imshymorph

[imshymorph]

I don't...want to buy her merch? You said that anyone who takes her money AND interactions as proof of support...I was talking about the "interactions" bit. Not sure how much clearer to make that.

I already blocked you because 1. blank blog and 2. condescending to me doesn't help your point, but in case anyone else is actually interested in what JKR means by "interactions" with her IP tell her you support her:

JKR is well aware of the abundance of HP fanfiction, art, and everything else. She may not keep track of individual authors/artists/whatever but she is FULLY aware of fandom and has attempted to immerse herself within it. JKR herself saying that she considers people interacting with and buying her IP to be an endorsement of her political beliefs meaning: she sees the creation of fanfiction, fanart, fan-whatever as proof that people care more about her IP than the lives of trans people, ie endorsing her political beliefs.

I cannot explain to you, since you clearly lack any critical thinking skills, that I am not trying to start a war against 18 year olds who write marauders fanfiction (as you so eloquently put it) by giving you a reality check that you care more about your own personal consumption of a fictional universe than you do about real people having their rights taken away.

Sorry that to burst your bubble but interactions aren't limited to buying tickets to Harry Potter world or playing the shitty blood libel video game but also include engaging in prominent fan communities and posting about your marauders headcanons on tiktok. Every time JKR sees Harry Potter trending she believes with her whole heart that every one of you posting HP fan content agrees with her fascist transphobic beliefs. And she uses that belief to continue funding anti-LGBT legislation because she has seen that she has a large supporter base.

And I'm going to go even 1 step further and say that if everything JKR has done hasn't driven you away from the world of Harry Potter, I think you do agree with her, I think you don't care about the real-world harm that she causes because you're a selfish child who only cares about their own self-satisfaction. You have the moral backbone of a sea cucumber, but I can't stop you from interacting with HP. So do whatever you want, you were going to anyway.

[imshymorph]

baby i could treat you so good you just have to get past my strange and off-putting demeanor and my kubrick stare and my inability to behave like a human and the 40 layers of icy fortress walls i have up and answer my riddles three

[imshymorph]

Guys, it got so much freaking worse. KOSA is bad, but SCREEN is even worse, somehow.

"Sen. Mike Lee has introduced the SCREEN ACT, a bill that applies the "harmful to minors" standard used to ban LGBTQ+ books and resources in schools and libraries and apply it nationally to the internet.

Any site that has any amount of material "harmful to minors" would be forced to employ surveillance tech (biometric scans, ID uploads, background checks) to prevent minors from accessing "pornography."

You will not be surprised to learn that this is backed by the Heritage Foundation.

Unlike some of the state age-verification laws, many of which are being challenged in court, SC will be enforced by the FTC, which has the ability to levy fines, raid business and freeze bank accounts. Yes, meaning that even non-for-profits like Ao3 will suffer.

This is something for all US users to keep on their radar. Call your reps, call your senators, and spread the word to protect our archive!"

- When talking with Republicans play up the fact that this would force Elon to implement age verification systems on X (yes do call it X during the call). Elon's been threatening to primary Republicans who stand in his way so there's fear of him. Also play up concerns about "Liberals" doxxing people or Chinese hackers.

- When talking with Democrats, play up the connections to Project 2025 and suggest voters will not be happy to see Democrats siding with it.

Republicans:

Ted Cruz, Texas (Chairman) - Phone: (202) 224-5922

John Thune, South Dakota - Phone: (202) 224-2321

Roger Wicker, Mississippi - Phone: (202) 224-6253

Deb Fischer, Nebraska - Phone: (202) 224-6551

Jerry Moran, Kansas - Phone: (202) 224-6521

Dan Sullivan, Alaska - Phone: (202) 224-3004

Marsha Blackburn, Tennessee - Phone: (202) 224-3344

Todd Young, Indiana - Phone: (202) 224-5623

Ted Budd, North Carolina - (202) 224-3154

Eric Schmitt, Missouri - (202) 224-5721

John Curtis, Utah - Phone: (202) 224-5251

Bernie Moreno, Ohio - Phone: 202-224-2315

Tim Sheehy, Montana - Phone: (202) 224-2644

Shelley Moore Capito, West Virginia - Phone: (202) 224-6472

Cynthia Lummis, Wyoming - Phone: (202) 224-3424

Democrats:

Maria Cantwell, Washington (Ranking Member) - Phone: (202) 224-3441

Amy Klobuchar, Minnesota - Phone: (202) 224-3244

Brian Schatz, Hawaii - Phone: (202) 224-3934

Ed Markey, Massachusetts - Phone: (202) 224-2742

Gary Peters, Michigan - Phone: (202) 224-6221

Tammy Baldwin, Wisconsin - Phone: (202) 224-5653

Tammy Duckworth, Illinois - Phone: (202) 224-2854

Jacky Rosen, Nevada - Phone: (202) 224-6244

Ben Ray Luján, New Mexico - Phone: (202) 224-6621

John Hickenlooper, Colorado - Phone: (202) 224-5941

John Fetterman, Pennsylvania - Phone: (202) 224-4254

Andy Kim, New Jersey - Phone: (202) 224-4744

Lisa Blunt Rochester, Delaware - Phone: (202) 224-2441

SCRIPT

Hi, my name is [], and I am one of Senator []’s constituents. I live in [city, zip code - leave your full address if leaving a voicemail].

I am calling in regards to a bill that was recently introduced in the Senate Committee on Commerce, Science, and Transport: the SCREEN act.

