#callsign: mutt

[rogue-cowboy]

So I got the privilege of being able to cosplay @sheyelo’s cod hybrid!au oc Mutt! And said I would share the pictures so here’s a few! I really hope I did your character justice

[asterdisaster06]

Rottweiler's Callsign Story

platonic 141 x reader

summary > The mission was supposed to be an easy in and out stealth operation; however, you getting cornered by enemy guards that weren't drawn out by the team's distraction left you to desperation. Such circumstances resulting in unsavory acts needed to get out alive and back to your team. Half the blood on you might not even be yours, but you're out alive and safe.

word count > 5.6k

warnings > graphic description of blood and violence, like i'm not kidding. medical terms used to describe some of the gore. reader is described like a feral dog.

ao3

You had always been quite animalistic in your ways, vocal on the battlefield with snarls and hisses escaping your lips through the sheer effort of your tyranny. Grunts and growls being a point made to enemies you faced before absolutely thrashing them to death. Your skills with a gun whether a handgun or an assault rifle were top tier, your training made sure of it, but your real talent laid in hand to hand combat. Specializing in utilizing your own body and surroundings to tear your enemy down. It was something that had confused and yet impressed your teammates on the taskforce. They stared at you with something akin to visceral horror and pure adoration when you save their asses more than they can count. 

Whether that comes from tackling the one on top and pinning them by their throat or managing to spot an enemy that they had missed on their six. Either way, any way, they were significantly impressed by you and your prowess. Your expertise offered something new to the group. Your bones held your pride that was either to be completely snapped or remain unwounded. Your muscles flexed to show the pride that was your mortal self. Your teeth were bared to the world like a stray dog. And in a sense, that was what you were.

You were found by Laswell and Price with your fur matted and your teeth too sharp from eating trash-thrown bones. Metaphorically of course. Literally though, they were your saviors. She took you off the previous military base you would’ve died on and Price raised you like his own flesh and blood. He took the limping, ugly mutt and showed a kindness you had always heard directed at others but never you. You learned to not bite at the hand that feeds you. 

The others came later once you were settled in - learning very little of your past; only knowing what you had seethed through tight lipped smiles. At that point you were known simply as ‘hound’ to them. You’re not entirely sure how or when it came about, but it seemed to fit you for the moment. 

You weren’t exactly talkative, similar to Ghost in that aspect. That’s not to say that you didn’t learn to open up and trust, especially when you were on a mission that required trust and teamwork. Collaboration and communication were the foundation for the taskforce, and it wasn’t something you could opt out of. You mostly sat back and smiled at a few of the jokes shared, but the one time you spoke to add onto the dark humor from Simon scared the shit out of them. Even Simon was a little caught off guard despite his vehement denial. It was the start of the blossoming friendship between you and the team. 

This particular mission was no different than the others. Or at least, it shouldn’t have been. Unfortunately, the world had different plans in mind for you and the boys. 

Soap had been talking your ear off and you listened in with a small smile on your face at his antics. It was amusing to you that he wasn’t put off by your scars, both physical and mental. He looked past them, not quite ignoring them but not pushing for you to spill the story behind them all if you weren’t ready. You were forever grateful for that. Gaz was in a similar vein, learning to eventually see you for who you were. Sometimes he poked and prodded you, but only in the intentions of helping you. Especially when you refused to see a therapist. Not after the last incident.

Ghost respected you at face value. The mask was who you were to him, and it didn’t make a difference in the slightest for your identity. It was a refreshing contrast to the other two who were not exactly openly prying, but their curiosity emitted from them like radiation. And you didn’t need a geiger counter to see that being near them would eventually unravel your DNA containing your secrets. Ghost simply left your skeletons in the closet lie. A needed deviation in your life. 

This mission required you to sneak into the compound in order to collect intel about nuclear weapons that a recent terrorist group had gotten their hands on. Obviously, that was a paramount issue that Shepherd had wanted the taskforce to take care of. Your boys would be creating a distraction away from your position, eventually creating a path to your location for a safe exfil after they had planted bombs around the compound. This establishment wasn’t going to be left standing after you guys were done with it if you could help it. 

“Is everyone clear on their positions?” Price’s voice breaks through the disassociation your mind had thrust you into. 

The ringing in your ears faded as the chatter began to quiet down and focus was injected into your veins. There was a small nagging feeling in the back of your mind, but you brushed it off as simple leftovers of anxiety growing mold in the fridge of your consciousness. You responded with a simple affirm alongside the rest of the team, eyes beginning to lose the dazed look within the cornea. You blink once and then twice as you take in your surroundings and run your tongue over your sharpened canines. 

Your muscles tense with anticipation, letting your legs carry you out of the truck that was about one klick from the objective. You were to be going on foot from here to avoid raising suspicion. The treeline would offer some cover for the infiltration attempt, the leaves in full swing. Unfortunately that also meant so were the bugs and thorns. You would just have to deal with it, although Soap wasn’t so easily placated.

“Fucking hell,” Soap exclaims, swatting at a very vague buzz that was swarming him.

“Here,” Gaz says, throwing Soap a can of bug spray. 

The droning and whirl of wings belonging to insects that lived long before humanity came about offers you a weird amount of comfort. It’s almost a commiseration of sorts between the creatures that nobody wanted around. You and the acarids. Nonetheless, you cover yourself in a self assumed shield of the spray that sticks to your skin in a way that makes you almost uncomfortable. The thorns and sticks pricking you through your tactical gear brings you relief. The opposite from what you presumed the others were experiencing.

It’s not like you were a masochist, peace and comfort have just never quite been something you’ve gotten used to. It’s what you’ve known most of your life and it’s what you’ll continuously go through. Much to the chagrin of your boys.

Speaking of, they appeared to be having varying levels of reaction to the harsh woodland environment. Soap has been openly complaining, although you knew it was mostly to break up the monotony of the trip alongside easing the anxiety of the others. He knew just how to utilize his personality like that and he wasn’t scared to come off as brash or even semi-annoying. You try to humor him enough to keep that spark going in his soul. That’s honestly a thought that keeps you up at night; Soap becoming like you or Ghost.

Gaz was experiencing his classic bad luck; truly trying to avoid any muddy spots or tripping on an exposed root, but it appears that it wasn’t working out for him. He had tripped over his own feet two times, an exposed root five, and almost twisted his ankle thrice. It was almost as if the woods had it out for him. You wince and make that last thing four times now as Gaz tripped over a small pebble and had to execute an almost ballerina-esque move to avoid falling face first into a puddle. It made you huff out a laugh, earning you a middle finger in your direction. Gaz truly does try his hardest in everything he does, placing expectations upon himself that nobody else even thinks of. Pressure mounting upon him that moves you to make sure he takes care of himself. You’ll be damned if you let him drown himself in the same way you do. 

Ghost was similar to your apathy, although you could tell from his body language that he was in as much discomfort as Soap was expressing. He refused to let even a slip of a grunt or groan escape from his sealed lips. His combat boots were sinking into the mud as much as Gaz, but he had significantly more coordination and confidence in his steps than Kyle did. You observed him quietly, seeing thorns stick into his skin - likely releasing the red ichor of his mortal body. Nonetheless, he braved on with only a slight wince betraying his emotions. It reminded you of how he faces his own torment and demons with nothing showing to anyone around. Not unless they’re particularly attuned to him and his distinctive micro-expressions. You know this as well as anyone, so you make a conscious effort to try and get Simon to open up to you. Not a lot, and sometimes not at all, but enough to sand down the roughness around his edges. Enough to heal him one scar at a time. 

Price was admonishing Soap for being so loud and semi-obnoxious. All in good fun, at least, at the distance you were away from the location. Given that Price was back at the car, you couldn’t exactly see what he was doing or his own personal quirks. However, you had known him long enough to know his personality and behavior. You had spent a good chunk of time analyzing the man that had offered you not only a position on this team, but a hand to help you up from your back-alley way of living. He was a tired man that needed some positive affirmation in his life if you were being honest. He had this entire team on his back alongside his position that designated him to a life chained to his work. His title delegated him to the duress that came with everyone expecting victory from you. It’s probability is down right improbable for him to always come out on top. Although, you doubt that he’s come to terms with that idea. You try your best to offer support in your own way, realizing that words alone aren’t going to cut it. You try to guide him to sleep if he’s too caught up in paperwork or offer him a cup of coffee just the way he likes it if an all-nighter is inevitable. You want to be there for him like he is for you. 

Laswell’s voice cuts through the comms and snaps you from your stupor. Kate Laswell. She offered you kindness while others offered you chains. She let you into her life instead of caging you like a feral animal. She took the muzzle off of your maw and let you speak. She presented you with a purpose outside of being a killing machine for your previous team sent in with no regard for your health or happiness. She gave you a life. One of your own. A team that you could rely on with a street of protection that goes both ways. Possibilities were opened up that you had never dared to dream of beforehand. You owed her your life, and that’s what you fought with on every mission. 

“You’re closing in on the base. Can we get a general overview of how it’s going?”

You smiled and shook your head before the Scot even opened his mouth.

“How’s it going? Oh wonderful, absolutely joyous,” Soap spoke with mock annoyance, good-natured humor shining through despite his tone.

“All is well, the intel we were given appears to be good. There should be no difficulties from our view over here,” Ghost answers, genuinely. 

“Affirm, I’m all set and ready here, Kate,” Price speaks, his commanding timbre sending rumbles down your spine and through your nervous system. 

“Remember, get in and get out, don’t get caught up in the blast,” Kate reminds you all, as if you could forget. 

A chorus of proclaimed agreements echoes throughout the trees of the forest. The silence that falls over the group afterwards makes you tense up and get into the mindset of the feral mutt that has kept you alive for this long. Your breath ends up heavy, saliva coating the inside of your jaws as you harshly swallow it down - almost choking every time you do. Your shoulders rise and fall in time with your respiration. Ghost checks in with the group one last time before you’re sent off first into the craw of the compound. Being a sacrifice is nothing new to you, but it still causes you to shudder in anticipation. Goosebumps rise all across your skin despite the temperature dictating otherwise. 

