#siren alejandro

[scrib1scrab]

Kiss :3

[ladymarlin]

Siren AU Alejandro :3

[yippeeapples]

alenoah ramble but au version

Okay so i've seen lack of siren alenoah guys.

HEAR ME OUT both alejandro or noah could really fit the place of some sea like creature. I could see noah more leaning to a mermaid of sorts but like a really cynical and sassy mermaid, But also I think he leans into a really unbothered sailor (who clearly does not want to be there). For example alejandro fits a siren role perfectly and when alejandro tries to lure an expecting sailor(noah) It doesn't work the way he wants it to. Noah almost completely ignores him or just is mildly interested in what the sound alejandro is producing could possibly be. Of course with that reaction alejandro is beyond annoyed. So he makes it his goal to successfully lure noah and kill him like any other siren would. Eventually noah would recognize that alejandro is there after multiple attempts at trying to kill him. Therefore forms some tension or hatred of eachother. As noah gets less tense and nervous at his presence the more he talks back to the siren. Usually its just some snarky remark about killing him. It annoys alejandro beyond belief yet he still lingers around. I could also see alejandro not wanting to lure / eat owen due to his owenness and his hatred for him in the show. I need more of this is in my life guys. siren alenoah save me please

[queermentaldisaster]

"What if We Rewrite the Stars? (No One Can Rewrite the Stars)"

Happy Mermay! Here is the long awaited mer/siren au! This one was in my drafts for a while, but, I finally managed to get the first chapter finished! The worldbuilding post will show up...eventually. Probably before the second chapter.

There will be a tag list for this! Let me know if you want to be added to it!

"The Beginning"

He was so tired. So damn tired. Roba never gave him a fuckin break, because why would he? No, he was just a siren, a tool to be used by humans. He was sitting in his ‘cave’, picking out bits of dried blood from between his tail scales. The formerly white patches of scales had been slightly stained red, and some were missing. He flicked his tail in irritation, some scales flaking off. His head snapped up as he heard gunfire from down the hall. He swam out of the ‘cave’ and looked out of his tank.

‘Humans? Fighting Roba’s men?’ Ghost thought, confused. They were yelling in Spanish, and Ghost watched with slight amusement. He tilted his head, his fin twitching. It took a few minutes for them to move past his tank, and he rolled his eyes. ‘Probably another training session that the rookies took too far out of the training area,’ he thought. It had happened before, after all. He turned around to swim back in, when someone cleared their throat.

Ghost whipped back around, baring his fangs. Another human, this one with black hair and brown eyes, but who looked at him with sympathy rather than a cold emotionless glare. Ghost growled, slinking back towards the hollowed out piece of plastic they dared to call a ‘cave’. He heard the man yell out to an ‘Alejandro’, and Ghost hissed in anger. The man turned back to Ghost. “Oye, cálmate,” He said. “I’m a friend, not a foe.”

“That’s a load of bullshit,” Ghost snapped. The man arched an eyebrow.

“You’re far from home, aren’t you?” He asked, tilting his head just a tad. Ghost rolled his eyes, not granting him a response.

The man sighed, and turned as another man entered the room. This must’ve been Alejandro. Ghost listened to their conversation, not really paying attention until they mentioned calling ‘friends of theirs’.

That set off a couple of alarm bells in Ghost’s mind, and he snarled. “No more experiments!” He yelled, swimming right up to the glass.

Alejandro raised his hands. “Easy, sirena, we’re not here to experiment on you, and neither will our friends. They actually run a mer protection facility. There are other sirens there as well as mers. You’ll be safe.”

Ghost scoffed. “And I’m supposed to trust humans? No thank you.” He turned away.

Alejandro chuckled. “Sí, I’m sure it’s hard to trust us when our kind has hurt you so badly. But, we are offering you an out of this life of solitude. Even if we were lying about our friends, wouldn’t the chance to be surrounded by your kind be better than this?”

Ghost’s ears twitched, and he looked down at the bottom of the tank. “...fine.”

[eiraeths]

so a character list for the monster-magic au:

- witch soap: full blood witch. doesn’t need to siphon magic to use it. gets energy from calories and sleep. has to hide magic cause yknow last of his kind working for the government? bad combo. doesn’t need a book of shadows. spells are said in scottish gaelic and can defy the laws of nature. even though he can summon shit like water out of nowhere it still has to come from somewhere so there’s an equal opposite reaction for everything. gets sick often due to limited magic.

- vampire ghost: mostly human looking with red eyes, pointed ears, and sharp teeth. weaker in the day and stronger at night. night vision, immortality, enhanced senses, agility. the whole nine yards. weak to fire, silver, daylight, and decapitation.

- siren gaz: scaled face, finned ears, webbed hands with long nails and webbed feet, and shark teeth. can hypnotize people or do full mind control. hypnotism means they aren’t aware of what they’re doing and mind control means they are and can’t do anything about it. gets weak if dehydrated or has low sodium. also an amazing swimmer.

- gargoyle price: dragon like wings with impenetrable skin. can’t venture too far from what he’s protecting so can always be found near a team member. can camouflage self and fly. stronger at night. heals slowly due to the make-up of his skin and has a weakness to daylight.

- gorgon laswell: SNAKE HAIR. venomous snake hair. can choose if the venom is acidic or paralytic. has enhanced smell, taste, and eyesight.

- werecoyote alejandro: shapeshifter with yellow eyes, claws, a tail, and pointed ears in human form. keeps intelligence in full shift and can be considered deadlier than a werewolf because of that. can control shifts if has an anchor (rudy is his anchor)

- sorcerer rudy: relies on a conduit, which is a ring. is the strongest tier out of all magics and has a book of shadows for spells and what not. doesn’t have unlimited energy which typically comes from calories and sleep. has to follow the rules of nature so can’t summon water out of nowhere or summon wind inside like soap can.

- manticore valeria: bat like wings with the tail of a scorpion, claws, lion’s feet. can poison people with the quills of tail although it acts like a paralytic. also three rows of teeth. can and will eat people.

