#snip snip fucker

[mashed-potato101]

Ace, Deuce, and Grim in book 3 after making a deal with Azul: Man, I wish I could get rid of this anemone

Mc: Say no more

[poptimus-prime]

Nightshade (my cat) is a little fucking bastard who bites my asscheek and tries to tear my sweater to shreds so obviously this means that I need to make him into a Beastformer bc he has a very Big Personality.

[inevitablestars]

bite the hand, chapter thirteen

“Can you stop being rational? You’re supposed to be on my side.” Sirius whines. “Babe, I am on your side. You’re just being a little bit insane.”  They laugh lightly. “But you love when I’m insane. Can we do something? See if anyone wants to come over? Maybe if I’m distracted I won’t focus on waiting for-” Their train of thought comes to a halt when their phone vibrates against their leg. Oh. This time when they pick it up, it is Remus. A stupid smile spreads across their face, they know they are grinning like an absolute idiot. That doesn’t matter. When it comes to him they will happily act a fool. There would be no sense in trying to hide it. 

[karmaphone]

finding out the hard way ur screenrecording software caps out at ten minutes unless u buy their bullshit registration 👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻

[fictionalred]

anyway SNIP SNIP fuckers!

[flecks-of-stardust]

i feel like one of the best feelings when you’re a creative of any sort is seeing someone else’s thing and having a moment of ‘wait! i can do that too!’

[theaofthesea]

When someone you claim is like a sister to you comes to you about not feeling good enough, maybe think your response through so you are supportive and it doesn’t sound like you agree that they’re not good enough.

[proposalanonaita]

FINE.

The date is fast approaching (seven and a half weeks left), I've had sufficient quantities of Malbec, and I'm realizing that whoever suggested that writing my vows would be MUCH more harrowing than talking about my feelings to internet nobodies.....had a fair point; I should at least attempt to put it all to words before I write the real drafts.

Ugh.

I should probably start by stating that I'm WELL aware of who I am. Rest assured, I know that I'm stunningly abrasive. And controlling. And petty, conniving, misanthropic, or whatever other adjectives you've been calling me in the tags (yes, I DID read those, and it IS weird of so many of you to be calling for my divorce. I thought you were supposed to be nicer than I am?).

All this to say, I've always been cognizant of being an acquired taste. Partly because I've always BEEN an acquired taste. I tone it down in public, and in most of my personal relationships, but I am, down to my core, a Mean Mother Fucker.

With partners before my fiancé, I had to make myself more palatable to stay together. The men I dated were FAR too nice, and snipping with them at all felt like I was a heavyweight champion facing off against a toddler. So I reigned it in. It worked, but no matter how well things were going on paper, I didn't feel like I was myself with any of them.

I was even less myself with The Shithead. I'm NOT getting into the entirety of that particular tire fire here, you little freaks already know FAR too much about me and I won't have you tagging the gory details of the worst part of my life with #bob the builder/fuzzy wuzzy or whatever you're into.

He was horrible to me, I turned dangerously timid, I'm lucky I had enough Mean left in me to get the fuck out. He's changed enough by now that I considered inviting him to the wedding, it was bad enough back then I'm very glad I didn't. Enough said.

...I'm talking quite a bit up here because I still hate having to say any of the next part. Call me an emotionless villain for that if you want to, I am far too employed and 30 to care very much.

Ugh, ugh, ugh.

So.

The thing is, there are people that KNOW me, and there are people who LIKE me. My parents know me, and I've never doubted they love me, but that's not LIKING me as a person. That's a contractual obligation of birthing me. My friends like me, some even like me when I'm catty, but I need to be careful to hold myself back, at the risk of losing them. At best, people loved "me", not ME.

For decades, this was just the way the world was. It was a fact of life- The sky is blue, I'm secretly unlovable, the Earth goes around the sun.

And then, against all odds, I found my fiancé, who manages to do both.

He sees ALL of me. Every square inch, every fleeting thought, every horrible little quirk of my rotten personality. And THEN, as if that weren't bad enough, he turns around and ENJOYS it all. He's not just tolerant of my least palatable traits, he's delighted. The more I show him, the more he likes.

It's awful. I'd say he stole my heart, but that sounds too pleasant. It's more like my heart is a cockroach he could squish at any moment, and I trust him not to, and I'm just supposed to wake up every morning and do the dishes and go to work as if this doesn't mean we're clearly orbiting Saturn. The sky is PURPLE now. What the fuck.

He could at least do me the favor of being completely, 100% perfect, because then I could blame his total lapse in judgement on that, but NO. He's a BASTARD.

I'm engaged to a big sweaty idiot who annoys me on purpose. He's terrible with his money. He tries to take me on HIKES, and JOGS, and CAMPING TRIPS. His taste in every single art form known to man is GARBAGE, he's constantly leaving his dirty socks on the floor, and he's such a bad driver I'm amazed he still has a license.

I've told him all of that to his face, and I've MEANT it, and he's just called me a bitch and asked me what I want for dinner. He knows that I'm unlovable, agrees that all those parts of me are in here, and then loves me anyway.

He loves me. He LOVES me. He loves ME.

