mayflora-18

[mayflora-18]

(Trollhunters spoilers!)

Angor Rot really did deserve better.

His soul was stolen and he was basically a slave for who even knows how long, and then every time he died (except the last) he was forcefully brought right back to serve again.

He tried to work with Jim, made a deal that would benifit both of them greatly- and sure, we can't know for sure if he would have honored his end of things, but I do believe he would've. Like. At this point, he has nothing really personal against Jim- maybe Claire after she took the staff but that's not quite important here. He does have VERY personal problems with Strickler and Morgana (who Gunmar serves and is going to free if he gets out, which Strickler's plans were leading to)- so severing the soulbond with Barbara and killing Strickler would be easy, bring justice to Strickler and prevent Morgana's return. Also, it is a very good "thanks for my soul back (sort of), sorry for trying to slaughter you and your friends, lets never interact again" gift for Jim.

He flipped out and attacked Jim but 1) in his perspective Jim just suddenly appeared in his cave and that's not cool. 2) Jim was very clearly going to try and put the ring on, so I am not going to be blaming Angor for trying to stop/kill him before he could. The man just wants to be free.

He very clearly hates everything Morgana and Gunmar do, though he does stay with them- and sure, he can't be controlled anymore but what was he meant to do? Morgana would have dragged him back if he left and killed/imprisoned/controlled him if he fought against them. I'm sure about this. But he still voices disagreements, he still calls them out, he still saves Draal after empathizing with him.

And then there's the final battle with Morgana, and Angor betrays her. At this point he does have solid reason to hate Jim and all his friends, but stopping Morgana is leagues more important. I don't think he would've turned on them if he'd survived after she was defeated either, I think he'd want to rest. To finally, for once, rest.

But he doesn't survive. Instead, Jim kills him- or at least starts the process. Sure, Angor was restraining Morgana and it was an opportunity that they could not miss, but. Did he have to impale them both? Did he really? Angor isn't even mad, he accepts it, gives a last line, "well played, trollhunter", he might even approve. But did it have to happen? Morgana may finish the job, but he was already dying. The pieces of his statue are, if I remember correctly, sent into the shadow realm.

And then. They don't even kill Morgana. Not because they didn't want to, it's because they couldn't, and I accept that, but. It feels so bitter. It's unfair.

And what happened to Morgana? She's trapped in the shadow realm, imprisoned in the very same place where Angor now lays dead, in pieces. The Witch and her Champion, inseparable even now. (and if she managed to revive him again? a nightmare.)

And maybe the worst thing is what we see in Wizards; they go back in time, Morgana begins her descent into villainy, and she's cast off a cliff into the water below. Dead. And Angor finds her. In this time of war and hate and bloodshed, in this time humans and magic are at each others throats, when Angor has no reason to sympathize with a human... he carries her body to shore.

Angor cares. Angor is kind. Angor doesn't see a fallen enemy or collateral damage- and also, trolls eat humans, Gunmar talks about this, but Angor doesn't fish Morgana's body from the water to eat as if she were some fish or something. Not even close.

He takes her because even if she's dead already she should be shown this respect at least. He lays her on the bank, he prays for her in death, and then he leaves. And the Arcane Order take her body, so easy to find and reach thanks to Angor, and they bring her back to life.

They bring her back and she rises to power and eventually Angor comes to her for help, and we all know how that ends.

Angor cared for the soul of a stranger, and so got his taken away.

[mayflora-18]

This is who I got 👇

I agree with the lover and the first kiss, but the first time? 🤢

Screenshot and reblog with who you got!

I got this idea from this post by @/shyeehaw

Who I got 👇

I mean... I think I'd change my best friend but I'm cool with this 😅

[mayflora-18]

Incorrect CoD Quotes #11 (aka Shit I Found On Pinterest That I Thought Was Funny)

*during secure transmission with Shepherd and Graves*

Graves, singing: 🎵 Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock… 🎵

Sherlock: …

Graves: 🎵 Are you finally single? 🎵

Sherlock: No.

Graves: 🎵 I respect that. 🎵

———

*in a hostage situation at a store*

Sherlock: Yeah, there’s four of them and only one of me, but I have a lighter. Okay, we get some hairspray, make some flamethrowers, and let’s fry these bitches!

Ghost, deadpan: No one is frying any bitches.

Sherlock: …

Ghost: I know, I’m disappointed in myself, too.

———

Yuri: I know Makarov, and you’re in far more danger than I. He’s coming for you. And I guarantee that his soldiers will find this place.

Sherlock: Not gonna happen. I rent it out under a shell corporation.

Nikolai: Yeah.

