#Choppers And Bricks

[kanamesengoku]

[the-patchwork-girl-of-oz]

ALL OF THESE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE THE SAME GUY.

ALL OF THEM.

EVEN PEPPERMINT FIZZ.

[haischaper]

Unfortunately didn’t finish this around TDOV but I still wanted to post it! So happy (very late) TDOV!

[lotostar]

I made more pins :]

[gastrophobia]

Friends of Dorothy

I'm still working on THE SCRIPT, but here's something I can share! I refined my character designs for the Friends of Dorothy. Pray that I do not refine them further.

Obviously, they're all gay except Toto who is ace.

Cowardly Lion and Toto will make appearances in Yellow Brick Ramble, but since it's based on the second book, it's mostly in flashbacks and photographs.

Scarecrow is much taller than the clothes he's made of because the Munchkinlander farmer who made him figured a tall scarecrow would scare away more crows by volume. This might not be immediately obvious, but his face is painted on.

I tried to make the Tin Woodman kinder-looking than previous designs I had for him. He's short because most people in Oz are short. It's a bit hard to avoid making a man made out of tin look like a robot, but I think the lumberjack beard helps avoid that trope. His forearms are tin cans.

Cowardly Lion is still a coward because he used up all his courage to wear eye make-up. And obviously, he's bright yellow because of his nature. I imagine his family is originally from Winkieland, but he was born in Munchikinland. His bow is red because the forest he rules is in Quadlingland.

Toto is now a Boston terrier like he was in Neill's illustrations in Road to Oz. I love how he looks like such a silly little guy in that book Otherwise, my reasoning is that Dorothy needs a Boston terrier on hand so she can be in a Boston marriage with Ozma.

(Crossposted from my Patreon)

[toxooz]

just had a dream tony hawk gave me a cool life advice one liner but i caint rememBER THE EXACT WORDS NOW NOOO

[fully-caulked-wagon]

Yo, if you thought that One Piece/Wayside School thing I drew before was as niche as I was gonna go you're boutta eat your fucking hat. Also I made Zoro Red Menace because I can and if you try even for a second to convince me he should've been Luffy I will hunt you down.

[dani-luminae]

I watched like 2/3 of the second episode of the Ahsoka series bc my mom had it on earlier when I was getting breakfast

How is it that Chopper is the only one who acts in-character at all compared to Rebels?

[bits-and-babs]

✦ 𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐍 ✦

simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader (delta) | smut, 18+ | 4.1k

summary: you, soap and gaz make a silly bet at ghost's expense for an invaluable prize.

cw: mw3 spoiler free. 141 ridiculousness, humour, attempts to remove the mask resulting in life threatening (not really) injury, mild exhibitionism if you squint, very talkative ghost, 'interrogation' wink wink, unprotected p in v sex, reference to f receiving oral.

ghost mlist | main mlist | taglist

"Y'know, I'm sure as shit that L.t's got brown hair," Soap pipes up in the middle of the silence that had settled inside the safe house. 

The members of Task Force 141 glance up one by one, querying eyes cast Soap's way as the guesstimated observation hangs in the air. It's louder than chopper blades, thudding against your skull and roaring in your ears as you attempt to recall the information you have on Ghost, what little physical attributes you can attribute to him. Each time, you hit a brick wall. The only image conjured in your minds-eye is the black voids of the mask's eyes and the piercing amber of his irises. 

The wind howls outside, battering the windows with Wyoming snow and creeping in through the cracks in the panes. It makes a yowling sound as it slips through the crevices, carrying your memories of Ghost's appearance with it. He truly was like an apparition, there one moment, then gone altogether. 

Gaz's brows crease in the middle, little crevices in the skin showing his mind working over the sentence. 

"He doesn't," he eventually retorts, eyebrow cocked while shaking his head, "He's blonde." 

"What makes you say that?" Price scoffs at his colleague's certainty, "You ever seen his face?"

The silence that follows makes the Captain chuckle. A wordless 'that's what I thought'. 

"You willin' to bet on that?" Soap pushes Gaz with a lopsided smirk. There it is, that ridiculous playfulness that the Scotsman continuously let slip over coms. Simon had once reprimanded him for how it would get him killed– you were almost certain if he continued down this path in particular, he'd be in a box by daylight.

"I am," Gaz counters thoughtlessly, a smug lilt to his tone as he leans the crown of his head back against the rotting wooden wall, "He's got blonde eyelashes. He's gonna have blonde hair."

"What're ya gettin' so close tae him for?" Soap grins wide, loading the new ammunition and hitting a bullseye on the first shot, "You been snoggin' him or somethin'?"

"Lads," Price warns. It's only one word, but it says a lot; 'he'll have your head.' All of you know Simon 'Ghost' Riley well enough to know it's not a joke. Seen enough of the mangled bodies he left behind to know it wouldn't be clean, either. More like he'd hack your skull from your neck, picking out the dullest blade that'd struggle to slot between vertebrae.  

"Bets on, then," Soap continues, white teeth gleaming in the low light, "First to confirm gets the honour of shootin' Hassan between the eyes." 

It's like throwing a match at a body doused in diesel. 

                           ✰

The parameters of this wager are as follows... First: the competition is between you, Soap and Gaz. Price was ruled automatically exempt the moment he admitted he had, indeed, seen Ghost's face. It was a revelation that caused quite a storm- and a promise from Gaz of £100 if he'd tell.

The Captain, quite frankly, told him where to stick it. 

Second: None of you could just ask Ghost himself. That was boring; no fun in that. 