You wander forward, joints creaking in protest as you sneak around the side of the building. It’s inevitable that you have to utilize your knife, but you use it sparingly - not wanting the alarms to ring because some unfortunate soul stumbles upon the body of their fallen comrade. It’s almost second nature to you at this point and you would’ve zoned off if it wasn’t for the pure adrenaline rushing through your system.  You finally reach point A in which you reaffirm with the rest of the boys that the plan is a go and no complications have arised. 

You hear a plethora of acknowledgements before you begin to move forward with the permission of Ghost and Price. You snake cam the door before lock picking it after deeming it safe. There didn’t appear to be any enemies nearby much to your satisfaction. The less possibilities for this plan to go wrong, the better. It’s a waiting game as you come upon the stairwell door leading up to the room you were meant to infiltrate. The clock ticks down, the beats of your heart sounding out in your ears as a unit of measurement. 

Boom.

It’s the signal for you to proceed as all of the cameras are abandoned with the clicking of the gun trigger replacing the clack of keys in the office. You were all set up and ready to acquire the real reason your mission was handed out. Pushing past into the stairwell, you’re met with the surprise of an elbow to the face, effectively causing a gush of blood to start trickling down your face. Despite the advantage the enemy had from his effort of concealment working to catch you off guard, you gained your balance back quickly, and the pounding of your head did nothing to quell the vexation that led you to putting a knife in the guy’s eye. You shoot a bullet straight into his cranium with a glare, just to cover your tracks. 

You lick your chapped lips, tasting the metallic mouthful you had gotten from your little scuffle. You didn’t hear a crack, but it was definitely going to be a pain in the ass the next day. Nonetheless, you pushed on, aiming to be more aware of your surroundings. There was an odd lack of guards around the area for what seemed like the main structure. It set off warning bells in your head, but there was no turning back now. From the gunfire sounding out from below it seemed that the others would be too caught up to engage in a verbal conversation regarding your worries. Not like you weren’t confident in your own abilities, quite the opposite, but Price had managed to drill into your head that not everything had to be faced alone. Jokes on him, this situation had the appearance of it being a one man operation. 

You and your blood soaked sleeves made your way to the computer where you gathered yourself into a semi-coherent being in order to upload data from their system. The hard part was already done for you; all you had to do was plug a hard drive into a computer and wait. And that you did. You almost felt sorry for getting their keyboard all slick with your carnage escaping from your sinuses. It also felt as if you had bitten your tongue during the altercation, your mouth being yet another outlet for the liquid escaping you. You spat on the floor, maroon saliva staining it. 

Running down your neck, the blood seemed to stop at that point, trickling off into a simple seeping of gore. You consider yourself lucky, just in time for the information to be uploaded onto the hard drive you were given. You report over to Price and Laswell, a slight lisp imbued into your words due to the tip of your tongue suffering from puncture wounds your teeth had embedded into the soft muscle. They understood you perfectly fine however, and you were instructed to continue with the orders you were given. At that moment however, the lack of communication on your part about your suspicions of an ambush was coming back to bite you in the ass. Almost literally. 

A gloved hand smothers your mouth, effectively suffocating you. If the arm around your throat and its connected hand stifling your ability to productively breath wasn’t enough, there was now a knife lodged in your side. Your attacker drove the knife you suspected he took from your gear even further into your abdomen, twisting it like he was wringing out the last of his laundry. Except you were the clothes and your blood was escaping you, much to your chagrin. Fortunately for you, this particular guard was practically brain dead when it came to medical knowledge, so you were pretty confident that you were going to live. That is, if you could escape without being asphyxiated to death. 

You maneuver your maw into an opportune striking position, opening your jaws like a dog being thrown a bone. The coincidental nature of that thought would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t currently on the verge of being slaughtered and gutted like a pig. You chomp down and dig your teeth into the metacarpals of his skeleton, relishing in his grunt of pain and attempt to recoil. You were like a dog with a bone though, and you’d be damned if anyone tried to take it from you. His attempt to pry your jaws open with the hand that soon abandoned the knife in your side after the puncturing of his palm. You ground your teeth into the fat of his hand before realizing the glove was going to be an issue. You turn your teeths’ attention to his exposed wrist, aiming for his radial artery. Unfortunately for him, your fangs found their intended target and perforated his skin. You threw your head back, grasping his arm with your other hands - clawing at it like a feral beast. 

You effectively were one, your mouth full of flesh and muscle that didn’t belong to you. Although, you suppose that one could argue it didn’t belong to him either. Not anymore. You spat out the pulp of tissue, realizing that he had let you go. You put a bullet right through his eyes, spraying blood and brain matter across the room. Well deserved for someone like him. You drive your boot into his lifeless corpse, really kicking the man while he was down. Your joke, although knowing nobody alive was around to hear it, made a hysterical laugh claw its way out of your throat. Your larynx had really betrayed your deranged and volatile behavior. Your manic nature had kept you alive so far, so you supposed you had only yourself to thank. 

You shoved your bloodied tongue around your mouth, hoping to wash out the taste of human flesh. It wasn’t the worst thing you’ve tasted - that goes to Ghost’s attempts at cooking - but it certainly wasn’t pleasant. You wiped your mouth against the back of your hand, quickly realizing that it too was bloody. Red wasn’t really your color right now, otherwise you would have appreciated the look. You quickly checked over your supplies, knowing that you could make due with anything around the room or at the very least your hands, but feeling comfort in the weight of the metal contraption that delivered death at a much quicker rate. Hemorrhaging from either a knife or a gun was much more effective than your bare hands. Or teeth. 

It appears that your enemies didn’t appreciate your sentiment though, ambushing you only to take away such things from your grasp. There were two this time. They almost reminded you of Soap and Ghost, if those two were actively trying to kill you. Your boys only sometimes did that, and most of the time it was pitiful attempts. You were actually the one that got quite a few new rules implemented during training - but seriously, who stops in the middle of a fight to ask if something is legal? No-one, which is exactly why you simply did what was necessary to survive, to quote verbatim what you had said to Price as your excuse when Soap had ended up in the med bay. 

Be that as it may, these guards weren’t who you thought them akin to. Therefore, everything was on the table. Especially since they had made the grave error of giving your standard weapons a place on the backburner. Now, the only thought in your mind was kill. At all costs necessary. Your sharpened canines glinted in the dim lighting with a scarlet staining the pearly white as your mouth opened. It’s unfortunate for them that they didn’t have a muzzle on hand. 

Before the one in front of you had an opportunity to shoot you through any vital organ, you used your body weight to shove the one holding you to the ground - the bullet whizzing above you. A guttural growl escaped your throat as you turned your attention to escaping the grasp of the poor soul restraining your body. You grasp his upper arm, twisting yourself to use his body as a human shield. It would’ve made you gag if this was the first time you’ve done this. Regrettably, you have quite a bit of experience in this particular experience. 

The bullets pierced the soon to be corpse of his comrade, narrowly avoiding you except for one that grazed your side. You really were losing a lot of blood today. Making your way to safety was your biggest priority; however, that was proving difficult with leftover guards that were actually doing their job semi-well. You untucked yourself from under the weight of the stiff remains and threw yourself at the unlucky fellow who had just run out of ammo in his weapon. A simple click is all you heard as the gun escaped his grasp in favor of his bare hands. You were thrown into a chokehold yet again. These guys really did like their chokeholds. His hand gripped the knife slick with your own blood from your hands and ripped it out, leaving you to bleed to death. His mistake though was only using one hand to contain your rage filled body made of torn flesh and bones. 

You tore yourself from his grasp, with the worst luck in all of history happening with the knife getting knocked down the stairwell - sounding like a fork being dropped in the sink on its way down. You were in no condition to run or even jump after it, and the only other weapon was out of ammo, so it seemed you were yet again stuck using your bare hands. They trembled as you gathered yourself, preparing yourself for what you were being forced to do in order to escape this ordeal alive. You settled your weight into your haunches and launched yourself at the enemy, vision bloodshot and tinted red. An animalistic growl escaped yourself, sounding almost like a hyena’s maniacal laugh. Your lunge proved fruitful as your claws came into contact with his facial features, digging into his eyes to blind him. The texture of the soft tissue under your sharpened nails flexed and then ruptured. The front layers of his cornea gave way to the gooey gel similar to egg whites that filled the orbs. 

A visceral scream escaped the man below you, causing Price to finally check in over comms. At least, you think so, it was getting hard to hear with the ringing in your ears. You didn’t respond either way.

You knew that even blind, the man was still a liability. Or maybe he wasn’t, but to your addled brain firing neuron after neuron that drove you with the only thoughts occupying you being: survive and kill; well, the feral nature of yourself pushed you to make sure he was dead. You had your training to thank for that. You knew that the rest of his body was protected by the structure of his epidermis, much to your dissatisfaction. Your thoughts wandered back to the first enemy you encountered as you loomed over the blinded man. Your mind was made up.

In a split second decision, you descended your fangs into his throat, sinking your teeth into his trachea and hearing a sickening squelch of his bare flesh. The muscles gave way as you shook your head like a rabid dog, separating his tissue from their home within his body. You didn’t stop until you felt his carotid artery begin to hemorrhage. You shakily stand up, staring at the massacre you had left behind. Your jaw would definitely be sore the next day. There wasn’t a surface of you that wasn’t absolutely drenched in blood, and you couldn’t tell where yours began and theirs ended. The corpse beneath you had stopped screaming after the first puncture of your teeth - at least, you’re pretty sure. The haze surrounding your mind made thinking about it too hard. It almost fills you with a sense of regret at letting the monster you once were out of their muzzle yet again. The halfway decapitated body was left as you limped down the stairs and out a back door. 

You shambled out into the woods, faltering only twice to prevent yourself from tripping since you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to get up again after that. The rush of blood in your head faded as the sounds around you finally cascaded back into reality. You swore you could feel the dripping of blood spurting out of all open wounds in time with your heart. The chaos finally sunk in, the screaming over comms for your response demanding your attention.

“I’m,” You break up your sentence with a cough. “I’m fine,” Your voice sounds crackly and hoarse. Not that you’re surprised.

