#unless they somehow bring back Soap

[mycapofmisfortune]

what if in the next Modern Warfare game Ghost dies and they of course cremate his body because Simon Riley will never be buried underground again if John Price has anything to say about it, and so Price and Gaz gather at the same place they scattered Soap's ashes to scatter Ghost's and Price does so and Gaz says "they'd want to be together in this" and Price agrees with a hum and the game ends and the post credit scene is in the same place with a figure sitting at the cliff's edge but we don't see their face, only their feet softly kicking in the air but we can see that they're holding something in their hands and then we hear footsteps coming their way and the camera tilts up and we see Soap who has longer hair but the scar on his temple is clear and star shaped and he smiles down at the figure and says "Been a while, Si" and we finally see the figure who is Ghost without his mask and it's the first and only time we see his face and he's holding the balaclava, and he smiles up at Soap and says "Too long, Johnny." and he throws the balaclava down the cliff because he won't need it where he is now and he gets to his feet and follows Soap and that's where the game ends

like

what if

[cherie-doll]

I don’t know if u have gotten any requests like that but could you write about what would happen if the cod men got injured at work and they have to stay at home for a long time with us. Would they freak out like a workaholic or just chill?

Thank u Cherie for being really really awesome ✮

dawg i received this back in december and am just now answering it wth but thxx ^^

𓍊 Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

❥ Price always complains about pain bothering him, and he's heard the countless times you've told him to take a break; he needs it. He would always nod and say he would try to get some time off soon. Except this man can be a major procrastinator, and it wasn't until he got badly injured and told by the doctor to take some time off. It was made clear that it wasn't an option but mandatory. So now he's at home, on the recliner without allowed to get up unless to go to the bathroom or move to the bedroom. You bring him all his meals and at first he thinks it's silly how strict you are with him. He had even brought a pile of paperwork to do but you quickly got rid of that. It doesn't take long for him to get used to your coddling him.

❥ Simon didn’t know how much of a break he needed till he slept soundly without interruption, thanks to the pain numbing medication. He awoke the next morning feeling very well rested and for once he didn’t have a certain annoying Scottish waking him up in the middle of the night to tell him lame jokes. Before he couldn't imagine quitting the military, but now? After a period of having slow mornings, enjoying homecooked meals and spending more time with you; he could definitely get used to this. Goes back to work as grumpy as ever.

❥ Johnny is ecstatic to spend some time with you. Since he used up all of his days off and took every holiday, he's sort of glad for getting an injury. Except he doesn't know chill, rest and relaxation are not in his vocabulary. This man enjoys going out, doing things with you, so it is sort of difficult to get him to stay at home. Anytime you're going out to buy groceries, run an errand or even walk down to your mailbox, he's begging to go along with you. Doesn't even want to stay lying in bed if you've already woken up and are having breakfast in the kitchen, like he wants to be in the same room as you. Really tough when it's time for him to go back.

❥ Kyle at first was sort of annoyed for the injury, he's the only one who had gotten hurt out of his team. Everyone else got away with minor injuries, barely a scratch or two, while he got a leg broken. He's complaining at home while you're nodding along, massaging his shoulders and he starts talking slower, melting into your touch. Leans back fully in the recliner and is like "This ain't so bad". Realized he needed that extended break anyways and relaxes. When he goes back he's bragging about how he got the longest time to heal up while his partner took care of him.

❥ Roach was long due for a break. He needed one, and this injury couldn't have come at a better time. Doesn't even mind the pain if it means sleeping in late with you and being able to stay all day by your side. He doesn't understand those who are married and are somehow still workaholics. Like, what do you mean you wouldn't immediately ditch work at any opportunity you get in exchange to spend some time with your partner? Would prefer your caresses over his medication, which he forgets to take as the doctor prescribed. "You'll just take longer to heal if you don't remember to take your medicine." And he doesn't care, it means he might be able to extend his leave.

❥ Alejandro feels restless, wanting to move and do something. He was fine being able to lie around the house for the first couple of weeks. No longer was he groaning and complaining about how he never was able to get time off, he was resting well now. Except since he's spending so much time inside his house, he's starting to notice things that need to be fixed. You're catching him on a ladder changing a lightbulb, fixing a door that makes too much noise when it opens and closes. You tell him to go back to resting, but he feels like he's gotten all the rest he needed. He's also asking the doctor how much longer he has to stay home, truth is he's just missing his work boyfriend Rodolfo.

❥ Rudy would chill at home during the time he's given off. Loves you taking care of him and leaves work at work, like he's telling anyone who calls asking where he's at, he's resting at home like the doctor said. Doesn't wish for more time off nor is rushing either The doctor thanks his lucky stars he got a normal patient who isn't moving too much or slowing down his healing process. When time is up he's getting up and starting to get ready to head off again.

❥ Phillip was sort of stressed at first, because if he isn't there to take care of his Shadows then who else would? He's always been there for them, either in the front lines with them or behind the scenes making sure they're alright. But now he can't even be on base to see them? He's going to different doctors hoping one of them would tell him something different than the same thing the last five have said... how he needs to rest and not strain his body. He appreciates you being with him though, if there's one good thing out of this is that he can't deny his favorite thing in the world is being next to you.

❥ Makarov either takes it really well, knowing that he needs to lie low anyways or, he sees this injury as an interference to his plans. It really just depends on the timing of things. But either he's wayyy too laid back for your liking, for God's sake he nearly lost a limb! Or he's itching to go back out there, literally being held back by you and the doctor who prescribes him a ton of medication because he's slowing down the process of healing by getting up and doing stuff.

❥ Keegan isn't a workaholic by any means but he prefers to stay busy. For as long as he's been in this, he's taken on almost every mission and task that comes his way. He doesn't shy away from it and doesn't let no small injury get in his way. That sort of changed when you came along though. He no longer had to change his bandages alone while at home, no longer had to struggle to make a meal if his hand or arm was injured. He felt a sort of warmth from you that no comrade could provide him with. So, he would be content healing at home.

❥ König is a big guy. Big guys like him don't get knocked out by just any small wound. Which means that the fact that he got sent home to you means he must've been hurt pretty badly. You were worrying until the doctor told him it was a problem König had been ignoring for several years. Turns out all those muscle aches he frequently got weren't just from working out or going out on missions, it had been an underlying problem. He was too busy groaning in pain to even consider doing any strenuous activity, so he wasn't too anxious.

❥ Horangi probably didn't even get an injury bad enough to give him time off but decided he wanted a vacation and caused himself an even worse injury just so he'd have justification for going home. He isn't lazy by any means but when he's tired and wants rest... you better not be counting on him to do anything for you. Actually, he wouldn't even let you get anything done. He'd pull you away from doing the dishes, doing laundry or even trying to care for him. "I can take care of myself" and if you really insist then he'll tell you the only option you have is to stay cuddled up next to him because that's the only way he'll feel better. His corny ahh

❥ Nikto barely registers his injury after it has been treated by the nurse, so it likely confuses him when he's sent home to rest up. He feels fine? Doesn't know why you're fussing over him either, but he welcomes the extra hours to catch up on some much needed sleep and time with you. He's learned to not take it for granted and even leans into your leniency to eat in the living room while watching tv in his boxer shorts knowing you won't say anything about the mess he's making. You're more worried about him healing anyways.

[simplyafountainpen]

Flying The Nest

{𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼}: Son!Reader x Sebastian Michaelis

{𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓻𝓲𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷}: After the anomaly that is a Demon Child spawns before The Crow Demon, it takes it upon itself to raise it up in a most demonic manner, but not all chicks readily leave the nest.

{𝓣𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓼}: Fluff, crack/silly fic, small amount of angst, (Y/n) is not Sebastian’s biological son, Sebastian & (Y/N) are referred to as Crow Demons and he and (Y/N) are referred to with it/its pronouns for a while

{𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽}: ❝a requests of black butler....(i LOVE platonic fics, and I can just think about it) like, Sebastian's son? the (male) reader don't need to be too young, but i think would be funny Sebastian trying to teach his son how to be a good butler, and reader been just a little messy demon. My English is not good, I'm sorry... i love your writing, please, bite my cheek (yes)❤❞ - izlittlebu (@sweetplantbro)

Demon children were not things most accounted for. You see, Demons are beings born from the woes and suffering of humanity, culminations of their despair and guilt. Of their sadism and pride. Of lust and greed and gluttony and envy and wrath and sloth. Of the impure. Demons are born full grown with a place in the hierarchy, a knowledge for what they must do with their eternal-unless-killed lives, and an endless and incurable hunger for souls.

So when a certain Crow Demon was met the squawking of a child, same as it in species - both being crows - and form, it panicked.

Demons were not meant to raise children unless asked by a future human Master or Mistress! Caring for one of their own with little to no gain is unheard of! There would be no point in keeping this anomaly that would only weigh this Crow Demon down, and so, initially, it flew off without a second though, leaving the newborn alone in the depths of hell.

But then, the crying. That damned crying. Thousands of crow chicks crying out in fear. A noise so loud it echoed through the endless caverns and catacombs of hell, alerting every being in these depths of the anomalous, pathetic child in their wake. And so, in a moment of both self preservation and recklessness, the elder Crow Demon swooped down and shoved it’s feathered mass into the younger, shutting it up.

The many eyes that crowded the Crow’s eldritch form stared into the matching many of the child that stared back.

With a reluctant huff, the young Demon chick was lifted from the ground in the arms of the elder Demon Crow, both taking off into the flame littered skies of the damned world of hell.

This would be the mark of a new relationship.

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

Years flew by faster than either of you could care for. Centuries of staying side by side had ignited a relationship between you and your elder, one akin to those of a Father and son, you both found.

And as such, you became a packaged deal. Summon your Father, and they get you as well. A younger, but still devilishly handsome boy, with those same piercing red eyes as your Father. His pact mark became intertwined with what would be yours, ensuring that the two of you would be together till time itself ended.

The only issue in the whole situation was that you were… a bit clumsy, to put it mildly. Where your Father was amazing at everything he did, more often then not - if it was not just preforming or entertaining - you’d find some way to mess everything up.

Bring the Master some tea? You'll end up drenched with a shattered tea set. Bring the Master food? Your hair was set on fire instead with a somehow raw-on-the-outside yet cooked-on-the-inside meal. Clean the halls? The ceiling is covered in soap and bubbles, the floor is covered in dirt and grime.

It was almost impressive with how well you managed to screw up nearly every task you were given, considering that those who summoned you and Father automatically assumed you were - in fact - related by blood. You both were unearthly beautiful with your piercing red eyes, and your Demon forms were scarily close in size and shape, even down to the hooker boots.

At the very least, whenever you messed up, they'd get to see your Father clean up the mess in a most graceful way.

You were never upset at the situation, in fact you nearly found it funny. Something Father never understood, you would come to realize. Unlike his sense of hilarity, you could let nearly any imperfection roll off your back like rain on a petal, never truly taking any punishment to heart. You'd take the advice, try again, fail, then get back up and keep trying.

Father also didn't seem to worried, always taking time out of his nights - seeing as both of you rarely slept - to train you. Over time it would get better, less spillage and messes and more elegant triumphs much like him.

But if there was something you could do that Father had little experience in, that was entertain. Your memory was impeccable, of course, and that made you a beautiful storyteller, even if you did embellish the truth quite a bit, but isn't that something humans do all the time?

You'd preform tricks for you Master and their guests, flips, games and otherwise while Father took care of literally anything and everything else. If everything, you could be described as the distraction to his action. The calm before Father's storm. You were the warning signs and flashing lights while Father was the danger that inevitably followed.

And this was life. This was the routine from the moment you truly gained consciousness and would most likely be until the day reality ceased.

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

"Are you ready?" It was just passed midnight, all residents of the manor you and Father had currently been serving at had been put to rest, so it was time for your 'nightly training'.

