#fantasy john price

[dragonbe-writing]

Fallen Feathers

Fantasy AU ft. Knight!John Price

Summary: John Price is sent out by the king to hunt a monster. He wanders through the woods and finds a girl, living alone who wishes not to be seen.

This is Part 1 of a series

Word Count: ~2K

Author's Note: Hello! It's been a while. I've had this story idea typed up for nearly a year and just couldn't get comfortable with it. But I've been inspired by @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world 's fantasy AU, and decided just to post this and see what happens. Enjoy!

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck as he made it to the top of the hill. He looked out over the basin, the sun rising behind him and casting shade from the trees out onto the village below. The village- Edriel (Ee-drill), -was already bustling with life in the early hours. Farm-help out watering crops before the sun wilted them, mothers cooking breakfast for the little ones before their day of chores and play, priests walking through to say their blessings and good mornings. 

A world of intimacy, a world of peace. 

The very things John had sworn to protect, the very reason he was on this hill in the first place. He was a Commander, a third-rank Knight sent out to protect the village. His village. The place he’d grown up, the place he devoted his life and servitude to. 

A monster lived in the forest, he was told. The King ordered him to find and slay the monster. So, John turned away from the village, and headed into the forest.

He used his sword to cut through the thick brush, heading for… well, he wasn’t sure. The King wouldn’t give him a description of the monster- perhaps he didn’t have one. But if he didn’t have one, then was John just chasing a rumor? He had been under the King since he was a boy, it was a little insulting to be sent on a goose chase. 

Slice.

He was a Commander, for God’s sake! A third rank Knight- a position he had worked hard for. And here he was, running around the forest, looking for something that wasn’t even there. 

Slice.

This is a rookie’s task, he figured. Something to keep them busy, to test their loyalty.

Slice.

Perhaps the King was becoming senile in his old age. Or maybe John was just upset at the mission. He saw the way the other Commanders smirked when he was given his task. It was embarrassing, especially after a life of devotion. 

Slice.

The brush cleared away, revealing a secluded area that looked… cared for. He crouched under a branch, keeping his sword at the ready- just in case. A small stream ran near his feet, water as clear as he’d ever seen. There was a garden, and even a house. It looked similar to the Edriel houses, however it was poorly built. Things seemed to be added over time: patches to the roof, new ties for the wood. He studied it carefully, jumping when he heard a noise from inside the house. 

“Who’s there?” a woman asked from inside the house. She sounded human. 

“I am a Commander of Edriel’s army. I am coming in,” he said, sword raised as he opened the door. 

The house was small, just enough for one person. The curtain was closed, engulfing the house in darkness. He could tell she was in the corner, but he couldn’t see her. 

“Open the curtain,” he ordered, his voice coming out gruff. 

“...I’d rather not,” she said quietly, her body pressed against the walls. “I-I am horribly burned, I’d prefer not to be seen.” 

John lowered his sword, putting it back in its sheath. “Yes ma’am,” he said in a much softer voice. It was a foreign feeling. It had been ages since he had spoken so softly. “...what is your name?”

She went quiet, and it sounded as though she was shuffling on her feet. A wave of realization washed over him. He had broken into this poor woman’s home and demanded to see her. She was probably terrified. 

“I am John Price, a proud Knight of Edreil,” he started, hands behind his back as he respectfully tipped his head. After a few moments of silence, she spoke. 

“Adelaide,” she said quietly. 

“Adelaide… what?”

“Just Adelaide.”

A tense silence covered them. He cleared his throat, looking around the house. “..Okay, Adelaide. I apologize for my rude intrusion. If I may… why do you live out here?” he asked.

“People do not stare at me out here. It is peaceful,” she said. “What has you out here?”

He hesitated. His business was embarrassing, but if anyone knew where a monster was, it would be her. He took a breath. “The King has sent me out in search of a monster.”

“A monster?” she asked, voice pitching higher. 

“Do not worry,” he said quickly, raising a hand in front of him. “I will take care of it, you will be of no harm.”

“What does it look like?”

Another pause, this one longer. He let out a low sigh, his chainmail armor clinking as he raised a hand to run through his hair. 

“...You do not know?” 

“...no, ma’am.”

He swore he heard her snort. “What kind of king sends a knight out with no description?” 

He huffed, rolling his eyes. “You’d be a fool to talk poorly of the King in front of one of his knights,” he said dryly.

“Are you going to detain me?” she asked with a hint of amusement.

“I could,” he responded quickly, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He was met with silence, to which he sighed. “Do you know of any monster living around here?” 

“...no. But, I will be weary,” she said to him, any details of emotion stripped from her voice.

He gave her a nod and turned to leave. “Good day, ma’am,” he said, closing the door to her home and going out the way he came. 

As he continued his search for the monster, he thought about her. Was she truly so badly burned that she must live alone? He didn’t remember a fire in the village. 

Perhaps she was from Pulsk? 

No, surely not. Pulsk was a lawless trading post crawling with criminals, monsters, witches- she would not have to move from there, her appearance would not be so bad there. So she must be from Edriel. But he had never heard of a fire that bad- he had never heard of a woman living outside the village. 

