#call of duty au

[cloudofbutterflies92]

Eden and Ghost in Modern Warfare

Eden and Ghost in "Spiral"

Eden and Ghost in Fallout: New Vegas AU

Tagged by the lovely @inafieldofdaisies 💞💞

Picrew here

Tag: @chloekistune @graveyard-party666 @alypink @kaitaiga @statichvm @onehornedbeast @themotherofhorses @carlosoliveiraa @cassietrn @socially-awkward-skeleton @thewanderer-000 @thedeadthree @priceseyes @sinclxirx @alicedarkmair @strangefable @captastra @aceghosts @kikiharinezumi @katsigian @justasmolbard @dickytwister @theelderhazelnut @elderglocks @caelums-fate @chewbokachoi @yourluckyoswald @moosch @amalkavian @valyrra and you 💗

[eilidh-eternal]

“Single mom x Johnny” this, “single mom x Simon” that.

I want single dad Johnny/Simon and the single reader next door who is helplessly in love with them and their kid.

18+ MDNI

You never wanted kids. You’re convinced you would turn out to be just like your parents. That’s probably why you don’t have a ring on your finger or any sort of boyfriend or partner to speak of.

You never wanted kids.

Until Johnny goddamn MacTavish.

You’re in love with the man who always walks his little girl to school every morning, crooked pigtails flouncing with each too-big step she takes to keep stride with his long legs.

Madly in love with the way he smiles down at the tiny girl, even tinier hand held firmly in his as she dodges cracks in the pavement, and the shriek of her laughter when he lifts her by the arm, swinging her through the air to the next chunk of concrete.

Hopelessly in love with the broad shoulders he hoists her up on, little legs swinging with arms wrapped tightly around his neck and her chin resting on top of his head, blowing stray hairs of an overgrown mohawk out of her face.

Dangerously in love with the way he lets her cling to his front when it rains, like a little koala wrapped around this tree of a man who holds an umbrella in one hand and has a firm hold on her with the other.

Happy. He looks so happy with her. Like she’s the sun he orbits; the star that lights up his world.

You’re just a comet who occasionally passes them by.

——

Johnny never thought he would be doing this alone.

He’s so far out of his depth. Never even had the chance to dip his toe in the water before he was shoved into the churning ocean.

He still remembers every life-altering detail of that day. The phone call after the 16 hour flight back to base. The frantic drive to the hospital. The impossibly tiny, wailing little girl, all alone in the social workers office.

She’s all he has left of her. Of them.

His best friend. His partner in crime, for more years than he can remember. The person who understood better than anyone who he is, saw him through his darkest moments, and loved him with her whole heart.

Gone.

But he smiles for her. Because of her. Isobel is the light in the abysmal darkness that he’s drowning in. The buoy he clings to when he can no longer hold his head above the surface. She’s everything. His past, his present, and his future. And she’s sitting at the table refusing to eat her dinner.

“’s not right.” Her little nose scrunches, turns up at the meal, and she pushes the bright green plastic away, matching miniature fork sent skittering across the table by the force of it

Johnny lowers his own fork and swallows his frustration with a sigh. “‘s yer favorite. Wha’s wrong with it? ”

Her brows knit together as she studies the tray, little creases forming between them and she slumps in her booster seat. “Mommy didn’t make it.”

No. She didn’t.

Johnny was never the cook in the family. That was all her. She’d chased him out of the kitchen after he’d burnt one of her expensive pans and he was thus forth relegated to chopping, and occasionally peeling, duties.

“I know.” His chair scrapes against the floor when he pushes back from the table, moving to crouch down where she sits beside him so that he’s at eye level with her, and he pulls the fork and tray back towards her. “But mommy wouldnae want ye to go to bed hungry, aye?”

“I wan’ somethin’ else.” He watches her little bottom lip jut out, brows still pinched and face twisting into a stubborn pout.

“Wha’d’ye want?”

“Quesadilla.” She drags out the ‘ee’ sound, emphasizing her clumsy command of the foreign language in her already thick Scot’s accent.

He enjoys Mexican food. Loved the tacos Alejandro and Rudy shared with him and his team during his time in Mexico. She’d learned how to make them for his birthday.

Nowhere in Glasgow made anything like it. Not then, and not now.

“I cannae make a quesadilla, leannan.” Her little lip wobbles, eyes turn glassy, tears already welling up in the corners and threatening to spill down chubby cheeks. She sniffles, drags the backs of her hands across her eyes, and Johnny feels what’s left of his heart splinter, another little piece of it withering away to nothing with each fat tear that rolls down and collects at her chin. He unbuckles her from the booster and gathers her into his arms as he stands up, taking her with him to sit in his own chair at the table.

Her little shoulders shake, hiccuping with each muffled sob against his shoulder and tiny fingers fist the material of his shirt. “Miss ‘er,” she warbles, and his arms tighten around her small frame.

“Ah know, leannan.” More hiccups. More tears that seep through his shirt and brand his skin.

