#I can’t draw Makarov

[emmster]

First 6 pages done of the crossover comic 👀

[wispscribbles]

MW3 spoilers / MCD ‼️

[gloomwitchwrites]

hi!!! i literally started reading your blog and FR YOU HAVE TALENT. Got me giggling and kicking my feet cus of that girl dad!tf141 fics.

I was reading one of the links you put in for prompt ideas and I read that one six words sentence from link five: "I can't risk losing you again." hello?? potential angst to fluff?? I couldn't get it off my head and i was wondering if you could write something from it :>

Thank you so much! That's so sweet of you! I'm so glad you enjoyed reading the Just Like Dad stories. I had a lot of fun writing them.

"I can't risk losing you again" is such an open-ended prompt. There is a lot you can do with that. I hope my humble offering is enough. I certainly went more angst than fluff on this one, but I really do love sad things with twinges of hope thrown in.

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, mild blood, non-graphic mentions of violence, angst, fluff, pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy complications

Simon "Ghost" Riley: An enemy of Simon's harms you, forcing Simon to make a tough decision. (wc: 315) Kyle "Gaz" Garrick: Kyle decides there is only one way to keep you close. (wc: 323) John Price: Price worries after you tell him you're pregnant when the first pregnancy had complications. (wc: 329) John "Soap" MacTavish: Johnny learns that falling in love with a teammate can only lead to sorrow. (wc: 542)

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Busted door. Shattered glass. Overturned table.

The lights aren’t working and rain enters through the open patio door. You are safe and whole and far from this. But is it enough? Will Simon be able to keep you safe?

What was once doubt is now cold truth.

It’s not your trashed home but the state Simon found you in. It was your heavy-lidded eyes and bruised face. It was the pools of red that Simon didn’t know belonged to you, the dead man facedown in the carpet, or both. It was your smile of relief when you realized it was Simon drawing you into his arms.

Simon knows the man who did this—no. He knows who fucking ordered it.

And when he finds Makarov, he’ll show that fucker just how trigger-hungry he can be. The lead will burst and fuse to his lungs, and Simon will bathe in the aftermath.

All that’s left is your safety. If Simon knew that his career would lead to this, he would have taken steps to protect you years ago. You are always his one bright spot, that candle in the dark that is his life.

With you, he became more than his trauma. More than his guilt. More than his past. With you, he found peace. He found happiness. You are the sugary candy that sticks in the teeth but is too addictive to give up.

Departing is agony. The return is his reward and his longing.

You are everything.

And that is why he let you go.

Why he said, “I can’t risk losing you again.”

He put his head in your lap, his fingers digging into the sides of your thighs and failed to push down the tears.

Laswell will take you far away. She will keep you somewhere safe.

Makarov won’t find you.

And maybe—perhaps in the future—Simon can return to you.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle is a nervous wreck.

The tiny box sits heavy in his pocket, burning an invisible hole. His plan is not the most romantic, but the two of you aren’t the type to go big. It’s all subtle, and Kyle only wants this moment to include the two of you.

This is his last chance.

Kyle’s final opportunity.

In this relationship, Kyle has kept you second. Not on purpose but out of habit. Work is his lifeblood. It drives him, and every successful mission is a point of pride. But in keeping up with that, Kyle left you behind.

His absences lengthened, and over time, he noticed you were pulling away, closing off. But that isn’t your fault. Kyle created the perfect brew for you to drink. These are the consequences of his actions, and he needs to make it right.

There was a time when Kyle nearly did lose you. When he came home and thought you had packed up and left without saying a word. That broke him. Made him realize just how distant he’d become.

Change is difficult.

But Kyle did it. Slowly.

Your smile returned, and when he comes home, your greetings are full of passion.

I can’t risk losing you again.

Kyle takes a deep breath as the deadbolt on the front door disengages. There is a slight tremble in his hands. Kyle is never nervous. Never. But fuck—taking this next step is driving him up the goddamn wall.

He pushes off from the couch, turning just as the front door swings open.

You step inside, face turned away as you go to shut the door. When you finally glance into the room, all the nervousness inside Kyle’s chest evaporates.

Your smile is so sweet, and you don’t hesitate. Dropping your bag, you rush toward him, and Kyle cannot help but meet you halfway.

He’s making the right choice in asking you to stay with him forever.

John Price

“You’re not happy.”

John is happy. He is. But old worries bubble up, seeping into the joy. It’s tainting everything, and that is clear by how your smile starts to fade.

“I am happy,” he says, but his mouth is a hard line. John knows he’s frowning.

You shake your head, one hand resting over your stomach. “Don’t lie, John.”

This is supposed to be a happy moment. He should sweep you up in his arms. He should kiss you until you’re begging for air. But all John can think about are all the doctor appointments he attended with you, and the grimness of what might not happen.

From that came a daughter. John loves her. Adores her. But bringing her into the world nearly killed you. He grappled with that stress while being as present as possible with you. Growing your family has always been a dream, and John doesn’t fault you for a second. There is no family without you.

John grasps the sides of your face and moves into your space. Your own hands close over his, keeping him from retreat.

“I am happy,” he reiterates. “But we both know what it took to bring our daughter into the world.” John shakes his head absently and breathes deep. “Don’t do this for me.”

“John—”

“I can’t risk losing you again.”

This time, your smile returns. There is a hint of sadness lingering behind it, as if you too are reflecting on all that happened.

“Everything will be fine.” You release his hand and gently cup his cheek.

John kisses your forehead, his thumb absently tracing your jaw. “Are you sure?”

The decision is ultimately yours, and John will respect whatever you decide.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” he nods.

John pulls you in, lips finding yours. When you melt into him, accepting all that he’s giving, a wave of peace settles over him.

This is right.

And whatever happens, the two of you will face it together.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny drips water all over the floor. He is soaked through. Shivering. But he could give a fuck.

“Where is she?”

“Soap—”

“Where the fuck is she, Price?”

Captain Price sighs heavily and crosses his arms. “She needs rest.”

Johnny swallows down his retort. He’s not upset with Price, and shit like this happens all the time, but he needs to know if you’re okay.

You took a fucking bad fall, and Johnny couldn’t stop to run after you. The mission comes first, and it wasn’t his job. Other people stepped in and whisked you away. But from the height you plummeted from, Johnny feared the worst.

Still does to an extent.

If you were dead, Price wouldn’t hide that from him. But he might hide how bad you’re injured as a way to protect him. Price has always been fatherly in that regard. Right now, it’s driving Johnny fucking nuts.

“Captain. Please,” Johnny clenches his fists and then releases them. “Let me see her.”

Price’s frown smooths a bit and the middle of his brow wrinkles with concern. “For a few minutes. All I can spare.”

Johnny has to keep from rushing to the hospital room doorway when the words leave Price’s mouth. He has Johnny walk with him to your door. Thunder rumbles in the distance and rain steadily hits the large window at the far end of the hospital room.

Just as Johnny takes a step inside, Price’s hand is on his shoulder.

“She’ll make it,” is all he says before he shuts the door.

Johnny lingers right inside. All the lights are off except a small lamp in the corner. Your eyes are closed, and your face is peaceful. There is bruising. A few bandages. The machines next to the bed beep softly.

He was so eager—so determined to get to you. Now, Johnny deflates.

On quiet feet, he grabs a chair and brings it over to your bedside. You don’t stir. Simply sleep. Johnny eases down into the chair and leans forward, his forearms crossed as he rests them on the side of the hospital bed.

Still, you don’t move. And Johnny doesn’t dare wake you.

Rest is important, and all he wants is for you to recover.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “That I didn’t come sooner.” The rain picks up and Johnny smooths back his wet hair. “But I can’t keep doing this. Every time you’re hurt I—” He sighs heavily and rests his forehead on his crossed arms.

“I can’t risk losing you again,” he murmurs into the bedding.

It’s become too much. You’re not supposed to fuck your coworkers and you shouldn’t fall in love with them either. But Johnny did both. With you. And he cannot take that back.

He’d give anything if you’d set this all aside.

Your fingers brushing against his scalp startle him. Johnny lifts his head, only to find you watching him. There is a soft smile on your lips, and his instinct is to grasp your hand and bring it to his lips, kissing each knuckle and then your palm.

The moment your mouth opens to speak, there is knock at the door. Johnny frowns and looks up, finding Price in the doorway.

“Time’s up.”

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[soapybutt17]

Won't Go Home Without You II

Summary: Through the looking glass was the dark eyes of the man. Character: Soft Dark! Vladimir Makarox x Price!Female Reader. Word Count: 1,361 Chapter Warnings: None A/N: @ateliersss Here ya go. After I answered your ask, somehow the itch didn't stop until this shitstorm happened. Lol. thank you for stopping by,

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Chapter II: Lingering Eyes

“What is your name, Милая.”

You shivered at the warmth of the man’s breath against your neck. How your skin prickled against the ghost of his touch. This was a dangerous game, one that you could not truly escape from now that you’ve become a part of it.