How long had she been alone? Who else knew she was there?

~~~~

John was sent out every day for the next week. It seemed he’d be doing this until the monster was found. On the fourth day, he stopped by her area again. 

“Miss?” he called out. He heard a door slam, and saw the curtain in her window close. 

“John?” she asked worriedly. 

“At your service. May I come in? Is it dark enough?” he asked, waiting by the door for her word. 

“Yes,” she called out after a moment. He opened the door, the smell of smoke filling his nose. She must’ve blown out a candle. She was in the same corner as last time. 

The light from the door fell on his face, lighting him up with a glow. He smiled at her, clearing his throat. He shifted a bit uncomfortably on his feet. “How is life out here?” he asked, eyes glancing around as he tried to figure out where to look. 

“Peaceful. Quiet, most days,” she replied. His lips pursed, eyebrows creasing. 

“…Would you like me to leave?” 

“Oh! Oh, I didn’t… I did not mean you,” she clarified quickly. He imagined she looked worried, and he smiled a bit to make her feel better. 

“So, other people visit?” he asked with a grin. 

“Well… no…” she murmured, and he chuckled. It was a deep timbre that reverberated through his chest. 

“Right,” he said. They fell into a silence, and he shifted again. It was difficult having a conversation with someone you couldn’t see. “…do you ever miss the village?” 

He heard ruffling- it must’ve been her clothes. “No. I miss the food sometimes,” she said, watching as he looked around her place. “There used to be a woman who sold pastries. I think about her quite often.” 

He lit up, eyes shining and lips stretched in a smile. “Mrs. Dresel?”

“Yes!” she said, the most enthusiastic he’s ever heard her. “Is she still alive? She was quite old when I last saw her…” 

“Yes, she’s still around. Still making those pastries, too,” he smiled fondly, thinking of them. “I have not visited her in a while,” he thought aloud. 

“Nor have I… for obvious reasons…” she said and the house creaked. John looked around at the roof worriedly. “Oh, it does that,” she said dismissively. 

“…did you build this yourself?” he asked her, eyes scanning over the structure. Pillars of wood, stuck together with what appeared to be mud. The roof was wood planks, with some more mud, and dried straw. Simple, but effective. 

“I did,” she replied, also now looking at it. 

“…it isn’t bad,” he said with a shrug. She let out a laugh. 

“You’re very polite.”

“I’m a Knight.”

She laughed, making his eyes tear away from the roof back to the corner she hid in. He could imagine her, standing there with bright eyes. It made him chuckle. 

“My house isn’t much, but it is mine,” she continued. 

“It’s lovely,” he replied, eyes going back to the structure. “Very impressive.” 

“Thank you,” she replied. “Any luck on finding your monster?” 

He groaned, rolling his eyes. His entire body tensed, lips pressed in a thin line. “No. I’m starting to think the King is playing a trick on me,” he remarked, chainmail clanking. 

“Perhaps he’s gone bad? Like a fruit?” she offered up, amusement clear in her voice. 

“Careful,” he warned, trying not to smirk. “I still work for the man- even if he is a bit mushy.” 

She laughed, a noise that made the corners of his lips turn up. He pictured her shoulders shaking, her smile wide and unapologetic. He wondered how often she laughed out here.

“You’re funny- for a Knight,” she poked, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“D’you have a thing against Knights?” he asked, arms crossed over his chest but a smile on his lips. 

“They haven’t always been kind to me,” she remarked, making his mood change. His arms fell to his sides, and his eyebrows creased as his smile vanished. 

“Then you must’ve been doing something you weren’t supposed to,” he replied with a bit of an edge. A blanket of tension wrapped around her house. 

“…do you take me for a criminal, John?”

He thought in silence for a couple moments, before finally replying. “No, I suppose not,” he muttered, almost begrudgingly. Though, if a Knight had been rude to her, it was likely deserved. “Never mind.”

They fell into silence, the air thicker than the smoky scent of her home. She huffed a bit, more rustling heard. “Don’t you have a monster to catch?” she asked, voice carrying a sharpness to it. 

He cleared his throat, chainmail clunking as he readjusted himself. “Indeed. Have a good day, Miss Adelaide,” he said politely, before turning and leaving her house, door closing behind him. 

Perhaps she was a criminal. Why else would a knight have been rude to her? It would make sense, her living out here by herself. He would have to go through the old town logs, see if the name Adelaide appeared. Though, it might be difficult without a last name. 

He was ducked under the branch again, leaving the area she had claimed. He huffed, wiping the sweat on his neck with his handkerchief. 

What if she wasn’t a criminal? What if she was just horribly burned? He still could not remember a fire that bad- though, if he looked through the logs… 

He had taken his horse, Obsidian, with him today. He gently pet her nose, sighing softly. “C’mon, old girl,” he said, hoisting himself up onto the saddle. “Back to the castle- let’s get you an apple, hmm?” 

#call of duty #captain price #john price #captain john price #cod mw22 #writing #fanfic #cod #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #fantasy john price #Fallen Feathers #im nervy about this LMAO #ive edited this first part like a billion times #knight!price #knight!au #knight!johnprice

[saucywendeee]

👻🧼 - Fantasy AU Dark Mage/Prince

#always gotta add fantasy to my ships ;))) #ghost is a dark mage that is also an eldritch being #soap is an adventurous prince #ghost saves soap by accident but soap persists that ghost becomes his personal knight #it wouldn't have to do with the fact that soap felt love at first sight or anything like that no no no #ghost may or may not have to be his personal knight because the knight commander price who he's loyal to told him to #and since knight commander price is in charge of protecting the royal family he may have heard prince soap constantly raving about someone #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #john soap mactavish #John Mactavish #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #MW2 #mw2 soap #cod #cod mw2 #fantasy au #fanart #my art #fantasy #digital art #art #digital illustration #illustration

[peachesofteal]

Fae!Price/female reader This is a little piece of Long and Lost from this world.

Inside the pub on main, there is a girl. 

She’s a normal girl, to most, perfectly ordinary in nearly every way. She works her job, sees her coworkers, visits the darkly lit bar for a pint every now and then. Within the throngs of people drinking and eating and laughing, she appears like any other. Dark eyes watching the television with mild interest, glancing across other people’s faces politely. A brown coat, dusky orange scarf, a pair of blue jeans. Black leather boots that are scuffed at the toe. She orders a beer, keeps to herself, and minds her manners. She blends in so seamlessly, you’d never take a second look her way if you were in this bar, drinking with your friends, having a laugh. 

The only thing that could possibly distinguish her, is the black ribbed turtleneck. The bartender has never seen in her any other shirt, even in the summer. He assumes it’s because she’s a creature of comfort who likes what she likes, the type who enjoys a staple piece. It’s how he thinks of her, whenever she settles herself at his bar. The turtleneck girl.

He doesn’t know the turtleneck hides the most unique thing anyone in this town would ever see. He doesn’t know that the skin beneath her jaw glows with a sea glass green mark, one that calls to a world beyond a veil, that shines like a lighthouse guiding its lover home through treacherous seas. A mark unique in its shape, size and power, unlike any of this realm, or any realm, save for one.

It’s nearly midnight when they arrive. 

Almost everyone has gone home for the evening, and only the bartender, the turtleneck girl, and the old man linger. 

When the bell chimes, they all glance at the newcomers, and only the girl does not say hello. She does not say anything in fact, choosing to look immediately down into her half empty pint, turning the options over in her mind. The bartender welcomes them, directs them to choose a place a sit, wherever they like, hospitality their kind does not deserve, a truth no one here could know, except for her. The back door is so, so close to where she’s perched, and she could make it, if she ran. If she flew, she could be outside the pub and over the rooftops in seconds, leaving this town to the ash, to the destruction that the 141 will surely wring from its bones, as they do most places, in most realms. 

A trace of power slithers across her skin. It’s a probe, an inquiry of some kind, scratching at the shell surrounding her magic, tapping against the ethereal light that sits trapped inside her chest. Her muscles tense, thighs shaking with the effort to hold still, hold her breathe, hold herself at bay. She wants to explode, wants to Shine inside this pub and shred the Fae hunters to pieces, wipe them from this plane of existence and send them back to their own. 

They’re war addicted, hungry beasts. They don’t belong here. 

But they’re not the only monsters in this room. 

She shoves the power away, shoves it as hard as she can, a pulsing shockwave that rattles the foundation, and leaps from her stool, sprinting out the back door, run, run, run-

She makes it as far as the alley before she feels the Prince’s sun kissed whip around her throat, jerking her backwards like an animal, restraints wrapping around wrists and legs, forcing her to her knees. 

Maybe if she begs, if she cries, they’ll let her go. They’ll spare her. 

“It’s not me.” She croaks, flexing against the sun searing rope that stays taut around her neck. “You’ve made a mistake. Release me.” 

“I don’t think so.” The Prince croons, smiling in a sick, sadistic way that turns her stomach. She rails against the binding, straining with everything inside of her, urging her power up through her pores, wings screaming beneath the sinew at her back. Shine, they cry. Shine and blow them all back to Faerie.

It’s no use. She’s no match for a single Fae in this world, let alone four of the most powerful, not with how weak she’s grown. 

The Captain settles himself on the pavement, bending at the knees, still straight backed and proud, blue eyes meeting her head on. He’s not afraid, does not tremble, does not falter before her like the others who have tried to collect their bounty have. 

“Fuck you.” She sniffs, turning her face away. The other three loom in the background, unmistakable now that they’ve dropped their Glamour. 

The Ghost.

The Chaos.

The Prince.

The 141, in the flesh. 

The Captain rises to his full height, motioning for the Ghost, some sort of magical bond sizzling through the air, communication that burns in the breeze on this cold winter’s night. “You’re in a lot of trouble, little angel. And so far from home, too.” He cocks his head, arms crossed across his chest, and she snarls, snapping her teeth.

“Keep your cretinous fucking hands off me.” She spits, and John Price only smiles, cupping her jaw in a wide, warm palm. 

“No.” 

#we love an enemies to lovers in this house #fae!au #fae!Price #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price #peaches writes #I really just want to write fantasy books like a loser

[taerple]

JOHN PRICE - HIDE AND SEEK

— warning: in no way this is meant to sexualize anyone, this is all entertainment purposes only. thanks for reading.

- stalking. obsessive behavior. harsh language. mention of killing. knife play and smut scenes.

It’s pathetic, I’m pathetic. Knowing that I feel safe and peaceful when my deranged fucking stalker is around everywhere that I am? I do, it makes me sick to even admit it. The safer his presence makes me feel around him, I get terrified of him twice as much. It’s horrifying to know that I could lose my life any day now, not that he wants to kill me, quite the opposite actually.

He wouldn’t— but he could if he wanted to, and I can’t win against him. He loves to see the terrified look etched on my face every time he’s outside of my house, vulnerable and anxious. He wants me to be scared of him.

He loves seeing me cover in the safety of my own house, unable to do anything more than watch as his face contorts with glee whenever he sees me. I hate myself for not being able to fight back, I stand no chance. This man knows me inside out— he can probably predict what I’d do in any and every situation.

I can’t let him get the satisfaction of seeing me tremble within my skin. I can’t let him win every single time he decides to scare me by roaming outside my house, trying to instill a sense of dread inside me. I can’t even talk to anyone without making sure they don’t lose their lives— especially guys.

I know that if a guy even wishes to talk to me, he’s probably going to sew their vocals chords shut. No, he’s definitely going to. No amount of security can confine this man. Nothing. Everything I’ve tried has failed. He always finds some way to maneuver around the system. But that’s okay, because this time I’ll show him that I’m not scared of him. Even if I am, like every night, he’ll stop by— he’ll roam around my house like always, sometimes would send me a text message, and then he’ll leave.

But this time I’ll find the perfect moment, just a small crack in his plan and I’ll flee away from here. He’ll be here soon…

Just the thought of him makes my hair stand. I focused on my breathing, listening intently to outside noises. My head whips towards the noise of a branch cracking outside. He’s here.

I grab a knife just in case things don’t go accordingly— and tiptoe towards a window in my living room. I peeked through the tiny opening while looking at his hooded figure, my breath hitches. He halts in his steps, taking out his phone, seeing his fingers rapidly pressing on the screen.

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket before slowly taking it out…

I must be looking good today, seeing how hard you’re staring at me.

Furrowing my brows, I look away from the screen and back at him just to see him looking right directly at me. Shit…

He begins walking west from my front door, starting to roam around my house like usual. I wait for a minute, knowing that he’ll be on the opposite side from my front door, and then I rush towards the door. But I immediately freeze hearing keys jingle. Wait a damn minute, why is he here? He’s supposed to be on the other side.

I hear him inserting the key in the lock. My legs develop a mind of their own as I dashed to the nearest wall and hid behind it. The door cracks open, revealing a tall hooded figure as he starts to walk around. Few minutes later, I hear his footsteps going upstairs. Now’s my chance.

I charge for the door when suddenly I stopped dead in my track. “Going somewhere, my love?” I gulped and slowly turned around and there he was, walking downstairs. I feel the liquid adrenaline pumping through my body. I just froze, I couldn’t even move an inch. His deep British accent voice rings inside my skull.

“You’re too scared to run, aren’t you?” I whimper involuntarily. He’s right. My knees begin to tremble while he grin widens, knowing he got under my skin. I come back to my senses before holding my knife up— my hands slightly shaking violently.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” I muttered out, my voice slightly cracking.

“Do you like games, sweetheart?” He questions challengingly, his words drenched in cockiness. I shake my head slowly. He slightly smirks before continuing.

“How about a game called Hide and Seek? If you can hide for ten minutes without being caught, then I’ll leave, forever.” He raises his eyebrows, studying my face. For someone who has been infatuated with me for almost three months, disappearing altogether in ten minutes doesn’t sound promising. Either way, I don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes— and if ten minutes is all it takes, then so be it.

“Start counting.” He commands, before he exits out of the front door and circling my house— making sure I don’t try to officially run away in the process. There are absolutely no hiding spots in my fucking house. I managed to find a compact space in my closet, just enough for my body to squeeze in.

A few minutes later, I hear the front door close— and his heavy boots clanking on the floor. I count the minutes in my head. Approximately seven minutes later, I realize that I don’t hear him.

I quietly crawl out, making sure I don’t creak my floors— which ends up taking some time to reach. He’s nowhere. I have about fourteen seconds, and it’s over. I swiftly moved— being cautions of my surroundings as I make my way to the front door. Counting down the seconds in my head, I reached for the doorknob, twisting it and flipping the door opened on the last few seconds.

Before I could dashed out, someone grabs me by my waist and pushed me on the hard cold floor— my back colliding harshly with it. “Gotcha. Did you think you can really outsmart me? You have no fucking idea who I am. You can’t get past me even if you wanted to. I hope what I’m going to do next answers your previous questions, yeah?” He hisses before hovering above me— his hands are on my throat, slightly knocking the air out of my lungs.

I struggled, attempting to shove him away but my efforts are futile. Suddenly, he leans down close to me and presses his lips onto mines— this shouldn’t feel good— I shouldn’t like this. The way his lips mould with mine, leaving no space between us. How is tongue explores my mouth greedily, licking into me. How he touches me everywhere. I don’t have a damn choice— I managed to roughly push him off of me, gasping for air. My chest was slightly burning while my heart was racing rapidly.

One of his hands is around my throat while the other grabs the knife is my hand that I had long forgotten about. “What should I do with you, hm?” I struggle against him, but his strong hold is tight. He waves the knife around my cheek, my shaking body risking getting sliced. “Or maybe I should cut that pretty tongue of yours.” He slightly scoffs, the tip of the knife slightly pushing onto my bottom lip, making a tiny cut as blood tickles down my chin.

