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star-crossed-fates · 9 days ago

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Even My Damnation Spells Your Name

Chapter 4: The End Wore My Face

Synopsis: In a city of steel and stars, you fall in love with a man the world calls a monster. He looks at you like you’ve haunted every life he’s ever lived. Sylus is danger wrapped in silk, secrets stitched into every glance, every touch, every word spoken like a spell. He’s yours before you even realize what you’re remembering.

Because this isn’t the first time.

Dreams unravel you. Memories not your own. A dragon’s death cry. A kiss beneath bloodied skies. A love too eternal to stay buried. As the past bleeds into the present, you begin to piece together the truth. Some memories burn brighter than the stars, others wound deeper than any blade.

And love, no matter how timeless, always demands a price.

Pairing: Female! MC [Named] x Sylus

Rating: Explicit 18+ [MDNI]

Spoilers: Sylus's myth cards/memories. Please note: memories might be a little different than from game for story purposes.

Warnings: NSFW, Explicit smut, including various kinks: Praise, degradation talk, first time, CP, DP, anal sex/play, probably some Dragon!Sylus smut, maybe a lot of it. Many, many more that I'm forgetting to list. Consider yourself warned. - Unlikely to be completely canon. - MC is named. Her personality is darker than in the game, far more morally grey. - Switching between MC's memories/dreams/flashbacks and current timeline. - Other love interests will not show up in this. - Some plot, but not super planned out. Basically, this is a "what if the closer they became, the more MC remembers her life with him on Philos.

You’re seated at your desk with a datapad in one hand and your chin in the other, pretending to review a mission report that was due, oh, a solid week ago. Maybe two. Time is fake, and paperwork is a government lie.

The words blur together into a mess of acronyms, jargon, and phrases like “potential kinetic anomaly,” which really just means someone got punched very, very hard. Your eyes glaze over somewhere around the third paragraph.

Your brain? Elsewhere. Specifically, imagining Sylus with his shirt off, sweat gleaming down the line of his pecs while he does something completely unnecessary like fixing a motorbike he probably stole or recalibrating a sniper rifle with his veiny arms and that concentration face he does.

There’s a particular angle—head tilted slightly down, lashes low, mouth curled just enough to be dangerous—that basically rewires your entire nervous system.

God, you miss him.

He’s been off-grid for three days, doing Onychinus things. Probably threatening someone while sipping espresso, playing chess with a war criminal, or, worst-case scenario, getting shot at in another suit that costs more than your entire apartment.

You tap your pen against the desk, sighing so deeply it might count as a medical event. Sitting on his face wouldn’t be the worst way to die. The thought hits you like a derailed subway car, and you blink hard.

Okay, wow. You need air. You need water. You need help.

You’re just starting to wonder if anyone’s ever died from horniness-induced dehydration when a voice cuts in beside you:

“Earth to Anira,” says Ethan, leaning a little too close over your desk, like he’s trying to solve the mystery of your very obvious spiralling. “You okay? You’ve been staring at that same paragraph for five minutes. Either it’s written in code, or you’ve transcended language altogether.”

Ethan is tall and clean-cut, with that golden-retriever energy that screams, Will hold your purse and cry during Pixar movies.

“Sorry,” you say, straightening in your chair and dragging yourself out of lust-ridden la-la-land. “Was just… thinking.”

“Mysterious,” he teases. “You’ve got that far-off look in your eyes, like you’re in a tragic romance. Should I be jealous?”

You manage a smirk. “Only if you’ve got a criminal record and a death wish.”

He laughs like you’re joking, which is adorable.

“No record, but I did get a parking ticket last weekend.”

You feign a gasp. “Scandalous.” What did you do last weekend? Oh yeah, threaten to break a woman’s fingers after you watched Sylus beat some guy senseless in an underground fighting ring.

Ethan leans a little on the desk, flashing you his best grin. You can practically feel the sugar content. “Listen, if you ever want a break from whatever tragic romance you’re stuck in—”

Oh no.

“—we could grab lunch sometime. My treat. There’s this new café on the east end. Supposed to have great pie.”

You smile noncommittally. “Thanks, Ethan. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He beams like you just handed him a lottery ticket, and you have to resist the urge to pat his head. “Okay! I’ll let you get back to your report.”

You wave as he saunters away like he’s just been invited to prom by the most popular girl in school. Ethan’s a good guy. Sweet in that kindergarten teacher way. Maybe in another universe, you’d want the kind of love that feels like a home-cooked meal and happily-ever-after. But in this one?

You fell for the man who only smiles like that when something’s about to burn, and you pray that it’s you. Thankfully, Nina comes to your rescue when she snaps a rubber band at your face.

You flinch. “Hey!”

Nina grins, not even pretending to look sorry. “That’s for ignoring my texts. Again.”

She’s the only person here who could get away with this kind of crap. Short, sharp, and with a smile like a blade. Her pink undercut changes shades weekly, and she has exactly zero time for authority, which is probably why you like her.

“I was busy,” you lie.

“You were drooling,” she corrects, pointing at the report you’ve smudged. “I don’t know who he is, but I hope he’s hot enough to justify endangering official documentation.”

You shrug. “Depends how you feel about knives and moral ambiguity.”

Nina raises an eyebrow. “God, you do have a type. You know, normal people crush on actors or influencers. You look like you’ve been mentally raw-dogged by a Bond villain.”

“Only the sexy ones.”

She snorts and tosses a candy bar onto your desk. “Sugar. You look like you haven’t eaten since 2025.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Across the bullpen, Ethan is still hovering, possibly pretending to reorganize a supply crate so he can glance your way. When he notices you noticing, he gives a small wave.

Nina clocks it too. “He’s gonna ask again.”

“I know.”

“You gonna let him down gently or hit him with the full ‘emotionally unavailable with a vampire kink’ package?”

“I was thinking of faking my own death.”

“Bold choice. On brand.”

“Anira?” Captain Jenna approaches.

You swivel in your chair as she stops beside your desk, crisp in her dark uniform, arms folded.

“Yes, Captain?”

Jenna holds out a data tablet, and your name’s already glowing on the screen.

“Field request just came in. Metaflux surge in the western fringe. Abandoned warehouse near the old docking lines. Locals flagged it. Too volatile to ignore. Normally I’d assign this to a recon team, but your records from similar anomalies show strong results. I want you on this one personally.”

“Understood.”

Before Jenna can move on, Nina leans back in her chair with a groan that’s more drama than protest.

“Oh, come on, Captain. You know she’s not gonna say no. Let me tag along, and we’ll wrap it up by lunch. I’ll even promise not to blow anything up unless it bites first.”

Jenna exhales with a small nod: “Fine. Take a two-man team. Gear up and move fast. Report anything unusual immediately.”

The warehouse is an old relic, wedged between half-demolished buildings and silent, rusted-out rail lines. Chain-link fences rattle faintly in the breeze, and sunlight filters through the cracked skylights in long, narrow beams that illuminate swirling dust.

You and Nina move in silence, boots crunching over loose debris. Her pistol is out, held low and ready, while yours rests in your holster.

“There’s nothing here,” Nina mutters, voice tinny through the comm. “No recent activity.”

Your Evol hums beneath your skin, like static crawling through your veins. It’s faint, not enough to triangulate, but unmistakably there.

“There’s metaflux,” you inform quietly. “Weak, but it’s here.”

Nina doesn’t question you while she adjusts her grip and keeps moving. She trusts you, probably more than anyone else in the Association. Not that you’ve given her much in return. You’re grateful, in your way, but you’ve never been good at letting people get close.

You sweep your eyes over the interior again. Rust-streaked girders, shattered crates, and scorch marks on the concrete. You’ve seen so many spaces like this before they all start to blur.

The air changes, growing drier. You taste smoke before you see it.

Nina curses softly. “Got movement. South wing.”

You draw your weapon. From the far end of the warehouse, there is a flit of red light, then another. Then flame bursts along the floor in a sudden whoosh, licking at the edges of crates, catching on old wiring, and climbing into the shadows.

The Wanderer steps out of the blaze like it was born from it. Tall. Humanoid, but stretched wrong, like heatwaves made corporeal. Its eyes burn brighter than its skin, twin coals in a shifting face. You recognize the type immediately: Cindertide-Class. Fire variant. Fast. Destructive.

Your body reacts before your brain does. You fire, and Nina splits to the side, her Evol flaring to life in a shimmer of kinetic force as she tries to flank it.

Embers spiral toward you, drifting, and everything slows. The orange glow, the heat, the way the flames dance and spiral—it’s too familiar.

Reality tilts.

The temple’s roof yawns open to a sky that’s gagging on ash and smoke thick as gravecloth, blotting out stars that once bore witness to miracles and massacres alike. Fire coils through the ruins in serpent spirals, hissing where it touches broken stone, tasting the marrow of walls that once begged the heavens for mercy.

You stand in the center of it all.

Wings cloaked against your spine, smudged in soot. Horns splintered at the tips, like they once caught the sky and lost. Your tail coils around your leg in a loop, flicking now and then in the echo of anger. Rage has been worn thin by time. There is only the hollow, echoless quiet where feeling used to live.

