#reboot no russian

[unchartedperils]

We return to the Call of Duty series after a 4-5 month hiatus and our newest chapter really sets the stakes.

Reset here: after the disappointment that was MWII/2022’s campaign, I vowed to fix it. So I began a fix it and of course through ONE CHARACTER (no it’s not Nathan Drake), it’s also a crossover with Uncharted. Its goal is to show at least a glimpse of what could’ve been had IW/Activision not sold out to rushed stories and not touching *ahem* a certain country, but I digress: main points being the planned for post-2019 story with Victor Zakhaev as the poster villain but also recruiting Khaled Al Asad and Hadir Karim (I am aware at one point they wanted to merge KAA into a alias for Hadir but before that they were separate characters and you can’t convince me otherwise) into his plans against the West, beginning with both Urzikstan and Kastovia. And now after the even more disappointing and straight up anger-inducing “campaign” that was MWIII/2023, the motivation to fix this post-MW2019 storyline has returned! And by chapter 4, Victor has his “Four Horsemen” selected for terror…

Anyways, our resumption of MWII: Daddy’s Boy is after the second mission in MWII where Ghost and Soap narrowly miss Al-Asad (ICYMI: Al-Asad replaces Hassan Zyani as the main villain for Al Qatala) in Al Mazarah. Yet before 141/it’s American allies can continue the hunt for Al-Asad and Zakhaev, their two protégés are about to pull off a terror attack that will forever haunt Kastovia, but more importantly could turn global opinions against the Urzikstan Liberation Force. And in the aftermath, Price and Gaz are in Amsterdam to investigate who Zakhaev and Al-Asad’s new partners are, but their next and even more devious plan is already in motion…

Note/WARNING: Chapter 4 of MWII-Daddy’s Boy contains implied graphic violence aka an implied massacre as on par with No Russian from 2009’s OGMW2. Also contains the usual further violence with blood and gore, strong language, and geopolitical sensitivities.

With all that out the window, enjoy COD fans!

[sinaminviv]

(Please reblog to keep alive!)

*Surrounding Nik in the kitchen is a smorgasbord of food he made from the scraps of a Safe House cupboard.*

Nik, calls out: BREAKFAST.

Price: Good, I’m starved. *Eyes the table full of food.* How the ‘ell did you manage all this?

Nik: R’sourceful. *Fills a plate, slides it down the counter and starts another.*

Price: *Takes the first plate and hums agreement.* True.

*Gaz walks in and whistles low at the spread.*

Price: He’s *attempts gruff Russian accent* ‘R’sourceful.’

Gaz: Nah. He’s a bloody magician.

[rawstfish]

The body being thrown in fire is not Ghost. That is Makarov killing the president

[scattered-winter]

thinking about how makarov is gonna be the main villain in the 3rd reboot game and being soooooooooooo scared abt what that means for the 141

[marx-soul]

Happy birthday Pathologic

[greeneyedsigma]

It’s been eleven years and I’m still waiting for Call of Duty: Ghosts 2

At this point, I’d take a remaster or a reboot.

It had an interesting storyline and tried something different. Was it perfect? No, but name one COD game that is. Hesh’s voice acting is not good, the graphics are rough, and Logan was an undeveloped blank slate.

Rorke was an interesting antagonist and making South America (and its federation) the bad guys was a change of pace from the usual Russian baddies. Post-war America was an interesting setting as well.

It also has Riley, the world’s best dog, and Keegan, the world’s most attractive Sniper. And Merrick, who is hilariously cranky (and also pretty hot).

[verdantcreek]

thinking about the reboot mw games collectively and it’s so sadly unfortunate because like. when put up against the other two, mwiii fails so visibly.

first of all you’ve got their thesis/emotional core, right. for mw19, it’s all about the personal motivation of being a solider, the cost of war on an individual. what it means to fight and discovering the importance of what you’re fighting for. for mwii, it’s about trust. the importance of knowing that your team has each others backs, the weight that it has between individuals. what happens when that trust is broken and how it’s found again through vulnerability, because that’s how you truly know you’re there for each other.

and then there’s mwiii..? you should let your sergeant kill a prisoner illegally so said prisoner, when he breaks out of maximum security prison, doesn’t kill your sergeant 4 years later? you should illegally kill people who piss you off (shepherd)? sure there’s the whole “never bury your enemies alive”, but where does that come in to play outside of the soap/makarov interaction? it’s definitely not a valid reason for price to kill an american general in his own office. they could’ve used it for graves if they wanted to take it a step further, but no— graves doesn’t betray the team again, for whatever reason. we’re expected to consider him just a much a member of the team as anyone else, and the narrative treats him as such outside of a few bristly reactions to his involvement.

secondly i take a huge issue with how characters were handled in mwiii. literally everyone is here, and there is no reason for several of them to be. alex felt like a cameo— you see him actually on screen for maybe 30 seconds. farah’s missions feel forced for the sake of her involvement. not that farah shouldn’t be in this game, but makarov’s flimsy reasoning for targeting the ulf is so clearly an excuse to involve her. it feels very random and transparent as a decision to reuse her character because she’s familiar. again with graves— why is he here? i still genuinely do not understand why they decided to retcon his death. it was a perfect arc for mwii to kill him, and him being alive adds absolutely nothing to the story. he has nothing to do in mwiii and there is zero reason for his involvement other than “people liked him in mwii and he has a cool accent.”

within the 141, it’s mostly rehashing of the growth/personality that each of them showed in previous games. none of them have an arc, except maybe price if you’re willing to call the *post credit scene* where he commits cold blooded murder a completion of an arc. gaz, soap, and ghost are static versions of themselves that simply are just … there for most of the plot. they’re not out of character or ruined, but none of them individually have anything going on that can’t be tied back to price.

i think a lot of it comes down to the way they tried to shoehorn mwiii into the original trilogy’s storyline. people loved those games, and nostalgia sells. i don’t think it’s a coincidence that makarov was a big marketing factor for this game— and that’s not to say that mw19 or mwii didn’t abuse that either, but in execution you can feel the difference. price, gaz, soap and ghost are all their own characters miles away from their original trilogy counterparts. makarov… isn’t. he’s a poorly written villain riding on the success of the original trilogy— he’s scary because he’s *makarov*, not because he’s a real threat. it’s cheap. the knockoff “no russian” mission felt insulting. it’s a callback with no real impact in the story, just simply “look! remember when we did this in 2009 and everyone loved it?”

and all of it culminates into a shit ending with shock factor that it tries to make you feel emotional. i’m not sad over this character death. i’m mad, because it’s unearned and lazy. i realize it’s a lot to ask a multi-billion dollar corporation to actually put effort into their stories, but… it’s such a let down when the previous games actually had at least an ounce of passion. i’m just still so disappointed with this game ruining what could’ve been a really interesting and unique story.

[mockerycrow]

UNDERCOVER VI (Soap x GN!Reader)

undercover series masterlist — previous | next

summary: after you’re allowed to get up and move around in a wheelchair, you begin to open up about what happened with Makarov; his plans, and you process some things. you have a formal introduction to Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick. 4.8k words.

a/n; thank you so much for all of the support and all of the patience y’all have extended towards me. it genuinely means so much!! also, during this flashback, bolted italics are present when characters are speaking russian. [THIS DOES NOT FOLLOW REBOOT MW CANON.]

[WARNINGS; ptsd, death/suicide ideation, angst, hospital setting, flashbacks, death and gore, reader is not a good person morally.]

“And now I just keep running. Maybe not physically anymore, but my mind and heart are backpacking through the darkest corners of the world trying to get farther and farther away.” - Nyrae Dawn.

IT HAD BEEN two days after getting that dosage of a narcotic, that’s when they decided the handcuffs could come off, the monitors could come off, and I was allowed to roam (almost) free in a wheelchair. Of course, I always had to have a.. babysitter of sorts, which wasn’t as bad as I expected it to be, except for the times I really wanted to just be alone.

Although, I guess I can’t expect that, after everything I’d done—they probably expect me to bolt; or worse, I guess. I’m not sure what they exactly think I’m capable of in this damned state, with my injuries and all. The aches from my stitches are still present, vague—but I feel them all the same. I have one of my hands on my stomach as I slowly sit up in the bed I’ve been laying in. I’m pretty sure Soap’s in the bathroom, but I can do this on my own. 

I slowly get my legs over the side of the bed—usually I’d swing them over, but I’m pretty sure I’d tear every single stitch I have received within the last few days... I glance at the wheelchair that’s within arms length and I know it’ll hurt like a bitch to lean forward to roll it closer, so I extend my foot and use my toes by applying pressure to the seat, dragging it forward. I smile victoriously as my plan works, and I slowly but surely get myself in the wheelchair by turning my body sideways, putting my feet in the holders and plopping myself down into the seat. I wince a bit from the impact, an odd feeling of soreness and like my guts are threatening to push out of my bandages–but no harm no foul, right?

I hear the door squeak open and I glance over, seeing Soap who has just left the bathroom. He’s wiping his damp hands on his pants—fucker washed his hands but didn’t dry them??—and he has that stupid, classic grin on his face. “Not plannin’ on runnin’ away, were ya?” He jokes, walking over in a brisk pace to help untangle my IV from my wheelchair armrest. Soap’s fingers untangle it and quickly help to push my wheelchair as well as the IV pole to the bigger area in front of my bed. “Mm, maybe if my legs were healed.” I mutter as Soap does some final adjustments. I feel a humming sensation begin to brew under my skin, but I ignore it as Soap walks over to the door and holds it open for me. 

I manage to wheel myself out of the room with my IV pole, although it did take a lot of effort. “Lemme get that for ya.” Soap hums as he rushes over, grabbing the pole, allowing me to wheel myself. I mutter a thanks as I look around—this is a big hospital.. infirmary?? hallway, or whatever. “If yer lookin’ to get some fresh air, I know just where to take ya.” Soap interrupts my thoughts, his fingers twitching around the stand. I glance at him and I don’t mean to visibly perk up, but I do. “Yeah,” I let a deep breath out before scanning the hallway Soap and I are in. “I would appreciate that.” Soap points down the left of the hall towards what looks like reinforced double doors. “Right down there.”

…

Something’s wrong. I quickly wheel myself down the hall to where Soap was pointing, and I think Soap said something, but I wasn’t really paying attention like that. My stomach is turning as I keep wheeling down the hall. We soon stop at the double doors and it’s one of those mechanisms you need a keycard to enter and exit and luckily, Soap slips one out of his front jean pockets. He presses it against the little black box that has a small, flashing, red light. It beeps and turns green, a loud snapping noise coming from the heavy double doors. 

“Here ya go.” Soap murmurs as he steps forward and pushes against the door, opening it and holding it open for me. My breath hitches as I instantly take in the sunlight—it’s a little gated yard, it seems. I take a deep breath and I roll myself out onto the pavement that surrounds the grass, and I squint as soon as the sun hits my eyes. Once I’m out of the way, I hear Soap let go of the door, letting it close with a loud clang, a quieter noise indicating it re-locked itself. I take another deep breath, the fresh, cool air filling my lungs—and fuck, I want to cry. My eyes flutter shut as my hands curl up into fists, my nails digging into my palms as the fucking overwhelming feeling of.. freedom, flows over me. Finally free from Makarov, from the rooms I’ve been trapped in, from the evil shit I’ve done. Free from everything.. For now. 