You walked with your Father towards the front door, exiting the large dwelling and pressing onwards to a nearby forest. Neither of you needed to bring anything, the space you'd both be using having been set up for ages by this point. No candles were needed as you both trekked to said forest, and within moments of entering the dark space, your brisk paces became long strides, not a single branch snagging on either of your outfits. Both of you glided through the leaves, looking more like afterimages than 'human beings'. Small animals scurried off when you both rushed by, leaves whipping wildly due to the speed you each were traveling at. Finally, the meeting spot - that which was a clearing filled with old furniture and tea sets and cleaning supplies - was in sight and you both slowed back to a nice walking pace, calmly waltzing into the clearing.

"We'll start simple for the night. Dusting isn't something you have much issue with - anymore anyway - but we should always brush up on our skills, shouldn't we?" Father's voice was much less uptight then it was in front of your Master, more lax but still with that undertone of something sinister, though you knew it wasn't pointed at you. A twitch of his finger was all it took for you to rush off to the small collection of cleaning supplies you kept out here, all pristine and cleanly, no matter how long they went without use. The feather duster you picked up was the best of it's kind, naturally, so picking up dust was nothing more than a breeze. Or so it should have been.

The dust of the shelves chosen was kicked up rather than swept up, making it fly all around you and Father instead of gathering to be swept up later. You sheepishly grinned as the duster in your hands continued to fly wildly around in the air, desperate to collect even a bit of dust. Father simply sighed, walked over, and cleaned up the mess within seconds leaving you still a bit dusty and the shelves and Father perfectly clean.

"What happened?" He asked gently and you looked down, chuckling and shrugging your shoulders. A hand went up to the back of your neck, rubbing and massaging the muscles as you stretched and popped your joints.

"Not sure, just got a bit too excited? I guess?" Your tone was sheepish, grin turning to a half-smirk, eyes drooping slightly. You Father also softened his smile, chuckling into a sigh as he pet your head, ruffling your hair.

"Well then, I suppose we'll have to wear down that excitement, won't we?" You were used to seeing this uncharacteristic softness from Father, the less tense smiles and looser body language, the encouragement and even the offerings of help without needing anything in return. Your smiled broadened as Father brought you in for a quick side hug, the hug itself being brief, but more than enough to get the message of affection across.

The feather duster was laid down on a nearby table, the two of you taking a seat in a mismatched pair of chairs. Father stared at you while you took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. His larger hands grasped yours, leaning towards you with that small smile on his face. You looked towards him with a smile of your own. With a nod, you both took a deep breath and held it - longer than you had before - and let it out, relaxing your bodies. You did this a couple times, over and over, breathing and calming your excitement to be here with your Father, spending time with him alone, without humans to interrupt. You grew giddy at the thought, only to feel a palm press against your head and one of your own to drop back into your lap. Father looked at you with a knowing gaze and you laughed, settling back down to keep breathing.

"We Demons," Father began, "must stay calm and collected throughout the day and night to complete our duties to utmost perfection. Not a mistake shall be allowed so that when we reap our reward, it will be as sweet as the nectar that led humans to this path of destruction and selfish desire. You understand, don't you?" You nodded at his words, shuffling in your seat, now very eager to get up and move again Sitting still was never your strong suit. Father watched as you jittered in your seat, smiling at you.

It was sudden, when he stood and pulled you by the one hand he was still holding into an embrace, wrapping his arms around you. Usually he gave you nothing but short head pats or the occasional side hug, like earlier. But to be fully embraced fully like this was such a rarity that you genuinely couldn't remember the last time he had given one like this. You stared into the fabric of his waistcoat, hesitantly returning the hug, to which he then squeezed you for.

You both stood there in silence for a moment, your head in his chest and his on your own head. The sounds of the forest overtook the moment, the distant call of night birds and deer playing created a symphony around you. The wind even seemed to blow slightly, pushing you both closer together.

"Perhaps... you were not made for all this cleaning and such." Your eyes immediately went to Father's, shock written visibly across your features. Before you could refute, Father placed a finger to your lips.

"You enjoy the performances you do for our Masters, correct?" You hesitated, but nodded. "And you much prefer these performances over cleaning and cooking, correct?" again, you nodded. Sebastian hummed, looking to the sky for a bit, before nodding to himself and looking down at you, who now had a confused pout on your face as you rested in his arms. "Then I have an idea. We've been going about this all wrong. Grab the feather duster, please?" He let you go, arms falling to his sides. Instead of moving, you squeezed him a bit tighter, then let go a moment later to retrieve the cleaning item.

"Now, instead of cleaning for me, preform. Don't focus on cleaning, but with devilish charm, instead focus on making it a performance, cleaning second." You stood still for a second, staring at him from your place in front of a lightly dusty table. It took you a minute to really let the words sink in, turning back to the shelves, lost in thought. Father let you have the time to really take the words in, the feather duster in you hand raising and lowering in hesitance. Eventually, you raised the duster and held it the air.

Don't focus on the cleaning, focus on the performance..?

Your mind began to spin a song, swift and graceful. The music that echoed in your head soon swam around in your mind, your body beginning to sway with it, hand going up to the table with the feather duster ghosting over the surface gently, less in a cleaning motion and more in a way that portrayed it. You swiftly made your way across the entirety of table, eyes closed as you drifted aimlessly.

Instead of applause or praise, you instead 'awoke' to the sound of Father coughing. Your eyes opened and found Father holding a fist to his mouth, waving a hand through the thick cloud of dust that surrounded you both. Your eyes squinted as you waved the duster around in a frenzy to clear away the dust, instead pushing it around even more.

“Don’t - ahem - don’t bother. Let’s just leave this place for a moment.” Father spoke softly. You nodded, not feeling it in you to talk. The feather duster was gently placed on a different table, the both of you rushing from the scene and resting on the branches of a nearby tree. You were downcast, eyes level with the floor, not bothering to look up at Father who you were more than sure was upset with you.

“Now now, don’t look like that.” You tensed, feeling him land beside you from his higher perch. A hand rested on your shoulder, your eyes looking up and catching his.

“It seems we’ll simply have to work a bit harder-“ “We’ve been working for years by thing point Father!” You interrupted, something you’d never usually do. Tears nearly made themselves apparent in your eyes but you wiped them away before they could even form, looking back towards the ground. “We’ve been at this for years and I’ve barely improved. I just don’t get why. I want to improve! And I definitely try to, but I just don’t. I just can’t and I don’t know why.” Your lip trembled as your voice cracked and broke. You were tired of this, of this trying to be better at something you clearly weren’t. You hadn’t looked back up at Father out of shame, thinking you’d definitely see his disappointment.

Instead, a hand gently placed itself on your cheek, tilting your head upwards to meet Father’s gaze. His eyes were soft, uncharacteristically so, and held rarely seen compassion and care. He thumbed your cheek, holding you there, then leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours.

“I’m not disappointed. I’m not angry. This is a learning process for the both of us. I’ve never been a father before and it I know shows. We will figure this out together, alright little one? This is nothing to cry over, Demons don’t cry, after all.” You sighed, nodded, and scooted closer to the elder, who welcomed you. You shared the third hug - a new record - of the night, squeezing him as tight as possible. He returned the force with everything he had.

“This is a learning process for the two of us. We will get through this, understood?” You chuckled at the question, nodding into Father’s shirt.

“I do. I understand.” He nodded, trademark smile on his face. Father’s red eyes met your own, the two of you grinning together.

“Then let’s keep learning. Keep moving forward. Till time itself gives up and humans fall.” Your grin grew at his words.

“Together till the end!” You cheered, arms swinging upward, only to hit the branch above you both and send you tumbling to the ground, you falling on your face and Father landing on his feet. He chuckled at your misfortune and you growled.

There was still plenty time to grow.

{𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓼}: I am so very sorry this took so long to get out. I had a few things happen in life in quick succession and Wuthering Waves took control of my free time. I still hope that you enjoy, even if this is shorter than I had hoped it to be.

-🖋️

All publishings on this account belong to @fountain-pen-anon. I do not authorize my fics being altered, translated, stolen or published/reposted to other sites, thank you.

© fountain-pen-anon - all rights reserved

[mikuluvu]

Acceptance?

Summary: Ghost experiencing the stages of grief... But what is acceptance to him?

Ghost x fem!reader (in relationship/can be platonic)

A/n: 5/10 cod fics posted... DOWN BAD FOR PHILLIPS

Everyone would consider Ghost isn’t capable of love, not the kind where he would let his guard down and softened his edges. He’d spent years busying himself in death and violence. But then there was you, a fire that melted his cold heart that he’d carried for so long. You were his anchor, keeping him grounded in a world that wants him under.

And then… you were gone

Denial

The mission was supposed to simple, a routine infiltration. You were skilled, careful and Ghost trusted no one more at his side. Yet, somewhere between the comms and the sound of explosion, you were ripped away from him. The extraction team pulled him back, Price’s voice ordering him to retreat.

“No,” he growled, he was desperate. “I’m going back.”

“She’s gone, Simon,” Price said, “There’s nothing you can do.”

Ghost refused to accept it. Hah… you couldn’t ve gone. You HAD to be alive, out there, probably injured and waiting form him to find you. The idea of you dying was not welcomed in his mind.

“She’s out there,” he whispered to himself.

Anger

Weeks turned into months, and with each passing day, the hope he clung onto began to crack. And showing rage. 

Ghost became a beast on every mission, he was on a rampage, a beast who will kill anything to find food. What the fuck is the word restraint? His only goal is to inflict pain. Price started noticing his changes. 

“Simon!” Price yells after a mission where Ghost completely ignored orders to extract early, instead he hunted down the last remnant of the enemies. “What the bloody hell was that!?”

“They fuckin’ didn’t suffer enough,” Ghost spat, “This isn’t you,” Price pressed, but Ghost was already walking away.

Bargaining

Ghost found himself making silent deals with a god he didn’t believe in.

“Bring her back,” he muttered, his hands trembling as he cleaned his weapon. “Take anything from me, just…. Not her.”

In his quarters, he would close hjs eyes, imagining you were there, your laugh. 

“I should’ve protected you better,” he says, his voice cracking. “I’ll make it right. Somehow.”

Depression

The fire in him faded over time, replaced by a weight that settled in his chest. Ghost stopped talking unless it was necessary.

The fire in him dulled over time, replaced by a crushing weight that settled in his chest. 

“Simon, you need to talk to someone,” Soap said one evening, he was concerned.

“I’m fine,” Ghost replied, but his eyes told a different story.

He wasn’t fine. He was hollow.

Acceptance?

Acceptance. Eh, not really. Ghost didn’t accept that he lost you. But something… changed. Perhaps it was the realization that the world wouldn't stop spinning, that life would still keep going even when it felt like it had ended with yours.

 

???

Price ordered a retreat, but Ghost ignored him once again.

 

“Simon, stand down!” Price’s voice crackled through the comms.

“They don’t get to walk away,” Ghost growled, his voice cold.

One by one, he hunted them down, he went crazy. He didn’t stop until the enemy was brutally killed, even they begged him to stop, his gloves stained with blood and his mind numb.

Price confronted him after the mission.

“You’re out of control, Simon,” Price said. “This isn’t about the mission anymore. This is about her.”

Ghost didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

- Reblog w/comments is appreciated. Maybe donate me one dolla dolla?? Buy me coffee i meant

[theallianceofcelestials]

'Folded like wet tissue paper" That's hilarious X,D

Oh! Got another what if!

So you know how babies go all quiet when they're doing something they're not supposed to? So imagine in SEA's a baby Eclipse somehow crawls his way into the bathroom and gets his hands on some liquid soap and just starts squeezing it onto the floor, who finds him first and how do they react?

- 🎭

Depends on when he gets in there.

Moon for example, is usually awake late into the night and wakes up late. If the baby Eclipse got in before noon, then there's no chance it'd be him who finds the babified nephew.

The most likely would be Killcode, simply because he wouldn't leave his baby son alone.