The ruin sings your name in the creak of melting beams, in the soft sigh of glass breaking under your feet, and beyond the temple, the city screams.

Thousands of voices rise. Some are a wail of history folding in on itself, burned down to the root; others are no louder than a breath caught mid-prayer. The sound is extinction made audible: walls folding inward, lives torn loose from the world, and the future weeping as it burns down to bone and ash.

Your claws trace the mosaic. A girl with a crown of light. A sword in her hand plunged through the chest of a great black dragon.

He is dying.

She is shining.

And the story, God help you, dares to call it salvation.

Your hand drags across the curve of his spine. Over inky-scaled wings and red-threaded horns. Over the throat you used to trace with kisses. Over a body you once held so tightly, you thought you’d never be alone again.

Your breath trembles. Your lip splits between your teeth. The world blurs around the edges.

“Why?” you whisper, and the word feels like it’s being torn from somewhere deeper than your lungs. “Why did you make me do it?”

And oh, it burns. The ache in your throat. The sting in your eyes. The grief has teeth, and it gnaws at you like penance.

It wants you hollow.

Soldiers crash into the temple behind you. You hear steel unsheathing, bowstrings pulled taut, and boots scraping over the fallen dead. You smell sweat and blood and the rot of corrupted faith. Parasites draped in holy colours. Greed gleaming in their souls like oil on water.

“Kill the fiend!” someone shouts.

But you do not turn until the first arrow sings through the smoke. It is only then that you unravel. Tendrils burst from your skin, black and red and gold, like the soul of some dying god writhing free.

They snap through the air, catching arrows mid-flight, stopping blades inches from your skin. They wrap around the soldiers like vines of vengeance, dragging them to their knees.

You leer at them. Pale faces. Ragged armour. Eyes wide with fear they fucking earned.

You can smell the sweet decay of humanity too far gone to be saved.

“You know not what you’re worshipping,” you accuse, stepping down from the mosaic like a god dismounting her altar. “You don’t know what was taken.”

Screams tear through the ruin, echoed in the howling wind, in the collapse of stone as more of the ceiling falls away. Blood splashes the floor. Bones snap like brittle twigs.

Their deaths are not merciful. You make sure of that.

They thought he was the end of the world.

It turns out you are the Armageddon they should’ve feared all along.

The fire doesn’t vanish; it shatters. A heatwave slams into your side, and then a beast with burn-slick skin crashes into you like a meteor. Your breath is torn from your lungs, ribs crunching under the pressure, and the ground rushes up too fast to catch yourself.

Pain explodes through your spine and arms as you skid—palms shredded, elbows scraping concrete. Blood smears. Your skull rings like a bell struck too hard.

You lie there for half a heartbeat, lungs wheezing for air. That vision hasn’t left you. It’s in your bones now. It pulses, slow and volcanic. Rage curls through your ribs, dragging itself up your throat, coating your teeth in molten heat.

The Wanderer screeches. A wrong sound, like a forest burning alive.

You rise with fury. Blood streaks your temple. Your gloves are torn. Your breath comes ragged, but your eyes lock onto the burning shape before you, and something inside you smiles.

There are four of them now, maybe five, slithering out like smoke with claws. Each one hunched and malformed, fire weeping from the cracks in their skin like molten wax. One lashes toward you again, but you’re already moving.

You spring sideways, gun drawn mid-roll. Two clean shots hit center mass. It snarls, staggering back.

A wall becomes a launching point as you leap, your boots skimming up stone as you backflip over a Wanderer. As you twist in midair, you plant a bullet in the thing’s skull. It jerks, legs folding in on themselves. Dust explodes as it hits the ground.

Another roars from behind. You slide under its strike, one knee dragging across glass and gravel. You twist your body at the last second and unload two rounds straight into its gut.

They swarm, and you spin between them. Hands like lightning, legs a storm. You vault over debris, use a half-collapsed beam to spring up, flip, shoot from above—always one step ahead, always just out of reach.

You are precision and chaos braided together. The fourth one tries to corner you, flames jetting from its spine. You charge. No fear. Gun empty—fine. You throw it hard enough to clock its jaw. While it’s reeling, you draw the second, jam it beneath its chin, and pull the trigger.

“Anira!” Nina again, breathless.

You’re barely listening. The last one sees the others fall and falters. A shiver runs through its warped limbs like it senses what you are now.

Too late.

You sprint, closing the distance in seconds, and slam into it. Guns forgotten. You drag it down with your hands alone. Teeth clenched, you rip its head back and drive your knee into its chest. Once. Twice. Three times.

Its hide gives way with a sickening crunch, and still—you don’t stop.

It’s Nina’s hand on your shoulder that grounds you. “Hey. Anira. It’s dead.”

The warehouse is scorched and steaming. Smoke curls upward like incense from a battlefield altar. You’re panting—chest heaving, ribs screaming. Your knuckles are raw. Your palms are slick with blood. You close your eyes. You try to breathe, but that mosaic still burns behind your eyes, each shard a brand pressed into thought. In your chest, an old fury stirs, raw and restless, clawing at the hollow beneath your bones. It whispers a name wrapped in smoke, a name you almost remember but never quite catch.

You’re behind the wheel before you know it. The streets blur past your windows, painted gold and red by the low-hanging sun. Traffic thins as you leave the central district.

You don’t remember turning off the main route. Linkon fades into a rougher silhouette with shadowed alleys and neon signs stuttering. The N109 looms like a forbidden thing you step into willingly.

When you pull up to the tower, the sensors register your car. The elevator knows your name. When you press your thumb to the scanner outside his penthouse, the door clicks open like it’s been waiting.

It’s dark.

Not just dim, but hollow.

No Mephisto shrieking with his next dramatic entrance. No Luke yelling from the kitchen about you stealing his last soda. No Kieran teasing you.

Nothing.

The silence is so complete, it roars. You step inside, and it swallows you. You don’t even take your boots off. Just ghost through the empty space, down the familiar hall, until the soft red gleam of his room meets you like an old scar.

You open the door, but you don’t make it to the bed.

You sink onto the floor like your legs finally give out. Knees pulled to your chest. Arms wrapped around them so tightly, it feels like you might keep yourself from shattering, and then you’re crying.

You don’t even feel the first tear fall. But then it’s another. And another. Until they’re hot, scalding trails down your cheeks, down your neck, across the bruises blooming along your ribs.

You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, but the sob still escapes. The rage is back—wild and feral in your throat, snarling. The grief is a fist around your heart. Your mind is full of ash and questions and that goddamned mosaic.

You want to scream. You want to sleep. You want to understand. But all you do is fold in on yourself, trembling, your breath shaking in the hollow of your chest.

This place is the only one where you can bleed in peace.

You don’t know how long you’re asleep, but when you wake, the light outside has shifted, washed in the indigo hush of twilight.

The door creaks open behind you.

You don’t have to turn to know it’s him. That sharp, charged air, like the pause before lightning strikes, gives him away. You feel his presence like you feel your own heartbeat crawling beneath your skin.

You should be relieved, but your body twists with something sour and ugly.

“You know, don’t you?” You spit from the floor without even offering a greeting. “You know what’s happening to me.”

His brow lifts, barely. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Don’t play coy.” You rise and take a step toward him, fists clenched. “The visions. The memories. The dreams. They started after I resonated with you, and they haven’t stopped.”

Sylus gives you nothing but that maddening quiet and that gaze like he’s seeing more than you’re saying. Like he’s weighing the weight of a thousand lifetimes in your single breath.

Your voice cracks with the fury you can’t cage. “Are you doing this to me? Did you plant them in my head? Is this part of whatever the hell your eye can do—”

“No.”

His voice cuts clean through your spiralling.

Just that.

No.

It should be comforting.

It isn’t.

“Then what the hell is happening to me?” You demand, every inch of you shaking. “Why do I remember things I’ve never lived? Why does it feel like my soul’s splitting open every time I sleep—”

“You’re not splitting. You’re remembering.”

Before you can push or punch him for being so damn cryptic, he steps forward and pulls you into his arms.

Not delicately. Not cautiously. He folds you against his chest like you belong there, and even as you stiffen, even as you try to shove him away with all the fury still fizzing under your skin, you can’t stop the sob that breaks loose from your throat.

Your fists press against his chest. Your knees give out again, and he goes with you, sinking to the floor without letting go.

“Tell me,” you whisper, voice ragged. “Please, Sylus. What aren’t you telling me?”

His hand moves slowly through your hair, fingers brushing the base of your neck. You press your forehead harder to his chest, trembling, breath shallow and sharp.

He doesn’t answer.

He just holds you tighter.

And for now, that’s all he’ll give you.

Chapter Masterlist A03 [Cross-posted] Taglist: @mcdepressed290, @animecrazy76 As always, thank you for reading, and I hope it's enjoyable. Please feel free to comment and tell me what you think ❤️ Take care everyone!