I am asking Senator [] to either take no action or vote against this bill because of its implications for freedom of speech. [insert one of the other concerns listed above]. Thank you for your time and for listening to my concerns.

[imshymorph]

thank you to the five loyal people that always like and/or reblog whatever i post, you’ve saved me from having numerous headaches and not knowing if tumblr had actually posted my stuff or not

i’ll have a kebab in your honor tonight

[imshymorph]

I've reworked my old soft!price pieces and it's made me think of something…

I've talked about this before, how John Price is a pain in the ass to deal with when he's on medical leave, or any sort of leave, for that matter. The man is a workaholic, through and through. And on top of that, he's stubborn as a mule.

Which is the worst combination when you're in a situation like this. He's bed-ridden, out of service for weeks. His return to base denied until his ribs settle back where they belong and his skin seals back together where the knife had slashed his shoulder. And what is he doing in the meantime? Acting like a twat that refuses to take his medication, no matter how much pain he is in.

You don't even understand why. He doesn't complain about a cough syrup when he catches a cold, or the over the counter stuff you give him when he has a light fever. He even downs the disgusting concoction they give you to keep hydrated when your stomach is messed up without complaint. But for the life of him, he won't take anything that is meant to relief pain.

On top of that, he acts like a K9 member every time you try to sneak him one; he'll only take the antibiotics to prevent infection and the multivitamin you insist on giving him to make up for the time he's spending cooped up in bed instead of outside. You've tried changing types of painkillers and dosages, different shapes and colours. It doesn't matter, he figures out which one it is and sets it to the side, refusing to take it. Every single time.

John's so smug about it, too. Acting like you can't see how he flinches when he sits up as you bring him food. Or how restless and uncomfortable he's at night, unable to sleep with the constant ache on his side and shoulder. He even denies how hard he clenches his jaw whenever he does the breathing exercises to help his ribs bond together properly, or how hard he grips the sheets when you clean and change the bandages on his shoulder.

It's not been even a full week and you've already made your mind. If he wants to act like a dumb golden retriever that sniffs out the pill and only eats the chicken, you'll treat him like one. So, that's how your stupid adventure begins.

You crush and add the pills in everything you can think of; inside the soup, stirring it in the pot until it dissolves and blends into the flavours. Mixed in smoothies and cups of tea you insist on bringing him every few hours, defending the benefits the vitamins and herbal remedies provide. You even go so far as adding sauce to any and every food that could be accompanied by one, always making sure to mix in a couple more painkillers. It actually works this time, for almost two weeks now.

And maybe, just maybe, you should be feeling a bit guilty for constantly slipping drugs into your husband's food. However, you quickly push it to the side, you're doing it for his own good, after all. He sleeps much better at nights and, over-all, doesn't seem to look like he wants to crawl out of his skin constantly. So you consider it a win and, frankly, you're mostly impressed with the fact he hasn't been able to point it out yet.

You think it's mostly because he has been slightly loopy this whole time, first due to the pain and sleep deprivation it caused, and now due to the drug-induced calm state he's in. Of course, it was just wishful thinking.

"Doing good, darling?" You ask him when you walk into your shared bedroom to check on him, helping fluff out the pillows so he's propped up in a position that supports all his sore spots. "Need anything?"

John hums lightly, finger settling between the pages of his book as to not lose his mark when he looks up at you. "I could do with one of those spiked smoothies and some company."

You feel the way your eyebrows raise and your heart drops when he says it like it's nothing, taking a little longer as you adjust the sheets back over his lap, trying to think what to do or say now. "What are you-"

He doesn't let you finish your supposedly innocent question, an amused huff leaving him instead. "Don't try lying to me, I've known this whole time."

Your brain buffers for a moment, your mouth opening without words coming out for a few seconds. And then your brows scrunch into a furrow and a light scoff leaves you. "And you didn't say anything?" You ask, somehow seeming to be the more offended out of the two of you.

"You know your spouse is sneaking drugs into your food and you say nothing?" You scoff again, not sure where the frustration is coming from but definitely feeling like you deserve an answer.

He looks at you for a second, really thinking his answer through before giving a one-shouldered shrug. "Well, the meds did help with the pain, love".

You look at him incredulous for a moment, your hands aimlessly flailing around as you try to make any sense out of the situation. "Yeah, yeah of course they help, John. That's what they're made for, darling."

All you get back is a light hum along with a nod, and you can't believe how frustrating and attractive the subtle smugness in his expression is. And then it clicks, a frustrated scoff leaving you when all the pieces fall into place. "You're unbelievable, you know that? Me sneaking the painkillers in your food makes you just as injured as if you were willingly taking them!"

A light laugh leaves him, his healthy hand shooting up to hold his battered side for support. "I know, but i had to give it a try. Base's doc refused, though."

Yet another scoff leaves you, and you take a deep breath to avoid grabbing him and shaking him around to see if some sense would knock into place. "Of course the doctor refused, I…" you let a sigh, closing your eyes for a few seconds to restore your patience. "John, i love you, more than anything in this world. But you drive me up the wall sometimes."

You hate it when that stupidly soft smile finds its way onto his face, and how well it works to quell your frustrations as his hand reaches out to hold yours, "I'll make it up to you."

"You better do", you remark in return, but your tone has already lost all its snark. With a soft sigh you move a little closer to the edge of the bed, giving his hand a soft squeeze as you gently brush his hair off his forehead with your free one. "What do you want in the smoothie?"

He hums in appreciation at the tender gesture, his eyes closing for a moment as he leans into your touch. "Forget the smoothie, just bring the meds and a glass of water and get in bed with me."

