#some of those ships from cod

[adrianlikesdinos]

my favorite category of ship: taking characters from a stereotypically originally predominantly male fanbase and puting them in a tender loving domestic queer relationship

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Part I: The Prophecy — June 25, 2011

Part I: On her daily morning run, Y/N wonders if she’ll ever have someone who wants her simply company. Spencer promises her just that, the only catch: she has to wait seven years.

Rating: Eventual smut, fluff and longing

Word Count: 3.5K

Series Masterlist | Tell Me What You Think!

My Mind Turns You Into Folklore: The Prophecy — June 25, 2011

Running, somehow, still made her feel like a child. Perhaps there was something unadulterated and carefree about losing yourself in the pounding of pavement. When Y/N felt the wind rush in her ears and the familiar burn throughout her body, she truly felt alive.

Her entire body ached— no, screamed— as she approached her fifth mile for the day’s session. For Y/N running wasn’t about getting to the destination fastest, but about finishing the race altogether.

She wished she could apply such wisdom to very particular aspects of her life. Namely, her love life. For Y/N, relationships with men were unpleasantly predictable. From terrible blind dates with friends who she honestly can’t tell if they meant well to men with habits so strange Y/N could only plead insanity by a drunken state as to why she entertained even a second glance. Unfortunately, for her the sea of men seemed to solely be comprised of rather the unfortunate sort of men that made her skin crawl.

Her knees burned as her mind ran through the five weddings and babies that were impending. Between cousins, college friends, and even her own sister all either, Y/N never more lonely than when she was surrounded by her people. There was something particularly voyeuristic about watching those you love move along the carousel while you’re left in the dust. She was a casual observer, marooned to the sidelines. And someone where along the way she forgot to even care.

Her chest burned as she wondered where her aunt, a woman born and forged from pure spite and hefty lack of tolerance for anything progressive, would sit her at her cousin’s wedding. Y/N heaved forward imagining what would be worse; the discarded old widow’s table with wives whose husbands’ expiration date had come and passed. Or with her unruly nephews who would have to be wrestled into a tiny tuxedo and bribed with fried food and the majesty of Red40 to maintain the semblance of civility.

Being 27, husbandless, boyfriendless, and childless didn’t usually bother Y/N. She loved her peace. But somehow it put her into this plane of existence where she straddled youth and adulthood. She had one foot jammed deep into the rich, sodden earth of childhood and one toe dipping too all too calm to be safe waters of adulthood. Yet being uncoupled was as if she purchased overnight shipping to the elephant graveyard.

It was antiquated. It was downright sexist, yet there was a small part of her heart and her entire being that craved to be taken care of by a man. She wanted someone to bring her flowers just because, to hug her from behind while she stirred soup for dinner on a chilly day, to brush her hair from her face as he brought her to the brink of pleasure time and time again.

There was only so much her vibrator could do.

But a heart that ached to be loved, that problem didn’t come with a WebMD link. There wasn’t a quick and easy fix to change something that defined her on a molecular level.

She savored the sweet breeze that reminded her of summer and childhood. The houses, various shades of blue, gray, and beige blurred past as she maintained her steady pace.

Y/N rounded the corner and pounded the pavement that led to Betsy’s Cape Cod. She was the Head Librarian and took Y/N under her rather Mother Goose-like wing three years ago when she took the position at the small, sleepy library. A suburb of Quantico, many of the patrons were families in public service.

She even stumbled across someone who quickly became her best friend, Spencer. He was some sort of former child prodigy turned adult wunderkid. After racking up more diplomas than most extended families collect, Spencer worked as a special agent for the FBI. But looking at him, you would never have guessed. He was timid and shy in a boyish way that made him seem much younger than 32. He was tall and lanky, yet despite his slender frame he seemed to completely light up every single room he walked into.

Both Betsy and Spencer buried themselves into the fabric of her life. Betsy sat on the front porch, slowly swaying on the large, wooden swing. A crocheted blanket lay over her lap, keeping her warm under the brisk morning’s chill.

“Y/N!” Betsy called, as she ascended the stairs with a bright smile, “Dearie, it’s far too cold for you to run out here.”

“I could say the same about you, Bets,”

Betsy dismissed Y/N with a coy smile and a wave of her hand. “It’s good for my old bones to get a little chill. Make sure everything is in working order.”

Betsy scooted over on the porch swing, making more than enough room for Y/N to sit.

“That tall kid? Hmm, Spencer? Yes. Spencer. Was in there looking for you yesterday. Poor kid’s entire day was ruined when I told him you were on a date. Now, is there a reason why you didn’t tell me you didn’t tell your best friend?” Betsy asked, not hesitating to ask a question that went straight for the jugular.

Y/N offered Betsy a weak smile. “There wasn’t anything to tell him. He’s not interested in my love life. We talk about books. And work. And… I don’t know…”

Betsy nodded, but her pointed look pressed Y/N to continue. There wasn’t anything romantic between her and Spencer, but that wasn’t to say the connection wasn’t the most important thing in her life. When she met him three years ago he simply waltzed into her life; a tall, gangly man with a large appetite for baked goods and an excellent taste in literature.

“Besides, he has a thing for his coworker. Even though she hardly acknowledges his existence.”

From the time she met Spencer, he constantly was talking about his teammates. Growing up, Spencer didn’t have a stable family life. His mother tried her best, while his father never tried at all. He grown up not knowing what it was like to belong anywhere and now he finally found something resembling a family.

JJ was blonde and skinny and perfect and Spencer was completely enamored with her. Y/N met her only a couple of times, the first after a football game. She shared a plate of cheese fries and gravy with Spencer’s other coworker, Penelope as Spencer attempted to spout an almanac’s worth of facts about football to JJ.

“Hmm,” Betsy murmured, swinging back and forth. “Well, he said he has to talk to you about something. Maybe he’s getting to his senses, finally.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, sipped some of the ice cold lemonade Betsy handed her, and gave her a pointed smile.

“This isn’t a romance novel, Bets. You’ve been sneaking too many of those bodice rippers.”

She stood up and felt some relief as her weary muscles stretched. Betsy waved another annoyed hand.

“Quiet down, Missy. I’ve had my chance at love. And I fully intend on you and Spencer being an item. My Arnold, may that old bastard rest in peace, never gave me children, so you and that boy are my only chance to fill this house with grandkids.”

“Oh my God, Betsy,” Y/N groaned, her head tossed back, “It’s not like that between us. And I promise you, it never will be.”

Y/N took off before Betsy had the chance to respond. But she couldn’t shake the funny feeling tugging at her heartstrings. She thought that maybe if she just focused her mind on feeling the wind blow her hair and her body burn as the third mile turned into a fifth, she could wash away the thoughts of one or two little children sitting on Betsy’s porch, sandwiched in between her and Spencer.

***

Gary, as it turned out, wasn’t a nice guy. First of all, he showed up precisely 23 and a half minutes late and hardly bothered to greet her as he sat down at their two seater table. He barked a drink order to the waitress, who graciously threw Y/N a sympathetic smile.

“So you work at Walter Reed?” Y/N asked, attempting to make conversation with the man seated in front of her. He was a couple years her senior and an Attending Emergency Room Doctor. On paper Gary seemed wonderful. He had a nice family; older sisters were always a green flag in Y/N’s book and seemed to have a basic grasp of personal hygiene practices.

Gary mumbled as the waitress brought him his drink: whisky on rocks. He downed it in about three minutes and signaled for the waitress to return.

“Sorry,” Gary apologized, his voice so close to resembling being embarrassed, but it, somewhere along the line, made a beeline in the opposite direction, “There was some bitch in the ER today complaining about how her boyfriend didn’t believe her when she told him she was pregnant. Took me a god damn hour to shut her up. Jesus, reminds me why I don’t date.”

Y/N felt her face freeze. It was like his harsh words poured ice water over her shoulders. Her skin practically crawled as Gary’s carelessness settled in. Wasn’t this a date? Or was this simply the means for Gary to get into her pants.

“Hold up,” Y/N said, gesturing with her hand held up to stop Gary’s rant, “I was under the impression this was a date. Is it not?”

Gary shrugged. “As long as there’s a happy ending with you, babe I don’t give a fuck.”

He was crass. Y/N was far from a prude. She enjoyed her time in college and didn’t mind the occasional quick one night stand when the opportunity presented itself, but there would be something completely debasing and revolting about sleeping with the man sitting before her.

“I think you’ve gotten the wrong impression.” Y/N said, her words clipped and stern: there wasn’t room for Gary to mix up any bit of her message. “I’m not looking for a fuck-buddy. And even if I was, it certainly wouldn’t be you. We’ve been sitting here for all of twelve minutes and you’ve already drank two whiskys, been rude to the waitress, insulted a patient, and offended me.”

Gary, in a lackadaisical way that could only be described as a fuckboy with the worst case of Peter Pan syndrome, shrugged his shoulders. He downed the rest of his second whisky, “You’re a frigid bitch anyway.”

He left.

And Y/N laughed. Then she ordered two slices of double chocolate cheesecake and asked the waitress where the closest liquor store was.

***

Silently, she cursed Spencer’s charming love of buildings with character. She bounded up the steps to his apartment, the plastic bag with the two slices of cheesecake banged against her leg. Her other hand clutched the neck of a cheap, screw top rose.

Her date, disastrous, was nearly comical, and she couldn’t wait to recount the details to Spencer.

They share a sort of sadistic penchant for relaying moments for their occasional first dates. Typically, Y/N had more than Spencer. On the rare occasion Spencer did have a date, Y/N found herself trying to explain that any girl in her right mind would attempt to flirt with Spencer, but he refused to see her points.

Not bothering to knock, Y/N opted to use the spare key Spencer gave her. She figured he’d either still be working at the office or would be too engrossed in his latest fantasy novel to bother answering the door.

Spencer’s apartment was painted a dusty, sage green. The farthest wall was lined with built-in bookshelves. A prewar relic, Spencer’s style mixed perfectly with the vintage quality embedded within the walls.

Up until recently, Spencer’s kitchen was hardly used. But Y/N had taken it upon herself to teach Spencer the basics in prepping meals. He was a quick study, as with almost everything he tried. And it gave her some peace knowing he would be able to provide himself something more satiating than granola bars and frozen lasagna.

“Spencer! Spence!” Y/N called out, dipping her head into Spencer’s second bedroom. There was a queen bed in there with a cream colored quilt splashed out on the bed.

On late nights spent watching old, black and white movies or binging episodes of The Twilight Zone and The X-Files, she would crash there. It was a fight for her to even concede to allow Spencer to purchase the queen bed. Y/N claimed that she was fine just sleeping on the couch, but Spencer insisted that she sleep in a bed.

And if Y/N had been born into a braver soul, she would’ve suggested they share his bed three years ago.

Spencer shuffled out of his bathroom, eyes red and weary. He wore a tattered Cal-Tech shirt and plaid pajama pants. He wore his glasses. They rested on the bridge of his nose and made him lose at least four or five years on his already young looking face.

“She’s pregnant.”

“I brought wine. And chocolate cheesecake.” Y/N replied, kicking her shoes off. “And you better have done laundry already because I am not sleeping in this dress. I feel ridiculous in it.”

Spencer’s eyes raked over Y/N’s frame, as if he was internally debating his thoughts on her outfit. His brow furrowed. “You’re date?”

“Asshole.” Y/N said, walking into the kitchen. She plucked two wine glasses from Spencer’s cabinet and two plates. “Arrogant and only wanted a quick fuck.”

His voice disappeared as he went into his room for a change of pajamas. They were freshly washed. She continued to listen to Spencer as she shut the bathroom door and changed behind. His voice was no longer muffled when she came out of the bathroom, but she did notice how Spencer’s eyes still were heavy with something unfamiliar when he looked over her baggy, old pajama-clad frame.

“You’re not the girl for that.” Spencer commented, reaching for the corkscrew. His large hands twisted around the device and the bottle of wine made a satisfying pop.

“You don’t know that.” Y/N countered, her defiance made a crop of red appear on Spencer’s cheeks. “Besides, that’s not the point. JJ’s pregnant. With that New Orleans guy’s baby?”

He nodded. It was as if grief washed over Spencer as Y/N changed the conversation. She knew that Spencer was harboring feelings for JJ. Jennifer was nearly perfect in every way. The only imperfect thing about her was that she didn’t realize how perfect Spencer was. He would’ve adored JJ if he got the chance. He nearly did.

“And how do you feel about that?”

Spencer groaned, pouring himself a healthy cup of rosé. “Unsure. It’s not like I’m going to confront her about this. She’s practically engaged to Will. And now there’s a baby in the picture? A baby who’s very well going to grow up seeing me as Uncle Spencer.”

He sounded exhausted. Y/N touched his hand and squeezed. She understood the pained loneliness that plagued Spencer’s voice. “I don’t love JJ anymore. It’s just, my whole life I felt like I was so far beyond my peers. And now? They all finally have caught up, this time the tables have turned. God, I’m excited when a girl smiles at me, let alone goes on a date with me.”

Weakly, Y/N smiled. She sipped her rose, “So it’s more of feeling like you’re far beyond in life? Despite having two PhDs and like three undergrad degrees? You’re one of the most accomplished men I know, Spencer. And we all move along at our own pace. Don’t compare JJ’s story to yours.”

He nodded, spooning a bite of the double chocolate cheesecake. “It’s just…I’m nearly 32. And now I’m watching JJ and Hotch and Morgan talk about babies and husbands and wives and houses. And I can’t help but wonder if I’ll be lucky enough to get that one day. Sometimes… I think I’m too me for anyone to fall in love with me.”

Y/N felt her heart shatter into a million little pieces as Spencer’s honest confession striked her entire system. She wanted to reach out and push away the stray curl that hooked itself in front of his eyebrow. She wanted to reach out and wipe away his tears. She wanted to tell her friend that if no one married him, she would.

She stalked off the to couch, needing a stable place to sit. Her chocolate cheesecake stuck to the roof of her mouth and the bitter rosé did nothing to remove it.

“Holy shit, Spencer. Do you not realize that you’d make any girl happy? You’ll find her one day, I know it. And if you don’t, we can just say fuck it and get married. I mean, I know it wouldn’t be romantic love, but we could at least live together. Through a big fancy party and get dressed up nice and getting drunk on mojitos with my best friend. My person? Sounds fun.”

“You mean that?” Spencer asked, half in disbelief and half in wonderment. “You mean that we’ll get married if neither of us have someone…say seven years from now?”

She must’ve drank more than she thought as she waited for Gary to ruin their date. “I meant it. But why seven?”

A smile toyed on Spencer lips. She noticed the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

“It’s my lucky number.”

Her lips were so loose that it threatened to crack open her heart. She had a nasty habit of wearing that on her sleeve.

She gave Spencer a sheepish look as his eyes met hers. He looked half between incredulous and hopeful. His fingers ran across the rim of his wine glass as the wine sloshed around. It mirrored Y/N’s stomach.

“Is this idea like bad shit crazy?” Y/N asked. “I mean it. I mean, why not. It’s not so different from what we do now. Just all the time. And I’d be thrilled to be spiritually required to spend more time with you.”

“Should we….shake hands or something. I’m not the biggest fan of that, but I think my wife would serve as an exception to the rule. To every rule I’ve got?”

Y/N laughed. She felt the wine creep up a nice, warm flush against her skin. It matched the light and easy way her limbs felt. It might have very well been the wine, but there wasn’t much of anything that could trump laughing with your best friend. Especially when that best friend slipped and called you his wife.

Her feet somehow ended up in Spencer’s lap. His thumb rubbed gently against her ankle, barely touching her bare skin. Yet it sent shockwaves that she didn’t quite understand.

The corners of Spencer’s eyes crinkled as he reciprocated that laugh. They shared it and Y/N had the strangest desire to bottle it up. She wanted to store this moment in her mind and come back to it. One day. Some day.

“We’ll get married,” Spencer started speaking as if it was a prophecy that he could set in stone, “if neither of us has anyone, we’ll enter this rather odd, rather complex, yet completely entirely normal and simple marriage in seven years?” His sweet, yet coy smile was boyish, it only reminded Y/N just how far away 35 was for her.

“Should we draft up a contract?”

“Have your lawyers contact my lawyers. I never sign documents without the proper legal support. In the meantime, could we settle on our first stipulation: never watching a new episode of our current favorite show without the other?”

“I agree to the terms and conditions you’ve set out.” Y/N said. She grabbed the blanket that rested on the back of the couch as Spencer turned off the lamp light.

“Oh and I washed the sheets in your room. I used the detergent you like. And your pajamas. The lavender vanilla one with the scent beads?” He flipped on an episode of The Twilight Zone.

She smiled from the way Spencer naturally called the guest room her bedroom. There was something very domestic and peaceful about him using her favorite detergent to wash the sheets in her room in his apartment. It resembled the exact something that she was craving: being taken care of.

She sipped her rose again, watching as her friend smiled at the gray scale painted on the screen. It was too bad she only had to weight over half a decade to feel it and not feel guilty and like she was lying to herself.

—

Taglist:

@reidsbookclub @boldlyvoid @mrs-dr-reid @reid-ingandweeping @candlesandsoftrain @foxy-eva @queermaxwooo

[the-librarby]

DRUNK IN DA CLUB III

- SIMON RILEY (COD)

18+ MDNI.

The aftermath and finale.

Double feature, who knew I had it in me. Don’t get used to it.

Part I Part II

Simon reaches for his phone which buzzes on the nightstand. With bleary eyes he can see the clock reads 7:00 am, and an unopened message.

Open the door for me will ya

With a deep exhale he rolls out of bed, forgoing putting on a shirt as he pads down the hallway of your still house. When he opens the door, the harsh morning light pours in, revealing a chipper looking Johnny in his clothes from last night.

He takes in the sight of Simon rubbing the sleep out of his eye, looking like a picture of relaxation, he almost doesn’t want to comment on it out of fear his words will send him back into his shell.

He does it anyway, “Jesus Simon, put some clothes on, I’m not my sister,”

“Get the fuck out of here,” he mutters, tone still gravelly, but opening the door anyway to allow him in.

“Anything happen while I was gone?” He inquires, kicking his shoes off, “Do I have to give you the talk?”

Simon walks off into his room to find a shirt, John eagerly tails after him and watches him from the doorway, “Nothing happened, I’m no brute. She’s sleeping it off,”

John crosses his arms, leaning against the frame, “Good, you know I’d murder you if you treated her wrong,”

“Why are you back so early? Thought you were just dropping her off,” He asks, shifting his shirt over his head.

John looks away, reaching up to scratch his stubbled jaw, “Oh you know, one thing led to another…”

He raises an eyebrow, walking past John into the kitchen, “And you call me a dirty bastard, should look in the mirror Johnny,”

“Yeah, yeah, say what you want, at least I didn’t beat a guy up to a bloody pulp,” he teases.

Simon turns away to flick on the kettle, “Bloke fuckin’ deserved it,”

“Can’t disagree with that,” he sighs, stretching his arms out, “I am in need of a shower. I’ll be back.”

Simon goes about making a tea as John finds clothes to change into before disappearing into the bathroom. He’d barely slept a wink, a constant loop of what had happened last night on his mind. Your looks,— there was something in those glances of yours— sounds, and body. He’d play any part you wanted him to if it meant he got to see you on the edge of your bed, almost naked, again.

The teaspoon he was holding clatters against the surface of the bench. He sighs deeply and massages the bridge of his nose, for all the jokes being said, he knows this is a line he can’t cross. Being Johnny’s sister, it’ll only get messy if it intwines with his work. He just needs to get through this break with minimal issues before he’s shipped off to the next place he’s needed.

He takes his mug outside to the backyard, slipping through the sliding door, he can feel the sun that is already beaming with warmth this early in the morning. He reaches for his packet of cigarettes, and takes a seat on one of the chairs you have set up in your small, makeshift dinning area. It’s peaceful in your backyard, despite the sweat that’s already beading along his forehead. He’s about halfway through his cigarette when the sliding door opens again.

