collecting these

HOW could i forget this classic

The contract comes through back channels- the kind that don’t leave paper trails.

Private security needed. Remote estate. Long term placement. Competitive compensation. Discretion required.

Price reads it twice before passing it to Ghost, who reads it once and grunts.

“Too vague,” Gaz says when it reaches him. “No specifics on threat assessment, no client background, no- ”

“She’s offering triple the going rate,” Soap interrupts, scanning the attachment on his phone. “For what sounds like fuckin’ babysitting.”

The client photo is attached. A young woman, maybe late twenties, with soft features and nervous eyes. The kind of face that photographs well, pretty in an understated way, the type men want to protect.

Or ruin.

Price drums his fingers on the table. They’re in a shit pub in a shit part of Manchester, the kind of place that doesn’t have cameras and doesn’t ask questions. The kind of place men like them end up after everything else burns down.

They’d all gotten the same unofficial discharge. No trial. No publicity. Just a quiet severance and an understanding that they’d never work for any government agency again.

The things they’d done had been necessary, Price told himself. War makes monsters of everyone. They’d just been better at it than most.

Better, and worse at hiding it.

“Client is female, alone, no security infrastructure in place,” Ghost observes. His voice is flat, but Price catches the interest underneath. “Remote location. No witnesses for miles.”

“She’s scared of ghosts,” Soap adds, grinning around his beer. “Says the house is haunted. Hear’s things at night.” His grin widens. “Poor lass.”

Gaz shifts uncomfortably. He’s the one who still has enough conscience left to feel guilty about the direction this conversation is heading. Not enough to stop it. Never enough to stop it.

“We taking it then?” he asks.

Price looks at the photo again. Soft. Vulnerable. Isolated.

“Yeah,” he says. “We’re taking it.”

knight and a titled lady of the court, one of the kings favorites, whos known for being graceful and lovely. the knight treats you so gently, so sweetly, ignores the calloused whispers around you. jealousy, he thinks. thats the only reason someone could hate you.

until he hears the other knights talking.

"she ain't even royal blood," one scoffs. "Tainted thing."

that sets his teeth on edge. "She's a lady, isn't she?"

"The king only made her a lady so he can keep his mistress close," the man explains. "She's a street urchin. From the brothel. The king's favorite fuck."

Alpha!Nikolai, inviting alpha!John and pack to come to his cabin after a mission. John agreeing, gathering alpha!Simon, omega!Johnny, and beta!Kyle, up and heading out into the Russian countryside.

Who get inside and seated, only to see an omega!reader walk into the kitchen.

"You have an omega?" John asked, surprised the old bastard never mentioned.

Nikolai not looking away from the TV. "Da."

"And... how did you get an omega?" John asked slowly.

"Came home from deployment. They were curled in my bed." Nikolai shrugged.

"And you just... kept them?" Kyle pipped up.

"They're pretty, chose me, and well stabbed me when I tried to make them leave." Nikolai replied.

The room went silent, Simon’s brow lifting, Johnny choking on a laugh, Kyle mouthing stabbed? while John stared like Nikolai had completely lost his mind.

"Right," John muttered, rubbing his face. "And aren’t they a little young for you?"

"They're of age." Nikolai said, as if that was the least debatable thing in the world.

"That’s not..Nikolai, you can’t just keep an omega because they wandered into your house," John tried again, tone edging into command. "Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you home—"

The moment he stepped closer, you bared your teeth, lunged, and sank them right into John’s hand. He jerked back with a shout as you bolted across the room, scrambling into Nikolai’s lap like a territorial wildcat, growling low and mean.

"What the hell?!" John snapped as he looked at the bite mark. The omega having broken skin. "Is that thing even an omega?"

"More like feral animal. Which you may want to check that for rabies. I have gotten it tested yet." Nik said nonchalantly. Then he moved and wrapped an arm around you, his fingers runnung up and down your spine in a soothing motion. "Hush, milaya, you're no going anywhere."