It pulls a smile from you and you lean in to kiss his forehead before leaning back, your eyes finding his once more. "That, i can do."

Likes, comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated. Askbox is open. Do not copy, repost, plagiarize, translate or feed any of my work into ai.

[imshymorph]

Yeah right

Cw: smut

You’ve been sleeping with Ghost on and off for a few months now.

No labels. No talks. Just sex, video games, and quiet 2 a.m. hangouts in the dark, nights that start with trash talk over split-screen shooters and end with your legs around his waist, breath caught between your teeth.

It’s casual.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. Say it enough times, maybe it starts to feel true. But the way he touches you, slow, soft, like he’s savoring every inch, makes it hard to believe this is just sex.

He lets you wear his hoodie home, then pretends not to care when you post a mirror selfie in it but he still double taps it within two seconds. His jaw clenches when you take too long to reply. And his eyes always drop to your mouth when you talk, linger like they’re thinking.

You want to ask what this is. Why he acts like this. What you are.

Is it just comfort? Is it just habit? Or something close to love? Maybe too close?

You tried to ask once.

But the words barely left your mouth before he kissed them away, hands sliding up your thighs, breath hot at your throat. The question died in your mouth. Drowned in the way he fucked you like you were his. Like he didn’t need to say it because you already knew.

So you let it go.

You kept pretending it was enough.

Even though it wasn’t.

Was a Thursday night. He was at your place. The city’s asleep outside, but your apartment was lit dim and warm, a mess of tangled sheets, empty beer bottles, and that ghost of something unspoken, thick in the air.

He was quiet after. On his side, one arm slung around your waist like it’s second nature. Your skin still hums from his touch, but you’re cold inside empty in a way he hasn’t even noticed.

You stare at the ceiling.

And then “Do you ever think about me when I’m not here?”

It comes out softer than you meant it to. Too soft. Like you’re afraid of scaring him off.

Silence.

He doesn’t answer he just exhales slowly and pulls you closer, his mouth brushing your shoulder. Warm. Familiar. Wordless.

that was the only answer you got.

You don’t sleep.

You just laid there, his breath at your neck and that emptiness blooming wider in your chest. You’re not comforted by the closeness. It pisses you off, how he can touch you like that, hold you like he means it, and still give you nothing.

You turn away from him before sunrise. His arm slips off your waist. He doesn’t pull you back.

Good.

Let him feel it.

Let him wonder why you’re quiet in the morning. Why you don’t kiss him goodbye. Why you nod and shut the door behind him like it doesn’t take everything in you to do it.

Because if this means nothing to him… then why should it mean anything to you?

A month passes.

You don’t sleep with him. Not once.

Not because you don’t want to. You do. Desperately. Every time his shoulder brushes yours on the couch. Every time he leans back laughing, head thrown, or looks at you like he misses you even though you’re right there.

But you resist.

You keep your distance. Draw careful, invisible lines between your thigh and his. You still hang out because neither of you knows how to stop but you don’t stay. Not anymore. You dodge his touches. Dodge his eyes. Ignore the ache in your chest and pray he doesn’t see through it.

Of course he notices.

He’s restless now, picking at beer labels like they’ve got answers printed on them. Watching you when he thinks you won’t catch it. And when you do, he looks away fast, jaw tight like your silence is choking him.

Maybe it is.

He doesn’t know what he did. That’s the worst part. You asked him a question and he let it float off into the dark. Now all he has are guesses and guilt and that gnawing pit in his stomach that only you used to calm.

He needs you.

And he’s trying. He shows up more. Lingers longer. Drops hints with his hands, his eyes, the way he says your name like a question he’s too afraid to ask.

But you don’t break.

Not this time.

Because until he can look you in the eye and give you something real, you won’t let yourself be touched like you’re his when he’s not willing to say it out loud.

Not again.

He’s the one lying awake, wondering what the silence means.

It all comes to a head in the fifth week.

He shows up quiet. Tense. Like something’s unraveling inside him and he doesn’t know how to stop it.

He doesn’t play cool. Doesn’t make half hearted jokes. Just watches you. And this time, when you catch him, he doesn’t look away.

You feel it building in the silence between you it was thick with all the things unsaid.

You’re on opposite ends of the couch. Some movie’s playing, neither of you are watching. He just looks at you like you’re speaking a language he can’t translate.

Then, finally

“What did I do?” Voice low. Rough. Not defensive. Not cold. Just lost.

“I don’t know what I did,” he says again, eyes locked to yours. “But you’re not staying the night. You’re not looking at me. You won’t even let me touch you. I miss you… and you’re right here.”

You blink, eyes burning a little.

“I asked you,” you whisper. “I asked if you thought about me when I wasn’t there, and you didn’t say a word. Just held me like that was supposed to be enough.”

His brow furrows. That moment lands.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he mutters. “Didn’t wanna say the wrong thing.”

“So you said nothing?” You sit up straighter. “You can’t fuck me like I you love me and then act like I don’t matter.”

He leans closer. Not touching. Just close enough to feel.

“you do matter,” he says, it’s not soft. It’s firm. “You mean so much to me. You always have. I just… fuck I don’t know how to say it without ruining everything.”

You stare at him.

“I love you,” he says, finally. “And I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

This time, when his hand reaches for yours, he waits.

you let him touch you.

You don’t speak. Just lean forward and rest your forehead against his. His breath hitches. His eyes flutter shut.

