#roaches on steroids

[space-r0ach]

I had a really cursed dream today- I was fighting lizzo, doll and maybe v? As uzi but I also distinctly remember being at  Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex because I saw sun and Freddy a bunch of times and I think we were just fighting for the sake of fun- there was genuinely no purpose end I got a cut or something on my arm so I left and I saw N wearing a fucking suit in the middle of a panic attack- walking back-and-forth with his hands behind his back and everything like a little lawyer 😭p

#what #my mind is on steroids I swear to God #roach rants #murder drones

[fixfoxnox]

Request idea: Roach having a rough/emotional day and Soap and Ghost kiss/fuck him better, and they end the sesh with snuggles (Roach being in the middle)

PS You're an incredible author! I really loved SitO from start to finish <3

Did my best with this one, I love a good hurt/comfort so hopefully I wrote it well!

Replacement

Pairings: Soap/Roach/Ghost

Description: Roach gets put on medical leave for a few months and worries that the man brought in to temporarily replace him on the team is trying to take his spot permanently.

Warnings: NSFW, Biting/Scratching (in like a sexy way tho), hurt/comfort, hand jobs

Word Count: 6k (I did not mean to make this that long)

"I'm going to have to take you off of active duty for at least two months."

"What?" Roach lurched forward, a bad choice considering the splintering pain that rocketed up his back with the movement. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth to try and prevent the groan that threatened to pull from his lips. When he looked back up he was met with a raised eyebrow from Dr. Sanchez.

"You need rest and time for the steroid shots to work their magic," She pointed at him with her pen, "And, if in a months time we've seen no improvement we'll have to try something else out. Two months is a best case."

"But I'm fine," Roach complained, "I finished the mission just as good as usual!"

"Sergeant Sanderson," a small smile tugged at her lips, "You were hit by a car and you just told me five minutes ago that even laying down hurts your back. You'll just end up hurting yourself and being off for longer if you don't." She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave a slight squeeze, "Take the two months."

"I hate taking time off," Roach grumbled under his breath. He didn't argue with her any further though. As much as he hated to admit it, she was definitely correct about his back. It had been shit to deal with for the past several days and even Price had noticed the sluggishness to his usual movements and the pain he seemed to be in. Thats what had gotten him sent to the doctor and now meant that he would be taking time off.

"That seems to be a running theme with you 141 boys." Dr. Sanchez moved across the room to type a few things into a computer, "You should try to enjoy the time off. Maybe pick up a simple hobby in the meantime or," she turned to him and shrugged, "I guess take up some desk work." She paused for a moment before playfully adding, "Or just lay in bed and let your boys wait on you hand and foot."

Roach groaned, his face feeling hot at the words. He could hear Dr. Sanchez laughing at him and he gave a brief huff but said nothing. If anyone deserved to laugh over how overprotective Soap and Ghost could get when he was injured it was her. After all, not every doctor had to deal with two hulking men leering over them as they tried to stitch up a wound. He just hoped that Soap and Ghost might be a little more normal about his injury this time around.

"You guys are back early," Roach wrinkled his brow and looked up to meet Soap and Ghost's eyes. He hadn't been expecting them back for another few hours at least. Usually meetings and packing for a mission took a good four hours, but the two were back after only two.

Soap leaned down to press a kiss on his head as he passed the cozy couch Roach was seated on, "New guy made packing up quick today. He had everything done in like thirty, it was insane."

Roach stared at Soap with confusion as another kiss was pressed to the top of his head. "How's your back feeling, Bug?" He turned his attention to Ghost, though he was sure his face still showed how confused he was by Soap's words.

"Its okay, I took my pills today. PT tomorrow." He turned back toward Soap, "New guy?"

"Yeah!" Soap turned around from the little mini fridge in their shared room and tossed a bottle of water to Ghost. He kicked the door closed with his foot, "With everything that's been going on, Price brought in someone new to fill your spot."

Roach stared at him for a long moment, something heavy curling in his chest. "It's temporary, of course," Ghost assured him.

Soap's eyes widened with the words and he was quick to nod his head, "Yeah! Its just someone to help us out until you get back." He moved forward to plop himself in the seat next to Roach. He was quick to press a kiss to his cheek and nuzzle against his shoulder, "Just temporary, Bug."

Roach cleared his throat awkwardly. He didn't like feeling so useless and hearing that Price had brought someone else in, no matter how temporary, certainly didn't help. He disliked more, however, his boyfriends worrying about him and believing he was upset. He didn't want to be a burden on them. "It's no problem, I was just surprised is all. And, hey, if this new guy gets my boyfriends back to me quicker, I've got nothing to complain about."

Turns out, Roach did have something to complain about. He fucking hated the new guy. He fucking hated the new guy and he could tell that the rest of the 141 fucking loved the new guy.

He'd tried, really he'd tried, to like the new guy. He'd given him a fair chance for the first month, he'd tried to chalk everything up to his own mind and insecurities playing games with his heart. After a certain point though, he had to face the facts. And the facts, as much as he cringed to say it, were telling him that the new guy was after his job. And potentially his boyfriends, though Roach had decided to tuck that back into a corner for later.

The "new" guy was more than friendly with Roach when they'd been introduced. He was positive and helpful and never seemed to have an issue with Roach or with being a temporary member of the team. In fact, he'd been so kind that Roach hadn't felt worried in the slightest when he'd returned to the room with Soap and Ghost at his side. He'd felt more than happy having confirmation that the man knew he was only going to be working with them for a bit before going back to his own team.

The next few times that Roach had seen him had been similar. They were spread out, but the man was quite pleasant to him every time they met. Of course, as Roach knew now, that was likely only due to the fact that another member of the 141 had been with him. The first time that Roach saw the man while alone was the first time that he got an idea that things weren't quite right.

He'd been tiredly (and painfully) making his way back from his physical therapy appointment when he'd seen the man. They were passing one another in the hall and Roach had given him a quick friendly smile. It hadn't been returned, but he hadn't thought much about it at the time, at least he hadn't thought about it until the man moved over just enough that he could painfully slam his shoulder against Roach's. The move had sent Roach stumbling into the wall next to him, his back screaming. When he'd looked over his shoulder at the man, shock running through his system, he'd been met with a harsh glare.

The man had disappeared around the corner of another hall before Roach could fully comprehend what had happened. It had left him reeling for the rest of the day. Later, when he'd seen the man again while with Soap and Ghost, he questioned whether he'd hallucinated the incident. After all, the new guy was just so nice, wasn't he?

Roach hadn't told Soap and Ghost about what happened. He hadn't even told them when it happened again. Or when other incidents of the new guy being an ass to him happened. He just kept trying to convince himself that he was reading to far into things. That he was looking for a reason to be upset. He just kept trying to blame himself.

It hadn't been until he was talking to Jackson about the man's odd behavior that he finally began to accept that something was amiss.

"He sounds like an asshole?" Jackson tilted his head at him, "Have you told Soap and Ghost? Or like...Price at least?"

"No?" Roach shook his head, "Listen I'm sure it's nothing-"

"No, no, hell no," Jackson cut him off quickly, "You're doing that thing again where you try to blame yourself for other people being assholes."

"What?"

"This guy is being a dick!" Jackson pointed at him, "And he's only doing it when its just you around. Pretty fucking two-faced if you ask me."

Roach had quickly rebuffed his friend, but after the call ended, he'd found himself thinking more about what Jackson had said to him. It was true. This guy was being an absolute dick to Roach and he had no idea why. At least he had no idea until he'd overheard Soap complimenting him about how quick he was during a mission. He'd responded, "It makes you guys want to keep me around, eh?"

He'd laughed it off afterward, but Roach had heard the hope in his voice and, when he'd made his presence known, he'd seen the disgust on his face. The dots started connecting for him from there.

The way that the man always seemed to be trying to make his presence known and make himself important to the group. The way he was always complimenting and kissing ass to the rest of the group. The subtle remarks he would make about wishing his own team was like the 141. Roach had also noticed the rather unsubtle looks that he'd been giving Soap.

The issue, though, was that Roach had no proof that any of what was happening was true. He had no proof that the man was being an ass or that he wanted his job or that he was constantly staring at his boyfriend's ass. He had no proof, so he kept quiet. All he had to do was make it back into the field. All he had to do was get confirmed healthy enough for active duty at the end of his two months. After all, the 141 surely wouldn't replace him after just two months.

"Are we," Roach grit his teeth and resisted the urge to groan as Dr. Sanchez felt along his back, "done yet?"

There was another moment of pressure before she finally lifted her hands away from his skin, allowing him to collapse back into his seat with a relieved huff. He watched her move around the room for several moments, her face serious as she typed several things into her computer. He didn't like the look that she wore. He was hoping for smiles or some sort of indication that the turn out was good.

"What's the verdict?" He dared to ask. There was another moment of silence before Dr. Sanchez sighed and turned toward him, her face apologetic.

"I'm sorry," she started, "But I can't put you back into the field like this."

"But you said two months!" Roach winced a bit, but pushed himself up from his seat.

"I said two months at the least," Dr. Sanchez gave a sigh, "I know this isn't what you wanted to hear. But its going to be at least another month." Roach collapsed back to the chair his chest feeling heavy and his eyes stinging with the need to cry. He pushed it down. This was not something he was going to be crying over. "You've made a lot of progress," Dr. Sanchez placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, "I'm confident that with another month you'll be back in tip top shape."

Roach was on his way back to his room. He was already feeling down on himself, so it only made sense that the world would try to beat him further into the ground.

He was moving past one of the meeting rooms when he just caught the sound of Soap's voice. He paused, his lips quirking up a bit. He could always stop and say hi to his boyfriends. Surely that would make him feel better.

He stepped up to the door, intent on knocking, "I honestly wouldn't mind having him on the team permanently."

Roach froze in his place, a lump forming in his throat. "Neither would I, he's been a good addition to the team." Ghost's voice.

Roach stepped back from the door, feeling as though a bucket of cold water had just been dumped over his head. He felt numb, his mind running over itself. They didn't say that they wanted to replace him on the team, but wasn't that the implication? Wasn't that what his replacement had been hoping for? Sure, maybe they didn't want the guy over him, but with another month...Roach couldn't be sure.

He made his way down the hallway and back toward his room, feeling a slow building of dread in his chest. It seeped up his throat as he made his way into the room. By the time he'd plopped into a seat, he was already crying.

"Bug?" Roach tucked himself deeper into his blanket, trying to avoid the harsh light that was turned on in the room. He didn't look up, but he could hear Soap and Ghost shuffling around the room. A moment later and he could feel the bed next to him sink down. "We heard from Doc about you being out for another month." Soap's voice was soft and Roach could feel his hand land on his thigh through the sheets. "We're sorry."

"It's for the best," Ghost's voice was just as soft as Soap's and Roach could tell from how clear his voice was that he'd taken his mask off. "The team will be fine, we just want you to get better."

"Yeah," Soap agreed, "and besides, it isn't like we're down a man, I'm sure-"

Roach couldn't help the sob that pulled from his throat at the words, cutting Soap off. He tried to quiet himself, but it was too late, both Soap and Ghost had clearly heard him.

"Bug?" The bed dipped down again and, ever so slowly, the blankets were pulled away from his face, exposing him to the gaze of his boyfriends.

"Roach," Soap was quick to turn his face, getting a good look at him with wide concerned eyes, "Bug, whats wrong? Are you hurting? Is it your back?"

Roach turned away from him, trying to bury his face in his pillow, "I don't want to talk about it."

There was a pause before Ghost was asking, "Somethings bothering you. What is it?" There was another long pause, Roach didn't answer. "We aren't letting up until you tell us."

Roach took a moment before muttering, "The new guy wants to replace me."

There was another long pause before, "What?"

Roach shoved himself up from the bed, pushing himself into a sitting position. "The new guy wants my spot on the team! He's such an ass when you guys aren't around and he keeps making comments about wishing he could stay on the team! And he's constantly staring at Soap's ass which, like," he rubbed at his face, "I get it! Me too, but also have some respect? And did I mention that every time he and I are alone together he gives me dirty looks or says something fucking rude!"

He finally forced himself to stop talking. He didn't dare meet the gazes of Soap and Ghost. He didn't want to see their disbelief.

"Bug," Ghost's voice was low, "Why didn't you tell us?"

Roach hesitated for a moment before looking up at them. Their faces were stormy, a mix of anger and concern written across their brow. "I don't have proof," Roach hunched over slightly and fought back the desire to cry again, "I knew how much you guys liked him. Hell, I heard you guys today talking about how you'd like to have him on the team for good! I was," he took in a deep breath, "I was worried you wouldn't believe me."

Within a moment, there were arms wrapped around Roach's shoulders, holding him tightly. A kiss was pressed to his cheek as Soap nuzzled their faces together, "Bug, of course we believe you."

Roach relaxed into Soap's arms at the words, leaning into his hold. "We're telling Price about this." Roach met Ghost's gaze and he could see how serious the other man was. His tone left no room for argument.

"Later," Soap assured, pressing kisses to his face, "Right now we're staying here."

"Yes," Ghost moved closer to them, pressing his chest to Roach's shoulder, "Right now we're staying here. Right here until you feel better." He pressed a kiss to Roach's hair, then his cheek.

