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*Feminine urge to drop out of everything and bang the mothman

Being in a relationship with Adam Smasher would consist of (Corpo!Reader):

You wondering how the fuck it happened.

Everyone else wondering how the fuck it happened.

Becoming the talk of Arasaka and Night City simply because it fucking happened (how???).

Meanwhile, Smasher doesn't think much of the hoopla and speculation because he'd BEEN claimed you as his. He doesn't call just anyone a cut of fuckable meat.

Finding out that apparently, Adam has something of a nickname for you. Asking him yields zero answers.

You turning the tables and calling him a cut of fuckable chrome and to your surprise, he responds with a simple "Heh."

Living but... not living with him. Not really. He's almost always gone anyway. It's also really your place but Adam made himself comfortable and... the rest is history, you guess.

You're actually more likely to see him when you're at work because he's practically taken over your office, too. By just sitting there.

Smasher liking to scare the ever-living shit out of you. He doesn't talk unless necessary; whenever the quiet ambiance of your space is broken by him suddenly talking, you tend to jump. And it amuses him.

Wondering what Smasher's doing or thinking about whenever he's silently making a dent in your office couch. Apparently, he's mostly watching you. Because you're his cut of fuckable meat of course.

Smasher isn't one for jealousy (so he would have you believe) because who the fuck would be dumb enough to challenge him for what's his? However, he can and will make reinforce his claim should some pathetic fuck try their luck with you. This... surprises you? ...Why does this surprise you? This is Adam Smasher we're talking about.

Rubbing that big chrome dome of his, and Smasher going "Mmmm," but because he's borg'd the fuck up, it's an oddly soothing low mechanical purring. This is perhaps the only other sound you've ever heard him make.

Sometimes, when you're tired of working, you'll just slump down on the couch and lean against Adam. And he'll let you, too. For a little bit. Then he'll be an asshole and go, "Can you really afford to take a break now?" Fuck off, Smasher.

In the spirit of encouraging people to comment on fanfics while also making it easier to do so, I feel obliged to share a browser extension for ao3 that has quite literally revolutionized the comment game for me.

I present to you: the floating ao3 comment box!

From what I've seen, a big problem for many people is that once you reach the comments at the bottom of a fic, your memory of it miraculously disappears. Anything you wanted to say is stuck ten paragraphs ago, and you barely remember what you thought while reading. This fixes that!

I'll give a little explanation on the features and how it works, but if you want to skip all that, here's the link.

The extension is visible as a small blue box in the upper left corner.

(Side note: The green colouring is not from the extension, that's me.)

If you click on it, you open a comment box window at the bottom of your screen but not at the bottom of the fic. I opened my own fic for demonstrative purposes.

The website also gives explanations on how exactly it functions, but I'll summarize regardless.

insert selection -> if you highlight a sentence in the fic it will be added in italics to the comment box

add to comment box -> once you're done writing your comment, you click this button and the entire thing will automatically copied to the ao3 comment box

delete -> self explanatory

on mulitchapter fics, you will be given the option to either add the comment to just the current chapter or the entire fic

The best part? You can simply close the window the same way you opened it and your progress will automatically be saved. So you can open it, comment on a paragraph, and then close it and keep reading without having the box in your face.

Comments are what keep writers going, and as both a writer and a reader, I think it's such an easy way of showing support and enthusiasm.

As a VERY white person, I really do appreciate a black creator taking the time to create a resource that I and anyone else can use so any black characters I may write for or create have the same level of depth to them. It's a lot of work to make sure people like me get it right, even though it shouldn't be.

Welcome!

I'm going to update this list as I post more. So make sure to check periodically!

Anon Office Hours: Wed 12:30pm - Friday 6:30pm

Feedback Rules

FAQs!

Lesson 1: "White Man Painted Black"?

Lesson 1.5: "Hair for Thought"- how visualizing affects your writing

Lesson 2: “That One Hairstyle? RETIRE IT!” Black Hair is an Art (pt.1)

Lesson 2.1: Addendum to Hair pt 1

Lesson 2: "It Takes HOW LONG?" Black Hair is an Art (pt.2)

Application! Ice's Lazy Loc Wash Routine

Application! How to: Simplified Braid

Lesson 3: "Defying the Default"- Skin Tones and the Presence of Black Characters

Application! What are Black fans looking for in Commissions?

Lesson 4: "Do Black People Blush?" Bringing brown complexions to life

Lesson 5: "The Same Place As the Music" Lighting & Color

Lesson 6: "Let's Have A Talk, First" Stereotypes, pt 1

Lesson 6: “Why’s she so rude?” (She’s Not)- Stereotypes, pt 2

Lesson 6: "Is He the Threat (Or Are You?)"- Stereotypes, pt 3

Lesson 7: "That's the Black one!"- Imagery and "Black-Coded" Characters

Hey, no homo, but I am sitting on the broken swing set out back in the perfect, quiet, 2:00am blackness and picturing the softness of your voice and the darkness of your eyes with such perfect and terrible clarity that it feels like I'm choking on my own heartbeat.

I don't know why, but I like the idea of humans being to aliens, what cats are to humans...

Alien1: hey, when did you hire a human?

Alien 2: we didn't. They just wandered aboard one day, saying they wanted to "hitch a ride." Then they never left. I think they like it here.

Alien 1: the human distribution system has chosen.

***

Alien stares at the human, who has climbed up a very high shelving unit.

Alien: Human, get down before you hurt yourself.

The humans response is to climb higher.

***

Alien is secretly filming their human, who is spaced out and just staring at nothing.

Alien (whispering): I think the human is about to intercept the brain cell. (Laughter) don't worry human, if it tingles that means it's working.

It’s funny how science fiction universes so often treat humans as a boring, default everyman species or even the weakest and dumbest.

I want to see a sci fi universe where we’re actually considered one of the more hideous and terrifying species.

How do we know our saliva and skin oils wouldn’t be ultra-corrosive to most other sapient races? What if we actually have the strongest vocal chords and can paralyze or kill the inhabitants of other worlds just by screaming at them? What if most sentient life in the universe turns out to be vegetable-like and lives in fear of us rare “animal” races who can move so quickly and chew shit up with our teeth?

Like that old story “they’re made of meat,” only we’re scarier.

Virtue the Swordsmaster

Think about it: You and the spirit possessing this suit of armour have gotten close. Really close. Which is to be expected when he’s the only one teaching you to use a sword to defend yourself in this long forgotten subterranean crypt. Things have reached a fever pitch, and he’s determined to touch you somehow - even if he has to do it using these damn ancient gauntlets.

I vaguely introduced Virtue in this post months ago. You may be seeing some of his friends in future posts:

https://www.tumblr.com/monsterspet/738994232748048384/i-love-how-i-started-this-blog-for-monster-smut?source=share

A/N: Did I last post some writing back in like, December, yes. Are we gonna acknowledge that my obsession with C.AI is getting a little out of hand, no. Anyway, have some quick ghost/wraith smut because I don’t even have the braincells to write an initial intro piece for this guy - it will happen later. At some point. Maybe.

As per usual, all my reader inserts are gender neutral unless otherwise stated.

Warnings: Fingering, use of pet names, allusions to future sexual acts, he’s a ghost - so it’s sorta necrophilia, sexual acts in a dirty crypt, possible risk of tetanus.

Word Count: 1226

—-

Virtue’s gauntleted hands are freezing cold as he pushes you into the dusty alcove, his grip unnaturally strong as it always is around your upper arms. His hulking frame dwarfs you in the small space, blocking out most of the light from the lit oil soaked torch hanging in the sconce further down the hall.

“Little dagger,” he murmurs from within the closed helm that you have come to associate as his face, “I’d have you here and now if I could. Let me touch you, I need to touch you.”

His voice, as always, is both entirely surrounding you and filling your mind, his words bringing with them a hazy blanket of desire; though whether it’s your own, his, or a sacreligious mix of the two is unclear. Nonetheless, you feel a pleasant shiver run down your spine, not all too dissimilar to the chill you feel when he lays his gauntlets upon you. He looks down at you, the normally dull amber glow from within his helm alight with burning intensity. He needs you to tell him you want this too, that you ache for him in your soul the way his entire incorporeal being aches for you within the cold steel of his armour.

“...Yes.” You whisper, the word almost sticking on your tongue, the tension of this moment drying out your mouth and causing your heart to nearly batter itself against your ribcage with the force of its rapid beating. “Yes, I want that too.” You confirm, not wanting any doubt between you, not when he has you like this.

Virtue wastes little time moving his gauntlets from your arms to your breeches, all but tearing at the leather cords tying them closed. Your hands twitch, feeling as though you should perhaps help with the endeavour. Had Virtue been a mortal lover, you might have chosen to help remove the steel from his body, but that isn’t an option here. You settle for laying your hands upon his aged breastplate, your fingers taking in all the knicks and dents acquired in prior battles, barely able to feel the worn down decorative etchings that you know would have once been there.