“Show me,” you whisper “show me you love me,”

He kisses you like a confession. No rush. No greed. Just soft, reverent pressure. Like he’s trying to say I’m sorry with every slow drag of his mouth.

His hands find your thighs, sliding over your skin like he’s remembering how to hold you. “You sure?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Just… be honest this time.”

His jaw flexes. “I promise.”

He lifts you like it hurts to let go, carries you to the bedroom, lays you down with more care than you’ve ever seen in him.

This isn’t just sex. It’s something else.

He undresses you in silence, and when he pushes inside you, slow and aching, your whole body breathes for the first time in weeks.

“I wanted you for so long,” you whisper, fingers threading through his hair. “Even when I pretended I didn’t.”

His eyes close. A breath shudders out of him.

“Me too” he says. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

He fucks you like he’s reclaiming something. Like your body is a home he got locked out of. Every stroke says what his voice can’t, I need you. I miss you. I’m yours. I’m trying.

And when he comes, breath broken in the crook of your neck, he doesn’t pull away.

He stays.

You lie there tangled up. Skin sticky. Sheets a mess. And when he says your name, it’s not a question. It’s an answer.

“Love you.”

You turn to him, heart raw but full.

You both slept that night.

Hands sewn together. The quiet, certain feeling that maybe, just maybe, this is what it means to be loved.

[imshymorph]

never done a hybrid au or anything but I keep thinking about hare!Ghost and rabbit!reader

he's so big, limbs and ears stretched too long, scent eerily similar to something you could almost call familiar, his shape is uncanny, cousin to your own but corded with different muscles. his nose twitches differently, his ears stand too tall, his penchant for open spaces felt quirky at first but now you watch him lay out in an open field and the way he disappears against the ground sends a chill down your spine. he is so much like you and yet every inch of you knows he's different.

but no one else seems to care. they pair you up like alarm bells don't ring each time you stand next to him. they joke about leaving rabbits together and you swallow the need to scream that he's not like you, that it isn't natural, it doesn't work, that when his eyes slink towards you they read as foreign as a predator. it's like staring down a funhouse mirror of your species, some convergent evolution gone wrong, shifted for a harsher environment, your families separated enough that you never should have been faced with someone like him.

you thump your foot at him when he gets too close and your entire body heats in embarrassment. it's an empty threat, you're hardly fit for fighting without the guns and knives that soldiers carry but ghost- ghost studies you like an insect, like he can't quite figure out why you're so soft and round where he isn't. he stares at you in every room his existence corners you into. he tugs at one of your ears when you pass him in the hall, he gropes at the fat of your hips when you stand in line at mess, he grips your tail so hard you have to stop yourself from yelping. so you thump at him, because you're tired of whatever measurements he's taking, whatever comparisons he's drawing between the two of you, silent observer to your fear of him, using it to keep you quiet against the persistent harassment; his nose twitches.

he's faster than you, you already knew that, you shouldn't be surprised when he lunges at you the way he does. you still scramble to get away, launch yourself into movement, some hind-brain instinct propelling you forward, searching for somewhere small and dark to hide yourself. Even though you know he'll catch you, that his big hands will grip you hard and then, well, you don't have to think too hard about what he wants.

you'd seen the way his hard cock strained against his fatigues at every mention of fucking like rabbits.

[imshymorph]

I don't think anyone will notice, but just in case i'll say it. I'm going over my old works and rewritting little bits (mostly typos and nonsensical phrasing that come with having an idea at 2am). So if you've seen it before and feel like the piece is familiar but something is different, it's probably that.

Still, i'll add a little note in all of the revised works. Saying it just in case messing with them pushes them back to the top of the tags and/or back into other's dashboards.

[imshymorph]

imagine having the most lethal face card and good lore and good personality and being one of the best characters in the game and then you get replaced by someone who was barely even in the game because 15-year-olds are way too obsessed with the big men

[imshymorph]

Superstitio

This is meant as a one shot, mostly because of it's length but can be considered as part of the soft!gaz collection.

Kyle has never considered himself a believer of any sort. He didn’t grow up in a religious household, he had never developed any sort of superstition –had never assigned luck to any item or ritual, hadn’t felt like a day had been doomed because of a certain action– nor had he ever trusted the existence of some sort of ‘other’. Stuff like aliens, witchcraft, ghosts (bar the one he called lieutenant or mate) or rivalries between werewolves and vampires only taking up space in his life in the form of novels and dvd copies on his shelf. 

That was until he met you. 

He didn’t know how he had never met you before, apparently you were a friend of one of his closest mates back home. He had come back from a seemingly never-ending op, almost five full months of eating rations, camping out most nights and dealing with a constant of life-or-death scenarios. The captain had decided they all deserved a few weeks to wind down, that’s how he ended up back in the pub a couple streets from home, with the friends he had known since his very first school year.

It wasn’t exactly a ‘welcome home party’, he had made it clear a long time ago he didn’t need those when coming back from what was essentially his job –they never threw parties when his mate Jamie came back from a work trip that involved endless meetings, nor when Lyla finally reached the ‘perfect’ design after a client had requested at least 25 adjustments on each step of the way– but after having been reborn a few times in less than half a year, maybe it was a bit celebratory. That’s why he didn’t mind when Mark had asked if a friend could tag along. 

Kyle had seen the pub’s door open, coincidentally happening right after his turn in the game of pool the group had been playing while waiting for everyone to arrive. He had leaned back against the wall, bringing his pint up to his lips while he passed his cue to Jamie. But he hadn’t taken even the smallest sip, because his brain had zeroed in on you the moment you walked in, right behind Mark. The two of you laughing at whatever story he might be telling animatedly, judging by the dramatic gestures he was making as he guided you to their table. 