- conductor graves: is the second tier of magic user. needs a bigger conduit like a wand or bracelets. (he uses a wand because he’s dramatic. needs a book of shadows and has even less energy than rudy. uses his status as a magic user to get loyalty from his shadows plus a secret :)

-shepherd is a human but there is also a secret behind that :D

[candle-cloud]

The brain rot is real. Here are four versions of siren Alejandro. 1 I feel is more basic, 2 is pretty scaly, 3 is more bioluminescent and has horns, and 4 is kinda like a sea bug siren fusion.

I’m still debating on which one I wanna use for a full body drawing soooo…

[sykestarot]

what attracts people to you?

1-2-3 (left to right)

I do not own any of these images

Hi guys I'm back for this weeks reading! Thanks so much for all the love on the other post it really means a lot! I hope these messages resonate as well. Thanks for stopping by yet again! :)

Pile 1

"Just wondering when you said I'm beautiful, was I being lied to?"

(2 of swords (rx); ace of cups; 5 of swords; 4 of swords (rx); queen of pentacles; 2 of cups (rx)) I’m feeling for you pile one that you don’t believe that you’re attractive at all, energetically or physically. Like people would always prefer someone else other than you. Quite literally how the song title is opposite, you believe people are only attracted to the types of people who are opposite of you. Which is so obviously not true because so many people are attracted to you. I don’t know if you think more people value stability over spontaneity. But your cards imply that you are a free spirit and people love that about you. Not only are you a free spirit but you also are hard working. You aren’t one of those people that says they're a free spirit as an excuse to do nothing. I’m feeling that you carry this abundant energy of like “I want it, I got it”. And people just want to stay in that energy. You also have a resilience that people see and it makes them admire you but also want to learn from you. Your energy is truly so beautiful. I see that you might have long hair with beautiful waves to it. Perhaps you’re tan or have a darker complexion. You’re the type of person who loves doing hikes and smelling the fresh air outside. I also see beaches and a boho style to you. Lots of whites and vibrant blues as well. Perhaps you’re Greek or some type of southern European. I see that you also have doe eyes and people find them to be mesmerizing. As well as your smile. I don't know why you don’t think you’re attractive because the vibes I'm getting are that you’re a stunner!! I hope one day you can learn to appreciate the qualities in yourself that others see!  Signs : Athens, Greece, kitties, pasta, the smell of pine orange and vanilla, woven hats, big sunglasses, kites, hang gliders?, laughs, melted ice cream, strawberry scents, lip gloss, glitter, flamingos, Sagittarius

Pile 2

"She's got a halo around her finger around you" (The world; 5 of swords (rx); the high priestess; knight of pentacles (rx); 9 of wands (rx); the hierophant) Pile two you are my pile that knows people are attracted to you and use it to your advantage. Which is so real of you but also so slay. And this is not to say that you use your beauty to gain things in a negative way. It’s more like you know the cards that you were dealt and you’d be damned if you didn't use them. I feel like this is my Scorpio pile. Something about you is mysterious and that entices people to want to get to know you better. I feel like you are like a real life siren. The way you speak or the tone of your voice ensares people and draws them right to you. You also have a fated energy or destiny really plays a role in your life. To the point where people want to be in your life because they think they might be able to get some of whatever you have. You might also be witchy and cast spells or work with guides to make things go your way in life. You co create with spirit for sure. I feel like you guys have a contrasting appearance, like pale skin dark hair, or darker skin and lighter hair. I feel like your eyes are piercing like they are hunting prey and people love feeling like they are hunted by you. I see you being very chiseled whether that’s in the body or the face. You have a striking appearance for sure. The kind that people do double takes on the street. You might get a lot of losers who want to talk to you because your energy and appearance are so intoxicating. I also feel like you’re overall just very bold. Perhaps Aries as well? I also feel like anything said in this reading you already know about yourself lol. Signs : Osprey; Seahawks (football); Megan Fox; vampires; red lisp; metal; silver; motorcycles; the twilight saga?; Jennifer’s Body; clubbing; latex; Washington State; black hair; blue eyes

Pile 3

"I know she's gonna break my heart"

(8 of cups; 7 of wands (rx); page of pentacles; the moon; the hanged man (rx); the lovers) You, my pile three, are the heartbreaker, soul stealer, sad girl pile. People are attracted to you because people want to fix you, not necessarily that you need to be fixed to be honest. It’s more in the sense that you don’t care about them more than you care about yourself. It’s like they want to teach how to love or be the one that changes you. Which to me is so funny because it’s not that you don’t know how to love it’s that you don’t love them lmfao. You don’t entertain many suitors or people in general and so when you do give people your energy it’s special. However with how selective you are it makes people want to know more about your inner world. But you come off so nonchalant that people want to get a reaction out of you. You have the potential to feed people’s hero/savior complex if you actually like them back. I also feel like your sense of style is alternative or goth and that’s also what brings people to you. I’m getting retired emo’s or lil peep/suicide boy fans. Perhaps your taste in music also attracts people. I feel like you’re social media and the way you present yourself really gets people wanting to know you more. You’re very mysterious but I'm getting in more of an Aquarius or Pisces way. I feel like you like having dramatic makeup on or you have a very out there style. I keep seeing, like cyber goth or emo. I’m not super well versed in those genres of style so I hope you get it lol. Maybe you have lip rings or eyebrow piercings. Anyways you’re very unique and that’s what attracts people to you. I also feel like you’re always doing cool and new stuff and people are attracted to you because you’re a trendsetter in a lot of ways. Maybe you have a following on a social media platform? Idk I feel like people watch you via the internet. Signs: anime; jjk; tik tok; silver metals; lip biting; rilakuma; pastel pinks; black; stripes; oversized sweaters; skirts and thigh highs; leg warmers; big chunky shoes; platform boots; johnny guilbert?; music holds importance here

[nonymous06]

Holy shit your art is so gorgeous oh my god it’s incredible. Holy. God

Everyone looks great, your attention to detail with outfits is jaw dropping, and it looks. So pretty

Please draw your favorite TD character in a monster au,,,

so I might have gone a little overboard w this one-

I couldn't decide my favourite character they're both too dear to me

soo dragon Heather and lionfish siren Alejandro

[im-notbean]

cod mafia au; like an overview

ok this is very silly i just got the idea and i need to writ it down

141

Leaders: John "Captain" Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Gary "Roach" Sanderson.