#dragon sylus #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus smut #sylus x mc #sylus x you #sylus x oc #lads

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river-that-whore · 4 months ago

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Alrighty, my post blew up (at least by my standards) overnight about hippie wife of Ghost, I'm doing a part 2-

Soap with a goth/emo girl. More specifically, trad/romantic goth. Long black dresses, silver jewelry that hangs low and jingles with the slightest movement, and dark, dramatic makeup.

There would definitely be many dead animals/bones around their house, along with military memorabilia decorating the walls. Soap was no good when it came to interior design, so he simply let her work. And she did, somehow managing to integrate their styles perfectly

Most people, from children to even Soap when he first met her, were scared of this girl. She's the epitome of black cat, graceful and dangerous appearing. But underneath the looks, it's the sarcastic, dry humor that Soap fell in love with. It's the loud, chaotic, not so bright golden retriever who met his match. And it appeared in the form of a girl with a dark mystique and a cynical, sharp wit.

When Soap first introduced his girl to the others, it was at a small function for 141 only. There were few people, just Laswell with her wife, Ghost with his bird, Gaz, and Price. Of course Soaps girl went all out, in a velvet black dress with silver necklaces and chunky black heels. Though she went a little softer with her makeup, she certainly didn't look like a normie.

While everyone was shocked, Laswell and her wife greeted the other couple like nothing was out of the ordinary. Next was Simon's girlfriend, who quickly made friends with the other woman and happily chatted, swapping jokes and getting along like old friends. Eventually, everyone else got around to greeting the girl with an awkward smile

When there was a free moment, Price awkwardly pulled Soap aside and muttered

"Aye, son. Does your bird know about......" Though he didn't say it, Soap could see his eyes lingering on his birds hair, the teased up strands sticking up and intentionally messy

"Yes, cap'n" he replied with a laugh "She knows"

"Oh....." Was all Price could think of "Ok"

Anyways, the brain worms continue to clog my mind. Lmk if I should make this a series, bc I love writing these sm

(she also canonically is besties with Ghosts wife, can't convince me otherwise)

#johnny soap mactavish #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap call of duty #simon ghost riley #goth style #golden retriver boyfriend #black cat girlfriend #task force 141 #cod mw ghost #cod modern warfare #ghost cod #cod mw2 #cod #cod mwii #more brainrot #brain worms #the brainrot is real

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marsspeedway · 1 year ago

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COD HEADCANONS! (1?)

This is translated from Spanish so I'm really sorry if there is a translation error or a word that shouldn't be there!

SIMON RILEY GHOST

His casual outfit is really simple: jeans and a t-shirt or hoodie, his shoes of choice (usually his sneakers or boots) and a leather jacket if it's a more "formal" outing (a date?) or if he feels like dressing up.

Yes yes, balaclava on the base and cloth mask off the base.

Due to his past he has developed a defense mechanism of making jokes to "get over" or lighten his trauma.

After the betrayal of his team and his capture by Robas he basically got used to survive with very little. Therefore: he doesn't eat much, doesn't sleep much and is always in alert mode.

His chuckles are low, deep and feel mocking 99% of the time even though they are not. Instead his real laughter, his guffaws, are LOUD but very very strange to hear.

This man does NOT have a driver's license.

He has constant nightmares and/or night terrors so he tends to sleep very little.

Simon "Ghost" Riley is sleep deprived.

Ghost is the soldier, Simon is the human. So, Ghost is the armor that protects Simon, the tough exterior that protects the sensitive and too fragile interior.

His room is simple, he doesn't have many belongings and the few he has are really valuable for him.

Ok yes, "Ghost collects knives" or "Ghost collects guns" but... Ghost collects lighters.

Bonus if you think he's a smoker.

Bonus X2 if you think he's an EX-Smoker!

Sleeping near Soap, or cuddling him, surprisingly calms him down (considering how much he dislikes and discomforts physical contact).

Soap is like his safe place, then Price follows, but he doesn't get that close to him physically (almost not at all really).

His closeness to Price has been very helpful to him, the man is a great listener and a great advisor and Simon can't thank him enough for always being there when he needs a shoulder to lean on or someone to give him good advice.

Ghost's "Fucking hell..." at the moment of meeting Soap in MW2 is mainly because he didn't expect to meet him again, he didn't expect to see him again after Makarov, let alone have to WORK with him again. It's not that he dislikes him, he just didn't expect the guy to be HIS sergeant instead of Price's.

During "Alone" Ghost tells jokes and talks to help Soap through the bad time, to calm him down and help him move forward but he also does it for himself because damn: just betrayed at the border of a country/city they don't know, with the colonel who received them captured, with a (his) wounded and messed up sergeant who is the only ally he has right now and who in turn is trying to get to him, with mercenaries nipping at their heels... I think the poor guy has a right to be a little bad. Well, Simon is bad because Ghost seems to be hiding it well.

Hairless?

He tends to eat fast, very fast.

JOHN "SOAP" MACTAVISH

He told Price that they should make varsity jackets with the Task Force logo on them...

Guess who has varsity jackets with the Task Force logo on them?

OG!Soap (2009) hates dogs (according to a line of dialogue) but personally I think Reboot!Soap (the current Soap, the one from 2022) likes them quite a bit.

He's a bit (too much) hyperactive.

He tends to gift and buy things for Ghost, little trinkets or things he knows Simon can use. It goes from clothes to some toy he thinks Ghost might like, they are usually toy soldiers, little action figures or legos (or anything that reminds him of Ghost).

Simon keeps them all. Every single one, even if it's a rock or a note that Soap left him or a doodle that Soap gave him.

He's a freaking master with butterfly knife tricks.

No, he doesn't use them to impress Ghost....

Maybe he does...

Ghost pretends the tricks don't impress him but they do.

He gives me Golden Retriever Boyfriend vibes that can send a bomb to your house.

Let's not forget he's a 30 year old man, military, explosives expert who basically operates in an elite task force... I mean, he could easily kill you. But, still, he's got a nice vibe, he's sociable and it's hard to dislike him.

Bookworm! He'll devour a book in a matter of hours and if he likes it enough he'll do an essay or summary.

He's a homebody with a big, big family. And he would love to have his own family with his own little house in the camp.

To pass the time he usually draws and occasionally writes in his journal. That thing is a little bit of everything: drawings, notes, stories, a personal diary, etc. Anything goes in there.

He cuts his mohawk himself and also usually takes care of rookies' hair, or really anyone who asks (nicely).

He can actually do more than cut mohawks or shave heads, his mother knows how to cut hair and he learned how to do it himself.

You want him to braid your hair? Of course, he's the one! He grew up with several sisters, so of course he knows how to braid. Ponytails? Go ahead. A bun? Sure. You ask and he'll know what to do and if he doesn't, he'll find it.

He can cook a little, just enough to get by and not live on instant noodles and take-out.

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po1sonous-l0ve · 2 months ago

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Hi could you write something where reader is a demigod daughter if one if the big three and nearly dies on a quest but Apollo saves her and in his distress tells her about the prophecy that was revealed the dah of her bitth which said she and Apollo are soulmates and will marry when she’s 22 please? Thank you!!

❤The Sun and the Storm❤

Warnings: use of Y/N, not proofread.

Sorry this took so long!

"The healer’s light, long lost to fate, Life bound by death at Hades’ gate. A daughter of tides must brave the gloom, Where vipers coil and spirits loom.

Through fear and fire, the path is spun, A trial faced, a tale unspun. But touch it not with reckless breath, Or trade one life to escape death."

The words that had spewed from Rachel's mouth clouded Y/N's mind as she trekked through the rocky terrain of the Underworld.

Could be worse, she thought. Could be Tartarus.

But at this rate, it might as well be. She had already been bitten by the aforementioned vipers, and had had to down the burning water of the Phlegathon. She supposed that, at the very least, that was fire and vipers out the way.

As she stumbled on, the bite on her leg seemed to grow more painful, and the air seemed to get thicker, heavier, with the voices of lost souls.

Hear us.

Help us.

Save us.

Y/N tried to push the dark thoughts from her mind, but they were only replaced with new ones. The weight of the final lines of the prophecy were weighing down on her. Quest items never came for free. Would it be a price she was willing to pay?

As the voices pressed on, the fire in her throat and venom in her veins began to slow her down, and Y/N's chest felt tight with the thought of him.

Apollo.

Dazzling, untouchable, immortal. She thought of how he'd appeared in her life like the sun breaking through storm clouds. How he'd swept her off her feet with his sunny smile that made all her worries melt away. Y/N wished he was here to hold her in the gloomy dark of the Underworld, but again, the last line of the prophecy nagged at her mind.

Would she trade a life to escape death?

Surely Apollo was worth a thousand humans. He was a god.

And yet...

No. She would find the rod, retrieve it safely, and make it back to surface.

Because failure was not an option.

The trek felt endless, but some time later, Y/N stumbled over a rock, tripping headfirst through some vines. Sitting up groggily, she suddenly became aware of her surrounding.

The temple wasn't lavishly furnished. It was simple stone, crumbling with age. At the centre of the temple was an altar, and on that altar, lay the Rod of Asclepius.