Kyle had never believed in any sort of ‘other’, in any creature or myth. But he felt his beliefs start to shift, because someone as beautiful as you had to be put in his life by something like fate. 

Frankly, he spent all evening trying to not make a fool of himself. His eyes would constantly shift to find you, his conversations often trailing off so he could join whatever topic you were chatting about instead. Maybe it didn’t work as well as he expected, because his friends definitely noticed, and somehow he had kept finding himself being the one in closest proximity to you. You’d happen to be paired up for every pool or darts game, coincidentally being sent to get a new round of drinks at the same time and always having to share the same bench at the booth. 

He had tried to play it off, ignoring the way his friends kept on giving him knowing looks and cheeky smirks. As long as you didn’t realise the way his brain seemed to take longer to buffer whenever your eyes were focused on him, he’d consider it an accomplishment. 

At least the embarrassment had paid off, because when the pub started to empty out in the early hours of the AM, everyone bidding farewells and starting to go their respective ways, he had come to know that you lived by his place, just a couple streets down. 

He had taken the opportunity as soon as it had presented itself, offering to be the one to walk you home, after all he was headed the same way –he ignored the voice in the back of his head that told him it was meant to be–. You two had definitely walked slower than necessary, taking double the time needed to make the way back. Kyle had tried to hide his disappointment once you’d reached your building. 

However, lucky him, you had dared to be the one to speak first, mentioning something about a movie you two had talked about at some point through the night, using it as the perfect excuse to invite him up to yours. Just for a rewatch and a more proper discussion, of course.

And after that night, that had prolonged into the morning, he had felt it. The shift, that something that made him think of you more often than not. What had started as you joining their group hangouts more often had turned into constant one-on-one hangouts. And he couldn’t help but feel it, like a tether, something that linked you to him and made his chest feel heavy whenever you weren’t around.

Now that he was holding you in his arms, tangled in his sheets after another shared night, he knew. Your soft eyes and softer touch, the melody in your laugh and the ease with which you slid into place, always fitting in, no matter the setting. Kyle thought about congratulating you, the way you could make it seem so easy, how you had managed to hide it for so long.

He peppered soft kisses to your cheeks and your forehead, admiring how relaxed and welcoming you looked, even in your sleep. He had never believed in anything occult, never thought too deeply about it. But now that he knew you, had you in his life, he knew how wrong he had been all along.

He knew now, he knew you two were not the same. You had fooled everyone into thinking you were merely a human, but he knew the truth, because someone like you could be nothing but an angel.

Likes, comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated. Askbox is open. Do not copy, repost, plagiarize, translate or feed any of my work into ai.

[imshymorph]

Kyle Gaz Garrick who as soon as he hears that the new handful of soldiers on base for training are being a little too loud with their comments about the cute civvie working on base (you) starts walking with you everywhere.

He'll meet you by the barracks where the civilian contractors live to walk you to where you do all your work, or the mess hall for breakfast. The first few days he shows up at your desk at noon to walk with you to the mess hall, but soon after he learns your schedule and arrives when he knows you'll be in the mood to eat.

If anyone, and I mean anyone says anything while the two of you are walking, he'll politely finish walking you where you need him to, and corner whoever thought they could be disrespectful to his little bird.

If you give him names about the people who are essentially harassing you, oh boy. Theres one of two outcomes. Either he gives them a verbal beatdown, reports them to Price and basically ruins their military career. OR he lets his good friend Ghost know. Keep in mind Ghost runs most of the training regiments. Those bastards won't have the energy to say anything let alone something degrading or harassing.

At one point, a few weeks after you let Kyle know about what's been happening you get a heartfelt handwritten letter addressed from the soldiers who had been making crude comments about you.

You make a point of thanking Kyle for his help :>

<3

[imshymorph]

Heads up, smut ahead, reminder this is an 18+ blog. This one is afab reader, due to more explicit sex scenes, but less explicit drables will be gender neutral.

Everyone and their mother has done a situationship!Ghost but I don't care, I'll never get tired of it and I will, in fact, make him be incredibly pathetic about it.

Because hear me out, I know situationship!Ghost is a really good excuse to portray how detached he has become and how fearful he is of creating bonds with others because of his past. 

And usually I see that portrayed more in the fuckboy route. Like he randomly shows up, fucks you like he hates you and then dips. Which don’t get me wrong, i also think he would, but i believe it would be like a really early stage if that makes sense?

Like think about Simon (not Ghost, because as much as he likes to insist this is just purely physical relief, he still shows you a side barely anyone else gets access to) who has been completely head over heels since he first saw you. It’s not that he doesn’t love you, fuck he does since the very first day, he almost said it when he slipped into you for the first time, all tight and warm around him. 

It’s not that he wouldn’t give everything to be with you for the rest of his life, gods know he would in a heartbeat. But he doesn’t believe he deserves it. Not when you smile so bright, act so lively and live worlds so far from his, based on war, blood, pain and suffering. 

So instead of staying and showing you how much he craves to be with you in more than a physical way, he does the closest thing he knows how to do. 

And that’s how you always end up under him, head buried against your soft pillows and ass up high in the air as he drives his hips against yours, girthy cock hitting all the right spots making your eyes tear up in pleasure and your pussy drools, wetting his pubes and balls and running down your thighs. And when your moans get louder and you start to tighten around him, one hand slips around your waist to rub fast tight circles on your clit as the other rests against the back of your neck, making your head stay in place and your back arch further. Your legs trembling after having already come twice since he walked in, one on his tongue and another on his fingers, all so he could prep you for this. 