You smelled a mix of alcohol and his heady musk. Slowly you turned to face the man. Your head craning up to meet his dark eyes. His eyes fixed on you, the fear mixed with an unusual shiver of attraction for the target. No. This man was a mission you needed to deal with.

It was complicated, more than what you own brother and team was let on. In the eyes of John and the rest of the Taskforce, you were placed here to get information, but Kate and Shepard knew differently. It would be better for you to infiltrate, a suicide mission that you were more than willing to accept if it meant the end of the man’s reign of terror. Join the man’s inner circle at whatever capacity you could make yourself useful.

“Take a guess, Красивый.” You purred leaning closer, eyes glued to him. The fear resonated still at your core, knowing what the man was capable of doing.

Without even waiting for an answer, you pulled yourself away from him, diving right back into the crowd of dancing bodies. Even without looking at him, you knew the eyes that lingered against your skin. As you swayed against the beat of the song you could already feel the ghost of the man’s touch by just his eyes.

It was unnerving as much as it was tempting to see what you could do to bait him further towards you. You’ve already made him come to you once, you were uncertain of what more he could do now that you were purposely playing  hard to get.  You stand at the edge of the crowded dance floor, the pulsating beat of the music reverberating through the air. Makarov's presence looms in the dimly lit club, his magnetic aura drawing the attention of everyone around him, including you.

As he approached you, you can sense his curiosity piqued, his dark eyes glinting with interest. But you still kept him at arm’s length, playing the role of the enigmatic stranger, the mystery he can’t quite unravel.

He extends a hand, inviting you to join him on the dance floor, but you feign disinterest, a coy smile playing at the corners of your lips. You can see the challenge reflected in his eyes, the determination to unravel the layers of your facade.

“Give me a name, Милая.” He plead for you now and all you could do was smile lingering closer, just enough for your lips to meet his ears in the loud bass of the music surrounding you both.

“Lily.” You whispered.

It was a name that became all too familiar with. The history that came with the name, how your mother had always wanted to name you as such but was intervened by your father, like many aspects of your life that followed. You chose it, gave the name to Kate to handle most of the documents you were certain that Makarov would use to search for you if he takes the bait.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

You smiled, a statement that you don’t truly agree with. After everything that you’ve done in your life, you don’t see yourself as even remotely beautiful. You were a monster more than anything—more than what you were forced to do for the sake of missions. Body and soul, you were all too rotten.

You dance on the periphery of his world, tantalizingly close yet always out of reach. You engage him in conversation, but your words are guarded, your responses carefully calculated to reveal just enough to keep him intrigued.

“So what is a beautiful Лили doing in a place like this?”

“I’ve got my secrets, you’ve got yours…” You trailed off waiting for him to give you his name.

“Makarov. Vladimir Makarov.”

The smiled on your face remained even with the reality of how unafraid he was to show himself out and about after what he had done. You would have expected him to use an alias after his attacks, but he was parading it like a badge of honor. Bastard.

As the night wears on, the tension between you and Makarov simmers beneath the surface, a silent battle of wills waged in the dimly lit club. You play hard to get, knowing that every interaction brings you one step closer to your objective, one step closer to uncovering the truth behind his plans.

“Stay with me for tonight. I’ll make it worth your while.”

You blinked all to certain where he would take this. This wasn’t part of the plan—but then again, you know that one of this days it would be bound to happen. But you weren’t so prepared for it to happen now.

“Maybe next time, Красивый.”

As the music slowly begins to fade, you slipped away into the shadows, leaving Makarov whose eyes burst intensely as he stared at you. This was a dangerous game of cat and mouse, you hold all the card, but you feared the consequence that you’ve come to place upon yourself because of it.

~

The dimly lit room serves as the clandestine meeting ground for you and Kate Laswell, the air heavy with the weight of secrecy. The glow of the dim screen illuminates the determined expressions on both your faces as you huddle over the blueprints and data spread across the table.

"Medusa, this is risky," Kate says, her voice low and measured. "We need to tread carefully."

You nod, eyes focused on the mission detail. Some of which, if not most, was hidden behind the red tape that Kate had pulled that not even your own brother would become aware off until after the mission is over or worse, if were to be killed in action. But this was a better way than whatever your brother had planned.

“I understand, Kate. But we can’t afford to be cautious at every turn. This is the only opportunity.”

You already had Makarov’s interest. Being informed of how he was already looking for your entire background with the small detail you had supplied him all those weeks ago. He was looking for you and it was all you needed to know to realize you were far too late to back out from this mission.

Kate glances around the room, ensuring that no prying eyes or ears linger. "John trusts you on this, but he needs plausible deniability. This has to look like a standard information-gathering mission."

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You spoke sarcastically, a wry smile playing on your lips.

It was better for your brother to not get involved, more for his own safety and sanity than his reputation and career. If he even gets wind of what the true mission was, you were uncertain if Makarov would get killed first or you.

“He’ll get what he needs, Kate.” You finally spoke more seriously now. “But I have to go deeper. I’ve already got Makarov’s interest, and I can use that to our advantage.”

The gravity of the situation settles between you like a shroud. Kate takes a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. "Remember, you're walking a fine line. We need real intel, Medusa, not just smoke and mirrors."

“You say jump, I ask how high.” You assured, it was the loyalty to the mission, to the cause that kept you sated and stable from the guilt that constantly consumed you.

As the mission details are finalized, Kate looks at you with a mixture of concern and trust. "John doesn't know the full extent of this, Medusa. Keep him in the dark for now."

You meet her gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. The less they knew, the safer the operation would be. You rise from the table, ready to embark on a mission that would blur the lines between loyalty and betrayal.

“It’s for the best.”

[laughroditee]

Your Ghost | Part 2 - XIII Death

Part 1 is here

CW: this story takes place after Soap's death and contains supernatural elements, tarot, mentions of death and blood

Summary: Evangeline reluctantly goes to talk to Simon about Johnny at Johnny's urging.

Mood Music:

The ghost of John MacTavish looked down at me with a serious expression.  “I did.  I need yer help, Evangeline.  Yer the only one who can do it.”

“No,” I said.

He blinked. “‘No?’”

“No,” I repeated, my eyes a little too wide. 

“Ye haven’t even heard what I want from ye.”  John looked annoyed, his brows drawing down in a frown that lined his face. It made him look maybe just a little bit intimidating.  Having issues with displeasing someone, who me?

“Don’t want to.  Can’t.”  I shook my head for extra emphasis as if I needed it.  “Mm-mm.”

“Are ye always so childish?” 

Oof, right in the feelings.  “You want me to talk to someone, don’t you?” I accused, my finger jabbing the air at him.  

“How—?”

“Knight of Swords.  Air.  Communication,” I explained as if this were common knowledge and a perfectly logical conclusion to reach.  “You just have that very chatty air about you, and I dunno, man, I’m not about that life.  I have social anxiety.  I don’t play well with strangers because I’m too busy having a heart attack around them.  It’s just not a strength that I have.”

John looked momentarily apologetic before despair swallowed the expression.  This gave me pause.  Fuck me and my Catholic guilt.  “Fine!  Okay, alright, I’ll hear you out, but I can’t promise you anything.”  I sat down on the edge of the bed, just trying to quell the anxious jitters making my fingers shake, The Knight of Swords card dancing slightly in my grasp.  I placed it back with the other two in the reading and looked up at my ghostly kinsman.

John’s examining gaze was concerned as he stood across from me.  “Ye alright, lass?”

Reminding myself to take a deep breath, I simply nodded.

A single confirmation nod from John was all he gave before launching into his story.  “I was a soldier in life.  SAS.  British special forces.  We were on a mission a few months ago, chasin’ a Russian terrorist in the London tunnels.  Makarov.”  His eyes blazed as the memories washed through him, spitting his enemy’s name as if it were poison.  “We had ‘im too.  But the fucker was slippery.  My captain and I got shot while we were diffusin’ a bomb.”  John’s hand went to his shoulder as if to soothe the phantom wound.  “Makarov was about to finish ‘im off – my captain, I mean – but I managed to get up and clap the bastard, only… I ended up gettin’ shot in the head.  Killed instantly.  Then Makarov buggered off.”

I listened intently to John’s story, my heart squeezing in my chest for him.  “I’m so sorry, John.  I… don’t know what else to say.  You were really brave.”

He smirked.  “A lot of good it did me.  Still, Captain Price is alive, and I dunnae regret that.”  His eyes seemed focused on something far away, and I waited for him to continue.

When he didn’t, I had to prompt him.  “John?  What is it that you want from me?”

His eyes refocused on me, his mouth set in a grim line.  “I need yer help, Evangeline….  My boyfriend was there that day.  One of my teammates.  He’s not doin’ well.”