It was a long staff, polished wood, with a carved snake wrapped around it. She hesitantly reached out to pick the staff up, but as her fingertips grazed the surface, wood seemed to fall off the serpent. It reared its ugly head, uncoiling from the staff. It seemingly doubled in size and stared down Y/N with hypnotic green eyes.

It seemed the real trial had now begun.

The shock now worn off, Y/N's battle instincts began to kick in. She swung her sword at the neck, a seemingly direct strike, but the serpent dodged, too quick to comprehend. The snake let out a low, mocking hiss, then lunged forward like lightning. Y/N felt a rush of air past her shoulder as she leapt out of the way. Her heart pounded in her chest. It was fast. Too fast.

Correcting her stance, Y/N raised her weapon again, feinting left but striking right. The blow landed, and the serpent hissed in fury. Feeling triumphant, she raised the sword above her head, ready to deliver the killing blow. But Y/N had forgotten the cardinal rule of battle.

Never celebrate too early.

The snake leapt at her, and Y/N was encompassed with searing pain. The breath left her body, and another rush of poison flooded her veins. This time, it would kill her.

How ironic, she thought. Dying in the temple of the god of doctors. Would the insults ever cease?

The massive serpent loomed over her, savouring its kill, before-

Thunk.

A golden arrow drilled itself into the side of its head, killing it instantly. The body was disintegrating into dust before it hit the ground. A booming voice rang out around the temple.

"For Zeus's sake! Can't I leave you alone for five minutes without you getting yourself killed?" Apollo laughed. He knelt down beside her, and his tone was lighthearted, but his eyes showed an emotion she had never seen on a god's face before.

Fear.

Hands gentle, he pressed lightly on the wound, causing her to gasp with pain. "Ok, love. I'm going to heal it, but it's going to hurt, ok? On three. One, two-" suddenly, a glare of agony shot through her body, but it quickly subsided. Apollo gently scooped Y/N up in his arms, holding her close to his chest. "Λιονταράκι μου," he said quietly, kissing her forehead. "My little lioness. Just can't stay out of trouble, can you?"

The pain still throbbed, but Y/N barely noticed it now. The warmth of Apollo's arms wrapped around her, the steady rise and fall of his chest—he was here. She was safe.

Her head lolled against his shoulder as exhaustion started to take over. "You cheated," she murmured, voice slurred.

Apollo huffed a laugh. "What?"

"You said 'on three'... healed me on two..." She said weakly. "Liar."

His golden eyes softened, but his smirk remained. "You're still alive, aren't you?"

She would’ve smacked him if she had the energy. Instead, she let out a breathy laugh, eyelids fluttering. "You're warm," she whispered deliriously. "Like... the sun..."

Apollo's grip on her tightened slightly as they trudged out of the temple. "I should hope so, all things considered."

Y/N forced her eyes open, but the Underworld was starting to blur. "You're so cocky," she admitted, voice barely a whisper.

The last thing she felt before the darkness took her was the warmth of his hands, the steady beat of his heart, and the golden glow of safety surrounding her.

When Y/N woke up, her body ached. The air around her was no longer thick with death and decay, though. Instead, it was warm, carrying the faint scent of ambrosia.

She blinked sluggishly, her vision adjusting to the golden glow above her. The palace of Apollo.

"You’re awake," a voice murmured beside her.

She turned her head, wincing slightly, and found Apollo sitting by her side. He looked... different. Still godly, still radiant, but something in his face made him seem almost human. His hands hovered over her, glowing faintly, as if he’d been healing her even in her sleep.

"How you doing, sweetheart?" He murmured softly, sweeping the hair out of her face.

Y/N groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Bad. I'm pretty sure you did more harm than good."

"Well, it was that or death," he said pointedly.

"Death would be less painful," she muttered. "I still feel like I got mauled by a giant snake."

Apollo clicked his tongue. "Ah, how tragic. Alas, you'll have to bear it for a while."

Y/N rolled her eyes, shifting to sit up—only for a sharp flare of pain to shoot through her. She hissed, and immediately, Apollo’s hands were there, steadying her, warm and sure. "Just take it easy, ok darling?" His eyebrows creased with worry as he gently laid her back down again.

"Apollo," Y/N said suddenly. "Gods aren't allowed to interfere with quests. Zeus is going to punish you, no, the Fates will, you-"

"Shh, shh," he soothed, stroking her hair. "I'm allowed to."

"What? Why?"

"There was a second prophecy about you."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat.

A second prophecy?

Her heart pounded as she searched Apollo’s face, trying to find any hint of teasing, any indication that he was messing with her. But his golden eyes were solemn, his hand still cradling her head gently, fingers threading through her hair.

"Rachel never mentioned a second prophecy," she said slowly.

Apollo hesitated, his lips pressing together before he sighed. "Because it wasn’t meant for you to hear. Not at that time."

Y/N pushed herself up despite the pain, her mind racing. "Not at the time? What—Apollo, what did it say?"

His gaze flicked around nervously, before he sighed and began reciting the prophecy.

"When the daughter of waves and earthquakes stands, At twenty and two by fate’s own hands, The golden archer, bright yet torn, Shall bind his heart where love is sworn."

Was this what the prophecy had meant? The reason why she had felt Apollo’s presence, tethered to her, even before she’d seen him? The reason he was holding her now, looking at her like she was something rare and fragile and important?

A sudden thought chilled her blood.

"Did… did you save me because of the prophecy? Because you had to?"

Apollo blinked, startled.

Y/N didn’t know why she’d said it. Maybe it was the lingering poison in her veins, making her reckless. Maybe it was the quiet part of her heart whispering that she already knew the answer but needed to hear him say it.

Apollo studied her for a long moment. Then, with slow deliberation, he reached out and took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles, lingering, before resting their joined hands over his heart.

"Darling," he murmured, voice low. "I saved you because I needed to. Not because of a prophecy. Not because of some divine rule." His grip tightened ever so slightly. "Because it’s you."

Y/N’s throat felt tight.

Apollo leaned in just a fraction, his warmth chasing away the last remnants of the Underworld’s cold. "Now, you should rest. You mortals are so fragile," he teased lightly, though his fingers still clutched hers like he was afraid to let go.

But Y/N barely heard him.

Because it's you.

The prophecy might have dictated their fates. But this?

This choice was his.

She was his.

And he would never let her go.

❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

#apollo x reader #apollo #pjo hoo toa #fanfic #character x reader #answered asks

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gibsongirled · 9 months ago

Text

THE LA DREAM !!

description: you move to los angeles and your neighbor is like really cute !!

a/n: i feel like some of the paragraphs in this encapsulates my feelings for los angeles

You thought that moving to LA was going to be easy.

And as you struggled to carry your boxes up the stairs, you took back your words and huffed out a breath of frustration. The boxes weren't even that heavy, but the third flight of stairs made you wobble as you reached the top. Curse LA and their trends to make everything unbearable. And maybe you were slightly to blame as you picked the one building where there were no elevators- but the rent was cheap, so you were willing to look past the small hassle of climbing up three flights of stairs - everyday - after a long day of work for the sweet low low price of an apartment not costing an arm and a leg.

"Woah, there!" The top box staggered and you heard a loud exclaim, a sudden flash of hands rushed over to steady your poorly made tower of boxes. You stumbled backwards - grateful that you were not on the stairs - trying to steady yourself and the boxes, one foot back to hold yourself up. It took a moment, but you and the boxes remained still and you let out a breath of relief.

“Thank you,” you let out a small laugh as the hands disappeared back to its owner, and you placed the boxes down on the carpeted hallway floor. You glanced back up. Holy shit, that guy with the hands is so fucking tall. Pale and four eyed with a charming smile that seemed to make your heart beat fast to the point where doctors could have mistaken it for arrhythmia. You straightened back up, holding out your hand for the guy to shake and your name spilled out, a smile finding its way onto your face.

“I’m Ted,” he parroted back your name as if he was sounding it out, his hand gripping yours with a firm handshake. Wow, he has nice hands. Really, really nice hands. He broke the handshake, stuffing his hands in his pockets. You never knew what to do with your hands. Do you mirror him and stuff your hands in your pockets too? Do you cross your arms? Do you just let them awkwardly hang by your side? The options were endless! “So you moving in?”

You settled on awkwardly placing your elbow on the top box, patting it like you would with a car. “Yep, right over here.” You nodded to where you stood. “What about you?”

“No way!” Ted’s eyes shone with pure unadulterated excitement- in a way, it kind of reminded you of a golden retriever. He jammed a thumb behind him, clearly showing off the door that was across from yours. “I live over there!” What a surprise. You moved to Los Angeles in pursuit of something great that you couldn’t get in your backwoods hometown and your neighbor gives off the vibes of a “boy next door” kinda aura that you cannot seem to shake.

“Ey, that’s cool!” You cocked a finger gun at him. What are you doing? He cocked one back. Oh cool, you’re not the only weird one here.

“Are you new to LA?” Ted asked, clearly seeing that you were very much out of place, unlike him. You nodded, giving him a wry smile and a slight chuckle. “Yeah, that obvious, huh?”