Thirdly, there are no other rules. Acquire the information by any means necessary to claim victory. Perhaps this rule should have been revised- because to say that 141's tactics for getting Ghost to reveal his face were a little unorthodox is an understatement of the highest order. 

Despite his hulking frame, Ghost is like a cunning fox, cognizant of even the slightest changes in energy and hypervigilant of those approaching. The midnight void of his grease paint that frames his eyesockets contrasts the whites of his eyes as they dart back and forth between you all. He appears to have noted the devious scheming, practically hearing the cogs turning in your heads the moment he returned from his watch. Something is amiss, and you know Ghost knows it. 

He says nothing. 

Day One; the grumpy, black-clad special ops soldier sits back in his seat as he crosses his arms over his vast chest, cautiously observing the minute movements the three of you made. He'd bristled when Gaz stood from the sofa simply to enter another room, poised and ready to pounce at whatever fuckery the younger soldier would attempt. 

"Hey, L.t.," Soap's drawl cuts through the humorously tense atmosphere in the room, and you brace yourself for his master plan. "When was the last time ye got a haircut?"

Ghost hesitates. Waits a beat. The silence stretches almost uncomfortably until he answers, thick, bassy voice almost booming in the box room. "What're you playin' at, Johnny?"

Soap shrugs his shoulders, exuding complete nonchalance as he settles into the seat across the table from the hulking mass of man. "Just wondered if the mask ever came off. How do you cut your hair?"

Amusement ripples through you in the sound of a chuckle, both men glancing your way. Ghost peers at you, suspicion pooling thick in his pupils. 

"Shave it," Ghost rumbles bluntly, with an air of finality that leaves no room for argument or for Soap to encourage him to try something stupid like curtain bangs or, God forbid, a mohawk. 

You can't help but grin from ear to ear as you watch the Scotsman's shoulders slump in defeat, already waving a white flag upon seeing how unwilling Ghost is to play whatever stupid game you're all partaking in. Even you can't deny the anxiety that prickles across your nerve endings when you see the way Ghost's biceps flex beneath the camo fabric of his uniform, primed for action. 

When Ghost's aqua irises slide to you, your shoulders shrug comically, putting on the performance of your life to appear as though you had no idea what Johnny was up to. You see the way Ghost's blacked-out eyelids squint in suspicion. He doesn't believe you, but doesn't say as much. 

Day Three and the polite, roundabout tactics had been discarded in favour of the nuclear option. Gaz had tried ambushing Ghost in the shower, opening the door without knocking as if pretending he didn't know the Lieutenant was in there. The door slammed so quickly into his head that an egg had been steadily growing on his forehead for the past hour and a half, blood seeping from his almost certainly broken nose. 

"You'll stay out next time, Bravo 2-6, if you know what's good for you," Ghost had growled through the crack in the door before shutting it with a click of the lock. 

Holding his face and slinking away, mortally wounded, Gaz uttered a humiliated 'Yes, lieutenant'. 

Soap, clearly not having learnt from poor Gaz, decided that the next best option was a trip, so to speak. Executing a ludicrously overexaggerated stumble, Johnny reached out to grab Ghost's mask to 'steady himself' and ultimately drag it from his superior's head. 

Ghost had leapt from his seat with a roar, threatening to send Sergeant MacTavish back to Scotland in a box with the Saltire draped across the lid. The standoff only settled upon Captain Price's barked orders to stand down or hang up the uniform. 

By Day Six, Ghost had bruised your opponent's egos enough that neither Soap nor Gaz dared attempt to peek beneath the mask again. They look at you like you're absolutely bonkers when you finally announce it's your turn to try and tame the beast. 

"Yer fuckin' mad, hen," Johnny grumbled, watching you observe Ghost from across the room. He'd settled on a chair in the corner of the room, ensuring no one could sneak up on him. "You can't seriously be plannin' on-"

"I want Hassan," you shrug, a smile playing on your lips. Though, at this rate, you couldn't care less about the terrorist and the honour of dispatching him. No, Ghost had made this ridiculous game far more competitive than needed, and you planned to win.

"Have fun," Gaz scoffed bitterly, still icing the blotchy green and purple bruise that had welted on his forehead as a medal of dis-honour. You hadn't exactly helped the healing process, poking it harshly with the pad of your thumb as you laughed at his mortifying misfortune. 

You wait patiently for Ghost to move, like a stake out on a mission. Lying in plain sight in a ghillie suit, a sniper rifle pointed right between his eyes and your finger on a hairpin trigger. You wait for him to break, for exhaustion to creep in. Thankfully, you don't have to wait long. The Lieutenant rises from his chair, announcing to 141 that he's headed to bed. 

A quiet mumble of 'goodnight' from each member grants him leave, and Ghost walks out of the room without further word. You waste no time in hurrying to your feet. 

"Are you gonna...-" Soap winces when you stand, trailing off when you start after Ghost, not allowing either of your colleagues to talk you out of this suicide mission. 

Though, the moment you turn the corner, you wish you had. Ghost's broad frame practically fills the narrow hallway like someone had plucked Everest from Nepal and shoved its hulking mass into a matchbox. He's ginormous, his usually silent footsteps causing the aged, rotting wood beneath the soles of his boots to creak with the weight he applies when he turns to face you. 

The dark hallway obscures Ghost's skull-face mask, but a glittering reflection of the golden light bleeding from the bulb in the living room area flickers across the wet surface of his eyes as he observes you. You can't allow the weighty pressure of his stare to phase you if you're to push ahead with your plan- so you step forward, swallowing down the nerves that Ghost's attention inevitably dredges up. 