You should be here. You’re supposed to be here. With her. With him. With them.

“How ‘bout we go down to the shops? Ye can pick whatever ye want for dinner. Dinnae think they’ll have quesadillas, but I’m sure we can find somethin’ ye like.” She lifts her head from his shoulder, tips it back to peer up at him with bleary eyes and sniffles. Wipes her hand across her eyes again.

“Cheesy noodles?” It’s thin and reedy, poor little throat still tight and full of grief that he knows feels impossible to speak around.

“Aye, we can get cheesy noodles.” He brushes an errant strand of hair away from her face, tucking the unruly curl behind an ear where it probably won’t stay. Just like her mum’s. So much like her mum. She considers him, his offer, and toys with his shirt.

“And sticky pudding?”

“Whatever ye want, leannan.” She really shouldn’t have something so sugary right before bed but he doesn’t have it in him to deny her. Is just glad the tears have stopped. That she’s willing to eat, even if he has to bribe her with junk food and sweets. He sends her to put her shoes on while he cleans up in the kitchen and grabs his own shoes and keys.

——

He’s there.

He’s standing in the pasta aisle with his little girl in the buggy, smiling at the way she makes grabby hands at the dismal selection of boxed macaroni, and he pulls one down from the shelf to hand to her. She inspects it, turning it this way and that way, pointing to something on the packaging and saying something that makes him laugh.

You’re frozen in place, jar of pasta sauce halfway to the basket in your other hand, and you can’t move because the sound of his laughter causes something in your brain to misfire. Causes the electrical signals between neurons and synapses to jumble together and sets your nerves alight. You think you might really be frozen, body unwilling to move an inch away from where you stand now, by your beautiful neighbor in the middle of a goddamned Tesco, until a little voice is addressing you.

“Hi miss neighbor!” Johnny’s head whips around and when his gaze lands on you it feels like your stomach’s turned to lead. “We’re havin’ cheesy noodles f’r dinner!” She holds up the box in her hand and kicks her feet excitedly.

You’re currently kicking yourself for making what you’re sure is an expression closely resembling that of a fish out of water. Mouth agape, brows raised and eyes slightly widened in surprise. When your mouth finally remembers how to move you smile at the little girl waving her box of noodles and powdered cheese in the air. “Hello, Isobel. That sounds like a lovely dinner.”

His brows knit together, one of them quirked at a curious angle. “And how d’ the two of ye know each other?”

Isobel’s foot connects with his thigh and his head jerks back around. “She’s our neighbor. She gave me the tablet,” she whispers a little too loud, cupping a small hand in front of her mouth. He turns back to you with the same jaunty brows and a quirk to his lips.

“So ye’re the one responsible for the wee heathens late night sugar-induced marathon.”

“M-marathon?”

“Aye, she was bouncin’ round the house all night, the little devil.” He ruffles her hair and she swats at his hand.

“I- I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…” You don’t really know what you’d been thinking when you’d given her the Tupperware full of sugary confections to take home after she’d spent the morning helping you root around in the flowerbeds in front of your home. She’d been watching out the window for hours until she was suddenly right next to you, asking what you were digging for.

“‘s alright. Ye’ll just have to make up f’r it.”

It’s your turn to pinch your brows and tilt your head in confusion. “Make up for it?”

His lips part in a full, genuine smile, like the ones he gives Isobel, and your leaden stomach suddenly feels like it’s lodged in your chest, full of butterflies and other fluttering things you don’t dare to name.

“Oh aye. Reckon ye owe us a dinner since ye’ve skipped right to dessert.”

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

[gold0kapi]

[snootlestheangel]

I don't know who else agrees with this, but something about SoapGhost AUs where Soap is the inhuman/magical/mythical creature and Ghost is just a normal ass human is infinitely better.

Like, yes, making Ghost the true cryptid like he's supposed to be is an incredible story narrative and I will still 100% read the whole thing like an entire three course meal.

But something about everyone else, especially Soap, being something mythical/magical while he's just a dude is so fucking funny to me. It implies that Ghost chose to emanate cryptic energy for the hell of it. He's been through so much awful shit in his life and he's just a dude. Like he's just a human going through all this shit in a world where literal werewolves, vampires, fucking witches/whatever you can think of exist but he's still Just A Human Being.

I don't know why the trope of Ghost being Just A Dude with his Inhuman/Magical boyfriend with the goddamn name of Soap is so funny BUT IT IS

[brewed-pangolin]

Convergence

Captain John 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader x Sgt Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish

Another one for @glitterypirateduck SoapItUp Challenge

This was inspired by @shotmrmiller Alternate Ghost AU. Don't know how, but it did. And I thank you dearly for it.

Synopsis: The last place you expect to be thrusted into a time warp is at the grocery store.

WC 783

--

Just imagine going about your daily routine at the grocery store.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Casually making small talk with the attendants as you scrutinize the flesh of a large green pepper.

-

"You doing the stuffed peppers again?" You smiled at his familiar voice, placing the chosen produce into the plastic bag.

