Burrow; a hole or tunnel dug by a small animal, as a dwelling
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You can call me Fox, or Foxy! I'm someone who writes for a few fandoms. Right now, I primarily write for COD, though I might delve into my other interests soon.
I'm still in school, so if updates are sporadic or nonexistent, that's why. I'm working this summer in a place that DOES NOT have good cell service, so if I disappear for days, that's why.
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Kyle likes to think he keeps his overdramatics to a minimum.
But when asked he will, in fact, tell you that he'd rather dangle from a helicopter while trying not to get shot and also shoot others than have a spot on the very edge of his lip.
He'd rather have the floor crumble below him and fall through a building again, than try to pop said spot on the edge of his lip.
Does that stop him from spending five minutes trying to pop the spot on the edge of his lip then the next ten minutes complaining about how much it fucking hurt? Obviously not, he's a man with poor impulse control.
the first time you meet the knight's mother she is ENAMORED with you (and is immediately pressuring her son to give you a baby) ((she gives you her old robes from the old country, these practically see-through things, and does you har. she encourages her son to take you to see the lights and promises to be asleep when you two return.)) ((( your husband is AGHAST when she feeds you things to 'help it catch' but you're very plenty happy ))) ((((you do make your baby on that trip)))))
Hmm I think because their lives are so inundated with safewords already (sitreps, callouts) it'd feel redundant to have a specific one between them (also I think they are DEEPLY freaks who WOULD go without)
I do think they would check in on each other in their own ways, doting and concerned...🥺
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I can't imagine Soap ever ANNOYS Ghost, but I bet he can get under Ghost's skin a bit as they get more comfortable - a feat achievable by a scant few in his life, surely...
Ghost with demons!
TF 141 with dogs🐶
It's been a while painting full rendered pieces, enjoyed a lot!
Inspired from awesome @yourfaithfulauthor's request.
TW. Drugging, kidnapping, beginnings of dollifacation.
WC:500ish
Simon was never one for gifts or touch.
He didn’t k is how to speak words of affection into the air and have them believed as gospel. But he did know how to perform acts of service. Perhaps that where this deep fantasy —this infatuation—came from. His body did not belong to him, so he wanted to use it to serve others.
You weren’t like the others he knew. You were strong, vibrant; the kind of person a tv show character would be based on. He’d been watching you for quite some time now. Seeing who you were, how you functioned.
You were perfect. Every feature suited you perfectly. Imperfect in its own way that only enhanced every bit of beauty he already saw. Your personality could use some more docility, but that could be learned. He could teach you; mould you, make you his.
Taking you was easy as buying a toy from a store. Pay the right people and no one says anything. Your shotty boss didn’t care much for you anyways. He didn’t see your allure; the charm you exuded with every breath.
A rag and chemical are all he’d need to really take you home, but it seemed impersonal, too aloof for the object of his affection. So he waited outside the back door of your work for you.
You leave, heading to your car when you notice the hulking man following you. As your steps quicken, so do his, raising the tempo of your already unlikely escape.
He catches you by the back of your shirt, jostling you down with him. Your heart beats in your ears, pulsing with every moment further that you’re unable to move him.
In your panic, you fail to see his syringe, thw adrenaline keeps you from feeling the way his knee comes down on one of your wrists, but you’re still all too aware of it, in fact.
Your world spins as your body stills, eyes drooling and breathing evening out. The slaps from your freehand decrees intensity, both in speed and power. You only hear the soft muttered syllables from the man.
That voice may have been comforting to you if only it were presented under different circumstances.
You wake up in some room that is not your own. Lace curtains adorn the windows, along with a valence of a similar material.
The room is sickeningly feminine, reminding you of a dollhouse more then to does remind you of a real bedroom. You try to move, really, you do. But you cannot.Therein lies the issue. You cannot move no matter how you may desire.
Your body does not belong to you anymore.
Your body is not yours and you hear steps coming closer to your door.
soulmate first words au where Simon grew up with the words “oh my god, please, don’t.” plastered across his arm in dark black ink. since the moment he could read, he’d been terrified of what that meant. he’d heard those words from him mother enough times when his dad came home drunk and swinging fists towards anything that moved, he’d heard them in back alleys while undercover, some poor woman being groped by a man twice her size, and he’d even heard it once or twice from the poor fucker he’d put a bullet in after interrogations gone wrong. Every time he flinches, wondering if that was his one shot at something good he’d just killed in cold blood. Fitting, for a bastard like him, or so he told himself.
It wasn’t until a night off with the team in some sweaty, sticky bar that he runs into you. As much as he tries to ignore the girl on a shitty date who keeps pushing the man’s hands off her ass and fake laughing at his boring jokes, it grates at him for reasons he can quite grasp. Later, he’ll catch the tail end of a screaming match outside the bar. One that has your date storming off, and you sinking onto the grimy concrete in your nicest outfit. He’ll watch from the shadows, flicking the ash off a cigarette before finally saying, “Want me to kill him for ya?” and when your eyes shoot up to the stranger in disbelief he tacks on, “free of charge.”
He almost can’t make it out through your laughter, wet with lingering tears. “oh my god, please, don’t.” you chuckle, “i wouldn’t last a day in prison.” between the burning on his arm, exactly where those dreaded words are, and the way the air feels like it’s been punched straight from his lungs, simon can’t muster up a reply fast enough.
You, on the other hand, have a smile slowly forming as you rub your own burning mark. “Do you know how worried my parents were when they saw what this said? They put me in preemptive therapy and everything. Thought I’d end up in a gang or something.” The man reaches a hand out, offering to help you stand. “You’re not are you? In a gang I mean?”
Another puff of smoke leaves his lips in what you think might have been the beginning of a laugh. “No, military. Close enough, though.”
Dusting yourself off, you sneak a closer look at the shadowed stranger. your soulmate, a voice inside flutters with childish glee. “Well damn, there go all my mob wife aspirations.”
He sighs, and steps closer to you, just within the light of a flickering street lamp. Now, you can make out his features. Scars cover every inch of exposed skin, twisting and mangling what might have once been a fair face. Under your gaze, he waits cautiously, “Sorry to disappoint.” A double meaning you catch immediately.
You motion back to the bar the both of you had been in earlier, then close your fingers around his with a tug, “Make it up to me, then?”