Think of Price as this very dominating man whos all business and cigars, he's got a bit of a soft side for pretty men and women

Simon is built like a goddamned tank, he's a hunk and more down to earth but he knows his place. hes all business but has a good laugh here and their

Kyle's a stoner, he handles the drugs for a reason. he knows he's got a pretty face and uses that all the time, hes pretty much not very down to earth but he's the most loyal man Price ever knew and thats why he's still around

Soap's a barker, always pushing buttons and showing off with his too tight shirts and he's got a lethal puppy dog eyes. he's loyal but a fucking time bomb weather he's playing nice today or not

Gary's quiet, not by choice but because he's survived a fire. He came from a small apartment in east London and met Price, he's the first and Price's objective favorite because can you blame him. Gary's a tought cookie and has a knack for surviving any situation

Los Vaqueros

Leaders: Alejandro "Ale" Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

Alejandro is a man of war, raised in the trenches of a cartel he left his old life to overcome the stereotype. he did but went south trying to fix his biggest regret

Rudy is brash, he was a rich kid with an even more powerful father who hated his son. Rudy joined because he knew Alejandro wouldn't stop until the cartel died. They both know the risk yet dive into it anyway

The two are a dynamic duo, if you see one the other isn't far away. they fuck around, kiss each other with a passion that rivals even the most secure marriages

They let themselves indulge in each other and with two conventionally sexy men making out, its a ploy to lure a sirens song but with heavy kisses and hickies

Las Almas

Leader: Valeria "Sin Nombre" Garza

Valeria is not ome to fuck around, shes a women in a male dominated field. and shes fucking adorable

one minute she'll be threatning to cut your dick off and the next shes patting your head as you tell her everything. her voice and bodie rival supper models, if sirens were real she'd have the body of one

she's sweet but a psychopath, after all she killed her second in command as soon as he started questioning her authority.

sweet but a fucking physco

Shadow Company

Leader: Phillip "Commander" Graves

Graves is a man with an accent thick as honey, it's southern american charm never leaving a single vowel he speaks

although Graves' company is a PMC his men know that they are more than just that, their a fucking unit with a hand on the government's most valued assest and claim to be "looking" for anything that goes missing

Graves admires the men and women he calls his shadows, each one more unique than the last. his land might not be as large as 141's but he makes sure his is under order and not rioting

the people who live under his land never leave, they know they are much better thier than in any other part of the other mafias territories

[cod-imagines-fanfiction]

Jealous Alejandro kidnaps Valeria's girlfriend (1.6k words part 4)

Summary: Valeria breaks into the headquarters of the Mexican Army in search of her wife.

TW: implied sexual violence, violence more generally (and Google Translated Mexican Spanish)

Note: I'm back from my home country y'all and free to write gay fanfiction once again. I'm working on the next part ASAP but I wanted to post this because you guys have been waiting forever. Thank you for all the lovely comments and the interactions!! means a lot to me that you guys enjoy reading this :>

Link to A03 Link to part 1, part 2, part 3. Next part: part 5

'Army soldier' was more than a type of occupation, more than any other job title; it was a lifestyle. It is truly a different way of life, a way of life that most people are simply not built for. A soldier's form - their straight back, their way of taking in the world around them within a second, their way of assessing everything as either hostile or neutral, their battlefield instinct - it all became an inseparable part of who they are. There is a certain instinct that gets drilled into soldiers, the instinct to act immediately and fast. The instinct to not think twice about running into danger. It is triggered immediately and triggered intensely. So when the emergency siren at the Mexican Army Headquarters wailed, the whole place came alive. No time was wasted before troops placed themselves in position. Snipers grabbed their rifles and headed for the rooftops, Captains and sergeants tuned into their mics, barking orders to their subordinates, assembling their troops as quickly as possible. Guards ran to their posts and pilots rushed to where their aircraft were getting readied by flying personnel, prepared to take off to gain an advantage in the airfield and a much-needed vantage point of what was happening. The armoury opened as many hands reached within for ammo and other equipment.

From the outside, it was a perfect scene of military efficiency and readiness. But from the inside, anxiety bubbled, threatening to cut loose.

"Why did this have to happen today of all days?" A soldier grumbled as he tightened his weapon belt.

"Someone planned this. It's the most popular day for annual leave," another responded as he grabbed his shoes.

"Dia de los Muertos," the first one said, his voice low and grim.

The Day of the Dead. Celebrated annually around November 1st but spanning over the course of multiple days. A day of celebration for life and death, a day to pay respects to those who have passed on. A time of parades on squares and community gatherings, with crowds of people in traditional costumes and painted faces taking to the streets to rejoice with others. A time when many troops were stationed outside the headquarters for public safety. A time, therefore, of relatively little staff being left behind to man the fort.

It was so perfect, Valeria almost giggled as she withdrew her knife from someone's body and let them drop to the floor.

She had infiltrated the headquarters from the underground tunnels that connected to some fields further out, which were created to be used in emergencies but had been long forgotten over the years. These were the same tunnels she took many years back when she wanted to see you on a day that she hadn't booked off. She would wait until most of the barracks were asleep before slipping away in the shadows, passing the guards and quietly unscrewing the lid that separated the tunnels from the world above ground. It was even more exciting once she taught you when and where to wait for her, at the end of the tunnel, among greenery and orange trees. Among the fields that you would lay on for the rest of the night underneath your blanket, touching each other's bodies and talking to the stars. Whispering how badly you'd missed each other, hearing the hum of insects in between short gasps and warm moans. Now, she had unscrewed these same lids and stabbed the person in front of her, dragging them out and passing the body along to the staff that followed her. They dumped the body back in the fields. Part of her found it annoying that these tunnels were always standing between her and her wife. And yet there was some charm, too. Travelling the bowels of the Earth for her love.

Having officially stepped on ground owned by the Mexican Army, El Sin Nombre and her people spread like a virus, taking down certain key spots and hiding bodies. Not enough damage to create immediate alarm, but good enough progress to feel confident about the next step. Her heart sped up in excitement as she thought of her wife, who was only one building and a lock away from her. And right in front of that building, was him.