"Yeah. Tried and true. Going easy this weekend," you remark with a friendly glint in your eye.

"Gonna add some jalapeños to the mix. Feeling a bit spicy these last few days."

"Nice touch. Just watch those seeds," he added. Leaning over the enclosure, lining up the peppers in color coded order. "They'll sting like hell if you wipe your eyes after cutting them."

"First hand experience?"

"Many."

Your chest jumped slightly with a huff at his honest admission. Extending your hand to grab a a few similarly sized packed greens.

You noticed the slight shift in air as you placed the bag into your cart. A silent hum in the back of your ear. The sudden sensation of a presence beside you, causing you to jolt and spin your head on a swivel.

"S'cuse me, love," the man says. Voice smooth, low. Wrapped like twine in a thick Scottish brogue. "Tryin' ta get tha pepper."

"Oh. I'm so sorry." You step back, hands on your chest with a furthering apology on your lips. Yet all movement and speech seem to halt as you meet the icy blue of his gaze.

"No need for apologies," he affirms with a casual smile. "Peppers are n'popular demand, yeah?"

You nod. Barely.

A whispered 'yeah' escaping your lips. The world turning into a blur as you lose yourself in the pull of his eyes.

You felt like a spring fawn. Every nerve tingling, every sense in overdrive. The hum in the back of your ears growing more strident. Pulsing. Flowing to meet a cadence that synchronized with the fluttering beat of your heart.

"Y'alright, love?" He asked. Low timbre vibrating within the shell of your ears. "Ya seem a bit shaken. Dinnae mean ta make ya nervous."

"No no no," you gasped, words rolling off your tongue like rolling rocks. "Just caught off guard. Surprised, y'know?"

"Aye. Ya sure? Ya tremblin a bit."

"I'm fine. Thank you. Enjoy your pepper."

Spinning on your heels, you jolt your cart forward. Leaving the enigmatic man with his chosen peppers to free your mind from within his trance like grip.

-

'What the fuck?' You mouth, inspecting a carton of milk like a scientist with a microscope. "Enjoy your pepper. What kind of dumbass says that?" You mutter under your breath, scolding yourself for your lack of composure while making your way to the snack aisle.

You hadn't planned on getting anything too unhealthy, but that sudden interaction changed your cravings to something more savory. Needing a bite to rid the taste of stupidity from your tongue.

You stood like an overwhelmed peasant in the aisle. Eyes scanning over the vast array of brightly colored bags and designs. Trying to focus on one that caught your attention, yet none seemed to pull at you. Ensnare you.

Nothing like the pull of his gaze.

A sudden perk of interest to a bag at eye level brought you back. And just as your fingers wrapped around the crinkling bag, that distant hum returned. Reverberating in the base of your earsdrums and slowly trickled down to the base of your spine.

"Nice, lass. Thems always a good choice," the voice called, forcing you to spin in shock from being pulled out of yet another daze.

"Jesus Christ!"

"Uh, not quite," he replied. A confident snark in his voice, dripping with an accent that was all too familiar yet more distinctive to a younger man.

The hum began to bellow deeply within your ears. What was once a distant buzz now echoed in the crevices, defeaning all sounds of the aisle, the store. Encapsulating you within its vibrations as your eyes moved ever so slowly to meet his.

You froze. Again. Second time in less than twenty minutes.

Bright cerulean orbs staring with a vigor and lust for life unlike any you had ever seen.

Similar to the icy blues earlier, yet wholly different. Lacking the poise and wisdom of a lifetime of trial and error. Yet, still held a strong grip of determination and control within the fibers of his irises.

"Y'alright, lass?" He asked. The silent rumble in his throat shifted the air, letting it heave down onto your soul until you were unable to move. Unable to think.

All you could was feel.

And you felt like a lamb at dawn on the eve of the spring slaughter.

Yeah. So, this happened....🤷‍♀️

Captain MacTavish Masterlist

[iamcautiouslyoptimistic]

Call of Duty but make it 🐺werewolves🐺

{Author's Note} Inspired by @deadbranch's werewolf AU so definitely go check it out. I’ve leaned more into the supernatural aspect than her series has and thought it'd be fun to post it for October hehe. If y'all want some good werewolf/soldier content, check out the "Shape-Shifters" episode from Netflix's Love, Death, and Robots. It fits this AU perfectly and gives a good visual for how things would work. >Call of Duty Werewolves AU -> Part 2 *I’d love hearing any ideas y’all have and would be happy to answer with more headcanons if you guys want. Werewolves and werewolf AUs are my JAM*

~ ~ ~

First, some lore for this AU...

>Werewolves are usually forced into organizations like the military to keep them under control. They are feared by most of humanity and treated more as assets rather than citizens with laws put into place to make sure they don't hurt the people around them. Medication is often taken to suppress their lycanthropy and violent force is used if they ever get out of hand. There are plenty of groups who specialize in the hunting and killing of werewolves.