Ted gave you a shrug, “Just a bit.” Well, there was no sugar coating that was there? “I can give you a tour if you want? Show you all the places you’d get scammed as a tourist? You’d be surprised at how many places do that.” Now that was a fucking offer you couldn’t refuse. Sure there was a somewhat high chance that he was luring you into a trap and then murdering you in some alley behind a Macy’s, but name one murderer who gave off the somewhat calm vibes that this guy was radiating. Actually, maybe not. God, America was weird.

“I’d be totally down for that!” You exclaimed, internally giggling at the fact that you were going to see the best places to get scammed. And to get to know your neighbor, of course. But you knew where your priorities lay. Ted laughed at your eagerness and nodded, taking out his car keys. Your eyes followed Ted as he made his way down the stairs, he stood on the second to last step, glancing up at you.

“Would tomorrow be good for you?”

“Yeah, that’d be good.”

#— writing #ted nivison x reader #ted nivison x you

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icequeenbae · 1 year ago

Note

Hii! This is a more slow burn request so I’m sorry if it’s a little difficult, but could I request Heartsteel Ezreal x reader who’s knowledgeable and quite sarcastic and quick witted with their replies? I just wonder how their meeting would go with the whole Black cat, golden retriever vibe!

And maybe the reader sometimes suffers from low self-esteem and burnout.

Pairing: Heartsteel!Ezreal x Reader ft. all members

Heartsteel AU, attempted humor, fluff

Warnings: grumpymanager!Reader, Kayn is annoying as fuck… language? lol

Word Count: ~1.4k

Author’s Note: Hiii~ Thank you for the Ezreal request, sweetie! I do have my favorites in Heartsteel to write for, and he is definitely at the top of that list <3 Not sure if this is exactly what you wanted, but let’s give it a try! As usual, let me know via comments/ asks/ reblogs, I try stay on it~ P.S. The stuff I post for requests is usually not beta’ed, so pls bear with me…

You rubbed your tired eyes and cursed, checking if your fingers had any mascara on them. There was an issue to resolve, and you had hoped to finish up before the Heartsteel members returned to the waiting room after their rehearsal. But your plan failed miserably.

‘Our dearest manager!’ Kayn appeared next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. ‘Always working, what a busy little bee!’

You raised your eyebrow at him and stayed silent until he cleared his throat and retracted his arm, while the rest of the members scattered around the room, minding their own business.

‘Someone has to work around here,’ you replied, typing away on your laptop.

‘You should take a break and go grab something to eat at least,’ Yone suggested.

His amiable comment made you release a desperate sigh.

‘They messed up the mic backup, Yone. Not to mention that we have the music video budget due tomorrow and someone screwed up the calculations. I cannot let you film without the drones or the special effects crew. If you do everything yourselves, you’ll be dead before you go on stage again, and I will be ripped into a million tiny pieces by the company or your fans. And I don’t know which one’s worse…’

‘If that’s Sett’s fans you’ll live. They all twinky as shit, look at Phel.’ Kayn cackled, and Yone glared at him.

Sett and Aphelios exchanged looks, probably deciding to give their most annoying member a proper thrashing another time just for the sake of your emotional wellbeing. At least someone understood how dire the situation was.

‘How can I help?’ The producer asked.

Although you appreciated the offer, you knew that they had to perform tomorrow, so Yone would have to supervise the last of preparations starting early morning. You could not allow him to spend the night helping you and then go straight into tomorrow’s work. The price of a screwup was too high on this one.

‘You can help by taking them out for dinner and making sure they’re tucked in later. I don’t want anyone out wreaking any havoc while I’m not around to settle everything.’

‘That I can arrange.’ Yone nodded, giving the rest of the members a solid onceover. ‘You heard Y/N, boys. No fun for you tonight, we have a very long day tomorrow.’

‘Ugh. Buzzkill…’ Sett sighed, and Phel pinched him on the arm, hard. ‘Ow!!’

‘I think we can live with one night in, guys,’ Ezreal interjected. ‘We’re so tired anyway.’

‘Speak for yourself, young man. I am full of energy!’ K’Sante retorted.

What a traitorous blow! You’d expect it from anyone but him.

Noticing your flabbergasted expression, K’Sante quickly continued.

‘…which I can spend by working some iron in the gym before bed time.’

You shook your head, trying to focus on your spreadsheet again. It was a little- no, it was extremely overwhelming, trying to fix several urgent issues at once, while running on a couple hours of sleep, half a sandwich (had to donate the rest to Sett – he’s still growing, after all… or so he thinks) and way too much coffee.

‘Are you going to stay here though?’ Ezreal asked, sounding too quiet for his usual bubbly self.

You assumed he was afraid to get the short end of the stick and make you explode with his question. But you were too tired to even yell at any of them.

‘Not that I have any choice,’ you answered dryly. ‘Not everyone can teleport, Ezzie.’

He pursed his lips, probably realizing that it was best to leave you alone before you gave him the same glare that Kayn had earned earlier. Unlike the demonic bastard, Ezreal was among the members who preferred to stay away from you when you were fuming, as opposed to irritating you further to poke some fun. Yone had already spent a week negotiating for you to take back your resignation once, so they were on their best behavior ever since. Well, the best they could muster, which wasn’t that great but in the grand scheme of things… you’d take what you could get.

After they all vacated the premises, you finally managed to send the updated budget numbers for approval, and made a few calls about the mic replacement. It was unbelievable, but you really had to find someone to get the necessary equipment and fly in to bring it on time. So you stayed at the venue to be able to check whether everything worked fine right away.

But later that night, a mystery visitor woke you up while scooping you off the chair to get you onto the sofa.

‘Mhm- what… Who’s here??’ You jerked up from your uncomfortable sleeping position, accidentally hitting someone in the face with your head.

‘Ow!’ You heard someone squeak and turned around, finding Ezreal in pain, holding his hand to his nose.

‘What on Earth brings you here??’ You instinctively pinched the bridge of his nose as if that would help with the pain. ‘Wait, what time is it? Where is my phone??’

‘I took it,’ he said, wiping under his nose to check for blood.

Thankfully, there was none, and he was okay. Your nervous system, however, was not as lucky.

‘What do you mean, you took it??’ You frantically checked the time on your laptop. ‘3:23? I was supposed to meet someone an hour ago! Why didn’t you wake me up?!’

You grabbed your phone from blabbering Ezreal, but he clung to you like a koala.

‘Y/N, I-’

‘I know. You didn’t think properly, and now I will have to find a way to get that guy to come back if he isn’t sleeping in his hotel already… Shit, Ezzie, you fucked up! No, I fucked up. How could I have fallen asleep?? Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ You knocked on your own head with your knuckles to make a point, and Ezreal caught you by the wrist with his two hands, looking as if you had hit him and not yourself.

‘Y/N, I already met with him and took the mics. We ran a test downstairs with some of the overnight technicians. Everything is set up and working fine.’

You blinked at him a few times, still confused.

‘Uh- You… did?’

‘Yes. I came back earlier and you were asleep. Then someone called you, so I figured- And then I went down and checked everything,’ he delivered anxiously. ‘I also brought you a sandwich- but I didn’t want to wake you, so…’

He grabbed a paper bag from the sofa and shoved it into your hands. You looked at it, and then back at Ezreal, your sleepy and stressed-out brain still catching up with everything.

‘Um- so you brought me… a sandwich?’ You asked.

‘Yes,’ he nodded, strangely bashful. ‘And a juice box.’

His cheeks became rosy, and you couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Ezreal looked like a stray puppy, unsure about whether it was safe to express his affection.

As your laughter settled, you finally exhaled. Everything was okay, thanks to your unexpected little helper for tonight. And now that he’d mentioned the food…

‘I hope you got me an extra-large one.’ You hummed, sitting your butt down.

‘I got two,’ he beamed. ‘And a chocolate bar.’

‘Good. You look like you could have some chocolate right about now.’

And of course, after such an eventful night, as well as the previous few days, having a full belly made you dozy again. Although you did notice Ezreal’s head slowly tilting towards your shoulder through the layer of drowsiness, you didn’t catch your own head leaning onto his.

Due to your carelessness, you were in for a rude awakening in just a few hours.

‘Now, isn’t that adorable?’ Even from the depths of hell you would have heard Kayn exclaim in the most obnoxious voice possible.

‘I’m taking a picture. For the family album!’ K’Sante announced, quick to utilize the camera on his phone.

‘Or future blackmail…’ Kayn sneered evilly.

‘Maybe I should post that picture of you stuck in the vault with your pants down, Shieda Kayn.’ You mused out loud, eyes still shut.

There were a few sounds resembling muffled cursing, and then Kayn walked it back.

‘Hey man, we shouldn’t take pictures of people sleeping. It’s illegal or some shit. Let’s just go check on the preparations, come on.’

And so, they went back to where they came from. ‘Manager…’ You heard Ezreal whisper, head still laying on your shoulder. ‘You’re amazing.’

