (and your consciousness out of your thoughts) to a standing position, though from the sudden jerk you barely could catch yourself- sensing your self fall once more face first this time.

"Woah there!" You felt hands at your waist, steadying and grounding, as you feel the sudden rush of blood in and out of your head.

"Sorry," the kind man once again apologizes, "was that too fast?"

You sighed, unconsciously leaning your head against his chest, trying to calm the pounding in your head- "no, you're good."

"Dizzy?" You feel a warm hand on your forehead and you nodded again, thoughts now feeling a bit muddled from just about everything.

"think they caught a cold sir," another voice pipes in, the grumbly one from earlier.

"Seems like it," the mustache man replies, "got a place we can take you back to, lovie?"

"can't find it," your mumbles are barely audible from how muffled it was into the man's jacket and the patter of the rain on the sidewalk, yet they still caught on and looked at each other in confusion.

Odd and cryptic- was it because you knew them? Or you didn't want anyone knowing where you lived- especially with four strange big men at that.

Sighing, the bearded man signaled to the other side with a jerk of his head, "ask nonna and nonno if they can spare a room for the night."

"On it sir," the two responded with a quick nod, leaving as quickly as they had gone out.

"tell 'em I'll handle the lodging pay!" he follows up and they responded in affirmation again before he turns back to you, shivering up in his man's arms, looking quite defeated.

You looked like a kit left in the rain, and he felt that surge of sympathy of wanting to care for you- but he knows he can't. Not with a non-combatant and civilian, he thinks.

"Get 'em inside Garrick," he instructed and 'Garrick' responds with a soft, "yes sir" before mumbling to you and helping you move into the warm bakery.

The bearded man stayed outside, collecting your things until he saw paper jutting out of your bag, lines that were quite familiar. Checking if you were inside already, he could see Garrick bring you inside by the hand as you approached a fussy elderly couple, who quickly ushered you and Garrick up some stairs, deeper into the building.

Once he knew you were out of sight, he quickly grabs the paper and reads the words on it.

'Nothing of note,' he thinks then turns it around, eyes narrowing at the symbol draw at the underside.

"haven't seen this in a while..."

"Haven't seen what in a while sir?"

"Ghost," the bearded man regarded before passing the stuff he picked up into his arms, "we'll discuss it back at HQ."

Ghost nods and leaves to go back inside while another exited to join him.

"Did it come from 'em sir?" The shorter man asks, and the bearded man nods.

"Yes," he confirms, "but I do think its not from them specifically."

The other man hums, "sounds like we need to do some diggin' on 'em."

"we'll get more info from 'em once they wake." he grabs a smoke from his pocket before gesturing the other to light it for him. "Stay on post Soap."

"Aye sir," Soap salutes and watches him leave as he returns inside, doing as he was told.

You wake up with the gnarliest headache ever, that even if you did drink yourself blank out drunk- this would still take the cake of morning hangovers.

"Mornin' sleepyhead."

"the fuck?" You grumbled, throwing an arm over your eyes as you evade the sunlight by the window to spot a man by the doorway. He had quite a fancy fit on with the subtle floral pattern of a polo to the grey slacks with harnesses attached around his waist and thighs, gun holster by his hips but no gun in it.

"rough night?" he asks and you nod along, unsure of what happened to you- everything still quite a blur in your head, memories merging and dissipating the instant it comes popping up.

"our boss paid for your lodgin' here," he walks into the room and ends up at a chair by your bedside, "'compensation for his men' hurtin' ya last night, he says."

Hearing him say that made everything come into place, "you were the guys I bumped into at that bakery last night!"

You pointing at him in accusation made him chuckle and lean closer to you, yet that made you lean further away as you now realize the very trepid situation you were in.

"That's us alright," he hums, "are you still hurtin'?"

'oh,' you thought to youself, 'he was just checking if my nose was better.'

Embarrassment filled you at the insinuations that you made up in your head, as you assumed his intentions; hence, you had to look away from him- to save the little bit of dignity you had.

"no," you quickly snippet, "head's just heavy."

He clicks his tongue before standing and going to a desk, making you perk your eyebrows in confusion.

"well," you hear water being poured, "might be because you were burnin' high with a fuckin' fever in the rain."

He hands you the glass of cool water, "that's why."

You glare at him before chugging the water down, letting out a small burp while wiping the side of your mouth as you feel less parched than when you woke up.

Silence filled the room as you thought of how odd your situation was. No matter how accidental your meeting was- doing this much for a stranger was quite... well, strange is the best way to put it.

"Why're you guys concerned?" You finally managed to get out, despite the mess of thoughts you're having right now.

There was no malice behind your words, just simple curiosity and he could see it from how clear your eyes were of your intentions-- quite ironic from how much of a mess your brain was right now.

"boss felt responsible," you could hear the man chalk it up to that conclusion, "likes takin' care of people, that soft old chap."

You didn't quite catch the last part of his words as he mumbled it under his breath but you nodded anyways.

"That's quite kind of him," you softly spoke with your voice still hoarse, "can admit that it's hard to come by that kinda thing nowadays."

"I got lucky," you admitted, "please thank him for me."

The way you smiled made him pause for a second- it was genuine and so clear of its intent behind that it made his skin crawl and hair stand at the ends of his neck. He could feel his hand twitching to rub and his face and neck, so he let it- turning away from you as he reassured you that he would.

After a couple of more minutes, he tells you more details of your situation and you felt more grounded now, thanking him and his boss once again for looking out for you.

"No problem, sweets." he shoots you a grin- a quite silly and crooked one at that which made you return it in kind as you bid him farewell.

"Better get goin' huh..." you tell yourself as you picked yourself up from the bed and stretched, "still gotta ask and find out about where this place is..."

Yet as you look through your bag and all of its pockets, you noticed that the paper was missing, dumping the rest of out, you groan out- once more- in anguish at your situation.

"this is such a fucked up week!"

"how about we un-fuck it cara*?"

(A/N: *cara- Italian for 'beloved'/ 'dear')

And that wraps up the 1st chapter to this series!! Heads up, updates will be slow but feel free to hmu with ideas/ thoughts about the AU hehe (including my other ones too :>>)

[agender-wolfie]

This is my annual “thank you for making posts about Simon Riley because I didn’t have him or COD on my radar - or my dash 😞😞😩😩 - prior to coming across your tumblr and exploring what you had on it.” I didn’t know what I was missing and I never want to go backkkkkkk 🙌🏾🙌🏾🙌🏾

Could I kindly ask you for any other thoughts you have regarding Simon and the rest of the 141?

Aww! Well thank you so much! ☺️ And yes. Once you’ve experienced Simon, you can never go back lmao

As for Simon and the rest of the 141, here are some little headcanons of mine for them

Simon: He absolutely gifts you the oddest things because they “reminded me of you” like he will find you rocks, little flowers growing in the sidewalk cracks, a dead bug, enamel pins, leaves, stickers, anything that’s your favorite color, etc. He will get all giddy inside on his way home with his treasures because he can’t wait to show them to you and see your reaction. He explodes internally when you express how much you love them and how thoughtful he is.

He just toes the ground with his hands in his pockets and keeps his head down while trying to hide his blush. “It’s nothing, love” But it’s most definitely not nothing when you give him the biggest bear hug and he reciprocates and melts into you.

Price: This man is a sucker for being pampered. He actually doesn’t even realize it until you come along. He was always used to taking care of others and being the “Big strong captain” that the thought of the same being done for him never entered his mind.

Then one day early in your relationship, he comes home tired as a dog and aching all over just to inhale the smell of a home cooked meal and hearing you humming in the kitchen. He walks up and hugs you from behind asking “ What’s all this, darling?” You then explain to him that you know he’s been working so hard and you wanted to take care of him the same way he takes care of you. You also let him know that you’ve made dessert and laid out some comfy clothes for after his shower. No, his eyes are not getting watery. You must’ve been cutting onions or something.

Soap: He loves how well you get along with his family. His Nan absolutely LOVES you and is constantly pestering him on when he’s gonna finally propose. All his little cousins flock to you at family gatherings as well and you’re friendly and personable with everyone, almost like you’ve known them for years.

He’s just so happy and proud that he’s found someone who meshes so well with the other loved ones in his life. His Nan is right. But that little box is going to stay in his underwear drawer for a little while longer until he finds the perfect moment to ask you to be his.

Gaz: He loves going for walks with you, doesn’t even matter where it is. But his favorites are parks, festivals and about town while you’re shopping or going out to eat.

He loves to show you things while on your walks like this cool leaf he found or the ducks in the pond. He will also show you cool things he finds while y’all are out shopping. Like a chandelier that looks like an octopus. (You both get it btw because duh. It’s an octopus chandelier) He just loves spending time with you and making memories that he holds near and dear to his heart.

[redxixi]

~`all ours~` part 1

Part 2

~` pairing: viking!141 x fem!reader

~` summary: you were a simple girl living with your family in a small villiage when the price clan came and raided your villiage so now your their prisoner.

a/n: aight so im back and ready sorry for being gone for so long. so this fic is heavily inspired by @groguspicklejar fic SO GO READ CUZ LORD. Her fics are AMAZING. while i was gone i developed a heavy crush on price from cod and i wanted to write something like this for a while so here we are.