You emerge, t-shirt from last night still on, and legs on full display. Sheepishly you cross your arms over your chest, to hide the fact that you’re not wearing a bra.

“Morning,” you greet, eyes squinting against the sun.

Simon pauses his next breath, letting his cigarette dangle between his fingers. He feels like a pervert for momentarily thinking about what colour your panties are, “Morning,”

“Sleep well?” You ask, tucking your hair behind your ears. You hadn’t bothered to brush it yet, you can only imagine what a mess you look like right now.

No. “Yeah, you?”

“Slept like a baby,” you hum, “Thanks for everything and I’m sorry for—”

“There she is!” John’s voice booms from inside the house.

You groan, covering your ear nearest to him, “Fuck me, do you have an inside voice?”

John drapes an arm over your shoulder, rustling you from side to side, “Aw, feeling hungover are you lass?”

You head lolls from side to side with his movements, “I had free drinks all night, of course I’m feeling like shit now,”

John frowns, “Free drinks? From who?”

Simon takes a drag of his cigarette, looking out into the backyard. You smile and pat John’s shoulder, “Fancy a slice of birthday cake for breakfast?”

John follows along, “If I ever say no to that, shoot me because I’ve gone senile.”

The events of last night came rushing in the moment you woke up this morning. And although you’re definitely embarrassed over some of it — seriously what were you thinking, trying to run in your heels? — the way he took care of you was endearing. Even up until you undressed in front of him, he was still the perfect gentleman and sent you to bed. If you weren’t already interested, you definitely were now.

You could always talk to Simon later.

Seeing John’s freshly washed hair makes you wonder, “Did you just get home?”

John pauses mid bite, “Uh, yeah,” he says simply, not wanting to elaborate.

You scrunch your nose, “Ugh ew, I knew you weren’t just going to walk her home,”

John laughs, raising his hands in defence, “It’s not like that,” he thinks for a moment before elaborating, “I’m taking her out on a date tonight,”

Your eyes widen, “What?”

“Does that upset you?” He inquires worryingly.

You smile and shake your head, “No, of course not, I’m just joking,” you place your fork down, “I didn’t realise you liked her so much,”

He looks down at his plate, “We just really hit it off,”

“You’re such a softie,” you tease. “Her favourite flowers are Lilies,”

John nods, “Noted, thank you.”

Another few moments of silence pass, from your spot at the bench you can see Simon through the sliding doors. His posture is more relaxed compared to last night, as he finishes off his cigarette.

“You’ll have the house to yourself tonight,” John notes, following your line of sight.

“Hm? Oh that’s good, could do without you for a night,”you sigh dramatically.

John pointedly ignores the insult, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,”

You tilt your head, “Pretty small list to work with.”

The sliding doors open and Simon steps through, cup in hand, “Si, beach today?” John offers.

“In your fucking dreams.” he mutters, shutting the door behind him.

Laughter erupts from both Johnny and yourself at his disdain. The rest of the day follows a mundane path, you’re sprawled out on the couch with your feet in John’s lap, freshly showered in a t-shirt and shorts to keep cool in the heat. The hangover has passed thankfully, so you’re left with a lazy feeling in your bones that can only come with deep relaxation.

Simon is sitting on one of the chairs near you, aimlessly watching some show you put on. John is occupied on your Switch, playing Stardew Valley even though he was unconvinced it would be entertaining, he’s been silent for at least two hours.

“Fuck, I fell asleep in the mines,” he mutters.

“Aw fucks sake John, you’re gonna lose all my resources,” you complain, digging the heel of your foot into his leg.

“I’ve almost reached the bottom,” he says, “Damn bat fucked me up,”

“Did you get any frozen tears?” You question.

John pauses for a moment, waiting for the cutscene to end. You can hear him checking his inventory, “Yes,”

“Can you give it to Sebastian?”

He frowns, “Why?”

“I’m trying to romance him,”

You can hear Simon chuckle above you, but John just scoffs, “Of course the town loner is your type, fucking nerd,”

“He’s not the town loner,” you defend.

“He likes to hang out at the pier in the rain, he’s a loner,”

You click your mouth shut, “Just give him the damn frozen tear, I don’t need the commentary,”

He sighs deeply but you can hear the player’s footsteps and smile. You’re about to zone back into the tv show until he speaks again.

“What have I done?” He asks, “There’s a weird moment happening,”

You look over confusedly, on the screen you realise John has unlocked one of the Sebastian cutscenes, “Give that to me, quick!”

You snatch the Switch out of his hands and watch the cutscene. You can’t help but giggle at how cute it is, unbeknownst to you, Simon watches from over your shoulder to see what you’re laughing at. He doesn’t understand it, and it’s completely irrational to be jealous over a video game character. So he isn’t.

“I’m gonna marry him,” he can’t help but roll his eyes and look away.

You exit the game to check the time, the display reads 5:00 pm, “Don’t you have to get ready, John?”

John checks his phone for the time, “Shit, I completely lost track of time.”

He shoots up from the couch and walks off into the spare room where he’s left his clothes. You save the game and put the console down on the table, Simon and yourself listen to the way John frantically paces between rooms as he gets ready. Eventually he comes out into the lounge, arms spread to show off his outfit.

“This okay?” He asks.

“Turn around,” you reply, still lying down as you scan his outfit up and down.

“You look fine,” Simon responds.

“Fine is not what I’m going for, Simon,” he exasperates, “I don’t have any clothes packed for a date,”

“The clothes are fine, but do you have a different jacket? You wore that one last night,”

John shakes his head, looking a bit deflated. You hum and think for a moment, “I think you left your bomber jacket here last time you stayed over, go check the back of my wardrobe,”

John rushes off to your room, probably turning it upside down in search of this jacket. Thankfully he manages to find it a few moments later, looking much more confident.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he sighs, checking his pockets. He frowns when he feels a tube like shape. When he fishes it out, he sees a sparkly pink lip gloss.

You gasp, “Oh my god I’ve been looking for that! That’s my favourite gloss,”

He tosses it towards you, “Can see you’ve been wearing this in my absence,”

“Yeah, I looked cuter in it too.”

John waves you off, looking down at his phone once more to send off a message. “Can I borrow your car?” He asks, not looking up from his phone.

You frown, “What if I have plans?”

John gives you a knowing look, I think we both know what your plans are.

You roll your eyes, “Whatever, fill her up will you?” You pause, “Where did I leave my keys?”

“In your bag,” Simon responds, “On the bench,”

John walks towards your bag, rummaging through your stuff to find them. Once they’re found, he does a quick once over before announcing his departure.

“Don’t stay out too late!” You call out.

“Ten pm curfew,” Simon tags on, convincingly authoritative.

“Yes mum and dad,” he shouts back, closing the door behind him.

You let out a sigh and stretch your legs until they’re barely touching the other side of the couch. You shuffle up into a sitting position, only drawn in by your desire to eat something.

“Should we cook something for dinner?” You ask.

Simon responds without looking away from the tv, “I am not someone that should be trusted in the kitchen,”

You laugh, “Surely you’re good at following instructions?”

Simon looks over at you with questionable confidence, but you know he’s too polite to say no, so you use it to your advantage and offer your hand to help him stand up. Begrudgingly he follows you into the kitchen, standing awkwardly as you mill around taking out whatever ingredients are left in your house.

With the chopping board set up you turn to him with a broad grin, “Think you can handle chopping vegetables?”

He sighs and picks up the knife, it’s comfortable in his hands, you can tell— and you won’t dwell on the reasons why. You stand beside him to peel certain vegetables before passing them off to him.

“Did you have a good time last night?” You ask.

“It was nice—some parts over others,” he muses, looking over at you.

You smile sheepishly before looking away, “I’m sorry again, I didn’t mean to rope you into my business,”

Simon shrugs, “No big deal, guy was a wanker,” he looks down as he begins to chop the vegetables, “I hope calling you my missus didn’t make you uncomfortable,”

You can feel your cheeks flush, “Nah, it was fine. It was cute being your missus for the night,” you sigh, “I’m almost jealous,”

Simon’s fingers still for a moment before continuing, “Of what?” He tries to ask neutrally.

When you don’t respond straight away, he looks over at you only to see your eyes already gazing back at him, “Of how considerate you are,” you murmur, placing the peeler down you step over into his space, close enough that your arms are brushing together a you lean your back against the bench, “You’ll make a fine partner,”

The way your eyes assess him has him tense, “What are you doing?”

You smile coyly, “Not doing anything,”

He raises an eyebrow, “Whatever you’re thinking, it needs to stop now darlin’,”

“What am I thinking about?” You ask, biting your lower lip to stop the grin that’s trying to form on your face.

Simon puts down the knife to give you his full attention, “Naughty thoughts that I should not be apart of,”

You hum but ease off, walking over to the other side of the kitchen to turn on the stove, “Missing out, they’re pretty fun thoughts I’m having.”

Simon looks up at the ceiling and shakes his head. God help him, he’s on his last tether. He continues about his work silently, refusing to look your way to keep whatever resolve he has intact. You try your hardest to not laugh at how tense his posture has turned, the mere brush of you walking past him as him flinching. It’s uncanny to see a man so big on edge.

“I’m not going to bite you Simon,” you promise, after the third twitch of his arm.

“Don’t know about that one.” he mutters, passing you bowl of chopped carrots.

Dinner manages to come out of it unscathed, he leaves it mostly to you considering he really does not trust his ability to not burn something. Once it’s finished and served, you both eat in the kitchen. Simon seems hellbent on keeping some form of distance between the two of you, so he’s leant against the opposite counter near the stove while you’re sitting atop the bench on the other side.

Unabashedly from your view you get to stare at how his shoulders fill out his shirt— does he own anything that’s not black? —moments of how he took care of you filter through your mind, the way his knuckles flexed after he came back in from the alley, the way he kept a close eye on you after that despite there being no threat.

Simon’s rough sigh and the sound of his bowl clattering against the counter’s surface has you floating back into the moment. Innocently, you watch as he crosses the space between the two of you. He’s still hovering just out of your reach, out of respect. You’re not having it, as soon as he’s within reach you hook your leg behind his knee and draw him in without restraint.

His hands rest on the bench either side of you, leg still entwined with yours, “What will it take?”

You tilt your head and put your own bowl down. With hands free, you can lean back against the counter to accomodate the man in your space. Innocently you trace your foot up and down his calf, “Come on Simon, use that brain of yours, I know you’re a smart man. What do you think?”

He breathes out through his nose, his thumb edges along the side of your thigh, “We shouldn’t do this,” it’s a flimsy defence.

You reach up with on of your hands to stroke the side of his face, slowly inching closer, “Stop acting like I don’t want this,” you whisper, “You’re not hurting anyone here.”

Before he can come up with another feeble excuse you lean forward to slot your lips against his. It’s soft, and tender, like leading a frightened animal out of its cage. Simon takes a moment to warm up, but once he has feeling in his fingertips, they’re moving to dig into your plush thighs. Your arms wrap around his neck and pull him closer, the kiss taking on a more urgent edge.

When you pull back, you lean your forehead against his, the kitchen is silent save for your soft breathing, “Good?” You inquire softly, not wanting to shatter the moment.

Simon silently scans your face, his answer forms in the way he pulls you closer until your legs wrap around his waist, “Johnny’s not gonna let me live this down,” he mutters.

“Don’t bring my brother into this,” you huff exasperatedly with an eye roll.

He kisses you out of apology, rubbing up and down your thighs in a soothing manner. You’re so taken off guard by his initiative, that he takes control. He’s being careful, holding himself back from gripping you too hard like he wants to. Your hands migrate down his chest until they reach the hem of his shirt, Simon lets you hike it up only separating from your mouth when he needs to pull it the rest of the way over his head.

With his chest on full display you can’t help but run your fingertips down it, you haven’t seen his tattoos since the day at the swimming hole. You try to take in as much as the detail you can before he’s pulling you into another kiss. Lost in the middle of it, Simon hooks his palms under your thighs before hoisting you off the bench into his arms. You squeeze him harder for leverage as you pull away.

You grin as you rub his shoulders, “Not just for display, huh?”

Simon chuckles as he walks down the hall to your bedroom, “That is the second comment you have made about my muscles in the last twenty four hours,”

You scoff, “What you’re keeping count now?”

“Maybe,” he shrugs.

“You like hearing me talk about how big they are?” You raise an eyebrow teasingly, “Does it inflate your ego? What else about is big about you, Simon?”

A palm covers your mouth, muffling your laughter. Simon is borderline mortified at your cliché comments, as he walks through the door into your room. When he drops you down on your bed, you’re still giggling to yourself.

“You talk too much,” he states.

You lean up on your elbows to meet Simon halfway as he hovers over you on his forearms, “My talking got us here, didn’t it?”

Simon looks at you with a knowing smirk, he knows defeat when he hears it. Instead of giving you the satisfaction of being right, he reaches to pull your top off which you wordlessly follow. It’s a different bra is what he first thinks, before dropping your shirt to the floor in favour of leading a trail of kisses down your chest.

You’re quiet as you watch him go, his blonde hair brushes against your ribcage the further he goes. His hands are grasping your hips for leverage until he reaches your bellybutton in a slow descent. You can only lift your hips as he tugs your shorts down unceremoniously.

He chuckles for a moment, “No underwear? Bit cheeky of you when you have company in your house,”

You smile slyly, “A girl can do what she wants in her own house,”

Simon slowly kneels at the edge of the bed, pulling you forward by your calves until they’re resting over his shoulders, “Can’t argue with that,”

You roll your eyes, “Especially not when it’s working in your— favour,” your comment filters off into a harsh breath.

Simon kisses up the sensitive path of your inner thighs, even on his knees you can’t help but marvel at how powerful his figure looks. You can’t imagine what he’s like in the field, if only you had paid attention to Johnny’s phone calls you would have a clearer mental image.

All thoughts are lost on you now when you feel his tongue against your clit. “Yes,” you sigh, reaching down to card your fingers through his hair.

Simon listens to each turn of your breath to guide his movements, he presses harder depending how tightly you’re squeezing his hair. By the end of it, he can almost relish in the way your thighs squeeze around his head involuntarily trying to shy away from the building sensation in the pit of your stomach. When you wriggle too far, he digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you closer until you’re flush against his mouth.

“Fuck’s sake,” you gasp, “I’m gonna cum if you don’t give me a break, Simon,”

Simon unlatches his mouth but you can still feel his breath against your clit, “Trying to tap out already, love?”

Your head thunks against the mattress beneath you, so unfair for him to look like that between your legs. Dazed and like he’d rather be nowhere else, “If I can’t move after this it’s your fault,”

“I’ll do all the work,” he promises before diving back in. It’s messy you can feel it, the way he tongues between your clit and hole which is now leaking with how turned on you are.

You clench your eyes shut and reach for his hair again, this time pulling him forward by the crown of his head until he can’t get any closer with his nose shoved against your lips. The rush of your orgasm comes all at once, you’re sure you said Simon’s name either in warning or something entirely else. He doesn’t pull away from your clenching grip until he feels your thighs start to ease off and twitch from the overstimulation.

He looks entirely pleased with himself if the toothy grin is something to go by. You’re too boneless to think of a snarky response as you feel yourself melt into the mattress. Going along with it as he leans down to kiss you deeply. When you lift one of your legs for leverage, he grunts as it gently brushes past his cock which is painfully still confined in his pants.

He pulls away to look down at you, “Good?” He checks in.

You hum, “Great,” sneakily you shift your thigh in between his and rub it against his crotch, “Should we figure that out?”

He exhales roughly, resting his forehead against your shoulder as he ruts down against your leg. The outline feels big, heavy. It makes you a little bit nervous if it’s anything proportional to how big Simon is himself. With his head bowed, he reaches one hand down between your legs, briefly running his finger over your soaked hole before sliding one in. You gasp and clutch at his shoulders, he follows your weight dragging him down, causing him to rut deeper against your thigh.

The sound pulled from him sounds borderline painful, with panting breaths you reach down to unbuckle his pants. The lack of constriction brings instant relief, he pushes another finger inside you as you dip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers. There’s a mutual sound of pleasure, Simon’s brow furrows as your hand circles around him within his pants. Any sort of touch fuels his need to go faster, when his fingers stretch you out too abruptly he apologises roughly and kisses your shoulder.

His cock feels huge under your palm as you stroke up and down, but every subtle grunt and breath you hear against your ear makes it worth it. You’re so wired by the time a third finger stretches you out that you start shoving against his chest. Simon kneels up on the bed, fingers departing from your cunt causing you to clench. His cock lays flushed against his pelvis, you’re immediately drawn in by your own impatience as you try to tug his pants down. You only get as far as his thighs before he has to crawl off the bed to shove them the rest of the way off.

Everything about Simon, you’ve come to realise, is big. “How the fuck do you walk around with that thing,” you gasp.

Simon rolls his eyes as he resumes his position above you, resting his closed fists either side of your head, “Stop being dramatic,”

Your jaw drops, drawing your gaze away to look up at him, “I promise I am being far from dramatic Simon,”

He quirks an eyebrow, “Having second thoughts?” The way your jaw clicks shut makes him smirk, “Didn’t think so,”

“You are a bastard,” you mutter, hooking your legs around his waist.

He leans down to kiss you as he adjusts one of his hands to guide his cock to your entrance. When you feel the tip of it tap purposely against your clit, you can’t help but tense.

You reach up to dig your fingers into Simon’s jaw before you pull away from the kiss, “Don’t be a tease now, Simon,”

He smirks within your grip, sliding his cock up and down but not quite going where you’re want him to, “Ask nicely,”

You huff, each pass over your clit makes you twitch, “You want me to use manners now? Really?”

“Yes,” finding satisfaction in your faltering resolve. “I like a girl that can listen to me,”

It’s a test, to see if you’ll follow orders. You shake your head incredulously, and for a moment Simon thinks you won’t follow through, that you’ll say someone back with equal sarcasm. Eventually you drop the hand that was holding his jaw and let it fall to the mattress beneath you.

“Please, Simon,” you sigh, tightening your legs around his waist just to nudge him that little bit closer, “Put that fucking cock in me already,”

It’s close enough. “Such a good girl,” he rumbles, sinking all the way in.

You ball your fist and gently knock it against his shoulder as you try to bare the girth of his cock stretching you open, “Fucking hell,”

Simon strokes the of your waist to your hip in soothing motions. It’s painful for him to remain so still inside you, you’re perfectly tight around him— it’s almost laughable that you got referred to as loose the night before by your jealous fling.

“Doing okay, love?” He asks between breaths.

You can only hum with your eyes clenched shut as you try to collect your thoughts. After a moment of breathing you manage to open your eyes, and capture the sight of Simon mildly fretting over you.

“M’good,” you unfurl your fist and grip his shoulder with a squeeze, “Too good, start moving.”

Simon’s previous patting stalls to grip your hip instead, with a slow withdrawal comes a deep thrust forward. It’s knocks the wind out of your lungs, you can only hang on as Simon finds a rhythm that has you unwinding. It’s deep, you tell him as much in a repeated mantra like it’s the only thing your brain can comment on.

“Doin’ so well,” he huffs, tugging you forward with his thrusts, “Perfectly tight little cunt you have darlin’, it’s made for me,”

The whine that pours from your lips is involuntary, completely affected by the language itself. You wish he would shut up as it only adds to the onslaught of pleasure pooling in your core. In a moment of quick thinking, you shove at his shoulders again until he eases up. Before he can question if you’re alright, you guide him into rolling over until you’re on top.

The withdrawal of his cock makes you feel empty, but you use it as a moment to catch your breath and get your bearings as you lean your hands flat against his chest. From this view you can see every fleeting look that passes through Simon’s eyes, his hands gently circle your hips. His thumbs digging into the bones as reassurance.

You shift forward and grip his cock with careful fingers before guiding back inside you. Simon’s grip tightens on your hips but he says nothing as you readjust to the feeling.