Sherlock: My mail goes to a P.O. box in Seattle.

Nikolai: Yeah.

Sherlock: My neighbors think my name is Rachel Fletcher.

Nikolai: Yeah.

Sherlock: People I work with all think my name is Sherlock.

Nikolai: Yea-

Yuri:

Laswell:

141:

Roach: Wait what?

Sherlock: Don’t worry about it.

———

Price: Sanderson, you’re fine. Just be yourself.

Roach: “Be myself”? Captain, I have one day to win over Sherlock and Kyle. *gestures to everyone else* How long did it take before you guys started liking me?

Soap: Couple weeks.

Ghost: Six months.

Laswell: Jury’s still out.

Roach: See, sir? “Be myself”, what kind of garbage advice is that?

———

Makarov: Go to hell.

Soap: Already been. Didn’t agree with me.

———

Nikolai: We didn’t do it.

Price: Then why are you guys laughing?

Sherlock, grinning: Because whoever did it is an effing genius.

———

Graves: Just trust me.

Shepherd: The last time you said that my house burned down.

Graves: Yeah, but you didn’t die.

Shepherd: That’s not the point!

———

Alex: Should I ask why you have a knife in your purse?

Farah: It’s a dagger, actually. And no, you shouldn’t.

———

Krueger: Sir, we’re surrounded.

Nikolai: Excellent, we can attack in any direction!

Krueger: -_-

———

*Gaz beating some asshole up*

Sherlock: Oh, don’t blame them. They did their best to try to kill me.

Gaz:

Roach: O.O

———

Graves: If it wasn’t totally unethical, I would definitely blackmail you with this.

Alejandro: *eye twitching* Because you’re a shining beacon of ethics, right?

———

Nikolai: Oh, look at all the pretties!

Sherlock: *grabs his hand and pulls him away* Can you please stop talking about assault rifles the same way I talk about shoes?

———

*Ghost, Soap, and Rudy break into the old prison to free Los Vaqueros and Sherlock, only for Rudy to find the latter in the kitchen hunched over with a sandwich in her mouth*

Rudy: Camarada, what are you doing?

Sherlock: *muffled by the sandwich* …Eating.

Rudy: You’re being held hostage and you decide to raid the kitchen?

Sherlock: They didn’t say the fridge was off limits.

———

Laswell: Is that blood?

Price: No?

Laswell: That is not a question you’re supposed to answer with another question.

———

Gaz: Are you clinically insane, or incredibly annoying?

Sherlock: I don’t know, probably both.

———

Ghost: How are you feeling?

Soap: I think you broke my fingers.

Ghost: Better your fingers than your face.

———

*Sherlock and Alejandro detained in the same room*

Alejandro: What’s our exit strategy?

Sherlock: Our what?

Alejandro: Dios mío, we’re all going to die.

———

Roach: *swinging his legs back and forth * Sitting around, waiting to get kidnapped. This is the best day ever.

~Later~

Roach: This is the third time I’ve been kidnapped this WEEK. It’s getting old.

———

Price, about Roach: Look, he’s smiling. He’s totally fine.

Ghost: Sir, he’s smiling because he’s terrified.

Roach, “smiling”: 😬

———

Gaz: Did you bring us here to die?

Nikolai: Obviously.

Gaz:

Gaz: I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.

———

Nikolai: Is it still murder if I give them a heads up?

Sherlock: That’s called a threat.

Nikolai: Черт возьми.

(Черт возьми = Damn it)

———

Valeria: Nothing ever pleases you does it?

Alejandro: Nothing you do.

———

Graves: I know there was a compliment somewhere in there and I’ll take it.

Soap: You piece of shite.

Graves: Ah, there it is!

———

*talking about Valeria*

Alejandro: Oooh, she’s angry.

Rudy: How can you tell?

Alejandro: Well, you can see her mood by her hands. Like right now, she has a gun. I don’t think that she’s happy to see us.

Valeria: 🔫😡

———

Graves: Listen up, fives. A ten is speaking.

141:

Laswell:

Nikolai:

Sherlock:

Alex:

Farah:

Graves: Farah, can we talk, one ten to another?

Farah: I’m an eleven, but continue.

[mayflora-18]

I’ve been thinking about Gaz.

Gaz, who is used to rough treatement. Not in the sexual way, just in general. I mean, he’s part of one of the most dangerous military compounds, he IS dangerous, he surrounds himself by dangerous people because that is his job, and not many of them care too much about being gentle and sound when treating people, including Gaz.

Gaz, who was the only one in his class to escape the facility during RTI training; not sure if everyone else was incompetent, or if he was too advanced, he did not allow anything to get to him.

