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femoso-seben · 1 year ago

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Monster fic:

Human Shaped Monsters

Blood bathed the soil. It spans decades, and at this point, there is no way either side could turn back, and strike a deal for peace. The humans who have been enslaved and the monsters who were belittled and forced into segregation for centuries.

Blood soil the hands of both leading sides, eyes shrouded by hatred and rage. This was a war to end either species… and the humans were losing.

Two decades before the start of this war there was a faction of monsters pushing for equal rights and humans siding with them. Not even that solidarity could bring both sides together. It started with peace and ended in the blood of an innocent.

The human resistance was shrinking and the leading factions began to divide a plan. A last-ditch for freedom.

Rabies.

It was a slow race, the first to be infected were the werewolves and other beastmen. It was a long wave of modification by a small group of scientists. They made sure it could jump to every other monster, the only free of it were, mermaids, gargoyles, and shadow beings.

They made it with no cure.

It was an overnight success. Their militaries begin to fall into smithereens. One by one they had to kill their own forces and burn their corpses. New fear spread across the monsters.

The humans leaked the information.

The fear of humans was raised again.

Switzerland was the only country that allowed humans and Monsters to live together, of course, there were some apartheid laws but in all of was far better than other countries where they were actual slaves, broodmares, pets, and cattle.

It was a painful year for the Monsters before they decided to come to a ceasefire with the remnant of free humanity.

They meet up in neutral territory, Switzerland.

Laswell’s wing folds flatly against her back as she looks over to see her escort, Task Force 141, and shadow company’s Graves. “Are you sure about this?” Price was in his wings folding.

“I don’t like making concessions to them but if they have a cure—“

“I doubt it,” Soap snears, “knowing that vermin they were trying to kill us off.” He grips the door his long nails scrapping the metal door, his tail swishing angrily.

“Kate Laswell,” a feminine voice calls out, they all turn to see a young human woman standing there flanking her side is a monster in tactical gear. Laswell walked forward and they followed after them.

“Are you part of the delegation?” Laswell asks. The human looks up.

“Well, I’m part of the… welcoming committee, we in Switzerland don’t want war.” The human smiles her dark auburn hair was pull back into a low ponytail.

“A bunch of cowards and weaklings,” Soap smears. The soap didn’t always hate humans, he grew to hate them. In his youth, he was to stay in love with one until another human took her. He watched as they destroyed the world, their corruption throwing the world into a near-constant war.

He hated them.

“What would Santana think?” The human girl asks, Soap found himself sneering at the human woman for being up his old love.

“She’s not here because of you-“

“That was far before my time.”

“You’re young,” Gaz notes.

“Well, this country is made up of refugees, our parents fought to be free.” The human said side eyeing the Harpy.

Gaz didn’t like humans, he had no fold memory of that human or that human in his mind where they showed their famed humanity. He has only seen their bigotry. His home was napalmed by war. He hated humans too.

“Why aren’t we needing at the capital?” Graves asks looking around. The sun was setting and he could see the beautiful landscape of Switzerland’s countryside.

“Too many people live there, too many anxieties. Here if war breaks out not so many people be hurt.” Soap snorts but looks around the air is smooth and clean, far less dusty than the battlefield.

“Mother Maia,” the human woman calls out. There in the setting Sun of a large building, what used to look like a big retail store was a woman taking down hung sheets.

“As Jezebel,” the woman’s sweet voice calls out. “Are these the monster’s delegates?”

“Yup,” the group stops in front of this strange woman. She was in all black, with no skin showing beside her hands. She didn’t look Muslim just… like a Victorian woman in mourning. It was nostalgic for Graves he couldn’t stop smiling, her dark veil covering her hair and face. “How are the kids?”

“It’s dinner, you know how the little werewolves get, so territorial. Then the gargoyles want to sit at the top. The dragons are trying to hord people.”

“Is Michael sweet-talking people for food again?”

“Of course, you can’t stop young sirens from praying on others, especially on crawfish night.”

“Crawfish? Damn now I’m hungry-“

“We’ll take your group to the meeting point and if you get their fast enough and back we might still have some leftovers.” The woman in black tease.

“C’mon, let’s hurry,” Jezebel said rushing the group of monsters.

“What is that place?” Ghost asks. There were monsters there? And a human talking so nonchalantly about them too.

“That’s an orphanage, government sponsored, that’s the head director, Mother Maia.”

“Is she a nun?” Soap asks. Jezebel cackles and turn to him.

“Nope she’s a former Sniper, before retiring only a few weeks ago.” A cold chill run down tje monster’s bodies.

“What was her name?”

“Something like the pale death.” The monster stopped walking Soap nearly ran back to that woman to kill her.

“Relax Johnny it’s a bad idea to kill her here.” Ghost said resting his stone hands on his friend’s shoulder. Soap bared his fangs but let his shoulder sag.

“That bitch has killed dozen of our men-”

“Hey,” Jezebel said, “you better be careful this is her boyfriend right here,” Jezebel pointed to the armed monster next to him. He was a humanoid monster, maybe a wraith… that would make sense at night he was the most powerful.

“Traitor,” Gaz glared at the shorter male who had a strange antenna coming from his helmet.

“C’mon, let’s keep going I’m missing out on delisting crawfish!” Jezebel practically jogged to the meeting point.

“Look at her, so carefree. Humans truly disgust me.” Soap whispers to Gaz who flew slightly above him.

“I know mate, they only care for themselves, and discriminate against those that differ from them.” The moment they got to the meeting Jezebel took off.

—————————— /\ ——————————

“Mother Maia?” The woman in black looks up and walks up to the group of monster. Walking into the giant old building. The inside was converted into a home.

“Yes?” She asks.

“They wanted to see the orphanage a little more,” assistant Andres said, his wolf tail swinging side to side.

“Of course come in—”

“That killer in in charge of our kind?” Soap sneers, walking up to her. His eyes widened she was quite tall for a human, 6ft.

A set of low growls ooze out from the back as a small group of five teenage boys stalked in, they were young Werewolf pups. They got in between her and him.

“Who the fuck are you pendejo?” One asks his accented English rolls off his tongue.

“She killed our kind—”

“You killed your kind! My parents were killed by cunts like you,” the Australian boy shouts.

Soap glared at the young boys in front of him. They were young, stupid, and weak. A few had missing eyes, and arms, and one missing a leg. In the order of monsters, they should be dead.

“Enough!” Mother Maia snaps loudly, pulling the young alpha back. She leans down. In a low tone, she said, “Go protect the other orphanage.” Soap frown, another orphanage? The young back sneered at him one last time and stalked off.

“Have some grace, most of them were maimed by the monster’s militia when their parents tried to flee. Most of their parents were either murdered in front of them or eaten.” A chill ran down 141’s back.

“Mate—”

“Of course, we have some monsters affected by humans, but humans wouldn’t let a single monster live. These survivors or victims of you.” Mother Maia said setting the basket closed down.

“So, pale death-“ Graves walk over a smirk on his face.

“Killed anyone of them?”

“They are my children, don’t you know? Human pack bond with anyone.” She said in the same flirty tone as Graves. She clears her throat and looks at the greater whole, “where would you like to begin?”

“What type of monsters do you have?” Gaz asks looking around, he can smell a plethora of monsters, even prey monsters.

“We have beast men, harpies, mermaids, fairies, shark born, dragons, gargoyles, vampires-“ a group of bats came flying in and transformed small little kids running up to Mother Maia.

“We’re hungry.”

“Go to the kitchen.”

“How do you feed them?” Graves asks, there was about six of them the oldest no older than twelve.

“Donation of course, this country knows blood from monsters and humans are welcome. Of course, we have animals.” Graves subconsciously nods. “We have a few turned, they don’t want human blood.”

“We also have pray hybrids.”

“To feed-“

“No.” Mother Maia cuts off Price.

“Come I’ll show you the barn,” Mother Maia turned and led the group. There in the back was a large barn, it smelled like a barn.

“Lenard,” Mother Maia calls out, a figure jumps down and a young gargoyle appears, “we’re bringing in some guess, go tell Jin.”

“Jin isn’t gonna like this… not these unknown predators in his camp.”

“I know but go tell him,” The gargoyle nods and flies off.