>Natural werewolves are born with their abilities and have an easier time with their transformations as a result. 

>Bitten werewolves gain their abilities after being bitten by another werewolf. They tend to be more vicious when transformed and often have a harder time managing themselves. 

>Transformations are not dictated by the cycles of the Moon but instead by a werewolf’s will and emotions. However, many werewolves revere the Moon and often hold celebrations as it passes through its phases each month.

>Werewolves only gain about a foot in height when they transform, due to the shape of their feet changing and their spine lengthening to allow for quadrupedal movement (ex. 6'4" -> 7'4"). Their muscle mass/weight remain about the same as it is the face and head that undergo the most dramatic changes.

>Hair length and style remain relatively the same when transformed. Bitten werewolves tend to have less hair than natural werewolves. 

>Eyes are reflective in both forms; natural werewolves keep their human eye colors when transformed, while bitten werewolves tend to have more unusual eye colors (brown to amber, blue to silver, etc.). 

>Moon madness/blindness is when a werewolf is overwhelmed by the light of a full moon and transforms without meaning to, regressing to a state of mind that is driven more by instinct rather than higher reason (werewolf equivalent to human psychosis). This is more common among bitten werewolves and can lead to violent outbursts if not properly addressed.

>Among werewolves, moonstones are said to restore a werewolf’s humanity when they’ve lost control. Because of their relative rarity, however, this belief exists only in the realm of legend rather than truth. 

🌙 🐺 🌙

💲Price is well-known for his experience and the ease with which he can transform. He commands those around him with confidence, acting as a supporting presence and capable leader. He should never be underestimated, however, as his temper frightens even the toughest werewolves.

💀Ghost was nearly killed by the werewolf who turned him and so views his lycanthropy as more of a curse. He bears numerous scars from the attack and tends to be quite vicious when transformed. He is the largest of the 141 with oversized fangs, tufted ears, and blazing amber eyes. 

🧼Soap comes from a family of Scottish werewolves who eagerly embrace their lycanthropy. He has great control over his transformations and suffers little pain as a result. His trademark Mohawk and bright blue eyes remain when shifted, making him easily identifiable.

🧢Gaz still struggles with his transformations after being bitten but he doesn't find them particularly overwhelming. Price and Soap have both been a huge help in that regard, offering their advice and companionship when needed. He's become far more confident in his abilities and enjoys the company of his fellow lycanthropic soldiers.

🦿Alex was attacked by a moon-blinded werewolf and unfortunately lost his lower left leg as a result. He's managed to find enjoyment in his new life, however, thanks in part to his association with the 141, and uses his enhanced abilities to his advantage. Laswell had a unique prosthetic made for him that adapts to his transforming body.

🪦Graves is a born-and-bred werewolf. He’s proud of his abilities and encourages use of them among his Shadows. He makes for a loyal and headstrong soldier who is known for his disarming charm and willingness to get his hands dirty. Shadow Company functions more as a tight-knit family rather than a horde of military operatives, due primarily to Graves’ leadership and his embracing of their lycanthropy.

[saturncodedstarlette]

🎬✰ {Slasher AU | Butcher Ghost}

[Context : Y/N’s friends all escaped and left Y/N to die. But instead of Ghost killing them, he took pitied on them so he takes Y/N back to his house on top of his shop]

Y/N, sitting comfortably on the old couch while watching Ghost gathering woods for the fireplace with warm cup of tea in hand :

Y/N : You allow the world to think you’re a heartless monster.

Y/N, is confused by his nice gesture : And you’re not.

Butcher!Ghost, still dripping with blood and all :

Butcher! Ghost, lifts his eyebrow under the mask :

Butcher! Ghost, chuckles : No. I’m afraid I’m just a regular kind of murderer, sweetheart.

Butcher! Ghost, return with clean clothes and handed some to Y/N : I may be a murderer but I’m not that heartless like your shitty friends eh?

Y/N, silently accepts the clothes : (That sounds so wrong yet right at the same time…)

Dividers belongs to : @rookthornesartistry ♥️

[welldonekhushi]

Konni!Soap 🧼💀

Was brainstorming with new ideas ever since I posted that last drawing of Soap pretending to get shot, so this too gave me a thought that if he sides with the Konni alongside Makarov's advice?

Everyone had thoughts like this before the release of MWIII. Would Soap become a traitor? Now that they didn't make it possible.. I will make it possible *evil grin*

I told you! It would have been way better if they made him a traitor and NOT just.. dead. This might be my new coping mechanism, yay (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

[eilidh-eternal]

You need a favor

SingleDad!Johnny x f!reader | 18+ MDNI | Part 1 Here | Masterlist

You’re out of milk.

You’re out of milk because you hadn’t had the mental bandwidth to finish your shopping three days ago after Johnny, with help from a certain puppy-eyed five year old, convinced you to have dinner with them after you made your very awkward introduction. Isobel had long ago told you his name but you’d pretended not to know for formality's sake.