“Open your mouth.” He orders, and I comply, feeling his grip on my throat slowly loosen. I opened my mouth which was slightly twitching and trembling in fear before he slowly inserts the knife, the flat blunt surface of the cold metal on my tongue— being careful not to cut the inside of my mouth. “Or maybe I should…” his sentence trails off as his eyes set on my throbbing cunt. He slowly leads the tip of the knife between my legs, only a centimeter away from my core. “Take it off.” He demands, gently gazing against my clit through my shorts.

“Come on sweetheart, take ‘em off.” His tone sounds so reassuring but his actions are the complete opposite. My fingers move and hook around the hem of my shorts, pulling them off roughly. I can feel the pool of my arousal painting my thighs and soaking my panties.

His orbs instantly latch down there. “Does this excite you? How fucking adorable.” His smokey laugh pinches my ears, and I feel the humiliation swell my skin. The knife slips under the hem and cuts off the string on both sides.

I gasped— completely bottomless, and aching. He turns his knife around so he grips the sharp metal, the tight grip making his palm start to bleed. The handle stops at my opening— then I feel it slowly pushing inside, causing me to moan slightly. “Come on baby, let it out.” He commanding voice booms out while he thrusts deeper— his thumb circling on my clit roughly.

The pleasure builds more and more until it explodes inside of me, flooding my system with immense pleasure. My eyes flutter shut and my mouth hangs open as my entire body tenses— it’s almost unbearable. He moves my hair aside, pressing his warm lips on my neck and placing featherlight kisses there.

“Good girl.” He praises, before embracing me in his strong arms. “No matter where you go or what you do, you’ll always be my prey— and I’ll always hunt you down.”

#captain john price #captain price x reader #cod mw3 #cod x reader #john price #john price smut #john price x reader #captain price smut #barry sloane #stalker #obsession #stalking fantasy #all fake #barry paul sloane #captain john price x reader #call of duty #taerple

[witchthewriter]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐌𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐬

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆

ENTJ

Slytherin

Lawful Good / Neutral Good

Capricorn Sun, Cancer Moon, Libra Rising

The Mentor: A wise and experienced character who guides and advises the hero, providing knowledge, skills, and guidance.

The Cunning Strategist: this character is known for their intelligence, sharp wit, and ability to manipulate situations to their advantage. They excel in political maneuvering and outsmarting their opponents.

The Fallen Hero: The Fallen Hero archetype represents a character who was once noble or heroic but has fallen from grace. They may have succumbed to their flaws, made tragic mistakes, or been corrupted by power. The Fallen Hero often grapples with guilt, redemption, or the desire to reclaim their former glory.

I will always see John as some type of leader. A leader of a wolf pack, or the King's Guard. Even a team of immortals. His task force would shift between each universe, but his station always stays the same. Price is the eldest and the leader of the men.

𝑺𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝑹𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒚

INTJ

Ravenclaw

Neutral Good

Capricorn Sun, Scorpio Moon, Virgo Rising

The Guardian: A character who protects or defends a person, place, or idea, often serving as a source of strength and support. I can see him taking stray kids under his wing, and taking care of them.

The Knight: Is a character archetype in stories that embodies chivalry, honor, and a strong sense of duty. I think the strong sense of duty is most previlent here. I think he would even be the King's Champion.

The Rebel: A character who challenges authority, norms, or societal expectations, often seeking change or liberation. After seeing all the pain and suffering from the villagers/those less fortunate around him, he would snap. Wanting to help them.

Simon reminds me of both Geralt and Sandor Clegane. I think he would do well both within a group setting (with his teammates) or going out and doing something indepedently.

𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏𝒏𝒚 𝑴𝒂𝒄𝑻𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒉

ESFP

Ravenclaw

Neutral Good / Chaotic Good

Aquarius Sun, Taurus Moon, Sagittarius Rising

The Trickster: A mischievous and cunning character who uses wit and deception to achieve their goals or disrupt the plans of others.

The Wise Fool: The Wise Fool archetype is a character who appears foolish or simple-minded on the surface but possesses unexpected wisdom or insight. They often use humor and unconventional behavior to challenge social norms, offer unique perspectives, or deliver profound truths.

The Loyal Companion: The Loyal Companion archetype is a faithful and devoted ally to the protagonist. They offer unwavering support, loyalty, and may serve as a moral compass or voice of reason.

I think Johnny is a bit of a difficult one, because he's both humorous - which can place him in the archetype of jokester & comedic relief. But maybe thast just makes him ... a wild card? Hence I think that' why people often give him the hybrid of werewolf.

𝑲𝒚𝒍𝒆 𝑮𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌

ISFP

Gryffindor

Chaotic Good

Gemini Sun, Virgo Moon, Cancer Rising

The Romantic Interest: A character who forms a romantic connection or relationship with the protagonist, often adding depth and emotional tension to the story.

The Underdog: A character who faces significant challenges or disadvantages but ultimately triumphs against the odds.

The Sage: The Sage archetype represents wisdom, knowledge, and enlightenment. Sages are often revered for their insights and serve as a source of guidance or counsel for the protagonist.

God this man could fit into so many archetypes. He is just ... the perfect character. He can still have character development, however, he can still be put forward as a fully formed character. Romantic, loving, intelligent, mindful. He likes to sit back and learn about others. He's diligent in that way (hence the Underdog). I also think he's so wise. Especially for his age. And he feels the most magically inclined out of the rest of the men.

𝑲𝒐̈𝒏𝒊𝒈

ISTP

Hufflepuff

Chaotic Neutral

Aries Sun, Aquarius Moon, Leo Rising

The Outcast: A character who is marginalized or rejected by society, often possessing unique abilities, insights, or perspectives.

The Beast: A character or entity often found in stories that represents the primal, untamed, and instinctual aspects of human nature or the natural world.

The Antihero: is an archetype is a character who lacks traditional heroic qualities but still engages in heroic actions. They often possess flaws, ambiguity, or morally gray motivations.

I think there are many different ways of looking at Konig. Physically he's a powerhouse - tall asf, a tad arrogant (only because of his voicelines), somewhat dramatic. But some have written him as toxic, others like to baby girl him. I think he's a bit similar to Simon but there's more distrust about him.

What would really be great is the task force as the Knights of the Round table. I think I could see Simon or Johnny as Arthur and Kyle or Price as Merlin (obviously Kyle as a young version like the BBC Merlin).

I can also see them as pirates! I actually want to write a Pirate! Task Force. Obviously Price as the Captain, Quartermaster is Simon, Kyle as Bosun (or Boatswain) and Johnny as the Gunner (makes things go boom!)

If I had to give the men shapeshifting abilities (into one mythical animal) I would go: ▪️ John Price | 𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏 or 𝑪𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒖𝒓 ▪️ Simon Riley | 𝑮𝒓𝒊𝒎 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒑𝒆𝒓 or 𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 ▪️ Johnny MacTavish | 𝑾𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒇 or 𝑷𝒉𝒐𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒙 ▪️ Kyle Garrick | 𝑴𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒏 or 𝑷𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒔𝒖���� ▪️ Konig | 𝑩𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒌 or 𝑯𝒚𝒅𝒓𝒂

#witchthewriter #headcanons #aesthetic #moodboard #fantasy stories #characters #character archetypes #simon riley #john price #johhny mactavish #kyle garrick #konig #tropes #character tropes #dnd character #call of duty #cod #cod characters #call of duty x reader

[cadotoast]

Chapter 1- Jousts and Announcements

Minors DNI please. About 5k word length

Lances readied. Visors lowered. Steeds pawing the earth. The crowd holds its breath.

The thunder of hooves! The jangling of armor! The collective gasp!

You stand on your toes, heart in your throat as you watch your brother's lance shatter, his body swaying in the saddle. His opponent thunders past towards the other end of the list field, dirt flying from his horse's hooves. The crowd lets out a cheer, and you exhale, albeit a tad shakily, as your brother stays in his seat. He guides his mount to where his squire stands ready with another lance, sparing a glance over to where you stand on the sidelines, hands clasped at the front of your breast in anxiety. His grin is free, comforting, and you smile back at him, wishing him luck. He taps a small cloth tucked at his neck, your token of favor to him being your personal handkerchief.

"How exciting!" Your attention is momentarily pulled to your best friend, Jenny, who is clinging to the fence post in front of her. Her eyes practically have hearts in them as she stares at your brother, her cheeks flushed with the anticipation and thrill of the moment. "I always knew your brother would make a wonderful knight. He is proving himself true, in witness of the royal family no less!"

At the mention of the royals, your gaze flickers up to the raised dais where the King, Queen, and crown Prince sit with the rest of their court. They seem to be enjoying themselves just as much as the commoners that mingle in the stands and on the fairgrounds below them.

"He is doing very well." You agree, leaning gently against the fence in front of you, tugging lightly on the sleeves of your dress. "I was worried when he told me he would be joining the tourney. The Kings' Men are participating, after all."

"But that's not a Kings' Man." Jenny points to where your brother's opponent is readied once more, silver armor gleaming in the light, the emblem of a crimson griffin his standard.

"You don't need to be a member of the kings' inner circle and guard to be a formidable foe," This voice comes from behind you, and you glance over your shoulder to smile at your father. His eyes twinkle at you as he squeezes your shoulder gently, before looking to the knight in question. "That man there is Ser Mathis. He's a shoo-in for King's champion in a few years."

The next run has started, and you lean forward with bated breath once more as the two knights thunder towards each other. The harsh clang of lances meeting shields accompanies the surprised yelp your brother lets out as he is launched from his saddle, landing heavily on his back in the dirt.

"Jonas!" You leap onto the lowest rung of the fence, heart in your throat.

"Relax, he's fine, see?" Jenny grabs your arm to prevent you from hiking up your skirts and vaulting into the arena. Sure enough, among the cheers of the crowd, Jonas is getting to his feet, greeting his squire as the young man runs to attend him.

Ser Mathis is heading off in the other direction, surely to rest up before the next joust with whichever opponent in the tourney bracket he would next be facing.

"Who is jousting next?" Your father asks, looking up the field to where standards and flags wave in the summer breeze. You cast back in your memory, trying to remember the roster.

Before you can speak, two more knights are approaching the listing field, their standards held aloft. Your father makes an impressed sound in the back of his throat.

"This is going to be a good fight," Jonas has rejoined you, his squire Richard at his side. "That's two of the Kings' Men, Sers John and Kyle."

You look between the two knights, comparing the stature of each. Ser Kyle is slimmer than his opponent, but both are similar in height. You watch as Ser Kyle waves at the crowd, his expression jovial, before he places his helm on, lowering the visor. Ser John appears more somber, his eyes narrowed slightly, his frowning expression framed by a rather becoming set of facial hair.

"Ser Kyle Garrick was the squire of Ser John Price." Jonas says with a smile. "We started as Pages together. I am sure the student is looking forward to unseating his master."

Both knights have acquired lances, and now Ser John's face is obscured by his visor. The men salute the King, and then ready themselves. You lean once more against the fence, eyes darting between the combatants.

The fight is indeed thrilling. Both knights' lances shatter on the second pass, and suddenly there is a ringing of steel as Pupil and Teacher go sword to sword. You find yourself cheering as long with the crowd, caught up in the excitement.

"Put him in the dirt, Kyle!" Jonas roars.

The swords engage and disengage, the horses rearing, their masters urging them onward. But in the end, Ser John proves the better, looking down at where Ser Kyle lies winded on the dirt, sword knocked from his hand. The crowd erupts in cheers once more as Ser John dismounts and helps the other up. They embrace and slap each other on the back, ignoring the armor apparently, as men often do. When they lift their visors, both are grinning at each other, and you can't help but recognize the older's handsomeness when he isn't scowling.

"Ser John is one of the commanders of the King's forces." Your father remarks, leaning against the wooden rail next to you. "It would be telling of his aging if he was bested by his former squire so soon." His eyes twinkle as he glances sideways at you. "It was a close fight, though. I think the commander has some old war wounds that bother him."

You hum thoughtfully, eyes trailing the knight has he leads his mount off of the jousting field, making room for the next set.

Your face is red from the sun and sweat is collecting in your hairline and along your back when the jousts finally finish, emerging with a Ser Simon Riley as the victor. It's not surprising, seeing as he is a mountain of a man all donned in black-polished armor. You and Jenny leave your father, Jonas, and Richard to discuss the jousts, choosing instead to wander the fairgrounds, examining various wares from vendors as you make an attempt to cool down from the unforgiving summer sun.

"Did you hear that there was supposed to be some sort of special announcement done by the King in the evening?" Jenny asks as she examines a glass bauble. "I wonder what it could be?"

As a matter of fact, you have not heard of this, at least not yet. You purse your lips thoughtfully, counting the silvers in your purse as you contemplate buying a necklace with a charm that claims to offer the wearer good luck and protection from evil spirits.

"Maybe he is lowering the taxes for the townspeople?" You offer, handing over your silver coins to the merchant in exchange for the charm. "It has been a good year so far, and we aren't at war. Maybe he will ease some of the burden of the lower class."

"It would be nice, wouldn't it?" Jenny sighs, a bit wistfully. Her own purse only holds a few coppers, the most she could spare from her laundry washing earrings. You pass her a silver coin, which she tries to give back. You refuse.

"I never got you a gift for the winter feast. This is my late gift to you, buy something for yourself." You make sure that no sound of pity escapes from your voice, and keep your eyes on your friend's face, and not the worn, patched clothing that she has to call her "Sunday Best" Jenny gives you a sheepish smile, and then hands over the silver piece to the merchant, a small glass figurine clasped gently in her hand.

The two of you continue to wander the fair grounds, admiring the young men in their armor and the pretty ladies vying for their attention.

"Would you ever want to be married to a Knight?" Jenny asks you as you watch a group of young women surrounding a dashing Knight with a rather peculiar haircut. He wears a plaid kilt around his waist instead of the traditional armor of the knights of the kingdom.

"I'm not sure," you confess, beginning to walk over to where the local tavern has set out tables outside, drinks and food being sold to the festival goers. "With them having to go out and lead armies for the King, I would be worried that he would never come home."

"Even commoners like our fathers can be called to arms at times of war," Jenny reminds you. "How is that any different?"

Leading the way to an empty table, you ponder the question. "I suppose in the grand scheme of things, they are quite similar." You tuck in your skirts around your legs as you settle on the worn, wooden chair. "Maybe I just think that having a knight for a husband would be aiming above my class. My status." Never mind the fact that your brother is a knight himself. "We need no rumors spreading that I am simply looking for a higher rank in society."

"Hmm..." Jenny settles across from you, flagging down a young woman who is carrying a tray of pints. You run a nail along the grain of the wood, turning to people-watch those wandering the town square. The queerly-dressed man has been joined by Sers Simon, Kyle, and John. All have changed into more comfortable garb, but Ser Simon has his face covered with a black cloth so that only his eyes peek out. They all seem in high spirits, and the kilted man stretches up to place a flower crown on top of Ser Simon's clothed head.

"All four of them are in the Kings' Men." Jenny says, her gaze following yours. "The man in the kilt is Ser John MacTavish. Though I hear that his close friends simply call him 'Johnny'."

The men in question move as a group under the shade of a tree nearby, settling at a table. You watch them subtly as they banter and laugh, your attention only diverted when a tankard of chilled cider is set in front of you, along with a plate of hearty stew and a thick crust of bread. You thank the tavern maid with a smile, and take a sip of the soup. It's delicious, as to be expected from this particular tavern.