"How's your back feel?" Soap muttered the words against his shoulder, his mouth tracing across the exposed skin of his collarbone.

Roach sighed, trying to stretch slightly, "Better, still shit though. Its tight right now, I probably need to lay back down." He noted that his voice was still a bit shakey. Despite that, he already felt better than he had moments ago. Soap and Ghost believed him. That was what mattered.

"We'll lay back then," Ghost was quick to tug Roach over into his lap, stealing him away from Soap with an apologetic glance. Once Roach was settled, he slowly reclined so that they were laid back together with his chest to Roach's back. Soap was quick to move as well, tucking himself between Roach and Ghost's legs to lay over Roach's chest. He resumed his previous activity of placing kisses along Roach's neck.

Roach gave a small satisfied sigh. He liked being there, pressed between Soap and Ghost. It felt like exactly where he was meant to be.

Soap hummed against his neck before giving a quick and playful nip to the skin. Roach shuddered a bit. A moment later and Ghost's hands were running along his side softly, tucking his shirt up to stroke along the skin there.

Soap continued nipping at his neck, growing more and more bold with his mouth. At the same time, Ghost's hand started moving further and further under Roach's shirt, tracing the muscle of his chest until he was just missing Roach's nipples.

"I'm beginning," Roach cut himself off with a slight yelp as Soap bit particularly hard on his neck. Ghost took the opportunity to flick his fingers over one of Roach's nipples, beginning slow teasing strokes and flicks over the nub. He gave a gasp, tilting his head back against Ghost's shoulder, "I'm beginning to think the two of you are trying to do something other than comfort me."

"Now what would make you think that, bug?" Ghost's voice was teasing and he punctuated his words with a quick pinch of Roach's nipple that pulled a small yelp from his mouth.

Soap chuckled against his neck, his hands trailing down to grip at Roach's thighs. He ground himself down briefly, pulling a gasp from Roach's lips. "Our intentions are purely in the realm of making you feel good." He ground his hips down again, this time pulling a moan from all three of them as the movement pushed Roach's backside down against Ghost's cock.

"We haven't touched you in so long," Ghost tilted Roach's head back with one of his hands, the other still teasing at his chest. He connected their lips together, quickly opening Roach's mouth with his tongue. They shared sloppy kisses as Soap continued to grind against Roach, pulling the occasional moan and sigh from the three of them. His mouth was tracing further down Roach's skin, tugging at his shirt to expose more pale skin to his teeth and bruising mouth.

"Well," Roach pulled back for a moment, but his lips were quickly recaptured by Ghost's, the man's hand grabbed tight to his chin to hold him in place. Roach whimpered at the tight grip, he wasn't allowed to pull apart for several moments, "it isn't my fault that you haven't touched me." He gave Ghost a quick pout and the man nipped at his lips in response.

"You're hurt," Soap muttered against his skin, "We were being gentle."

"Are you saying you can't be gentle when you fuck me?" Roach teased slightly. He pushed himself up from Ghost's chest a bit, wincing at the tightness the move exposed in his back. He ignored it in favor of stripping his shirt off, Soap and Ghost helping him with the movement.

As soon as his chest was exposed, Soap was back on him, his mouth surrounding the nipple the Ghost wasn't playing with. Roach arched into his mouth and gave a low whine at the feeling. "You don't know how tempting you are," Ghost pressed a kiss against his cheek, "Its hard not to lose ourselves in you."

Roach gasped as Soap bit his nipple, he ground back slightly to pull a slight groan from Ghost's lips. Roach could feel his boyfriend's rapidly hardening cock pressed against his ass. Soap's was already hard and his slow grinding movements had been slowly working Roach up as well. His pants and underwear were beginning to feel uncomfortably tight.

"If I'm so tempting," Roach whimpered as Soap ground down against him again, "You'd think someone would be inside me already." He punctuated his words by grinding back against Ghost and grabbing tight to Soap's hair with one hand, tugging him up to connect their mouths in a filthy open mouthed kiss.

"Is that what you want?" Ghost chuckled lowly and nipped at his ear, "I think Johnny and I can make that happen." His hand finally moved away from Roach's chest to trail down and slip under the waistband of his pants. His hand moved between Soap and Roach's hips so that he could palm at Roach through his underwear, forcing Roach to break away from Soap's mouth with gasping breaths.

"I'll grab the lube," Soap gave a bright grin and pecked at Roach's gasping lips before pushing himself up and scrambling off of the bed.

Roach could only watch him move around the room through lidded eyes, his mind crowded with pleasure. It spiked down his spine as Ghost's hand slipped under his underwear so that he could wrap his hand fully around Roach's cock and stroke over him slowly. "Oh, fuck," Roach's hips canted up into Ghost's hand, "Si- oh, ah, Simon!"

"Perfect little thing," Ghost pressed several more kisses along his throat, his hand tightening around Roach's cock as Soap finally rejoined them on the bed, his shirt discarded and a bottle of lube tossed to the bed beside Roach's legs. His hands set to work unbuttoning Roach's pants and tugging them down his legs. Ghost helped him as much as he could, one of his hands helping to lift Roach's hips to make the slide easier. Within a few moments Roach was fully naked under their touch.

"Fucking pretty," Soap dived down to begin licking and biting at Roach's exposed hips. Roach was flushed red, a thin layer of pink settling over his skin as heat pounding at him. He jerked his hips up slightly only to have them immediately pinned by Soap's hands. "None of that now," he bit Roach's hip hard, "Be good."

Roach gave a low whine at the words but did his best to keep his hips still. His mind was completely foggy as both Soap and Ghost worked at him. Slowly arousal built in Roach's gut, pooling and curling around him in a warm sensation, he could hardly breathe with the feelings that were being pulled from him by Ghost's hand around his cock and Soap's slowly wondering mouth and hands.

"Remember what he said, Soap?" Ghost pressed another kiss to Roach's temple, "he wants one of us in him. Open him up, would you?"

Soap groaned at the words, his hands grasping quickly for the bottle of lube on the bed. "Why only one?" He poured a generous amount onto his hand, warming it up between his fingers as best as he could. "Why not both of us, hmm Bug?" His hands trailed down, stroking just lightly across Roach's balls before slipping between his cheeks to begin circling around his hole, teasing at him with his fingers.

"Maybe when he's feeling a bit better," Ghost chuckled a bit, "I don't think he could handle being stuffed so full right now."

"Aww," Soap started working a finger into Roach slowly, pulling a desperate gasp from his lips as his fingers pressed against his warm walls. "You could take it," Soap started quickly working another finger into Roach, fucking him shallowly with his hand, "Couldn't you, Bug?:

Roach nodded his head rapidly, his mind too far gone for him to even think logically. All that he wanted was one of the two men he was pressed between to split him open with their cock. To make the pleasure in him build even higher. He wanted them to make sure that he would never doubt his place with them again. "Please, please," desperate moans escaped his lips as Soap started working his fingers in and out of him faster, soon adding a third finger to help scissor and stretch him open.

Ghost hand was still tight around his cock, moving slowly in time with Soap's thrusting fingers. Roach's hips jumped again when Ghost ran his thumb over the head of his cock, fingering his slit slowly. "Simon- fuck, oh god John!" He jerked his hips again, pulling a chuckle from Ghost and a grin from Soap. "Please, please, just fuck me already!"

"He begs so sweet," Soap twisted his fingers inside Roach, pulling another long whine from his throat. "What do you say, Simon?"

Ghost hummed playfully, as though he was thinking, "Since he asked so nicely. Though, it is tempting to just keep him like this. I mean, look how he's leaking. I'm could watch it all day." Roach whined at the words. The thought of Soap and Ghost keeping him like this for hours made him breathless. He knew that the two men could and would do it too, they'd be more than willing to tease him until he was crying for them.

Ghost slowly removed his hand from Roach's cock. "Lift your hips a bit, Bug." Soap helped guide him off of Ghost just enough that Ghost could undo his own pants and pull his aching cock out. Ghost was pressed against Roach's ass, just slipping between his cheeks as Soap poured a bit more lube onto his hands. He helped Roach lift up again and wrapped his hand around Ghost's cock, giving several long slow jerks to spread the slick substance along his length.

"Fuck," Ghost latched his mouth onto Roach's neck, his hips moving just slightly into Soap's hand. After several moments Soap helped to guide the tip of Ghost's cock to Roach's entrance. Soap helped guide Roach back onto Ghost's cock, grinning wide as both of the men groaned at the sensations. Ghost was stretching Roach open pleasantly and the sensation of Roach squeezing tight around his cock was forcing desperate pants from his throat.

"There we go," Soap chuckled at the groan that left both Roach and Ghost once they were filly pressed together. He pecked at Roach's lips, spreading kisses along his face, "Feels good, doesn't it?"

Roach nodded, a whimper leaving his lips as Ghost gave one hard thrust up into him. On instinct Roach reached forward, grabbing tight to Soap's shoulders for support as Ghost started to slowly buck up into him. "God, hmm- oh fuck," he gave another long whine, "John, I- oh please, please! Can- you should-" he couldn't figure out what he was trying to say as he tugged at Soap's shoulders. Ghost's cock driving inside of him kept pleasure panging through him in an addictive way. The heat burning through him was becoming overwhelming.

"What is it, bug?" Soap pulled back just enough that he could start unbuttoning the top of his pants. Roach and Ghost watched the movement with hungry eyes, scanning over every inch of skin that Soap exposed to them. Soap pulled his cock out and wrapped a hand around himself, giving several slow strokes to his hard cock. He tilted his head back at the sensation, a satisfied sigh pulling from his lips.

"S-Simon," Roach moaned as Ghost fucked up into him harder, just brushing against his prostate. Ghost repeated the movement, his hungry eyes watching Soap jerk himself off slowly. "Please, fuck, need both of you!"

Soap moved back in between Roach and Ghost's legs and leaned down to capture Roach's lips in a quick kiss. He pulled back before leaning further to connect his lips to Ghost's in a similarly desperate kiss. When he pulled away, he buried his face in Roach's neck, latching on to the skin there with his teeth as his cock rubbed against Roach's own hard length and Ghost's hand. Ghost was quick to wrap his hand around both Roach and Soap's lengths, stroking them in time with his thrusts.

Soap whined against Roach's neck, biting down just a bit harder and lapping at the bit of blood that pricked up from the move. "Fucking hell," Ghost's voice was desperate, "So fucking tight, Bug- oh fuck!" He bucked up harshly into Roach.

Pleasure spiked through Roach's system and he felt delightfully overwhelmed. The slide of his cock with Soap's was sending jolts up his spine and pooling in his gut. Ghost was still brushing against his prostate with every thrust, the feeling both not enough and too much for him. In combination, he felt as though he couldn't breathe or think. He could only lay there pressed between two hard warm bodies to have pleasure pulled from him.

He grabbed at Soap's shoulders as the pleasure in him began to tilt toward the edge. "Simon! Oh fuck, ah, you feel so, so fucking good!" He dug his nails into Soap's skin, scrambling for some sort of purchase as Ghost picked up the pace of his thrusts and his hand over their cocks.

Soap grabbed tight to him, similarly desperate gasps pulling from his throat, "Fuck, fuck, Simon, just like that! Just like that!"

"So fucking tight around me, Bug," Ghost growled against Roach's ear, "So fucking good. Do you like this? Hmm? You like it when I take care of you and Johnny like this?"

"Yes," Roach managed to cry out, nodding his head rapidly.

"And you know," Soap joined in, "How much we love you? You know that we'd never want anyone else? Not on the team, not here. Only you." Roach didn't say anything, too distracted by the pleasure that threatened to snap in him at any moment. Soap slapped at his thigh, "Answer us, sweet boy."

"Yes," Roach clung to Soap tighter his voice going higher with every word and moan that left his mouth, "Yes, love you both! Please, please keep going! Can- oh god please, can I come? Ah, oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-"

"Go on, sweet boy," Ghost muttered against his ear, "Show us how good you feel."

It only took another few moments before Roach was scrambling again, the pool of pleasure in his gut snapping and sending his vision white with the intensity of the feelings that washed over him. He could only vaguely register the sounds of Ghost cursing behind him before his hips stuttered and the feeling of cum inside of him hit. He didn't mind it though, the feeling only adding to his desperation as Ghosts hand continued to work over his cock, the slide between him and Soap made even smoother by his own cum acting as further lube.

"Too, ah, too much," he groaned as Ghost continued working him and Soap, driving him into overstimulation as he finally came down. He tried to scramble away from the hand on his cock, but that only resulted in Ghost's cock hitting inside of him again, pulling a groan from both of them. A moment later and Soap was pinning his hips down, his face buried in his chest as moaned out chuckles left his lips.

"John hasn't finished yet," Ghost teased, his own voice sounding wrecked from his own orgasm, "Don't you want to make him feel good? Be good, Bug. Take what I give you."

Roach could do nothing as he found himself quickly hurtling back toward the edge of pleasure, his entire body tense. His hand grasped and clawed against Soap's back as both of their moans grew more and more desperate. Higher and higher. "Gonna- fuck, gonna come with me, Bug?" Soap bit at his chest, trailing his mouth down over his skin, "Be good for me, yeah?"