Gaz, who is usually overshadowed by Price who is their leader, by Soap who somehow always brings attention to himself, by Ghost who is a 9foot 7 silent giant with a mask, but he knows his worth, his team knows his worth.

Gaz, who is and always will be loyal; he’s the kind to never let someone down, and feel the worst if he ever does.

Gaz, who holds grudges, Gaz, who never forgives—even if it was a person that did not hurt him, that hurt someone else he cares about, Gaz, who never forgets what they did.

Gaz, who even with all his imperfections (mental and physical, whatever they are), could most definitedly be the prettiest person you will meet in a lifetime. It takes one look at him.

Gaz, who cares about the mental health of his loved ones the way he should care about his own, Gaz, who is the type to stay on a call half-asleep at three am listening to his sister or his best friend or his significant other cry to him after an event that left them worried or shaken. It’s unhealthy for him, he knows, but he wants to make sure they’re alright first.

Gaz, who fell of a moving helicopter and hanging by a rope he was shooting people like some kind of black James Bond. Yeah he still uses that story to flirt sometimes.

Gaz, who has the best kind of humor—a perfect mix between sarcastic and wholesome that only makes him more approachable. He’s the kind to give all his plans to break havoc to someone else and then sit and laugh whilst the world burns with his ideas.

That’s it, that’s what I’ve been thinking about Gaz. (idk if I misspelled something because I have not proof read it, so pls correct me if I did)

[mayflora-18]

*Roach giggles at something on his phone*

Gaz and Sherlock nearby: 😍😍

Gaz, to Sherlock: I know we’re in a committed and loving relationship already, but- *gestures to Roach* are you in love?

Sherlock: I am in love. Are you in love?

Gaz: I am in love, too.

Sherlock, nodding: I agree, I agree, I agree, I agree!

Roach, whose usually self conscious of his giggle and can hear them gushing over it: 😳

Btw I think Roach’s giggle would sound like this (0:50):

[mayflora-18]

Incorrect CoD Quotes #10

Sherlock: Sarge, I am way too sleep-deprived to deal with your negativity right now.

Gaz: -_-

---

Soap: We gotta get to the hospital and we gotta get there fast.

Ghost: Then, I should drive.

Soap: Why you?

Ghost: I've got nothing to live for and I drive like it.

Soap: Okay, let's do it.

[Later]

Ghost and Soap in the car: AAAAAAHHHH!!!

---

Sherlock: What if…

*Sherlock frowns in concentration*

Roach: Ooh, Sherlock's wheels are turning. Your brain baby is crowning.

Gaz:: Roach, please, that's disgusting.

Sherlock: No, it's helping, I am having a brain baby.

Gaz: Then push, babe, push.

Roach: *lets out deep breaths* Breathe.

Gaz: You can do this, you are so strong.

Sherlock: I got it!

---

Price: Quick, you're losing a lot of blood! What's your type?

Nikolai: Smart, brunette, British, you-

Price: Your blood type, Nik.

Nikolai: Oh! Red.

---

Nikolai: Sherlock is taking the day off so I'm gonna light something on fire.

Laswell: ...Why?

Nikolai: She's like 80% of my impulse control.

---

Price: Naw, bitch. I'm not being petty.

Gaz: You just said, "naw, bitch."

---

Roach: Okay, here are the ground rules: you can punch me, kick me, pull my hair. I am a-okay being stabbed. Biting and scratching are ON the table. You CAN use fire.

Soap: 😰 These are the ground rules? Is there anything off limits?

Sherlock and Gaz: 🤨🤨

Roach: Damn, man. You got something really sick you wanna do, huh?

Soap: What- Uh-

Roach: Oh, you little pervert. Alright, I like it. Don’t tell me. Surprise me. Ooh, this is gonna be fun!

Ghost: 🤦‍♂️

———

Sherlock: Did you just eat all of the powdered donuts?

Nikolai: …No.

Sherlock: Дядя, I can see the powder on your pants.

Nikolai, brushing off his pants: That’s cocaine.

(Дядя = Uncle in Russian)

———

*Sherlock’s phone rings*

Sherlock: Sherlock’s authentic stolen military police badges. How can I help?

Gaz: Hey, it’s Garrick.

Sherlock: Oh, hey Kyle.

Gaz: Hey, do you carry a hairdryer in your purse?

Sherlock: Of course, I’m not an animal.

Gaz, on the other end: Told you! You owe me 20!

Farah: …

———

*Graves escapes from the 141*

Price: This isn’t over! I will hunt you to the ends of the Earth!

Graves: I love you, too! 😘

———

Ghost: All right, you’re clearly not listening to me. I can say whatever I want.