You find your attention drifting more and more to the table of knights, your stew cooling and your cider warming in tandem. It takes several repetitions of your name, and a harsh kick to your shin under the table before Jenny can pull your attention back to her and the conversation. "You're staring," She says bluntly, a wicked twinkle in her eyes. "Which one of them's caught your fancy?"

Your face floods with a heat not caused by the summer sun, and you take a hasty gulp of your lukewarm cider to chase away the mortification stuck in your throat like a dry piece of bread.

"It's nothing," You deflect. "My head was in the clouds is all."

Jenny raises a skeptical eyebrow at you, then tosses her long brown hair over her shoulder with a snigger. You in turn glare at her playfully, before ducking your head to eat some more of your meal. Your ears, however, stay piqued towards that particular table.

"How are ye feelin' after that joust, Captain? I hope I didnae batter ye too badly," It's the kilted man who is talking. His accent is thick and foreign, exotic, you think. I bet it's barely understandable when he's deep in his cups.

"If you think I'm huffin' and groanin' after a few bouts with you lads, then I might as well turn in my sword today," Grumbles Ser John, but his expression is playful. "I ain't in the grave just yet."

"I'll say," It's Ser Kyle this time. "I'm going to be sore until next summer. You sent me flyin' with that lever you call a lance." A chorus of playful jeering erupts, and there is some shuffling as the men push and shove each other in their banter.

With a meaningful clearing of her throat, Jenny draws your attention back to her. You blink at her a bit owlishly, a sheepish smile turning the corners of your lips. Jonas is standing above the two of you, wearing a cheeky grin.

"Searching for a suitor, darling sister?" He drawls. You try to glower at him, folding your arms across your chest.

"Not at all, Jonas." You try for a cool and collected tone. "Just observing. One must stay vigilant at all times."

"Vigilant of all the eligible, dashing knights, that is," Jenny's wearing a wicked grin.

"You are one to talk," Your gaze cuts momentarily to Jonas, and then back to Jenny's face. Her eyebrows furrow slightly as she narrows her eyes at you, and you simply beam at her, the picture of benevolence and Innocence. Jenny huffs, rolling her eyes, as she gets to her feet.

"Jonas here was going to take me to see the stables, do you want to come along?" Something flashes in her expression, and you have to bite your lower lip to suppress a grin.

You shake your head, waving both of them off. "I'm just going to stay here and cool down. Don't let me ruin your fun." The responding smile is answer enough to your unspoken query, and you watch as Jonas, ever the gentleman, lends Jenny his arm as he leads her through the crowded fairgrounds.

Now alone, you find yourself feeling a bit awkward. You fidget with the new charm around your neck, pressing the cool, smooth glass to your lips. The tavern maid refills your cider and takes your empty bowl, as well as a few silvers for the meals you and Jenny ate.

You're contemplating getting to your feet to wander the fair once more, when a loud scream sounds from behind you. Startled, you jump to your feet and spin on your heel, searching for the source of the commotion.

A heard of horses, which had presumably been picketed at one point, have been spooked into a stampede, still tied together by lead lines. The crowd is scattering, some getting out of the way quick enough, some not. And just to your luck, the herd veers sideways and right towards you.

Cursing in a very unladylike fashion, you rush to escape the horses' path, but your skirt snags on a split in the wooden log that makes up the bench, and you tumble over it to the ground, landing with a pained grunt. Winded, stuck, and in the path of a deadly stampede, you're frozen in place, watching your demise trample towards you.

You barely register the ripping of fabric as two strong hands wrap themselves around your upper arms and pull, jerking you free and dragging you backwards over the dirt. The herd of horses blunders past, shrieking and whinnying as they crash into tables and benches, and overturning barrels of mead and ale.

A rushing in your ears drowns out most sound as you stare at the spot where you had previously been lying, now deluged with hoof prints. The scrap of fabric from your skirt is pummeled into the soft ground. Belated in their arrival, a troop of guards runs in the direction the horses have fled to, shouting orders and trying to clear the way of injured townsfolk.

"Are you okay?" A deep voice sounds in your ear. You're leaning back against a warm, broad chest, its steadyness contrasting to the trembling of adrenaline shaking your body. With a deep, shuddering breath, you pull your gaze from what would have surely been your early grave, to look into the face of your rescuer.

Ser John looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed low in concern. He wears a frown, his brilliant blue eyes looking you over, assessing you for damage. "Are you hurt, my lady?"

"I think I'm okay..." You absently run your hands over yourself, feeling for anything amis. "Maybe a little bruised." Your shin smarts from where it had collided with the bench.

"Looks like your skirt took the worst of it, lass," On your other side kneels Ser MacTavish, his own gaze wide with concern. "Tha was a narrow scrape ye had there."

Ser John assists you to your feet, and supports you while your knees tremble. After you have gained stability, you step cautiously away from the knight, turning to face him as you brush grass and dirt from your skirt to the best of your ability. Sers Kyle and Simon watch from their table, the former's gaze twisted with concern.

"Thank you so much Ser," You say to Ser John, lowering your gaze respectfully. "Without your help, I would surely be injured."

"You're sure you're alright?" The man in question asks, his gaze roaming your body in a cursory examination. "Did I hurt you at all?"

Your hands rub your upper arms where the man's hands had nearly swallowed you, a phantom heat lingering. "No, Ser, you did not hurt me."

Ser John straightens as he looks down at you, hands on his hips. He gives a soft grunt of acknowledgement, settling down in his seat only after giving you one final once over.

"You're Jonas' sister, aren't you?" This question comes from Ser Kyle, who has gotten to his feat and pulled up a seat for you. It seems rude to refuse him, so you settle in the chair, mournfully fingering the rip in your skirt.

"Yes, I am." Your lips curl up at the corners. "He mentioned that you and he were squires together, Ser Kyle."

"What a lad," Ser Kyle beams, his teeth shining on contrast to his darker skin. "One of the best in our group. I don't understand why he ever declined the position."

You blink. "The position? What position?"

"Ye dennae ken?" Ser MacTavish stares at you. Heat wells in your cheeks self-consciously. "He was offered a place in our ranks as a Kings' Man."

The table falls silent as you process that information, watching absently as the tavern keeper rights some of the tables. You note your spilled pint of cider and mourn its cool refreshment silently.

"He never mentioned it," You finally admit. "Granted, he doesn't like to talk about his work too much when he comes home to father and I. Prefers to stay on lighter matters, I suppose." You glance once more at Ser Kyle. "He was supposed to be a Kings' Man?"

"I was second pick for the opening when Ser Richard resigned to his manor by the sea. Your brother was the first pick, the King asked him to join pretty much as soon as he earned his title and standard."

You chew on that for a moment, curiosity itching at you. "He's a rather modest man," you say. "My guess is that he probably thought he wasn't up for it. That someone more capable should take his place."

"Not that I am ungrateful for the position," Ser Kyle glances at his former Knight-master, "but it should have been Jonas."

"If I had to take my guess," Ser John is the one to speak, his sentence broken as he takes a sip from a pint of ale. "He declined it to stay closer to you." At your confused expression, he pushes onward. "Even as a page and a squire up at the castle, he spoke of you often. More often than not, actually. He desired to be able to support you, especially after the passing of your mother, and with your father becoming more elderly and declining in his health. He wanted to provide for you until you wed, and even then, to be close by if you ever needed him. Us Kings' Men are sent all over the realm to do the work of the King. If he had taken the position, he would not have been able to remain as close to your side."

You don't know whether to be embarrassed by your brother's apparent coddling, or touched by his thoughtful nature. Gazing down at the grains in the table, you run a finger over your lower lip in thought, turning over the Ser's words.

"Ae, sounds like somethin tha lad would do." Ser MacTavish agrees.

"If it is as you say," You muse, a smile gracing your features, "It seems rather fitting of him."

"Speak of the Devil," Ser Simon speaks up, looking over your shoulder. You glance behind you, grinning when you see Jonas, Jenny still on his elbow, walking in your direction. Jonas is wearing a flower crown of daisies, which Jenny keeps grinning at, a bluish sitting high in her pale cheeks.

"Heard I missed some action," Jonas calls, his gaze roaming over you. Despite his cheery expression, you can see the worry in his eyes as he takes in your rumpled condition. "Is everything alright around here?" The underlying question about your welfare rattles in your brain like a gong.

"The Tavernkeep might be needin' to seek out the carpenter, and the las's skirt might need some mendin'," Ser MacTavish replies, leaning back to pull up a few more chairs for the new arrivals. "but as far as we can tell, she is no worse for wear. Ser John here kept her out of harm's way."

"And for that, I thank you, Ser," Jonas dips his head to Ser John, a respectful look in his gaze. He then looks to you once more. "You are uninjured?"

"A little rattled," you say with a smile. "But my pride, a bruised shin, and my skirt are the only casualties."

Jonas leads Jenny to her seat, right beside the rather imposing Ser Simon. Jenny gives the large knight a rather nervous look, taking in what features were not hidden by the face covering he wore, and managed a small smile as she gathered her skirts around her. Jonas sits easily in his chair, his arm slung over the back of Jenny's.

"We were just discussing your promotion to knight," You tell your brother, raising an eyebrow. "Why didn't you tell me the King offered you a position in his guard?"

"Wasn't for me," Jonas replies instantly. "I do my best work close to home. There is plenty for me to do here, I'll let the other more adventurous knights such as our present company go gallivanting around the kingdom."

The other men chuckle good-naturedly, and Jonas calls over the tavern maid to order a round of drinks for the table.

"Hey Jonas, did you hear about Prince Aldous?" Ser Kyle suddenly interjects, his expression conspiratorial. Jonas leans in immediately, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"What about him?"

The other knights groan in synch, and you and Jenny look at each other in interest. The crown Prince is a good-looking, but rather pompous young man. Despite his attitude, many women in the kingdom seem to be falling over themselves to get his hand in marriage if possible.

"He failed out of his test of Knighthood."

"Again?!"

"Again," Ser Kyle can't seem to keep a mirthful tone from his voice. "That makes three times."

"Must be a record," Ser MacTavish chuckles.

"Careful," Ser John admonishes, his voice a low grumble. "He is still the Crown Prince."

"Well the Crown Prince is a--" Jonas' words are cut off as you kick him sharply under the table, eyes flashing in warning. He gives you an embarrassed sort of smile, then clears his throat. "well, he leaves something to be desired," he finishes, albeit a little lamely.

"He's still young, there is time to learn." You say, drumming your finger against the wooden table, smiling at the tavern maid as she sets a fresh pint of cider in front of you. Ser Simon makes a noise of agreement into his ale.

"He's only a year older than yourself," Jonas reminds you with a smirk. "Maybe you should try for his hand."

A flush fills your cheeks, and you shake your head adamantly. "Me? A Princess? No thank you."

"You'd be a Queen, too," Jenny's eyes glitter. "When he takes the throne. I think you would make a wonderful Royal."

You merely shake your head again, taking a sip of your cider to cool the flush in your cheeks. "No, I don't think so. Too much attention, for one thing."

"The royals are always under constant scrutiny," Ser Kyle says with a nod. "It is a lot of pressure. Not everyone is fit for it."

"Maybe you should try for his hand, Jenny," You tease, knowing full well her answer. She narrows her gaze at you, pursing her lips at your grin.

The conversation flows easily, and time speeds by as the sun descends towards the horizon. As the sunset approaches, Sers Simon, Kyle, MacTavish, and John excuse themselves from the table, begging pardons, but they have to return to their duties as Kings' Men. Not long after, you can hear trumpets sounding from the festival grounds.

"That's the call to assembly," Jonas says, stretching. "Whatever announcement the King is going to give is going to happen there, we will probably want to be there."

Jonas takes the lead in heading towards the festival grounds, clearing away through the crowd for you and Jenny to pass through safely. You keep your eyes peeled for potential troublemakers. As vigilant as the local guards are, instances of pickpocketing and sudden brawls are not exactly unexpected on festival days.

A large crowd of people are gathered on the green lawn, facing a large wooden podium set up underneath a pair of ancient oak trees which provide a natural canopy. The King, Queen, and Crown Prince sit on makeshift thrones up on the podium, flanked by some now-familiar knights. Ser John stands almost directly behind the Crown Prince, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword. Sers Simon and MacTavish are behind the King and Queen, with Ser Kyle standing off to the side with a handful of other knights belonging to the Kings' Men, whose names you can't recall at this time.

Jonas picks his way to the side of the crowd, where a small copse of trees offers some shade to some lower-level knights who shelter there. They greet Jonas with friendly waves, and don't protest when you and Jenny settle in the lush green grass.

"How were the horses?" You ask Jenny, settling your skirts around yourself modestly.

"Oh they were wonderful!" Jenny giggles, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Jonas took me to see all of the knights' mounts, including that bay he rides. Her name is Anika. She likes carrots, daisies, and chewing Jonas's tunic." You both giggle at that last bit, and you turn to examine your brother. The shoulder of his shirt does appear a little gnawed-on. Jonas himself is chatting with the other men, gesturing exaggeratedly with his arms.

"He probably forgot to take a bath, and that was Anika's way of telling him he smells," you joke, biting your lower lip as you chuckle. Jenny snorts quietly, shaking her head back and forth.

"His Majesty, the King!" A herald shouts, and the buzzing of the crowd dies down to a hush, raptly focusing on the podium. King Cassian Godfrey is a handsome man, dark haired and tanned skin. His eyes are a dark brown, almost black, that demand the attention of everyone around him. He is a good king, though the graying along his temples reflects his age, and the promise of his son someday taking the throne is a rather daunting one. His Queen, Helen, bares a remarkable resemblance to their son, her fair blonde hair shining like gold in the dying sunlight. She is known to be kind and philanthropic, a mother of the realm, so to speak.

"I come before you today with a joyous announcement for our Kingdom," The king says, his voice projecting across the lawn. "My son, the Crown Prince Aldous, has come of age. After much discussion, it has been decided that he will be allowed to pick a bride of his own choosing." A murmur ripples through the crowd, mixed with some gasps from some women in the crowd. Aldous looks rather bored up on the dais, turning a ring over on his finger and watching it glint in the dying light.

"Every eligible woman will be sent a summons to the palace where they will be required to present themselves before the prince. He will then make a selection of ten women with which to court for a period of time. Of those ten, he will chose his bride."

"A summons?!" The word slips out of you, hushed and shocked. Your sympathies seem reflected by those in the crowd.

"We always knew the family was a bit eccentric," Jenny murmurs, worry in her gaze.

The buzzing of the crowd has risen slightly, emotions melding together in a mixing pot as the realization sets in to the citizens. A mandatory summons. That means equal possibility for all of the eligible women in the kingdom to potentially win the hand of the Prince. But that also means that the initial summons are not optional. Weather or not you are interested in becoming royalty, you are required to present yourself to the prince for his approval or dismissal.

"All unmarried women of eligible age will receive a date of which to present themselves. If they are selected at the end of the first presenting, they will be offered accomodations at the palace for the rest of the courting season."

A headache starts to develop behind one of your eyebrows, your previous words from the evening slamming against your skull like Athena prying herself from Zeus' skull. "Me? A Princess? No thank you."

"Summons will be delivered to those eligible beginning next week. The first presentations will begin the week following. To the families of the ten selected women, a monetary stipend will be paid to cover any loses of income should the women in question be employed to support their families." You and Jenny glance at each other, both thinking of the meager jobs you have managed to acquire to assist your families.