Your moans and keens muffled against the pillows as he fucks you through your orgasm, holding himself back. Before you even realize he’s turning you around without even pulling out, manhandling you as he lays you on your back, legs thrown over his shoulders and pressed against your chest as he leans over you. His pelvis rubs just perfectly against your overstimulated clit, his cock reaching so much deeper as he sucks marks on your neck and collarbones. 

Your moans get louder and more high pitched, eyes glazing over with tears at the overstimulation as a new climax builds right after the last one. “That's it pet, you can give me another one. Come for me.” And that’s all it takes for your back to arch and nails to run down his broad back as your pussy clenches around him, pulling him into the climax with you, filling you up, hips rocking flush against yours as he fucks you through both of your orgasms. 

Maybe he can’t tell you how much he loves you and misses you when he’s gone, but he definitely can leave marks and fill you with his cum to make sure you remember him until he’s back.

Likes, comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated. Askbox is open. Do not copy, repost, plagiarize, translate or feed any of my work into ai.

[imshymorph]

Back to my roots with this soft!price

John Price is a captain and a leader in and out of the battlefield. Which means that, even when he’s home for what is supposed to be a whole two-week leave, he still spends as much time as he can in his home office, doing paperwork. Worst is, it’s not like he’s really making that much progress, most of the text is either blacked out or summarised with a blunt [REDACTED] due to being copies taken out of what is considered a secure perimeter. 

So it's no wonder that when you turn in bed at 3am, an arm reaching out in the hopes to pull your husband closer to instead find his side of the bed empty and cold, you instantly sit up with a groan. You get up, barely bothering to turn a lamp on, taking one of his discarded shirts and draping it over your shoulders as you make your way to where you already know he’ll be. It’s the third time it’s happened this week, after all. 

A sigh leaves you when you confirm your suspicions, seeing the light peeking out of the crack under the door at the end of the hallway. You don’t bother knocking before you push the door open. And there he is, reading glasses hanging low from his nose, one hand scratching his beard, as the other moves to the side an already-filled-in paper. “John”, you call out, the sleepy tone in your voice carrying enough of a complaint for his lips to purse together before he looks up. 

“Love, why are you up?” He asks, using the soft tone he only gets when he knows he got in trouble. You just give him a raised brow, your arms crossing over your chest as you lean against the doorframe. His men would have the time of their lives watching him squirm under your sleepy yet judgy look.

“It’s three in the morning, and you’re not in bed”, you point out the obvious, an arm lazily gesturing in his general direction before tucking against your chest again. “Don’t you have better things to do? Like, perhaps, be in bed. Asleep. With your spouse.”

A sigh leaves him and the idea of saying something barely even crosses his mind before his shoulders slump in defeat. He starts to tidy up his desk, tucking all the papers back in their correspondent folder and into the first drawer on his desk. He gives you a quick look out of the corner of his eye, confirming that you’re, indeed, still leaning against the doorframe and waiting for him. 

“I wasn’t going to be much longer”, he grumbles, but the coward doesn’t even look at you as he does, knowing how fast you’d be to retort. Instead he’s quick to turn the lamp on his desk off and walk towards you. By the time he’s gathered the courage to look at you, his expression has softened and a small, almost boyish smile plays on his lips. “I’m sorry, love–” he starts, his big hands finding their way on either side of your hips. “Would you forgive me if I cuddled with you until morning?” 

You look at him with lightly squinted eyes, as if really contemplating his offer. But he knows you as well as you know him, and when the corner of your lips twitch the slightest bit, you both know he’s more than forgiven. “I will if the offer includes breakfast.”

A quiet laugh leaves him, one that you feel more when your hands rest on his broad chest than you hear. “Drive a hard bargain,” he muses, lightly squeezing your sides, pulling you off the doorframe and against his chest. “Where are you when an op requires a negotiation, hm?” The words come out gruff and quiet, murmured against your forehead before he presses a kiss there. 

“Running the house so my husband has somewhere to come back to,” your answer comes out without missing a beat, always more quickwitted than he is. However, the way you lean against him, relax in his hold, talks louder than your smart comments do. 

He hums lightly, adjusting his grip so his arms can round your waist, guiding you down the hallway to your shared bedroom. “True that. Do a hell of a job, too.” He presses one more kiss to the crown of your head and reluctantly lets go, only long enough to let you crawl back into bed and get comfortable. 

In just a few seconds he’s right beside you, his warmth seeping into your skin as he pulls you close and onto his chest. You let out a quiet hum, your eyes closing as soon as his steady heartbeat resonates in your ear. “Night, darling.” It comes out quiet, given how you’re already drifting off. Still, he hears it perfectly. 

“Good night, my love”, he murmurs in return. He presses one more kiss to the top of your head, and once he’s sure you’re asleep, he lets his own eyes finally fall shut. It barely takes him a minute to forget all about the paperwork, his arms tightening a little more around you before he’s out. 

Sure, John Price is a captain and a leader in and out of the battlefield. But when he’s home, when he’s with you… Well, maybe then he doesn’t mind being leaded for a while.

Likes, comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated :) Askbox is open to request or chat. DO NOT FEED MY WORKS TO AI NOR CREATE BOTS, don't reupload.