Shit.  I blew out a long breath as if I was trying to exorcise my demons.  “I’m so sorry,” I repeated uselessly.  “John, I’m… probably the last person you want to go and talk to your boyfriend about your death or literally anything else.  I suck at this kind of thing.  I never know what to say to grieving people, even if I’ve known them forever.  Words just aren’t enough.”

“Please,” he said, kneeling by the bed, his ghostly hand passing through mine as it lay on my lap, chilling me.  “You’re all I have, lass.”

Despite the urgency in his voice, I was hesitant for reasons that should have been obvious.  I stared down at the three cards on the bed once again, reinterpreting the reading as The Knight of Swords representing John, the Death card — for the first time in one of my readings — representing his literal death, and the Three of Swords representing his boyfriend’s subsequent heartbreak.  There are always multiple ways to interpret the cards in every situation; you just have to move through it and see what fits—a little like grief.

I looked back at him with an expression of resignation on my face.  “You’re lucky I like you.”

His face lit up.  “So you’ll do it?”

I sighed, coming to terms with the decision I was about to make.  “Yeah.  I’ll do it.”

“Sorry I called ye childish,” he said apologetically.

“Mm.”

“Yer beau’iful,” he tried again.

I gave him a grin.  “Aww, how kind of you to say.”

“Yes, I am kind. Now you compliment me.”

“Why should I when you just did it yourself?”

He chuckled before his expression sobered.  “Thank you, Evangeline. I cannae repay the favor you’re doin’ me.”

I looked back at him, noting how similar our eyes were.  “You can owe me in the next life, how’s that?”

“Sounds like a fair deal.  So, are ye gonna clean up this mess?”

“Sorry, you’ll have to clean yourself up.”

“Funny.”

I leaned down and started to gather my fallen tarot cards, picking out carpet lint and hairs occasionally as I stacked the deck.

”Y’know…,” he began, “ye make me wish I could’ve met you while I was livin’.  Think we coulda been friends?”

Deck neatly in hand, I looked up at him, a warm, bittersweet feeling blossoming inside my chest.  “Yeah, I think we could’ve been.  Could still be.”

He laughed.  “Well, bein’ friends with me is a blessing in itself.”

“I’m sure it is.”

We headed out by taxi to John’s old flat to see his boyfriend, Simon.  Simon Riley.  I turned the name over in my mind as we drove, wondering what kind of man he was.  It was odd traveling in a car with a complete stranger, knowing that you have a ghost with you.  I kept looking at the driver in the rearview mirror, paranoid that he’d be able to see John, but aside from my own awkwardness, the trip concluded uneventfully.

I stared at the door that I was supposed to be knocking on and felt immediately threatened, that familiar fight-or-flight feeling making my extremities tingle.  “Shit.  John, I can’t…”

“Easy.  I’ll be right here; I won’t leave ye.  But we have to get in and get to Simon, alright?  The eejit’s blootered.”

I stared at him in confusion.  “He’s what?”

John rolled his eyes, exasperated.  “Drinkin’, hen.  He’s right sloshed.  Now get knockin’.”

Stepping toward the door, I looked at John and said, “I feel like your Scottish level just increased.”  I wrapped my knuckles on the door before I lost my nerve and stepped back.

He smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes.  “I think yer just too American to understand—“

The door flew open, revealing the personification of my Death card: an enormous man wearing a skull balaclava, no shirt, about one billion muscles, and an appropriately sized scowl.  His displeasure was evident despite the mask covering his features.  It radiated off of him in waves like heat, like the smell of alcohol that invaded my nostrils as it drifted out from him.  Piercing dark eyes stared down at me briefly before squinting, and then he slammed the door in my face.  I could hear his heavy footfalls retreating further into the flat.  I looked at John, at a complete loss, and maybe with a bit of anxiety.  Just a wee bit.

He sighed.  “Knock again, Evangeline.  He’ll answer.”  

“Why do you not look convinced?”

“Because I’m not.”

“I appreciate your honesty.  Is he gonna kill me?” I asked, somehow finding the nerve to knock again through my blooming dissociation.  It was a genuine fear.  What do I actually know about these guys?  Not much.  John hadn’t told me anything about Simon besides that they were both in the military.  He most certainly didn’t tell me about how absofuckinglutely intimidating his man was; he looked like he could just break me in half with those dark brooding eyeballs of his, no hands necessary.  My heart lurched, palpitating in my chest wildly like a canary in a proverbial coal mine.

“He won’t kill ye,” John assured me and my anxiety.

Ten beats passed. Nothing.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” John said in frustration and then disappeared through the wall of the flat.  I could hear him swearing and yelling, all in vain.  He emerged, raking a hand through his mohawk in irritation.  When his eyes finally locked with mine, a silent plea filled them.

I didn’t like that look on John’s face; the pain and concern etched there was almost a tangible thing, and it hurt.  It made me feel edgy and a bit unstable, as if the ground beneath me wasn’t as sturdy as I believed before coming out here.  I stepped up and knocked again, louder, more insistent.  For him.

This time, I could hear the lumbering stomps of Simon’s gait as he approached the door to the flat, and I braced myself for whatever might come.  My hair sucked forward from the sudden vacuum the door caused, and I nearly expected the door to be ripped from its hinges, such was the velocity at which the door opened.  I hadn’t stepped back, but Jesus, I wished that I had.

“The fuck do you want?”  Simon’s voice was a low growl, his thick British accent raking across me like a physical attack.

There was that small animal voice in the back of my head as I looked up at the angry behemoth at the door, which said, with zero doubt, “You are going to die.”  He braced a forearm on the doorframe, leaning in closer.  My eyes widened fractionally with every millimeter that decreased between us.  Shit.

“Um… A-are you Simon?  Simon Riley?”

He blinked at me with unfocused eyes.  He’d been drinking heavily as he reeked of alcohol, which was wonderful for me because we all know that drunk people are totally predictable.  “Who’s askin’?”

My eyes flicked to John, who stood beside the door, nodding encouragingly.  “M-my name is Evangeline.  I’m here about John—"

“Johnny,” John — or Johnny — corrected me.

“Johnny?”  I glanced at my ghostly companion, who nodded.

Simon narrowed his eyes.  “The fuck you on about?”

“Look, I know this will sound crazy, but he sent me here with a message.”  This was a bit of a stretch since, now that I thought about it, Johnny didn’t actually give me a message for Simon.

“So, what, you’re a bloody fortune teller?” Simon asked, his gravelly voice seething with bitter outrage.

Shit shit shit shit shit.  “No, that’s not—“ I started, taking a defensive step backward, but he barreled on.

“What the fuck do you want here?”

“Johnny wanted me to—“ 

I had little time to react before he picked me up by my jacket lapels and slammed me against his door, the air quickly evicted from my lungs.  The back of my head stung as I looked in horror at him.

“Johnny doesn’t want anything.  He’s fucking dead.”

I froze under his gaze, which was both hateful and wounded, the cold rush of adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream.

Johnny interjected in a panic, “The first thing I ever said to him was, ‘I’ll save you a seat, sir.’  Tell him!”

I could feel my throat starting to close up.  I couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t breathe.

“Shit.”  Johnny rushed forward, moving through Simon, trying to get him to loosen his grip, but it was useless.  Next, he passed through me, my body feeling the chill of his presence, a strange, otherworldly shiver as suddenly, my mouth moved.

“LT, let ‘er go.”  The voice was mine, but the speaker was Johnny, his Scottish inflection clear in my voice.

Part 3

[gemmahale]

WIP Wednesday (6/26/2024)

Fandom: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare Reboot

Working Title: Don't Go Down Easy, Sunshine (Part 1 of Museum Muse)

Pairing: John 'Soap' MacTavish x OFC Darlene 'Daisy' Houghton

Rating: E (Canon compliant violence, blood, language, kink and BDSM, sex)

Part 1 Synopsis: Fix-it for the tragedy that is the end of MWIII. (This can stand alone, but sets everything up for the later story.)

Story Synopsis: An online friendship blossoms between KelpieTinker96 and IrisOfTheLake when they keep finding themselves active in the same online forums - especially a few spicy ones. Shy flirts become outright come-ons, and a tentative relationship blooms.

On the other side of the screen, John MacTavish (KelpieTinker96) is adjusting to a major shift in his work-life balance after a life-saving surgery. The 141 continues mopping up the mess left behind by the Russian Ultranationalists that followed Makarov. Soap's indefinitely benched, stuck working intel with Laswell until further notice. His therapist suggests art classes to keep himself sane and find an outlet for his pent-up energy.

Darlene Houghton (IrisOfTheLake) is struggling with the mundane life of a museum curator, looking for something more. When Terry invites Daisy to pose as the nude model for their "Bodies in Art" live drawing class, she tentatively agrees. She's taken by the handsome Scot that limps into the studio. He's kind and supportive and makes her feel the same way Tinker makes Iris feel - desired and cherished.

Tinker and Iris eventually decide to meet at a coffee shop in person - but can their relationship survive the shift to IRL? Or are they in for the biggest surprise of their life when face to face with reality?