~` warnings: being chased, violence, dark shi. !CAUTION! these fics will contain dark stuff in them so if it is not for you do not read it pls. If you do read it and get offended by it it is not my problem cuz it says dark shi so yeah.

like any other morning you went to the nearby river for some water and berries. everything was peaceful, the winds were blowing a soft breeze, the birds were singing and the clouds looked like pillows you could sleep on when suddenly you heard loud yelling from your home. you ran back to see what had happend only to be met with the sight of fire. everything was burning and everyone was yelling. you rushed to your hut only to find it destroyed and then you saw them.

they were like animals slaughtering and destroying everything in sight. you ran as fast as you could and hid in the woods behind a gigantic tree. you waited, listenend and tried to proccess what just happend. the people who treated you like family and gave you food were killed brutally, the children who were just playing a couple hours ago now dead too. but you only saw 4 men. could 4 men really kill a whole villiage?

you waited for a while until you couldnt hear any screams anymore and carefully came out of your hiding spot. you slowly aproached the villiage and saw the 4 men and with them where a few surviors tied up. the 4 men where talking amongst themselves so you decided to sneak past them. you carefully and quietly snuck past one of em and heard one of em talking.

"there was no point coming here. the only thing these people had were crops and some silver other than that they had basically nothing"

the one that said this was a dark skinned man with an axe resting on his back and the masked one awnsered.

"exactly they had crops and we don't kyle. if we want to survive this winter we needed more food."

you carefully listened in on theire confersation while sneakily trying to flee when just then you stepped on a branch making a loud crack sound. the 2 men who were talking turned theire heads to your derection.

"what was that"

slowly you could heard them aproaching the bush you hid behind. you were shaking from fear and you could hear your heart beating in your chest. without thinking you ran.

"fuck GET HER"

you heard one of em say. filled with adreneline you ran as fast as you could. you ran past the tied up survivors and just when you thought you could make it out of there one of the men suddenly appeared in front of you making you collide against his chest causing you to fall on your butt.

"well well well what do we have here."

you looked up at him. he had short black hair with a mutton chop beard and was build like a greek god with countless tattoos on his chest.

"did you really think you could run from us las?"

you started to crawl backwards with fear while he slowly aproached you. you could feel the tears coming out of your eyes so with your last strenght you stood up and ran the opposite derection only to see the other men in your way. both of your ways to escape were blocked by these monsters. you felt you heart beating almost out of your chest and tears were streaming down your face.

"p-please don't i-i just wanna go please"

you pleaded to them sobbing.

"aww sweetie its okay we wont hurt c'ha"

the one with a dark brown mowhawk said sarcastically while grinning. before you could do anything you were grabbed from the back by the masked man. you tried to squirm out of his grasp but his hold on you was rock solid.

"shhh its okay we aren't bad people....well we are but we will take good care of you okay"

the man with a mohawk then put a cloth with some sort of substance on your nose. you tried to resisit by shaking your head but he pulled your hair back and shoved the cloth onto your nose. slowly you could feel yourself slipping away and everything slowly became blury.

"shhh sleep now we have plans for ya bonnie"

So this will be part 1 in a multiple part series so feel free to send suggestions and ideas cuz i need em.

[machveil]

First things first: *deep inhale* AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH So so so so good! Mentally framing my wedding certificates to these silly lil men! Screaming, crying, throwing up, frothing at the mouth, flailing on my beg, kicking my legs and feet! Amaaaaaaazing! Something my daydreams cooked up when I was half-awake this morning: Imagine the rest of TF141 catching Simon on his phone more even during meetings and out in the field, seemingly checking his texts and when possible calling someone regularly, making a point to be away from the guys when talking. When they ask, he answers them casually, dismissing it as him checking in on the house-sitter he hired because of how often he's gone and how he hates coming back to dust and expired food. Naturally, given that Simon is the type to hate anyone in his space, especially someone he doesn't know, the boys (read: Johnny) are very curious. This leads to them (read again: Johnny) sneaking around trying to eavesdrop. Whether or not they catch him sounding softer while he listens to the person on the other side, him humming and chiming in while he goes about scrubbing his boots or inspecting his knives, is up to you. Is the reader actually his house-sitter? Yes, but Simon's also asking how their day was, how they're doing, things that are not even remotely related to his place that he may or may not be letting them stay in full-time because they were living in a shoddy apartment with poor plumbing and bugs and he just can't have that. He thanks them when they say they cleaned the windows, asks if they like that book they mentioned buying last week, how's their latest hobby going, etc. Simon Riley is a domestic man, and anyone arguing otherwise can pry it from my cold, dead hands! -🐸 Also I hope I never make you feel pressured to respond or write something, I just want to share my brainrot

ough, no no, keep them coming lol your brainrot is top tier! in fact, I implore people to send me CoD brainrot - the English student me yearns to write

Someone at Home

it’s normal for someone to make calls - Simon “Ghost” Riley isn’t just someone though. reserved man that he is, isn’t it suspicious that he keeps reaching for his phone? Johnny thinks so CW: gn!reader but Johnny says ‘lass’ once as an assumption, shenanigans

no one notices at first - it starts slow. Ghost’s phone is set to vibrate, his incoming call ringtone is barely audible, but Johnny picks up on it. reserved Lieutenant that he is, for as long as Soap has known Ghost, as long as Johnny has been friends with Simon, Ghost doesn’t pick up calls on base

his new habit caught Soap’s eye, at first just receiving calls, but when Ghost starts calling someone? oh, Soap knows when something is up. “Got a lass at home, L.T., someone keeping ya bed warm?”, it’s teasing, tone lighthearted when Soap asks. it catches him off guard when Ghost looks him dead in the eyes, “Housekeeper. Jus’ checkin’ in, yeah?”, his voice was a little more stern than Soap would have imagined. a housekeeper, huh? he had his doubts, but he’d rather make it a game, try to figure it out for himself

Ghost used to have his phone completely silenced, only rarely turning notifications on when he was on leave - rarely, because even then he might just not feel like it. but now? this supposed housekeeper has Ghost leaving meetings when he can, ditching the gym to go out into the hallway

this housekeeper, apparently Ghost’s flat is high maintenance. daily calls at least once, Soap’s keeping track, most he’s called was five times. Ghost would always brush him off, mumble something about his air conditioner or a door hinge. always so vague, the first month had Soap scratching his stubble trying to piece Ghost’s life together - his life on the other end of that phone

it doesn’t help that Ghost is extremely secretive while texting. phone held down to his lap, his back hunched as he types with both thumbs. it’s very guarded, his gaze locked to his screen. he’s practically dead to the world when he’s doing this, mumbled words leaving his lips when he hears ‘Ghost’ or ‘L.T.’

Johnny tried to hover over his shoulder once, “Who’s that? Ya wee housekeeper, Ghost?”. before he could see anything, Soap let out a startled noise when Ghost’s hand pressed against his face - a quick shove was all it took for him to stumble back. “Mind ya business.”, was all Johnny got from Ghost, voice gruff and low as he turned his phone off

it was so alien to Soap, not the guarded nature of Ghost’s actions, just the fact someone was able to take Ghost’s full attention. and full attention isn’t an understatement, Soap could swear Ghost was smiling under his balaclava. he’s seen the crinkle around his eyes when his phone buzzes, how fast he is to check a notification now

maybe that’s why Soap turns to stealth - tailing Ghost when he steps out into the hall, or standing outside a door to listen to him. sure, Soap can only hear one end of his conversation, but that alone is fascinating. he’s used to Ghost’s gruff voice, a man of few words

but with his housekeeper? Soap’s a little awestruck at how often Ghost— Simon laughs. because, maybe it’s just Soap, but this isn’t the Ghost he’s familiar with, he’s being personable, a tad more talkative. his voice doesn’t carry weight to it, unburdened as he talks into the phone. that’s Simon Riley, a rarity on base

and then he hears Simon refer to them, this supposed housekeeper. “Love— no, I told you. You can’t use the window in the bathroom, it sticks. No, I know— bloody hell, when I get home I’ll fix it.”, ‘love’, such a sweet endearment coming from his low, gravely voice. it has a smirk tugging on Soap’s lips, eyes gleaming with amusement

oh, he’d love to tease Ghost over this. he does have someone keeping his bed warm, someone he cares enough about he’s using pet names. he hears Ghost say his goodbyes, about to turn around and leave when he freezes. “Get a good earful, Johnny?”, Ghost’s voice coming from behind the door, Soap’s shoulders falling

all he can do is sigh and peak into the room, Ghost standing with his arms crossed as Soap sulks in, “Aye, I did, L.T., I did… but I was right.”, he chuckles, walking up to Ghost, “Gonna introduce us to your ‘love’?”

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Crinkled Polaroids

Ex-boyfriend!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Hi my lovelies, Lia here and I'd just like to say that this took so long and so much effort, I really poured my heart out on this one and I hope it goes well. Recently my biggest heartbreaks are the "What ifs", what if you two worked it out? Would things be different? Would Simon have the life you've dreamed for the both of you and the one he's been deprived of?