"Lieutenant, sir," you address him smoothly, voice low as you gaze up at him through your lashes. Ghost's eyebrow arches in response, noting your somewhat suggestive behaviour. "Permission to spea-"

"I'm hopin' you'll tell me what you're all up to," his eyes spear your nerve as he interrupts you, "They're not lettin' up, but I'll get it outta you one way or another." 

"What... Did you have in mind?" You chance, heart slamming up against your chest when you realise just how obvious you're being. It's dangerous- you hadn't planned to be so forward. The idea that he'd be able to read your flirting so soon set off mortars in your veins. 

There's a pause. It dizzies you, throwing your previously sturdy confidence off kilter when Ghost tilts his masked head slightly. He's turning it over in his mind, considering the past few days' events. Then, he turns everything on its side. 

"I know what you're doing," he speaks suddenly, the rich baritone of his voice ricocheting off the walls and ringing in your ears like he's just discharged a round of ammo with each syllable. You jerk upright, standing to attention. 

"I don't know what you m-"

"You want the mask off," he interrupts you again, cutting your pathetic excuse short as he steps forward. It's ridiculous, the sheer size of him as he looms over you. "You lot made a bet."

Another beat. Ghost waits for a response, an admission of guilt. It feels like he's cornered you; every answer that springs to mind is incriminating. You know he can see your rueful expression, wide-eyed and panicked by the ease with which he puts you on the ropes. 

"Was this your plan?" He murmurs, reaching to grasp your chin. His palm settles on the hollow of your jaw, fingers fanning out across the bone. "Get me into bed and see if I'll take it off?"

Trembling in his hold, you whimper as Ghost's thumb stretches across to trace the curve of your lip. It follows the delicate arc, lining the shape of your mouth and trailing the dip of your cupid's bow. 

"'M sorry," you mumble weakly, cheeks hot beneath his touch. Again, you fold beneath the intensity of those honeyed irises. It's a miracle your knees don't buckle when he pushes the pad of his thumb just past your lips, so that it brushes the edges of your teeth. 

"That was your plan. Y'can still give it a try, love. But..." he hums, his voice throaty and quiet and settling in the pit of your stomach. It's embarrassing, the ease with which he figures you out, but his words drip over you, easy and warm, and all you can focus on is the slip of his thumb as he presses the pad against the flat of your tongue. 

"The mask stays on." 

Ghost’s insistence makes you giggle sheepishly and your stomach flip in dread, like a child caught with its hand down a bear trap. Despite the lewdness of him pushing his thumb past your lips, you know that he’s being serious, deathly so. You nod clumsily in recognition of his executive order, and Ghost gently taps the skin of your cheek with his free hand, the soft slap of his palm against your flesh standing your hair on end.

“Go.”

The word hangs in the air for a moment, weighing heavily in the claustrophobic space of the small hallway. It takes a moment for your mind, rendered utterly useless by Ghost’s imposing presence, to understand exactly what he’s implying. Only when he removes his thumb from your mouth to shove you forward towards a bedroom door does his intention become clear.

Oh. Oh!

Scrambling to force your feet forward, they practically float across the threshold of the bedroom door. You can feel Ghost looming just behind you, can practically feel the heat radiating from his chest warming the expanse of your back. Fingers clasp over your shoulder, practically swallow the curved flesh, and shove you back against the bedroom wall.

The force of impact winds you, the air expelled from your lungs swallowed down by Ghost’s lips bearing heavily down upon your own. He’d ripped the mask upwards, the hem of the ski-mask balanced across the bridge of his nose. Simon’s tongue licks into your mouth– intrudes upon the space like he’s kicking down a door, like he’s swallowing the breath he’d expelled from you with his heavy hand. 

Once the dazed dizziness dissipates, you moan in relief at finally getting what you wanted. Ghost’s gigantic paw takes hold of your jaw in a firm grip to fit his mouth perfectly against your own, his swirling fingerprints indenting in the soft flesh there in a mottled bruise. The soft pine he coaxes from you bleeds past your open mouth despite your attempt to suppress the frankly pathetic noise. 

Fuck it, this was worth it– all of it was worth it. The fear of getting it wrong, the anxiety of being caught, the panic that Simon could turn you away… All of it seeps into the darkness in the corners of the room when your superior drags his tongue across your lower lip. It’s though he’s relishing in the taste of the aftershocks of the arousal he sparks between your legs, the dopamine that rushes through you.

“Was this your plan?” Ghost grunts, grasping ahold of the scruff of your neck. Gasping weakly, you’re almost certain your eyes roll back in your head when he uses his harsh grip to steer you towards the bed. “Get me out of my fuckin’ mind so I don’t notice you takin’ off the mask?”

“That’s–” you huff, rendered breathless by Ghost’s intruding tongue, “That’s not it–”

Your pitiful attempt to excuse yourself is made useless when Ghost practically launches you onto the mattress of his bed, the rusted metal frame screaming under the sudden weight of your body. 

“No?” he queries, the usual boom of authority in his voice replaced by something that sounds far more like goading amusement as he places the hefty weight of his palm against your sternum, holding you down and thwarting any attempt to escape. 

He needn’t worry. The last thing you wanted was to leave. 

“Tell you what,” he muses in that smug tone you always hear over the comms, his free hand quick to grasp at the leather of his belt. The buckle clinks in the quiet as he works his fingers over it, “We’ll run through this mission, yeh? See if you can complete your objective, Delta?”