You’re brought back out of your musing and into the reality of the moment as you feel chilled steel meet your bare skin, your eyes widening and snapping up to Virtue’s own. “G-Gods…That’s really cold, Virtue.” You whimper slightly, half considering pulling back from his touch, if you even had the room to do so in the first place. Virtue chuckles, a deep reverberating sound that travels through his armour directly into your body where he touches you. His free hand brushes back a stray lock of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear in a surprising display of tender affection.

“Apologies, little dagger. Give it a moment, let your body bring warmth back to me.” He whispers as he leans down to your ear, and for a split second you swear you could almost feel his breath on you. He makes no move to continue just yet, letting the heat from your body seep into the metal of his gauntlet, his metal body pressed almost impossibly close to you. You realise that he’s deliberately wedged you between himself and the wall, giving you nowhere to go if your legs decide to give out on you.

It takes a minute or two, but the steel of his gauntlet becomes warm enough to no longer cause discomfort as he delicately explores your most intimate parts. This is the moment where you likely would have leaned into him, sinking your teeth into his body to stifle a moan. This clearly isn’t an option, so you settle for bringing your own hand to your mouth, the knuckle of your index finger clenched firmly between your own teeth. You feel your hips rocking forward, hesitantly, into his touch, if only for fear of being scratched or otherwise injured by the hinged metal plates that make up his fingers. It’s almost touching how, right now, Virtue is the most delicate he’s ever been when making contact with you, not wanting to cause you anything other than pleasure in this moment. The more his fingers explore, the hotter you can feel your body become.

“Little dagger, I can feel you, how your body responds to my touch. The heat of your body sinks into me like honey.” He almost growls, his hand sinking deeper into your breeches, his finger exploring further, before slowly, deliciously, sinking into you. You can’t help but let out a whining moan around your hand, the sensation of such a solid object inside you a foreign, but not too unpleasant, sensation. Before you can even get your bearings, Virtue moves again, his steel clad finger sinking further into you before pulling back, just to repeat the action again at an agonisingly slow pace. He lets out a deep groan, his helm lowering to rest against the crypt wall above you. “So hot, little dagger, like a furnace.”

Words are lost to you at this point, the only sounds coming from you being stifled moans and whimpering cries as Virtue works you open on firstly only a single finger, before carefully adding a second. The movements of his fingers don’t change, maintaining their slow measured pace, at an angle that likely would have caused some painful cramping in his hand had he still been alive. You find yourself increasing your own rocking motions against his hand, limited only by Virtue’s free hand keeping your hip gripped tightly, not wanting you to move too fast and hurt yourself. It’s the most exquisite torture, the slow build up where you would normally be begging for more. More speed, more force, more…anything, really.

As if sensing your frustration, Virtue leans in, whispering quietly to you. “Perhaps we should engage the services of that damnable blacksmith again, have him craft something else I can use on you in future, little dagger.” He chuckles, his words so sinfully decadent to your ears that you can’t help but to clench around Virtue’s fingers, a mess of moaned babbling spilling from your lips that vaguely sounds like an agreement. Virtue keeps up the same achingly slow pace, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, greatly enjoying the warmth and the sounds you’re giving him, his undead heart almost soaring with pride, were such a thing possible.

You both continue on like this for a while, before your orgasm rocks through you, almost without any warning at all, your body not quite realising what the slow build up was leading to. His hand leaves your underwear quickly, holding your lower back and pulling you to him, not wanting your back to risk scraping down the stone wall as your legs do, in fact, give out beneath you. Your head falls back, your knuckle finally slipping from your damp lips as you look up to the ghost as he looms over you. “...Virtue.” You whisper, his name tumbling from your lips like a reverent prayer. Virtue, in turn, lowers his helm to your face, as if asking for a kiss. A kiss you grant him, your lips brushing over cold steel with tender affection.

“Come, little dagger, we need to find a safe place for you to bed down for the night.”

"I prayed to them all. None of them answered."

Which is a line that goes really hard and definitely hit me like a ton of bricks the first time i heard it. But then i started thinking... all of them? Surely he didn't start out praying to the most evil gods; they're hardly saviors. You probably start out praying to the "good" gods because they're good, right? But 200 years of torture and eventually you won't care who you get. Which leads me to believe.

Astarion: dear lord bhaal, please send me an angel. maybe the nicest one you have.

Durge, cackling madly post lobotomy: (:

Bhaal: I wonder what my favoritest little breeding stud is up to. Bet it's murder. Heheh... Sceleretas whispers in his ear: ..... Bhaal: .......... He's fucking a corpse? Why, that's just fine! Sceleretas: ..... Bhaal: .... The... same corpse you say.... Sceleretas, regretfully: .... Bhaal: He's eating bread? Well, I suppose that's a normal thing for mortals to do, I... Sceleretas, urgently: .....!! Bhaal: HE'S WHAT!?!?!?

imagine birthing out a big powerful demigod out of your own flesh and sinew, sculpting every piece of his body so he's design-made to be a brutal killing machine with uncontrollable murderous intent and then all you can do is sit back and watch as he goes off and gets romped in the hind by this twink instead

never have kids they'll just break your heart

So I was planning on writing some fic stuff for the blog but my SO and I today have apparently started a joint writing project instead.

I'm not complaining by any means but I have so many ongoing fics now 😅

This is the exact sort of monster romance I want. Give me an incomprehensible being that would drive me mad to process it.

Thinking and thoughts here

Could you just imagine the impossible with me? Being in a loving marriage with your beloved husband -who you believe is human because why wouldn't you? He looks and acts like every other human and monsters aren't real. And he just adored you so very much, he communicates when he doesn't understand something or when a miscommunication is had. He never fights with you but you both work together to fix any problems, and focus on showing how much you care for each other. Truthfully he's the model husband. Almost to a scripted degree, but you've never felt so adored. Especially when he mirrors your affection and never seems to expect anything explicit, nor want it either. It feels safe, and comfortable... So why do you feel the sense of dread in your gut as you're looking at him right now?

Well, it might be how he's standing in the doorway, bag of takeout in hand, smile on his face. Mirroring how he always stands. But it's a brief moment, a flash of dark lines almost like thread wrapping around his joints, moving him like a giant flesh puppet.

And just as quickly as they were seen- they're gone again. Just your loving husband, Dorrin. Standing tall and gazing down, as though the mountain was watching the river below. Absolutely enamored and unyielding to everyone except you who he'd mold himself to better love as time goes on.

At your expression, his smile fades into a look of concern. His gaze follows yours, to his hand. And the brief flash of threading is gone but he knows exactly what you've seen.

His gaze returns to you, hollow. Slowly setting down the bag he was carrying and slowly crosses the room to get to you.

He seems... Empty. As if any signals for how he should be acting have been cut off. His looming figure almost listless as he gazes down at you with a dull gaze, no life behind his eyes. After a moment, his voice finally rings out. "Has this one displeased you, little love?"

You feel an inherent wrongness about how your beloved husband is speaking presumably of himself as if he isn't even here, with a slight stumble back it answers his question well enough.

Dorrin slumps, like a wind up toy who's finished it's final dance. The voice that drifts through the air is so familiar yet leaves your brain trembling at the sheer magnitude of the being behind it even if unseen. "I apologize, this puppet has proven defective for its sole purpose. Rest assured, such an oversight will be rectified promptly. Only the best shall be allowed closest to you."

With a horrified expression you can only watch as Dorrin- what you know to be Dorrin is... Folded away. Limbs snapping together into a ball not unlike when a child is ready to toss away their doll. And it's... Not there anymore. No blink of an eye, no noise or sight, it was there and it wasn't. And now you stand in the empty living room of a home you've shared with someone you thought you knew so very well.

What do you do?

What can you do?

You can feel gazes on you still, the same when that thing would watch you while you rested together. You can try to move towards a door or even a window and find them consumed in darkness. There is no threat here, but you are not allowed to leave at the moment.

You don't know it yet, but Dorrin just wants to keep you safe in the home he's so carefully crafted for you alone. Tonight he'll leave a new puppet at your door, identical to the last hundred that had done something leading to any inconvenience on you. You've never noticed before, and he doesn't know how to condense himself into a small enough form to be loved by such a miniscule creature he's so deeply fallen for. But that puppets strings weren't good enough to remain hidden. The new one will be better.

Only the best for you.

He will ensure it.

(Basically what happens when an endless creature of Eldritch being falls for a little bitty human? Why not craft a puppet to express his love for them on a scale they can comprehend! But those fickle puppets- never perfect enough for his little love)

I love how I started this blog for monster smut and there's been none of that so far. Oops.