So something like this would happen probably:

Killcode is in the middle of cooking lunch, humming some song while he browses through delicious recipies for babies, having left his babified son on the rug before the couch with building blocks and other toys. He's probably sent his children and brothers out (unless Moon's snoring on the bed, in which case just the one brother) out for more ingredients, because they're woefully underprepared for a baby.

He'd probably get the feeling something is wrong when he decides on a nice enough recipe. It's that tingling sensation he's grown used to as a parent to troublesome children, where he's too aware of the quiet and how he didn't have to make acknowledging noises at the baby in a while, because he wants to show him some toy or just wants to hear dad.

So he grows suspicious, turns around, and huffs in half-amusement half-resignation when he finds the rug empty, and there's no child toddling anywhere that he can see. A look at his brother, and nope, Eclipse is not there either. The cats seem to be hiding away under the bed, and there's no way they'd let the baby under there with themselves.

So that only leaves the bathroom.

He can feel dread settling in, all too aware of all the bodywash and whatnot that's upset a baby's stomach, of all the small things that'd normally be fine but now are a choking hazard for curious grabby little hands, of the heavy things that can be pulled down on the baby and cause potential injury.

So he hurries his steps, unwilling to let any of those things happen. Eclipse is counting on them now, and Killcode can't fail him. Not like how everyone else did so in the past.

And lo and behold, on the bahtroom floor is a familiar red and black form, tiny rounded and gold rays hiding back in their casing as big yellow optics cant in guilt, because baby is smart enough to recognise when he did something wrong, of course he would be with how smart his newest son is, and between the tiny fingers is Eclipse's preferred bathing oil, the one that smells like gingerbread.

Killcode hurries over, snatching the baby from the floor in a panic, looking the now fussy child over for any signs of having drank the blasted thing. He heaves a sigh of great relief when he doesn't see anything.

That's fine, that's okay. Baby just made a little mess. He can clean that up.

He brings the scowling child closer to his face, ignoring how little hands try to bat at him.

"You're going to be the death of me"

The little Eclipse shrieks as he nuzzles into his tummy, only barely stopping a groan. Back in their day it was much easier to keep an eye on children. No cleaning products to look out for, no overtly vibrant and colourful plastic pieces to choke on and no electrical sockets to look out for. It was so easy then.

He begins making his way out, ignoring the wiggling, squirming baby in his arms, who's whining with indignation. The little one clearly wants to go back to the funnily smelling paint.

Killcode, not willing to even risk Eclipse taking a drink from it in his... addled state reaches up for his neck ruffle, untangling it. After all, the bay shouldn't be able to get up to mischief if he's in a sling.

He'll admit, making a makeshift sling while holding a fighting baby wasn't the easiest task. He may have burnt the meat slightly, but that's alright.

After all, when the little Eclipse finally gave up, he let out one of those adorable baby yawns Killcode will never admit to have grown to adore, white-gold optics blinking slower and slower in tiredness.

He hides a chuckle just in case. No need to risk waking the baby up.

After all, mischief is very tiring

[nevadancitizen]

-> YOU'RE OUT OF TOUCH – I'VE BEEN OUTTA TIME

synopsis: you died six months ago, but you've come back to haunt johnny. not as a ghost, no – as some twisted version of you that johnny still loves. too bad you don't still love johnny, or remember him in any capacity.

word count: 4k

characters: john "soap" mactavish, resurrected! reader

trigger warnings: talk of canon-typical violence, temporal weirdness, hurt + damn near no comfort

notes: first soap fic.. hopefully i've written him well!! also i couldn't resist incorporating madness combat in this somehow lol it's taking over my life (you don't need to know anything about madcom to read this, don't worry). also tumblr user nevadancitizen using the amnesia trope again? it's more likely than you think.

Somewhere in Nevada, a battered body is denied death, so that it may be granted, en masse…

And six months ago, somewhere in Russia, you were killed in action. 

It was a single shot through the skull – nice, clean. You didn’t suffer. Despite your killer more than likely being a terrorist (or working for one), they did you right. It was probably unintentional, but they still did you right. 

Johnny couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed, even to piss, for weeks after. He was completely numb to almost everything. The world passed by while he stood completely still, laying on his side in your shared bed, spooning a pillow that was rapidly losing your scent. 

(He even tried spraying it with your perfume or cologne, but it didn’t work. It was too strong – it didn’t smell like when you wore it.)

Johnny thought all-too-often about what happened after death. He was ready to die, always has been, but he never really thought about what would happen if (or, more accurately, when) you died. He always cast those thoughts away, because he was done losing people. He was done with grief and screaming, pleading to God, and crying so hard he threw up. 

But he eventually returned to his job. He eventually put you to rest. He prayed for the first time in damn near two decades that, if there was really an afterlife, that you were in Heaven.

(He just hoped that, whatever Heaven there was, it was good enough for you.)

But again, six months ago, somewhere in Nevada, a battered body was denied death, so that it may be granted, en masse.

It is a land without sun, without warmth unless you could find it in another body. It is a land without rules, without remorse, without regret. 

It is a land of violence. It is a land that fits you well.

Despite being dead, you were sewed back together and cursed to live once more. Someone put a gun in your hands and told you, “Listen bozo, I don’t care where you’re from – just shoot!”

Of course, Johnny didn’t know this. How could he? He watched your casket be lowered into the ground. He knew it wasn’t empty – he had to confirm your identity in the morgue. 

But he can’t help but feel his stomach drop when Kyle comes rushing into his office, pointing behind him and, in a panting breath, says your name. 

Johnny immediately springs up from behind his desk and almost pushes past Kyle to get out the door. He turns down the hallway to the left, where he knows it leads to the hospital ward. 

“No, Soap – Soap!” Kyle sprints after him, just barely catching his wrist. “Wrong way, man.”

Johnny stops and, in his stunned state, lets Kyle lead him down the hallway to the right, away from the medbay, away from where you were surely waiting for him, recovering.

Kyle leads him into an elevator, scans his keycard, and presses the button for -3. They’re both uncharacteristically quiet. It just faintly registers in Johnny’s mind that the floor -3 is below the parking garages, past where anyone typically goes. 

(Past where anyone can hear screams ripped from tortured throats, really.)

When the elevator doors open, Soap’s greeted by a familiar sight. It’s a grey concrete hallway, with two soldiers on either side, guarding the way in. Doors line the hall, each one steel with a keypad to unlock it.

Gaz leads Soap down the hall and doesn’t stop for a while. Eventually, he stops in front of the last door and takes a deep, almost shuddering, breath.

Gaz inputs the code into the keypad and opens the door, nodding at the inside. “Come on.”

Soap, almost so quick he clips his shoulder on the doorframe, goes into the room. It overlooks an interrogation room, and it’s fit with a double-sided mirror, recording tech, everything.

Soap freezes when he looks into the interrogation room. It – it’s you, but… not you. You’re pacing, and Johnny can only stare. There’s a grey flush to your skin – no, your skin is actually grey – and bandages cover the back of your head, dirty and frayed, like you haven’t changed them in a while. 

You’re angry, a far cry from the person Johnny knew you to be. Sure, you could be angry, and Johnny’s seen you angry, but this…

You’re panting as you pace, fists clenching and unclenching as your eyes dart around the room. Soft mutters and expletives leave your mouth as you look around, surely looking for a way to escape. 

Johnny just keeps staring. You’re… alive? Yes, you’re not what Johnny remembers you to be, but you’re still alive. 

“Fucking – goddamnit!” You bang your fist on the steel table, causing it to rattle. “I don’t have anything to tell you! You’re all cowards –” you turn to the double-sided mirror and point at it “– especially you, Sheriff! Don’t tell me you’re not back there!”

You immediately turn away, your hands coming to clutch at the sides of your head, your fingers digging into the bandages, almost ripping them. “I swear, when I get my hands on you…!” 

“We don’t know what to do,” Kyle says softly. He looks over at Soap, his gaze obviously sad and sympathetic. “Do you want to try ‘n talk ‘em? Even if they’re feelin’ a tad… neurotic.”

Johnny can’t rip his gaze from you as you throw a steel chair at the wall, still cursing out someone named Sheriff and his lackeys. The chair bounces off the wall and one of the legs hits your shin, causing you to curse it out, too.

“Yes,” Johnny says quickly, decisively. 

Soap shifts on his feet, oddly impatient, as he waits for Kyle to unlock the door to the interrogation room. As soon as he does, Johnny shoulders past him and into the room. He hears a faint click as Gaz closes it behind him. 

You immediately whirl on Johnny, your eyes wide and your breath labored. 

“You!” You point at Johnny like it’s meant to be some offensive gesture. “What do you want?”

You move closer, and Johnny catches sight of the dogtags hanging from your neck. You were buried with one, and he kept the other. He even gave you one of his own because, on that day, a part of him died with you. But… instead of two, you have four hanging from the metal chain. 

You shove your finger in Johnny’s chest, your fingernail digging through the thin fabric of his fatigues. “Answer me!”

Soap immediately takes your wrist and cradles your hand to his chest. “Bonnie, please, calm down.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!” you bark, ripping your hand away from him. “I just lost one of my team and you’re telling me to calm down?!”

“Your team?” Soap echoes.

“Deimos!” you snap. “You – you killed Deimos.”

You take a step back, your fists still clenched and your eyes still angry. “I saw your stupid fucking Engineer murder him. He was dead from the first five bullets, and you know he knew that! But oh, let’s just make sure he’s dead by unloading clip after clip into him.”

You heave a breath, almost growling. “Let’s desecrate his corpse. All because he’s a dissenter. Let’s make it oh-so-hard to bring him back.”

Johnny steps forward, just barely moving his foot, and you jump back like he took out a knife. 

He breathes out your name, soft and unbelieving. “Are… is it really you?”

“Of course it’s me!” You turn and rest your hands on the steel table, obviously resisting the urge to bring your fists down against it. “Always has been, always will be. It’s always me.”

Johnny circles around the table and leans down a little, taking in your face. The grey makes you look dirty and unwashed, like you’ve got a layer of dirt on you that you couldn’t wash away.

You look up at him through your eyelashes. “I know you.”

Johnny’s heart leaps into his throat and, for a hopeful moment, thinks that you remember him, that this is all some sort of stupid trick, that you went MIA instead of being KIA, that this is really you. The you Johnny knows, the you Johnny loves. But his heart is crushed beneath your boot when you speak next. 

“I know soldiers like you,” you say softly. “Soldiers, produced en masse, told to shoot first and die quietly. We’re both clones, you know? But there’s a difference in what we want.”

You stand up straight, glancing at the double-sided mirror before turning your eyes back to Soap. “You follow orders. When they say jump, you ask how high. But I…” you laugh beneath your breath. “I am fighting for change. Normality. You’re comfortable living in this… this chaos.”

“Bonnie, what are you on about?” Johnny reaches across the table, trying to take your hand. You snatch it away before he even comes close.

Gaz slides into the room, holding a tablet. You whip your head around and glare at him. 

His eyebrows lift a little, and he raises the tablet, as if in a defensive manner. “Your tablet. It –”

You snatch it from Gaz’s hands before he can talk again. You set it down on the table and stare at it, waiting.

Johnny can just barely see the interface. The top of the screen reads COMBASIC .9(beta). It looks like some sort of chat room. A few messages pop up in quick succession.

FellowD9: GOTEM FellowD9: YOU WERE RIGHT FellowD9: HE WAS COMPLIANT 2BDamned: Neat FellowD9: CHECK MY SECTOR FellowD9: ANCHOR HIM NOW [user:FellowD9 IS OFFLINE]

The messages seem to relax you, even if Johnny has no idea what they’re talking about. You bring a hand to your forehead and laugh breathlessly, then set to typing.

CrosshairF6: lol hey im still alive CrosshairF6: aahw assholes gave me my tablet idk why CrosshairF6: check my sector & get me back 2BDamned: Getting Deimos right now, I’ll get back to you CrosshairF6: better do it right CrosshairF6: saw his corpse, looks like he ran through traffic [user:2BDamned IS OFFLINE]

Johnny watches as you tuck your tablet back in one of the inner pockets of your jacket, casting a suspicious glance at Gaz, like you expect him to take it back. 