“Where the fuck are you, you were supposed to be out of there five minutes ago,” Price yells out over the radio. 

“I don’t exactly know. Somewhere out in the woods?” You respond, your head pounding.

“Ghost, find them!” Price had apparently discerned that you were in no condition to be taking in your surroundings accurately enough to ascertain an accurate location. 

“Fuck, I think I see them. Hound!”

You think you hear a faint yelling of your name, although it doesn’t quite register to your unhinged and disoriented brain. All you could tell through the muddy fog of your mind was a person. Enemy. Kill. Survive. Escape. You felt their hands on you, your throat closing up in response as you preemptively expected to be strangled half to death. You let out a snarl, baring your teeth and coming into contact with what you think is a hand. Either way, it doesn’t matter to you and you bite down with the force of a wild animal. A yelp is heard, only cementing your actions in your mind. 

“Calm the fuck down Sergeant.”

A voice cuts through the haze like a hot knife through butter. You fall limp in the grasp; whether it’s because you recognize the voice or you simply are accepting your fate is up in the air. Nonetheless, your surroundings begin to load in, your eyes stopping their constant darting around and focusing on a singular face. Or, faces. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz. They had found you. You were safe. You notice Soap has a bleeding hand - your own handiwork without a doubt. Guilt floods you, your behavior similar to a puppy hearing the words ‘bad dog’ for the first time in their life. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay. You did great, Hound,” Soap begins to say. 

“Come back to us, Love,” Gaz whispers, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. 

“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry,” You cry out, finally feeling the effects of your pure exhaustion. 

“I don’t blame you, Jesus, you’re gonna have a hell of a story to tell us when you get all patched up again, Hound,” Soap exclaims.

“How much of this blood is yours?” Ghost finally cuts in.

“Not a lot, just where the knife was and I might’ve gotten shot.”

“Might’ve?” Soap laughs.

“Mission, guys,” Price finally interrupts. “I’m glad you’re safe, Hound.”

The mission continues, you leaning on Soap since you’re pretty sure stumbling down the stairs strained one of your ankles. You spewed out numerous apologies for his hand, but he didn’t want to hear any of it. The go ahead for the air team with Laswell to level the building was given, and the exfil point was finally reached by your ground group. At that point, you were barely conscious, hearing echoes of pet names assuring you only a little longer and to stay with them. They plagued the darkness that overtook you and greeted you as you woke up to the blinding light of the medical room. 

“Welcome back to the world of living,” Soap says. “The doctors hadn’t seen anything like you before,” He laughs. 

“Do you want to explain why they found human tissue in your mouth?” Ghost asks, his tone inquisitive.

“Shit man, let them have a bit of a break before we interrogate them,” Gaz chuckles, offering you some water, much to your appreciation. 

You gulp down the water like it was the last time you would ever get the precious liquid, your body thanking you. You sheepishly hand the empty cup back to an amused Gaz. You clear your throat, not quite ready to delve into the specifics of what you had to do to survive, but knowing you had to. Being open in communication was a non-arguable point to being a part of the taskforce. 

“Most of the blood on me when you found me was probably belonging to the man I might’ve,” You pause, “ripped the throat out of?” You rush that last part out as quickly as you could, knowing that despite your efforts, they’re going to question you.

Both Soap and Gaz’s eyes widened almost comically, both quickly exclaiming different curse words. One being Scottish curses that you could barely make out from his accent. The other being aggressively British expletives spilling out of Gaz’s mouth. Ghost simply looked upon you with what seemed to be both admiration and affirmation. You had known he would be the most likely to not be surprised at your actions. He knew what it was like to have an untamed beast within you. 

“What in the bloody hell did you say?” Price was apparently looming in the doorway, keeping himself hidden until this moment.

You cough, and ask “Is now a good time to mention I also might’ve done the same to a man’s hand?”

Soap had a horrified look upon his face. “You’re saying I could’ve lost my precious hand?”

You had almost forgotten about Soap’s injury, and stared at him with a semblance of guilt flashing across your face. 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” You say quietly. 

“What happened to the good ole knife or bullet?” Soap asked, offering you his bandaged hand to hold in an offer of forgiveness and trust.

“They stole my shit, and my knife ended up kicked down a staircase after it was ripped out of me,” You pouted, the drug concoction of morphine and other such things loosening you up to talk. 

“You’re quite a rabid beast, ain’t you?” Price said, his tone betraying the fact that he was in fact quite proud of you. It wasn’t meant in a derogatory way and you knew that. You smiled in his direction, jokingly baring your teeth at your Captain. 

“Aye, I think you’re more than a baying hound at this point. Maybe Rottweiler would serve you better. That mouthful of teeth sure does remind me of my childhood,” Soap says, shivering at the thought of being the victim of your maw. 

“I hate to think of the final view those soldiers saw of you,” Gaz laughs. 

“I think Rottweiler suits you,” Ghost says. “Fearless yet loyal.”

The rest of the team nods in agreement, surrounding you with support and love. Something that still unsettles you to this day, but not in the same way facing down the barrel of a gun would. It’s a warm embrace in front of a fireplace that sends a jolt of something new down your spine. A fondness spreading like wildfire, adoration deep seated in your bones to those around you. Just like a dog, you were a fierce protector of your family, but with them? You were a tender beast that rolled over at their feet. 

You couldn’t think of anything better than that thought which warmed your heart. 

[amazingabellini]

Every Single Thing 621 is Called on Rubicon

Dog Augmented Human C4-621 You 621 Intruder Illegal Enemy AC Merc Corp AC Registration number Rb23 Raven Callsign: Raven Mercenary Corporate Merc Corporate Dog Interloper Military Force Hostile AC Shameless Coral scavenger Independent Mercenary Hunter Sharp A local An Independent A merc who only kills for credits A real merc G13 G13 Raven Kiddo Freelancer Maggot Fake Redgun Tagalong Sewing club member Not a total amateur Not a pro Corporate Vulture Mere pawn Scavenger Hound of Walter Competition Good for nothing Good for something Wretched vulture Unidentified AC Damn Hyena Rotten Money-grubber Corporate scum Enemy backup One of the infamous Walter's hounds Wallclimber War buddies Comrade Buddy Intruder Doser Shameless Corporate Dog Greedy Mercenary Greedy hound Daring A symbol of resolve Only Other Person That Can Keep Up With Me You Again Old Augmentation Recalcitrant Mutt Vermin Pest The Pest of Rubicon Code 15 Raven the Wallclimber Code 31C Solo Independent Mercenary Pitiful Dog Gen 4 Fine hound Another dead dog Older type of Augmented Human Tourist No ordinary tourist Smart Cookie No slouch A cut above the rest Not afraid of anything Belongs in a museum Freak My favorite little Tourist A certain someone New friend The Freelancer from the dam raid Target Walter's Hound Solo AC Independent Merc Trespasser to Rubicon Walking Advertisement Mascot AC of Unknown Affiliation Suspected Corporate Hire Single AC Code 5, Unknown AC Independent Mercenary Assembly That AC Hostile AC Priority Subject for Termination One helluva merc Hired Operative Intruding AC Grunt Famous Mercenary Fine Soldier One Loose End Corpse Quick on the uptake Not like those savages Cur Scoundrel Oathbreaker Just an AC Patchwork AC Better than the other ACs Like a bird in flight Killer Menace to Rubicon Target for Termination Unknown Intruder Intrusion Attempt Menace Volunteer The Objective Just a Gen 4 Strong Worthy of your name False Alarm Impostor Impressive Pilot Wormkiller Threat to Planetary Closure 20 Iguazus A Real Redgun Not so Special Too Dangerous to Keep Around Not Afraid to Die The Only G13 Who's Managed To Live This Long Strong A Threat Dangerous Another Threat to Rubicon Veteran The Mercenary Who Took Your Name Rat Fool The Big One Corporate pawn Rather Extraordinary Gen 4 Augmentation High Level Threat Strong Candidate One of Allmind's The One Rusty was talking about Head in the Clouds Old-Gen Alive Handler's Hound Old Colleague Subject Beast of burden Guest of Honor The Key Smartass Freelancer Wonderful People Demon Miserable Relic Trigger for the Change to come Dog without a shred of intelligence Not worthy of humanity Stray Dog Obstacle Faithful Hound Biggest Threat Legacy Augmentation The Greatest Obstacle The Liberator of Rubicon The only one The Spark of War The Fires that Haunt Rubicon The Monster who Burned the Stars One With Allmind Aberrations to The Plan Trigger for Coral Release Irregular The Old-Gen Who Could Do It All

The Freelancer Who Had It All

[justadeadreaper]

// OPERATOR-BIO: JACK-POT //

Man’s best friend, a creature that will be most loyal to its master, a dog, the word befitting of Makarov’s bodyguard. The only member of Konni or the Inner Circle that could be described as more loyal than Andrei to Makarov and his cause, a man who would do anything to see it come to life. No matter what was thrown at him, he always came back; no bullet or grenade could keep him down or dead for long as he would just get up again and fight once more; it is no surprise that he earned Makarov’s favour. A giant that uses his strength for the wrong cause. A man who sees what he does as a mission from God as he aims to build a new world, one that Makarov controls. A man who uses his talent to create technology to wipe out cities to forge a path to his only. A man who became the face of Konni, so at least if he was taken in, Makarov could still concoct what needed to be done. A man who smiles as he beats in the skull of his enemies. Makarov’s jackpot. 