Mother Maia turns to them, the veil is getting annoying, and the strange clinking sound as she walks. “Don’t eat anyone of them, I’ll kill you.” Her tone turns from sweet and welcoming to cold and cruel.

She opens the barn.

Screams erupt.

There was many cattle hybrids. Sheep, goats, alpacas, llamas, cows, and even some deer. They all backed up and only one thing approached a small girl screaming.

“Yumna-“

“Get out!” She shouts. She was a stout girl? And from the marking of her fur, honey badger.

“Do they have to be here?” A new voice asks in the arms of Lenard was a boy, Jin. The horns said it all along with the one wing, dragon. This was his hord.

“Quit,” Mother Maia said, silencing the barn.

“As you can see we have farmed more prey species since they don’t want to be killed or eaten. We’re leaving now,” she pushed everyone out and close the barn after Lenard who climb back onto his perch.

“So…” Price smiles blowing out his cigar smoke, “that’s his castle and hord?”

“Indeed.”

They begin to walk far into the fields small predictor hybrids poke their heads up and watch them leave before going back to playing. They walked for a few miles to the ledge of a cliff down below the ocean.

“We don’t have any big trees, so most of the Harpies live on the cliffs in huts, down below in our seaways are Merfolks and shark borns. Of course, as you see another gargoyle and in the water an eastern dragon born.” Gaz eyes widen seeing the little harpies flying around. It reminded him of home.

“Priscilla,” Mother Maia calls out, a young woman in her early Twenties or late teens walked up. Gaz thought she was human at first until he noticed her feet. She was a wingless harpy. Gaz felt feather’s raising anger boiling under his skin. She inched her way closer Gorgyle behind her.

“Since Harpies are communal and the boldest of the youth train the harpies to fly, but since Priscilla had her wings ripped off most of the young harpies don’t fly.” Mother Maia said.

“We can!” One shout, from the cliffs their small heads and raptor eyes glued on them. “We just… don’t want to.” The little boy said shyly.

“And in the small brush forest we have the smaller pray species and a pack of werewolves.”

“A pack?” Soap asks, “there’s more than one?” Mother Maia nods.

“We have five they like doing mock battles to see who gets five feet of territory into another’s back, it’s all friendly games they come together to defend this area when needed.” Soap couldn’t help but smile, maybe if he was younger this would be a great place to create a pack.

“I can teach them how to fly,” Gaz said mindlessly staring at the cliff where there were probably over 20 harpies. All the young children and the oldest were younger than him, they wouldn’t survive if they couldn’t fly.

“Really?” Priscilla said her shoulder feathers raising in excitement.

“We’re staying here a few days.” They two turn to another Maia for an answer.

“You have to ask Baihu.” Pricilla cringed and sighed, “As the most senior member of this community and the oldest, it’s your duty.” Pricilla nods.

“Alright let’s go asks him, c’mon.” She begins to walk to the cliff Gaz following suit.

“Isn’t it a little cruel to have a human looking after a monster?” Soap ask.

“Not at all my counterpart is a monster taking care of humans, his hord.”

“This seems too perfect.”

______________________

Word count: 2.2K Would you be interested in this being a full fic?

Inspire by @bluegiragi @gremlingottoosilly

taglist: @kkaaaagt

Part 2

#141 #call of duty #simon ghost riley #captain price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod #oc #cod monster au #cod x reader #monster 141 au #monster #eldritch #fic ideas

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cassandrarebornanew · 3 months ago

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The Misfits pt 3

https://www.tumblr.com/cassandrarebornanew/769128980275216384/the-misfits this is Part 1

https://www.tumblr.com/cassandrarebornanew/769128980275216384/the-misfits this is Part 2

idk how to do hyperlinks I’m sorry someone teach me pls

Warning: violence, language, a horrible Scottish accent

This is (sort of) a finale, so if you want more of this series/characters etc, let me know.

2.1K words

Enjoy :D

——————————————————————————————————

You vault over the ledge, smooth and refined. Storming towards the laboratory, you clock the soldiers filling their way towards you, the alarms blaring, and orders being thrown from one to another. You clock them, yes, but pay them no mind. Your magic prickles its way through your veins, lighting them up in a glowing blue. Your tattoo glows too, twisting and spreading and covering more of your body, intertwining with the brightness of your veins until they’re indistinguishable. The darkness of your pupils spreads, covering your eyes entirely, before spilling over into your skin like ink. Any area not lit up by your power turns black as obsidian, skin solidifying and warping. Arms appear, long fingered and slim. Your body dissolves itself into a fog of blackness, blue magic lighting up every wisp.

You are no longer human.

You are no longer mortal.

You are now magic incarnate.

You are now rage given form.

You are now death.

The 141 watch, partly frozen in horror and awe, as you rip your way through enemy lines. Hands strangle and snap necks, reaching into chest cavities and ripping out someone’s beating heart. Your magic - no, you are fluid, burning someone with such heat they turn to ash, only to freeze another so fast that their flesh shrinks off of their bones. You pull the wind from someone’s lungs, drain their blood, control them so that they fire at each other. There is no limit to what you can and will do, no stopping you now. And in the midst of this storm of power, typhoon of death, is what’s left of you. No longer with your crooked smile and confident swagger, but still you. Floating in the middle of everything, observing with a cold gaze that betrays your anger. You sail through, closer and closer to the place you know the rest of your team are. Then you stop.

A breath of stillness as you analyse what is in front of you.

Wards. Carefully made wards. Designed to keep you out. You would laugh at the attempt if you weren’t so furious. But you are livid. So, in response, half a dozen or so arms pull up in front of you and a ball of pure energy begins to form in your hands. It shakes the ground, and the energy casts beams of light to all surfaces. A few more seconds, and you push it forwards, overwhelming the spells that keep the wards in place, fraying them until they yield. Pushing past the door, the task force hot on your heels, one of your many not-quite-eyes scanning the surrounding areas. Heat signals, vibrations, sound waves, all easily spotted until a picture is painted for you. Turning sharply, you allow what’s left of your body to touch the floor, before sprinting off at an inhuman speed. You register cursing and footsteps behind you as you run, following your proverbial nose.

You can feel the magic in you clamouring for more, more, more, even as it eats away at you like a starved beast. This power cannot be contained, not by your current form. That doesn’t matter though, not as long as you can reach the rest of the team and get them out. Nothing else matters. Nothing… else…

The doctor sits in a high back swivel chair, smug and satisfied and completely unaware of what he’s done. Your team on the other hand, well, they’ve seen you angry (not this angry though) so they know what’s coming. They stopped trying to fight back a while ago, opting to wait and see what will happen next. There’s about twenty enemy soldiers in here with them, all aiming their weapons directly at them, and they’ve been slapped with cuffs that prevent shifting. Scope speaks for the first time since they grabbed her.

“You’re all dead. I hope you know that.”

The doctor turns to her, the very picture of an egomaniac. “Oh? Don’t tell me your little Captain is going to stop me? I have a hundred men out there, all of them trained to perfection. These rooms are lined with special alloys that prevent magic use, and that alloy is in every one of our bullets.” He leans forwards, smirking. “Your leader is going to drag themselves in here, bleeding and broken, and I will pull them apart and figure out exactly what makes them so special.”

There’s a beat of silence, before Scope copies his expression, features twisting into a frighteningly accurate imitation.

“You’re all dead.” She doesn’t have to say any more, doesn’t even have the time. They know you’re coming, can feel it in the spell you placed on them so that they could always find each other. Each of them turn towards the door the very second it flies off of its hinges. Your inky blackness seeps through the doorway, recoiling for a second, before diving into the walls. The doctor watches in horror as hundreds of tiny hands meticulously peel the alloy out of the walls, pieces floating in the air where you left them.

You step into the room as they open fire.

Most of the bullets pass through your incorporeal form, and those that don’t are simply slung back at them as you manipulate gravity further. Crux can’t help but mutter “Holy shit” in surprise at the magnitude of your anger. This is new, even for them, but they aren’t worried. They trust you.

Your voice crackles into reality from all sides.

“Your men are dead. Your bullets have no effect. Your alloy does not protect you. Give me what is mine.”

“Will you let me live?”

What a stupid question. His fate was decided the day he took your team, your family.

“I will kill you quickly. That is all you deserve. That is the only mercy I will give.”