Gaz raises his hands and slips back out of the room, leaving you and Johnny.

“So.” You look at Johnny. “Why are you trying to act all buddy-buddy with me?”

“You’re… you were…” Johnny sighs, an overwhelming feeling settling in his chest. “Do you remember… dying?”

“Of course,” you say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “2B brought me back.”

“2B?” Johnny echoes. “Like, the one you were talkin’ to? 2BDamned?”

“Yeah.” You move and lean back against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest. “He’s all doctor-like, y’know? Brings us back when we need it.”

“And he’s… on your team?” Johnny asks. He feels a deep pang of… something in his chest when the thought of you actually being on another team, separate from him, settles in his mind.

You nod. “Yeah. 2B, Hank, Sanford, Deimos.” You tap the dog tags resting against your chest. “We’re a team. Some of us are on a subteam, but still. We’re a team.”

Johnny blinks hard, shaking the thought from his head. “Do you remember anything before you died?”

“Some, but… not a lot. Just blips of fighting, some soldiers, then Nevada.” You shrug. “2B says that happens sometimes.”

Johnny feels his tense shoulders relax, if only a little. “Any one specific soldier, bonnie?”

“No,” you say. You look away and fiddle with your dogtags. “But I’ve got the dogtag of someone named John.”

“John?” Johnny echoes, his heart picking up in his chest. “John ‘Soap’ MacTavish?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze fixes on him again, immediately suspicious. “How do you know that?”

“That’s me, bonnie.” Johnny laughs breathlessly, moving towards you. He makes sure to stay slow and cautious, just in case. “I’m Johnny. Your Johnny.”

You move along the wall, away from him, just slightly. You seem to bristle a little, and bring your shoulders up a bit. “You’re not mine. I don’t own anyone.”

“Not in the literal sense, bonnie,” Johnny laughs, resisting the urge to trail after you. “I’m yours, romantically.”

You bring yourself off the wall, taking a step back. It’s like you’re repulsed by the idea. “I’ve never been romantically involved with anyone. You think I’ve got time for that?”

It’s like Johnny’s been punched in the gut. Tears well in his eyes and he suddenly feels so fucking sick. His feet almost come out from under him as he stumbles to the door, shaking hands putting in the code before slipping out. 

He could take the idea of you maybe not remembering him, sure. He could just re-introduce himself. He could take the idea of you forgetting the time you’ve spent together, because you’d remember, right? But the way you were disgusted by the idea of romance, the vitriol in your voice as you spoke…

Johnny doesn’t like the word ‘relapse’ because he thinks it holds too heavy of a connotation, but that’s the best way to describe what he did for the rest of the day, and into the early hours of tomorrow. He rotted in your shared bed, but instead of feeling numb, he felt his heart being wrenched by your hand, by your words. 

He just laid there, looking at his sketchbook – a good one with thick paper. The one you’d gifted him for your six-month anniversary. It’s filled with drawings of you: candid ones, ones where he had you pose (even though you were embarrassed), ones of you and him, together, doing couple-y things. 

He could only mourn what was lost, because you seemed to have absolutely no interest in recovering it. 

A week passes before you’re able to be let out of your cell. You slowly lost the fire and brimstone that filled your heart as you realized that the 141 really did want to help you. You feel better now that you have a few people by your side, fresh bandages, and a renewed sense of comfort.

(But you forgave yourself for acting like that in the beginning because, in Nevada, no one is nice. Not without an ulterior motive, at least.)

You’re practically on a leash as Ghost leads you throughout the base. He doesn’t talk as he guides you through winding hallways and up an exhaustive amount of flights of stairs. 

Eventually, he opens a door labeled ‘ROOF EXIT.’ He tilts his head towards the door.

“Someone waitin’ for you,” Ghost says gruffly. “And…”

He fishes around in his pocket and pulls out a carton of cigarettes. Your cigarettes. 

Ghost takes your hand and puts it in your palm. “Don’t set anything on fire.”

You close your fingers around it and nod. “Got it, boss.”

Ghost starts back down the stairs, leaving you and the open door to the roof. You move through it and look around. 

Johnny’s sitting, cross-legged, on the concrete roof, facing away from you. It’s dark – obviously, it’s night. You look up and take in the stars, and…

“You have a moon,” you say softly.

Johnny looks back at you, a tentative smile on his face. Like he’s scared to be too hopeful. “Yeah. We do.”

You hum and look at Johnny. 

“Do you…” Johnny glances at the floor, then back up at you. “Do you wanna sit with me, bonnie?”

You slowly move over to Johnny and sit by him. You keep a healthy distance, but you’re still closer than you’ve ever been to him before. 

“Those fags for sharin’?” Johnny asks, a teasing smile on his face. 

You look down at the carton of cigarettes in your hand. You grip them a little tighter, causing the thin carton to crumple a bit. “Sure. Don’t know if you’ll like them, though.”

“Nonsense, bonnie.” Johnny bumps his shoulder against yours. “Let’s give ‘em a go.”

You smile and take out two cigarettes. You hand one over to Johnny. They’re hand-rolled and don’t have a filter, so they look more like joints, but the overwhelming smell of raw tobacco quickly quells that thought.

“Got a light?” you ask.

“‘Course.” Johnny reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small lighter. He lights his own cigarette, then pulls it away with a sputtering cough. 

“Steamin’ Jesus, what is that?” He asks in between coughs. 

You laugh, hitting your knee as Johnny reels from the taste. “It’s good, yeah?”

“Hell no!” Johnny wipes tears from his eyes and looks over at you. Despite his coughing, a soft smile spreads across his face at the way you’re laughing – loud, unabashed. Just like before.

You swipe Johnny’s lighter from his hand and light your cigarette, the cherry basking your face in a soft, warm glow. “Welcome to Nevada.”

“Let’s see that thing.” Johnny reaches over and takes the carton from your hand.

He turns it over, looking at it. The carton is worn, like it’s been refilled many times. There’s no warning about nicotine being an addictive chemical, just a grey box with a simple brand: G01 Choice. There’s a name scribbled on the back – Deimos, in all capital letters. 

“Deimos,” Johnny says aloud. “The man died and you stole his cigs?”

“He’s not dead.” You take the carton back and tuck it into your jacket pocket. “Not anymore. Well, he’s died lotsa times, so I guess he’s an... honorary corpse.”

“An honorary corpse,” Johnny echoes, looking down at the cigarette in his hand. He puts it out on the concrete. “Just like you, yeah?”

You take a drag off your cigarette and blow out the smoke in a single, smooth stream. “Just like me.”

A silence settles as you look up at the moon. You can feel Johnny’s eyes occasionally flitting to you, then back up at the night sky. 

“Your dogtags.” Johnny points in your direction. “Whose are they?”

You look down and tug on the metal chain, causing them to clink together. “Mine, yours, and my team’s.”

“Your team?” Johnny asks softly. “You never told me about them.”

“Yeah.” You look over at him. “I’m part of an extraction team. My partners are Sanford and Deimos.”

A pain, almost so real he thought he was actually injured, runs through Johnny when you say partners. The logical side of his brain chides him a few moments later because you obviously meant it in a militaristic sense, not a romantic sense.

“Can I see them?” Johnny asks.

You nod and take off the chain, then hand them to Johnny. He looks at the dogtags – he recognizes his and yours as being standard military dogtags, but Sanford and Deimos’ are much more… odd.

Sanford’s reads SANFORD / MELEE + EXPLOSIVES / G02 (NEG) / RETURN TO FAMILY. Deimos’ reads DEIMOS / FIREARMS + TECH / G02 (POS) / NO FAMILY. 

Johnny tilts the dogtags so that you can see them and runs a finger along the lettering. “What do these mean, bonnie?” 

You move a bit closer and lean in. “The first lines are their names, obviously. The second is what they’re proficient in. The third is what generation clone they are, and their blood types – there are only two blood types for second generation clones. And the last one is what to do with their bodies if they can’t be revived.”

“Wait, bonnie.” Johnny laughs breathlessly. “Clones?”

“Yeah, clones.” You tilt your head a little to the side. “What, you don’t have cloning technology here?”

“Of course not!” Johnny laughs.

You laugh and bump your shoulder against his. “You people are so primitive.”

Johnny smiles back at you and it’s like nothing is wrong. You both go quiet as you stare at each other until you look away.

“I, uh…” you clear your throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry for being so… abrasive. Earlier, I mean.”

“It’s alright,” Johnny says, almost too quickly. 

You scratch your cheek and glance over at Johnny, then away. “But it’s not, is it? I should’ve handled things better.”

“Someone you know died right before we talked.” Johnny reaches over and, cautiously, puts his hand over yours where it rests on your knee. “It’s expected that you don’t act like yourself.”

Your breath hitches, and Johnny squeezes your hand reassuringly in response. 

“But that’s the thing,” you say. “I’ve seen so many awful things before. People getting shot, stabbed, beaten, Hank tearing people apart with his bare hands. But, Maker…”

You drag a hand down your face, rubbing your jaw. “Deimos is young. So young. He’s only twenty-seven, and he always has a smile like he’s just tied your shoelaces together and is waiting for you to trip. And he’s so smart, even if everyone calls him a bit stupid. Yeah, he’s got a slower reaction time, but that’s what me and Sanford are for, y’know? He…”

You blink hard, trying to will your tears away. A soft, frustrated groan leaves your mouth as you duck your head and put your cigarette to your lips. “Don’t look at me.”

Johnny starts to pull his hand away, but stops when you squeeze his hand. Instead, he squeezes your hand back, averting his gaze.

To Johnny, it again almost feels like nothing ever happened. Like there’s no Russia, no Nevada, nothing besides you and him on this roof, together. But he’s no fool. He knows things have changed – that Nevada has changed you. 

You breathe out a shaky plume of cigarette smoke. “I just want to go back.”

“But you’re here now, bonnie,” Johnny says. He tries to ignore the crushing feeling in his chest, tries to keep his composure for you. “Aren’t you glad you’re back?”

“I don’t know this place.” You look over at Johnny, your eyes rimmed with unshed tears. “You keep saying that we’re together, that – that this is my home. But how can this be my home if I don’t remember a thing about it? How can you be my boyfriend if I don’t remember a thing about you?”

Johnny exhales sharply, like he’s just got the wind knocked out of him. “Bonnie, please don’t say that. Please.”

“I know violence, and I know bloodshed,” you say softly. “I know Nevada. This place, this world…” You gesture vaguely with your cigarette still in your hand. “It’s not mine.”

“But there is violence here, there is bloodshed here,” Johnny insists. “Here, we fought together.”

“But I don’t remember us being together, in any capacity!” you snap. You take a breath and try your best to soften your words. “All I remember from before is just flashes. I didn’t remember your face. I just had your dogtag and a weird, empty feeling.”

Johnny sighs and feels tears welling up in his eyes. He can’t tear his gaze away from you. 

“You really expected me to trace the bullet and sift through fleeting memories when there was an entire agency playing Pinkertons knocking down our door?” you ask softly. “2B was bandaging my head ‘cause he just finished playing around in my brains and Sanford was shoving a gun in my hands. They pointed me in a direction and told me to shoot. I didn’t have the time to remember you.

“I’m sorry, but I just didn’t.” You squeeze his hand before letting it go.

Johnny immediately scrambles to catch your hand in both of his, holding on desperately. “No, bonnie, please.”

A few tears slip down Johnny’s cheeks as he looks at you. Your face is a mirror of his own, just in greyscale. Your cheeks are stained with tears and your eyes are just beginning to get a bit puffy. 

“If you know you’re gonna be leaving again, then just let me hold your hand,” Johnny says softly, his voice wavering. “Just for a few more minutes.”

