#soaps nautilus skin

[meowmeowriley]

"Why'd the soldier run into the demo site before it went down?"

Soap sighed, throwing a long suffering glance to his Lieutenant. He shifted his grip on his rifle. He could pretend he didn't hear the man but... either morbid curiosity or masochism won out. He wasn't sure which. "Why?"

"To C-4 himself."

"Awful."

"More?"

"As if you'd stop if I said 'no'." Years of practice kept a smile off his face. In all the time Soap had known Ghost, the man's sense of humor had remained steadfastly terrible.

Their unit advanced. Ghost and Soap were in the lead, spread far enough to need comms to talk, but close enough to signal one another if need be. Their men fanned out behind them.

"You hear 'bout the microwave incident on base?" Ghost's voice had taken on an ethereal quality.

Glancing over again, Soap spared a moment to admire the other man's silhouette against the muted orange glow filtering through the trees. He deftly stepped over branches and around trees. Rifle at the ready. Always ready.

Soap had missed this. Missed him. Missed them.

Soap hadn't blown up a microwave for fun in much too long. He hadn't had time, too desperate to fix things. Things were fixed. He'd need to change that when they got back. "Go on."

"Lost two kernels in a popcorn explosion."

"Tragic. Your jokes are painful, Lt."

"I'm just warming up."

Good. "That's a worrying statement."

"'Fraid of a good time, Johnny?"

"Afraid your jokes'll be the death of me."

"You could only hope so."

Trees and branches created illusory enemies as the trudged through the wood, but their trained eyes and steel nerves kept their small platoon from panicking. Sure-footed, they kept searching.

Soap offered one of his own. "What do you call an officer who spends too much time at the head?"

"What?"

"A loo-tenant."

"Not bad." A pause, Soap had just begun to soak in the praise when Ghost continued. "Not good either."

"Fucker. Yours're no better."

"I'm much better."

You are. "Keep telling yourself that."

"Why's there no winning a war with zombies?"

"Ghost." Soap's warning fired off nearly unbidden. He didn't like where this joke was headed. Behind him he heard one of his men misstep, a twig snapping. Perhaps the cause of his warning had been mistaken.

"Cause it's dead even."

"No. Too topical, Ghost. Don't like that one."

Minute crackling from the smoldering world around them filled the uncomfortable silence that followed his outburst.

"Lighten up, Johnny." Easy for him to say.

"I'll try, Sir."

"Heard the Navy is the most religious military branch. 'Parently they love a good warship."

***

Why did they have to use comms? Why did they have to keep that thing around?

The Sergeant was a freak, but at least he was still human. Still alive.

"Hnnnnnnggggrrrrrrraaaaahh." The fucking monster that had once been their Lieutenant moaned, scratchy and split. It traveled through the smoke unnaturally, fraying the nerves of the men it led.

"Go on."

"Rrrrrah arrrrrrrrnnnnnn."

"Tragic. Your jokes are painful, Lt."

It still moved like a man, from a distance you'd never know.

But the sounds. Why did they keep it? It was one of them.

"Eyuhm. Mruuuuaaammm."

"That's a worrying statement."

Why the hell did the fucking thing moan into comms? Why did the Sergeant respond like it was talking? Why did they all have to pretend they weren't being led to their deaths by a fucking Zombie and a mutant who'd lost his mind?

"No. Too topical, Ghost. Don't like that one."

MacTavish's snap quieted the monster for a moment. Holy shit he could breath again.

"Ahhmff. Ohnneeee."

"I'll try, Sir."

The beast began to moan again, it floated back to them, broken bloodied nails against his nerves. It crackled through their comms. It was destroying him. "I can't fucking take this anymore!"

Both freaks rounded on him. He leveled his gun at the former Lieutenant.

"Corporal Evans, what the fuck?" Sergeant MacTavish snarled. Green eyes mutely glowing.

"That fucking thing keeps moaning. He's dead, he's one of them! Why are we pretending he isn't?"

The Sergeant was moving before Evans could even blink. Evans fired off a shot but it went wide, nowhere near his target, as the Sergeant laid hands on him.

Green smoke emanated from the mutant, eyes glowing fiercely as he threw Evans into a tree and held him there. Pain in his collar bone and a loud crack told him it had been broken.

The Sergeant barked something at him, but his ears were ringing too loudly and his mind was clouded. He must've hit his head against the tree.

***

"Heard a shot, boys. Report."

"Evans lost his damn mind and took a shot at Ghost." Soap spat. He was ready to rip the Corporal limb from limb, the traitor would deserve it.

"He hit?"

A hand landed on his shoulder. A bloodied skeleton print glove, missing the ring finger and revealing grayed flesh and blood caked under the nail.

Toxic green met milky white. Ghost's eyes still conveyed such intense emotions. He was worried about the shot and yelling giving away their position. He was feigning indifference to being targeted. He was angry about Soap losing his head.

"Ohnee. Rauhghh."  Ghost's voice echoed within Soaps mind as well. 'Johnny. Cool it.'

"Ghost's fine. Shot missed."

"Hhhnnnnaowww."

Soap rolled his eyes and dutifully translated for the others. "Apparently I just broke Evans's collar bone."

Price grunted before ordering. "Right. Bring him back in one piece, he'll be dealt with later."

Two of the others had stepped up. Zip-cuffs and duct tape in hand. There'd be no more outbursts from Evans, then.

"He probably got heated because you're not translating for us, Soap. I'm missin' his comedy gold." Gaz piped up.

Ghosts exposed mouth was one of the benefits to his condition, he refused to use a different mask since the incident. His slack, broken jaw didn't stop him from smiling.

"Hnnh hnnhh huaaaaaarrrrrnnnnnghuhh."

Soap closed his eyes and centered himself. Things had been so touch and go for so long. Theyd kept Ghost caged because they didn't know they could still trust him. No one could hear him. When The Director had offered to change that, in exchange for Soap participating in a few experiments, he'd jumped on it. Hearing the man in his own mind now, he could never regret it. Even if the damn respirator on his face could never be removed.

" 'Picasso used to drive a tank. Was known for art-illery.' Sure you want me to keep translating?"

"Terrible, Sir."

"Fucking hell, Simon, that was bad."

A few of the men around them laughed or chuckled. None would look either officer in the eye though.

"I was trying to save you all." Soap said before taking his position back up and letting his men handle Evans.