Divider used, by: @mmadeinheavenn (Please support him as he made the amazing divider I will be using)

CALLSIGN: Jack-Pot

ALIASES: Behemoth (by Taskforce 141), Makarov’s (sometimes attack or guard) Mutt (by Makarov, Taskforce 141, and others), Nephelim (by Makarov’s associates), Big Bastard (by Soap)

CITIZENSHIP: Russian

LANGUAGE(S): English, French, Biblical Hebrew, Latin, Russian

FRACTION AFFILIATION: Konni, The Inner Circle, The Ultranationalist Party, Zakhaev's Arms

STATUS: Active

AGE: 29

NAME: [REDACTED] “Remus” Belladonna Matthew [REDACTED]

PLACE OF BIRTH: [REDACTED]

DATE OF BIRTH: 26.06.1995

SEX: [REDACTED] Male; [REDACTED]

BLOOD TYPE: O-

HEIGHT: 7’11”

WEIGHT: 503 to 533 Pounds

BUILD: Stocky, well built

SCARS, TATTOOS, AND MARKINGS: Healed skin grafting covering most of the left side of his body -predominantly on the front of his body even if it goes onto his back- from his face to his torso to his arms to his legs with a few patches dotted around the right side of his body, missing most of his left ear, teeth marks across his right hand, scars across his back that seems to be from something like a belt, a long surgical scar above his heart, surgical scars across his body (more specifically his knees, hips, ankles, and shoulders), scars from knife and bullet wounds across his body, scars across his right arm, a scar across his lower back around his tail bone that looks like something was carved off of his skin, a scar around all of his neck that has a crown of thorns above and below it, a massive snake tattoo that loops around his right leg to his back and chest with the head resting on his chest, a tattoo of a dog on the back calf of his left leg, a tattoo of a kingfisher styled queen chess piece on his right arm, a tattoo of a spider's web over his heart that is made of webbing and flowers (specifically forget-me-nots, bleeding hearts, larkspur, and lavender) with a redback spider resting on it, tattoos of thieves' stars on his shoulder blades, a tattoo of a cathedral on his lower left back to the side of his torso, and a tattoo of the words 'Владимир Анатольевич Родион Макаров' on his V-line

HAIR: Just past his shoulders, extremely curly, ginger but with streaks of grey

EYES: Brown

COMPLEXION: Medium Beige to Medium Tan

RACE: [REDACTED]

NATIONALITY: [REDACTED]

OCCUPATION: Makarov’s bodyguard

[REDACTED] “Remus” Belladonna Matthew [REDACTED] was born to mother, [REDACTED] and father, [REDACTED] of the acclaimed [REDACTED] family of [REDACTED]. 

An unwanted child straight from the womb. [REDACTED] was given to his [REDACTED] at the young age of five with his [REDACTED], just like his [REDACTED] before him, after suffering years of abuse. The reason given was due to the fact of him being a [REDACTED] instead of the “normal” son they wanted. An extreme bond formed between the only three people who he knew to love him as his two [REDACTED] lived under the tyrannically religious rule of their [REDACTED] even if she loved them like her own children even. An unhealthy bond formed with religion from that point acting as more of a reason to live than a lifestyle as it was one of the true comforts they could afford as he grew to develop an unhealthy view of relationships and how to act in them as none of them stopped him.

[REDACTED]. Giving him nearly all the scars that riddle his body and leading him to run away at the age of sixteen.

[REDACTED]. 

That was until he met the acclaimed Vladimir Makarov. A deal was made between the two, in exchange for protection, he would work for the terrorist doing any act that the leader asked of him. [REDACTED].

[REDACTED].

Despite the eccentric, terrifying persona he plays when out in front of the public as he performs another terrorist act for Makarov whether it be blowing up another building or crushing a man's skull, when he is with his men he is known to still be terrifying but also a caring and somewhat goofy leader as neither Andrei or Makarov want to deal with every little complaint that they had.

Every team bonding activity is planned by him as Makarov sees it as a waste of time but he knows that forming strong bonds is extremely useful in the world he has found himself in where it is not uncommon to find themselves being stabbed in the back. He listens and resolves their problems as he earns their trust to seem like a genuine, caring leader, but to him, it is not as genuine as everyone thinks it to be. Yes, he cares about his men but he learnt from his family and from living this life for so long to never be attached and to always gain people’s love for when you need to use it. An optimist on the outside but a true pessimist deep down, but he has learnt to bury those feelings long ago. The only people he has ever shown his genuine true side to, the caring, soft, but funny side is what is left of his family and his best friend Infrared who knows to look past the terrifying act he puts on.

The only other notable thing that most Konni soldiers have learnt about their unofficial leader is his morals, hatred of Milena, and undying loyalty to Makarov. They have watched how he rapidly goes to defend Makarov and kill any man who has been disloyal before running off to check on their Komandir; it is why they all believe that Makarov trusts him the most out of all as he knows that Jack-Pot will be loyal to his death like Makarov is holding something against him even after all the years that Jack-Pot has so effectively served him. They have watched his side eyes and scoffs whenever Milena talks or tries to command someone and how he so easily argues with her to the point of having a game with Infrared where they throw stuff (mainly slippers or flipflops) at Milena whenever she walks by, but in the end he has to let her do what she wants as she is his Komandir’s wife -even if she is the only one who can not see that Makarov only married her for her money and not because he loved her- and he hates to disappoint Makarov as it physical pains him.

What he has left of morals has been crafted by his faith and upbringing. They all know that he will refuse to do certain things as it is against his teachings and he has rules for his soldiers based on his own beliefs whether it be to not desecrate a corpse but instead give them a proper burial or to turn the other cheek unless it is so disagreeable that violence is needed. Most do not mind as he does not force them to participate in his religion with him but they have grown to understand that he will not break his morals unless Makarov calls for it; they all know he feels enough Catholic guilt for other things and do not want to make it worse.

-One item of clothing you will never see him without is his rosary; it is normally tucked beneath his shirt so that it will be pulled on whenever he is in a fight but when casually around base he tends to have it out on display. The rosary has been in his family for countless generations, which can be seen by how the gold and ivory have gone dull but to him, it is one of the most important items in his life that once when a recruit had made the foolish decision to steal it he had beaten their brain in with his fists before putting the rosary back around his neck. It was a warning to others who were forced to witness the twitching body of their fallen comrade as he lived through his final moments while Jack-Pot walked off to pray.

-Unlike what his size would make you believe, he is incredibly smart. He is known to even give Makarov advice when his Kommandir is concocting their next plan, but his intelligence is most clear when he relaxes in his workshop surrounded by his inventions. A savant when it comes to anything mechanical. Makarov paid for his robotics, engineering, and mechanics degrees when he saw the potential that Jack-Pot exhibited when he was able to fix up a getaway car in a matter of no time. Makarov still pays for any degree Jack-Pot requests to do that relates to machinery as it only means they will have access to more complex machinery; it also means that it keeps the giant busy even if it seems like he gets through them in no time. Nearly everything mechanical on the base is made by Jack-Pot, from the security cameras (which he watches and treats like they are a live-action soap opera) to the air conditioning and heating systems that make the base just a little less unbearable. His skills are that trusted that he was even allowed to make the robotic prosthetic for Makarov and control the device that lets the arms do certain actions.

-He has a love of orchestral music, that any song he likes he will try to find an orchestral version of it, but if he can not find an orchestral version, he will normally settle for an instrumental version. He can not explain why he does not like the vocals of a song; he just shrugs and says that he has been like it since he was a child; the only exceptions to this rule were his older brother and grandmother, whose singing he adored but they normally sung hymns and nothing more. Despite his lack of love for hearing people sing, he is a talented singer even if he does not sing often; the only few times people have heard him sing is when he thinks he is alone or when he is dragged into singing by a drunk Makarov when Konni are celebrating another victory. His musical abilities are not just restricted to singing but also are extended to the piano as he is a very talented player who can play any song he wishes too after enough practice. Although, he loves Bruno Mars. It seems to be one of the only musicians he can listen to sing and there is a joke that if you catch Jack-Pot in the middle of the night raiding the Konni fridges that you will be hearing him sing one of Bruno Mars’ songs or another guilty pleasure song on his playlist.

-Despite his size, he is impressively fast and flexible. It is common to see him do stretches before all of his workouts as he tries his best to keep his flexibility from when he was much younger and smaller. When he was a child to a teenager he used to do ballet and still knows how to do some of the routines from when he was younger as it was always something he enjoyed as it first got him into fitness. He also trains his speed as he does not want to be slowed down by his size as he has learnt from prior instances and Makarov that a few seconds can be a matter of life or death.

-Although he hates to admit it, he is quite deaf and blind with his left eye and left ear suffering the most. He wears an “earpiece” in his left ear which is actually a cochlear implant that Makarov had paid for him to have which allows for him to make use of what is left of his left ear. When he takes the outer piece off he becomes deaf to the world in his left ear with his right ear being only a bit better that most at Konni know to either use sign language or shout loud enough for him to hear. Meanwhile, his left eye is his biggest blind spot due to not bein able to see through most of it and the bits he can see being blurry; when reading or building another invention he wears glasses so the blurriness does not stop him from doing what he loves.

-If you were to look up the definition of a hopeless romantic you would see his face as the first thing that pops up. Due to his religious upbringing and the only books he had as a child being passed down fairytales where the prince and princess get their happy ending it gave him a distorted view of love where he wants the happy little family of a partner and children where he gets to adore his partner endlessly and they adore him just as much. This has also led him to be quite... obsessive when he falls in love to the point of doing anything for the person he adores as they become his drug as he always chases the happy pipe dream he was sold.

-No one has ever heard his real accent. It has been noted by soldiers higher in Makarov’s favour and rankings that he has one “real” accent when talking to Makarov but two other accents when speaking to his main “assosiate”. When speaking to Konni soldiers or any other member of the public he puts on a Russian accent but the people who have heard his other accents have described them to either be British or American. The few brave souls that have brought it up to Makarov due to their concerns have either mysteriously disappeared, been sent on suicide missions, or were left terrified that they never wanted to speak about it again.

-Apart from the professional trainers Makarov brings in, Jack-Pot also helps to train the dobermans. While the professionals train them to attack the enemies with no remourse, Jack-Pot trains them to be loving dogs towards him, Makarov, and other Konni soldiers that are not deemed as traitors. The dobermans are like his babies as he has given each one a name for when they are with him apart from ‘Attack Dog Number 7’ and has beds for them in his office and in the blank space that he calls a bedroom.