Non-EXO masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for reading and happy holidays my sweethearts!! I have just a couple more requests to go~ I don't think I will take more for the time being but I might come up with another requests event for 900 or 1000 milestone! Please don't forget to comment and reblog if you want to support me 💜 And check out my masterlist for more of my HEARTSTEEL and kpop content 💕

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swiftviolets · 15 days ago

Text

four to one modern au notes under da cut !

lori works in the nightlife industry (she’s a dancer. you know the one). she did work at hooters (rip) for a spell though prior to that

she’s been fully dating bryce for like. just over a year. bryce is dating her cause she’s hot and it gives him an adrenaline rush for making his parents mad (he hasn’t even introduced them to lori yet yikes). he does genuinely care about her most of the time. lori is with him cause he’s stacked and has money lol

bryce’s dad is in real estate and bryce works for him in a true nepo baby way. his company likes to buy out low income areas to gentrify it :/. they’re also involved in money laundering

marco is also in real estate but it’s the shady kind. buildings sat empty for years waiting for the land to triple in price shell companies also involved in money laundering but better at it than bryce’s dads company. he’s also big on preserving old buildings. his company is seriously beefing with bryce’s dads company. they’re currently locked in a major dispute over a piece of land that contains buildings owned by marco.

lori and marco are getting it on in this au too. he’s a regular where she works.

andy does appear but it’s like further into the story. he’s still in a band and he works as a bartender cause music does not pay the bills unless you’re really famous apparently. he meets lori through a mutual friend and he falls for her HARD. major golden retriever boyfriend energy or whatever it’s called

the modern au does loosely follow the canon four to one plot but not scene for scene. lori is still entertaining 3 men (no don currently sorry) and she’s doing her best to balance them all and there is still a fallout.

sylvie and lori aren’t super close in this au (lori already has a bestie called dani who she works with). however she does play a major part from about half way through the story so they still cross paths.

#i MIGHT have four to one take a minor hiatus so i can more about this au lol #modern au

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bitchfitch · 5 months ago

Text

I'm getting a service dog in the new year! No matter what it takes. The current hurdle is the fact that the estimated cost for a service dog who fits my needs is 16k USD. Which is more than what I as a crippled tranny make in a year.

If you'd like to help, every dollar I make on commissions between now and bringing my pup home will be put towards this fund. Further information on prices and such are below the cut.

If you want to help but don't want blorbo art then here's a Kofi link. Thank you. Every dollar really does count.

An FAQ and the current progress towards the fundraiser is below the cut.

1600/16000

🟩🟩🟩🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪

What does the 16k cover?

The puppy, the training education, some supplies, and some back up in case the first pup is deemed unsuitable for the work. (1 in 2 service dog prospects don't make it to the end of training unfortunately. I will be keeping the first dog even if it doesn't make it as a service dog because I know I don't have the heart to let go of a puppy after spending a minimum of a year working with it. but I don't have the housing/money for 3 rottweilers so if the second fails too I'll just have two really well trained dogs.)

What happens if you don't get the money?

I have some things I can sell, like my van, that will close the gap.

How are you going to pay for the dog's expenses after getting it?

My own expenses are extremely low, I've already determined that the dog will not cause excessive strain on my budget.

Why a Rottweiler instead of a lab or golden retriever?

I need a balance and alert dog, basically an animal who'll act as a counterweight to help stop me falling along with a handful of less breed specific tasks. I'm 250 lbs and can pick up and carry most people, I need a large heavy dog or else they're just going to fall with me instead of helping balance. rottweilers were chosen over other breeds who could do the job because of their short coats (it gets well over 110°f/43°c here, long coats are not an option) and calm, alert, protective

Why the name Jabalí?

My dad's family is from Germany, my mom's is from Mexico, If the dog is going to be German, then the name should be Mexican to honor that. (Also it's just a cute name. It means boar, and is pronounced Ha Va Le, like in jabalina)

How are you going to go about training?

I'm going to attend a localish service dog trainer education course. It costs about the same as hiring someone to do it professionally, so I might as well be the professional since im going to need a new service dog every 4-8 years until I die.

(it takes 2 years to train a pup, and the last few years of a dog's life can often involve eye, ear, or joint issues that make them no longer suitable to be a service dog. Instead they get to retire and have a lot of treats while they help train up the next pup. Rotties have a life expectancy of 8-12, 2 years for training and 2 for retirement means only 4 of actual work on the low end, and 8 at the absolute max)

Are you going through a proper breeder?

Yes, I have a list of a handful of breeders who health test, register, and show their dogs in schutzhund. As well as one who fits those criteria and has had pups go on to be service dogs.

How many blorbos do you need to draw to make it happen?

Using my average commission sale as a baseline: 267 total 241 to go.

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shadow-0-8 · 8 months ago

Note

What pets do you think COD characters would have and if dog what kind? Also your posts make me laugh lol :)

awwww thank you

ooooohhhhh ok

Price: he’s basic so probably a Lab, a Golden Retriever or a German Shepherd.

Ghost: I’d go with a black cat, low maintenance and he can leave it if he has to with just bowl of food and water. Black cat because he felt bad for them at the shelter since they get adopted less.

Soap: this man can not be trusted with anything more than one of those 1 dollar pet store snails.

Gaz: definitely a Lab or a Golden Retriever too.

Roach: man has a tank of roaches

Laswell: her and her wife probably have those really pretty Mane Coon(sorry if I spelled it wrong) cats, but they aren’t really hers.

Graves: he couldn’t give a shit about pets but for the sake of the fandom’s opossum, he has an opossum.

Shepherd: all animals try to attack him.

(Ghost boyssss)

Logan/Hesh: they have Riley but have def had dogs before him.

Elias: couldn’t care for pets but lets his boys have them

Merrick: probably a lizard, maybe a leopard gecko or a bearded dragon

Kick: probably hermit crabs or something random and exotic

Keegan: he probably has a fat ass rat that he found in a dumpster like the one in the minions.

Ajax: the rat was part his until he died, he turned over the custody to his spouse Keegan when he died

Rorke: man’s has a scorpion and you can not tell me otherwise.

#cod #call of duty #phillip graves #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #keegan p russ #cod ghosts #kyle gaz garrick #kate laswell #captain john price #gary roach sanderson #hesh walker #logan walker #elias walker #cod merrick #call of duty rorke #ajax cod #kick cod

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sonofatoasterwaffle · 1 year ago

Text

Port in a Storm

“Hey, Buck, could you-“ Hen's hitting the top step when he hisses back “Shh!”

She glances at Chimney for a sanity check, considering cuffing the back of Buck’s head for that, but he’s sitting on the couch, stock still, Eddie snoring gently against Buck’s shoulder. “Can’t move.” He explains.

Hen has to chuckle. “He’s not a cat, buck”

She drops into the armchair closest to him, and he stops scrolling his phone with his free hand to look at her. “If I’m a golden retriever, Eddie is most definitely a cat.”

Chim nods like he can’t argue as he takes the seat across from them. “Hates attention except when he doesn’t, very protective over his young, great hair.” He counts off each thing as he says it.

Hen supposes she doesn’t disagree. “He’s not sleeping at home right now, is he?”

Buck sighs. “Based on the twitter links he’s been sending in the middle of the night, it seems like no.”

Eddie, for his part, seems well and truly out. He’s sprawled low on the couch, boots bumping up against the coffee table, head lolled to the right against Buck and his arm slung over Buck’s leg, fingers curled under Buck’s knee like he’s afraid his human pillow might abandon him. “Has he been like this since I went to run flashcards?”

“I literally can’t feel my arm.” Buck admits, but it doesn’t sound like he has any intention of moving.

“You gotta feel for the guy.” Chim says, biting into a muffin from a batch someone left earlier this week. “Kid at home, dealing with grief, dealing with us.”

Hen hums. At least he’s not alone, she thinks, catching the soft look in Buck’s eyes as he glances down at Eddie. She’s not sure if those two will ever realize what they have, but she supposes it doesn’t really matter as long as they don’t give it up. “So, you can’t help me move the medical supplies shipment.”

“Performing a public service, here, Hen.”

Chim snickers something about exactly what kind of servicing Buck would like to do for Eddie, but he’s resolutely ignored. Hen supposes Buck’s right. High-strung Eddie is annoying and sleep-deprived Eddie is pathetic and both at once makes her parenting instincts flare up like crazy, so it’s better for all of them if he gets a little rest. Even at the expense of Buck’s circulation.

Eddie murmurs something in Spanish, nuzzles his nose into Buck’s neck and breathes deep. Buck’s as red as the ladder truck but he still doesn’t move, except to flip Chim off. “Leave him alone.”

Chim throws up his hands, still grinning. “Easy, loverboy, I’m not coming for your man.”

And Buck looks absolutely murderous but he’s powerless to stop Chimney from snapping a picture. He does leave the finger up for it. “I could easily throw you.” He threatens when his phone chimes with the inevitable group chat notification.

“But Maddie would be so sad if you murdered me.”

“Yeah, maybe you should think about that before doing murder-worthy shit.”

Eddie stirs a little, and Buck relaxes back into the couch, free hand reaching over to thumb over Eddie's arm, and he immediately settles. “You guys are so gross I love it.” Chim crows, snapping another photo.

“At some point, he’s gonna wake up, and then you’re gonna have to start running.”