"What if someone who is selected for the ten women does not wish to be?" Someone in the crowd yells. The King pauses, looking in the direction of the speaker.

"It is the belief of the royal council and of myself that it is a service to the country to be accepted to this position, and that any women selected should be honored to do so."

"So in other words, its not optional. You can't decline." one of the knights behind you says in a hushed tone. Jonas grunts, glancing down at where you and Jenny are sitting.

"I suppose if one didn't want to be selected, they would just try to appear as unappealing as possible," Your brother muses, but there is a dark lilt to his tone, and his jaw clenches.

The crowd murmurs among itself, the mixed sentiment evident.

"Thank you for gathering and enjoying the festivities today." King Cassian finishes, before stepping down off of the podium, his family and the King's Men following him.

You sit there on the grass, gazing down at your clasped hands, your heart beating out what seems to be your funeral dirge as reality sets in.

You are unmarried.

You will be presented.

#john price x reader #cod mw2 #alternate universe #simon riley #john mactavish #kyle garrick #john price #medieval fantasy #historical inaccuracies #Writer has not played COD

[undressmewithyoureyes]

Let There Be Light - Thirty Three

**Ghost’s POV**

               “She’s Pregnant”

               The words lingered in the air like a virus ready to attach itself to someone. The air was thick, and it was getting harder for me to breathe – which had never been a problem for me before, especially with my mask; but this, this news knocked all the air out of my lungs.

               My eyes burned a hole in the face of the nurse as everyone else’s eyes glared at me. “How far along?” Laswell’s voice broke my glare as I fluttered my eyes trying to compose myself.

               “I’m not sure. She would need an ultrasound, but it popped positive very quickly,” she paused to think, “So I would say, maybe a few weeks. Does anyone need to notify the father?”

               The nurse looked around the room and then her eyes stared at me. “I think he is already notified dear,” Price said. The tension in the room not lessening up.

               “…Oh. Congratulations, sir.” I wasn’t sure if the nurse was being hesitant from the way I found out, the look in my eyes or my uncontrollable shaking. She turned on heel and exited out of the room faster than what she came in.

               The nurse shut the door quietly, but damn if it didn’t feel like a knife was stabbed into my heart when the lock clicked in place. I stared down at the floor with all kinds of emotions running through me. I wasn’t ready to become a father and the word alone scared the living shit out of me.

               “Simon,” Price said as he could see my eyes blanking out. I could hear his footsteps walking closer to me, but my eyes were glued to the floor. It wasn’t until his hand grabbed my shoulder that I was able to remove my eyes from that spot. “Son.” One word. One word that made me shoot up from my seat and hug this man so tightly.

               Price himself was a bit shocked at my sudden action, but quickly wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tightly. My shoulders began to shake as tears spilled from my eyes. I hate it. I hated showing myself like this, but it was like I couldn’t stop it. I had bottled my feelings for so long, the cap had just busted, and the bottle needed to be relieved.

               I felt another hand on my back as my body began to tremble – and soon another. The people who I protected the most but also pushed away, was here in my biggest time of need. This is family, but I was missing the biggest piece. Harley and now our unborn child.

               I pulled away from Price and I felt the hands on my back disappear. The black around my eyes was now running into my mask. “Don’t give up Simon. She needs you,” Price told me as he grabbed the side of my upper arms.

               I nodded my head at his words, “I’m not. I’m going to kill every last one of those bloody fuckers.”

               “Now there’s the Simon I know,” Prices voice deep and hearty. “Lets all try to get some rest and if anyone hears anything, let Laswell or myself know immediately.” We all nodded in agreeance and the room slowly emptied out. I sat back down in my chair, not ready to even face the door to our bedroom. I know I needed the rest, but I couldn’t bring myself to smell her, see her clothes or even sleep knowing that she is out there being tortured or sold to some greedy old bastard.

               The more I thought about what was being done to her, the more my blood boiled. I hated it. A part of me didn’t know if I would feel better knowing she was alive and being tortured or if she was dead and I wouldn’t be able to see her again – but at least she wouldn’t have to suffer.

               I sit there in the briefing room for several hours before I get up and attempt to walk towards our bedroom. With each step, my knees were getting weaker – but the weight on my shoulder was becoming heavier. To touch the doorknob, it was like a jolt of electricity was going through me. This, this right here was pure torture.

               When I opened the door, Johnny was asleep on her side of the bed – curled up with one of her shirts she had been wearing within the last few days. I know he was struggling to keep it together, but shit, someone had to. I felt disappointment in myself for losing my control, but I couldn’t help it. At least it wasn’t both of us.

               I walk past him and head towards the closet, the last place I felt her arms around me. Stepping into the square room was as if the oxygen in my lungs was being sucked out. It was a vortex, but I needed to be here. I needed to be where she liked to be, thinking maybe that would help give me some sort of clue to where she may be – but it just infuriated me even more.

               I sat down against the wall in the closet and snagged one of her shirts off the hanger that dangled beside me. It smelled just like her. How could someone be so vile and want to harm her? But one thing I do know, she was a fighter – and a damn good one at that.

               The smell of her shirt made me want to cherish the good times we had even longer. I started to hate myself for not spending more time with her. Staring into her green eyes as she adored mine. How her nose scrunched when she laughed really hard and how warm she made my cold heart feel by just a simple touch. I knew that I had done nothing wrong, and I knew we spent majority of our time together, but it was a moment like this where I wish it could have been even more.

               I replayed every moment I could remember in my mind over and over. Her voice. Her laugh and every little detail about her until my eyes grew heavy and I prayed to anyone that would listen, to please let me dream of her.

-------------

               Johnny woke me up. He was cautious, not knowing the state that I would be in. I fluttered my eyes and smiled thinking it was Harley, but then reality set back in immediately. The pit in my stomach turned and my whole body felt numb.

               “Price wants to see us in the briefing room. Says he may have got a lead.” I could tell he was holding back tears and trying to stay strong. I admired him for it.

               I get to my feet and head to the briefing room as quickly as I possibly could. I felt like my legs were about to give out from underneath me from the adrenaline coursing through my veins. ‘Please be good news. Please be good news’ I kept repeating over and over in my head.

               I slam the door open as my chest heaved up and down. I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed to know the news and if there was a location, I needed it immediately.

               “Laswell has done some digging around and found there is going to be an auction tomorrow night in Las Almas,” Price started off with.

               “But?” I question out through gritted teeth.

               Price clears his throat, “But, it’s a private event.”

               “Okay?” I respond annoyed.

               Price sighs, “A formal private event. No masks.”

               I stiffen from his words. I’ve never gone into any mission without my mask for the sake of my identity and for childhood reasons, but would I really let my fears get in the way of rescuing her?

               “I’ll go in,” I hear Gaz say as he gives me a reassuring look. “I promise Lieutenant, I’ll get her back.”

               “No Gaz, I’m going in,” I say back a bit cold. It came out harsher than I had intended. “I’ll take my fucking mask off. If that’s what it takes to get her back safely, I’ll do it.”

               Price clicked is tongue and raised his eyebrows, “That may work,” he says as he walks closer to me. “No one has ever seen your face. We risk Harley’s life and our own by taking a chance someone recognizing our faces.”

               The black heart in my chest started to beat rapidly. The thought of me facing people without my mask was nauseating, even if it was for Harley – but I wasn’t going to let that stop me.

               “So, what are the details?” I ask.

               “Black tie event,” Laswell answers walking into the room. “Sleek and rich. What we need from everyone is to be on their best eyes. This place is going to be heavily guarded,” she pauses taking in a breath. “If one of the guards doesn’t respond within a few seconds, they lock the place down.”

               “Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap says next to me.

               “Yeah. So we need to come up with a plan. A damn good one.” Laswell was determined and full of hope. One thing I admired but also hated about her. How can you have hope when everything around you dies or turns to shit?

               “What usually happens in these places?” Gaz asks.

               Before Price or Laswell could answer, Alejandro chimes in, “Sinister things amigo. Girls of all ages. Some as little as a child, others teenagers and young adults auctioned off to a life of misery,” he says getting up from his chair to face all of us. “The girls are given a dose of ‘Dust’ based off their weight to make them easier to handle. They are sold to the highest bidder and taken to wherever their new home is,” he pauses, “…never to be seen again.”

               Gaz jerked his head back in shock, “They…kill them? So, its for sport?”

               “Si. Sick bastards they are. They use their bodies for whatever they want them for – pleasure, pain, you name it – and when they are done, they are no longer use to them.”

               “How do you know all this?” I ask him out of curiosity.

               Alejandro’s eyes met mine and I stared back as I watch his eyes gloss over, “Because my sister was one of them.” I hated it. I hated all of it. A part of me felt guilty to even have him on this because I’m sure this brought back a lot of memories, but the selfish side of me knew that he would fight even harder to get Harley back. “I promise you Hermano,” he says to me as tears fall from his eyes and down his face, “We will get her back.”

               I knew it was a promise, but the promise wasn’t guaranteed alive. I nodded my head at him signaling a silent ‘Thank you’. Laswell broke the heart felt moment to remind us why we are all here in this moment – a game plan, “Any ideas?” I knew she was just as anxious as we all were – which was shocking considering how her and Harley got along the first few times they met.

               “I say I go in and try to look for her. Everyone else, be my eyes on the outside,” I petition.

               Price nodded his head, “Laswell can take over the cameras and over lay them. Alejandro, do you have any men that you don’t think would get recognized?”

               “What do you have in mind amigo?” Alejandro asked.

               “Get another set of eyes on the inside,” Price looks over to me, “I need you on the inside Simon, but how much are we risking by camouflaging someone as a guard?”

               Alejandro crossed his arms over his chest and chuckled to himself, “I like your spirit Captain, but all of those guards are either Russian or German.”

               Laswell sits down in her chair and pulls her laptop from her bag. She opens it and in a few minutes, she shoots her head over at the Captain, “Price.”

               She turns the laptop towards him, and his eyes scan over whatever was on the screen, “We have just the guy that fits the criteria,” she says with a smile on her face.

               Price looks from the laptop screen to meet Laswell’s eyes as a grin mirrors on his face, “Nik.”

#ao3 fanfic #fanfic #gaz cod #john price #price #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #captain price #john soap mactavish #simon riley x reader #smut #fanfiction #fanart #fantasy #fandom #lettherebelight #archive of our own

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Not me head cannoning a fantasy AU for TF141 where reader is an elf/fae that they’re tasked with finding and bringing back from the deep forest.

Each of them find her but each time they’re so charmed/enamoured they leave her there.

Eventually they each come back “on mission” and reader gives them gifts/evidence that they “almost got her this time”.

They eventually realise they’ve all been doing this, each falling in love with this elf/fae over time.

They kill the Lord who set the bounty and live happily ever after with the elf/fae. (And maybe free the land of the tyranny of the Lord? Idk…)

#tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #fantasy au #cod fantasy au #simon ghost riley #john price #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #vi chats shit #but seriously like defeating each of them with different methods #soap gets seduced #Gaz is outsmarted in a game of logic #price gets his ass handed to him #ghost gets trapped in some kind of net #I dunno

[haveyoureadthistransbook]

Body After Body by Briar Ripley Page

goodreads

In this long novella inspired by the Mountain Goats & John Vanderslice concept EP Moon Colony Bloodbath, three indentured, memory-wiped laborers at a crumbling storage facility make some unexpected discoveries about the genetically engineered mutant bodies they tend each day. Sex, drugs, violence, cannibalism, psychic powers, a catgirl (sort of)…BODY AFTER BODY is the lurid, dreamlike, amoral queer/trans sci-fi trash literature at least four or five people have been waiting for.

Mod opinion: I've read this and this book made me feel shrimp emotions. It is my top read of the year. It's on itch for name your own price and the suggested price is more than fair. If you can handle body horror and gore (and lots of it), I implore you to check this novella out.

#body after body #briar ripley page #polls #trans lit #trans literature #trans books #lgbt lit #lgbt literature #lgbt books #horror #fantasy #trans man #own voices #red john is my boy of the year! i adore him! i actually downloaded it twice first time for free second time for the suggested price #bc i loved it so much #itch.io

[blood-grove]

The Hunt

part 1 -> (searching)

x tws; violence , blood , injuries , gore , slight suggestiveness , sickness. <- more will be added possible depending on the part.

x pairings; soap x male!reader (😲)

x characters; soap , ghost , price , gaz + (others will maybe be added? idk ive never written a whole lot of characters cuz i get confused in my own head)

a/n; i may make art for this series! and i will also possibly making art for my merfolk au.

Alarm bells rung threw out the small town the yells and panicked cries of the townsfolk as the huddle and ran into houses under carts under anything.

You let out a amused chuckle that came out as a growl to everyone else.

You were admittedly showing off a bit more than usual today pushing your self up with another flap of your wings as arrows shot past your head.

Christ John had to get better aim.

You dove letting out a bone shivering roar it was getting boring doing the same exaggerated display but it paid well.

John or Soap as the guild nicknamed him all those years back was your very lovable boyfriend.

To say what you both did was wrong would be true.

If it didnt bring so much coin.

Slaying dragons was a respected craft and admired by many and all, The demand for dragon slayers was high since such a feat was beyond dangerous and mostly ended in death.

Dragons were usually hunted by groups who set up traps of sling shot nets , big crossbow contraptions meant to pierce threw thick hide and scales.

But Soap didn't need of that,

Not when he had you.

Speaking on which you felt something dig into your side as you let out a fake cry of pain as your turned away from the village you couldn't hear anything they were saying from up here but you could imagine Soap's heroic rant as he chased after you away from the village a few more arrows stuck too you as you decided to close your act for today.

A final dramatic cry as you dived down intentionally losing control as you crashed into the ground.

"Hey?"

A few taps to your face.

"Heyy wake up bonny boy"

You grumbled huffing.

"C'monn- You need to get up so I can pull the arrows off ya daft-"

You peered a eye open to him shifting as you got up shaking off a few branches and leaves from your head.

"Ye wanna know what name they gave ye today?"

You grunted as you got up shaking off any remaining stray debris before laying back down as Soap went to work with tugging off the arrows from you they never pierced your flesh magical properly imbued inside of them made them stick painlessly to the target more like tracking tag than real damage arrow.

"White Death, Ah think that's cooler than yer lest name na? whit wis it again.." Soap pulled off another arrow storing it back into his quiver.

White Death certain was a better name than your pervious infamous nicknames.

"Ah I remember was it Snow Scales or Ice Lizard-" Soap grinned as your growled looking away embarrassed.

Soap chuckled.

"I got 300 coin from you today- We could head somewhere nice grab some pastries from that Village a bit west I know ye loved there cinnamon rolls."

The suggestion had you perked up at the mention of the sweet which Soap grinned at.