Price, paying attention to something else: Tell me about it.

Ghost: I murdered Johnny this weekend.

Price: I feel you.

Ghost: Now that I have the taste for blood, I can’t stop murdering.

Price: Been there.

———

Gaz: Well, remember when you told me not to burn down the base?

Price: You burned down the base?

Gaz: No! I had the fire put out immediately. This is a success story.

Price: …

———

Alejandro: I need some 141 drama, stat!

Ghost: I don’t think we’re that dramatic.

Alejandro: We’ve been gone for one week. Gaz and Sherlock are dating, and they’ve killed a person.

———

Sherlock: This is where we came the night that I won our bet and you fell in love with me.

Gaz: Sherlock.

Sherlock: The night that you flirted with me for 20 seconds and I became obsessed with you forever.

———

*preparing to infiltrate on a mission with Ghost zip lining through a window*

Soap, over the comms: Is the equipment secure?

Ghost: Check.

Soap: Weapon loaded?

Ghost: Check.

Soap: Did you have breakfast?

Ghost: What? That’s not on the checklist!

Soap: I added it because I care about you.

Ghost: No, I did not have breakfast.

Soap: Unacceptable! Look in your pocket.

*Ghost fumbles through his pockets until he finds a granola bar and unwraps it*

Ghost: Hey, there’s little chocolate chips in this.

Soap: Yeah, I’m not an idiot, I know how to trick my best friend into eating his fiber.

———

I’m posting again! 🥳 Still working on the other fact drop, but I will post it ASAP. On a different note…

🎵Tomorrow, tomorrow! I’m 21, tomorrow! It’s only a day away!!! 🎵

[mayflora-18]

"How do you write such realistic dialogue-" I TALK TO MYSELF. I TALK TO MYSELF AND I PRETEND I AM THE ONE SAYING THE LINE. LIKE SANITY IS SLOWLY SLIPPING FROM BETWEEN MY FINGERS WITH EVERY MEASLY WORD THEY TYPE OUT. THAT IS HOW.

[mayflora-18]

Notes from a concerned medical professional who reads too much hurt/comfort:

(These are all things I've seen in Hazbin/Helluva fanfics)

(Tw: for injury, illness, gore, drug use, overdose, a lot of other things)

You cannot drug someone to sleep by overdosing them on melatonin. It will not work

Don't submerge an open wound or stitches in a bathtub/pool/etc it will introduce bacteria to the wound (taking a shower is usually fine, just skip the romantic bath)

On that note, stitches do not immediately stop a wound from bleeding and should not be used to solve every problem (never give yourself stitches unless you have absolutely no other choice they can trap infection inside the body when done incorrectly)

And, if the wound is extremely deep, a person may need several layers of stitches to piece together the skin, muscle, and viscera

You absolutely cannot get high on tylenol or ibuprofen even if you mix it with alcohol.

If you do mix tylenol or ibuprofen with alcohol it can cause internal bleeding/kidney damage/liver failure, so please don't do that

If someone is shivering from a high fever, don't cover them in blankets it will raise their body temperature even more (please try correctly dosed tylenol or ibuprofen for this)

Don't submerge someone with a high fever in ice water, they might go into shock (they also might panic and hurt themselves) in a pinch lukewarm water will do

Don't put ice on burns, run them under lukewarm or cool water instead

If someone overdoses on an opoid (heroin, morphine, various pain medications), there is a medicine called nalaxone (Narcan) that can reverse the effects of opioids

If someone is bleeding profusely, don't just hold their head and whisper sweet nothings, put pressure on the wound!!!

If a bullet remains in a person’s body after being shot it most likely should not be dug out unless it's blocking something vital, the bullet is not the problem the damage it made in it's path is

This isn't a criticism of authors who have written things like this. A lot of it isn't common knowledge, and DIY healthcare is absolutely steeped in myth and misinformation. I just worry about disinformation being perpetuated (and I really enjoy accurate hurt/comfort)

If I got anything wrong, please let me know, and I'll edit the post. I'm far from perfect and appreciate good advice

Let me know if you guys want a fic rec list of my favorite Hazbin Hotel whump fics

[mayflora-18]

non-comprehensive list of potential reasons Sgt Sanderson was dubbed "Roach" and it stuck

extremely difficult to kill

undeterred by loss of limb (once lost a finger but they sewed it back on and it was mostly fine)

undeterred by attempted drowning (lung capacity go brr) (surprisingly good swimmer for a guy who doesn't like the water)

