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@your1nonlyaspen
some fucking resources for all ur writing fuckin needs
body language masterlist
a translator that doesn’t eat ass like google translate does
a reverse dictionary for when ur brain freezes
550 words to say instead of fuckin said
638 character traits for when ur brain freezes again
some more body language help
REBLOG TO SAVE A WRITER
acts like him too mii thinks
umm not sure if i like this but omegaverse kinda-neglected reader! x tf141 (ghost focus at the end), angst, good ending, gn!reader, SFW
You’re a beta. That should come as a relief, many tell you every day they wish they were your designation instead. No heats, no ruts, not even stinking up a room when you got a bit too overwhelmed by an emotion.
Just in the middle: a nice calming scent, a decent paying job— never too high, a beta CEO wouldn't be able to control anything— and the lack of any crazy season that would get you all flustered. Your sense of smell was incredibly different to theirs, but you werent given much chances to complain considering all they went through in heats.
So naturally you were taught your life revolved around alphas and omegas, all the way from secondary school when you were sat next to the reactive Alpha’s to “try and make them behave better”. In biology class your designation was skimmed over very quickly in favour of understanding how to react to their emotional changes and the like, and anything else you had to figure out for yourself.
It’s not like getting out of school into the workforce was much better. Omega’s rights had changed greatly in the past century, and no one would bat an eye at them being in most jobs— so applying was even more impossible. Even when you did get into the workplace, it was like alpha’s would immediately stop listening when there was an omega in the room, or vice versa. Truthfully you were jealous of their natural pull to each other, like the relationships you’d read in books or see in swoon worthy movies.
Gaz isn't safe in any universe, apparently.
U get doggy soap bc i like u like that
You don’t have to show me anything, or be anyone else. If this is how you survive, at least let me fix that little wooden tail.
-BONUS-
Initial idea for the third and fourth panel :3
Hanging out
Soap - Fluff
You and Johnny had a family. You both had 1 daughter. Rosalind. She had brown luscious locks and bright blue eyes, almost a carbon copy of her father.
Recently, You and Rosalind were basically in a screaming match after she had apparently fought someone at school. Johnny was in the kitchen sipping his tea watching his 2 girls argue. (it was entertaining). Rosalind, who was clutching her pikachu plush (yes she loves pokemon) threw it towards your feet.
You stared at it for a full 1 second and 0.50 milliseconds before she yelled out:
“Pikachu! Use thunderbolt”
Cue in Johnny wheezing the life out of him in the background snorting tea outta his nose while you stared at the pikachu currently on the floor and back at her with a ‘really?’ expression.
Gaz fluff
Sibling fluff ^^
You, on this unfortunate day, your period arrived. dun dun dunnnnnn. Your brother, Kyle. (you had 2 other siblings, one sister and one brother) Kyle was most definitely the oldest, you being the second oldest, your other brother being the 2nd youngest and lastly your little sister.
Every month, when the time came they had this.. Protection ritual. Your brother and Kyle would slip chocolate bars, whatever you like under your door and then scream “SATAN HAS BEEN FED!!!!” like it was bloody mary.
Your sister, was the photographer. (somehow. One of them taught her to use a phone.)
Part three of Reader having a dog named Ghost [part one] [part two]
“How did you get into my house.”
You just stand there in the doorway, keys still in your hand, staring.
Because there is absolutely, unequivocally, no reason that three fully grown men should be scattered around your goddamn living room like they live here.
The guy in the boonie hat (Price you had learned the other night when this whole thing began) is by your bookshelf like he’s evaluating your taste in literature- you don't even know what he thinks of it and somehow you're already a little offended. Gaz is half sunk into your armchair, looking suspiciously comfortable. Soap is in your kitchen holding a mug that very much did not belong to him five minutes ago.
All three of them freeze.
“We just wanted to see how your dog was doing,” Gaz says smoothly, with the confidence of a man who thinks he’s charming enough to get away with it.
You blink. “…That didn’t answer my question.”
Price tips his head in your direction, an infuriating little almost smile in his beard. “Thought we’d come check in after he had a rough go at it the other night.”
“Still not an answer,” you say flatly, already sliding your bag off your shoulder. Your fingers find the can of mace in the front pocket and curl around it. Just in case.
Soap takes a sip from your mug. “Bonnie wee lad, that dog. Cracked a smile out of Lt, even. That’s a bloody miracle, that is.”