Hen goes back to her flashcards. Chim’s on his own with that one, she’s not taking the bullet for teasing she didn’t get to do. She gives Buck a sympathetic smile when he grouses “I’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I?”

“Price you pay for being such a good best friend.”

Buck rolls his eyes at her intoned best friend. “You’re on my list, too.”

“Finally.” Bobby says in relief when he sweeps into the kitchen to start prep. "I was about to cut him loose if he didn't chill out." He points at Buck. “Don’t move.”

“That’s what I said!”

Also on ao3

#9-1-1 #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buck/eddie #buddie #Hen POV #just a little brain worm that's been squirming around in my head #hen wilson #chimney han #everyone knows they're in love except buck and eddie #drabble #Chimney is me and I am him

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trivialbob · 1 year ago

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All this mall walking I'm doing, a track suit and Velcro-fastened shoes may be in my future.

Today I started at Southdale. It is the nation's first indoor mall. I grew up nearby. Friends and I would bike or take a city bus to get there. The stereo store and Woolworths were my favorites.

It's not a bad place now, but like some malls these days it has low attendance. Good parking spots are plentiful.

The Apple store was the only busy place. Others were, like Bed Bath & Beyond's checking account, mostly empty.

I hate to go in and browse if I'm the only customer. Either an eager employee will want to talk to me or a sullen one will glare, thinking I could interrupt the time he or she is spending on the phone. Being lost in a light crowd is my preferred browsing experience.

Southdale isn't much of a hangout for young people. The few teens I saw mostly concentrated on their screens. Maybe the stores could have doorways that look like big iPhones, to get the kids' attention.

Having a dollar store surely isn't a good sign for a mall, nor is one that just sells candy and chips. One end of the building had a lot of vacancies. Festive signs cover windows, or clothes from other stores that are still open are displayed.

Southdale is like a 10-year-old red haired Golden Retriever, that good boy whose smiling face has turned white. I have fond memories of the mall of my youth, when it had the energy of a puppy. Now it naps a lot and has a difficult time with stairs (one of Macy's escalators was out of order). You start to wonder if it will be around next year.

The good news is that a huge athletic club repurposed a JCPenny store, and a really nice grocery store is taking over where Marshalls(?) used to be. There's still hope for the old boy.

After I walked both levels I crossed the street to the The Galleria, the mall with higher-end stores. There I had a hard time finding a parking spot.

Williams Sonoma and Crate & Barrel are awesome. A $2000 espresso has now been added to my letter to Santa. A more moderately priced martini glass also got my attention. I would have bought a pair of them, but the checkout line was too long for me for an impulse purchase.

There's a Yeti store in that mall that I hadn't seen before. That was a great place to look around. Note to young people working a first job: When a well dressed $$$ customer asks a very specific question about a $450 item it doesn't sound good to start your reply with "Uh, yeah like maybe..."

I want some new eyeglasses. Warby Parker had a few frames I liked. We'll see (hahaha). These frames look much better and not so wide in person than in this photo, I think. As I always do with glasses, I'll bring my wife with some other time for help selecting.

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papaver-decervicatus · 2 years ago

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Headcanons- Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Birthday, June 23, 1996

Can you tell that gaz is my favorite of the mainline boys BY FAR???

Early Life

Born and Raised in London.

His mother (Daniella) was 20 when he was born, his father was 22 (Solomon).

His Dad died when he was 5, afterward, he was raised mainly by his paternal grandparents and mother.

Not raised religiously at all, not religious in adulthood.

Was one of about 50 kids named Kyle in school, so the progression of his name was “Kyle Garrick” to “Garrick” to “Garry” to “Garz” to “Gaz”

Top Marks all throughout school, had no delinquency records, he participated in and won medals in triathlon.

Also was part of a local thespian society for a while but would die if any of the 141 found out about it.

His favorite Role ever was Merlin in a comedy play about King Arthur

Incredibly musical even to this day, loves to show off whenever he finds an unattended piano in a mall or similar

When he was 13 his mother remarried (Oliver), then when he was 15 his little sister, Amelia was born.

His mother was a hairstylist throughout his childhood. She met his father at a club. She went to college shortly after Gaz joined the military and now works in IT. Oliver works some corporate jobs.

His mother taught him how to braid hair when he was very little because he wanted to help her, has maintained the skill to this day.

Doesn’t really have a relationship with his stepfather, good or bad. Also isn’t particularly close with Amelia because of their age difference, but still cares immensely for her. He is more like a close uncle than a brother.

His union jack ball-cap was a Christmas gift from her

Fucking adores that hat.

Subsequently a very good babysitter because he was stuck looking after Amelia so often. He is definitely the only person in the 141 who can stand to be around babies and who can change a diaper.

General

He has a small flat in London a few blocks from the old police station he used to work at.

He keeps in decent contact with a lot of his old mates from his Bobby days, as such he tends to have a lot of the latest gossip and rumor of what’s happening in London

Generally puts a lot of effort into his appearance.

10-step skincare routine

Has a schedule for hair washing that he sticks to religiously

Gets all his suits custom tailored

Has 4 pairs of shoes he wears regularly but frequently gets them repaired.

Firmly believe he had a minimum wage job as a teenager just for some extra spending cash, is the sweetest most understanding customer possible.

Does not buy new things if he can help it, if he likes something he will get it repaired until the shop straight up refuses him.

Had his ears pierced when he was younger, but they have since closed up. Also has no real plans to get them repierced.

Is the sort of guy that does best when given orders, he is a bit too conservative in risk-taking to ever be a Captain like Price but still respects him immensely.

Hates the smell of cigarette smoke, and never has and never will smoke.

Not big into clubs, but does enjoy going pubbing with the SAS or 141

Gets hit on so badly when out.

Soap is very jealous that Gaz has to practically tear men and women off of him when they go out

The only member of the 141 who has never gotten blackout drunk in front of the others

Low alcohol tolerance but high self-control to stop drinking

Takes his tea without sugar but with milk, and loves novelty teas like the ones that are supposed to taste like biscuits or pumpkin spice.

He had a K-9 companion when he was in the London police force because he was on the narcotics task force for a while.

When the dog, Barley, had to retire, she was adopted by Daniella and Amelia.

His phone background is a picture of Amelia and Barley asleep in a silly position on the family couch

He is still convincing Price to get a bomb-sniffing dog for the 141 because he misses being a dog handler

Soap, who is known to have a fear of dogs despite being a golden retriever of a man, is vehemently against this idea

Gaz is working on this fear with him

Ghost has grunted out assent to the idea, which is basically high praise

Gaz knows Ghost loves dogs, Ghost has met Barely once and Gaz had never seen Ghost so happy (Ghost called Barley "Sweetheart," "Lovey," "Darling," "Sunshine," and "Madam Bark-ley" and Gaz could scarcely believe it, he of course swore not to tell anyone else)

Is Price’s favorite, not his protege. Price is significantly harder on Soap than he is on Gaz and Gaz absolutely exploits this by getting away with pranks by pinning the blame on Soap.

Very dry sense of humor, he tends to gravitate towards jokes where the punchline is unspoken. He has mastered the "idgaf" face for Soap specifically.

He is more of a protege to Laswell, since they both specialize in intelligence and information. He has also met Mrs. Laswell and got along very well with her.

Kind of like Alex's "stepbrother" when it comes to Laswell's mentoring.

If he ever had to retire, he would go back into the police force, probably go into detective work with Scotland Yard.

He doesn't not want a family, but he doesn't want one either. Gaz is primarily work focused, once he felt comfortable enough in his career he would reconsider that call but as of now, no plans on marriage/family.

Despite all odds, he does not have a fear of heights and would chose to take a helicopter over a boat any day of the week. His cheek scar was from he slipped off of a boat as a teen and he almost drowned. He's a great swimmer, but he does not like boats.

Gaz's most toxic trait is that he has to know. He does not deal with unknowns, he does not leave things left undone or unsaid. He needs to do it and he needs confirmation from the outside that he did the right thing, he gets paralyzed when he faces things he doesn't know how to deal with (such as the bomb hostage situation.) The greatest honor he can give someone is to leave parts of them untouched and unknown at their request and as it stands, only Ghost really gets that treatment.

Talents, special bonds ETC.

Secret and Gossip Keeper of the 141 and therefore the best gift giver, some of his best include

Ghost-

The only person who knows his birthday on the team

Soap has been trying to get the secret out of him ever since Gaz let it slip that he knows it. Out of respect for Ghost, he swears he will never tell and hasn’t

Gifted him an expensive razor set and holiday-themed tea biscuits because he knows that Ghost has a terrible sweet tooth and for the longest time didn’t know that disposable razors are supposed to be disposed of.

Knows that Ghost is afraid of snakes after a particularly tropical and outdoorsy mission

Is vaguely aware of the Riley Massacre, and despite his curiosity, has made a conscious effort not to look into it.