“You holding back on me, Simon?” You ask, breathless. He remains quiet, you take that as your opportunity to unhook your bra before leaning forward until you’re inches away from his face, “Think I can’t handle it?”

“Yes,” he says earnestly, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You rise back up, planting your hands for leverage as you lift yourself up before dropping back down in a slowing pace. It’s selfish, to cause a rise out of him, but you can’t help but consider it a challenge. Who is he to dictate what you can and can’t take?

Simon’s fingers dig into your hips, “What are you doing?”

You raise an eyebrow, “Riding you,” you state, matter of factly.

Simon lets you continue your slow pace for a moment longer. It’s not helping either of you, “I know what you’re doing,”

“What’s that sweetheart?”

“You’re not going to get a rise out of me,” he comments, letting his arms fall above his head. A mock picture of relaxation.

“Can’t I just enjoy myself?” You ask, corner of your lips quirking up in a mischievous smile.

It’s quiet save for the soft breaths coming from you and the sound of your skin connecting against Simon’s. Your thighs are starting to strain, and Simon will give it to you, you’re fucking stubborn. But he’s got the upper hand, and is perfectly happy staring at your tits as you work yourself up and down his cock. He’s entranced by it until he hears you mumbling something under your breath, completely unaware.

Please, Simon, please, please, please.

Who is he to say no to his missus?

“Fuckin’ hell,” he grunts, grabbing ahold of your hips and slamming you down against his pelvis. The gasp you let out is most satisfying to him, you asked for this, not him, it’s punishment now.

Your mouth falls agape, clutching desperately at Simon’s shoulders as he takes over, slamming up into you as he pulls you down. It’s much rougher, deeper now, you can feel everything. Your thighs try to draw closer to shy away but he shakes his head and uses strength to flip you back onto the mattress beneath him.

“Greedy little thing,” he grunts, “Can’t just do as you’re told can you?”

You’re panting, open mouthed now, “Simon, fuck,” your fingers curl up into his hair, “Keep going,”

He shakes his head, “Still making demands of me? When is it enough for you?”

He shifts back on his knees, dislodging your grip on his hair. Your thighs rest either side of his waist as he spears you back and forth on his cock, your hands reach for the headboard above you. With your spine arched, everything feels more pronounced as he thrusts in and out at a bruising pace.

“M’gonna cum,” you whisper, clenching your eyes shut.

“C’mon then love, waiting for it,” he grunts.

Your jaw drops with wordless moan, your spine goes taut as Simon delivers one last deep thrust inside you. His thumb circles your clit as you orgasm, making you cry out just that little bit louder. Your thighs are quaking around him until he decides he can’t take it anymore.

You watch dazed, as he pulls out and jacks off over your stomach. Ropes of cum spill against your abdomen and ribcage until he’s done. With heavy breaths he crouches over you to compose himself. You pat the back of his enclosed fist before tugging at his wrist to encourage him to lay down beside you.

Staring up at the ceiling both of you try to catch your breath. When you turn your head, you can see his eyes are closed, “Did I tire you out?”

He exhales deeply, “Is there ever a quiet moment with you?”

You laugh and roll over to his side, hooking your leg around his and draping an arm over his chest, “Is quiet what you want?”

He doesn’t even open his eyes, “No,” he’s had enough of quiet in his life.

You lean up to press a soft kiss against his lips, “I like when you call me your missus,”

He cracks an eye open, “Really?”

You grin when his arms circle around you, “Yeah, does something to me.”

Simon rolls his eyes and kisses you again.

[lilacartsmadsion]

Cookie Run AUs:

Dark Vanilla AU: Wattpad

An AU where instead of Pure Vanilla, The Ancients are lost after the Dark Flour War leaving only Pure Vanilla is the remaining Ancient. Having lost their rulers, Crispia falls into a dark place of despair, reliant yet hesitant to trust Pure Vanilla. This causes Pure Vanilla to turn bitter and rule with an iron fist to ensure the Dark Flour War never happens again…Also DE ends up taking longer to be free because 4 Ancients holding her back kinda did a toll on her.

Status: Ongoing.

Sixth Lost Ancient AU: Wattpad.

An AU where there was a Sixth Ancient and Gingerbrave ends up getting their Soul Jam. He in turn learns the secrets of its previous owner.

Status: Ongoing

‘Light’ of Truth AU: Wattpad

The story goes off as normal, except Pure Vanilla Doesn't have Amnesia, he ends up in the Dark Cacao Kingdom, and things take a turn...but is it really for the worse if one purges those of darkness? Aka PV accidentally gets corrupted after getting free from DE

Status: Hiatus (Debating whether to redo the AU or Cancel it)

Traitor Licorice AU: Wattpad

Licorice had enough of the CoD and decided to go Apeshit. Added an OC there just cause.

Status: Hiatus (Might rewrite it cause the writing is cringe as hell)

Death’s Darkest Soul: Wattpad

Inspired by ‘The Blizzard’s of Spring’s Wake’ on A03 an AU related to my ‘Ghosts of Our Pasts AU’ that basically has Cacao as a human sacrifice as a baby to the god of Death or smth. Death is an OC.

Status: Hiatus

Ghosts of Our Pasts AU: Tumblr.

A Dark Cacao Backstory AU that was made because I was bored idk. This was written prior to the Dark Cacao update but fleshed out afterwards. All known fanfictions of it were in my Deactivated Account (cause I was a dumbass and accidentally deleted my Account) but I intend to rewrite it and flesh it out some more. I do not intend to make it a fanfiction though, since I prefer it being explained in arts. And mostly because it’s an AU for DCA’s backstory that really contradicts canon.

Status: Uhh????? Idk I make references to it sometimes???

Outcast AU: Tumblr

Traitor Licorice except it’s Red Velvet and Dark Choco who had enough of the CoD. A comedy/Slice of Life AU I made a while back. (In my Deactivated Account) takes place before the DCA update.

Status: Ongoing

Chocobrave AU: Tumblr

An AU where Dark Cacao adopts Gingerbrave. That’s it. That’s the AU. No it is not a ship, this is mainly a Father and Son AU that’s it. (I’ve had an ask before and I feel like I need to clarify) Also this AU is mainly angst with no comfort so get comfy.

Status: Ongoing (Mostly Oneshots)

Future AU

An AU that takes place after DE’s defeat. The Ancients have given up their Soul Jam, thus causing them to pass on. Leaving Earthbread under the protection of the Main 5. However something in Gingerbrave snaps causing him to steal the Soul Jam and create conflict for Earthbread once more.

Status: Ongoing (Told via visual arts)

That time I Adopted a God AU: Tumblr.

An AU where the Ovenbreakers defeat the Witches and become gods, creating Earthbread and all its inhabitants. One day Nameless One pops on over to Earthbread in mortal form and ends up getting adopted by Dark Cacao Cookie.

Status: Ongoing.

Ancients are Gods AU: Tumblr.

Yeah the title is self explanatory except this was a joint AU between me, @beatrixblog and @boneasin not gonna add a status under this because I’m not sure if we’re gonna continue it or not. Bone hasn’t been active in a while…

New AUs:

Pastry Cult AU: Tumblr probably.

Gingerbrave gets baked early and ends up in the clutches of the St Pastry Order, after discovering the truth of the Witches, fueled by bitterness and resentment Gingerbrave spreads false information about the Witches in order to send the cult to its doom.

Status: It’s new so…

Cookie Empires AU: Tumblr probably.

The Ovenbreakers were made to be the Beasts replacements, but seeing what happened to the last batch, The Witches decided to choose cookies to wield the Soul Jams instead of baking a new batch. Now without purpose the Ovenbreakers build empires in the Continent of Crispia and become their respective rulers. Immortal through other means and powerful through their dough.

Status: Still new.

Other Blogs:

Ninjago x LMK Blog

Currently in progress of writing a comic. But I’m procrastinating. Please don’t use this to talk to me about Chronicles of The Earth Master. This is purely for a comic. I will add content for Chronicles of the Earyh Master after Chapter 1 is done.

Time Bone Swap AU Blog

Honestly this blog is basically dead, I don’t have much motivation to work on it anymore. But I wouldn’t mind a few questions for it! Also I will make screenshot edits of the AU every now and again.

LMK AUs Galore

My main LMK blog. Talk to me about LMK here Ig. Though to be fair I barely use this blog for LMK. But that’s mainly because I’m Hyperfixating on Ninjago or I’m making blogs with @zammy357

Markus Stickmin Blog

Mainly an RP blog. Tells the story of Henry’s son Markus and opens a new chapter for the Stickmins. It’s mainly for fun.

Ghost Tripitaka AU Blog.

This RP blog is over, but I thought to link it because I did run the blog with @zammy357. The Au pretty much is self-explanatory.

Button AU Blog

Again this is the main case for most of my RP blogs, this one is over but I’m linking it since me and @zammy357 made it. It’s an LMK Coraline AU basically.

Legacy of the Gods Blog

Originally an ask blog of an OG story. I’m planning on making it comic instead. But possibly in the future.

Inkfection AU

In the process of being Rebooted. But basically an AU of a blog I had that I will link soon.

Keeping up with the Voidlings.

An RP blog with me and @zammy357’s ocs

Ninjago Blog

A blog for most of my Ninjago shit. You’ll see me making AU arts or anything really. Use this for any questions for AUs regarding Ninjago. Especially for my readers in A03

Amnesia Wukong AU Blog

In the middle of a reboot an AU where Wukong loses all his memories.

Broken Vow AU Blog

A future AU for a blog I will link soon.

Lotus Academy AU Blog

A modern AU basically for LMK where Nezha owns a school and basically runs it with LMK characters plus ocs.

Monkie Kid, Demigod Adventures AU Blog

LMK x PJO basically.

Dad Nezha AU

An AU where Mk ends up adopted by Nezha instead of Pigsy.

House of Representatives AU Blog

This is actually an old AU blog remade. Basically a story that explains the main plot of how HS works for my AUs. It’s basically a prequel to Markus Stickmin.

Heart and Mind AU blog

An AU where Wukong splits his personality in two. Basically.

Shi Hou Reborn AU Blog

Wukong somehow kills himself and reincarnates as his son. Macaque takes care of him shit happens.

Lastly my personal favs:

Mentality of Wukong and Ink Cycle Reborn AU Blogs:

These two AUs correlate to each other since Ink Cycle Reborn is the Reboot/Reimagining of MoW. Most of the blogs that say ‘An Au of the blog I’m going to link’ correlate to MoW though not Ink Cycle Reborn. (Since Ink Cycle Reborn tells a very different yet similar story to MoW) Basically Wukong gets consumed by the Ink from the Scroll of Memory early on in the series.

[tranceinnumerabletabs]

When Johnny Comes Back pt13

I'd like to mention some of these 'titles' were from AO3 and I'm sorry for how some of these sound. I know a lot of these were truly bonkers and some were character-specific. Y'all better like them they're legit funny at times AND have plausible deniability. Also, just like...2 hours after posting part 12, I REACHED 100 REBLOGS!! LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Sorry it took so long! I guess I hit a writer's block.

tags: @supermegabitchboyexceptimagirl, and @beelzebee

part1, part12

“Poison Breaker. Affirmative Sir. Operation: Deep Infiltration. Whispers of the Damned.”

Huh…those sound familiar?

“Undercover assets. Trapper Keeper. The Art of Subtlety. Hotline.”

Those….are just titles of sites you’ve visited? You think. You don’t memorize the hundreds of sites you visit.

“Tactical Submission. All That’s Said In Low Light. The Captain’s Private Orders. All the Sins You Never Had the Courage to Commit. Silent Weapons, Soft Target. To Drive a Man to Madness. Covert Rendezvous.”

Soap looks confused, which isn’t a good look right now. ‘What’s all this?’ He seems to say as he looks at you. You look confused as well.

You Don't remember this as being a part of your research.

This Wasn't Part Of Your Research.

“Sir Yes Sir. Directive 69: Breach & Enter. Man In Uniform. Under the Hood: Sensitive Material. Bravo Six: Going Dark. Decompression Protocol. Advanced Recon: Close Quarters. Mask-On Compliance. Command Authority: At Ease.”

Johnny looked even more confused. That’s…a lot more than you showed him. You didn’t tell him about any of this and by the sounds of it it seems important.

“Low-Profile Insertion. Kylassified BBC. Private Briefing: The Captain’s Touch. The Alpha Lieutenant. Engagement Protocol.”

Wait. Alpha Lieutenant? that sounds so familiar to you.

“Explosive Affairs. Now You See ‘em, Now You Don’t. Help Me Out (Get Me Off).”

“Hen what’s this?” Soap whispers sharply to you.

“Someone to Bleed. Silent Takeover. Behind Enemy Lines (Barracks Edition). Black Ops Ships.”

Ships?

Ships??

SHIPSSS??

SHIIIIIIPPSSSS??!!

No

no please god no

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

“Modern Warfare Collection. C4 & Chill. Op Order: Stand to Attention.”

Soap looked worried at your panicked look.

'What are you hiding?'

“Slow Burn Deployment. Headcannon: Operator Edition. Cold War AU. Warzone AU. Infinite Warfare AU. Ship Week Prompts.”

“This isn’t what it looks like” you whisper back but it’s not very convincing when the words Cold War, Warzone and Warfare is coming out of Ross’ mouth

“Modern Warfare Drabbles. Modern Warfare Oneshots. Multi chapter AU Missions. Modern Warfare PWP. Kinktober: Advanced Warfare Edition. Fix-it-Fic: After Action Report.”

He’s literally reading your fucking fanfic history.

“Canon-Divergence ABO AU. WIP Modern Warfare 2.”

ABO?! fml that’s like the worst one?! What could be worse!?

“CoD x Reader."

tHaT wAsN't a fUcKiNg cHAllEnGe rOsS!!

"Reader Inserts: Classified Quarters. Modern Warfare Imagines.” Ross finishes as if he didn’t completely and utterly demolish your dignity in one fell swoop by reading your fanfic history right in front of Johnny

.

.

.

.

“Care to explain all that ma’am?” Ross asks innocuously Now, all three men turn towards you for answers, though Soap is still on your side, he wanted your explanation

You clear your throat, finding it suddenly dry. Was it always hot in here or was it just you?

“I….um…”

At the hesitation, Milton and Ross perk up “Those are just….fictional stories I like reading.” You vaguely say

“Hmm. That’s an awful lot of them military themed”

You nod hastily “yep!” You squeak “I’m just….really into it”

yeah I’m sure you are you whore

All three of them seem to scrutinize you under their gaze. The agents gaze spoke of suspicions and Soap’s never knew you were into that bonny

“So all of this is just a curiosity? You seemed to stay up late on these sites. All these titles are cause for suspicion in one way or another”

you doubt that but I guess they wouldn’t understand what some of these terms would be

“Y-yeah…the stories aren’t….focused on military stuff anyway it’s just….silly stories about the characters” you force out as you wish the ground would swallow you whole. They don’t even seem convinced as you experience an ego death right next to Soap. “It’s harmless! Honest!” You say, digging yourself into a deeper grave.

“Could you show us one of them” Milton challenges

I’d rather you shoot me but okay! You pull out your phone and go on AO3

“Lass what are you doing?” Soap whisper hisses at you, thinking it’s bad.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it” you whisper back. You try to find……nothing too weird. That shouldn’t be too hard right?

right?

You show him the beginning of some slow burn. Nothing crazy happens in the beginning of a slow burn right?

You all sit in silence as old ass men read fanfiction titles right fucking in front of you with varying expressions. But you only had one expression: Pain.

Soap looked like he wanted answers but is waiting till they leave “So they’re really just…..stories..?” Ross gruffs

“Yep! Nothing classified here!” You wheeze Ross of course decided to scroll all the way to the top before you could stop him and read the fucking tags you unwillingly flinch in embarrassment and take back your phone so he doesn’t seen any…..inappropriate tags….and you pray they didn’t. You look at your phone and Daymn these tags are pretty good but not something you’d show your parents. He…didn’t read them did he??

DID HE?

Milton doesn’t seem to notice and continues with the questions “so they’re unrelated to earlier searches?”

“YEP!” Your voice cracks

“Does your ’friend’ also have these….‘interests’”

“Uhhhh……maybe? I’m sure she’d like some of them”

Ross seemed to have enough “alright. Seems….harmless enough”

“Does your friend know anything about deeper searches or your husband’s occupation?” Milton checks again

husband

“U-um….she knows he’s in the military…” you dodge the fist part of the question but “And the searches?” Milton wasn’t having any of that

“I didn’t send her anything I know is classified” technically not a lie

“Did you tell her anything classified?”

“I never knew I even read anything bad! I was just curious”

please leave please leave please leave

They didn’t like that. But what could they do? They shoot Soap a look. He shoots one back, as if to say “leave it to me gentlemen”

The men nod “thank you both for your cooperation.” Ross grunts. They move to stand up and you relax slightly Ross straightens his tie as he talks “Be mindful of where you look and who you share it with. Curiosity could get you in serious trouble if you end up on the wrong side of a security breach“

“If you have any questions about classified material, there are legitimate channels.” Milton eyes you both.

pfff! ‘Legitimate Channels’?! If you wanted to watch hours of propaganda you’d watch marvel movies

Ross casually pockets his notebook filled with information the CIA couldn’t waterboard out you. They start to see themselves out but then-

“Hold it right there folks” Soap objects. The men turn to look at him. “Are ye gonna stop watching us? I’m not too keen on being monitored”

The men exchange glances “we’ll be in touch”

Soap doesn’t seem satisfied with that. Seems he still needs to….do things under your table and need their heads away.

“Aye. Aye. I Ken it’s yer jobs tae be cunts. I’m one myself” he reminds “but I’d like tae take a look at her ‘investigation’ myself and dinae want tae be watched”

Oh so that’s why

The men look at each other, straighten up, and try to make him understand “It’s not in our hands sergeant” Milton speaks “we can try to put in a good word. But we can’t make guarantees”

Soap thinks for a moment “aye, I shoulda known...Hmph. That’s alright gentlemen. I’ll just tell my captain and Laswell”

The men look even more serious “alright. I’m sure they’ll clear her name for you.” They start to see themselves out again but before they could fully leave, the older one, Ross turn his head back and says “It’s got to have you back sergeant” before finally leaving.

Both of you sigh in relief, the tension seeming to leave you both as you relaxed but neither of you are relaxed at all. Your dignity was in complete shambles, you had a lot to explain and Soap now had another mission as soon as he came back.

A long silence befalls both of you. Neither of you knowing what to say and needing to contemplate. You were there, reality crashing on you realizing how you’ve just stumbled into and Johnny? He’s now just had a new list of objectives to complete:

1. Interrogate you, why didn’t you tell him about those? are you hiding something from him? Have you been lying about what you know?

2. Tell Laswell and Price everything he knows and everything that happened. He already sent screenshots, they haven’t responded, and there’s been…..recent updates to suspicious activity he has to investigate.

3. Try to clear your name. But only if he’s concluded you deserved it. And he’s worried you didn’t deserve it. Those titles did sounded suspicious

4.Contact the shadow. How dare he talk to his wee bonny lass? Was it random? Was it bait? Was it targeted? Was it a part of something bigger he might not survive?

As both of you were processing the events, neither of you knew what to say. Soap braved a glance at you, you were looking right at him…wanting to speak but not knowing how to start. His eyes softened. How could he think anything malevolent of you? He’s sure you have an explanation. He put his signature teasing smile on his face.

“Husband eh? Looks like they made it official for us.” He jokes

You look surprised, before slowly cracking a small laugh and shaking your head. He smiles at the sight: you, on laughing at his antics on his bare chest. His solider brain impelled him from the side of his mind that he usually shut down when he came back to demand

To demand answers now.

But you were precious.