I take another deep breath in such a way where it seems like I’ll never breathe again. I certainly felt like that when I was being drowned. I most fucking definitely took fresh air for granted–one very bad mistake I’ve made.. One of many. My heart begins to pound against my rib cage and my fingers involuntarily twitch against the armrests of the wheelchair, my stomach feeling weird. I let out another breath which catches Soap’s attention. “Y’alright?” He questions from behind me on my right, his accent drawing through every word. I glance upwards and he’s slightly bent over the wheelchair, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling in.. concern? My eyes flicker to the grass instead and I struggle to hold in a sob, my eyes falling shut. Fuck, please just don’t do this to me right now. I am not about to cry over seeing grass. I am not about to cry over seeing the little dandelions in the grass thriving.

As much as I would love to say that I’ll never have to face Makarov again, I have a feeling that just isn’t true. Makarov isn’t anywhere near done with what he wants, he will never be done until everything we know today is fucking destroyed. Shit—don’t think about that right now, just focus on the lil’ ol dandelions—fuck, man!

I flinch when I feel Soap touch my shoulder and my eyes snap to his face, my body turning a bit—we lock eyes. His eyebrow is slightly pinched in, his upper right canine tooth slightly biting his lower lip for a moment. “Didn’ mean to scare ye,” Soap says apologetically, pulling his hand away back to the IV pole, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing the metal. “It’s okay.” I mutter, letting out a shaky sigh which I attempt to cover up with a cough. I look back at the dandelions for some reason, they don’t seem so overwhelming to look at this time. An ache settles in my jaw, which probably means the pain medicine is wearing off but I just.. Want to stay where I am right now. In the yard with the goddamn happy go-lucky dandelions. 

“Do you know when they’re trying their next psych eval?” I ask, my voice gritty as it’s barely loud enough for the Scot to hear. Soap hums for a moment before his lips smack together. “Mm, no, not really. I think it’ll be jus’ a bit.” He replies, his voice soft in contrast to my tone. I inhale slowly to calm the humming in my veins and I nod–it’s not like I can get mad at him for something he can’t control. “There’s someone Captain would like you to meet. Or, er, re-meet.” Soap corrects himself, making me turn my head to look at him with furrowed eyebrows. “Someone else in your force, then?” I question which Soap responds with a nod. “I’ve mentioned ‘im before, Gaz, the other sergeant. Price has decided that it might be good if someone else watches over ya every once in a while.”

Ah. Hopefully the normal one. “Mm.” I respond with a soft noise and a slow nod, biting my tongue. I know Price is his Captain and Soap would probably come to his defense, but I’m still so ready to tear my stitches and beat the shit out of the man–mutton chops, I mean. He pissed me off so bad, I don’t think it’s something I’ll ever actually get over. “Sure,” I sigh. “I’ll meet ‘em.”

“Thank you.” I murmur to the nurse who is adjusting my pain medication dose on my IV. He gives me a soft smile and a nod. “Of course. How is your jaw?” The nurse asks, his eyes looking at me with worry. I take a moment to process his words and I pause, feeling pain pulsing along my injured side of my jaw and a deep ache within the muscle. “It.. It could be better.” I reply, my hand coming up to touch my jaw before remembering I probably shouldn’t. I watch the nurse nod and his eyes roam my face before he walks over to a cart that’s in the corner of the room. He takes out a key and unlocks the top drawer, grabbing a couple of medical grade gloves before stuffing the box back into the drawer and re-locking it. 

The nurse grabs a new package of bandages that was sitting on top of the cart and walking over, my eyes tracking their every move. I hate this, I feel like I’m fucking looking for a hidden weapon or something–which he takes out a pair of scissors. I feel my muscles tense up, a white cold shock going up my spine and my heart monitor blares for just a moment as my heart rate speeds up quite rampantly. Fuck, fuck fuck. I can’t fucking do this, why am I freaking out over scissors?? The poor nurse raises his hands, holding the scissors with one of his hands and the small disposable box of bandages. “I’m just going to check the swelling of your jaw, okay? I can’t see it with the bandages on and it’s time for a bandage change, anyway.”

I take a deep breath and I nod–stop being a pussy. It’s just a pair of scissors. The nurse slowly moves forward, putting the bandages on the bed. He gently grabs the edge of the bandage, somewhere out of my view and he gently cuts a smart portion before he quickly puts the scissors away, gently unraveling the bandages. They’re covering my jaw, neck, and one part of my head. I wince a bit which earns me a soft “sorry” from the nurse, and he pulls it all away. The bandage is slightly discolored which I’m not too surprised about, my bandage hasn't been replaced in a bit. I snapped out of my thoughts with his gentle gloved hands grabbing my face, being very conscious of where, I’m assuming, where my jaw is hurt.. Or fractured, whatever they said happened. I can’t remember.

That’s weird.

“Mm, you definitely have swelling. Despite this, you seem to be healing quite well!” The nurse murmurs optimistically, turning my head in the directions he wants. A twinge of pain shoots through me and I grunt, making him stop. “Range of motion is limited, I’m not surprised due to the pain.” The nurse notes out loud. He grabs the box of bandages and takes out a roll. “I’m going to rewrap your jaw and then I’m going to get an ice pack for you, okay? Then I’ll up your dosage, after seeing if the ice pack provides any relief.” I nod, letting out a soft breath. “Thank you,” I whisper, which earns me a soft smile from the nurse.

He rewraps my jaw, neck and partially my head. The nurse puts the scissors away and throws away the box and his gloves, heading towards the door. He opens the door and he steps aside for a moment, and lo’ and behold–Soap and another man walks in, the other man looks quite familiar. Oh! It’s Basic Boy. I watch the two men walk into the room and they seem quite close, bumping shoulders and Soap grinning like the sunshine idiot he seems to be—on second thought, I already know he’s quite smart—and the other man seems a bit more serious. “Is this.. Gaz?” I question, keeping my eyes trained on the man. Damn, I have to admit, outside of the context of our first meeting.. He’s kinda.. Shut up. “Aye,” Soap confirms, wrapping an arm around Gaz’s shoulder before the man seems to playfully roll his eyes, gently push Soap off of himself and he walks over.

He holds out his hand for a handshake. “It’s nice to formally meet you. I apologize for how we.. originally.. Met.” Gaz says, his voice firm yet there’s a sense of softness. I let out a heavy sigh, which makes me wince for a moment as my jaw creaks in protest. I take his hand and softly shake it, appreciating Gaz’s gentleness with me but there’s a small part of me that wants to yell at him. Tch. “It’s alright,” I reply instead. “With what you guys knew, I wouldn’t have expected any less. I actually expected worse, especially with that.. Tall fucker, skull face or whatever.” 

Gaz and Soap glance at each other for a moment before they look back at me, making me squint at them for a moment. I caught that; the look they shared. “What?” I deadpan, my shoulders slumping a bit. “Nothing!” Soap chirps out quickly, walking closer to my side. Gaz follows suit, his watchful eyes glancing around. “By process of elimination, your.. LT… Must be skull face.” I mutter, earning a nod from Gaz. “Lieutenant Ghost.” Gaz offers a name, making me press my lips together tentatively. “Ghost,” The name rolls off of my tongue like a curse. I can already feel the anger bubbling in my gut. What he did was a necessary evil, I can’t say that I hate the man, like I do not hate any of them for what happened, but..

Some things just stick, y’know? Like when Price rolled in a bowl of water to waterboard me, just like him. 

Don’t think about that right now, goddamn..

My fingers fidget together as the nurse comes back in with an ice pack wrapped in a white hand towel. I graciously take it, angling it and gently pressing it where there’s swelling. “There you are,” The nurse murmurs with a smile. “I’m going to take the heart monitor’s electrodes off of you now. They’ll be stuck back to your chest when you’re going to bed tonight.” The nurse informs me and I nod, leaning my head back to allow the man to peel them off of me. He quickly switches off the heart monitor machine before it starts making any panicked noises at the fact that it can’t detect a heartbeat. The nurse looks at Gaz and Soap for a moment, folding his hands together.\

“Please try your bests to not stress them out. We need them to be on a good path to healing.” The nurse softly lectures, earning a sorry grin from Soap. “We’ll try, but.. Ye know what we have t’do.” Soap replies, making me tense. At least he seems to feel a little bad about it..

My mind begins to drift back to Makarov; about what he wants to do. About what I’ve already helped him accomplish. It makes me sick to my fuckin’ stomach. What his goals were; what his goals are. I fucking hate my mind, I hate the way it’s trying to protect me from what I’ve seen, what I’ve witnessed and personally have done. Makarov is quite literally military enemy number one and I just.. My mind says no? It bats its eyelashes prettily and asks for a pass at the truth or dare table?? Are you fucking kidding me? And earlier, what the fuck was up with me forgetting about what happened to my fucking jaw?? I should get Soap to restart this whole recording interview process, and better yet, demand a fucking memory evaluation.

“Oi.”

I flinch at a voice snapping me out of my thoughts, and it was Gaz. I look over at him, where he seems weary but slightly worried. Not like Soap, though. It’s obvious he doesn’t trust me yet. I can’t blame him. A few weeks ago, if I came across him, I probably would have put him six feet under. “What’re you thinkin’ about?” He questions, his eyes roaming my face. I glance over at Soap who is sitting in a chair with his sketchbook out once more like I’ve seen. “Just..” I stutter, my fingers fidgeting together for a moment like before. “About.. Makarov. About everything, I guess.”

“Are you ready to talk about it?” Gaz questions, earning a throat clearing from Soap. They give each other a look and I sigh. “Not exactly, but.. I’ll try.” Soap pulls out the hand-held recording device and presses the on button.

The truck rolls up onto a gravel road, driving for a moment before there’s a clearing in the trees; a run-down shitty warehouse, conveniently placed right where no one would hear anything that’s going on inside. From one warehouse to another. The intel suggested they do have many properties, under numerous names to prevent arousing suspicion after a while. Once the truck stops, I look over at Sergei who opens his truck door and hops out. He holds onto the door and looks at me expectantly, so I quickly follow suit. I let out a grunt as my feet hit the gravel and Sergei closes the door, the driver of the truck climbing out as well. “Follow.” Sergei utters, barely giving me an option as he grabs my upper arm and guides me to the side of the warehouse.

The driver follows us close behind and we stop in front of a side door that has a deadbolt and a keypad. Sergei takes out a key from his back pocket and unlocks the top lock before he swiftly enters a key code so quickly that I couldn’t even track where his fingers went. The door beeps and a lock clicks, making Sergei grab the knob and open the door. I swallow nervously as he guides me inside, the overhead lights turned off. I have to trust, or at least feign enough trust to walk into the darkness with these fucks?! Shit..

My shoulders tense as he continues to guide me into the darkness. A part of my mind begins to berate me—it’s stupid to let Sergei guide me, it’s stupid to allow myself to be alone with two of Makarov’s men, that they can probably tell me accent whilst speaking Russian is all fucked. My heart skips a beat as the light above suddenly switches on with a loud hum, making me wince a bit to adjust to the new light. I glance around the space, my eyes landing on two shipping containers, one blue and the other a rusty white. There’s scrape marks on the ground where the doors would swing open. A quiet grunt leaves my throat as Sergei pulls me over to the blue container. I glance at the other man who’s staring me down—creepy…—as Sergei unlatches the large door. I look back at Sergei as the door screeches open, revealing a young man inside; most definitely younger than me. He’s skinny and terrified.

