He/Him, 20, writer 'n' shitposter
CoD fan account
Ghoap, Alerudy and Körangi <3
Find me on AO3 here - https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsukuyomi_Ravioli
All my current call of duty modern warfare fanfictions (hurt/comfort/fluff) for GhostSoap, Körangi, and AleRudy. (As well as upcoming ones or non-ship fics)
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Ghost and Soap fanfics.
Ka-freakin' boom, baby. (GhostSoap)
Soap's trusted with his own set of rookies on a mission. Things don't go as planned. (Gore/Hurt/comfort/Humour/Fluff) (GhostSoap)
Ka-freakin' boom, baby. - Chapter 1 - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]
Ouch. (GhostSoap but also Soap/141/Los Vaqueros)
My entries for 2023s AI-Less whumptober, Soap edition.
He's about to get fucked up, folks. But also held, a lot. (GhostSoap but also Soap n Gaz/Price/Rudy/Ale moments)
If you're only looking for happy endings, see 'end notes' on each prompt.
Ouch. - Chapter 1 - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]
Tails of Soap Mactavish (GhostSoap - Not out yet)
Soap, a rare wolf-shifter, navigates life with the 141. (GhostSoap, but also found family)
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König and Horangi fanfics.
Hate. (Körangi)
I fuck up Horangi for the fun of it (Backstory ideas plus future relationship with König.) (Gore/Hurt/Comfort) (Körangi)
Hate. - Chapter 1 - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]
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Alejandro and Rodolfo fanfics.
Burning bright. (AleRudy)
What should have happened during the playable scenes as Rodolfo Parra. He shouldn't have come out completely fine. (Hurt/Comfort/Fluff) (AleRudy)
Burning bright. - Chapter 1 - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]
Regrettably, the brainrot has taken hold of me properly, so this was always going to be an inevitable post
(This is also a chance for me to compile and work out my characterization of these two, as a sort of warm-up exercise for writing them).
All SFW! Trigger warning for mention of scars, alcohol, gambling, violence (military), you know Call of Duty typical stuff
All the headcanons for each are separate for each character, a few mentions of Horangi in König’s list but that’s it
That being said, here are my headcanons for König and Horangi 🙏
Horangi bites the inside of his cheek when he’s thinking really hard or having an internal emotional tug of war about something, he actually developed this habit because he used to instinctively press his tongue against the inside area of his cheek that had been scarred (if you’ve seen the popular design where he has a scar from about the corner of his lip up to his cheekbone, and yeah. I like that concept a lot)
Horangi used to drink and smoke heavily, as part of his gambling days. He dropped that habit when he joined the military, and to this day absolutely resents heavy alcohol of any kind, but doesn’t actively avoid milder alcohol as much as he does the stronger stuff, he just doesn’t see the appeal in it anymore
Speaking of which, Horangi sucks at gambling, in fact he’s so terrible at it it’s a wonder he stayed in the business so long. He actually wound up so far in debt because he kept telling himself “it’s not statistically possible that I can never win.” So he kept trying to prove he was capable of winning (he wasn’t.) Eventually, he did quit, escaping debt by fleeing normal civilian life in the process
Horangi hasn’t touched gambling since, he’s wary of even simple card games (glances judgmentally at uno). Even if he still gets that itch sometimes, he curbs it by playing games that don’t involve luck at all
By that I mean Horangi loves strategy games. A downright freak about them even, this way he’s not risking any money on card games that might be rigged… (Horangi chess menace, anyone..? Not promising that he won’t try to cheat in checkers) and he swears like a sailor whenever he loses
Any rush Horangi used to get from gambling is gone anyway, nothing can compare to the adrenaline spike from being on missions. In comparison, gambling feels like a watered down high and a desaturated painting, it wasn’t anything like the vivid colors of the battle field experience… and even that could get boring sometimes…
(That is not encouragement to throw yourself into combat 💧)
Horangi loves silver jewelry, especially rings. But never wears anything gold or with gems on it, he prefers the sheen of silver, and thicker jewelry too, heavy banded rings and he actually considers his dog tags as something of a fashion statement… there was a point in his life where he had his ears pierced, and only ever wore silver or black for those, however the piercings have since closed up as they would have been a hindrance in his military work
When Horangi was a kid, he wanted to be able to skateboard, the kind of kid who thought kick flips and riding rails down the stairs was the coolest thing, unfortunately he was never really all that good on wheels, and didn’t have the time to master the hobby
(He sure as hell can snowboard though. Don’t ask me; it came to me in a vision)
Horangi was actually planning to get full tattoo sleeves on his arms, but discovered that he was somewhat unnerved by the constant jabbing of the ink needle when he got his wrists and forearms done the first time around, since then he’s been a little wary about getting more. It’s not that his pain tolerance is low, or that he’s scared of the process, he’s just kind of annoyed by the way it’s done and the time it takes since it leaves him with nothing to really do while he waits with the incessant jabbing of the needle… yeah, he’s not a fan
Horangi has scars on his back (tiger scars!!!) from his youth, they’re not pretty or nice to look at, all ridged flesh and awkward lines, he couldn’t sleep on his back for weeks while they healed; and even after that there was phantom pain.
