#ITS ALL ABOUT THE BISCUIT PRICES

[squeakadeeks]

status effect: living in california 

[gloomwitchwrites]

Last one I swear...What If 141...had an American girlfriend and they argued or had to teach them about some cultural differences? Football/soccer...currency...bathroom/loo, etc.

You said last one but we know that's not true. Don't blame you though. Keep them coming.

I love this idea. It's so cute! Translation mixup, confusion about slang, cultural differences, etc. Even though the Brits speak English, it's nothing like American English in a lot of respects, which is why I find this prompt so fun!

Wanted to make this quick and short. Presented in four drabbles. Enjoy!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader

Content & Warnings: brief swearing, brief mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 400

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Those are cookies, Kyle.”

“It’s a biscuit.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “A biscuit is savory. Cookies are sweet.”

“Your biscuit is a scone.”

“Oh my god,” you groan.

An old lady navigates around the two of you inside the grocery store. Her cart almost clips you.

Kyle glances down at the list in his hands. “What the fuck is an eggplant?”

“We need it for dinner on Tuesday.”

“But what is it?”

You point and Kyle follows. His arm drops to his side and he side-eyes you.

“That’s an aubergine.”

“That’s an aubergine,” you mimic as Kyle laughs.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

The front of the pub is painted all black with intricate gold lettering. A nearby streetlamp casts the front window in a warm glow.

“Remember what I told you?” asks Simon.

You both stare at the pub, neither moving to the door just yet.

“Tell me again.”

Simon clears his throat. “If I’m buying a round, don’t offer money for your portion. Order at the bar but don’t linger. Know what you want. Respect closing time.”

He pauses and you see him turn in the reflection of the window.

“Got it?” he asks.

“Got it.”

“Let’s get bloody pissed then.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“You’ve got this. Don’t stress.” Johnny grasps your shoulders and squeezes. “It’ll be fine.”

“What if I mess up. Make a fool of myself?”

“You won’t,” he affirms.

“Johnny.”

He sighs and then cups the sides of your face. “You don’t have to say anything but three things.” You breathe deep, and Johnny goes in for a quick kiss. “What are they?”

“Aye,” you say. “Which means yes.”

“Naw,” and this is you emphasize with a terrible accent that makes Johnny wince, “is no.”

“What else?”

“It’s okay to use ‘fuck’ casually in a sentence.”

“That’s my girl,” laughs Johnny.

John Price

“If you’re coming to the game, you’re calling it by its proper name,” says John, pointing at you.

“What?” you ask with pretend aloofness. “Soccer?”

“Football,” he growls with annoyance.

It irritates John when you call the sport by its American name. But you do it anyway just to tease him.

John holds up a jersey. “This is important to me.”

“I know.”

“It’s a game with the boys.”

You pat his shoulder. “I know, John.”

He sighs. “What is it called?”

You remain quite and John arches an eyebrow.

“Soccer,” you answer, grinning.

“You’re lucky you’re so damn cute.”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

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@taysarchive @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @vrb8im

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Rhaegar Targaryen is easily one of GRRM’s best deconstructions of the genre and we don’t talk about it enough. He’s prince living in a world full of magic and wonder that has dwindled over time. His own family had a great monopoly on one of the most magical phenomena (dragons) to ever exist, but they lost this control over time and it was due to their own faults. But there’s an all encompassing hope that this magic, these dragons, will come back. They all live within the promise that it will all be back and with a huge bang. It’s all so romantic. Magical forces of ice and fire battling it out in a song.

Then there’s Rhaegar, a prince born for the sole purpose of being this song’s romantic hero. He already has his destiny mapped out and it will be a great one, greater than any other man who ever lived. It’s a song of ice and fire, and Rhaegar is its bard. You’d expect this to give him joy. Yet by all accounts, he was depressed as fuck. I think he’s unfairly earned the reputation of having an ego so big to think that he will be the hero….but that’s quite literally the point of his existence. He was born to be the hero. He paid the price at birth to be the hero. How can he revel and glory in this destiny when he has no say in it?

So it’s genuinely funny that when given the chance, Rhaegar immediately pivots to someone else taking on this burden. But how tragic for him that he cannot escape it too far. Because it will be none other than his own son who, under a “bleeding star”, is marked at conception for this great destiny without a say. More than his ego, Rhaegar is marked by the inability to escape this duty. His whole life is dedicated to fulfilling a duty he can never escape. He isn’t just a future king, prophecy dictates that the world’s survival is placed squarely on his shoulders. Even when he isn’t the hero, he’s now responsible for raising him…

…but then he makes one decision and it all comes crumbling like a pack of biscuits. He escapes this burden…but dies. And his successor dies too. And now the ones who will inherit his legacy are two people who never knew him. They never knew of his burdens, of this prophecy. But they too cannot escape its jaws. I think this does bring up some interesting questions about the nature of fate and destiny in the world of ice and fire. Can you really escape it? Rhaegar tried to, and paid the price for his defiance, but he never truly made it out because the burden instead jumped to the son (and sister) he never knew. Funny thing is that in a bizarre (and tragic, in its own way) twist of fate, this son was brought up entirely without the trappings of power that depressed Rhaegar. Rhaegar was a dazzling prince, Jon is a bastard. Rhaegar was marked by his great inheritance, Jon is marked by the lack thereof. Does fate say “well the first one got too depressed by having too much so let’s give the next one nothing?” Even Dany, who grows up a princess does not have the privileges that Rhaegar did. So how does upbringing craft a hero and the choices they make? Welll, GRRM had given us two versions of Rhaegar’s tragedy in Jon and Dany for us to see.

Rhaegar’s impact on the meta-narrative is honestly so massive. Like I’d put him right up there with Quentyn, Sansa, and Bran as one of the best genre deconstructions in the series and no one can tell me otherwise.

[rookiesbookies]

141 with a physically affectionate reader who gets cuteness aggression and attacks their faces with kisses at the most random times

Did have to google some Scottish slang( is slang the right term?) for Soap so sorry if its trash or wrong.

Price

First time you saw him shirtless. Look that soft layer of fat over his muscles is enticing, I’d bite too.

His eyes went wide and he just looked at you. He looked like his eyes were gonna pop out of his face.

“Love, did you mean to bite me?”

“Your pec looked delicious and you’re just so cute I couldn’t help it!”

He’s horrified, also holding both his pecs like a lady who got caught with her bra off. He couldnt decide if he liked being called cute or not and he sure as hell couldn’t decide about if he enjoy you munching on his pec or not.

So you just decided to plant kisses all over his face.

Soap

I feel like you got cuteness aggression the first time you got him naked.

It was just supposed to be a nibble, you weren’t meaning to bite his ass cheek. It was just so cute, clenched up, and ready to be nibbled.

He shrieked, “are you a bloody bampot!”

“... no?”

“Get yer whee mouth on my fuckin boaby not my fuckin arse, ya clarty lass! Fuckin dafty, yer are.”

“Thank you?”

“I said I’d rather your mouth be on my dick and not my ass.”

“I’ll just smother you in kisses instead.”

Ghost

Lowkey you just get cuteness aggression every time you see him. Especially with his mask on. Planting kisses weren’t as easy and violence was chosen. So going in for a hug when he’s about to get in the shower the turns into you biting his meaty shoulder, earning a smack on the head.

“What’s fooking wrong with ya today?”

“You just look so cute.”

He pulled off mask, “look me in my face and say that again.”

You look at him taking a breath to keep a straight face, “you’re a cutie patootie.”

Gaz

“You know, you’re in the dictionary next to the word cute right?” You said, while sitting in his lap, planting aggressive kisses on his face and body.

“Really?”

“Yup.” You mumbled before pinching the inside of his thigh making him scream and smack your head lightly.

“NO. Bad!”

Yeah, cuteness aggression is something he wasn’t ready for. Have fun explaining it to him because he is already staring in disbelief.

Konig

He gets cuteness aggression with you, so getting it right back with the blonde hair that litters his chest. You were trying to pull on it gently to see how sensitive it is, making biscuits like a cat while kissing all over his face, it wasn’t actually the aggression.

You didn’t see him about to cry under his mask from how it hurt. Until he pulled back.

“My love please be gentler.”

“Huh?”

“Very sensitive.”

“Oh.”

Krueger

When he look his mask off for the first time, the cuteness aggression was overwhelming for you. You tried your best to just gently hold his face and plant kisses up and down it, but it was too much he was so cute it was overwhelming, you had to pinch his cheeks. He yelped and pulled your hands away from his face.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

“You’re too cute, I can't help it!”

“You’re cruel, fucking cruel.”

Keegan

“Hey, babes, can we chill out? You’ve been aggressively rubbing my back for half an hour.”

“Your tattoo is so cute I cant help it!”

He had gotten your favorite animal tattooed on his back. You were rubbing it while kissing the back of his neck vehemently.

“I just wanna,” and you pinched it and he pinched your calf, making you silently scream.

You smacked his back, “too hard! You pinched me so much harder than I pinched you!”

“Na-uh.” He said sassily.

“Ya-huh.”

[hidingwhere]

Bear Hybrid Price AU Part 3

Price fell asleep peacefully that night in his bedroom knowing you had a somewhat decent nest to sleep in that night.