"We should get all washit up na? Ye juist haed tae land in the mud—"

You flicked your tail at him sending him off balance and falling back into the ground as well as yo letting a raspy soundalike laugh.

Pushing your claw against the amulet that sat tight around your neck it glowed for a moment before you started to shift and change shrinking as Johnny complained about getting his satchel and clothes dirty.

Once it stopped glowing you were human size albeit a bit taller than Soap, You still had some draconic features your eyes still dilated into slits under the sun, Scales around you arms and back that were easily hid with clothes and gloves, and horns that were luckily short enough to be hid with hair or hoods.

You walked over to him holding out a helping hand only to be yanked down onto the ground by him.

"Payback-" Soap flicked your forehead as you huffed.

"Whatever you're not the one that takes the daring crashes and falls in out little acts-"

Soap just rolled his eyes. "I never said 'Oh and at the very end make sure to get covered in mud!'."

You huffed flicking his shoulder as he grinned as he retold his fake little heroic story he told to each village rambling on about these couple of cats he saw as you just listened fondly.

You visited villages with him sure when you were in your human form but it just always made you feel antsy the odd stares you'd get were enough to make you visits to cities, towns, and villages very sparse.

Soap had noticed of course the observant caring bastard that he is and wouldn't stand for it of course not forcing you but you both went out for little walks, for supplies, and for getting you and him clothes and gear.

That's what you loved about him, He brought you out of your shell his voice and mannerism really just made a part of you melt.

To think when you both met when he was going to kill you.

a/n; not very confidence in this but i wanna commit to it </3 my nerves r all over the place makes it hard to write.

#male reader #soap x male reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap cod #gaz garrick #gaz cod #ghost cod #simon riley #simon ghost riley #captain john price #john price #reader #call of duty #cod #medieval au #fantasy au #knight au

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Eowyn fighting the Witch-King by John Price

#Lord of the Rings #LotR #Middle Earth #Eowyn #Witch-King of Angmar #Nazgul #Ringwraith #Fantasy #Art #John Price

[eleganthologramcolor]

More fantasy AU with traveler!141 x mythical reader! Price edition!

Bladesmith!Price x Draconic!Reader drabble!

No pronouns used.

Warnings: hybrid elements

- Gossips were common in a village as small as this. Even more so in one as superstitious. The traveling men who traded for materials for the craftsmen in the town were suddenly coming up short, returning home empty handed and skittish, jumping at every sound and adamant about staying out of the forest they had considered conquered.

- John, the local bladesmith, found himself to be the most bothered by this inconvenience. He was beginning to fall behind his work. After questioning a few of the traders and miners, he learns that they're worried about being followed. They swear to him that something follows them out of the caves and through the forest until they reach the village.

- He decides its high time to go looking for himself. He brings out his old blade, hiking up into the forest, and to the caves. He even wanders inside the old caves, stopping just shirt of the last lantern before turning back.

- These men were cowards, he concluded. They must've heard the rustling of rabbits playing around on the dead leaves, or even a curious deer watching from a safe distance.

- At least until he feels it, too. It's silent, it's too quiet, the sudden absence of sound is mind numbing. The birds are distant, staying away from him, the snakes and sweet little critters no longer passing him by.

- Whatever it is, it never attacks. It stays far enough away that it's own footsteps are a whisper; the drag of claws on branches over head and the scuttling over dead vines and dry grass itch his ears. It's almost far enough behind him that he's uncertain at first if he hears it.

- The feeling follows him to the village, just as those men had described, and it only fades for just an instant when he stops in the backroom of his workshop. He's about to put away his old gear, but there's a crash in his forge.

- You were such a curious little thing. It wasn't often a half dragonkin ended up so evenly mixed of dragon AND human. You'd stayed in caves all your life, leaving to play in the night and hunt for sleeping prey. A body that moves as fluidly as a snake, a soft fleshy belly, a sweet face, glimmery scales over your back and arms, a tail that wraps around branches whenever you're perched up high, and sadly- a pair of wings too stunted for anything else besides gliding to the ground. Common occurrence with things only half dragon.

- Isolated in the forest. No place for you among ordinary dragons, who grew to be much larger than you, and certainly no place among humans.

- When miners began to appear in your home, you were angry, but it was stifled with curiosity instantly. They held shiny tools, and used them to get even shiner things from the walls of your home. Smitten with the treasures they'd managed to pull, you'd find yourself getting too close, scaring them away just before they were able to gather any of the gemstones and ore. The exposed shinies in the wall were still far too stuck- your little claws couldn't do much to help remove them. You needed one of those tools!

- So you started following them home. Surely at least one of them would leave their tools out in the open, right?

- You never found out, though. Humans were scared of the dark, and the outsides of their homes were brightly lit, lanterns hanging all around the village. You were scared of the light, scared of being seen. You weren't stupid. You'd know what would happen if you were caught. You'd run away once they left the comfort of the forest.

- At least until the bladesmith came along. He'd lead you back to the trading district. The lanterns in the street were dim, many shops closed and the streets empty. He wore shiny things, maybe he had tools! He disappears into a dark building, and you follow suit, finding a cart full of the shinies harvested from your home. Your tail flicks back and forth, as you excitedly dig through them, finding one you deem your favorite, biting it between your teeth and turning to run away on all fours, but, you run into someone, and they come crashing down on top of you.

- John hears the squealing, the screeching, the strange sobs of something after the crash. He brings his lantern out into the room, and finds you- trapped beneath the heavy armor stand.

- At first he's shocked- what the hell was this? A sick joke? Surely it's a kid in costume, but the tail that nearly knocks his feet out from under him proces him otherwise.

- He pulls the tilt door to the forge shut before lighting the hanging lanterns in the room, getting a better look at you. He's already grabbed a dagger off of a nearby shelf, but once he sees the tears streaming down your face, his heart is heavy with guilt. He sighs and kneels in front of you.

- " 'm gonna lift this off of ya, okay? Don't panic."

- You panic.

- The moment the weight is off you, you scramble on all fours across the forge, ramming your head into a wall and recoiling with teary eyes and a hiss.

- He can't help but feel soft for you. This thing everyone was so scared of is hardly the vicious predator they all thought it was. You hiss and growl when he approaches, but you don't show your teeth. You raise a hand, but you tremble and your claws stay retracted. Your wings flutter uselessly behind you. He crouches down to your level and puts a rough hand over your head, trying to be gentle with the impacted area. You are reluctant, flinching at the touch, but quickly lean into the warmth of his palm. Cold blooded creature and all that. He scratches under your chin, chuckling when you purr.

- You catch yourself, turning your head to give him a side eye, huffing and swallowing any other sounds of appreciation.

- "Poor thing. You don't gotta play tough."

- You whine and hiss again, but he doesn't relent, he can see you softening at his sweet tone of voice, cooing at you, "Small thing, it must be so hard, being so sweet in a big, scary world."

- Eventually he's coaxed you into his lap, thick and warm arms cradling your upper body as he examines damaged scales and scratches, occasionally scratching under your chin and running a reassuring hand down your back.

- When you spit out one of the bits stolen from his cart, he puts two and two together. Offers a place to stay and all of the shiny rocks and chin scritches you want in exchange for you to stop scaring the miners.

- Truth be told he mostly just wants to keep such a pretty thing all for himself. And how his heart melts when you purr, melting across his lap, your tail thumping against the ground frantically when he scratches your sides. Yea, he's keeping you.

A/N: I'll probably draw my idea of a draconic reader later, I've got a really pretty idea in mind. For now, imagine a good mix of flesh and scales. A soft underbelly, chest, neck and face, scales/feathers everywhere else.

#captain john price x reader #fantasy!141 #bladesmith!price #cod x reader #sorry guys can you tell i like the set up of a story the most #i would love to do worldbuilding posts after Gaz's drabble to kind of explain the intricacies of each of the species of reader #like when i was making up a dragon blooded reader i was thinking of something really pretty and cool but i realize that most dnd dragonkin #are kind of daunting #anyway enjoy

[gomzdrawfr]

Dragon!Price x Corvid!Raven AU

This brainrot has tAKEN OVER MY HEAD I SWEAR

bonus + some story if you're interested

bonus

okay so, the idea is that Raven is...predominantly a Raven hybrid(LMAO) but I figured to incorporate some of the Crow and Magpie habits into her

Basically, Raven's been travelling around after she was nearly killed by her kind(hence the scar on her face and the single wing - also a tribute to her actual lore where her back was stabbed), barely able to survive until she stumbled upon Price's den, and WOAH THATS A LOTTA GOLD

so it started off small, where she steals some gold, just enough to survive the week, but then the curiosity grew and she finds herself back to the den, over and over again

I mean there's so much more than just gold coins, there was a bunch of other treasures alike and they're all. so. shiny.

How could she resist?

and so day by day, she explores the den, it's absolutely massive, sometimes she might even slide down those piles of coins for fun

one day a glint caught her attention, it looked like a porcelain pale owl mask, and when she tries it on it was a perfect fit, she kept it afterwards.

the owner of the den seemingly never once appeared no matter how long she waited, and so she assumes it was a long lost forgotten treasure someone had.

she didnt had the intention to steal everything no, in all honestly the den was located somewhere far and dark, and it was only accessible by a very small hole that she squeezed herself through in her full bird form.

it was a safe place to stay and so she did.

until one day when she on her usual walk and picking up a crown that the pile of gold coins shifted, and it reveals......

bright orange scales.

and an eye, which opened once the gold coins stopped.

little did she know, the owner of the den, Dragon!Price has been hibernating beneath the treasures, and now he was awaken by a pesky bird.

YES think about that one scene in Hobbit this was 100% inspired by it

some Dragon!Price hc in this au:

used to take part in battles and territorial fights, which results in many scars, especial the one in his left eyes, one of those fight eventually results him to lost a wing(yes, bluegiragi with their single wing Price for credit)

prefer to be in his hybrid form where his half human half dragon, because being a big lizard boy takes up hella space and hard to satiate his hunger

but he does hibernate as a dragon cuz well he's home, and it feels great to be weighted down by all his treasures

very greedy, if he wants something he'll get it, also dragon hoarding tendencies

havent thought about this but I reckon this so call "den" is just a big hole underneath a castle maybe - ah well just yoinking Hobbit's Lonely Mountain

also possessive :]

Raven herself has shiny fur...and he loves shiny too....so..... :p

#gummmyart #doodle #pLEASEEE im so ill #the size differences....urhhkjahkjshd #damn i need to control myself im on main #anyways #my oc #my oc art #cod oc #cod oc art #au #fantasy au i guess #but in a modern settings #maybe #man idk i just want dragon and raven together PFT #[oc]Raven #Raven[oc] #captain john price x oc #john price x oc #RavenPrice #PriceRaven

[undressmewithyoureyes]

Let There Be Light - Thirty Two

**Ghosts POV**

Dust filled my lungs as the weight of the world crushed my body. I couldn’t move and my mind kept hearing her partial scream. It was the last thing I was able to hear until it was abruptly replaced by an explosion. The floor crumbled beneath our feet and the house trapped us in. I was reliving a part of hell that I thought was over with. Death.

               I could hear movement around me, but it was muffled. I tried to move, but a wooden beam was laying over my legs, pinning me in place.

               “Harley!” I scream out. She was a fighter and the toughest woman I knew, but even her tiny body had its limits.

               “Lieutenant!” The voice was muffled but it sounded like Gaz. The ground beneath me vibrated as I could hear the sounds of material being moved and thrown to the side. The darkness that veiled over me, was thinning out as parts of light were starting to shine through the cracks of the debris.

               “Someone come help me move this shit off the Lieutenant!”

               I take in a deep breathe and choke on the dusty air, “Is Harley okay!” I was barely able to get the words out – halfway from the lump in my throat and the other half from the unpurified air.

               “On my count.” Why wasn’t anyone answering my question about her! “One! Two! Three!” The large wall that covered my body was removed as my team was looking down upon me.

               “Glad to see you’re alive Simon,” Price said, but something was wrong. I look over at Johnny and he had tears rolling down his face and a look ready to kill.

               “Is she okay?” This was the last time I was going to ask nicely before tearing the rest of this shit hole down.

               I watched Price as he swallowed the lump in his throat, “Lets get this beam off you first.” My heart dropped.

               “Captain,” I say as I felt my eyes starting to burn.

               “On my count,” Price says as everyone takes their position around this beam, “One! Two! Three!”. The beam lifts off my legs and I quickly pull my knees to my chest and stand. The team lets go of the beam as it rumbles the ground beneath us.

               I go to speak and immediately shut my mouth. I knew the words weren’t able to flow out. “LT.” I jerk my head up to look at Soap. His eyes were blood shot, and his jaw was clenched to the point I thought his teeth were going to crack under pressure.

               Price reaches his hand out to me to help me walk over the debris. I quickly grab his hand and carefully watch my step over the fallen sheetrock, beams and splintering wood. My eyes dart over the room looking for any sign of her and I see nothing. She didn’t make it.

               My knees nearly collapsed under me, but luckily, I was able to catch myself. “Simon,” Prices voice still sounding worried.

               I look up and I couldn’t help the pool of liquid that formed around my eyes. “She’s gone.” Two words. Two fucking words that ripped the slightest bit of feelings I had out of my chest.

               “Were going to get her LT.” Johnny cautiously places his hand on my shoulder, and I tensed under his touch. It took a few seconds for it to register what he had said to me.

               “Sh-she’s alive?” I ask out. Soaps eyes met mine but quickly diverted to the floor.

               “We don’t know, son,” Price answered. “All I know is this was a set up. When she told me that we needed to get out of here, I saw two men grab her in the blink of an eye. Before I could do anything, the floor exploded.”

               The rage that flowed through me was enough to kill a fucking army of men. I look around and see that everyone luckily made it out.

               “Bravo 1 to helo. How copy?” Price clicked the button to his coms. Silence. “Bravo 1 to helo. How copy?” Nothing. Price changes the channel on his coms and tries again, “Bravo 1 to Reacher. How copy?”

               “Reacher to Bravo 1. What’s your position?”

               I step away and allow Price to give Laswell the coordinates to come and pick us up to take us back to base. I look out towards the grassy field as tears fell from my eyes. The small indention in the grass perked my attention.

               I looked down at my feet and could see in the dirt that there was a struggle. Messy footwork as the lump in my throat grew bigger. I followed the trail in the grassy field until I reached the top of a small hill. Footsteps behind me caused me to be on high alert as I pulled my pistol from its holster and aimed it at the man who was sneaking up behind me. Soap.

               “Jesus Johnny,” I say as I reholster my pistol. “Warn me before you come sneaking up on me.”

               Soap doesn’t say anything as he stands beside me, and we both look down at the dirt. Multiple sets of footprints, tire tracks and Harley’s coms. I look up towards the sky fighting back the tears that were now reappearing. Soap reaches down and picks up her radio before immediately dropping it.

               I look over at him as all color drains from his face. His hand is covered in blood. My eyes dart from his hand to the coms lying on the ground. “LT.” That was all he said, and I knew. It was hers, but it hadn’t completely dried yet, leaving us with some kind of hope that maybe they weren’t too far away.

               “Ghost to Bravo 1. How copy?���

               “Here Ghost. Reacher is bringing a helo to land in the field. Expect to exfil in two minutes,” Price said in my ear.