Because of these scars, Horangi dislikes having his back to anyone even more than the usual soldier. Not because he got the scars in that way, but simply because he’s subconsciously aware of them being there and he doesn’t like the idea of having them out in the open (even though he knows they can’t be seen when he’s dressed)
Horangi likes to doodle, no he’s not a good artist, he just likes to scribble on things, drawing in the dirt with a stick when he was a kid kind of thing, always carries a pen with him and doodles when he’s bored
Horangi is a great swimmer, like athlete level good at it. Do not try to race him, he will win
Is an avid language enjoyer, Horangi actually likes exploring different languages and how they work phonetically as well as alphabetically. His English is remarkably good, even with his thick accent
On that note, Horangi’s penmanship is… less than perfect. Maybe a small case of doctor’s handwriting if you know what I mean. He tends to slant his words a bit, and it looks a little like chicken scratch, but it’s charming in its own right
Horangi likes rock and rap, I think when he was a teen he would have really liked No Brain, especially the song “내 가죽잠바 My Leather Jacket” as well as western heavy metal, though he likes rap and hip hop too, anything fast paced or with a heavy beat (guilty pleasure listening might be lighter r&b) if you saw Gangnam style in his playlist, no you didn’t
If Horangi played an instrument it would be electric guitar, but only as an excuse to shred until the callouses on his fingers split and he had to wait for new ones to develop
Horangi is selfless to a fault, he likes to think he wouldn’t go through hell and back for just about anyone when he knows deep down he would in a heartbeat, he’s always cared deeply about others, he just struggles a little to express it, very much more of a subdued affection kind of guy, shown through little actions instead of straightforward declarations which are a rarity, but do happen
Horangi likes the military because it gave him purpose and direction. And best of all- an outlet. What else was he supposed to do with his somewhat short fuse and need to release pent up energy? Bashing up enemy forces seemed a good enough way as any
Horangi takes his coffee black, americano. (Shamelessly stole this headcanon from his voice actor…)
Bonus :
(His words not mine, do with this information what you will)
Now… König is somewhat of a difficulty for me to work through, he’s a bit of a silly bastard I can say that much. Still working on disemboweling him to understand how he works so his list might be a bit shorter, but I’ll try my damndest
König is clumsy, not in a “whoops I fell down the stairs silly me…” way but in a “where the hell did I leave my keys..?” kind of way, which is funny because he always struck me as someone who pays attention to detail while also having situational blindness, like “holy shit there was a car right there” even when you could ask him what the arrangement of crates were in a cargo shipment and he could tell you exactly without needing to think hard about it
König is absolutely incapable of keeping himself still, one of the reasons he was denied the position of a sniper… whether it be literally twiddling his thumbs, or bouncing his leg, he is always moving one part of his body at any given time
Two words, bad liar… König is a terrible liar even, not even consciously he just isn’t good at not giving an honest answer, especially if it’s to people he’s comfortable being around. Shifting eyes, clenched jaw, kicked puppy sort of demeanor if he’s actively trying to withhold the truth, he’s bad at covering it up unless he’s annoyed, then he can evade giving a straight answer but otherwise he can be read like an open book
In terms of social interaction, König is not some sort of inept stuttering dork, rather I would simply describe him as a little out of his element in mundane social settings. He’s a menace on the field, and he’s comfortable with that, when he isn’t occupied with something physically or mentally demanding however… he’s a tad socially awkward. But he’s still brazen and a little cocky, albeit easily annoyed or flustered (not blushing wreck flustered, just at a loss for words and maybe a few confused blinks if anything)
König is also competitive and a bit of a grump honestly, he takes things personally and tends to overthink, maybe a bit of a bad habit that involves twisting things in his mind until they’re warped from what they initially were, but yeah he’s gonna take things as a challenge or a jab at his abilities (inferiority complex coming back with a vengeance in the form of feeling like he needs to prove himself constantly)
That’s not to say König isn’t a “gentle giant” he does have a soft spot and isn’t prone to picking fights himself, but he’s also… bipolar for lack of a better word, he would definitely treat something with the most tenderness his large hands can allow, but then turn around and obliterate an entire unit with a blind sort of unhinged arrogance that doesn’t take kindly to being rivaled