Ghost tightened his fist a bit around their cocks and it was only a few moments later that Roach was coming again, his senses fizzing out for several moments.

When he finally came back to himself it was to Soap panting against his skin, coming down from his own orgasm as Ghost carefully released their cocks from his hand. "Fuck," Soap gasped against his skin, "God I love you both."

"Hmm, love you guys too," Roach mumbled, exhaustion pulling at his bones, "I'll love you both even more if we can just...stay like this and nap."

Ghost chuckled from behind him, "Something tells me if we don't at least clean you up first you'll love us a little less when you wake up."

"Impossible," Roach whined as Soap moved off of him, nearly stumbling as he landed on his own two feet.

Soap gave a low chuckle and stretched upward. Both Ghost and Roach watched him with hungry eyes, trailing his bare chest down to the cum staining his skin, and his spent cock still hanging out of his unbuttoned pants. "I think you two did a number on me," he stretched out his legs, completely oblivious to the staring from Roach and Ghost. "Let me go get a rag to clean us up!" He shot them both a grin and turned away, heading toward the bathroom. The moved exposed several angry red scratches along his back and shoulders from where Roach had clawed at him in the midst of pleasure. A few of them were dotted red where Roach had broken the skin.

Roach and Ghost both watched quietly until Soap had disappeared into the bathroom. After a long moment of silence, Ghost whispered, "Good job."

"I did not mean to do that."

"Fucking phenomenal sight, though."

"Agreed."

"I just saw you yesterday," Dr. Sanchez raised an eyebrow at him, "You only had to stay resting for one more month!"

Roach winced slightly, a blush lighting up his face. He'd woken up that morning with a searing pain in his back and he knew that something was wrong. His back hadn't hurt so bad in weeks. "I'm sorry."

"What the hell did you even do?" Dr. Sanchez looked at her notes, "I mean its like you've regressed yourself by like a month!"

Roach winced again and avoided her gaze, his face a bright red. He knew exactly what he'd done to his back. There was a long pause before "I'm waiting, Roach? What were you doing?"

He winced again before nervously mumbling out an answer.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you."

"I was with Soap and Ghost...and you know."

There was another long pause that filled the room. Roach shot his head up, his face red as he heard a bit of laughter. He was met with the sight of Dr. Sanchez covering her mouth, laughter clearly shaking her shoulders as her eyes lit up with mirth. "You," she cut herself off with another laugh, this one nearly hunching her over.

"Hey!" Roach's face felt like it was burning and he was sure he'd never felt so mortified in his life.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Sanchez waved him off, "I'm sorry, good for you." She stood up fully, still trying to contain her laughter, "Just tell Soap and Ghost to lay you flat on the bed next time not...whatever the three of you did." She laughed for another moment. "Anyways, because of the regression, we're going to have you another shot and do another two months off."

Roach groaned, covering his face with his hands. Not only was he going to be off for another two months now, but he knew that he was never going to hear the end of it from Soap about how he and Ghost had actually managed to blow his fucking back out while fucking him.

#you asked luke #gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #soap x roach #ghost x roach x soap #ghostroachsoap #ghostroach #soaproach #ghost x soap #soapghost

[kysa32]

“How dare you. I was peacefully resting, and you dropped me off the side of the bed? Not fair, man. Not fair at all.”

Now, when the public thinks of a man, they think of deep, heavy chuckles that resemble that of an earthquake. However, Soap giggled like a little girl on steroids.

Still smiling, he wraps his arms around your waist and leaves kisses into the skin of your neck. “I’m sorry, my lovie. I didn’t mean to drop you.”

You sniff and pretend to be haughty by crossing your arms. But he can tell that it’s not the reality when your hand rises and rests on his cheek. Obliging, John continues to whisper adorations into whatever skin he can get his mouth on until he can see a smile curl itself on your lips.

His whiskers tickle the sensitive flesh, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Not after having been away from him for so long.

The mission required one day of preparation, allowing both of you some time to take a small break. There was much paperwork to be done, but just enough that it didn’t encroach on your time together.

The whole day could be spent together, apart from the hours of briefing and prep.

You sat on a separate aircraft with your squadron, preparing for a drop off on the outer ring of the forest to prepare for stragglers trying to escape. They would be picked off quickly and cleanly and then you would return back to base, hopefully successful.

The mission went spectacularly well, with the recovery of Captain Price. It was clear that Soap had missed the captain very much, especially when he handed over his favored pistol. He had told you a bit of his history with the captain, explaining how the captain had taken him under his wing and treated him like a son. The 1911 was physical evidence of everything he detailed.

The captain had found you about a week later to thank you for your help. He patted your shoulder when you said that it was just your job. “I know. But you’ve done more for me than you could know.”

He disappeared around the corner and moments later, Soap rounded out of the darkness. He held his head high though the last week had been strenuous. “Did you hear all of that?” you asked. Playfully, Soap bumped his shoulder into you.

“Of course. Price keeps trying to get out of the hospital during his walks. They’ve told the old bastard that he needs to slow down and take it easy, but he doesn’t seem to care.”

You sighed. “The captain is a shark. If he stops moving, he won’t know what to do with himself. I’m guessing this is his most recent attempt to get out.”

Soap groaned, “Yes. The medical staff has been trying to keep him contained, but I think his brain is still in defense after the gulag.”

He grew stoic. “Price had been there for so long…I wasn’t able to stop what they did to him.”

You rub his shoulder with heavy empathy. Your own mentor had been captured and was never seen again when the search parties were sent. His sons and daughter told you that they didn’t hate you for what happened to him, but his wife couldn’t even look at you on the day of the funeral.

“What do you say you and I will go out for some food tonight? Any restaurant that you want to visit is where we’ll go,” you say. His regular cocky smile comes back up full force and you see his spirits rise almost instantly.

“As long as you’re buying. We’ll meet tonight at my house but for right now, I need to go find Price.”

He walks past you and a rush of cold air swirls against you.

Then the world went to hell.

Ghost and Roach were killed and all contact with Sandman and his crew was lost. They were assumed to be MIA, but too little was known at the time. All while you were in France, Price had screamed out to you that Shephard was not to be trusted and in a matter of seconds, two of your own soldiers turned on you. You managed to down both traitors with the help of your fellow men, but not without being tagged as an enemy to Shadow Company.

Fortunately, you had an ex-pilot in your three men, and he found a spare helicopter for you to get to the Middle East as soon as possible to regroup. You would never thank Shephard, but you were grateful that he did not have any forethought about how his action of forcing you to drag soldiers back out into the field would benefit you. But the comms crackled and through them, you heard an awful sound.

A sickly crunch of bone under the compressive force of a bolo knife and the groans of the whipping wind rung in the tight box of the helicopter.

Soap was stabbed brutally in the chest by Shephard. You could hear rushing blood in your ears and you almost lost the cool facade of a captain. Your grip tightened on the stock of your rifle.

You could imagine the worst, him bleeding out in a dust storm on the other side of the world. Price would take care of him, surely. But the captain was an older man and would not be able to protect Soap from Shepherd for long. You had to hurry.

The remaining two men that weren’t pilots watched you jerkily pace to call for the pilot to move faster. “I’m going as fast as I can!” he exclaimed. You clenched your fist into a tight grip and swore when you came to the realization that if Shepherd didn’t die now, you would hunt him down and destroy him the same way he did to Soap.

Four minutes later, Price was radioing in. John was still alive and he had killed Shephard. A calm blew into the tense hull of the helicopter, both of your remaining soldiers slumping over a bit. The adrenaline high was falling, but your fear reminded you to stay ready.

Nearly fourteen hours after plane hopping multiple times, you touch down in India. Raging bullets fly throughout the city, whizzing into the helicopter’s armor. Your pilot lands at the point where Nikolai reported the stop was at and before the helicopter lands, you’re already on your feet.

You hopped out and Nikolai had rushed to get your remaining forces inside. “Where is he, Nikolai? Tell me,” you charged. He looked frazzled. “Price is waiting for you outside the operating room.”

Without much word, you had hurried away, running down the crammed halls of the holdout. Whizzing past you were hundreds of eyes widening in fear of being trampled and voices yelling out in indignation, urging you forward.

You heard the captain before you saw him. Yelling out orders to any soldiers without tasks, he took complete charge. When he saw you, however, his distraught expression changed. Unlike any of the other soldiers, he hobbled as quickly as he could to meet you halfway. With two blackened eyes and enough bruises covering the majority of his skin, Price looked damn near dead.

“What’s happened?” you cried to him. He explained to you on your way to the makeshift hospital that Shephard had gone after them because “we knew too much.” In anger, you nearly grabbed the captain by his shirt and screamed in his face that that was hardly a reason for anyone to go after your beloved and your friends. Instead, you settled for squeezing the holt of your pistol like it was responsible for your pain.

The hall ended near where three old chairs sat unoccupied. Price gestured towards two wide doors before speaking. “That’s the room, love. They’ve been working all night.” He turned to speak into the comm which crackled with gunfire and yells. Before turning to rush down the hall, the captain puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “He’ll be out soon.” With that in mind, he left you to wait.

The waiting gave you time to think, to think of the possibilities of what could be, of what will be after all was done. Like a caged tigress, you paced back and forth outside the operating room. No one dared to stop you.

When the surgeons came out dragging their feet across the floor, your heart dropped through the floor. Without hesitance, you raced to the head doctor’s side and begged him to tell you whether or not your Johnny was still alive or not.

He nodded. You nearly fell to your knees in gratitude, but managed to keep it together when they began to move his bed to a room down the hall. Instinctually, you should have seen the foreshadowing when you followed behind the procession of nurses silently, but it didn’t strike you then.

In the cramped room, you got a much better look at him once the nurses left. The center of John’s chest was covered in gauze and medical tape, a light pink blossoming underneath. Bruises and cuts covered what else you could see of his body and face. Weeping wasn’t normal for you, at least not around others besides your family. However at this moment, you couldn’t stop yourself and the welled up emotions made you tremble.

Burying your face in your hands, you had cried at his sleeping side well into the night, only pausing when Price came to check on Soap. He had pulled up a chair next to you, apologizing for not being able to come sooner. Thin flesh colored bandages covered the cuts on his face. He looked worse than you had ever seen him, but ignored it to not make him self conscious. The captain wasn’t a man of many words, only speaking when he felt he needed to. But, if he knew that his appearance made you uncomfortable, he would make it very clear that he wasn’t here for you anyways.

You’d prefer to have him with you anyways.

With the consistent hum of Soap’s many monitors, the captain began to drift against the wall. He was quiet, but you noticed his flinching like he was being beaten or electrocuted.

You did your best to slip your own jacket off without disturbing the captain, careful not to move too quickly while removing your bulletproof vest. Cautiously covering him with it, you watched Price tuck his head inward to the warm coat. For a second, he looked more like a tired old man rather than a feared military captain.

Instead of resting, you quietly walked to the window. The land around the base was in chaos. Fires shone brightly throughout the city and many of the windows in the buildings were dark, but up above a brilliant blanket of stars covered the world.

A groan came from the bed and you looked over your shoulder to see John stirring. His eyes rolled back and forth underneath his swollen eyelids and you perched yourself at his side. Like a frog, his legs stretch out to their full length to flex the wound up muscles. He attempts to try to do his arms too, but his fingers tremble as he tries.

They fall limp at the sides of the bed, so you lift them back up to rest on his stomach. Soap’s as pale as a ghost and his forehead is coated in sweat. Though he’s not moving much anymore, his face is still contorted in a grotesque expression of pain.

You’re not a nurse. Never would be in this lifetime, at least. But, you do have enough training and first aid experience to determine that wiping his face would be okay. Tenderly, you take a small tissue dampened with water from a nearby faucet and begin to clean the exposed bits of his visage. Some of your tears fall and wet the bandages on Soap’s chest and you do your best to stop crying.

When you’ve finished there, you wash your hands and run your fingers through his hair. Your hands are cold and dry, a contrast from the warm clamminess of his body. With the limited amount of medicine around, you really hope that he doesn’t get an infection.

Exhausted from the events of the day, you slide off into a chair beside the bed and allow your mind to run itself to sleep.

Price wakes you up in the morning. It is not an easy rising because you have to hurry to your next position in fending off the invading armies. However, you’re allowed to return that night when he flutters into consciousness.

-

When Soap awoke, he did his best to center on a point in the ceiling.

“How long have I been out?” he asked. You leaned closer to say, “Don’t worry about that right now. Just try to rest. Please.” Snapping to attention at your voice, he tries to focus. You can tell that he’s struggling by the flutter of his eyelids.“You’re here…but how?” he asks.

Gently, you reached for his hand and brought it up to your cheek. “I survived Shephard’s men turning on me. We stole a helicopter and flew here after Price informed us about what happened. You’ve been in surgery for the past fifteen hours.”

John’s calloused thumb rubs through your lashes as he turns the thought over in his drug induced mind. His eyes widened when he figured it out and two heavy arms lashed out to pull your face against his. Planting your hands on the bed to prevent him from dragging you down, you hold your weight to stop him from being hurt. Between the frantic kisses, he muttered to you, “You’re …you’re here.”

You kissed him one more time before responding, “I would always come back to you. Don’t even think for a second that I wouldn’t.” He did his best to glue you to his side but in his drowsy state, he couldn’t move more than a little bit without contorting in pain.