Fast and Sneaky When He Wants To Be

steals bites of any food left unprotected during meals

gets into other people's lunches left in the fridge/cabinets

drawn to booze

southern

thrives in the heat, miserable in the cold

personal space is a mess

common cause of jumpstartles on base (round a corner/turn around/look up and he's suddenly there in the corner)

voted must likely to survive the apocalypse (not for prepper reasons. bit of a survivalist though)

often seems like he could have just crawled out from under a gas station chest freezer

general indestructible insect vibes

brought to you in accordance with stuff I know about roaches

[mayflora-18]

cuddling with könig hcs?? maybe he’s super exhausted and just wants to be held by reader and be in their presence 🥺

Modern Warfare 2 Cuddling Headcanons

Warnings: No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’, Just a whole lot of fluff ☹️ <3, Mild Hurt/Comfort, CUDDLING !1!!1, Snuggling, Extremely Vague Implications of Ghost’s Past, Minor Mentions of Death, Vague Implications of Smut, Mention of a Boner (Brief), Nothing Explicit in this Post.

Ghost

He’s very secretive when letting you know he wants to be held.

It’s as if he’s ashamed to admit it, to you, to himself – as if the habits he’d picked up as a child, to hide his intentions, his feelings, had followed him into adulthood.

They had, make no mistake. But the fact that they followed him into his relationship with you made things… difficult at times.

Nevertheless, when he sidled up behind you, his body heavy, shoulders slumped and arms encompassing your form, you read him like a cave drawing: plain to see, easier to interpret.

You’d swaddle him in your arms, your duvets, your love, and in turn he’d cage you with his limbs, his body, his strength.

In a way, he was your coffin; your final resting place in life and the hereafter, and he let you know as much with the cushioning of his muscles beneath his shirt, the silken padding of your bed of eternal rest.

You’re not going anywhere is what he said, all without saying it.

And you affirmed as much when you pressed the tip of your nose to the pulsepoint below his jaw, gifting a kiss to the skin beneath it.

“I’ll always be with you, Simon; for infinity plus one,” you’d tell him, over and over, as many times as he wanted – needed – to hear it.

Simon would look down at you, his eyes dark and filled with nothing but the need for you.

He’d pull you into his chest, where you’d hear his heart pounding, hammering, the scaffolding of his love, constantly growing, advancing. Heightening.

“I know, Angel,” he says, laying circles into your back. “And I’ll always be here to protect you. Just as you have me.” He takes a deep breath, filling himself with your scent. “For infinity plus two.”

König

Oh, THIS–

Absolute behemoth of a man is babey for cuddles.

Fr though, he’ll just be so mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted that the only thing that can heal him is your loving touch.

He’ll literally stand half-hidden behind the doorway like that buff teddy bear meme, looking at you with wide, pleading eyes with his hands like 👉👈.

Poor guy looks like he’s on the verge of tears.

He’s not, don’t worry! That’s just the fatigue catching up with him.

And whenever he gives you those eyes, you just can’t say no.

You bring him to bed and wrap him up in your softest, warmest blankets.

You have found König wrapped up in your clothes, your towels, your curtains many times before. And, after he caught you catching him, he admitted that he did it because they smelled like you.

From then on, you have a special, secret blanket just for König which you douse in your signature scent once every few weeks or so, keeping it hidden in a cupboard where it can’t be found by any other smell or person.

And you drape it over König, making sure he’s safe and snuggled and secure before you cuddle up to him, consumed by a mass of blankets and, of course, your boyfriend.

And he just rests there, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you so close to him that you could very well be the same person.

He’s massive, he’s radiating heat constantly, encompassing you in himself.

He tries burying you inside him, it seems, keeping you so close to him as though he knew something – knew he was going to lose you somehow.

And all the while, you’re threading your fingers through his hair, petting it, stroking it, telling him how loved he is, how you’ll always be here for him, and how lucky you are to have him. Calling him your “Big boy. My big, sweet boy,”

His chest purrs, his grip around you tightens, braiding your souls together with the golden hair of a wedding band.

And, his face buried in your hair, taking in the lifeline that is your scent, König whispers, to you, and to no-one else:

“Not as fortunate as I, my Love.”

Alejandro

Unlike Ghost and König, Alejandro tells you when he wants cuddles.

Unless he’s feeling particularly raw or traumatised, what with his profession and all, in which case he’ll put his hand atop yours and squeeze it, tightly, while facing ahead, not looking at you.

Those requests for cuddles are few and far between, but they usually lead to an evening spent entirely in Alejandro’s arms as he slowly, tricklingly, reveals what has damaged him so.

And you listen, and listen, and listen, one hand carding through his hair, the other holding his shaking shoulders, soothing him with your massages.