He woke up that morning, bringing you a cup of water that he set down on your small bedside table. However, he couldn’t hold back the sigh that left his mouth. The wall of blankets he had built for you the night before was a complete mess. Maybe you were just a naturally messy sleeper.

“Dunno what happened,” you mumbled sleepily in reply when he asked about it. In fact, you didn’t seem bothered at all.

It was then he decided to take you shopping that day; let you pick out your own blankets to potentially spark some nest building interest in you. That’s how he finds the both of you in the middle of a large homeware shop, stood in the cushion and blanket section. Price lifts you up into the trolley he’s pushing around, rubbing your small bear ears gently to comfort your anxiety and ease your nerves that he can feel radiating off you.

They relax under his fingertips, his hand almost engulfing the top of your head due to its large size.

“Feel this one, sweet.” He holds out a beige blanket for you to run your fingers across. When you give him no reaction back, he begins thinking this whole trip was a waste of time. Except, on the third blanket, you don’t let go of it.

“S’really soft.”

He immediately turned his attention to you. “You like it? Feels nice?”

You nod in reply to Price’s question, crouching down in the trolley to place the blanket down by your feet. “It feels nice. Do you want one?”

Price laughs at your question. “No, little one, I’m alright. I think I’ve got enough stuff for my nest.”

When you arrived home, you hurried up the stairs, the blanket (which Price had taken out of the packaging) was trailing behind you as you scurried to your room. Price slowly followed behind you, following the end of the blanket that was being dragged on the floor. He leaned against the doorway as he watched you rearrange the blanket in multiple different ways on the bed before settling on spreading it over the whole mattress to lay on.

“Comfy?” He asked with a smile.

“Hmm,” you hummed contently, figure forming into one of a small bear cub. Your little legs stretched out in front of you, paws making biscuits in the blanket before curling up into a ball. He loved you and your little mid-day naps.

[betweenstorms]

Hi hello, hope you're having a good day Stormy! Your writing is always so good sjdjsjd always makes my day when I have the chance to read em! Not sure if you take requests, so if you don't, you can always ignore this! But I have a pretty interesting prompt that might pique your interest 👀

We all know Simon doesn't show emotions easily, usually the people very close to him will spot out the minute details that give away how he's feeling. Small twitch of the lips, tense of shoulders, that kind of thing. But how about reader who is slightly different, in that they also don't show emotion that well, but it's because they forget to? Sounds confusing I know, but for me I forget my mouth exists and constantly forget to smile at people when greeting them. So for reader, the only way others know how they're feeling is with the tone of their voice.

Hope that isn't too confusing to understand! It's a very weird thing I have, and have not encountered anyone else who share this lmao

Anywayyy have a great rest of your day, and remember to hydrate and eat something! 🖤

- Biscuits 🌺

Hi Biscuits! 🌺 First of all, thank you so much for your kind words! I’m so sorry it took me this long to reply, but I’m excited to let you know that my interpretation of your idea is finally here! I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed exploring such a unique and fascinating prompt. I hope you’re having a wonderful day, and don’t forget to hydrate and eat something too! Thank you again for trusting me with your idea. 🖤

You didn’t need to look up to know the weather outside was a dreary shade of grey.

Strangely, it was always just grey here. Overcast skies that seemed to stretch endlessly over the joint military base somewhere in Germany, as though nature itself had resigned to a dull monotony. Not that it bothered you. Weather, much like people, had a way of projecting its moods that you’d long stopped trying to interpret. Clouds could loom ominously, sunlight could break free in radiant streaks, but it all felt the same to you.

Emotions were like that too.

Amorphous, indistinct, slipping through your grasp when you tried to name them. For as long as you could remember, you’d lacked the innate ability most people seemed to have, the quick flick of recognition when faced with a scowl, a smile, or a furrowed brow. You saw the movements of mouths and brows but couldn’t place what they were supposed to mean.

To you, the dance of expressions was no more than a series of movements, the subtle lift of lips or tilt of a head stripped of the weight they were meant to carry. And so, your own face reflected the only truth you understood. Your own face usually mirrored the neutrality of the weather, a blank slate that rarely shifted unless you consciously willed it to.

Price and Gaz were out on a recon mission, leaving Soap, Ghost and you on the foreign base. With no immediate orders other than to wait for their return, the three of you had the rare luxury of downtime. However, despite this, none of you strayed from your usual discipline. The day began at dawn, as always, with the shooting range, gym sessions, or reviewing intel as needed. The quiet efficiency of your routines spoke volumes about the kind of people you all were, professionals through and through. There were no shortcuts at this level, no slacking off. You were the best of the best after all.

Each of you carried that mantle in your own way.

Soap’s energy crackled like a live wire, his easy laughter and constant chatter an antidote to the grim seriousness of your world. Ghost, by contrast, was the anchor—silent, steadfast, a figure carved from stone. And you? You found yourself somewhere between them, detached yet watchful, a quiet observer tethered by a relentless need to prove yourself.

You liked working with Ghost in a way that was difficult to articulate, even to yourself. There was no camaraderie in the traditional sense, no banter or easy companionship, but strangely, there was something deeper, something unspoken.

Your lieutenant moved through the world with the same deliberate calm that you valued in yourself, his every action sharpened by precision and purpose. You respected him for that, his unrelenting dedication, the quiet strength he carried like a shield, and the way his presence seemed to command gravity itself, pulling the air taut whenever he entered a room. And somehow, Ghost felt like a reflection, as though the world had cut both of you from the same cloth. He, too, was a figure cloaked in neutrality, his mask hiding not just his face but the emotions that might lie beneath.

Even with the lull in operations, you didn’t take the task force’s trust for granted. You had fought hard to earn your place here, shedding blood and sweat to prove yourself to Price and the rest of the team. The task force was a strange paradox—these were people you trusted implicitly with your life, but you knew almost nothing about them on a personal level. That was just how things worked. Bonds forged in war zones didn’t require knowledge of favorite foods or childhood dreams. Still, you couldn’t deny a small, nagging curiosity about the men you worked with—especially Soap and Ghost.

Both were enigmas in their own ways.

Soap, all charm and humor, seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve, yet you suspected there was more to him beneath the surface. Ghost, on the other hand, was a locked vault, his emotions buried under layers of stoicism and a mask that seemed to shield more than his face. 

You had been with the task force for four months now.

It had been an honor to receive Price’s invitation, and though you felt pride in your accomplishments, showing it outwardly had always been a challenge. Ever since childhood, you’d struggled with recognizing and expressing emotions.

Your family had always been understanding, brushing it off as an eccentric quirk, and you’d never sought a formal diagnosis. It wasn’t that you didn’t feel, far from it. You just didn’t show it in the usual ways. Smiling, frowning, or even appearing annoyed often felt like trying to mimic a foreign language without understanding the grammar.

As a child, you were always the odd one, the kid who stared too long, too intently, when other children laughed and cried. Your parents, to their credit, were patient. Your mother, warm and pragmatic, would gently remind you to smile when greeting your grandmother or reassure you when a relative’s frown went unnoticed. “They’re not cross, love,” she’d say, her hands light on your shoulders. “Just thinking. You’re fine.”

But the world wasn’t as kind as your family.

As you grew, the peculiarities of your face invited suspicion, sometimes ridicule. “Why don’t you ever smile?” teachers would ask, their tone suggesting you were withholding something from them, as though joy was a currency you refused to spend. Friends, when you had them, would mistake your silence for coldness, your neutrality for indifference. By the time you reached your teens, you’d grown used to the questions and assumptions, building an armor of pragmatism around yourself. What was the point in trying to explain something you didn’t fully understand?

Somehow, your body simply forgot the script.

You forgot to move your lips when greeting a loved one, forgot to furrow your brows when confusion took hold, forgot to cry when sadness settled heavy in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t feel. Feelings bloomed and churned within you like storms on a distant horizon, but they never found their way to the surface. You were a house with locked shutters, and though the light was on inside, it rarely spilled out to illuminate the exterior.

Oddly enough, this trait had become an asset in your line of work.

Pragmatic, objective, and unshaken by emotion, you excelled in high-pressure environments. It was this armor that had served you so well in the military and later in the SAS. Neutrality was an asset here—a foundation upon which precision, discipline, and logic could thrive. Emotions muddied decisions, and in your line of work, clarity was king. When the invitation to join Task Force 141 had come, you’d accepted with quiet pride, though you’d made no effort to show it. Your calm, measured responses made you reliable and efficient, qualities that had undoubtedly caught Price’s attention.

But outside of missions, it created a distance between you and the rest of the team. Building camaraderie required a kind of emotional fluency you didn’t naturally possess, and though you didn’t dwell on it much, it sometimes left you feeling a little isolated.

Four months in, you’d cemented your place among the team.

They trusted you on the battlefield, and that was enough. Personal bonds were optional here, weren’t they? You’d told yourself that many times, but the truth was harder to swallow, trust in war didn’t translate to understanding in peace. Soap’s boisterous banter, Gaz’s easy charm, and Ghost’s impassive stares all existed in a language you couldn’t quite speak.

This morning, however, was different.