You pulled away from his grip and returned to the chair beside the bed. “No, John. The wound is too fresh.” Pouting like a child, he dramatically tosses his head to look away from you. You sigh, but thank the heavens that at least this little bit of his personality stayed intact.

All at once, exhaustion drowned every desire to do anything more and you laid your head down on the side of the bed. Soap starred as you did so, watching while his blue eyes drooped and he fell asleep under the influence of his drugs. You don’t remember what happened next, but you do recall feeling the calmest you’ve felt in a long time.

Nearly a month and a half later, the remainder of the disavowed Task Force 141 had been allowed to start work again around the old Soviet base. John spoke with the surgeon, reassuring him that he was ready, though the surgeon was adamant about not sending him out again.

So, Captain Price came up with an alternate plan to bypass all of the surgeon’s warnings. Soap would be sent out on small jobs, not fully inducing him into the mindless blood soaked hills of the battlefield. He would have to learn how to operate again.

Not to mention, the countries of the world were still hunting you all down and to protect yourself, you would have to keep moving.

It bothered you quite a bit. Obviously, stabs as deep as this need time to heal and seal the cavity within. But Price assured you that Soap was safe and was slowly healing and John himself assured you that he wanted nothing more than to be out and about again.

They were wrong. John had been thrown back into the fray too hastily when the surface of the wound had barely started to heal. You had seen it when he removed his shirt to change clothing. The skin was still too pink and he hissed when something brushed against it too hard.

That was the reason why he died.

You didn’t hate that he made this decision for himself; you knew he knew what he wanted, though the logical part of you knew you should have begged him not to push it.

If you hadn’t been separated from the group, you could have saved his life. Could have done something.

Price blamed himself for Soap’s death more than anything, though. He was there with him the whole time and suffered for it. The Captain had never apologized, but expressed his sorrow through an act of contrition of watching over you. You knew that he did it for Soap and not for you, but you hoped that he would also come to care for you too.

A whole lifetime had passed since you had admitted that you wanted to build on your relationship. Together, you had built a world of beauty and wonder, but now that John was gone, you weren’t sure what to do now that your dreams had crumbled.

Your legs had started to go numb from sitting on the floor for so long and your back was starting to hurt, so you stood to stretch out.

The radio chirped multiple times. For about ten minutes, you had been sitting there not moving and now the nurse thought you were dead.

“I’m here. Just stopped for a moment,” you proclaimed. The team let out a deep breath, “Oh, good. We were worried that you were out.”

You paused. “Don’t worry. I’m okay.”

The wood of the windows creaked in the bright heat of the sun.

Before you walked out the door never to return again, you glanced back at John’s body. He looked as if he were asleep, but you knew he would never awake again.

You knelt to say goodbye.

“I don’t want to do this. I’m so mad at you for leaving me. But, you need to rest and I’m not going to be with you for some time,” you told him, eyes burning. “I will miss you. I don’t know how you did it, but you found your way into my heart and I let you carve out a space for yourself. You have changed me. For better or worse, I don’t know. And I find that I don’t care.”

With a heavy heart, you stood and kissed the cold skin of his forehead. “I love you. I always will,” you whispered to him.

Your hand laid on his as you stepped away, every pace towards the door ripping a wider hole in your soul. The sun blazed into your unguarded eyes and a breeze blew through the square. But before you could step out, you turned back one last time. Bright tears rolled down your cheeks, soaking into the dusty wooden flooring.

For a moment, you questioned your own fortitude. Could you really leave all of this behind, knowing that you had felt something so ardent that it could only be equated to nirvana? But a bloom of bravery and hope bled itself into the cracks of your heart. If you didn’t walk out this door now, you would run back to your dead soldier’s body and languish in this old house. He wanted you to live. And living wouldn’t happen here. So you walked out into the street and stood watching a dragonfly twitter on a tilted telephone pole.

Beauty still managed to exist here despite the ugliness of humanity. That was a miracle unto itself.

You sat down on the busted hood of a car, marking the point on the map for a dead body. In a click, the comms buzzed under your hand to communicate. “Awaiting at Point S for evac. I have a dead 141 soldier with me in need of a body bag.”

The radio crackled and in the background, you could hear the rumble of the medical caravan echoing through the quiet city.

The comms went silent and you basked in the warmth of the sun contrasted by the cool breeze. There wasn’t much to do but sit and wait, so that’s what you did.

Out of the corner of your eye, the nurse ambled into the square, two cans resting in their gloved hands.

“Look at what I found,” they call. They hold up both hands to show two preserved jars of jam. You slide down a little bit. “Where’d you find those?”

They give you a full mouthed smile before showing you the cartoonish labels. “I found them in that old hotel over there. There’s a pantry full of food that’s still okay to eat. Do you think we can let the other medics know when they get here?”

You nod and take the proffered jar from their hands. The glass hadn’t shattered, in some miraculous stroke of luck and you ran your fingers over the grooves making a design on the side.

Strawberry. A typical favorite for many in normal times, but a rarity now. Nobody you knew had the time to grow them regularly, and the price for them became steep.

A loud pop echoed through the square and you startled up. The nurse had opened their can of jam and was now happily digging through their satchel for an issued spoon.

Once they had it, they scooped some of the near completely black jelly and shoved it into their mouth. A great big sigh of joy echoed as they had a taste of something that they hadn’t had in a long time.

They shared the glass jar with you and you also pulled out your spoon. Passing it back and forth, the two of you shared the blackberry jam as you waited for the trucks to come and get you.

When the caravan pulled into the square, the head medic got out and beckoned for you to come.

“Are there any civilians or survivors?” he asks. “Yes, but they’re soldiers and are mobile,” you say. “They’re headed towards the base, so tell your guards not to fire on them.”

He nods, assuring you that they will be taken care of. You start to walk away to help in packaging the dead and make it about half the distance that you traveled from the building to the hood before the medic calls to you.

The medic motions towards a vehicle near the entrance of the center that was still turned on. His voice raised, he cried, “Price called in. He’s waiting for you in Paris.”

You nod and board the carrier back to the base. As your driver begins to pull out, you watch as the nurse turns to wave goodbye and you send a small smile their way.

The driver mutters something about being tired to their neighbor in the front and they continue towards the base. As they continue along the road, you tug at your fingers and look out the window. Though you would be cleaning the majority of the time that you were with Price, you were still anxious to see him again.

•

Paris was just as pretty as you remembered, even if it was in shambles. Through the window of your troop transport, you could see the open fields blend into the city limits, and the sheep that ran at the dragonfly hum of the helicopter.

The scene was almost too nostalgic to not be shared with anyone, especially not with Soap. You thought about the store with the white dress. Would it still be there even after the attacks? Maybe it was. Either way, you would find out sooner or later.

The carrier touched down at the airbase and the small figure of Price approached at a reasonable speed.

As the bay doors opened, you paused to look back at the window that displayed the green field behind you. The captain called, “Are you ready?”

You nod at him and draw your attention down to the hand holding the stock of your rifle. For so long, you had waited to come back to this place, but never alone. Now you’re here, but for a completely unrelated reason than what you originally wanted to come back for.

“I’m ready.” Price grabs the separate bag that sits by your feet as he walks up. To not startle you, he nudged your side gently. “Let’s go then.”

He walks down and you follow with a heavy heart.

-

Returning home was bittersweet. You found your parents and your siblings all still alive, and you promised that together you would help to rebuild a new home. They were happy about that, but even more so, they were proud that their child had survived through many hardships that they would most likely never know about. They could still see that something weighed heavily on your shoulders and did their best to support you in getting back to the UK.

Your family was concerned how you would do on your own, especially when you received a message from Captain Price inviting you back for the funerals of Ghost, Roach, and Soap. Your family made sure that you were aware that you could always come back to them before you left. You assured them that you would be alright.

There wasn’t much of anything of your personal items that you needed to take back home with you, so the bag with your civilian things was relatively light compared to all of your combat gear. You would be taking it back with you, though you wanted nothing more than to abandon it in an alleyway somewhere.

From the airport, the long drive towards your destination began as the skies opened up. The storm cast a gloomy ambience over the Scottish countryside as you pulled into the driveway of your simple home.

When you made it home to your little house, you did your best not to dwell on the dust covering the shelves and cabinets. Nobody had touched this place in a long time. A very long time indeed when you looked at the calendar that had marked when your last deployment would be.

The cottage was quiet apart from the wind and rain, and you found that you hated it. It would take some time to get used to being alone, but you could do it. Just take care of yourself and it would all be okay. You started by doing your best to clean. That wasn’t easy.

Besides there being huge dust bunnies everywhere, small critters had found their way in and made themselves at home. The two apples that were left on the kitchen counter swarmed with rot and fruit flies, so you threw the whole basket holding them away.

Every part of the house had to be scrubbed and polished and without a doubt, would take at least a week. A schedule for what to tackle each day was drawn and you paused when you remembered the closet.

That would involve the most crying, so you set it for the coming Friday.

•

This neighborhood you lived in had not been hit by bombs or gunfire, but the people were dramatically affected by the war. Children played in the street together, but would scatter if something loud came close. The adults weren’t in much better shape either. They too had seen the horror of war and would stay up late into the night, unable to sleep or dream. Dreaming was meant for a happier time.

Still, they labored in bringing fresh food to the marketplace that you wandered through. Piles of sweet apples, cartons of berries, and tables of fresh bread were scattered through. It was the most food that you had seen in a long time. Purchasing a rather thick loaf of bread, you place it in your bag and continue onward. Two young boys chattered to each other as they walked past you and you paused to scan the scene. These two smiled and laughed at a joke the other made. The world was starting to heal again.

•

Price met you on the day before the funeral for Simon and Gary at a peaceful park closer to where he and Mrs. Price had now retired. He had been slowly healing, looking drastically less thin than the last time you saw him. But his steps were a bit slower and his voice was quieter when he spoke.

“Good to see you back. Are you ready to go?” You walked with him towards the park you both would be tracing. “Yes.”

A semi comfortable silence settled over the two of you. On one hand, the two of you had suffered so much and to bring it up would cause pain to the other. But, on the other, there were questions and many things that needed to be said.

So for the sake of your friend, you extended an olive branch.

“Have you been doing okay?” you say quietly.

He looked at you, crows feet furrowed more heavily than ever.

“I’m alright. How about you?”

You watch the green pond where multicolored mallards clean themselves.

“Okay. Just not sure what comes next.”

He hummed. Captain Price was not one for small talk but it seemed even he was not sure how to approach what needed to be said.

“What will you do now that it’s over?” you ask.

Price keeps walking, but says, “I’m not really sure yet.”

He looked thoughtful, but tired too.

“I think I would like to just rest for a while. I’ve grown old and haven’t held a normal job in a long time. I don’t even know what constitutes normal anymore.”

You nod in agreement and look out over the pond. The ancient willow trees circling the pool whispered with the breeze and you looked to a nearby field where a group of workers picked the rich peaches of the orchard and dumped them into wide baskets.

Price carefully spoke, “And what will you do?”

You turned to sadly smile at him as the pavement began to climb up a hill.

“Not sure. Might go pursue one of my other interests. But I do agree that some time to rest would be nice. Lord knows we’ve earned it.”

Price nods and at the top of the hill, he pauses to gaze out. You stand at his side and close your eyes to relish in the freshness of the breeze.

When you open your eyes, a pink and blue haze drifts out of view as you adjust to the brightness of the world around you.

The Captain motions to a nearby bench. You walk and sit next to him. In this peaceful environment, the tension has eased drastically.

He starts first, and your hackles raise with what he says. “I don’t know how to say this to you. But I’m sorry. I should never have thought he was ready.”

You fidget to stop the angry tears from spilling again. “It’s hard to forgive. He listened to you- trusted you. And you willingly allowed him to go out there when you knew he wasn’t well.”

“You know every time he saw you, he saw the man that he considered his mentor, his friend, his brother, his second father? All of those titles shouldn’t belong to you, but they did and still do.”

Price takes it all in stride, but with every word that is spat from your lips, his heart dies inside him a bit more. You know this and want to further his pain so he could feel what you felt, but when he hunches over just a degree, you know that he felt more than you knew.

“And though I don’t understand why he cared about you til the end, I know Soap would have wanted me to watch out for you as well. He would have told me to do it for him. So in that spirit, that’s what I’ll do.”

John Price looks up and you force eye contact. If forgiveness could be expressed physically, you hoped it was this. His eyes are red as tear tracks begin to streak down his cheeks.

You’re certain that his face matched yours, so you shut your eyes in hopes to tamp down the spilling drops of human grief.

They don’t stop though.

So, you cry together.

-

Ghost and Roach’s funeral was going to be an event that you would hate.

Both would be laid in Brookwood, a closed casket because of the grotesque nature of their bodies.

Still, throughout the war, you had hoped that they were still alive. Maybe in another life, they would have survived and they wouldn’t have to go through the torturous death that killed them.

As it started, you held the flowers that would be thrown on their graves in a death clench. The juices of the perishing flowers filled the crevices of your nails and produced a sticky, sickly smell that clung to your hair as the clergyman spoke.