His head always rests on your chest, and, occasionally, he’ll bear his face into your shirt, pressing his confessions into the fabric.

“Oh, Darling,” you tell him, every time. “You do everything you can, you save lives every day – including mine.”

He pulls away, looks up into your eyes with dark glass irises and, every time, cups your cheek with his hand.

“And I always will, mi Amor,” he tells you. His kiss lands on your lips, and another confession slips out as he pulls away, his forehead resting against your chin.

“No matter the cost, no matter the toll, I will always find you. I will always save you, just as you saved me.”

Soap

Snuggles with Johnny usually end up culminating in…something else.

His sunny disposition, even after a heavy mission away, belies that which haunts him – that which he tries to suppress.

On the rare occasion that he’s not in high spirits, he’ll be very quiet, hardly talking at all as he merely exists around you, his warmth and humour devoid from his body.

And you seek him out, placing your head upon his shoulder and asking, in the slightest of voices: “Do you need me?”

He does.

He needs you more than anything else – anyone else.

You drape him with your body, slipping your arms around his shoulders and pulling his face into the crook of your neck. His breath, his stubble, tickles your skin.

You latch onto him, tumourous in your resolve yet anything but malignant in your aim.

You want to bury your love in his veins, let him feel how he makes you feel, and become that for him.

He always sighs into your shoulder, your neck, and takes a second before he’ll encapsulate you in his arms, keeping you in his lap and tethering you to him by the bottom of your back.

You chant your reassurances, whispering them into his ear – a sleeper agent’s trigger words; a message to bring forth the soldier from within.

“You did so well, Johnny,” you tell him, meaning every word. “There’s no sum of money in all the universe that can compensate for all that you’ve done.”

You feel Johnny twitch, a precursor to something familiar to you. You hold him tighter, pull him closer. He stuffs his face further into the material of your shirt.

“But…” The word is a dagger between the folds of your heart. You can only imagine how it feels lodged in Johnny’s mind. A lifelong migraine.

“But what if I’d gotten there sooner?” His voice cracks. You feel his shoulders shake. You try to stabilise him, to keep him from quivering by encompassing more of his broad frame.

“You couldn’t have known, John-John; I promise you that.”

Your word was gospel in this house; whatever you said, Johnny believed.

“And even if by some sort of miracle you had gotten there earlier,” you pull back, Johnny reluctantly following in your example, and take his face in your hands. You wipe a tear away with your thumb.

“You probably wouldn’t have been able to return.”

The prospect made your heart jump up into your throat, much as you could see it stir something in Johnny.

He nestles further into you.

“And what would I do without my favourite soldier?”

You feel Johnny sigh, his body untensing, sinking into yours.

“The real question is what would I do without you?” His voice is gruff, easing off into what you recognise as exhaustion.

You rubbed his back, pressed a kiss to the crook of his neck.

“We’ll never know,” you told him, smiling. You feel his cheek shift against your skin and you knew he was smiling, too.

“Let’s get you to bed. You deserve a rest.”

“Oh?” says Johnny. “Is that all?”

“Oh, behave,” you give him a chuckle, a light pat - a lacklustre attempt at a smack.

Like I said, cuddles with Johnny usually end up as something more.

Price

Absolute bear of a man in both disposition and habit.

Practically holds you hostage when you cuddle with how he has a log of a leg hooked over your waist, his arms pulling you so close to his chest that you may well be the shirt he’s wearing.

Loves whispering in your ear when you’re like this – tells you how much he loves you, how you make everything feel okay when he comes home from a mission; all the wonderful things he thinks of you, he tells you.

He knows life’s far too short to let certain things go unsaid, and his undying love for you is one of them.

Whenever he’s feeling exhausted or just done with it all, he comes up behind you and wraps his arms across your front from behind, pressing a long, humming kiss to the back of your head.

“I need you, Love,” he’ll say, voice laced with the primal need to just rest. And he can’t do that if you’re not with him.

He has a sensitive scalp, which is why he always wears the hat when he’s on missions. When he’s alone with you, however, he bids you a silent request to touch him, feel him, care for him.

And you do; you rest his head upon your chest and slip silken fingers between his short strands, making sure to drag your nails up the nape of his neck and send shivers through him.

He adores falling asleep on you like this, though he will apologise for it after, knowing how much heavier he is than you.

But you never complain, only indulge him as he subjects himself to this heaven-sent cycle again and again.

He calls you his “angel”, his “master’s masterpiece.” (nice Duchess of Malfi reference for my fellow literature enjoyers)

And he truly believes it – that you are the work of some higher being, too perfect for the likes of this world, of him.