That apparently isn’t good enough for him. He grabs a handgun from one of the soldiers and points it at Crux. Your head cocks to the side slightly.

At that moment, the 141 rush into the room and line up either side of you.

“Sweet steamin’ Jesus.” Soap exclaims. “There ain’t a single this ya can’t do, aye? We should keep ya ‘round.”

Dead silence.

“Ok, tough crowd much.”

More silence. It’s only then that he realises exactly what’s happening. Guns cock, reload, and find targets again, but you don’t care. The magic is beginning to overpower you, and you need to get them out now, before they get caught in whatever will likely ensue. You’ve taken down somewhere in the region of a hundred and fifty soldiers in the span of a few minutes, and it’s wearing away at your self control. Without moving or giving any indication of your actions, you slowly and carefully alter the gun in the doctor’s hands. Once you’re sure it will yield the desired result, you straighten slightly, catching everyone’s attention.

“Fire then.”

The shock is palpable. You ignore Crux’s look of pain to the best of your ability. This is what is necessary.

“What?”

“Fire. Go on. Or are you too weak to kill at point blank? Do you need the guise of progress to soothe the tatters of your conscience?”

You watch as each of your words hit him, taking effect exactly how you’d hoped. He screams something incoherent and irrelevant about his inner strength, before he pulls the trigger.

Bang

You grin icily as the doctor drops the ground, bullet piercing the upper corner of his lung. The death will be long and painful as he slowly drowns in his own blood. That’s good. He had it coming. The bullet fuses with his body, keeping the wound open. No one can save him now. A flicker of a thought and twenty necks snap, soldiers dropping like flies. Cuffs fall to the ground, effects nullified. You pull your team to their feet, silently checking them all for any sign of injury or pain. Finally, you reach Crux. Your hand rests on their shoulder, a silent apology. For both what you did and what you will do. They look you in the eyes, understanding that you would never allow them to be hurt. A gentle smile.

“I’ll see you soon.”

The flash of understanding through your team parallels the confusion running through the others, but you pay them both no mind. Pulling together whatever control you have left, your magic wraps around them, as soft and airy as you can make it. Then you pull. Pulling away from here, pulling them into a ripple that you’ve created, pulling them out. Before it’s too late.

They land on the ground hard. Looking up, they see the trucks, and the woods, and the lab in the distance.

“Motherfucker! They did it again!”

Gaz looks at Arctic in confusion. “What do you mean? Do what again?”

None of the Misfits reply, instead scrambling back up the ledge to try see what will happen next. The 141 join them, and as Price opens his mouth to ask just what exactly they’re waiting for, the entire laboratory explodes. Waves of magic roll outwards, directly from a core of pure energy. The bast throws them down the ridge, rolling all the way back to the trucks. As they get pull themselves back up, they come to the chilling realisation that everything is gone. The buildings easily covered a square mile, sprawling and vast: yet not a single one stands. Ash floats to the ground like dirty snowflakes, not a hint of what was there, of who was there, previously. Your magic had become too much for your body to handle, and ripped its way out. The 141 are confused, shocked and just a little horrified. Your team, on the other hand, is frustrated, annoyed and just a little pissed.

“Every time something happens to the people they care about, they use so much magic that they have to redo. It’s like the third time now!” Jester pouts, much to the confusion of some.

“Run that past me again. Redo? Third time?”

Jester turns to Ghost, before impatiently explaining. “They can’t die. Like ever. So every time their magic consumes them, they ‘redo’ into another form. It’ll be them, just slightly different. And each time they improve it - their body, I mean. Lasts longer and longer under the strain of their magic. That’s what they told us anyway.”

“Well how long will it take for them to come back?”

A shrug. “Depends on how much magic they used now. A lot this time, so maybe a few months? I don’t know man, they show up when they show up. Literally nothing we can do except wait.”

“Well that sucks.” Soap interjects.

“No shit. I’m honestly not sure how much longer I can take this.”

Slowly but surely, everyone climbs into the trucks, and what’s left of the team up makes its way back to base. They have time to figure everything out later.

A few hours later:

“And that’s the mission report done. Thank god.”

Groans of agreement as eight spines straighten, nine chairs left empty behind them. Eight forms are completely filled out, one unwritten.

A few days later:

“We’re heading out. We always sort of float around until they collect us again, but I think this time it’s over. I know I can’t do this again. I’m enrolling, like most of us.”

Price claps Scope of the shoulder. “Fair enough. Well, you have our contacts. Let us know if we can do anything for ya, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

A few weeks later:

“Take a vacation.”

“Laswell, come on-“

“I insist. They aren’t back yet, and that means we can’t tie everything up. Stop wasting my money and take some time off.”

“Fine. I’ll see what we can do.”

“A holiday Price, you need it.”

“Yes, yes, holiday shmoliday.”

A few months later:

It’s hot here. High temperatures, high humidity. There are a lot of bars too. Which is good, because the four of them have been drinking like alcoholics. Scope and Jester are starting to make more sense now. This is really hard. It would be one thing if you were actually dead, but you aren’t, and they don’t know what to do. All they can do is wait, and hope you’ll find them. Stranger after stranger approaching them, but when they don’t see you, they lose interest. Tonight is no different. They’re each at least four drinks in, as someone walks up to their table.

Taller, slimmer, same confident smirk. Blue lock of hair hanging over a pale left eye. Paler iris, darker hair. Tanned and healthy, cocky and unexpected.

“Ya miss me?”

Tag list: @harley101399

#fan fiction #cod x reader #cod #cod fic #tf 141 x you #task force x reader #monster au #finale?

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bunnywritesjunk · 1 year ago

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#könig x reader #konig x reader #konig cod #konig fluff #cod mwii #monster au #hybrid reader #ghost mwii #call of duty fanfic #call of duty fic #call of duty mwii #hybrid #cod fanfic #ghost cod #poly 141

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fic-recs-by-mink · 11 months ago

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Guess What I Found At The Grocery Storeeeeeeee 💚☠️💚

#fic recs by mimi #not a fic rex #my photos #monster #monster energy #energy drink #cod 141 #cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #simon riley #boutta screw over my insides in more ways than one? deal!#👀👀👀#john price #soap cod

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ff7-has-taken-me-over · 1 year ago

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Do you have any more Soap x Everyone prompts? I eat them up to quickly

Ooh! I actually had a completely different idea for this at first but then this hit me and I got excited.

But! What about a blind Soap and his reactions/interactions with different monster hybrid 141/los vaqueros/König???

Also these monster hybrids aren’t based on anything in particular from the characters or nothing, it’s just the first one that popped into my head when I thought of the character and I went with it. I’m also making up my own laws and rules for these so shush!

Gorgon Ghost:

Obviously Simon’s got the whole, turn to stone if he looks at people thing so he’s always wearing sun glasses. Cause apparently, they were just the perfect deterrent for his little powers.

But every time Johnny’s with him the Scot insists that he doesn’t wear them, claiming he’d be heartbroken if he were denied the sight of Simons ‘beautiful eyes’. Which was bullshit since the man couldn’t even see but who was Simon to deny him.

Johnny spends forever after missions, sitting in Simon’s lap, fingers tracing over strong features with feather light touches.

Sometimes he ventures a little further back, giving gentle strokes to the snakes that constitutes Simon’s hair and giggling like a mad man when they either wrap around his fingers lightly or nip at the tips. They weren’t venomous so neither of them were ever too worried when that happened.

But Johnny always acted like it was a normal thing. Smiling wide when he finally left them alone and went back to tracing his features. If they hadn’t already done the routine a hundred times over he’d think the Scot was trying to gain a sense of what he looked like. Now he simply relishes in the touches, using them to ground himself and simply exist within the present.

Harpy Gaz: (I realise there’s a proper term but shush)

Soap was surprisingly good at grooming Gaz’s wings. The latter was always hesitant to let the man near, cause while he loved him dearly and would do near anything, his wings were wildly more sensitive than the rest of him. He didn’t want to run the risk of Soap accidentally doing something wrong and either leaving the Scot feeling guilty over it or have him be guilty cause he’d lashed out.

But Gaz had eventually caved when he saw how gentle Soap was with Ghost’s snakes. The fact that man absolutely lit up the room with how brightly he smiled also, might have played a role in it.