When it was your turn, you tossed the flowers like Shephard threw the lit cigar and prayed that their families would forgive.

-

Some days it seemed like nobody wanted to acknowledge the war.

There were nights when the sadness left you broken and you curled up. The PTSD sometimes became too much to handle and you nearly cracked the screen of your phone calling one of your family members.

For years to come, Mrs. Price would become a great friend. After Price had passed, the old woman had no one else to take care of besides herself. You worried about her and sometimes you wondered why you did. Was it because she had also lost her life companion? Or was it because you inherently knew that you needed each other in a time like this?

Either way, you spent more time around her, meeting for coffee at a little corner shop, inviting each other for little excursions around the city

On a particular outing, Mrs. Price had brought something that she said she found while rooting through some of her husband’s old things. She had tied a bow of silky white ribbon around the notebook that you had seen many times being toted around by your lover. Price’s wife explained then that the captain had wanted this given to you after his death.

It had accompanied Soap just about everywhere, and when he had down time, he could be seen scribbling away at one of the pages. John had no doubt poured bits of himself into it, you were sure.

Later that night in the safety of your own home, you had pulled out the notebook. The leather had small points of weathering from being handled so much, in the shape of his hand.

If you opened the book, the memories so carefully stored away would be dragged back out. You stayed sitting at the table til the early morning hours, the cries of dogs echoing late into the night. When you went to bed, you rested your head on your pillow and cried.

The morning came too quickly. You didn’t have work, but you still had chores and errands to run. The chickens and your donkey needed to be fed and cleaned up, then from there, you would need to run to town to gather some extra feed and fertilizer for your garden. The book could be left for tonight. You left it on the table and walked to the other room.

•

After a simple dinner with Mrs. Price, who was staying in Scotland for three weeks, you flipped the lights on in your kitchen.

The notebook stared back as you pulled out a brand new bottle of wine. Pouring it, you downed the first glass and prepared a second. Lord knows, you’d be needing the courage to make it through.

Slamming the bottle and glass down, you clawed at the book until it slid over. Prying up the cover like you would a crate, you pulled at the pages and they crinkled a bit under your lead hand.

The few blank pages opened to piles of notes on every blank surface.

In the book, sketches of almost everyone you had fought with sat inside. A doodle of Captain Price with a little caption, a tiny drawing of Roach with antennae, Ghost playing with a rubix cube, a half finished piece of Yuri, and even one of the layouts of a building. They lay between notes, immortalizing everyone you had lost. Cheeks damp with tears, you threw the book down.

The notebook had turned on its pages and realizing your mistake, you rushed over to pick it up. None of the pages were bent when you flipped through them, but a drawing you hadn’t seen caught your eye.

Brushing back to it, you nearly dropped the book again. Two full pages dedicated just to you opened. There were drawings of you sitting on a bench reading a book, you passed out against the wall of a helicopter, you petting a stray cat that he knew you loved, but a mirror image of yourself staring back at you was what caught your attention. Smears of shiny silver graphite smudged under John’s watchful hands had formed your face.

It became evident that what he saw was not a woman worn down and tired from war.

He saw beauty. Each feature was decorated with a detail that could only be described as being loved.

Beside it rested a side note that nearly buckled your legs. It said, Every dream I ever had.

You staggered to the hallway with the book still in hand, dragging yourself to the bathroom where you splashed frigid water on your face.

Practically reverting to the way you were just after his death, you collapsed on the floor and did your best to focus on the nails of the wooden floors. What would he think if he saw you right now? Would you still be the woman drawn in soot? Would you still be what he dreamed of had he lived?

As you sat there in silence, you came to the conclusion that you had come to a forked path. You could dwell in the valleys of the past, pinned under the good memories you had. Or, you could try to build up your strength and climb out of the rockslide.

This would not be easy. Logic asked you to move on. But, your heart wished to hurt itself again and again. You wouldn’t let it.

•

There were times when you went to sit at his grave. There were new flowers placed there every week, marigolds, lavender, poppies, and the reddest tulips you could find. Though they were cleaned away regularly, you still brought them along with snacks that he liked.

There was another woman that frequented the cemetery more regularly than you did. The only difference was your age and the fact that she was heavily pregnant. At her wife’s grave, she would cry about being alone, about feeling lost, about not knowing what to do next. There was a kindred spirit of suffering between you and you did your best to let her grieve on her own. You weren’t in a position to give her advice.

Then she disappeared. She had gone to have her baby, and you knew that you wouldn’t be seeing her for a while. Still, you hoped that your graveyard companion would come back. And she did, this time not alone.

Gone was the big belly she had once sported and now a new car seat carrier came with her. The young lady never stayed too long, now having to worry about the wiggly infant that whined when he was too cold.

You were happy that she returned, but by no means were you envious of her situation. She was haggard and looked like a woman worked to the bone, kind of like yourself not so long ago. Which is why when she left with her baby, you cleaned and honored her wife’s grave by yourself.

Years of repeating the same cycle left both of you older. The woman’s son was no longer a tiny baby, but a young boy that talked endlessly to his mothers about what he learned in school that day.

It was endearingly domestic to see him grow larger by the week, the aurora of youth in every step he took. The mother grew too. She was doing better each time you saw her, a new spark lit under her. She was still sad, but time and responsibility heal.

It was on one of those rare occasions when the sun decided to peek out from behind the clouds that your regular routine had changed. The day was bright and the world smelled fresh from the night of rain before.

You had slept well the night before and praised the heavens for your good rest. The bakery down the street had a freshly baked loaf of bread cooling in the window and you purchased it for later.

All of the good things compiling together made the day feel happier and you dared to hope. Perhaps the girl and her son would be there.

Though the ground had the consistency of a wet sponge, you still decided to spread out a blanket to sit. The picnic basket hanging on your arm had been set out and its bright red and white pattern stood out against the somber hills of green.

Stretching out, you quietly prepare the fresh bread to be eaten together. A slice for him and a slice for you goes along with a happy bouquet of crisp wildflowers next to his quiet grave.

Before you eat, you tell him a bit about how you’d been and anything that crosses your mind. When he was alive, Soap enjoyed listening to your rambling because the military had taught you not to share your thoughts.

Another car pulled up and you perked a little bit. The woman hopped out and walked to the back car door to put her child down on the ground. She quietly admonished him when he got too loud with his ramblings and picked up her purse. The duo walked to the other side of the cemetery and sat down. The soft hums of their conversation lulled you to relax. They too soak in the drowsy warmth.

Eyes drawn to the sky, you silently relish in the feeling of the sun warming your face and turn to look back at your husband. “It’s a beautiful day today. Seems nice enough for a walk. Maybe I’ll go when I’m finished here.”

“Go where?” a high pitched voice asks.

Soldier’s instinct kicks in and you whip around to see who snuck up behind you. The woman’s son stands about a yard away from you and you take a closer look at what he’s doing. He holds a small ziplock bag of mini cookies, curiously watching you.

You release your breath and smile at him. “Just going to go for a walk, kiddo.” His big brown eyes narrow like he’s unsure if you’re telling the truth. When he deems that you are, he shrugs and looks at the headstone behind you.

“Who’s that?” he asks. You turn to where his pointed ogle was. “Ah, that is my husband.”

He tilts his head and pauses to mull over your words. “He’s dead?” the boy asks.

You nod slowly. “Yes.”

His face contorts into a skewed second hand sadness. “Why did he die?”

You pause, unsure of how to give the boy the truth without telling him too much.

Successfully deciding what to say, you respond, “He was a soldier, my dear. His job was to protect those that needed him.”

“But, why though?”

He walks a few steps closer. “Well, think about it this way. You have people that you love like your mom, right? They care for you. He had people like that too,” you explain.

You can see the wheels turn in the boy’s head about what you just said. He asks, “So, he wanted to protect you?”

The air feels suddenly thin, and it makes you feel light headed.

“He did.”

The boy steps a bit closer to the grave. “Can you read what it says to me?” You smile at him through the strangulation and begin to read aloud.

“In memory of John “Soap” MacTavish. Beloved son, brother, and husband. Your sacrifice will be remembered for years to come.”

A silence spreads over the lonely gravesite. You watch the boy’s reaction carefully to see what he does. He doesn’t give much away, but rubs at his eye.

The little one then reaches into his bag of cookies to pull one out. He says, “Do you think he’d want a biscuit?”

A laugh bubbles from the bottom of your chest, true joy at the sweetness of the child’s statement.

“Yeah, I think he’d like one, kid.”

The boy smiles and puts the little treat down on the grave next to the slice of bread.

His mother huffs and puffs behind you, crying to her child to not run off on her.

She puts her hands down on her knees and pants from her run. With a hoarse voice, she tells you, “I’m so sorry, miss. My son doesn’t usually wander off from me and I was just distracted, and I’m just really sorry.”

You dismiss her anxious rambling with a smile and a wave.

“No harm done. Your son was just asking about my late husband.”

Her chest falls as she relaxes. “Oh, thank you for making sure he didn’t run off.”

“No worries, sweetheart,” you say. “I’m just glad that he’s okay.”

The young mother motions for her boy to come stand by her side, and he willingly goes to stand with her.

Curiously, she makes eye contact with you.

“You lost your husband?”

The boldness certainly passed to her son, you noted.

“I did. And I assume you also lost someone?”

She nods and a fresh bout of tears fills her eyes. “Yes, my wife. I miss her quite a lot.”

You nod as the woman puts herself out there.

“My name is Isla. This is my son Elias.”

You kindly tell the younger woman your name, and offer her a place to sit and some of your bread.

She declines the bread, but her son asks for some. You cut off a large chunk and pass it to him and his mother leaves to gather their items. After walking back to where your blanket is, she drops down beside where her child sits, happily wolfing his way through a thick slice of bread.

For the next hour and half, you spend some time talking to her. You learn that she has no other family in this country besides her son and that her boy is in the first grade.

All the while, Elias interjects little tidbits of information about his favorite foods, his friends, his activities. For the first time in a long time, you feel a bond of friendship begin to creep in.

•

Throughout your years, the pain of losing your love haunted you everyday. But the joy you felt when taking care of your family built itself into a home for everyone within your neighborhood.

The local children flocked to the field beside your home and played with animals that loved their attention. The adults would come spend afternoons and evenings with you, relishing in the fact that there was someone else there that understood their loneliness and suffering.

The few veterans that survived sometimes visited to speak about their experiences, and they asked about John often. You were pleased that his memory lived on, but were still sad.

You knew you would meet again someday. And that day did come, simply later than you expected.

Your family gathered at your bedside when the hour drew near. And although you knew they had traveled a long distance to see you, you searched for other faces besides theirs.

And you found them.

Price’s iconic silhouette was outlined in the darkened doorway, Sandman and his crew peered over the crowd, Roach hovered beside your weeping sister, and a serene Ghost stood as a silent sentry to your bedchamber. But where was Soap?

The strings of life were quickly snapping, but you cling to them with what little strength you had. Please let him be here. Don’t let me die alone.

You sense a new presence in the room over the flutter of your family members. They’re crying and stroking your arms, but you aren’t focused on them anymore.

Scanning each face, you frantically search any and all corners in the room. Where is he?

A light, warm dragging sensation trails along the length of your upper arm, and a familiar smile enchants you all over again.

As beautiful as the day you had first met him, he’s knelt as he did many long years ago.“John?” you murmur.

Excitement and fear sparks trepidation in your failing heart. “I’m scared. I’m really, really scared.” His expression curves in reassurance, though he never speaks.

At your other side, a voice chimes in. Elias.

“Auntie, who are you talking to?”

You smile at your husband who grows more vivid with every passing second. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m only talking to myself.”

The older boy’s eyes squint in a concerned manner, not seeing that you were happy to be where you were.

Closing your eyes, you straightened your spine and took a deep breath.

Inside your heart, you knew that you wouldn’t last much longer when your machines started to beep in rapid succession. A bone deep ache spreads through your body, hurting more than any injury you sustained during the war.

As the last of a dying breed, it wouldn’t be long now.

And it wasn’t. Death was just like falling asleep.

Perhaps there was dreaming. Was there singing? Who would know?

•

The tarmac is brightly lit by huge overhead lights, drowning out some of the less bright stars. As the troop carrier bumped over the potholes in the road, you looked at each of the unknown faces that sat with you. A few spoke softly to each other, but nothing loud enough to be heard from where you sat. A poet had probably written about this same situation; something about human solidarity and alienation and all of that. You didn’t really care, though.

Over the comms in the vehicles, a crackling voice announces that you have about a minute till you meet your new team. Laswell had taken care to notify you about your new position and made sure to tell you about each specialized individual who would make up this motley crue.

There were three Englishmen (one being your captain) and a Scotsman. They were rumored to be the best of the best, efficient and strong in a fight. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that they would do their job and they would do it well.

The truck slows as it turns for entry and you mentally prepare for meeting your new compatriots. As it pulls to a full stop, the other soldiers gather their bags and split to find their new commands.

You’re the last one out. The whole base is alive with camouflaged people running back and forth, helicopters landing, and loud crowing from the speakers scattered about. Between the fray and frenzy, you catch sight of the grim reaper standing near the back of another vehicle.

