#cod blend

[alchemyfreak321]

THEY CAN TELL US WHERE, THEY CAN TELL US WHEN...DON'T TELL US HOW

[crsssie]

thinkin' abt Girl Dad!Simon bc 'm UNORIGINAL n WANT HIM SO BAD

girl dad!Simon who LOVES your daughter. Never brings her up for her privacy, but if someone from the task asks he will not hesitate to talk

girl dad!Simon who always comes back from deployment with a little something for her and you. She gets a stuffie, you get a little gift

girl dad!Simon who eventually retires when he comes back one particularly long deployment and your daughter forgets who he is (he's mortified and swears he's never leaving again)

girl dad!Simon who takes her to ALL the daddy-daughter dances, parent conferences, and bring your parent to school days. He hasn't missed a single one, and you have the photos to prove it

girl dad!Simon who gets any and everything your little girl wants. she needs to understand that mommy and daddy have the ability to give her what she wants, so she should aim for it too

girl dad!Simon who preps his baby with everything she needs to know about staying safe — and to call daddy if she ever needs help

girl dad!Simon who hopes that by taking care of you, she'll understand not to settle for a boy who expects her to take care of him

"Mommy's not feeling well, baby." He takes your daughter into his arms, the girl pouting as you sit on the couch and stare at the TV.

"She's watching TV."

"Mommy's thinking." He points at your eyes gently, letting her gaze follow his hand. "Do you see how her eyes are unfocused?"

Your daughter frowns as she notices, pouting. "oh."

"Wanna give mommy a kiss from the other side? Daddy can give her on on this one. She'll feel better."

Your daughter nods, and Simon lets her down n tells her to stay quiet.

She sneaks up behind you as she counts to three, pressing her lips to your cheek as Simon kisses the other, her giggles inconsolable as you grab her to pepper her face. She laughs as she rests on your chest, and you reach up to give Simon a gentle kiss on the chin as he hums.

"Feel okay?"

"Better." You hum. "Will you take her to bed for me? We can talk out here in a bit."

"Just an ear or some help?" He raises a brow.

"Just an ear for now." You pat his hand, turning to your daughter. "Baby, will you go with daddy to bed? Mommy wants to think a little more."

"Good thinking?"

"Yes. Daddy will chase the bad ones away." You give a kiss to the corner of her eye, and she gives you one final hug before letting Simon lift her into his arms.

"Wanna say goodnight to mommy?"

"Night night." She mumbles, pouting. "Will mommy be okay tomorrow?"

"Mommy will." You give her little fist a tap, humming. "Mommy'll make you toast tomorrow, hm?"

"Daddy can." She mumbles. "Mommy's sad. Daddy should take care of her."

"I will. Once you're in bed, squeaks." Simon hums, kissing her cheek as she holds onto him. "Wan' me to read you a bedtime story?"

"Not today..." She lays in bed, blinking as her eyes flutter.

"Of course." He hums. "If you need us just call, alright? Mommy 'n I will be in the living room."

"Yes, daddy." She mumbles. "night night."

"G'night, baby. You're just as important, alright?"

She nods, eyes closing as she falls asleep.

"She alright?"

"Fell asleep." He hums, closing the door behind him. "You alright?"

"Better now." You rest your head on his chest as he scratches at your scalp, humming. "Let's get to bed. You're so wonderful, Si. Such a wonderful husband."

"Hope none of her future partners treat worse than this." He mumbles. "Or else I really ought to show them what a veteran is."

You laugh, patting his chest as he leads you off.

As long as you both are alright.

[temeyes]

LT's quite the romantic, isn't he?

[on-a-lucky-tide]

HELLO!

Thought of asking you bc I ADORE your writing, the way you write the NikPrice ship is by far my fav, I would've wrote it myself but I love your way of writing more heh.

BUT price, having a nightmare or ptsd attack at night, but not waking nik up nor does he wake up. Prob just stirred a bit. But he doesn't end up telling him, cause hes a big strong boy he doesn't want to show nik how vulnerable he really is. But nik notices how tense he is during the day, which ofc worries him. Que the emotional conversation maybe a cry and long hug :3

If you haven't written something like this anyway! Also ty for the follow made me giggle and die a bit inside from happiness <3

Thank you for this prompt and your fic is below, but! Please write. Write your heart out, bud. No one can write like you do and the world is richer for having your art in it. So please. Write this too. Even if just for yourself.