“You are all very good at saying words that aren’t ‘we broke into your house,’” you say, narrowing your eyes. You casually set your keys down on the entryway table and, with equal casualness, hook your fingers around the handle of the baseball bat propped beside it, dragging it just a little closer. “I’m not saying I’m calling the cops, but I’m also not not saying it.”
Price looks at the bat, then at you. “No need for all that, love.”
“Then answer the question.”
Silence.
Price clears his throat. “We just wanted to see how your dog was doing.”
You stare at him.
You very pointedly click the safety cap off your mace.
Soap calls from the kitchen, “I like the little magnets on yer fridge. Very homey.”
“You” you say, very slowly, never breaking eye contact with Price, “are not going to distract me with compliments about my magnets.”
Price’s gaze flicks to the bat now resting within your hand. Gaz raises both palms like you’re a skittish animal. “Look, yeah, we’re not here to hurt you, alright? We just… dropped by. No harm done.”
“Again,” you say sweetly, “not an answer.”
There’s a muffled thump from the living room. A low rumble, almost like…
You squint past Price, edging further into the hallway. “Wait, where’s my dog?”
Soap, unhelpful as ever, chirps, “Living room.”
You take a step forward, dragging the bat along the floor with a soft scrape, mace still clutched in your other hand. “If you hurt him, I swear to God-”
“Nobody hurt him,” Gaz insists quickly, moving aside to let you pass. His eyes flick pointedly toward the couch. “He’s, uh. He’s grand, actually.”
You round the corner of the sofa-
-and stop dead.
Because sprawled on your living room rug is a pile.
On the bottom: one (1) Ghost-the-human, massive, flat on his back, mask on, arms loosely banded around-
On top: one (1) Ghost-the-dog, draped across his chest like a weighted blanket, head tucked under the man’s jaw, tail giving a slow, contented wag.
You blink once.
Twice.
Slowly lift your bat a little higher.
“…Did you drug him?”
“What? No!”Soap says reflexively. "Were drug tested at work, hen!"
You level a scowl at him, then jab the end of the bat in the direction of the canine Ghost, who does not even bother to lift his head. “Not him. My dog. Did you drug my dog?”
He realizes his mistake an winces. “Right. Not the point.”
“Did. You. Drug. My. Dog.”
“No,” Price cuts in, hands spread placatingly. “Nobody gave him anything. He came over on his own.”
“After about ten minutes of starin’ at Lt from across the room,” Gaz adds under his breath. “Like he knew where the treats were.”
Your grip loosens a fraction around the bat. Your eyes flick back to the heap on the floor.
Ghost-the-dog has officially clocked your presence. His tail starts wagging harder. He doesn’t move off Ghost-the-human, but his ears perk and he lets out a low, pleased little huff, snuggling in closer like this is the best day of his life.
Your heart does something embarrassing in your chest.
“Ohhh,” you sigh, bat dropping as your shoulders sag in relief. “Oh, what a good boy.”
You’re on your knees beside them before any of them can blink, the bat clattering harmlessly to the floor.
“There’s my baby,” you coo, immediately burying your hands into your dog’s fur. You shove your face into the side of his stomach, inhaling the familiar warm, doggy smell, kissing at his ribs. “Ohh, look at you, being so brave and friendly with new people, I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Such a big, strong boy. Oh, mommy’s big brave man, huh?”
Ghost-the-human makes a sound.
It’s quiet. It’s strangled. It’s somewhere between a hiccup and a whine, punched out of him like someone knocked the wind from his lungs.
Your dog wiggles happily under your praise, pressing his full weight down onto Ghost’s chest. His fingers spasm in the dog’s fur, breathing one shallow, ragged under the mask; every inhale hitches like he’s trying (and failing) not to chase the sound of your voice. The praise isn’t even directed at him, but it doesn’t matter. Each “good boy” sinks teeth first into the place behind his ribs where control usually lives.
Soap and Gaz watch from the sidelines like they’re courtside at the most unhinged sporting event of their lives.
“Look at him,” Soap whispers, eyes wide, grin feral. “He’s away with the fairies.”
Gaz deadpans, “This is actually the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Price just exhales like a man who has smoked too many cigarettes and seen too much war.
You are oblivious.
Because you have your hands under your dog’s chin now, scritching his neck while he melts into a puddle atop one very large, very silent lieutenant.
“Ohh, are you makin’ friends?” you babble, tilting your head, nose scrunching as you smile down at him. “Are you showin’ mommy who’s a good judge of character? Huh? You like them, baby? Yeah? You like the nice soldiers?”
Ghost’s breathing picks up.