You might be asking me "Lia, what's up with all the angsty content recently, aren't you a fluff dedicated blog?" Well I feel ill, I just got off an extremely busy week and most of my drafts have been never ending angst because I lost ideas of a domestic fam with Simon but I still need to get something out for you guys okay? A random bedtime scenario written down at 3am and for the rest of my midnights during a photoshoot and exam week, what could go wrong?

I'm still waiting on what my beloved @connorsui's review has to say 👀

Disclaimers/Warnings: This is not proofread, also ANGST.

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thesnowurzikdjinn @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @fawnchives @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000

A relationship with Simon Riley going south, at first it started great as most relationships do with several minor bumps due to his past but no big deal right?

But Simon distances himself, more than what's healthy and yes, you do give him his space but there's only little time until closing and distancing off for a while could turn into something like neglect.

Little things like "I love you"s, "thank you"s and every verbal affirmation that you used to think you could cling onto was now non-existent, it hurts but isn't as hurtful when he refuses to touch you.

Back hugs you give would only give you a cold shrug in return, kisses you left were on cold chapped lips that remain still. At this point, you were better off loving someone dead.. then again, aren't you already doing so?

The life you've imagined for the both of you cease to fade in your head as the true reality of the man you love sets in, that dumb idea your younger self who had rose tinted glasses had to actually settle down with someone in such a short period of time of a few years.

You felt so unappreciated, it seemed like no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get him to see you. You felt cheated of the relationship you were supposed to have with him when you see others with the one you love and how he acts around everyone except you. You felt like nothing but a chore to him, an occasional fuck who cleans his home.

Then again, this is a broken man, you felt entitled to ask such a thing of him when he himself is also just healing from what his past had caused.

In Simon's eyes, he was doing you a favor, fucked up in his part thinking hurting you is the best way to save you from himself. It worked, that's what he wanted.. right?

So you leave, it was best for the both of you anyway right? Simon deserves someone who could actually make him happy and you deserve to feel loved in a relationship. Simon's life was a mess, truly, but he didn't realize how much more of a mess it was without you.

Coming home to an empty shell of a house, nothing to look forward to. He found himself almost on the brink of insanity, moving things all over his own home as if you were still there.

Always finding himself staring at that one wornout and creased polaroid of you and him, you were a silly one huh? A hobby of yours that left so much proof of your existence.

Begging him to be in a picture, bribing him with a kiss. Slightly smudged and distorted but still legible pen ink at the back as he flips the flimsy piece of thick, shiny paper.

Keep him safe for me, Ghost.

- Your favorite girl <3

You always thought of him as Simon and Ghost as just an alter ego, a mask that he needs to wear in order to stomach the violence that comes with his occupation.

You were the only one who can differentiate these two people. Tears started to form in his eyes but he blinks it away and shoves the polaroid back in his wallet.

He only started noticing changes when Johnny points out that he's become stone cold, a lot more silent, though he was known to be a ghost.. a shadow.. it wasn't like him to not even try to light up his mood with his dark jokes.

Everytime Simon thinks he gets over the pain, there's always one thing in that stupid house that reminded him of you. You weren't there but it sure felt like that you haunted every corner of the house and his mind.

Whether that'd be something you gifted him or an item of yours left behind, especially when the two of you shared moments with those items, oftentimes Simon tries to relive those, preserve his fading memory of your face.

This is what happens when the decisions you make have consequences on the one that your world revolves around.

A few years down this lane, nothing has changed for Simon, at some part of this never ending low point in his life he was under substance abuse.. alcohol to be specific, since to him it was easier. In concern of his captain, he did get help for it to which had progress.

Ghost kept it together, "today was a day to celebrate Gaz" he thought, blowing out the nicotinic smoke and flicking the ash off his cigarette after.. he knew Ghost's thing was more of a "let's drink and play pool in a pub" rather than a sit-down dinner kind of guy but Kyle insisted.

He thought about how awkward it was, although Ghost felt like he knew Kyle's family just from the lovesick fool himself who would never shut up, always finding a way to talk about his wife and their two kids.

After another puff, he throws the cigarette butt on the pavement and grinds the sole of his shoe over it, the soft hiss for the cigarette evoking, proving it was put out.

Simon walked a few blocks till stopping at the Sergeant's described location, his footsteps made smooth, satisfying taps on the wood floorboards of the porch and he knocks.

Price took liberty of being the one to open the door for Simon because the family was busy, Simon walked through the front door with ease, seeing Johnny somewhat interacting with a kid.

He was welcomed by the a cozy looking space, it was homey and clearly occupied, the shoes lined up on the shoe rack next to the door from the largest pair to the tiniest which was such a far contrast from his empty gloomy apartment.

The kid caught glimpse of Simon, they run up to him and take his hand to guide him into the living room as of to welcome him before bringing back their attention to Johnny and somewhat messing with his stubby mohawk.

The lieutenant observed his surroundings, the little toys and picture frames hung around the house, for a moment his heart drops to his stomach, he blinks thinking he must've been imagining things. Simon walked closer to it, he wasn't imagining it.. that was you, in a wedding dress, in the photo with Kyle.

You looked glowing.. as if you've never looked better in your life, that heart stopping smile on your face, the flowery bouquet on your hands. The green of stems highlight the precious metal band on your finger. Of all the people, places and time, why here? Why now? Why Kyle..?

For a few seconds, just a few when Simon thought his nerves and gut settled, he heard the sweetest voice that was all he knew.

He forgot what it sounded like, the effect it had on him, all too overwhelming for a man who tried desperately to run away from the consequences of his actions. I guess that saying that once you don't hear someone's voice as frequently, you start to forget what they sound like.

For once, the ringing in his ear is gone. Just your voice, all he needed, he closed his eyes for a few soaking in the fact that you're here. For a moment he forgets to take into account that you weren't his. You and Simon make eye contact, the smile on your face drops as soon as you realize who is in your home.. who your husband invited..

Dinner came around, you tried your best to stomach the food you made, every swallow was a challenge. You spent most of your time staring at the food below you, afraid to even spare a glance at Simon. He was as uneasy as you were, telling the group he had to go to the bathroom as an excuse to explore what you now view as your home. The place you built your family together with your husband.

Simon uses the stealth he was known for to sneak in all the rooms, starting with the closest, the kitchen. The pictures on the fridge were enough to catch his attention, polaroids were something he was all too familiar with. Photos of the kids littered on the cold metal box with magnets others were of you and Kyle.

Everywhere he glances was proof of the life you built, the life you could've had together if he hadn't taken you for granted. Simon returned to the table a few minutes later, you easily notice the sudden drop of his mood to solemn.

Constantly closing his eyes, the lieutenant's head was spinning, taking in the fact that Garrick was able to settle down with you in those few years, the same amount of time you'd been together and you both were never close to achieving what you had now.

The night ended with the mens' satisfied stomachs while you and Kyle play-fight about who gets to do the dishes. As all of them were about to leave, you gathered what little guts you had to at least try to talk to Simon as he's the last one out the door, away from the ears of your husband who's currently doing the dishes because the last thing you'd want is to ruin their friendship.

"Goodbye Si.."

Simon never thought he'd hear that nickname out of your lips ever again, he stopped, his feet felt like they were sinking on the ground. Before he knew it, Simon was back on your porch, squeezing you so tight. You tried to pull away but he only held tighter, head rested on your shoulder.

"One last, lovie.. please.." you sigh, your arms wrapping around him, you tried your best to sooth him as your palm runs up and down his back. You felt the sleeve of your shirt getting damp, Simon didn't cry often, but this was different. It wasn't silent at all like you were used to, he was straight up sobbing.

Simon pulled back slowly, you saw his puffed up and flushed face against his pale skin. You felt bad for Simon however what happened is what happened and you were content where you were no matter how much pain the past brings you.

Simon knows you're happy, he sees it, he cups your cheek with his hand. He was about to lean in and kiss your forehead like he always used to but he stops himself.

He wanted to be selfish, he wanted you again but he can't do that to Kyle and he knows this would only upset you so just like before, with a heavy heart he leaves.

Simon will forever let that sink into his heart, the only one he's ever love will forever be engrained in his mind. You will always be his favorite girl..

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Maybe I’m projecting with this bc of a very scary close call I experienced recently but I just know that COD men would keep their partner safe

John Price, who is traditional not in the nasty toxic ways, but in the manner that he would always walk you home after a date, even if it hadn’t gone well or had been awkward, or maybe something had gone wrong. He would drive you home if he could, because he’s not letting anyone try to snatch you in the streets under the cover of dark. You aren’t comfortable with him taking you home or sharing your address with him? That’s fine, you can call an Uber, just make sure to use the number he gave you to text and assure him that you made it home safe.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, who is a gentleman in every way, and would give the nastiest looks to any man who even tried to get a bit too close. No, it’s not because he’s jealous or possessive, he knows you’re your own person and he loves your individuality, he just wants to keep you safe. Will bare his teeth at any man who makes your muscles tense even just slightly. Yes, he will call them out in broad daylight, or keep a hand on his gun and the other near you during the night. You aren’t getting hurt on his watch.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, who’s mother and all of his sisters, nieces, and girl cousins taught him just how scary men could unknowingly or purposefully be to women. He would try to keep the mood light, joking and just pulling a bit of laughter out of you at first so he didn’t have to see that glimmer of fear. But if you still felt unsafe with whatever man was lurking or following? He’ll start barking Scottish gibberish that sounds like curses at the person furiously, using the voice he equips when chewing out rookies, one that deters anyone, only to give you puppy eyes after and ask if you’re alright.