Brown eyes with brown hair, his mouth duct-taped—not just a strip, but there’s duct tape around his head, sticking to his hair–he’s tied to a metal chair, his legs tied as well as his arms. I walk forward into the shipping container, glancing at Sergei who’s crossing his arms. The other man is blocking the exit. Sergei pulls out a knife, which makes me tense but he walks past me and.. Cuts the ropes off of the terrified man? “You will fight him.” Sergei orders, his voice gruff and not leaving any room for argument. I blink for a moment; fight this kid? I nod anyway, watching how Sergei cuts a small square of the duct tape off of the kid’s mouth. The man immediately begins to plead and stutter, causing Sergei to put an index finger to his own lips to shush him.

Fuck. What does this kid have to do with any of this? Did he mess with the wrong person or was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Why is he paying a price for others?

Sergei grabs the man’s wrist and slips him the knife.. What??

“Fight him for the knife.” Sergei orders, stepping back. He walks back to the door, standing with his arms crossed by the other man. I look back at the young man, my heart skipping a beat. Fuck. Fight to the death, huh? It’s not like I can fucking reason with this kid. He has so much to experience in life, and if I win, I’m taking all of that shit away from him. I make eye contact with him and before I can stop myself, I utter, “What’s your name?” The young man pauses, shakily standing up as he clutches the handle of the knife in such an amateur way. His lower lip fucking trembles. “Mikhail.” His voice shakes, teetering the edge of breaking a bit. A tight feeling begins to develop in my sternum. I stand still, watching the way Mikhail is so reluctant to move, hesitant to.. Attack. I tense my jaw because this kid has no fucking chance and I.. I don’t want to hurt him.

Does he have a family? Does Mikhail have siblings, a girlfriend perhaps? Maybe a boyfriend? What about friends? What does he want to do in life as a career? What are his hobbies, his interests? Does Mikhail like sports, or maybe video games? Both? I have so many goddamn questions that are going to die with him. “Get on with it.” I utter, making the man blink at me. Anguish laced frustration flourishes in my gut. “Come on already!” I bark, my eyebrows furrowing, my voice bouncing off of the walls of the shipping container. 

Mikhail stands up from the chair and takes a step towards me on shaky legs.

The air around me, Gaz, and Soap is stale and silent; thick with tension and my eyes are down turned, looking anywhere but their faces. I don’t need to see their judgment for this next part. “What happened next?” Soap asks, almost hesitantly. I take a deep breath, shifting the ice pack against my face for a moment. “I had to yell at him another time, ‘try me’, I yelled, I think. I don’t know why I went the cocky route, it just felt right.” I mutter, swallowing nervously. My chest feels funny. “Well.. He did. He rushed towards me and I saw so many openings yet I chose the most brutal one. I don’t really remember how it happened, but..” I trail off for a moment, closing my eyes as I recount. I see it happen behind my eyelids, I see how his blood splatters and I nearly hear his screams once again. 

I open my eyes again. “..I tore him apart, to be frank.”

There’s a deafening silence once more before I continue. “I got the knife away from him and I just..” I do a stabbing motion for a moment. “..I went at it. I stabbed him over and over, his blood was hot and his screams were..” I trail off, letting out a heavy sigh. “..I’m done for now.”

Soap quietly switches the recording device off; I hear the click. My skin feels warm, like it did when it got soaked with that kid’s blood. My free hand reaches up and brushes against the skin of the arm that is holding the ice pack and it comes back.. Wet?

I quickly pull my hand away and I look at my hand and I’m greeted with the sight of blood?? What the actual fuck—the smell suddenly hits me and it’s fucking overwhelming. I blink and.. I’m back in the fucking shipping container. No, no do not fucking leave me here—there’s blood splattered all over my jacket and jeans, a mangled body on the ground. I drop the knife, and it clatters against the concrete ground. What the fuck. My chest hurts, my skin is on fire, get me out get me out get me out–

I gasp as suddenly there’s pairs of hands on me and I blink and I’m back in the hospital room. I gasp for air and my chest is tight, my head is fucking fuzzy. What’s happening? There’s pairs of hands on each of my arms—Soap? Gaz?---Whoever it is, I don’t hear them. I can hear Sergei, though. His fucking filthy, awful praise for ripping a poor boy apart. I can feel his disgusting hand on my shoulder, the stomach churning weight of his palm slapping my shoulder. Don’t you fucking touch me, Jesus Christ—

There’s something on my face; something warm. Is it hands or is it blood? I can’t tell by this point, not when my reality is fucking.. Melting together with whatever the fuck else I’m seeing. What even is reality by this point?? Maybe I died the night 141 found me. Maybe I bled out, maybe I drowned—something, anything but living. Like I deserve. 

I shouldn’t be allowed to live.

Someone grabs my face again and my jaw flares up, and it feels like I’m being sucked into reality oh so harshly—fuck, that hurts like a bitch—and my blurry vision is filled with a face; someone with blue eyes, a mohawk, crow’s feet..? Soap.

I hiccup, letting out a harsh breath I didn’t even know that was resting in my chest. I push one of his hands away, whatever was the one near the hurt side of my jaw and I see him wince through the.. Through the tears that are springing and burning my eyes. Goddamnit. I didn’t want to cry in front of him, or Gaz. Or anyone, for that matter, actually. It’s embarrassing and I can’t quite place my finger on why yet.

He calls my name; his voice is almost too loud. I almost push him away, I almost curse him out—but I don’t and I don’t know why. My breath shudders, my shoulders bobbing with the movement. My eyes take a long second to focus on his and wow.. His eyes. 

“There ye are, bonnie..” Soap says quietly, his hand on my cheek moving to my shoulder. “Gaz went an’ gone to fetch one of th’nurses. Alrigh’, now take another breath.”

I take another breath and slowly exhale, nodding. “Fuck.” My voice rushes out harsh and raw and I wince from the sound of it. My eyes refocus on his and I just.. The concern lacing his gaze for some reason is.. I don’t know. It’s frustrating me that he seems worried over me—he’s just a fucking glorified babysitter. Just a babysitter. “Oi, y’with me?” Soap asks me, his voice firm—he reiterates his point with a squeeze to my shoulder. I inhale deeply and I nod to let him know I heard him. His eyes soften, the crease between his brows eases as he nods in return. 

My jaw hurts.

I snap out of my shaky stare off with Soap as the door to my room opens. Gaz and the nurse from earlier both waltz in as if they’re on a mission. The nurse walks over to me with a brisk pace, his face searching mine for something; maybe how I’m feeling? Perhaps to see if I’ve.. snapped or something. The nurse calls my name softly and I’m not sure why, but I flinch from it. My name sounds so.. Foreign. I don’t know why. I don’t like that I don’t know. It’s like the way his mouth forms my name is.. Unknown to me. Fucking hell.

The nurse—he calls my name again. I blink and I take a deep breath after another soft, careful squeeze to my shoulder from Soap. “I’m here.” I manage to push out, wincing a tad at how.. strained I sound. “How are you feeling?” The nurse asks with a gentleness that for some reason, annoys me—but I don’t say anything despite the anger brewing underneath my skin. He hasn’t done anything wrong. “Your jaw?”

I clear my throat and I glance at the nurse for a moment; I can feel Soap’s eyes burning into my soul. Maybe Gaz’s, too. Or maybe that is God’s? “Hurts.” I respond simply, earning a sympathetic nod from the nurse. “I’ll make sure to get you some pain meds, hm? What about some food as well?” I shrug, my eyes glancing downward. “Not hungry.” I try to ignore how the air is getting more tense and uncomfortable, despite the kind nurse’s attempts in calming everything down. I just want to be left alone.

Just leave me alone.

🏷️; @hardnutpost @glitterypirateduck @elowynnlane @boycigs @wolfyland07 @escapefromrealitysm @tapioca-marzipan @cj-theyoungling @fullmoon-94 @gothgirl6-6-6 @thriving-n-jiving @paniniii @calloumii @the-spartan-himself @bi-witch-bxtch @dammn-dean @jinxxangel13 @meimhem @hannathetrololol-blog @kool-aidd @aliendous @roarndoodles @supernaturalstilinski @blob-11 @cumbermovels @jisungfanpage @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @lieutenantlashfaz @p3achfairy

this is my undercover series taglist. if you would like to be added, please comment! if you are not tagged, your settings for tagging are off. if you would like to be removed, let me know! no hard feelings :-)

[punkslovepoints]

✨2023 Steddie Fic Recommendations

template from Steddie Support Podcast on twitter

Cutting Close by @anniebass

Steve Harrington is in pain.

No, not, like, psychological one, rather an unshooable bullshit of a headache, all thanks to the Russians squatting underneath a mall, torturing him a smidge.

So, when his two best friends get all chummy with a known weirdo of a drug dealer, Steve first rolls his eyes, then rolls with it, jumping on an occasion to purchase his all-natural head trauma medicine. Except, you have got to be at least cordial with your dealer, to keep the relationship, and when the guy remembers you as a shithead, well. You gotta try harder.

is your light on? by @toburnup

"Tell me a secret," Steve says and Eddie shakes his head.

"Why would I do that?

"I'll tell you one."

Eddie looks intrigued, smirks in his direction. "A secret for a secret? Okay." He looks up. "You go first."

(Steve always noticed Eddie. He's been there on the peripheral, easy enough to ignore. Until he's standing right in front of him, unavoidable. And then they collide over, and over, and over.)

Heed the Ominous Warning of The Talking Heads by audacity_of_bluejays

Steve Harrington thinks he has it all together until he doesn't. A revelation about his feelings for his roommate Eddie followed by an altercation with his asshole father complicates matters more than he expects.

(A 13 going on 30 AU)

i come back to the place you are by @glitterfang

Steve should've known that Eddie was lying when he looked right into Steve's eyes and promised not to try any heroic bullshit. He should've known based on their conversation in the upside down that Eddie felt he had something to prove. And he definitely shouldn't have left Eddie to face the horrors of the Upside Down alone. And now? Now Eddie's in a seemingly unending coma and Steve is wracked with guilt. So, he pours himself into trying to fix his mistake. He helps Uncle Wayne move into a new house, he spends hours in the hospital reading to Eddie, and he even keeps the Corroded Coffin boys company. He's getting to know Eddie really well while Eddie's out cold.

(Steve is surrounded by every single person who loves Eddie Munson. How could he not fall a little bit in love with him?)

Reboot by @plutosrose

In 2012, Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson film a scene in the teen drama Normal Stuff that launches a popular ship on ao3.

By early 2013, they aren't speaking anymore.

In 2024, Robin calls Steve with an offer to reprise his role as Andy Hartley in a reboot of their old show, with one important update--his character gets together with Eddie's.

no reason by @theopteryx

There's a pause. "I'm going to be fine?" Eddie asks, voice also going high and thin.

"You're—sure?"

"Yes."

"Fascinating. Great. Are you—could you do me a favor, then, and maybe just—leave me here anyway?"

"What?" Steve says. "No. Why?"

"No reason," Eddie says, voice tight.

(Eddie kisses Steve in what he thinks are his last moments on earth. Then he doesn't die.)

carve your name into my chest by @hexiewrites

Eddie Munson just wanted to play hockey. That's almost all he's ever wanted, since he was old enough to realize it was an option for him. And now he's at the top of his game, one of the best players in the NHL.

Everything would have been perfect... if it wasn't for the small matter of the thing he's got going with his long time rival, goalie Steve Harrington.

Flashbacks by @eddywoww

"Why is it a secret?" Eddie asked slowly.

Steve felt himself shrugging. He knew why it had to be a secret. His parents would hate Eddie and his long hair, his dirt smudged cheeks. The way he shouted and ran and giggled. They wouldn't like who Steve was around Eddie. Steve knew that, so it had to be a secret.

"It just is." Steve said, looking out to see Elizabeth glaring at him. Frantically waving him over. Time to go home.

leaving like a father, running like water by scoops_ahoy

Steve is still riding the high of what he and Eddie never got to have five years after he died.