[imshymorph]

This is a second part to lumberjack!soap I do have to say, i don't know for how long this story will be linear because my notes are quickly turning into random headcanons and scenarios lol

Luckily for you, you managed to keep the conversation short, minimising how embarrassed you felt for having stared at him. Although it seemed long enough to make you think about him once you were back home, and maybe for the next few days. 

It’s not like you had gathered much, he had introduced himself as John MacTavish, although he then had insisted on being called Johnny (something along the lines of it sounding “nice comin’ from a bonnie thing like ye”). He was from Scotland as his thick accent proved, and a lumberjack, which was obvious enough with how little you had seen. 

He hadn’t said much more about himself, instead turning the conversation on you. Asking for your name and what had driven you to move to such a secluded area, where you had come from and what your job was like. The conversation then drifted to the forest and the close-by town, the best shops and the best pub, the good stalls at the market and the spots with the best sunsets. About how winter was getting closer, how the woods looked beautiful covered in snow. Maybe a flirty joke from him about how he could help keep you warm, one that you had preferred to ignore, lest you’d stutter in your reply.

The conversation replays in your mind on-and-off throughout the next few days. Remembering bits and pieces as you move around your barely-started garden, checking on the state of the various sprouts that had begun to cover the dirt in shades of green. Again when you move around your kitchen, checking the fridge and pantry to take notes on anything you might need to get on your next trip to the market, while you mince garlic and chop onions for the meal you’re cooking.

If you're honest with yourself, it isn't just the conversation you're thinking about. It’s him. His charisma, the way he carries himself. He exudes confidence, in not just himself but what he does. Maybe it comes from being in the woods for so long, for doing a job such as his, all physical and strength based… That might be when your thoughts deviate off topic. 

Somehow you end up remembering more of the way his back seemed to broaden as he raised the axe, the tight tee he was wearing not hiding any contours, not from his back and shoulders muscles. Nor from the way the sleeves seemed to strain around his biceps, either. And that cocky grin when he had spotted you, the way his eyes seemed to light up as he set the axe against the ground with a light thud, the way his tongue curled around words like “bonnie” or “hen”.

Frankly, it gets annoying. The way a guy you’ve seen once suddenly takes over your mind. Maybe it's because you’ve been fairly alone since you moved here. The reception is good enough for calls and working from home, but the slightly lagged image when you videocall friends and family gets old pretty quick. Sure, you’ve talked with people in town, visited the local pub a few times. Doesn’t mean you know much more than a couple names of people you mostly just nod in acknowledgement to. 

But given how the light chill that comes with the end of the summer and the beginning of autumn settles in, having to take a cold shower most days to try to get him out of your head isn’t something you’ve been enjoying much. 

It’s most annoying now, when you sit at the desk in your little home office, trying to answer some important emails. Business talk forgotten in between memories of blue eyes and bulging biceps. What snaps you out of it is your doorbell ringing, in fact it makes you give a light jump, how far gone had you been in your daydreaming to be this startled?

You clear your throat and lightly shake your head, pulling yourself together as you close your laptop and head to the front door when the doorbell rings again. A loud-ish “coming” leaves you as you cross the cottage to finally open the door. Your lips are parted, ready to ask whoever made their whole way to your island of quiet what they want. But no words come out, because those stupid, expressive blue eyes that have been plaguing your mind are looking straight at you. 

Likes, comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated :) Askbox is open to request or chat. DO NOT FEED MY WORKS TO AI NOR CREATE BOTS, don't reupload.

[imshymorph]

Oh how about you trying to sleep on the couch after an argument with the 141 men. How would they react?

Honestly? Not well.

Ghost is grabbing a pillow and a blanket that is far too small for him to sleep on the floor next to you. It’ll be the most pathetic thing you’ve ever seen that you forget that you’re mad at him.

Soap is just as pathetic but in a different way. He’ll stare at you from afar with those beautiful blue puppy eyes. As you continue to ignore him, he’ll creep closer and closer until he’s eventually laying on top of you, asking if you’re still angry with him.

Gaz respects your need for space but doesn’t believe in going to bed angry, or sleeping apart for that matter. He’ll drag out the air mattress, make far too much noise, and then set up beside you, grunting and groaning and tossing and turning and sighing until you give in.

Price puts his foot down about you sleeping on the couch after an argument. Think you’re going to sleep alone? Think again. You won’t even make it to the couch. That man will toss you over his shoulder or drag you back to bed if he has to.

CoD Headcanons / AUs / Quick Writes Masterlist

[imshymorph]

Okay, i've looked through my WIPs and i have a couple new parts for this bad boy, so cheeky selfreblog and i'll prolly post the next part tomorrow!

Don’t know how I came to this conclusion but, lumberjack!Soap.

You’ve just got a promotion on your job that not only gives you better pay but it also gives you the chance to work remotely. In other words, gives you the money and time to fucking finally fullfil the urgeTM to move to the edge of the forest and live in a cosy cottage. 

So that’s exactly what you do, pack up your things and move to a fairly priced cottage with a nice piece of land and no neighbours that make your life impossible. Unlike the ones that had moved to the flat beside yours last year and had fought every single day since, paper thin walls making it seem like you were sitting between them during their screaming matches. 

Instead of that you only share the dirt road that takes from the main road to your cottage with another one, and the ways part about halfway through so it doesn’t even feel like you have neighbours. In fact, you’re not even sure you have neighbours, leaving your home just to do stuff like groceries and so to the nearest town, you don’t really encounter the people who supposedly live in the other house. 