You nod and, when you blink, a tear rolls down your already-wet cheek. “Okay.”

Johnny slowly moves so that you’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder to him. He hesitates before resting his head on your shoulder. You smell just like how he remembers, albeit tinged with the acrid tang of G01 Choice cigarette smoke. You’re just as beautiful as the day he lost you.

“Okay.”

[jupitersmoon167]

CoD/Marvel crossover concept ideas centered around TF141 and Reader that I think about way to often to be normal:

First off, Black Widow!reader. Those who are familiar with my past posts know I am an absolute sucker for this concept. The angst potential is a literal gold mine. I’m currently reading a Ghost x BW!Reader fic on Ao3 and I’m obsessed with it (the dynamic between these two is just *chefs kiss* I love them so much).

Next up, Mutant!Reader. There’s so much potential for this that I’m surprised I haven’t seen anything regarding it. This idea mainly came up when deep diving into my Google docs and coming across this concept with another fandom in mind, but I knew it would work just as well with CoD, if not better. The scenario of the readers mutation being revealed to the team, maybe when they save a teammate (reader takes the bullet meant for soap and comes back wolverine style) and the fallout of that (I have so many different scenarios conjured up depending on where and when in the CoD timeline this occurs). I can also see Shepard being the big bad in this sort of story, one of those classic anti-mutant villains from the X-Men that sees all mutants as a threat, or goes behind the scenes to have a hand in creating soldiers in the same vein as Weapon X.

And of course there’s always good ole cross dimension shenanigans (my favorite trope) where reader from the MCU is somehow stranded in the CoD universe (or vice versa with the boys somehow getting stranded in the MCU, both have potential) and gets caught up in tf141's shenanigans while waiting for someone on their earth like Strange to find them and bring them back home (but will reader want to in the end???).

Between you and me, I’m actually working on a story concept built around this with a Price x ExSHIELDAgent!OC and a Ghost x BlackWidowOC x Soap pairing but more on that at a later date (unless you wanna hear more about that in which case please tell me cause I have so much I can share)

Live cam of me at 2am ranting about all of this to a brick wall:

[cactusisconfused]

So I’ve been thinking about the recent new skin for soap, the one that has the green mask and all.

A lot of people immediately went the brainwashed route which I absolutely love and I want to make an addition to it.

What if soap couldn’t remove the mask?

• Soap’s was taken by makarov, tortured and brainwashed for two or so years.

•eventually as he’s sent off on mission by makarov, soap basically becoming his puppet, soap of course comes in contact with the task force on one of his missions.

•Soap ends up being captured by the 141 who do anything in their power to try and get soap back- to get Johnny back. And the thing is, they do. It takes them a while sure, slowly breaking the coding embedded into soap. There’s a lot of breakdowns, confessions etc.

•the main problem though is the mask that soap wears. At first glance, it was just there to shield soaps identity, but it was far more complicated than that- as is usual for makarov’s actions. The mask had been implemented onto soap the moment his unconscious body was deemed stable when they took him. The mask had slowly leaked out a gas (don’t ask me what cause I don’t know) that soap couldn’t live without.

•At first when soap was back with the 141, he refused to take it off as it was part of his programming under makarov. But when the 141 begin to bring back Johnny, he becomes less apprehensive though he himself makes no move to take it off as he subconsciously knows something bad could happen.

•it ends up being ghost who slowly takes the mask off soap only for there to be a hiss from the mask as a green gas is revealed. Johnny now exposed to oxygen and not this special gas, begins to gasp for air, unable to breathe. Medics try to help him by giving him an oxygen mask but to no avail. When Johnny is on the brink of passing out from the lack of air, ghost puts the mask back on soap in a haste of panic. The mask secures tightly to soaps face and begins to pump in the gas again which the Scot desperately gasps in.

•once soap calms down enough and his vision isn’t almost engulfed in black, the 141 sit there in realization that the mask can’t come off unless they somehow found another substitute, but no one has any idea where as to start.

I apologize if this is shit this is my first post on here ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[thejohnlockedfemboy]

∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇

"Songbird on a Wall" Pt.6

pt.1 here

pt.2 here

pt.3 here

pt.4 here

pt.5 here

[ tw for brief references to grief, death, therapy aversion, and foul language ]

The next day, Price called them all together.

Normally they would use one of the briefing rooms if they had a team meeting, but the hard professionalism there didn’t feel right for the conversation they were about to have, the fluorescent lights too harsh and the air too stale. So they shut the rec room door and locked it, then took their usual seats.

Soap eased himself down onto the couch with a wince, his body aching from the laps he’d had to run. Ghost allowed the Scotsman to sit closer than he usually did to show that there were no hard feelings between them– just a Lieutenant allying corrective punishment to his subordinate.

Price took his usual armchair, and Gaz the other side of the couch, with Roach sitting on the floor between his legs.

Scanner crept in, his helmet pulled down low over his eyes and his gaiter scarf up to his nose. He was wearing his old Ranger’s coat despite the hot weather outdoors, the well-worn fabric holding the comfort of memories. He hesitated until Price beckoned him forward to sit.

“It’s about time we all had a talk about some things,” Price began, leaning forward so that his hands were resting on his thighs. “There’s been some tiffs between some of us, and it’s time to clear the air. We can’t function as a team unless there’s no reservations or secrets kept. Now, I’ve told you about the events that led up to Mander being assigned with us, but I think it will do good for you lads to hear it directly from him.” Scanner sunk further down into his chair. “Sir, I don’t–” “Mander,” Price cut him off firmly. “That’s an order. It’s either this or I’ll have to send you to the base psychiatrist.” “I don’t need a shrink!”

“Maybe not, son, but it’s clear that you’ve still got some things you have to work through. We get it out in the open, we save ourselves a lot of paperwork. Because nobody can bottle it up forever. You have to let it out or you’ll break.”

“I won’t break,” Scanner said fiercely, but he was struggling to keep up his soldier facade. Sometimes it was difficult not to just be Paul. “I’ve lasted this long.”

“And tha’s th’ problem, laddie,” Soap interjected, histone almost desperate. “Ye cannae deal wi’ this all on yer lonesome. It isnae fair to you or to us, not when we have tae listen tae ye tearin’ yerself apart for somethin’ tha’ happened seven years ago.”

“I can’t just– just talk about it,” Scanner – Paul – exclaimed, his voice cracking. “It’s not just something to… to bring up.” Soap opened his mouth to argue further, but Roach cut him off.

“Paul,” the Brit said quietly. His voice was always low enough to defuse any volatile situation within the team, and his use of Scanner’s first name felt intimate somehow. Roach had been the first to ever take to calling the surveillance specialist that. “You don’t have to tell us everything. But Price is right: letting out the hurt can sometimes help the scars heal.” “Scars don’t heal,” Paul replied hoarsely.

“No, they don’t,” agreed Roach. His gaze was warm and soft. Brotherly. Sympathetic. “But they do fade.”

Paul exhaled slowly. He took off his helmet, ran a hand through his pale, messy hair. “Alright.”

*  *  *

2018, seven years prior

The silence was unnerving.

Paul and his team were currently camped in the ruins of an old city, somewhere in a small, unspecified Middle-Eastern country. Even their Captain wasn’t told their exact coordinates for security reasons. The air was still and stifling, not a breeze to be felt.

“Bit spooky, isn’t it?” whispered Corporal Texley “Toad” Hudson. He’d gotten his callsign by putting a fat toad in the boot of one of their drill sergeants back in basic training, and he had been Paul’s best mate since childhood.

“Aye, I don’t like it,” Paul murmured in return. He scanned the dirty stone walls around them. Everything was the same dull, dusty color, and it was making him a bit claustrophobic to remain sitting in the same cramped position for so long. He panted for breath, his lungs never really filling full.

“Stop yer whinging,” grunted their Lieutenant, Erica “Nokia” Bjornson. She was six-foot-five, broad across the shoulders, and towered over the two much-smaller men like an omen of death. Her face was covered by a sniper’s hood, hiding the pulsing mass of scars below.

She had been shot, stabbed, blown up, knocked down, hit by a Humvee going forty miles an hour, and clinically dead for multiple minutes on multiple occasions. The team called her unkillable, like a Nokia phone; nothing short of being run over by a tank would break her.

“Not complainin’,” muttered Toad. “Just sayin’.”

Paul patted him firmly on the arm. “Not so quiet now, though, with you yapping. Keep it down, though, aye? Or Drainpipe–” Lieutenant Lawrence “Drainpipe” Gowan wasn’t quite so strict as Nokia, but he still had a mean left hook and he had no qualms about doling out some corporal punishment if the Rangers got out of line. “–will tan your arse.”

“I heard that,” Drainpipe drawled out from where he was slouching in the corner. Despite his lanky limbs, he could tuck himself into surprisingly small, twisted positions. He had gained his odd callsign by trying to climb down a drainpipe during a mission in his rookie days, only to have it break free from its bolts and send him crashing to the ground. “Toad, keep quiet. You’re announcing our presence to every hostile within earshot.” “Ain’t no hostiles, Drainpipe,” Toad said dismissively, waving away the warning with one stocky hand. “Paul already scouted the area. Didn’t you, Paulie-boy?”

“I hate that nickname,” Paul grumbled. “Makes me sound like a parrot.” “Paulie wanna cracker?” snickered Toad, slinging a companionable arm around Paul’s shoulders.

“Shut up,” Paul whined, his face heating up. “You’re such a prick.”

Toad smirked. “You know you love me.”

Paul stuck out his tongue, but Toad was correct. He loved the man like a brother and more, even if it was against regulations. He sighed and glanced around. “Drainpipe, are you sure we’re in the right place? I thought we were supposed to be putting down a coup.”

“The Marines are putting down a coup,” corrected the Lieutenant. “We’re here to provide backup and to keep things calm and quiet.”

“Sort of like a little vacation,” added Joseph “J.M.” Pérez, his voice lazy and drawling. He flicked a pebble at Drainpipe and was rewarded with a vampire-like hiss of protest. “We could use a vacation, to be honest. I’m sick of the same base in the same little Czech Republic. Feels fantastic to get some sun again.”

“We get plenty of sun already, J. M.” Paul tugged at the collar of his shirt. “It’s so bloody hot.” J. M. gave a deep chuckle. “Poor Scouser. I am from Córdoba. It gets up to forty degrees there.” Toad stared at him in disbelief. “How did you not die of heat stroke?”

J. M. shrugged. “It’s not even that hot, really.” “I agree with Paul; I wish we were back at base,” moaned Beau “Casper” Booker. He was named after the famous movie spector because he had cornsilk-colored hair, pale skin, and a pair of fluffy white footie pajamas that made him appear like a small ghost in low lighting. He was originally Russian but had moved to London with his father in his teens, giving him a very strange mesh of accents. “Maybe it is boring, but at least it is cooler there.”

“Missing Mother Russia?” teased Toad. Drainpipe gave a grunt of disapproval. Nokia glared at the other Lieutenant, as she had roots in both Russia and Norway.

Drainpipe raised a hand. “Easy, woman, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

“You say ‘woman’ like it’s an insult,” accused Private Samantha McKay. She had a chip on her shoulder the size of Sisyphus’ rock and a cowardly streak that had yet to be expunged from her by military life. She had only gotten into the Rangers because of sheer and undisguised nepotism; her father was a thirty-year veteran major. Nokia was convinced that someday McKay was going to get them all killed or drive them insane with her “not like other girls” mentality.

Drainpipe smirked. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, sweetheart. I’d never insult a member of the female sex.”

Toad gave him a sideways look. “Mate, it sounds so weird when you say it like that. You’re like that one family friend you can’t trust around your teenage daughter.” Drainpipe gave the younger man a hard look. “That’s not something to joke about, Corporal.”

Toad rolled his eyes. “I’m allowed to make innuendos like that. I was a teenage daughter once.”