Your retort, or lack thereof, dies in your throat when Ghost pushes his crotch into your own. If it weren’t for the yelp of bliss that the Lieutenant had to smother with his palm, you’d hear the way he’d practically purred when he dragged his cock against you. 

“C’mon then. Try it,” he urged. 

It’s pointless, his mock-support. You just desperately reach for the waistband of his khaki uniform trousers, cockdrunk from the tease of its shape against you. Even in the low light, you can see Ghost’s scarred lips, the way they stretch into a smirk at your desperation. 

“Abandoning mission, Sergeant?” He asks you, unzipping his trousers. “Price’ll be disappointed to know this is all it takes for Delta to go AWOL.”

“Shut up,” you moan into the cold air of the cabin. You can see your breath. “Shut up and fuck me.”

When Simon removed himself from his trousers, making some glib comment about you being demanding, you marvel at the size of him. Girthy, swollen, the ruddy tip leaks precum down the arch of his cock and traces the pulsing veins. He’s rock hard and throbbing, framed by a thatch of pubic hair. 

Fumbling with your own trousers, you awkwardly try to remove them given Simon’s weighty palm still pins you down by your sternum. He watches, a glint in his eye in the low light that would almost embarrass you if you weren’t so focused on the task at hand. 

“What was the prize?” 

“H-Huh?” you stall, mind fried by Ghost’s unexpected line of enquiry. He picks up where you left off, violently yanking your trousers down your thighs and pushing your panties aside to expose your glistening cunt to his prying eyes. 

“What. Was. The. Prize?”

You hesitate for a moment, feeling Ghost’s fingers press against the inside of your thighs as he probes this unexplored territory of you. His touch skirts the areas you want him most, teasing and goading you for more information. “H-Hassa-ahh!”

You barely manage the first syllable of your answer before Simon rests the arch of his cock against your slick pussy lips. His body jerks slightly at the heat of your swollen cunt, the ease with which he can slide himself through your drenched sex. 

“You got to kill Hassan?” he asked for confirmation, his voice unwavering. You wonder how he manages to stay so steady– you’re coming apart at the seams, trembling as the head of his cock bumps your clit clumsily. 

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes rolling back as he continues his laboured, steady torture. His free hand settles on your hip, arching your pelvis up slightly to meet his own. You grind your hips upward against his cock, and Simon expels a soft scoff from lungs, those piercing eyes settled on your contorting expression. 

“Mhmm,” he hums, rolling his hips again. This time it’s even slower, teasing. “A temptin’ reward–” 

Simon is interrupted by the moan that splits your lips when he drags the length of his cock heavily against your clit. It sparks arousal deep in your abdomen, clings to the inside of your thighs wetly. 

Perhaps the disturbance is one transgression too many tonight, because Simon grasps your hips so hard that you are forced to stop gliding over the length of his cock. You pine in protest, but you choke on the pitiful sound when Ghost suddenly plunges his cock inside of you. It spears you open, breaks you apart, and you find your back arching desperately against the mattress. 

The palm that had rooted itself to your sternum flies up to clasp against your mouth, smothering the shriek of bliss that threatened to expose your extracurricular activities to the rest of your squad. You sob through your teeth beneath his life line, tears welling in your eyes as you feel him stretch your walls open to make room for his intrusion. 

You can’t help yourself. You need something to grasp onto, and opt for his wrist above your face. Digging your nails into the inked flesh there, you watch as the pain sparks something dark and twisted in Simon’s pupils, his azure irises swallowed by the expanding blackness.

He likes it. You can tell. His cock arches up inside of you, pushing deep and rocking against something earth shattering inside of you. Damp with sweat already, the skin of his wrist ripples as he tightens his grip on your face, refusing to withdraw from your pussy walls and instead opting for sharp, shallow thrusts that push you up the mattress with each connection of your hips. 

“Fuck,” he spits, using his tight grasp to pull you back towards him. It’s obliterating you, ripping you apart and pushing all your pieces back together in a mangled, jumbled mess. You whimper as you suffer through his brutal pace, marvelling at how good it feels when he consistently spears your g-spot. 

“When would you have done it?” Simon asks you, a little breathless now as he chases the high that begins to build at the edges of your body, tingling and pulsing. 

“Shut up–” you beg him, the low rasp of his voice launching you towards that pleasure that threatens to consume you. Jerking your hips up to meet his, your body mindlessly reacts to the sound of his timbre. 

“Oh, no,” he chuckles, shaking his half masked face. There’s a silver laden scar that stretches across the base of his chin. It matches the one that splits his upper lip to the base of his nose, the ski mask hovering tantalisingly over the bridge. “When?” 

The seriousness of his tone makes your thighs quiver when paired with the sharp thrust he punctuates his question with. Years of training in maintaining a cover-story while a hostage are blown to bits as though Ghost has launched a mortar at your resolve, because suddenly all your state secrets are spilling out of you quicker than you can shove the incriminating words back into your traitor mouth. 

“I’d– Hagh… I’d do it j-just as you’re cummin–hhah!”

“And spoil my fun?” Ghost hums, that heavy timbre licking up your spine and sparking viscous embers at the base of your spine, “Anyone ever told you that you’re very fuckin’ selfish, Delta?” 

You’d offer a witty comment, but Ghost’s angled his hips just right, and your jaw is falling loose to let out a panicked whimper. 