"And i thought Johnny was feral." Simon muttered under his breath.

based firemen

you sign up for the job because you want to save lives, and sometimes you get a chance to just be really, really, clear about "yes it is my job to save lives, there is an obstacle, and i am paid to use an axe to solve this problem"

Well you see I have a special problem solving tool. It’s called an “axe” it’s really good at cutting red tape.

Original post (x) Inspiration (x)

Reblog if you love “—” and have never used ChatGPT

Taking the common "Soap doesn't die in MWIII, instead Makarov Winter Soldiers him" trope and adding Reader into the mix as Makarov's loving wife, precious for the heir she carries inside her womb... Soap assigned to be her bodyguard when Makarov finally deems him successfully brainwashed... Reader being shadowed at all times this muzzled, scarred, feral dog of a man, striking up a tentative friendship and eventually learning her husband was the one who did this to him... Reader realizing her sweet Vladimir is not the man she thinks he is... Soap slowly regaining scattered memories and a warped sense of self, one that revolves around the only person that is kind to him... Reader confessing her fears of what her husband will do to her and their child if she ever displeases him... Soap who realizes his loyalty is no longer to Makarov but to her... Soap who decides she'll be safer out of Makarov's hands... Reader who was not informed that she and Soap would be escaping, and wakes up to Soap standing over her in the middle of the night, covered in blood, his hand covering her mouth so she doesn't scream...

Today’s the only day you can reblog this until next year guys.

Royal Forced Marriage Au Idea

Ghoap x Reader slow burn kinda

As per usual, just an idea, and writers can take it and run with it. Just let me know where to read your work. This one got away from me.

Inspired by this.

Oh, @lostintransist, Deity of Angst, I have come out of hibernation to present you with an offering.

WARNINGS: The reader has a neglectful family, and Simon was sold into the knights by his father. Soap has a panic attack.

You were a princess in name only. In the first several years of your life, you lived as a peasant.

Then your father needed someone to take his queen's daughter's place in an arranged marriage with whom he called the barbarian prince. Of course, he did not tell you that. No, suddenly you were in the palace experiencing all the things you had only dreamed of as a little girl.

In the village, you never fit in. Without a father and born out of wedlock. You had hoped that coming to the palace would finally be a chance at belonging. Instead, you were met with riches beyond your wildest dreams, but the nobles felt uneasy that they could not deny royalty they could not relate to. Outsider looking in, you were again. Still, you had family; surely you could - it quickly became apparent that your sister was favored.

With your hopes dashed, you began to notice the pity that servants and teachers alike held in their eyes. Why had you been brought here if not to be welcome?

So, you threw yourself into your studies, finding solace where you could. Your father seemed delighted that you were making up lost time. You naively craved that bit of recognition. In record time you mastered classes your sister had not even taken yet. The tutors bragged.

Had your father been a better ruler, he would have realized you studied everything, not just marriage material. The people saw two princesses, and you excelled where your sister failed. It should have brought the man joy, but instead it brought anger. So, he commanded you to learn things unbefitting of a traditional female royal.

You were thrust into knight training. An ordinary person would have been upset, but you had been an outsider so long that you simply were excited to learn of the sword. This too angered your father, so you were thrown into a group of advanced knights away from the palace. That was terrifying to be surrounded by strange men, but still, you kept going. You always had and always will.

At first, your body could not keep up. Fainting before even completing the first half of the training day. The knights expected you to give up. Still, every morning you matched pace as long as you could. Among these soldiers, you found a sense of belonging, though fragile. One soldier, Nikolai, became a sort of friend, but you dared not call him that for the trouble you feared it might land you both in.

You were growing to understand your situation all to well. To avoid the anger of your father, you carefully crafted a quiet, meek persona for when he would call you to the palace for an international meeting and show you off. The public viewed you as spineless and odd. Nobles saw a freak with a sword.

Your soldiers saw a woman forged in the cruelty of the world who only wanted a family and who was denied again and again. They saw a thirst for knowledge and a kindness thinly veiled behind strength. They saw a woman who would destroy herself for the sake of her people. They wished you were queen. They dared not speak it.