König is like a barely domesticated guard dog with self worth issues that present themselves through mild narcissism and social insecurity. Again, he’s a madman, just listen to his voicelines, Horangi may look insane on the outside but he’s actually relatively stable, König on the other hand is like a carefully constructed bridge made of entirely weak points that are holding themselves together by faint pressure and the whole thing is covered in tape that mask wounds instead of bandaids
If König played an instrument it would be drums, he needs to be able to bash on things, I think he would get frustrated with something like guitar or bass
König is a bit demanding with things he wants, and likes to think he can get what he wants with relatively little struggle, not that he’s a spoiled brat by any means, just that he sees something and goes “I want that.” And isn’t afraid to say that he wants it, and that’s basically saying “I intend to get it” but he also does have manners, and isn’t exactly extroverted, but he has an obvious sort of intensity about him that really shines on the field, he likes a good fight
(Que “Finally some worthy adversaries!” line)
König knows he’s strong and is confident in his abilities, but despite knowing this he still doesn’t take praise well. Or compliments, he’s all sure of his abilities until someone points out he did a good job and suddenly he has no idea what to say, similarly if he thinks he can handle something and voices that, and someone replies “yeah you’re right, you’ve got this” he’d be like “???” because he’s not used to the positive reciprocation, he’s used to only having himself and the physical proof that he can do things and do them well, so when someone points it out he’s at a loss
König is more likely to let German slip into his speaking than Horangi is to let Korean slip into his, König’s English also isn’t as good as Horangi’s
König is a little possessive and can get defensive too. Stems from his childhood, being picked on a bit he learned to keep his stuff close to him and be careful who he shares with if at all, and is not trusting even if on the outside he appears relatively open despite his social awkwardness
However, König likes having instructions and knowing what exactly needs to be done, he’s organized and likes not always having to make a lot of complex decisions— the structure of the military gives him a way to keep himself occupied in this manner. And he likes feeling like he has a use, even if it’s not exactly what he wanted
(He’s still bitter about not being a sniper).
König’s handwriting is surprisingly nice, it’s neat and simple, but he doesn’t write paper and pencil often, in fact he usually records numbers and data if anything, and types everything else. He likes using digital tablets
König takes his coffee sweet, and doesn’t care about the temperature, he’ll drink coffee that started out warm and sat out long enough to get cold.
Rammstein fan? König is guilty. Also loves Slipknot and Korn. Orange Sector fan to the end too. His guilty pleasure is instrumental music. (Sometimes he and Horangi share their music with one another)
König wears his hair long (not super long, just a little unkempt and about jaw length), and he has stubble. He keeps his hair tied in a low bun for missions, on leave and for downtime he’ll tie the bun higher
König is shockingly loyal, like makes a conscious effort to be loyal to people, and is surprisingly thoughtful about little things that others wouldn’t really pay much mind too. It’s sort of a subconscious thing actually, he remembers a lot of insignificant stuff for no real reason, it just sticks
In König’s mind, he has a few jokes he came up with that he thinks are hilarious but has never had a chance to say them and is also a little doubtful other people would be as amused as him, so he keeps them to himself.
(Horangi might luck out one day)
Cough… and that’s all!! I’ll update this if I ever think of any more. But yeah, that’s all I got. Hope you enjoyed
Price: Soap! I thought you were dead???
Gaz: Holy shit man! What the fuck!?
Ghost: We spread your ashes, what the hell-?
Soap: Idk who's ashes you were spreading but they weren't mine man idk what to tell you
It's been a while since I fed this fandom. Hey again. I made cookies. They're underbaked (aka it's just a drabble, it's not finished/clean) but they're still cookies.
Wolf-shifter AU because I've barely tried my hand at it, and also I imagined Rudy wearing a cute little K9 harness with patches on and my heart melted.
Summary:
- Wolf-shifters Soap + Rudy
- Angst/hurt/action, with a smidge of good old comfort towards the end. It's not a finished drabble, but it has a happy ending.
- Stereotypical mission-gone-awry setting. Rudy (and Soap) are ambushed during a recon mission, and Alejandro comes to the rescue. The rest of the 141 are here, although background characters within this drabble. Minor/hinted Ghoap, but it's VERY small. Legit just one sentence.
Word count: ~3000
TWs: I suppose animal abuse? Anything to do with animals being hurt. Cause there's a lot of that. I mean it's a wolf-shifter fic.
—
The informant hadn’t given much, just a rough grid and a whisper about movement in the hills. Possibly El Sin Nombre loyalists regrouping. It was vague, but for Alejandro, anything to do with El Sin Nombre was worth checking out. This patch of land wasn’t cartel-owned anymore, last he checked, but that didn’t stop anyone from using it as they pleased.