I don't know what I'm meant to do with it all, but there's clearly SOMETHING wrong with his brain, so I guess I'll have to keep him, if only for his sake.

[ultra-raging-ghost]

"I get to decide what organisms live or die chat im just saying it [...] i saw its life line and i saw it needed to be cut and i did snippety snip thats all im saying" BADBOYHALO YOU FUCKER

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 4

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

Word Count: 3,100 Warnings: Ass-kicking and violence, some perilous situations…

Part 4: On the Inside Out

You were bored out of your mind. 

After a few days of watching mindless TV, getting your meals dropped in by Frank, and generally no interaction from anyone else in the meantime, you were about to go fucking insane.

You reminded yourself not to antagonize your keepers. Being left alone was a blessing, really. There were certainly worse things that could be happening to you right now…

But you were also thinking of doing something crazy, like escaping. 

You’d considered climbing up into the air vent (too small), and attempting to knock out Frank the next time he delivers your food (he was three times your size and you had nothing even approaching a weapon in here). 

The only option you had left was jimmying the lock with your only hairpin. And you were feeling just reckless enough to attempt it.

You believed Frank was standing guard for most of the day, then switching for the night shift. You thought you could hear when Frank handed off his watch, and whoever it was, you didn’t think it was Tony. You hadn’t heard that fucker’s voice since the first day.

So whoever the second watch was, it was someone you hadn’t met yet. But sometimes there was a gap of silence between when you heard footsteps walk away from your door, and when footsteps approached again, making the light darken in the crack beneath your door. 

You knew by the TV guide that it was about 2 p.m. So you dressed in a pair of jeans, a shirt, and some sneakers that were too small for your feet, but it was the best you had. 

You braided your hair to keep it out of the way. And now that you were ready, you moved quietly to the door. You held your breath while standing there, listening. 

Like clockwork, Frank’s booted steps walked away from your door, but there was no change-off. Maybe he was going on lunch break.

But this was your chance. 

It took you quite a few minutes, but you managed to pick the lock on your door with the hairpin. You were slow to open the door though. It couldn’t be this easy…

And yet, no one was there. 

You were cautious as you walked out, surveying the hall from left to right. It was empty. 

You hurried down the hall, looking for both an exit and a weapon. You found a candleholder on the wall, and you pulled it off with only a little bit of struggle. It was pretty heavy for silver, but it would do as a makeshift weapon. 

You turned a corner and found a fork in the path—a large hallway versus a narrower hallway. 

What the hell? How big is this place?

You took a chance on the larger one. 

But just your fucking luck, as you turned the corner, you ran right into Tony.

“What the fuck?” he uttered. Like he couldn’t believe his eyes. “How’d you get out of your room?”

“With a bit of class, jackass,” you snipped, and punched him across the face.

You didn’t wait for him to recover, and you proceeded to beat him with the silver candleholder—first in the face, then the stomach, and finally between his legs. 

He bowled over with pained grunting. Payback was a fucking bitch, wasn’t it?

While he was nice and doubled over, you stomped on his broken foot, making him howl and well up with bonafide man tears. You saw them in his eyes. But you elbowed him in the throat to quiet him, and finally grabbed his face, bringing it down sharply into your knee. 

Tony fell to the ground in a bloody, unconscious heap.

You couldn’t pause to catch your breath though. You booked it down the hall, down a flight of stairs, and towards the nearest exit you could find—a pair of French doors. For the first time in days, you got a glimpse of sunlight and the outside world. 

But before you could reach the doors, you were yanked back by the arm into someone’s firm chest. You fought the hold, but it was ironclad. 

When you realized who it was, you looked up in angry resignation. 

It was Soldier Boy, of course. He was looking down at you, not sure if he should be stern or amused. 

“What a naughty little girl,” he drawled. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t mind your fucking manners.”  

Soldier Boy dragged you into what you assumed was the kitchen. He then plopped you down on a chair. 

“Sit your ass down and don’t move,” he said sternly. 

He seemed to like casual dress pants and buttoned-down shirts, now that he was “out of uniform,” so to speak. These were beige and dark green, respectively. The top buttons of his shirt were hastily done and his hair and beard were damp, which told you he was fresh from the shower.

Likely he’d been exerting himself. You didn’t want to imagine what he’d been doing beforehand. 

“Or what?” you snapped. He chuckled.

“Bad girls get punished. Is that what you want, sweetheart?” he asked. 

You read the threat in his eyes…so you relented, but your lips were still pursed. 

“Can you at least stop calling me sweetheart?” you grit out. He frowned.

“Jesus, you’re a bitch,” he snarked. “What the fuck is wrong with women today? Can’t pay ‘em fucking compliments, got a mouth worse than a goddamn truck driver.”

“You realize what the hell’s coming out of your mouth, right?” you retorted. He raised a brow at you.  

“Out of curiosity,” he said, “why’d you break Tony’s face? And his foot…and probably his ball sack.”

“He’s a dick, that’s why,” you shot back. “He shouldn’t be able to create more dicks.”

Soldier Boy actually cracked—with a suspect snort, which he tried to disguise as a clearing of his throat. 