Breakfast was normally a solitary affair, a brief respite from the day’s structured chaos. But today, Soap and Ghost had joined you in the mess hall, their presence sat heavy at your periphery. You sat across from them, meticulously working through your meal while Soap tapped his fingers on the table in a rhythm that suggested trouble. Neither of them was eating, and their idle presence felt vaguely unsettling.

It didn’t take long for your suspicion to be confirmed.

“Y’know,” Soap began, his voice lilting with mischief. “Been meanin’ to ask you somethin’, lass. How’s it possible to sit there, day in, day out, with a face that doesn't move? Like a bloody mannequin, you are.”

You raised a brow, a slight, subtle motion that could have meant anything, but didn’t stop eating. Soap took this as an invitation to continue.

“You don’t smile,” he declared, as though it were a groundbreaking revelation. “Or frown. Or even twitch your face half the time. How d’you do that, eh? Are you secretly a robot?”

“I’m not a robot,” you replied, your tone flat but perfectly even.

He leaned back, shaking his head with mock disbelief. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re like a statue, don’t even look annoyed when I’m talkin’ shite at you. Bet you couldn’t make a face to save your life.”

You paused, setting down your fork with deliberate precision.

“I can make faces,” you said coolly.

“Aye, then let’s have a wee go at it. Give us a smile, eh?” Soap’s lopsided grin widened, and he glanced at Ghost, who remained silent but was now clearly paying attention, his hazel eyes flicking toward you. You blinked at them, debating whether it was worth the effort to argue.

Instead, you attempted to comply.

The corners of your mouth lifted in what might have passed for a smile if not for the stiffness in the gesture. It felt awkward, like wearing someone else’s skin.

Soap slapped the table, his laugh booming across the hall. “Creepin’ Jesus, that’s tragic! Like watchin’ a bairn try to wink for the first time.”

“Better than watchin’ you try to think,” Ghost deadpanned, not missing a beat.

Undeterred, Soap straightened up. “All right, fine. Forget smilin’. Show us angry.”

You weren’t bothered by Soap’s teasing, not at all.

Sarcasm and banter weren’t your battlefield, and you didn’t need to win these small wars of wit. If anything, you found his energy oddly endearing, a welcome distraction in the quiet monotony of downtime. So you furrowed your brow and narrowed your eyes slightly, aiming for something approximating irritation. Soap burst into another peal of laughter, throwing his head back and letting it roll out uninhibited.

“Honestly, you’re hopeless,” he howled, tears of laughter glistening in his eyes.

Ghost sighed, setting his tablet down with deliberate care.

“Enough, Johnny.”

Soap held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin lingering like a spark refusing to fade, but your attention had already wandered, your gaze tracing their movements like studying a map of familiar terrain. Soap’s restless energy hummed, his gestures loose and unrestrained, a stark contrast to Ghost’s deliberate stillness, every shift of his body a calculation.

And then his hazel eyes met yours—sharp, unflinching, and so steady it rooted you in place. There was no hostility, no question, only a quiet intensity that made your pulse stutter, a strange, warm stirring low in your stomach that you didn’t dare acknowledge. His gaze held you captive for a beat too long, the air around you heavy, before he turned away, leaving behind a weight you didn’t fully understand but couldn’t quite shake.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice lower now, more measured. “Faces lie. It’s your voice that tells the truth.”

You blinked. “My voice?”

Ghost nodded, leaning back slightly. “You can hear it. If you listen proper. More honest than any forced smile could ever be.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

Compliments, if that’s what this was, were scarce in your world, as rare as sunlight piercing through storm clouds. From Ghost, they were practically unheard of. Yet his words lingered, carrying a weight that pressed gently against the walls of your chest. A quiet warmth began to unfurl there, blooming softly like a flame coaxed from dying embers, a mixture of gratitude and something unnamed, something that settled in the hollow spaces you hadn’t realized were waiting to be filled.

Soap, visibly startled by the uncharacteristic remark, stared at Ghost as though he’d grown a second head. “Bloody hell, Lt.,” he muttered. “Didn’t know ye had a poetic streak.”

Your lieutenant paid him no mind, his focus already returning to the tablet in his hands, as if the moment had never existed. But you remained still, the weight of his words draping over you like a thick, unshakable cloak. Honest. The word lingered, unfamiliar yet strangely resonant, threading itself into the quiet spaces of your thoughts, where it settled with unexpected ease. Soap broke the moment with a playful nudge to your shoulder.

“Still, you could do with learnin’ a proper smile, eh? Just in case.”

Your eyes rolled, an instinctive motion this time, unbidden but oddly fitting. Soap’s laughter rippled through the room, bright and careless, but it barely registered, a distant echo against the steady hum of your thoughts. Ghost’s words lingered, heavy with meaning, a rare compliment that pressed itself into the quiet corners of your mind with a significance that eclipsed anything you’d ever known. Perhaps, you mused, letting the warmth of the moment settle over you, it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Maybe that was something you could finally understand.

[2chijouu]

Thinking about post MW3 how ghost is coping with soap’s death by picking up the things he used to do,

Maybe he picks up drawing, buys himself a journal identical to soaps. It starts off shitty but he still does it anyways because soap would love each of his doodles- shitty or not,

Next he picks up coffee, everyone knows ghost hates coffee- despises it, the grimace on his face every time he takes a sip says it all but no one says a word about it,

One day, price finds him in his office sitting by his window, he’s asleep, price goes to wake him up but upon a closer look he sees that theres a worn out book in his lap, its soap’s favorite book.

They’re on a mission when things suddenly take a turn for the worst, theres an unidentified bomb and no one to defuse it, it was a simple recon mission, he’d been sent alone as usual, at first he finds the mission a little sketchy but stays at his post- however when he starts seeing cars rolling in, he reports back to price and goes in for a closer look even after price tells him not to.

After observing the cars from a distance, seeing them roll out immediately after delivering whatever packages they had to the seemingly empty warehouse, he waits a couple of minutes before moving in and checking around the perimeter , after deeming it clear he’s on comms with price telling him the situation, he can hear the hesitation in prices’ voice after giving him the go to check the supply that had been dropped off,

Shuffling through the boxes, he finds nothing but some wood work paraphernalia. Ghost lets out a deep exhale and raises his hand to his shoulder for his comm when his eye spots a box that he missed, when he opens the box and discovers its an active bomb with the timer running, he immediately informs price and springs into action,

Meanwhile price is informing laswell about the current situation and requesting an immediate exfil to which she denies and tells him he needs to disarm the bomb. He bristles with contempt at that and ends their call without any further delay,

Their intel had been lacking from the beginning, and he was not about to lose another member of his team- of his family, he is contacting nikolai when gaz comes into his office to inform him ghost is requesting him on the comms,

While price had been on his way to being discharged because of his impulsiveness and willingness to break multiple rules to get his man out of that situation, said man had simply told him that the bomb had been defused and that when can exfil arrive,

Astonished by the implication of that statement, he asked ghost how did he disarm it all by himself even though he didn’t have any demolition training, to which he was met with silence and then a quiet,

“with Johnny’s help..”

Price stood there with a stunned look on his face but quickly recovered and informed ghost that exfil is on its way.

When ghost lands back on base and exits the heli to see price and gaz waiting up for him, he walks up to them and says nothing, no one does for a bit until price lets out a deep sigh and puts his hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze,

“Good job out there, son.”

Gaz gives him a small smile and they all walk back towards their respective barracks and offices.

Ghost, freshened up after a shower, goes to the rec room to get something warm to drink and sees gaz there by the kitchen counter making himself a cuppa, ghost joins him and they’re both making their drinks in silence when gaz breaks it,

“We miss him too, you know?”

Ghost freezes but quickly recovers and gives him an answering hum before moving to the small kitchen table and sits on the chair, gaz joins him with a plate of biscuits and they both sit in silence.

Then ghost speaks,

“Bastard always liked to run his mouth whenever he was defusing a bomb, i picked it up after he..”

He couldn’t continue without his voice shaking but gaz knew so he didn’t say anything further.

They’re all trying to fill in the hole that has been left by him in some way or another.

You can’t fill a bottomless hole.

[mysouleaten]

raining cats and dogs ! [pt 2]

tokyo rev cats/dogs x gn! reader

summary ... it only started with [name] taking in two strays when they were driving home from work, it was pouring and the two poor strays were soaked! you couldn't leave them… so you took them in

warnings ... fluff, fluff, fluff, and more fluff, just a smidge of angst, uhh takemichi and hinata get names!