They all collectively groaned. “Toad,” Paul said, “nobody wants to hear yet another transition story. I was there. And you’ve already told everyone else every single detail, like, a thousand times.” “Yeah,” agreed Drainpipe. “I didn’t need to know about how your… bits changed.” He shuddered. “I still have nightmares.”

Toad grinned unabashedly. “What can I say? I’m an inspirational story.” Paul snorted. “Inspiration? Right, that’s why I had to give you your first testosterone shot after you started bawling and couldn’t do it.” Toad gave a yawp of indignation. “That was supposed to be between us–!”

He was cut off by a rustle of movement. Derek “Cullen” Court stepped from the shadows. The medic had been doing a quick recon of the area in case of the unlikely event any civilian or Marine wounded should be nearby. Cullen saluted Nokia and Drainpipe in turn, and then stated his report. “The area remains clear. No sign of any action.”

“Good lad,” Drainpipe replied. He tossed the medic a ration bar. “Take a seat and join the party.”

Cullen bared his uncommonly sharp frontal canine teeth – the reason why he had been dubbed after the Twilight character – in a smile. He caught the ration bar and flopped down beside Casper, breaking the bar in two and giving half to the younger man.

Toad seemed to decide that eating was a good idea. He fished a package of peanut butter crackers from his pack.

Nokia glowered at him. “Did you bring enough for the whole class?” Toad smiled smugly. It was a long-running joke. The first time Toad had brought out his crackers, he had only had two packages: one for him and one for Paul. Nokia had decided that it would be bad for morale for just a pair of her soldiers to have snacks, so she had commandeered them… for herself. The next mission, however, Toad had been prepared. The hangry little man had brought dozens of the crackers, enough that his pack weighed five pounds more than the others’. It had been worth it, though, to see the widening of Nokia’s eyes behind her sniper’s mask.

“I did indeed.” Toad passed out the crackers, along with some fruit gummies that he had been saving. They were a bit melted from the hot weather, but that just made it more fun to laugh at each other as the sound of syrupy chewing filled the air.

“Eatin’ wivout me, are ye?” asked a deep, amused voice from the entrance of their hideout. Captain Mac Caesar stood leaning against the empty doorframe. His lilting Irish accent was recognizable to the team without them even having to look up.

Toad waved a package of crackers in the air. “I saved you one, Cap.” Caesar gave a low grunt. “No time, boyos.” He paused. “And gals. We move out now. Shoulder ye packs and steel ye spines. We’re heading deeper into the fray.” “What fray?” laughed Cullen. “All we’ve done for a week is skulk around.” “You just want one of us to get hurt so you can show off your patching-up prowess,” muttered McKay darkly.

“Stow the snark, princess,” barked Caesar. “Ye no' here to complain. And Cullen, you better be damn glad we haven’t seen any action, because the state of ye gun is atrocious. Get it cleaned. I want it done yesterday!”

Cullen cowered down with a “Sir, yes sir!” and began to fumble with his cleaning kit, polishing frantically at the barrel of his semi-automatic. He didn’t have to engage the enemy often, but when things went south, sometimes even the medic’s sloppy shooting could win them the right to fight another day.

Casper, wolfing down the last of his ration bar, got Cullen’s backpack and supplies ready for him while the medic worked furiously to scrub off even the tiniest molecule of dust from the barrel of his gun. “Thanks, Casps,” Cullen muttered anxiously, his gaze not leaving the weapon.

Caesar watched with a keen eye as the rest of the team got ready to move out. “We move silent and we move quick. Our objective is to make it to a hot zone twenty klicks from 'ere. Ye hear that thunder in the distance? They got 120mm mortars.”

The team winced. “Shite,” said Toad. “That’s a bit of firepower.”

��Damn right,” agreed Caesar. “One of those things hit ye, there t'ain’t gonna be no homecoming except for a pine box with some confetti scraps of flesh inside. So we stay low and shoot what needs shooting. Understood?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” cried the team, though McKay said nothing.

If Caesar took notice of this, he didn’t comment. He scanned his team. “ETA is an hour and a half. That means we’re running most of the way, soldiers. Because how do we follow our orders?”

“By all means!” chorused the team. This was their usual game, to boost their morale before going into a dangerous situation. It reminded them that they didn’t just serve themselves. They served the British Army Rangers.

Caesar gave a curt nod. “Forward march.”

note: J.M. uses Celsius ( since they’re all from Europe ). 40° C is about 100° F.

[dioslesbianwife]

Hi. This is a really weird ask so I understand if you don’t want to do it.

I think a lot while I work and this oddity crossed my mind. Growing up (and even as a now adult) my mom would always tell me like you can’t do number 2 when using the bathroom at someone else’s house and never use public bathrooms unless it’s an emergency kind of thing. I was wondering if the jofoes have like potty rules of places they will and won’t go 😭

I was thinking some examples could be like, preferences with gas station, public (aside from gas station I guess), and people’s houses. If you don’t want to do this ask I totally understand but I thought it would be really funny in a dumb way. I thought to myself maybe Diavolo would be the kind to absolutely refuse using the bathroom anywhere but his own house due to fear of being tracked or something stupid like that.

LMAO no this is very funny, i don't mind at all haha i actually love imagining the jofoes in these random mundane situations, that's what i started writing fics abt lol anyway thank u for requesting! <333

DIO

Public Restrooms: Absolutely not. He thinks they’re beneath him. Like, the concept of DIO doing anything as mortal as peeing in public is offensive to him.

Gas Stations: Please. He wouldn’t even look at one unless it’s selling something extravagant like blood slushies.

Your House: He’ll use your bathroom if it’s luxurious. If it’s not, he’ll look around and go, “…Where is your gold-plated bidet?”

Bonus: Claims he transcended the need to “waste time on bodily functions,” but you know he takes 45-minute bubble baths alone and doesn’t come out until he’s in a silk robe.

Kars

Public Restrooms: Weirdly okay with it?? Like he’s completely unbothered. “Sanitation is a human concern.”

Gas Stations: He walked into one once, looked around at the snacks and urinal cakes, and left deeply, silently disturbed.

Your House: Wouldn’t ask. Would just vanish for ten minutes and come back relieved.

Bonus: Has impeccable bathroom etiquette. Even folds the toilet paper into a triangle.

Kira

Public Restrooms: Only in emergencies. Carries pocket Lysol and will wipe the seat for five whole minutes.

Gas Stations: Never. Gas station bathrooms are an offense to peace and quiet.

Your House: Gets nervous. You offer your bathroom and he goes, “A-Actually, I can hold it, thank you.”

Bonus: Once spent two full hours at your house holding it in because your soap was watered down.

Diavolo

Public Restrooms: Absolutely not. What if he was ambushed while vulnerable? He’d never risk it.

Gas Stations: HAH. HELL NO. Gas stations are FBI honeypots.

Your House: Only if he watched you clean it top to bottom, bleached it twice, and you leave the house/apartment.

Bonus: You once walked in on him Clorox-wiping the entire bathroom while muttering about traceable DNA. He denied everything.

Doppio

Public Restrooms: Will try to be normal but panics. Talks to the sink.

Gas Stations: Nervously uses them, but only after scanning the place thoroughly.

Your House: Apologizes before entering. “I-I’m so sorry! I’ll be fast!!”

Bonus: Sometimes has long ��phone” conversations and takes forever to come back out. You don’t ask.

Pucci

Public Restrooms: Only if he prays first. Not even kidding.

Gas Stations: Has the same energy as a nun stepping into a strip club. “I must cleanse after this…”

Your House: Only if it’s immaculate. He’ll quote Leviticus at you if he sees hair in the drain.

Bonus: Probably believes cleanliness is next to godliness. May sprinkle holy water on your toilet.

Funny Valentine

Public Restrooms: Will make do, but brings his own hand towels and a tiny American flag to place on the stall door for "privacy" so people know it’s occupied.

Gas Stations: Refuses to go unless it’s an emergency.

Your House: He’ll use it but somehow make you feel like it’s a formal diplomatic favor.

Bonus: Calls it a “presidential necessity.” Salutes the mirror after washing his hands.

Diego Brando

Public Restrooms: Has standards, but will go if it’s clean and he’s desperate. He hates hovering though.

Gas Stations: “Only if there’s toilet paper. And it better be two-ply.”

Your House: Is picky, but won’t say no. Will judge your hand soap silently.

Bonus: Gets scared when the automatic flush triggers early.

Tooru

Public Restrooms: Too lazy to care. He’ll use them and act like you’re weird for being squeamish.

Gas Stations: Thinks they’re kinda charming in a chaotic way. He will 100% text you from inside one: “this place smells like fried piss lol”

Your House: He’ll use your bathroom, take 30 minutes, and leave it looking better than before.

Bonus: He steals your air freshener. You know it was him.

[forestshadow-wolf]

Gore

What if ghost has little scars on the corners of his mouth, he won't talk about why. They're not super long, maybe the length of the first knuckle of his index finger, but they're noticeable. Soap asked him once and he clamed up, so soap promised to not ask again.

But what if it's from his time with roba. Roba pried his mouth open, wedged his fingers inside, and tugged downwards. Leaned down so he was in ghost's face, and with a smile, threatened to break his jaw open. It would be horrific, a terrible way to die, and even if he didn't it would leave him irreparably damaged.

The skin at the corners if his mouth tore from the angle, his mouth not meant to open that wide. He felt his jaw dislocate, as blood coated his tongue. It was agony. Tears streamed down his face and he whimpered in pain and fear. And then roba was gone with a laugh.

After that his jaw hing loose, the skin also loose and ripped and stretched. At some point he thinks his jaw went numb with pain, but he can't really remember. He couldn't eat for days, they kept bringing him food. Eventually his will to survive and his need for food overshadowed the pain. He painstakingly snapped his own jaw back into place with a sickening crack.

Nothing much to do for the loose torn skin unless he could magically conjure stitches. The gaps in his cheeks made it difficult to eat tho, they burned at any sort of contact, and he made a mess of himself on more than one occasion.

They healed though, eventually. Though some luck, or unluck, they didn't get infected or at least his body managed to fight it off. But they were ugly. Jagged, silvery, and somehow the skin was both too loose and too taut at the same time.

He can't look at himself in the mirror anymore without remembering the terror and brutality that roba was. He can't stop seeing the sadistic joy in roba's face when he saw ghost's fear.