But you spied the curve of his lips as he turned from you to grab a couple of glasses. He poured you a whiskey. Unbidden, it reminded you of your shared drink at the club. Something you were sure he intended, by the smugness in his eyes.

You raised a brow, but you took the glass from him and downed it in one. You winced only a lot at the burn down your throat. You peered down at the glass.

“That’s expensive stuff.”

“Damn right. And you just downed it like a fucking college keg,” said Soldier Boy. He poured you another one though, and the two of you drank. 

You never thought that you’d be drinking with him. He was both exactly what you expected, and yet nothing at all. 

So far, for example, he hadn’t harmed you. At least not himself. 

He hadn’t forced himself on you either. And from what Butcher had recounted, this man enjoyed his pleasure. The fact that he hadn’t touched you—in either way—had you both grateful and suspicious. But mostly suspicious. 

“All right, get up,” he said suddenly. 

That doubled your suspicion. “Why?”

“I’m gonna show you something.”

He pulled you up by your arm, and to your surprise, led you outside through the French doors. 

The day was beautiful and bright. There was an enormous pool, and an expanse of a manicured green lawn. Around the corner from the pool, between the shade of large trees, you spied a garden with pretty yellow flowers.

“Whose place is this? The Legend’s?” you asked. Soldier Boy gave you a shrewd look. 

“Good guess, but no,” he said. “This is my place. Bought it in ’73, before the tourists started clamoring in. This city’s just not the same. Bunch of overpriced clubs and hipster fucks.”

You were surprised he knew what hipster meant. He must’ve been doing some research of his own during the past few months. 

“Easy access to drugs though,” you pointed out wryly. They were, more or less, in the heart of the cocaine capital of the world. Though whatever Soldier Boy wanted, you were sure he could get it as simply as ordering off the McDonalds dollar menu. 

He smirked at that. And he led you further through the backyard, if you could call it that. It really was a virtual paradise back here, with acres of land surrounded by jungle trees and a mountain face. 

There must’ve been a waterfall as well, because you could hear running water and mist rising from the east. He took you in that direction.  

“But wait, we didn’t see any property in South America registered in your name,” you said. “And I was thorough. I combed through the CIA’s records, as well as Vought’s.”

“I wasn’t able to buy it back from Vought until recently. Can you believe those cocksuckers took possession of all my assets when I went under?” Soldier Boy said in irritation. “Fucking bastards. After everything I did for them, I had to buy back my own land.”

That made you pause. The CIA had put pressure on Vought to comply with their manhunt for Soldier Boy. They’d released records…but apparently Grace hadn’t been given everything.

You now knew that Vought had known Soldier Boy’s whereabouts, likely for months, if not since the beginning. 

In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if Vought had facilitated Soldier Boy’s escape. He was right about one thing: he had solved a major problem for Vought in killing Homelander. 

Since then, the company had reverted back to Stan Edgar’s control. He was in the process of disbanding what remained of the Seven, along with dropping out of the superhero industry entirely. According to your connections still remaining at Vought (besides Yvette), the company had all but finished developing V24 for the military. 

A fantastically fucking stupid idea. 

“Ooh, you’re gears sure are turning, sweetheart,” Soldier Boy remarked. You look up at him in annoyance. 

“Where the hell are we going?”

He nodded ahead and showed you the boundary of his property—the edge of a damn cliff. It was a steep decline of rock all the way down to a ravine far, far below. It had to be hundreds of feet down. 

You were scared to look down, and you had a feeling he could tell. His lips twitched, and he let go of your arm, encouraging you to take a good look.

“It goes like this pretty much all the way around,” he said. “You were probably out for most of it, but you got here on a helicopter. Then a car took you up the driveway into the property. Your friends aren’t gonna find you in a hurry. And that’s if they’re looking for you at all.”

You shot him a look at that. If they’re looking for me…

What an asshole. But you couldn’t deny, you’d had similar thoughts. 

Hell, they probably thought you were dead already. Maybe Annie or Hughie would still be holding out for you. Though you very much doubted that they were actively looking for you, more than they were looking for Soldier Boy. 

You felt the mist and a gust of wind sweeping up to kiss your face. Your stomach twisted at the height of the cliff, but you took a steadying breath. At the moment, you sort of missed his steel hand that had been wrapped around your arm. 

“Okay. So what do you want?” You looked up at him. “How do you think this is going to play out?”

Soldier Boy looked down at you with wry amusement, and a hint of disbelief at your cheek.

“I think you better realize the kind of situation you’ve gotten yourself into, baby doll,” he replied, with an arching brow. 

You crossed your arms and glared up at him. 

“I got myself into? Your attack dog kidnapped me, tried to kill me. On your orders,” you snapped. “If you’re such a good Samaritan, why don’t you just let me go?”

Soldier Boy laughed in your face. Your eyes narrowed as your arms uncrossed, hands moving to your hips. The wind was starting to pick up now, hitting your back with a bit of unsettling force. 

“Seriously. Put another greasy bag over my head and dump me in the middle of the goddamn rain forest with a cell phone. I’ll find my way home and never come after you again,” you said, with all the conviction you could muster.

But really, it wasn’t all a lie when you let a sliver of desperation through. 