They resumed their advance through the smoldering wood.

[bluegiragi]

muzzle stays on 'til he learns some manners.

early access + nsfw on patreon

[cradleghost]

If you go home, just dont get caught

[storeecbrcod]

MWIII: Soap’s Nautilus Skin

Hear me out!

I’ve been told that Warzone is technically connected to the canon campaign, loosely, hence why everyone was really confused when Soap got his new Nautilus skin. He’s supposed to be dead, he shouldn’t be getting new legit-looking skins, at least not so soon after the campaign.

But, for the sake of my brainworm (that I know I share with others, shh), let’s assume Soap’s nautilus skin means he’s alive somehow. Let’s do some study (courtesy @ave661, doing god’s work for us ty):

Look at my pretty boy! Mask, gas tanks, and cool ass details, yeah? Just an awesome skin.

Let me put way too much detail and thought into this in the form of a ‘quick’ ficlet.

TW: canon-typical violence, medical settings, mentions of terrorism, mentions of torture/brainwashing. TLDR at the end :)

The 141 had been distracted as of late, chasing around a group of slippery but deadly terrorists that had made it their fucking mission to make the task force trip over them. Nobody was sure if they were intentional red herrings from Makarov, or just another rising force amongst disgruntled people that turned to violence to be heard. Either way, it was starting to really grate on everyone’s nerves, having to put the hunt for Makarov aside to deal with a new threat every other week, one too big and too elaborate for local defence departments to handle alone without the 141’s experience.

Because it was always the same elusive cunts fucking something up. Killing someone they shouldn’t have, intercepting deals and creating unrest amongst major crime rings around the world and sparking unrest through their deep, wide-spread roots. The team knew well how a small conflict could snowball into a wide-scale war, and it felt like they were preventing one every time there was a report of soldiers in black, glowing green tech with a hazy green tint to their eyes.

Price could see the way his team (3’s still a crowd, right?) was starting to grow restless with the near constant pull from their goal of finding Makarov, especially Ghost. He grew more distant by the day, getting more and more ruthless out field, reminding Price of his early days on the Task Force. Whether they liked it or not, Makarov had diminished forces right now, and he was not as much threat as—

“Fuck, Gaz, watch out!”

Another explosion went off, knocking Price and Gaz to the ground, their breath stolen as they tried to clamber back up to move out of range of fire. It felt like it was coming from everywhere, relentless, chaotic. The thudding of Price’s heart was the only thing that gave him rhythm, guidance on how to react and when and why. He pulled his sergeant to cover behind some stacked crates and dropping, continuing to heave through his strict chest.

This was the closest they’d gotten to the fuckers, never managing to see more than a glimpse of these skilled soldiers before. They gave them a run for their money, Price had admitted sourly many a time. They were legends on each base they travelled to now, infamous for how hard they were to catch, even for the equally infamous 141.

But now, they were close. It was eerie watching these people, almost robotic in their execution, unwavering, unafraid. They’d run into active fire if it meant they had a decent chance to advance and catch someone off guard. And somehow, they managed to get away, every damn time. They seemed to not register pain, either, if the way the one woman soldier continued to walk around despite her obviously broken leg was anything to go by.

They were like zombies, and it was deeply unsettling.

As far as Price could tell, there were two hostiles running around above them through the catwalks of the hangar they were currently pinned in. They were trying to pick shots, but they’d shoot their direction randomly as well, making it that much harder to predict when it was safe to poke their heads out to see if they even had a chance of running out.

“Ghost, where the fuck are you?” Price growled into his comms. The other man had been radio silent for almost half an hour now, ever since this stupid cat and mouse game started. They’d come in here to chase the bastards down, yet somehow his team were the ones being chased. It was beyond irritating, and it was also putting them in unreasonable danger.

“Cap!”

Gaz’s sudden yell had Price’s head on a swivel, following the man’s gaze to above them. Somehow, the third soldier of the little trio had managed to flank them, looking down at them from another isolated catwalk.

How Price neglected to watch their six, he didn’t know.

All he knew was there was a barrel of a rifle pointed straight at them from 10 metres up.

Within milliseconds, he knew three things; one, he wouldn’t be able to move Gaz and himself out of the firing line without making themselves vulnerable to the other hostiles. Two, any move they made now had them killed. And three…

Makarov was behind these soldiers.

Because who else would make their most deadly soldier, the most aggressive of the trio, the one that risked his life even more than his teammates, the one who seemed to hold easy leadership over the others—

Who else would shave their best soldier’s head into a mohawk, if not to taunt them?

Before he could even think to shield Gaz, pull him to his chest in a last-ditch effort to protect him in the hope that someone would get back home to tell their story, a dark blur slammed into the back of the soldier above, sending his rifle clattering to the floor. It was almost surreal, watching the mohawk’d soldier struggle against darkness, the occasional flash of stark white dancing around him.

Fists were exchanged. Bullets were sprayed towards them sporadically, but too out of range to hit accurately. The short barrier of the catwalk bit into the soldier’s lower back, starting to dangerously teeter further and further over it.

The rifle’s impact to the concrete hadn’t even finished echoing around the hangar when Price watched two figures tumble from the catwalk, grappling in the air. A sickening thud followed, the two bodies rolling with each other, parting and leaving one still on the ground while the other heaved on his hands and knees.

The moment of stunned silence seemed to hang forever, though it was only a second in reality. The gunfire had stopped, two sets of footsteps echoing down the corridors away from them. It left Price’s team, Gaz frozen and Ghost shaking with adrenaline, with an unconscious soldier.

Ghost crawled over to the body first, followed by Price standing over him. His veins were molten in rage, scorned again by the sight of his closest soldier posed over an unmoving soldier with a mohawk.

Fuck, they even got his eyebrow scar. I wonder what they did to create that?

Unlike last time, though, a muffled groan left the man on the ground, the body shifting slightly uncomfortably. His eyes (blue… what the fuck?) fluttered open, blinking away the confusion that likely fogged his mind. He breathed in, deep and full—

Even Price flinched at how fast the soldier’s hands came up to grasp at his mask, gasping, choking behind it, clawing desperately at a crack that spanned the left side of it. Blue eyes lit up with desperation, legs coming up to kick uselessly at the ground, back contracting as if in pain.