Too precious

But he had a job to do. His Call of Duty

“Lass” he clears his through and tries to keep his tone lighthearted as to not alarm you but the look in his eye was serious. “Care tae explain all tha’? Ye said ye told me everything”

Your eyes widen and your cheeks start heating up, you shove your face back into his chest, an action that would usually have his heart beating faster and his grin wider, but not now, cuz that’s MiGhTy sUsPiCioUs. His eyes grow even more serious. “What’s wrong bonny” his pet name sounds forced “are ye hiding’ something?”

You don’t seem to catch the weight of his tone, too engulfed in the absolute embarrassment of the events. Bad news. “Lass” he says through clenched teeth. “Care tae explain?” He fights the urge to grip your hair and force eye contact. He needs answers.

You catch on and snap your head up “I-i-it’s not what I-it l-l-looks like! I can explain!”

no you can't

oh god how am I going to explain I read smutty military fanfiction?! HE’S IN THE FUCKING MILITARY

“Ye said ye told me everything”

“I did!”

“Then what was all that? You didn’t show me all those.”

“I-I-I answered truthfully! Honest!”

“So all th’ was jus’ stories?” He asks, suspicious

“Yes! I promise!”

“About what?”

"Just….some..military stuff”

“Ye seemed eager tae make sure sheriff Sunburn and Deputy Mustache dinnae read it.” He presses

“It’s just….um….about the characters themselves. Like about lieutenants, soldiers, sergeants, mercenaries. Not about combat or battle….usually..”

So you’re learning about their means to an end? The average person doesn’t read hours of Mein Kampf, Das Kapital, The Art of War, The Turner Diaries etc for the writing style. So he scowls more as if that’s worse “an’ why would ye want tae know that?”

“Just……for fun..”

“Fer fun?”

“Hmm hmm” you force out.

Oh lord, if you’re listening, please help. I know we haven't always gotten along with my reading history and every thought I have when Johnny is shirtless but please!

“Then why don’t I have some ‘fun’ too? Give me your phone” he challenges, determined to find you out. Your eyes widen and your throat goes dry

oh lord please no

Your reaction seemed to confirm his suspicions and I look of betrayal and denial seeped into his face. You lied to him? You lied?! What were you plotting?

The look on his face broke your heart and you panicked more “I-i-it’s not bad! Honest! C'mon I need you on my side Johnny! You know I’d never do anything bad!”

“Honest?” He seemed to mock “well if ye wanna talk about honesty. Let’s talk about how ye went behind my back and learned everythin’ I’ve been trying tae hide from ye, only for you to end up being someone I’d fight against and ye won’t even let me not believe it!”

“Nononononono” you shake your head. Then. You sigh, defeated

“…..don’t laugh…”

Soap seemed to ease up at that.

“It’s…..uh…transformative works based on preexisting concepts made by regular civilians”

“Does it end with the army lads plantin’ a bomb or rescuin’ a kitten? I’m sure ‘The Captain’s Private Orders’ and ‘Operation Deep Infiltration’ sound like stories with happy endings. Next thing I see is you pitching’ American Sniper tae our wee Simon fer a bedtime story”

oh they have happy endings alright

You groan and place your hands in your hands “they’re not even about military bullshit! They’re about military video game characters!” You slip

“….stories…..about video game...military…” he mumbled to himself. Then…slowly, his entire demeanor shifts. His shoulders drop and his face twist into disbelief

“No. fucking. way” he looks at you but there was no malice, making you foolishly relax as well “what?”

“Lass…”

“Johnny?”

“…were ye readin’ fanfiction?!” He yells in absolute disbelief!

“W-what! I-I-I”

“Don’t try tae lie tae me sweetheart!” He laughs, and despite it being at your expense pride swelled in your heart at making him laugh so hard. “Ye wee filthy lass!” He laughs.

“N-no!!” You yell in a blushing defense but that just confirms his suspicions further and he wasn’t having any of that. You're dignity was going for a round two and there is no tap outs avaliable

“I cannae believe it! The wee Innocent Princess has a dark side! Tell me lassie, do ye like the idea of a big mean soldier tossin’ a wee ting like you and fuckin’ her silly?”

“It’s not all smutty!” You slip up. Well shit now you’ve confirmed it!

“Is that so? are they all big dark, brooding and misunderstood?” He keeps going, merciless “or are they too busy shagging each other? An’ I’m right here! Without the plot holes or filers! I’m proper jealous! Am I not strong enough fer ye Bonnie? I promise I’m a better fuck than Audie Murphy!” He laughs, clutching his chest in faux heartbreak

“Noooooo!”

“Dae the lads recite Shakespeare tae woo ye? I should try tha’! O, my sweet lass, how doth thy beauty compare to a well-placed grenade?’”

“Okay well fuck you too Johnny”

“ye wish! Is this what ye’ve been reading at night?! All cozy in yer Jammies readin’ about an alpha male in yer bedroom? I gotta see this!”

“Jounnyyy!!” you shove your face into your hands, unable to face him

“What’s yer favorite one lass? ‘Tactical Submission’? ‘*Deeeep* Infiltration’” he leans in close to you, making sure to be right in front of your hands on your face

“What was it again? ‘Captain’s Private Orders’? I could give ye orders if ye like lass”

“Oh I’m sorry Sergeant jealousy, I didn’t know it was part of protocol to get your CV before reading in what I thought was the privacy of my home!” You whine into your hands then he grips your wrists and rips them away to revel in your shattered dignity

“I dinae think the day would ever come where I’d find this about ye! Are ye that patriotic or have I swooned ye? I shoulda went in tae makin’ porn! Then at least ye’d be Diddling tae a proper braw belter!”

You groan so loudly you sound like an angsty teen on their phone. You look away, your face too hot to breath properly “Who needs recruiters when they have me! Are you tryin to tell me somethin lass?” He leans in way too fucking close making it hard to breathe.

You whine indignantly “yeah!” You choke out. His eyes brighten and it pisses you off more right now “l found that that military men are really sexy! You’re just a shit example!” You yell out.

He throws his head back in laughter. Finally you can breathe without his smothering proximity. “Awww lass! Don’t be like tha’!”

You huff and don’t meet his face

“Lassie” he calls out, still holding your wrists

“Fuck off Johnny”

“Awww don’t be like that hen. I’m sure it’s a nice way tae keep warm when the real thing isn’t there”

“Johnny I swear to god I will sell you to foreign forces for a corn chip if you don’t shut the fuck up”

“Fee a corn chip? Nae I’m sure you can bargain fer better.” He grins wider and leans back in “like…say….a night with one of their soldiers.”

“Johnny I swear to god-“ He gasps as if he suddenly got an idea “Ye really should show me some!” Your eyes shoot open in horror

“absolutely not!” You yell “ain’t no way!”

He whines and places both hands in the couch ‘wall’ behind you, encasing you. You knew he was going to try and roll persuasion. He rolls a 19 but you roll a 20 on insight and see his roguish mischievousness through those twitter-blue eyes. He lowers himself a bit and looks up at you with those big blue pupper eyes, it’s especially ethos with those bandages “Bonny-” he starts, dripping with faux sincerity

“No.”

“Lass pl-“

“I said no Johnny”

“Hen”

“I said NO Johnny! I will throw Simon at you don’t test me!”

He whines like a dog and encircles me more, trying to apply pressure.

“Princess.”

You sigh, hot faced with anger and embarrassment “what.” He grins.

“I love ye”

Though those sad puppy eyes were optimized to disintegrate your will, they were gleaming with mischief

“shut it” you shove him off to run away but he throws himself on top of you like a clingy dog and pinning you on the couch “don’t gooo, say it baack”

“Get off me!” You whine, fantasizing about locking yourself into your bed room and scream into your pillow

“Not until he tell me I’m more braw then the Bawbags ye read about!”

“Fat chance sergeant suds!” You struggle under his the immovable object that is Johnny with the unstoppable force that is your rage.

But then-lightbulb!

💡💡💡

He’s taught you many things, some of which includes how to evade capture by government agents and how to get out of being pinned. You decide to use one of the tricks he taught you. Usually it might not work on the big bad sergeant soap, but he’s sore, fresh out of the hospital, and hasn’t worked out in weeks. He’s not at full strength. You’ve got this!

“Well then yer stuck here!” He taunts and continues to make fucking fun of you “Why don’t ye write naughty fanfiction of me? I’m amazin’!”

“Oh I’ve got a naughty story for you Sergeant!”

You hook your legs around his waist, shutting him up quick. You shift your hips, buck up hard, pushing your knee against his hip. The unexpected momentum makes him yelp and it rolls him enough to loosen his hold as he instinctively tries to catch himself from falling off the couch.

“long. live. the king!”

You snake an arm free and shove his shoulder with all your Disney movie might, tossing him off the couch with a thud

You scramble to your feet as he stares in surprise “I know all your tricks Sudsy!”

“I taught ye that! Y-ye traitor!” He groans. You turn to skiddadle away.

“Honey wait!” He calls after you but nope! You’re gone! He shoots up to chase you. You slam your door and lock yourself in your bedroom to sulk, scream, punch something and pout.

“This isnae over Bonny!” He says truthfully, not only was there the other stuff to take care of but he has to read some of that! “You cannae escape me forever!”

“I just did!” You scream through your bedroom door and flop on the bed to scream.

“This is war bonny! And I don’t lose!” You can hear his laughter from the other room. He stands there, arms crossed as if waiting for you to come out. After a few beats of silence he decides to grant you a shred of mercy and leave you to your pain. He moves to drop on the couch. He still has work to do, but at least he’s sure you’re definitely innocent. Well, innocent in terms of crime. He still hasn’t read those fics.

He sees Simon and tries to pet him. Simon, however was having none of that. He was being malicious mean and scary and stares at Johnny with a sneer that could curdle dairy as if to say that crime wise his hands are not the cleanest.

He has concluded that Johnny Upset You and refuses to be pet by him till an Official Pardon has been issued by the princess herself.

He hisses grumpily like he’s saying ‘you’ve angered the queen’s envoy, human. No cuddles for you’ and enters your room to comfort you. How? Oh he’s got a dream. Lol jk. Like this:

https://youtube.com/shorts/a-MvV2Oo4cE?si=UMNuw2ndX3Oxj9uC

[ghouldtime]

The Fuckery of the COD Sunshine Zine

Hey y'all, it's been absolute eons since I've been around. I've not been apart of the COD fandom for a while or writing but I felt that I had to speak up in case others weren't aware of what was going on with a specific Zine for the COD Fandom. Tagging them because at this point, everyone deserves answers.

Please ignore some of the tags though trying to get this post out there to be seen by the fandom since it's fucking bad.

@sunshine-soap-zine

Basically, in short, all money meant for the Zine and merch was used up by Micky (one of the people in charge of it). Merch has allegedly thankfully been made and SOME has been shipped out, digitial copies of the Zine exist, but the physical Zine itself? There's no money left.

Over $6,500 was raised in profits that was supposed to go to Care for Gaza and Stonewall Scotland, two important charities near and dear to many, but all of that was used up and now there isn't even money left for the physical Zines, much less the charities.

You read that right - over $6,500 USD was set and slated in proceeds were to go to charities progressing LGBTQ+ rights and supporting those in a genocide and it's all been used up by one person and they still don't have the money to produce physical Zines and to get them out to those who paid for them. That's not even counting the original money MEANT for the Zines themselves too.

The Zine was centered around our beloved Soap MacTavish - who happens to be my favorite character. Seriously, I absolutely adore Soap. He's my favorite beyond favorite, so when I saw there was a Zine that happened to come across my timeline, I was thrilled! Especially because there were many artists there who I've either bought work from prior or who I'd been following for a while and was happy to see them finally get their stuff printed!

And now it's been unfolding in a disastrous way and I'm so... baffled, disappointed, and pissed off. I'm putting this under the cut because this is going to be a VERY long post.

Now, before I start into this shitshow, let me make two things abundantly clear:

This is NOT related to the Soap Journal Zine - they are two SEPERATE projects run by different people. DO NOT GO AFTER THEM OR ASK THEM ABOUT IT, they are unrelated.

The moderators, writers, and artists had nothing to do with this. NOTHING They were just as unaware as we (the public and consumers) were. They were not informed of any of this until the twitter and instagram post early this morning/late last night. They're not responsible for the actions of the person in charge and had no clue this was happening. If they did, they'd be exactly as appalled as they are now, I'm sure. They would've done something. But multiple artists and people on the actual discord have come forward and said that they, flat out, weren't aware and have expressed their disappointment and anger.

DO NOT drag the moderators, writers, and artists. This isn't on them. The moderators are doing all that they can to try and fix things and are scrambling to find a solution for this clusterfuck. It's an absolute shit shown given what's been handed to them and how it's been dumped on them, but they're doing their absolute best. Plenty of them were victims of this too as they too contributed money and many of them bought bundles themselves!

Onto the meat of this.

This post was made on the instagram page and the twitter for the Zine:

And honestly? I'm not sure where to begin.

First and foremost, I'm not going to take into question their health. That's none of my business. I'm not going to call them a liar or state that that never happened - once again, none of my business. I'm not going to nitpick that and I do sincerely hope that they're well and things start to get better for them.

What DOES matter is that the money for the Zine was used up. It's gone. Y'know, the main anchor of the project that MANY artists put their blood, sweat, and tears into. A digital version was released months ago but the physical one is now into question.

Allegedly, all the other merch is on hand. Some people HAVE received some, but plenty others have not - especially those (like me) who had bundles.

Now, I'm not sure how much I actually believe this given that this bomb was dropped after months of near silence and the very rare occasional update.

I just said this but I'll say it again: I'm not sure where to begin because this is a fucking mess. So I guess I'll just start listing the issues first and foremost.

Issue A: Progress was routinely lied about.

These are exact screenshots from the twitter. We were told directly that EVERYTHING was being made and everything was on track.

And then came the first delay.

Now I'm like most people, I realize things happen. Just because there's one delay doesn't mean it's the end of the world. Sometimes things take longer to manufacture, sometimes they take longer to ship, sometimes there's an issue in quality and you need it redone. Hey, the world isn't perfect and neither are we. I didn't think too much of it.

So it was pushed off, Etsy gave a notification to review and did it's usual notification where it'd ask you to report if you have any issues. I, in good faith, didn't refund it. Because I figured that doing so would yank the rug out from underneath and could cause issues when it came to production and shipping. I had faith.

Then, November rolled around. Then December. January. February. Updates were sparse, they seemed to be getting merch in and together. This should've been more of a red flag, comments asking seemed to be met with general reassurance that it was still happening. Not really specific but still at least trying to say it would happen which started to get fishier than a sardine factory.

The fact that it was pushed off from November/December and now we're in May and only SOME people are getting merch speaks volumes.

But you want to know why I'm really questioning this?

Etsy's policy for refunds is, drum roll.... 180 days. Just about six months after an initial purchase.

And guess what time line that aligns with?

Oh, right. Exactly. It aligns EXACTLY solidly past with what we're being told and when. Which means refunds are basically on "if I have the money and if I'm able to get it and you'll have to take my word"

Disputing with the bank may also not work because for many, this is WAY over the time to dispute charges. It goes for Etsy, it goes for the bank, and credit cards which were purchased on. Basically, it gives a "you're shit out of luck amigo" level of time.

FOR THOSE WHO ARE HAVING A HARD TIME GETTING A CHARGE BACK FROM THEIR BANK, here's the information on how to file a fraud report, including for Non-US residents! https://reportfraud.ftc.gov/faq

(Including this because Micky basically fucked us every which way here by waiting out the period and I do not think this was anything but intentional)

Which screams that this was planned beyond planned because you cannot look me in the eyes and tell me that someone was dead silent on a project for months where they lost all the money because they were embarrassed alone.

Especially when the community, the artists, the mods, were incredibly amazing and VERY supportive. Hell, one artist who I've extensively bought merch from before even confirmed they'd have helped and would have tried to get shit figured out! Because that's the kind of people they are. They want to help, they understand things happen, they wanted everyone to get what they ordered as this is a passion project for them too. The point is, the mods would've at least had a plan and so much could've been avoided.

It all aligns far too suspiciously. Embarrassment? Like this isn't more fucking embarrassing? Like this isn't humiliating and stressful beyond admitting to your mods you fucked up and finding out a game plan instead of remaining radio silent?

Oh, by the way

THE ETSY SHOP IS CLOSED which makes it even harder by the way.

Yep.

Closed.

You can't leave a review. You can't comment. You can't do anything aside from hope Etsy might take your side, but after it's been this long, it's very unlikely to happen.

Issue B: They lied about donating the money to charity (allegedly).

I'm only saying allegedly because I do not have a screencap from the discord, seeing as I'm not on it, but I was told by someone who was in there that they were all told that the money raised for two charities was donated in December. I'm taking their word that they were told it was already donated.

Either way, point being, the proceeds were SUPPOSED to go to two charities.

And this wasn't a little pittle of money, oh no. This was supposed to be a big amount

And now that's most certainly not happening.

The entire reason I felt GOOD about getting literally everything (I mean I saved for the everything bundle, I went to the T-shirt and hoodie, I even BOUGHT RAFFLE TICKETS and won one of the prototypes for fucks sake) was because any profit was going to worthy causes. The profits weren't supposed to be lining anyone's pockets, it was supposed to be going to two very worthy charities that are helping actual people in need who could desperately use it.

(Linking to the charities right here BTW)

Care for Gaza

Stonewall Scotland

This massive amount of money was supposed to go there and yet now that's not going to happen because even the books can't be produced. The very core of it.

And (allegedly) they said that it had already been donated.

I cannot express how fucking furious I am that someone would do something so vile as LIE ABOUT DONATING TO A CHARITY THAT'S HELPING PROVIDE AID IN AN ACTIVE GENOCIDE

Let that sink in. Let that stew.

That's what Micky fucking lied about. That's where the money was supposed to go. And now? Now that won't ever come close. I'm furious, insulted, and a list of fifty other million things that will have me foaming at the mouth if I think of them.

How can you be so low as to LIE about that? To lie about giving money to those in need? To fuck up the funds that badly? I would say I have no words, but I do. Just right now, all of them would rightfully have to be censored for how fucking deplorable this is.

Issue C: The money not being in a separate account

Okay, so I'm no expert financial advisor, but I'm going to lay out what has to happen and what SHOULD happen for any project (especially a collaborative one)

Whenever a project is supposed to take place, money SHOULD be set aside in a separate account. This money is placed there because it's for that project, for that project alone, and shouldn't be touched. This is how things are funded. People gave you the money for something to be done, you put that money aside, you use that money and withdraw it when time comes to pay for production or whatever else that needs to be done.

It's in a separate account because that's not meant as YOUR money. Not until a project is done, and most certainly not to be lumped in with everything else. After all, you need to keep invoices and have your ducks in a row - especially when it's a massive amount and it comes time to do taxes. That streamlines it and is vital. It helps determine what expenses went where and is how you remain transparent.

Now, how a debit card works is that it's pretty much always automatically tied to a checking account. It will always pull money from said account when you use it. That's the basis of it and why it's not a credit card.

That means that all of the money was tied to a debit card and this card was GIVEN TO SOMEONE for use other than for the project. This was a debit card that was somehow casually used several times until the money was gone.

Now, I'm really calling bullshit or that's extreme money mismanagement. Because anyone who has run any business or project will tell you: Business funds separate, you do NOT mesh them with personal. That's not your money to use.

HOW was the money used on medical bills like that and that easily when it should've been in a separate fund?

Why was it tied to that debit card? Why was that casually carried around? Why was that given to someone who had no ties to the project?

And what would have been done if that money wasn't there? That's my question too.

The money wasn't handled properly and it resulted in it being GONE. Medical bills are an absolute bitch and a half and yeah, the American healthcare system sucks major sweaty donkey balls, but that's not what the money was for.

Sorry, that might come off as harsh but it's the truth. That money is not for personal use. You took on a project, you committed to it, you spent the money on something that wasn't that. Regardless of the cause, cause I'm not going to dig and debate on how true the medical stuff is, what happened is

The money isn't there and the money was used for something other than it's intended purpose - the money people GAVE to fulfill a project that they were eagerly waiting on, and plenty worked hard for.