Valeria looked out from one of the windows and saw Alejandro standing with his back straight, his face possessing a deep scowl as he conversed with Rudolpho. It had been many years since she last saw him, which was nothing memorable. There was no goodbye, no farewell. She had simply gotten up in the middle of the night and gazed at his face one final time; he glistened beneath the moonlight. He was younger then, his face smoother, his voice gentler; not yet hardened. A mass of muscle on a standard issue Army bed, he was unaware that the woman he loved was slipping right through his fingers. Unaware that by the time he woke up, she'd be gone.

There'd be nothing left behind to prove that she even existed. All of her things just went missing alone with her. She didn't even leave a picture behind to immortalise their love, to have something to look at during those nights when his heart almost gave out, when he realised that he was starting to forget what she looked like. That he could no longer remember her voice. Now, as she looked at him, she wondered why they even started a relationship in the first place. He was attractive, sure, but nothing special. Not like the woman in the box.

He was older now, his face more wrinkled. Valeria was raised with the idea that in women, this quality had the same visual effect as decaying fruit. When Valeria looked in the mirror and saw her signs of age - the smile lines that wouldn't smooth out when her smile fell, the lines around her mouth that could not be covered by cosmetics, the wrinkles around her eyes - it reminded her of something that was starting to fade. But in men, the quality was different, more merciful. More like maturing. It enraged her to see him getting older. To see him in the exact same place that she left him. The memories attached to this place were too much to handle. Memories of her younger years kept materialising at the edge of her vision, like a trick of the light; a shadow figure that kept pursuing. It used to be her, out there in the yard. Talking with Alejandro and Rudy, passing along jokes during a long day. But right now it was just the two of them, talking with ease like she had never been there at all. And right at that moment, as she gazed down at them, the alarm went off. What a glorious opportunity to have a front-row seat to witness Alejandro's reaction once she pulled the rug from underneath his feet. There was no more time to waste. She forced herself to stop gloating at these shadows of the past and to move forward. With each step, she got closer to her wife, her sweetheart. Valeria felt weightless, she felt herself glide through the space between herself and Y/N. She would pause here and there to ensure she did not reveal herself to her enemies. At times, she stealthily murdered someone who could have easily been her roommate back when she was a cadet. But that was another lifetime, a lifetime of making the wrong friendships and choosing the wrong lovers. She wasted no time on these obstacles. At last, her hand encircled the handle of the container. She pushed her weight into it and entered, ready for anything. Be it to murder a guard, or to embrace her love; her instincts were on the front seat. She could kill a hundred men if it came to it.

“Valeria. Bienvenida.”

The metal door crashed into the threshold behind her, the echoes reverberating, she felt, for eternity. There was nothing beyond these metal walls anymore, the whole world went silent. The wrath that burned in her eyes met the hatred that dripped out of his. Darkness met darkness; loathing encircled within their dark glares like an ouroboros, its dark scales flashing where the light hit it. Valeria and Alejandro were a perfect mirror, they were tuned into the same frequency, a frequency of violence. They were built of the same clay; two destroyers meeting at last.

He was right in front of her, waiting. Standing tall and armed to the teeth, Colonel Alejandro Vargas. Her jealous ex-lover, the kidnapper of her wife, the annihilator of peace, the snake that infiltrated the garden. The evil eye incarnate. And here was she, the abandoner, the backstabber; the woman lover.

“Y/N.” Valeria spoke with steel in her voice.

“Is no longer with us, I’m afraid.” The lines of his mouth fell into a pout, feigning sadness. Mocking her. “She’s not a fighter, like you or me. You know what happens to the weak here,” he scoffed. “What was it that you used to say? That the weak exist to serve the strong and die? Yeah,” he said diabolically, a grin etching itself on his face. “That’s what happened.”

She knew he was lying; Y/N walked this earth still. She and her wife’s souls were so intertwined, Valeria would have felt it if her wife was gone. Y/N could never leave without her heart knowing. Valeria would put her hand through fire to prove her conviction.

“If I thought she was dead, I would have shot you on sight,” she said. Her hand gripped a blade tightly, willing herself to stop shaking.

Alejandro laughed. “Oh, I didn’t mean she was dead.” His gloved hands held onto his vest as he looked down at her. “I meant that your wife served me.”

Unable to contain her wrath any longer, Valeria lunged at him with a scream.

tag list: @justmare @silas-222 @m0rganit3 @blarba-girl @sleepiemain @caffeineliker @ashy-kit @00ops1e @lesvii @therapyneeds @lez-zuha @starre-eyes @7smexy7diva @hello-kitty-festival @konigmeu @cassiecasluciluce @gay-ass-country-boy @starwars-theclonewhore @bi-witch-bxtch @somnoslvt @ashthepillow @b3ns0ne  @idiotwrites @danart501 @deakyspuff @mistresssiri @angethehimbosimp

thanks for supporting me!!

[pfhwrittes]

all my love and thanks go to @buttdumplin for inspiring this soft little something for ale.

tags/triggers: the comfort part of hurt/comfort, use of papi as a pet name, fluff, brief mention of minor injuries (bruises), food mention.

word count: 430ish (unedited and unbeta'd as usual)

pairing: alejandro vargas x gender neutral reader.

a/n: i'm gonna level with you all, i don't know any spanish and the only spanish i know is european spanish. so instead of butchering a beautiful language, i've used a lot of italics. please please tell me if i've screwed up. and my standard request as per the banner, please do not interact with my writing if you're under the age of 18, despite this being entirely fluff.

everything hurts as ale shoulders the door open. his pulse throbs in time behind his eyes and over the swollen bruise on his jaw, a combination of too much paperwork and a lucky hit from rudy in the gym.

ale takes a deep, restorative breath as he makes his way towards the kitchen. the sounds of something sizzling over the music playing on the speakers tempting him further into the house better than any siren song.

"hi my love. busy day?" you call over your shoulder as he drops into the chair at the table heavily, "dinner is almost done, i'm trying the recipe your tía sent me and i think -"

ale tunes the rest of your chatter out as the headache flares behind his eyes and the patterned table cloth in his peripheral - the one his mother gleefully bestowed on you - blurs slightly before he closes his eyes with a tired groan.