Reacting as a unit, Gaz moved forward to hold the soldier’s legs down, Price grabbing the man’s vest and forcing him down with all his might, Ghost grabbing his arms, forcing one to his side for Price to pin under his knees and holding the other one down. Even with three people on him, the soldier put up a good fight, even though it seemed like it was out of panic more than resistance.

Ghost grabbed the mask, struggling with the release catches that seemed to be stitched into the side of the man’s head, unable to get them loose. With a growl, he shuffled to force the soldier’s other arm down with his own leg, grabbing his throwing knife and carefully shucking it into the stuck lip of the release. He hit the butt of his knife, hearing the catch pop open before forcing the soldier’s head to the side and repeating the action.

The soldier only seemed to fight harder, turning his head away frantically as Ghost tried to yank the mask off. Despite having three people on him, he still managed to jostle them, pulling his hand out from under Ghost and earning himself a painful twist of the wrist.

“Ghost…”

“Stay still, fucker—”

With a final tug, the cracked mask is thrown from the soldier’s face, and it only makes the man thrash harder. His gasps for air are no longer muffled, the painful choking and heaves bouncing off the tall walls around them, surrounding them as they tried to hold him down.

It isn’t until his body tenses up completely, lips going blue that Price is finally able to get a proper look at the soldier’s face, and once again time stands still.

Those damn blue eyes stared up at Ghost, not breaking eye contact, and Price could swear he feels each of Ghost’s muscles tense up individually, his breathing stop alongside the body beneath them. The crude scar that dissected through the man’s chin was on full display, and he thinks he hears Gaz gasp beside him, his eyes glancing between the man’s face and Price’s own.

The soldier’s head was turned towards Ghost just enough to reveal the edge of the left side of his hairline, where a fading but ugly scar puckered right along his temple.

Price doesn’t stop Ghost from getting up and walking away once the man on the ground falls unconscious, his heart rate slow and his breaths returning even slower, but returning nonetheless.

Price doesn’t stop Gaz moving to take Ghost’s place, grabbing the body’s face so firmly yet so delicately, moving it back and forth as if to check he was real.

Price doesn’t react with anger when Laswell is silent on the other side of the radio, nor does he answer any questions except to insist on an emergency evac for their ‘prisoner’.

Price doesn’t do anything, except recite the paperwork they’d filed just two years ago, fixing it in his head over and over to come to terms.

John “Soap” MacTavish: KIA ALIVE

——————————————————————————

“This is fucking insane, even for Makarov.”

Nobody discounted Gaz’s observation, all just staring through the glass into the guarded hospital room holding John fucking MacTavish, lying still while tubes breathed for his sedated body. Well, all except Ghost.

They hadn’t seen Ghost in days.

Funnily enough, Nikolai had gone radio silent around the same time, too.

Hm.

Even Laswell had made her way over from her most recent post, vowing to lead the investigative efforts into Soap’s condition. The good thing was, he was relatively unscathed. Littered with new scars, sure. Aggressive and unforthcoming with even attempting to remember any of them, that too. Oh, yeah, and his body tries to shut down every time they take him off of the highest dose of anaesthetics, and nobody knows why, and he can’t tell them why.

Price has a headache.

“John.”

Price, Gaz, and the few medics with them all turned as Laswell approached, and their reaction was immediate. They all seemed to see the gravity in her features, sense the density of what she had to say on her tongue. Her frustration and worry was palpable, in her own stone-cold way.

Price hasn’t seen her like this since… well, ever. It didn’t invoke him with much confidence.

“We finally got the toxicology results back for the gas in the tanks,” she stated, though she didn’t offer the paperwork in her hands. Actually, she gripped the package with white knuckles. Another action that made Price even less confident this news was going to be anywhere near pleasant.

“And?”

“He’s developed a non-lethal strain of Nova gas.”

Silence. Pure silence. Disbelief? Bewilderment? Surprise? Who fucking knows. But they were silent.

“Nobody’s sure how it works just yet,” Laswell continues curtly, looking to Soap’s body through the window. “But it’s a pretty strong theory as to why Sergeant MacTavish was acting so…”

“Zombie-like?” Gaz offers, an interruption met with Laswell pursing her lips for a moment.

“I’d prefer another word, but if it fits.”

Quiet befalls them all again, Price scratching at his beard in an attempt to dispel the twisting mess of anger, worry and confusion. It’s been hard, trying to continue applying pressure to Makarov while they’re a Lieutenant down and distracted by an old teammate basically raised from the dead.

“We managed to extract some files from a hard drive found in one of Makarov’s bogus operation suites,” Laswell continued, looking back to John with more concern than before, really not helping on the confidence front. “I have people combing through them, though a lot of them are encrypted so thoroughly they’ll take days to decode. However, there are a few bits and pieces of jumbled reports, seemingly test experiments involving the new strain. The only new information we have at this point is how they acclimatise their patients to the gas.”

“Acclimatise?” John repeated, gruff with restrained emotion. Leadership and professionalism was always important, but right now, he couldn’t care less about seeming totally calm.

“Yes, acclimatise,” it sounded barbaric with the way she said it, like it was glimpse into what it meant. “They’d place the test subjects into gas chambers, restrained, and flood the chamber with the gas. Somehow the body adapts to rely on the gas as air after rigorous training.”

“Torture through suffocation more like,” Gaz grumbled, glancing between Price and Laswell, whose jaw ticked.

“Apparently, the gas is most effective when the patient is fully reliant,” she added, then shrugged. “Effective in what way, the team has no clue. Though they’re pretty confident it’s the efficacy to reduce cognition enough to lose the ability to do anything without outside influence.”

“Like a damn personal attack dog,” Price growled.

A beat of silence lingered, everyone in the room trying to comprehend how this would affect Soap’s recovery. If he could recover at all.

“So that’s why he acts like he’s suffocating when he’s conscious?” Gaz inquired. “Because he is?”

“We can only assume so.”

“This is so fucked up,” Gaz whispered, linking his hands behind his head and looking to Soap again. It was like some movie bullshit, the impossible becoming possible but without the safety of being in your living room. Watching a tornado head your way when you’re in the middle of a damn field. Absolutely impossible to comprehend, yet happening anyway, beyond your control.

“We’re going to see if keeping him sedated and letting his body recover from what could be years of exposure will reverse the effects of the chemical,” Laswell said slowly, but interrupted herself with a sigh, looking to Price earnestly.

Price thinks he sees his last sliver of confidence drift off in the breeze of the ventilation.