Now, it was just a regular occurrence. They were in the military, it was pretty much a given that Gaz’s wings would always manage to become unkempt somehow, someway. But that just meant that it was always a given that Soap would help him groom them. Sitting on Gaz’s back and gently combing through the feathers with soft, but sure fingers.

Sometimes he’d even give the man a massage, working out tense spots and laughing when he felt Gaz turn into a melted mess beneath him, gentle trills escaping him with how relaxed he always became.

Whenever they finished, Gaz would turn onto his back, opening his wings and arms just so Soap could lie down and he could wrap them up. It was cozy apparently and Soap loved feeling the all encompassing warmth and softness that came with it.

Demon Price:

There was a reason there was a blind man in the military despite all the red tape and technicalities and what not. Whether Price would ever confirm if it was truly his fault or not though was an entirely seperate issue that reoccurred at least once a month.

As it stood though John McTavish was his. He was his soldier. His responsibility. His blood pact. Unfortunately, he just so happened to be the base’s human as well. Which meant that no matter how much Price craved and wanted the man’s attention to be his and only his, there wasn’t a chance in hell it was going to happen now.

Fortunately John was aware of it though. Knew how much Price wanted to take him away and how often his desires almost got the better of him so he also had his own, little designated thing with the man. It was an unspoken rule on base. Everyone got time with John. Nobody interrupted. If you did, then there better be an excuse better than the world ending to save your life.

John would always dress up all pretty for him, coming to Price with a pretty little blush and unsure smile cause he was never quite sure how well he’d done with the wardrobe he was wearing. Granted, it was pretty hard for the man to make anything look bad. He looked amazing in whatever he wore.

If that happened to be due to the fact that Price bought him all his clothes and made sure they were all similar in style and complimentary in colour then who cares? His boy was happy and Price got to see him dressed up in the things he bought him.

Nagual Alejandro & Rodolfo:

Ale and Rudy were usually hanging around base as Jaguars, either lazing about after a hard mission or getting residual energy out by play fighting outside.

Occasionally though you could hear Soap with them, the two of them curled around the Scot while he chattered away about one thing or another, either completely oblivious to the way the jaguars were usually asleep, or not caring a single bit.

It always looked like the smaller man was serving as their pillow, one’s head in his lap while the other would be propped up on his shoulder, the man’s body resting against someone’s flank.

It was hard to tell how any of them were comfortably positioned, the two jaguars black as night and blending in with one another near perfectly if not for the pale man between them. Soap never seemed to mind though, hands running through their fur and occasionally shifting to scratch in no particular order.

Though given how the two would melt just a touch more when he did scratch a particular spot you’d think he was able to just know that that would be a soft spot for them.

Spectre König:

Kǒnig had a hard time keeping himself fully corporeal sometimes. He was so used to hiding and living out his military days as a spectre that he’d forget that he’d actually have to be in a physical form for some things.

But Soap made it easier. Something about the man made König want to exist within the same plane, if not to be able to actually touch him then just to exist beside him. It helped that he could tell Soap appreciated it when he was in physical form as well.

When it got particularly difficult Soap would always be there, words soft and coaxing and his touch even more so when König managed to gather his wits enough for it.

When he was fully in his plane Soap got this distinctly proud look in his eyes, blindness doing nothing to take away from the glint when he looked in König’s general direction and greeted him warmly. The reaction always made him feel warm inside. The blood he didn’t have rushing through him and warming him something stupid.

Sometimes he swore he felt his long dead heart kickstart. Especially when Soap laid his head over his chest, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s waist as if his arms alone were holding König together. Given that he didn’t feel the need to come apart like smoke when he did he’d argue that maybe it wasn’t too far from the truth.

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eiraeths · 1 year ago

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new installment alert woooooooo! monster magic au baby!! this is part one of two parts ill have the second chapter out within the week (hopefully)

SUMMARY: With an op in the upcoming future, Soap sets forth on gaining insight to prepare. He ends up gaining a new friend and has to come up with an intricate plan to win over his lieutenant.

WORD COUNT: 3835

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queermentaldisaster · 1 year ago

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“There's a Revolution Coming” Chapter Three

Tags: @forestshadow-wolf @im-here-and-im-confused @axelaxolotl09 @8-rae-rae-8 @rainerestored @bringinsexybackk69 (if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist please inform me!)

No cws, just a short important filler chapter.

There was a loud roar, followed by the tearing of a wall. Alejandro winced. “Still no news?” He asked Price. Price shook his head. “None. It’s like he just vanished off the face of the earth. No trace, anywhere.” He murmured. Farah scoffed. “We know it’s Graves again, who else would it be?” She spat. “It’s not like anyone else would’ve taken Soap.”

Gaz looked at Farah. “Can you prove that? Can you prove that Soap went missing and wasn’t just taken? Because if you can, we can get a proper search going, instead of just Rudy and Nikolai.” He retorted, causing Farah to sigh. “You don't need to take your frustration out on me.” She murmured.

“Sorry,” Gaz mumbled, looking away. Price raised his hands. “Okay, we're all extremely stressed and upset and that's gonna make us snappy. It's okay. We'll find him and bring him home.” The werewolf said, keeping his tone level. Roach wrapped his arms and wings around Gaz, burying his face in the crook of Gaz's neck.

Then, Ghost came in, holding his head. He looked up at everyone, completely quiet. His wings wrapped around himself, as he took a seat in a chair. Price gave him a sympathetic look. “How you doing?” Price asked. Ghost only grumbled in response.

“Noted.” Price sighed, also sitting in a chair. Ghost didn't look up from the floor, his mind running, thinking of places Graves could've taken Soap. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. ‘Calm. Calm down. Soap's stronger than the others give him credit for.’ he thought, his wings unwrapping from around himself. He looked up, standing up. “I doubt they'd be holding him anywhere in Mexico. They'd have wanted to get him as far away from us as possible.”

Farah's head perked up. “You think they'd have taken him back to America?” she questioned. “It’s our best shot, hermana,” Alejandro responded. He looked back at Ghost. “You’ve got a pretty good read on these perras, hm?”

Ghost looked at Alejandro, his eyes cold. “I’ve dealt with demon dealers before. And if I'm right, that's what they want me for. Either a deal, or to use me as a weapon.” He snarled, his eyes narrowing. “Price, can you call Laswell? She may have something.” he asked.

Price nodded, pressing a button on his radio. “Bravo-6 to Watcher-1, how copy?” He asked, and Laswell's voice crackled out through the radio. “Watcher-1 to Bravo-6, solid over here. Got bad news though.” She responds, and Ghost's heart starts pounding.

Price narrowed his eyes. “Watcher-1, sitrep.” He said, his voice sharper than ever. Laswell's voice came back through. “Bravo-6, it's Meister. He escaped.”

Ghost's eyes widened, and he shot up, his claws digging into the table, rage and fear filling his veins. Price looked at Ghost with wide eyes. “Watcher-1, repeat your last.”

“Meister has escaped.” she repeated.

The table lit aflame as Ghost's emotions rose to a torrent. He stormed out, his heart pounding. He ran out into the pouring rain, collapsing onto the ground and letting out an anguished and panicked scream.

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raffe156 · 2 years ago

Note

I know we are fully on the knights AU and don’t want to steer away from that an my ask is still kind of within theme…hear me out….yeh we have lady tank but what if instead of knight commander price he is…Dragon Price????? Like in the Monster AU shifters

an he steals her away (or she goes willingly) and makes her part of his hoard in fact she is his crowning jewel 👀 🐉

https://www.tumblr.com/bluegiragi/713439364080877568/im-curious-would-dragon-price-um-really-enjoy

Well…that’s a thought 👀

#captain price #captain john price #john price #price x tank #call of duty #141 knight au #141 knights au #call of duty knights au #knight commander price #dragon price #141 monster au #anon aks #I don’t know what to do with myself #new kink unlocked #cod mw #captain price x oc #captain price fic

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femoso-seben · 11 months ago

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Humanoid monster

Previous, Next

“What was that about?” Soap asks Gaz. The two of them backed down when the reporters got nosy, they followed her all night long hounding her for answers.

“Abraham believed In a theory, it's written in Latin so either she knows Latin or Abraham told her.” Gaz grumble digging through his notebook.

“What theory?”

“There was a time were humans and monsters got along, they worshiped this female deity. She was murdered, and war broke out, Abraham was born in the last few days of her reign.” Gaz explains finding his notes he had written about back when he was in school.