“There it is, shit. Look at you, Sargeant. Fuckin’, you’re so tight–” 

You’re like a slip knot, tightening around him further with each knock of your g-spot with Simon’s ridiculously large cock-head. Prickling tears of bliss threaten to spill over the edge of your waterline, continuing to sting even when you shut your eyes. You’re shaking, trembling beneath his rocking hips as you mewl his name. 

“S-Simon! Fuck–”

Wild, wet squelches of Simon sinking into your soaked cunt echo in your skull as he ramps up his violent thrusts, the springs of his mattress screaming an unmistakable rhythm to anyone walking by. He doesn’t seem to care now though, his eyes zeroed in on your expression like he’s stalking a victim with his sniper scope. Aiming for complete obliteration. 

“C’mon Can feel you squeezin’ round me,” he murmurs, the steady tone he’d offered earlier shuddering slightly as you squeeze impossibly tight around him, coil threatening to snap, “You’re so close, Delta. C’mon, paint my cock an’ I’ll eat you out with my cum in you–” 

                           ✰

“He’s blonde.” 

Gawping jaws drop to the floor at your very simple observation, Soap’s eyes nearly rolling across the uneven, rotten floorboards after falling out of his skull. You can’t help the smug smile that threatens to tug at the edge of your lips, especially given the sensation of Ghost’s eyes boring holes into the back of your skull. 

The awe only worsens when Price gives a subtle nod of confirmation from the corner of the darkened room, crowning you the winner of this utterly ridiculous joust. 

“How do you know?” Gary is as shaken as Soap by the confidence with which you’d offered your final answer, in disbelief as to how you could have possibly obtained it without being maimed, given the egg on his forehead was still throbbing despite days of icing it with the snow from outside the safehouse.

“His pubes are. I assume the curtains match the drapes,” you shrug dismissively. 

The sheer incredulity that flashes across Johnny’s face is utterly hilarious. The smirk that had been threatening to break finally cracks across your lips at the confirmation of your victory. Ghost’s eyes appear to have lazered through your skull, singing brain matter with the ferocity of his scowl. Frankly, you couldn’t care less– you can see it in your mind's eye; the gorgeous contrast of a blood-red crosshair settling across Hassan’s forehead, the weight of the trigger beneath your finger as you pull it back.

cod mwii/kinktober taglist:

@mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @babychoi03 @infectedkura @allekat1988 @whore-for-anime @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @mockerycrow @cyberpr1m3 @i-love-ghost @allekat1988 @infectedkura @babychoi03 @freakquenci @maviee @yunggoblin @sleepystaarr @watyousayin @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @damn-dean-blog @pheonyxmoon @magicalreviewphantom @limegreenbabx @johfaam0 @iaur @justsayk

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @s-u-t @ghostslynx @solidly-indulgent @glitterypirateduck @gummyfang @bii-aan-ckaa @konigsblog @crissteetee @crissteetee67 @sylvanasthebansheequeen @akaym2 @exploremyworldsm @thriving-n-jiving @su57 @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @tusk89 @bellasbees01 @dog55teeth

[moongreenlight]

Need more secret wife please 😭😭🙏🙏🙏

WIP Wednesday? WIP Wednesday.

Secret Wife p3 SMALL UPDATE that I have been hoarding like a dragon with treasure lol (I am riddled with guilt)

It takes Johnny upwards of two hours sat alone in his car in silence to fully process what just happened. He’d tried to ask a thousand follow up questions in some rapid-fire babble, but he was met with a wall of stony silence. Goes on stupidly for well over two minutes until Ghost knocks him with a cupped palm on his temple. Little rougher than could be considered friendly, but nowhere near harmful. Served to bring him back to earth.

“Take a breath, sergeant.”

The low rumble of Simon’s voice barely rises over the dull roar of the cars around them.

“Fuck off.”

Johnny looks less gobsmacked than he feels.

“Mind your manners.”

A bite. He must’ve quit smoking around you for the time being. Made him more waspish than usual.

“Cannae believe you, bastard. Kept a secret tha’ big from us all this time?”

Simon took a labored breath in. A sigh like the stiffness of his muscles was creating a vice around his lungs. He threw a sideways glance back toward your car a few aisles over. Like he was making sure you were still there and situated. Pursed his lips and rubbed the bridge of his nose while saying something about how Soap was to under no circumstance take you up on the dinner offer. Turned on his heel and made his way back over to you without a goodbye.

Johnny had half a mind to disobey out of sheer bull-headedness but decided against it just before he sent you a message on his last day of leave. Deleted the text he’d drafted and resigned to trying to press Simon more about things when they got back on base.

He tried, persistent bugger that he is, to pester his L.T. to give up more information. When the two of you’d gotten married. Why he hadn’t said anything. Why wasn’t he invited to the wedding? Was there a wedding? Does anyone else know? All fruitless. Snubbed each time.

He would have been offended if he hadn’t come to know Ghost so well over the years. He’s cagey at his warmest, so it’s no real surprise that he’s kept this under lock and key. The real shock came from the understanding that it happened at all in the first place. Johnny had a hard time wrapping his mind around someone as kind and welcoming as you somehow getting tangled with someone as stoic and brutish as Ghost. He tried to conjure up infinitely many situations where the two of you met and the coupling made sense, but he never stumbled on one that felt right.

Your went into labor over a month early. Just a few weeks after the boys had returned to base. Four hours before the boys were due to board a flight that would deploy them for three weeks. It was the only time Simon had ever been late to call. Johnny was sent to go track him down by an extraordinarily eggy Price.