“We also have to consider his supposedly lethal GSW,” she slowly continues, shuffling where she stood. “We can only assume the parts of his brain responsible for memory, speech, thought processing was impaired with the injury.”

“There’s a chance nothing will change because his injury could have destroyed his ability to reason and remember before the gas,” a medic speaks up, putting the dots together quickly in her head and turning to Price, brow etched with concern. “There’s a very small possibility he will recover completely, or even to the point of independence.”

Price shared a look with Gaz, then the medics, and finally Laswell again. The words stuck in his chest, resistant to the idea of speaking something into being.

“We might not get Johnny back at all.”

——————————————————————————

…soooo :3

TLDR: Makarov has developed a new strain of gas, which he uses to suppress the cognitive reasoning in those that breathe it in, and allows him to train them into his cute lil super soldiers. The reason for the gas masks and everything? The soldier becomes reliant on it, their body adapting to rely on it fully like oxygen, otherwise they feel like they’re suffocating, hence needing to have it everywhere they go.

I know it’s very winter soldier, but to be honest it would make the most sense to me if Soap’s survival becomes canon. It rolls a few pre-MWIII theories into one; Soap ‘dies’ (canon), Soap is the traitor, and Soap is brainwashed by Makarov. It would be so interesting imo, and if they don’t take it I WILL RIOT—

Anywayyyy… I have vague explanations for things, i.e spreading his ashes that could totally work (with a little bit of narrative bending ✨) but I ain’t gonna go into it here and now. I could though…

Also, I know Nova gas isn’t what the gas is called, that it’s a similar thing from a grenade in the game. But fucking sue me, I’m not gonna make Laswell say “he’s developed a new strain of Unspecified Chemical Gas” like it’s some 13 year old’s Garage Band song they forgot about. Chill. It even says on the (totally very reliable) wiki that the closest thing is Nova gas, seeing as it’s the EXACT SAME except players who inhale it don’t cough. Stay back, Call Of Duty purists!! 🤺💨

[s-oaps]

SOAP “NAUTILUS” SKIN 🧼 🧬

[ave661]

Helpful renders for cosplayers and artists:

please do not repost them

MW ‘23 Alone 141 - Vault Ghost - cliff cutscene | Urban | Tundra | NVM | Venator Soap - NVM | Tundra | Bravo | Nautilus Price - Tundra | Homecoming Gaz - Tundra Makarov - 'Trojan Horse’ mission | Business Casual

MW '22: Ghost - tattoos 1 | tattoos 2 | his mask - old ver, new ver | Senpai | Zombie | Marshal | Gilded Reaper | Classic Soap - his tattoo Gaz - Raid skin | Standard Price - Standard Horangi - Invoker König - Standard | Sinister skin | 'Blood Soaked’ skin | Arachnid Alejandro Valeria - tattoos

MW '19: Ghost - Jawbone skin Price | face Gaz Alex Keller - tattoos

Keegan P. Russ

[gofishygo]

hot takes part 3099097273: soap isn’t dead.

look- in modern warfare remastered, we’ve already had two characters- one of them a lead, die and then return to life out of nowhere. alex kellers return to the ulf after manually detonating a bomb that explodes the span of multiple buildings, graves who joins farah’s forces after being fucking fried in a tank. the developers no longer value the weight of characters on the plot, and will bring them back for shock value.

we’ve had a foreshadow already. graves’s line, “well, i wasn’t in that tank” after his alleged death is seen in soap’s hector blackcell skin bio.

not to mention, a military funeral, common for all people in milita (especially at soap’s rank) should have occurred. this is usually open casket. the choice of his body being cremated off screen leaves room for a possibility that the urn at the end of mw3 did not contain soaps ashes. and as said before, this could very wel be the truth since activision seems to care more about emotes of captain price twerking than evaluating the content of their campaign writing.

combined with the recent nautilus skin, here is my theory.

due to the leitmotifs of a hazmat suit, gas mask, and chemicals (seen on back of skin in valves), it is probable that soap resides with whatever group is currently holding the chemical artilleries, the gas in his mask suggesting it was not out of pure will. most likely captured by konni group, in my opinion. in the case that the writers decided to haul him out of his grave (or urn), i am interested in the course of mw4. although i disagree with bringing him back- if you’ve already killed him off like some npc, just fucking roll with it- it does expose the possibility of even more humanitarian crimes, maybe some new group associated with the older ones. praying that the writers lock in and do him justice this time- if we can get snopp dogg and john price hitting a bong and execution moves where graves used laser eyes to split his enemies in half in this game, we can hope and pray that they are creative enough to craft a better campaign

[forestshadow-wolf]

El. I require dire assistance.

I need reference photos for Nautilus Soap. Help.

🫡🫡 check out @ave661 ref for the skin

And some of mine (mostly the mask tho lmaoo)

Check the reblogs for a few more bc it won't let me do more than 10 :(

[ghostgirlvii]

Love that that Nautilus skin made us all being super hopeful for Soap.

But then the trailer play and you see the date of the op "May 22, 2022"

Well I'm still gonna ignore the canon ending 💅😌

[queermentaldisaster]

THE NEW SOAP SKIN IS CALLED THE NAUTILUS SKIN!? I-WHAT!?

*So many thoughts*

[owillofthewisps]

in the garden of your bed, i bloom

notes: it’s chilly and rainy here, a return of a hint of winter after we’ve moved towards spring.  it made me crave a quiet morning in bed wrapped in blankets, snuggled deep. i would say it made me crave fluffy fics too, but i’ve been presented with a feast of those in the last day.  and i couldn’t resist the calling either.  but then it got a lil spicy.  whoops.

also welcome to 'geralt is the little spoon' 2020

rating: explicit. fluff and smut.  (handjob, some chatting about cockwarming, lil bit of hairpulling)

pairing: geralt of rivia x fem reader

word count: 1.2k

the morning dawns cold and rainy, but you are tucked warm into bed.  and neither you nor geralt are interested in leaving it. 

You wake to the sound of rain.

It’s the soft sigh of spring, come at last, the gentle patter of the droplets slicking your shutters an ancient song. The scent of wet loam seeps through the cracks in your windowpane. It’s earthy and strong, a heavy damp scent of growth, of tender seedlings pushing through the thick rich soil. You breathe deep, your eyes half-mast, feeling a ship just off the shore’s edge, caught between worlds, half between earth and the tide of sleep. Geralt’s back rises and falls against your chest like lapping waves, his breaths slow and sure.