That is until a couple weeks in, the weather slowly getting colder as winter approaches but leaving a nice enough day to do a small hike to the forest line and the creek that separates the thicker part of the woods from the sparser one you’re quickly getting used to seeing out of your window. 

And that’s when you see him, axe hanging from one hand as he rounds a fallen tree, soon enough finding a good spot to start turning it into firewood. You don’t realise how much you really are staring as his body leans back, broad back and firm-looking chest stretching as his bulky arms swing over his head. One big hand by the head of the axe and another on the end, both of them smoothly slipping to the end of the axe as inertia and gravity make it fall into the tree trunk. 

It's the crack that the tree bark makes as it’s broken through what makes you flinch lightly and come out of your trance. A small surprised yelp must have left you because the guy turns around to face you, just a few feet away. His eyes run up and down your body and a small grin appears on his face, “didnae ken tha’ there was a new neighbour.”

[imshymorph]

So, while i make big plans (and changes) for the Death!Ghost fic, get back in the groove for writting... Here are some soft!Ghost thoughts that I've been hoarding.

I have said this before and I’ll say it again. Ghost is not insecure when it comes to his looks, to his attractiveness. Sure, he looks rugged and a little messed up. But he knows the kind of bird that will fall for a few scars and a crooked nose. This man just has to take the mask off, sit on a bar and lean back on his chair, manspreading. Give a small smirk at anyone and a couple flirty sentences and they go home with him. 

What he is insecure about is Simon. He knows how to be Ghost, all sass and confidence, gruff answers and dry jokes. He has control over Ghost, but Simon? He’s scared of who Simon could be. Scared of not knowing how to break the cycle, of letting his father have the same control he had before Ghost. He’s scared that the way others perceive him (or how he thinks they do) it’s what he really is. 

So when he falls for you, and he falls hard, he has to prove to you, to himself, that he’s better than that. That he is caring, helpful and useful. 

That’s why your favourite things are always fully stocked up, doesn’t matter what. Snacks, drinks, cologne, makeup, shampoo. Even that random type of pen you bought once and you actually really like because it always writes smoothly. 

It’s why you haven’t spent a single penny on fixing anything around the house since you started to see each other in a more serious way. Even less since you moved in together. There’s not a single leaky sink, no loose floorboard that creaks when you step on them. 

There’s also no high shelf that needs dusting or window that needs cleaning. Before you can even think of getting a stepladder (or god forbid, think of climbing the counters, how many times does he have to say how unsafe that is, sweetheart) he’s already done those. 

No need for more than one trip to get in the groceries, in fact no need to carry them. That’s why Simon’s there. He’ll gently push you to the side when you go to get the cart, keeping one hand on your lower back as he follows you through the isles. He then carries all the bags on your way back, listening to you talk about what you could do this evening. 

And if you dare offer your hand, to ask for a bag? All you’re getting is the biggest side eye before he moves the bags all to one hand, holding yours with the other. He’ll give you such a proud smirk if you say anything about it, too.

He’ll learn the recipe to any and all your favourite and comfort foods, adaptations and variations you may use included. He’ll cook them whenever, but especially the few days after getting home from deployment. It’s his way of reassuring both of you that he’s home and everything can go back to normal. 

Just like with any other chore, once he begins to do it, it becomes pretty much illegal for you to join. If you try to get a knife and start mincing some garlic, or grab a wooden spoon to swirl the pan’s contents, he’ll scoff and shake his head. Simon will tut at you, take whatever utensil you’re using out of your hand and say something along the lines of “let me do this for you, sweetheart”.

He’ll pick you up and set you on the counter closeby, asking about what you’ve done while he was away, listening to you as he makes the food. He’ll sneak little kisses and touches here and there, lean over you to get something beside you on the counter, only because he knows that you’ll lean closer and kiss his cheek or peck his lips. The only way he’ll allow for help is taste-testing, he'll bring spoons with a bit of the broth or little pieces of whatever is being cooked to your lips, only after having gently blown on them to cool them down, to get your opinion. 

And when all that’s left is letting the food simmer for a little longer, only having to keep an eye on it, he’ll set himself between your legs, pulling you closer. Your feet loosely linked behind his thighs, arms around his waist and head resting on his shoulder. He’ll use the moment to bury his nose into your hair and take a whiff of your familiar shampoo, one big hand resting on the side of your thigh as the other rubs up and down your back slowly. No need for words, no need to fill the silence.

Half of the time setting the table proves useless, instead he carries you to the couch and sits you in the space between his parted legs as you both eat while watching a show you both had started before he was sent away. 

His favourite days are those in which, after the hearty and delicious meal, you lean back against his chest and relax. Your eyes slowly get heavy with the comfort of his body against yours and your full stomach. And he can’t help the little, silly, lovesick smile that appears on his lips when, ten minutes into the episode, he looks down to comment something about the show just to find you out like a light. 

He pauses the show, you’ve waited for him to come back to finish it together, he’s not going to betray you and watch more while you sleep. Instead he’ll lean back too, get comfortable and pull you flush against his chest. His face will bury itself on the crook of your neck so all he can feel is you and he’ll join your little nap. 

It doesn't matter how many times you reassure him that he doesn’t have to prove himself useful, that you love him like he is and don’t need more. Because you already do so much for him, you take so much care and show so much love to Simon, that he feels like he’s asking too much out of you. You’re already the reason his life has meaning, he already takes enough. So just let him do this for you, sweetheart, because he owes you way more. 

Likes, comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated :) Askbox is open to request or chat. DO NOT FEED MY WORKS TO AI NOR CREATE BOTS, don't reupload.