Laswell had described the man that you were to look for and this soldier fit the description of Lieutenant Ghost fairly well. Approaching, you hefted your bags higher on your shoulder as another man started to speak to him. He clapped the lieutenant’s shoulder heartily and turned to rejoin the group he had been with.

Trotting towards the vehicle you supposed was your next ride out, he glanced your way and your eyes met. His expression changed from one of confidence to something pensive and unsure. He didn’t pause though, and didn’t turn back to look at you.

But, in the quick moment that you had with him, there was a spark of passing recognition about his face. Something about his facial structure, or the way he held himself made you double take. Somewhere, you remembered seeing him… or someone that looked like him.

He would change your life. Just a thought.

#john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap x you

[callsign-bunnie]

I see a lot of ABO stuff here, and I love it! But I know different authors play by different rules for ABO, so what is it like in your universe? What are your ideas/thoughts for your verse?

Man, okay, so before I say anything, (more of my lore, yay guys) I got started with ABO in the SPN fandom. Specifically? I got started out roleplaying ABO in the SPN fandom. (I really should get back into roleplay, I miss it tbh). And this was... 8? I think? years ago. And honestly? Honestly? It's been an excuse for me to recreate dynamics that wouldn't work with gay couples. Like, Pretty Woman as a concept just wouldn't work with a mlm couple. But... add ABO onto that and... now it makes sense. I love ABO Jane Austen AUs so much

Also, my dad went to University for a religion/philosophy degree and also had a hyperfixation in Sociology, and that rubbed off on me. Seeing how our society would inherently change with these concepts of a secondary sex and what would stay the same is interesting to me.

I do have to say, my ABO falls into the more casual side? Like I see others do some hardcore like 1950s on steroids shit and I respect it but like.... Some of it is like... justified sexism? If that makes sense. Like because it's men, it's okay? I don't know.

Anyway, let me answer your actual question, now.

I personally go with the standard Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics of Alphas were considered superior, but just like with the patriarchy, society is trying to get beyond that.

My betas aren't "normal" they have a mix of Alpha/Omega features, like heats but also knots, stuff like that.

My alpha females have knots, if I get comfortable enough, my male omegas end up also having pussies. (I don't use cunt, I'm sorry lol) I also use the concept that humans just evolved to be this way, there was no random "change" but I am willing to play around with the idea of them being suddenly transported to a universe where that is the case.

I don't really mess with traditional courting? Like, it's just dating for me. I still call it courting because I think the word is cute, but for the most part, they start the courting process with a gift, if that, and then they just go on dates and stuff.

They have weddings and they do the mating mark on their honeymoon.

I don't know why, I've seen this weird concept of "rules for having an omega" thing going around. I... I don't do that. That's extreme, I'm sorry. Like I said, I'm willing to play with concepts but my standard ABO is just... not that extreme.

Omegas fall into feminine stereotypes, alphas into masculine, and betas into androgynous. My omegas end up in skirts, but if you give me a chance, I will feminize my favorite characters just because I am hyperfeminine and I love hyperfeminine characters.

Sometimes, in "hybrid" AUs (hybrid Animal/humans) I will switch out the concept of alpha/omega for prey/predator. It follows all of the same rules. Same with animal shifter AUs.

This is all I can think of off the top of my head but if you have questions, I will answer them. I'm not an ABO expert, by any means, but I've been in this game for a while.

--

Hey, do you want to earn arbitrary points that mean fuck all? When you leave me an ask, add one of the following teams: Team Red (Valeria, Farah, Alex, and Graves), Team Bugs (Rodolfo, Soap, Roach, and Gaz), or Team pros (Price, Laswell, Ghost, and Alejandro) and your chosen team gets five points

#omegaverse #Johnny Soap Mactavish #Simon Ghost Riley #Rodolfo Parra #Alejandro Vargas #John Price #Kyle Gaz Garrick #Phillip Graves #Valeria Garza #Farah Karim #Alex Keller #Kate Laswell #Call Of Duty Modern Warfare II #Call of Duty #Gary Roach Sanderson #omega soap #alpha ghost #omega rodolfo #alpha alejandro #alpha john #omega gaz #alpha graves #Alpha Valeria Garza #alpha farah #alpha alex #alpha laswell #omega roach

[ourflagisgaypirates]

Crew of the revenge as things my friends have said(no context)

Olu: Murder?!

Jim: With party hats!

Olu: MuRdEr?!???

—————

Ed(to pete): So if my hair is on steroids, what does that make yours?

Pete: poison?

Lucius: wig

—————

(Describing the ocean) Buttons: Blue, but the good blue.

Stede: What exactly would the bad blue be?

Roach: heterosexuality, obviously

—————

Stede: the way to a man’s heart is through his mind. He needs to know your personality.

Ed: I think it’s through his ass.

—————

Ed: fucking magical

Stede: best thing I’ve seen in a very long time

Wee John: My new best friend

Stede: no, MY new best friend

Ed: It’s stede’s bestie.

(Wee John and stede wrestling)

Lucius: guys

Lucius: it’s a caterpillar

Lucius: and he’s my bestie now (steals bug and sprints away)

#blackbeard ofmd #stede bonnet #omfd meme #ofmd meme #oluwande #lucius ofmd #buttons ofmd #our flag means death #black pete #jim ofmd

[appleciderp]

5, 13, 21 for the art ask, mwah.

tenderly kissing you

5. Anything you haven’t drawn yet but want to?

Yes, 100%. My to-do list (specifically for CoD) is currently 22 art and 4 fic prompts. 9 art ideas I've come up with myself, 3 of which are mini-comics. One of which is an Animatic if I can figure out how tf to make it.

My regular to-do list is usually fairly short, I don't tend to dwell on ideas if I have the time and drive to do them. Mostly rn it contains fleshing out some tattoo designs I want IRL.

13. Show your favourite drawing from last year

Legit before CoD, I hadn't drawn since 2021. I've been in a major art block for nearly 2 years now.

So basically you're asking me what is my fav CoD drawing, because I've drawn non-CoD related things once, and although I love my OC, he's def not the fav thing I've drawn.

Weezing Gaz (obv) has a good place in my heart:

I'm gonna go obscure for the real answer; Laswell and Alex's horses from my Cowboy AU, specifically this right here.

Everything on this sheet was rushed to get the designs out of my Google Doc and onto something I could visualize. But for some reason Dakota and Trigger were like, We'll be pretty for ya <3 It's not perfect (Dakota's eye closest to Trigger is kinda bugging out, and Trigger's chin is a bit too big) but like?? For a quick Sketchy lineart, good shit.

I don't know, I never fully like a piece? I always nitpick what things I like and don't like. For example:

I love the pose I did for Roach on the design page where he's leaning forwards with his arms crossed. I don't like the outcome of his face.

I love Soap in the picture of them "butt fucking" his waist is legit the sluttiest I've ever drawn, but There's something about Ghost's pose that I don't like.

The wedding picture is obviously the most technically worked on, but I feel like I should have been more creative with the poses.

The coloring of Soap in the Midas one.

The concept and Sketch of the sleeping during exfil one, though I dislike the outcome overall. Probably because I overworked it.

The one in my Cowboy AU where Gaz and Soap are on their horses just chatting?? LOVE the horses in that one, Gaz turned out okay, Soap is a little stiff. If I didn't limit myself with a small canvas size and quick backgrounds, I feel like I could have attempted something semi-decent with it...

21. Weirdest thing you’ve ever drawn?

Hands down its something I drew in high school. I don't have physical proof of it, since my biology teacher was in tears and I decided to let her have it since she loved it so much.

It was a buff pterodactyl screeching with a steroid needle in his eye.

#I rambled on too long about the fav image thing omg

[magdelanesingerin]

Session 29: Vulnerability

“I’ve been…trying to talk about this work shit more. With people. Like you said,’ Geralt says haltingly, hating how awkward he sounds. 

“Oh? That’s great!” Nenneke beams, and Geralt can't help but feel a warm glow of pride, though it's shaky at best. “How has it been going? How does it feel?” 

“....good.” 

“Take her around again, I want to watch that canter again,” Ren asked with a thoughtful frown. He stood back in the center of the round pen as Geralt cued Roach into movement on the longe line. He kept his eyes glued to her as she ran, but spoke to Geralt. “It’s admirable that you want to help this kid escape her mother, and it sounds like you’ve already done a lot for her. But isn’t this woman going to find out that it was you who helped her file paperwork and squirrel away assets, get a new apartment, all that stuff? Is she going to come after you for it?”

Geralt grunted and kept Roach pushing forward. It was still hard to talk about work so openly, but he had to admit that it was helping.

“Probably. She isn’t stupid, and it won’t be hard to figure it out. I don’t think she’ll do much more than get me fired, though.”

“Aaaaand are you okay with that?” Ren asked dubiously. “Turn around and swap leads, please.” Geralt gestured with the whip and Roach obediently made a tight turn and resumed cantering in the other direction. 

“Yeah,” Geralt answered slowly. “I am. If that’s what it takes…this kid deserves a chance at a normal life. A life she chooses. I can’t not help her just because it’s risky for me. Besides, I’m ready to do something else for awhile anyway. So fuck it.” 

“Walk a lap then stand,” Ren directed them, taking his eyes off Roach and turning toward Geralt instead. “Well, shit. I hope she appreciates what you’re putting on the line for her,” he said, still looking worried. Geralt nodded and brought Roach to a neat halt. She was perfect, despite his fidgeting and nervous energy. He didn’t deserve a mount as honest and smart as Roach. 

“So?” he asked shortly, not able to keep the tension out of his voice. Ren sighed heavily and patted the big bay mare on the neck. 

“The Pessoa is helping, so keep that up. She’s looking good, better topline, that canter was way more collected than a few weeks ago. She’s less tender and painful when I palpate…We can keep treating with chiro and steroid injections, keep her comfortable and moving, strengthen those muscles.”

“Surgery?” 

“I wouldn’t recommend it at this point, though we can try ISLD if you feel really strongly about it,” Ren shook his head, scratching Roach behind he ear. “But I think she’s responding well to PT and anti inflammatory treatments. If you want, we can put her on the water treadmill at the clinic, or try acupuncture as well? I’ve seen great results, and I can recommend a gal who does it locally.”  

Geralt hummed and petted Roach’s velvety soft nose. She headbumped him happily, pulling a smile out of him despite his worry.

continue on Ao3

#Horse Girl Geralt #the witcher #modern au #my fic #A Life Alone #Geralt goes to therapy

[isu-caesarian]

~

Aaaannnnnd, once again sold down the river by their own kind. A recurring theme. Yes?

~

In fact, they do come from shit holes and in fact, they do bring their shitholes with them.

~

Or that time you threatened to douse me with gasoline and set me a blaze for chatting up that pretty girl at the computer store? Yes?

~

Lemme ask y'all this: Did you know that steroids cause cataracts? I rekon you did...

Was it the hoardin' roach rancher? The little big man that likes to slam doors at 2 o'clock in the morning and play with his dick in front of me?

~

Or perhaps the twisted, OCD fatty across the hall that dates child molesters?

What was it that you did? Offer them money? Compamionship? How about a job, or a promise not to reveal inconvienient truths? Or, perhaps it was just good ol' fashioned intimidation, huh? I mean, that is the game you piece-of-shit scumbags play is it not? No?

Textbook.

I must attend the supermarket today, please inform the drivers of Hamilton Cab and Blueline. I imagine they will want, no, be compelled to put on a display of power...

Get your cameras ready!!!

~

You have brought this upon yourselves.

~

[puxinghua]

traces of last summer

There are still traces of last summer that come to me randomly, little drips through the cracks in my rough job of boarding up that well of old feelings. The most noticeable ones happen whenever I’m at a place with books — any old public library, the Strand, or even just sitting at a lunch table with a friend pulling novels out of their bag. Each still makes some part of my heart stall as they wander in and out of vague memories of old hopes and dreams I used to have. Ending questions with exclamation points and watching “The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” — they’re all surprise daggers, not to mention the fleeting Singaporean tabby cat who crawls onto my Instagram feed from time to time, deadly claws and piercing fangs hidden in a cloak of unassuming cute. They all cut until I bleed because they remind me of who I used to be. 

Last summer I was a real kid. It was my first summer out of college, and I was thrilled by the high of independence and not yet jaded by the torment that was bound to come with it. Every emotion I felt was turned up to ten thousand, from the ravenous hunger for eating up every programming language in the world to the agonizing suspense of waiting for a boy’s text, all drenched in the sweaty exhilaration of running around a new city every other weekend. I was so young, and every new emotion and experience put a new segment of the world at my fingertips.

Small things made me realize this change inside of me the most. The most subtle, but the most telling for me, was that bugs don’t scare me the way they used to. When we happened upon a big cockroach wandering a lonely parking lot, one of my old friends squealed and jumped. I didn’t budge, and for some reason, that chance moment was when I realized just how different we had become. Last summer, I know the sight of a bug would have made me yelp and fear and call over a friend and rave about the horrors of roaches for an hour to any person who would listen, just as it did for her. Now, I felt nothing. I didn’t say this out loud because I knew she would think it was absurd, but I really think the bugs scared her because she’s in love. She’s still deeply, deeply in love with her first boyfriend. Her kid spirit wasn’t broken like mine.