Price spent three years in a Gulag. That leaves a mark.

cw: PTSD, nightmares, mention of torture, dissociation, depersonalisation, shameless canon blending.

"Prisoner 627, confirm which names on this list are undercover operatives."

"Price, Jonathan, Captain, 9-0-5-1-2-1-0."

A rib cracked. He spat blood onto the table next to the file. The ropes around his wrists tightened.

"Prisoner 627, confirm which names on this list are undercover operatives."

"Price, Jonathan, Captain, 9-0-5-"

He bit through his bottom lip when the fist landed. Someone stepped forward to intervene. You don't break their faces because then they can't talk. Interrogation 101. He coughed. More blood, and they yanked him upright by the hair.

"Svyazat yego."

The chair clattered to the floor as he was pulled from it. The ropes cut only for his hands to be chained above his head. The same knife sliced his shirt off, the rags falling around his shoulders. Metal tools rattled to his left, the embers from the nearby fire stirred by an iron.

"Last chance, prisoner 627," his interrogator held the list of names in front of his face. He recognised five of them. He had attended the wedding of one, "confirm which names on this list are undercover operatives."

"Price, Jonathan, Cap--"

His voice broke as pain tore through his back.

Price woke tangled in damp sheets, his body paralysed. The scream couldn't even rip out of his throat because his lungs needed air to make noise. Through sheer force of will, he drew his first shuddering breath, pulling himself back from the precipice.

See: digital clock. 04:30.

Taste: dry mouth. Need a drink.

Feel: hot, no; cold... both? Damp sheets.

Hear: breathing, not mine.

Price sat up slowly, forcing movement through his limbs like he was prying them from manacles. The next breath was easier. Burned less. He dropped his face into his palm and shivered in the cold. Feel: cold, he updated on his mental map.

Breathing, not mine. Price looked over his shoulder to the sleeping face of his lover. Half nuzzled into the pillows, his black hair splashed over crisp white cotton, Nikolai was serene. A small mercy.

All the manuals would tell you about wounded soldiers waking screaming and begging in the night, perhaps wetting themselves in terror at the ghosts haunting the inside of their skull. They warned against storing weapons nearby, of sleeping in the same bed as your loved ones in case you lashed out. There was a laundry list of suggested therapies and interventions too.

Sometimes, Price wished he woke screaming, because at least then he would know he was alive. His throat and lungs would burn as he roared, his hands would flail and he would be left panting, raw, but fighting. Alive. Now, in the numb silence, he wasn't sure.

He touched his cold wrist with cold fingers and just felt... cold. Like an absence of something. Prisoner 627. No name, no identity; a nothingness stored in a castle with hundreds of other voids where people should have been. Everything human about them stolen away until just the cold and the pain remained.

Price stumbled from the bed, his legs barely working as he groped his way out of his bedroom. He had to sleep with the doors open these days, even on base. Even if it was just a crack, a sliver, he still needed to be able to lift his head and see an escape. A beyond the little box room of his quarters. Not imprisoned, not restrained.

His feet registered the change from carpet to tile as he navigated his way down the hall to his flat's little kitchenette. Lit by the full moon streaming in through the balcony door, Price managed to fill the kettle and set it to boil.

There was a small blue light inside - one of those modern glass varieties that showed all the bloody limescale on the inside - and it illuminated Price's face against the black laminate of the back splash behind the hob. Price stared at the phantom image, blue and featureless, and saw nothing of himself.

He remembered being rescued, watching the castle fall to the joint task force attacking it, but when you spent three years bleeding in a place, did all of you really ever get to leave? When they spent those three years chipping away at you, breaking parts off, what was left to bring back at all?

As he stared at the ghostly blue outline of his own face, he felt a disconnect. A hollowness where that familiarity with self should be. Lost in the cold and the dark. Prisoner 627.

The kettle clicked loudly in the silence and he startled. His heart beat hard against his rib cage, felt like a distant echo, and he drew another deep sigh. Numb fingers pawed at the cupboards and he found his Liverpool FC mug, the one his sister had got him for his birthday while he'd still been in training at Sandhurst. There was a chip missing out the rim, dark stains and scrapes in the ceramic at the bottom that would never wash out; evidence of hundreds of cups drunk, a small shard of a life lived. An anchor to himself.