AKA: I fix the bullshit in the tunnel (yes, I'm pulling dialogue from the scene). Soap's healing post-mission is rough. Daisy's in dire need of some lovin'. Both learn to be loved their own ways through art and kink. (yes, puppy play happens 😉)

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Soap follows his Captain to the large yellow door that marks the entrance to the service tunnel. The warring emotions inside his heart solidify, compressing into next to nothing as he focuses on the work ahead. The grip of his pistol feels familiar in his hands, his mind stilling as he listens for Price’s commands. The beast inside of him roars.

“Bravo-6 to Watcher, we are on the X. Going for Makarov.” Price grins at Soap, blue eyes glinting in the light.

“Solid copy. Go get him, John.” 

Soap can’t still his tongue as Price reaches for the door handle. “This bastard won’t go down easy, Sir.”

Price studies Soap’s face, dropping his guard for a moment. Soap sees the anger, the rage, the simmering emotions he’s shoved away for now clearly reflected in his Captain’s face. He knows he’s not alone in this - they share the same burden.

Makarov needs to die.

“Neither will we, Sunshine.” Those emotions disappear from Price’s face, replaced by stone-cold logic and determination. He pats Soap on the shoulder twice, shifting his rifle in his arms. “A’ight. Come on.”

The yellow door swings open, a yawning maw to what Soap knows is going to be a bloodbath. Hopefully it means the end of this terroristic regime Makarov is seeking to build. The bloodthirsty, revenge-seeking monster surges out of his chest, intent on settling the score.

“On you, sir.”

[diejager]

evil! reader x makarov/power ‘couple’ would be the type to make out and fuck as they torture someone

(hope you don’t mind, love your writing!!!!! i give you a shiny rock)

Bloody Love Cw: smut,DARKFIC, torture, kissing, blood and gore, interrogation, creampie, riding, thigh riding, wall sex, sex marathon, sadism, reader is evil, tell me if I missed any.

Makarov doesn’t usually do the torturing, he prefers to leave it to his henchmen and allies, but, on occasion, he wouldn’t mind participating in some good, old fashioned, romantic torture with you. If it fits your fancy and that you’re feeling it, he’d willingly bend back to make your dream come true. While he has other ways of showing you off and letting you control the moment, he finds a certain joy in pleasing you while in the throes of pleasure and making a man slowly bleed to death.

And despite being a man of class, the sight of you covered in blood, manic grin stretched across your face and eyes gleaming darkly, he can’t help himself from falling deeper into this obsession of his. The vulgar and violent appearance of yours only drives him up the wall, his cock tenting his pants, pushing uncomfortably against his briefs. He knows it disturbs the others and his little captive, the show of viciousness and narcissism that you both show, laughing and taunting the poor man while you kissed. 

You bleed the man, running a rusted knife - tetanus is a bastard once it’s in your bloodstream - along the curve of his collar, your tongue peeking out to lick at your bottom lip with a crazed gleam. Red had always been a pretty colour, crimson being a passionate and powerful shade to paint your world. Carmine is a fitting colour for you, he liked to see you bathed in it, lips, eyes, cheeks, nails, skin and clothes.

He kisses you like he hungers for you, devouring and hungry, tongue curling around yours and pulling moan and groans from your throat. He sits you on his lap while you make out, pawing at his chest and sinking your teeth into his lip, bleeding him like you bled the other man turned a whimpering and crying mess. He grips and ruts against you, finding ways to fuck you without undressing, to make you come twice as often as he does, helping you grind against his thigh until you gush all over his black pants, soaking the fabric with slick. 

You take turn cutting and interrogating your captive, switching between a plier to a saw to rough up the man and drive your arousal higher and higher, to the point that you can’t help shrugging your pants off and riding Makarov. You sink onto him, throwing your head back and bucking against his sloppy thrusts, lost to your own world while your audience sobs, eyes bleary and body in so much pain that the last thing that would bother him is watching you and Makarov fuck.

You’d torture him again after your first session, still hanging on that post orgasm haze of pure happiness and giggles, landing the fess blows that would usually bring them to their knees and spill their secrets —so close, yet so far. Then Makarov ploughes your against the wall, pants sliding down to his ankles as he rolls his hips and thrust upwards, ramming home to fill you up a second time. He makes sure you clench around him, gripping him like a vice and nails drawing your mark on him - marking your territory - before he comes, his cock spurting thick, white cum from the tip.

Only after a third of fourth session do you and Makarov let the man go, on the brink of death and delirious from blood loss. You’re satisfied and happy, which means he’s satisfied and happy, and has all the information he first wanted with the man —it was the best of both worlds.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah

[g-h-0-s-t-3-d]

See My Scars - Ghost x Hawk Scene

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wren "Hawk" Yarrow (Original Character)

A/N: Short scene from later in Simon + Wren's story. Takes place in Russia after the 141 finds out Graves has been smuggling weapons for Makarov. Graves takes Wren hostage and tortures her, Simon comes to her rescue, and Wren kills Graves. Simon and Wren have a heart-to-heart one night following, and suddenly they're confessing. Then they're kissing. Here's what happens next...

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Injuries/Scars, Military Themes (Call of Duty), Mentioned Torture (past, by Graves), Implied Abuse (past, by Graves), Mentions of Simon’s Past, Friends to Lovers, Canon-Typical Swearing, Implied NSFW

It was all a blur when he laid her down, large hands surprisingly gentle with her small, bruised frame. She saw him pause… hesitation? She draws her knees up to her chest and waits patiently, her own nerves beginning to get the better of her. 

Shit, this was a mistake, I - 

Her breath stops when she meets his gaze. He peers down at her, eyes dark and intense, a great strength suppressed between his taught shoulders. “Y’sure you want to do this, Wren?”

His voice is deep, gravelly. She’d be lying if it didn’t turn her on, but she knows the weight of what they’re about to do - she knows they can’t go back.

Maybe I don’t want to go back, a voice screams inside of her, threatening to burst out her chest as she nods slowly, replacing all the things she wishes she could say with a single, ‘yes.’

He hums in acknowledgement and crawls toward her, hands gingerly beginning to explore. He rubs at her sides, her shoulders, and commits each freckle and blemish on her face to memory. His finger draws a line up her jaw and comes to rest on her cheek, right underneath the gash Graves had just given her. She flinches at the contact, despite how gentle it is, as his finger ghosts over dried blood and traces the shape of the gash all the way from the bridge of her nose to the corner of her eye.

His gaze is cold, unwavering as he studies it. She feels him tense up ever so slightly, and for a moment she’s worried he’s gotten cold feet, but he growls lowly and shifts his deep brown eyes to meet hers.

“Fucker had it coming. If you hadn’t killed him, I would’ve.”

“Simon,” she sighs, bringing her hand up to rest over his on her cheek, tiny fingers drawing in comparison to his. He grunts and shakes his head. She’s still reeling over the loss of him - of Phillip - and he knows that. But that wouldn’t make him forgive what Graves did to her.

“I would’ve.”

“I know,” she murmurs, leaning her head into his hand. His eyes soften, though they keep their dark, almost hungry hue. Then he kisses the bridge of her nose, right where the scar began, and dips his head to her neck, softly mouthing at the exposed skin.

His lips on hers earlier that night had been one thing, but his lips on her body now… a heat she’d long forgotten about rose slowly in her core, her breathing hastening as his hands tug at the bottom of her shirt. Simon moves slowly, carefully, because he knows how fragile she is right now.

He wasn’t prepared for the mess of bruises that adorn her chest and ribs, deep purple tones splotched over skin that was far too perfect to be hurt.

His breath hitches when he sees them - all of them - staining the skin of his woman. He tenses again, repressing his anger. Wren recoils out of nervousness, tears welling in the corners of her eyes, and Simon panics, quickly extending his hand out to her. He doesn’t know how to handle this, how to treat her… and he’s scared.

“Graves did this to you?” Simon utters, frozen in place, a deep hatred slowly bubbling up and conflicting with his fear of scaring Wren off.

“Not all of it,” she replies, voice low and somber. “But, most, yeah.”

“Did he… touch you?” He tries with every fiber of his being to keep his voice restrained, but Simon had never been too good at dealing with anger. He could repress it, sure, but that was what always drove so many people away - he was cold, aloof, unapproachable. And when his feelings were now so strong, so overwhelming, all his instincts tell him to run away, to isolate and compartmentalize.

But he knows, maybe painfully so, that deep down he doesn’t want that. He wants her. So he stays, and he waits with tense shoulders and a clenched fist.

“No. Wouldn’t let him.” Her voice trails off as she tries desperately to read his gaze, cursing each blemish that greeted Simon so prominently. Simon breathes a noticeable sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing and his eyes softening. If she looks hard enough, she swears she can see the wetness of tears in the very corners of his eyes, mixing with the remainder of the eyeblack he just couldn’t wash off at this point. She sighs. “I know they’re not pretty. If you don’t-”

“Wren.”