Dry hills and old farmland, scattered with scrub and thorn trees. There were a few small abandoned trailers here and there, but what instantly came to his mind was the old rickety ranch, left to dust since before even he was born. A decayed mess, perfectly hidden within the trees. A perfect spot for cartel looking to lay low and regroup.
Its location made things slightly difficult, however. Given it was well-hidden behind piles of tight-knit foliage, with only a single, semi-abandoned passing road beside it, a full surprise-ambush from Los Vaqueros would be seen from miles away, if there truly were high-ranking criminals gathered inside. It just wasn’t ideal for a full-team deployment, given the specifics.
But it was suitable for K9-deployment. The thick, dense grass of the abandoned fields was more than enough cover for a dog to slip by unnoticed, and, once they hit the dense foliage of the woods, they’d be able to maneuver through it far better than a team of humans ever could.
Rodolfo had volunteered for the job before they’d even finished planning. However Alejandro wasn’t sending him in alone, simple recon or not. Over his dead body.
That was why he’d contacted 141, and asked for a hand. Or a paw, more specifically. Soap had been more than willing to take a detour to help out.
And so had the rest of them, apparently.
Four up high on overwatch, two down low, on recon. In-and-out, sniff for any signs of life, and leave unnoticed.
That was the plan, anyway.
—
Price was stationed just east of his own position. He could just barely see the man, belly-down against the rough outcrop of stone that scattered the lower portions of the hillside. On either side of him lay two furrier, smaller figures, pressed just as close to the earth as he was.
He watched as Price’s scope surveyed the fields. “No movement.” Came the Captain’s crackly voice through the comm line. “Alejandro?”
“No movement.” He confirmed, angling the scope of his weapon slightly, “Soap, Rudy, proceed as planned.”
The two wolves slinked forward in an instant, leaving behind the Captain to begin their trek down the rest of the hillside.
They were as stealthy as they were fast, for in a blink of an eye, Alejandro had almost lost them as they hit the dry grass below. Had it not been for their K9 harnesses, he probably wouldn’t have been able to relocate them. The harnesses themselves were black in colour, in typical military-issued style, but it was the colours of the flags stitched onto the back of them that stood out. Soap’s bright Union Jack, and Rudy’s colourful México flag, respectively. He used those to train his scope onto, following the duo as they maneuvered through the fields.
Soap led the way, his mottled, light brown fur blending in seamlessly with the dry, dead grass. Rudy stood out a little more as he followed close behind, his fur being a deep, rich black. From this distance, however, he looked as if he could be Soap’s shadow, rather than a whole other wolf.
“There’s a small clearing up ahead.” Price murmured into the comms. “Head left, Soap. Rudy, follow. Best to avoid it.”
There was a puff of air blown through the mic as Soap huffed. He adjusted course, and his shadow followed.
From this new position of theirs, Alejandro could make out other patches stitched onto the harnesses. Rudy’s little Fuerzas Especiales tag was much smaller than his México tag, but it was there, near his flank, its bright blue a stark contrast against black fur. Soap had a tag on this side, too, but its white writing was small, and hard to read against the glare of the sun. He’d gotten a look at it earlier, however, before the mission had begun. It wasn’t anything militarized– it’d read something along the lines of ‘Squirrel Patrol’. Whatever that was supposed to mean. Soap had told him Gaz had bought it for ‘shits and giggles’.
Rudy had grinned and said it looked ridiculous.
“Hold on.” Ghost’s voice cracked in through the comm line. In an instant, the wolves stopped, bellies hitting the dirt. “Vehicle passing through. Stand-by.”
He couldn’t see anything, from his own viewpoint. Ghost and Gaz were positioned west, on the other side of the thick forest foliage. From their viewpoint, however, Alejandro knew they could see pieces of the road that trekked through this part of the countryside.
“It looks civilian.” Gaz spoke next, “Big-ass campervan.”
“There’s a caravan campsite not too far from here.” He pipes up. He hears Rudy grunt down the mic in some semblance of confirmation. “Most likely heading there. Wait for them to pass.”
“Affirm.” Ghost hums, “Johnny, you copy?”
Soap lets out a snort.
“Taking that as a yes, then, Sergeant. Hang tight.”
The comms settle back into a soft quiet. The vehicle moves on without a hitch. If he listens closely through his earpiece, he can hear the engine purring from what he assumes is either Rodolfo’s or MacTavish’s line.
There’s a few seconds pause before Ghost murmurs a quiet; “You’re clear to move up to the building. Remember that you have no overwatch during this bit, lads. You’re on your own.”