As he poured the water over the tea bag and dumped four teaspoons of sugar in, Price fluttered his fingers through the steam, rubbing his thumb through the dampness it left on the tips and letting the sensation crackle through his nerves. He drew another breath and muttered, "Price, Jonathan, Captain..." Prisoner 627.

He cupped both hands around the mug and carried it slowly, stumbling, towards the balcony window. The sky wasn't quite dark anymore, but a fuzzy, ashen grey. His eyes turned east. And he waited.

Waited...

Unmoving. Frozen in place. Like the cold had taken root and turned him to stone. The only things that kept him anchored were the cooling mug of tea clasped between two hands and the yellow light bleeding over the rooftops of the Clydeside.

The sun chased the dark away across the sky, bleeding an ombre of fire into the midnight black. With the sun came the heat. He couldn't feel it though. One hand left the mug, alive with warmth, and played in the dust motes illuminated by the morning light. They whirled around his fingers in white spirals, untouchable light.

He turned the key in the balcony doors and staggered outside, thrusting his arm into the dappled orange light passing through his neighbours fluttering laundry. "Price, Jonathan, Captain, 9-0-" he leaned over, and--

"John!"

Nikolai's hand wrapped his elbow, pure, scorching heat and strength, and it knocked the breath from Price's lungs. He nearly dropped his mug, but Nik caught that too, scooping beneath it as he drew Price to him in a bear hug.

His ear fell against Nik's chest, listening to his heart thundering on the inside. Ba-dm-ba-dm. Price's hand lifted and buried itself in dark chest hair, feeling it run between his fingers, soft, warm. The sensation rolled through him, cracking away the ice, and he turned his face into it with a shivering gasp.

Alive.

I'm alive.

The mug clattered on the glass surface of the little balcony table they had smoked at only the night before, Price lost in his thoughts while Nikolai had watched him pensively from the other chair. Both big hands now free, one stroked up his back to grasp his neck, and he shuddered again.

Nik looked terrified, his usually calm eyes blown wide, glistening. "You nearly fell," Nik said, so softly, and yet so clear. So real. Price touched his lips, relaxing into his hold.

"Was fine, Nik. Just got a bit carried away with the sunrise."

Nik glanced at the rooftops, his brows knitted together. "It is... pretty, but better viewed from inside, hm?"

"Yeah, s'pretty chilly out here, ain't it?"

Nik hesitated before he let go and Price missed the warmth of his arms immediately. He followed inside, let Nik pull him onto the sofa and drag one of the big fleece blankets over them. The heat of his body as it closed around Price's burned with intensity and a stuttering gasp broke out of his throat. Nik only held him tighter.

Every moment he laid there, wrapped in the bed warm scent, a piece of Jonathan Price thawed. From the tips of his toes to the cheek pressed to Nik's chest, warmth and feeling returned, bringing with it a sense of reality and connection to the world. To himself.

"Why were you on the balcony, John?" Nik asked. Price got a sense that he was afraid of the answer, and wasn't entirely convinced he would be given the truth anyway.

"In Petrovpavlosk, my cell faced east," Price said. "Would watch the sun rise every morning. It was like... No matter what they did, no matter what they broke away, if I could feel the sun on my skin, then I was still alive. Still me. Not just a dead man walkin'."

Nik sighed, burying his face in Price's hair for a few deep breaths. "You thought you were there again?"

"Dunno if I ever really left, Nik."

They held each other in silence as the light continued to creep into the flat, illuminating the empty bottles of beer they had left on the coffee table to clear up. "I sensed these past weeks you have been struggling, I know the anniversary of your escape is soon, and I feared you were..."

"That I was gonna throw myself off an' give Beryl a fright."

"John, do not joke about these things..."

"'m sorry, I... I wasn't gonna do it, Nik. Swear to you. I..." he struggled upright a little and Nik let him go reluctantly, "I struggle in the cold. The winter is... I dunno... it's like the cold makes me think I'm still there. That I never got out. That this," he glanced around the flat, his voice cracking as he spoke, "is just some dream my mind made up to escape to. I... I didn't know whether I was real, whether I was me... or... I didn't... Nik, I didn't know whether I was even alive, I..."

Nik's fingernails raked through his beard and he leaned into it. Felt them graze gently over the soft skin beneath his ear, and then into his hairline to draw him down. He yielded to the kiss, mouth opening desperately to let Nik in; he pawed at Nik's chest, stealing stuttering gasps as their tongues worked together.