Her eyes snap up to watch him wordlessly undress, his huge hands lingering on the hem of his shirt before slowly pulling it over his head. He stops about halfway through, his hand shaking as he holds the fabric just over his ribs and holds her gaze silently - watching, waiting, debating.

Then he hesitantly pulls the fabric completely up to reveal a long, dark gash across his right rib cage that had never quite healed right. The skin was patched with ridges and divots, dark red marks adorning the mottled skin.

“Hung,” he explains. “Mexican cartel. Corrupted an old captain of mine. I won’t burden you with the details.”

“Si…”

“All these burns,” he nods to each red splotch, so numerous and concentrated that there was hardly any untouched skin there, “Field burns. Or cigarette burns… from my father. This,” he opens up his right hand to reveal a long slit with what looked like scars from stitches, “was from digging out. When I was buried alive with ‘em. Used his jawbone and it fucked up my hand.”

She tries hard to hold back tears - Simon never spoke much about his past. She knew things, of course, but not when he was this vulnerable. But he holds her gaze, and it's intense.

“And everything else? Wren, I have been beaten and shot and stabbed and fucked - if you think I’m going to be bothered by some marks, then I’m a goddamn hypocrite and you’re out of your fucking mind.”

She quirks her lips up into a sad smile, reaching her hand out and beginning to trace each mark on his chest. “Si… ‘M sorry all that happened. I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t need to say anything, Little Bird,” he grunts, leaning back down and catching her lips once more. “Just have me.”

And she did.

[mactavsh]

Out in the Cold [John “Soap” MacTavish x Female Reader]

Synopsis: The team goes looking for information on Makarov, things go sideways.

I certainly wasn't planning on writing more fics but here we are lol. Shoutout to @uselsshuman​ bc I can’t get enough of the Bird callsign, it’s so sweet. Also all the headcanons.🥰 

So here’s this please enjoy. // also on ao3

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: violence, swearing, mentions of blood/injuries

The abandoned town looked unassuming as you approached, the snowstorm keeping much of it out of view. Of course, you knew better, Price had warned that there may be hidden resistance. This town was once used as a base for Makarov and his soldiers. From what Price told you the town was all set along one road. Various old shops sat on either side. Price sent you, Soap and Ghost to see if they left anything of value behind. Price, Gaz, and a small team of soldiers stayed at the base a few clicks south ready to mobilize backup if needed.

Ghost drove slowly through the storm, Soap in the passenger seat and you in the back. Everyone’s eyes were scanning what they could see for movement. As Ghost entered the town he pulled over, putting the car in park. 

“We’ll go on foot from here.” He stated as he stepped out of the vehicle. 

Soap got out next, quickly grabbing your door and opening it for you. “Ma’am,” He smiled as he held a hand out for you.

“Such a gentleman.” You smiled back at him grabbing the offered hand and stepping out of the vehicle.

“Focus, children.” Ghost called as he came up behind you. He and the rest of the 141 were the only ones who knew about the relationship between you and Soap. If you were honest with yourself, they knew it long before you both figured it out.

“Yessir.” Soap gave a lazy salute and Ghost rolled his eyes.

“Stay close.” Ghost spoke as he shifted his rifle off his back. “We don’t know if any of Makarov’s men stuck around. If they did they’d know this place better than us, especially in this storm.” Ghost led your team further into the town, you in the middle and Soap watching your backs. You were all dressed in white winter gear to blend in with the harsh elements. 

Entering the first few buildings you found nothing worthwhile. Old letters, some shell casings but nothing to help you in the fight against Makarov. As Ghost led the way into the next building you lingered just outside it, a faint noise drawing your attention. Soap noticed your absence.

“Bird? Something wrong?” He asked moving toward where you stood in the doorway of the old store.

You brought the scope of your rifle up to your eye scanning the other end of the road. A shot rang out and Soap grabbed your arm pulling you inside just as the bullet grazed the top of your shoulder.

“Shit,” You swore as you moved further into the building. “We got company.”

Soap sent a worried glance at your shoulder, the bright red seeping through became a stark contrast to the white jacket you wore. You gave him a nod, the two of you speaking without words as you both moved to a cover position.

Bullets began flying into the store shattering what was left of the windows. “They know we’re here.” Ghost stated as you all begin firing back.

From your position behind the counter, you could see Soap crouched behind some shelving toward the front. Ghost was on the opposite end of the counter as you. Shots rang out from each of your positions as you tried to even the odds.

“Soap can you get a count?” Ghost yelled through your headsets.

“Negative. With this storm, I can barely see what I'm shootin’ at.” Came Soap’s reply as he fired off more rounds.

“I’m going to see if there’s a back door.” You chimed in. Since you weren't getting shot at from both directions you figured either there was a back exit they haven't found or there isn't one at all. You turned toward the Lieutenant and he gave you a nod. Quickly you ducked through the Employee only door.

“Be careful, Birdy.” Soap shouted as the door closed behind you. 

Gun at the ready you made your way through the stockroom toward the back of the building. As you rounded a corner to the hallway a large man began firing at you from the other end. Turns out there is a back door, and they certainly knew about it.

You quickly ducked then fired a round into his skull and continued pushing forward. You could now see the door at the other end of the hallway, snow blowing in from outside.

“Bird you good back there?” Ghost spoke over your earpiece. He must've heard the gunfire. Just as you were about to respond more men entered the doorway. They began shooting and you ducked into a room but not quite fast enough as a round grazed your thigh. Staggering slightly into the room you readied yourself to fire back.

“Y/n?!” Soap's voice roared through your earpiece, tone laced with worry.

“I’m good. Turns out there is a back door and I have some friends back here.” You spoke as you quickly reloaded. Peeking around the corner you fired a few shots off hitting dead on target as two men fell. You steeled a quick glance at your thigh, superficial. Nothing to worry about right now. “I’m going to push forward, see if I can get to the door. Keep them occupied up front, boys.” You spoke as you ran out of your current room. Firing shots as you advanced to the adjacent doorway, two more down.

“You'll be the death of me, woman.” Soap replied. “Be careful.” He repeated once more. 

“Always am.” You replied, readying yourself for the fight. The men had begun to advance and you quickly shot the one that tried entering your doorway. You set your gun aside and grabbed a knife from your holster. You charged from your spot and stabbed the next soldier. Using him as a shield you took out your pistol making quick work of the last of the group. Dropping your shield you ran to the exit door checking both sides before stepping fully out.

The cold air nipped at your skin as you looked around. You were met with a long alleyway, and with the storm raging on it was hard to see very far. No vehicles but the buildings on either side of yours were open and there was a ladder that could get you to the roof of your current shelter.

“Bad news, boys. No getaway cars, just an alleyway. We can try to duck into the next building or I can take the ladder to the roof.”

“Get to the roof, Bird. We need eyes up high. See if you can get a visual on anything through the snow.” Came Ghost’s reply.

Looking down the alley again to ensure no one new was coming you ran to the ladder, climbing it with ease. “I was hoping you’d say that, Lieutenant.” You began heading to the front of the roof but a new noise caught your attention.

Growing loud through the sounds of gunfire was an aircraft. You spotted it headed directly towards the abandoned town, already too close to find adequate cover for the firepower it carried. “Boys we got incoming. Enemy aircraft, heavily armed.” 

“Shite get off the roof, Y/n!” Soap yelled, you began running back to the ladder but it was too late. The aircraft fired down the alley causing you to be thrown backward. You could hear Soap yelling your name before your head hit the concrete.

–

Your limbs felt like lead as your sluggish brain scrambled to come back to life. When it finally did you gasped upright, clothes damp from the snow that had settled on you while you were unconscious. Cold gripped your bones and an uncomfortable numbness took over your body from the elements.

Quickly you take count of your injuries; graze to the thigh and shoulder, various cuts from debris, and probably a concussion. Blood had dried on the side of your face causing your hair to stick there. Overall, nothing life-threatening. 

Taking note of your surroundings you saw no immediate threat, the storm had died down. The building had caught fire from the attack and it was getting close but no one was shooting at you. Actually, no one was shooting at all. The only sound you heard, now that the ringing in your ears died down, was the crackling of the fire and men speaking in Russian nearby. 

“Soap, Ghost, how copy?” Silence. “Soap, Ghost, This is Bird please respond.”  Still no response. Quickly you stood ignoring the dizziness that washed over you. You ran in the direction of where the ladder was only to discover the back of the building to now be a pile of rubble. Carefully you climbed down the ruined back wall while avoiding the fire that peeked out in spots. You tried the radio again. 

“Boys, do you copy? John-” Suddenly rubble shifted and you fell, ankle twisting as you tumbled down the rest of the way, cold snow breaking your fall as you rolled into the alley.