[cherie-doll]

I’m sick as ALL hell, and it made me imagine big strong military bf’s taking care of me </3 smh why can’t men be real

same, i wish men existed, *sigh* ૮꒰ྀི ⸝⸝ ›̥̥̥ ·̭ ‹̥̥ ꒱ྀིა

hope u feel better!! ₍ᐢ·͈༝·͈ᐢ���⁺ ⊹˚.⋆

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: Taking Care Of You While You're Sick

⊱⊰ ik this painting is the death of Barbara Radziwiłł but ajsdks-

ઇଓ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, Phillip Graves, Keegan, Hesh + Logan Walker, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

Would try to give you the space you need when you ask for it

But inevitably, he can't go all day or night without you

Comes to you at night, scooping you up in his arms to take you to bed when you had fallen asleep on the couch, a mess of tissues and tea cups on the coffee table

Caresses your face as you lay in bed, pressing tender kisses on your nape since you don't want him touching your face

Tries to sweet talk to cheer you up because you're upset that you had to cancel/postpone plans

Ghost

He avoids making loud noises as to not make your headache worse

During the days you're sick a strong thunderstorm brings heavy rains, the soft tapping of raindrops hitting earth and leaves rustling makes you slip into the most peaceful slumber you've gotten in days

Lets you sleep in his clothes because he knows you feel comforted by his smell since you won't let him get too close

When it's past midnight and you can't sleep so you go on long, random rambles and he's just lying there listening but after a while he's like "please go to sleep, you need to rest"

Soap

Orders pastries from your favorite bakery and has them delivered so you can enjoy biting into freshly baked warm bread

Gets sad when you tell him you can't sleep in the same bed because you feel icky

"But you're going to be cold without me"

Whenever you get out of bed to grab something he follows right after you and drags you back

Due to feeling uncomfortable you frequently change places to rest and he follows you to every spot around the house

Falls asleep on top of you on the couch, it's kinda comforting

Gaz

Uses his softest voice, whispering when he asks if you need anything else

Rushing to bring you blankets, tea, books, the tv control and anything you ask for and place it on your hands

When he helps you walk to the bathroom to wash he takes the opportunity to open the window and let the summer breeze in for a change of fresh air

Frequently washes the blankets so you're always comfortable resting on silkin bedsheets

Cupping your face between his hands, radiating his warmth into your skin and telling you he'll take care of you and make sure you feel better ૮ ߹ᯅ߹ ა

Alejandro

Would make you drink tea whilst it's hot, you burned your tongue

Vicks Vaporub (no i will not elaborate)

Rubs mezcal over your body

Other than preparing you teas and making sure you're bundled up even if you feel hot from a fever, he doesn't know what else to do

He rests his head on your chest even when you tell him to sleep in a different room because you don't want to make him sick too

Listens to your heartbeat at night and doesn't fall asleep until he makes sure you're sleeping soundly

Phillip Graves

He will feed you when you confess you haven't eaten all day because you've just felt too ill to cook

Gently wiping your mouth

Every morning he quietly gets out of bed, letting you sleep in to prepare a breakfast he knows will make you feel better

Won't eat unless you've finished your meal first

You crave something that's not in the fridge, he quickly grabs his wallet and is on his way out to buy it for you <3

Keegan

Takes care of the plants and flowers you're always so dedicated to maintaining

Kissing your shoulder while you cuddle

You keep moving around in bed and he can't fall asleep either because you're restless

"Are- are you okay?" "Knock me out with a shovel"

You somehow manage to convince him to let you go outside on a walk saying the fresh air will help you some

He pulls you close to him when even the slightest breeze hits you, enveloping you in his arms

Hesh + Logan Walker

David will rush to the store to stock up on medicine, tea, and candy

He says sugar always helps keep you restore energy while you're sick

He stays up late with you on a movie marathon when you can't fall asleep

Logan tries to stay up with you too but he fails as his eyelids droop and falls asleep cuddled next to you

Logan washes your hair and takes such gentle care of it you almost fall asleep in the tub

He reads to you in bed knowing your eyes hurt and lets you rest your head on his shoulder

König

Is always fixing your spot in bed, adjusting pillows to your position and making sure you're covered with a blanket at all times

Carries you to rooms around the house

Lots of forehead kisses <33

Avoids going out, his task is to solely take care of you, unless you ask him to get you something, he'll be worrying and thinking about you while he's wishing the line at checkout would go a little faster

Buys things you didn't ask for but thinks you'll need, just in case

Horangi

Would prepare lots of teas for every one of your meals and makes sure you drink it all

Prepares lots of healthy stews to ensure you recover quickly, they're scalding hot but it feels good on your sore throat

Tells you to take it easy and stay in bed because he'll get everything for you

You don't listen and when you try to make something for yourself you accidentally drop a glass in the kitchen, it shatters on the floor and in an instant he's beside you

Checks you for any injuries, quietly taking your hands in his, running his fingers over your skin and sighing in relief when there are no injuries

Nikto

Always checking up on you, you'll be reading or watching tv and it nearly gives you a heart attack when from the corner of your eye you notice a tall, looming figure silently observing you

You're worried about falling behind on chores and other work that when you try to sneak off to do them you find it's all taken care of

With a hand on your back he guides you back to bed telling you that you shouldn't be worrying about chores anyways

Bear hugs you in bed so you can't get up and do things you shouldn't be doing because you're supposed to be resting

"I can't move" "You shouldn't, stay."

[vidyagamereference]

Holy fuck yall i finally finished something

Dating Gepard hc's except theyre not all 100% positive romance tropes [sfw and not sfw]

Anyways back to our regularly scheduled headcanons

He has to learn to ask "do you want solutions or do you want to vent" during your relationship bc he is 100% in "fix the problem" mode 100% of the time

If he gets to a point where he is frustrated and upset he won't cry unless you two intentionally do something to intentionally make him cry.

To achive the above he's open to anything from BDSM to structured arguing to watching pixar. His only requirement is that you be physically with him and hold him when hes ready for it.

I personally headcanon him as being really into BDSM and a switch because he has simultaneously too much control over part of his life and the lives of others and no choice whatsoever because of his name and title and he would love to have just an hour or two where everything goes the way he wants it to wether thats because he needs you to do exactly what he demands or if its because he needs to stop having so many god damn responsibilities and just feel

Hes a good cook but i think he'd prefer to just clean up after you make him something if you cook

Not that hes unwilling to or anything it just feels more special to eat what you make him and he likes to help you out by doing the dishes and cleaning the stove and such

He will cook for you if you ask

Pls ask sometimes it makes him so happy he gets to make you feel as special as him but [leading to my next headcanon]

He sucks at spontaneity and you cannot tell me this man isnt autistic. His ass is Not reading silent/subtle hints so if you wanna be pampered you gotta be blunt and actually ask for it

None of that passive aggressive "if i ask it doesnt count" bullshit you have to be a blunt communicator to date him.

And if you start picking fights he is canonically one of the most stubborn "dig your heels in" "im not compromising" "create a cold war in my own house" kind of people EVER

You ain't winning that standoff

It takes a kind of person who will argue just as stubbornly and come back after and ask to "see where we went wrong" and take accountability for your side of what happened to date him effectively

Frustrating guy

But so so worth it

If he grows flowers successfully even once you can garentee (autocorrect has been no help how fo you spell that?!) A slightly shabby flower or three in a big ribbon and the sweetest smile!

He doesnt take off his shoes OR armor right away when he enters the house because they STINK and he has those disposable baggies that you step in to get to the shower without tracking in all the salt and muddy snow from outside. He needs to get to the soap (for him) and deodorizers (for his shoes and clothes) first

He uses 2 in 1 head n shoulders as facewash, bodywash, shampoo, and conditioner. one stop shopping. And his skin and hair are soft and flawless somehow

His hair is fluffy and cute. Its 100% genetics and 0% effort

I feel it in my bones that he has a slight pooch of belly fat. He has functional muscle not fashion muscle. I know it. Its fact. It would be So Fucking Cute no im not coping with a complete castwide lack of any curves why do you ask?

I think he sleeps like a rotisserie chicken but he needs to hug something to sleep, so he has an Emotional Support Pillow that he brings with him, on duty, at homw, he has His Pillow(tm)

He is the little spoon

He will randomly kiss you when youre alone bc he suddenly remembered "hey i can kiss my partner!!!! :D" and got excited about being your boyfriend/partner

A few rapid fire not sfw headcanons

Hes average size (6.5in) and it curves nicely upwards. The head gets cutely pink when hes hard and it has a beauty mark on the right ridge

Literally loves body worship, would be on either side happily. It gives him a nice feeling of power exchange and fluffy emotional validation feelings all at once

Also loves the pet name "good boy" for the same reason

He *is* good thank you for noticing! And he is a boy who is *also* yours! Correct twice in a row he might just swoon

Cuddle monster. 100% cuddles after are a must

Sometimes cries after. Often actually. And he would feel the need to defend it like he wasnt the worlds no.1 "most unable to express emotions" autistic person getting overwhelmed by All This Intimacy

He's got a thing about smelling his partner. Idk how i just know it. I feel it in my bones. He likes the way they smell and he wants your shirts (for jackoff material) not your nudes (tho pls send those too)

He likes public in theory but would actually die of shame if he ever tried anything where anyone could hear you ot potentially catch you. Its fully Anxiety so bad he couldnt even preform type of shit

If hes domming tonight he wants to tie you up and use you like a toy

If (or how many times) you get off is up to him not you

If hes subbing tonight he wants you to degrade him and make him cry. Then let him pleasure you with "your favorite toy" (his dick) pls he would love it

Petplay. I beleive he would make a great puppyboy and that is the Only justification i have for this

I think he likes asses. Ass man 100%

[snootlestheangel]

The brain rot is attacking me so I’m sharing the love

GazRoach but with Asexual Roach

Yay, more brainrot!!

I'm going with the idea that Roach is a burn victim and so he sometimes he has issues feeling comfortable in his skin (cause I just cannot unsee him as such because of all the beautiful art and writings I've seen depicting him as such). This has nothing to do with his asexuality, he was ace before the accident!

(also somehow fucked up the formatting and deleted two whole questions and the answers so like sorry if the first few questions are kinda rushed. I was mad at myself cause I had already written the answers just to immediately delete them)

Who was the one to propose? Gaz. It was the cutest, sweetest, most beautiful thing and Roach refused to stop hugging him.

Who stressed more over wedding planning? Roach probably. He wants Gaz to have the best wedding ever, but Gaz couldn't care less about the circumstances, just the fact he gets to marry his best friend :)

Who decorated the house? Gaz has style and it definitely started out as him, but Roach keeps bringing in little knick-knacks so eventually, there are rooms where guests can tell Roach had a hand in it's decor

Who does the cooking? Both can cook pretty decently, so typically they take turns. However, Roach often cooks more than Gaz. I don't know why, I just feel like Roach, even though he's a menace, can really whip up some gourmet shit.

Who is more organized? Roach, actually. Gaz is plenty organized, as a result of years being in the military and needing to keep his shit tidy, but Roach is the actual organized one. Yeah, he's bug boy, bugs have very complex systems and maintain those with diligence. -Roach's motto

Who suggested kids first? Gaz, probably. They don't think they ever will have kids, but Gaz is the one to ask about it first.

Who's the big cuddler? Gaz, but sometimes he gets banished to the floor when Roach feels constricted.

Who's the big spoon/little spoon? Gaz is little spoon. Whatever you do, don't imagine Roach burying his face in between Gaz's shoulders after a really tough day and just holding onto Gaz like he's his very lifeline (he is), and don't picture Gaz humming a little bit cause he knows the vibrations calm Roach down. Don't imagine them falling asleep like this, don't imagine Gaz staying in bed well past the time he should all because Roach is sleeping so peacefully, still wrapped around him.

Favorite non-sexual activity? Everything. They're such adrenaline junkies, despite their traumas, and like to push each other. They're actually working on Gaz's absolute terror of heights, bit by bit. Gaz wants to be able to ride a roller-coaster again without having flashbacks :')

Who comes home drunk at 3am? I don't see either of them being really heavy drinkers like this, if I'm being honest. Unless Soap is there and offers to drive both back to their place, neither really gets drunk.

Who kills the spiders? Gaz wants to kill them but Roach refuses to let him. Bugs are friends :) *Roach is very much committed to the bit*

Who falls asleep first? Gaz. I feel like he's so normal about things like that. Like he can just easily fall asleep, whereas Roach is laying there thinking about that ant he stepped on earlier.

A head-canon? Roach, being a burn victim, has a pretty tough time every now and then feeling like he fits in his skin. It doesn't help he's definitely got some Sensory Processing Issues, and so sometimes he really wants to claw off his skin. His burns do cover a good portion of his torso and upper legs. Sometimes when people give him a hard time about being ace, cause we all know there's those assholes, he just uses the excuse of his burns to make them uncomfortable. He came out ace well before the incident, but we all know he's not been taken seriously until he started blaming it on the incident. The two are still pretty intimate with each other; Roach loves when Gaz applies the creams/meds to his scarring, mostly cause the whole time Gaz is whispering praise in his ear, saying how proud he is, how pretty Roach is, etc. Not to mention, some of the places are hard for him to reach, and there's scarring up near his crotch (which is incredibly uncomfortable on Roach's bad days when he's reminded a lot of his skin isn't technically his own and he's overtly aware of the sensation of Gaz's hands on him), and so sometimes there's a lot of reassurance on both sides, from Roach saying he's good to keep going, and from Gaz to say "just a bit more, Bug, okay? You're doing good" Roach adores Gaz's physique, and is constantly photographing him; there's so many photos of Gaz in all sorts of different circumstances. The fall/cozy sweater pictures that are scattered around the flat, the ones of Gaz in the snow, or shirtless in the bright summer sun just looking like he's thriving. There's a secret stash of all of the nudes Roach has taken of Gaz. They're all so artistic and beautiful and non-sexualized photos of Gaz just simply ~Existing~ and those photos are Roach's most prized possessions. Roach just loves when Gaz isn't wearing clothes in general, and he's definitely stealing all his shirts so Gaz has 'no choice' but to walk around shirtless. Roach's favorite time of year is gray sweatpant season cause he gets the perfect view of Gaz's hips, the lines leading down and disappearing underneath his pants, the way Roach can still see the very minute dimples on Gaz's lower back, just visible above his pants.