He didn't notice the tears until he pulled back and one dripped from his chin to Nik's chest. "You are here, solnyshko. Right here, with me," Nik whispered. "Captain Jonathan Price, serial number 9-0-5-1-2-1-0," Nik took the hand on his chest and placed a kiss to the knuckles, "Bravo Six, you are home."

Price crumpled into Nik's arms and his shoulders shuddered as he sobbed. No longer mute, no longer cold, no longer frozen out of his own fucking body, the raw pain of it sunk its claws in, overwhelming and savage.

Nik's hands stroked down Price's back to the burn scars at the base; an uneven, mottled pattern that stretched over his right hip. The sensation was sporadic, some sensitive, some numb, but the muscles underneath still seized with pain. Nik placed his warm palm over them, chasing away the last shadow of Petrovpavlosk hanging over him.

As the morning ticked over and the rest of the block woke up, Nik dragged Price back to the kitchen and pushed a pan into his hands. He stood behind him, huge body looming as a bulwark, chin on Price's head, hands caressing his belly and chest, as the eggs cooked.

Home, Price's mind offered weakly, battered and bruised from its fight with the cold. Home.

[vos-videmus]

🛵

[mactavishsgfandwife]

ghost or any cod guy really with a girlfriend who’s a massive fangirl.

ghost x fangirl!reader. ghost x fangirl!reader. ghost x fangirl!reader.

imagine the absolute bewilderment on simon’s face when he enters your room for the first time, just a fling, and your walls are flooded with cheesy posters and memorabilia

he doesn’t want to take his shirt off with niall horan checking him out like that, love, turn the picture around

please don’t cry when you enter the kitchen at 7am to find the real actually harry styles (a cardboard cutout) in two pieces on the floor, cause si saw a strange man standing in the darkness in the middle of the night and acted on instinct

he’ll buy you a new one. in fact, he’ll buy you all 5. and then get really creeped out by them and you’ll eventually concede, folding zayn up and putting him away in the cupboard under the stairs

[southernroach]

if i could describe the way i view roach, it swings from junkyard dog to someone on the last finger of their monkey’s paw

[m-s-justice]

she fems on my demp til I sey

[s0fter-sin]

prankster!soap pulling a mean girls and cutting holes in all of ghost’s shirts so his nipples show and ghost goes full regina george not giving a single shit that his pale pink tiddies are on show

[hellbuticy]

post-beach, keegan and hesh formed like a weird little bond

[alchemyfreak321]

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Credit: OG Ghost render by Pavseh@deviantart

[your-fave-is-being-blended]

can you blend logan walker from call of duty ghosts please? love seeing my bbg’s getting blended <3

Sergeant Logan Walker from Call of Duty: Ghosts is being blended!!

You cannot save him.

[temeyes]

soap + volleyball = explosive ass claps spikes

[on-a-lucky-tide]

1/? I was the anon who also prompted bereaved, deranged Nik and I was so excited to see your ficlet last night! Thank you! You even included the importance of the hat. Some fave lines (it all went hard as hell, of course): "It was like all the light vanished in an instant; the jovial, lively man she had known for years since he turned informant for MI6 dissipated like smoke in the wind." (this is so spooky - I'm literally picturing his joy and kindness blowing away like ash)

Thank you so much for this! I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'm working my way slowly through the prompts but I try to only send them out when I'm happy with them.

For your last point! That line is from Modern Warfare 2 (OG) when Captain MacTavish hands Price back his sidearm during his rescue. (Fast forward to 1.15)

It was my shorthand way of giving a nod to the Gulag rescue in the original games to say it kinda went that way. I just can't get over how Price was in a Gulag for three-fucking-years. Insane. No wonder he is more emotionally compromised/raw than Reboot Price when Soap cops it. (Reboot Price manages himself differently, I think. His grief will come later when his men are safe and it sinks in.)

As for the boonie hat, Nik's going to give that back to Price when they're alone and safe. I asked my partner whether I should have Nik give it back to him in the hospital, but he reckoned it would take Nik some time to remember it... It's been attached to him permanently for three years as a stand-in for Price. He would be overwhelmed by having the real thing back, and then parting with it (returning it to Price's head) would be him allowing himself to begin healing. Maybe when John's beard is back and Nik's hair has grown out again?

[lumin0xity]

im normal i promise i dont have a problem

[toomking]

"[What do you want?] To see what your insides look like."