Simon “Ghost” Riley, who’s seen his mother be intimidated by his abusive father, watched her get screamed at, beaten, cussed at, and treated terribly almost his entire life before her death. He does not want to see you be intimidated by any man if he can help it. He is a creepy-man deterrent on his own, height and muscle mass usually warding off anyone stupid enough to trail you. But for anyone more persistent? He will stop dead in the street and look straight at them. Once they see the gleam in his big, brown eyes guaranteeing murder and the gun he holds in his hand, your hand in his other hand, they’ll leave the both of you alone for sure.

Gary “Roach” Sanderson, who, despite his mute and mildly anxious nature, will puff his chest out and glare at anyone making you uncomfortable. Will flip them off and pull out a bottle of bear spray, probably shaking the container while looking them dead in the eye. Will not take any bullshit from creepy men trying to scare you, or trying to snatch you.

König, who is an asset on his own, over 6 feet of pure thick muscle and a thin layer of fat. He can get a bit anxious in public like Roach, but if anyone’s making his Schatz uncomfortable? He will kick his German into full gear, harsh voice barking out curses loudly and intimidatingly at the perpetrator who would quickly get the lesson and leave quickly, only to turn back to you and ask if you’re alright, and tell you that he’s sorry if he scared you in the softest, gentlest voice as if he was talking to a little kitten.

[sillygoose343]

COD But If They Were Gen Z Brainrot Things

COD but if they're brainrot. (I don't know what possessed me to do this, uni exams are causing me to tweak).

I formally apologise to: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John Price, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Kate Laswell, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Nikolai, Phillip Graves, König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Vladimir Makarov

i did NOT take this seriously 🥴im jit yapping

🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺

Ghost - monday left me broken

Soap's dead, Roach's dead, Mara's dead (in the mobile comics), monday left him broken.

If I were to recount *all* of the shit that he had to go through, I would be here for awhile but I know we know what our Ghost had experienced, he's broken but he's still kicking! Onto Tuesday, Wednesday!

So I think it's a fair assessment for him to be monday left me broken

I also think he listens to the song unironically sometimes

Captain Price - smurf cat

Do I really have to explain this one?

I guess COD nation sees Papa Smurf in him but the thing about smurf cat is that it has a hat, therefore it must be Price

The resemblance is uncanny sometimes (it's just a hat)

i don't have much to say, it's literally just appearance-based for this one

Soap - prime and lunchly

soap is the type of guy to walk into the recording studio and come out with "from the screen, to the ring, to the pen, to the king, where's my crown? that's my bling, always drama, when i ring. see i believe that if i see it in my heart, smash through the ceiling, 'cause i'm reaching for the stars." look me in my metaphorical eyes and tell me im wrong

he would be guzzling down the cherry freeze after a long hard day of training

he likes his cheese drippy bruh

he kinda looks like haley welch if you squint

Gaz - gaining aura

I LOVE GAZ RAAAAH

Look at him? He literally can't physically lose aura?

I'm biased towards Gaz

Even breathing can earn this man aura, there is something innately charismatic and charming about Gaz to the point that even if he trips on air or accidentally walks around with an open bag, typically aura-losing activities, he just wouldn't lose any.

Look at him

He is Kyle "Gaz" Garrick.

Roach - cooked

well, technically, 'cooked' typically indicates that a food item has been processed through fire, at least usually

but i guess this is using the brainrot terminology, still, that changes nothing

cooked in brainrot means to be struggling, done for or that the situation is just bad, the entire brazilian militia being after his ass after he fell from the roof was one of his most iconic moments, he had many cooked moments in the campaign but that one truly defined him, he was, in fact, cooked

literally and figuratively

Laswell - galvanised square steel

galvanised square steel is an extremely durable material, is able to transform even the smallest 1mx1m square apartment into a fully functional multi-purpose home with the assistance of eco-friendly wood veneers and

as ghost put it, "laswell's still solid as a rock" except, she's as solid as galvanised square steel

she's reliable, resilient and shes like the foundation as the galvanised square steel while 141 is like the eco-friendly wood veneers

Alejandro - oil up

one could say that all men in cod could represent 'oil up' but i think alejandro embodies the 'oil up' phrase

im actually just straight tweaking when i say this but i think he'd have a similar community to orange peanut's if he ever became an influencer, like different content but his comment section would be filled with 'when are you going to oil up'

i also think he'd be the kind of guy to gladly oil up on request, granted there was an ample amount of oil

Rodolfo - livvy dunne

rudy doesn't really strike me as a rizzer more like a rizzee (im tweaking so hard right now)

he seems like the type of guy to get rizzed up by baby gronk and then promptly train for his gymnastics or something

there's not much to comment on here, just that he looks like the type of guy to be rizzed

Nikolai - metal pipe sound effect

nikolai is unique in the sense that i think he encapsulates the metal pipe sound effect rather than a phrase or a brainrot figure

i have a feeling that during violence and timing gaz would agree with me

i have a feeling that the butcher in mw2019 would also agree with me

he's a menace but no brainrot compilation is the same without the metal pipe sound effect so :333

Phillip Graves - only in ohio

that gif shows up when i search for ohio

i feel like this one is very self-explanatory

in some instances gyatt and ohio can be used interchangeably so i would also consider him having the dual position of embodying gyatt and ohio at the same time, lucky bloke

König - alpha wolf

furry könig skin

furry wolf skin, no further commentary needed

Horangi - 99% of gamblers quit before they hit big

that is just what he did

Makarov - skibidi toilet

we have all seen the smile skin

skibidi toilet is evil incarnate, poisoning the minds of the children, even in the lore of skibidi toilet it is evil and direct antagonistic villains towards camera head people, sounds just like makarov

the smile skin is like the mould on lunchly cheese, its the outward thing you see but the evil of skibidi toilet like makarovs evil is like the mould spores inside the cheese

🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺

it is now nearly 3am, im so failing my histology class man

[thewriterg]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧’ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬 chp.7

pairing(s); simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader, johnny 'soap' mactavish x fem!reader, kyle 'gaz' garrick x fem!reader, john 'bravo six' price x fem!reader, werewolf!soap, harp crow hybrid!gaz, dragon hybrid!price, wraith!hybrid (?) ghost, phoenix!hybrid (?) reader

summary; I’m sorry john.

word count; 4.9k+ | chasin’ chaos masterlist

warning(s); monster au, dark twisted themes, normal cod violence, firearms, knives, combat, pinning (?), poly themes, death, r call sign is flatline, blood consumption, eventual smut, kissin, and language

“Roba! We got a ping on captain Price near the perimeter” Vernon shoots through the door; a wary tone to match his sickly look. He watches as the chupacabra brushes his concern away, not even moving to face his form, a sly grin stretching over his mouth.

“Dragons and their Hoards. You scratch up their things and they'll walk straight into a trap.” The leader huffs a laugh while the soldier freezes at his backside. The brunette's voice raises, pitch going a few times higher than normal. The hairs on the back of his neck start to stand and all of a sudden the room is getting suspiciously warm.

“You lured him here? Roba, we’ll be annihilated, we're sitting ducks!” The man has seen his superior Price work in the field. The last thing he wanted to put on his todo list was to be on the receiving end of the Captains wrath. Brown eyes dart downwards to clawed hands; A vial of thick crimson liquid has found a temporary home in the hybrid's animalistic hold, –suddenly his voice dies out.

“...Is that blood?”

“My vampire friend, he's been experimenting. Us hybrids are all mongrels. Less concentrated offshoots of our originals. But with the right boost to the system… apparently, even a mutt can cripple a dragon.” Roba finally throws a glance at the tense man, shutting the brief case that held what must've been more viles; Vern can't really begin to care. The polo jacket collar around the girth of his neck is suddenly tight around as he swallows the lump in his throat. The leader's grin is short of sinister as he pops off the lid with a flick of his thumb.

“Get the boys packing and stay away from the courtyard. I'm plucking this thorn out of my side for good.”

💌💌💌💌

“I want it on record that I think this is a stupid Idea. You need to wait for reinforcements.” Laswell’s voice rings through the coms in Price's pointed ear. Pear colored wings stroke broadly behind him keeping him upright as he hovers over the court, his eyes scanning the perimeter a hundredth time over.

“My assigned ‘reinforcements’ went in with my lieutenants and never came back out.” He replies impertinently, eyes darting to one side even though no able body was there to receive the pointed gaze.