“Neighbors shouldn’t be strangers,” he’d declared. That’s what you’re telling yourself as you hesitantly step up onto his front doorstep, empty measuring cup in hand. It takes several moments of controlled breathing and a fair amount of you rocking back and forth on anxious feet before you work up the courage to knock, a timid rap of your knuckles. You’re just asking for a cup of milk. Neighbors do that all the time. You’re just being- “‘S it Friday already?” His voice interrupts the silent conversation you’d been having with yourself and you nearly stumble back and off the narrow stoop.

“Oh, n-no. I just-” You take a beat, a breath, to calm your nerves. “I um, haven’t got any milk.” You lift the measuring cup, as if it wasn’t already obvious in your hands, and he leans with his shoulder against the doorframe. “Was wondering if I could borrow some?” 

“Makin’ more sweets?” There’s a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips, and you nearly drop the measuring cup when you spot the dimple hidden beneath a few days worth of stubble.

“Oh, no. It’s for combat corn.” The smirk remains but his brows draw together with a curious tilt of his head, and eyes the color of lochs in the summertime flicker with amusement.

“Combat corn?” he echoes, and it takes you a few beats to remember the distinctly American dish and the family joke that named it isn’t common knowledge in Scotland. So, you find yourself explaining to the man–who nearly gives you an aneurysm when he folds his arms and the muscles in his chest bunch deliciously beneath the corded muscles of his forearms–what scalloped corn is.

“Someone made a joke that it was like the food in the army, anything you could find just thrown together—combat corn. Called it that ever since.” You fidget with the measuring cup, tapping the pads of your fingers against the glass, overly aware of your rambling explanation. “It uh… you have to bake it. With milk.” There's a beat of silence and then he’s pulling away from the doorframe, 

“Cannae say I have much time f’r bakin’ in the army.” He reaches for the measuring cup and your arm works independent of your brain to hand it to him, functioning on autopilot as your mind works to absorb the unexpected revelation about the man next door with the muscles and darling little girl. Your fingers brush, just barely, as you hand it over, and you can feel the confirmation of this newfound part of him, callus pads of his fingers glancing over yours to retrieve the glassware. “Never left a man behind though. C’mon in then.” Thank fucking god he’s holding the glass because the wink he shoots in your direction before retreating inside, leaving the door wide for you to follow, surely would have sent it shattering against the pavement at your feet.

Their home is both exactly what you thought it would be and somehow the complete opposite. None of the living room furniture matches, like it’s all been collected over many years, and looks well loved. As does the room itself, littered with toys and costume clothing, a small shelf in one corner near the television overflowing with bins of more colorful blocks, stacked high with books, and crammed full with stuffed animals.

“Sorry f’r the mess, Bell’s no’ fond of pickin’ up after ‘erself.” The clink of glass against stone countertops echoes from the kitchen.

“I can’t imagine she would be at her age.” Pictures line the wall leading into the cozy space. Some you recognize of Isobel. Some you think might be a younger Johnny. There’s one of the two of them, a very young Isobel balancing on top of his shoes and holding onto his hand in front of him, and Johnny stands with the other arm draped around the shoulder of the woman holding Isobels hand at his side. She has the same hair, wild and curly. Her mom. Something bitter coats your tongue at the realization, sour and unpleasant. You feel like an intruder.

You fidget with the sleeve of your sweater, struggling to put the pieces together. In all the time you’d lived next door, you’d never seen the woman in the photo. Never saw a ring on Johnny's finger. Never saw anyone but him walking her to and home from school. The sound of the fridge opening and closing precedes Johnny’s appearance at your side, measuring cup full of milk in hand, and you’re acutely aware of how close he stands, shoulder nearly pressed to yours as he follows your gaze to the photo. He smiles but it feels forced, like doing so hurts him. 

“Havnae stopped to look at that one in a while.” The remark only confuses you further. Why does such a happy photo make him look like he just took a beating, like he’s smiling through the pain? When you don’t say anything he continues. “She passed. ‘Bout two years ago.”

Oh. The bitter taste on your tongue curdles into something rotten and rife with shame. You’d been jealous of his late wife. For all of about three minutes, but still. The realization twists your stomach into knots and it roils with guilt and embarrassment.

“I had no idea, I’m so sorry.” Sorry for feeling jealous of a dead woman. A cautious glance up at his face reveals a stoic expression, one he’s probably learned to carry on with from the military if you had to guess.

“‘S hard, ‘specially on Bell. Still too young to understand why she’s gone.” Too young to grasp the concept and finality of death. Far too young to endure the loss of a parent. Silence stretches long between you, thick with grief and the admission of a once beautiful life lost. Her life. Their life. Guilt nestles itself between your ribs, taking up space between flesh and bone and it makes your chest feel tight, lungs constricted by writhing tendrils of the ugly thing. He always looks so happy, always smiling and laughing with Isobel. Always strong for her. Who smiles for him? Who takes care of him? Does he hold it all in until he drops Isobel off for school, filling the silence of their home with muffled sobs and silent tears as he picks up toys and clothes?