[part one] [part two] [part three] ....

it's been exactly four days since you rescued the two stray cats from the pouring rain

they've made themselves pretty comfortable in your apartment. you made sure to give them a warm bath and take them to the vet the next day

it seemed you had two lover cats, one boy, and one girl

they were adorable! curly up next to each other, licking each other clean, and chasing each other around. they didn't give you much trouble either! they were just curious about what you like to do and follow you around your apartment

you were even blessed with one of them sleeping in your lap while you were working on your laptop, spoiler alert you didn't move and you were starving the entire hour..

but finally, it was time to name them, you have just been calling them 'hey you' or 'kitty'

you didn't want to get attached too quickly

but now they were part of the family! so it was naming time

right now you were sitting on your couch and the two muchkins were on your coffee table looking all cute and cuddly

you first looked at the yellowy-orange cat with stripes, you pointed at him

"your name is.... take' !" you said and the cat meowed while tilting his head to the side

you then focused on the brownish-pinkish cat, "and you are gonna be.. peachy!"

peachy meowed too and then hopped over to your lap and rubbed against your arm

you cooed at her actions and take' came over to nip at you for stealing his wife's attention from him and you giggled

"she's all yours buddy!" you gave a small laugh

you pulled out your phone from your pocket to check the time, "ahh.. gotta get ready!" you stood up and placed peachy next to take'

you stretched out your back and lifted your arms above your head-your shirt lifts up with your stretch- you started to walk towards your room and your cuties follow you, meowing all the way

opening your room door, peachy and take' quickly run inside and hop on your bed-peachy was making biscuits and take' was resting beside her

you pulled out your work clothes, it was a light blue shirt with the pet shops logo on the front and a pair of black pants

you pulled your home shirt off your body, and as you were pulling on your work clothes you heard a low hiss and a high squeak 'meow!'

looking over you saw peachy-who no longer was making biscuits-wack take' on the head and run away with take' following her

you giggled at their small fight "yeeeaah someone is gonna be sleeping on the couch tonight"

you walked up and down the isles of the pet shop, you were re-stocking some of the pet food and toys

humming a little tune and bopping your head to the soft music that was playing in the shop

"[name]! can you take out the leftover dog food?" one of your co-workers-yala-yelled from the other side of the pet shop

"sure!" you yelled back

you walked to the back of the store and into one of the storage rooms and collected the trash bag with the old dog food inside

when you opened the door that led out to an ally way with garbage dumps

you froze

there were tons of cats.. and a couple of dogs

all of the strays turned to look at you, many of them gave you- mean looks?

yeah, they didn't seem happy to see you, one of the cats looked high.. it had a blond patch of fur on its head but the rest of its fur was black... and it had a pricing? ok that's enough

you gave an awkward smile and just put the bag next to the stairs, you were gonna take the trash out later...

then you noticed a big black cat on top of a smaller cat beating the absolute shit out of it, poor thing, you wanted to help the smaller cat but a hiss made you rethink your decision. whatever those cats were doing wasn't your problem...

where you scared? psshhh.. no..

before you shut the door you heard a loud hiss and that made you shut the door quicker

god knows if you'll be next like that smaller cat.. cats can be pretty mean

you blew out a breath and made it back into the shop, you whined to your co-worker about the mean scary cats outside

it's been days since your encounter with the... gang of cats?

you were in your brother's neighborhood riding on a motorcycle-yes you had one, well more like it was your brothers- you stopped by a car dump because you noticed a large population of cats and a small number of dogs leaving the car dump area

"what the?.."

you remembered the people who talked about cats who would 'fight' in the car dump, they even had names for each gang of cats, but you don't remember any of the names

hoping off your bike you made your way to the entrance of the car dump, and that's where you heard it

a loud but sad cry of a cat

you sped up your walk-avoiding stepping on any of the cats that made their way out-you saw the exact same cat from days ago, the one that was getting beaten up, it was leaning over the bigger cat and crying into its fur

"holy crap!" you yelled, this got the attention of the other strays in the area

"holy crap!" a foreign voice yelled out

chifuyu looked up and saw a woman standing there, a shocked expression on her their

"chifuyu...whos that?..." baji coughed out, chifuyu snapped his head towards baji "don't worry! I won't let them hurt you!"

but he didn't notice how the person already made their way quickly over to them

"chifuyu!"

"look out!"

"baji!!"

"hey!"

before chifuyu could do anything the person carefully grabbed baji and ran off and out of the garbage dump

"baji!" yelled out chifuyu, no no! he couldn't lose him too! he lost takemichi, he couldn't lose baji!

chifuyu ran after the catnapper but he was too late the catnapper was already on their bike and driving off, he raced after the bike but he wasn't fast enough and lost sight of the motorcycle

"baji!!!" chifuyu screamed, he then tripped over his own paws and fell face-first into the ground, he sobbed quietly, he put his paws over his face to hide his shame

"chifuyu?" mikey said, chifuyu didn't move

"chifuyu!" draken yelled, this got chifuyu to sit up but hang his head low

"baji is gonna be alright.. whoever that was, is trying to help" mitsuya uttered, chifuyu didn't answer

they didn't know that the catnapper was going to be a very dear friend in the future

cuties <3

[cod-thoughts]

silly ghostprice headcanons?

I HAVE A LIST IN MY NOTES!!! rest is under the cut its uhhh quite long 0_0 i have some silly headcanons for every character i write and for every relationship i write too its my favourite way to find a characters voice!! Thinking about all the things that arent really in character but could be lol. This was a joy thank youuuu

Ghost

Ghost has the craziest sweet tooth ever and any time someone hints at him having a sweet tooth he denies it vehemently.

Animals, particularly cats, seem to gravitate toward Ghost, which he pretends to hate but secretly loves. Soap once caught him petting a stray cat and called him Snow White for a week after.

Despite his stoic demeanour, Ghost is a master of deadpan humour and silent pranks. He once moved Soap’s entire kit three floors down and acted like he had no idea what happened.

Ghost says unintentionally funny things in his dry, deadpan way, and the team is never sure if he’s joking. Soap once laughed so hard he cried, and Ghost just blinked at him.

Ghost has the same pair of boots he’s worn for years, meticulously cleaned and maintained. Once caught Soap trying them on as a joke and nearly disowned him.

Ghost keeps a little potted cactus in his bunk. He named it “Spike” and gets genuinely annoyed if anyone even looks at it funny.

Price

Has an absurd number of backup hats. Once lost his hat during a mission, and Soap joked that Price was more upset about the hat than the firefight.

Price has an incredibly detailed routine for making tea. If anyone interrupts it, he’ll grumble about it for days.

His idea of “relaxing” is reading military strategy books or going fishing alone in the middle of nowhere.

Price has a knack for showing up exactly when he’s needed, even if it’s just to interrupt Soap and Ghost arguing over who gets the last biscuit.

Price once tried to sketch out a mission plan on the fly, and it looked so bad that Soap framed it as “modern art.”

Price always brings back something odd from missions if he can—like a carved wooden owl or a tiny snow globe. His desk looks like a charity shop exploded on it.

Couple Antics

Price's snoring is so loud sometimes that the team jokes it could scare off enemies. Ghost wears earplugs when they’re sharing quarters if its that bad.

Ghost always wears dark, tactical clothing, while Price’s off-duty wardrobe is full of mismatched jumpers and ancient jeans. Ghost pretends to be embarrassed, but secretly loves how comfortable Price looks.

They have a knack for understanding each other without words. It’s mostly handy in the field, but Soap insists it’s creepy how they finish each other’s sentences off-duty.

They play card games during downtime, and it gets competitive fast. Price accuses Ghost of cheating because he always wins, while Ghost just shrugs and says, “You’re predictable, old man.”

Price is a tea purist, but Ghost introduced him to iced coffee, which he secretly loves. Price drinks it when no one’s looking, and Ghost never lets him live it down.

They can’t exercise in the same room without turning it into a competition. Who can do more push-ups, who can run faster—it always ends with them both sore and laughing.

Price insists he never gets lost, but Ghost always calls him out when they’re wandering in circles. Price claims it’s “strategic reconnaissance.”

When they’re on a black op together, they give each other silly code names. Price once called Ghost “Shadow Biscuit,” and Ghost has never forgiven him.

They tried to take a cute couple selfie once, and it ended up with Price’s hat covering half his face and Ghost standing like he was posing for a mugshot. It’s the only picture of them together, and Soap and Gaz both keep it on their phones. (its blackmail but it also makes the sergeants happy to know that their CO's are happy)

Ghost constantly steals Price’s jumpers and shirts because they’re “comfy.” Price complains but secretly likes seeing Ghost walk around the house in his slightly too small clothes, belly peaking out the bottom.

Price loves fishing, but Ghost has zero patience for it. He’ll sit there, dead silent in his mask, but the second he catches something, he starts narrating it like it’s an epic battle with a sea monster. Price is half-amused, half-exasperated. (i really want to write this one it sounds like a really fun one and also Ghost would make a good DM i think :O)

Price always insists on carrying the heavy bags or doing the dangerous tasks, which Ghost finds ridiculous. Ghost once let him carry all the shopping bags just to prove a point, but Price still claimed it was “no trouble.”

[velvetures]

AU Continuation: Perimeter Security

a.n.: Thank you to everyone who left comments, and gave this love! I hope to write more! This is thanks to @3dumbass and their suggestions.

summary: living with the 141 has its perks, and built-in security is one of them. it’s just not always easy for them to determine who’s actually a threat.

AU: The 141 are at risk due to personal files being compromised. They’re laying low at a low-risk location until further notice.

tags?: Simon x 3rd person coded relationship, strangers, tension, well-meaning anger, protectiveness, misunderstanding.