Soap padded forward slowly, Rudy hot on his heels as the pair broke through into the dense foliage, disappearing beneath its thick cover.
“The one thing I hate about recons like these.” Gaz’s voice mutters, “The wait.”
“I can second that.” Price sighed, before turning his attention back to the task at hand. “Remember you two: do not engage. You see anything fishy, you bail. Do I make myself clear?”
Soap lets out a little puff of air. Rudy’s silent, but it's clear the pair understand the message. Besides, if Alejandro expected one of them to break formation and attack, it wouldn’t be Rudy, so Soap’s confirmation means a whole lot more over his.
He listened intently to the comm line. Each crackle of a leaf under paws, each brush of fur against bushes and grass. The soft grunts and tiny yips of the pair as they communicated in the only way they could, weaving through who-knows-what as they near the ranch.
He can tell the moment they’ve reached the house, purely because what was once the loud sound of plants and life breaks away into silence once more. He assumes that now they must be in the clearing of where the old ranch is built. It’s small, from what his memory serves, but there’s plenty of places to hide. Old furniture, abandoned logs and piles of trash.
He tries to picture it– what they must be doing. Soap, going one way, Rudy another, the pair scouring the outskirts of the yard before beginning to slowly move closer, and closer, using the rusted materials around them for cover. He wonders if they’ve scented anything yet, or even seen someone. He’ll only know once they’re back, he supposes.
There’s a soft creak. One of them huffs at the other, hesitant. The other responds in tow with a more confident puff, and a few more creaks of what sounds like a weight being pressed against old wooden floorboards.
“Unless you see it absolutely fit, do not enter that house, Soap.” Price clearly knows his Sergeant well. The creaking halts, and Soap lets out another puff. “One of you stays outside if you’re going to check it out.”
“There’s two buildings, from what I remember.” He speaks into his own mic, “The main ranch and a stable just south of it.”
“Johnny can handle the house, then. Rudy, mind checking out the stables?”
There’s a quiet huff of air, and the sound of paws hitting dirt as Rudy no doubt heads over towards the stable doors. The creaking of the ranch’s floorboards come back as Soap continues his trek further. Alejandro can hear him sniffing at whatever’s inside.
Rudy’s comm picks up the soft, slow creak of an unlatched door being nudged open. It must be somewhat dusty inside, because Rudy sneezes, the sound embarrassingly loud across the line. Alejandro can’t help but smile at it.
Soap’s mic picks back up again. He’s snuffling, more intense now. The sounds of his nose working overdrive are low and fast. There’s no creaking of floorboards– had he found something? Not a person, obviously, for he lets out a sharp grunt, clipped and frustrated. Whatever it is, it doesn’t sound fresh enough for Soap’s satisfaction.
There’s the sound of claws hitting more sturdy wood. A sniff or two. From which wolf this time, he’s uncertain. Then one of them–
A growl. Low, rough, and guttural.
It’s neither of theirs.
Wood splinters, and there’s a bark– loud. Panicked. The sound of claws scraping violently against wood, and then a terrible, agonising, gut-wrenching squeal tears from one of their throats.
Alejandro’s whole body jolts. His heart stops. He knows that sound. He’d only heard it once before but he knows that sound.
His voice is barely breath as it escapes him, "Rodolfo."
Then he’s moving.
He doesn’t think- he just runs. Bursting up from his perch with his rifle slung across his chest, legs pumping, tearing through dry grass and scattered stone like a man possessed.
“Alejandro, stand down!” Price barks through the comm, already scrambling to react. “Repeat– stand down!”
But he doesn’t hear them. All he’s focused on is the sounds in his ears. The warbled, animalistic wails. All he hears is Rudy. That horrible sound- raw and high and all wrong.
He nearly trips as he crests the slope, boots skidding on loose dirt. His breath saws out of him. The radio howls in his ear.
“Gaz,” Price growls, “get eyes on them, now!”
“I’m tryin’!” comes the sharp reply, “Trees’re too thick, can’t get a good spot–”
“Rodolfo!” Alejandro pants into his mic, not caring how desperate he sounds. The cries haven’t stopped- if anything, they’re only getting louder. Getting worse. Rudy sounds more animal than man now. “Rudy!”
He gets nothing in return.
Then, Soap’s mic flares.
A flurry of new noise– gravelly snarls, claws on wood, high-pitched yips and growls. There’s a loud, jarring thud as something slams hard against a wall. A pained whine is drawn from Soap’s throat.
“Johnny!” Ghost barks, “Shit– Gaz, cover me!”
“Gotcha!”
He’s close enough now that he can hear the sounds of the fight without his earpiece. Rudy’s screams -he can’t call them anything else- stab into his skull, but they’re drowned out by the cacophony of growls, yelps, and snapping jaws. The air itself feels sick with it.