“So?”

“So Abraham no longer speaks about this time, and in one of his papers, he theorizes this deity is still alive.”

“Mate—”

“That woman is highly educated, she shouldn't be, she wasn't born here she *came* here. Teaching humans is banned in all states except for Switzerland, how does she know?” Gaz asks Soap shrug, it didn't sound important to him but from the look on Gaz’s face said it all.

“Mr. Garrick,” the two sergeants froze and turned to see Priscilla standing there peeping her head in head feather raising in slight embarrassment. “Do we need to cancel flight training?”

“No!” Gaz shouts and walks closer to her. “Your mother.”

“yes?”

“Did she go to school?” asked a question with a smile.

“No… Why?”

“Well your mother knows things she shoulders like a diety—“

“Oh you mean Abraham’s fairytales? he likes to tell fairytales when we were little, you know? of a better time where we’re all equal, it helped most of us sleep.” Priscilla says fondly with a sweet smile on her lips.

Gaz sighs and Soap pats him on the shoulder, with a small reassuring look and smile, “See mate, you overthinking it.”

“Your mother where did she come from?”

“She came from South America and found most of us traveling up to North America and sailing over to Asia, then traveling to Switzerland.” Gaz nods and the two walk to the field with the little Harpies.

The press saw them, and the monster swarmed them, “What’s your view of the orphanage director?” The first reporter asks.

“She’s my mother—"

“So she cut off your wings?”

“No! She found me like this—“

“If given the opportunity would you go home?”

“This is my home!” Priscilla shouts her frustration begins to teetering on tears. Gaz spread his wings out blocking her from the cameras.

“Don’t bother the kid—“

“As a soldier in the monster military aviator wing, what’s your view of this almost dystopian utopia?” One Gargon asks her snakes hissing with delight and anticipation.

“I am weary but everything here so far looks good, and the orphanage director didn’t know we were coming or how long we are staying,” Gaz said in the most PR statement possible. Switzerland has one of the biggest armies, and it is wise not to attack its citizens and their politics. The media followed them, Priscilla couldn't stop looking over her shoulder, they were making her uncomfortable.

“What's your relationship with each other?” a reporter asks.

“I'm helping the younger harpies fly.”

The reporters mostly watched, occasionally they would speak to their camera, and it was easy to hear them.

“Most of these harpies are missing wings or mutilated. We suspect that the orphanage—”

“Shut up, pendejo!” One of the kids shouts at the reporters. “We all had these injuries before the orphanage.”

“It’s done by you monsters,” another girl snaps.

“Why do you defend this place?”

“It’s our home,” nearly everyone replies.

—-

The air of attrition on cordiality was fading, for every child was a surveillance camera all going back to Mother Maia. This was not lost on anyone, not the soldiers or the reporters.

The children slowly became guarded. Weary and secretive. It wasn’t lost on the task force that they were no longer welcomed there. The gargoyle creatures that usually only watch began to show themselves more often, the dragons were more active, and they were expanding their territory.

Both sides of the war were left with little progress made, and far more interest in the orphanages. The human side is more than the monster’s.

“Maia,” Abraham walks into the dimly lit office. She looks up, and the veil hangs up on her hat hook. Abraham nodded and sat down. “My old contacts have warned me that the monsters have decided to hack—”

“I understand” Mother Maia responded in a calm tone, “I’ll change a few things. The only thing they will get is the spending log, it’s best.” She smiles and begins to type away.

“There have been talk about monsters adopting—”

“I will not allow it,” Mother Maia looks up, “we both know the children who will be adopted will be sent into the military or worse eaten, I am no fool and neither than you.” Abraham smiles and nods before standing up, his wings doing a small stretch.

“I am glad we are on the same page,” Abraham said with a smile, Mother Maia only nodded and continued to work.

Abraham always knew humans were not equal to monsters in strength, but their intelligence is quite admirable. It’s been centuries since Abraham found a human he could view as equal, but another Maia was that human.

She was articulate and wise for someone who never had a true education. And yet with his simple guidance, she was able to keep her children.

“What about the new disease?” Abraham froze and sighed. Everyone knew at this point, even the humans.

“The Monster scientists have named it Cerebrum deterioration, or as the soldiers call it brain rot.” Abraham studied Mother Maia’s face, most humans couldn't hide their glee when disguising this topic, all except for Mother Maia.

“How pitiful, has it linked to the human resistance?” she sighs the scars across her face rippling with the slight movement of her face.

“No, the scientists said it was discovered rather than made.” Mother Maia nods and continues to write.

“Let's keep informed if a war breaks out this could affect this free state.” Mother Maia said sternly. Abraham agreed. “And when the vaccine is made, be sure to be one of the first to get it, you are a model.” Abraham laughs but nods.

“You are a strange one—”

“I am only being realistic Abraham, even though you've been a pacifist for a few hundred years, you still hold power.”

“Of course.”

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley #141 #john soap mactavish #captain price #kyle gaz garrick #monster au #monster 141 au #cod fic

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emmbny · 2 years ago

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I red this one on AO3 too!

Only Human

Pairing : Monster Task Force 141 x reader

Cw : canon-typical violence, bodies, death, blood, cannibalism?, wounds, trauma.

Wc : 3.2k

Note: the designs for the Monster 141 came from @bluegiragi .

When Laswell, a known figure in the Intel gathering ranks of the CIA and military, had called you for your new transfer, you were ecstatic about it. You showed up casually, still in your vest and whole attire from your deployment, you were told that Laswell was waiting for you in her office once you took your first step. You only had time to drop off your weapons in the armory before going straight to her office.

You were personally asked to join a Task Force, not another squad or team under a Captain, which you hadn't expected; an international Task Force to boot, it shocked you, even more, to have been asked to have you on a Task Force that spanned nations wide. The radar must've been wide for it to be an international one, important and specialized soldiers were probably the ones who were invited - green berets, if you guessed.

You were excited, though, to have the honour of joining specialized soldiers with only being a corporal.

"Which Task Force, ma'am?" you asked, back straight with your hands crossed behind your back.

"The 141, Hunter."

Your composure almost slipped, your mind buzzed with excitement and confusion at the notice. The 141 was a reputed group, having members from the United Kingdom to the Americas and allies in the south, around Urzikstan, and perhaps farther. They took down Major Hassan, killing the heart of Al-Qatala and weeding out traitors like General Sheperd and Graves' PMC, the Shadows. A closed group with secrets only they knew and would take to the grave, a tight-knit Task Force.

You've heard of some members, none being human. The Ghost - or Ghost - a wraith hybrid of some sort, as dangerous as he was respectable. He was the better known one, a popular topic from one's lips to the other, gossip and rumors about him being more monster than human. While some were harmless, others were made to be racists - or xenophobic in some rarer cases - most were gossip, exaggerated depictions of the man people feared and admired.

You were jumping under your skin for the day to pass faster, for your transfer to happen more quickly. You couldn't wait to meet your new teammates, you've heard good and bad things about them. Some were sociable, others shy or downright menacing to look and interact with (perhaps they specifically meant Ghost).

You've always wanted to work with monsters, the majority of the military was made up of human men and women with a low, low (around 5%) being monsters, creatures of the night that made them stronger, faster, and better than humans, but they were often hunted until the last decades.

You, however, expected that half of the Task Force was made up of humans, and the rest monsters. You were wrong, really wrong. The moment you stepped out, you realized how unfortunate - maybe fortunate to be stuck with broad, strong, and handsome men - you were to be the sole human. Perhaps it was the shock or the honour that made you freeze and shy away, but neither of them could make you feel as prepared as you should be for officially joining them.

"Welcome to the Task Force, Hunter!" Price yelled over the beating blades of the helicopter, blue eyes staring at you with a - sinful, you found it sinfully handsome - smile hidden under his beard. He also had a green tail that followed behind him, a long, strong tail, you mustn't forget that.

The first ones you talked to were Soap and Rudolfo, two jokesters within the group. Soap was cute, having almost a puppy-like excitement at meeting you with the way he greeted you, smiling and laughing boisterously. He was loud and warm when you first talked to him.