Snow made everything on the ridge lines slow down. Thick, icy, blankets camouflaged roads and halted the daily movement of simple life. The mail didn’t run, and neither did the school busses in town. It was as if the whole mountain slept in for weeks at a time when this kind of weather trudged in over the skyline. Freezing water pipes -if you didn’t know to turn the tap on a little- and draining the battery in your vehicle leaving you stranded for days at a time. It’s what made a wood-burning stove a lifesaver and why the ornate Art Garland sitting in the living room more of a necessity than a gilded cast-iron luxury from 1898.

But getting firewood was a whole different experience… especially when the task force took up residence and experience their first winter with Price and Laswell’s goddaughter.

She did well to provide for herself. Not just well, really, better than that. Everything she could manage alone was done without any assistance, and she never complained about much. They all assumed it came from living in such a remote place. That she couldn’t rely on anyone and never got spoiled to living easily. What she couldn’t -or simply didn’t- want to manage, the locals down in town helped with by beaters, trades, or well-kept favors that just kept being passed back and forth.

Just another one of those slowed-down things that made a whole lot of sense in her life, but set the 141’s teeth on edge.

They could rely on each other and do just fine most of the time. But individually and as a squad, it made all of them feel inadequate beyond comprehension asking for or requiring help. And like with her was just one of the stinging wounds they couldn’t quite heal up. Seeing her trade strawberries for corn or a rough-sewn quilt for a hand-made kitchen knife was dignified enough… they just didn’t understand fully how deep the lifestyle ran.

Ghost’s encounter with “Bear” put that much more tension on the dynamic.

***

She’d been inside bent over a pot of soup for nearly the whole morning. Steam curling over her reddened cheeks and sucking up through the range hood when the faint sound of a truck came spinning up the steep snow-covered driveway. A flatbed with a steel-cage welded to the bed and stacks of wood covered with a blue tarp in the back with fraying bungee cords. A familiar sight for her since the man driving always brought her firewood when the weather got too cold to go and do it herself. Or when she’d been regrettably lazy… and didn’t feel like it either.

Barrett “Bear” Stephens. A real outdoorsman and not more than a couple years older than her. Most people around town thought he was a real prick since he didn’t talk much and kept to himself out on West Run Ridge. But she liked him well enough. Trusted him to let him in her house for dinner as thanks for keeping her house warm and always waved when she saw him in the grocery store despite the guarantee he wouldn’t aside her back. Hearing his truck ambling up through driveway wasn’t anything new.

It’s why she forgot to mention it to anyone else.

“Damn freezing out here,” He spit with gritted teeth, sliding out of the truck in four layers of coats. “You’re real lucky the biscuits you make are worth this shit.”

She couldn’t help but stifle a smile. Shifting back and forth to stave off the cold while wearing less than half of what Bear was. Only having come out to greet him since it was below freezing. Normally she’d leave him to drop off her bundles of kindling without the harassment of making him talk. But the snow was deep, and she felt guilty not at least helping him for a moment. Maybe it was good luck that she had though. Because Bear didn’t even make it to the back of the flatbed when a solid black figure smoothly appeared from the opposite side. Black steel glinting in evening light and the black hole of a rifled pistol aimed right at him.

She stopped dead in her tracks. The mistake washing over her seeing Ghost standing there in the scary-as-hell mask, with a white skull framed by a black hoodie and positive white snow all around him. Fuck, even the steam from his breath smoked out of the mask like he was fucking burning from the inside out and letting off pressure before he exploded. His eyes were dead and cold. Staring down the mountain man who’d came to just as still of a position. She was certain Ghost was the only one breathing.

“You’re not welcome,” his thick burred voice sounded more gritty than normal. Maybe from the cold weather… she’d not seen him inside her house in days. “Suggest you leave.”

Bear didn’t say a word, but his rapid nod of his head was enough to thaw her out. Stop this before it got any uglier than Ghost’s .45 making a damn-good threat.

“Wait! He’s… he’s here on purpose!” The excuse can’t great. There could be plenty of reasons he came with intent and then not be positive. “I needed him!”

The stiffness in Ghost miraculously gets worse. Frost in his wide shoulders turning to blue ice and that darkness in his eyes sharpening like flint from sloped hills behind the house. It made him more pissed, and she didn’t have the slightest idea of how to fix it.

He was cagey at the best of times. Like he’d bristle if he had fur on his back or bare fangs if he had the choice to. She hated making any of that anger show, but there wasn’t a better option right now. Besides… it was her damn house. She could have whoever she pleased so long as she thought they were safe. John had made it clear there wouldn’t be any restrictions unless something serious came up. And having visitors weren’t one of them. Especially since. Bear wasn’t coming in the house.

She’d been quite set in that decision anyways. Bear wasn’t the nosey type anyways. He didn’t talk much, did his job, and left. But that didn’t mean Ghost knew it. And his pistol didn’t even waver a centimeter even after she spoke.

“This… this yours?” Bear’s voice sounded shaky. His teeth unclenched and irritation with the cold wind dissolved. His question made her antsy. There were too many answers, and none of them felt right in her head.

“Long story,” she decided, taking a rounded pathway around Bear and towards Ghost. Purposefully staying far away from that damn pistol he felt still necessary to have out.

“He can be-”

“Lethal.”

Ghost’s interjection made her wince.

“Enough of that!” She snaps back, hissing and feeling the hot air freeze in front of her lips. “Let him drop off the firewood, and he’ll leave.”

One look back at Bear and she could see the slight confusion in his otherwise guarded expression. There was no chance in hell she was letting Ghost just disappear off somewhere after this. He couldn’t just point-blank threaten people. Bear was who kept the damn house warm half the winter whether she liked it or not. And Ghost couldn’t fuck it up just because he’d not been explicitly told anything.

“How ‘bout we lend a hand?”

Soap and Gaz walking up nearly gave her a heart attack. One of them was bad enough. Two more? Her faith in Bear not running and telling anyone who would listen about her was stretching thin. The grocery store, all three churches, and the fire department would think she was in a reverse harem by the end of the month. Even if Soap was already helping himself to the stacks of bundled wood in the back, this interaction felt centuries long with no hope of ending.

“Just three.” She finally gets the warning out, seeing Gaz going for a fourth bundle. He just nods, setting it back down and shooting a quite civil nod in the man’s direction.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” He adds, looking over the tall stacks. “How much?”

“Ten dollars a bundle.” Bear sounds half ready to pass out.

Gaz promptly drops the one he’s carrying and pulls out a wallet like he’s got no problem with Ghost still standing there like a human-centry gun. Pulling out a twenty and holding it out in his hand.

Is this some sort of fucking peace treaty?

Ghost only moves to holster his weapon after Bear takes the money and mutters something about ‘help yourself’ before shutting himself back inside the can of the truck without another word. Tension easing with each moment Soap spends stacking his arms tall with dry, red cedar and sycamore. She doesn’t even know where to begin. Wondering where John was. Wanting to know where Ghost had been. Why he’d even approached in the first place.

“I need a word with you.”

She can’t bring herself to do anything but stare out at Bear’s truck hightailing it off her property as she addresses Ghost. Hearing his very heavy boots creaking on the porch. He doesn’t say a word, but it’s clear once Gaz and Soap leave for inside that he’s not standing behind her for his own enjoyment.

“Do you have any idea what you might’ve just screwed up?” Her voice doesn’t sound like her own. It’s mad, sure. But almost panicked in a sense. The reality of the situation hitting her harder because she vividly remembered winter before the help. And it wasn’t pretty. Recent snows had been stable and quite pleasant actually. And Ghost nearly made target practice out of her own sure solution.

“Very aware,” that damn voice sounded too smooth. “Who is he?”

Another thick billow of fog curls out of her mouth. “Who he is, isn’t important. Keeping my fucking house from freezing is.” She can feel her fingers starting to prick from the cold even inside her coat.

“Don’t care for nameless men.” He counters just as seemingly unbothered.

If she could physically force herself to turn around and face him head-on, she would. But his utter disregard made it intimidating. Too much to handle.

“Jesus Christ….” She muttered, head dropping to thump against a porch post. “Barrett Stephens. We call him Bear.” It felt defeating to be forced to answer him like this.

Ghost’s boots strain the porch as he walks towards the firewood hoops. The sound of dry bark ready to catch an ember cracking and scratching as he moves it.

“Almost killed himself…”

“Yeah,” She chuckles dryly, biting the inside of her cheek and spinning around with some real anger. “M’sure the coroner would love to know how he got ahold of the pistol you have tucked in your fuckin’ jeans.”

That massive man turned on himself just as quickly. Closing a multiple-yard distance in just a couple long strides. His breathing heavier and that thick smoke trailing from the stitch-seams in his mask.

“Gonna get yourself killed too…” He warns. Low, and just like the wolf she pictured him being. Bared teeth, dilated eyes and all.

“Stop growlin’ at me…” The words come out of her mouth before she even thinks about how wrong it is. “Actin’ like a damn dog.”

He’s fast. So fast.

Hauling her backwards against the porch banister and towering high above her head with a low, and heavy sort of breath fizzling out in his chest. It’s the most threatening he’s been so far. And she can’t tell just how far she can continue to stand her ground without things truly getting ugly. Even her fingers have stopped tingling from the cold with just how fast her blood is pumping. Force feeding oxygen to her brain. Desperate to find a way to run from an inescapable situation she’d created.