That's fraud. Flat out. Shit happens but that's not shit happening alone. That's basic fraud. Wrongful deception that resulted in financial gain. And considering the fact that we were lied to for months, it easily falls under that definition.

Oh, also mentioning that this isn't a small amount of money given. Considering the donations were close to $7,000 USD, much MORE was taken in for everything - but that means that well over $7,000 was spent because that part was meant to be donated and yet there's still no money for the Zines.

I'm going to have good faith and will go with the merch is mainly done, because some people have gotten packages and received some. Maybe that's misguided, maybe I'm a hopeful cunt, but pics HAVE been shown of merch and some people have received them.

Point still is - the Zine isn't here. The physical version? Non-existent. We were lied to for MONTHS that it was under production and all was well.

The donations? Spent. Gone. Over $6,000 USD. There's no money left to produce the Zines. Money? Tied to a debit card and used on personal expenses.

Now I'm not entirely heartless, medical situations can put anyone in a hard place, but medical issues do not excuse misusing money given to you for something you PROMISED, a project you voluntarily took on, and lying for MONTHS on end until no one could get a refund without basically having to go to the god damn government to fist fight for it.

You cannot use money that's not yours for things that they're not for. End of story. Doesn't matter what happens, doesn't matter how valid the claims are or not, using money for what it wasn't intended for for your own personal sake is TEXTBOOK FRAUD.

This harms literally fucking everyone involved.

Obviously, the charities that the money was supposed to go to. Lying about giving money to charity is a low, promising to do it and using it on yourself for any reason is LOW. I'm sorry, I felt comfortable giving money because I knew profit would go to help struggling queer people and people victims of a literal genocide, not go towards one person in particular. That's disgusting, deplorable, and I've got no amount of bad words I can string together because nothing comes close to the hatred and vitrol I feel right now.

The artists who worked VERY hard on this and bless them, MANY ARE RELEASING THEIR ART AND STORIES FOR FREE ON THEIR PLATFORMS AFTER THESE EVENTS, now have this tied to their name through no fault of their own. This is a project that was a first for many of them - a first chance to see their art in a project, their first collaboration, their first time to get their art published and to feel it in their hands. And this is the thanks they get after being the backbone. The fucking disregard to these lovely people who were the backbone of the project and the only reason why it exists is appalling. To go radio silent on them, on the mods who HELPED, and to steal money out from under everyone is appalling, disgusting, and deplorable. They worked so damn hard on this and for many, this may be a reason why they never do a zine again, because it's that awful.

This is something that ties their name to a project that's now experiencing major drama and scandal. And if someone doesn't look into it, they might associate them with that, they might not buy from them (gods I hope that doesn't happen because they do not deserve this or any flak) - you're harming their livelihoods, their career, and are smearing mud on their reflections.

Here's a list of the artists who took part for anyone interested and PLEASE PLEASE support them if you can, even if it's only a like or reblog! Many are releasing their works to the public and all have been affected by this clusterfuck. They're absolutely amazing and have made beautiful pieces. I cannot say it enough that they've done wonderful work and deserve every bit of positive recognition outside of this fuckery.

This, naturally, financially harms the people who PAID for this. Me personally? I fucking saved for this and now I'm not sure I'm even going to get the basics of what I got. I spent about $400 USD which isn't anything light, this isn't chump change, or something I toss around likely. I know I'm lucky to even have that much but Christ on a cracker, I love Soap so much and thought it was going to good causes, I feel fucking sick knowing it didn't. I'm holding out hope that the mods can arrange something - I'll take what I can get, but I'll go fight tooth and nail for a refund if I don't.

Not blaming the mods either as this harms them like a grenade to the nads. They DID NOT KNOW, I'm stating this again, THE MODS TO THIS PROJECT WERE UNAWARE OF THIS RUG PULL. THEY ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE, THEY'RE HANDLING THE FALLOUT. They're doing the best they can but I'm not counting on miracles. After all, they've basically been woken up to being told ON FUCKING TWITTER AND INSTAGRAM "oh the money is gone I spent it. gonna try to get money for the zines sorz". My lord, I can't even imagine how awful I'd feel and the panic. Because now they have to scramble and run around like chickens with their heads cut off because they were thrown a flashbang of fuckery and now?

Micky disappears for the weekend.

That's really the icing on the cake.

Health issues or not, you can't drop this massive fucking nuclear bomb after months of near radio silence and then go off for the weekend and leave your mods to deal with that.

"I am doing everything in my power to rectify this situation"

HA

Bull. Fucking. Shit.

If you were, you wouldn't be leaving your mods for the weekend. You'd actually be addressing comments and concerns. You wouldn't be making MORE EMPTY PROMISES.

I'm not believing one word that comes out of Micky's mouth because I did before and look at where that got me. I'm not going to take the word and value of someone who says they'll refund after purposefully lying for MONTHS and waiting out the period that Etsy and most credit card companies will refund for.

If you wanted to do everything in your power, you'd not offer more hollow promises, you'd offer complete financial transparency, you'd actively START getting your ass to work on this instead of dropping a statement, saying three things, and scampering off.

If you were doing everything in your power, we wouldn't be here, now would we?

Leaving now is telling not only me that you don't give a fuck and you don't respect the situation, but you do not respect the very people who made this possible and helped you EVERY STEP OF THE WAY.

I'm irate, I'm furious, I'm so pissed off that I took a step back into the fandom and clawed my way out of the coffin where I buried myself for this.

You lied to me, you lied to the artists, the writers, the mods, the charities - to EVERYONE involved. You kept us all in the dark, you took our money and hard work, and spit in our face. And you go off for a god damn weekend after ripping out our hearts and trust alike, and leave them to clean up the mess you made for your own selfish sake.

Soap wouldn't fucking want this. Not for his memory to go down like this.

What a god damn sick way to "honor" it and to pretend like you care. Fictional character or not, he's my absolute favorite and means the world to me. If it weren't for him and COD, honestly I wouldn't be going down the career path I am, I wouldn't have the future I do. And I took a leap of faith because I wanted to support the community, I wanted to support the artists and writers who pour their heart and soul into what they do. I wanted to honor the silly fictional mohawk man who meant so much to me who, as stupid as it sounds, changed my life.

And this is the thanks we get for the community who supported you, who trusted you, who believed in you, who waited so patiently for this, who wanted to do something good not only for themselves but everyone around them, who were excited for this - who dared to hope for the best.

[purple-raspberries]

Since you've noted in the tags that Jonsey would flirt with Rainbow Monster Frank, and you answered another ask confirming Eddie still has a crush on them, I have to ask...

Is there beef between those two at all? Since they both have feelings for the butterfly loving puppet? Or do they not even know the other exists?

I actually like to leave things pretty open when I come up with ideas :) part of it is me not being able to settle on just One Thing, y’know? What if this happens instead of this given that this happens instead of that? That sort of thing! Another part is me having too many ideas, but just ideas. To answer your question, they are two separate scenarios! I’m not sure if they’d have beef per se, but that’s just me. I know some of y’all really like your love triangles and drama ;)

The flirty Jonsey thought was from thinking about how Frank seems to get along with the Joyfuls, and how they seem to like him, too, in some way. I like to respect that we all see Frank as attracted to men, so I thought “hey! What if Jonsey likes men, too?” And went with that. And I just like to ship characters for no reason other than to see how they might interact as a ship :D it’s fun! I wonder how that relationship would go *planning for later*

The Eddie having a crush post was from the asker asking about how FranklyDear would work given that Frank can understand flowers, which spawned that funny little scenario I wrote! Given how anxious Eddie seems to be, If he were trying not to have his secret crush revealed (either just yet or ever) he’d run straight to his garden and beg his plants not to tattle on him, on cod! I could’ve gone another route where Eddie’s plants give Frank all the compliments Eddie tells them about the resident grump, but that’s what I went with (heehee!)

Here! I made a quick (much cleaner) little diagram of my thought process for ya!

[ghostmoon1]

You know what, to start the year off, Imma make this lil appreciation post.

Now it's only been like, less than a year since I joined Tumblr about, I've been writing and drawing for years before this point, but the community here, especially the CoD community which I am mainly apart of just made me feel amazing. Everyone I've met here are some of the nicest people.

I have gotten my old hobbies back, giving me reason to write and draw again which have majorly helped with my own mental health, and now I just wanted to give the amazing people a shout out to start the year off, to hopefully make peoples days, and to just let them know that I appreciate yall!

In no specific order :3 and if you don't wanna be pinged again by me, please let me know and I won't!! No harm done, I hope this is okay :) and this is prob gonna be cringe or smt.. all sappy but like.Yeah here yall are lmao-

Putting them under the cut as there are a few :3

@gomzdrawfr - You've been a massive influence since I joined the CoD community, I adored your art from the very start, and your just such a sweet and kind person, one that I'm so thankful to have met, and so proud to be able to call you my friend. You're the first proper friend I've made here, and I can't tell you how much our talks make me smile every single time. And I'm also so thankful for the community you have sorta helped me get into, you've helped me feel comfortable interacting with more people here :3

@shadeops21 - You were honestly the person that got me to join Tumblr! I was looking for something to try and make my own Konig cosplay (that's been given up on bc motivation and Tik Tok just. yeahhh) and I found you, and all your amazing work! I basically made my account to see if you'd make any more, cause I just love what you do so much, it's got to be so helpful for so many people!!

@sleepyconfusedpotato - After Shadeops, you were the very second person I found here! And oh my gosh how much I obsessed (and still do) over your art, especially Jade. You inspired me to write my first ever fic on here, actually, where I made my first CoD oc ship with Soap, your art and what you do honestly helped me feel comfortable making something like that for myself, cause some of the toxic people on Tik Tok made me uneasy and unsure about that lol- And now, I finally have an OC I'm working in depth on, and you're my biggest reason to thank for that.

@soaps-mohawk - Your writing has inspired me so much, and I couldn't thank you enough for making your wonderful fic. I may not be like, a OG, but I've been there since around chapter 20 I think? I could be wrong, but half way through sorta. You are the biggest reason I started writing again here, you just create masterpieces. And this is the first time I've ever been hooked into a fic so much, and what got me into liking the Omegaverse (you hooked me and I can't let go of it now...) Thank you for taking your time with your writing, and thank you for all the inspiration you have given me.

@on-a-lucky-tide - Oh my gosh how much you have yanked me into the Nikprice community. I adore every single one of your writing pieces, and honestly, you are another who has helped inspire me to write more. All your writing is so filled with emotion and love, I want to be able to do that as well. Your a wonderful person, I've seen you interact with this community and everyone, and I just adore you as a person and all the hard work you put time and effort into creating.

@rainyrambles-overcod - I adore your oc's and rambles so much!! And I couldn't tell you how happy it makes me to have a friend that is okay with the tag games, I never know who to tag for those sorta things, but I actually feel okay tagging you and they are so fun and always brighten my mood :3 Keep creating, I can't wait to see what else you come up with. Thank you for all the tag games and fun!!

@nekrosmos - Yet another that has helped drag me into the Nikprice community or cult ig that too. Your art is absolutely amazing, I truly want to be able to draw like you do. Just everything about your art has me in awe, the emotion, the style, the love everything. Seeing your art brings me so much happiness! Oh and your writing is BEAUTIFUL. That also brings me joy to take a little time out of my day to sit and read the time and effort you put into everything, and how kind of a person you are. I always hope you'll keep creating, and always remember how much joy you bring both myself and others.

@daredaredoodles - I know we don't interact a whole lot, but you honestly mean a lot to me still. You were my first ever mutual on this site, and I will be forever grateful for this. Personally its anxiety that stops me from barging into peoples Dm's and talking, but yeah. Thank you for that, even if it is only a small thing.

@cricricorner - you were my first follower, and I still see you in my notifications from time to time, which always brings me joy! It's wonderful to see your followers still interact with your content, and I couldn't say how grateful I am. I couldn't tell you how happy I was to gain my first follower here, so thank you for taking your time to read my writing and see my art.

@daydreamsareallineed - You were pretty much the first person to show so much interest in my main fic!! And oh my gosh I couldn't ever tell you how much joy it brought me to read your comments, to have someone so interested in my writing, that personally I didn't even think was that good. I haven't given up completely on the fic dw, I'll hopefully update it soon! Motivation just go brrr. Thank you so much for all your support, it means the world to me.

And another shoutout to everyone who supports me, who follows me, and to every single one of you that like and reblog my content. I look through every single note I receive, I assure you none of you are left out.

And my final shoutout to everyone that creates on this site. The community here is like nothing I've ever experienced before. I adore scrolling through everyone's art, it all makes my day. I've never felt so comfortable and unjudged before. Thank you to everyone who contributes to this, you all make my day <3

This turned out a lot longer than I meant it to be- but I just wanted to share how I felt with this new year. I'm sorry if you'd rather not be pinged-

But have a lovely day :3 I love you all!!

[dylansilverdreamer]

I’m curious , what got you into COD Cold War? On that note, what got you into Adler and Bell?

Uhhh I can't exactly remember what got me to check out Cold War, I think I saw an edit of all those brainwashing scenes in one of those compilations on yt. Adler's voice intrigued me enough I had to investigate lol

As for Adler and Bell... I kinda found their dynamic to be interesting through the whole game. (Watched a playthrough, I don't have that kind of money.) I knew something bad was gonna happen at the end going into it and that kind of kept me intrigued bc I really couldn't tell how the buildup was going to lead to that ending. Break on Through did AWFUL things to my brain chemistry and it was all downhill from there. I didn't start shipping them until I interacted with the fandom and the brainworms got to me. AdBell for me isn't as much about them being traditionally in love, but more about exploring just how horrible and co-dependent on each other they can be. I know some people say "oh, they would never get together! That's so unrealistic!!" A) this is fandom, anything goes, B) I don't WANT them to love each other, I want them to not be able to exist without the other. One crawls back to the other despite knowing the consequences and the pain it will bring, but it's nothing compared to the pain of being without them.

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter One: An Unexpected Pair

COD men x Reader

Trials & Triumphs

Summary: You've been selected to lead a ragtag group of operatives through a covert long-op. Determined to take down NATO's latest focus: a prominent underground sex-trafficking ring, you're put to the test when you're unexpectedly saddled with a strike team you've only heard of through rumors: TaskForce 141.

Words: 4.2k

Warnings: Alcohol, Peer Pressure, Tension, Cursing

A/N: So... this is sort of a self-indulgence, and idk how far I'm gonna go with this, so I left it up to fate. It could wind up a simon-ghost-riley x reader or könig x reader... maybe even keegan x reader. Who knows.

Sent in by NATO, you find yourself in command of a ragtag team made up of specialists from a handful of different countries. It didn't take long to figure out that Laswell had apparently heard your request all those months ago to be considered for a project in this territory. Sure, some of the recruits for this mission were familiar, though most are not.

Handshakes all around, you take in the people you'll be spending the next few months--or possibly--years with. It doesn't take long for Laswell to brief you all on the current circumstances and protocol for this project. While you'll all have the next few hours to pack and get ready to ship out, what comes next is unexpected.

"Captain, this is TaskForce One-Four-One. They'll be your Strike team upon identification, extraction, and recovery. You'll be in close contact throughout this mission," Laswell explains with an outstretched hand presented toward the door. Everyone's eyes on the additions to your team, you're not too surprised when you spot who walks into the briefing room.

What followed devolved into more or less what you'd describe as an argument. It was unclear whether this TaskForce 141 was reporting to you, or you, to them. Laswell simply dismissed both parties' worries and insisted you figure it out on your own.

Despite the confusion, you're determined to follow through with your praised routine for missions. On the way out of the briefing room, you managed to snag their Captain's number to make a group chat for the time being. Everything in order, you text the plans for this evening. Everyone is to pack their belongings in order to ship out tomorrow morning at 04:00 hours. Once they're done with that, they can meet up at Rockie's, one of the bars just a few minutes walk off base for an icebreaker.

There was the debate of dressing up. Revealing your features, having fun with some of the buddies on your squadron you'd done dozens of missions with, yet, this isn't that. It's not a celebration or a victory; not a job well done, this is a meeting... an introduction. Therefore, bare face is out of the question. If anything, it's best to stay on guard until you get to know the outliers on this project.

Nevertheless, that doesn't mean you can't have a good time with your friends while still getting to know the others! Eyes scanning over the warmly lit bar, you revel in the mid-week relative quiet. In all honesty, it's not quiet, but considering how rowdy it can get on the weekends or after a homecoming, it sure can be described that way. There's a game of pool going on in the back corner, and a game on the televisions on either side of the bar. Though you're more intrigued by the small crowd of people flitting about. Elbow keeping you propped up against the dark wooden bar table, you watch one of the bartenders mill about, hopefully, getting your drinks.

"Was not expecting to see you here, Cap," Keegan voices his surprise. He'd been holding it in the entire meeting, eager to congratulate you on what can only be considered a promotion of sorts. Being put in charge of a covert long-op is something usually only experienced vets get put on. While you're not a newbie by any means, he hadn't anticipated seeing you on the mission, let alone in charge of it. "Can't wait to see how you go about this." With a pat to your back, the exposed rounds Keegan's cheeks rise. You can tell he's smiling.

Returning from the bathroom, McKay and Wilson laugh alongside one another. A small smile graces your lips; you're not sure where you'd be if you hadn't been fortunate in meeting and getting to know them. Junior Lieutenant Amala McKay you'd been through basic with, having both enlisted at the same time. While you hadn't known each other prior, it was safe to say that you'd both come from fairly different worlds and mindsets... yet, opposites attract, right? Corporal Olivia Wilson you'd met upon resettlement after graduation, being stationed at the same base and in the same sector. She was a tough nut, that's for sure. Though through your hard work she'd easily come around and determined you were a strong enough character to befriend.

"Keegan, this is-" raising a hand toward the approaching women, you offer what you can of a smile from behind your balaclava.

"Private McKay," Keegan greets. With an extended hand, McKay easily meets it with her own, tugging him into a shoulder bump of sorts. That sort of stereotypical 'bro' greeting you've gotten accustomed to in the military.

"You'll be pleased to know it's Junior Lieutenant now, Sergeant!" She informs him, a smile instantly lifting her already bright demeanor, the woman practically beaming with a sense of pride.

"Corporal Wilson," the slightly shorter blonde woman greets. Her typical stoicism replaces the jovial attitude she'd had upon exiting the bathroom.

"Sergeant Keegan Russ," he responds with a nod and firm handshake.

"Oh great," Wilson sighs, ducking her head. Following her reaction, the group spots who's just walked into the bar. You may not know him personally, but you've seen him around and have heard a thing or two about Commander Phillip Graves. Alongside him walk in the other assigned specialists Laswell and NATO had enlisted at the behest of KorTac, a separate private military contractor from yours.

McKay nudges Wilson with her elbow, eliciting a groan from Wilson as she drags a hand down her face. "You know them?" Keegan questions, an eyebrow raising from what you can spot beneath his balaclava.

"Me? No... but it seems Wilson does," you answer, teasing your friend. Wilson shakes her head, blonde hair obscuring her features as she turns on her heels and announces that she needs a drink, departing in favor of the bar.

"Wonder what that's about," Keegan voices his thoughts aloud, curious eyes following Wilson's retreating figure. While your gaze turns in suit, it's only a few seconds before you're drawn back to your previous line of sight with a call of your rank.

"Captain, right?" It's him: Phillip Graves. Taking in the approaching figures, you nod, extending a hand out toward the man. "This your team?" With a reciprocated shake, the Commander grips your hand tighter than needed, an abrupt shake leaving your brows tensing just subtly beneath your balaclava.

"Once upon a time, maybe," you respond. The playfulness in your tone may go over the Commander's radar, however Keegan releases a quiet chuckle to himself. "Meet Sergeant-"

"Keegan Russ," announcing his own namesake, he only offers a nod in the Commander's direction before turning to the two others beside him.