He stares at you from behind the mask, eyes blown wide, every muscle in his body drawn tight. You’re so close he can smell your shampoo, feel the warmth of your breath when you laugh.
You press a kiss right between your dog’s eyebrows, cheek smushed into his fluff, and murmur, “That’s my good boy. My bestest boy. Mommy trusts your judgment so much, you know that? You did such a good job lettin’ people love you. I’m so proud of you, Ghost.”
Ghost-the-human has to dig the back of his head into the carpet to keep from making another noise. His hips twitch entirely against his will; one sharp, helpless jerk upward that everyone sees. His whole body has gone liquid under the weight of the dog and the weight of your words.
You finally peel yourself away from your dog long enough to glance up at the three intruders.
“Okay,” you say, a little breathless, our hand stays buried in fur, stroking slow, soothing lines down the pup’s spine- lines that end up ghosting over Ghost-the-human's ribs. “I guess you can stay since Ghost vouches for you.”
Soap brightens. “Aye? That easy, then?”
You shrug, turning your attention right back to your pup, scratching behind his ears. “I trust Ghost’s judgment.”
Ghost-the-human makes another microscopic full body flinch under the dog that only trained soldiers would notice, his eyes slamming shut, another tiny, desperate whine slipping free.
You nuzzle your dog’s nose, voice slipping straight back into baby talk. “Yeah, mommy trusts you so much, doesn’t she? My sweet, smart boy. If you like ‘em, they can stay, huh? Such a good boy, sharin’ your home. Mommy’s so, so proud of you.”
Ghost-the-human swallows hard enough they can practically hear it. His fingers curl in your dog’s fur like a lifeline. Heat throbs through his gut, heavy and insistent, every word you say worming under his skin, straight into the parts of him that have never been soft for anyone.
His head lolls to the side. His breathing evens out into something slow, hazy, trance like. The tension bleeds from his shoulders, his thighs, everywhere. He’s still under the dog, still trembling faintly, but the fight is gone. He’s deep, deep in that floaty, warm, obedient place where nothing exists except your voice and the approval pouring out of it.
Price watches his lieutenant, then looks at you, still cheerfully smushing your face into your dog’s tummy like this isn’t absolutely wrecking a highly trained special forces operator on your living room floor.
He exhales slowly.
“Right then,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Tea, anyone?”
Simon - Ghost
cute fluff
You had just finished your afternoon shift at the coffee shop. You had made it back home to your shared apartment with Simon.
To your surprise, a note laid leaning against the door and… a nerfgun..? You skimmed through the note.
“ Girlfriend -
Welcome home. I'm hiding somewhere in the house with a nerf gun. Here's the other one..
Loser makes dinner >:)
May the odds ever be in your flavor.
xoxo, boyfriend.”
Your face lit up with a grin.
Game on.
You grabbed the nerf gun and used your keys to open the door, plopping down your bag onto the marble counter.
You scanned the living room, under the couch, in the cabinets, and behind the shelves to no avail.
You continued to tip toe around the house, in the bathroom, in the kitchen, and finally the bedroom you shared with Simon. You opened the wardrobe door to peer inside as you felt a rubbery, small thing hit your shoulder. You peered over your shoulder to stare at Simon.
He stood there, the nerf gun in hand standing there ominously.
You turned around slowly before you went on a fucking rampage.
You shot bullets at him aimlessly and recklessly, hitting him in the face.
Later…
You sat in Simon's lap holding an ice pack to his bruised cheek
“Look, I'm sorry Simon.”
“Not hearing it.”
He'd cross his arms his face in a cute pout.
What about some fluff with Soap who, with German Shephard shifter!reader, is completely oblivious you're a shifter?
Everyone knew you were a K9 shifter. Everyone but Soap knew, apparently, seeing as how you were in shifted form in the rec room alongside Soap who was determined to move you off of your own damn seat.
He tugged on your collar gently but with insistence, obviously not seeing your name printed across the leather fabric. You, in return, growled with your teeth baring for a few moments before nipping him on his wrist.
At that moment, Price and Gaz had walked into the room, followed closely by Ghost. Price stopped dead in his tracks at the scene playing before him. Gaz stifled a laugh, while Ghost crossed his arms with a shake of his head. See, you were a newer addition to the team. You've only been with the 141 for two weeks, now, and it became painfully obvious Soap zoned out throughout the briefing that was describing your abilities what you were like.
"Price, it bit me arm!" Soap whined, poking your shoulder before standing up. Price, on the other hand, sighed in exasperation before turning to you.