He found him ready to leave, rifle slung over his back like a soldier. Pacing the hall outside your room in the bay. Down a short corridor in the back that usually hosted surgeries. He was whale-eyed and hostile toward the sound of Johnny’s boots echoing across the brick. It was jarring to see him so agitated. His hulking frame tangibly vibrating through the pounds of gear he was sporting. He truly considered just walking away. Spinning some tale about desertion because that seemed entirely less daunting than trying to corner an animal like Ghost.

Johnny eventually got him to leave. It was a non-option at this point, just a matter of getting the big bastard into the chopper. Tugging him away was like leashing a feral dog. He was fanatical, tugging at the lead and choking himself the entire way across the landing pad. Didn’t stop snarling until he was pushed down into his seat by Price and made to shut up.

[servingrobin]

a cute request monster trio comforting reader F after a battle that reader loses but is feeling bad for the team and they comfort her 💕

Ahh this is cute love it x

Sanji, Luffy, Zoro

Warnings: angst and fluff plain and simple

✨requests are open✨

Luffy:

- actual worlds best hype man

- Tells you stories about the fights he’s lost and how he overcame the struggles

- Makes it his mission to make you feel better: Attacks you with jokes and tickles and silly faces until your laughing again, Showers you in smooches, throws you around deck and catches you with his elasticated body to make you giggle, feasts of your favourite comfort foods every day (insert Sanji with the stink eye at Luffy)

- And late at night when you’re cuddled up close, nose skimming Luffy’s neck as you burrow into his side, you’ll admit you’re embarrassed about losing. You’re ashamed you couldn’t protect the crew

- Luffy will pull you even closer, wants you under his skin, and gently kisses the tears away

- “I’ll protect ya from anything pudding, but I don’t need to. Yer strong enough to do whatever ya want, yer just gotta believe it”

- This man will light a warm fire inside you that carries you through the night

Zoro:

- shit happens is Zoro’s motto

- The whole crew knows how awful losing a fight can feel, and Zoro’s main priority is that you’re uninjured and healthy

- Unfortunately not going to be the most sympathetic, but he’s not at all cruel either

- Will jokingly tell you to drink your emotions like he does, which goes down like a brick

- He lets you cry/talk/scream your feelings out, gives you awkward pats on the back that turn into far more comfortable bear hugs

- Forehead kisses and holding pinkie fingers whilst your upset, Zoro just wants to see you happy again, eyes unclouded from the guilt and shame

- helping you find solutions is Zoro’s biggest thing

- If your fighting technique was weak, easy let’s train

- If it’s power related, well there’s a whole crew here to help you figure it out

- If it’s holding back, then damn just wait until Sanji’s particularly annoying and get some practice (that one was maybe a joke but your green haired lover had a look of dead seriousness)

- Zoro makes sure you know how proud he is of you whenever you take the steps to get better

- He loves you dearly and just wants you to succeed

Sanji:

- I adore Sanji but this guy is a textbook white knight

- He’ll step into any fight you’re involved in, and whilst most of the time you can more than hold your own - this time you lost

- And Sanji was there in seconds, raining kicks down on your opponent without a second thought

- You appreciated his protection but sometimes it just made you feel week, especially on occasions like this

- “Don’t worry mon Cherie I’ll always be there to step in.” Makes you feel 100% times worse, and you’re ashamed to admit the tears flowed freely

- Sanji is on his knees begging to know what he did wrong

- And when you finally admit how inadequate you feel to get beaten, to need him to step in so frequently, it just about breaks his heart

- Sanji drags you around the ship late that night, making you stop in different crew areas

- “Franky repairs anything the ship needs…..Brook gives us music…..Chopper is the best damn doctor on these seas….”

- He rattles off more and more, talking for hours about the crew and what they bring to the Sunny - none of it their fighting skills

- “You want to be better at fighting then I’ll help you my darling, but no one is here just to fight,” he pauses with a hand on your chin, tilting your head up to look him in those ocean blue eyes, “every single person makes the Sunny home, everyone has their purpose.”

- You’re crying again, tears silently streaming down your face - this time with belated emotion

- You press a sweet kiss to Sanji’s lips and he makes you forget every worry you had

[the-patchwork-girl-of-oz]

I’m fully convinced Nick in the webcomic “the black brick road of Oz” was Nick during his emo phase

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

imagine sanji being at your bedside

There were a few smells that resonate with you: a newly baked loaf of bread, lavender perfume that brought memories of your mother, peels of sweet oranges, and the minty cigarettes the cook of the Sunny smoked. The latter tingled your senses alive after a particularly nasty fall during another dangerous adventure. Using your body as a shield to save an innocent bystander, pirate life, such a glamours pursuit. All you could remember was being hit in the shoulder by an arrow. Spear? You weren’t quite sure, but whatever hit you, its impact sent you flying yards back. You landed hard against a brick building and that’s all you could remember but you were alive – that much was evident and back on the ship, in your quarters.

Blinking your vision back into a less blurry existence, your nose perked up. Obnoxiously, you sniffed loudly until Sanji looked up from where he sat next to your bed. He froze for a moment as if lost in thought but then his eyes met yours and his entire body seemed to relax. The cigarette perched in the corner of his mouth was removed with a swift movement and he crushed it on the ashtray you kept on the nightstand. He reached for your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You scared the shit of out of.”

“Glad to hear it.” A failed attempt to sit up had Sanji urging you to relax. You asked what happened and he explained the ordeal. Your foolish bravery – truly a Straw Hat, you were. “The little boy?”

Sanji smiled softly, a hint of pride in his eyes as he gave your hand another squeeze. “Unscathed.”