"oh papi." you cluck your tongue softly and ale feels your cool hand smooth over his forehead, brushing back the few loose strands of his hair before moving to press lightly on the bruise under the scruff on his jaw.

ale nuzzles into your palm with a sigh.

"i'm sorry my love." he murmurs softly, blinking his tired eyes open slowly.

you're standing in front of him in the soft loose clothing you always prefer when you come home from work. a vision in comfortable cotton and jersey. he gives in to the urge to bury his face in your belly, sighing when the palm cupping his face slides to the nape of his neck. you soothe him with gentle words and gentler touches, kneading at the tense muscles of his neck.

minutes or hours later, ale lifts his head and watches as you melt at his expression. the little frown at your brow smoothing out, love radiating from every pore.

"what would i do without you?"

you hum in response and ale lets his eyelashes flutter closed as you scratch at his scalp lightly.

"come on papi, let's get you in the shower. wash some of the day off you, hm?" you say softly and curl your fingers into his hair, a teasing tug that would ordinarily send the blood zinging through his veins but tonight warms him slowly, making his thoughts go syrupy slow.

ale leans his forehead onto your stomach again, completely content to rest as you dote on him, his words muffled when he speaks.

"i love you so much."

"i know papi," you pause, before urging him to lift his head to look at you, "i love you too."

[scrib1scrab]

Here’s some early sketch’s of my au! :) I’m thinking of calling it Siren Isles but idk yet. Btw, I changed Alejandro from a shark to an eel because I though it was a better fit :)

[plsletmestayanonymous]

Sketches based off of @kaithefirst0127 creature trio (Mike/Mal- werewolf, Alejandro- Siren, Duncan-Vampire)

[cod-dump]

Ghost: You fainted, do you remember anything?

Soap: Only the ambulance ride

Rudy: That wasn’t an ambulance ride, I drove you Soap: But I heard a siren?

Rudy: that was Alejandro

Alejandro: Sorry I got nervous

[festivesoggy]

noah siren au design!!! would have done a slightly better one with shoes but i was lazy :p

alejandro’s will be out soon ^_^

(also there is a tag for this au) (alenoah siren au)

ALSO I UPDATED THE FIC !!!

[piratesfromspace]

Shell-Shocked (Price x Reader)

Pairing: Reader x Price Rated: Explicit Word count: 4.8k Summary: Price and his unit have been tasked with retrieving an important asset: you. (Lots of self-indulgent hurt/comfort) Note: It's been almost a year since I posted a real fic, 2024 ended quite awfully for me with the passing of two family members and me losing my job for economic reasons. So I'm back with a classic hurt/comfort fic because that's how I cope.

Content: fem!reader, kidnapping, violence, physical torture (light), threat of noncon, hurt/comfort, sexual tensions, description of caring for wounds and burns

MASTERLIST

“Bloody hell, Kate, what is this about?” Price’s voice is even rougher than usual.

Price can’t believe what he’s hearing. He had been summoned inside Laswell’s office in the middle of the night, and it sounded important. But he wasn’t ready for the news that Graves and his Shadows had betrayed them and stormed the Los Vaqueros base. He was even less prepared to learn that the mission Laswell was tasking him with was not to capture Graves but rather to retrieve an agent.

“You heard me, there was a girl stationed with Los Vaqueros, she’s an asset of mine. Graves must have captured her when he took over the base. You need to retrieve her and bring her back to me. Unharmed.” Kate is trying her best to control the waver in her tone, but John knows her enough to understand something is wrong - terribly wrong - worse than the treason of Graves.

“Are you even sure your agent is still alive?” he asks, trying to make sense of the situation.

“I’m not sure of anything right now, but you must do everything you can to find her.” Laswell sighs and then she says something Price has only heard her say a couple times in the decade he’s known her “ Please , John”.

“Must be really important if you’re saying please ” “It’s… it’s personal.” she admits, lighting a cigarette.

John pauses for a bit, a concerned frown on his face “Wait, is it who I think it is?”

“ Please John”, she begs again, “you’re the only one I trust for this mission.” Laswell sounds so unlike her usual self, it’s unsettling to him. “What about Graves?” John inquires, anger lacing his voice when he says the name of the traitor. “I don’t give a fuck about Graves anymore. Kill him for all I care. Just bring her back.”  “Whatever the cost?” He asks, making sure Laswell understands what she’s asking of him and his team. Kate blows the smoke of her cigarette upwards before answering. “I know you’ll make the right choices.” and her words have a finality in them John doesn’t dare to challenge.

A few hours before, on Los Vaqueros base

You’re getting ready to crash in your cot after a day of training. Your hair is still damp from your shower, and you can’t wait to shed your clothes and boots for something more comfy.

The training had been rough, but as a young CIA agent, it was a rare opportunity to be able to train here with Los Vaqueros. Actually, you wouldn’t even have heard of this opportunity, if not for your aunt Kate Laswell. Your presence here was a favor to your aunt and everyday you try your best to not disappoint her or Alejandro and his men. Even if the pressure doesn’t make it easy.

You’re just about to get in your pj, when you hear clear gunshots outside. Nothing like the dulled and regular sound from the shooting range, no, it was way too loud and chaotic. There are shouts, alarms - something is wrong. When you open your door to peak into the corridor, you understand the base is under attack. You’re used to gunshots, to police swipes of drug or weapon labs, but the chaos in front of you - it immediately sends you into a state of high alert, senses overwhelmed by the bright neon lights, the overlapping sound of fighting and siren, the distant smell of smoke and tear gas, the acidic taste of stress on your tongue. 

You have to think quick, because the sound of heavy boots and gunfire is coming at you real fast. You don’t want to hide under your bed risking getting caught in the dead end of your room, and for a lack of a better option, you decide to flee. You’re glad you still have your combat boots on, pushing your already-exhausted body through the long corridor. You run for your life, until you take a hard turn and just end up face to face with a bunch of soldiers, all clad in black, clearly not Vaqueros - but rather your assailants.

You’re stunned for a few seconds, stuck in place, just as they are. One of them doesn't have a mask on - white male, dark blond hair, and an insufferable air - Philipp Graves himself. You’ve seen him already in briefing video calls, you know his reputation, and it takes you a couple seconds to understand that he’s betraying what are supposed to be his allies. His eyes grow big with the surprise of recognizing you as well. 