“Mind tellin’ me where you got this idea to talk back to me, creeker?”

“When you started throwin’ that gun around like you have the right.”

The fear didn’t keep her mouth shut. Digging an even deeper grave all because he kept using that stupid fucking nickname. Pushing buttons and making it that much harder to be understanding of why he was always so bitter. Nothing she’d done had made a difference so far. And the patience she’d saved specifically for him was waning.

Ghost just chuckled, his head rolling to the side and the gloved hands gripping her coat tightened.

“The right?” It was almost impossible to imagine anything other than a smirk under that mask.

“Oh… I certainly have the right to defend what’s mine.”

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated 🤎

[sitp-recs]

15 fics with Militant Harry

I don’t know you guys but I’m equally soft for recluse!Harry and for militant!Harry. Maybe because I’m a sucker for political fics? Truth is, seeing Harry get involved can be so thrilling and inspiring. He doesn’t need to be attached to the Ministry to care about people - I love it when he’s doing the good deed behind the scenes, dismantling corruption while on the run, funding charities or unapologetically using his fame and voice to leverage better policies for those who are marginalized. That’s such a beautiful and powerful Harry trope imo, and the best thing is that in many of the fics I highlight below, Draco either seduces him into joining the revolution, or is there to inspire and help him along the way. Talk about a power couple! I hope you all enjoy these as much as I did ♥️

A Little Death Never Hurt Anyone by @tackytigerfic (E, 4k)

Harry's getting good at slipping through the Veil. He's determined to win the war, even if means he has to raise the dead to do it. Draco just wants a stiff drink and a good night's sleep.

And Save Me From Bloody Men by @blamebrampton (T, 10k)

Draco Malfoy once watched others fighting to stop the world falling apart. This time, he's not just watching.

Two Zinnias and the Scent of Lemon by @the-starryknight (M, 16k)

The Ministry didn’t turn bad overnight. Harry didn’t suddenly turn rogue either. Between covert Legilimency links and Polyjuice disguises and running and running and running, Draco has forgotten what it is like to have a safe harbor that isn’t a person. If there’s an art to fighting back, then they’ll find it hand in hand.

Vortex by @xanthippe74 (T, 20k)

Ten years after that conversation, the idea of perfectly-matched soulmates feels more like a curse than a blessing to Draco. Who would want a soulmate who was a schoolyard bully, a Death Eater, and a convicted felon? Certainly not Harry Potter. And Draco is determined to take this secret to the grave.

Unfinished Business by cupiscent (E, 20k)

Ten years after the War ends, Harry and Draco still haven't got their act together. But maybe it's not too late.

Doing the Lambeth Walk by @blamebrampton (T, 26k)

There are only three traditional choices for the cashed-up hero after victory. Harry Potter is too young to settle down and provide the wizarding world with a happy ending, and has too acute a sense of humour to spiral downwards into a spectacular flame-out. That leaves a life of good works. Choosing to lead it in Muggle Brixton comes with its own set of challenges, including Malfoys in the biscuit aisle.

The Nobility of Ascent by Lomonaaeren (E, 27k)

Not even his own fame and power are enough to get the Wizengamot to pass laws protecting Muggleborn and orphaned children, so Harry swallows his pride and goes to Draco Malfoy, who can teach him how to convince the prejudiced old bastards to listen to him. And Malfoy hasn’t even named a price. Which…concerns Harry, but he’s found a cause worth living for. And maybe someone, too.

Little Compton Street (One Rainy Night in Soho) by @writcraft (E, 65k)

Draco is lonely, Harry hates the press and it won’t stop raining in London. Harry discovers a magical street that’s close to disappearing forever and Draco realises he’s one rainy night in Soho away from finding everything he’s been searching for.

A Young Radical's Guide to Love by @blamebrampton (T, 66k)

Memories of the war are still fresh, which is all the excuse Decent People need to do appalling things. In this quietly waged conflict, Draco Malfoy is happy to be on the right side of things for once, and even happier to find he’s not alone.

Dear Enemy by GingerTodgers (T, 69k)

An anonymous benefactor makes a generous donation to Harry Potter's School for Squibs in exchange for a weekly letter from the Boy Who Lived. What begins as a chore soon becomes the only outlet Harry has to talk about the war, love, life, hope, redemption, his renewed obsession with a certain blonde nemesis and how he really, honestly, believes that this will be the year Puddlemere United reclaim the Quidditch League Cup.

Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love by @aibidil (E, 80k)

In which a group of wizards' rights activists goes on the offensive after a prohibition against love potions, forcing the magical world to confront the horror of magic's role in sexual assault and the murky legal nature of consent. Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Draco are swept together to solve the case, and in the process they're made to confront their own love and lust—with and without potions.

Super Rich Kids by @thusspoketrish (E, 81k)

Draco Malfoy has become disillusioned by the glitz and glamour of the scandalous lives of the Post-Second Wizarding War Pureblood Elite. Enter: one existential crisis, one group of thieving cynical friends, and several terrible, terrible decisions.

Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them (or Draco Malfoy's Guide to Stop Dying and Start Living Instead) by nerakrose (T, 96k)

Malfoy is way too interested in coroner reports for somebody who's definitely not looking for ways to die, Harry wants to be friends with him, and Ginny wants to break up with Harry.

Who we are in the shadows by @quicksilvermaid (E, 100k)

What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise? Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life. When he comes across Draco Malfoy in the criminal underbelly of Wizarding London and in need of protection, Harry figures bringing him in to face the Ministry's justice is his ticket back to everything he's lost.

By the Grace by lettered (T, 140k)

Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.

[mortuarywriting]

If I outline what the fuck i wanna see in my self indulgent au will it give me the kick in the ass to write it.

Obviously relative spoiler/high notes/plot points below

The premise is, so far, nobody has seen where Simon lives. As far as they- they being Gaz, Soap, and Price- know he has a flat in Manchester.

Well leaving base one night(ish, time negotiable), the road they were all taking in their separate vehicles is closed due to a nasty accident. Gonna be blocked for 24 hours kinda mess.

So Ghost offers to let them all stay at his place, if only for a bit or the night if they prefer

Everyone just kinda. Well this isn't what we were expecting but alright. So they follow his car, it's pissing down rain and you can't see shit before you but the tail lights you're following but they've committed and by the time they pull off the road they're fuckin nowhere. House is fairly isolated, separate garage building, coop in the backyard, and a thatch roof cottage. Whose Nan's attic is Simon living in???

Except, not a random old biddie. Just a random fat American?? It's obvious they're familiar enough with each other, giving each other shit and that there's a whole "you got back from a mission here is our you came home routine"

Whole mess. The group stays the night because now they're nosy and wanna find out what the relationship is. You both say roommates. They don't wholly believe that.

Simon and roomie sleep downstairs, he can't sleep in a bed yet after the mission and roomie makes sure there's enough background noise that he doesn't snap into combat mode everything is about to go to shit.

Next morning roomie and Simon team up to make a hodge podge of all kinds of breakfast food and between them all there are no leftovers. Concerns are had if everyone ate enough (and then biscuits and gravy settled).

Its back to routine and roomie goes out to grocery shop to stock back up on "i need to feed myself and a whole ass army dude" levels of food and snackies.

While Simon is trying to get Soap and Gaz to stop making excuses to stick around (all good-natured fun) there is a call. Roomie prefaces this with they're fine!!! But uh. They did get hit by a car. A bit. Enough that there has to be a report. Come get the groceries?

And this is the part where they find out Simon and roomie are married. Have been for y e a r s. Technically the town knows them under roomie's last name as a couple.

After the dust is settled and everyone is back at the cottage the explaining happens. Yes, they're married. Vegas happened. It's been a long time and they kinda glossed over the whole "he's a dead man" legal bit for it. Roomie still gets married rights. How do you think he has a lease as a dead man roomie legitimately wants to know. The cottage is in their name, his isn't on it to keep it all off the record if people come knocking for him.

(He does actually have a Manchester flat, though. Landlord takes cash payments however many months at a time and doesn't ask questions. Roomie gets mail from it every once in a blue moon.)

Relationship is largely "we're married but for tax benefits"esque because they're both some flavor of ace. If he's in town roomie checks on if he wants to go to the Saturday munches or not but that's sir not appearing in this fic.

But yeah. Just fun self indulgence.

Could go write the Vegas bit. Write work "being brought home". Bonding activities. List of things for when he retires. Potentially kidnapping. S o many fun options but I just. Gotta write it.

[phoenixx-news]

Australia's Major Supermarket Chains Accused of Misleading Discount Claims

Australia's two largest supermarket chains, Coles and Woolworths, are being sued by the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission (ACCC) for allegedly deceiving consumers with false price reduction claims. The ACCC asserts that both companies violated consumer law by temporarily increasing prices before dropping them to levels that were often equal to or even higher than the original price, while claiming the discounts were permanent.

Coles has vowed to defend itself in court, while Woolworths is reviewing the allegations. Combined, the two chains control roughly two-thirds of the Australian grocery market. Over the past year, both retailers have faced heightened scrutiny amid accusations of price gouging and anti-competitive behavior.