It’s early still, the watery light dim and grey, barely filtering through the clouds. You burrow further under the furs draped over you. Hazy with sleep, you nose against the nape of Geralt’s neck. He smells of sage and pepper. The scent of your soap on his skin, with just a hint of the tang of his sword oil lingering beneath, makes warmth coil lazily inside of you.

“Go back to sleep.”

You nip at Geralt’s broad, bare shoulder, graze your teeth against his wintry skin. “When has telling me what to do worked?”

“Never,” he grumbles.

“Exactly,” you say, nudging closer, curling around him like the spiral of a nautilus’ shell. “So why try?”

“One day you might see reason.”

“You’re lucky I’m comfortable,” you tell him.

He grunts. It’s soft, though, gentled by the drowsy hush that lingers over both of you. You press a ghost of a kiss against the blade of his shoulder. Crowd closer to him, pull him into the cradle of your hips and chest, greedy for each inch of skin he’ll give. Geralt hums.

Outside, the rain falls like a veil between the two of you and the outside world, a misty curtain to hide you away from unkind eyes. You slip a foot between Geralt’s calves.

“Sleep.”

“Mhmm.”

It’s warm beneath the furs. It’s the warmth of a spring rain, soothing and enfolding. You let your eyes flutter closed. Geralt grunts as your lashes whisper across his skin like a kiss.

You float between worlds. Geralt’s breath is your anchor, the soft rolling exhales mingling with the rhythm of the rainfall. You stay curved around him, one hand tracing lazy circles over the skin of his hip.

Sometimes you think that in the garden of your bed, Geralt can finally bloom. That he can prune away the wilting leaves of his guilt, that you can pull up the weeds that threaten his roots, all those ugly little brambles of scorn and hate and fear. If nothing else, you can nourish him, can pour your love from your lips like water.

The patter of the rainfall deepens into a drumbeat. The cantering rhythm of it pulls you into true wakefulness. Geralt shifts against you, likely noticing the change, and you catch your bottom lip between your teeth as your nipples drag against his skin, catching on a few raised scars and sending small licks of sensation darting up your spine.

Geralt makes a noise that’s pure sin as your circling fingers dip lower, something rough and molten in the same breath. You hide your smile against his skin.

You follow the cut of his hip with your fingers, venture lower and lower. His hard cock is heated against your questing fingertips. You brush your fingers down his length, a fleeting, lazy touch. He hisses when you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock.

“Have you been hard this whole time?” you ask, raising yourself up onto one elbow just enough so that you can peek over his broad back. His cock is flushed, precome beading in the slit.

He grunts.

You hum and wrap your hand around him. You’ll never tire of the thickness of him, of the throb of him against your fingers. You trace a fingertip down a vein. “If you have, it’s almost a waste,” you tell him. “To think I could have had you splitting me open while I dozed. To have you hard in me while I was soft with sleep.”

“Gods,” Geralt hisses.

“Shame,” you say, dropping a smug kiss on his shoulder as you let go of him to reach for the oil you keep tucked behind the headboard. You drizzle it over your palm and reach down to wrap your hand around Geralt’s cock once more.

He tenses, his muscles cording. You hum to yourself, settling behind him again, your breasts pressing against his back. You scrape your teeth down the column of his throat as you stroke. He makes a low noise that arrows between your thighs, that slicks you with anticipation.

Geralt pushes back against you as you work him, pushes into the cradle of your hips. You twist your hand around the head of his cock as you stroke up, the oil gleaming on his skin. It’s quiet, the only sound the patter of the rain and the quick, stuttering breaths spilling from both of your lips. You had never thought silence could be so heated before Geralt. Had always filled your bed with sound. You still do, of course. Geralt has learned to draw all manners of noise from the depths of you.

Today, though, tucked under the warmth of the furs and surrounded by the rain’s song, the quiet between the two of you weighs heavy, makes your cunt clench. Geralt is like a statue of old, his corded muscles outlined under his skin, perfectly sculpted as he fucks into your hand.

You sink your other hand into the thick plait you’d woven into his starlight hair last night. You firm your grasp, fisting the hair at his nape, and give a gentle, testing tug. Geralt grunts his approval, and this time, you yank, pulling his head back until his throat is bared in a delicious curve.

“Fuck.”

His cock pulses in your hand. You tighten your grip and give a viciously slow stroke, dragging your palm across the length of him. His thighs flex. You nestle closer to him, bracket him between your body and your hand. He’s slick with sweat against your skin.

Geralt bucks with the next twist of your fingers. The movement is saturated with power, a river barely held by a breaking dam. You lean up to press a kiss against his stubbled jaw.

“Come apart for me,” you murmur. You have shattered under him so many times, you think, have broken open on his shore again and again, a relentless tide. He is slowly learning to do the same.

He does.

Geralt grits out your name as he spills in hot spurts over your fingers. You gentle your grip on his hair, press your lips just beneath the shell of his ear. You keep stroking him lazily, wringing a few more pulses of cum from him before releasing him.

You pull away just enough, and he rolls over to face you at last.

“Hi,” you say.

Even in the dim grey light creeping in from under your shutters, his eyes gleam golden. There’s an edge of hunger to them, but even that is gentled by the softness of the morning.

“Should we get up for the day?” you ask, biting down on the lilting laugh threatening to spill from your lips.

“We’re staying in bed,” Geralt tells you, and he slips one large hand between your thighs to press against your slick cunt. He tugs you close, and kisses you like you are the sun, warm and reverent.

Outside, the rain patters down.

taglist: @stretchkingblog97 @fairytale07 @hina-chans-stuff @1950schick @nonamejustshame @bumblingandblooming @msgeorgiarae @alwayshave-faith @ayamenimthiriel @sageandberries-png

[queeruma]

Okay, so an anon sent me this ask:

Can I ask if canon materials say anything about Uma and Ursula’s relationship? Do you have hcs about it? I never read the third Descendant book so I don’t know much about her

and I wrote up this post, posted it, immediately realised that tumblr had fucked up all the formatting, deleted it, and then realised that by deleting it I’d also deleted the ask. I’m sorry anon, my brain is not functioning properly, but here’s my answer, hopefully formatted correctly this time:

Hi anon! So I thought I could answer this in like 10 minutes, and then it turned out that I have a Lot of thoughts about Uma and Ursula’s relationship, and here we are almost two days later (this post kind of just turns into Uma hcs at the end sorry about that)

Yes, between the movie, Rise, and Uma's Wicked Book, there's actually quite a lot of information about Uma and her mother.