Slowly getting back on your feet you winced when you tried to put pressure on your ankle. You took a deep breath and readied your rifle. Luckily it went undamaged by your multiple falls. Gun loaded you made your way to the side of the building and then toward the front hoping to find your boys there.

You rounded the corner just in time to see Soap and Ghost's unconscious forms being loaded into the back of an SUV. Quickly you fired at the men around them but they were just as fast at firing back at you. You ducked behind the wall for cover and they used that time to finishing loading up. Hearing the sound of the engine retreating sparked the adrenaline in you.

Rounding the corner again you raised your rifle, ignoring the bullets flying at you. Aiming carefully you fired two shots at the rear tires, each finding its marks as the vehicle fishtailed and came to a screeching halt. You redirected your ire, firing at the men in front of you before running toward the now-disabled SUV.

Shifting your rifle to sit on your back you grabbed two knives from their holsters. As you approached a man leaped out of the passenger seat but before he could do anything you acted first, knife meeting the man's eye as he fell dead. Heading toward the driver's side you readied your other knife as the man got out to meet you.

“Did you really think I would let you get far?” You questioned adrenaline still high from the fighting.

“Makarov will kill you all!” The man yelled back in Russian. You lunged forward wrapping an arm around his neck and putting him in a chokehold.

Leaning close you whispered in his ear. “I will kill him first.” You spoke coldly in Russian before bringing your knife up and severing his throat. The man fell choking for a moment before dying.

You moved toward the back of the vehicle, opening the trunk. Soap and Ghost were haphazardly thrown in the back, feet facing you. Giving them a quick once over to look for any major injuries you saw nothing. They had both sustained head wounds, likely from the air assault, and the Russians tried to seize an opportunity for capture. You placed a hand on Soap's leg and brought your other hand up to your radio. Switching its channels a few times before you found the emergency frequency.

“Base this is Bird. Price do you copy?” You spoke into your earpiece.

After a minute the Captain finally responded. “I read you, Bird. What’s your status?”

“I need an extract. Soap and Ghost are out cold.” You responded, partially wishing you hadn't shot the tires of the truck they were already in. You were strong but you couldn’t carry both of them.

Another minute passed before you got a response. “Helo is en route. Radar doesn't show any enemy aircraft but stay vigilant. Are you injured?”

Glancing down at the blood on your clothes you sighed. You would worry about the bruises and cuts later. You knew you’d be sore tomorrow but you needed to make it there first. “Most of my blood is where it belongs.”

“Good. Gaz is on the helo to help you. Hang tight.”

“Yes sir.” The line went silent and you leaned onto the vehicle trying to take some weight off your injured leg. You rested for a moment catching your breath but it was short-lived. Enemy vehicles began approaching from the other end of town.

“Son of a bitch.” You swore, turning toward the unconscious men. “Now would be a good time to wake up, boys!” You yelled shaking both of their legs. When neither moved you swore under your breath and stole a couple of magazines off Soap’s vest. You slammed the truck door shut. It would provide them enough cover so long as they didn't pop their heads up and you didn’t let anyone get too close.

Readying your rifle you fired at the enemies approaching as you ran to a nearby concrete divider. “Price, how far is Gaz? More Russians just arrived.” You yelled over the gunfire.

The radio crackled to life once more. “Two minutes out!” Gaz replied and you sighed in relief.

“Just keep ‘em busy a little longer.” Price’s voice came with a twinge of worry.

“The fuck you think I'm doing?” You mumbled to yourself. The sound of glass shattering caught your attention and you looked over to see the window of the trunk gone.

In an effort to redirect the enemy, you hopped the concrete divider. Pushing forward you fired at the enemy before vaulting through an empty windowsill. The tactic worked as they all began shooting in your direction, the SUV forgotten. Now however you were stuck, chunks of the wall peppering you as the onslaught of bullets continued.

“Y/n, where are you?” You jumped as Soap’s voice came over your earpiece.

“John!” You spoke as you fired off a few more rounds. “How’s the head?”

“Not what I asked, woman. Please tell me that you’re not in that building everyone is shooting at.”

You paused, from where he was you were sure he had a clear view of the situation you had gotten yourself into. “Then I won’t.”

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus.”

Finally, you heard the telltale sound of a helicopter approaching. You peeked out of a different window killing a few more soldiers before ducking again. The helicopter landed, followed quickly by the sounds of return fire. The approaching friendlies made quick work of the remaining Russian soldiers.

“Bird, you still standing?” Gaz’s voice came over your earpiece. You breathed a sigh of relief and peeked out of your hiding place.

“Somehow.” You replied. You saw medics already grabbing the still unconscious Ghost and loading him onto the helicopter. Soap was already halfway to you by the time you climbed back through the window. You made your way over to him, limping as you went. He finally closed the distance, hugging you tightly against his chest. A content sigh left your lips as you listened to the sound of his heartbeat against your ear. He pulled back, putting his hands on either side of your face, looking at you with the beautiful blue eyes you loved dearly.

“Had me worried there.” He looked at you earnestly. You knew he hated you being in danger but at the same time, he knew he couldn't do anything to stop you. You were both where you belonged in the field and at each other's side. “Seeing you pinned down like that,” He shook his head.

“Well, one of us has to keep things interesting.” You smirked up at him.

“Is that so.” He spoke in a low growl, hands grabbing your waist now.

“Mhm,” You grabbed his vest pulling him down for a kiss, which he eagerly returned.

After a moment he pulled away, gently pushing a stray hair back behind your ear. “Love you.”

You leaned into the gentle touch. “Love you too.”

“Glad you’re all in one piece,” Kyle spoke as he approached you both.

“Me too.” You smiled, the adrenaline wearing off. Soap put an arm under yours to help take the weight off your injured leg as you all walked toward the helicopter.

“Pretty badass taking on an entire convoy yourself, the state you're in,” Gaz said and you were pretty sure you looked like a bloodied mess.

“Is that surprise in your voice, Garrick?” You teased.

“Not in the slightest.” Kyle smiled.

Soap chimed in as he helped you sit in the helicopter. “My woman’s the biggest badass here.” Soap said with a look of pure pride plastered on his face as he sat next to you putting a hand on your knee.

Kyle rolled his eyes, "You two are nauseating." He laughed then reached for his radio. “Price, everyone’s accounted for. Moving out.” Kyle spoke as the pilot began taking off. 

Soap shifted putting an arm around your shoulders so you could lean your head on him. The warmth of his embrace lulled you to sleep. He gently kissed the top of your head, content knowing you were now in the safest place possible.

[blackoutspoetry]

Cigarettes shared in the darkness 🚬

My take on what happened after the total failure to protect the airport from Makarov in the Flashpoint mission, featuring Ghost and Soap having a first bonding moment. This is a snippet for my fic "the anatomy of starved dogs", this is for chapter 4 and you can find the first chapters on ao3.

Ghost held out the half empty pack of Marlboro cigarettes in Soap’s direction, an olive branch. Soap isn’t sure he’ll take it. 

“I don’t smoke. It's a filthy habit.” 

Ghost rolled his eyes, sighing around his own cigarette as he plucked one from the pack, lit it and offered it again, now with a thin curl of silver smoke distending from its orange glow. It highlights the edges of the skeleton motif on his gloves and somehow, Soap knows he’ll carry a part of this day with him for days onwards, because the smell of that cigarette will burn into the fabric of his gloves. 

“I don’t smoke,” Soap insists again with a frown, but all Ghost does is take his hand –not roughly, but not gently either– and puts the thin cigarette between his fingers. 

“After a day like today, everybody smokes, Soap.” 

Soap hesitates with it for a moment, watching the glow eat away at the unburnt part of the cigarette and inching closer away from the ashen end before he gives in and raises it to his mouth for a long, much needed draw. 

He wishes he could wipe the smug look he just knows Ghost has under that mask off his face as he watches the action, knowing how easy it is to fall back into dormant muscle memory. 

“You don’t smoke, huh?” 

Soap pouts, not sure how much he wants to let the strange man in on his past, but he settles for something basic. “I don’t smoke anymore.” 

Ghost nods, whether it was meant to be mocking or genuine is something Soap’s ego can’t discern. “Right.” 

They stand there for a moment in the pseudo-silence, filled with the ambience of night sounds and distant sirens echoing through the ether and surrounding the two of them in a lamentous hum. 

Ahead, somewhere from out of the darkness, the glow of the burning airport stood out, a beacon of hellish light that made Soap’s skin crawl. They’re far away and the attack was hours ago, but it lingers on his skin like an itch he can’t run away from. 

He leans on the cigarette for comfort, and just a little, the presence of the taller man beside him helps to ease the loneliness of feeling like one tremendous failure. 

“Don’t think too hard about it Soap, it’ll make your hair fall out and we certainly can’t have that with that illustrious haircut of yours.” 

Soap jerked his head around so fast, he could’ve almost sworn Ghost startled just a little. 

“Oh you’re one to talk about appearances with that halloween costume shite you’ve got going on.” 