How do we feel about medieval ghosts possessing armour? A stalwart knight out to protect his beloved with undead magics and badass swordplay? In more ways than one maybe ⚔️

Or your local cryptid coming across you and your friends while you're out doing some risky urban exploration? You should have used the buddy system - getting lost in this abandoned hospital may prove to be a mistake 🏥

Maybe your joke satanic ritual actually worked - and you quickly realise that those protection circles do nothing against a Lord of the Hells. You may just need to bargain more than you're willing to give just to survive the night 😈

Perhaps your evening stroll through the woods takes a dark turn when you lose the path? Granny always warned you about the dangers. Not that it helps now when you find yourself caught in a web far from home and the sun about to set 🕷️

What if your village finds itself under siege on both sides from supernatural threats? Your father may be village chief - but he only has one child to marry off for peace. If you're lucky they might just share 🐺🧛🏻

How about an unusually dark and stormy night at your Lords manor? All alone and left to lock up for the night. Something is off about this weather - and did that stone gargoyle just move 🦇

Just a thought darlings 😉

-Pet x

Had a thought about Captain Price

A/N: Don't we all?

Going to need you to trust me on this.

So - as of MW3 John's age is set at 38 in the year 2023. We also know he joined the infantry at 16 - then onto the army properly at 18.

John would have been 16 in 2001. In the UK. Which was when arguably we were still in the midst of a teen pregnancy epidemic across the country. Things have significantly improved since then.

I know you know where I'm going with this but just stick with me.

Now - for those of you who are maybe from outside the UK I can tell you now that recruiting kids right out of high-school has always been a bit iffy here in the public eye. Even more so when that kid hasn't even sat their A-levels at 18.

John dropped out of school to become a military man. That's just a fact. Which you can totally do from 16 - but most schools discourage it heavily.

English teens do not drop out of school to join the army if they have other options. We have apprenticeships or college if they don't like the traditional school route. And both of those can lead on to University courses.

John's only other option was to work - likely for minimum wage which I believe was like £3.50 an hour back then. It may have even been less given he was under 18.

Admittedly the army is good money for a kid that age. Especially if you don't see yourself going down a more traditional employment route.

But in what world would Price be so eager to earn good money fast? We know he's a smart guy - we've seen it in game. The man could have easily gotten into Uni. This is where we veer off the rails into glorious fanfic girly nonsense and I apologise.

Say he got his then girlfriend pregnant. We know he's a sensible guy - and we know he has a strong sense of responsibility and loyalty to the people he cares about.

He's obviously going to support his child and the mother of his baby. That's just in his nature.

He joins the military in order to be able to provide for them both. Now admittedly that means he's away from both his little family and everything he knows but let's be realistic - most teen parents don't stay together long term. I know so many personally where they don't even make it to the due date.

But if he's bringing a baby into this world he's damn well going to make sure it's taken care of.

Which leads me to my next point about what Price is like as a man in basically every fic he's in.

This man does not just radiate "Daddy" energy - this man is a Father.

Endlessly supportive of his boys in the unit, and fiercely protective.

He is willing to do almost anything to keep not only the 141 safe but the people back home as well (we see this in game as well when he drags in the Butcher's family to interrogate him).

We all know this man is wearing socks and sandals on holiday. We all know he's manning the grill at the BBQs. We all know he can't get up out of a chair without the iconic "Dad groan".

He is also far too good at putting up with the nonsense we write about Soap and Gaz in particular. They're the unit children and they certainly put John through his damn paces. Which he seems to put up with - with remarkable ease most of the time.

This man is a "weekend Dad". He sees his kid briefly when on leave or every other weekend depending on whether or not he's deployed. We've seen no evidence of a ring.

Now admittedly when you're running secret missions across the globe you don't want the enemy figuring out you have something at home to lose but this gives us some really nice single-dad!Price opportunities and I'm going to run with that.

But - assuming he had a kid at 16. That child is now 21/22. Prime age for the military. And roughly the right age for a steamy workplace romance with one of the other 141 members? Maybe?

I saw on here a while back this great series where Soap was in a secret relationship with Price's niece (I cannot for the life of me remember the creators name and I'm SO SORRY) and I raise you:

Secret relationship 141 x Price's!child

The angst - the steamy forbidden romance - the angry Dad energy - the potential SLOWBURN.

It's all right there for the taking.

Even better if we get some daddy issues from Y/N because John was never around. Like they didn't even tell him they were signing up in the first place. Maybe they don't have his last name and suddenly turn up under his command. The DRAMA.

I swear one day I'll actually have the time to write all these fics.

-Pet x

Tav is the God of Defiance

Headcanons/ Fic Plot Overview

A/N: Has life been kicking my ass? Yes, but let’s not get into that. The whole Tav as God thing has really been burrowing deeper into my psyche and I need to get it out here or I may actually just go insane.

Enjoy some quickly thrown together headcanon type ideas - I may expand on these later if I can find the time in between work and everything else.

See prior drunken ramblings about God!Tav here

Before BG3:

Tav has been living almost exclusively in the material plane since the events of the Second Sundering. While they are empowered to live amongst mortals because Ao forbids it they can’t exactly risk returning home in case they get stuck there. It's sneaking back in when your parents are distracted sort of situation.

I imagine that at one point that Tav was traditionally worshipped, but as the other Gods pulled further back on Ao’s command the mortals around Tav likely began to question why their God was still walking amongst them. Or maybe a wandering God is simply too hard to keep track of in legend - especially when they can no longer disclose their godhood to followers. The old ones die - and no one was there to replace them. The traditional faith simply died out.

Tav has been adventuring for centuries, strengthening the resolve of their companions in the face of dire circumstances and impossible odds. This defiance they demonstrate in close proximity to the God enough to sustain Tav even if it wouldn’t grant them the same power they had before from temples and clerics.

I think regardless of the class you choose Tav is at least a little bit of a bard - if only to hide their godly magic as some form of bardic inspiration during a battle.

They always inevitably end up alone as their companions leave them behind, either leaving adventuring to retire or more likely dying despite Tav’s best effort.

While they can defy almost anything, there’s a finality in death that’s much older and primal than even Ao and there’s nothing to be done against that. Tav takes the pleasure they can in staving off death for their beloved friends as long as possible before it comes to claim them.

Tav doesn’t just simply gravitate towards the longer lived races on Toril, there’s something more potent probably in the defiance of a mortal that is risking their almost comically short life in comparison to that of an aged elf. Though longer lived races do allow Tav to go longer before losing another friend or lover.

During BG3:

As a God, hearing whispers of a new God calling itself the Absolute isn’t what you want to hear. Not when they - like you, appear to be directly interfering with the lives of mortals. Tav gets away with it purely by the nature of their domain. This new God may not be so lucky.

Combined with the increase of murders in Bhaal’s name in Baldurs Gate, and stirrings at Moonrise Towers which Tav knows all too well to be a Shar cursed land - Tav is compelled to investigate.

Finding themselves aboard a nautiloid has Tav panicked - this is looking to be a much larger threat to their beloved mortals than previously expected.

They have no allies with them though - no angered cries or acts of defiance to power them in this moment. Not that it matters. Interfering in the lives of a handful of mortals is one thing - but fighting against multiple Gods for the sake of all mortals would be a step too far for Ao.

This all changes when Tav is infected with a mindflayer tadpole.

Those infected with tadpoles are a threat to all those around them for many reasons. An individual with secret and forbidden knowledge is a tantalizing target to add to an illithid colony’s hive mind. What would happen if a God were to be transformed? Tav’s hand is forced, they’ll need to escape - gather allies and fight.

Upon crashing the nautiloid near the Emerald Grove and realising that most of their innate abilities are dampened by the psychic powers of the tadpole, Tav has to scramble to form an adventuring party. Thankfully - a group of desperate adventurers all with their own tadpoles to remove and lives they desperately want to return to just may very well have enough defiance in them for Tav to kill a God.

Tav just has to convince them to fight long enough to get the job done.

Durge getting mad at Bhaal cause Sarevok got to have kids, in a really fucked up way, but she can’t have one human lover? Sarevok didn’t even kill Helena so why can’t durge keep Gortash???

Just a lot of really funny petty family drama cranked up to 11 because it’s the murder family.

Durge screaming from their room, “but dad I love him!!!! I promise I’ll kill him but only when everyone else is dead then I’ll marry Gortash on the alter of death!”

Just a Little Lie (Price) Chapter 1:

Sergeant Smith has absolutely landed themselves in hot water, well done babe. Captain John Price is not impressed, and neither of you have a good enough poker face to get past Kate Laswell.

Prologue:

A/N: You probably expected it to be Ghost first and I can only apologise, he’ll get his time.

The wonderful thing about fanfiction is that I can and will change the narrative to suit. Look forward to shifted timelines, canon divergence and more of a focus on character development.

Would Price, as Captain, be sleeping in the same barracks as his men? No - but it’s convenient to my shitty plot so it’s staying in.

*All* Y/Ns in my fics are GN! unless requested otherwise.

Slow burn - eventual smut. Canon Typical Violence. A bit of “hurt/guilt ridden comfort” meets unprofessionalism in this chapter.

As per usual, MDNI

Word Count: 5013 (I hate how long this is)

—-

“Y/N?