“At this point, all I want to do is go home,” you said. It was all but pleading.  

Soldier Boy had crossed his arms while you were speaking. He’d listened, mostly amused, but he reacted to the vulnerable shift in your words, in your eyes.

Shaking his head, he reached for your arm. “Come on. Let’s go.”

You backed away from him on instinct, and his brows crunched in annoyance. 

“I’m not gonna tell you again—” he said.

“Don’t touch me,” you said hotly, again dodging his hand reaching for you. 

Until the back of your heel slid over a corner of slippery grass and stone. With a gasp, your knee buckled and your arms flailed as you lost your balance. You managed to catch the way Soldier Boy’s eyes widened, his hand going out to grab your wrist.

Another gust of wind and wet mist coursed between you as you reached out for his hand. 

You felt the brush of his fingers as you fell.  

Of course, you screamed horribly once you realized what was happening. Wind whipped at your body as the spot where you’d been standing (and Soldier Boy) grew smaller and smaller. 

From his vantage point on the cliff, Soldier Boy sighed in annoyance. 

He did jump in after you though. 

He expertly dove, letting his heavier weight pull him down farther and faster than you. He tucked and rolled until his feet were below him, and he found purchase on a platform that you hadn’t seen from up above. And he caught you in his arms. 

You panted for breath and couldn’t help but cling tightly to his neck. When you realized what just happened, you glared up at his smug face. 

“What the fuck?” you exclaimed, annoyed at your own breathlessness. Honestly though, you were surprised he’d saved you at all. 

Soldier Boy just rolled his eyes and walked up the narrow path, which you had a feeling only he could safely navigate. Once, he’d had to jump quickly to avoid the rock crumbling beneath his feet.

Once he reached the top, you tried to disentangle yourself and struggled against him until your feet were on the ground. He wrapped an arm around your lower back and pulled you flush against him. Your hands were trapped against his chest, and once again, you glared up at him.

“That was a dumbass fucking move you just pulled,” he remarked. “Next time you wanna take a swan dive, I won’t stop you.”

“Fine by me!” you sniped back. “Now let me go, damn it!”

You twisted in vain against his hold. But it seemed he’d had enough of you, because Soldier Boy grabbed your arms and shook you once—firm enough for you to shut up and listen.

“All right, enough goddamn it!” he shouted. “It’s in your best interest not to fucking test me.”

His voice was raw steel and grit, and maybe an edge of menace. His grip was bruising. You could almost feel your bones creaking, and you weren’t able to swallow a whimper of pain. 

His grip eased then, though he didn’t release you.

Your breathing shallowed while staring into his eyes, and you knew he meant it. He could easily end this (and you) if you weren’t careful.

Protect yourself, you heard your sister’s voice in your mind. So you quieted and let him lead you back to the house. 

He later pushed you back into your room. You tripped and hit the bed with no small amount of force.

You glared back at him…but then you realized something. 

Soldier Boy was a man out of time. He’d spent forty years in captivity. That alone would be enough reason for some serious therapy and social deficits. He also clearly held ideals from the times he was raised in. A full century ago.

So maybe being a “difficult woman” wasn’t the way to handle this. Maybe…maybe you had to try and endear yourself to him. (Even though that thought created bile rising in your throat.)

Before he shut the door, you called out in a softer voice. 

“Wait,” you implored. 

He hesitated. You got your feet under you and approached more calmly.

“Just tell me one thing,” you said. “Why are you letting me live?”

Soldier Boy looked down on you, and his lips formed a grim, more amused smirk. 

“You seem to think your friends are going to get the best of me,” he said. “I just wanted to give you a front row seat when I slaughter every last one of those goddamn morons.” 

You pursed your lips. Perhaps he hadn’t touched you (yet), but there were very few redeeming qualities about this man. If I’d even call this piece of shit a man. 

Still, you didn’t rise to his bait. 

“Look, I’m clearly not a threat to you. I’ll stay out of your way,” you promised. “Just…let me stretch my legs once in a while. I’m going crazy in here.”

Soldier Boy took his time as he looked down at you, scrutinizing your face. You stood tall meeting his gaze, but you took pains to soften your eyes and look vulnerable. Defeated.

You were performing harder than you ever had before in your life…and after a moment, it actually paid off. 

Unlike you, he took the bait. His hand rose to brush your chin with his thumb. 

“All right. But if you give me more trouble than you’re worth…” 

His fingers tightened along your jaw, and you held your breath. You didn’t have to fake your fear as you shook your head slightly. His lips quirked with a grin, and he dropped his hand. 

“Fine,” Soldier Boy agreed. “You got yourself a hall pass.”

AN: Whew! 😮‍💨 She's in hot water now. Or is Soldier Boy? We'll just see, won't we. 🤔

Let me know what you thought of Part 4! It was certainly fun for me to write.

Next time, she starts to get to know Ben, the real man beneath the persona:

What the fuck is going on? You didn’t know what kind of sick shit he was into, but if he was hurting some poor girl for his own entertainment, you knew you couldn’t just walk away. 

After one more second of hesitation, you gripped the door handle and shoved it open. 