Prime Minister Anthony Albanese weighed in on the matter, calling the alleged actions "completely unacceptable" if proven true. He emphasized that such behavior undermines trust and is not in line with Australian values. "Customers deserve to be treated fairly, not as fools," Albanese said at a press conference where he also introduced draft legislation for a supermarket "code of conduct."

ACCC Chair Gina Cass-Gottlieb explained that Coles and Woolworths have long used marketing campaigns like 'Prices Dropped' and 'Down Down' to suggest permanent reductions in prices. However, the watchdog's investigation revealed that many of these discounts were misleading, affecting hundreds of products over a span of several months. Woolworths allegedly misled customers about 266 products over 20 months, while Coles did so for 245 products over 15 months.

The products involved in the allegations span a wide range, including pet food, Band-Aid bandages, mouthwash, and iconic Australian favorites like Arnott's Tim Tam biscuits, Bega Cheese, and Kellogg's cereal. According to the ACCC, the two supermarkets sold millions of these items, generating substantial revenue through the deceptive pricing practices.

Ms. Cass-Gottlieb emphasized the importance of accurate pricing during times of economic pressure, noting that many Australians depend on discounts to manage their grocery bills. "It’s vital that consumers can trust that discounts are real, especially with the rising cost of living," she said.

The ACCC is asking the Federal Court of Australia to impose substantial fines on Coles and Woolworths, as well as an order that they expand their charitable meal delivery programs.

In a statement, Coles acknowledged that rising costs have impacted product prices, but stressed that the company aims to balance those increases with providing value to customers. Coles also underscored its commitment to consumer law and building trust with all stakeholders. Woolworths echoed similar sentiments, stating that it is willing to engage with the ACCC and that it remains focused on delivering meaningful value to shoppers.

In response to the growing concerns, the Australian government has launched a review of the country's Food and Grocery Code of Conduct. The review recommended strengthening the code and giving the ACCC greater powers to enforce compliance. The proposed new code aims to protect suppliers and consumers alike, with harsh penalties for companies that breach its standards.

As the legal battle unfolds, the case highlights the increasing pressure on Australia’s supermarket sector to operate transparently and fairly in an era of rising living costs.

[sofasoap]

Lastochka - Part III

Pairing : Nikolai x F!Reader ( OC/Mini MacTavish)

Summary: Keeping it under the radar has its benefit. until it isn't.

Part I , Part II, Interlude, Part IV

Warning : Mature theme. Violence, innuendos and hint of smut mentioned.

Thanks to @homicidal-slvt for planting ideas into my brain. this whole series is all for you :)

Check out @shkretart for their beyond amazing artwork of Nikolai ( and the CoD boys )

My usual thanking @saltofmercury, mother of Mini, for lending me the character :) Please go and check out her fics!

“masterlist” for Mini MacTavish expanded verse.

LIke playing with Russian roulette, even Lady Fortuna’s luck runs out. 

“We will go dark for a while Nik, the mission won’t take too long. I will be back before you know it.”  you smiled at him. 

He hasn’t heard from you for over a month. His little Swallow. Lost in the wild. No one will tell him anything. Why?

Because no one knows about you two. 

It was an unspoken agreement. Keeping it lowkey. No one else needs to know. Keeping things professional on the surface.

Even if Price noticed. He hasn’t said a thing. 

You started seeking him out more often after the safe house incident. 

“You still got my phone number right?” 

“ Maybe? Maybe not?”

“ I knew you wouldn’t throw it away.” The irritated look you gave him. He loves to get on your nerves. But at the same time he knows you aren’t afraid to bite back or correct him. He loves a woman with a bit of fire. 

He takes on every chance that was offered to him to be close to you. Any mission that needs him to be back up, he is in. Need transportation? He will fly you and the team there. No questions asked. 

“Payment?” He will look at you and half joke to the boy. “Mini can be the payment.” That never ends well, Soap jumps in ready to tear his head off with Ghost and Gaz tries to pull him back, Price looks at his friend with a knowing glare and shakes his head and you hide behind Price, utterly mortified.

He savours the time with you alone, on standby at the rendezvous point. Started off you shyly leaning against him. Offer him more of your baking ( he loves your chocolate biscuits) everytime you two share a cup of coffee, waiting for the team to return. The adorable little pout when he teases you and you couldn’t return with a witty retort in time.

Or that little smile on your face as you watch him checking through the gears and parts in the helicopter.

One day, he was sitting in the pilot seat, checking over the flight plan. It has been a long demanding mission. You have been up for two days straight, patching the teams up. He can see the strains and fatigue is starting to get to you, your red rimmed eyes says it all.

Putting down his paperwork, he waves you over. Dragging your sluggish feet over to where he is, he pulls you into his lap. You wiggle around a little bit, finding a comfortable position before leaning your head against his chest. 

“Tired?” You nodded your head in response.

“Sleep for a bit.It’s ok. It will be a while before they return.” 

“Nik.” 

“Hmm?” Taking his sunglasses off as he looked down, noticing you were gazing up at him with glassy eyes as you reached up, one hand cupping his face, another running your finger through his hair, combing it with care and tenderness.

“Спасибо.”

He leaned his head down slightly, his mouth hovering over yours.

“Ненаглядная,” he murmured.  “You know what would be better than thanking me with words?”

“Kissing you?”

“That’s my clever girl.” closing the gap as he finishes, he finally got the first taste of you. Those soft luscious lips he has been dreaming and craving for months. And he wants more.

He made sure when there were only two of you, away from the bloodshed and chaos and the preying eyes, he worshipped his beautiful Goddess with all the attention. Showering you with all his love, making sure your body will only crave for him, his immortal lover, calling out only his name every time he pushes you up high.

“Where is she?”  Nikolai demanded as he stormed into the briefing room.

“M.I.A. we don’t know.”  Price snapped at him, already frustrated at the lack of details from your disappearance. And the guilt of pressing you into another covert mission. He doesn’t need Nikolai to come in and add more complications.

“Package extracted, safely hidden. THEY ARE HERE. DO not come looking for me.” The message ended up with the sound of a gunshot and your scream.

By the time they have reached your last signal transmission spot, you have already disappeared. All there left was the mission package you have successfully obtained and a dog tag with a simple wedding band attached and pool of blood.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Soap growled. 

“Пиздец , Soap ,SHE IS MY WIFE!!” Slamming his hand on the desk, “I do have the right to be here and know what is going on! Just like you do!”

Deafening silence settled in the briefing room as the bombshell was dropped. 

Everything became clear to Price from your hesitation, and your requests before you left.

“Alright. But don’t tell Nik about the details.” looking down on the floor, toying with your dog tag chain. “This might be the last mission I can take for a little while.” 

“Getting tired of us stinky boys?” Price laughed.

Shaking your head. “Planning a trip. Promised someone I would take a break with them.” That little mysterious smile, Price knew not to push for anymore details. 

You and Nikolai were planning for the honeymoon. 

“Lads. Everyone needs to calm down here.” Laswell broke the silence. “Any personal questions, save it for later. Our priorities here are to try and find Mini, and get her out.” If she is still alive. The unspoken words.

Laswell turned and threw some files at Nikolai, he quickly flipped through it.

Pausing on one of the pages as he spotted a name. “Laswell.” he frowned. “Are you sure these are Bratva that are involved?”

“Positive.” Laswell took out another file. “Got any connections?”

“Connection?” He let out a bitter laugh. A vicious smile appeared on his face. The Russian bear has been awakened. “Their Pahkan owes me a favour. A HUGE favour.”

Everyone turned and looked at Nikolai. First time in days there is a bit of a breakthrough. There might be hope to find you after all. They will not give up until they physically see your body. Dead or alive. 

People should know , they do not mess around with Nikolai , the leader of Chimera, or his loved ones. He will make them PAY. 

Спасибо - Thank you.