-His love of animals is not only reserved for the dobermans that Konni have on base and conventional pets but it expands to unconventional pets as well, particularly snakes. Connected to his workshop is a room reserved just for his pet snakes where he has made extremely large vivariums with his own hands for them to live in. He has dozens of different types of snakes from none venomous to extremely venomous that Makarov has let him collect over the years. He uses the venom of his snakes on people that they are torturing for information; diluting the mixture as much as he can so that it hurts but does not kill the person. He also has the horrendous habit to put the less venomous snakes into Milena’s room so they can have some exploration time even if he knows Milena is terrified of snakes as he despises the woman. But, on a more “wholesome” note, he likes to wear the none venomous and more friendly snakes around his neck like a scarf when walking around base on a sunday doing chores as the only one who does not have to work; especially his absolute favourite Big Bertie a Burmese python that Makarov gifted him for his birthday one year to keep the giant company.

-Due to his size and needing to eat tons upon tons of calories he has learnt to be an amazing cook if you have a spice tolerance like his. As he needs a lot of protein and carbs to keep up his physique he has learnt how to butcher all kinds of meats and cook them in all different kinds of ways so he is able to get everything he needs without getting bored of his meals. He is best at grilling the meats on a grill or frying them but tends to stick to the later as it is easier to make bigger batches that way when he wants to share with other Konni soldiers who are fed up of the base’s food or do not want to be poisoned by Milena’s slop. He even knows vegan meals with high amounts of protein and other nutrients so he can have it on a friday but these meals tend to be more relaxed and cheat meals as he loves to fry the mushrooms he uses as a replacement for chickens.

-Anyone who wants to get on his good side or bond with him knows that the best thing to do is not give him some form of alcohol like every other soldier on that base but to instead sit down with him to watch whatever shitty soap drama he has found. He absolutely adores watching them no matter which country it comes from or how shitty it is as long as it is dramatic and has the craziest of twists in the love category. His most notable favourites are some telenovelas he saw when he had been dragged along to Mexico to talk to a cartel leader to ask to make an alliance with her or some old ones he found on VHS in Makarov’s mother’s face after he stayed to help her clean up after fixing her severely outdated freezer and improving it.

-Like anyone of his size he is constantly warm which has caused him to much prefer cold environments to hot ones. He has no issue walking around base in a compression shirt and sweatpants or even going into the snow with just those clothes on to go fetch something that blew away while others at Konni have to go outside in at least three layers to walk through the Antarctic weathers of the land of the barren, snowy part of Russia where the base presides. If you are ever cold he would give you his jacket as he is always “too warm” in his own opinion and he does not mind it when others stay closer to him to keep warm from the heat he radiates. However, even if he tans impecicably and can stand the heat he still hates it. Yes, he can last in the heat without complaining outwardly but it makes him feel uncomfortable and makes his headaches worse as he is already naturally warm but if you bet him that he could not stay out in the Sun then he is staying out there tanning to just prove you wrong even if he needs to take enough paracetamol to euthanise a horse to deal with his headache.

‘С нами Бог.’

‘I know a few cannibals we could send them too. My main associate hasn’t tried gangster flesh yet, I think. Why are you all looking at me like that?’

'Time walks in hands with the Devil as they eat all of God's children, there is no changing fate unless you want to disregard God's plans, we’ll all die in the end whether we agree to it or not. It's why we make the most with the time we have; we make the biggest impact. We let our legacy dictate how this Earth will turn out even if it means we will have thousands of corpses laying that path.'

'A dog that has only known beatings for its whole life will only know to bite. Any man that comes near will be bitten. It knows it can only fight to survive. Its maw is its weapon; it's what it knows it needs to survive. But, to muzzle it will cause it to whimper in fear.'

'Showing a beaten dog some kindness will change its life. A loving hand compared to an abusive hand that feeds seems like Heaven. It will become loyal to that hand even if it becomes abusive as that was the only thing they knew to be kind.'

'Any man that is kind enough can create a deadly weapon. His dog will be loyal to the core. It will attack anything that tries to hurt the man. Using the maw for fighting to now protect. It will give its life for its new master even if it means they will never run free again.'

‘Breathe... breathe... just breathe and calm your arse down. We’re out of it now, we aren’t going back to it. Nothing will drag us back.’

‘Did the dingo set you up for this? Sorry love but I’m not a big fan of azaleas, more of a lavender man myself.’

'You missed? Again?! Next time I'll crush your skull to use the fragments for bullets!’

‘Nice arm you have here. Pretty tattoos as well. I’m sure you don’t mind me taking this back for my Komandir.’

‘If I hear that those Brits and Scots have blown up another one of my gardens I will personally go to their base and blow up everything!’

'You think a little bullet will hurt me? Hehe, Komandir's put me through worse.' 'I’m going to go pray. I need you all to stay here for two minutes while I ask God to give me patience since if he gives me any more strength, I’m going to kill all of you.'

'Why should I pay a few thousand rubles for this crap?! I can go home and by next week I'll have it done and I'll have only paid a few hundred max. ...robbing bastards.' 'Shhhh, I need you to quieten down. Komandir is cold. He needs the world to burn to stay warm and fat burns so easily.'

'Make me a promise, okay? If you have to lay me to rest before they put us both in our final places, remember, if you bother to give me a headstone, plant an apple tree behind it and lavender around it. I want to know that when you miss me that you'll visit and I can still provide you with help to sleep and I'll still be able to feed you. I'll always l...care for you even when I'm in Hell.'

Normal; Due to being one of the highest-ranking soldiers at Konni he wears an identical uniform to Andrei except for the fact that everything in the uniform from the groin protector to the compression shirt to the vest has been tailored to accommodate his gigantic size. The biggest difference between the two uniforms can be seen with the mask that Jack-Pot wears and the small additions that have been added. He wears a choker around his neck that holds his microphone with additional patches across his uniform apart from the Konni patch to display his rank. Meanwhile, his mask is based on the skull of a wolf as it lays on his face in two pieces, the lower jaw bone that moves with his own jaw and the upper piece, which takes more liberty in its design but looks like the face of a wolf, that is attached separately so that it can stay in place which allows him to still use his teeth when attacking enemies in close combat.

Casual; Based on what he wears when he is on base and not working as he prefers to wear something simple and comfortable which just so happens to be a very basic pair of grey sweatpants and a black compression shirt that he had Konni’s tailors personally make or he would be forced to go around naked.

Medusa; Based on its namesake, with this skin, he wears a white floor-length chiton that goes over the left shoulder and leaves the top right side of his torso exposed to show off the head of the snake tattoo as it curls around his body. Between the curls of hair now lay king cobras with some curling around his neck that will spit venom at anyone he commands as the scales on the snakes match the scales that now lay in place of the skin graft. While around his ankles and wrists are now golden chains that lead to somewhere...

Seraphim; Based on his deep ties to his religion in this skin he is the biblically accurate depiction of an Angel, specifically a Seraphim. He is dressed in a mixture of both white and red robes similar to the chiton he wears in the Medusa skin with golden chains coming from both his wrists and from under the robe. He has six pairs of wings, one main pair with a smaller pair above and below it -the top pair can be used to hide his face- as golden eyes cover the wings and cover parts of his body. His hair is replaced by flames as his tattoos are now made of golden while he cries golden tears.

The Bear; Based on his more feral side in this skin all he wears is a pair of bloodied combat trousers with no shirt at all as to show off his pecs and the tattoos and scars that riddle his chest as it is also covered in blood. Replacing his wolf mask is instead a bear skin with the paws attached to his arms with the rest of the pelt trailing down his back and the bear’s head on top of his own head which obscures his eyes.

The General; Based on what I imagine him to look like in an AU where he is a General for Zakhaev and much older, his hair is filled with more greys with more wrinkles across his face as he wears a traditional General’s uniform -the hat, jacket, shirt, and trousers- in black paired with black leather gloves and a black cloak with a gold chain and clasps that keep it on his shoulders and a gun holster on his belt.

The King; To be paired with a Makarov skin I have thought of that suits him, this skin is based on the king piece in chess. With this skin, he is decorated in ornate golden armour that is decorated with jewels and engravings and a crown upon his head as the armour is fashioned to resemble the king chess piece.

Purple Nymph; Based on the Nymphs of Greek mythology he is completely naked but sexless in this skin as his tattoos are now different shades of purple with his hair now being made up of the hyacinths and lavender that also bloom out of his skin and petals spill out from between his lips.

[krypticcafe]

Asked by @sleepyendymion

Of course!!

OP you have no idea what you've done by enabling me to ramble I'm stimming so much, literally such an honor I'm so flattered omg

To start off with the basics, Hound is currently a Sergent of Task Force 141, after being transferred numerous times through various forces and even KorTac and SpecGru ops. At a certain point, they were a combat medic and a captain as well. I'm not gonna get too deep into their whole journey because spoilers for a future work of mine, but I can say that their backstory is not a happy one, and falls into the sort of "dark past" trope.

In terms of looks, nobody's seen their full face thanks to how they constantly wear a visor, a balaclava, a trapper hat, and their iconic, painted, muzzle-like mask. Their scarf also doubles as a hood and mask sometimes. Most find them intimidating at first sight, especially after reading their (heavily censored) file, seeing how damn big they are, and hearing all the rumors that float around.

It doesn't help either when they can initially come off as blunt, distant, and on the verge of being a extremely well-trained or horribly rabid dog. Nor the fact that they have deep-rooted issues pertaining to their identity. Though, over time, they'll grow to be warmer, even humorous and friendly at times.

Extra:

Hound goes by they/he/any pronouns. They haven't labeled themselves, don't really care about what people perceive them as or the gender of their partner, and they are perfectly comfortable having multiple partners.

I have no idea what their sex is but they've had plenty :] (probably amab?)

He is a big boy at 6'8-9" (204-205cm) and built to look either jacked when he flexes or a wall of soft, relaxed muscle that borderlines chub.

They're multilingual, knowing a handful of languages and having a hint of an accent at times.

He's probably around the same age as Ghost or Soap (mid-late 20s to early 30s?).

Neurodivergent as hell, we're talkin' social anxiety, ADHD, maybe even autism, who knows because this dumbass refuses to see a proper therapist.