“Oh, good,” you sighed feeling a weight off your chest that made way for physical ache. Your entire body felt exhausted and the little pained face you made was enough for Sanji.

“Go back to sleep, Chopper said it would be good for you.” Nodding, you asked if he’d stay at your side. Lifting your hand to his mouth, he gave it a tender kiss. “Of course.”

Eyes descending into slumber, a thought had you alert. “You’ll have to leave to cook for the others.”

The cook laughed, a false viciousness in his eyes. “Let them all starve.”

“Oh, you cruel, cruel prince,” you whispered, feeling the weight of his hand on your shoulder than back around your hand. He felt so warm, you felt so safe – and as you drifted back to sleep, the smell of his minty cigarettes lingered in the air as the sound of his lighter clicking shut. You fell asleep freely knowing Sanji would be waiting for you and oh, how you couldn’t wait to wake.

[lena-hills]

Chopper's favorite way to celebrate Pride is throwing bricks at fascists ❤️🌈

On my Ao3 with more Chopper art at https://archiveofourown.org/works/47613346

I put this on RedBubble for folks asking for it on a T-shirt/stickers/prints https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/146416068

[bravo4iscool]

you’re kidnapped (simon “ghost” riley)

this little os is from this anon right here!

TW: mentions of blood and gore, hints of torture, russians (please get the joke😭), serious injuries

word count: 1.9k

(masterlist)

Ghost storms into the meeting, his eyes blown wide and his chest heavily heaving. He’s still clutching his phone in his hand and any other person would be afraid of breaking it.

Price looks up, clearly confused. But before the Captain can talk Ghost shuts the door behind him.

“They have her,” he says in a low voice and to someone who doesn’t know Ghost it would sound normal, but to Price it didn’t. His best Lieutenant, the man who feared nothing, was anxious. His voice was off and Price could see nothing but pure fear in Ghost’s eyes.

“They got who?” Soap asks, turning his head at Ghost. What the fuck was his LT. talking about?

But Ghost doesn’t pay any attention to the Scot. He keeps staring at Price. “They have my wife,” he then says and Soap’s brain shortcuts.

What the fuck? Ghost had a wife? The Sergeant looks at Price and now he’s even more confused. Price knows about that wife?

Price eyes narrow and he stands up. “You figured where she is already?” he asks and Ghost shakes his head.

“No. But Laswell’s onto it. She still owns me one.”

“Good. Any indication where she could be?” Price starts walking around, his gaze not leaving Ghost.

“Yes.”

Price claps his hands together and nods at Ghost. “Well then, let’s gear up and roll out. We don’t have much time.”

Ghost slightly narrows his head and Price knows that the look in the Lieutenants eyes means ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’

Soap hesitantly stands up, still more than confused but as soon as Ghost leaves the room he runs after his superior.

He needs to find out since when Ghost has a wife and why his LT. never told him and Gaz about her.

-

“LT.” Soap speaks into the comms as he carefully surrounds an enormous brick building somewhere in the outer regions of Manchester.

“What do ya want Soap?” Ghost’s voice is on an edge as he answers his Sergeant. His finger, placed on the trigger, twitches. He’s more than ready to slaughter everyone who’s separating him from his wife.

“Since when do ye hav’ a lass? Why’d ye never told us ‘bout ‘er?” Soap carefully lifts his rifle and opens a back door. He was in. It was only a matter of time when he’d engage with the enemy.

“Ya nev’r asked,” is Ghost’s short reply as he skillfully shoots down a tango. He moves further forward, his eyes snapping from left to right.

He wasn’t allowed to make a mistake. Your life was at risk and he would and could never forgive himself if he’d lose you just because he made a damn mistake.

He checked door after door and slowly he was running out of patience but then Gaz started to talk via comms.

“I think I found her.”

“Where are you?” Ghost stops and suddenly his head starts to spin. They found you? Would he finally be able to rescue you?

“2nd floor, three doors from the staircase.” Gaz’ voice was quiet and hushed.

“Are you 100% postitive?” Price now asked and Gaz confirmed.

“Was I ever wrong?” he asks in a playful voice and Ghost rolls his eyes. This was serious. This wasn’t training or anything. This was about you.

“You fell outta a chopper,” Soap snorts and giggles to himself as he continues to clear the building.

“Fuck off MacTavish,” Gaz grumbles the reply, shutting the comms off.

-

Your eyes are heavy and your head spins, your ears ringing as the man opposite to you starts to interrogate you again.

You stopped paying attention and replying god knows how long ago but they didn’t stop. They kept going, even slapping you harshly from time to time. You don’t feel it anymore though.

There’s blood running from you nose, you’re mouth and you’re pretty sure your cheek bones are also covered in bruises. You just want this to be over. You just want Simon to rescue you.

“Так,” you hear the man say and moments later you feel a pair of hands lifting your head to look at him. Another man held your face so you’d look at your interrogator.

“Вы хотите поговорить сейчас?,” he asks you and you give yourself imaginary shoulder pats for actually learning Russian back in school.

You say nothing, only shaking your head. The man laughs. “As stubborn as that husband of yours.” He turns to look at one of his men, motioning at you. “стрелять в неё.” Then he leaves.

Your eyes widen as one of the man, you were pretty sure they called him Vita, pointed his hand gun at you.

You start to struggle against your restraints, fresh tears running down your cheeks. You couldn’t- You couldn’t die. Not yet, not now! What about Simon? What about the life you two wanted to build?

“Little brat,” Vita curses as he tries to follow you head with his gun but you were struggling too much.