Crossed Wires by @entanglednow

Lesson of the day, no matter how busy you are, it's rarely a good idea to let your subconscious take the wheel.

Doll House by @grandmastattoo

Eddie comes of age knowing that sometimes a person doesn’t have to be one of the dead to haunt the living. A ghost can be a memory. A ghost can be a question.

It’s his own ghosts that he holds onto when he first finds himself in Steve Harrington’s house, after.

After the Upside-Down. After Vecna. After Eddie.

Soda Burn by @3minsover

When the upmarket cocktail bar Steve's working at goes out of business, he finds himself in desperate need of a job.

off-script by @pukner

Post season 3, Steve manages to figure out that he's bisexual, despite his best efforts to repress it, comes out to Robin and Jonathan Byers of all people, and figures himself out. Also, there's a cute guy who might be actually insane running the kids' dnd club and he's got his eye on him. And his bandana.

Too bad Eddie Munson hasn't had a similar revelation. He's still under the impression that he's a straight man obsessing over Steve Harrington for normal, extremely heterosexual reasons.

Tuesday’s Gone with the Wind by @thisapplepielife

Corroded Coffin's leased plane went down on June 13th, 1995 in the woods of Louisiana.

Ten people on board died. Eddie Munson survived. Before he survived, he really lived.

senior year, 1985 by tofana

Eddie wakes up naked with King Steve sleeping soundly next to him, and no recollection of how he got there.

Night Drives by @mojowitchcraft

“Are you okay Harrington?” Eddie asks gently, “Need me to get anyone?”

“No one to get,” replies Steve, so soft Eddie barely catches it. “You think I want anyone seeing me like this?"

(Night Drives is an ongoing series, starting with "No One Rides for Free" where Eddie Munson stumbles across Steve Harrington crying next to a bush at Tina's party and makes it his mission to cheer him up. Continuing on as their relationship develops over the course of fall/winter 1984 and beyond.)

i dont want to see you at my party (but i’d love it if you showed up) by nicobloodlust

When Eddie invites him to their first gig back after everything, he thinks, this is it!

Eddie is going to tell him how he feels or Steve will tell Eddie and then! They’ll be together.

He’s having a great time, that’s until he notices Eddie is flirting with someone on his right, a girl closer to the stage, and he starts to worry.

Then both of mine from this year:

The most that I could give to you is nothing at all

They make out in his basement sometimes.

Steve tells himself it's just something they do to blow off steam, to decrease the monotony of post-apocalyptic living. Nothing more.

A few months later, Eddie leaves for the opportunity of a lifetime. Steve ignores his calls, makes sure they get a clean break, that they both get over it. Trouble is neither of them do.

"The A is for Ally"

When he is seventeen Steve Harrington sees Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson pushed up against the side of the late night convenience store with his hands down another guy’s pants.

Unable to stop thinking about it afterwards, it takes him ten years to work out what that means.

(After his friends come out one by one, Steve settles comfortably into his new role as an ally. He moves to the city, joins groups, attends protests, even signs up to a gender studies class. Then in 1991 Eddie comes crashing back into his life.)

[siilvan]

bloodsport – III

prologue | part one | part two | next

characters: vladimir makarov

summary: after a successful escape, you try to convince yourself that the prison and makarov are behind you. things just never seem to go to plan, though.

genre: angst, slowburn, enemies to ?, fem!reader (callsign: petra, no desc.)

warnings: not proofread, cursing, canon-typical violence, poorly written combat, allusions to trauma and stress, mentions of typical murderous behavior from makarov (∶__∶), OG mak's backstory bc we don't know shit about the reboot lol

word count: 5.9k

note: my birthday's on the 3rd, so pls take this as a gift from me to you :) the support on this series has also been insane 😭 you guys are so sweet!! <33

also big shoutout to @roosterr bc i completely copied the way she writes texts in fics LMAO i hope it's okay with you bestie ilysm

"anyone else would be dead already."

what the hell does that mean?

you're lying on your back, absently staring up at the ceiling, those words replaying in your mind over and over again. yet another week has passed since "the incident," as the guards in the corridor so kindly put it.

clearly makarov had given his men a new order after you killed the younger doctor. not only did they avoid touching you, but they hardly even looked in your direction outside of required monitoring. doctor tarkovsky was singlehandedly providing your medical care, as well. the next time you saw the doctor - the morning after the incident - proved to be an interesting experience. while treating you, he made a comment about "the commander seeming angry."

you add it to your ever-growing list of questions.

blaring alarms interrupt your somewhat peaceful pondering. you shoot up, instinctively reaching for your belt to grab your gun, only to be reminded that you're unarmed. the guards in the hall are shouting at each other, appearing just as surprised as you are.

carefully, you rise from the bed and cross the room, trying to listen to what they're saying. if there was one benefit to your captivity, it was the small bit of russian that you've picked up on. amongst the frantic chatter, you can make out a few words:

attack. small team. breached. combat. prisoner.

your chest tightens as you step back from the door. the base is under attack, and whomever is leading the charge is enough of a threat to raise the alarms. a small team could never hope to contend with an entire ultranationalist stronghold, though. there's only one man, one team, that could succeed despite being so heavily outnumbered.

the one-four-one.

it has to be them. they're the only ones bold enough to stage an attack, and the only ones capable of pulling it off.

even if it's someone else, they're your ally now, and your only hope of making it out of here alive.

you can see the guards scrambling outside your cell, frantically following whatever orders were being barked at them through their radios. for now, they seem to disregard your presence in favor of organizing their forces to combat the threat, but you know it won't last. contrary to the size of the prison, you're the only captive being held here; any mention of "prisoner" is referring to you.

the area quiets down as most of the men rush to aid their fellow soldiers, leaving only the alarm to keep you company. you mentally curse as you consider your very limited options. without a set of keys to escape this cell, you're stuck here.

a purposeful set of footsteps rapidly approaching makes the decision for you. quickly, you dive just out of sight of the door, pressing your back to the wall. the person stops just outside and grumbles to himself as you hear the sound of keys jingling in the lock. the iron door swings open, and you bite down on your bottom lip to keep quiet as he stares into the empty space, confusion evident in the grunt that leaves him.

a second passes before he steps into the room, scanning the far side of it. your eyes fall to the knife on his belt, easily removable if you're fast enough, and you dive for it before he can turn around.

you tear the blade from its sheath and swiftly plunge it into the side of his neck, ripping a strangled cry from the soldier as he reacts too slowly to save himself. you pull him to the ground and lay his body flat, releasing a sharp breath once you confirm the kill. temporary relief floods your system, hastening your movements as you collect as much of his gear as you can.

immediately after you secure the last strap of the armor vest, you hear voices calling out from somewhere close by. searching for the guy you just killed, you assume. with one final gear check, you move to the same spot against the wall and wait for the group to get closer.

the first of the bunch steps into the room and freezes at the sight of the other man, and you take the opportunity to drop him with the rifle you had collected. the remaining members, two or three men, are quick to respond once the gunshots ring out. you peek around the corner as they rush forward with their guns drawn, electing to start the gunfight yourself.

you manage to shoot one down before the others notice you. a bullet whizzes past your head as you aim down the barrel and shoot another, forcing you to duck back into cover.

"you're cornered. come out and i'll let you live." the final soldier says, frustration lacing his command. you sit still, lying in wait until his impatience overpowers his better judgement. a tense silence fills the air between you, only broken by the soldier groaning and coming to you instead.

he circles the corner, weapon at the ready, but scans the room in too wide an arc. you finish him off and peek out into the hall again, finding it completely vacant.

the radios on the soldiers bodies suddenly come to life, and you hear a familiar voice on the other end. you pick one of them up and attempt to decipher the question to no avail. however, there is one word that you understand. prisoner.

"you should've sent a bigger group," you speak into the radio, feeling your lips twitch into a smile at the way makarov stops short.

he merely chuckles, though, and the smile drops. "you continue to impress me, lieutenant. let's see if you can escape." he replies, relaxed as ever. he switches channels, and the radio goes silent.

you travel down the path you took the first day, when makarov was accompanying you. there's little resistance beyond a few stragglers that you dispatch with ease. most of the forces are focused on the invaders, too busy to properly deal with you as you attack from behind. the number of enemies ahead of you increases the further you go - a sign that you're heading in the right direction.

eventually, you reach an exterior door and push it open.

to say the situation is chaotic would be an understatement. soldiers are hurrying across fields, arming themselves and their allies, shouting out various commands and information. you duck low and stick to the shadows, doing your best to avoid a firefight now that the enemy solidly has the advantage.

you make some distance and perk up at the sounds of gunfire. you've stumbled across the main battle. with a renewed sense of hope to push you forward, you go towards it, ending up crouched next to an APC as you search through the chaos for any friendly faces.

one of the nearby vehicles erupts into flames moments later, catching you off-guard and stealing your attention from the fight. scrambling to your feet, you stiffen as something smooth and cold is pressed against the back of your skull. the barrel of a gun. you raise your hands in surrender and pray that the person holding the weapon can be reasoned with.

"wait," a deep voice, husky and all too familiar, speaks from behind you. "petra? 's that you?" the man, captain price, lowers his gun, allowing you to spin around and look at him.

you're almost ready to shed tears upon seeing his face, equal parts concern and relief etched into his hard expression. he grabs ahold of your shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze as you nod, silently answering his question. a dark figure emerges from behind one of the vehicles at price's back and catches your eye.

the stark white skull mask instantly gives away his identity: ghost. he stops at your side, eyes crinkling behind the mask, and you can tell that he's giving you a happy look.

your eyes leave the pair and scan the area, hunting for the last two members of the team. there's no movement aside from the fighting and chaos in the distance. your gaze flits back to price as a lump begins to form in your throat and every scenario that you've cooked up during your captivity floods into your mind.

"where's soap and gaz?" you ask, voice sounding meek compared to the way you spoke earlier. price, clearly sensing the deeper meaning behind your words, pats your shoulder in a comforting gesture before withdrawing his hand.

"they're here, no need to worry," he starts, motioning for you to follow him. "the sergeants are protecting our backsides, making sure the chopper has a clear path. we're gonna meet 'em at the southside of the prison and exfil from there."

you fall in line with the two, muscle memory all but taking over as you repeat your prior strategy; keep to the shadows and only engage the enemy if absolutely necessary. the location that price described isn't terribly far and shouldn't be difficult to reach, so long as you don't get caught up in too many fights.

ghost contacts the sergeants as you move, updating them on your position. you learn through the conversation that the team came for you, and only you - makarov isn't a concern of theirs, even once you inform price of his presence. we'll slot the bastard once you're back on your feet, he says.

"we're gettin' close, it's just up here." ghost mutters lowly. you tighten your grip on your gun, anticipation steadily building inside of you the closer you get to the rendezvous point. you're this close to freedom, this close to putting this hellish place in the past and reuniting with your team. al-mazrah, the missile, your capture, makarov– all of them would sequester themselves to nothing more than memories.

a black hawk flies overhead before touching down at the designated spot. one of the back doors swing open just as it lands, revealing gaz's smiling face. he steps aside to allow the three of you to board, giving you an eager side-hug as you shuffle past him.

"petra, happy to see you in one piece!" soap's exclamation startles you as much as it overjoys you to hear, and you're suddenly swept up into a bone-crushing hug by the scotsman upon passing gaz.