“Damnit John- I always hoped you'd age out of this one-man army shit.” The woman's voice rings out with a sigh dying heavy on her lips. The captain responds without missing a beat.

“They're torturing them, Laswell.” The brunette hisses like it burns him.

“...And if they're already dead?”

“Then they'll all burn.” The line dies as Price finally swoops towards the ground, landing on one knee with a thump before he stands to his full, hulking, height. He was beyond trained for scenarios like this. He’d be a liar if he said it was just because two of his best were on the line that made him take flight. It was more than that- you both were more than that. Your sudden bashfulness around him hidden under your scheduled nature; Simon's yearning need for his praise and reassurance wrapped beneath his tough skin. They’d burn hotter than hell if he didnt get to see it again.

“Roba! Let's negotiate.” His voice booms across the yard and he doesnt get to take two steps before an instinct –like a flatline with a sudden heartbeat– swipes at him harshly. His wings carry his weight as he propels up into the air, by a graze of hair missing the damaging embrace of his opposition.

“Captain Price… here for your team? You should've come with a hearse, amigo.” When the lower hybrid looks up to higher one out of two the captain can't help but cringe. Roba is twice his normal size; his shirt looks like nothing but rags on his body, the fabric torn to shreds against his skin, his pupils are blown taking up all of its iris, and one eye is squinted making the other look bigger.

“Manuel… What did you do to yourself? Where are your men?” The captain's arms still at his sides, his eyebrows furrow as he looks at the leader's drunken form.

“Hah! Im freeing us both from the distraction. No more fighting with human flesh bags! Monster against monster- how it should be!” The dragon must tire from the chupacabra's speech because he swoops down, a hand on the fat of his thick neck; pinning him to the ground momentarily snarling out.

“Enough! Where the hell are my lieutenants?!” Price's hair is ruffled as he bares his fangs, patience short of thin.

“You're not listening, captain. I killed them you fool! With the help of one of your own soldiers! Your boy got a bullet between his teeth and the girl… ah she was feisty- that one. My guys ran their test… gave her a little treatment from a friend of mine; vampire down in the states and her system couldn't stand it. You should've taken a bite of them while you still could. But don't worry. Ask nicely and I'll let you lick their blood off the floor”

Price can feel himself tense as Roba goes on. His eyes are wide and there's a permanent snarl at his lips. Hearing about how you ended, smoke extinguishes out from the corner of his lips and flames spark from between his teeth as a growl brews deep in his throat.

A crash rings over the courtyard and Vern swore he could feel the ground shake beneath his feet as soldiers around him call out worriedly.

“The dragon, he's here.” One states and the brunette cant be bothered to remember who.

“Keep moving! We’ll need these supplies wherever we remake camp.” His voice booms over to the remaining soldiers who aren't already loaded up in a box truck waiting for departure. One is quick to retaliate.

“Watch it puta. We follow Roba, not you. You might be his newest rat but he eats those for breakfast.” The man is eerily mad about something the soldier can't seem to understand and he huffs, lips turned downwards as the bulkier figure walks away from him with colorful curses beneath his breath. The brunette leans against the wall, his eyes falling over your slumped figure strapped to a makeshift operation chair. The scientists were sure to take every precaution including taking their test outside for reasons he does not know. You're bruised on every surface he can see but it's worse around the poorly done IV in your arm.

There's a sudden crash through the wall bricks crumbling inches away from the mans head. Black smoke-like shadows penetrate the chest of the soldier who cursed him before, they come back up his throat and out of his mouth as a finale. The black aura busts through the truck wall tearing its side open like it was anything but a sheet of paper. Low and behold stands the blonde lieutenant in all his glory claws torn into another private’s neck.

“You-uuU” Smoke crawls out from his eyes and mouth streaking up and down the surface of his face like veins. The lights are flashing for the soldier to run; the briefcase with vials of blood clenched tightly in his hold, yet as soon as he turns the lieutenant stands before him with a hand wrapped around his neck.

“Roba. Where is he?!” Ghost roars fangs bared claws digging into Vernons Skin, making him drop the case from his hold as he chokes out a location. His head slightly cocks itself at the noise, eyes fallen on the shattered shards of glass and pool of crimson.

“Blood… that's right… wannabe bloodsucker.” The wraith forces the man to the ground, a palm stretched across the top of his overgrown buzzed head. His face hovers over the mess, palms trying to push himself up and away to no avail.

“Get your fill… fucking pathetic.” Pleas die out as a sickening crunch rings in Simon's ears; having smashed the soldier's face into the glass, the blood splattering up at the pressure. The grin on his face falls as his eyes avert to your slumped form. The blonde immediately stands from his kneeling position trailing over to you with the drag of his feet; Simon cups your cheek, clawed fingers sweeping away the curls that stick to the tacky dried blood on your face that leaks from your temple. When he notes the needle in your arm he's quick to rip it out before crumbling to his knees, his head resting in your lap. He hears the roars of Roba in the distance and it quickly makes his skin start to burn with an aching rage all over again.

“He’sss DEAD- Lovie I swear it! I'll be back for you.” The lieutenant hisses long pointed tongue darting out uncontrollably as the ground vibrates beneath him. His gaze softens as he turns and looks at your figure; lacking a heartbeat and caving into yourself. No sassy remark, no small smile, no life in your gorgeous eyes. That fucker would die.

And he will die today.

Roba escapes the heat by the skin of his teeth, the flame licking his ankle as he moves to scatter away. Price's mouth is agape, the fire that escapes from his throat is broad and burly. The leader barely dodges the captain's landing in response grabbing hold of his thick moss colored tail using it to slam him beneath his growing figure. The chupacabra curses as a flame burns bright in his face momentarily kissing the surface; barely able to recover before the brunettes' claws break the skin on his cheek with a broad slash. Quickly flipping the hybrid –despite him being twice his size– the dragon rests on his hardened back, arms wrapping around the base of his neck in a tight headlock as he squirmed beneath him.

“I'm going to gut you like a pig.” John's claws dig into the fat of Robas jugular while he growls in protest. The captain's senses scream at him again but he's too slow to react before he’s knocked into a wall by a slither of pitch black smoke.

Shadows overcome Robas figure, yanking him back against the floor until he feels himself being lifted in the air. His eyes widen at the sight –or what he can recognize– of the supposedly dead man walking. With a swipe of his hand Ghost’s claws graze the skin across the hybrid's jaw.

“You're right… I do prefer it this way” The wraith grins clutching his fingers into a fist staring down at the man who took his life. Took your life.

Took. your. Life.

“What the hell was that?” Price groans brows furrowed as he begins to pick himself up suddenly still in his place. His lieutenant stands over the man who supposedly put him six feet underground, black shadows of smoke allowing him to hover in the air wrapping around his body like a warm embrace. They seep out of his eyes and mouth, crawl up his back to his scalp; they make a home of him.

“...Simon?”

“What's wrong- feeling trapped?” He chuckles out as Roba struggles beneath him cursing fluently.

“Demon… you're a demon! You son of a whor-” The chupacabra chokes on his words growls dying while bearing his teeth as a black fist wraps around his tongue.

“Simon! …What did he do to you?” Price calls and the blonde cocks his head to stare at the dragon voidly. The brunette's face is flooded with concern and maybe beneath his frown is a swipe of pity. He suddenly hunches over into himself groaning, the blonde clutches his head irritably; shadows shoot out in retaliation one side pinning the mutt to the ground the other knocking the captain back a few feet. John grunts at the landing, going to call out to him again.

“NO! He needs to die! Stay out of my way!” The wraith pins the dragon to the floor pitch black covered hand clenching around his shoulder; the captain swallows at the grip.

“Simon, stop, your hand!” He shoots back like the touch scorns him, going back to grabbing at his blonde locs with a pained protest.

Tommys a monster-

Touch her and they won't find the piec-

Rip his tongue ou-

Vernon killed

Captain

Dead-

Ill be back for yo-

Rip his tongue out

Rip.His.Tongue.Out.

RIP HIS TONGUE OUT

“Lieutenant!” The captain takes hold of his hoard, hands cupping either side of his jaw while he stares into bitch black eyes that suddenly fades. The shadows clear behind him –not to nothing but they simmer down and Price could cry at the look recognition in his eyes.

“... John.” The older man –of the two– sighs a small grin making its way to his face that's short lived as the roar of Roba rings from behind them before his figure is dragged away. Ghost is on guard subconsciously keeping his captain behind him despite the fact Price is right on his heels as they follow the claw marks left by the chupacabra.

“You took… everything from me” Simon hears you before he sees you and when he does his heart beats potently in his chest. Doll-like cracks litter your skin; they kiss up your arms and neck, going as far to stretch across your face. Orange hues glow beneath, shining through the crevices. Your hand is outstretched in front of you and there are sparks of orange and yellow that hold the blood drunk leader to the wall before they quickly fling him across the courtyard with the flick of your wrist.