               “Copy that Bravo 1,” I replied.

               I look over at Johnny as his face was still white as a sheet, “Were going to find her Johnny,” I say as I place my hand on his shoulder like he did mine, “Get ready for a blood bath.”

               “I wouldn’t want it any other way LT,” he tells me. And he meant it.

               Soap and I make our way to the field as the helicopter approaches and lands. The doors open on each side as Laswell jumps out and runs towards us, “What the fuck happened?!”

               “It was a set up,” I say to her dryly walking past her to get onto the helo.

               She grabs me by my arm, stopping me, “Where is she?” she asks with panic in her voice.

               I jerk my arm out of her grasp and before turning back around, I answer her, “They took her.” Laswell’s face dropped as I told her the news. I kept walking and boarded the helo.

               After a few minutes, everyone boards and the helicopter takes off. Soap and I stare out the window looking to see if we can find vehicles that look out of place or speeding off. Nothing. My heart sunk in my chest even further as rage was filling the large void.

               Nobody said anything on the way back to the base. I think it was for the best considering how little my patience had become and I was ready to snap anyone’s neck at any given moment. I did glance over at Soap occasionally and his focus never shifted from the floor of the helo. He had disassociated several times, and I was trying not to. I needed to stay calm the best I could to focus on what to do. To focus on getting my girl back.

               The helicopter landed back at the base, and I was the first one off – not giving a damn about anyone else or what they were thinking.

               “Simon!” Prices voice rang throughout the base. I stop in my tracks and clench my fist – annoyed with him even talking to me. “Briefing room now! Everybody!”

               I don’t look back. I don’t nod my head. I don’t acknowledge anything but continue walking. I get to the briefing room and take a seat furthest from where everyone else is going to be. I didn’t want anyone talking to me, consoling me, or even looking at me. Lord knows what I would do if they tried.

               I hunch over and rest my elbows on my knees and hang my head low. I swallowed hard as the memories of her plagued my mind. How not even ten hours ago her arms were wrapped around me. I could still smell her, and I swear I could feel her touch. I began to bounce my right leg hoping that would help calm me down or at least help keep the tears back – how that would help, I don’t know; but maybe it might.

               The rest of the team filled the room and Soap sat beside me, but leaving the chair between us empty, for her of course. I look over at him as I heard a few sniffles coming from his way. There was a clean path running down his face from his tears that wiped away the dirt from the house and I’m sure the black around my eyes was fucked all the way up.

               My eyes diverted over to Price and Laswell as they took the front of the room. “Our mission now is to find Harley,” Price starts off. Just hearing her name feels like a knife in my chest, “Alejandro.” Alejandro stares back at Price, “We need all the help we can get.”        

               Alejandro nods, “My people are your people.”

               I couldn’t focus. I wish somebody would give us some sort of location so I can go there and rescue my girl. Fuck everyone else.

               “Captain Price,” Rudy says. My eyes go to him, “Theres something I feel like I need to tell you.” My blood boiled from the way he said that. I swear to God if he says some shit that could have prevented this, I’m going to rip his fucking throat out. “Before Harley went on the coms to ask your position,” Rudy started. I could feel my body starting to shake, “She left her AR with me and took down the three guards with her knives.”

               That’s my girl.

               “She called me over when she took down the other two and I followed but didn’t grab her rifle. When she went back to get it, she said it wasn’t there,” he paused, and my eyes saw red.

               “Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?” I ask in a sinister tone.

               Rudy looked at me with wide eyes as everyone else’s eyes fell upon me, “Because she didn’t say anything about it.”

               “So you just let your teammate go in with no weapon and you’re okay with that?!,” my voice getting louder as I stand up – fist still clenched. “If she didn’t say something, maybe you should have! Maybe! Just bloody fucking maybe she would have been able to shoot the people that took her!” I pick the chair up that was in front of me and slam it against the wall behind me.

               I was seething through my teeth and thank God I was wearing my mask because I knew the sight underneath was not a pretty one. “Ghost,” I hear Laswell say. I look up with bloodshot eyes and my shoulders heaving up and down, “Its not Rudy’s fault. This was a set up.”

               I stare deathly back at her; my body still tense and on high alert. The room was silent, and nobody dared to breathe – knowing the simplest things would make me snap. I slowly sit back down and go back to my position – elbows on my knees and my head hanging low.

               “We tried to track the cell that Michael has been using but wasn’t able to get anything off of it. I’m showing it’s a dead end. I’ve tried to look into his bank accounts, but they have all been cleared.” Laswell pauses before looking over at me, “He’s completely off grid, making this mission a lot harder than what it already is.”

               My whole body began to shake again as her words filled my ears. “Does anyone know where he might be? Any offshore houses that he may have or any properties he may have bought?” Gaz asks.

               “He has over two hundred properties all over the world,” Laswell answers and before she could say anything else, I cut her off, “Then we check every single one of them. We kill everyone and leave no one.”

               Laswell scoffs at me, “An what will that prove Ghost? That’s a way to get her killed.” The words ‘her’ and ‘killed’ sent chills down my spine.

               “He said he wants her. Wouldn’t that mean he wants her alive?” Soap asks causing me to look over at him.

               “Unless he has other plans,” Alejandro says. Everyone looks at him confused, “Slave trade.” I couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. I close my eyes as the liquid once again fell from my eyes and the knife in my chest cut deeper. I clenched my jaw as hard as I could, hoping the pain from my jaw would relieve the pain in my chest.

               Before anyone could protest or agree with Alejandro, a knock came from the door to the briefing room. My blurry eyes scanned over the room and everyone else looked around. “Yeah!” Price yells out.

               The door slowly opens, and a nurse enters the room cautiously. I assume it was the same nurse that took her blood before we took off.

               “Excuse me,” she said looking around the room. “I have some news on Harley.”

               My ears perked up as she scanned the room. “Okay,” Price said annoyed, “Go on.”

               “The drug is completely out of her system,” the nurse said.

               “That’s probably the best news we’ve heard all day. Thank you,” Price said assuming that was all from the nurse.

               “Theres something else,” she said slowly.

               The nurse took a deep breath and as the words came out of her mouth, my heart stopped, and all eyes were on me.           

               “She’s pregnant”

#ao3 fanfic #fanfic #gaz cod #john price #price #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #captain price #john soap mactavish #simon riley x reader #fanfiction #fanart #fantasy #fandom #lettherebelight #smut #archive of our own

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Made up fic title: the merchant and the mercenary

Ask Game Here

Medieval/Renaissance fantasy AU: ( I WILL write this) - Monster hunter mercs always roll through on their missions - John always polite but detached, as is Ghost. Johnny and Gaz always super friendly. - Get used to seeing them monthly, stocking them up on herbs, potions, tinctures. John flirts casually, Ghost becomes friendly (Soap and Gaz unashamed flirts/fight for your affection?) - One mission Soap gets really badly hurt, you have to heal him/nurse him back to health. - John confesses to you, you sleep together. - The group leaves as soon as Soap is better. - John pulls away (trying to be a good man/can't promise you a life because his profession is too dangerous). - You don't see the group for some time, bitter and angry you try to forget them. - They return and you're cold with them all/refuse to barter, tell them their money's no good etc. - Ghost visits you alone "He's in love with you, you know?" - Some monster threat and Reader gets captured? (or rival monster hunter gang trying to harm the 141/Price) - Price and the boys save the day and Price promises never to leave you again. - Counter with offering to travel with them and be their medic/healer etc. and live happily ever after.

#john price #captain john price #captain price #captain johnathan price #task force 141 #john price x reader #john price x you #john price x y/n #captain price x reader #price x reader #price x you #price x y/n #John Price smut #captain price smut #captain price x you #captain price cod #captain price x female reader #price smut #john price cod #captain john price x you #angst #slow burn #angst with a happy ending #mutual pining #fantasy au #monster hunter au

[fixfoxnox]

I will give you my firstborn AND all of my bones if you write more in the letters to love universe.

I read all of it and i desperately need more good god its my favorite thing ever and there is never enough soap/roach content out ther oh my god. Literally was giggling and having a blast reading that.

I will take your firstborn and all of your bones. Also I may have gone a little overboard with this but I think its okay lol

Letters To Love (3)

Description: Soap begins courting Roach and the two run into the first of their struggles: cultural differences

Warnings: Fantasy cultural differences, Roach's kingdom is like sexist but in weird ways (quick reminder that Roach is trans! In this AU. While the kingdom is not transphobic, it does mean that Roach was raised on a females education until he came out, which is part of this), implied misogynyand double standards, Roach calls himself a whore (not in a good way), implied nsfw (its really just Roach being hot and bothered nothing explicit)

Pairings: Soap/Roach, Gaz/Jackson/Price

Word Count: 10.3k

Note: Concept is based on "When A Scot Ties the Knot" by Tessa Dare

Roach and his family were dismissed to wait for the royals in another room. The king and queen would be discussing where King Mactavish, Soap as Roach had been calling him in his letters, would be staying during the preparation for their wedding. Wedding. The thought made him feel faint. He wasn't quite sure what had happened or how the king had gotten his letters or why he'd even shown up. Either way, he was here and Roach's fake fiance was now a real fiance who was covering for him for some reason. Needless to say, when his family was dismissed into a side room to wait for them, Roach was the first out of the room. 

He arrived at the room first and practically threw himself against one of the tables, practically hyperventilating as he leaned against it for support. This was not good. Not good in the slightest. 

His family stormed into the room moments after him and he was quick to push himself up from the table, trying to act unaffected by the sudden arrival of his "fake" fiance. His mother's face was twisted into anger and she was slowly going red, he knew immediately that he was in for some sort of talking to. "Gary Sanderson!" She started in harsh words and Roach winced slightly at her tone, "What have you done?"

Roach shook his head, "I didn't do anything, Mother. Nothing other than what the royals asked me to do, send a letter to my fiance." He took in a deep shaky breath before pushing himself up to stand more confidently, "It isn't my fault that none of you believed me!"

If possible, his mother went redder. "You-" she paused for a moment, gritting her teeth and taking several calming breaths, "Listen to me, Gary. If this is a trick, if I find out that this is something you've put together to try to get out of marrying Prince Makarov?" She stepped closer to him, her demeanor calm but her eyes betraying her rage, "It will not be pleasant for you."

"Can't be more unpleasant than having to marry Makarov," Roach grumbled back. The words earned him a quick glare from her but he was quick to respond, "This isn't a lie. It isn't anything I've done to get out of a marriage. He's my fiance!" It was a blatant lie, but as long as King MacTavish was willing to carry the lie on for him, he'd keep using it. Anything would be better than being forced to marry Makarov. That he knew for certain. 

"Gary-" His mother was cut off by the sound of the door to the room opening. His entire family tensed up, only to relax when Jackson nervously stepped into the room rather than the royal family. "Paul," his mother acknowledged, "What are you doing here?"

Jackson shuffled on his feet for several moments, nervously stepping back and forth. Occasionally his eyes would shoot toward Roach before moving away. After several moments of awkward silence he cleared his throat and spoke, "Well, I heard my best friend's fiance finally made his appearance! I thought I might come to meet the man who Roach has spoken so highly of for nearly a year to me." 

"A year?" His mother stepped toward Jackson, "You knew that he was engaged?"

"Of course," Jackson's eyes shot to Roach again. "Roach swore me to secrecy though, which is why I never told. I apologize Lady Sanderson." 

"Well," Roach's mother pursed her lips and looked around the room, "Did anyone else know?" There was silence from Roach's siblings, both of them looking at the other curiously. "If I find out that one of you did know and said nothing," she glared at Roach's brothers, "I'm cutting you out of the will." 

Almost immediately after the words left her mouth and the door to the room opened again, forcing everyone to stand up straighter and pretend that there was no turmoil going on within the Sanderson family. The king and queen stepped into the room first, followed by Makarov. After him stepped King MacTavish, his eyes finding Roach from across the room. He sent a small smile his way and Roach couldn't help but return it, even as he twisted at his fingers with nerves. Following behind King MacTavish were three other men, each also dressed finely with a weapon of varying sorts strapped to them. 

The king and queen seemed flustered and, even through the careful mask that he wore, Roach could see the rage on Makarov's face. It caused a sick sort of satisfaction to curl in his chest. The king cleared his throat, turning everyone's attention toward him. "Lord Thomas Sanderson and Lady Caroline Sanderson, might I introduce you to your son's fiance? King John MacTavish of the kingdom of Tèarmann." 

King MacTavish was quick to step forward and Roach's parents, ever the good nobles, stooped into a low bow. King MacTavish seemed almost surprised by the move and he stared for a moment before giving a brief bow back, allowing Roach's parents to rise to their full height once again, both of them holding themselves properly. He stepped forward to Roach's parents after a quick moment and held his hand out, "A pleasure to finally meet the both of you."

Roach's mother stared at the offered hand with disdain, but his father was quick to accept the simple handshake. "A pleasure to meet you," The voice of Roach's mother sounded anything other than pleased, but she kept her face neutral as she turned toward Jonathan and Eddie. "Our two eldest sons, Jonathan and Edward Sanderson." King MacTavish was quick to step toward them with a grin, giving a good handshake to them both. Once that was done, he turned and met Roach's eyes. They stared at one another for a long moment, Roach's face going steadily pink the longer that he looked at the bare-chested form of the man in front of him. After a moment, King MacTavish started toward him.

Once they were close enough, the king took his hands into his own again, giving a quick kiss to the back of one, then a kiss to his wrist, similar to what he'd done in the grand hall. He wrapped an arm around his waist again, but this time he turned, leaning back against the table that Roach had been standing by and tucking Roach right against his side. Roach felt hot at the proximity, but he pushed past and even, when he saw the downright murderous look in Makarov's eyes, tucked himself closer to the man. 

"We have discussed," The king pursed his lips while watching them, King MacTavish hardly seemed affected by the almost disgusted look he was receiving and, in fact, he seemed to find it amusing, "The King's stay. While it would typically be customary for him to stay with us while remaining in the kingdom, he had decided it best to remain with his army and set up camp on the outskirts of the kingdom. Of course, this will mean a bit of travel for Roach to pay visits to him. Is this satisfactory for you Lord Sanderson?" 

Roach's father glanced back at King MacTavish before his eyes glanced over to Roach. They held gazes for a long moment and Roach couldn't read what his father was thinking. He was never able to read what his father was thinking. After a moment he turned back to the king and responded with a simple, "Yes, that is satisfactory." 

The king cleared his throat, a tick of annoyance passing his face. It was as though he'd expected Roach's father to side with him. "Of course." He took in another breath before adding, "We've also decided to set the date of the wedding for a month. This will allow Roach and King MacTavish to reacquaint themselves with one another." The implication of his words was that he was hoping they would decide not to marry. Of course, he could not say that out loud.