Rodolfo, or Rudy as he told you to call him (you stuck with Rodolfo, feeling too intrusive to call him by his lovely nickname), was Mexican, a special forces, just like everyone else in the TF. He was as warm as the Mexican sun, funny, and soft-spoken.

They had an accent, one a light Mexican and the other a deep Scottish slur in his words. Rudolfo incorporated Spanish words in his sentences, easily understood but adorable nonetheless. Soap's Scottish accent was thicker, deep with his jargon that you sometimes questioned if he was even speaking English.

You only found out that they were monsters when they were training outside. You watched Soap turn from under the shades, eyes keen on his rippling muscles and cracking bones. His jaw shifted, it grew longer and his ears pointed up, light brown fur sprouted from his skin and his mohawk traveled farther, turning into a mane. You could hear the whines and grunts from his transformation.

A werewolf, you learned. He had enhanced strength. He became more durable and agile. He had accelerated healing, almost ten times the speed of regular men, and his senses seemed to have heightened significantly. It looked painful, you concluded so from the bodily sounds and his moans. The heat he exhumed was searing hot, it turned the air around him into mist, burning the water in the air and turning it into gas.

Soap had heard you gasp and awe at his form, broader and taller, he towered over you when he stood on his hind legs. His eyes glowed a vibrant blue when they met yours, waiting and gauging your reaction, but he could only see awe and admiration, perhaps a dash of excitement beneath your gaping expression.

He padded towards you, lurching forward and sending you tumbling on your back as his tongue lolled to the side and hung from his panting maw. His shoulders shook, abdomen flexing rapidly, it looked like he was laughing. At your reaction, or you, you didn't know, all you had in kind wa the urge to touch him. He looked so soft.

It was ironic in some sense, for the man - now creature - who feared dogs to be a werewolf, a larger, more dangerous, and fantastical counterpart to the domesticated dog.

"Can I pet you?" the words fell from your lips before you knew it, your face flushed and your body seized in embarrassment.

Soap huffed and pushed his snout to your shoulder, lowering his head in approval. He would let you pet him, and you took it without complaint. His fur and mane were soft, maybe the softest you've ever touched (you grew up hunting with your father, you knew for as well as any other hunter). It was soft and silky, he had taken great care in his grooming.

He let out a satisfied rumble when he saw you smile, a childish wonder in your eyes. You were so captivated by Soap's looming form over you that you almost forgot about Rudolfo - keyword: almost. Something wet had nudged your elbow, you turned and saw a smaller dog, ghostly pale with glimmering, blue gems for eyes. It looked like a mix of a lab and a shepherd, the combination making this white dog adorable.

Your eyes observed the whole length of it, from its head to its tail, a long whisp-like swirl that turns blur at the end. It connected the dog to Rodolfo. You didn't know what the dog was. Was it a spirit? Or was it a familiar?

"Cadejos, Hunter," Rudolfo answered your silent question, smirking at your petting the spirit with one hand while the other scratched behind Soap's twitching ear. "Dog spirits. I'm their vessel."

That meant he was more human than Soap was, perhaps almost as you. You still gave him an awed look, amazed by the possibility of becoming a vessel for mythological beings and spirits.

You only truly found out whether or not Ghost was human or a monster on a mission. You were sent along with a team led by your Lieutenant to capture a standing AQ cell, one of the few that still stood without their leader.

You were, along with other sergeants, corporals, and privates, separated into two teams, Alpha and Bravo, one led by a sergeant and the other by Ghost. He had you follow him close, a way to watch how you did on the field. You made quick work of them, they were weak, disorganized, and fought with each other when they had no one to lead them. A pity for what used to be a big problem.

You were left on your own, Ghost having gone north to search for something. You had taken down the surviving men, pouncing on them in the dark. When you were done, you wiped your blade on your forearm, cleaning it from the iron stench of blood.

"Could've left one alive, Hunter," Ghost's deep growl made you jump, twisting to meet his dark eyes. They seemed endlessly black, like a void of darkness. "I'm bloody hungry..."

He crept closer, steps slow and purposeful, as if trying to spook you. He stopped before a fresh body, one you muffled and stabbed. The body was still warm, blood pooling from the wound and eyes glossed over with death.

"Hungry, sir?" you asked, unsure of what he meant or if he had muttered it to himself.

He hadn't replied, head turning to examine the rest of the corpses, strewn around you like a gift. A growl rumbled in his chest, mist rolling off his body like a crashing wave. It filled the area around you and tickled your feet in its cold, dark embrace. You watched the fog cover the laying corpses, dissolving and swallowing them into its murkiness.

When he meant by hungry, he actually meant eating humans, you shouldn't have been surprised, a was a wraith hybrid. Spirits of the dead that hate and haunted the living. It made more sense when he told you to let one alive, wraiths preferred living souls, dead ones were still filling but tasted lesser.

"Clean kills, " he finally spoke, his voice a timber lower than it was before his dinner. "Good job, corporal."

You nodded at him, stomach fluttering with his compliment, a praise from such a man - monster - was a prize, something he rarely gave to other soldiers. You smiled under your gaiter, you wore it for better protection in the sandy deserts of Al Mazrah.

"I'll remember leaving some alive next time, L.T."

He craned his head to look at you before he left, eyes squinted in what seemed like a smirk - devilish, you hoped - and gave you a firm nod. You scrambled to follow him, watching his broad, dark back as you walked a few steps behind him. He hadn't spoken a word to you since you got to exfil, but once you landed at the base, he motioned for you to follow him with the jerk of his wrist.

Ghost wasn't so bad if you got past the glaring image of danger he portrayed and the growls he gave. You couldn't wait to work with him again or with the others.

Gaz was a harpy, a very interesting and useful monster to have on your team. He was nice, not as chatty as Soap was, but he talked to you and smiled your way. His caramel-dipped smiles were to die for. He was easy to talk to, by far easier than your lieutenant had been at the start.

You saw him a lot in the rec room, sipping on tea or scrolling through pages on his phone. He was comfortable with you as you were with him, he let his talons out, lounging with his wings across the couch or over your lap as you cleaned them for him. The ever-so-teasing gentleman had a way with his words and his wits, often leaving you flustered or annoyed at his jabs.

Being a harpy meant he was light, bones hollow yet sturdy enough for a human body fitting his strong and slimmer frame. He could fly, and he became much more agile, more so than Soap's werewolf form (birds were naturally more graceful than canines) and he had a telescopic vision, razor-sharp and precise, more than any humans or monsters could have, it rivaled the falcon's keen sight.

If he was so light, agile, and all-seeing, without forgetting he could fly, how did he manage to fall from a helicopter not once, but twice? That question bothered you often, lingering at the back of your mind like a ghost (more so than the wraith himself that kept appearing at random and old moments behind you).

"You can fly, right?" you stared at his face, blank of any expression after finally mustering the courage to ask him.

"These wings aren't just for show, " Gaz hummed, leaning back into the chair that he brought out to watch Soap and Ghost spar. You would have your turn with the wraith after their matches.

"Then how do you manage to fall from a heli twice?" you shot, brows scrunched in a frown, confused.

His wings jerked, black feathers twitching at the reminder - an embarrassing one - of falling out, smiling sheepishly. He simply shrugged, every limb stretching, his wings lengthening to his whole span and toed talons stretching and curling. You were struck by its sharpness, his long nails and claws could cut a man in half, or completely sever a limb off.

You guess you'll never have an answer to your question, he could keep his pride and you could keep your question to yourselves. You wouldn't mind doing so, he let you preen his wings, you could touch those soft feathers and pluck dead or broken ones from his perfect plumage.

Alejandro Vargas, an unmarried and very eligible bachelor with a smooth tongue and a growl of a Mexican accent. He seemed almost too real to be true when he smiled charmingly your way, his perfect, white teeth glimmering under the yellow bulbs and his shiny, sweat-coated skin glowing golden after a mission.

Alejandro's a chivalrous person - and they said chivalry was dead - he's caring and protective. The Los Vaqueros, cowboys, were his team in Las Almas, a family that grew with every new batch of recruits and men and women devoted to the small village they grew up in. Mexicans were a tight-knit community from what you've seen in Alejandro's and Rudolfo's stories.

He was good, handsome, and strong, maybe too perfect to be human, and human, he wasn't. He's a shifter, like Soap, a full-bodied shifter from human to monster. Not unlike his human side, his Nagual side was mighty and honorable, a greater man and an even greater Nagual.