“I'm gonna KILL you! How dare you?! How dare you take a man like Simon- my Simon! I'll be the last thing you'll see! I'LL KILL YOU DO YOU HEAR ME?!” Your screech rings across the distance; The iris of your eyes burning the same color as the sparks that wrap around your arms, gaze –feral– dead set on mutt in front of you. The hybrid snarls barely getting a head start to run at you before he’s struck by arrows made up of your energy; It's pure chaos. You direct everything you possibly could throw to his form without missing a beat inching closer with the strut of your feet.

The men- Your men can't miss the dark aura that surrounds you, the dark purple veins that swarm underneath your eyes, the fangs that replace your canines, all of it. Price calls out for you and he can see your shoulder stiffen and It could be comical how both his lieutenants shared the same sinister looks when they hear his voice but, he can see how you recognized him right away; your eyes flicker between burnt orange and their original color that sucked him in all those months ago.

Roba takes the open moment to topple over and before you could retaliate, shadows of dark smoke wrap around him, tearing through the skin and bone of his bicep –the limb being cut clean off from its source– throwing his figure a few meters away. When you gather yourself to stand in a blink, Price is in front of you, his eyes gaze deep into yours and you hiss as his hand wraps around your wrists.

“They killed him! They killed Simon- he needs to die! That fucker is going to die…Get out of my way!” You bare your fangs at the dragon before your world seems to slow.

“Lovie.” Your body turns instantly at the sound and there he stands in all his glory before you, alive and well. The lieutenant.

“Simon…” The veins beneath your eye retreat as you take in a breath you didn't know you were holding. You blink once and then again, you take a step forward and just like everything in your field of work it's short lived. John is snatched away from his position and slammed into the floor.

“Roba-!!” The chupacabra tears into the span of his wing, taking the limb from the brunettes back into his sharp teeth. Roba roars about blood and you cant see the look of connection in Simons eyes –you cant see the scene of how his hand coats in the vial kept blood while he smashed his former soldiers face into the glass, how he took that same crimson cover hand and slashed it across the chupacabras face, wrapped his hand around his tongue.– all you see is your captain on his knees, pupils shrunken, brows shot up to his hairline, and mouth agape.

You drop to your knees wrapping an arm around your captain's waist lying your head on his shoulder; you can feel Simon behind you before he follows in suit, one forearm tucked beneath the armpit of his superior the other bringing you impossibly closer to them. Without missing a beat Simon makes a shield like cocoon at your backs and you take hold of the foreign energy you feel without even thinking about it. The darkly pitched shadows are littered with sparks of orange and it shoots into the roof of the chupacabra's mouth through his head and another darts through his neck.

“I'm sorry John.”

💌💌💌💌

“Laswell…” Price can feel the woman's presence without looking at her; stretched on his stomach, he can feel the absence against his back.

“John-! John, you fucking overgrown lizard-” The woman drops the clipboard she was previously looking over, the brunette shifts his head to finally meet her gaze.

“Kate.” His tone stops her rambling and she isn't given a chance to come up with something as he asks, cold cut turkey.

“It's gone, isn't it.” He knows it is. He feels it is. He doesn't ask it like a question, he says it like a statement. But it doesn't keep him from confirming.

“...I'm sorry, John. They did all they could.” He doesn't hear anything else, burying his face into the pillow with a soft huff.

💌💌💌💌

“I should've chosen my words better. When I said I wished you'd stop your one man army shticks, I didn't mean like this.” The blonde continues when the dragon hums for her to do so; finally sat upright in the shitty medbay bed. He rolls his shoulder –the side one wing still sits behind–, shifting to the edge of the cot.

“Y’know what they say about hindsight- omph!” The hybrid falls to the floor with a thud when he goes to stand, knees weak. The operator rushes to the hulking man's side, slinging his arm around her neck; lowering him back to the edge of the mattress.

“Goddamnit John, Stop! You've just had a limb torn off and you've been asleep for three days-”

“Three days? Where's Simon and Y/n?”

“Kate?!” The captain booms, voice raising when she doesn't answer quick enough for his liking.

“You need to wait. You have to trust me on this- they're safe. I won't let anything or anyone touch them. But you'll be no use to them right now. ” She holds her hand out, brows furrowed as she goes on, never taking eyes off him.

“I lose one wing and now I'm useless?!”

“No. That's not-”

“Im still a fucking dragon Laswell, dont you ever forget it! Now move-” The dragon snarls, the shakiness of his knees suddenly no longer present as he stands to his full height. He glares pointedly at the shorter woman until she finally matches his tone.

“Sit DOWN!” His pupils shrink.

“He's on a brink. You know what he is now, you know how careful we need to be. And she's- John it's bad… you lost a wing- but she lost a set. Can't get her calm enough to get treated or even run tests on her new… abilities. What will they do if the first time they see you, you can barely walk on your own? Simon Riley and Y/n Y/l/n were my recommendations before they were yours. Wait, John. Trust me.” The brunette lets his head fall into his hands cursing beneath his breath.

💌💌💌💌

“How are they?” Steady on his own two feet the hybrid walks alongside Laswell down the scheduled corridor where you both seemed to be kept.

“He's sitting pretty as always. Your girly hasn't moved in days. He's got one way glass, she's got something bigger” The blonde tosses her gaze over her shoulder when he stops a low growl brewing in his throat.

“They put them in a cell?!”

“He asked for it himself actually. The brass were all too happy to provide. She didn't really have much of a choice; meds slipped up and she saw you… didn't like how you were looking and she damn sure let them know it.” She continues.

“They're on edge. As a human, Simon was Reliable. Got things Done. Even Y/n as a phoenix knew her way around and didn't need much to complete a mission. Now, we might as well be sitting on timebombs. You'll be their first and last attempt to bring them to heel.” Laswell crosses her arms over her chest fighting the urge to nibble on the skin of her fingers.

“To their heel?” The man scoffs.

“I think they'll accept anything that'll make them calm down.” She tries and soothes the captain's nerves, still not moving to sugarcoat anything.

“And if I fail?”

“They depressurise his chamber, he suffocates. She gets an iron bullet to the head.”

“Like choking out flames… Keep everyone out of those rooms.” The one winged hybrid steps to a door as the woman mutters a ‘copy that.’. Watching his figure disappear into the wraith's holding room.

“Simon.” His lieutenant looks short of wrecked; his blonde locs are tousled, shadows climb up the glass of his holding chamber and make a home around his limbs, the usual whites of his eyes are pitch black and his iris’ are a piercing white. He notes how the man doesnt look up until he calls for him.

“Price. …Shouldn't have come for me.” The dragon stops himself from frowning as the wraith drops his head once more, gazing at his feet. He can practically feel the regret radiating off his shoulders.

“Wouldn't have been your captain if I hadn't.”

“I would've killed him. On my own. It would've been clean. I tried to salvage your wing but he shredded the nerves, that fucker. …You came for me and you'll never fly again” The lieutenant continues when a blanket of silence falls over the captain's shoulders. Ghost doesnt look up until he hears the voice of his superior.

“...Took me four days to learn to walk again. I still stumble. When I see this wing in the mirror, I hate it. What good is one wing for a dragon? He should’ve just taken the set. Is that what you think?” Simon snarls in protest, standing to meet the Johns gaze as he slams the door to the chamber closed, not backing down from the blondes shadow littered form.

“NO!”

“You got him for me, Simon. I read the report. Straight through the brain and neck. You hit the artery dead on. Precise. Controlled. Because that’s you, lieutenant. You're in control.” Prices tanned fist rests on the chest of Ghosts; shadows fiss over his hand, taking him in yet barely grazing a hair

“...Not always.”

“Then trust that I am. Even one wing down.” The brunette turns on his heel propping the door open for the blonde to inch out and he does.

“I want to see ‘er” The older man sighs looking over his shoulder, biting the inside of his lip.

“Trust me.” He says simply leaving the blonde with his thoughts when he nods simply.

💌💌💌💌

“Get out.” Price hears you before he sees you but it’s not long until he finds you tucked into a corner, gaze faced towards the wall. His eyes immediately look towards your back; the fresh scar that trails down your spine peaks through the gaps in the hospital gown you occupy in. You don't move to look at him, he's not totally sure you know it's him.

“I'll be sure to keep you away from welcome duty, yeah?” You barely turn your head over your shoulder at the sound of the dragon's gruff voice. He doesn't smell like himself; the notes of aftershave, gun powder, and a good cigar are muffled underneath the smell of a sterile hospital despite him being in his normal gear –a weighted brace wrapping around his shoulder to get him accustomed to the imbalanced weight–.

“You shouldn't be in here, John.” The cracks on your skin he sees everytime you go in the field to battle are still there, unusually stubborn to leave. You're in a fetal position holding your knees to your chest, chin tucked into your arms and it pinches at his heart strings at how frail you look.

“Who else would be fit enough to come if it weren't your captain?” The brunette hums, lips tucking into a frown when you don't move to acknowledge him. He takes a step forward, a soft thump following underneath his heavy boot onto the cold cement floor before kneeling to your level; his rough, calloused, hands gently land around your wrist and he holds you there as you squirm beneath him.

“Stop John! I'm going to hur-”

“Look, love! You can't hurt me; you don't want to, so you won't. You know where to focus your energy and deep down you can control-” The captain follows after you in suite, standing to his full height when you do finally manage to rip away from him.