“Grab the girl, I want her alive!” he barks at his soldiers.

You don’t linger, start running back from where you came. Bullets are coming from everywhere and windows on your right are breaking into myriads of glass shards as you dash through the corridor. You try to focus, to conjure up the map of the building in your mind to plan an escape, but the stress of the situation is sinking its fangs into your nape, an icy feeling turning your thoughts into useless panic.

You’re a fast runner, but it’s not enough. One shadow crashes into you from behind and topples you to the floor. The shock steals the air from your lungs, and it’s a small miracle you don’t bash open your skull on the hard floor. But you’re not gonna yield just now. You squirm in his grasp, try to fight him off, aiming for the tender parts of his face, just like you learned in your self-defense classes. You manage to draw blood with a mean scratch of your nails near his eyes, but his fellow soldiers are on you before you can do more damage. Two more Shadows seize your limbs, lean their weight on you, glass shards slashing your bare skin in dozens of cuts when they force your arm and the side of your face flat against the floor. You scream - more so in anger than in pain - and the inhumane cry coming out of your mouth scares you. You didn’t know you could sound like this. 

The acrid smell of tobacco is what wakes you up. You’re fully awake in an instant, adrenaline spiking in your system the second you open your eyes and remember your situation. You must have dozed off after your capture, but now you’re faced with one of the guards blowing off the smoke of his cigarette right into your face. You cough and it’s like all your nerves have a misfire, your whole body hurts like hell. From sleeping on the hard floor with your hands bound behind your back and from the cuts all over your arms and the left side of your face. Cigarette in mouth, his colleague laughs at your pained reaction, cruel bastard . 

“Fuck you” you manage to utter out between two coughing fits. The first guard is unimpressed, he just laughs, but his colleague makes a crude joke about teaching you a lesson or two while he grabs his crotch in an unambiguous threat, punctuating his sentence by a few kicks in your legs. It’s far from the first time a man has made this type of comment, and in a rageful reaction, you retaliate by trying to kick him back. You know you made a mistake when he easily grabs your ankle, pushes your pants back up your leg, removes the cigarette from his lips and brings the glowing head right to the fragile skin of your shin. The burn fucking hurts. You scream, and trash against his hold. It’s no use and he has the time to inflict a second burn, before the whole commotion attracts the attention of the rest of the room - including Graves himself.

He’s visibly not very happy to stop the fight and to remind his guards that he needs you untouched for now. He also orders them to allow you a trip to the bathroom and to give you some water. What a gentleman - you want to taunt him and be all cynical, but you’re also scared he will withdraw his little crumb of a peace offering. 

You’d be so easy to break, you realize bluntly. If Graves decided he wanted to ask a few questions about your aunt, you’d be fucked. A dash of torture, the promise of a glass of water, and you would spill the beans. You don’t know much about Laswell’s missions, but you know where she lives, the name of her wife, you know one alias or two. You could probably guess a few of her passwords. Fuck , you think you’re all tough and shit, promising CIA agent sent to train with some badass men, ready to take on the bad guys all over the world - that’s bullshit . Nothing can prepare you for the real deal.

You could keep wallowing about how bad you’d be at resisting interrogation, but you settle for trying to understand whatever the fuck Graves thinks he’s doing here.

“Why are you doing this Graves?” you ask, voice raw and on edge. “That’s none of your business darling” he answers, insufferable swaggers on, no matter that it's probably 5am by now. “Then release me. You must know who I am, otherwise I’d be dead by now, so you also know it can’t end well for you to keep me here like this.” you plead. “I’ll take my chances” he concludes with a smirk, leaving you to the surveillance of the two cruel Shadows.

After this, you can’t fall asleep again. No matter how exhausted you still feel, your anxiety is through the roof, and your whole body is vibrating with it - the pain not helping. It’s still dark outside, even though dawn is just minutes away.That’s when you start hearing gunshots all over again. Everything is turning into chaos, but it seems this chaos is the result of someone coming to take the base back.

Graves is yelling orders to his shadows, the sound of grenades coming off is getting closer and closer, and you try to think of a plan. The sudden shot of adrenaline at the prospect of a rescue mission on the way makes you bold. Maybe you can turn this diversion into the opportunity to flee? Your train of thoughts is cut short when one of the Shadows grabs you by the arm, massive gloved hand yanking you up, leaving mean bruises in its wake. You scream to let you go, but the giant is deaf to your protests and he drags you across the room, following Graves and a couple more soldiers into the stairs.

You quickly understand their plan is to reach the roof so they can fly away from this clusterfuck safely tucked into their helicopter. And apparently you’re supposed to come with them. As a literal human shield and as a guarantee the assailants won’t shoot their heli down and risk your life. And who knows what they’ll do to you once they successfully leave this place. No matter what you can think of, one thing is for sure: it’s not gonna be pretty and whatever it takes, you can’t board this helicopter.

Floor after floor, your little group is closing on their exfil point way too quickly. You keep screaming, trashing with all your strength against the grip of the Shadow holding you. With one vicious kick, you almost got free, but the Shadow has enough of your fighting. With nothing more than an exasperated grunt, he hauls you up on his large shoulder like you were a naughty child, tightly securing your legs against him, holding you with so much pressure, you’re afraid he’s gonna break a bone. You see black spots for a few seconds, head dizzy with the sudden move and all your blood rushing to your skull.

All your screams and squirming are not stopping your captor in its track, and you reach the final floor. You remember its layout: a few desks and shelves are scattered through the open plan. And on the other side of it: a flight of narrow stairs going to the roof. Graves yells to the group to hurry up and starts sprinting through the floor. The man carrying you follows, his shoulder digging painfully into your stomach with each of his heavy steps. It’s only a matter of minutes before you all will finally board this helicopter. If you can’t escape right now, it’s gonna be too late. But you won’t go down without a fight. It’s frantic and probably a little pathetic the way you fight back against the grip of steel on your legs. You throw everything you got into it. The last scraps of your energy burning in your desperate attempt to break free - to no avail. 