Price

Knows really embarrassing stories of young John from Nikolai which include but are not limited to

The time drunk Price lost a distance pissing contest to a woman on his team (US sniper friend)

The time Price gave himself a scar on his left asscheek by walking into a hooked fishing pole

The time Price had to get stitches and broke an arm from falling off of Laswell’s motorcycle while Rick Astley was playing

Fucking hates Rick Astley now

The time in Pripyat that Price dove into a running stream, while there was snow on the ground, fully clothed, and came out with a massive Wel's Catfish in his hands.

He got hypothermia from this event but wears the nickname “Dumb Bear” that Nik gave him after the event as a badge of honor.

Nik, to this day, smiles whenever he eats catfish.

Usually keeps Price gifts simple and limited to expensive cigars, but Gaz is the only person with the foresight to buy the man lighter fluid and a cigar cutter.

Soap

Knew about the juvenile arrest record thing

Also knows that Soap cheats at card games, but hasn’t told the others because Soap still can’t beat him

Knows that Ghost’s sketchbook is the most filled out

Has told Ghost that secret and Ghost just looked sort of vacant for a moment and said something to the effect of “I don’t believe you.”

Has made several half-hearted attempts to get the two to bone, but really would rather not know if he’s ever been successful.

Started Soap’s Bodice Ripper collection and deeply regrets it. Gifts him the most ridiculous, outlandish, awful romance novels he can find (think monsterfucking and other taboo romances.) Also gifts Soap stuff like art supplies sleeves, kneaded erasers, and nice paper or other art supplies he can’t just make himself.

Has a supernatural sense for reading people, the 141 like to say that he can taste a lie on the wind.

He is by and far the best at ‘reading’ Ghost. He is the first to jump to his defense when he is feeling overwhelmed, he is the first to know when he’s been missing meals or sleep, and he is the last person to give him shit about an outburst.

Soap and Ghost might banter more, but Gaz knows Ghost better.

Ghost feels a lot of ease with Gaz because he reminds him a lot of Roach, as such he is really protective of Gaz in an almost “older brother” type way

The two are close in an unspoken way, whereas Ghost and Soap are close in a very loud way.

Gaz/Ghost besties for realsies and I am sick of pretending that they're not.

Gaz has a terrible habit of being places when he shouldn’t, like having a camera recording pointing at Soap the second before he eats shit on a treadmill.

No one knows how he does it, but he’s always in the right place at the right time for an embarrassing photo or video

The most photogenic man alive, there is not a singular bad picture of Kyle Gaz Garrick anywhere.

Soap and some recruits have a bet going to see who can snap a bad photo of him, but no one can. They have even resorted to asking his mother for baby Gaz photos hoping to find something but he looked like a model back then, too.

The unluckiest, luckiest man alive. Will fall out of a helicopter one hour and win 3k off a scratch-off ticket the next

He and Ghost have created a secret bond over having chronic nightmares, it’s not uncommon for the two to just sort of quietly exist around each other in the breakroom at 3 AM after a rough night.

He sort of regrets following Price into the force because Price's convictions to his cause are that strong. Gaz knows that if it came down to it, Price would leave him for dead and not turn backwards. As magnetic as the two are to each other, Gaz can't help but worry that the loyalty he gives to Price won't be extended back. Deep down, he knows that Price wouldn't mourn him, but he would mourn Price.

Definitely the closest interest-wise with Soap, their chemistry was immediate. Within twenty minutes of meeting the two were thick as thieves, even though Gaz was faking it for about a month before he really started to like Soap. Partners in crime, Gaz is actually probably the worse trouble maker of the two but he can get away with it unlike Soap.

#navigation -> headcanon tag #kyle gaz garrick #cod mwii #gaz mw2 #gaz cod

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thewolfisawake · 2 years ago

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“How ridiculous!” Seòras’ voice was a low hiss. “A revel of other leaders? Now? And to place that fool of a child in charge of planning it!” Barely sparing a glance towards the other in the room, the advisor fumed. The king never even mentioned such an idea to him before roping in his child on the fanciful idea, as if he were the one who was the advisor and not him.

“No matter.” Taking in a deep breath, golden eyes met their twin and he offered a mirthless smile to Eriskyne. “This is an opportunity, I am sure. Use this party to gather what information you can from these guests of ours, anything that may seem of import. A perfect tool could be waiting among the masses that we have yet discovered.” Yes, it was inopportune, but he was an opportunist through and through.

If there was one thing one could count on with fae, it was their propensity for dramatics.

Eriskyne observed their father's rant with practiced coolness. They thought the idea of the king excluding his advisor was a very pointed notion. Either a disdain or mistrust of some kind. Why? Of course, they knew why but the king did wasn't quite clear. Although the fae did have to wonder what was it that had their ruler trust Ruaidhri instead. Perhaps there was some merit in being a peer to the heir apparent. Shame they lacked that advantage but they chalked it to yet another present fallen in the eldest's lap.

Their only consolation was the display of their parent being out of the loop. It was funny in a way. Most parental figures might be proud of their child stepping up. To watch them uphold a legacy that they kept previously. However the need for control, the ear and possibly the heart of the king superseded any sort of pride.

They offset Seòras’ long breath with a sharp one, not quite ready for turn about the man had. Quick was he to dole the next of orders. Eriskyne gave a hum of thought.

"I will have to find a guest list somewhere for a more thorough list," they mused, "but more than likely King Camhlaidh would have invited the outsiders that have made their way to the Court as of late. If I recall correctly, there is the Empress Violetta. Their relation is...terse if the air about them is correct but he has entertained her more than most would despite this. There is the Aeserea's Court ruler, whom I am sure would enjoy ribbing the coordinator for this revel. And, of course, there is matter of the King of Vasyri...that may be an avenue explore."

Of course, they still had to comb through the actual list. Not just for other dignitaries sure to be sent but any 'tools' for their father...or themself. But really, they rather explore more with the king himself than the external factors. The advisor was right, there was something ridiculous about this revel. King Camhlaidh didn't seem one for spectacles and it is not it were on behalf of someone else such as the engagement with that flippant man.

And while the Court would not find it strange to move forward with the price being paid, Eriskyne found it strange that their ruler would be so willing. Regardless of how it was satiated, the King of Vasyri's relation with one of their own caused a loss of face for him. Derided even further by the arrogance of an outsider's judgment with no recourse. To simply hold a party with the opening for those outsiders to return was, frankly, foolish. And while the king was green, he was not naive. There's an angle they are missing and maybe this party might be a chance to find the perspective needed.

Or possibly....

"Oh," the fae said, realizing they'd pondered for quite a while without a word, "please let me know if there are any of particular...interest and I can note them. An in with the staff before and during the revel will need to be worked immediately. However the list is the only thing I cannot have direct access to although Ruaihdri likely has the master list of invitees. If somehow that can be passed to Scribe Ìomharach, I will retrieve it."

Eriskyne's features shifted to a fae of a different stature and appearnace. However still in their tone, they remarked, "My, in one fell swoop the king has made quite an agenda. "

#{Seelie Revel #late late I am so late #this is a while prior to the revel #also consider this an opening for a changeling #to be meeting with various muses #all the excite but also #all the muses to run into

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st4rb0yx3 · 6 days ago

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heyo!

I know I've been gone a while but me and my boyfriend are in need of some cash and we made some adopts and they're not selling :(

check them out here if you have toyhouse

https://toyhou.se/pnk_h0und/characters/folder:6645283

if you don't here's what they look like and the pricing we can sell them off site as well cashapp is needed though..

WHAT TO OFFER

MONEY(CASHAPP ONLY)PLEASE ONLY OFFER THESE IF THEY ARE A MIXED OFFER INCLUDING MONEY : ( CUSTOMS, TRADES,OTHER )we will not consider low-ball offers (Jonah has spent a lot of time on these)

STARTING BID : $8 AUTOBUY : $30

1 PER CUSTOMER ! ( please we want others to have a chance :3)

ADOPTS :

WOLFDOG - CIS (HE / THEY) (OPEN) - JONAH

CHIHUAHUA - TRANSGENDER (HE/THEY/IT) (OPEN) - JONAH

LOP EARED BUNNY (PENDING) - CIS (HE/HIM) - JONAH

GOLDEN RETRIEVER (OPEN) - TRANSGENDER (HE/HIM) - JONAH

DASCHUND (OPEN) - GENDER NONCONFORMING (THEY/THEM) - JONAH

SEAL POINT SIAMESE (OPEN) - CIS (HE/HIM) - JONAH

SEAL (OPEN) - CIS (SHE/THEY) - JONAH

TORTIE POINT SIAMESE (OPEN) - TRANSGENDER (HE/HIM) - JONAH

MAINE COON (OPEN) - CIS (SHE/THEY) - BRAD

CLOWN CAT (OPEN) - GENDER NON CONFORMING (XE/XEM) - JONAH

ALBINO ZEBRA (OPEN) - NONBINARY (THEY/XEM) - BRAD

#toyhouse #adopts #furry #$8 #bid #furry artist #anthropomorphic #furry artwork #$30 auto bid

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fluffytouch121 · 10 days ago

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The Rise of Pet Grooming in Noida: Caring for India's Most Popular Dogs at Home

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#dog grooming #pet grooming #grooming service

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