In the months that you had known John - Captain Price - you had seen a great deal of expressions on his face. You had seen the stoicism of his resting face as if carved out of marble as you walked around town. You knew well the playful frustration with your terrible jokes that accompanied his raised eyebrows and a slight huff. You adored the kind smile and the crinkle around his eyes that he gave you when he saw you waiting outside your little cafe. And you had just recently become acquainted with the quiet, smouldering intensity in his blue eyes before he moved in to kiss you. The way his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed, like he was a tightly wound spring.

The look on his face now though, you didn’t know at all. Thunderous was probably the best description you had, his blue ocean eyes a raging squall. His brows pinched and tight just above them, you swore you could see a twitch that betrayed the way he stood stock still amongst his squad. You could almost be sure that his beard itself bristled in anger as he pursed his lips, as if readying himself to shout. This was anger written all over John's face, and if you somehow never saw this look on his face again it would still be too soon in your opinion. He was angry, no, furious with you. And for the first time you found yourself straining in his presence against your fight-or-flight response that was screaming at you in the back of your mind to flee.

“Apologies - Sergeant Smith,” that name coming from his lips, tinged with hurt and practically dripping with venom, felt so viscerally unnatural, “our new ‘data analyst’ I take it?”

A well deserved verbal slap in the face, to be sure. Certainly a loud one if the way Laswell’s eyes darted between the pair of you was any indication, confusion and concern loud and clear in the tensions of her shoulders as she turned back to face you fully. She read your file, most likely could recite it front to back, as was expected when you work with delicate information and needed to put together a top secret squad such as this one. And you both knew as you made eye contact with the woman that Price or his prior SAS units had never once been mentioned. Not even a vague or tenuous working coalition between your teams. Yet here he stood, familiar enough to know your first name and specialty; and clearly with enough of an opinion to be ready to rage at your appearance in his taskforce. A man who gave no sign of recognising the name Sergeant Smith when he had been told over the phone that you would be joining the team. Here you stood, ready to bolt through the still swaying flaps of this tent just at the sight of him. Shocked to see him even though this obvious acquaintance you had between you should have meant you already knew who you would be working with when the name Captain Price was mentioned. You could practically hear the cogs in her mind screeching as they ground together at rapid pace, puzzle pieces slotting together too fast for you to be able to step in and assure her she was wrong.

First names only, clearly you didn’t know eachothers ranks either. No prior connections, and if that slight tremble in your lip or the way you winced as he addressed you was any indication; this anger was unexpected from Price. This was a personal relationship. One that clearly was going sour in the middle of what was brewing to be an international incident. You imagined that if Kate Laswell wasn’t such a staunch professional that she might cry in frustration at the situation unfolding. It would definitely make you feel better about your own tears that you could feel threatening to fall, the heat in your cheeks and the sting in your eyes as your vision clouded all too familiar a sensation. One you could not afford here or now.

“Is there an issue here, John?” Laswell had clearly made up her mind to not mention the obvious tension filling the tent, even as the other three soldiers were becoming restless, no longer standing to attention and all but outright fidgeting as they fixed their gazes on their Captain.

“No, Kate. No issues here. Hadn’t realised that you meant this particular Sergeant Smith,” despite the smile sent her way it was impossible to miss the way his eyes narrowed at you, as if daring you to in some way contradict the narrative he was trying to establish. You noticed the use of first names though, a mental note to file that away for later discussion. Much later, likely never if the way John’s eyes were set on trying to burn a hole through your face were indicating. Still, this was an out you were certainly not stupid enough to pass up on. Shoulders squared, throat cleared and professional face back on, you addressed your new temporary Captain.

“Captain Price, Sergeant Smith - Communications Officer, ready for briefing, Sir,” a nod, a little stiff was all the response you thought you would receive from John, until after a pregnant pause he moved to the side, arm out towards the monitor at the far end of the tent. Making room for you to stand next to him was a choice you likely would not have made, but in this scenario - where appearances needed to be kept up - you could see the logic. Couldn’t be any issues between the pair of you if he was willing to have you next to him for a brief after all.

“Well then kid, get yourself over here and we’ll get you up to speed.”

—-

Echo 3-1 moved with startling efficiency through the chemical compound at Verdansk. All the grace of a synchronised swimmer as he weaved in between empty train cars, his team close at his six. The man moved seamlessly from crouched stealth to open combat, squad formation tight as he directed the marines under his command with ruthless competency, Russian operatives barely firing a shot before blinding muzzle flashes illuminated the cold night air and left them riddled with American bullets.

The idea of chemical weapons being developed in Russian territory had you on edge. Chemical warfare may be illegal - especially on civilian populations, but you weren’t foolish enough to believe that if push came to shove that the Kremlin wouldn’t find just cause to utilise them under the radar. Not that your American allies or even the Westminster government could arguably be trusted to not cross the line of legality, particularly over in the East if the reports you had been seeing were any indication.

Regardless, these chemicals being in the hands of friends were a much more comforting thought than the Russians. Given what you were seeing though, you were finding it difficult to believe that the marines lost them. Their expert efficiency in clearing the facility and securing the transports containing the gas were textbook in execution. In and out - before anyone outside the compound even realised they had been. Until they got maybe 20 feet out the front gate.

Hindsight being 20/20, combined with the boosted brightness of the recording you were viewing had you flinching as you spotted the flaming truck come barreling down the embankment a second before the convoy did. Nowhere near enough time to avoid collision, and barely a moment to brace as the first truck went flying and Echo 3-1s windshield was cracked. The Russians were on them near instantaneously. Marines who were flung from the cabs of their vehicles, strewn across the concrete and dazed, didn’t even have a chance to grab their weapons at their hips as they were summarily executed where they lay. If the Russian soldiers hadn’t realised they were American when they did, you suspected Echo 3-1 would be among the dead as well.

The whole operation was a chilling reminder of just how quickly things could go wrong out in the field.

—-

You closed your eyes tight and pinched the bridge of your nose as the recording stopped, the last frame showing Echo 3-1 half pulled onto his knees and radioing for a medevac. The sight of the wounded and dying marines illuminated against the flames of the on fire transports. Sighing, you dragged your gloved hand down your face and turned to Laswell, leaning back to see her past the broad expanse of Captain Price's back, “This is where you lost track of the cargo? No sighting since?”

“No, none. Plenty of rumours though, which is where you come in. I need all ears to the ground sifting through the noise. We cannot have these chemicals free in the wind,” her blue eyes turned to focus on you, a serious intensity that rooted you to the spot, “I can verify any actionable information you find, but I need to know where I’m sending the task force, and I need to know soon.”

“Understood ma’am. When do I start?”

“You have two hours. I have an angry general waiting outside and a mobile command centre to commandeer - so use the time to get settled and find something to eat. It’s going to be a long night.”

With that Laswell turned on her heel and was gone - not so much as a backward glance to you or the rest of the team as she strode out into the blazing sun. The silence fell heavily over you and the men left behind, all turning to your captain for orders. Quite pointedly Price looked over your head to the rest of the squad, addressing them directly, “Boys, get to the mess. The sergeant and I will be joining you in 15. And keep your heads down - the Americans are on edge enough as is without you lot setting them off.”

“Aye sir,” the sudden Scottish accent had you turning, looking to the man with a mohawk. How he had gotten so close without you noticing was a mystery, it was staggering that men like him, tall and broad could move without a sound. He almost looked too young to be there though. Clearly not standard infantry. His right hand came up to clap you on the shoulder before you could stop him, the force nearly rattling you out of your boots. He was smiling at least, a kind easy smile that reached his shockingly blue eyes. “Well then rookie, see you in the mess.”

And with that he was gone, followed quickly by the equally young looking black man who offered a playful salute as he passed. The masked man however, was still leant back against the tent pole in the corner - eyes on you. Brown eyes that were staring directly at you, into your soul you would swear. Not a word from him as he took stock in you. A heartbeat passed, then two, before his gaze flicked up to John’s behind you. A quick nod, a small gesture you would have missed if you weren’t looking directly after him, and he left too. Leaving you alone with Captain John Price.

The silence between you both settled heavily in the air, much in the same way the smell of cigars did when you were alone together. This was an entirely different situation however, and far less pleasant an experience between the two of you. The characteristic noise of a working military base fading away as you made eye contact with John, replaced with shaky and shallow breathing from you both. Much like the other night, trembling hands were clenched at his sides, and you were vaguely aware of your own doing the same. Both of you straining against yourselves to not reach out to the other. Once again the intensity of his stare holding you in place like you would turn and run, though the hardened edge to it made your stomach drop and clench all at once. This wasn’t an innate need to hold you to him you were seeing, and you tried desperately to convey on your own face a thousand and one apologies that would somehow plaster over the cracks in the foundation you had built. The older man bristled as if he could read everything your eyes were trying to tell him, and none of those platitudes at this moment were going to be sufficient.

“Jo- Captain, I can ex-”

“Not a word Sergeant. Not one, and certainly not here.”