Alejandro vaults the fence and barrels through the brush, rifle ready.
Then he hits the clearing.
And for a second, the world simply stops.
A mass of bodies writhes in the center of the ruined stableyard. Dozens of limbs, matted, twisted, smeared with blood, tangle over one another in a frenzied, fluid mess. At first glance, one could mistake them for snakes.
But they weren’t. They were wolves. Feral, rabid wolves.
The creatures roll and snap and claw, indistinguishable from each other in the churned-up, gore-soaked dirt. They're so thoroughly coated in blood that their natural colors have vanished beneath red and mud. Only when one head lifts, its eyes catching the light, mouth peeled back in a foaming snarl, does he realize there’s something beneath them. Something alive.
Then he sees the harness. Ripped. Bloodstained. Barely clinging to fur that was once a dark, sleek black. The blue patch is almost torn off entirely.
Rudy.
His body is pinned, his limbs twisted in angles that make Alejandro nauseous to look at. The muscles in his side jerk as he kicks feebly, his mouth open in his own blood-foamed snarl. Every sound he makes is pure, raw agony– high, keening cries punched out of a crushed, folded ribcage. His paws batters uselessly against the dirt as the creatures above him chew mercilessly into his flesh.
Alejandro stumbles forward– then stops.
Another figure, away from the hoard. Another wolf. A little larger. Battered, coated in just as much blood. It’s limping, front-heavy. Its back left leg barely lifts from the ground, its ribs heave with effort. But it charges forward regardless, fangs bared in a hoarse, wheezing snarl. It seizes one of the attacking wolves by the scruff and yanks, claws digging into the ground for leverage.
It’s not until the wolf turns its head, revealing one blood-shot blue eye behind a soaked, torn ear that Alejandro realises just who that is.
“Soap–!” Alejandro snaps to action, raising his rifle- but there’s no shot he can take. They’re too tangled, too intertwined with one another. He grits his teeth. “Pull it further!”
Soap responds with a guttural growl, bracing himself. His injured leg buckles, but he uses the momentum to drag the attacking wolf sideways. It turns on him now, spitting blood. It doesn’t even get to breathe the same air as Soap before Alejandro fires.
Crack.
The bullet slams through its skull from the side. It drops in an instant, its legs stiffening mid-motion. It then crumples with a heavy thud, blood fountaining from its snout. Soap lets out a noise that he can only assume is a thank you.
Only for the sound to turn into a shriek as another one from the pile glances up, seeing Soap, and, without further warning, lunges.
It hurls into him with teeth bared, jaws snapping down on Soap’s already-injured haunch. A pained wail bursts out of him, raw and instinctual. The force of the impact knocks him onto his side, into the dirt.
Soap twists like a demon, writhing underneath the beast’s grip. He rolls with the momentum of the push, grabbing hold of the wolf’s neck with his own teeth. They roll together, tumbling across the dirt until Soap is positioned on top instead, claws pressing the wolf into the ground, raking down its flank and shredding fur from skin. The feral thing lets out its own shriek, trying with renewed rigor to throw Soap off. It manages to push Soap away from it with its back legs, exposing its face to his gun.
Alejandro takes the opening.
The second bullet is louder than the first. The round punches through the wolf’s neck, and it lets out a gurgled wail, the fight draining out of its body as fast as the blood pooling out from its arteries. It falls limp.
Soap is staggering now. His back leg is completely slack, bearing no weight as he stumbles, his face slick with blood and dust. But despite it, he doesn’t stop moving. He throws himself into the fray again, heading right back toward Rudy, snarling like a man possessed.
There’s only one wolf now, anchored to Rudy’s flank like some sort of disgusting parasite. Its whole head is buried in his side, jaws locked, as if it were trying to dig inside of him. Rudy thrashes beneath its weight, his movements weaker now, his fight drained. His snarls are quickly turning once more into garbled wails.
Alejandro lifts the rifle, but Soap is faster.
He slams into the creature at full force. It’s bigger than him, much more so, but Soap moves like he doesn’t notice. With a brutal lurch, he clamps his jaws onto the base of its skull and shakes. The sound is horrific. A crack, a wet pop. The beast lets out a high, horrible squeal. It spasms like nothing he’s ever seen before, its eyes wide and mouth agape, before it falls limp, twitching in the dust.
And suddenly, like the air being sucked from the world– it’s over.
Alejandro’s moving before his brain even registers it.
He drops down onto his knees, smearing his trousers in blood as they scrape along the dirtied ground. He doesn’t care– his eyes are on Rudy and Rudy alone. Rudy, who even now still wails softly. Rudy, who even after the fight is finished is still desperate to crawl away from an unseen foe, paws moving lethargically against the dust.