Under a cut because this got long:

Within the actual text: Uma's relationship with her mother is… complicated, to say the least.

On the one hand, Ursula is about as far from a loving, caring mother as one can get. She has been forcing Uma to work for her, without pay, since Uma was 'so little she could barely see about the counter'. She is verbally abusive, berating Uma and humiliating her over her losses to Mal, and we see in the film that she's not above harming Uma physically either. And Uma seems certain when she's speaking to Ben that her mother does not care for her at all.

"All those days spent working at Ma’s restaurant, serving up gruel and scrubbing the floors, and I’ve never gotten paid a coin.” - UWB “Uma had worked at the Fish and Chips Shoppe her entire life, from when she was so little she could barely see above the counter, until she was old enough to wear an apron, carry a tray, and take an order.” - ROTIOTL “Uma was glad to have the place to herself. If Ursula were around, she would only be raging and complaining about how she had been saddled with such an ungrateful and useless daughter. Ursula never ceased to remind Uma how often she’d lost to Mal. When she’d learned Mal had been chosen to go to Auradon, Ursula flipped her tentacles. Uma never heard the end of it.” - ROTIOTL “Things I wouldn’t miss about the Isle: (...) Ma yelling at me” - UWB “My mom doesn’t care about me either. Well, not unless she needs someone for the night shift.” - D2

On the other hand, we see a certain level of respect between the two of them. Uma seems to be proud of her mother's strength, and is very comfortable showing her heritage as 'daughter of the sea witch'. Despite her mother's treatment of her, we never see Uma being afraid of her mother (contrast with the core four in the first movie, who definitely are). Uma remembers her mother taking her to Hook's inlet to watch the crocodile wrestling, and (repeatedly) telling her the story of her defeat at Eric and Ariel's hands. She states that her mother taught her about the importance of negotiation. Ursula, lamenting over her loss in her final battle, tells Uma that they would be 'Queens of the Seas' if she'd won. Given that unlike most of the villains, Ursula doesn't seem to be trying to manipulate Uma into anything in particular, I take this to mean that Ursula would have given her daughter what she felt was her due.

And, most importantly, Ursula has one single piece of her nautilus necklace left when she's on the Isle, and she gives it to Uma when Uma is a small child. Uma likes to hold it when she's feeling anxious. There's clearly more than just antagonism between them.

‘Uma was special: she was the sea witch’s daughter, a force to be reckoned with!’ - ROTIOTL 'The gold was warm against her skin, and she felt a faint echo of its former power. It had the sense and shape of her mother's wrath.' - ROTIOTL “No, last I saw her was on the news when she was blasting you with her magic!” Ursula laughed. “Good for her!” - EFTIOTL “That’s my mom! At least Maleficent recognised her power.” - MSB ‘“Mama was really something, wasn’t she? Back then?” said Uma.’ - ROTIOTL “Ma used to take me down to Hook’s Inlet when I was a kid, and we’d bet on the crocodile-wrestling matches there.” - UWB 'She recalled her mother telling her about that final battle (…) Prince Eric had taken the wheel and rammed his ship right into her heart (…) Uma always held her breath at that part of the story, wondering how it was that her mother had survived such a battle. Because even though she'd lost, she'd survived. Prince Eric hadn't destroyed her completely.' - ROTIOTL ‘Her mother had taught her about the power of negotiation, or as she’d described it, talking someone out of their greatest treasures and giving nothing of value in return.’ - ROTIOTL 'Queens of the seas, Ursula would lament. We would be queens of the seas if not for that awful Triton and that terrible Beast.' - ROTIOTL ‘(...) the locket she wore around her neck. Inside was a tiny piece of junk that her mother had given her as a child. “It’s all I have left,” Ursula had said at the time. Uma never understood why a sliver of metal mattered so much, but she liked holding it when she was anxious.’ - ROTIOTL

I think Uma's outfits also say a lot about her relationship with her mother. The core four pretty much exclusively wear their parent's colours, even after they've rejected them. We already know that colour means a lot in these movies, considering the thought they put into the shades of purple in Mal's hair and clothes in D1. Every VK either wears their parent's colours - Harry, Celia and the core four - or they don't resemble their families at all - Gil and Dizzy.

Uma's purple undertone, her hair and skirt resembling octopus arms, and the mesh undershirt with holes that mimics octopus suckers are all there to reflect her status as Ursula's daughter. She's proud of her heritage - but there's probably a practical reason as well: there's an element of protection in reminding people of her mother.

However, I think it's telling that her main aesthetic and colour are all her own. The pirate hat, the tough leather jacket complete with epaulets, the chunky belts, her sword, and the overall teal theme, all make it very clear that Uma is her own person, and no one who looks at her is going to forget it. She's not going to ride by on her mother's reputation all her life - people will know her name, not just her parentage.

Her symbol also demonstrates this mix of nature and nurture. Mal, Evie, Carlos, Jay, Harry, and Gil all have symbols that refer directly to their parents (Gil signs off UWB with a bow and arrow, presumably a reference to his father's skill at hunting). In contrast, the skull and crossbones - crossbones in this case being a trident and sword - with a wave in one cheek, an eyepatch, and octopus arms below it is 'the unofficial symbol of Uma, daughter of Ursula - pirate queen'.

--

As far as headcanons are concerned, I can’t really list them? I just have a kind of general ‘this is how Ursula affected the way Uma’s life went’ hc:

I think all of Uma’s better memories of her mother are from her very early childhood. By the time Uma and Mal stop being friends, Ursula has already pretty much checked out of everything; I don’t think she ever tries to manipulate Uma in the way Maleficent and the other villains do their children. She leaves the work in the shoppe to Uma and retreats into her Auradon soap operas. Uma is used to seeing other parents on the Isle put effort into their relationships with their children (that is never actually a Good Thing but baby Uma doesn’t know what decent parenting is) and she wonders if Ursula’s lack of manipulation is her mother neglecting her because she sees her as worthless.