Ненаглядная - precious

Пиздец - damn it

tag :

@roosterr @preciouslittlecreature

@boughhs

[themetalvirus]

Do you have any recommendations for fountain pens? I was looking at some but i dont know if the ones i was looking at are any good lol

OH YOU ASK BISCUIT ABOUT HYPERFIXATION? YOU ASK THEM AND ARE GENUINELY INTERESTED? HUG FOR LIBELELLE. HUG FOR TEN THOUSAND YEARS. you will regret this i am so sorry in advance

anyway, the most recommended beginner pens are the lamy safari and pilot metropolitan. i personally don't like the metro (the grip section is slippery and makes my fingers inky, and the ink capacity is tiny teeny baby size), and i have never owned a lamy safari, but some people hate the triangle grip. their nibs can also vary greatly in quality, so buying one is a gamble, but a lot of people seem to like their safaris (and metros, some people swear by the metropolitan)

if you just want something cheap, you can try the platinum preppy - they're reliable for the price. the catch: the pen body will crack after about a year. they are not built to last, but if you wanna just test out if you like the (BEGINNER) fountain pen writing experience, then they're a fine choice

personally, i'm a big fan of the twsbi eco, but they are also prone to cracking over time and they get into a lot of shitty corporate slapfights with other pen companies who make piston fillers (my favorite kind of filling mechanism, so much ink capacity [but harder to clean!]). their nibs are reliable and juicy. you can also try the twsbi swipe for a very similar experience with a... cheaper price and look to match. the swipe comes with the same awesome nibs though

there's also the kaweco sport, which a lot of people swear by, but i've never owned because i personally find it ugly and unappealing (SORRY). it's a pocket pen, which means it's tiny when closed but full length when posted (when you put the cap on the end), making it a versatile everyday pen for people who have, like, jobs and stuff. i haven't heard many complaints about the quality control with the sports' nibs. i personally don't think it's the best pen for someone JUST starting out because of its status as a pocket pen, but again, lots of people swear by it. the ink capacity is piss tiny

there's also, of course, the pilot kakuno! cheaper than the pilot metro with what sounds like a reliable nib. i've never owned one, but they seem good for students and the like. it has a fun little smiley face on the nib =) because it's a pilot, the ink capacity is PISS TINY. but it's a good pen.

a word of warning. do NOT buy the ooly splendid. i repeat, DO NOT BUY THE OOLY SPLENDID. cleaning it is a NIGHTMARE because it has a little wick in the nib. like a marker. imagine trying to get all the ink out of the tip of a marker. it is a nightmare. do not buy the ooly splendid it sucks it doesn't even have a good seal so all the ink gets all boogery on the nib. bad

SOME NOTES: lamy and pilot use proprietary cartridges/converters, which basically means you can only use their way of refilling your pen. converters let you use whatever ink you want, which i greatly prefer. kaweco uses international standard short cartridges and converters, which gives you more options for cartridges if you choose to go that route. twsbi uses the piston fill mechanism, which has the most ink capacity by far, but it's harder to switch colors because of the way you have to dismantle the pen to clean it

ok. one thing to note is that these pens will either come with one (1) cartridge or no ink at all. so. what ink do you use?

WELL! one thing that is important to stress is to not use india ink. it will clog and destroy a fountain pen. make sure you only use inks that are clearly labeled for fountain pen use - any other ink may damage your pen.

in any case, i really like waterman intense black for a nice black ink that's easy to use and clean out of pens.

don't use any piddly shit they sell at michael's, it sucks (know from experience)

for any other colors, some brands i can fully endorse are diamine (cheap AND very very reliable!!) and pilot iroshizuku (more expensive, but the ink writes wet [more ink flow] and is vibrant).

brands i would warn against for ink are... NOODLER'S. the owner of noodler's ink is a rabid trump supporter and conspiracy theorist, and with ink names like "1984" and "censor red", i'm surprised more people don't know/care. another is ferris wheel press just because their shit is overpriced and underperforming compared to most other brands. if any ink is more that $40 it's basically a scam

also, shimmer inks are NOT for newbies; they are prone to clogging pens and ruining them. no glitter for new people you will regret it

UHHH OKAY THATS ALL MY BEGINNER ADVICE. SORRY ITS SO MUCH. GOOD LUCK OUT THERE SOLDIER

[hisaacswrites]

Bake Room in Your Heart for Me? Chapter 1

【 Fandom: Call of Duty 【 Main Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish 【 Rating: M for Mature 【 Trigger Warnings: -

Summary:

When Simon first interviewed for The Great British Baking Show, he hadn’t expected anything to come of it. He certainly didn't expect to win. Despite the chaos it brought to his life, he couldn't really complain. It landed him the best job he could ask for and a close circle of friends who actually seemed to enjoy his company. It also led him to his biggest fan, one John MacTavish, who's determined to win him over one baked good at a time.---Or, The baking AU that no one asked for.

Chapter 1 ⦿ 【 Chapter 2 →

☆ Read on AO3

【 Chapter Specific Warnings: - 【 Notes: It's been literal years since I've written anything but this fandom has me by the throat. Do I have a 21 chapter Ghoap fic outlined? Yes. Did I choose to start something completely different instead of working on that? Also yes. Flying by the seat of my pants on this one; don't have anything outlined or otherwise planned as of now! Don't think this will be too terribly long though. Maybe 10 chapters max? We'll see. Tags will probably be added to as things progress!

Bake Room in Your Heart for Me? Masterlist ⦿ CoD Library ⦿ Hayden Isaacs Library

🍰 Chapter 1

When Simon first interviewed for The Great British Baking Show, he hadn’t expected anything to come of it.

He had started baking after getting medically discharged from the military, a catastrophic mission causing irreparable nerve damage in his arm. His first few months of living as a civilian were difficult and Simon had struggled to acclimate. The army had been his sole purpose since he enlisted at 18 and after nearly two decades of service, he was left adrift. It was his therapist that recommended baking. He had fond memories of his mother’s baking, one of the few highlights of his childhood, so it would be a great way to "reconnect with himself, " or whatever that meant. It was also something to keep his mind and hands busy; baking required its own sort of discipline that soothed the soldier in him. His physical therapist also approved, saying that the physical labor of it all would be great for his recovery.

Regardless of the reasoning, Simon quickly found that he actually enjoyed baking. He had started with simple things from some of his mother’s old recipe books he had saved after she passed, gaining confidence until he began trying to recreate her homemade recipes from his childhood. He found himself with a surplus of baked goods and there was no way he’d be able to eat it all, so Simon just… gave them away. To his neighbors, to the postman , to his local soup kitchen, and even to his old captain, John Price, who had retired a few years before him and insisted on visiting monthly.

When Price had almost waxed poetic about his fruit tarts (Price loved strawberries and Simon thought that the lemon curd would be suitably refreshing for the hot summer day, he wasn't trying to show off , okay — ) Simon had felt his face flush in embarrassment and he had shoved a freshly baked custard cream biscuit into Price's mouth to shut him up. He wasn't surprised when Price demanded he bake something for not just their visits, but also for him to take back home and "tide him over" until his next visit. Never mind the fact that Price owned his own cafe and had access to his own baked goods ("Stop being modest, Simon! Your biscuits blast Shepherd's out of the water, I can't believe I had to keep him on when I bought the place, he's so stuck in his ways, you know, and he's costing me customers! I can't wait until his contract is up and I can actually hire a real baker and not some crusty-").

Price had always been kind to him, though, ever since they met when Simon was 20 and freshly traumatized from a failed op in Mexico, so he paid little mind to the extravagant compliments. He laughed when Price kept offering him Shepherd's head baker position at Cafe 141, knowing that Price was just teasing him. And he snorted when Price had suggested he apply to The Great British Baking Show, appreciating that Price was just trying to increase his confidence in his baking.

Apparently, Price had been serious and wasn't just trying to make him feel better.

When Simon had gotten an email about scheduling a phone interview, Price had confessed to filling out the online questionnaire application in Simon's name. Simon had gone through with the phone interview, assuming that his blunt and gruff responses would eliminate him from the pool of possible contestants. When he was contacted again to schedule an off-camera series of bakes to judge his knowledge, he assumed that it would become clear he was an absolute novice and therefore not a good contender. When he made it to the next round and was asked to do a screen test, he figured that his awkwardness would only be amplified on camera and that would be the end of that. He did not expect to hear that his awkwardness came off as endearing, of all things, and that he just had to pass a psychological screening. Simon knew that would be the end of it all — he was many things, but psychologically sound was not one of them. It seemed like his military service had prepared him a bit too well, though, as he was deemed more than capable to handle the stress of the show.

Simon had been with Price when he received confirmation that he'd b the end of th that would bee on the show. He had frozen in shock while Price had whooped and hollered, clapping him strongly on the back and declaring to the patrons of it all — he was many things, but psychologically sound was not othe next winner of sThe Great British Baking Show.

Simon expected to be kicked off the first week of the show. He didn't expect to stay, week after week. He didn't expect to win Star Baker three times. He didn't expect to become one of the fan favorites. He didn't expect to make it to the final, facing off against a pretentious expat Texan named Graves and a selectively mute but insanely skilled man named Gary. He certainly didn't expect to win .

Over the course of a year, he went from a ghost of a man whose contributions to society were lost to a blacked-out file, a no-one in a black medical mask, to a much-beloved television personality whose face almost everyone knew. The change was overwhelming.

He couldn't even pick up his groceries in peace. Simon was one more "Can we please get a photograph with you?" away from packing up his flat and hiding away in the countryside for the rest of his days as a baking hermit when Price had approached him once more. Simon nearly slammed the door in his face when he arrived at his home, blaming Price for his entire predicament and unwilling to be dragged into any more shenanigans. Instead, he was offered a job. Again.

Price had finally been able to get rid of Shepherd and was looking to hire a new baker for Cafe 141. Who better than one of his favorite soldiers, a great friend, and the year's winner of The Great British Baking Show? Simon was dubious about the offer but Price ran a hard bargain; Simon would be the head baker and therefore could boss around the two underlings to his heart's content , he could bake whatever he wanted as long as the cases were stocked, and he didn't have to interact with any customers. He could stay in the back and bake in blissful (somewhat) solitude while still being able to work on new recipes and bring home a decent paycheck.

So that's how Simon "Ghost" Riley found himself joining Price's motley crew of veterans at Cafe 141. And that's where he met his biggest fan, one John MacTavish.