Do they have any "rituals"? Only the process of applying creams/meds to Roach's burn areas. Gaz puts on a whole theatric basically to help put Roach into a good mood, and Gaz has to have the right playlist, the right stuff to cover the rather unpleasant scent of the medication cream, etc. (this is kind of a stressful thing for Roach, he's still pretty sensitive in certain areas/easy to trigger cause the trauma is still relatively fresh)

Who has the most patience? Gaz, most definitely. He's still glaring at you if you're annoying him, but it'll take a while before he ever loses his cool. Roach is just feral :D

Gif that sums up the relationship?

The silliest of sillies :)

[ghostly-wisteria-tea]

616 Marc: Khonshu, I know your listening. Make yourself useful and get me to sleep.

616 Khonshu: ... (proceeds to do just that)

-----

616 Marc: Khonshu, I know your listening. Make yourself useful and get me to sleep.

my AU-MCU Khonshu, somehow linked and taken the place of 616 Khonshu:...Where is your bed?

Marc: Wha...(Suddenly stands up)

Khonshu: Your bed. Humans sleep on surfaces that don't give them backpain. So where is your bed.

Marc:...your, your actually listening?

Khonshu: Of course I'm listening. Your the one who called me, so where is your sleeping quarters. And your sleep wear? Your out of duty now so you should at least take off the suit. It's unhygienic to wear battle armor to sleep.

Marc: Hygiene?... Since do when you care about that?! You know what? Just get me to sleep.

Khonshu: ...I'm in jail not some instant sleeping pill Spector. At least change to something more comfortable than a suit the worm wears.

Marc: Worm? You wear this suit!

Khonshu: I'm talking about Steven Grant. And take off that mask. Unless you want me to do it for you but I'm in jail right now.

Marc: It's your fault you are in jail in the first place, so get me to sleep right now!

Khonshu: Oh, You want me to help you go to sleep? Get a proper bed first! And change to something that won't give you a rash in the morning! How long have you been wearing that mask? For the love of Mut, take it off when you sleep! It's battle armor not sleepwear. I got send away for 5 minutes and suddenly you don't know how to change your clothes? Your 40 not 4 years old. Learn! To! bath! You call yourself my priest but don't practice hygiene?! All priest are required to practice basic hygiene you idiot! If you don't take a haircut right now, I am going to break out of Asgard myself just to give you a fucking bath with the strongest soap in the cosmos can find. Consequences be damned! And get a glass of milk while you're at it! Maybe even learn some meditate if you cannot sleep, because I can't with your constant whining!

Marc: ...You wouldn't dare. Khonshu: (super pissed right now.)

--- A creaking noise from above was Marc's only warning when a fully assembled Ikea bed crashed through the ceiling and lands loudly next to Marc, who jumps back in surprise and just stares at the bed as it caused dust to scatter in the air, before settling down.---

Khonshu: Here's your fucking bed you overgrown toddler. Now get some fucking sleep!

Marc: Whe...where did you get that from? (Points at the bed in disbelief)

Khonshu: I'm a god you dick. The sheets are 100% Egyptian cotton and scented with lavender that can help promote sleep. You will lay down on that right now and close your eyes, or I will drop something even bigger than a bed. Like my actual fist to knock you out, I'll even bring my Asgardian cell with me. And these chains are very, very heavy.

---

Marc just stares at the new bed in disbelief, and shock. When he called on Khonshu, he didn't expect the god to actually answer back. But he is more surprised at the tone, Khonshu sounded pissed. The voice and reverb are the same, but something is different. Very different.

Now he has a new functioning bed in his empty room, and a hole in the ceiling.

Marc didn't want to touch the bed, thinking that it might be a delusion. He didn't eat dinner, or lunch, or anything for that day so it might be a hallucination from the hunger. But the sound feels real, the room shook like something actually crashed through it. He can even smell a faint whiff of lavender, just like what Khonshu said.

The bed looks way to real to not be a hallucination, and Marc remembers Khonshu's threat.

Marc already knew that Khonshu is real, the whole Avengers saw the god. And even though he sent the god to jail, the idea that Khonshu will try to break out just because Marc won't sleep on a proper bed is too ridiculous to believe.

Not as ridiculous as having a bed literally crash through the ceiling and get nagged at by the god Marc punched in the face.

The man is just too tired and sleep-deprived to care right now. Carefully he sat down on the bed's mattress. Which is way softer than he expected, but also firm in a way that it won't swallow your butt.

Now fully convinced that the bed is real, he lifted his legs and laid down facing up. Looking through the hole in the ceiling and saw the hole extends all the way to the building roof, showing a small view of the night sky.

And of course, Marc can see the small round disk of the full moon. It looks faint though, not as bright as he remembers. Like it isn't fully formed yet and just a shadow of what it is.

Yet looking at it, he can feel his eyelids feel grow heavy whether he wants to or not. He took in the lavender scented sheets until his mind finally fell into silence as mental and physical exhaustion took its toll on him.

[mikhailwrites]

Waiting for Connection 5 / Ghost x Soap NerdAU

Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...

Previous chapter | AO3

Since that first custom-made mission, every time they get to play together, Soap, without fail, asks if Ghost has another one. He doesn’t because it takes a lot of time to make it good, and Ghost wouldn’t be happy with anything less than perfect. It goes on like this for a week until Ghost can’t help but get curious as well.

“You have a downtime? Haven’t seen you online so much as this past week,” Simon asks while they idle in the game menu.

Soap takes a minute to answer, a telltale sign of him considering whether to tell or not. “Sort of?” he finally says.

“If you can’t tell me, just say so. I understand,” Ghost says, staring at Soap’s avatar on the screen as if it was really Soap.

“Nah, I just… hate lying. Uhm, I’m on medical leave,” John finally admits, and he honestly sounds as if he would like it much better if Ghost didn’t know.

“No shame in that unless you injured yourself while drunk off-duty,” Simon tells him, hoping his voice carries all the conviction it can. He’s not saying it just to make Soap feel better, damn, he’s been injured so many times he lost track. “Just focus on healing and getting better. Don’t lie to your commanding officer if you’re not feeling up for active duty yet.”

John chuckles. “I’d ask if you’ve ever been so diligent yourself, but I think we both know the answer to that.”

“Do as I say, not as I do.” Ghost clicks on the Start the game button, hoping to change the topic.

“Yes, sir,” Soap says in a tone that spells mockery.

The game is fine. It’s a mission they’ve both played before and know what to expect, which takes away a lot of the thrill. So much so that fifteen minutes in, they ditch any semblance of tactical comms and straight-up chat. Ghost is very aware he is *that* person now but can’t bring himself to care. Not even when two other players try to shut them up.

In the end, they both get kicked out of the party. “Alright, that was unexpected,” Soap notes, “how about we play your mission?”

“Again?” Ghost asks. They’ve played it so many times and so many different ways he remembers every little detail by now. One time, they even went totally overboard, Soap bringing a jet and Ghost controlling a tank. It was utter nonsense, of course, but a ton of fun nonetheless.

“You know, I was thinking…,” Soap starts and suddenly, Ghost regrets he didn’t just start the custom mission.

“Well, congratulations on that,” Ghost ribs Soap in the hopes of derailing whatever inquisitive shit he had planned. He should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Ha-fucking-ha. Anyway. How come you’ve never joined one of those hardcore mil-sim groups? I know they’re out there, and if I know, you must also know.”

“I don’t want to,” Ghost answers, honest, plain and simple as he starts the mission nonetheless. Maybe, just maybe, it could steer the conversation elsewhere.

“But… why? You don’t like to play with kids,” Soap asks, digging deeper. Ghost doesn’t like it, yet he doesn’t tell him off.

“I don’t like to play with fetishists, either,” Ghost deadpans as he checks the gear and starts walking towards the buildings.

“Alright. What about other pros?”

“Soap…,” Ghost groans, leaning back in his chair, tapping the armrests with his fingers, “I… don’t usually get along well with other people, as you might’ve noticed by now.”

“I thought you were only pissed about the lack of skill,” Soap says, stopping his character next to Ghost’s, waiting for him to move.

“It’s not the only reason,” Ghost admits, feeling the uneasiness grip his body. It must somehow reflect in his voice because Soap eases up on the interrogation tone.

“Should I feel special, then? That you want to play with me?” It’s a genuine question masquerading as a joke.

“Would it matter if I said no?”

“No.” He can practically hear the shit-eating grin in Soap’s voice. “But… what if I recommended someone?”

“John…,” Ghost sighs.

“No, let me finish, Simon. They are my friends and my team members as well. They’re really good and if you like me, then… I think you will get along with them just fine.” Ghost is tempted to end the call. He has been through countless discussions just like this one, and it’s bringing him memories he doesn’t want to think about right now.

After a moment of silence, Ghost moves up, killing a single enemy way out in the dark so as not to be an easy target. He also decides to turn the tables on Soap. “Why are you doing this?”

“So you don’t have to play alone while I’m gone?”

“Fearing I’d get lonely? Touching,” Ghost retorts, his tone carrying a trace of bitterness.

“You can be a right prick sometimes, Ghost,” John replies, more serious and somehow… disappointed. Simon closes his eyes, ignoring a pang of regret.

Before he can reply, another voice joins the chat. Stripey sits on the table, as usual, looking at Ghost with his big amber eyes. “Meow!” Ghost raises an eyebrow at the rare occurrence.

“What was that?” John asks, audibly surprised.

“Just my cat, Stripey,” Ghost replies calmly, aligning the iron sights and clicking the mouse two times to two-burst the enemy.

The voice chat goes silent for a dozen seconds.  Then: “You have a cat? And you named your cat a Sergeant?”

“Well, technically, it’s Sgt. Stripey, so…,” Ghost trails off as another enemy opens fire at them. Great, now it’s no longer a stealth operation. Not that it matters, really.

There’s a very heartfelt groan. “So that’s a Sergeant Sergeant… ye ken, that could pass as animal cruelty, Ghost.”

“Touchy on the subject of Sergeants, Sergeant?” Simon chuckles.

“How did you… well, no, but it’s a horrible name for a cat.”

“How do I know you’re a Sergeant? You sound too young and driven to be anything higher up the chain and too skilled and experienced to be anything less, Soap,” Ghost imparts his opinion. “As for the cat… well, he, too, is too young and driven, and I’m definitely not making a Lieutenant out of him and risk finding myself in a situation where I would’ve to take orders from him.”

John laughs at that, an honest, clear sound that makes Ghost smile as well before he spots an enemy peeking from behind a building. “Tango, front, fifty feet, corner of the red building.”

He sees John’s avatar turn immediately, weapon at the ready, corner in his sights. “Covering the corner, sir,” Soap says.

“Well spotted, keep an eye on it. I’ll go around,” Ghost instructs as he checks the magazine.

They breeze through the rest of the mission, finishing it in almost record time, which is impressive, given the amount of idle chat.

Later that evening, when he bids John a good night and turns off the computer, Ghost finds himself lingering in his chair. Slowly, he reaches out and takes his phone. Ghost hesitates, looking at the name in the Contacts menu for a while before he finally hits the dial button. It’s time to do some due diligence.