"soap–! johnny, you're squeezing me too hard–!" you gasp out, still attempting to hug the man back despite your bones being turned to mush from the pressure. he releases you almost as quickly as he scooped you up and mutters an apology. said apology barely registers in your head due to the sight he greets you with, though.

there's a nasty scar over his left eye, jagged and obviously still in the process of healing. soap hardly seems to care about it, instead grinning at you like you were revived from the dead. you tap the area below your own eye to signal to him, brows furrowing in confusion. his hand mirrors your action and his face lights up, an audible "oh" falling from his lips.

"got it in al-mazrah," he says, waving off your worried look. "makes me look pretty cool, right?" he adds with a glance around the cabin, earning an affirmative hum from price and a shrug from ghost.

gaz snorts, slumping down on one of the seats and giving him a thumbs-up. "looks wicked, mate."

you collapse into another seat with a breezy laugh. "i'm just thankful that you're alive, all of you. i was starting to doubt whether you'd come." you confess, sharing a somber look with the rest of them.

ghost breaks the mood with a shake of his head. "'course we came. we're a team, no man left behind." he keeps his gaze locked on you as he talks, bringing an appreciative smile to your lips. your attention shifts to the window at your side, watching the stronghold fade away as the helicopter lifts off the ground and departs. you refuse to tear your eyes away until it disappears over the horizon, allowing you to take a deep breath for the first time in weeks.

⋆⋆⋆

upon arriving in safe territory, you're almost instantly pulled into a brief, but strong hug by laswell, who was waiting on the airstrip as the team landed. you're ushered into the base's medical wing by her and price for a proper checkup, which, thankfully, goes by swiftly. you've had enough of doctors and medicine to last you a lifetime.

"you're sending me home?" you ask, practically jumping up from the examination table you were sitting on. your gaze darts back and forth between price and laswell, irritation boiling under your skin as they try to placate you.

"y'need to rest, petra. you've just been through two weeks of hell." price responds, putting his hand on your shoulder and urging you to sit back down. you shrug it off and shake your head.

"captain, i was given a clean bill of health!" you argue while waving your arms in front of yourself. your wounds from the missile had mostly healed, reduced to minor marks on your skin and a raised scar on your side that was gradually fading. "i just want to get back in the field– i've been out of commission for weeks!"

laswell steps toward you, meeting your gaze with a sympathetic look. "it's protocol, lieutenant. you may be fine enough to work for now, but we can't put you or the team at risk." she counters, crossing her arms over her chest. "you need to recover." she adds a second later, earning a frustrated huff from you.

you know you'd be saying the same thing in their position. if it was price, ghost, soap, gaz– if any of them were captured, you'd be forcing them to take time off, too. you can't shake everything that's happened, though. you don't have much to show in the way of torture-related injuries, but the isolation alone was enough to make your head spin. you never felt safe, always waiting and anticipating makarov's next move. the longer you went without seeing or hearing about him, the more your suspicions grew.

a break would give you the chance to collect your thoughts and break yourself out of the doubt that's been stewing in your head ever since that first meeting. in the field, you need to be confident and decisive. there's no room for hesitation and self-doubt.

"we'll keep you updated," price starts, regarding you with a reassuring smile. "and, this won't be forever. just long enough for you to get your head on straight, yeah?"

you deliberate on it, eyes falling to the floor, and nod slowly. he's right. you're not reliable in this state.

"okay." you concede, focus shifting back to the two.

you're heading out again by the evening, saying your goodbyes to the squad on the very same airstrip that you landed on earlier in the day. soap nearly crushes you in another hug, forcing price to yank him off before you suffocate, gaz reminds you about ten different times to call if you need anything, and ghost runs down a lengthy list of relaxation techniques whilst loading your bags in the helicopter.

it's nigh-impossible to be upset about the situation when it's made clear that they don't want you to go, either. after two weeks of constant stress, everyone just wants to be together again.

you get so caught up in your impromptu partings that you fail to notice the unidentified soldier watching you from across the field. even the ever-attentive captain price misses the soldier dialing a number on his phone, his eyes narrowing as the chopper lifts off with you inside.

⋆⋆⋆

you step foot in your flat well after the sun's gone down. it's silent, save for the soft padding of your socks against the floor after you kick off your boots. your bags are abandoned at the end of your bed, something you'll unpack later, and you shed your jacket before tossing it on top of the pile.

makarov... what's his story?

with a low sigh, you rub at your tired eyes with the heels of your palms and try to erase the question that's been plaguing you for longer than you'd like to admit. between laswell's intel and the stories price has told, you can paint a picture of who the man is.

a person ruled by his ambition, you've determined. while price's stories were more focused on his own experiences with makarov and his allies, what laswell provided was concrete: he massacred civilians like it was nothing. what could possibly drive a man to that point?

the trip back home proved fruitless, with most results online simply listing information deemed "safe" for the public. you need to know more about him - you need a source that isn't going to sugarcoat or hide the ugly truth. most importantly, you need someone who can get you personal details.

you fish your phone out of your pocket and scroll through your contacts list. laswell is an option, but she's not likely to give you anything while you're supposed to be taking time off work.

a name - or rather, a codename - pops up in the list. your thumb hovers over the contact, debating on whether or not to call.

you give in and click the "call" button after a moment's consideration. the line rings until a cheerful voice greets you.

"ah, lieutenant!" nikolai beams, sounding far too energized at this hour. "price told me about the successful prison break, congrats on surviving the ultranationalists."

"thanks, nik." you chuckle at his enthusiasm. "is there any chance i could ask you for a favor? i need information, stuff that i think only you can get." you nervously shift your weight while asking the question, worried that you might be hitting a dead end.

"information? about what?"

"makarov."

nikolai goes quiet, and you think he's going to deny your request. but, just as you open your mouth to justify it, he speaks.

"you want private informaton, yes?" he mutters, causing you to let out a deep breath. "price hasn't told you everything, and you want to research the man that captured you. that is to be expected."

"give me a little time, i'll send you whatever i can find." he continues. you can hear typing in the background after, signaling that he was following through with it. you tell him goodbye with a small "thanks" and hang up, an immense weight lifting off your fatigued shoulders.

a hot shower would be nice right now. you haven't had one in weeks, and nikolai said that gathering everything would take a while. you might as well use the break instead of sitting around and twiddling your thumbs while waiting for him.

you trudge to the bathroom and turn the water on, stripping out of your clothes and leaving your phone on the counter. you hop in the shower and feel your aching muscles relax as soon as the warm water washes over them, soothing weeks of pain and discomfort. when you get out and wrap a towel around yourself, you finally feel relatively at ease for the first time since your escape.

your phone buzzes from nearby, and you blink at the screen after picking it up. a message from nikolai stares back at you.

sent what i have, hope it helps 22:43 pm

thanks, appreciate it! 22:43 pm

i'll let you know if i find anything else 22:44 pm

you quickly dry off and get dressed in more comfortable clothes, grabbing your laptop as you stroll into the living room and get settled on the couch. it only takes a couple minutes to access the files that nikolai sent, and upon seeing a page of folders to look through, you're left shocked at the sheer amount of information he gave.

it's overwhelming, just how much makarov has done in his career - if you can even call international terrorism a "career." you decide to begin at the top of the list, shaking off the uneasy feeling that settles in the pit of your stomach.

the contents of the folder go from typical, almost expected, crimes from someone like him, to acts that make you understand why price is wary of him. you sift through each file, studying the contents as if you're going to be quizzed on them, each word acting as another nail ripped out of your coffin.

the list of crimes seems endless. kidnapping, torture, trafficking, bombings, assassinations, mass murder... not only are you lucky to be uninjured, you're lucky to be alive. the privilege of being a "special" target, you presume. if not for your position in the task force, you'd be lying dead in a ditch or tortured to the brink of insanity. your stomach churns at the thought.

eventually, you reach a folder named "personal." it lives up to its name, as when you access it, the files are all details about the man himself. some of the basic information is known to you already, but most of it is entirely new - stuff you're sure was intentionally hidden away from curious eyes.

what you can find of his life before he began his reign of terror both answers your questions and adds more to the list. he was a paratrooper, a captain in the spetsnaz, regarded as a master in the field despite the list of complaints on his file. many of the men under his command considered him a natural leader; charismatic, cunning, but harsh in his methods. he received several comments from the higher-ups about his alarming behaviors, but it all came to a head when he was investigated for war crimes. he left the military to avoid the charges.

somehow, the crimes that got him discharged seem mild compared to what he's done since. you can't wrap your brain around why makarov treated you so... kindly, given everything you've read. he should have ended your life or made it a living hell, but instead, you got regular medical treatment, decent conditions, and mostly left alone during your imprisonment.

you sit back from the screen, sluggishly running a hand down your face. makarov didn't fight to keep you captured. if anything, he was happy to let you escape. it doesn't make sense. he went through the effort of capturing you alive and gained nothing from it. for a man that favors the zero-sum game, he's not playing it well.

unless this is his gain. getting in your head, confusing you, forcing you to think about him when you should be focusing on recovering. he's bogging you down, preventing you from being reliable for your teammates.

or, maybe you're looking into things too deeply. overestimating just how clever one man can be.

your phone buzzes from its spot on the cushion, and you blink at the bright screen, squinting to read the notification. it's a text message from an unknown number. a few different people flash through your mind, potential allies that could have changed their numbers recently, but no one stands out. you exhale and click the notification to open up the message fully.

feeling well? 12:35 am

you stare at the message for a minute. it can’t be price or any of the boys, you already have their phone numbers. you highly doubt that laswell changed hers without updating you, and nikolai probably hasn’t change his in the two hours since your last conversation. just as you go to type a response, two more messages pop up.

recovering at home is preferable, isn't it? 12:36 am

much more comfortable than a medical wing. 12:36 am

who is this? 12:37 am

take a guess - m 12:37 am

a chill creeps up your spine as the realization dawns on you. it's makarov; not only does he have your phone number, but he knows you're not at base. he's managed to track your location in less than six hours.

you drop your phone on the coffee table and shoot a wary glance around the room before checking to make sure your front door is locked. once you're sure of it, you start to pace around the room, wringing your hands together. the smart decision would be to call someone - price, laswell, one of the boys, someone that can get here quickly or send a person in their place.

you're not defenseless by any means, but there's no telling what makarov knows. he could be halfway across the world or in the very same city, and you have no way of finding out without putting yourself at risk. you may have gotten lucky in al-mazrah, but you can't rely on luck.

your phone lights up again, and from your position a few feet away, you can just barely make out what the screen says.

let's talk, lieutenant. 12:40 am

no fucking way. you're not entertaining the madman that you just escaped.

you need to get out; take a walk, clear your head. makarov knows where you are, but that doesn't mean he's actually here. for all you know, it could be a lucky guess. you throw on a jacket and slip on a pair of shoes before shoving your phone in your pocket, hastily stumbling out the door. the crisp night air hits you the second you step out, making you draw your jacket tighter around yourself as you start down the sidewalk.

your brisk - practically panicked - walk does little to calm your nerves initially. you have to force yourself to slow down, strolling along at a more leisurely pace. after a couple minutes, your shoulders droop and the panic begins to dissipate.

the late hour means that you're the only person out right now. all you have for company is the occasional breeze that sweeps past, and you think that you prefer it this way.

until your phone buzzes. you stop dead in your tracks and pick it up, letting out a relieved breath at soap's name flashing on the screen. you answer the call with an easy smile.

"hey! i didn't expect you to pick up," soap laughs on the other end. "realized how late it was after dialin' your number." he adds, pulling a chuckle from you.

"haven't been able to sleep, so i figured i'd take a walk." you shrug, as if he can see you.