He's so emotionally dense, like he's the epitome of 'thembo/himbo'. Sometimes he'll seem wise only to later make you wonder how are they even coping with themselves.

Their first callsign was actually Mutt, Hound was only a more "recent" development for them, post joining the 141.

Small doodle for now since I'm saving the big stuff for later on<3

That's it for now! Again, I don't wanna dip into spoiler territory because I am considering making a series for them (feel free to ask about that teehee-). Also, if any of you are interested in x reader fics with him, send as many as you like!

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

this is so self indulgent of me to ask but let me embarrass myself by asking for tummy kisses for Prem and Bug

FGSGHSH I LOVE YOU POSH. I'm sorry this took so long - Christ I feel so rusty - and the ending is a blunt as a gunshot, but I THINK IT'S CUTE and I hope I didn't butcher Bug too much 💖🥹

Prem is taller than Bug. That’s a fact of nature. Even on flat-feet, Prem’s a good five inches taller. But. Shit. She’s got this pair of five inch Louboutin heels—the fuckin’ sharp-an’-pointy kind, flashy black patent leather, with those retina-searin’ red bottoms Bug’d only seen in magazine pages until Prem had pulled ‘em out of her luggage. 

She wears them with a Barbie Doll heel foot on her prosthetic, walkin’ well balanced with a sleek, dark-oiled teak cane with the silver head of a mallard for a handle. Looks a bit vampiric, but not in a bad way. Sort of way that makes Bug’s mouth run dry, and reach for Price’s sipping whiskey to quench her pinching-parched throat.

“Mm?” the man hums, rubbing his recently trimmed beard, following her eyes, and then he gets that fuckin’ pinched up, pleased smirk on his face, like he knows somethin’ about somethin’. “Yeah. The heels always have me fucked up, too.”

“Piss right off,” Bug grunts, taking his glass in full, and he only chuckles to himself, joining her in watching Prem swim her way through the gallery show. Feels strange to Bug, a bit, to see Prem’s death masks mounted on black grids of metal, lit harsh and bright from above with studio track lamps—but by no means wrong. No, more was like seeing an old friend finally finding a place they belonged. Been on the woman’s ass long enough to get her to agree to a show. 

Prem—true to her callsign, Premonition, the woman that sees the future and all that lies hidden—must feel the eyes on her, because she turns her head to look over a sleek shoulder, and a smile warps her painted-burgundy lips. She lifts a hand and waves with a little wiggle of her ring finger, right at her.

Bug can just feel Price making that goddamned quokka face again, staring dead at the side of her face. She swills the giant cube of ice around the dregs of his whiskey, and she jabs him where it smarts, but only a bit, “Think Soap’s gone and let your mutt get picked up by the RSPCA yet? Or you think he’s still wanderin’ some back road like a bum?

Price shakes his head. “Nah. Dog’s fine, probably making moon-eyes at Bordelon,” he starts, but he shrugs his shoulders with a thoughtful look, “Soap’s probably up with Agnes trying to dust her crypt.”

“Oh, you dirty old fuck,” Bug snorts, pulling a face of disgust, “Agnes’s taste is so much better than that. Disgusting you’d even suggest that.”

“Mhmm,” Price purrs, leaning back against the bar, resting a hand on the small of her back, rubbing his blunt fingers into the small pad of soft pudge he finds there.

+

Prem is the one to pinch Price’s jaw, giving it a good jiggle around eleven, when the crowd’s gotten thicker with the hipster art scene rats, and she can no longer functionally give a fuck about showing face. “John. My darling. My dear love. My...sweetest, closeted Nine Inch Nails boy—”

“Fuck’s sake,” he grunts, jiggled.

“—can you please, please find us some good scran?” she finishes, leaning heavily on her cane, her weight bent toward Bug’s figure. He rolls his eyes, but there’s a smirk pulling at his mouth under the chops—just a little one, like it’s a bit shy of showing itself. Prem knows she’s won the moment she sees it, pulling him in for a *pap!* of a kiss before giving his cheek a chummy clap. “Good man, crack on.”

Bug slides right into Prem’s free side, sliding an arm around the woman’s waist as one of Prem’s snakes around her shoulders. “So, what was the trick for pullin’ that off, eh? He gives me all sorts a’shit when I try to boss him,” Bug laughs, sinking into the scent of Prem’s perfume.

“Y’just have to get his dick a little bit hard, that’s all,” Prem hums in return, waggling her brows. “You’re a dabhand at it, y’know? Just gotta harness it, eh.”

“Ooh, I’ll have to practice on that then, won’t I?” Bug is beaming, and she knows it. Doesn’t try to hide it, either. Neither does she try to hide the way that she keeps glancing at Prem’s lips when she looks up into her face, tugging her toward down the sidewalk in the direction of their hotel.

Prem’s eyes—already dark under the streetlamps, wet and deep like pools of ink—go half-lidded, and she dips her head, tucking her nose under Bug’s heavy mane of curls. Fuckin’ embarassin’ it is, how fast Bug grows wet between the legs as she feels Prem’s lips pressin’ slow and warm against her neck, where the print of her lipstick will remain hidden.

“Mm,” Prem begins to murmur, “wanted to do that feck-off bad all night. Kept seein’ you and John standin’ together, and don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Her eyes squeeze tight, still breathing against Bug’s skin. “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about watchin’ you two fuck the daylights out of each other. Him on top, feckin’ you all slow, and hard—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bug barks with laughter, shaking her head, yoking Prem’s throat loosely in her hand, pushing her back a bit, burning head to toe with a bright flush and a thumping desire that starts in her cunt and booms out to her fingers, toes and lashes. “Can’t even wait ‘til we’re back in the hotel, huh? We got you in that bad of a way?”

“Always!” Prem sniffs, grinning.

+

There’s only a single lamp on in the room, and Prem is wearing only her prosthetic, and her panties, with a tube of her lipstick tucked in the band. Demon of a woman had the gall to let Bug get all the way dressed down to one of Price’s black t-shirts and her drawers before she made her move. Bug had to admit, though—good fuckin’ move, that one. Might have to tuck it in her own pocket for later.

Bug snorts as Prem’s hands slide up to her hips, gripping the softness she finds there, and deeper, until her fingertips knead tight muscles. Bug’s hands slide directly to the woman’s neck, resting with her thumbs over the pulsepoint, urging her down to kiss, and Prem falls right into the trajectory of it.

“Oh, aw, feck,” Prem laughs, pulling back from Bug’s lips, and the remorse sounds utterly put-on, “I’ve gone and shitted up your face. Look at you, you’re all smudgy. Didn’t mean to do all that.”

“And you’re a shit liar, darlin’,” Bug tosses back, feeling wild as she runs wide-open, letting Prem move her back to the bed, urging her up onto the pillows.

“Yeahhh—you’re right.” Prem has the audacity to fuckin’ giggle, burying her face against Bug’s neck once again, sliding between her spread legs, her hands moving farther up Bug’s shirt, savoring the soft curve of her waist, the structure of her ribs. But, goddamn, does she touch Bug as if considering her angles and construction like a well fine piece of art, wanting to pick up the techniques to copy into her own repertoire.

Up trails Bug’s shirt, a slow and subtle climb as Prem cups her breasts, rolling her nipples beneath her thumbs, pinching and tugging them slightly. Her grin’s impossible for Bug to ignore as her lips press more and more burgundy prints into her skin, and they both just find themselves laughing for no reason at all apart from sheer delight.

Prem’s knee slides up, coaxing Bug’s legs further open, and Bug sighs heatedly with the move, letting Prem push her shirt up over her breasts. “You’re a wicked-ass little thing,” she accuses, and Prem nods in emphatic agreement as she begins to kiss Bug’s freckled sternum.

She's kissed Bug's breasts, teasing her nipples with her soft, warm tongue, leaving behind prints of burgundy lips on the areola, the bottom swells, the top. Made herself right at home, groping Bug's hips tight before she leans up enough up to smart-ass-casual swipe more color onto her mouth, leaving Bug squirming and laughing under her. It only turns into a cackle when Prem dips to her stomach, kissing a belt across her waist, her bellybutton (where she dips her tongue, causing Bug to howl a surprised laugh and buck), and just—all over.

Makes Bug's head swim, it does. “Think you're just showin’ off at this point, sweetheart,” she snorts, brushing her fingers over Prem's short curls, slipping down to draw nonsense over the nape of her neck.

“Oh, no,” Prem hums, and Bug can feel her grin as it meets her hip, “am just stallin’ for…”

The door of the hotel room groans open, and Price's heavy steps are unmistakable alongside the shuffle of a paper bag in his arms, and the wrestling-out flap of his fleece lined denim jacket snapping. He doesn't stop what he's doing, but he sure takes a long look, and Bug can't help but grin wide under crinkled eyes and stick her tongue between her teeth as she gives a little wave. “Hi,” she says, simple as can be. 

Price drops the bag on the empty dresser— they'll find out in an hour or two he'd somehow managed to find cut italian hoagies by some miracle—and he sits on the other bed, looking at them as he unlaces his boots. Prem kicks her feet up in the air, crossing them at the ankles while she pressed her cheek to Bug's belly. 

“Am I early or late?” he grunts.

“Course he don't wonder if he's invited,” Bug teases, but she continues to smile. They've all three caught each other in compromising enough positions to play grab-ass about it—Price is the only one that acts caught when it happens. 

“Actually,” Prem sighs, rising to her knees in a well practiced movement, sliding forward to kiss Bug's lips as she goes, “you're right on time.”

Prem's got the audacity to sneak launch a playful clap between Bug's legs—over her soaked, but clothed crotch—earning herself one wicked bark of indignation and a swat at her arm for making Bug's neglected pussy throb. But Prem continues regardless, ordering lightly, “Get your shite-arse over here and eat her. Poor thing's tremblin’.”

[flowersandbigteeth]

Do you have any fic recommendations?