You’re halfway through the floor when the terrifying whizz of bullets come from behind you. Shadows drop dead around you.You raise your head up at the best of your ability, and spot a few soldiers coming after you. Their gear looks familiar. American-issued helmets. Boots you recognize. Allies. Allies are here, but for now, they are also shooting at enemies dangerously close to you.

The guard holding you doesn’t falter, heading even more rapidly towards the stairs to the roof. More bullets are grazing you both and some Shadows are returning fire. You feel more helpless than ever, not a single inch of protective gear on your body, just your thin skin, already slashed and bloody. Gunshots and screams fill the air. The soldier holding you turns to face the opponents. You momentarily lose sight of your saviors, your hearing now the only way of knowing what is happening behind you. That’s when the sound of a shot is perfectly timed with the recoil of your captor, who falls to his knees with a grunt of pain. 

Hit . He’s been hit . 

His grasp on you grows weak, his balance undermined by your dead weight. And now that you’re closer to the ground, you don’t hesitate, roll yourself violently on the side, and fall hard on the floor. Free, at last . Not for long though, because after a moment of pause, another round echoes in the air and the giant Shadow falls down for good, his limp body crushing you under him, pushing the air out of your lungs. Everything goes fuzzy around you for a moment as statics fill your ears.

Are you dead? That’s what you think until you hear the noise of the room again, the screams of Graves and his men as they flee to the roof and leave you there. You can hear the low rumble from the heli starting up, and then the hurried steps of the men who shot your captor growing louder as they got closer to you.

Panic grows when you realize you’re now trapped under the heavy dead body of the guard, your wrists still tied, his warm blood drenching your clothes, in a disgusting tepid embrace. You gasp for air, breathing made difficult by the weight pressing you down. Until someone carefully lifts the body of the dead guard from you. That’s when you finally see your savior. Striking blue eyes, straight nose, and a thick beard covering a square jaw. You… know him somehow?  

“John?!” you whisper, too stunned to address him by his rank or family name like you’re supposed to - you’re not even sure it’s him and you’re not just being delirious.  “Careful, dear.” he crouches next to you, promptly cutting the zip ties with his knife. You can’t believe it, but in front of you is John Price. You spent a couple months with him a few years ago when you shared a training facility. He taught you a few tricks back then, became your sparring partner and a friendly face you were always happy to see. Well, now even more than ever. “Are you hurt? Can you stand?” he asks as he helps you sit up, eyes scanning your body, methodical, efficient, just like he used to be. You don’t understand why he’s losing time helping you, the traitor is fleeing just a few stairs away, you’re definitely not a priority.

“Graves, he’s gonna to escape, you need to go after him…” you wheeze between two coughs. Your protest is cut short by his answer. “I’m not here for Graves.” “Then, what are you…” the question dies on your lips when the realization sinks in. There are 3 other men with him you notice, taking defensive positions around you. Price is already getting body armor out of his backpack, and starts securing it on your chest. Orders are being given to his men, his voice soft but assured, confident. You understand now. He’s not here for Graves. He’s here for you .

You let him work the straps without any fuss, still light-headed from it all: the bullets that grazed at you, the pain from your numerous cuts and bruises, the tiredness, the lack of food, the sticky blood from the dead guard coating your clothes. The rest of it is a bit of a blur. You’re slowly feeling yourself getting into some sort of shock. You only register the sound of Graves’ heli flying away, and then being escorted out of the building, Price holding you upright while the rest of his squad opens the way for you. You’re finally hauled into a jeep, and you’re on the road just as the sun rises, sky bathed in oranges and pinks, peaceful and oblivious to the massacre you just escaped.

You can’t say how long the ride was before you parked in front of a random farm - a safehouse John provides. The place looks old but clean enough, the kitchen you’re ushered into definitely more inviting than the room you spent the night in.

You want to ask a million questions to John, but you settle for a very simple what is the plan now? His familiar low voice is a blessing after all the noise of the battlefield, but you can sense the worry in his tone.

“We have an exfil plan for you, but right now we need to focus on keeping you alive, yeah? Can’t have you die from septic shock or Laswell will have my head.” 

You wince when he removes the body armor from your chest, revealing your blood-drenched tank top. Price orders you to sit on a wooden chair, as he carefully cleans his hands in the kitchen sink. He drags a stool to sit next to you, and gives a glance to the rest of his team that conveys in a silent request that they leave you both alone. You’re oddly grateful for that, because you could sense your growing unease at being under the watchful gazes of the 3 other unknown soldiers. Especially the black-clad giant with a literal skull mask who looks a little bit too much like a Death allegory for your peace of mind.

“Let me see” Price finally asks and he takes hold of your wrist to turn your arm a little bit, trying his best to assess the damage under the grime and the caked blood - yours and the one from your captor. His touch is firm but gentle, his fingers dry and warm against your sticky skin. You’re mesmerized for a second by the sheer size of his hands, closing so easily around your whole wrists, dwarfing your own, holding your whole head when he checks you for concussion  - you had forgotten how much space his body is taking. 

He takes some time prodding at your skull before he hums, satisfied by your encouraging answers, and turns his attention to your injured arm. He pours the contents of his water bottle on your upper arm, and the feeling of the cold water is soothing until it awakens the numerous cuts from the broken glass, making some of the tiny wounds bleed again. Bright red streaks mixing with the dark crimson in a gory painting. Price tries his best to clean them with a pad of cotton dipped in antiseptic, the sting of it making you hiss between gritted teeth.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, but I can see a couple of glass shards still in your arm.” the captain states clinically “I’m sorry, darling, it’s gonna hurt a bit.” he adds more softly, apologetic.  You flinch when he brings the thin tweezers he fished out of his medkit near one of the most painful cuts. “Easy, girl, stay still.” He commands although there is no anger in his words. “I’ll be gentle.”

You’re pretty sure you’ve already known worse pain - but it was different. Minor medical issues or training injuries that had nothing to do with being thrown on the ground in a sea of broken glass by real enemies before being tied down for a whole night and thrown over a shoulder like a vulgar sack. It’s… a lot. And now that you’re somewhat safe, with the release of the pressure comes the release of all the fear and pain that were dulled by the adrenaline and the stress. 