So Uma kind of decides that she’s going to be as independent as possible, because if she makes her distance from her mother her choice, she doesn’t have to confront the possibility that Ursula is neglecting her because Uma isn’t good enough for her. And because I loathe the canon Uma and Mal backstory with the passion of an anti-vax parent for essential oils, here’s my take on it (credit for the idea that Maleficent encouraged Mal to end their friendship goes to @edream93 in her wonderful fic ‘We’ll Light the Fuse’ - it partly inspired this hc):

Uma and Mal were good friends from a very young age, and there was some genuine affection and trust between them, which Maleficent obviously did not approve of at all.

She allowed it for a while because they did get into a lot of trouble together, but as Uma drifted further away from her mother, she became concerned about Uma’s influence on Mal.

See, Uma might have started out distancing herself from her mother to protect her own feelings, but she also actually began to care less about her mother’s opinion of her.

Maleficent, who wanted Mal firmly under her control, knew that if the two girls stayed friends, Uma might encourage Mal to question her mother’s authority.

And if there’s one person on the Isle talented at subtlety and manipulation, it’s Maleficent. Mal and Uma’s friendship was doomed to end the second Maleficent decided she wanted it to.

I also think Ursula’s F- parenting plays into Uma’s feelings about Auradon. Uma is genuinely right about the Isle - it is unfair and morally abhorrent that the children of villains are fated to live in a ‘fate worse than death’ for the crime of being born to the wrong people. She and the other descendants of villains unquestionably do not deserve to be there.

But Uma’s desire for freedom and revenge isn’t just based on her rational disapproval of the Isle. It comes from a huge amount of anger and pain, and it’s admirable that she manages to use those negative feelings (along with her love for and loyalty to her crew) to motivate herself. She is equally furious and terrified - Auradon abandoned her, Mal abandoned her, her own MOTHER abandoned her - and either she didn’t deserve it, in which case she has to be angry at basically the whole world, or she did, in which case...

yeah, she tries not to think about that.

Luckily, between her friendship with Harry and Gil and the loyalty and respect she gets from her crew, more often than not she’s able to believe that she deserved better she deserves so much better she deserves the whole fuCKING WORLD.

Ultimately, Uma is a very practical person, and any feelings she has about her mother, positive or negative, will not stop her from getting off the Isle and going after what she wants - whatever that ends up being. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the octopus-inspired elements and purple undertones of her D2 look are gone in D3.

[mrsbenedictbridgerton]

Wash away the pain

Spec fic: Emma copes with the belief that Killian has left her while he deals with the pain he has caused and desperatley tries to get back.

1k

There are fresh cotton sheets on the bed. That’s one of the first things she had done the morning after he hadn’t returned home. The hurt she had taken to bed with her the night before had hardened into something more potent over the hours she had spent lying awake long after the world had fallen asleep: wondering where he was and why he hadn’t called.

(Fearing it was she who had pushed him away. She was good at that after all.)

In a frenzy, she had torn the sheets away. The ones that smelled like his cologne. The ones where they had only the night before made blissful love as she wore his ring on her left hand. Thank god Henry was still asleep as she tossed them into the washer, her eyes full of tears, hoping that somehow the soap suds could wash away her own pain along with the scent of him.

Now another day had passed. Another day without sleep. Her eyes are red as she pushes her face into the too-clean pillow case. Her phone lies beside her, tauntingly bare of communication from him. She wants to call him. She wants to hear his voice and beg him to come home. It’s too quiet without his laughter. It’s too cold without his arms around her.

It doesn’t feel like home when he’s not there.

Oh how she wishes she could dial back the days. She wishes she could see that he was troubled.

(How she wishes he had believed in her enough to share his secret.)

They were both a little lost still, she realizes.

A little too broken.

And perhaps not enough.

/

The narrow bunk reminds him of his quarters on the Jolly Roger, though it is cold metal that wraps around him, not the scented Teak of his ship.  Nemo insisted he rest. Not yet in kraken waters, he had told Killian, sleep so you are ready.

That would be a Herculean task, he thinks, as he lies on the narrow cot. Since the Nautilus had descended into the deep and crossed the realms, he had done naught much more than think of Emma.

What must she think of him? A coward who runs away? A man not worthy of her to be sure. Another who has let her down.

Oh how it pains his heart to be the cause of her pain. She thinks he left her.

And it’s tearing him apart knowing that. He promised he would never hurt her.

But now he had.

Tossing and turning, relief evades him. He supposes he deserves that.

It’s so cold and unusual lying alone. Not in their home - in their bed. How quickly he had gotten used to the domesticity of them. How he wishes he had been able to believe in them enough to know that their love was stronger than his past.

He clutches the ring in his palm, tight enough so it’s imprint is left on his skin. Their love, symbolised. His commitment, materialised.

Now, he believed. Now he understood that his fears were unfounded - that losing her was more painful than any life where he had to deal with those crimes he had once committed.

He must return to her.

He needs her.

/

It’s late when she leaves Aesop’s Tables.

Listening to Regina drone on and on about how Killian was ‘once a pirate and always a pirate’ hadn’t done much to help her mood. Her mother, meanwhile, had simply kept a steady stream of strong drinks heading her way.

She knew they were trying to help, in their own way. But her mind was not there, to be taken away by their chatter. It was somewhere else, far away.

Killian had been gone three days now with not so much as a note. Her feelings flittered from devastation, to pain, to loneliness and back again. And she knew she han’t even scratched the surface of the pain that was to come.

She’d never thought she’d have all those things. She was right.

Letting the door close behind her, she went to finish tidying away his things.

/

“Ariel, are you sure this will work?”

Ariel beamed at Killian, the large pink conch shell in her hand shimmering in the dim light of the cabin.

“It is enchanted as the one you previously owned was. The magic should work.”

His jaw set square, Killian tried to meter his hopes. “I guess there is only one way to find out.”

/

The last few small pieces, she gathers into a box.

There isn’t anything else to remind her of him. Not in sight, at least. She doesn’t need to see his coat hung by the door or his telescope left on the kitchen table. Everything is carefully packed away for him. Until-

She sucks back a sob as she takes the box out towards the shed. The air is cold but still and she’d pulled on her jacket to ward off the chill. She stands a moment in the warm light of the porch.

“Emma…”

Freezing in place, she looks around.

“Emma…”

Its his voice. She can hear it, as clear as if he were stood next to her. But it’s so small- and-

Then she looks down and sees the tiny shell necklace. He’d explained once what it was for, but since its partner was destroyed it had became no more than a trinket, he had said. But-

Taking it in her hands, she quickly set the box down and sat on the step outside their door.