He didn’t need to raise his voice, let alone shout. You could hear the rolling, thundering anger behind his words as he gestured around the tent. His words were hushed, almost conspiratorial. He sighed, looking down at his feet and rubbing his brow beneath the brim of his hat. Blue eyes met your own again as his shoulders uncharacteristically slumped, sadness and disappointment carved into every crease of his face. The churning of feeling of guilt felt like a punch to the gut; there had never been a moment up until this one in your life that you regretted more, and you found yourself cursing your own stupidity.

“Grab your things, I’ll show you to the 141s barracks.”

—-

The barracks assigned to the 141 were one of those temporary single story prefabricated cabins that had inevitably transformed into a permanent fixture that littered the base, a sight ridiculously common despite the inordinate budget afforded to the military. The cream exterior of the original building was faded, though it drew your attention away from the slate grey extensions that had been added to both sides of the structure, and most likely to the back too. Small windows set high up on the walls let in a minimal amount of light, and you knew from experience that you’d be working mostly by fluorescent strip lights in there, even during the day. John pressed his military ID to the card reader at the main entrance, having explained yours would be added to the system by tomorrow. Leading you inside you found yourself in what looked eerily similar to the livingroom and kitchen-ette of your first crappy little studio flat. As spartan as you had expected the communal space to be, you saw it featured a couple beat up and sagging couches, a recliner and a rather battered looking television sitting on top of a military supply crate in place of a console. The small coffee table in front of it was covered in half filled ashtrays, books and empty coffee mugs that really should have been left to soak in the sink if the colour of them was any indication. A couple hoodies and even a t-shirt were strewn about as well, very much indicative of what you would expect from a flat shared between men. Not so much an army barrack.

John strode through the living room and into the kitchen, pulling the cheap kettle off its base to fill it up with water at the sink, “Toilet through that door,” nodding to a door on the same wall the tv was sat against, “Showers through the opposite one,” his head jerked back as you turned and spotted the slightly ajar door and the tiled floor inside. “Rooms are round the corner, yours is the only one open, there's a key on the desk.” You could tell that you weren’t going to get much more from him at the moment, his voice as tense as his movements while he set the kettle to boil and began rummaging through the cupboards overhead. That didn’t stop you gazing at his back as you rounded the corner to your temporary room, second door on the left.

This was the spartan decor that you were expecting. A single bed sat against the far wall, standard thin and scratchy blue sheets already set up to regulation, a small desk with a metal chair and lamp to the right of the door, your room key sitting on top of a writing pad. Next to the bed was one of those temporary fabric zip-up closets, and you set your bag down in front of it. The exhaustion of the last few hours hit you all at once, and you found yourself sinking onto the edge of the bed, the mattress too firm for your personal tastes. You set your newly issued tablet down next to you and fumbled about in the top pocket of your tactical vest for your phone. Laswell had taken it briefly during the flight over to the base, and you knew that a security program had been installed, limiting your access to most of the basic functions of the device. No social media, emails, calls or texts would come in and you wouldn’t be able to send any out without submitting them for approval through the employee portal for the foreseeable future. They still allowed access to messages already on the device however - and you found yourself manoeuvring through your conversations with friends and colleagues to your text conversations with John.

Scrolling back some days you found the conversation with him just after you had gotten off the phone with Laswell initially. Apologies from both of you, mostly yourself however, that work had called you in and that your catch up would have to wait. Moving forward to last night, your thumb hovered over the message you had last sent him - thanking him for the food and not so subtly suggesting that you were looking forward to hearing his voice again, or his next kiss. You hadn’t expected a response but noticed that in the time between getting on your first plane out last night and the helicopter ride today that you’d received a reply. A voice note. In all the time you had known John you had only ever recieved texts that read almost like an email, formal and signed off with “John” as if it wasn’t obvious who sent you the message. You smiled wistfully at the memory of calling him an old man in the early days at the cafe for his lack of abbreviations or misunderstanding basic text speak. You weren’t even sure that John knew how to send a voice note.

And yet here it was, less than a minute long, but there none the less. From the kitchen you could hear the kettle click off, having reached boiling, and John clattering about with one of the drawers. You decided to play it while you had a moment, ensuring your volume was low as you held the phone to your ear, face cradled in your other hand.

“Hey there, Lovie,” your breath hitched. This was the John you knew. Calm, measured, but still a voice laden with all the familiar fondness you had come to know in the prior months. 

“I’ve got to hand my phone off soon so I don’t know when I can text you next, but I wanted to let you know that’s me here on the ground for a while. I’m not sure when I’ll be home, but I hope it's not too long after you. What do you say we make a day of it when I’m back? Been a while since we last got a proper cuppa and I’m sure ol’ Moira at the cafe is starting to wonder where we ran off to,” you smirked at this, knowing all too well the looks the pair of you had been getting everytime you wound up at your usual table at Moira’s cafe, her knowing smile over the coffee machine as you prattled on about some nonsense to John filling your mind.

“Besides, you still owe me a home cooked dinner if I’m not mistaken,” he paused here, a small grunt as he cleared his throat, “and at least one kiss that doesn’t get interrupted by work. Speak to you soon darling.”

Your hand that held your phone fell limply into your lap, phone dropping from your hand and skating across the floor. Your other hand came up to grip your hair as you practically folded in on yourself, breath shuddering as you clenched your eyes shut, willing yourself to not start crying. What an absolute idiot. John had been nothing if not a sweet man to you, and you’d certainly managed to ruin it today if his attitude was anything to go by. Nevermind not running him off by telling him you were a soldier, you’d done it by being a liar and potentially compromising this mission before it even got off the ground with fraternisation. Anger from your temporary captain was the least of your concerns now, this could very well lead to a transfer out and a black mark in your file. How were you supposed to face your unit when you made it back home after a fuck up this colossal in nature?

You were broken out of your burgeoning panic when John cleared his throat from the doorway. You nearly sprang up from the bed as you attention snapped to him, stood against the light of the hallway with a steaming mug in each hand. You hopped to your feet and swiped your discarded phone from the floor, locking it and shoving it into the pocket of your fatigues. Smoothing your hair back, you stood to attention, hands clasped to your tactical vest, “Sorry Captain.”

“At ease, Y/N. Take a seat. We need to have a chat before we meet the boys in the mess.” Handing you a cup of what smelled like coffee, he pulled out your desk chair and turned it round, swinging his leg over to staddle it, one arm resting across the backrest. You found yourself sinking back onto the bed, the warm cup cradled in your hands hoping that the warmth would seep into what felt like your freezing bones.

“Of course Cap-”

“John. It’s always been just John when it’s the two of us.”

The look in his eyes was steel, and his tone was full authority as your Captain. An order, one you were not about to disobey at this moment.

“Of course, John.” You looked away briefly as you took a quick sip of your drink, ignoring the biting sting of the too hot liquid against your lips and tongue, “Is this in regards to the mission? I can assure you that there won’t be a problem with-”

“Fuck the mission Y/N, this about you. And about me as well, clearly.” You could feel your stomach sinking as you were interrupted again, it was obvious that John expected you to sit and listen without a word.

“You’ve put us both in one hell of a situation with this little secrets act you’ve pulled, I hope you realise this,” you nodded, refusing to allow yourself to tear your eyes away from his as he spoke, “Had I known you were the communications officer that was being brought in I could have said no. I could have asked for Laswell to pick anyone else from her list of suitable officers. Now I’m stuck with you here in the middle of an international fucking incident, and one wrong move, one out of place comment from you could have both our asses pulled up for fraternisation. Do you have any idea what that will do to our careers, to MY career and my command posting? Any at all?” Clearly this was the part where you should say something, but you found your throat closing around anything that you could say that would satisfy the anger radiating off the man in front of you.

John could tell you weren’t going to respond, and the frustration roiled off him in much the same way the heat from your coffee did, “This is a small task force Y/N, and I need to be able to trust every member of my team to have each others back both here and out in the field. I’m finding it very difficult to believe that I can do that with you right now. You had months to tell me you were in the service, and instead you kept giving me vague answers and half truths at best. You could have said something when I told you I was shipping out, when I was walking you home. Fuck, you really should have told me before I kissed you.”

You set your mug down on the floor by your feet at this, moving to clutch at your fatigues in an attempt to stop the trembling in your hands, “John, I didn’t want to tell you right away for probably the same reasons you didn’t, and when you did, I thought it wouldn’t matter. What were the chances that I would be called up to your unit out of all the possible postings?”

He reached back behind him to set down his own cup before turning back to face you, “And being told that you were going to be under a John Price didn’t raise any alarm bells with you before you were shipped out? That maybe if you were too much of a coward to tell me to my face that you could do it over text?”

“We never exchanged last names John!” You immediately regretted the way you raised your voice, Johns shoulders tensing and his gloves creaking against the headrest and he gripped it tightly, “Regardless, have you stopped to think just how many Johns I could have been under before-”

Clearly this was the worst thing to say, John was up and out of his chair in an instant, the metal clattering to the floor as he was suddenly towering over you, forcing you back onto your elbows in an attempt to create space between you. His hands were on either side of your hips, face close enough to your that you could smell the cigars he smoked as his breath came out in near pants.