It takes two seconds for Soap to realise he’d chosen the wrong option. He’d overstepped one of the rules Price had very clearly set out for him. No questions about his appearance. 

To his surprise, Ghost just gives him a bit of a laugh, albeit a bit of a snide one. “To each their own, but I’m serious, don’t beat yourself up about what happened today, there’s no use in dwelling on it.”

Soap frowns. “How am I not supposed to dwell on it? If we hadn’t responded to the attack on the stadium, if you and Shepherd hadn’t followed after us, we would have died there too,” he gestures vaguely out at the glow of the still smouldering heap of rubble. 

“That’s just the way of the world, Soap. No one gets into this job thinking you’ll walk away with a bruise or a cut you can just slap a plaster over. People die, that’s how it works. We just happen to see more of it because of what we do. We are not entitled to living longer or dying later or easier because we’re supposed to be heroes. We could have died today, but what does it actually matter in the grand scheme of things.” 

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, Lt,” Soap says dryly, bringing the cigarette to his mouth again. In the corner of his eye, he can see Ghost do the same. 

“Maybe I’ve just been screwed over by the system that’s supposed to keep me alive more than I’ve been saved by it.” 

Soap shrugged, but it didn’t sit right with him, the idea that death was just an inevitable fact of life. He’s too stubborn to believe it. For someone who’d spent more than half his waking life trying to change the hand he’d been dealt when he was born to broke college student parents and the expectation to be utterly average, he didn’t take kindly to the notion of just accepting things he can’t change, even if it drives him up the wall. 

There’s a lot of other, more personal questions he wants to ask the man instead, but he settles for something safer. 

“How do you deal with it? Stuff like today?” 

“I’m not the person you should be asking for advice, Soap,” Ghost says with a hint of surprise. “That’s more Price’s thing.” 

Soap turned to face him, trying to analyse what little he could see of his face where the mask was pulled up just high enough for him to smoke. He can just about see the curve of his lip around the cigarette and the edge of what seemed to be a jagged scar extending from the corner of his mouth. 

Just as quickly as Soap had seen it, he lowered the cigarette, holding the smoke for a moment before he released it in a slow exhale. 

“I’m not asking for advice, I’m asking how you cope.” 

“I keep going. Sometimes the only way to cope is to endure.” 

The silence that followed thereafter was more comfortable, more settled. Soap could begin to see why Price had told him Ghost was an acquired taste. For all his cold facade, he was really just a man with a grumpy disposition. Maybe even one with a personality outside of work, but Soap struggles to comprehend what that might be. 

Reminded of work and everything they’d discussed in the wake of the attack, Soap frowned as he took another drag from the cigarette, now on its last breath.

“What do you think ended up happening to Price’s informant?” 

Ghost scoffed, stubbing out his own cigarette against the rail and crushing the rest under his boot for good measure. “Fuck if I know.” 

Soap shook his head, feeling himself getting riled up just at the thought of it. “Bet you the arse is sitting somewhere comfortable, getting piss drunk, laughing at the news.” 

Ghost shrugs. “Reckon you may be right about that one, sergeant.” 

“Wherever he is, I hope karma comes back to get him good.”

[sgtyaraya]

Ship Information!

height difference (185 and 170) / mutual pining / first kiss(Roach took the initiative) / wedding(If Roach doesn't die) / in-jokes / lgbtq+ / family disapproves / would die for each other / would kill for each other / fake relationship / arranged wedding / cuddlers / pda friendly / and they were [forced] roommates / holding hands / secret relationship / opposing worldviews / getting a pet / have kids (two children!AU! Marriage, with the eldest child there is AU, where Roach died, and Trudy raised the child alone) / want kids / grow old together / relationship failures / rests head on shoulder(when she feels sleepy, Trudy puts her head on his shoulder, Roach sometimes puts her on his lap to sleep. Roach can sleep on Trudy's lap too)/ share a bed / relationship doubts / they have a song / first date (First date in the field, because Trudy loves wildflowers)/ sharing a blanket / mutual interests / study buddies / bathing together / crash into hello / accidental nudity / laundry / same hobbies / cooking for each other / big fancy gala / sibling rivalry (they are chaotic af) / forehead touches / hair stroking (Roach braids Trudy's hair into pigtails more often)/ sitting on each other’s laps / sexual tension(when they are alone, and not always) / can’t be together / battle couple / Friends to Lovers / Enemies - > Enemies to Lovers / Lovers to Enemies / keeping secrets / love after loss / exes / declaration of love / flirting / love triangle / destructive romance / envy / “I Don’t Want to Ruin Our Friendship” / shared values / slow burn / does not end well (MW2 2009) / happily ever after (AU!)/ love letters

Song:

height difference (180 and 165) / mutual pining / first kiss(It is unknown which of them took the first step, presumably Karina, because she is very persistent) / wedding / in-jokes / lgbtq+ / family disapproves / would die for each other / would kill for each other / fake relationship / arranged wedding / cuddlers / pda friendly / and they were [forced] roommates / holding hands / secret relationship / opposing worldviews / getting a pet (Karina has a Doberman) / have kids / want kids / grow old together / relationship failures / rests head on shoulder(If Makarov is tired and doesn't even have the strength to be angry at Karina, he sleeps on her shoulder) / share a bed (rarely sleep together)/ relationship doubts / they have a song / first date(the meeting in the office is not like a date, but it gave a boost to the tension between them) / sharing a blanket / mutual interests(to create chaos in the world) / study buddies / bathing together / crash into hello / accidental nudity / laundry / same hobbies (kill)/ cooking for each other / big fancy gala / sibling rivalry (they are chaotic af) / forehead touches / hair stroking (Karina) / sitting on each other’s laps (Karina likes to sit on his lap) / sexual tension(Makarov is experiencing through irritation) / can’t be together / battle couple / Friends to Lovers / Enemies - > Enemies to Lovers / Lovers to Enemies / keeping secrets / love after loss / exes / declaration of love / flirting (Karina)/ love triangle / destructive romance / envy / “I Don’t Want to Ruin Our Friendship” / shared values / slow burn / does not end well (They die in MW3)/ happily ever after / love letters

Song:

@welldonekhushi thank you tagging me🥺💞

Tag: @savlina @applbottmjeens @pingurusama @mctvsh

I don't know what to grab for anymore, I was late everywhere😂 I will find the strength to draw an oc/canon, I can attach sketches to this post, or individual posts

[shrekyaoi]

Obligatory what would everyone look like as a wolf

okay. so. this is just based on irl wolves because i can’t draw rn but know that the werewolves look Much weirder than real wolves

makarov:

yuri:

nikolai:

petrovna:

anatoly:

[just-absolutely-super]

FT Oneshot Review

Doing this because it’s been so looooooong since I’ve done a review for a FT chapter

Gonna talk in depth under the cut but here’s the TLDR version:

It’s a oneshot chapter that takes place a day before the final chapter of the series proper and before 100YQ, definitely a celebration for the upcoming anime series. The plot is nothing major or groundbreaking, but it’s a very cute in-between chapter that is full of typical FT humor, and that’s what i loved about it.

More in depth thoughts here:

First, i want to talk about the art style

Mashima’s art has always been great, and i love seeing his improvement whenever i read a work of his. The changes from FT 545 and now is rather subtle, but i can tell the difference. His girls are now more soft in features, while the men look more sharp and mature. Even the way he draws eyes are now different. I saw it during the course of EZ, but comparing Lucy then and now makes it more obvious. Here’s a comparison for people

That being said, seeing this chapter actually DRAWN by Mashima feels more like Fairy Tail to me. Don’t get me wrong, Ueda does great work at replicating the style…but in the end it’s a replica. Mashima may be involved in the sequel but he’s not the one in the driver’s seat (maybe more like a backseat driver but Ueda is behind this wheel and I WISH EVERYONE ACKNOWLEDGED THAT STOP PUTTING THE BLAME SOLELY ON MASHIMA WHEN SOMETHING HAPPENS IN 100YQ, HE HAS A PARTNER IN CRIME)

Anyways, since Mashima isn’t completely involved with 100YQ, i can tell fully this oneshot was all him. The style, the humor, even the way the characters act seemed more real for me. And that’s part of why I can’t always get enthused about 100YQ, there’s always a dash of Mashima, not a main course

But this isn’t about me comparing this one little omake chapter to the sequel, so I’ll stop with that now

I liked the acknowledgment that Team Natsu (or at least everyone on the team but Erza) are not S class and therefore have no fucking business taking on the 100 Year Quest mission. And it is so on brand of Natsu to be told this and he be like, “k but imma do it anyway!” I love him your honor

It’s also on brand for all of Fairy Tail to go on a manhunt for him to keep him from doing the thing gosh dangit!

Sadly not enough Lucy T-T I know she’s not prominent because she’s supposed to be in the dark about the decision to go on the mission but still… At least she got to look fabulous for a panel with her gala dress from 545

But what do you MEAN her book isn’t selling well???? She won AN AWARD that shit should be selling like hot cakes! Justice for my queen, I’ll buy all her books!