"ah, figured you'd pass out the second you landed." he concedes while you absentmindedly toe at the ground, eyeing your surroundings. "just wanted to check in– make sure everything is going okay with you."

for a moment, you debate on mentioning the messages from makarov. logically, it's the right thing to do; your team needs to know about any potential threats. however, there's a little part of you that hesitates to say anything. you feel the urge to keep it a secret, to wait and see what happens. makarov's given you useful intel before, maybe you can get more out of him.

"yeah, i'm doing all right," you mutter, reassuring soap. "just want to get back to work as soon as i can. i miss you guys."

soap gives you an appreciative hum. "y'just gotta heal up quick, l.t.! we're all missing you here. ghost and price are meaner than you are."

"they're not 'mean,' they just don't tolerate as much nonsense from you and gaz as i do." you counter with a playful laugh, pulling a groan from soap.

"it's not nonsense, it's– what?" soap suddenly stops talking, and you hear a voice in the background of the call. he says something to the person before exhaling dramatically and speaking into the phone again. "sorry 'bout that, it was price. apparently we've got somethin' to handle– a wrecked shadow company transport, i think. i'll send a message after we're done, yeah?"

you wave your hand while talking, again, as if he can see you. "don't worry about it, just stay safe out there. let me know how it goes."

the two of you exchange quick goodbyes and you end the call with a smile still plastered on your face. your brows furrow as you immediately receive another call, though. the number that flashes across the screen makes you grip the phone tighter, your knuckles turning white from the strain.

makarov, of course. you decline the call with an irritated sigh and spin on your heel, heading back to your apartment. another one comes through seconds later, which you choose to simply ignore this time. you speed up the short walk to your front door and slam it closed behind you, locking it just as quickly.

"you are surprisingly difficult to get ahold of, petra."

you whip around and press your back to the door, locking eyes with the man you tried so desperately to avoid. makarov stands in the middle of the room, a smug grin on his face, his arms loosely crossed over his chest as he stares you down.

"how the hell did you find me so fast?" you sneer at him, hand tightening around the set of keys in your palm. he's wearing a thick vest and armor plates - they won't save you, but the keys might buy you enough time to reach the gun in your bedroom.

"i have my ways," he tilts his head to the side, moving to lean against the back of your couch. "i needed to speak with you, and you weren't answering the phone. this was my only option."

you scoff at the claim, briefly loosening your grip. "no, you also have the option of leaving me alone." you argue, stepping further into the room. "besides killing you, we don't have any business to discuss."

"is that so?" makarov chuckles, glancing over his shoulder. you follow his gaze and land on your laptop. it's turned on again, with one of the pages detailing his personal history displayed on the screen. "you'll be very interested in what i have to say, lieutenant."

you bite your tongue, shifting your weight and dragging your focus back to him. "fine. tell me, then."

makarov straightens, his gaze flitting back to you. the edges of the keys dig into the skin of your palm, the bite of the cold metal keeping you grounded as he stalks toward you, like a predator approaching a prey animal. those alarm bells start going off in your head again, every instinct screaming at you to preemptively strike or run.

when he's a few feet away, you lunge. jabbing your keys forward, you try to hit one of the weak spots of his vest, aiming for the one of the gaps near the straps.

the training he underwent years ago is made readily apparent as makarov easily grabs your wrist and twists it, disarming you in one smooth motion. you try to use your other hand to break free, only to end up with both hands in his iron grip. you're spun around and shoved against the wall with your hands behind your back, trapped between your bodies.

you struggle, but that only encourages him to tighten his grip, firmly pinning your hands. he presses forward, using his own body weight to prevent you from fighting him off.

"you're predictable, petra," he mutters, the comment making you thrash against him. "you can't see past yourself– i am freely offering you information that your allies would die to gather themselves. take advantage of this generosity."

"i hate you," you seethe, writhing and trying to break free of his hold. he doesn't budge even a little, chuckling softly next to your ear as he leans in closer.

"good. i like that." makarov murmurs, his voice low and controlled, warm breath fanning over your skin. heat floods through your veins when he speaks, which you attribute to anger towards him.

until he nudges you again, his upper body falling almost perfectly in line with the curve of your back, his hands loosening slightly and providing your red-marked wrists with some relief. it just now occurs to you how close he is, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your spine forcing your own staggering breathing to calm itself and match his. his cropped hair tickles the side of your ear as he hovers next to you, his side profile visible in the edge of your vision.

you bite your tongue again, though for a different reason than earlier. holding any feelings but hatred and contempt for your enemy - you might as well mark yourself as a traitor if that happens. you can't allow yourself to fall for the games that he's definitely playing with you. the task force needs you, and they need whatever intel makarov can provide you with right now.

"i can be civil," you concede, barely above a whisper. "i won't attack if you don't." you add a moment later, pursing your lips.

you can see the edge of his lips twitch from the corner of your eye. makarov releases your wrists after a beat and steps back, giving you enough space to turn around and face him, pressing your back flat against the wall.

"do you trust the commander of shadow company?" he asks, bluntly. you narrow your gaze, huffing at the thought.

"graves? not by a longshot. i can trust him enough to shoot your guys before he shoots me, but that's it." you reply in an equally blunt tone.

"do you believe he is attached to the general's plans?" he says, and you deliberate before shaking your head. it wouldn't make sense, given graves' recent allyship with urzikstan. makarov continues, appearing satisfied with your answer. "you're correct. the shadow is not aware of shepherd's plans any more than your team is."

"how does this help me?"

"you will need him to cooperate in order to take down general shepherd," makarov asserts. you tilt your head curiously, urging him to elaborate. "which means, unfortunately, that you will have to work with him. my men can handle the general's lap dogs, but commander graves is the only person that can locate the general himself."

of course. your catalogue of enemies that you have no choice but to work with just keeps expanding.

"i see." you mumble, fingers twitching at the prospect of working with graves. tolerating his soldiers is one issue, but the commander is a whole other ballpark. "i still don't understand– why are you giving me all of this?"

makarov finally tears his gaze from yours for the first time since you separated. he walks over to the front door, right next to your spot against the wall, and unlocks it with a small twist of the lock. he turns toward you, though his eyes do not lift to yours again.

"the enemy of my enemy is my friend," he utters, swinging the door open. "we'll be in touch. do not ignore me next time i contact you."

you nearly miss his eyes flicking up to your face, the action so short that it feels like a trick of the light. he walks out of your apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft thud, stopping you from watching him as he disappears into the night. you don't think you want to know where he goes, but one thing that you can say for certain is that it won't be the last you see of him.

you'll be seeing him even sooner than you can imagine.

taglist: @sofasoap, @roosterr, @rohansregret, @lonesome-doves, @thorrsexual, @miss-nob0dy, @woodeelf, @fbs-fc-ur-mommy, @soap-mactavish, @itsyellow, @johfaam0, @cumbermovels, @chxe-zdechnac, @imagineswritersblog, @emorgz33, @k4rthon, @ponyboys-sunsets, @frazie99, @chensipstea

⋆ feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist! (18+ only please <3)

[shrekyaoi]

If you ever had to pick an actor to play live action Yuri who would you pick?

vin diesel putting on a really garbage russian accent. that or. idk. some random no-name guy who crawled out of the woodwork that looks slightly diseased and also like a leather daddy. i have a vision

[four-leafed-queer-gal]

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧Hi there! You can call me Clover!𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧toki! mi kala Kowe, anu soweli Kowe, anu waso Kowe!𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

‧₊˚🌿✩ ₊˚🪵⊹♡‧₊˚🌿✩ ₊˚🪵⊹♡

I AM NOT ON POST LIMIT

I hate to do this, because there are some genuine and important donation pages and the like out there, but a few bad apples mess it up for everyone I suppose.

ATTENTION EVERYONE:

UNLESS WE ARE MUTUALS, DO NOT SEND ME ASKS WITH DONATION LINKS. IF YOU DO, I WILL ASSUME YOU ARE A BOT AND YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.

More below the cut :3

♡ 17 years old, & a Saggitarius! Turning 18 in approx. 2 months!

♡ ✨Taken✨ by the amazing @theacemagpie, the Black Bat to my Spoiler 8/7/2024 (Or 7/8/2024, if you use DD/MM/YYYY)

♡ my pronouns are she/they! 🏳️‍⚧️

♡ I have ASD, BPD, and ADHD ☘️

♡ I love languages! I can only speak English fluently, but I'm learning Old Norse, Old English, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, toki pona, Russian, and Albanian! I also speak a little bit of French, thanks to school & friends! 🗣️

♡ I like Marvel, PJO, Avatar (Both blue people and not blue people), Batman, Hunger Games, Suits (The show), Skyrim, Ben 10 (Not the reboot), and more! ✨

♡ Therian! Theriotypes: Spotted Hyena, Sea Wolf, Viperfish, Vampire Bat, Arctic Fox, Eleonora's Falcon, Moth, Barracuda, Thresher Shark, Raven, & Cheetah (Plus others I haven't figured out yet)

♡ my favourite animals are dinosaurs 🦖

♡ I love to read 📚

♡ I enjoy writing! ✏️

♡ Pagan! I worship the Norse, Egyptian, Celtic, Roman, Greek, pretty much everybody! I'm very eclectic. My patron is Loki, They're mín Móðir. The others I work with the most are The Morrígan, The Twin Archers (Apollo & Artemis), and Thoth!

"People are going to talk shit about you no matter what. May as well give them an interesting topic!" - Mín Móðir

𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

Please DNI if: you’re queerphobic, anti-self dx, someone who supports beastiality, zoophilia, pedophilia, rape, etc, or if you’re racist, ableist, sexist, or fascist. Be nice! I won't hesitate to block assholes, or bigots ✨☘️

"Be humble, be kind, but don't be afraid to drag the fucker who crosses the line" - Me

✩°𓏲⋆🌿. ⋆⸜ 🍵✮˚

Side blogs! Pls interact with them?

- @cass-daughter-o-ari RP blog for my PJO OC, Cass Clemens!

- @the-axolotl-queen Blog for the Axolotl Kingdom! I'm the Queen, obvs-

- @montoya-son-o-nemesis RP blog for my PJO OC, Jason Montoya!

- @lucas-bane-son-of-punishment RP blog for my PJO OC, Lucas Bane!

- @lughs-lightheaded-son RP blog for my Celtic PJO OC, Aidan O'Neil!

- @daughter-of-the-cailleach RP blog for my Celtic PJO OC, Taran Keir!

- @ronan-child-of-ogham RP blog for my Celtic PJO OC, Ronan Callahan!

- @behold-a-man-everyday Behold! A man! Everyday!

- @diogenes-totally-real Diogenes the Cynic gimmick blog!

- @aeolus-the4winds RP blog for Aeolus, Notos, Zephyros, Boreas, Euros, Aeolus, Auster, Favonius, Aquilon, and Vulturnus!

- @the-fmby-north-carolina-totally Gimmick blog, a Femboy North Carolina!

- @antiquitian-empire-real Gimmick blog, Antiquitian Empire! A micronation!

- @literally-the-first-state Gimmick blog, Delaware! The first state in the United States!

- @four-leafed-queer-writing Writing blog! I'll reblog writing tips, and sometimes post original stories of mine!

- @four-leafed-pagan-gal Pagan blog! Reblogs for things relating to the Old Gods and other pagany and/or witchy things!

✩°𓏲⋆🌿. ⋆⸜ 🍵✮˚

Here are some of my cool humans (moots)! 💚

♡ @theacemagpie My amazing girlfriend! A fellow fan of numerous fandoms, and a speaker of multiple languages! <3

♡ @star-dust-shark Mack! He's a super cool dude, and who made most of this intro post! Go check out his blog!