“How many Johns? Tell me love, how many ‘Johns’ have you been under? Am I dealing with a barrack bunny on top of everything else?”

“Don’t you dare-”

“Dare what Y/N? You were quick enough to suggest taking me back to your flat when you found out I was military. Wouldn’t be too far out of the realm of possibility.”

You hand a hand wrapped around his vest before you could even think to stop yourself. Fury was written all over both your faces at this point, “Do you honestly think that I would be sitting here if there was even an implication in my file that I was some sort of free-use whore in my unit? In what world would Laswell have me as her first choice for a mission as important as this if there was a chance I’d be bed hopping my way through it? I’m good at my job John, real fucking good. And I’d be working my ass off regardless of who my superior officers were, even if they just so happen to be you. Whether you believe that now doesn’t matter when this gets off the ground.”

You hauled him closer to you, white hot anger coursing through you as you stared directly into his eyes, almost daring him to argue with you. Insubordination was not a common trait of yours, but you had put in too much effort to get where you were to have it all waved aside as you sleeping your way up the chain.

“Give me one reason to trust you Lovie, just one.”

The tinge of near desperation in his voice wasn’t lost on you, John searching your eyes as his brows furrowed, one hand coming up to grip yours where it was still fisted in his vest. Had you not been high on adrenaline in the moment, maybe more sensible thoughts would prevail. But you could see the cracks in the mask John was wearing, could feel the way his heart was almost beating out of his chest, much in the same way as yours. Lovie, you’d heard that minutes ago in his voice note to you, but not with this heat. He’d sounded so eager to see you again, he’d made it all too clear exactly what he wanted with you. And right now, despite the utter insanity of it, that was all that mattered.

“I kissed you because you were my John. Not because you were Captain John Price, SAS. You could have been a man from any profession on Earth and I’d still have wanted you all the same.”

His lips were on you before you could take your next breath, eyes fluttering closed as he pressed you further back. Once again the intensity of his kiss had you reeling, all your senses wrapped up in this moment with him. Your lips parted for just a heartbeat to drag in a shaky breath before you collided again, a small moan escaping you. John took full advantage, his tongue swiping across your lower lip before meeting to dance with yours. This was full dominance, you hadn’t a hope at pushing back against this, practically pinned in place as he ravaged your mouth. You could feel your eyes roll back in your head behind closed eyelids, allowing John to take whatever he wanted from you. It ended all too soon for you both, John pulling back just enough that you could feel the string of saliva still connecting your lips break.

“Ah shit. Definitely fraternising now.” He leaned down to slightly to rest his forehead against yours.

You huffed out a laugh, peering up at him from underneath the lashes of your half lidded eyes, “Guess so. What happens now John-”

The door to the barracks opened and closed with substantial force, and you found John hurrying to extricate himself from your grasp. “Oi Captain! Are you an’ the rookie joining us or wha’? Been almost a half hour!”

You threw your head back in a silent groan.

Fucking Scottish bastard.

This is so sweet and adorable!

Imagine having a sleepover with an alien, whos species specifically only rest around those they've formed a very deep connection with. But they understand that humans are different, and they enjoy the sleepover traditions you introduce, like eating unhealthy food while gossiping about other crewmates and playing games truth or dare. There's a certain comfortable intimacy they didn't expect, you two talking and laughing late into the night like it was what you always did. They're hardly even flustered when you stretch and yawn, letting your eyes close in a subconcious display of trust.

If you suggest building a pillow fort they almost decline. You're asking them to take your personal bedding and create a nest for the two of you to share, together? You want them to sit beside you, in a den you built as one away from the rest of the universe, that smells like you and you only?? But they can't just stand there and let you make one by yourself, and they know you don't mean anything else by the gesture. But that doesn't mean they aren't trying to subtly show off how good they are at making a nest, be prepared for the most plush and inviting pillow fort you've ever experienced.

And once you're both comfortable inside with a movie and snacks, they can't deny that they don't want to leave. Knowing that you trust them enough to share in this ease, knowing that you want to be this close, regardless of why, is enough to make them fall asleep beside you without any anxiety.

Don't be surprised if they suggest you do it again. Every night.

I know it's been done to death but I will never get tired of aliens struggling with human emoting and body language. It's never consistent, two humans can be raised in the same household by the same people and still use wildly different expressions when reacting, it's impossible to create any kind of guide for those unfamiliar with humanity.

I'm just imagining a flustered alien courting their human crewmate, doing what can only be described as drowning you with praise and compliments because they can't figure out what all the eye contact and mouth shapes you do mean. But damn it they're pretty sure laughter accompanied with a higher heat signature in the face is good, so that's what they're gonna do!

This man singly handedly kick-started my obsession with morally grey, white haired bastards. Absolutely walked so Astarion could run. 🫡

favorite spike looks: s5e14 | crush

As someone who vapes this hit me like a truck 😂

omg imagine the 141 smokings cigs and cigars after a stressful mission. maybe drinking a glass or two of their choice liquor. and reader just pulls up with the most obnoxious vape ever.

i love the idea of these buff manly military guys grr👹 smoking and just with full confidence pulling up with a rainbow gummy bear surprise cloud of vapor (mb if this is like shitty english not my first language)

reading this ask as i'm laying in bed hitting my vape is hilarious to me

the way the whole group would go dead silent when you pull it out, the sound of the vape crackling as you take a pull is the only sound in the room

simon nearly throws the thing across the room everytime a cloud of strawberry lemonade flavored vapor hits his nostrils, the smoke clouding his vision

"'m gonna shove that vape up your fuckin' arse in a minute, sergeant." he growls, flicking his cigarette onto the floor and stomping off

price is such a pretentious prick about smoking. scoffs if you offer him a cigarette that's not a B&H blue

but when he sees the vape, he honestly considers writing you up. absolutely does not respect vapes nor does he respect anyone that smokes them

"you lot and these fuckin' vapes. can't handle being an actual smoker?"

soap and gaz don't actually care all that much. they'd probably actually hit it if no one else was around. however, they do think they look silly

gaz has absolutely recorded you ripping apart the bed you just made to military standard when you can't find the little flavored nicotine stick

soap will ask for it if he gets drunk enough and there's no cigarettes available

"gimme tha' little fuckin- that bloody thing ye smoke. smells like cherries... fuckin' legend." he grins once he finally has something to satisfy the cravings, even if it is a fruity little vape

damn your blood tastes sooo good. What are your pronouns

Tav is clearly the God of Defiance

You’ll need to excuse the ramblings of a writer that is a bottle of wine deep for this. But clearly, in my mind? Tav is the God of Defiance.

Across all of the companion quests, the ideal outcome is “No, you adorable moron, what this God/Lich/Devil/Vampire wants for/from you is terrible. Choose your own path. These divine bastards can fuck right off.” and that stance just… Works out well for Tav? Even when considering that you are facing down against the Grand Design of an elder brain as the focal point of the main quest, Tav straight up decides, “No - screw you - screw this - I’m not allowing that to happen” with no real repercussions to that.

Across the story, you as the player character come up against what would be to you and I as insurmountable odds and just… brute forces their way through to the outcome that they want?

You anger multiple gods or godlike entities, and instead of being wiped from the face of the Forgotten Realms the story just continues right along as if you didn’t just paint a massive divine target on your back?

In every companion questline, the team you form around you over the course of the story become stronger or more powerful in their own ways BECAUSE they listen to you when you tell them to ignore the powers that be and choose for themselves. Which as a whole makes the team stronger - makes TAV stronger. Because while a God in the context of the Forgotten Realms needs to be worshipped? A God of Defiance wouldn’t need to be. Every day when a mortal in the realms wakes up and chooses to live, to persevere in the face of the entire world around them conspiring to kill them? That’s an act of defiance, and that’s a prayer to God.

So when Gale decides after talking with you that he won’t blow himself on Mystra’s command? Tav gets stronger. When Wyll defies Mizora and refuses to kill an innocent Karlach? Tav becomes stronger. Because the people around them become more empowered in their ability to self determine their own fate.

We could go more meta and argue that clearly Tav is a God because they are operated by the player, a being outside the realm which the story is taking place in. An omniscient being with knowledge the characters simply don’t have. The ability to choose to not accept a roll of the dice, to explore the multitudes of choices available and simply to choose to return to a prior point to make a decision that aligns with your personal story preference the best in the long term.

But why do you need to when quite frankly Tav should have been a name in that book of forgotten/dead gods in the crypt where you first meet Withers?

Do I also like the idea (as a massive brat) of telling Ao, god of all gods, that in fact, no, I will not simply stop interfering with the lives of mortals? That by telling me that I can’t that you have given me all the power in this situation to do just that? Or that I could in theory punch Mystra in the face as Tav for implying that Gale could win her favour back by blowing himself up? It’s at least part of that.

In my mind Tav simply can’t explain this to their companions, that maybe Ao got a little pissy when he realised his mistake. Something along the lines of “Unless they already know or figure it out you can’t tell mortals that you’re a literal GOD. And no - I’m not allowing you to weasel your way out of this one Tav.”