“Bubby?” Isobel stands at the end of the hall near the stairs, hair tousled and eyes still half-lidded with sleep, and a little bear wearing a skeleton hoodie dangles from her hand. Johnny’s eyes immediately soften, cold fractals of sorrow melting when they land on the sleepy little thing, toddling closer to wrap her arms around his leg. 

“Did ye have a nice nap. leannan?” He holds the cup of milk out to you, something you’d nearly forgotten about, and passes it off so that he can lift Isobel, settling her on his hip.

She mumbles something that sounds like an ‘uh-huh’, cheek squished against his shoulder where she lays her head. “Hi miss neighbor.” Little lips curl up at the corners to smile lopsidedly at you, and you give her a small wave. 

“Hi honey. I like your bear.” It’s pressed between her and Johnny, little hood pulled over its head to make it look like it’s wearing a mask with a cartoonish skull printed on it. “Does it have a name?”

“Ghost.” Johnny’s own lips tug into a half smile. “Bubby’s friend uncle Grumpy gave ‘im to me.” He chuckles at that and gives her a little squeeze.

“Are ye hungry?” A nod and a toothy yawn tells him yes.

“Well it was very nice to see you, Isobel. And very nice to meet Mr. Ghost. I’ll see you in a few days on Friday, hm?” She nods and Johnny carefully lowers her to the ground.

“Go get washed up, Leannan, and ye can help me make supper.” 

“Okay. Bye miss neighbor!” She lifts the arm of the bear, waving it at you before running off to the washroom. You wave one last time and turn your attention to Johnny.

“I should leave you to it. I need to get my own dinner going.” You raise the cup of milk for emphasis. 

“I’ll walk ye out then.” He does so with his hand on the small of your back, guiding you past the living room-turned-warzone by Isobel and her toys, and surprises you when he follows you out the door, hand still lingering on your back, and walks you all the way to your door.

“Thank you. Uh, for the milk, I mean. And walking me over. You didn't have to do that.” His hand leaves your waist and fixes itself on the doorframe beside his head, leaning against it with his forearm and shoving his other hand in his pocket.

“What kind of gentleman doesnae walk a lassie home?” Any remnants of the grief that shone in his eyes moments earlier has been replaced with the warmth Isobels presence brings to him. It makes them look like the hottest part of a flame, bright and mesmerizing blue in the golden rays of the setting winter sun, apricity blooming a faint pink on his cheeks that mirrors the warmth creeping into yours for an entirely different reason. “Cannae let ye slip on the pavement. Bell would have my heid if ye got hurt and couldnae make it to dinner wi’ us. She’s been talkin’ ‘bout it all week.”

“Oh.” Really? ‘Oh’? That’s the best you can come up with? 

“Been thinkin’ bout it too.” He shifts his weight, leans forward, and you have to look away for fear the flames flickering behind his eyes might burn right through your head to peer into your mind where he can see all of the inappropriate imaginings inside it. Your back to the door and him towering over you, one hand around your waist and the other braced against the doorframe as it is now. All that warmth in his eyes because of you. Burning for you. “Can’t stop thinkin’ of how ye’d look in our little kitchen, bakin’ yer sweets with Bell.”

“I could bring something, if you’d like.” He shakes his head.

“Ye’re sweet enough on yer own, lass, just bring yer bonnie self. Besides, if ye do all the bakin’ here, how’m I s’posed to sneak a lick from yer spoon, hm?”

Next>>>

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[sleepyconfusedpotato]

don't mind me just thinking about how a pre-wedding photoshoot with Ghost would look like

Since Ghost needs to keep his face a secret, they're gonna need to make a... creative approach to the photoshoots.

...I'm having thoughts 😩

[callofdudes]

Best thought bonked me on the head.

Veteran surgeon Simon Riley and Medical Student y/n who was assigned under him to learn the ropes of the medical field and the technicalities of surgeries.

Simon is a bit of a rough edge, a rightfully harsh teacher who corrects you. (Think doctor stranger, petter parker vibes). But Simon is also very passionate about his job even if he's very monotone about it.

Like, "My medical student, not yours, back off 😤😤." And I mostly just want to see Simon in the surgeon get-up because yes.

Ok bye 👋🏻

[sheeple]

More CoD thoughts!! This time medieval!au with concubine!König Warning(s): fem!reader (idk if that is a warning but good to know) / I canon (this) König as blond FIGHT ME pls don't / a mention of brushing hair (do I have to mention is? idk)

So imagine you are an empress

And König is this colonel who has fallen from grace. He lost a battle or something which resulted in many men dead

And now he's on his knees in front of you, face downcast and awaiting your judgement

You're sitting up on your throne and watching the man, thinking deeply about what to do with him

Yes, he made a mistake and your people expect him to be punished for it. But you can't deny that he has been a great strategist

"Leave us", you order

Once everybody has left the throne room, you stand up and saunter down the stairs, dragging your skirts behind you

Circling the crouching man, you trace his shoulders

"Remove your helmet, colonel."