"That there's Junior Lieutenant-" you extend an arm in presentation.

"McKay," Amala finishes, extending a firm shake to each of the men before her. "It's a pleasure to meet you, though I'm gonna go check on Wilson," she excuses herself. With that announcement, your eyes flit over to the blonde hunched over the bar haphazardly sat on a stool.

"I'll be back," Graves states, heading off in the direction of the bar--which leaves you worried for half a second--till he swerves under the signs leading to the restrooms.

"Hello." The man that'd been next to Graves looks like a dwarf in comparison to the Giant beside him, however the fact that he still looms over you in the way most of your associates do says something. "I am Horangi," he introduces himself, extending a hand. Adorned by a plain black face mask and dark sunglasses, they both leave room for mystery. He has an accent, and while you know where he comes from based off the files you'd obtained in advance of your meeting this afternoon, his voice wouldn't be a signifier otherwise.

"Nice to meet you, Horangi," you respond, introducing your own last name and ranking of Captain. With a gentle grip and firm shake, you offer him a smile from behind your balaclava. As soon as he proceeds to introduce himself to Keegan, you move onto the only one left: the Giant.

"Hallo Captain," the Giant greets, "I am König. It is nice to meet you." Though he doesn't offer a hand, you do. Watching the man's eyes shift behind his mask at the movement, he has to crane his neck downward in order to see you properly. Simultaneously, you also have to crane your neck upward to meet his gaze. It's awkward, but the man accepts your offer and brings his gloved hand up to gently shake your much smaller hand before quickly releasing it.

The files aren't needed to know by his accent that this is the Colonel KorTac sent. The insertion specialist, if you remember correctly. While you hadn't had a great lengthy time to look over everyone's files, you'd at least gotten a vague general sense of their positions and rankings. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Konig," you respond. "Everyone's just getting here, so feel free to get a drink, look around. I don't know how familiar you two are with this base." König nods in response to your words, a quiet 'Danke' passing between you before he follows his partner's lead and introduces himself to Keegan as well.

Just in time, the server from earlier drops off the drinks you'd ordered. Keegan grabs a beer, while you partake in the cider you'd gotten yourself, the few shots on the tray up for grabs since you'd wanted to provide ground for a casual vibe. The server asks if the two new additions to your group would like to order anything. Both men seem interested but ask questions that leave the server amused and offering for them to follow him to the bar to give them samples and an actual menu.

Deciding to take a seat at the barstool on one side of the table, you're joined by Keegan, a friendly but comfortable silence lingering between you two. Some of the hot oldies play, garnering a few bouts of singing along inbetween sips of cider. It's only once she's gotten her drink that McKay rejoins the table with a glass of beer. She's always been one for tradition, you'd come to learn.

"Nice of 'em to finally show up," Keegan comments under his breath before downing the last of his bottle. He places it on the tabletop before standing, tacitly offering his seat up to McKay before nodding towards the bar. You get his gist and nod in response; he's going to get another drink.

"Want a shot?" You offer to your partner, eyes finally taking the time to take in who Keegan was referring to. Swiveling on your stool, you face diagonally to the entrance. Under the warm lights of the bar walk in a group of four men, one of them unintentionally signifying their identity in the form of a skull mask.

"Why the hell not? If we're off to Al-Mazrah tomorrow then I'll need it, huh?" She laughs, nudging your bicep with her elbow. An amused smirk sets upon your lips beneath the balaclava, though your eyes don't leave the group lingering by the door. It only takes your lackluster response to earn the addition of Amala's attention. "You seem apprehensive," she comments, following suit as you both take in their appearance. "Can't blame you though. Did you even know they were on call for this?"

The slight clench of your jaw gives her the answer you really hadn't wanted to provide. You wish she hadn't asked, but there's no doubt the information would come out sooner or later anyway. "No... but there's no reason we can't make it work. Right?" You reassure. Though if you're honest, you don't know if it's directed more toward her or yourself. Motion a second nature by now, you pull down your balaclava just enough to down the rest of your cider before pushing the bottle into the middle of the table alongside the shots. Hands on the polished table, you push yourself off the stool to stand. "Speaking of-" Interrupted, all eyes in the bar jump to the loud and boisterous voice by the front doors.

"'EYA GRAVES, LONG TIME 'N NO SEE!" A loud and booming accented voice signals you in on its owner. Through all the files you'd skimmed, there was only one person from this place, and while you usually have a harder time pinning few similar accents, this one is more pronounced in this moment. John MacTavish, the only Scottish member of Taskforce 141.

Watching the loud soldier head toward the bar, the rest of them walk over to a table just a few feet away, another bar table set in the distance between. The darker-skinned man takes off his hat and jacket, placing the items on a barstool before turning to a mustached man who shreds his own jacket. While they converse, it becomes clear how they're setting up camp at their own table, not bothering to even introduce themselves first unlike the people who were relatively on time according to your instruction.

"Should we-?"

"I'll go over, try to get them to join," you announce. Hand coming up to halt Amala from getting up, you send her a knowing look before leaving her with a quick playful wave. While it should be easy to squeeze into their conversation and welcome them to your team, you find yourself daunted. Whether it's the infamous skull mask everyone has heard rumors of, and his unflinching cold stare, or the fact that they're all a part of one of the special black ops taskforces you'd only heard were solely fiction made up to scare newer recruits until today. Nevertheless, a group of tall men in uniforms, bigger, and presumably stronger than you isn't anything new. Though for whatever reason, you can't help but stumble in place as a shiver runs through your body.

"Ay, it's the Cap'in, innit?" Eyes shifting over and up to the man speaking, you hadn't expected such a gruff and deep voice from him.

"Indeed, it is. Pleasure to meet you..." The amused, partially giddy smile begins to crack at the seams of your stoicism. No matter how old you get, there's no denying the universe girlhood that's currently peeking through: your fondness for men with accents.

"Cap'in Price," he announces, a hand extending outward across the man beside him. "Good to meet ya." With a firm shake, you give him a nod of your head in response. It's interesting to meet someone of the same ranking, though from another country, not to mention a different unit altogether. You're curious to hear about his profession and see how he handles situations. While their Captain may be a decade or two your senior, you can admire the nice beard he has going on.

"You've got head on this op, isn't that right?" Eyes shifting over and up at the man right beside you, he crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Name's Kyle, but you can call me Gaz," he informs you, an easygoing smile on his lips. You can admit to yourself that he's attractive, his big nose suiting the features of his face, thick eyebrows, plump lips, curious dark brown eyes. Before you can finish introducing yourself to Gaz, the forming smile that'd been tugging at your lips comes to a halt.

"An' you've got us out here, hours before departure. For what?" The smile dies. Everyone's attention shoots over to him: Ghost. You'd heard of him, sure. Even a continent away the rumors spread; he didn't have a name, only a motive: kill or be killed.

Searching his eyes, it only takes a fraction of a second to see the questioning, the frustration, the anger. You'd been known as a good people reader, and while masks might make things a bit more difficult, the dim lighting of the bar only exacerbates the shadows surrounding his face. A cocky smirk instinctively displays itself on your lips beneath the mask. With a shake of your head and an amused breath huffing out your nose, you finally meet his eyes again. "To get to know one another. There's no point in going out there if you can't even begin to try and see how your other operatives think."

"An' you think drinkin' and makin' idle chitchat is gonna fix that?" He questions. Eyebrows raising beneath your balaclava you don't stand down or look away this time. You're not willing to give him the sort of submission he might expect. While your ranking does stand higher than his, you also know that when it comes to the military, there's no shortage of misogynistic men. It's too soon to judge, and he's certainly made no clear indication of that mindset, but his questioning raises flags on your end that might be worth looking out for.

"No, but it's a start," you retort. Crossing your arms over your chest you turn from facing him head-on to open yourself back toward the other men. "When you'd get off your last deployment?" You inquire. Either Ghost's simply getting ahead of the game and is putting himself in the mindset he may need for whatever this mission calls for, or something tells you he might still be holding onto whatever baggage came with the last.

""Bout three weeks ago, innit?" Gaz comments, head swiveling as he double-checks with the Captain who nods in confirmation. Though your sightline is more directed toward Ghost, you don't miss the way Gaz attempts to subtly nod over toward the bar. "Why?" The seemingly talkative one of the bunch says, attention back on you.

"Just curious," you answer. Surely that question isn't a common one, but you were genuinely interested. "And regardless, I know Laswell said we need to hash this out, but for the moment, I appreciate you coming. I think it's important to get to know everyone we'll be working with the next few months." While you take your time with your words, you don't let it go over their heads that their participation is expected from you. Business out of the way, you gently slap on Gaz's back--he was closest--and smile. "Now why don't you go get a drink!"

The men to your right chuckle, the Captain and Gaz instantly brought out of whatever tension was between you and Ghost and into much higher spirits. "Can't say no to that!" Gaz comments, starting to walk away and toward the bar. The Captain turns to leave before slinging an arm around your shoulder and guiding you away from their table.

"Don't you mind him. He's... a tough nut, yeah? He'll come around, eventually. Good soldier- does what he needs to. I can assure you I don't think we'll have any trouble, just... let him come around, alright?" Captain Price speaks quietly, though you wouldn't exactly call it a whisper. Eyes roaming over his shoulder to spot Ghost in the same position you'd all left him, you can't help but wonder what the hell his problem is. The Captain comes to a stop, his eyes searching your face as you haven't responded and he's waiting.

"Sounds like a plan," you concede, nodding for good measure. The Captain offers a smile before leaving you with a friendly slap on the back. With a lick of your lips beneath the fabric, you try and think of what to do next. Vision drifting around the room in search of someone, it isn't long before you find them. Walking back to your table, you see McKay slowly acquiring a frothy foamed mustache from her beer.

“Do you know who that this?” Your comrade, McKay, questions, baffled by your audacity to command the 141 and their Lieutenant around. She shifts between staring at him over her shoulder and looking away.

“Only by rumor,” you answer. Everything you’d heard up until now had all been gossip. Stories, tales that were woven by people who’d simply heard something from someone, and the list went on. All of it could be chalked up to nothing. You don’t know him, you haven’t heard of his work and the exact details through any trustworthy sources so all in all, you can’t bring yourself to care about the rumors.

"Well, he seems like trouble. Don't know he's going to follow orders willingly... might even go rogue," McKay comments between sips of her beer. Her brown eyes shift over to meet your gaze, unsurprised that it's still stuck on him. "Wouldn't let it get to you though." Her attempt at relieving you only spurs on the challenge in your mind. Amala's eyes narrow as she has a guess at what you're thinking, or rather, planning.

Being close to the woman, you know she'll catch on. With a quick flash of a smile in her direction, gaze torn from the mysterious figure, you steer her off your scent. "Maybe I'll offer them the shots? At least try to get on their good side," you offer.

"Sounds like a plan," she muses, teasingly quoting a pleasantry you'd often make. With a raise of her stein, she wishes you the best of luck with a pat on the back.

Carrying the tray over, your eyes drift over to the folks at the bar. It seems that the KorTac folks have finally settled on drinks, while Graves and Wilson talk, clearly making some type of progress. For the better, you can only hope. Keegan's gaze catches yours upon surveying the premises; with smiles exchanged, he too, offers a raise of his beer. It's then that Gaz introduces himself, the Captain quickly following suit. Entirely all too aware of the piercing gaze following your figure from the Taskforce's table, irregardless of your attention. You won't give him the satisfaction. Nearing the table, you can feel your heart racing in your chest, nerves climbing up your spine, latching onto whatever crevices they can reach.

With careful hands you set the tray on their table, gently pushing aside the condiment carrier, making sure nothing falls. Hand encircling the glass, you pull down your balaclava just enough to expose your lips before sipping at your second cider. "What's this?" He finally speaks. "Tequila shots?" The Ghost asks, taking a step closer toward the table.

"A peace offering. You might think it's stupid, but in getting to know my team, I usually get them the food and drinks--on me--when it's an activity I deem necessary. So, by all means--"

"An' who's this lovely bird? You not gonna introduce me, Ghost?" Interrupted, you turn to meet the sound of people approaching. The quiet groan that slips past Ghost's reserve doesn't go unnoticed by you, but you play none the wiser.

Gaz shoves his hip into the curiosity you'd read was John 'Soap' MacTavish, the codename, you couldn't possibly surmise a reasoning to. "Bloody hell," he curses, "That's the Captain, idiot!" With either hand around his teammate's shoulders, the bump from Gaz sends him leaning into their own Captain, John. It only now crosses your mind that with two Johns on their team the need for codenames must be more a necessity than simply security.

"Please excuse him, he might have..." the Captain's words trail off as he looks over Soap's shoulder at Gaz. "What was it you said? He went pre-gone? Decided to do a premie?"

Gaz slides Soap's arm off his shoulder before crumbling in half, hands on his knees as he laughs. "Pre-game! He decided to Pre-game, Price! Hell," the man snorts every once in a while as he laughs his ass off.

"Mm," you hum. "He pre-gamed, I see. No worries-" you begin to excuse the soldier, even if amusement rumbles in your chest, threatening to come out in an equal fit of laughter.

"Captain what?" Soap asks, his other arm slinking off their Captain's shoulder only for the man to push Soap toward one of the stools.

"Fuckin' idiot," Ghost curses more to himself than anyone.

"Oh, you're talkin' codenames already?" Graves rounds the table to stand between Soap and Ghost, a beer bottle settled in his grip.

"Anyway, since it seems everyone's coming over I got a round of shots for you all. Please feel free," you announce. While sliding the respective shots on the tray in the direction of the people surrounding the table, you purposefully lift Ghost's shot and place it before him. If anyone needs to relax, it's clearly this man.

"Watch out!" You hear Keegan's voice before you feel his gloved hand on your waist, tugging you out of the way. Wilson and McKay slide the nearest table together, making the table big enough for all of you. "Thought we'd make it big enough for everyone to sit together," he informs you.

"Thanks, Keeg," you respond. A smile unconsciously tugs across your lips as you hadn't realized anyone had cared enough to notice and join your efforts to try and get everyone together.

With the rejoining of König and Horangi at the end of the table, you're all together. "Any ideas for a team name?" McKay questions, looking around the big table.

This question elicits lots of laughs and verbalized thoughts, which in turn manage to garner everyone's opinions. All in all, you'd say that things may have start off rocky, but have finally turned into a proper icebreaker. While everyone might have differing opinions and feelings about the people on their team, you can at least say that now you're beginning to get to know the people you'll be working with. One can hope it'll lead to friendship and smooth sailing when it comes to group dynamics, but you suppose only time will tell that story.

~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

[slater-baby]

DO SOMETHING GAY!!

like in my personal life?? or like in my writing?? 🧐

this lowkey might be tmi lmao, but the way I determined that I was straight was by experimenting with other women before, so I think I'm comfortable with my sexuality on that end

as for writing, y'all don't know this, but I actually wrote gay fan fiction for a long time before switching over to second person stuff (different pseudonym, different fandom) ❤️ I'll probably write male reader stuff (or other non-straight pairings) at some point, but I often like to imagine myself falling in love with the characters in my fics alsdkdkfjladf and my personal attraction to the cod men is where my passion for COD came from (rather than any particular ship), which is why I've mostly written female reader (I know that's dorky as hell 💀 but c'mon....look at those cod men, how could I not want to be with them in my fantasies 😤)

On a different note, recently several other people have come into my ask box to express their opinion on my sexuality, and while I LOVE speaking with you guys, my identity is my own personal business

So if this ask is about my personal sexuality rather than the relationships portrayed in my writing, I would like to kindly ask you guys to not comment on that ❤️ I have kept an open mind about my identity, and through that experience, I learned who I was, and I'm pretty happy with it!

Thanks for the ask and I hope you're doing well hon!! ❤️

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Chapter 9: The Ghost in You

[Also Available on AO3]

Shadow Dance Masterlist

Summary: The 141 and Los Vaqueros prepare for their attack against Graves and Shadow Co.

Warnings/Tags: Minors DNI, swearing, character with trauma, established relationship, military inaccuracies, smoking, includes some in-game dialogue, dubious people being dubious, fuckboi!Soap, and a flashback to the first time Rory met Ghost

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC - 3rd person POV (Rory Sinclair)

Word count: 6.7 K

A/N: the further continuation of Rory's story, this follows and expands upon the COD: MW2 reboot canon. Told from Rory's POV

This is very much a self-indulgent aside chapter for the author

November 3, 2022 07:30 - Las Almas, Mexico

The morning sun bathed the wooden walls of the old hanger – the makeshift base for Los Vaqueros and the 141 as they readied themselves to strike back against Graves and Shadow. Light seeped in through the seams between the slats and from under the doors, the honey-ooze of warmth streaking across the floor in bright striations as motes of dust sparkled through them after the bodies of soldiers milling about stirred the particles to life.   

Rory leaned against the exterior of the building, shoulder blades pressed to the worn wood, the rough grain brushing against the bare skin of her arms. Taking a brief respite, cigarette in hand, she let the coiling smoke permeate her lungs, filling her up and swirling around the stress that gurgled in her gut, only to extricate it from her with a heavy breath up towards the blue skies and gleam of the equator’s sun. In the quiet stillness, surrounded by birdsong and the soft breeze through the trees, the sun warming her face and kissing her cheeks, she couldn’t help but be reminded of the end of the fateful mission five years prior that got her here. Desert sand, the rising sun, and a blossoming romance that had now bloomed and sprouted like one of those creeping plants that spread out undeterred. Ivy, mint, and morning glories. Wrapping around everything in its reach, intertwined, firm and withstanding against the rain and the sleet and the snow. Coiling and twisting up fences and walls, always reaching for the sun. No matter the circumstances, it’s will to survive, to persist, was absolute – that’s what she had with John. 

Lord knew they had faced their share of trials, arguments of two strong willed people in opposition. Disagreements over the house, bills, purchases, how to spend a weekend together (as few and far between as they were with work). Little things in the grand scheme. But there were also the wars of attrition, the ongoing battles that would likely continue until death did they part. Or – as far as her father was concerned – as soon as she smartened up.

It was the defining part of their relationship, the push and pull of trying to save each other even as it stood in conflict with the other’s viewpoint. How she fought for the better parts of John’s nature that still resided there beneath all the conditioning and walls he built up to survive a life tainted by violence and indifference to what was considered “moral”. Drawing out the smiles and laughs like nobody else, the ones that crinkled every line in his face and left the mimetic muscles sore and aching as the hardened facade of the Captain cracked. Bringing him back to that Lieutenant who had swept her off her feet, to the boy he once was before shipping off to the military and leaving the life he had known behind – embarrassing teenage rebellion eyebrow ring included. And for John, it was the conviction to always keep her protected, both from herself and the rest of the world. A promise he aimed to keep after making it half a decade ago. The guiding hand that kept her from falling over the edge into the nightmares that sometimes felt like they might swallow her whole, giving her a place of safety where she could finally stop hiding the burdens that wore on her shoulders, to face them fully and no longer retreat from the pain. A bodyguard to beat back the demons when they became too much. The shoulder to cry on without any judgement. The steady bulwark of reliability.

The sword. The shield. Their love. 

Things weren’t always perfect, but there were moments that came so impossibly close. Moments of peace, gentle stillness shared by two people who spent more time around death than could ever be good for one’s soul. Quiet evenings on the couch with a cuppa and a movie, camping in the pouring rain and listening to it pelt against the cabin roof, getting food from the local chippy when they were both too damn tired for much else after a long mission, sitting on the cool kitchen tiles and passing the bottle of whiskey back and forth late at night while telling each other childhood stories. Those were the memories she clung to, the ones that brought a smile to her face and made her heart sing and leap in her chest. Those were the things that reminded her this was real, that theirs was a love that couldn’t be broken. There may not have been a ring, but she was his and he was hers. No one could deny that. 