You always tell him how lucky you are to have found him, half jestful as you reassure him how “Eternal life would simply be survival, not living, if it is without you, my Love.”

Gaz

Has to be facing you whenever you cuddle.

This is not up for negotiation.

Will stare into your eyes like 🥺 whenever you’re snuggling.

He LOVES holding your hands; he brings them to his chest and presses the flat of your palms to his skin.

And when you hear his heart beating, he gives a shy smile and says: “This heart beats only for you.”

“So…what you’re saying is that you’re dead all the time except for when you’re with me?”

“...That’s… a little less romantic than my ‘I’m only alive when I’m with you’ line, but yeah, you’re right.”

Initiates cuddles 99.99% of the time, only because he won’t let you have the chance to initiate them first.

Beats you to it every single time.

Most of the time when he initiates, he’s rather playful and just wants to feel you near him and tell you what he did today :-).

But sometimes, very occasionally, he’ll come to you, a wounded puppy of a man, with a story.

It is one with no happy ending, only a wish for reprievement.

Whenever and wherever Gaz needs you, you’re there, soaking up his anxieties as your own and trying to find a solution.

You usually just let him talk until he’s tired himself out or there’s nothing left to say, upon which you offer yourself and every conceivable way you could be of service.

You try to heal him however you can, bringing him food, making sure he rests, talking him through his feeling whenever he wants.

“I don’t know how you do it, Love,” he tells you, head lolling against the backrest of the sofa. “I don’t know how you’re always so calm, so collected,”

You offer him a smile and a plate of warm, freshly-baked biscuits.

“Time and practice, my Dear,” you tell him.

He feels bad for putting on you, but you always chase his worries away, reassuring him that the day you stop listening to him is the day you’ve been replaced with a robot.

When you cuddle and he’s feeling vulnerable, he’ll tuck his head into your chest, and you wrap him up in a blanket, blocking out the light – any form of external stimulation – to help him calm down or drift off to sleep.

He genuinely doesn’t know what he’d do without you.

And he tells you as much when he wakes up in your arms.

He presses butterfly kisses to your jaw until your eyes flutter open like wings.

He doesn’t even say ‘good morning’; he wastes no time when it comes to you.

“I love you, (Y/N),” he says. He squeezes you. “I don’t want to be without you – not like I used to be,”

And you smile at him, like you always do, and lean in, planting a kiss between his eyes, the top of the bridge of his nose.

“Neither do I, Love,” you say. “And you never will be.”

Valeria

Always the big spoon.

Regardless of how she’s feeling, how tall you are, what time of the day it is, she is always going to be the one administering the cuddles.

She uses you as something of a stress ball when she’s feeling antsy, anxious, or even fearful.

It’s extremely rare for her to verbalise her feelings - particularly the negative ones, the ones she perceives as ‘weakness’.

But she has placed all her trust in you; something people have died trying to take and protect.

Whenever she’s stressed, you can feel it in how rigid her shoulders are, how tightly she wraps herself around you, how her heart pounds against your back.

You never draw attention to it – you know how sensitive Valeria gets about her feelings, trying to hide them constantly, so you just hold her hands in yours, against your chest, drawing circles against her knuckles and her veins, writing a love story.

“I’ll never let you go, you know,” Valeria says, often enough that it is no longer a cause for concern for you, rather a future upon which you rely, look forward to. And you smile, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand so she can feel it. Her heart stutters.

“I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you from me.”

And she means it.

You know – you can tell in the way she pulls you ever closer, tightly packed together as if confined to the same coffin.

You know her – her lifestyle – will be your downfall, one way or another.

Whether you or she dies first is a mystery, but regardless of the outcome, you know Valeria would sacrifice everything of herself to keep it from becoming so.

You try to turn, but Valeria keeps you facing away.

A moment’s confusion passes, chased away by realisation as you feel Valeria shaking against you, something wet and warm dripping onto the back of your neck.

You cast your eyes down and, gently, bring Valeria’s knuckles back to your lips.

“And what about me?” you say. “What if I leave you? Will you kill me?”

Something crosses Valeria’s eyes, dancing behind them. A relative of hurt, a friend of doubt, a parent of fear.

She turns you onto your back and, bringing a hand to your cheek and cupping it, presses her lips to yours.

It is soft and minimal, lasting a fraction of what it wanted to.

Valeria withdraws, pressing her forehead to yours, her eyes piercing.

“Never.” She says.

And she means it.

Rodolfo

Hold him tight P L E A S E–

He lives for your embrace, and anything you offer him will remain Flex Taped to the back of his mind for the rest of his life.

Especially if you’re consoling him.

Man just wants to feel safe and warm and loved.