“Killian-”

She holds it closer, praying it wasn’t just her mind, that somehow he had-

“Emma- Emma - my love-”

“Killian,” she whispers, tears falling, all anger melting- “You left- you- where are you?”

Her voice cracks.

“I’m so sorry, my darling, I didn’t meant to - it was Gideon, I was at the Nautilus, he used magic to send us away-”

“Gideon?” she cries, looking furtively around. “I thought-”

And she crumbles, just a little.

“I made a terrible, mistake, but I’m done running from my past.”

“Killian, come back to me,” she says, her bottom lip trembling as the emormity of what he said becomes clear.

He didn’t leave her.

He didn’t.

“I will my love. Soon. I promise.”

[tophateliquids]

How to Vape Safely: 4 Tips About Vaping during Covid-19 Crisis

I have read some news about vaping stating that it could worsen the effects of covid-19. However, there is no compelling evidence that vaping increases the risk of infection of covid-19 and these are, most likely, biased news. As a matter of fact, recent studies have researched nicotine as a treatment for covid-19. Scientists are perplexed by the low amount of hospitalizations among nicotine users. In addition, French scientists are testing the theory of nicotine as a treatment for covid-19.

According to this French study, “people who smoke are 80% less likely to catch COVID-19 than non-smokers of the same age and sex”. Apparently, it’s possible that nicotine prevents the coronavirus molecules to attach to receptors in the body. Nonetheless, let’s emphasize that this is just a theory and we still need more facts to prove it.

In this article, we give you four tips about vaping during this pandemic.

  1. Vape Indoors

Vaping indoors is a good way to avoid the spread of microorganisms in public areas. Nonetheless, vaping indoors is probably your only option to vape during this pandemic. In conclusion, you will not bother anybody, and no one will bother you. Stay home and vape only when you are indoors.

2. Degerm your Drip Tip

Aspire has recently launched the Aspire Degerm for drip tips. This device is a simple sterilizer that consist of a UV light. UV light is more effective than soap and water in killings bacteria and it has been found to affects viruses in a similar way. UV light is lethal to microorganisms (fungi, bacteria, viruses). However, it could be dangerous in contact with your skin. Therefore, it’s only recommended to use it to sterilize objects.

The Aspire Degerm is an effective device to sterilize and clean your drip tips. It’s the best way to keep them completely degermed.  

In addition, desterilizing your drip tips is more environmentally friendly than buying disposable drip tips.

The Aspire Degerm is available in our online store for just $13.99.

Is UV light a solution to fight against microorganisms?

3. Vape Pod Systems, MTL Vapes

There are vaping options in times where we need discreet and effective nicotine delivery devices. Perhaps, it isn’t the right moment for powerful sub-ohm mods. But, don’t worry, you can still vape pod systems or very effective MTL and restricted DTL vapes.

Aspire has recently launched pod systems such as the Aspire AVP Pro and handy and portable vapes like the Rover 2 Kit. These two devices are very effective and ideal for daily vaping.

On the other hand, if you are looking for an amazing and effective restricted DTL vape or MTL vape, then you can choose the Aspire GT Kit. The Aspire GT Kit comes with a tank designed by Taifun with the legendary Nautilus coils (Nautilus BVC 1.6-ohm coil and a Nautilus 0.7 ohm 2S mesh coil).

The Aspire GT Kit is an ideal device for MTL vaping (with the 1.6 ohm coil) and restricted DTL vaping (with the 0.7 mesh coil).

4. Use Nicotine E-Liquids

As mentioned above, there are studies about to what extent nicotine has protective properties to combat against covid-19. According to a study by Farsalinos, Barbouni and Niaura from the University of West Attica and New York University, “An unusually low prevalence of current smoking among hospitalized COVID-19 cases in China was observed when considering the population smoking prevalence. The true prevalence of current smoking among hospitalized COVID-19 cases presented in 5 studies was approximately one-third the expected prevalence. This preliminary analysis, assuming that the reported data are accurate, does not support the argument that current smoking is a risk factor for hospitalization for COVID-19, and might even suggest a protective role”.

This is still a preliminary research, however, it’s quite possible that nicotine has protective properties against covid-19.

Conclusion

There is not compelling evidence that vaping increases the risks of infection of covid-19. Moreover, some research has focused their studies on the lower number of covid-19 patients that are smokers. This preliminary study doesn’t support the argument that smoking is a risk factor for hospitalization for covid-19. Furthermore, it’s possible that nicotine has protective properties against coronaviruses. Nonetheless, we still need further research on this matter.

You can choose to vape either pod systems or MTL or restricted DTL devices to vape while you stay at home.

How to Vape Safely: 4 Tips About Vaping during Covid-19 Crisis was originally posted by E-Sigaret Nieuws

[kennethpettine-blog]

Kenneth Pettine

The body may be the beginning and also the finish, with no healthy, fit body our way of life are reduced to number of medical woes. It's also what we should have a tendency to take most as a given and neglecting. But taking proper care of marvelously engineered is important and never a choice.

Health is wealth is definitely an old adage that people hear and spout so frequently it has lost any importance to us. Until that sudden, unforeseen trip to the closest physician. And at that time, it's already far too late. At a time of consumerism and conspicuous consumption, health is definitely an anomaly. You cannot purchase it. At any cost. Health is understood to be the health of you or mind and it needs to be nurtured and maintained inside a continuous procedure that affects every aspect of your existence or, to utilize a modern term, lifestyle. That's a lot simpler stated than can be done nowadays and also the lifestyle generated with that world. Visit Kenneth Pettine page here....

Seriously Stressed

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Fighting Fit

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Gym

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Health spa Style

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Or have both. The Addiction gym and health spa chain perfectly combines both, luxury alongside fitness facilities. Serving lifestyle pressures, gyms and spas offer innovative features for example flexible timing and customised training programs.

Solo Star

Ultimately, health is at the disposal of the self. Not every the trainers around the globe or massagers or chefs around the globe can provide you with a healthy body unless of course you would like yourself to it and are prepared to burn for this. They are able to only result in the path smoother and also the targets more achievable. For your wellbeing seriously or desire a perfect body in order to improve your endurance and stamina, it's time to sit lower making a choice. Select a path that you like after which stick to it. Remember, the healthier you're the more you'll enjoy your existence.