“просто нажать на курок” another man, Maxim, tells Vita, obviously nervous. He’s been talking via comms for the last minutes but your Russian was too bad to understand all of it.

“They’re here Vita and it won’t take them long to find us, so cut it short. Now!” Maxim’s voice is strained and he keeps checking the door. You knew what that meant. They found you. Ghost found you. Not Simon, no… now he was Ghost.

“He will kill you, rip you apart,” you then say, feeling blood drip from your mouth. “He will hunt you down and make sure you’ll regret anything you ever did.” You stare at Vita, waiting for him to shoot, praying that he wouldn’t.

“поторопитесь, вита,” Maxim urges again, his eyes flicking to the door. He heard something.

Vita looks at you, then at the door. The moment his eyes flick to the door it’s kicked in and it’s raining bullets.

You shut your eyes, making yourself as small as possible while you hear Vita and Maxim drop dead to the floor. Your body is shaking and you feel tears running down your cheeks.

When Ghost sees you strapped to that chair all his fuses blow. He rushes past the dead bodies and rips off his mask. He kneels down in front of you, carefully speaking to you.

“Lovie, it’s me…” he says and he lets out a relieved breath when you look at him, eyes empty.

When he’s sure you know who he is he quickly cuts you free and carefully takes you in his arms. Your wrists are bruised and bloody, as well as your face but he’s never been happier to have you in his arms.

“Ya safe now. ‘Am ‘ere and I’ll get ya outta ‘ere.” He presses you close to him and a single tears rolls down his cheek. He’s got you back. You’re safe now. You’re with him…

Price walks into the room, tightly gripping his rifle. “Everything’s clear. We’re ready for evac. Is she okay? Does she need a medical?” He walks in further, looking at your fragile form in Ghost’s arms.

“She’s fine f’r now I think,” Ghosts replies and he carefully stands up, holding you close in his arms. “We’ll get ya outta ‘ere,” he mumbles and you warily nod. You just wanted to go home…

Carefully Ghost stands up, his arms around you tightening. “Let’s go?” he says to Price and the Captain nods.

“Gonna watch your six,” Price says. Ghost nods, a subtle but deep ‘thank you’.

With faithful steps Ghost hurries out of the room, his eyes flicking down to you again and again. “You shouldn’t carry me…” you whisper, well aware of the fact that you were probably slowing him down.

He doesn’t look at you, only scanning the surroundings with his eyes. “I fucked ya against a wall. I’ll be able t’ carry ya outta ‘ere.” That’s his answer. Simple and plain.

You try to suppress a small smile but you can’t. You press your face against his vest, whispering a quiet ‘I love you’. And while your husband carries you out of that building your feel your head starting to spin and dizziness overcomes you…

-

“What d’ya mean, internal bleeding?” Ghost paces up and down in the hospital corridor, not caring about the fact that people were staring at him. Of course you would stare at a 6’4 man who’s build like a fucking fridge and wears a skull mask. He often found him staring at himself in the reflection of windows.

“She’s got internal bleeding, Sir. That’s also the reason why she’s in surgery,” a nurse calmly explains, not frightened by the man in front of her. “As soon as I get new information I will tell them to you, but right now, I’m afraid, there’s not much I can do for you, Sir…”

Ghost wants to swear and curse but he knows that he needs to keep himself at bay. He wasn’t alone here, people were watching. He needed to calm himself down. Now.

So, he lets out a deep breath and nods. “Tell me when she’s out as soon as possible, please.” He tries to not show how anxious he is but his but his wife was in surgery right now because he wasn’t able to properly look after her… He wanted to explode.

“Of course Sir,” the nurse gives him a warm smile. “Feel free to sit down or get yourself a coffee. It could take a while…” Ghost absently nodded and she left. What was he supposed to do now?

“Any news?” Price wants to know when the team joins Ghost in the hospital. He just shakes his head and puts it in his hands.

If he’d only looked better after you…

If he’d only was more careful…

If he’d only kept you safe…

“Still ‘n surgery,” he mumbles, trying so hard not to go crazy. He’s been waiting hours now, but it felt like days. His head was spinning, thoughts were crashing in his mind and guilt was almost eating him alive. What had he done?

“She’ll make it son, don’t worry,” Price says in a calm voice, placing his hand on his Lieutenant’s shoulder. “She’s a fighter. Just like you…”

-

Your head hurts when your senses return and you start stirring. Then you feel a hand on yours and your eyes fly open. Where are you?

With panicked eyes you look around, completely ignoring the pain in the back of your head. Was this a…hospital?

“Darling,” you hear a voice. That sounds like Simon… Your eyes follow the voice and you look at your husband. “Hey…” he smiles at you, clutching your hand. “How are ya?”

“Shit,” you whisper in a small voice, trying your best to return the squeezes he gave your hand. Then he gently lifts it and presses a small kiss onto the back of it.

“Am sorry,” he says while he continues to caress your hand and wrist. “Should’ve look’d out bett’r f’r ya…” He averts his gaze and you immediately try to shake your head. You knew he would beat himself up over what happened. It wasn’t his fault.

“Not your fault,” you croak out, intertwining your hands. He looks up with glassy eyes and you swear you’ve never seen him that destroyed.

“I could’ve lost ya…” he whispers. “Could’ve lost ya f’r good ‘nd I wouldn’t b’ able t’ f’rgive m’self.”

“I’m here,” you weakly smile. “And I surely won’t leave…” You would never leave Simon. He was the love of you life. When you’re with him you feel complete and you never wanted to miss out on that again.