I was not always happy last year — in fact, I was often Sad on steroids. But that sadness made up the valleys between triumphant highs. Now it seems like all of everything has dried up and I’ve defeated that old nagging sadness by deleting all the emotion I’ve ever felt or could feel in my life. And I don’t feel anything about it.

[arkadiaasks]

Would using counterfeits really be that much of a stain if almost everyone(if not everyone) was using them to get access to cards they couldn’t get without losing an arm and a leg? It would be like steroid use in actual sports: open secret because everyone uses them, not to mention that counterfeits would certainly close the wealth gap in the dueling circuit staple-wise, if not annihilate it entirely. What are they going to do, blacklist every non-rich duelist, regardless of actual skill level?

Honey, they blacklist people from competitions for all sorts of shit. And they could.

The Pro Circuit isn't a wealth gap thing even, it's a 'you need to be tied to a talent agency', without the agency, you ain't getting fuckin' nowhere, darlin'.

From the way YGO's shows structure it, you don't just join into the Dueling Circuit, the one where the actual Names are. By paying in.

You have to get invited. You need to have managers. Sponsors. Financial backers. Have an entire identity created for you.

What, do you think in the anime, this works like your YCS circuit?

No, the way the show's made it clear is you get hired, and there's a cartel system similar to a Medieval guild where if you ain't in, you ain't in, which is why people go to Duel Academy, to get in with the agencies and companies involved

And most of the tournaments in the Yu-Gi-Oh! anime, are also Invitation Only or you have clear through a filter.

This entire conversation is devolving into moving goalposts.

The whole point is the world Takahashi-sensei constructed is a hyper exaggeration of 1990s Magic the Gathering where there were these nightmare near unpullable foils that Rare Cards are like.

And the anime, from how its extended universe has structured it, is that being a Professional Duelist is less of a Professional Gamer, and more to do with Idol Culture, Japanese Voice Actors, or Johnny's, resulting in a less pre-planned version of Wrestling.

Where the companies get to dictate who gets to have a career. There's no breaking into the industry without getting one of those firms to sign you on.

And as I said, the counterfeits in Battle City, of what I recall, were only allowed because Kaiba LET them be allowed, as if you don't pay attention, Battle City is basically a roach motel for GHOULS, a trap designed to draw them in so Kaiba could crush the entire organization and get the Egyptian God Cards for himself.

Also the cards in Yu-Gi-Oh! are made of some weird environmental resistant stock, possibly sharp as steel if you know what you're doing, with microchips included.

The production might inherently cause some mild scarcity issues. No neverminded magic cards exist, with the Egyptian Gods being the least weird variant of those.

Why are you so desperate to find an out to the franchise's world building and not confront it on its own terms?

#minutiae #proleague #yugioh #cardgameanime #worldbuilding #writing

[andrewlovesdecember]

Late Night Thoughts, I Think To Myself

there is something so holy about type on a

hallowed phone screen, dimly lit, late at night. i sit and wait for pretty thoughts. my

mind brings up pictures of waterbugs, as it often does when i close my eyes. sometimes,

i dream that they are crawling all over me. when i wake, i must turn on the lights and check under the blankets to make sure i am truly alone. i have learned to fall asleep

with one eye open. i don’t quite know how to catch

the hollow feeling inside of me. waterbugs are slow in my dreams but they’ll dart across the room in

real life faster than a snail on crack.

what will you do when you move out of here, my mom asks me, in that typical judge-y way

of hers. i don’t know, probably die, i reply, and continue to play with the switch of the lighter.

#poetry #um what the fuck #lowkey though #waterbugs are fucking horrible #roaches on steroids #jesus fuck #as you can tell #i am terrified #of bugs #so yeah i'll never be reading this poem #again

[shxyo-sho]

surprise shawty 😏

#im back #i think #depends if the internet wants to cooperate with me #AND WE HAVE A NEW THEME TOMORROW #AHHHHHH #there was a huge roach that looked like it was on steroids #and it ran full speed at me #long story short i cried #all the bugs over here are on crack #their like ten times bigger for no reason #OKAY GN #OR GM IDK #NEW THEME IN A COUPLE OF HOURS #💭 tweets on tumblr

[captawesomesauce]

Thoughts at 4pm...

or whatever fucking time it is right now...

My leg hurts like HELL. I suffer from skeeter syndrome, and this bite is fucking god awful, even though I put a topical steroid on it. 

My headache is at about a 7 right now. it’s so bad I am having trouble sitting up or even getting my mouth to form the right words. I sound like I’m slurring or had a stroke.

And the worst part... THANK YOU DAD....

I’m out about a thousand bucks because he fucked up paying the bills, put other bills in my name and defaulted on them, and did all sorts of shady ass fucking shit.

Total amount was around 8k bucks... but I paid off HIS $300+ phone bill full of all sorts of sketchy ass fucking app subscriptions... and I paid off the rest of what is owed on my car, paid my car insurance, and paid a 6 dollar fee to file a fraud report. 

But my credit score dropped from high 700s/low 800s to the 600s ... cause fuck him. 

1000 bucks I needed... all gone... but at least I didn’t have to pay the other 7000 plus I guess. I begged, whined, and pleaded out of that... and actually got some helpful people in some places. Amazon especially! Ain’t that surprsing...

Fuck this week. 

Oh... we went and saw a new place.... and the floor had dead roaches pretty much in every room.. just... dead roaches... 

I had to explain to @all-the-w-ness and even said “hey google...” so she could understand why if you even see 1 roach, it’s time to walk away. 

(For those that don’t know, it’s nearly impossible to get rid of them. No sprays or traps really help, and every night you have to accept that they’re probably crawling on your floor, on your bed, on your food, and on YOU...... fuck that. NOPE!)

#thoughts

[jazzgaycryptid]

You’re watching News From The Slugways!

Hello listeners I’m Lax Bradlipod with today’s stories and this is News From The Slugways!

Ok so here’s the thing everyone a few ours ago someone made a pircrew or something look I don’t know much about the internet all I know is YouTube what games are out the ocean spray guy and Badussy but also I’m like 24 but that’s not the point the point is that someone made a picrew or whatever of me as a human and um... damn all I have to say is I’m not a narcissist but keep em coming

Today Slugways mayoral candidate a roach named Brick Teshy has dropped out but really with a name like brick my guess is that he got his habit of dropping things from his mother when he was born

Sewer ball player and today’s cover of roid rage monthly magazine Edro Puddlex was found guilty of using performance enhancing steroids and my guess is that he responded by ripping of his suit and throwing a table like a gorilla

That was today’s stories and as always I’m Lax Bradlipod and this is News From The Slugways!

#news from the slugways

[queensdivas]

Hidden Blade Chapter 1

Y’all I’ve been to excited for this because I loved this movie with a passion. (Nothing beats Bohrap btw but damn 6 Underground was awesome not just because of Ben. Though he really made the movie even better.) If you’d like to be tagged in future chapters please hmu! 

Please enjoy and I’ll see you guys in the next chapter or one of my updates. I’m on a train ride to London from Edinburgh so it’s about five hours. I plan on getting a crap done this ride so you might be seeing multiple updates! 

Enjoy! 

Next Chapter

Masterlist

Governments should always be in fear of who they govern over..those who are being governed should never be living in fear of who they are ruled over. Yet we live in a world where those in power abuse it badly so they can live the lavish life of the vices, greed, lust, and even the gluttony of having everything at their feet. Those who suffer under those sadly are living in a society in fear, hate, and uncertainty of whether they’ll be okay by the end of the day. 

That’s where I come in. 

You have to start somewhere small in order to cause a chain reaction. That lovely snowball effect. I start small by cutting off the suppliers resources, such as their plants, dirty shacks, and even the old warehouses. Once the resources are extinguished, I then move up to those in high up positions in order to really cause the rolling to begin. 

Yet I was given an opportunity to do a little more good with a lot less strings attached. Who doesn’t love a little more freedom. But what I was offered was complete freedom and who wouldn’t want complete freedom. 

You ever played the Assassins Creed games? I like to consider myself a walking version of that except no magical abilities, no special creed, or even a long line of ancestors that are meant to look similar and only the first three or four games nailed the similarities. Not the point. For those of you who’ve never heard of those games, imagine someone who's able to scale an entire flat building, stand on top of a metal cross, and even have some really cool equipment to help get the job done. We’ll be getting to those a little later. 

My name is eight. The Assassin. 

What’s the difference between a Hitman and Assassin you ask? One gets paid to do any form of killing for money, the other one does it for either political or religious reasons in this world of ours. But you both kill people? True. Never declared myself a saint anyhow in this world so shush! Story time! 

I pulled up to one of the abandoned planes to turn off my 4runner and climb out. Love the whole abandoned airfield look for the hideout. Really gives that fast and furious sort of vibe. How many movies are in the series anyhow? 

A ram truck came pulling up next to my 4runner as I began grabbing all my junk to hopefully store somewhere that was a little more secure than my new apartment here in California. Keeping a bunch of ropes, weapons, and my vast amount of foreign fruit would get me busted and I certainly love my Nectarine! 

“Glad to know I wasn’t the only one brought into this little adventure.” He appeared in front of me as I swung my duffle bag right on my shoulder. I closed the door as I turned to see him all dressed in american/military gear. An American soldier? Real power move.  

“Glad to see we got ourselves a soldier. Eight.” I held my hand out to him as he shook it. 

“Seven. At Least according to that dude.” He pointed as one came out of a tiny airplane and smiled. 

“Weird to see you not looking like a GAP model.” He showed up at my apartment in Israel looking like he walked out of Sunday church for some god knows reason. At first I thought he was apart of Jehovah's witness but as you can see we’re about to kill some mother fuckers.

“Ah really funny. Come meet the rest of us oh so lovely fellow campers.” We walked into the base as a women with blonde hair was reading a map while another woman was reading what looked like some sort of medical book. 

“Ladies this is seven and eight our newest batch of newbies. The one reading the map is two and in the cap is five. Not sure where the other two are but I imagine they’ll be showing up sometime soon.” I gave them a small wave as I put my bag on the ground next to the large table. 

“Look who finally showed up. Four this is seven and eight our eyes from the sky.” He tossed his hoodie down on the table as he gave us a small smile. The last member came into the room which is what I’m assuming was three. 

“There’s this trick that we all do to get through our day. We take a box and into that box, we place all the horrors of the world, all the wrongs humans do to one another. And then we close the box and pretend it doesn’t exist. Only some of us spend too much time inside the box. We’ve lost our ability to pretend. We know there’s too much unfinished business in this messed up world. Our job as ghosts is to do the dirty work the living can’t or won’t. And we do it from here. This is our haunted house. It’s a lot like the Batcave, except it’s nothing like the Batcave. Seven, eight. You’re dead. You’re gonna be restricted to cities that you’ve never visited before. People that you’ve never met. All of course your fellow ghost, none of whom you’ll know by name, only number, for safety, and so no one gets too close.” I mean. All we need is a butler, some random child to say “geez guys” and I think we would be set. 

“So basically what we’re doing is a sense of a justice league but with no moral codes?” Asking as One nodded. 

“Yes. Except Wonder Women uses guns and Batman is okay with killing people.” I..okay that works. 

“Each one of us has our own little gifts we bring to the table and now that we’ve required you two, we now officially have a set team.” 

“We’re like the A-Team but on steroids except Mr. T is this guy.” The Spainard commented as everyone just stared him down. 

“In your vast dreams.” One commented.

“Will we be required to wear matching rings?” Asking which made I believe his name is four chuckle a little. 

“Funny. Alright c’mon I wanna show you two something.” We all followed him into another room where a wall covered with nine pieces of paper with a single roman numerals on each one. 

“This is our target hitboard. These nine fuckers have been placing too much shit inside the box. So now they answer to us. Target number one: this prick. The Dictator of Turgistan Roach Alimov.” I walked over to his photo and began studying the guy. Radiates small dick energy already from all the work I’ve done over there, kind of like Kim Jong-Un except he doesn’t flaunt his money. 

“God I’m really craving french fries. Can we finish this over at Luckies?” I believe he’s three asked the group as I began walking past the other eight pieces of paper as I lightly saw their faces. Efrain Gracian. He runs the largest drug cartel in Mexico and has been killing a shit ton of innocent people in their villages. Oh my god they put Kim Jon-Un on their target list hell yeah. 

“So we plan on just killing all these pricks because they keep shitting on their countries and the rest of the world?” Leaning against the wall facing them as one nodded. 