“You don't understand! You don't understand how it feels for something you can't control to grow in you every passing minute!” Your voice is short of a sob, your arms wrapped around your torso in a self-hug as you dart across the small room, anything to get away. John breathes in for a beat, listening to your raw voice that usually pooled like honey. There's veins crawling underneath your eyes and when you open your mouth wide enough he can see the sharp ends of your teeth.

“W-when he took my wings… he took all of me. I can't ground myself anymore, it feels like a fire spreading in me and the only thing I have to put it out is lighter fluid! I'm nothing, without my wings… I'm nothing.” You don't quite recognize when you start to cry until you can't stop, your shoulder wrack with sobs and exhaustion. There's a dull ache in your head, a plethora of things leading up to the factor. Your ears ring and you know your senses are dull as Price makes two broad steps across the room to reach you. His arms engulf you whole and you allow your figure to fall into him.

“You're more than anything. There’s no way anyone can convince me you haven't hung the stars in the sky; so I know not only as your captain, but as your suitor… that you'll overcome this and I'll be there with you, every step.” The dragon's chin is tucked into your head while his shirt catches the overflow of your tears; he takes your chin in his clawed hand, tilting your head to meet his gaze. He never takes his eyes off you; maybe if you looked in his eyes hard enough you could see how much he meant it.

“What if I can't do it?”

“Then I'll still be there, watching you make constellations connect.”

💌💌💌💌

*present day*

“You arent askin’ for permission so I won't give you any. But you know where I stand and we both know going cold turkey isn't working long term.” Price adverts his gaze to Ghost, his mask hiked above the bridge of his nose as he huffs in a breath of tobacco; his gloves are absent from his hands, shadows crawl up his forearms fading out at the peak of his elbow. The dragon's lips inch upwards around his lug at the sight.

“So what, I should let my hair out and frolic?”

“Always thought you were the spitting image of Julie Andrews.”

“Fuck off.”

“She's sharp, Simon. Picks up on things. You know and I know that better than anybody. And Johnny-” The brunette gathers himself up, crushing his cigar underneath his boot when he stands. The blonde finally looks to his superior questioning his choice of name for the mohawked sergeant.

“-Mactavish doesn't take kindly to people making decisions for him. Give it a chance.” He rebuttals sassily before continuing on turning on his heel to depart.

“You should take your own advice about Y/l/n.” The paler man of the two calls out stopping the tanner one in his tracks; he grins softly, gazing over his shoulder.

“Am I that transparent?”

“You've always had your favorites.” The skull wearing lieutenant pulls the black cloth over the remaining open surface of his face, not moving to look towards the captain.

“Don't pout, not after the conversation we just had. You know she's always been a different situation. I know how I'm going about the pup licking at her ankles but, seems you need more time to debrief.” John hums, fingers pushing his unbuttoned collar even more open before the pads of his fingertips graze across the mate mark on his collarbone. The blonde itches to touch his own at his shoulder blade.

“There's a meeting at 07:00 tomorrow, be there. And make nice with the vaqueros .” The dragon continues on his journey while the wraith grunts in response.

He’d see about that.

💌💌💌💌

posting every 3-5 days she says🌝

forgive me my shayla’s 💔

the semester is over and i can breathe again

i think i’m gonna explain lore down here in the next chapters

umm don’t we love Simon, Price, and Deity’s love story ^.^

my hyper fixation is chasin chaos right now i feel like i can’t write anything else >:(

i think this chapter took me the shortest amount of time despite being one of the longest so far

[wiltedflowerpetals]

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John Price is a lot of things. A soldier. A leader. The captain of Task Force 141. And, of course, (Y/N) Price's husband. They are so much in love, in fact, that after a year of dating, John asked her to marry him. But even lovers have secrets... Because John's lovely wife wasn't just a sweet wife with a boring office job. No. She was a killer. A hitman. One of the best...

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It's my first cod fic... I hope it's good. Thank you for reading and I wish you all a great day! x3

Words: 2259

Warning: fluff, a bit angsty

Part 1: (you are reading it) | Part 2: Wife On A Mission | Part 3: Wife In Danger | Part 4: Husband Saves Wife | Part 5: Husband And Wife

You wiped a bead of sweat from your brow as you entered the quiet sanctuary of your home. You placed your weapons carefully in your hidden compartment beneath the floorboards of the closet, where John would never think to look. It was almost laughable, really. Your husband, John Price, a man who had dedicated his life to fighting criminals, had no idea that his wife was one of those killers.

You closed the closet door and took a deep breath. This was your life, your choice, long before you even met John. He didn't need to know about your job. All he needed to know was that you were here, waiting for him, just like you always were. You took another deep breath and needed to switch gears, to become the version of yourself that he knew and loved.

After you took a shower and put on some comfy clothes, you decided to cook your husband’s favorite food. You moved around the kitchen, preparing it as the aroma of simmering stew filled the air.

Your phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. A text from Kate Laswell. A good friend of yours.

You smiled before swiping the screen to answer the call.

“(Y/N).” Kate greeted you. She sounded professional, as always, but with a bit of warmth.

“Kate.” You replied. “How did it go?”

“Smoothly. The target is dead, and our friend is safe for now. You did a good job out there.”

“Thanks.” You said, leaning against the counter, watching the stew. “What’s next?”

“Next?” You heard her chuckle. “Next, I’m coming over.”

You raised your eyebrow, stirring the pot. “You're sure about this, Kate?”

“What, afraid to see me in broad daylight?” You rolled your eyes at her. “Yes, John invited me. He’s been telling me for ages about how good your cooking is. How could I refuse?”

You sighed. “I’m a great cook… But, Kate, you know how important it is that John doesn’t find out about… you know.”

“I know.” Kate reassured you. “I won’t say a word. He has no idea we know each other, and it’ll stay that way.” Silence filled the conversation. “But he’s bound to find out. You have to talk to him one day.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I know and I will do it… One day. It’s just… I don’t want him getting involved in my shit. If he knew what I really do…”

“I understand…” Kate said softly. “And I promise, your secret’s safe with me.”

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” You sighed and rolled your eyes as the line went dead before you could say more. You placed the phone back on the counter.

“You could have said bye, Kate.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust your husband; it was that you couldn’t bear the thought of him being in danger. You’d lied to him for years, all to protect him. And so far, it had worked.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

The front door opened. John was home. You turned, wiping your hands on a towel as he entered the kitchen, his face lighting up when he saw you.

“Hey, love.” He greeted, his voice gruff but full of affection.

“John.” You smiled, walking over to him. He pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your hair. The scent of sweat, gunpowder, cigars and earth clung to him, a reminder of the world he lived in, the world you knew perfectly well…

“Missed you.” He murmured against your neck.

“I missed you too.” You replied, your voice soft. You kind of did. Can you miss someone that you see so often? Even when your husband went on missions, you were there, watching his back and saving his life more times than you could count.

You always went there to safe him. For Kate and for yourself.

You pulled back, giving him a soft kiss on his dry lips. He was safe. That was all that mattered.

“You’re just in time for dinner.”

John watched you with a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You spoil me, you know that?”

“Someone has to.” You teased, setting the plates on the table. “Sit down. I’ll get everything.”

He obeyed. You placed a steaming plate in front of him and joined him at the table. You two ate in comfortable silence.

John leaned back in his chair, looking at you with a satisfied grin. "You’ve outdone yourself, love."

“I’m glad you liked it.” You replied, gathering the dishes. He grabbed your hand, stopping you.

“Leave it.” He said. “I’ll do it later.”

You smiled, but shook your head. “Let me help then.” John offered, but you shook your head again.

“No, you go take a shower. I’ve got this.”

He didn’t need much convincing. “Alright, but only because you insist.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, before you watched him head towards the bathroom.

The next day arrived too quickly…

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

You woke up early and ready to prepare breakfast. John was still asleep, his arm draped over your side of the bed, the peaceful expression on his face making your heart ache with affection.

You moved quietly, not wanting to wake him just yet. He needed his rest, especially after the mission he’d just returned from. You poured yourself a cup of coffee and sipped it slowly, savoring the moment.

As you finished up, John stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Morning, love.” He mumbled, reaching for you. You stepped into his embrace, pressing a kiss to his chest.

“Morning.” You replied, your voice soft. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

“Smells amazing.” he said, pulling back to look at you.

You two sat on the table, eating your delicious food as John intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Soo…” John started, as you finished your food.

“Soo?” You glanced at him, squeezing his hand.

“A friend of mine wanted to visit us. You, know the friend I’ve mentioned a couple of times? Kate?” You nod your head, feeling a slight twinge of anxiety in your stomach. “Yeah, she will come… Is it okay? Or should I call her back and-“

You shook your head. “No, no, honey. It’s okay. She can come.” Despite her promise, there was still a small part of your that worried, that he will find out about your job.

John smiled at your, happy that you were fine with it and finally could meet his friend.

And due to your nervosity, you start to cook early on for dinner. For the time Kate will come into your home. You prayed and hoped that everything will work out…

John noticed your nervosity, of course. He always did. “You’re fussing too much.” He teased as he leaned against the kitchen counter, watching you.