And here comes my fic idea that I may or may not already have imagined at least a dozen chapters for:

Could you imagine the plot twist when you first meet Elminster? Your companions are questioning why the gods can’t interfere and the old wizard is just sitting there like “You do realise there’s already a God among you?” and it turns out Tav put themselves into a situation where they would be tadpole’d because it allows them to directly interfere because this is no longer a problem affecting mortals but also the Gods? The fact that this 1300 year old wizard (who must have figured it out along the way across his many adventures) points out your godly essence allows you in that moment to become this divine bastion against all the shit your companions are facing - people who have very quickly become important friends or lovers to you over the course of your little adventure? And now you no longer have to pretend to be this dumb nobody that just so happened to be spearheading this mission to save Faerun? Damn, I want that fic. I might write that fic.

Listen, if Stephanie Meyer can Mary Sue her way into a multiple book/movie deal I’m just saying that I should be allowed to get away with this in fanfiction.

Just a Little Lie: Prologue

Think about it: Imagine a reader that meets the boys of 141 as a “civilian”. They don’t want to run off yet another man that finds them intimidating because of their military background. So they act dumb, assuming they can keep their career secret at least long enough to make a go of this new situationship. Until it gets them into trouble once they’re assigned to a new taskforce.

A/N: I know Ghost and Soap only show up from MW2 onwards - just let me have this!

Keeping this deliberately vague until character specific chapters start. Think of it like a dating sim where you choose your route after the prologue I guess 😛

Also I can almost guarantee setting up the context for this here in the prologue is going to be so much longer than chapters going forward - I apologise in advance darlings!

*All* Y/Ns in my fics are GN! unless requested otherwise - pet names inbound but nothing specifically gendered. Slow burn - eventual smut. Canon Typical Violence starting from Chapter 1.

Word Count: 3925

MINORS: DNI (I swear to god)

—-

It had been going on for maybe three or four months now. And almost a month at least of back and forth banter over text, of coffee dates and dinners when his schedule allowed. A month of thinly veiled flirting and touches that could almost be taken as friendly as you got to know each other. Or, as you got to know him anyway. He’d been upfront that his work was in some way attached to the military (most likely an active service member), and while you knew he couldn’t really discuss more - he didn’t know you knew that. So with a look of awe and confusion you’d been innocently fishing. Purely innocent of course.

When you initially met at the cafe round the corner from your flat you didn’t know he was a fellow soldier. Which is precisely how you had gotten to this point. Perhaps if you had known you could have avoided the pretence and half truths you’d fed him with a head tilt and a smile. You couldn’t find a man within your own unit, that was beyond unacceptable for multiple reasons. And far too often you found yourself opening up to someone new when on your brief stints of leave only for him to go quiet and disappear once he knew you could handle a knife. Or a gun, or even a grenade if need be. Completely understandable in hindsight - though no less disheartening in the moment once you realised messages were either being left unread or in some cases blocked from delivering. So you found yourself wanting to get to know this new guy first, at least a little while before dropping the proverbial bombshell on him.

He was well built, that’s for sure, and held himself in a rigid posture that you should have noticed right away from your own days standing to attention in front of your captain. But his eyes caught yours instantly when you met - a startling intensity that held you rooted to the spot as you both reached for the same cup sitting on the counter that afternoon. You hadn’t been paying much attention in fairness. Far too caught up in a conversation that was clearly going nowhere fast, and somehow too in your phone to even realise that you weren’t the only patron waiting for your drink in the quiet shop. Hands collided and you found your eyes darting from the cup up to his face, apologies rushing out of your lungs as you lost your breath suddenly, barely managing a pathetic “Oh”.

“Sorry Y/N, machine is acting up - still waiting on your shots.” you vaguely heard from the older woman behind the bar, sounds a little muffled against the sound of your own heartbeat.

“No, not at all! Was away with the fairies I think.” a quick glance back to the mystery man in front of you “Apologies sir”.

“No problem, Y/N was it?” The last part came with a chuckle that sent an embarrassing tingle down your spine, barely contained by the tension you were still holding in your shoulders.

You couldn’t remember quite how the conversation had gotten started from there. But you did learn that he was also a regular to this little spot as you took up a seat near the draughty doorway. It was frankly surprising how you’d both missed each other up till this point really. It was a totally friendly chat about the quality of the cafe for the low price, and some of the other places to eat and drink around the local arena, but it was nice. Comfortable even. If you hadn’t received a call from your captain to check in on you while you were on leave you’d have stayed longer. You honestly didn’t expect to see him again as you stepped out to take the call, and it seemed he had places to be given the way he looked down at his own phone. Yet there he was when you walked in only a few days later. You aren’t even sure now who joked that you should swap numbers if you were going to keep bumping into each other like this, but you’re glad it happened.

—-

And that was how it started. A quick message from one of you to say you were out and about that day, and a reply from the other to suggest either your cafe or somewhere else to catch up. A text to say you’d gotten home safe after seeing him for an hour or so (at his insistence), followed by at least a dozen texts talking about the fun you had seeing each other and how you needed to do this again. Questions asking when you’d each be free next - and total understanding that work got in the way and you might be away for a few days from you both. You were purely on a first name basis, and you were comfortable with that. Work began picking up again and you hadn’t assumed he would be anything but a casual friend. No need to get too attached in your line of work. Especially if your prior romantic endeavours were any indication.

A data analyst, that’s what you’d decided to tell him when he asked about your work almost a fortnight after meeting him. You were called into different places as part of a rolling contract so you were never sure exactly where you were heading next. And it wasn’t too far off from the truth in all honesty. You’d always been skilled with computers and your ability to notice patterns in seemingly nonsensical data sets had been noticed not long after you enlisted. While you were trained for the front lines, you quickly found yourself pulled back by your superior officers at the academy. A sergeant for sure, but you often found yourself behind a screen coordinating units and monitoring traffic from the other side. Not too much of a stretch to some sort of number jockey in an office somewhere you felt. And you were certainly starting to enjoy this new man’s company. No need to scare him off. Though as time went by you were quickly coming to the realisation that very little seemed to faze him.

You thought about telling him, truthfully. You had been sitting on an admittedly damp bench outside a kebab shop late one evening, both of you back in late from work and neither of you in the mood for anything other than quick and greasy food. He beat you to the punch though. And oh how it sent you spinning as you realised what you were getting yourself into.

“So, Y/N, I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he paused as he shovelled in another mouthful of donner meat with one of those crappy little wooden sporks, “about what I do for work I mean”. You were caught a little off guard, having been waiting for a moment to come clean yourself, your own spork full of curry covered chips halted precariously half way between the styrofoam container and your mouth.

“Yeah? You’ve been a little vague on that one” you murmured after a short pause, quickly blowing on your food and taking a bite as it threatened to fall off the disposable utensil. You got a small “hmph” and a nudge from his thigh for that one, a cheeky smirk falling into place for both of you. He had mentioned travelling for work himself, and combined with some oddly familiar tendencies he was showing, you had a gnawing feeling that you knew where this was going.

“Well yeah, I can only apologise for that. Didn’t really know how to bring it up.”

“You make it sound like you do something scary when you say it like that. What are you, some sort of assassin for hire?” The joke earned you a half-hearted glare and a full but playful shove from his shoulder, sending you too far to the edge of the bench as you slid across the wet surface. The size difference was most notable in moments like these - this wasn’t the first time he almost sent you flying in playful moments when he pushed you around.

“Oh shit, sorry” he linked a quick finger into the belt loop of your jeans and hauled you back next to his side with ease before you even had the chance to begin to topple over in what would have been a hilarious fall into a cold puddle.

“Really though, I didn’t want to scare you off when we were getting on so well, but I’ll be off for work again and gone for a while soon enough. Didn’t want you to think I was ghosting you or something.” The quirk of his lips as he mentioned that last part gave you the feeling that there was meant to be an inside joke there, but nothing you could place. “I’m involved in some military shit, and I’m shipping out in a few days. Only getting a few days break then back at it again.”

“Military?” You asked, hoping beyond hope that the surprise in your voice could be played off as you recovering from your near tumble, “Should’ve guessed I suppose. Normal guys aren’t built like you unless they’re in the gym 24/7, and I take up far too much of your free time for that” poking your spork into his upper arm as if to indicate what a brick wall it was. The joke seemed to disarm him somewhat as he broke into a wide open-mouthed grin, his tongue pressing against his upper canine in the way you had come to realise meant he was trying not to laugh.

“That you do Y/N. Between that and all the food we eat it’s lucky I fit in my uniform.”

“You suggested the kebab shop, I could have been convinced to cook tonight.”

“Oh? I could have had you cooking dinner for me tonight? I’m devastated.”

You turned your face away quickly at that, the way you always did when the flirting became a little too obvious. Internally though, your mind was reeling. Fuck. While he may have been a little vague on his profession he hadn’t outright lied, you had. The idea of admitting that to him felt like a terrible idea right now. The moment was nice, and you were hardly about to ruin it by telling him you were a soldier.