(HC most of her sales are from the guild and surrounding guilds who know and love her <3)

Anyways, nothing really else to comment on. The humor was typical FT, and the sudden random appearance of Ichiya was wild. He’s just here for the lulz I guess lmao I just enjoyed how wacky the plot was, I missed how silly this manga could be

And the ending was perfect imo. The callback to the beginning of the series with Makarov’s words about following the path you choose really hit me harder than it probably should have lol but seeing him give the team his blessing was nice. I really liked it…

So to conclude everything, it wasn’t a big extravagant plot. With Ueda taking the reins (with supervision) with 100YQ, there really isn’t much Mashima could have written about. It’s a good prequel to chapter 545 as well as the sequel, and it’s a good celebration of the upcoming anime series

I hope Mashima continues to revisit FT independently. If he does, I’ll always be here to read about my favorite fictional people ❤️❤️❤️

[soapfcrce-a]

Excerpts from the journal of John MacTavish. If found, return to 22nd SAS regiment, Credenhill, UK. (Part 1. Part 2. Part 3)

Page 1.

I should be dead.

There’s no cutting around the edge on this one. I should be fucking dead and I’m fucking well aware of it.

The doctors aren’t being kind about it either. “Medical miracle”, they keep saying. “Impressed that I didn’t code for longer”, they keep saying. As if constantly hearing about how I was clinically dead for a period of time is motivating…

I try to hide it whenever Ghost or Gaz drop by, but it’s not easy. The only thing motivating me right now is anger.

Page 2 – 12.

[ A varying collection of a number of sketches ranging from stupid sexy nurses, idle sketches of hospital food, Tic-Tac-Toe games, and a hang-man game. ]

Page 20.

[ A clipping from a news article about the “thwarted terrorist attempt in London” with a shaky scrawl next to it that says “I don’t feel much like a hero.” ]

Page 35.

Constant rehab and surgery doesn’t leave for much time to update this stupid thing. Dunno if that’s good or bad, but guess I’ll find out soon enough.

They finally assigned me a therapist, so guess I’ll be made to talk about this soon enough. I can’t say I’m excited about it… I was fine trying to pretend it all away…

Guess not.

Page 38-40.

[ Three of the same sketches, but different at the same time. The first one is largely from memory, of what he could remember of when Makarov held the gun at his face. The second appears to be the same, except this time one holding the gun is wearing a baseball cap. The third, a mask with a skull. The lines on it are hard, a sign of the frustration and anger held behind its meaning. ]

Page 41.

Finding out real quick that the downside to keeping a journal is that it makes for an easy target for therapy. Dr. Jane wanted to press today on how the drawings mean I blame Kyle and Simon, wanted to talk about how the dreams shifting mean I’m not letting it go.

Can’t really let it go, even when I think I can. But it wasn’t fair of me to yell at her… guess I was just embarrassed to find out I’m still a bit angry with them.

I should apologize next session.

Page 42 – 46.

[ A number of various other doodles, though they appear to be increasingly stranger and darker. Some idle scrawling here and there, detailing increasingly unhinged plans with the words “STAY SAFE” written in large letters on the last page. ]

Page 50.

I apologized to Dr. Jane this time. For a shrink, she’s surprisingly understanding, but I guess she’s dealt with worse patients than me. Can see why Laswell married her.

Today was a thought exercise on what could’ve been different. It felt a bit like Simon lecturing me back in Al Mazrah on choices, but I get what she was getting at… or at least I think I do, anyways. If I did kill him, would we have even had enough time to disarm the bombs?

Would the police force we went with lived?

Would things have been different if I shot him four years ago?

She’s definitely given me a lot to think about…

[diejager]

not a req, just some fun thoughts - I truly love your Makarov cause you get it, like there few work about him, but yours are 💫💖💫. dad!Makarov is …brilliant, and I bet you with Volodya being they way he his, he totally would hire a surrogate / find a woman to birth him a heir! a son! just to obsess over the mother of the child and latter the said child who just happen to be a baby girl 🤭 kinda ties in with the !nse*t part 🙂 hope your inspiration draws you back to a few works with him, because even thou эта мразь represents everything I hate about my country I just can’t help but be marvel at Julian in this role

stay safe and loved 💗

I discovered Julian in Shadow and Bones, I loved the novels more than the series, but he played such a good role.

But yes, Makarov wants an heir, someone he can pass his kingdom to, but it so happens that he was given a tsaritsa rather than a tsar. He wasn’t disappointed - no - he’d heard of Catherine The Great, he believes that with the right education and care, he could have the brightest girl and the perfect ruler. Despite his open reservations and expectations, some things never go as planned, and he just, he was a man under all the bravado and embellishment, he was a soft and fragile being as much as the next.

Makarov feels, loves, cries and protects, he expects an exchange, giving you one thing so that you’d return something else, a deal is never made without both parties benefitting of it. Even if you were his daughter, he’d treat you the same as he would if you were a son, in a darker universe he’d expect the same success and malice, the same strength and slyness he wields.

And thank you! Take care💚

[samatedeansbroccoli]

SamAteDeansMasterlist

My parents said I should be more organized so I started by organizing my Tumblr.

Yo what’s up, I’m SamAteDeansBroccoli, 18+, never learned how to read. I drink angst for breakfast and have hurt/comfort for an afternoon snack. Nothing on this blog makes sense. Run while you still have a chance to keep your sanity.

I go by Stress, Sam, Broccoli, saMatedEansBroccoli, or Samaté Dean's Broccoli for short. Sometimes I write fanfiction, most of the time I just reblog things. Any pronouns.

More about me here!

Ready to lose your sanity? Check out my works shown on my masterlist below!

Currently obsessed with: Call of Duty, Star Wars, Phantom of the Opera, Counter-Strike, DC Heroes, anything medical or aviation related

Wanna contact me elsewhere?

Ao3: Jak_the_ATAT

Discord: call of booty#7229

Instagram: HistoryMightBeFun

My comic sideblog: @comicsoncrack

Join my MW discord!

My COD ask game

How to work this Masterlist

Categories are listed based on what most followers would find the most interesting to the least interesting. Each category will have one recommended suggestion under it. If you want to see more in that category, click on the header to access a page with more choices. This is to keep the masterlist nice and short. 

Fanfics

Adler’s Little Fish (Call of Duty, kid!Bell)

A little girl abandoned in Trabzon leaves Adler in a very chaotic lifestyle as he tries to balance his hunt for Perseus with taking care of the child. 

Analyses and Headcanons

Adler’s Body Language

Had Bell paid attention more, they would have seen Adler manipulating them.

Art

Mason x Woods chibi drawing

I love these two beans. 

OCs 

Sim MacCallen (Call of Duty: Black Ops 2/Call of Duty: Mobile)

VTOL mechanic Sim MacCallen continues to wonder why Broccoli can’t spell his last name right half the time. 

My shitposts

Click on the header to access the “BroccoliGoneWrong” tag. 

NSFW Frank Woods

He’s just that sexy.

Fairly Odd Asks (sometimes)

Cow milk and trans people?

Cow milk and trans people pt. 2

Jeff Bezos on the moon?

RDJ Dogboy p1. 1

RDJ Dogboy pt. 2

Trolling a Sex Account

Trolling a Sex Account pt. 2

Trolling a (Normal?) Account pt. 3

Favorite Reblogs

Anatomy embroidery

Angry frog

Anime sword

Anti-Anxiety Helpers

Are you winning the future, son?

Bitch in Morse code

Camels in the road

Car color yellow or orange?

Charging handle FSB vs. CIA

Clicky things for bad nights

Cooler Igloo

CTS avoidance exercises

Dead but not really

Drawing Masterlist

Evergiven door stuck

Exaggerating your pain

In-depth Novel Asks

Jeff Leech’s YouTube Comment

Life help hacks

Leet World family art

Legolas’ “And my bow”

Lost generation 1918

Map date flow chart

Masterlist of descriptions

Modern tap dancing

Nathan Drake scribble art

NCMoodboards

People are awesome

Pretty art w/ Chinese

Simu Liu stock photos

Story structure

Totally accurate family tree

Wide Chris Redfield

Who’s on first shirt

Writing MCD

Writing trans characters masterlist

Writer’s Resource Masterlist

Writer Website

Y/N vs. Barbie

Miscellaneous

Rickrolling @enderio count

Rickrolling @smokeywhalee count

Rickrolling @echo-three-one count

Rickrolling @helenpxrk count

Rickrolling @ricinbach count

Rickrolling @straightembarrassment count

Rickrolling @quizzyisdone count

Rickrolling @whimsywispsblog count

Rickrolling @little-miss-makarov count

My Chaotic COD introduction

List of CODs

Please do not reblog this! 

Random Words: Oymyakon, recondite, peal