♡ @lucas-iamgod Lucas! He's also a really cool guy, you should check out his blog!

♡ @hugs4neth-official Neth + others! They're all really cool, and in my experience are nice.

♡ @green-thighs-save-lives I honestly don't know much about him, but he's a nice, chill guy from our interactions.

♡ @violet-hady Hady! Great person, good friend, though always tells me to be healthy and stuff-

♡ @ankoku-teion Irish, fellow trans something??? She's currently debating between three names, I'll update with whatever she chooses when results are released :]

♡ @poemsofanentomologist An anentomologist! They're really cool, they write poetry and have inspired me once or twice to write some of my own!

♡ @gaygoose09 Fellow therian and fellow hyena, very awesome! Check out their blog!

♡ @i-am-thoroughly-confused A fellow therian & fellow bat! They are a good being :3

♡ @poppitron360 A fellow PJO enjoyer! They've got great takes on Riordanverse stuff, y'all should check out their blog!

♡ @justagremlinoncaffeine Gremlin! Cool person, really nice, I've enjoyed every interaction I have with them.

♡ @unstableunicornsofasgard Forrest! Also a great person, ¡y el habla español!

♡ @theacemagpie Magpie! An amazing person! Honestly can't believe it took me this long to add her to my pinned, lol-

♡ @peace-love-and-french-toast Amazing human! I sometimes do PJO rps with them, and with a bunch of others! They run @cabinseventheaterchick, and do a darn good job!

♡ @lizzzzzzzzzzzzzz---lol We haven't interacted much, but Liz is a great person, and what little interaction we have had has been good!

♡ + All my other moots! I have a lot, so I can't list all of y'all, but you're all amazing!

₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ﾟ.

"Either walk like you're the Queen, or like you don't care who the Queen is." - Lady Artemis

Have a nice time! <3

(Note: Intro post was made by @star-dust-shark!! If you want one like it, go check out Mack's blog!!)

[therabbitthatpostthings]

Okay let’s talk about Murder Drones.

SPOILERS FOR EP 7 LIKE A LOT LIKE ALL OF IT. MURDER DRONES SPOILERS HERE

Let’s start with the stuff I was right about.

Damn you tumblr and your limited image count

Tessa is Cyn/Absolute Solver:

I should not have been as happy about that scene as I was but I felt vindicated. Amongst my friend group everyone was thinking Tessa was the last human or working with Cyn/AS. Not me! I knew that little freak was in there and I’m so happy I was right. I also noticed that when Tessa is scanned she is never registered as a human.

(In order: Doll, Uzi, The Sentinel)

Also she is just dismissive and rude to her supposed “friends”. She tells Uzi not to date “her robot”, blindly thought V and N would just follow her despite the “company” stranding them and of course orders J to mind her ship. Not to mention telling Uzi to wait in the box while her and N take care of everything else.

Someone else mentioned that Tessa despite being way older now should be as tall as her mother was but yet she is still the same height as N and can lift him. Disassembly Bots are a lot heavier than Worker Drones.

Edit: Tessa also understands Doll. It makes sense of the Drones too but Tessa (possibly American with a British accent cause her parents are posh posers) Elliot probably doesn’t know Russian.

Cyn made the Disassembly Drones:

Nori straight up confirms this so not surprised. Ep5 showed Cyn/AS was capable of resetting them in the mansion. Also in the first episode when N is restarted first by Uzi and then J, it showed that the system admin is Cyn and not JCJensen. We see it briefly in Ep5 before Uzi becomes the System Admin. This is also shown when Cyn/AS tries to reboot N by bringing back his memories but can’t.

This also leads me to think that their memories are erased from planet to planet. We know that there are plenty of disassembly bots but only J, N and V remain. I do think it would be a stretch to say that every bot is just a clone of these three. My point is, they have destroyed other planets. J and N may not be as aware as V is but this has taken a toll on all of them. My main reasoning behind this is that in N’s flashback we see a world about to be destroyed. Drones and humans are being slaughtered. I think Cyn/AS sends bots to the world and when the world implodes she just reboots them to a new server body. We know that “effective drones were cloned more”. Makes V statement more accurate, Cyn/AS will keep doing the same horrors in as many bodies as she needs to get what she wants.

Edit: this point will not completely inaccurate does imply that they have cleared other planets. We could easily be only talking about Earth. Unlike Copper 9 the earth is well…the EARTH. Cyn’s backups of N, J and V could have easily been destroyed in the fight to clear out the earth, hence why those three have so many clones ready to go. All we know is that JCJenson did have other colonies and the Earth is destroyed. Nothing says that Disassembly Drones have gotten to those planets yet or at all.

Onto the other stuff now.

Absolute Solver = Vampirism

The disassembly drones have always had the allusion to vampires (N sleeps upside down, can’t be in the sun, need for oil, etc). I didnt think it would take a somewhat literal aspect. So we know that Absolute Solver program can create organic material but we didn’t question the how. When I posted yesterday about the oil vs “not oil”, after rewatching it on my TV I can confidently say, It’s not oil. It’s blood.

So Solver needs blood to make organic material which is why Solver infected bots can bleed. Something we kinda knew when N regrew his head and Alice dissecting Disassembly Drones. And you know, Solver straight up saying “Let’s eat!”.

Which explains why Cyn/AS took over Tessa. A self sufficient, self-feeding, suit that would keep her safe on Cooper 9. Also to access the database to get the list of infected drones.

Edit: I forgot to mention that Cyn/AS literally eats Doll’s core. Her HEART.

I also meant that AS infected Drones and Disassembly Drones don’t ONLY need Oil. They (Uzi, N, V, J, Doll, Cyn/AS) need and/or consum both.

There is no saving Cyn

Yeah she’s gone. At this point the only thing keeping Cyn alive would be the Solver, if she she is alive. The fact that all of Solver’s admin goes in between absolutesolver_ and _cyn means that they are one and the same by now. Not really a theory just something I’ve been thinking on.

Uzi and N

He is so lame your honor I love him. I truly believe they’ve been “dating” since post-prom. Dating in a way that neither of them realized was dating. EP6 would have been the most definitive showing of that. I also believe V knew and said nothing.

These fucking losers I love them so much:

Thanks to Khan saying Uzi’s interest include “cannibalism and Nightcore”, it’s fair to assume Nori was still eating people/oil before she got “killed”.

[secular-jew]

This commentary entitled “Europe Died in Auschwitz” was authored by Sebastián Vivar Rodriguez and first published on November 21, 2004, by the Spanish website Gentiuno, and then later, published in a Spanish newspaper. But no one by that name has been found to exist, so the author's name is likely a pseudonym.

""I walked down the streets in Barcelona and suddenly discovered a terrible truth: Europe died in Auschwitz.

We killed six million Jews and replaced them with 20 million Muslims. In Auschwitz we burned a group of people who represented culture, thought, creativity, talent. We destroyed the chosen people, truly chosen, because they produced great and wonderful people, who made great contributions to the world, and thus changed the world.

The contribution of today's Jewish people is felt in all areas of life: medicine, technology, international trade, science, the arts, and above all, as the conscience of the world.

Look at any donors' board at any symphony, art museum, theater, art gallery, science center, etc. You will see many Jewish surnames. These are the people who were burned. Of the 6,000,000 who died, how many would have grown up to be gifted musicians, doctors, artists, philanthropists?

And under the pretense of tolerance, and because we wanted to prove to ourselves that we were cured of the diseases of racism and bigotry, Europe opened our gates to 20 million Muslims, who brought us stupidity and ignorance, religious extremism and lack of tolerance, crime and poverty, due to an unwillingness to work and support their families with pride.

They have blown up our trains and turned our beautiful Spanish cities into the third world, drowning in filth and crime. Shut up in the apartments they receive free from the government, they plan the murder and destruction of their naive hosts.

And thus, in our misery, we have exchanged culture for fanatical hatred, creative skill for destructive skill, intelligence for backwardness and superstition. We have exchanged the pursuit of peace of the Jews of Europe and their talent for a better future for their children, their determined clinging to life because life is holy, for those who pursue death, for people consumed by the desire for death for themselves and others, for our children and theirs.

What a terrible mistake was made by miserable Europe.

Recently, the UK debated whether to remove The Holocaust from its school curriculum because it 'offends' the Muslim population, which claims it never occurred. It is not removed as yet. However, this is a frightening portent of the fear that is gripping the world and how easily each country is giving in to it.

It is now approximately seventy years after the Second World War in Europe ended. This e-mail is being sent as a memorial chain, in memory of the six million Jews, twenty million Russians, ten million Christians, and nineteen-hundred Catholic priests who were murdered, raped, burned, starved, beaten, experimented on, and humiliated.

Now, more than ever--with Iran, among others, claiming the Holocaust to be 'a myth'--it is imperative to make sure the world "never forgets."

This is intended to reach 400 million people. Be a link in the memorial chain, and help distribute this around the world.

How many years will it be before the attack on the World Trade Center 'NEVER HAPPENED' because it offends some MUSLIM in the United States?

Take a minute to forward, reboot, and pass it along. We must wake up the world before it's too late. ""

[welldonekhushi]

Call of Duty OC: Samantha "Scarlet" Wright 🦋

Finally, after ages, I came up with Scarlet's biography sheet! So in case you guys are curious about her, you can go through this post, hope it helps! (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠✧⁠*⁠。

If you want to see any artwork or fics on her, go to the #samantha scarlet wright tag for her content!

GENERAL

Name: Samantha

Full name: Samantha Wright

Codename: "Scarlet", Hotel Two-Six

Age: 29 years old

Gender: Female

Nationality: British (UK)

Languages spoken: English (native), Arabic (conventionally), Russian (for intelligence purposes)

Date of Birth: June 9, 1984

Place of Birth: Cambridge, England

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Martial Status: Single (married in 2017 to John "Soap" MacTavish, her childhood friend — diverging canon AU)

Occupation: British SAS (Special Air Services), member of the Task Force 141

Status: Active

Rank: Sergeant

Universe: Original timeline (2011-2017), reboot (alternative AU)

Faceclaim: Jenna Coleman

Song: Tangled Up by Caro Emerald (Lokee Remix)

Biography: Samantha Wright, under the codename "Scarlet" followed her dream in joining the most elite forces of the British Army, after hearing about her father's experiences in the military. As her hard work pays off, she finally gets selected for the SAS, and then for the Task Force 141, for her skills and strength. There, she meets a very old friend, that she missed and deeply cared for..

AFFILIATIONS:

Task Force 141

Captain John Price

John "Soap" MacTavish

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Hannah "Sparrow" Clayton (@revnah1406)

Sergeant Annabelle "Kit" Pham (@applbottmjeens)

2nd Commando Regiment (@kaitaiga)

Charlotte "Jade" La Jardin (@sleepyconfusedpotato)

Sergeant Damien Whitlock

Captain Lachlan Jones

Los Vaqueros

Colonel Alejandro Vargas

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

Alyssa "Aly" Martinez (@alypink)

SKILLS AND ABILITIES

Weapon induced: M4A1 Carbine, M4A1 Grenadier w/ Red Dot Sight, M14 EBR Scoped

Fighting style: Hand-to-hand-combat, martial arts, a bit of jiu-jitsu

Special skills: Has good agility, wits and strength from intensive physical and mental training.

Talents: Is able to strategise a plan for greater impact.

Shortcomings: Is a bit sensitive and confused when it comes to choosing a decision which leads to life or death.