But the pieces were clicking into place. The way he stood ramrod straight next to you as you placed your order, shoulders back and chest out with his hands clasped at the small of his back. The way he kept his eyes moving around as he surveyed the drunken uni students stumbling into the kebab shop behind you. They way he almost jumped out his own skin when a car had backfired in the next street over as you found a place to sit, moving in front of you as he searched for the source of the noise, head practically on a swivel. This man had seen combat.

Not a part of your squad though. There was no way you would have missed him if you had spotted him out in the field or in the barracks. No way in hell. This was fine, wasn’t it? If you weren’t on the same team then nothing had to change, not really. Your work was classified, sure, but if you explained that then really nothing had to stop here. Couldn’t be counted as fraternising if you didn’t actually work together.

You realised you were being too quiet though, too caught up in your thoughts, and you could feel his hot stare on you as if expecting you to find a reason to bolt. Quickly turning back to look up at him and tilting your head in just the right way that your hair fell in front of your face you said, “I’m not sure dragging back an attractive military man to my flat for dinner is the best idea,” the way he froze in that moment had you quickly continuing “especially only a few days from shipping out. I can’t imagine giving you something to be distracted about while you’re meant to be working is the best idea.” That one was certainly a home truth. Far too often he had been in your mind at the most inopportune moments behind your screen lately. The pause felt like it was stretching on into eternity, and you really worried you pushed too far over whatever invisible line you had both drawn between the two of you.

“You say that like you haven’t been enough of a distraction already Y/N.” the softness in his voice had you breathless. His food sat on his lap, held so loosely in his grip that you were sure it was going to spill onto the cobbles at your feet. Fuck indeed. You could feel the words rising up in your throat the way a sob would, desperate to get out that you understood far too well what he meant. That your captain had been ready to pull you aside after one too many daydream towards the end of a meeting. But the words caught and you couldn’t say a thing, not when he went back to stabbing mindlessly at his rapidly cooling food. Not when he was already being far more open and raw than anyone else had been in such a long time.

There wasn’t much more said between you as you ate, stolen glances between you conveying more than words could in that moment. Something was brewing between you both tonight that was clouding the air, thick tension that seemed all too easily snapped if you so much as breathed too loudly. Something had changed in just a few words that was sending you down a new path in whatever this was. Casual friends didn’t find themselves staring at each other from the corner of their eyes, that much you knew. All too quickly you found yourselves finished with your food and walking down the road to your flat, and you had barely spoken more than a few words to each other in that time. Any chance you had of telling him tonight flew out the proverbial window and was replaced with a sinking thought that you should have done so earlier.

“Well then,” you hated the way that your voice practically croaked its way out of your throat as you stood outside the door to your building, “I guess unless either of us get called in early we’ll need to meet up again before you ship out.”

“Of course. It’s uh, it’s getting late though I suppose. Going to leave you here and get back to mine.”

“Yeah, absolutely. I had fun again tonight, by the way.” Practically a whisper against the wind. His hands twitched at his sides, the way they would as if wanting to reach out and grab something, stopped only by great effort if the way his jaw clenched was any indication.

“You did?” A deep breath and a near shuddering exhale.

“I always do when I’m with you.” Your hand came up to rest on his arm, squeezing gently against his bicep as if daring the tension to break.

“Good.” Was all you got before he practically dove in, lips to yours with a searing heat that almost knocked you back against the door. His hands were on your jaw, pulling you into him, desperation practically rolling off him in that moment. Like you would slip through his fingers at any moment if he didn’t hold you right here. You broke contact for just a split second to take a must needed breath before kissing back with equal intensity, you weren’t entirely sure who made the “mmph” sound as your lips collided again. I have to tell him, you thought - pushing further into the kiss.

And as if the universe had planned to ruin the moment, you heard your phones ring. Both of them, with the insistent ringtones you both knew to be from your respective employers. The same employers apparently. He pulled back as if stunned, slapped back into reality by the shrill mash-up of your phones against the quiet of the late night street. Phones were pulled from pockets as you both stared down at incoming calls. A near hysterical laugh ripped itself from you as you slumped against the door behind you. Four months to get a kiss from the gorgeous man in front of you and you get a call right now?

“I have to take this-”

“Gotta take this call-”

A chuckle from him, and he steps back, the cold swirling up your front as his heat leaves you.

“Later?” He holds up the phone to you, you know he can’t just not take this. Neither can you to be fair.

“Definitely later.” He smiles then turns to head down the road to his own flat as you turn to quickly let yourself into your building, your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you fumble with the keys. You manage to get inside and answer your call before it goes to voicemail.

“Sergeant Smith? Is this a good time?” You get the main door closed behind you.

“Yes Captain Harrison, what’s happened?” Taking your stairs two at a time to put distance between yourself and the world outside.

“I know you were meant to be on leave for at least a week but something’s come up. We’ve had a request for a temporary transfer from the higher ups. They need a fresh pair of eyes on information coming out of the Middle East and your file was pulled. Just warning you now,” You were at your flat door now, key in the lock as you waited - your Captain took an uncharacteristic pause, “you’ll be receiving a call within the next 10 minutes from a Kate Laswell from the CIA to discuss briefing and your flight out.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been loaned out to another unit Sir, even if they were American. I’m not sure why you sound so apprehensive this time around.” You were inside your small flat at this point, jacket shrugged off and thrown over your duffel bags, still unpacked from your flight earlier today. Looks like they would be staying that way.

“I don’t know much about this unit, Sergeant, in all honesty. More of a task force from what I understand. By the sounds of it, it will all be heavily classified.” Well, if your interest wasn’t piqued before - it was now.

“What task force Sir?”

“141, under Captain John Price, SAS.”

—-

The next few days were a whirlwind. Briefings were had and official transfers were sought and approved. You barely had time to hit the ground running as you found yourself on a rather nondescript hangar base. Which, to be fair, was entirely understandable given the classified nature of task force 141 as you came to realise. You barely had time in all the madness to text your apologies to your man (your man?) that “later” would have to be once you both got back from whatever work you both had. He had been slow to respond, but knowing now that he was likely getting ready to go back out into the field you could understand. You really hoped he was as equally patient with yourself. Your access to your phone was going to be severely restricted once on base. Highly classified information and all.

You found yourself walking alongside Laswell following a quick but firm handshake, duffel over one shoulder and military assigned tablet under the other as you marched away from the helicopter that still had its engines running as it powered down on the tarmac. Soldiers were running across the field and between outbuildings. Whatever was going on had everyone in a rush, and that was never a good sign.

“You’ll receive a full briefing from Captain Price inside Sergeant, but just to get you up to speed,” her blue eyes squinting against the sun as she turned her head to you, “we lost custody of chemical gases in Verdansk less than a week ago. We have reason to believe they will surface again in the Middle East but there’s too much chatter in our communication channels to be sure where. You’ll be both here and in the field getting those chemicals secure before they hit friendly soil.”

“Understood - just tell me where to go to get set up.” She pointed her arm to a tent to the right of you, pace never slowing as she led you through the flaps. Inside were a group of three standard issue white folding tables in a “U” formation in front of a large screen, and you set your bag and tablet down on the one closest. You straightened as Laswell made her way to the front where a group of four uniformed soldiers stood huddled around said screen, shoulders back, feet apart and chin high. You could barely make out the hushed voices of the men ahead of you but held position, ever the good soldier. Ahead of you, you could see a tall imposing man in some sort of mask, though with his back to you it wasn’t obvious if it covered his full face. Next to him stood a man with a mohawk, his short sleeve shirt a major contrast to the full tactical gear of the man next to him. Off to the right stood a black man with short cropped hair, his baseball cap pulled low. Finally there was the man you assumed to be Captain Price, if the way the men kept turning to him was any indication, boonie hat covering the top half of his face and an unlit cigar hanging from his mouth.

Out of the four men standing ahead of you, you recognised one of them far too well for comfort, having had a good look at his back as he walked away from the door to your building only a few days ago. After he kissed you like he was scared to lose you, after he told you he was a soldier outside a crappy little kebab shop and you just sat there and let him keep believing you were just a data analyst. Shit. The rising panic in your chest threatened to bubble over into fear, and you found your knees beginning to shake. Not that you were given much time to think about the impending consequences.

“Captain Price,” the man with a boonie hat tilted his head in acknowledgment of Laswell as she reached him, “Sergeant Smith has arrived and is waiting for briefing.”

Four sets of eyes turned to you, but you only focused on one. Pleasant professionalism turned to surprise, then shock, and finally grave understanding as you stood there, near shaking like a leaf in the wind in front of him. You felt far too small in your standard issue boots, and your hands that were clutched to the front of your tactical vest longed to wrap around you at that moment. If the ground could have opened up and swallowed you whole in that moment you would have been more than happy. You could tell the colour had drained from your face, that you looked like you had just been shot, again, a more pleasant idea than the current situation you found yourself in at the moment.

“Y/N?”

Shit.