Tbh I read a LOOOOT of CoD fanfiction. Something about reading something that is not what I write is soothing...and I like beefy bois in masks

@southernbluebellereader I love her series that's named after foods, so cute <3

@soapyghost firefighter Price is my dream man

@sheyelo Callsign Mutt, is so adorbs

@neoarchipelago And they were roomates is so good, kinda slow burn

uhhhh...that's the ones I can remember off the top of my head <3

there are a ton that I reblog on my 2nd acct @alltheteeth that I haven't read their whole catalog but the fics I've read have been good.

[snake-in-a-trenchcoat]

Fighter Pilot Callsign names

Names for pilots for your Top Gun fanfics

 FYI most Callsigns are a play on names or to tease the person who gets them

Names Like Ice-Man                                                                                                

- Blizzard

-Frosty

- Avalanche 

-Chilly 

- Cloudy

- Hurricane

- Cyro

Names Like Rooster/Goose

- Hen

- Mother Hen

- Birdie 

- Chicken

-Falcon

- Hawk 

- Crow

- Raven

- Eagle

- Finch

- Basan

Names that have the same personality as Iceman and Hangman

- Balloon Buster

- Devil 

- Risky

- Riot 

- Demon of (insert hometown) 

- Killer

- Mad Major 

- Rouge 

- Black Knight 

- Silver Fox

- Wrong Way

-Bloodlust

- Agony 

- Apex

- Electroman

- Razor

- Dead Walker 

-stinger

Names that are similar to Phoenix 

- Harpy 

-Fairy 

- Griffin 

- Imp

- Basilisk 

- Kraken

- Medusa

- Chimera

- Cyclops

- Owlman 

- Strix

- Thunderbird

- Hellhound

- Hydra

- Werewolf

Names with the same personality as Maverick 

- Dark Swallow of Death

- Red/Brunette/Blonde Devil 

- Kaboom

- Cats Eye

- Butcher

- Longshot 

- Chaos

- Tex

- Hyde

- Pyro

- Rebel 

- Stray 

- Ace

- Pompeii 

- Dead Walker

- Rampage  

- Rumble

Other names

Names for those who stay hidden well 

- Ghost

- Ghostrider

- Stalker

- Vapor

- Zombie

- Casper

- Reaper 

- Stranger

Names to do with the wind/sky

- Lucky Breeze

-Apollo

-Artemis

- Zeus

- Zephyr

-Steel rain

- Tornado

- Dove

- Astro

- Moony

- Halo

Names for ‘rebels’

- Lucky

- Dice

- Gamble

- Gambit

- Flatline

 - Giggles

- Dirty

-Bloody Bucket

- Pandora

- mamba

- Havoc

- werewolf

- BamBam

- K9

- Mutt

Names for small people

- Petite 

- Ratsy 

- Rudy

- Smalls

- Yoda

- Big Boss 

Names for annoying people

- Alf (stands for annoying little fuck)

 - Grumpy

-Smiley

- Grinch

- Sunshine

- Flatline

- Joker

- Jester

- Bonk

Names for smart/tactical people

- Cypher

- Jigsaw

- Jinx

- Mastermind

Names for people who are stuck-up/cocky

- Headliner

- Bruise

- Dynamite

- Dusty

- Fireball

- Showoff

- Twitch

‘Scary’ names

- Great White

- Nightmare 

- Omen

- Ripper

- Taz 

“Nature names”

- Cherry

Other names

- Resident

- Dogface

- 22 (Like Catch-22)

Updates

- Nov 1, 2022 - added new names 

- Nov 24, 2022- new names

- Mar 5, 2023 - new names

If you have any suggestions on what to add, please let me know! 

[pixelatedannie]

[[ HANDLER'S REPORT ]] [[ ACCESSING MERCENARY DATA ]] [[ CALLSIGN // HARLEQUIN ]] [[ HANDLER // WALTER ]] [[ AC NAME // JESTER TRICK ]] [[ VISUAL LOGS : ]]

[[ HANDLER'S NOTES : ]]

[[ A rather unusual mutt this time - it's a lot more talkative than my others. In the worst way possible. It has an unbearable sense of "humor" and will not stop laughing at it's own jokes. Or the deaths of enemy soldiers. At least it gets along well with Carla, and it seems to have developed an... unusual degree of affection towards V.IV of the Vespers. Will monitor if the latter becomes a concern. ]] [[ END REPORT ]]

[taiblogcomics]

It's a Dogfight-Eat-Dogfight World

Hey there, alphabet soup. We're half done this miniseries by now! I dunno why this keeps being a thing I muse on. Kind of a running theme of the blog. I guess it's easy when it's a simple number like six issues. The one positive thing about Rainbow Brite only lasting five issues is that there was nowhere in those reviews for me to stop and muse over where we were in the series. No good halfway point. And I gotta fill up this preamble somehow, don't I~?

Here's the cover:

Another kind of simple cover. At least these covers are definitely things that happen inside the comic, unlike a lot of covers I could mention. This shot happens as early as panel two, arguably! But ye, it's where we left the last issue: the heroes have stolen a plane to get to America, and are pursued/intercepted by their friends. At least this one, you can also see Dick's moustache growing in. That's something, I guess! I dunno if that'll sell new readers, but if you're coming in on this halfway through, maybe you deserve to be confused~

So, Dick and Mutt are being transformed into exaggerations by a rainbow mist dropped from radioactive drone War Pig One. After escaping potential extermination by their own government, the pair steal a plane to fly out to meet their superior himself. Meanwhile, following the president's mental de-stablisation, the General sends two other pilots, Longman and Zee, to intercept the pair on the way. But they also have been affected by the rainbow gas, and we'll have to see how that interrupts their mission…

As Dick and Mutt continue to fly towards the US, Mutt also continues to argue with Dick about the strange outburst he made while stealing the plane--namely, referring to the pair of them as "Dastardly and Muttley". Dick protests that he did no such thing, and his moustache has always been like this! The argument is suddenly interrupted by two things. One, Mutt notices something beeping on the radar. Two, when he tries to articulate this to Dick, he suddenly becomes unable to do anything but bark like the dog he looks like. Instead, he has to seize the controls himself.

Meanwhile, over in Washington, the various cabinet members are having a hearing while the Vice President is being sworn in. Yeah, the President died last issue, sliced to ribbons when he ran through the harp, and the horrors of realism meant he didn't recover. Anyway, the various senators are arguing with General Harrier, finding several things suspicious. Yeah, those two CIA guys, Nixon and Perkins? They were actually undercover Air Force personnel, sent to take out Dick and Mutt. So they're highly suspicious why Air Force personnel would be assigned to assassinate its own men.

They're interrupted by the senator from Virginia, a visibly old guy they clearly all hate talking to. But for once, he commands the room, because he points out some of the actual oddities of the story--particularly, the radioactive test that started this whole mess. For example, does Unliklistan really sound like a real country? Or Unstabilium a real element? Isn't it all sounding a little… dubious? Like said Professor Dubious, the man behind the accident? You know it's concerning when what could be plot holes become part of the actual plot.

Up in the sky, Dick and Mutt just barely manage to avoid being shot with a missile. And rather than be grateful, Dick can only point out it wouldn't be so near a miss if Mutt hadn't started barking like an idiot, or a dog, or an idiot dog. He's recovered now, but he couldn't help himself and it scares him. Before they can ruminate on that, they're hailed over comms by the opposing plane. They recognise the voice as Zee, and she's demanding they surrender or she'll blow them out of the sky. In fact, she may not even wait for the surrender and just do it anyway.

Longman (whose callsign is "Uncle", by the way, so I will switch to that for consistancy) cuts in on the comms to inform Dick and Mutt that Zee got hit by the rainbow mists and is kind of losing it. He wants them to just land, so they can talk this whole thing over. She considers this insubordination, which I guess technically it is. Uncle then cuts off access to the weapon systems, and she decides in that case she'll just ram the planes together. And if this problem's just not enough for you, Mutt starts barking again.

Well, here we go. Dick decides that the only thing to do is take everything head-on, and flies straight ahead. Likewise, Zee considers it a point of honour to never back off from a confrontation. So the two planes are headed for a direct collision. Dick decides the only hope they have is to crash the planes together in such a way that they wedge together and fuse into one aircraft. He then realises what the heck he's just said, but by then it's a bit too late. The planes crunch together with the horrible squelching of metal on metal.

Dick yells over the comms that he's cutting engines and giving Zee the control to land them safely. And she initially tries to snarl that she'll not help a traitor, but then her personality slips and she drops into the southern-twanged damsel-in-distress version of herself again. And as they hurtle to the ground, trying to reassert Zee's better half, War Pig One drifts over a zoo below, causing the animals to become ones from The Jungle Book and Kung-Fu Panda. And a satellite from space reports a fuzzy image of the Earth itself, now sporting a pair of mouse ears. Well, they always said Disney would take over the world~

We don't actually get to see it happen, but the next thing we do see is Zee having somehow successfully landed the fused planes. All four occupants are unharmed, though Zee is not in a mood to leave it that way. Mutt's regained his voice again, trying to tell Uncle of what's been happening. At the same time, Zee and Dick are about to throw down. Dick's trying to talk her down, but his personality switch slips in and he threatens her to stand down or he'll spank her. She rightfully kicks him square in the plums.

In the senate discussion or whatever, they've since dug up the file on Professor Dubious. Turns out, his birth name was Alexander DuBois. He changed it shortly after his discovery of unstabilium, which is a red flag in itself. So how did a dubious professor wielding an unstable element set up shop in a country nobody has ever heard of? He had promised General Harrier he'd solve the instability issues, and ran off with the sample when he couldn't. And the General confesses, due to his own exposure to the element, he just let him do it. Seemed like a good idea at the time.

Zee keeps beating on Dick in her fury, but as she does so, the cartooniness of it takes over and his injuries never get worse than his hand swelling up and throbbing red. Classic cartoon injury. Mutt's canine instincts take over and he bites her on the rump, letting Dick crawl away for a brief moment. Fed up, she draws her gun and unloads its contents. But between the act of drawing it and firing, it's turned into a harmless cartoony dart gun, leaving the pair covered in suction cup darts instead of being riddled with bullets.