Freed from her reverie, Rory huffed out a laugh and shifted her feet in the dirt as the doors opened and Ghost and Gaz exited, headed towards her position for their own cigarette break while Soap followed behind, jabbering away – he didn’t partake himself, but that didn’t mean he didn’t soak up the secondhand smoke for a little socialization. 

“‘Ey, Lamb,” Gaz called out to her while pulling out his cigarettes and lighter from his pocket. “Boss is lookin’ for ya,” he said, leaning against the wall beside her.

Speak of the devil, she thought, gazing up into the sun through squinted eyes. Rory hummed and dragged the cigarette from her lips, exhaling a stream of smoke. “No rest for the weary, eh?” 

Soap took a spot beside Gaz, and lastly Ghost found a spot positioned just around the corner – always remaining slightly distant, needing his space.

“Did I ever tell you lads about the time I'd gone on a pub crawl and wound up absolutely houndin’ fer–”

“Soap, mate,” Gaz said with a chuckle, slapping his hand to the Scot's chest. “We're in respectable company ‘ere.” Tipping his head in Rory's direction, his boyish grin spread and his eyes softened. “Maybe tone it down a bit, yeah?”

“Oh please,” Rory snickered, tapping the ash off the end of her cigarette. “It's not like I haven't experienced Soap's many tales of pickup artistry before.”

“I'm no’ a bleedin’ pickup artist,” his head turned instantly to face her, ocean eyes glimmering with mirth. “It's all natural charm, lasses love me.”

Rolling her eyes, she took another drag of her cigarette. “This better not be the story about how you brought medals with you from home and told her you'd just been awarded them for bravery.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” Ghost groaned around the cigarette that dangled from his lips marked by a large scar. His mask rolled up just under his nose, the material bunched together, exposing the blonde stubble of his chin and the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“What?” Soap's head spun from Ghost to Rory, surprised they didn't see the brilliance of his strategy. “Bonnie wee thing had a night with her own personal hero,” he said proudly, waggling his brows.

“Personal hero?” Gaz snarked. “Bloody hell, Soap.”

“Such a fuckboi,” Rory muttered, laughing as she shook her head. “You know you'd think you'd be using those smarts for something other than racking up numbers on a second bodycount.”

Soap leaned out past Gaz and gave her a cheeky grin. “You can't tell me that if you weren't a few years younger, an’ you didn't ‘ave the Cap'n about, that you wouldn't have fallen for it, Lt.”

She laughed and butted out her cigarette on the heel of her boot. “Not my type, Soap. But I appreciate the thought.”

He grimaced a little and shrugged. “Never been much fer toffs myself, anyhow.”

“Prat,” Rory shot back from over her shoulder, flipping him the bird as she turned to head inside.

Moving through the hanger, taking in the weathered surroundings, Rory noticed the stacked boxes and crates around them, loud music blaring from the stereo set up near the vehicles where some of the soldiers were acting as mechanics. It wasn’t the usual setting to ready oneself for war, it was hardly some elite military base or bunker. Real fucking cowboy shit, she thought. Glancing over at the far side of the sprawling bay where Alejandro and Rudy busily went through inventory, checking their stock of weapons and ammo, their rather dour expressions made her quickly assume that things didn’t look so promising, and with a heavy sigh, marched past them and headed to the room where John had been trying to connect with Shepherd since they had arrived.

Sliding the heavy barn-style doors open, the toned muscles of her arms strained beneath the glisten of sweat stained skin, and the once quiet workspace Price had secluded himself inside was disturbed by voices and song. Only giving a terse glance towards her as she entered the room, he maintained his focus on the laptop he stood hunched over, typing in code to try and break through to the General – wherever the hell he was.

“He’s gone dark, remember?” Arms folded across her chest, she leaned her shoulder against the door sitting ajar. “You think he sees it's you on call display and is just refusing to answer?” she asked, her tone sardonic.

“Rory…” he snarled, eyes fierce as he stared her down and the smirk on her face instantly retreated, busying herself with shutting the doors behind her. 

Holding her hands up in surrender once the room had fallen into silence, she opted to bat her eyelashes a little, hoping to soften the prickly beast. “Sorry. Sorry. Didn’t mean to poke the bear. Wrong time, wrong place for being a smartass. Stress reaction. Forgive me.”

Intense eyes flicked back towards the screen glowing in the dim light of the room, the low whistle of the breeze blowing through the breaks in the wood filling the room with a haunting hum of breath over a glass bottle top. “Kate’s got an encryption running,” he muttered, still trying to get in contact, wanting to hear it all from the horse’s mouth. The rough pads of his fingers brushed against the wood, scuffing against the surface, as he shifted his shoulders in a wave from left to right. His movements were tense – sharp, cutting – as his frustration emanated from him like raging rapids.

Footsteps bounced off the walls and ceiling in the stark room furnished with only a long wooden table as she drew closer, the sound hollow as boots glided through the sand blown in across the floorboards in golden granules. “Gaz said you wanted to see me, sir?” Her brow lifted as she sat against the table, gripping the rough edge for support. Legs outstretched in front of her, ankles crossed, she tilted her head to meet his gaze from under the knotted lines of his furrowed brow tugging at the scar that split the dark hair.

He looked older, the stress settling into the crevices in his face, making the bags under his eyes more pronounced. His boonie hat sat crumpled beside his hand curled into a tight fist, his fingers slowly stretching out and loosening their grip as he sighed and closed the laptop.

“I did, yeah.” Rounding the table, he took a seat down beside her, the table creaking slightly under his weight. Hands gripping the shoulder straps of his vest, he tucked his chin to his chest and cleared his throat, keeping his eyes forward. “Been thinking ‘bout the trouble we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

She nodded her head, tipping it to the side. “Hmm, yeah,” she mused quietly. “But it's nothing we haven’t faced before, eh?”

“I’m not just talking the trouble with PMCs and terrorists, love.” He glanced sideways at her before returning his gaze to the doors as if he were expecting them to burst open at any moment. 

“Something a little more personal, I suppose?”

“Yeah, somethin’ like tha’.”

She bit her lip, chewing it with just enough pressure to turn the pink flesh pale under the edge of her teeth. “Care to clarify?” Her eyes pulled away from the wall across from them and she forced their eyes to meet. 

No more beating around the bush.

“Us, Ror,” he said, lowering his voice. The secret everyone they worked with seemed to know without ever being told, the two of them thick as thieves at all times. “Shepherd knows about us.”

“And you're worried that since he’s gone rogue, turned enemy, that he’ll do something to endanger that.”

“You’re goddamn right I am,” he huffed out, scoffing harshly at the situation they faced.

She clasped her hands in her lap, fidgeting with her fingers absent-mindedly. “Are you more worried about our careers, or –” she paused, glancing up at him and the way he glared out at nothing in particular, chewing on rage and the grit of his teeth. “The latter then,” the words muttered in a low whisper.

“He was willin’ to throw Soap and Ghost under the bus. Who says he doesn’t use us as a weapon against each other?”

“No one,” she said with a shrug. “But that's always been a threat over our heads, hasn’t it? An enemy finding out, exploiting a weakness, taking one of us hostage, using us as bait.” Her head wobbled back and forth as she listed their troubles. “It was always a possibility, my darling.”

He cracked his neck and sighed heavily, a low growl in his throat. “Don't like it one fuckin’ bit.”

“What, and you think I do? This is part of what I warned you about when you first brought up the idea of getting together.” She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, the rough material of his tac vest rubbing harshly against her cheek. 

His arms fell loosely to his sides and his hand found its way to hers, holding it with intertwined fingers. Their gloves, a barrier between the warmth of their skin meeting, were  the physical manifestation of the divide of duty and their personal lives that they should have been keeping apart. The distance slim, but a clear separation. Something they had been letting slide the longer they worked together.

“The course of love never did run smooth,” she quoted. “Especially when we’re two soldiers who have gotten in deep with some of the more questionable forces at play in the world.” Her lips pursed in thought, and she sucked her teeth as she pulled her cheek away and turned her head to rest her chin on his shoulder instead, murmuring into the crook of his neck, “Might have been easier to leave me off your task force. But you just had to have me at your side, didn’t you?”

He huffed and gruffed, rubbing a hand through his hair, mussing up the thick, dark strands peppered with gray. “Told you I'd handle all the problems that came up. That we'd face ‘em together. Haven't changed my mind ‘bout tha’. Havin’ you with me is exactly how I wanted things.” Underlining the point he had given with a sharp turn of his head.

“And Captain knows best, eh?” She whispered, her warm breath fanning against his skin, watching as his pulse fluttered against the muscled column of his throat with her proximity. “Always gets what he wants.”

“You bet your arse,” he murmured, voice a low rumble. A smug, lopsided smirk appeared from under the bristles of his facial hair, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked down at her, lowering his head to rest his forehead against hers.

Cradling his jaw, feeling the rasp of his whiskers on her fingertips, she smiled. The earthy scent of cigar smoke and the hint of his briny sweat hit her olfactory senses, the scent of home, and it made her sigh softly. “We’ll get through this. If there’s one thing you needn’t worry about right now it's you and me.” She giggled quietly as she brushed her thumb over his plush lower lip, holding him captive with her doe-eyed stare. “Getting soft in your old age, Captain.”

“Oi, cheeky minx.” His eyes widened and he pulled back enough to meet her gaze head on, powder blues burning into her. “If anythin’ that's your bloody doin’,” he said, brows descending to knit together. 

“Me?” Acting shocked at the insinuation, Rory placed her hand on her chest in an over-the-top display of her innocence. “Never.”

“Got me wrapped around your li’l finger, don’t you?” His mustache tickled her forehead as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to it. “Startin’ to think y’ like me like tha’. Might’ve been your plan all along, eh?” he crooned. Giving her hip a gentle pat, his eyes narrowed. “Off with ya. Get the rest of the lads in ‘ere. Close to gettin’ a hit on Shepherd.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” she said, gesturing with a playful two-finger salute from her brow as she made her way back to the doors, playing messenger.

Rubbing at her furrowed brow, pinching the bridge of her nose, exasperation settling in, Rory watched as two grown men postured in front of their computer cameras like territorial dogs with only a flimsy garden fence between them. Barking at one another for supremacy through knots in the wood. One big bloody pissing contest – alpha male bullshit she had never had the time for. 

She kept her eyes trained on Price, his gloved hand slamming down on the lid of the laptop, shutting off all communication with Shepherd. The tension in the room thick enough to be chopped through with the force of an axe after Ghost and Soap had stood sentry, witnesses to the confirmation that the General had burned them, set out to tie off loose ends by whatever means necessary. 

With a quiet clearing of her throat, chewing on her bottom lip, she turned her head just barely to acknowledge the rest of the 141 and Alejandro. “Lads, can you give us the room for a mo’?”

“Ror–” Price held his hand out towards her in that condescending “calm down, I know better than you” motion that drove her up the fucking wall. The movement hardwired into every man in a position of power that left her wanting to bite his bloody fingers off. 

Met by her sharp look, eyes that burned like flames licking at trees in a forest blaze, he stopped and nodded his head to direct his team out. “Go on.” Standing there, arms crossed over her chest, she waited to hear the heavy wooden door shut behind them, the hollow bang of timber like the starter’s gun going off, signaling that they were finally alone. With prudent steps, she moved closer to the table and pressed her fingertips to the wood grain beside the computer, tracing the grooves before leaning her weight against it. “What do you think you're doing, love?” she asked quietly, continuing to worry her lip. “Posturing in front of the camera like that? That's not how you handle a man like Shepherd.” Pausing to take a deep centering breath, her glance darted down to the laptop and then back up at him. “Are you sure that was even a threat worth making?” 

Questioning his moves was a careful dance at a time like this. It was obvious to anyone that in the heat of the moment, John had lost his cool, let his protective instincts take over and all the stress he wore on his shoulders suddenly burst forth in a swell of anger that threatened to take everything he had built along with it. There had been several occasions when she had observed him losing sight of himself, barking back at those who thought they knew better, those with a higher rank who had made a terrible call and he was all too ready to go to bat for whoever their decision might have harmed. Good intentions muddied by the more enigmatic thoughts that whirred through his head, the dangerous parts that clouded his judgement at times. But, well-schooled in the art of proper foot placement when it came to Price and avoiding the hidden tripwires, Rory maneuvered her way through the conversation, gently edging forward. 

“Shepherd’s been getting his hands dirty –” he growled. 

“Like we haven’t? John, he’s a four star general in the US army.” Her face contorted into a pained grimace at her own earlier belief Shepherd might have been better than this. Her nose scrunching, lip curled, she continued, “Are we really so surprised? You don’t get there by being an especially good person. It's not like it’s above him to do that sort of thing. In fact, it’s exactly what he’s capable of – we just didn’t want to see it.”

Her hand posted itself on her hip and, like a seasoned animal whisperer, she stared him straight in the eye without an ounce of intimidation. “With a man like Shepherd, you should’ve played your cards very close to your chest. Instead, you've just told him you're coming for him. You've given him a reason to scatter like a cockroach in the light – not to mention putting a target on your back.” Pressing her index finger to his chest, she pushed firmly enough to make her point. “You are one man and he is a very big fish. He may have gone into hiding, but that doesn’t mean he’s down and out.” Her tongue dragged across her lips, forcing time to release the tension building between them. “You are punching above your weight class, my darling.” 

“I can’t just sit idly by,” he rasped, blue eyes flaring savagely while the rest of him remained alarmingly still.

“I’m not saying that. Take care of Graves. But with Shepherd, you should have played along. Been the obedient, good little toy soldier and then – and only then – when he’s not expecting it, when the moment’s right and his back is to the wall, then you bugger him in the arse.”

John chuckled darkly, a cold curl to his sly smile that made his dimple almost menacing. “You're a vicious little thing, aren't you, my girl?” His forehead wrinkled as the intense set of his stare focused on her.

“I’m Special Forces, what did you expect?” Her chin lifted haughtily and she flicked her finger against the underside of his chin, his stubble scraping against her digit. “Not to mention I've had you to learn from for the last five years. It’s not exactly like your tactics are all sweetness and light, are they?” 

He grunted. “Too bloody smart for your own good.”

“That I am.” Her cheeky smirk slowly curled at her lips and she continued, “All I’m saying is, be logical about this. I get that he went for the heart, and that’s a shitty move to make…” She moved closer still, her backside resting against the edge of the table, hands gripping around the shoulder straps of his vest. “But you, love, are the exact type of person who plans everything in advance. Always seven steps ahead, knowing every piece on the board, controlling the flow of movement. Don’t let Shepherd get in your head and play you for a fool. You’ll be helping no one like that.” “Beauty, brains, not to mention a fuckin’ pain in my arse,” he growled, pressing his hands on either side of her on the table, the tip of his nose pressing to hers. “You’re the whole bloody package aren’t you, darlin’.”

“That and more, love,” she said smugly. “That and more.” 

Her eyes flickered to the door, noticing the shadow of feet moving underneath it, the steady pacing of boots ready for action stretching across the floor in the late morning sun. A pack of beasts pacing in their cages, waiting for their moment to attack. “Now, shall we go deal with a Shadow?”

He gave her a peck on the forehead, his hand cupping the back of her neck, squeezing possessively, protectively. “Come on.”

Following in step, Rory stood behind Price as he pushed the doors open, his team and Alejandro turning to face him as if they hadn’t all been straining to listen in to the conversation held between the couple. 

“Lead the way, Colonel,” he said, before purposeful strides had him and the 141 falling into formation behind Vargas as he led them to a table set up in the middle of the hangar. The stereo that had been blasting music was rapidly turned off, the base falling into a twitchy silence as everyone circled around. 

“Alright, listen – We are taking back your HQ. We are getting our prisoner. And we are killing Commander Graves.”

Rodolfo Parra, Vargas’ second-in-command, stood opposite the Captain, his face a severe mask. “When?”

“Now,” Ghost replied. 

“This is a fight against our own… We are not 141 and Los Vaqueros on this,” Price said, punctuating each syllable with a press of his fingers. “We’re a team…”

Ghost pulled out a bag and dumped it out onto the tabletop. Black balaclavas printed with skull designs spilled out across the wood and Rory’s brow lifted at the sight. Biting her tongue as a part of her desperately begged the question where and how did he come across all the masks, and why was he just carrying it with him for this special occasion? She thought better of it then to ask. Sometimes, when it came to Ghost, it was easier just to accept that he enjoyed being off putting, like it was a bit, though the furrow of her brow made her confusion visible for all to see.

“...Ghost team.”

Pulling off his mask, the real face of Lieutenant Simon Riley was suddenly visible for all to see. A surprise to everyone in the room… 

Nearly everyone.

It had been some time since she had seen Lt. Riley without his mask, his accumulation of scars having increased since the previous occasion. It was common for him to sport his balaclava or even the N95 on and off duty, a way to hide his identity, or – as she had always suspected – taking notice away from the scars that marred his features. The bisected brow, the hairline split down both of his lips, the deep lacerations on his cheek, chin, and forehead. His nose had been broken several times over and set crooked, while multiple of his teeth were missing like the hockey players back in Canada. He looked every bit the role of the tank that he had morphed himself into. The harsh lines of pale, puckered flesh carved into his face like fractures in stone stood out against the eyeblack streaked down his cheeks and smeared around his eyes so brown they were nearly onyx.

April 24, 2018 02:10 - Fulham, London, UK

She wakes to the twilight blue darkness of her room, the moonlight swallowed up in the storm clouds that cluster together over the city skyline. Rain patters outside on the balcony, hard and heavy, as thick drops of it drown the flowers she had potted a few days ago. A fog clings low to the city of London, like something out of a gothic novel, the first omen of some looming presence creeping closer.

The sound of voices carries from downstairs – muffled, gruff, the timbre low. She recognizes only one, and as the haze of sleep recedes she realizes the bed beside her is empty, the sheets are cold, wrinkled with movement. John had been there beside her when her eyes had closed, his chest pressed to her back, the familiar weight of him behind her keeping the chill of night away. Now, she could feel it bite into the bare skin of her shoulders where the covers had slipped down her chest, the thin straps of her camisole doing little to fight back against the cold. Brow gently furrowing, delicate lines slice between the two arches, she  pushes the covers aside and the rush of cool air from the open window washes over her, settling a frigidity over her skin and in her bones. 

A shiver courses down her spine, goosebumps traveling in its wake, spreading over her skin as she grabs her robe hanging on the chair in the corner, slipping it on and cinching the belt tight around her. Bare feet pad quietly over the hardwood floors as she proceeds to climb down the stairs, each step carefully placed to outmaneuver the spots that creak. Traversing her home with a cat-like quality, silent in enemy territory and moving one step closer to possible danger. Sure-footed. Confident that she will go unheard, unseen. Running recon in her own home.

Pausing in the doorway of the living room, the French doors left ajar, she feels like a kid on Christmas trying to spy on Santa, peering inside as if she doesn't actually own the townhouse she's creeping through. Taking a moment to regard Price sitting on the couch – a whiskey in hand, his other arm stretched out over the back – entirely relaxed, she notices the strange man in the armchair placed kitty corner away. 

He's somehow wider and taller than Price, an absolute juggernaut of a man with close cropped blonde hair, a stubbly beard, and countless cicatrix crisscrossing his features. One of the hand towels from the downstairs bathroom is draped around his neck, his clothes damp and clinging to him, looking like a drowned rat. The kind that find their way up from the sewers – feral, mean…

She knows better than to judge a book by its cover, but she can’t help the way her brows lift with concern at his appearance, gripping the material of her robe in her fist, holding it shut as if to preserve herself. She’s not sure why that’s her natural inclination, the sudden urge to hide crawling up her nerves like someone’s just passed over her grave. 

He glances up first and catches her eye, noticing the silent figure she maintains in the corner, seemingly unbothered by the way she watches him. He doesn't move, doesn't smile, doesn't greet her. He just sits there. Solid, stoic, unmoving. A monolith. An ancient piece of architecture that has begun to crumble under the passage of time, but still holds resolute.