"Get up, Private." he commanded, but not in an unkind manner - moreso amused. You, growling, hopped down from the couch and shifted back into your normal, human form. You could hear Soap practically scream when you suddenly were standing next to him, but your eyes were on Price.
"I was comfortable," you muttered. "Very comfortable."
That led to Soap eventually gasping in absolute adoration and continued to follow you around for the rest of the day, begging to see you in your K9 form once more so he could squish your face and tell you what a good puppy you are.
And your tail wagged the whole time.
Thinking abt Ghost catching you rolling down the halls with a mop and a janitor's bucket
(Based off of this image)
"Assault vehicle acquired!!" Was all Ghost heard before you zoomed past him. He stared, dumbfounded as he finally registered the image his eyes sent to his brain.
this came to me in a dream and I'm now writing this half asleep
Headcanons about CoD guys reacting to a mouse
Have a small blurb of you stealing their clothes hehe :3
Walking around base wearing Kyle's hat was quite normal now.
Except the only issue was, Kyle never consented to you stealing his hat. So, basically, whenever he came across you in the halls with his hat on -- he always yoinked it right off of your head with a "not yours," or a playful "give it here, love."
You lived for stealing his hat, and you were his bane of existence. The perfect duo, of course!
Soldiers always side-eyed you when they saw the "LT. RILEY" plastered across your back on the hoodie you wore.
It's like they knew you stole the hoodie from your lieutenant. Like they knew your dirty little gremlin mitts would sneak into his room at the barracks and take a hoodie of your liking. Whenever you came across the man himself, he would just stop and look you dead in the eyes.
"Make sure you wash it," is all Simon would say before he let you continue on with your day.
Surely Johnny wouldn't miss a wrist watch, right?
After all, it felt much more comfortable on your wrist than it probably did his. It even had this cute little unicorn on the inside of the band he probably didn't want anyone seeing. Too bad you saw it, but you aren't a snitch. You'll keep his secret. When Johnny ate next to you at the mess, he raised an eyebrow and nodded his chin towards your wrist. "That's mine, no?" he had asked.
At your nod, he only smiled and shrugged. "Keep it."
God forbid you take Price's boonie hat.
That old thing has seen probably decades worth of wars, old to the point if you touch it, it may decintegrate. You took it anyways. Oh, but your captain was furious. Stomping around all hatless and angry like you took his nonexistent child. As soon as his eyes landed on you, talking with other sergeants and wearing his hat.. You were fucked.
"Is that all you got, Sergeant?" Price shouted at you as you ran your twentieth lap carrying your tac gear. You were in for a long day, but you'd do it again purely for the reaction it got out of him.
Jst some random soap fluff that i thought of
I suck at writing soap's accent so excuse me sorry
not proofread
You send them this
Short'n'sweet fluff
Johnny would immediately run to find you and recreate that image. Proceeds to send multiple "us" images and memes afterwards
Kyle would send you a heart emoji (your favorite color heart emoji) and skedaddle over to you and hug you and gets really clingy because u sent him that
Simon doesn't really use his phone but when he does he loves seeing ur little things u send him. He responds in person, pulling u into a hug and kissing ur forehead
Price only uses burner phones so u show him the picture in-person. He says "awh, tha's cute, love." pulls u into a side-hug and kisses u
Smth smth Kyle with a pet parrot that loves to mimic your voice
You've left on a solo operation a week ago, and Kyle was already going crazy.
His parrot - Clementine - insists on using your voice when she decides to speak. He knows its not you, but being as emotionally attatched to you as it is, he starts to get irrational. Kyle had Clementine for about a year now, and he'd quickly realized that she was going to be a menace. But he now thinks of her as a mini you.
At the mess hall, she'd mimic your "Kyle, what's for lunch?" Or in the briefing room, she'd say "We should call in an airstrike."
..Which admittedly was your answer for all issues.
But moving past that, Kyle never really got lonely without you because his bird was practically a mini you! He was able to call you - I mean Clementine - all sorts of cute names that normally you wouldn't allow to be called yourself.
"Who's my adorable little menace? You are!" He said one day as he stroked Clementine's head. Unbeknownst to Kyle, you had just gotten back from your solo operation and witnessed him cooing over Clementine.
"Aww, Kyle, I think she likes that." You'd say suddenly, and he would screech like a little girl and fall off of the couch he sat upon. Heavily breathing, he'd say:
"Welcome back!"
As if he wasn't just cooing over a bird that he imagined was a little you.