“I’m not fussing.” You rolled your eyes, but could hear the tension in your own voice. “I just want everything to be perfect…”

“It will be.” John assured you, moving to wrap his arms around you from behind. “Kate’s going to love you. She’s always been curious about the woman who managed to snag me.”

You laughed, though the sound was a bit strained. John kissed the side of your neck, his beard scratching gently against your skin. “Don’t worry, love.”

The doorbell rang and you felt your heart leap into your throat. This was it…

John released you, heading for the door. “That’ll be Kate.” He said.

You quickly wiped your hands on a towel, trying to steady your breathing as you followed him. When the door swung open, there stood Kate Laswell, dressed casually but with her usual air of quiet authority.

“Kate, good to see you.” John greeted warmly.

“Good to see you too, John.” Kate replied with a smile, glancing over his shoulder at you.

You stepped forward, a perfectly practiced look of curiosity and friendliness on her face. It was time to act. Something that you always had to do during your missions. Acting or more likely… lying…

“You must be Kate. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“And you must be (Y/N).” Kate responded. “John wasn’t exaggerating when he said you’re beautiful.”

You rolled your eyes at the false pleasantries, but at least your friend had some fun. This was the game you two had to play after all. “Thank you. Come in, please.”

As Kate stepped inside, John closed the door behind her, looking pleased. He had no idea that the two women had known each other for a long time already.

They moved to the dining room, where you had already set the table. The conversation flowed easily, John and Kate reminiscing about old missions, with you chiming in here and there, careful to keep up the facade of being just a supportive wife with no real connection to their deadly world.

As they ate, John kept looking between the two women. “It’s funny.” He remarked. “I’ve always thought you two would get along great. Glad to see I was right.”

You forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look as strained as it felt. “Well, Kate’s easy to get along with.” You said, but kept your eyes rather on John than on her.

Kate returned the smile, her expression giving nothing away. “And I can see why John speaks so highly of you, (Y/N). You’ve got a real knack for this - hosting, cooking… you’re a natural.”

“… Thank you.” You replied, you were counting down the minutes until this tense dinner was over.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of small talk and laughter, with John completely oblivious to the undercurrent of tension between the two women. As far as he knew, it was just a pleasant evening with his wife and a close friend.

When it was finally time for Kate to leave, John walked her to the door, thanking her again for coming. You followed, staying a step behind, happy that the day has finally ended.

“Thanks for having me.” Kate said warmly, giving you a meaningful look as she shook your hand. “I hope we can do this again sometime.”

“I would love to.” You replied, your voice steady despite of all the emotions you were feeling right now. “It was lovely meeting you.”

With that, Kate left, and you closed the door, leaning against it for a moment, eyes closed as you let out a slow breath.

John came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “See? Told you it’d be fine.”

You leaned into his embrace. “You were right.” You admitted, turning in his arms to face him. “It was nice and went better than I thought.”

John smiled down at you. “You did great, love. I knew Kate would like you. But then again, what's not to like?”

You chuckled. “You give me too much credit. But I’m glad she came over. It was… good to finally meet her.”

He kissed your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “You know, I think she’ll become a good friend of yours. She’s got a lot of interesting stories, and I’m sure you two have more in common than you think.”

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile on your lips. “Yeah… maybe.”

John’s smile softened as he looked at you. “Are you alright? You seem… distracted.”

You hesitated, your heart skipping a beat. He was always so perceptive. But you couldn’t tell him the truth… Not now, not ever. So, you did what you had done countless times before. You lied… Again.

“Just tired.” You said, resting your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “It’s been a long day.”

He held you close, his hand gently stroking your back. “I understand. It’s been a lot. Why don’t we call it a night? You need your rest.”

You nodded, feeling now tired from this day. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

You locked up the house and headed upstairs. As you got ready for bed, you couldn’t help but glance at John, wondering what would happen if he ever found out the truth. How would he react? Would he be angry, hurt, betrayed?

Once you two were in bed, John pulled you close, his arm wrapped protectively over you. He kissed your temple, whispering a soft “Goodnight, love.” before closing his eyes.

You lay there in the darkness, your eyes wide open as you stared at the ceiling. The evening had gone as well as it could have, but the anxiety was still there. Kate’s visit had been a stark reminder of your real life. Your real job.

You turned slightly to watch John sleep; his face peaceful in the light. He had no idea how many times you’d been there, watching over him from the shadows during his missions, making sure he and his team got out alive. You were always just out of sight, never letting anyone know where you were. It was your way of protecting him.

You weren’t sure how long you could keep this up.

But for now, John was safe. He was home, with you, and that was all that mattered.

You reached out, brushing a hand over his cheek, feeling the rough stubble under your fingers. He stirred slightly, but didn’t wake, just leaned into her touch.

“I love you.” You whispered.

It was both a vow and a plea. A promise to keep him safe, and a silent wish that he’d never have to find out the lengths you’d gone to do so.

Eventually, you fell asleep in the arms of your husband.

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[mayflora-18]

Incorrect CoD Quotes #13 (aka Keep It Coming, Pinterest)

Nikolai: Sherlock, why are you wearing my jacket? I said you have to ask permission first!

Sherlock: I did ask. You never said I had to get a yes.

Nikolai:

Nikolai: *choked up* I-I have NEVER been so proud!

————— Price, in a meeting: My policy is if you see something, say something.

Roach: I saw a squirrel in a tree today!

Ghost, with the tone of someone who is used to Roach: Outstanding.

Price: This is what I'm talking about, people.

--------

Sherlock, playing with something in Nikolai's workshop: Onion rings are just vegetable donuts.

Price, used to Sherlock: Sure they are, kid.

Gaz: Your stomach thinks all potatoes are mashed.

Price, not used to Gaz: Okay?

Roach: Lasagna is just spaghetti flavored cake.

Price:

Ghost, smirking under his mask: Lobsters are mermaids to scorpions.

Price: *crying* Kids, please stop.

Nikolai, fascinated: No, continue, please.

Soap, next to Nikolai: *furiously taking notes*

--------

[on a mission somewhere]

Sherlock: I...I've been here before.

Nikolai: Oh my god how do you know??

Sherlock: My phone automatically connected to the WiFi.

--------

Sherlock, walking into her house: Hello, people who do not live here.

Gaz: Hi.

Ghost: Hello.

Soap: Hey.

Roach: *waves*

Sherlock: I gave you a key for emergencies.

Nikolai, also has a key: We were all out of Doritos.

Sherlock: And what do you have there, Nik?

Nikolai: Price, currently on Nik's lap: O_O

Nikolai: A smoothie.

Sherlock:

Sherlock: *dialing on her phone* Laswell, come pick up your idiots. -------- Price: Hey, Ghost. What's your favorite insect?

Ghost: *looks at Roach* :)

Roach: *looks at Ghost* :)

Price: Am I missing something here?

Ghost: I like butterfly.

Price: You mean butterflies?

Ghost: I did not.

Roach: *chucks butter across the room at Price* He did not.

Price: *sigh* Of course you didn't. -------- [at 3am]

Ghost: You can say, "Have a nice day!" without a problem.

Ghost: But you can't say "Enjoy the next 24 hours" without sounding vaguely threatening.

Soap: How did you get into my apartment? -------- Graves: *holding his phone and recording* Okay, I am home alone and I just heard a thud upstairs, there's something in my house.

Graves: *walks to the steps of the Shadow Company base* 🎵If you're to murder me, clap your hands🎵

Ghost: *clap clap*

Graves: *bolts out of the base and into the woods, screaming* -------- Alex, kidnapped and strapped to a metal table: Do you know...the muffin man?

Farah, also kidnapped: Alex, I swear-

Kidnapper: The muffin man?? What the-

Alex: YES! THE MUFFIN MAN!

Kidnapper: The...one who lives on Drury- wait is this a Shrek reference?

Alex: FINALLY! You owe me five bucks, Farah. I told you a bad guy would get it one day! -------- Soap: psst LT.

Ghost: What?

Soap: I made this friendship bracelet for you!!

Ghost: You know, I'm not really a jewelry person.

Soap, dejected: Oh. Well you don't have to wear it-

Ghost: No I'm gonna wear it forever, back off.

Soap: 😊 -------- Kate: JOHN WHEN I FIND YOU YOU'RE DEAD!

Soap: *pops his head into the room, visibly shaking*

Kate: Of course it's not you, sweetie, you're perfect, keep doing what you're doing, live your life.

Soap: *nods and smiles* -------- Price: I made tea.

Gaz: I don't want tea.

Price: I didn't make tea for you...This is my tea.

Gaz: Then why are you telling me?

Price: It's a conversation starter.

Gaz: That's a lousy conversation starter.

Price: Oh, is it? We're conversing. Checkmate. -------- Price, a tired dad trying his best to train the sergeants: Okay, let's try this one more time. Collapsing building, simultaneous terrorist attack. What do you do? Soap: Gaz: Roach: Call the mili- Price: YOU ARE THE MILITARY! --------