Price follows the eyeline of the stranger in their midst and glances over his shoulder at her, the hard edges of his steely gaze softening at the sight of her. “Rory, love, come ‘ere,” he says with a little tip of his head, inviting her into her own living room as if he owns the place.

“Who's this?” she asks quietly, voice thick with sleep, as she points her chin in the direction of the stranger. Unable to relax until given the all clear about the guard dog who has found himself a place to curl up on her furniture.

She eyes him warily, assessing the multitude of injuries to his face that have left deep ravines in the flesh, and the peekaboo of tattoos she can spot on his arm where the sleeve of his hoodie has rolled up. He's seen some shit, there's no doubt about it – and if he's friends with Price, well… there’s no telling just how bad it might have been. 

He makes eye contact, holds it steady, taking her in the same way she does towards him. Sizing her up. Intimidation tactics. It wafts off of him. A man who’s used to using his bulk and build to give people pause. He's made himself into a weapon, likely sees himself as little more.

John can see the way she's studying the other man, ever perceptive in the way she tries to read everyone she meets – a trait that acts as a hindrance and a help. He drags her attention away with a hard stare before taking her hand in his and pulling her into his lap, letting her take a seat on his thigh. He holds her close, the smell of cigar smoke and whiskey strong on his breath as if he'd only just partaken of them. He's been up for a while already, and it's the middle of the night. “This ‘ere's Simon Riley. An old friend, and a Lieutenant in the SAS.”

A cold smirk pulls at the giant's thin lips. “And this must be the bird you're willin’ t’ risk your entire career for. Blimey Price, haven't done ‘alf bad f’ y'self, ‘ave you?”

“He knows?” Rory asks incredulously, her brow lifted as she turns to look at Price like he's on trial.

John nods. It's curt, lacking in remorse. He won't be apologizing.

She rolls her eyes and sighs, crossing her arms over her chest, still remaining rigid as if she’s in some sort of hostage situation. 

“Couldn't ‘elp it. Price ‘ere has a standin’ invitation with me. Had to explain why he wasn't at ‘is flat and why I had to come all the way out to London to see ‘im.” Dark eyes flicker over her, the lamp light glowing behind his head setting his features in shadow. “Saw the snaps ‘e keeps o’ you there… Never thought ‘e'd end up with some posh bird, but ‘e seems rather smitten with ya, I'll give you tha’.”

“Standing invitation?” She's curious, having never really met any of John's mates before — besides Nikolai, of course. It's been five months, she knew they existed, but being in a relationship with a superior officer meant she wasn't afforded some of the usual privileges that came with being a partner.

“Simon and I go way back. Trust one another. We're close. Sometimes he needs an ear.”

“Or a fist –” Simon says with a rattling laugh before gulping down what liquid remained in his glass.

“Right,” she murmurs, feeling a sudden dryness in the back of her throat. Reaching down she grabs the glass in Price’s hand and brings it to her lips to take a sip, the scotch warming her belly during the bitter dead of night. “Well, so glad you feel comfortable enough to take it upon yourself to share my good liquor with the guest, John. This is the Glenfiddich, isn’t it?” A little Dutch courage later and a smirk curls her lips as she starts to loosen up. “Make yourself right at home, why don't you,” the sarcasm rolling off her tongue.

John chuckles and wraps his arm tighter around her waist, pulling her against him until her body is nestled right against his. “We're practically living together as is. Aren't we, darlin’?”

The skeptical scoff sputters forth and she shakes her head at his insistence. “You keep some toiletries and a few changes of clothes here, love. We haven't yet talked about you moving in.”

“Things sound serious,” Simon says with the finality of the glass tumbler thudding on the coffee table in front of him.

“They are,” John states adamantly, and the fact he does so makes her heart flutter. He'd been serious in that tent about not wanting this to be some fling, this was the real deal.

“Must be one ‘ell of a soldier to keep you comin’ back.”

Price glances up at Rory, unfathomable eyes lingering on hers, fingers tucking her hair behind her ear, reverent in the way he touches her. “She is.” His voice is a soft purr like a contented cat. “Bloody incredible.” His gaze strays over to the other man in the room, pride puffing up his barrel chest as he reminds himself of her many competencies. The look of a man who might as well have been holding the FA cup. “Should see her with a scope.”

Simon sits forward in his seat, his hollow, haunted stare locking with Rory’s. “Is that a challenge?”

“Sniper, I assume?” Her interest is momentarily piqued as she is once more pulled into the conversation.

“Among other things.” His half grin reveals several missing teeth, the rest crooked and yellowed with nicotine.

She snickers quietly to herself, unsurprised by the use of subtlety and half-truths that were all too common amongst soldiers in the Special Forces. Most were never exactly open about anything, it was all long corridors with walls at the end of them, and judging by Lt. Riley’s appearance, she could only imagine it would take more than a bloody sledgehammer to get through his. 

“So SAS, a friend of John’s, a fellow sniper…” Rory turns and looks at Price. “How come you never told me about him? Might have been easier than having him just randomly appear in my house in the middle of the night like he’s fucking Batman.”

“That would be on me,” Simon rasped.

“Would it now?” Her head tips to the side and she takes the whiskey glass from John once more, sloshing the drink around in concentric circles. 

“Not a big fan o’ people knowin’ ‘bout me.”

“Usually wears a mask,” John adds, as if that’s perfectly normal. 

“A mask?” She pauses and her jaw clenches as she debates the reason. “You know what, I’m not even going to ask.”

“Good. Wouldn’t ‘ave told you anyhow.”

She laughs and it breaks the barriers of antagonism instantly. “Fair enough.” Taking another sip, she glances between the two men. “Right, well, I only hope you’re here tonight for the ear and not the fist. I’d rather my house wasn’t used as a sparring ring, just had it renovated.” She hands the glass back to John and pats his chest, leaning over to kiss the top of his head. “I’m getting some sleep. Was good meeting you Simon.”

He nods, pulling the towel off his neck. “‘Pologies ‘bout the towel.”

“Couldn’t be tossed.” Hand waving the soaked towel away, it was no skin off her nose. “Hardly ever have company over. And John knows where the washing is.” She stands up and heads back to the french doors, fingers curling around the wood and glass as she lingers in the doorway. “Just keep it down, yeah?”

“Yes, ma’am,” John says with a smirk, winking at her. 

“Piss off, you pillock.” With a laugh she heads upstairs once more, leaving them to their clandestine meeting. 

“Good to see you again, Simon.” 

Price’s little nod and the grin on his face were like that of a proud father as the others gazed on with furrowed brows, Soap’s eyes widening slightly at the visage of the man who had taught him how to stay alive with whatever he could find on hand, every mark a testament to the Lieutenant’s experience. 

Pulling the boonie hat from his head, placing the weather-worn and sweat stained accessory down on the table in front of Rory, he continued, “If you’re in, take a mask… if you’re not… Don’t.”

Hands reached into the center, all grabbing a mask without a second thought, Los Vaqueros and 141 alike. Graves had just made some very powerful enemies. To be a traitor wasn’t something taken lightly. 

Leaning forward, Rory stretched her hand out and was met by Price’s gloved fist already holding one of the balaclavas for her. Taking it from his grasp with a little smirk and a quiet “Ta”, she stretched out the material of the hood and gave it a once over. It felt a bit like being a kid again, having her parents pick out her Halloween costume for her. 

Raking her fingers through her hair, she brushed the strands out of her face and pulled the mask down. The material sitting snugly against her features, only her hazel doe eyes peering out, meeting the piercing blue ones of John.

“We were late getting to celebrate Halloween this year, suppose I get to do so now,” she mumbled, the mask muffling her voice. Her brow cocked, hidden beneath, but the crinkle around her eyes gave away her cheeky grin. “Don’t think I would have chosen a skeleton myself. Not really on brand for me, is it?”

Leaning towards her, he huffed out a dry chuckle. “Suits you, my girl.” 

[anonmousegosqueak]

It came to me on the run, but what is each of the Poly 141 favourite food?

According to you this time since I literally wrote a half kilometer long reblog on the recent birthdays reblog ;)

Fennnicccc- you're gonna kill me with these. Please stop dropping these absolutely baller ideas, I will go insane.

Since you asked so politely tho~

Price

Bro eats cigars. What can I say? No but in all seriousness, I genuinely can't decide for Price. Y'know what that means? I'MA BOTHER MY BROTHER FOR ANSWERS! :D (same way I got Froggip Graves)

Me showing him a generic photo of Price

Sibling: "this man likes fried eggs with ketchup"

Me shows the dumb quokka smile™ "does this change anything?"

Sibling: "..."

Sibling: "with hash browns."

So there's your answer folks! He likes fried eggs with ketchup and a side of hash browns! Thanks @discordantcongregate ~

Nik

Bro eats food from all around the world (and people lmao, Nik is a fuck boy). But y'know his favorite? Price's homemade bread. He doesn't make it often, he almost never has the time, but it's his GamGam's recipe and it tastes like home. While Nik is very much the cook in the relationship, he knows it'll be a good day when Price pulls out is '#1 captain' apron the Sargents jokingly got him.

Ghost

Sweets. I dunno who made it, I dunno if it's for some lore-reason, but I love sweets enjoyer!Simon. Again, someone said that he gets all his dad jokes from candy wrappers and stuff and... ACK. ITS JUST REALLY CUTE. I wanna believe he's really fond of those sticks you dip into the chocolate? But like- just the sticks? Idk, might be my own nostalgia talking but he likes the little animals on them (someone please tell me you know what I'm talking about, I don't wanna seem crazy)

Soap

So I can't decide between haggis (because Scottish.) and muffins. I think in all honesty, he'll eat anything. *Absolutely* the kinda guy to eat your leftovers, nothing goes to waste when he's around. Growing up in a big family with lots of shithead sisters, he's used to stealing food and getting food stolen. Really though, I think a nice blueberry muffin is his weakness (dispite never admitting it).

Gaz

Ughhh... So I really *really* want Gaz to be vegetarian. Not in a preach-y way, he's not gonna go off on how superior he is for eating a salad, he just goes about his business. Eats meat substitutes as well, not just like- plain tofu or whatever they think vegetarians eat. But... It's also the military. He goes on month long mission with nothing but rations, he can't really be picky about that kinda stuff. I mean, if you've been starving for a week after getting captured by the enemy, you're not gonna turn down some chicken soup. That being said- he really likes TVP (textured vegetable protein). Idk why, I just think he puts it in everything, very versatile with it as well. It's a good source of protein and he can flavor it in hundreds of ways.

Roach

He eats drywall. Nah but seriously, I'm gonna say he's a sandwich enjoyer. As already stated (thank you Kio) he won't stop eating stuff he's allergic to? Like bro, no. Stop. Put the tomato down, it makes you feel bad. Still, despite that he can appreciate a good sandwich (allergies included). All different combos as well, likes to try something new wherever he goes.

Red

Oranges. In literally any form. Juice, fruit, the fucker eats the peels as well.

Feeling really off about AI stuff (why do I force myself to write, express my creativity, risk judgement, pour my soul into something because I enjoy it... When some random guy can type "Gaz (from cod) fic" and get the same product?) so for the foreseeable future (prob like a post or two?) I'll be slipping my own OC in. Feel free to ignore them, they'll always be at the bottom, I just... Sometimes I wanna give my self insert some love? It's never gonna be to take away from whatever ship (poly 141) I'm writing, it's just an optional sprinkle for my own mental health.

[eowynstwin]

Do you have any recommendations for longer cod fics with plot?

Yeah, plenty!

A few from @391780 (and their ao3) (if you decide to explore their other fics PLEASE read the tags first, early writes some very dark work that may not suit you):

The Arrangement

The ad reads "Looking for a woman (25-45) to enter a discreet and unusual arrangement, with monetary compensation. Must fill out application and send photo.", and for some reason that you can't even fathom yourself, you apply. AKA John Price, who knows better than anyone what a liability having a spouse or partner is, decides that the only way he's going to find a beautiful soft woman to put up with his absurd schedule and dangerous job is to simply hire them.

the space in between

a shortcut through a construction site at night leads you to a run-in with john price, leader of the local crime family. (or, mafia Price romance with a desk jockey who didn't sign up to be a crime boss' obsession or sole confidant)

Into Your Veins

Ghost is a vampire during a zombie apocalypse, sent on a mission from Price to recruit you to join the little gated community of survivors that he's rounding up. You're a survivor who just wants to be left in peace to tend your garden and occasionally clear out your moat and booby traps of the undead. Neither of you gets what you'd planned on.

Then we have milk0 on ao3

Incompetent People

You share a group chat with your team and you sometimes wish you didn’t. (or, a very fun fic that started as a group chat piece and has evolved into a poly 141 romance. Otherwise known as my favorite fucking trope ever. The reader character has such a fun voice, I adore this fic.)

Next of course is @ceilidho (emphemeron on ao3) (same deal as with early—read their tags if you explore more of their fic, they also write darker work)

take me home, country road

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au

Following up with @alittleposhtoad (smoggyfogbottom on ao3)

"it's gonna get me by the end of the night"

A year after the attack on the Urzikstan embassy, Stacy Davidson struggles to move on. Whumptober Prompt: No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.” Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?” Note: I picked Gaz x OC because this ship doesn't exist on ao3, and I wasn't sure how to classify it for searching purposes. Stacy has a minor role in the game!

oh bury me not on the lone prairie

You are a doctor on the frontier, recently widowed and left to fend for yourself. You cope by keeping a strict routine, one that is threatened by the arrival of four strangers one hazy summer night. (141 western AU)

a handsome stranger on a cold autumn day

You work at a small-town library doing the same thing day in and day out, until a handsome captain approaches your desk.

rounding out this list is @lunarvicar who is on hiatus but still fully worth reading. (you can find them here on ao3)

exit row

ghost is that hot guy at the airport you wish you could talk to. good thing your seats are next to each other on the plane and you can fantasize alllll you want. (or, you hook up with Ghost in an airport and meet, months later, after you join the 141. he is not happy about it. or is he?)

to the flame

Moth has barely escaped her first captors, but tumbles headfirst into the care of the 141. She has to decide whether to trust them and their prickly leader, Captain Price - who also happens to be the sexiest motherfucker she's ever met.

a stranger at the table

tudor era AU. John Price is an old friend of your new husband's, come to help on the farm for a season. Your vows are tested in ways you could never have imagined.

All of these I've listed are multichapter fics, but every single author's one-shots are just as good. I highly recommend reading those too!

Now I'm just going to list a few writers who you really should just take the time to go through their masterlists, because you can't go wrong with anything they write.

@yeyinde

@peachesofteal

@moondirti

@charliemwrites (dark fiction, be aware)

@ohbo-ohno (also dark fiction)

honorary mention of @guyfieriii who has removed most of her cod fiction from tumblr due to a frankly disgusting amount of harassment, but I'm sure if you ask her very very nicely she'll send you where you need to go. (seriously. be nice. or you'll see me in your bedroom holding a knife at midnight)

P.S. if you're reading this, and i've expressed love for your work in the past, but you are not on this list, it is NOT intentional exclusion. It is my absolutely horrible memory. I love you and please link your own work if you'd like!

[duckarchives]

Does Ghost have a wife?

Look, I really don't care about shipps, ship whatever you want, be it canon x canon or oc x canon, I'm just here to explain some misinformation that is being used to attack ghost x soap and some ocs.

First of all, it's important to understand that these women they call Ghost's wives came from the comics, even though Ghost's comic is iconic, they were never considered canon by the writers, just fanservice.

Now about this Ghost comic, due to a translation error and misinterpretation, some people say that Ghost's sister-in-law is his wife. I don't think he would be so bad as to flirt with his own brother's wife, especially since he did everything he could to make his brother quit drugs and have a happy family.

(I couldn't find pictures of her, but her name is Beth Riley.)

The second character is Mara, both are just friends and this is clear in several moments.

“But Ghost was sad when she got hurt.” Yes, that’s something he would feel for anyone he considers a close friend. Honestly, calling Mara Ghost’s wife sounds like that “opposite-sex friends don’t exist” nonsense and it even diminishes her to just his wife, not the soldier she is.

(Mara in mw1 reboot and her in warzone comics.)

Now the last one is Urban Tracker, she was supposed to be the cute poster girl who would attract more audience like Seraphine in lol or dva in overwatch, but that didn’t work and she ended up being discarded. She started being called Ghost’s wife because of a photo of her being carried by him, but in fact that’s a montage because in the original photo it’s another soldier.

In reality the explanation for this is quite simple, Ghost is a famous character, so why not use him to give fame to the copy of Seraphine? But the truth is that they never had any kind of relationship and she was completely erased when she was discarded, so canonically Ghost doesn’t even know/remember who she is.

“But there are some of their art pieces that were posted on the official cod Twitter profile and some people who work with cod liked their fanarts.”

In fact, those pieces were reposts of fanarts, just another attempt by them to make her famous. In fact, if we take the fanart likes into account, then logically Ghost x Jade (Sleepypotato OC) and Ghost x Soap would be canons.

(Her default skin)

I didn't come here to fight over ships or anything like that, I created this account to talk about lore, ask questions and debunk misinformation about cod. Now, if you fight over ships or attack people for that reason, find something to do, getting off the internet sometimes is good.

[hatsbuckets]

AHDJFNDICNFN

MY MALE FRIENDS FROM HIGH SCHOOL AND I JUST HAD A THREE HOUR LONG DISCUSSION THAT STARTED WITH ME EXPLAINING THAT...

These boys have read little to no fanfic, if they have read it, it was for the porn...

We started on me opening up (chaotically) about writing about cod characters and loving like NikPrice as a ship.

And then it was important that I explained the history of Star Trek, fandoms, Spock x Kirk, and omegaverse. And how like sometimes people make big scary, 30 lines or whatever '09 Ghost a fucking Omega down bad for Cap (who my friends were like :O well he-- he's too badass and scary what. And i said hold up hold up like, it's about the fun.)

Then jump to how Steve x Tony is a pretty big marvel ship. (THIS BLEW THEIR MINDS)

They were like "Steve Rodgers??? Born in the 1920s?? Him being gay doesn't make sense.

I said: "Steve Rodgers??? Army soldier surrounded by military men all the time who's only friend was Bucky "hunk and flirt" Barnes??? it's not about if he's canonically gay. He's a fictional character, we can do what we want to him. It's about taking a character and putting him in a situation and seeing what he would do. For example, Steve discovering, in the modern world where being gay is more widely accepted and he's not only focused on WAR, that oh... Maybe this man is kinda... Attractive to him.

Or just for shits and gigs, let's suspend our disbelief, and forget how we got here and just let it happen. A "What If" scenario if you will."

THEN we moved on to Magneto and how like Magneto doesn't happen unless he experiences all of the horrors he did. And I said well, imagine if he didn't. Maybe his mother lived and all is fine. Let's pretend, because we're already pretending.

One made a great point that it's a disservices to characters and long standing stories (like Star Wars) to do things like "somehow Palatine returned."

And I agree ! And then we discussed trust between readers and storytellers. And how there is a relationship between them. And whether it's about crafting a beloved story, writing for funzies and wanting to share, or just making money, there is a relationship.

And we had more conversation about, for example, the What If episode of Nebula joining the Nova Corps and he was like "it's not even Nebula anymore it's just like a complete different character. It was a waste of time."

And I said, "maybe it's more that her personality will take different turns, but just like Magneto we said well just what if. And yes, she might change some, but pieces of her core character are still there and that's what matters."

And then we talked about book to movie adaptations and movie to movie adaptations (like Snow White or HTTYD) and more on that relationship stuff side.

It was such a fun conversation and I just got to be a nerd and I think I may have convinced them all that fanfic is good because creativity and fun. (Also, those boys need to read some good, soft porn with plot just so they can learn how to really treat a woman. (Instead of the straight up porn ik they watch)

Anyway, good night, I hope you all can have a silly little ramble like me with friends.