Nikolai had traveled from kingdom to kingdom before settling down with your men. He began teaching you about these kingdoms and their cultures, if nothing else than to see you smile as you learned. You deserved whatever happiness they could give. You were like a sponge, learning everything you could.

Your favorite was the MacTavish Kingdom. Nikolai had spent a lot of time there working with the royal knights. Their culture was very different, but it made sense with the colder winters. Men and women were trained together from youth to learn to hunt and gather. Women could be knights and even advisers to the king. You wondered if you had been born there, would you have a family?

ao3 turns 16 today.

reblog if you’re older than archive of our own

reblog if you love archive of our own and how they firmly refuse to let censorship have any place on their platform

"Your son will take your throne from you," they prophesized, spitting each word out of teeth clenched tight with hatred. Why they'd bother prophesizing such an event befuddles you; your son is literally your chosen heir, after all.

Years later, you realize what the prophets meant. For most of your life your son was your pride and joy; an academic, who would surely lead the kingdom into greater health and wellness. Until he committed the ultimate act of betrayal.

"You will not take my throne from me!" You cling to your grand chair so hard your knuckles turn white.

Your son sighs. "Dad. Dad it's lead-"

"Of course it's lead! It's a strong metal, signifying the strength of our country- this throne has been passed down the royal line for 300 years, 15 rulers before me-"

"That is not enough time for that many people!" Your son throws his hands up in the air. "Because it is lead! It is poisoning you! Didn't you wonder why grandpa died at 40?"

"Ah, pfoo! That's the ancestral curse."

"It's the throne! The throne is the ancestral curse!!!"

the son successfully convinces his father to give up the lead throne. he lives and rules peacefully for much longer than his family’s previous generations, dying in his third score.

the son, upon coronation, receives his own prophecy: “your daughter will tear your castle to the ground.”

now, this is a bit more of a cause for immediate concern, but unlike kings of old, he decides that the best way to avoid this surely gruesome future is to love his daughter the best he can, encourage her interests, and guide her with a steady hand - if she is to ruin his kingdom, after all, then let it be with iron will and care for the people.

his daughter is not violent at all, will only hunt if they promise the kitchens will cook what is killed and will give some to the people, and only takes a passing fancy in swordsmanship (which he thinks is more to do with the jawline of the instructor, not that he says anything). she loves to study and read, and when she asks to go for further education in a different corner of the kingdom, he allows it.

after one year, she returns, and spends the first week back acting shifty. she is always caught ducking out of corners and hidden passages, whispering with staff, and pouring over old maps of the castle layout in the library, hurriedly covering them up when anyone passes.

he privately gets his affairs in order.

two weeks after her return, the king’s daughter approaches her father with a steely look in her eye and a grim set to her jaw.

“father,” she begins, “what do you know of asbestos?”

I hadn’t seen the full version of this 😂

Crawling out of my hole to remind people that with this current update to Firefox (version 144) they've gone and dumped in their lot with a buncha lil AI tools, namely Perplexity as a new search engine.

So if the sound of that leaves your mouth tasting of tar, here's what you want to do:

In the url bar, type in about:config

It'll give you a big scary warning page that you might poke holes in your browser. Good. You want to do that. Click continue.

One by one, you're going to need to put each of these into the search bar in the page, not up top:

Each of these are gonna have a lil toggle icon on the right hand side that looks like a funky double-ended arrow. Click that and the value next to it should change to false. It all auto saves as you go. Some of these might already be set to false by default and that's peachy.

The next best thing you can do for yourself is to set your default search engine to udm14 or Qwant, but for now, we're just tidying the garden a lil bit.

Edit: This wildly broke containment for a post that was supposed to be me basically ranting and grumbling like an old man on my porch to my homies. If I’ve inspired you to follow through with this, peachy. That was mildly intended. Better yet, I hope I’ve spurred a buncha you on to do your own bit of digging and research.

If you were one of today’s lucky ten thousand to learn something new, I hope you keep doing it. I won’t be here to hold your hand through it, as I simply don’t have the time nor spoons for it, so I implore you to go down your own rabbit hole and chase knowledge with wild abandon.

sound on, they are not singing the tune you would expect.