What you found seared your eyes.

Keep Reading: PART 5

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @pallographsunspot @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @syrma-sensei @muhahaha303 @123passwort @xoxovienna @magnificentnightmarehadi @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @yvonneeeee @fckinel @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @waters-2567 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow @buckybarnes-1917 @secretdreamlandmentality @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius

[koisuko]

Imagine:

You save Soap's life after a near death experience, but at what cost?

tw: death, blood, guns, mw3 spoilers, sad shit, violence, angst, gn reader, reader insert

Never has a mission gone this haywire, never have you felt your heart pounding against your chest in rhythm with the beeping of the bomb behind you. The burning hatred for Makarov growing brighter with every tick of the timer, this wild goose chase becoming increasingly more exhausting. What if he gets away again, what if this bomb is just another diversion for a much bigger scheme? Bullets whizzed passed your head, nearly missing you mid peak from over a crate you took cover behind, your hands sweating profusely from beneath your gloves as you took out another Konni solider. "Copy- Bear. Cutting the wire..." the sound of snipping sparked a sudden sense of impending doom, squeezing your eyes shut quickly to await the blast that never came. You glanced over at Soap, the wire cutters firm in his grasp. "Got it! That bought us some time!" he added, his face so calm and focus unbroken. It amazed you how he handled this situation with such grace and stoicism, as if this was just another mission, a daily occurrence for him.

Your comms clicked before Ghost's frantic voice reached your ear piece, "Price, be advised: Makarov is in the chunnel- He's heading your way!" you groaned with frustration, turning to glance at Price as you spoke, "remind me again why we didn't let Soap kill this fucker last time?" Before he could answer, you ducked, hearing the clang of a bullet ricocheting off a metallic surface, "SOAP—! Get your gun up…!" Price ordered over the gunfire, raising his gun to purge the Konni police rapidly approaching. "It'll blow if I let go, Captain! Y/n, cover me!" Your brain went on autopilot, rushing to his side with your gun held high. You took out as many Konni as you could, several bullets imbedding themselves in various objects just inches from you. The bodies of both allied and enemy soldiers began littering the concrete floors of the subway, bullet holes scattered across the walls in all different directions.

With the last Konni police down, Price made haste back to the snake camera while you remained a cover to the two men. "0-7 to Six - We're punching through now!" Ghost conveyed over comms. The beeping became more frantic, causing a peak in anxiety while you kept watch in front. Soap and Price exchanged various key numbers to aid in defusing the bomb, "Copy— good work�� This bomb has two fuses! We need to cut both at the same time. Red wire, y/n come help me with this." You nod in response, kneeling beside Soap only to be cut short with a rapid set of footsteps from behind. Before you could turn, your body collided with the cold concrete floor. A sharp burning pain rippled through the flesh of your shoulder.

Even in your pained state, you darted your eyes around to meet Soap. He was on the floor a few feet from you, bleeding from a gunshot to the shoulder, similar to yours. Your attention averted to Price, the rat Makarov stood over him with a gun pointed to his head. “Never bury your enemies alive,” he uttered, a twisted smirk playing on his features that you despise so much. You needed to act fast, pushing yourself off the ground to attempt to potentially save Price’s life. Soap beat you to it, slamming a knife into Makarov’s shoulder with a grunt.

If you were honest, you weren’t even thinking. Everything seemed to have slowed down, as if a bubble formed around the scene for prolonged decision making. Yet, you didn’t even need to decide, your body acting for you in a blind protective instinct. It happened so fast, but so slow, with bits and pieces coming together in a faded memory. Sound seemed to become muffled around you, tunnel vision taking a hold of your sight. You had one goal in mind, one clear whisper in your head egging you on, save him.

Price lay nearly unconscious on the floor, watching the scene unfold helplessly as actions moved faster than his battered mind could comprehend. The gun was poised, aimed at Soap’s head, dangerous pressure on the trigger. This was it, Makarov was going to win, he thought. How could the man he wanted to kill so badly be this close to him, yet still leagues ahead. It all took a turn, when from the sideline came you, slamming yourself into Makarov and successfully knocking Soap to the side, where he collided with a nearby crate. Unfortunately, fate can be cruel, if one does not go, another will take its place. In a sick turn of events, Makarov turns the barrel and pulls the trigger, this time directly through the flesh of your throat. Your body was discarded to the side like a mere doll. “Y/n no!” They both seemed to yell simultaneously, but to you, they were simple whispers.