So, now that Zee's perhaps calmed down since she's technically done her duty by firing upon them, they huddle up and begin a talk. They note that it's kind of odd that nothing's affected Uncle yet, despite his being around Zee ever since she got doused in the mysterious mist. It's proven that they affect stuff just by being around it, but he's not portrayed any noted personality shifts like the others yet. So the General will still be in D.C., and they decide to go calling on him. They turn south--just in time to witness an enormous mushroom cloud erupt from the direction they were about to head, ending the issue--and probably the city as well.

Well, now we're getting into the interesting stuff, huh? (We better be, we're two-thirds of the way through the story!) We've got our backstory revealed, we've got our main characters all united and together, and we've set off a major noticable event to propel this thing towards its finale. And what a finale it'll be~

[tryingtodeletebutitsbuggedout]

by PupxPrice

hybrids aren’t THAT well integrated into society, however, they can be good tools for various tasks, including the military. You being a canine hybrid, are tasked to join task force 141. Expecting a big and strong G.I Joe type to walk in the door, you can imagine everyone’s surprise when in walks you, big dumb smile plastered on your face all while one ear hangs down in your eye.

Words: 2322, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Call of Duty (Video Games), Call of Duty

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Multi

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price (Call of Duty)

Relationships: Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader, John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/Reader, John Price (Call of Duty)/Reader

Additional Tags: hybrid reader, poly 141 x reader, ghostsoap, slight price/gaz, Eventual Smut, Fluff, reader is over 21, reader is 5'8/9, Violence, Blood, cursing, Double Penetration, Power Play, switch ghost, attempted sh, vague mention of body parts, reader is nb, etc. ill add later

[rozzy-the-riveter]

Hey! I just stumbled across your blog and it's really cool. Your art is so good, and your OCs look awesome! I wanted to drop an ask here because I'm working on a R6 OC, and I wanted to know if you had any tips for doing so. Sorry to bother! Hope you're having a good day.

Hello!!! Sorry, busy life! But thank you so so much, and I’m extremely honored to know that you came to ask me for advice!

The way I make R6S OCs is pretty odd, if you haven’t noticed, I stick to a theme. The callsign and ability have to match for me, so maybe plot out what exactly you want your oc to do before fleshing them out more, and build around that. Like say they’re an attacker, are they breaching based? Are they loud because of that? Or are they a defender? Are they protective due to that too? It’s the way I always think at least.

Also, all my characters are based on animals. Mutt, Lynx, Toro (bull), Hare, and Stag (not yet shown). So I love to give them traits surrounding that critter! Get creative, stick to a theme, and have fun! I hope this helped, and it’s just how I personally go about things! :)

[fromtheshadcws]

-flops Feral and commander Reyes in here- I mean there's not much content so when in doubt feel free to ignore

Send me a prompt and I’ll write you a three-sentence fic! // always accepting

The urge to pick the little ruffian up by the scruff of his neck and shake some sense into him is nearly insurmountable.

“Maybe we should make your callsign Feral, you goddamn mutt,” Gabriel snarls, entirely unimpressed by the scrawny Australian almost frothing at the mouth. 

His answer is more snarl than sentence; Gabriel supposes that sounds about right.

[taiblogcomics]

Pilots in the US Air Farce

Hey there, electrokinesis. Well, like I said at both the beginning and end of our look at Slapstick, we're doing a look at two different six-issue series focusing on toon physics. I was way into the concept, like, half a year back when I decided to review these. And this might be the darker of the two, fair warning! It is a Garth Ennis comic, after all. Yeah, that Garth Ennis. I normally do not like his work, but given that this isn't actually about superheroes, it's a lot easier to stomach. This is a good comic, I promise! But if it's not about superheroes, what is it, then?

Well, here's the cover:

Yeah~ This is about Hanna-Barbera characters. We're reinterpreting these beloved cartoon characters into modern, more realistic times, with a realistic art style! This seems ripe for disaster, but I promise you this goes somewhere very interesting and not as straightforward as I'm pretending with this description. So, rather than further coyness, let's get you familiar with these characters, if you've somehow avoided contact with two of the most iconic cartoon villains in, like, the last half a century or so~

The titular duo, Dick Dastardly and his sidekick doggo Muttley, got their start in Wacky Races, where their typical role was to get an early lead and then attempt to cheat and set traps to maintain that advantage. They can't simply continue and win, they're the villains, so they have to cheat. Dick really loved being a transparently evil villain. Not that he was a world-conquering monster or torturer or anything, the man just wanted to win some races. And he was really committed to his bit at doing everything in the most underhanded way he could think of.

Muttley, meanwhile, was his dog sidekick. Known best for his signature raspy giggle, Muttley didn't otherwise speak too clearly. Not that he couldn't speak at all, but usually it was some vaguely understandable muttering. And if it wasn't Dick's own overconfidence in his plans doing them in, it'd probably be because he pushed his abuse of Muttley too far or just Muttley messing with him for his own amusement. Kind of a disfunctional relationship, honestly, but what do you expect? They're the villains!

After Wacky Races, they went on to menace other Hanna-Barbera characters, particularly the likes of Yogi Bear and Scooby-Doo. They also got their own spinoff, which is pretty good for a pair of villains who lost continuously! And that spinoff, Dastardly and Muttley in Their Flying Machines, is essentially the basis of this comic, which I promise we're gonna get to by the next paragraph. In fact, this one's almost used up, so let's dip in and see how you take that whole concept and bring it into modern realism~

So we start in the Middle Eastern country of Unliklistan, which we only see from a distance. Instead, we're hearing a radio broadcast where they're about to switch on their first atomic reactor. You can see the huge cooling tower and everything, it's the biggest building on the map. Before it starts, one reporter questions the active scientist (one Professor Dubious by name) whether the use of Unstablium-239 is a good idea. He will hear no protest, and activates the reactor. We are then treated to a massive explosion for page 2~

Four days later, we're joined in a United States Air Force jet piloted by Lt. Col. Richard Atcherly and his co-pilot Captain Dudley Muller, better known by their callsigns "Dick" and "Mutt", which I will also be using. Dick is annoyed for several reasons, not the least of which is that Mutt has brought his dog in the jet with them. Mutt reasons that low-level recon won't require the oxygen, and Dick tells him to expect the unexpected. Especially since a lot of these nations are unfriendly to begin with, and Unliklistan even more so, since the entire nation is currently irratiated following that explosion.

To that end, Mutt suddenly has a bogey on his radar. It's exactly what they've been sent to find: a surveillance drone that lost contact after investigating the explosion. And suddenly it's behind them. The pair catch a glimpse of it as it passes. It's a standard unmanned aircraft, labelled "War Pig One" on its side, and spewing a huge cloud behind it. But not a black cloud of potential engine failure. No, it's weird rainbow cloud filled with cartoon symbol swearing and other such iconography. The drone passes over them, bathing their jet in its cartoon discharge.

Dick tries to swing the jet around to follow it, but as he does so, the throttle turns into a cartoon steering wheel with an old-timey horn attached and detatches in his hands. Much like the Slapstick series before it, the cartoon objects are in a different artstyle to contrast them from the real world around them. Coloured outlines, a different kind of shading, the works. Anyway, with the steering wheel now disconnected from the aircraft, they start plunging to the ground. Mutt's eyes bug out of his head in shock, and I mean horrifically, hanging from the optic nerves and everything.

Dick yells at him to eject, and Mutt hits a button on his console, which has changed into just a single big red button. This launches them out of the jet--through the glass of their cockpit, at the end of enormous cartoon springs. They parachute to safety, and since I can see their parachutes, they're okay. Indeed, what we see next is Dick waking up in a hospital bed, covered in bandages. There's a few doctors surrounding him, letting him know that he's in a German air force base and that he's fine. Like, no trace of even any radiation sickness fine. Dick passes out again, asking vaguely where Mutt is.

Next time Dick comes to, he's being interrogated by a couple of secret agent types. They never say what organisation they work for, but they've got sunglasses, brown trenchcoats, and badges clipped to said trenchcoats. You know the type. Given they're in Germany, I'm gonna guess CIA? Anyway, while they're argumentative with Dick, they do tell him Mutt is being held in a different facility, which the wording "held" raises alarm bells for Dick. He demands more information, but they're leading the investigation, and show him a picture of the drone War Pig One.

He recognises it, stating his mission was to destroy it, which raises the suspicions of the first agent (we'll learn his name is Perkins in a few pages, let's go with that). Perkins states that the drone has been spotted in numerous locations over the Middle East and Europe since, and Dick remarks that it should've run out of fuel days ago. Perkins' partner, Nixon, tells him that it passed over their car that afternoon, and Perkins suddenly begins getting more erratic, shouting "you fool" and similar jargon, even accusing Dick of getting "wascally". Hey, is Hanna-Barbera allowed to reference Looney Tunes? Is that okay??

Dick asks if the drone was still spraying its bizarre cloud of stuff, and despite Perkins protesting not to give Dick information, Nixon confirms that they got a huge bath of the grawlix-filled mist. Dick notes to Nixon that this is when their aircraft started going out of control, then demands more information, such as where Mutt is and what exactly was being discharged from War Pig One. Perkins dives off the deep end, spewing almost as much gibberish as the drone was, until Nixon basically has to haul him away as he begins spouting cartoon cliche phrases.

Our comic ends with time having continued to pass since then. It's night and Dick's either asleep or just fading into it, when suddenly a voice calls out to him from the darkness--a voice he recognises. It's Mutt, and he's come to see him. He's escaped the other facility and is planning to have them both sneak out, but first he needs Dick to promise him to not over-react or panic when he turns on the light and shows him what happened. Dick does so, but immediately begins screaming when he catches sight of Mutt: he's fused with his dog, transforming him into a realistic anthro dog-man. As seen on the cover, so maybe this isn't as shocking to the readers as it is for Dick~

An intriguing premise to start with, eh? Of particular note, note how our titular protagonists aren't villains to start out with. (I mean, within the context of the comic; there's a lot we could argue about the US military, but this is neither the time nor place~) The clever among you can probably see where this is leading, but it's definitely the ride there that's the interesting part. As such, that's where we're headed the next few weeks~