“I say we finish this thing at Luckies. I’m really feeling a shitty beer to set the mood of introductions.” One began walking out of the fort as everyone else followed except for me as I looked at the wall again. Figured there would be less on the board in all honesty. 

~~~

I slipped into the booth with myself facing the middle of the window and the inside of the restaurant, seven sitting to my left while four was on my right. To think that I’m now officially dead and I cut all my ties off when I left home so no funeral. Bet they thought I was already dead anyhow so this works nicely. 

“So what do you bring to the table?” I was asked as I tossed my car keys on the table. 

“The soundless steps of a killer is what I bring to the table. You guys make a shit ton of noise if I think I know who you are. I’m assuming you guys we’re the one destroying Florence?” His eyes widened a little which makes my assumption correct cause these fuckers really had fun in Florence. 

“Florence was an absolute disaster.” He stopped talking as the waiter came to the group. 

“A round of Heineken for everyone. Then whatever else they want.” I ordered as everyone smiled a little as they began ordering their preferred drinks. 

“Figured you’d be a good match since you graciously just bought us all drinks. So if you’re a soundless killer, who have you eliminated?” You can thank the new democracy in South Sudan, and ending an entire sex trafficking operation in Chad. Both we’re super difficult to achieve but damn I did an awesome job. Both were run by major cunts obviously and took months of planning to even get close to them. 

“Who do you think got rid of the cunt from South Sudan?” Seven looked over at me then leaned across the table. 

“You killed Zafir Bahri?” Seven asked as I nodded. 

“Yup. Yet it was one of my most difficult assassinations since I had to make a break for it in the countryside. Kind of stuck out like a sore thumb till I made it to a reservation station.” The waitress came with the first round of beers. Four took a big gulp of his beer then sighed. 

“Alright if we’re going to show off what our past selves have done. I got the chance to steal a 5.0 carat ruby necklace that had two smaller diamonds that were about 4.2 carats that was about 100,000 dollars worth.” Yet he’s sitting here in an American restaurant drinking some shitty beer and eating high heart attack food? Sounds about right. 

“And here you are in America drinking Heineken and about to eat a very greasy double cheeseburger. Cheers” I grabbed my bottle as he did for us to clink our bottles together. Four seems super chill actually and now I’m kind of curious how he pulled off that heist. 

“So. What’s the absolute best thing about being dead? I mean you don’t have to pay taxes anymore.” Seven asked the entire group as they all had an inner conversation with themselves about the best part of being deceased. 

“No more dmv lines, no more shopping for Christmas.” Christmas has always been stressful for my old life and I didn’t even celebrate it!

“Or backstabbing girlfriends.” Raising my eyebrow at four. Damn someone broke his little heart. I’d play the worlds saddest song on the tiniest violin but not sure if he would get the reference. 

“They should make an “Out of office” reply for dead people. Sorry I’m away from the planet right now. I’m fucking dead.” That’s a bit much but if it makes her feel better about being dead then let her do her own thing. 

“No more tax, no more criminal records, no more getting arrested by the pigs just for being naked and or just the usual stuff. You know, being naked, getting drunk. Casual stuff.” How is being naked casual? Since when is being naked considered casual in any standard? 

“Umm. How is being naked any form of being casual?” He took a drink of his beer as he licked his lips.

“Ya know. Just walking around naked on your balcony or even on your front porch. It’s a casual thing.” I..I still don’t see that as a casual thing. Around the house yes because oversized t-shirt and underwear is always a comfy.

“Is that like when Jersey people say it’s a jersey thing?” Before he could answer One chuckled a little. 

“Guys. You’re all wrong. The best thing about being dead is the freedom. I mean, we’re all gonna die. May as well do it while we’re alive, right? When you’re young, you lock yourself into all of these bad decisions. Marriages, mortgages, and all that kind of stuff. But you die. It’s all escaped. Poof! Gone! From that point forward, all that matters is what you choose. The point is that we should bring seven and eight behind the curtain. You wanna hand me those over there?” Three handed him a bunch of plastic cups as leaned a little more forward on the table. I looked out of the corner of my eye to see him quickly glancing away back at the demonstration. Guess he’s kind of cute, not exactly sure how getting involved with people on the team is viewed. Rather avoid the whole situation. 

“Alright here. A little deminsation, no technology. So this is how to stage a coup in three not so easy steps. Alright you got a country, Turgistan right? These are the people, nice people, going about, doing their thing. Then you got the four generals, cuatro cunts, very bad guys. But there’s one worse guy. That’s the piece of shit dictator, right there at the top.” Sounds about right. That was basically the entire set up in South Sudan. 

“Don’t forget his brother.” Brother? Oh yeah, the guy has a brother that basically has been isolated or off the face of the earth at this point. Gotta love it when Governments hide those wanting a better world, or hiding sick pedophiles when they fake suicides so they don’t go to prison or end up being executed. 

“Democracy loving brother.” So we’ve got a shitty dictator and a loving democratic. Of freakin’ course!

“He’s the key. So we’re gonna hit the four generals. They’re gonna lead us to the brother.” 

“You kill top Generals, you fuck the dictators day.” Three shoved a few French fries in his mouth. 

“Can confirm.” I took a big gulp of my beer as I leaned back against the booth.

“Second thing we're gonna do is free the brother. And the last thing we’re gonna do is we’re gonna say goodbye to piece of shit dictator and hello to democracy loving brother.”

“It all goes down in four months, El Dia de los Muertos, The Day of the Dead.” Kinky.

“Oh that’s it?” Seven and I looked at each other for the both of us to nod in approval of the plan. 

“Um well that’s pretty simple ya know. The cups.” I took a drink of my beer as I began mentally seeing the whole plan in my head. 

“Wonderful presentation.” We’re gonna die aren’t we?

“So we’re all gonna die?” At this point I say that’s a hard yes. 

“Not me.” What confidence she has because there’s something about her that just kind of scares the shit out of me. Must be something federal in her former life.

“She’s not, we all are. Painfully.” Peachy. Real fucking peachy. But hey I’m already technically dead so this works out perfectly in the end. Just when my body shows up at someones house or is found floating on the coast, going to be quite a headache trying to figure out since I’m already dead. 

Maybe I should be more optimistic with this new life. Could be worse. I could be stuck in a work camp in Siberia. Maybe we just see where this goes and if it doesn’t end well I just disappear into the unknown. Sounds like an absolute plan! 

Taglist:

@bonafiderocketqueen @filmslutt @imjustboredso @intoanothermind @4lendow-norris @wickedholland 

@takemetoneverland420 @art-flirt @intoanothermind @raylan-c

#6 Underground #6 Underground Four #6 Underground Billy #Ben Hardy 6 Underground #6 Underground Fic #6 Underground fan fic #Four x Reader #Four/Billy x reader #Four/Billy #Ben Hardy #Ben Hardy x reader #Billy x reader

[clarestrand]

Men Only Tower showing in Masculinities: Liberation through Photography  Thu 20 Feb—Sun 17 May 2020,

Masculinities: Liberation through Photography is a major group exhibition that explores how masculinity is experienced, performed, coded and socially constructed as expressed and documented through photography and film from the 1960s to the present day.

The exhibition brings together over 300 works by over 50 pioneering international artists, photographers and filmmakers such as Richard Avedon, Peter Hujar, Isaac Julien, Rotimi Fani-Kayode, Robert Mapplethorpe, Annette Messager and Catherine Opie to show how photography and film have been central to the way masculinities are imagined and understood in contemporary culture. The show also highlights lesser-known and younger artists - some of whom have never exhibited in the UK - including Cassils, Sam Contis, George Dureau, Elle Pérez, Paul Mpagi Sepuya, Hank Willis Thomas, Karlheinz Weinberger and Marianne Wex amongst many others. Masculinities: Liberation through Photography is part of the Barbican’s 2020 season, Inside Out, which explores the relationship between our inner lives and creativity.

Jane Alison, Head of Visual Arts, Barbican, said: ‘Masculinities: Liberation through Photography continues our commitment to presenting leading twentieth century figures in the field of photography while also supporting younger contemporary artists working in the medium today. In the wake of the #MeToo movement and the resurgence of feminist and men’s rights activism, traditional notions of masculinity has become a subject of fierce debate. This exhibition could not be more relevant and will certainly spark conversations surrounding our understanding of masculinity.’

With ideas around masculinity undergoing a global crisis and terms such as ‘toxic’ and ‘fragile’ masculinity filling endless column inches, the exhibition surveys the representation of masculinity in all its myriad forms, rife with contradiction and complexity. Presented across six sections by over 50 international artists to explore the expansive nature of the subject, the exhibition touches on themes of queer identity, the black body, power and patriarchy, female perceptions of men, heteronormative hypermasculine stereotypes, fatherhood and family. The works in the show present masculinity as an unfixed performative identity shaped by cultural and social forces.

Seeking to disrupt and destabilise the myths surrounding modern masculinity, highlights include the work of artists who have consistently challenged stereotypical representations of hegemonic masculinity, including Collier Schorr, Adi Nes, Akram Zaatari and Sam Contis, whose series Deep Springs, 2018 draws on the mythology of the American West and the rugged cowboy. Contis spent four years immersed in an all-male liberal arts college north of Death Valley meditating on the intimacy and violence that coexists in male-only spaces. Complicating the conventional image of the fighter, Thomas Dworzak’s acclaimed series Taliban consists of portraits found in photographic studios in Kandahar following the US invasion of Afghanistan in 2001, these vibrant portraits depict Taliban fighters posing hand in hand in front of painted backdrops, using guns and flowers as props with kohl carefully applied to their eyes. Trans masculine artist Cassils’ series Time Lapse, 2011, documents the radical transformation of their body through the use of steroids and a rigorous training programme reflecting on ideas of masculinity without men. Elsewhere, artists Jeremy Deller, Robert Mapplethorpe and Rineke Dijkstra dismantle preconceptions of subjects such as the wrestler, the bodybuilder and the athlete and offer an alternative view of these hyper-masculinised stereotypes.

The exhibition examines patriarchy and the unequal power relations between gender, class and race. Karen Knorr’s series Gentlemen, 1981-83, comprised of 26 black and white photographs taken inside men-only private members’ clubs in central London and accompanied by texts drawn from snatched conversations, parliamentary records and contemporary news reports, invites viewers to reflect on notions of class, race and the exclusion of women from spaces of power during Margaret Thatcher’s premiership. Toxic masculinity is further explored in Andrew Moisey’s 2018 photobook The American Fraternity: An Illustrated Ritual Manual which weaves together archival photographs of former US Presidents and Supreme Court Justices who all belonged to the fraternity system, alongside images depicting the initiation ceremonies and parties that characterise these male-only organisations.

With the rise of the Gay Liberation Movement through the 1960s followed by the AIDS epidemic in the early 1980s, the exhibition showcases artists such as Peter Hujar and David Wojnarowiz, who increasingly began to disrupt traditional representations of gender and sexuality. Hal Fischer’s critical photo-text series Gay Semiotics, 1977, classified styles and types of gay men in San Francisco and Sunil Gupta’s street photographs captured the performance of gay public life as played out on New York’s Christopher Street, the site of the 1969 Stonewall Uprising. Other artists exploring the performative aspects of queer identity include Catherine Opie’s seminal series Being and Having, 1993, showing her close friends in the West Coast’s LGBTQ+ community sporting false moustaches, tattoos and other stereotypical masculine accessories. Elle Pérez’s luminous and tender photographs explore the representation of gender non-conformity and vulnerability, whilst Paul Mpagi Sepuya’sfragmented portraits explore the studio as a site of homoerotic desire.

During the 1970s women artists from the second wave feminist movement objectified male sexuality in a bid to subvert and expose the invasive and uncomfortable nature of the male gaze. In the exhibition,  Laurie Anderson’s seminal work Fully Automated Nikon (Object/Objection/Objectivity), 1973, documents the men who cat-called her as she walked through New York’s Lower East Side while Annette Messager’s series The Approaches, 1972, covertly captures men’s trousered crotches with a long-lens camera. German artist Marianne Wex’s encyclopaedic project Let’s Take Back Our Space: ‘Female’ and ‘Male’ Body Language as a Result of Patriarchal Structures, 1977, presents a detailed analysis of male and female body language and Australian indigenous artist Tracey Moffatt’s awkwardly humorous film Heaven, 1997, portrays male surfers changing in and out of their wet suits.

Further highlights include New York based artist Hank Willis Thomas, whose photographic practice examines the complexities of the black male experience; celebrated Japanese photographer Masahisa Fukase’s The Family, 1971-1989, chronicles the life and death of his family with a particular emphasis on his father; and Kenneth Anger’s technicolour experimental underground film Kustom Kar Kommandos, 1965, explores the fetishist role of hot rod cars amongst young American men.

Participating artists

Bas Jan Ader, Laurie Anderson, Kenneth Anger, Liz Johnson Artur, Knut Åsdam, Richard Avedon, Aneta Bartos, Richard Billingham, Cassils, Sam Contis, John Coplans, Jeremy Deller, Rineke Dijkstra, George Dureau, Thomas Dworzak, Hans Eijkelboom, Fouad Elkoury, Hal Fischer, Samuel Fosso, Anna Fox, Masahisa Fukase, Sunil Gupta, Kiluanji Kia Henda, Peter Hujar, Isaac Julien, Rotimi FaniKayode, Karen Knorr, Deana Lawson, Hilary Lloyd, Robert Mapplethorpe, Peter Marlow, Ana Mendieta, Annette Messager, Duane Michals, Tracey Moffatt, Andrew Moisey, Richard Mosse, Adi Nes, Catherine Opie, Elle Pérez, Herb Ritts, Kalen Na’il Roach, Paul Mpagi Sepuya, Collier Schorr, Clare Strand, Mikhael Subotzky, Larry Sultan, Wolfgang Tillmans, Hank Willis Thomas, Piotr Uklański,  Andy Warhol, Karlheinz Weinberger, Marianne Wex, David Wojnarowicz and more to be confirmed.