Ghost and Gaz arrive on the scene a second too late, opening fire at the Konni while a half conscious Soap and Price return to their senses. They both turned to look at your limp form, watching you briefly convulse from the blood spurting out of your neck with each fading pump of your heart. Faint choking sounds could be heard under the gunfire in your desperate attempt to cling to life, to take just one breath, before finally falling silent. Price wasted no time in grabbing his pistol, taking aim at the retreating form of Makarov, only for a train to put a barrier between them. “Bloody hell, y/n!” For the first time, you could hear a subtle crack in Ghost’s voice. Soap was speechless. He lost someone he loved so dearly in a matter of seconds. Kneeling down beside you, he stared at your face. Your once vibrant eyes now a dull lifeless hue, glossed over with a grey tint of vacancy. Those lips he longed for, now held a shade of blue, and your skin becoming a deathly pale. Your face painted in heavy red liquid, your final moments spent drowning in your own blood. The room now emanated a heavy stench of death, so thick it nearly made him gag. “This is all my fault,” he whispered in a voice laced with pure grief. He placed a tender hand on your ice cold cheek, the voices of his comrades blocked out by the overwhelming sorrow inside him. He prayed to take your place, wanting so badly for the claws gripping his heart to relent. Oh god, the agony you must have felt, the burning sensation in your lungs being the last thing you experienced before death took you from him. He couldn’t help but clutch his stomach in hopes to ease the nausea building in his system. Beside the body of his friend, lover, and comrade. Silently, he mourned.

The bomb was diffused, they had once again defeated a grand plan of Makarovs. But at what cost? “All stations - this is Bravo in the blind. Threat neutralized. Bomb is safe…” Price looked down at your body like a father who lost his child, “one KIA.”

—

The team gathered on a cliff overlooking a pristine lake. The sun beginning to set over the horizon, casting a golden ray upon the landscape. The view would be breathtaking, if it weren’t for the reason they had come here. Your favorite spot, they knew it was. From all the stories you told them of this place, of how much it meant to you. You had even planned to take Soap there, take them all there, you promised you would. A promise you would have kept if it weren’t for your untimely death to the hands of your enemy. Even in the afterlife, in your place among the stars, you held no regret for how you died. You saved him, saved the man you loved most, you saved Soap. “They were the best of us,” Price said, his voice low. “The toughest,” Gaz held his hat to his chest in respect, his eyes closed as he listened to the gentle tune of the birds song surrounding them. “They would have fought the world bare handed,” Ghost never once breaking eye contact where the sky meets the mountains. “They had a heart made of gold,” Soap’s voice broke as he spoke, looking up at the sky as if speaking directly to you.

He reached down to his bag, the reason they were here becoming reality. For a second, he held the urn to his chest, taking in a deep breath before holding it in the center of the group. They all collectively placed their hands on the cold metal, before one by one they spoke one last time. First, was Price, “who dares wins..sleep easy soldier,” then Gaz, “see you down range, friend, we’ll take it from here,” and Ghost, “Rest in peace, y/n.” Then, it was Soap’s turn to speak, yet the words caught in his throat. He nearly felt the tears track down his cheeks, pleading so desperately to hold it together and stay strong. Why couldn’t this have just been a fucking nightmare? When will I wake up, he thought. He took a shaky breath, before letting his deepest feelings flow, “I’ll miss ye, my love.”

They watched as the wind carried your ashes, spreading each particle into the water below. Perhaps, the wind will carry your soul with it, to the next life.

[oddballwriter]

Y/N's Monster

Summary: Tired of rude, vulgar, and not-up-to-snuff guys, you decide to make a man of your own. Is it a crime against God? Probably. But you've already stitched him together so there's no going back now. At least he's cute.

Warnings: Straight-up medical malpractice and other such things, it's for the plot. It's a Frankenstein inspired story so there's talk of stitching limbs onto other limbs and methods that do not work in real life. You can not stitch together and bring to life your own boyfriend in real life, I'm sorry ladies :(. 

Author’s Snip: Here's that Frankenstein's Monster Marc I promised! I hope you all like it. Onwards to the Lost Boys au I semi-promised! Yippee! I'm feeding the monster fuckers.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word Count: 702

Tag list: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @spicydonut25 @steven-grants-world @homuraak3mi (You too can join the tag list! Just ask)

Seeing him now, actually up and moving, you were absolutely amazed. Both because the fact that the abandoned defibrillator and old shock therapy machine you stole got from the hospital you work for that you tinkered together actually worked in bringing a stitched-together corpse to life, and also by the fact that he looks so good.

For being a reanimated corpse made out of various John Does, he looks amazing. He was a good height, his body was proportionate where you had to add better fresher parts, and actually looked pretty alright.

It's not until he starts bumbling around that you stop ogling at him. He looks confused, maybe a bit scared.

"Hey," you say gently to not spook him, "You're okay," you tell him. He looks toward you, having heard you. Okay good, he can hear and see. "It's okay," you whisper trying to comfort him. He still looks slightly scared. He backs up when you try and walk toward him, but it's apparent that his limbs aren't ready for all the moving around so he trips and falls. "Oh no," you mutter to yourself as you rush towards him to try and help him up.

"Hey. I won't hurt you." you explain. But when he looks at you again you are hit with the possibility that he might not understand. After all, in the book, Frankenstein's creation didn't when he was brought to life.

You look to your creation and take a moment to think about what to do. "Understand?" is what you manage to think up. "Do you understand me?" you rephrase your question. He stares at you for a bit. "Do you understand what I'm saying?" you ask again. When he slowly nods you have to repress a scream of happiness to not scare him. You just let a smile cross your face,

"Okay. That's good." you reply. "So how about I help you back up and you have a seat." you suggest, "It seems like your body isn't ready to move around just yet." you point out.