His hands falter for a moment before he reaches up and reveals his scared face

Light blue eyes look up at you as blond hair falls into them

Finding him way too handsome to kill, you give him a proposition

Be your war advisor disguised as a concubine

Because he needs to be 'punished' in the eyes of your subjects, but also all your war and army advisors haven't been on a battlefield for decades and are idiots

Your advisor of royal customs has also been pestering you about finding a husband or starting a harem (as you dismissed your father's concubines the moment you took over the throne)

Two birds with one stone

König hates the idea at first, but he knows it's better than being executed

But he realises once he is led to his chambers that maybe this isn't soooo bad

It's the first time in years that he sleeps on a decent bed and has quality food in his belly so he's not complaining

The first time König joins you in your strategy meetings, he scares the crap out of your advisors

I mean... the man is two metres tall, bulky and has scars all over his body

It also doesn't help that he is shirtless, so his battle scars are on full display

Every time one of your advisors says something stupid or something he doesn't agree with, König grunts/scoffs

It makes you turn your head towards him and he bows down to whisper in your ear what he has to say

10/10 times he's right

And your advisors quickly realise that the man knows what he's talking about, that he's not just a concubine that you keep bringing with you

They hate him

One thing that König has been dreading is being called to your chambers. He knows it is the job of a concubine to please his empress, but he was forced into this position

So, when he is called to your chambers one evening, he mentally prepares for the worst

Except, it's not like that

When he's let into your room by the royal guards, he finds you seated at a table set for two people with a beaming smile

You raise to your feet as König bows deeply

"Come, join me for supper."

He's sceptical at first, expecting a catch

But you reassure him with a laugh that you won't force him to do anything he's opposed and that it's just a dinner

You ask questions about his life in the army and where he grew up, about how his youth was

It becomes a daily ritual for the both of you

In the beginning, you have to invite him. But after a while, he makes his way to your chambers on his own. It evolves to you finding him already lounging around when you come back from your duties of the day

One day, he helps you undo your miraculously crafted hairdo and since then it has become something that he just does as you wait for the servants to set the table and bring the food out

You close your eyes content as König rakes a comb through your hair, working out the knots

Eventually, you and König feel the need to spend more time together

It goes from you reading in your private gardens and him swinging a sword around

To him joining you for your day whenever he can and acting like an unofficial bodyguard

He scares off any and everyone who he deems too close to his empress

I personally would be spooked if this two-metre-tall, scantly clad man loomed over the shoulder of the person I try to talk to

It's not long before König starts to develop feelings for you

He knows that it's wrong

But it's the way you're looking at him, treating him like an equal and laughing at his stupid jokes that make his heart flutter every time you do so

He snaps one day when you and him are in your gardens

You have your head resting on his thigh as you read out loud your book, your body fully relaxed in the warmth of the sun and the shade of the trees

König watches how the sun makes your eyes look magical

It makes the butterflies in his belly go on a rampage

Deciding he can't handle you being so close to him anymore, he excuses himself and flees to the safety of his room

It confuses you

But it breaks your heart when he doesn't join you for dinner anymore

You go over your interactions with him in your head, in search of anything that warrants this behaviour

The only time that you see him is when there is a war council, but he keeps quiet and doesn't interject any of your advisors and generals

Your mood sours the longer it goes on, genuinely scaring your servants and the lords

Their usually happy and chatty empress has transformed into a shell and slowly dulls in colour

You don't notice it until your lady-in-waiting suggests you take a break to your summer home for a couple of weeks

So, arrangements are made and your more breathable clothes are packed into trunks and placed on the carriages

You hesitate in front of König's door, not sure if you should ask him if he wants to come with

He has been ignoring you for a while now

So, decide against it and just leave

You sunbath and swim in the ocean all wearing thin, white summer dresses that turn see-through when wet

Your lady-in-waiting sits on the side, her feet in the water as she watches you

"Empress, may I speak freely?"

And after you nod her question makes you choke

"Does the imperial concubine not please you anymore?"

Meanwhile, back at the castle...

König is driving himself mad

He has to be close to you, even if it means to be an actual concubine

So imagine his surprise when he can't find you anywhere and a servant tells him you're at your summer palace

He immediately goes to grab a horse and hurries towards you

You're quite shocked to see a panicked könig arrive and stumble over his feet to get to you

He drops to his knees as you sit in the dining room, his head hanging in shame and chest rising rapidly

"Please...", he begs, "my foolish heart has been stolen by you and I can't live like this anymore. Please, my empress, I would do anything for just a smidge of affection from you. Just say it and it's yours. I'll steal the moon and stars for you. I'll... I'll be naked and ready for you every night to do with me as you please. Be an obedient concubine. Just please..."

You lay a hand on his cheek and the man whimpers as he looks up at you with tears in his eyes

"You foolish man."