Although solitary by nature, Alejandro was a sociable character, the life of the party if he could, but he was also a responsible man. He was tall, but taller when shifted, claws sharp and a tail helped him balanced.

Once, you'd seen him shift, yellow and brown-dotted fur sprouting from his skin. His lower jaw had protruding canines, standing proudly over the ridge of his nose. He looked like a jaguar hybrid, wearing his golden fur like a crown

His other one, a panther, a jaguar born with more melanin than the usual one, was just as majestic. His fur was a darkened grey with black spots dotting his back and tail. He tended to use this form in darker places, or at night, hitting for efficiency and silence.

Captain Price, you knew he was a monster since your arrival, his long, green tail dragging behind him. You never bothered asking whether he was a lizard or a dragon, you only knew that his scaly tail was reptile-like in origin.

His smoking habit, girthy cigars burning and smoking at the edge, his chapped lips wrapped around the base of it as dark smoke leaked from the sides of his lips, curling in the air and around his beard.

Sometimes, there would be smoke without his cigar being lighted, a dry and unlit stick that still smoked. Charred gas, too dark to simply be cigar smoke. It came from him, inside, you concluded. Dragons could breathe fire and smoke, create it from within and push it out. Stirring around the mass of heat could feel overwhelming, warm, and uncomfortable without a release.

"Why cigars?" Price coccked his head, bro lifted at your question. "Helps me curb the need to burn." He breathed out another cloud, watching it swirl around his golden eyes. He explained it well and simply. Though he also liked the taste of it, an authentic, earthy texture.

Other than the occasional scales here and there that popped out, you've never seen his shift. Did he turn and grow like Soap and Alejandro? Did he change like Ghost and Gaz? Or did he have a dragon spirit? You were, albeit worried about prying, curious about your Captain's change.

Your chance appeared when he called you to his office, wanting your help with something related to his wing- wings? You weren't expecting much, maybe seeing a glimpse of the tip of his wings or the sharp edge of his horns.

He was leaning against his desk when you knocked on his door, letting you in with a sharp grunt. He was hunched over his desk, his wing, green and wide, stretched out. His bucket hat laying on his table, letting his horns grow out and curve upwards, both green and shiny. His tail was violently and anxiously swishing back and forth, hands and arms overturned with scales. His fingers turned green and callused, his nails became sharp claws and tinted green.

"You've got softer hands than any of those blokes, Hunter," Price said, his reason for calling you was for your talented hands, skilled at massages and with the knife. "Lost it in a crash, 's fine."

Although for a reason, you still got to see every part of him, hear the story behind his missing wing, and share a few pleasantries. He groans and grunts during your sessions, but the muscles on his back were less tense and strained.

Price wasn't one to brag about himself, tell his exploits to others, but yours, he did, how skilled your hands were at loosening the knots on his back and shoulders, turning them putty under your palms. Soap had come rushing, following your scent until he found you, for a massage like the one Price got.

You sighed, this wasn't what you signed up for, the sudden rush of adrenaline or scares they would cause, popping or jumping out of nowhere when you had your back turned. Some - Soap, Rudy, and Gaz - were mischievously childish, loving pranks as much as they did them. You'd get white hair before you hit your late 20s.

Fortunately, the three others were far more mature, one charming, one broody, and one proud. You don't regret joining, even with being the weakest and only human in the Task Force, the 141 was your family, a dysfunctional one with an occupational hazard, but still a little family.

After all, big, broad men working by your side on a daily had its perks, and brought a big, horny problem.

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vellichor-of-the-solivagant · 4 months ago

Text

Like Birds on a Broken Branch | 1

Monster! Task Force 141 X F!Reader

Drabble / Masterlist / DISCORD SERVER

Preface

Females have begun to decline as swiftly as time has, and that was when males of all races, began to become desperate. This led to women being collected at birth and sold at auction, and they gradually became one of the most coveted items.

Despairing to keep what have to become sacred treasures across the land hidden, parents started to hide their daughters.

You are one of them.

Until, what you had always thought your last hope, the Government issued a large-scale raid for women, and forced you out of hiding, thrown into the house of four powerful monsters.

Context Warning: NSFW! Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dub-con/ Non-con, Fingering, Murder, Author's Poor Attempt in Dark Fic, Monsterfucking, Mentions of Slavery

Disgusting, filthy, bottom crawlers.

That was the first thought that came to your mind as the Shadow Company of the Government raided your once safe haven. Your body trembled before them as though you were heaved into a freezing lake, left to die. Your breathing was heavy as though you went for a track. Your sweat coated every inch of your skin.

But the cleaver knife and gun in your hand said otherwise.

Heads and hearts exploded each time a deafening noise echoed in everyone's ears, blocking all sounds, but not yours. All you could hear was the beat of your heart, telling you never to stop.

Each second was enough time to burn down another one's story. However, this was the beginning of your tale.

When all you could see was crimson, when all you could hear was the echo of your heart and the clinking of bullet shells, light shone from behind. And you staggered forward, feeling a scorching heat from your stomach and chest, where blood oozed out which never seemed to come to an end—the sign of your freedom already stolen.

In a blink, gone.

After all, a story never begins with one who already has everything.

It was impossible to block out the stifled sobs of all the women around you, even if you had tried cupping your hands over your ears and closing your eyes.

Just like you, who had fought for your freedom, but to no avail, they were captured a week before. However, you couldn't bring yourself to cry. More than anything, you were tired . . . and mad.

You had been shot twice before your capture, and the bullets the Shadows used were laced with poison. Normally, that would only be used to neutralize monsters, but seeing how you murdered people just to escape, the leader must have realized you were more than what you appeared to be.

That, and the fact that only women can bring life to this godforsaken land, were the reason why men and monsters decided to make them their toys. But these women had long lost their will to live their life the way they wanted. The sparks in their eyes that were said to be the undisputed magic which always brings men to their knees, were now gone.

You couldn't exactly pity them when you were about to experience the same. In fact, you were already in the same state as they were: stripped naked for every goddamned eye to see.

Your name echoed in the corridor, and one of the men, standing guard, dressed in all black, grabbed your arm. He pulled you up to your feet and whispered to your ears, “You better behave out there,” he tightened his grip as he dragged you. “Graves won't hesitate to put another bullet on you.”

You rolled your eyes. “We all know I will fetch a great price. You wouldn't want to lose a large sum of money, don't you?”

“Threatening my Shadows again?” A silvery voice emerged from the darkness, taking the form of a man with slicked-back, blond hair, dressed in the finest suit you had ever put an eye on.

Phillip Graves was a monster—a bloodsucking leech in human clothing, leader of the monsters you had blasted a hole in when they rampaged your home, and the very one to make it even by shooting you and capturing you.

He flashed a small smile at you, condescending enough to make your blood boil. He took you from his subordinate, arm snaking around your waist, and pulling you close to him.

Your breasts planted on his chest, making it appear more ample, and on your stomach, you could feel something hard. A grimace appeared on your face and a shiver ran down your spine as his hands traveled from your waist down to your ass. His fingers slowly went south through the gap of your thighs. You loathed this feeling, the cold touch of his calloused fingers, his hard grip, and the strong scent of his cologne mixed with rust—with blood. But if you retaliated, he would break your bones, over and over again, knowing that you could heal faster than most.

And this sadist wouldn't hesitate to take your virginity himself before selling you to others, like a toy that he had already gotten tired of.

“You sure you don't want me to take you?” Phillip leaned down, planting an open-mouthed kiss on your shoulder. “I can delay your show and we can have some time.”

“No,” you grunted, turning your head to the side, eyeing his servants who watched the movements of Phillip’s hands running over your body.

A chuckle escaped his lips, inhaling your scent as his nose trailed to your temple. “A shame,” he whispered, his sharp fangs grazing your skin, fingers caressing your folds, already slightly soaked.

You bit your lip to hold back the noise threatening to escape from your lips.

He stepped away from you and watched you immediately try to cover yourself with your arms. But oh, you foolish little bird, he could still see every inch of you.

He would take you, sure, if that was what you wanted. But good sex was nothing to a good sum of money. He can buy or rent any woman he pleases, with the price he could get from you. Besides, there were acquaintances of his who wouldn't want a woman who had already been touched.