You gently help him up and sit down on the gurney that you also stole got along with grabbing a sheet to wrap around him so that he can have some decency. You give your creation a quick check-up. Nothing seems to be wrong with him say for having slightly bloodshot eyes and he's a bit pale. He has natural reflexes like his knee kicking when it's hit with the little hammer, his pupils contract and dilate, and he can even feel pain.

As an extra precaution, you bandage up the places where his stitches would experience the most stress so they don't pop since stitching him up isn't an option, both because you don't have anything for anesthesia and you have no idea what it will do to him.

"Can you speak?" you ask as you finish up the last stitched area. He seems to think about it and then focus. You can see him trying to form a word with his mouth and managing to say "No...", but it clearly takes a lot to get it all down. You nod, "Okay." you reply. "Alright, how about we just do yes or no questions?".

After a while of asking questions to see where he is mind-wise, you start getting to harder to answer questions.

"Do you remember anything, from before waking up here?" you ask. He shakes his head.

"Do you know who you are?"... he shakes his head again.

"Do you have a name?" ... also no.

You hum. "Well, then I guess I have to give you one." you say. You think for a long time, mentally crossing off names that were too ridiculous or didn't fit his look. Something with an M.

"Marc." you say, "With a C at the end." you clarify. "I like that name. How about you?" you ask your creation. He just nods, but you swear there's a fraction of a smile for a second.

You're not sure how this will go moving forward now that you've got a man who's made from other men who doesn't have any background or identity, but this is a good start if you'd say so yourself.

[auspicioustidings]

OK so you and Gaz just hate one another, always have. Both of you want to be the Captains favourite and get real jealous when the other gets any praise. Like you'll work together, but the frostiness and little snips at each other on comms makes your disdain very apparent.

In the stupidest turn of events though, you find yourself having to work together for a dumb cooking competition. They do it for the forces every year for charity and you both got picked randomly to represent the SAS. Usually whoever was on the team would just throw the competition because who really cares and that would have been the plan except the two fuckers representing the navy are the absolute worst.

You and Kyle call a truce to put them in their place. You get so into it, stressing out when you are all the way to the finals and you actually have a shot at winning.

Late night baking sessions and visiting each others families to get family recipes and going to fancy resturants to try their food and its only when Soap points out that you look an awful lot like a couple these days that you both become so horribly awkward around each other.

So anyway you def get railed so hard the day of the final that the two of you completely miss it and the navy team wins by default. You don't mind.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Black Light 7

Warnings: namecalling, violence, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You back up as the men enter your house. It feels a bit like an intrusion but you're welcoming them right in, aren't you? Besides, your mother would kill you if she got home and the couch was still there. It's an in and out job. Oo, thinking of it like that makes it feel dangerous, like you're a spy. Or a hit man.

Well, you're not the one doing all the work.

August lets out a heavy breath as his eyes rove subtly around the space. He barely keeps from knocking over an oval frame with his hand as he passes the corner table and he turns to glower down at your graduation photo. Admittedly, your make up had been a bold choice for that one.

The two men approach the couch as you stand back. Lee tisks as he eyes it up. He grabs the middle cushion and pulls it off, then the next, and the last. He leaves them on the floor as he approaches one end of the couch. August mirrors him with a dull gaze, unimpressed by the task before him.

"On three," Lee directs.

"Just lift the damn thing," August growls.

The man lurch the couch up with less effort than you expect. Wow, so strong. You stand aside as they angle it around and through the wide archway. You give a nervous smile to Lee as he nods his head at you but the other man refuses to look in your direction.

"Oh, I can get the cushions," you scurry past and flit into the living room.

You grab two cushions and try to manage the third but they all flop to the floor. You try again, and again. You sigh as you hear an annoyed growl and you settle on just grabbing the two end cushions.

You go to the door as the men twist the couch to get it onto the porch. Their advance is slow and you wait behind August, his size even more obvious the closer you are. You get an idea but think better of it. He wouldn't appreciate the impromptu pillow fight, would he?

"Hey, what's taking so long?" Hottie's voice comes from behind you.

"Oh, uh," you turn to face her, "they're just tryna--"

"Not this jackass," she flips her sunglasses up and stomps down the hall, "hey fucker! You stalking her now? Fuckin' creep--"

August gives a confused hum and cranes his head over his shoulder. You keep Hottie at bay with the cushions, herding her back as she attempts to elbow her way past you. You move side to side, blocking her.

"They're just taking the couch--"

"Easy story, they're casing the joint?"

"Casing the joint?" August harrumphs as he gets past the doorframe, "dumb girl."

"Hey," you spin and smack him with a cushion, "she's not dumb, you are!"

"Don't do that," he warns.

"This is my house and she's my friend. Take the couch then, you big... you big.... lug!"

"Lug?" He scoffs as he tilts the couch, Lee grunting as he guides it down the front steps.

"Don't threaten her," Hottie storms forward, bumping into your shoulder.

"Go take some more molly," August snarls.

"What the fuck did you say?" Hottie barks and you block her again.

"Fucking girls," August sneers as he comes down to ground level.

"Leave em be," Lee tuts, "we got the couch, let's get on."

"You better," Hottie retorts.