“Easy, Rudy, easy-” He starts, pressing a hand onto his partner’s shoulder. His voice is meant to soothe, to calm, but Rudy’s useless fight is renewed with vigor. He presses firmer, easily rooting the wolf to the ground with just one palm. The thought makes him feel violently ill. Rudy shouldn’t be easy to subdue. Rudy was strong, he was powerful. Alejandro had seen what he was capable of in this form of his. He shouldn’t be like this- reduced to… to…
His face crumples. His hand, still pressing down, rubs circles across lines of untouched fur. There’s little of it, but it seemed as if Rudy’s harness had protected him somewhat. Slowed the teeth and claws, even if just for a little while. Small mercies. “Rodolfo.” He tries once more, “Lie still, okay?”
But Rudy does not listen. He squirms and writhes beneath his grip, those heartwrenching cries of pain mixing in with aggressive, panicked snarls. His muscles twitch and pulse with each desperate attempt to get up. To flee. To fight back.
He leans closer. Presses his free hand to the back of Rudy’s head. Firm, yet soft. He cups it, gently, fingers intertwining with matted fur, curling behind the base of his flattened ears. "Shh, no te muevas, Rudy.” He murmurs to him, voice a soothing, steady rumble. At least, he hopes it is. “Quédate quieto."
Rudy’s ears flicker, swiveling slightly. A breathy, confused whine ripples from his throat.
“Aquí estoy,” He continues, scrubbing his fingers gently through his fur. He leans closer, pressing a kiss to the little inch of fur on his cheek, unmarred by blood or dirt. “No me voy a ir, ¿sí?”
Recognition returned some life to Rudy’s soulless, hazy brown eyes. Alejandro couldn’t help but smile wetly as he felt a tail weakly thump against his thigh. "Así, así…” He pressed another kiss to his cheek, “shh."
There’s a soft thud, nearby.
Alejandro glances up to find Soap, just a mere metre away, collapsed onto the floor beside them. His breathing is rough, ragged and heavy, but his eyes are open and wide, alert, more so than Rudy, at least. He’s conscious, and aware.
“Thank you.” He rasps out to Soap. Soap simply blinks back at him. “God, thank you.”
—
This is my first fic back in what feels like eons. Sad to say you shouldn't expect more, though I've got an interest in finishing/cleaning this up/having a whole little mini recovery set of drabbles of the aftermath, but it's deep in the works/a sideline project.
It (in its current state) involves a lot of cute cuddles, medical care, hurt/comfort and other dope shi, very nice, very cool. But very, very unfinished.
I think the theory that Ghost could understand Spanish the whole time is extra funny to me bc of the comment Rudy makes that he’s “scared of ghosts” when they first meet and Ghost was prob like alright so this is clearly Alejandro’s little sergeant who says stuff he shouldn’t, good to know we all have one
OG Soap: Where the hell am I? What the hell happened??
Ghost: You're in our base, 141-
OG Soap: ....
OG Soap: Are you Ghost? Simon? Simon Riley?
Ghost: Yeah...?
OG Soap: You got taller.
Ghost: I did?
OG Soap: Cooler voice, too.
Ghost: Thanks?
OG Soap: You're still fucking emo though, why is that the reoccurring thing?
Captain Price: Recruits! As part of your training you can pick your Captain who will be leading you through said training here at 141. Make your selections now, please.
Recruits: ...
Captain Price: Don't be scared now, kids. It's pathetic. Go stand by whichever Captain you want.
Recruits: *Scrambling towards Captain Mactavish*
Captain Price: Are you fucking kidding me.
Captain Mactavish: *Fucking crying with laughter*
Captain Price: Well at least I've got.. one. One recruit.
Captain Mactavish: Hey, kid! You can hop off his dick, it's alright, it's pretty much dust anyway. Pick who you really want!
Recruit: ...
Recruit: *Scrambles over to Soap*
Captain Price: FUCKS SAKE JOHN!
Captain Mactavish: RIGHT BACK AT YA JOHN!
Me playing MW 2022: Yo I love Nikolai omg hot Russian man such a cutie pie I'd let him hit.
Me playing OG MW: I hate you so fucking much you ugly son of a bitch why are you so annoying even without saying ANYTHING??? GET AWAY FROM MEEEEEEE
Rodolfo: H-How did you know I was gay?
Laswell: *snaps fingers*
Laswell: Oh honey, I knew just from looking at you.
Rodolfo: ...?
Laswell: I'm... I'm trying to be hip. Cool with the kids, y'know?
Rodolfo: .........