Plus points, you were educated.

Cons: you fucking know how to kill.

Wherever the fuck you learned to do that.

He brought his fingers to his lips, licking away your fluids that grazed his fingers. “Well, let's get going.” He smiled and took your wrist, like a misbehaving dog on a walk park now being dragged home.

His hand swiped the curtain open and you squinted your eyes, blinded by the overhead lights, until you finally adjusted to the brightness, which followed you and Graves as you climbed up the stairs of a platform. Shame brought your body to flame as every gaze shifted on your naked flesh, chatters that sounded like static echoed endlessly in your ears.

From there, all you desired was for everything to burn.

John Mactavish leaned forward from his seat, bright blue eyes raking upon every inch of your body, but what caught his attention was the condescending look on your eyes, which declared every man in your sight lower than vermins walking on this land. Then, your eyes settled on Mactavish as Phillip Graves began your brief introduction to all the monsters inside the auction, and seemingly to judge his entire existence, he felt himself wanting more of your attention, of whatever you speak. He felt the desire in your gaze, the hunger for eradication.

Oh, you would look glorious sitting on his lap, bouncing up and down on his dick as you please, until you suck him dry. John felt his dick hardening, brushing against the fabric of his pants. He turned on his seat, facing Jonathan Price, whom they considered the leader of their hoard, but before he could utter a word the same man spoke.

“I like this one,” Price declared, making the other two on the same table as them, shift their gazes at him. Price took a long drag from his cigar before he continued. “She reminds me of the time when women stood proud and confident. We barely see that kind of spark in the eyes of females anymore, and I’d like to bring that spark into nothing but a speck of ash.”

“You’re a sadist, Price,” a man in a skull mask remarked, voice low and gruff, snapping his head back as the bidding started, each time a monster spoke, the price got higher.

Price turned his head to the man, his eyes glowing gold like a flame imprisoned within. “Nothing shall burn brighter than my fire, Simon.” He pulled a smirk on his lips, sharp fangs glinting, and motioned at the other one among them, raising his hand. “Kyle, would you please?”

However, before Kyle could raise their designated number, Graves raised a hand, bringing silence to the room, and he began, “Most of you might think that she is just a human, but let me show you something that would assure that she was the most valuable one we have ever had in a hundred years.”

You snapped your neck at Phillip, frowning at his face until his fingernails became dark and sharp like the claws of a wild beast. With a swift movement, his nails dragged on your arm, making you wince in pain, and blood began to run down. Each plop of blood on the floor made monsters gulp and each centimeter of the wound closed made monsters rise from their feet.

Even Phillip Graves had a hard time resisting the sight of blood and forcing himself on you for the sake of money.

Who wouldn’t want a woman who can take this much damage? Who wouldn’t want a woman who would ensure their offspring would come out stronger?

Then, a booming laughter echoed across the sea of yells, surfacing among others. Just as you turned to see where it came from, a flash of yellow came into your sight, and you leaned back, your heart leaping to your throat when a man towered over you.

Not a man. A monster.

Devil's incarnate.

Sharp horns sprouted from his forehead. On his back, a pair of leathery wings unrolled and a thick, scaly tail slapped Graves away from you before he could complain. And with a single sniff, a huff which brought the smell of smoke up your nostrils, Price’s eyes flashed gold.

“We’re bringing you home.” He pushed his lips onto yours, scaly hands wrapping around your waist, sharp claws scraping your skin. You tried to push him off, but one of his hands grabbed your hand so tight you thought your bones would break.

You whimpered against his mouth, making him chuckle and bite down on your lower lip, his fang piercing through the fragile skin. You tasted blood on your tongue and so did he as you were heaved up, forced to wrap your legs around his waist. Your cunt brushed onto the harsh fabric of his pants and the growing tent between them.

You bit back a moan and pulled away. “Stop—” But his hand pulled you back into his fervent, disgusting kiss. He left his marks on the expanse of your collarbone, then down to the valley of your breasts, leaving open-mouthed kisses as he reached on your head, pulling on your tresses.

It made you turn your head and you watched three other men get on the platform as well—one who appeared to be the most normal-looking among them, giving two cases of money to Graves, who didn’t seem much pleased after he was shoved off stage.

And before this very crowd, you were brought back the curtains and to God knows where.

May we all have seats reserved in hell already.

Next Chapter / Archive of Our Own / DISCORD SERVER

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callsign-songbird · 1 year ago

Text

This was supposed to be a short rambling and ended up turning into a mini fic lol. I know the tense shifts, I know it's sloppy lol

Anyway, Simon has a sweetheart who gets kidnapped and gets to meet "Ghost" for the first time.

The first time you meet Ghost, it's supposed to be carefully planned and controlled. After all, Simon was so worried about opening that part of himself up to you. To you, he was Simon. Soft, introverted, sweet, desperately trying to break a cycle of generational trauma. You had never met Ghost.

But, of course, nothing in Simon's life can go according to plan, and when you have people that mean something to you, they become weaknesses. So, when you get kidnapped by a Russian military company with the intel that you were important to Task Force-141? Ghost has already burnt down the world once, you're sure as hell that he would do it again for his love. So, when you meet Ghost, it isn't carefully rehersed and planned like Simon wanted. No.

Instead, you're terrified, bound, and gagged on a cold concrete floor wearing little more than your skivvies as tears stream down your face. Then, out of the blue, gunfire and shouting rings through the halls. Stealth be damned, as soon as their cover is blown, you know that Ghost will fight like a rabbit animal. He barges into your cell, tackling a man against the wall with a knife to his throat and a gun at his head.

Those eyes that had looked at you so softly and tenderly were completely unrecognizable when they were this wide and intense, wild with bloodlust. "Where is the girl?" He spits out in fluent Russian before his eyes catch sight of you.

'BANG'

A single bullet through the soldiers' skull, splattering Ghost with even more viscera and gray matter. Ghost doesn't even seem phased as he holsters his pistol and pulls away, letting the body drop with a sickening thud. He walks brazenly up to you, but pauses as he notices the way you frantically back yourself into the corner, trying desperately to stay away from this monster who had surely come to drag you from one hell to the next.

Then, he crouches down and outstretches a gentle hand to you, letting you come to him. He called your name so sweetly, and that was a voice you recognized. You tried to muffle out his name through the rag shoved into your mouth and tied around your head. That earned a low chuckle, a dangerous one that you hadn't heard before. "Not quite, love. Ghost. Now, let's get you home, eh?"

Ghost. The name echoed in your mind, bouncing around as you tried to remember where you had heard it before. Your eyes flicked over to the corpse splayed in the doorway of your cell, making you nearly vomit in your mouth before looking away. Ghost shifted closer, using the knife still in his hand to cut through the rough ropes binding you. "Bloody hell... idiots didn't even use chains, could have escaped right easy, you could of." Ghost muttered, mostly to himself. The words were terrifying to hear.

He reached to untie your gag next, a chuckle rumbling lowly in his chest as you flinch away. He gives you half a second to compose yourself before he unceremoniously rips the gag off of you and tosses it to the side. Red marks are etched into your cheeks where the gag had dug in, and the sight makes Ghost seeth. "Oh, love..." His words are soft, but his tone is enraged, as if those marks alone could start his new crusade.

"LT!" Blue eyes and a neatly groomed Warhawk pop into the door, stepping casually over the corpse as the new face made his way over to you. "This her, LT?" A thick Scottish accent was present, along with a bit of thinly veiled appreciation. "Off limits Johnny, this is her. This is my girl."

Whenever Simon called you his, it was soft and reverent, as if astonished that he could call someone so precious his. But when Ghost said it? It was commanding, possessive, and left no room for argument. You were his. And that thought was almost scary.

Ghost wasted no more time, scooping you up into his arms and making their way quickly through the facility you had only caught glances of while Ghost and Johnny talked in some military jargon you didn't understand.

That's when you noticed it.

Even though Ghost was holding you so tight and close, even though his touches seemed so rough and careless, even though he was splattered with all sorts of blood and viscera, you had none of it on you. Ghost had been so careful with his touches, with how he held you, determined not to stain and taint your delicate skin with the fuel to his fire, the essence of his soul. And that was quite possibly when you realized that 'Simon' and 'Ghost' were merely two sides of the same coin. And they were both yours as much as you were theirs. his.

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