"Now, don't be eggin' him on, little lady."

"I don't fucking buy it," Hottie blares, "this isn't a fucking coincidence--"

"Please," you turn to her, "they're leaving."

She looks at you and her anger slowly softens to regret. She shrugs, "fine."

"Alright," you exhale and spin, skipping down the steps with the cushions. "Here."

You run over as they get the couch in the truck bed. You hold out the cushions and August turns with a scowl. He snatches them, nearly taking you off your feet. You recoil and set your heels. Hottie rushes over with the last cushion and whips it at his face.

"Don't forget that one, dickwad," she snips, "now get the hell out of here."

He snorts and throws the cushions in with the couch. He takes the last one from the ground and hurls it over his shoulder so it lands with the other.

"Gladly," he rolls his eyes.

Hottie grabs your arm and urges you back. August shakes his head and struts up the side of the truck as Lee shuts the back. He nods at you, "good to do business with ya ladies."

You can see the dimple in his cheek, as if he might laugh. He goes up the passenger's side and gets in, the motor rumbling to life as August cranks into gear. Hottie retreats, still latching on as she moves you out of the way of the truck's tail as it veers away from the curb.

You pout as you watch the couch bounce with the trucks motion and you puff out.

"Ugh, what a butt," you frown.

"That's putting it lightly," Hottie crosses her arms, "why didn't you come get me?"

"I.. I don't know. They were just taking the couch."

"Hmm," she looks down the street once more, eyes narrow and words unsaid written above her brow, "do me a favour, if you see that jackass again, run in the other direction."

"Yeah, don't think he's coming back," you shrug, "I like to think someone's insides don't always match their outsides but that grumpy puss is testing me."

"Oh, and if you do see him sniffing around, call me," she heads back to the house and you spin to follow her.

"Oh trust me, I got no room for him on my dreamboard."

[yanderemommabean]

More of clingy asylum patient boi please, mommaaaaa

Lee groans as he opens the door, dodging yet another projectile aimed at him as the door shuts. "Elias. I'm faster than you think I am. Something like that won't gain you any favors anytime soon."

The black haired man just grins, twirling a pen as he shrugs his shoulders "Worth a shot. I see why Jasper likes to annoy you. It's a sadistic kind of fun, you know?"

That mother fucker came in here too? That or he escaped just to raise alarm again and get that sick glee he finds in wasting time. He decided not to dignify that with a response, instead, sitting on the second chair in the otherwise desolate room. "We're going to be running some tests. I understand a few ways to make you comply according to my coworker are rather odd...care to enlighten me a bit?".

Elias sits back, one leg crossed over the other with that damned playful and nearly psychotic smile. "You already know".

"I don't"

"You do"

"Fine, play coy, see if it gets you out of here any faster. Maybe I'll just tell your dear sweet darling that you're never-"

Before he could finish, Elias was right in his face, having deftly moved from his seat to stand over the doctor with a molten, sadistic look in his dilated pupils. "Ever mention them again and I'll stop this charade. I'll easily gut you and the staff and let every horrible creature out of here".

His voice held no room for any sarcasm or humor, and Lee wasn't about to egg on a clear threat for the sake of a petty win. God did he want to though. "Then I suggest you sit back down and tell me what it is you want. I've been here a hell of a lot longer than you Elias, I'm the one they chose to handle you for a reason"

The room goes silent for a moment before Elias gives in. It's fine, he doesn't need to waste precious energy on proving a point just yet. He sits down with his arms crossed over his chest, tilting his head up a bit as he spoke. "What kinds of tests?"

"Simple ones for now. Intelligence, reflexes, response times, psychoanalyzing and some basic exercises to start"

"...What's the catch"

Lee leaned back in his chair as well, eyeing the man up and down warily. He still seemed so off, like one wrong inflection could end up with Lee having to pull a pen out of his thigh. "Blood tests and pain tolerance will be a part of this. Nothing sadistic unless you get on my bad side"

Elias just grinned like a Cheshire cat at that, looking down to the pen he was twirling in his hand. "I wont go without a few favors"

"Then give them to me. I'll do what I can"

Elias tilted his head up in thought, before sighing in defeat. He had to start small, he supposed. "I want a visit from my darling. I know this one will be supervised, but two whole days without my baby...it's torture doc. A torture I know you know all too well~". The lilt in his voice made Lees hair stand on end.

No. No, he needed to show complete composure. He can’t let some stupid arrogant man get under his skin, he’s a professional for fucks sake! 

But those wicked eyes bore into him like no one else could. Like they could see every twisted crime he's done in the name of his butterfly, his one and only. It made his gut twist in unpleasant knots feeling so easily read like that.

"It's cute you think you know me" Lee snips, trying to regain a bit of control in this situation. "Give us the name and what you know, I'm sure we can disguise this place to seem like a normal asylum for at risk patients like yourself".

Elias just smirks, as if he already knew he was underneath the doctors skin. "Well, doctors order as they say...I'll tell you every little bit I know about them. Hope you have the time, Doc"

((Hey! I hope you liked this, I know it's a bit "Meh" and kinda mid but I like the idea nonetheless! -Mommabean ))