Rodolfo: I'm 38...
Soap, sighing: I had to retire a piercing today. Shame. Loved it so much.
Ghost: Soap, you don't have any face piercings?
Soap: (⚈₋₍⚈)
Ghost: Soap why are you looking at me like that?
Soap: ( ˵ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Ghost: Johnny stop you're scaring me
Soap: I'm in love with a troll
Ghost: Come again? A what?
Soap: A troll...
Soap: Floyd the troll
Ghost: Are you talking about that fucking children's film????!
Soap: Let me take you to a better placeeeee~
Ghost: SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU'RE NOT IN LOVE WITH A TROLL
Soap: I'm in love with a fucking troll, Simon, deal with it. He's more than you'll ever be.
Graves: I hate British people.
Rodolfo: I hate you you're so fucking ugly and gross and cruel and I bet you eat fucking poptarts for dinner everyday cause you can't cook, you American twinkie-bar.
Graves: I wasn't even insulting you?!??
Alejandro: Sorry, he does this sometimes. Rudy, no.
Rodolfo: Did you just fucking 'Rudy no' me like a dog?
Rodolfo: I'm going to commit mass genocide and you two are first.
Alejandro: Not this again- Rudy we've been over this, no mass genocides.
Rodolfo: You're not my dad!
Graves: I think I'm going to leave..
Rodolfo: No. You stay right. Fucking. Here. Amigo.
Graves: I'm scared
Alejandro: You should be.
Soap, captured by Graves: Let me tell you something, Mr.
Graves: ... what?
Soap: I think you should E-N-D your L-I-F-E. B-E-... Ghost, pss, Ghost.
Ghost, tied up next to him: What?
Soap: How do you spell because?
Ghost: .........
Ghost: B-E-C-A-U-S-E?
Soap: What he said- Y-O-U. S-U-C-K. B-I-T-C-H.
Ghost: Just put a B-U-L-L-E-T in my skull already, Graves.
141 + Laswell + Nik + Roach
Price: Soldier. 100% That man is a soldier player and you cannot convince me otherwise. He wouldn't know how to play anyone else.
Ghost: Dabbles in all sorts, mostly Reaper. He likes the dark, edgy characters, but his secret side-main who he'll never speak about publicly is Mercy.
Gaz: Baptiste. But he also adores Ashe.
Roach: Cassidy. He loves his voicelines (and his looks, though he won't admit it outloud)
Soap: Junkrat. He doesn't care about teamwork off of the field. Just bombs.
Laswell: Ana. They're identical, I'm telling you. No further reasoning needed.
Nikolai: Pharah. He likes being in the air, even in videogames.
~~~
Los Vaqueros + Valeria
Alejandro: Reinhart. He just charges in there swinging and hoping for the best.
Rodolfo: Lifeweaver. He spends the entire game bringing Alejandro back from the brink of death and wondering why he even bothered introducing Ale to this game in the first place.
Valeria: Sombra. I see no difference between the two. She likes to traumatise Rudy by stalking him.
~~~
KorTac
Graves: Doomfist/Roadhog. Likes being tank, likes being a leader and most importantly, likes harassing semi-innocent people.
König: Widowmaker. He just wants to be a sniper, dammit.
Horangi: Hanzo and Reaper. Spams the most edgiest of voicelines.
~~~
Honourable mentions
Farah: Any hitscan. Ashe, Soldier, Widow.
Alex: Farah's little pocket-puppy- Mercy.
Alejandro: Hey, Rudy, I-
Rodolfo, startling and shoving something out of sight: Oh hey, Ale'!
Alejandro: Rudy.
Rodolfo: Ale'.
Alejandro: Give it.
Rodolfo: No?
Alejandro: I told you to stop making those.
Rodolfo, acting innocent: Making what?
Alejandro: I KNOW YOU'VE GOT A FUCKING VOODOO DOLL, HAND IT OVER. NOW.
Rodolfo, handing over his mini Graves voodoo doll: But Colonellll-
Alejandro: None of this, go to your room.
Rodolfo: I'M IN MY FUCKING ROOM!
Alejandro: WELL YOU'RE GROUNDED THEN!
Rodolfo: I'M THIRTY-THREE!??? YOU DON'T OWN ME
Alejandro: I KIND OF DO???
Rodolfo: YOU'RE NOT MY DAD!
Alejandro: YOU DON'T HAVE ONE ANYWAY. MADE A DOLL OF HIM YET, HUH? OH WAIT YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE
Rodolfo: ..
Alejandro: Too far?
Rodolfo: Give me back my Graves toy and I'll forgive you
Alejandro: Fuck off you're grounded
Rodolfo: MOTHERFUCKER???!!