His absolute favourite position is when you’re wrapped in each other’s arms, heads upon the other’s shoulder, snuggled so impossibly close that Rodolfo’s blood is practically running through your veins.

Call him your “Sweet lil’ guy” and he’s g o n e.

Melts into your touch and inhales your scent; oxygen to the lungs of a man starved of reprieve.

It’s at times like these when he’s at his most sincere.

Will tell you anything and everything that crosses his mind; his hopes, his dreams, his fears.

And you’re always there to chase away his anxieties and nurture his desire to achieve all that he wants to achieve.

Sometimes, when he pulls away, there are tears in his eyes, glistening.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, mi Vida,” he whispers, as if he’s afraid that the Universe will hear him and take you from him.

You can only smile, feeling the urge to cry choke your throat.

“And you’ll never need to know,” you tell him. “There will never be a day where I won’t be with you–” you kiss the tears running down his cheeks, “whether my body persists in this realm or not.”

Graves

UUUUUUGH

Horny to the MAX

You could be having the most wholesome conversation in the world and Phil will just hit you with the bedroom eyes and a boner and you’ll just look at him like 😑.

Whether or not you oblige him is up to you, but he’ll likely pester you (politely) until you do.

Aside from that, however, Graves doesn’t seem the type to know how to cuddle properly.

You see, there’s an art to the cuddle - it is a craft.

And Graves has only ever had brief encounters with people under the cover of night; flings, one night stands – so he’s never had the pleasure of getting to know someone enough to cuddle them.

So that makes you his first 😃 !!!

Since you have his cuddle virginity in your hands, you’re going to have to ease him into it.

He’ll definitely whine at first – keep saying stuff like “It’s too hot,” or “I’m booored,” but eventually, you’ll find a position for him which he seems to like.

Loves being the little spoon. No argument.

Given how he’s a CEO and has a pretty hectic job, he enjoys a change in position and likes giving you the power (though he’d never frame it as that; he’d just say that he’s being your pillow so you can lean against something as you rest; ever the gentleman he is).

His favourite position is you behind him, your leg wrapped around his waist, keeping him pinned to the bed.

Pleeeease scratch his back for him, he’s really ticklish there and has never been touched so softly before.

If you whisper phrases of affirmation or praise into his ear, he’s dead.

Done for.

Not coming back.

He swears he falls deeper in love with you every time you hold him close.

He’s kind of a switch, so he’s definitely up for being the big spoon on occasion – especially if you’re feeling vulnerable or you want to be protected.

When he thinks you’re asleep, he leans in close to your ear and says something he’s never said to anyone before.

“I love you.”

Unbeknownst to him, you’re awake, trying to contain the excitement bursting from your chest as you resist the urge to turn around and lock him in your embrace, if only to spare him the embarrassment of one of the few times he expresses his emotions being sullied by you breaking his nose with yours as you launch at him for a kiss.

In another cuddle session, maybe a day or two later, you whisper to him: “I love you, too.”

He’ll be mortified, and you may or may not be able to see his face shift from that of a cosy cat to a tiger who’s just inhaled a lemon. Frightened and unsuspecting.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[mayflora-18]

More people need to know about how sassy, loyal, and passionate Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick is…so I fucking made a compilation of him for the people

the last scene had me dying for like 5 min it was so unexpected

[mayflora-18]

yes my favorite type of fanfiction consists of characters getting tenderly cared for and comforted after a lifetime of being forced to suffer alone in silence, no this doesn't say anything about me

[mayflora-18]

💯

callofduty.fandom.com has the TEA.

Oof Captain Price is just 6’2 of pure thick strong man muscle.

[mayflora-18]

Nik: Do you remember what your guilty pleasure movie was when we met?

Price: I had more than one--

Nik: Captain America. First one.

Price: ... Right.

Nik: And now look! You are now Peggy!

Price: ... what?

Nik: Think about it. We have blond American soldier. We have former Russian military man now on the other side--granted I am not missing an arm. And we have the British one without fucks left to give!

Price:

Price: Oh my god I'm Peggy--

Nik: You are Peggy!

[mayflora-18]

Roach sketch. He is cute

[mayflora-18]

Reblog if you

- have a crush on a tumblr blogger

- have been abducted by aliens

- have a secret guilty pleasure

- are in love with a fictional character

- pick your nose

- are in the closet

- ever commited a crime

- have a mental illness

- like sweets

No one will know which ones you reblogged it for ;)

[mayflora-18]

Don’t mind me, just thinking about ‘19 Gaz with ‘09 Gaz’s beard and melting into a puddle. Enjoy your Thursday, guys.