You kiss him with all your might, stealing his breath away

"You were always more than just my concubine."

[celenawrites]

Thinking about Human!Reader and Fae!Ghost rn.

Human!Reader who was abducted by a fae to live in the world of faeries and magic. She's got an upbringing befitting a fae royalty, but she cannot deny the mortality that taints her blood. The people around her serve that bitter reminder time and time again.

The fae general treats her like his own child, because she is. He is always there for her and prepares her to march into the royal court with a head held high and a disposition that makes her an asset to him and his allies. Her ability to lie and to blend in the background makes her a most useful spy and eavesdropper.

Human!Reader who swears loyalty to one of the King's children as she tackles the politics of the fae royalty. She wishes to finally have the power she needs.

One of such royal revelry forces her to cross paths with Fae!Ghost - bastard child, half fae and half human. A royal knight, forced to guard the royal throne and estranged from his father and his half-siblings, save for his own brother Thomas. His skull mask hides his face at all times, and you wonder which enemy was unfortunate enough to lose his head to the Ghost. He's tall and overbearing, silent and ruthless - and you feel on edge whenever you're forced to acknowledge him. And yet, you smell the fae blood and pine needles on him and resist the urge to goad the beast of a man into pummeling you into nothing.

You are soon betrayed by the princess who took you in as one of her own. You are hurt at the betrayal, and even more so, humiliated for getting bested by a fae. Unexpectedly, it is the Ghost who saves you from your predicament - taking on the blows meant for him and shielding you from the cruel goons as he obliterates them, leaving nothing but ash and bones.

You fret over him and his wounds, using your knowledge of herbs to create a salve to soothe his injuries, wiping away the dirt and grime and blood from his pale, scarred skin. He stays deathly still while you tend to him.

Things come to a head when the king is suddenly assassinated. Fingers are pointed, blame is shifted. Swords clash, loyalty dies. People die. But most importantly, the death of the monarch invokes such bloodlust in the hearts of his successors that almost all of them die fighting for the throne. All except three. The crown prince, the princess you used to work for, and Ghost.

The subjects of the kingdom anticipate that their future ruler must be between the prince and the princess. The idea of a half-fae like Ghost ruling over them is absurd. Luckily, Ghost is not too eager about taking the throne either.

The fight between the siblings drag on for far too long, and it ends with the death of the crown prince - establishing the ruthless cold princess as the tentative head of the household and the kingdom. But she's not satisfied, letting her pride dictate her actions and her pride would not let the Ghost live.

And so she plans to be rid of him, and you get to hear of it first. You rush to Ghost, urging him to hide - which he refuses. You beg him to leave and to never return, if he wanted to live - but he's Death on two legs. You decide that the least you can do for his kindness is stick by him in his last moments, and when the princess uses treachery to land the final blow on the half-fae, you decide that taking it in his stead would be the best course of action for the kingdom.

You're gone and dark and then you're alive - months after the fight between the royal knight and his sister. Ghost had to assume throne, and his brother Thomas is his advisor. The kingdom has successfully established a tentative peace after the constant bloodshed and familial betrayal. Sickened by the sights you had to witness and the horrors you have survived, you plan and plan and then you flee the fae lands - hoping to connect with your human roots and to be forgotten by the faeries. You hope your father can forgive you. You wish everyone else forgets you.

Except your disappearance causes chaos.

Ghost is inconsolable - unable to function without any trace of you. Thomas suggest him to get hitched to someone else - royalty from other kingdoms, princesses of powerful species; hoping that a political marriage to a powerful ally will strengthen his brother's position as king. Except all Ghost wants is you.

And so he searches for you for years. Five or more years since he last saw you, and when he's desolate and believes all hope to be lost, he finds a trace of you that won't end in a dead end now. He leaves the kingdom and ends up in the human world and it's overwhelming. He had always promised his dear mother that they would escape and live out their lives back here. Seems like you accomplished what he couldn't.

He's fuming when he finds you, all human and weak and occupied with mortal achievements and materialism. You left him reeling with your kindness, with the humanity you have lit up in him. You tended to him and cared for him in a way that even his kin failed to do so. And then you left.

Left him alone to deal with fate and its cruel games. Left him starving of your attention and gentle touch. Left him alone without a taste of you.

He's so furious and starving and yearning, so the moment he sees you notice him, he ensures that you have nowhere to run anymore. You try to run, and he's reminded of a bunny trying to escape the nets meant to trap it.

"You cannot leave me again, not unless you take responsibility of your actions".

You ask him about it, and your morbid curiosity leaves you horrified as you realise that he means to abduct you back into the unwelcoming and treacherous lands of the Fae. You feel hopelessness seep into you when he reveals that he had planned to take you in as his consort before you booked it, and now to ensure that it doesn't happen again, he decides that the best course of action would be to bind your soul to him in holy matrimony.

"Have to ensure that you don't go off running on me now, sweet human. I cannot afford to lose you again."

It almost makes you wish you hadn't helped him at all.