You’re shaking by the time Price has disinfected every wound and removed all the shards from your arm - almost a dozen of them, tiny cristales leaving red drops on the white porcelain of the plate he drops them on.

“Good, you’re doing good, breathe for me love.” he encourages, his voice low and soothing. “I just need to bandage your arm now”. 

He wraps gauze around your arm in small sections, careful not to tighten it too much, before taping it in place. He presses the final bit of tape on the top of your hand, and gives your palm the gentlest squeeze. You respond to it immediately, and your uninjured hand settles on top of his, silently asking him to keep it on your bandaged skin. His warmth seeps through the gauze, helping less with the pain and more with the bubbling cocktail of awful emotions clawing its way through your initial defense mechanism. It reminds you of the time you spent together a couple years ago - the firm hand that brings you up from the training mattress, your fingers touching when he hands you a bottle of water, the light touches against your elbow or your hips to correct your fighting stance, never lingering more than necessary, professional and respectful, that made you crave him even more.

It reminds you of the drinks you shared on a few occasions in that lively pub next to the base. How you were dancing on the line between regular camaraderie and coy flirting when tucked against his side on those too small benches. But nothing ever happened. It’s not like he openly turned you down, more so you both did not know how to take the final step, too afraid to break something that would be impossible to mend. So you had to settle for late night reveries, your fingers between your feverish legs under your thin sheets, pretending it were his. You knew your attempt would feel nothing like his capable hands, but you still came the hardest when thinking about him.

Pain brings you back to the here and now, and your eyes find his, the light of the morning sun catching in the baby blue of his gaze. He looks older than the last time you saw him. He used to shave clean but now a thick beard styled in mutton chops covers the lower half of his face. When he smiles gently at you, the corners of his eyes wrinkle. The grizzled look talks of experience and wisdom, and he’s even more handsome than before , you think to your own surprise - the crush you hardboarded for him had been long locked away in your memory as an unrequited and hopeless thing, frivolous and naive. But here, in the shambles of your life, covered in dry blood and antiseptic, shell-shocked in this unknown kitchen, his kind hand laying on top of yours is enough to reignite the amber of your dormant love.

“Let me look at your face, dove”.

The captain is thorough, cleaning the superficial wounds there, shushing you with gentle mouth sounds when you whimper because it bloody stings, he even promises morphine once he’s done examining you. He puts a strand of hair back from your face to have a better view of your bloodied brow bone and he smooths his palm absent-mindedly over your hair, just once or twice. A reflexive attempt at comforting you like you were a frightened kitten and the intimacy of the gesture makes your heart flutter.

You thank him once he’s done with your face. He keeps busy, cleaning and putting his tools away, feigning detachment when he asks you with careful words if you’re wounded anywhere else. When you answer a weak no, he can’t help himself to finally look at you, concern written all over his face. 

“I’m good” you whisper. He wants to believe you, really, so he doesn’t push for now. Instead he stands up and calls for one of the boys - callsign Gaz - to bring some fresh clothes and some warm water for you, grumbles something about how it’s not possible to let you in those blood-drenched pants. The younger soldier sets a plastic bucket filled with steaming water, a towel and a pile of black clothing on the table next to you, and quickly leaves the room when Price gives him a glance and a nod that clearly says you can leave the lady alone now . 

John takes a few steps himself, ready to leave you to clean and change yourself, but you stop him. The fabric of your top is way too tight, stiff from the dried blood, and you’re pretty sure you’re gonna rip off half your bandages if you try to remove it on your own. Plus, the pain from your ribs and legs is starting to seriously hinder your move range.

“Okay this is embarrassing but… I think you’ll need to cut off my top” you confess, feeling the warmth of shame heat your cheeks.

The metal of the trauma shears is cold against your skin, making your breath catch in your throat - how close Price is from your body as he’s cutting open the front of your tank top is definitely not helping. He’s going slowly, concentrating on not hurting you in the process. The fabric finally parts, and reveals large bruises that extend across your ribs. More bruises appear when you shyly remove your pants to expose the skin for his examination. His eyes zero in on your shin. Amongst scratches and smaller bruises that Price recognizes for “grab mark” contusions, there are two circular wounds from the cigarette burns, their clearly defined shape unmistakable. His gaze flicks to your gray panty, also stained with blood, and suddenly he’s not so sure it’s not your own.

“What have they done to you?” his voice stays calm but you can hear the tinge of anger behind it. “I need you to tell me exactly what” he continues, the commanding tone of Captain Price replacing the soft voice of John - it’s enough to spook you. You must have flinched too visibly, because he immediately adjusts his request “It’s not an order. I- I just need to understand so I can help you, dove.” 

The word of endearment is what breaks your resistance, and you tell him what happened. How Graves’ guards found it fun to torture you for a minute - not even asking questions, just for their cruel amusement. You don’t shed a tear, you just feel a bit sick and tired - so fucking tired - and you’re shaking and everything hurt. He listens, cerulean eyes focused on your face, not straying for a single moment until you’re done. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” his voice is low, wants to be reassuring, but you can hear the underlying guilt, the part he leaves out, that he’s sorry for coming in too late, sorry for not being more aware of Graves’ allegiance .

You swallow gratefully the mix of painkillers and anxiety meds he places into your hand, before he kneels in front of you to carefully tend to the burn wounds. The meds kick in almost immediately, sticky heat dropping heavy and soothing on your limbs. You’re grateful for it, because you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t have let him touch your ankle otherwise. 

“Torture. Can’t say I’m surprised.” Ghost comments dryly, while inspecting his gun, getting ready to leave the safehouse for exfil.  “Bastard” Soap provides, his accent thick on the word, betraying his anger. “What did they ask her?” Gaz inquires, serious and focused. “Nothing. Was for the sake of it.” Price answers, and his boys are quick to pick the unusual sadness in his tone. 

They finish gearing up in silence, until they are ready to escort you to the car, where Price takes the wheel. The exfil point is a short ride away, and the moment you hear the familiar sound of a Black Hawk filling the sky, something lifts from your chest.

(please let me know what you liked, comments and reblogs are very important for writers and the community overall! Also let me know if you want a part 2?)