PERSONALITY

Myers-Briggs Type: ISFP (The Adventurer)

Is a positive presence among everybody: Yes, a soldier sure is a tough-hard individual who is determined to follow their duty, but Scarlet is the opposite. She maintains her duties and also motivates and cheers others up to keep moving and never surrender, as taught by her father. The reason why others notice when Scarlet is present with them, they feel calm and encouraged.

Emotional, but also dangerous: Sure Scarlet looks like she's a sweet presence among everyone, but at the same time, we shall not forget she's SAS-trained. When things get serious, she gets serious. During some missions (1 and 2), she has shown remarkable strength and courage by eliminating enemy soldiers in combat, as if she's a different person. The cheerful presence Scarlet holds among others has another dark side inside that she never reveals, but towards her enemies.

Can indulge with anyone, and is respectful: She'd love to make friends or teammates! It doesn't mean she doesn't give importance to anyone, but she especially bonds a lot with Soap. They two have been childhood friends since the start and everyone notices how close they both are and thinks if they two are a couple. Even if Soap is her best friend and he has a superior rank, she'd still respect him as her Captain. But sure, personally, they two engage like they used to.

Very empathetic: Whether it's a random person or not who is dying in her arms, it breaks her. It happened once when she tried to save a person who was losing their life and in the end they couldn't make it. It makes her want to blame herself a bit, thinking she didn't do her duty right, even if everything wasn't in her power. Also, if she sees anyone in distress, she's able to console and help them in time of need, the reason why Scarlet is able to sympathise and understand others well.

BACKGROUND STORY

Born as Samantha Wright, she lives in a small town in England with her father, Albert Wright, who is a former SAS-soldier under the codename "Bolt", and mother Elizabeth. When Scarlet was a toddler, she used to hear stories from her father about him working in Special Air Services, an elite special forces unit, and retired the day when his one leg was brutally injured that made him unable to walk or run.

Those stories gave Scarlet an idea to also join the SAS like him, but her father chuckled and said that right now she was too young to do so. Sometime later, she met John MacTavish, who recently moved into her neighbourhood from Scotland, but wasn't happy that he shifted away from his homeland. She wanted John to be her friend, and make him familiar with the surroundings so he'll get used to everything and love staying at his new home. And soon, they two grew closer, and became best friends.

They two had a similar goal — to join the defense. And one day, that day had to come between the two, when John had to leave for military school. Bidding her best friend a bittersweet farewell, unsure what future has for them in between, John encouraged her to follow her dreams. Taking that as a motivation, Scarlet kept John close to heart, while continuing her aspiration to join the SAS.

Her father got to know about her plan, saying that it won't be easy, since the SAS had the toughest selection processes. That sure unsettled her for a while, but didn't make her back off from her decision respectively. Instead, she learnt a couple of exercises, tips and tricks on self-defense from him that mentally and physically prepared her fully at the same time.

When she recruited herself in the selection process, it was an absolutely different experience for her. The way her mind drastically changed during the training quite traumatized and scared her, knowing what it feels to be in the SAS. But, keeping her father's words by her side, she didn't let the weakness and fear sink her in and moved on further. At times, she was ridiculed by others that she'd never be able to complete the process, but chuckled it all out instead.

The day came, when her hard work paid off, and she finally became eligible for the special forces. It was a blessed feeling for her, as if luck always stood by her side. And this is where, her journey begins..

[glittergoblinzz]

Heyy! There is so little content for Yuri and when I saw you wrote for him I screamed. I’ve had this scenario in me for a year and have no writing talent so I thought I’d ask you. The f!reader is under Kate and ends up on the mission to get information from Yuri at Arklov. They end up meeting and he’s immediately intrigued. I imagine her as a plus sized American so he’s just like they sent me you🤨!?!? Not mad at it 😏. And he just kinda flirts with her a bit as they talk. Also as a southern woman I think he’d find a southern accent so intriguing and funny! Love your work!

Another Yuri lover?! AND one who also sees Yuri having a thing for American women from the South?! Yes please 🥺🙏 Also thank you for your kind words. I really appreciate 'em

I'm gonna be mixing Reboot and OG Modern Warfare timelines a bit, though. Just a fair warning. We didn't get ANYTHING on Yuri in the reboot except for him being a Colonel in the Russian military so I'm gonna go with him knowing Makarov personally and having worked with him in the past when Makarov was still serving within the Russian military.

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Price and the rest of the team had left for a mission while leaving you behind. Apparently Laswell had specifically requested you for something, and Price agreed to leave you at base for her. You silently prayed that it wasn't just for some paperwork or a little fetch errand as you walked down the halls of the base towards Laswell's office. You stop once you get there, knocking before going in.

"Ya needed me for somethin', Kate?"

Laswell looks up from her paperwork and smiles, gesturing for you to sit in the chair across from her desk.

"Yes, actually. Let me ask you something; How good is your Russian?"

"It's decent. Why?"

"Because. I need you to go meet up with an informant in Russia at the Arklov base. He has information that'll help us with Makarov."

You raise an eyebrow at that. A Russian soldier who had Intel on Makarov and was willing to hand it over to the Americans?

"So ya want me to pose as a Russian soldier to go meet this person, get the Intel from him, and scram?"

Kate nods her head.

"Yes. It's important that we get this Intel as soon as possible, which is why I'm sending you out now. I'd go but the higher ups have me tied up with something at the moment. Nikolai should already have the helicopter ready to go for you."

Laswell then gets up from her desk and walks over to a closet, pulling out a neatly folded up pile of clothing and setting it down on the desk in front of you. It was a Russian soldier uniform.

"These should fit you. Go back to your bunk and get changed, then go find Nikolai and head out. I know you can do this."

You nod and take the uniform before standing up, heading towards the door to leave. You open the door but pause before turning back towards Laswell.

"Kate...Who am I meeting with, anyways?"

She smiles and leans back in her chair.

"You'll be meeting with a man named Yuri Volkov. Don't worry, he isn't a bad man."

. . . .

After a quick change and a long, long helicopter ride later, you finally made it to the Arkov region in Russia. You managed to sneak onto the base and pose as a soldier, grabbing a key card off an unsuspecting before heading into the base.

You sneak into the supply room where you were supposed to meet Yuri in, though when you go in there, there was no one else in the room. For a moment, you thought this was a set up but then a door on the other side of the room opens and in walks a man you figured must have been Yuri. He was tall, had a clean shaved head. His jawline was sharp, his cheekbones a bit visible on his thin face and he had dark blue eyes.

The man takes one look at you and his face immediately turns to one of confusion. When he talks, his voice is slightly deep and silky.

"Ты тот, кого послал Первый Наблюдатель? (You're the one who Watcher One sent?)"

He raises an eyebrow as he looks you up and down, mentally taking note on how the uniform hugs your curvy body just right. You notice and cross your arms.

"Да. Есть проблемы с этим? (Yes. Got a problem with that?)"

The man's gaze immediately peels away from your body, smirking a little as he walks closer to you and begins circling you.

"Nyet. Not at all. I was just expecting someone else....though I'm not complaining that you were sent instead of Watcher One."

As he circles you, he takes in more of your features. Your plush thighs, your wide hips and the curve of your belly....it stirred something inside him. He stops in front of you and extends his hand.

"Well, it's nice to meet you....?"

He pauses, waiting for you to introduce yourself. You uncross your arms and reach your hand out to shake his.

"Just call me Milo."

"Milo?"

"Yeah. Just a nickname tha' boys gave me 'cause I'm always got a can of Milo's on me at base..."

Yuri looks at you as if you suddenly grew two heads, completely dumfounded. You sigh and continue explaining.

"Milo's is a brand of Sweet Tea back in the States. Can't hassle with making my own at base so I just order a crap ton of 'em online and pick 'em up from a store nearby the base on my free time."

Yuri nods as he leans back against the wall behind him. Now that you weren't speaking Russian, your Southern accent was very prominent in your voice again.

"Ahh, so you're a Southern American woman then? I suppose it's true then. You all can't go a day without your tea."

He gives a small chuckle as he takes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and opens it, putting a stick in his mouth before lighting it and taking a drag. You roll your eyes and give a small huff.

"I could absolutely go without my darn tea...."

"Apparently not if you're drinking it so often that your comrades felt the need to give you a call sign named after it..."

You shoot Yuri a glare, which in return, he raises his hands up with a smile.

"Hey, I didn't say it was a bad thing. I find it pretty cute....like yourself."

Despite your best efforts, a slight blush does creep across your cheeks as you try to look stern and serious.

"....Whatever. Do you have that Intel or not?"

"Ahh, rushing things are we? Da, I have the Intel right here."

Yuri keeps the lit cigarette between his lips as he reaches into his other pocket and pulls out a small USB flashdrive, placing it down on the table.

"It's got everything you need to know on Makarov and those chemicals he's been using in his attacks."

You take the USB, inspecting it before putting it into your pocket.

"How did you even get this information anyhow?"

Yuri visibly tenses, only just slightly, as if recalling a terrible memory, before he relaxes once more and gives a small chuckle, taking the cigarette from his mouth and flicking the ashes away.

"Ah, that's none of your concern at the moment....mm, what do you Americans call the ones you care for? Sweet Peach?"

"Sweet Pea..."

"Ahh, Sweet Pea...thank you."

Yuri smiles as he reaches out and gives one of your plump cheeks a little playful squeeze. Before either of you could say anything, your comms suddenly beep, indicating an incoming transmission. You pull away from Yuri and hit the button of your ear piece.

"Milo....hear me....Milo...."

"Laswell? That you? I can't hear you-"

You cover your other ear to try to hear Laswell better over the static-y comms. Yuri raises an eyebrow as he takes another drag of his cigarette as he watches you.

"Milo....Price couldn't....Missiles....Sarin....Arklov-"

Despite Laswell breaking up, you could easily piece together what she was trying to say. Price wasn't able to stop Makarov from launching the missiles that were carrying the Sarin gas. Your eyes widen as you look to Yuri, who only looks confused.

Before he could ask what's wrong, the sirens start going off. Without thinking twice, Yuri grabbed you and pushed you down, shielding your body with his own right before the missiles struck the base. The explosions shook the entire area, the building shaking and cracking due to the shockwaves from the missiles.

He quickly pulls you back up, making sure you're alright before firmly grabbing your shoulders.

"Unfortunately, Sweet Pea, we can't be seen together. You need to get yourself out of here. If you go down the hall and turn to the left, you'll come across a set of stairs that will lead up to the roof."

"Yeah, but what about you-"

"Don't worry about me. Just get that flashdrive back to your people...."

Yuri smiles, patting your shoulder before planting gentle kisses on both of your cheeks before turning to leave.

"So try not to die....I'd like to see that pretty face again one day....."

Yuri gives you a small wink before leaving, heading into an elevator across the hall. You stand there feeling shocked, confused, and even a bit flustered....but you quickly come back to your senses as you run out the same door Yuri left, heading down the hall like he said before taking a left. Just as he said, you could see a stair well at the end of the hall. Unfortunately for you, the Sarin gas was starting to fill the building.....

You hold your breath and run as fast as you can towards the stairs. By the skin of your teeth, you barely make it to the roof top and see Nikolai in his helicopter hovering at the roof's edge. You run and jump, making it in safely as you stop holding your breath and gasp for air.

As Nikolai takes you back to base, you take a look back and couldn't help but worry a little bit about Yuri. You hope he made it out safely....

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Ahhhh sorry for the wait! College has been kicking my ass 😅 I absolutely love Yuri and had a blast writing this. Here's to hoping Yuri survived in game and we see him in MW4 🙏