"Yes," King MacTavish's voice was smooth and he gave a crooked grin before adding, "I would quite like to get started with that. If I may take my beloved for a walk or a ride together, I would be grateful." 

"Of course," Roach's father responded calmly, "We will simply have to choose your chaperones." 

There was a long pause for a moment as King MacTavish blinked at Roach's father, his face blank. Finally, after several moments, he asked, "Chaperones? What for?" 

His mother gave an indignant sputter, her face going red again as she asked in a high-pitched voice, "What for? What do you mean what for? It is to ensure that nothing inappropriate happens before the two of you are married!"

King MacTavish was quiet for another moment, but Roach noted the way that his eyes shot over to one of the men who'd followed him into the room questioningly. He only received a shrug in return. "If we are to be married," he started carefully, his hand on Roach's waist tightening just a bit, "What should it matter if we do something inappropriate together? He is mine in all but title already, isn't he?" Roach could have laughed at the looks of horror that passed around the room. It was almost hysterical the way that his entire family had paled at the words and the way that Makarov's face had gone a bright red. He wished for a moment that Jackson had his sketchbook and could capture the moment in drawing for him.

"That," His mother's voice was high, "Is not how that works. Until you are married Roach does not belong to you and you are not permitted to do anything outside of normal courting rituals!" 

King MacTavish looked more than disgruntled by her words, but he was quick to apologize, "I see. My apologies, simple cultural differences I fear." He shared a look with the three men who'd followed him into the room before adding, "Alright, who shall we take as a chaperone?"

"It is custom that there are two," Jackson was quick to fill in for the king, "One from both parties to prevent any sort of deals being made. The one from your party shall watch Roach and the one from Roach's party will watch you." He cleared his throat after a moment before hesitantly adding, "You may choose your own chaperone."

"That's convenient," King MacTavish looked to the three men who'd followed him into the room and called, "Ghost?"

The tallest of the men and the most intimidating with his thick war paint done in the visage of a skull stepped forward. He gave a quick bow, "Gladly, my king." 

King MacTavish turned to Roach then, motioning with his hand for him to choose. Before Roach could quickly rattle off one of his brother's names, Makarov had stepped forward to interrupt, "Perhaps I should act as Roach's chaperone." He folded his hands behind his back, his face fixed into a neutral mask, "We are friends and I have only his best interest at heart." 

Roach sent a panicked look to Jackson and his friend was quick to step forward, having understood the message loud and clear, "My prince, chaperoning a simple date surely is a waste of your time. You are an important man and it would not be right to take you away from your duties." Jackson stepped forward again, "Roach and I have been friends for years, I would be more than glad to act as his chaperone." 

Roach's mother glared at Jackson lightly with the suggestion. Her voice was sharp as she spoke, "I do not know if that is best."

"What would be wrong with it?" Jackson folded his hands behind his back and carefully spoke, "I mean surely you all believe that I have Roach's best interest in heart as well. Surely you would not question my dedication to my friend's propriety and reputation."

There was a long tense pause before Roach's mother hesitantly conceded, "Of course not, Paul." 

"Excellent," Roach gave his best polite smile to the group, "then Jackson shall act as my chaperone. As he said," he turned his attention to Makarov's glaring eyes, "I could not think of tearing you away from your duties, my Prince." 

Seeing that King MacTavish did not know the way around the castle grounds, where they were expected to take their walk, Roach was the one leading. He knew exactly where he was going to take them. The castle garden was gorgeous, but there was another advantage of the area: the hedge maze. They could go deep enough into the hedge maze, to the center which was a path that Roach knew well, and there would be no one who would be able to listen in on whatever conversation they decided to have. So, Roach knew that he would be taking his "fake" fiance to the hedge maze.

They walked silently beside one another for most of the journey there, their arms interlinked and their forms brushing against one another occasionally. Roach noted that it seemed like the King wanted to speak to him. He opened his mouth several times, his eyes burning into him only for him to snap his mouth shut and direct his gaze back in front of him. It made Roach feel more anxious than he would have liked. There was obviously the big issue that they had to discuss, the one that they both clearly knew. Still, neither of them spoke. Jackson and Ghost, as the King had called him earlier, followed behind them by about ten feet. Neither of them was speaking either. 

Finally, Roach guided them into the center of the hedge maze and up onto the large circular pavilion that looked over a fountain. As soon as they were safely on the pavilion and Roach was sure that no one else would find them, he broke away from King MacTavish. He wheeled around immediately, his eyes glaring as he marched toward an already retreating Jackson. "You!" 

"Now, now, Roach! Really this isn't so bad there's no need for vio- OW!"

Roach smacked at Jackson's chest, hitting him over and over as his friend tried to defend himself. "You told me the letters wouldn't get sent! You absolute idiot you told me that they would throw them out!"

Jackson finally managed to jump away from him and he held out his hands placatingly, "I thought they would!"

"Well, clearly they didn't!" 

A throat cleared behind them, causing them both to tense and turn their attention back to the two men watching them. Both King MacTavish and Ghost seemed amused at his sudden outburst, smiles tugging at their lips as they watched them. "I'm sorry for interrupting," he looked between them, "I can assume this is the friend who told you to send the letters then?"

"Guilty," Jackson gave an awkward wave. 

Roach took in a stressed breath before starting toward King MacTavish, "I am so sorry! I just, well they were going to force me to-"

"To marry the prince," King Mactavish gave him a soft smile and a nod, "I remember from your letters." He paused for a moment before holding his hand out to Roach, "I should explain why I've come." Roach hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward to take his hand, allowing himself to be guided back onto the pavilion and to one of the seats. They sat close together and, even once they'd stopped moving, King MacTavish didn't let go of his hand. Instead, he started to rub comforting circles onto the back of it with his thumb. There was a long moment of silence as it seemed like he tried to find the right words. Finally, he started, "When I received your first few letters, you can imagine my confusion. I had no recollection of a fiance, so I was sure that they were meant for someone else. I soon realized what was actually going on and, though I shouldn't have, I continued to receive and read your letters."

"My king-"

"Soap," King MacTavish, Soap, corrected, "You call me Soap. Yes?" The look that he fixed Roach with was so intense. There were several things there: desperation, adoration, hope. Roach's breath was stolen by his gaze alone.

"Yes," he answered breathlessly. 

Soap gave him a bright smile at the words and Roach could feel himself heating up just a bit. The man was so handsome when he smiled like that. He was handsome in general, but something about his smile nearly knocked Roach over. "I kept reading your letters and, soon, they became a sort of bright spot in my day. I looked forward to them." He met Roach's gaze nervously, "It might not make sense, but I quickly grew... attached to you through the letters and, well," he took in a deep breath, "The reason why I'm here. The reason why I came when I got your letter, it's because I'm in love with you." 

Roach's mouth dropped open just slightly, his face going a bright red as he stared at Soap with wide eyes. He was in love with him? Because of the letters? He'd come...because he was in love with him. "I don't-"

"I'm not going to force you to marry me," Soap spoke quickly, his voice sounding almost weak to Roach's ears. "I wanted to take a chance, though. I wanted to give you a choice. You can find a way to break off your marriage with Makarov permanently with the time I'm buying you, you can marry Makarov, or," he hesitated for a moment, "You can marry me. And, I will admit, selfishly I came to try to make that last one happen. To earn your love as you have earned mine." His free hand moved up to cup Roach's jaw, his thumb stroking just lightly over his cheek. His eyes looked over his face reverently. "If you would give me a chance, I would love the opportunity to do so. To allow you to get to know me." He leaned forward just slightly, his nose brushing against Roach's own. 

Roach could feel Soap's breath on his lips and his heart felt like it was beating out of his chest. He didn't quite understand how he'd managed to get this man to fall in love with him, especially over the diary-like letters that he'd ranted through. Somehow, though, he had. Somehow he'd made this man fall for him and now he was here, offering him a way out of marrying Makarov. Roach wasn't a fool, Roach knew that there was only one way for him to get out of marrying Makarov and that was to marry someone else. And, though he didn't fully know him yet, something in his quickly beating heart and the warmth that radiated on his skin from Soap's touch told him that Soap was the choice. This man who'd traveled across kingdoms, who'd finished a war, all to come and have even a slight chance to marry him. There was only one answer. "Yes," he spoke quietly, leaning just a smidge closer to Soap. Their lips were practically hovering over each other's as he continued, "I want to know you. I want to know you the way that you know me." 

There was nothing that could have stopped their lips from colliding. Something about the other was pulling them in, like fate working to draw them together with tied strings. The kiss was inevitable and with it, Roach was certain that falling was just the same: inevitable.

"Okay, how do I look?" 

"Completely frazzled," Jackson answered back honestly, a small grin on his face. The sound of his laughter rang around the room when Roach gave a weak groan and collapsed back onto his bed. 

He whined into the fabric of his sheets, feeling completely hopeless. He couldn't find anything to wear and he was starting to get frustrated. He just wanted to make sure that he was dressed nicely for his first real courting day with Soap and yet he couldn't find anything. He'd practically tried on his entire closet, desperate for something nice enough, but not too nice. The problem was that neither he nor Jackson knew what the fuck they were going to be attending. Soap had tried to explain it to him the previous day and, from what he gathered, it was a sort of post-war tradition in Tèarmann.

"When a war is won, we celebrate. There is traditionally a week of feasting and games of strength and skill played. Just a bit of fun. Usually, we would be at home for the games," he'd hesitated for a moment, "But I've told them to go ahead and host them without me there, to show our people that the war is over. So we've decided to host a smaller version for our soldiers who decided to stay behind." He'd pressed a kiss to Roach's wrist and given him a grin, "I want you to come and watch." 

"I'm going to make a fool of myself," he groaned into his sheets, embarrassment and frustration eating at him.

"That's not true," Jackson shook his head at him, "I don't even understand why you're so worried about this." He pushed himself up from his seat and started toward the bed. A moment later and Roach felt the mattress dip down underneath him. "MacTavish is already in love with you! And," he playfully nudged Roach's arm, "You two have already kissed, so I don't understand the problem." 

Roach went red at the memory of the kiss he'd shared with Soap only two days ago. It had been a spur-of-the-moment thing and Roach hadn't felt like he could stop himself when they were so close. Soap was just so...hypnotizing to him. If it hadn't been for Jackson clearing his throat to remind them that they weren't alone, Roach was quite certain he would have lost himself in the smooth slide of lips against his own and the feel of a strong hand cupping his jaw. Despite the kiss, despite Soap confessing that he'd fallen in love with him through his letters, despite all of it, Roach felt unsure. How did Soap know that he was in love with him? If he was in love with him, he could still fall out of love. He could still change his mind. He'd already shown himself to be quick and easy with the kiss that they'd shared, he was more than surprised that Soap was still even interested in him after that.

"I just," he hesitated, pushing himself up from the bed to look at Jackson, "I want him to like me."

"He already loves you," Jackson reminded him softly. 

"I know," Roach conceded, "But...that could change." He looked away from his friend and picked at his fingers nervously.

There was no speaking for several moments. Things were quiet and Roach couldn't bring himself to break the silence, not with the confession he'd just made. Finally, after several long moments, Jackson stood, "Alright, listen, I can tell this is bugging you, so let's think this out right? Soap told you that it’s games of strength and skill right? But it's also like a competition." He shrugged his shoulders, "It sounds like a tournament, doesn't it? So just wear what you would wear to a tournament." 

Roach hesitated for a moment before looking up at his friend with wide eyes, "You think that will be okay?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Jackson shrugged, "Besides, if MacTavish wanted you dressed a certain way, he would have told you, right?" He stepped forward and crouched down in front of Roach, "Listen, you aren't going to mess this up. MacTavish adores you and, to be honest, I don't think anything that you do other than murder, maybe, would change that." 

Roach felt his lips quirk up at his friend's words. "Thanks, Paul." 

Jackson gave him a grin before standing back to his feet, "Alright, c'mon now future King Consort, get dressed! Your lover boy will be here soon." He gave Roach a teasing wink before turning to leave Roach alone to get properly prepared in whatever way he needed to.

Roach took one last moment to check himself over in one of his mirrors. He still felt completely unsure of what he was wearing, but Jackson was right. If Soap wanted him dressed a certain way, he would have told him. He took in one last deep breath before running a hand through his hair one last time and turning to make his way out of his room. He walked carefully down the stairs of his home and down toward the sitting room where he could hear light conversation happening between Soap and his family. He couldn't make out what they were saying, though he assumed that was purposeful considering their conversation cut off as soon as he stepped into the room. 

He noticed immediately that Soap had brought someone else with him today. It was one of the men who'd been with him the previous day, but it clearly wasn't Ghost who he'd expected to see. Still, it only threw him off for a second. He could feel eyes on him and, when he finally took a look at Soap, his face went hot. Soap's eyes were wide and his mouth had dropped open just a bit. Roach didn't have to be a genius to see or feel the hunger in his eyes. He had to turn his gaze away quickly, though he was sure his face was still a burning red. He tried to focus his attention on his family.

His mother, despite her clear disdain for Soap, gave him a sweet smile and stepped up to him, taking his hands in her own. "You look lovely, dear." She rubbed her thumbs on the back of his hands, "You remember your rules, yes?" 

He nodded to her carefully. Of course he remembered his rules, they'd been banged into his head his entire childhood. His brothers studied history and war and he was taught how to attract a proper suitor for himself. This certainly wasn't the suitor that his parents had in mind, but they couldn't argue that he wasn't proper when he was even a higher status than the man they'd wanted him to marry. "I do," he gave his mother a small bow, "And not to worry, I remember I must stay by Paul during the trip." His mother gave him a slight nod, her smile going a bit sour at the reminder that he was going to the outskirts of the city. It wasn't a far ride, but she was less than happy about the prospect of him spending a day in a "glorified army camp." 

"Right," she stepped away from him and turned toward Soap, her hands folded neatly in front of her, "He is yours for the day King MacTavish." 

Soap gave her a bright smile, only taking his eyes off of Roach for a second before returning them to observing his form. "Thank you, my lady. You have my word that Roach will be well cared for." Roach could have shivered at the words. Soap stepped forward then, a hand held out for Roach to take. Roach gave him a shy smile before taking his hand and allowing himself to be tucked against Soap's arm as they'd done two days earlier. He allowed himself to be guided out of his house, hearing the sounds of Jackson and the other man Soap had brought following behind them. 

He was led outside and toward two waiting horses. When they got close enough, Soap motioned for Roach to step up to the horse so that he could help him up and Roach followed his orders, tingles rushing up his spine as Soap's hands fixed themselves on his waist to help lift him up to the horse. A moment after he settled and Soap was pulling himself up on the horse to settle behind him. They were pressed tight together, with Soap's arms wrapped around him to take hold of the reigns of the horse. Roach could feel the other man's warmth pressed against him and, though he did his best to ignore it, a shiver still pulled down his spine. 

Their attention turned quickly toward Jackson and the other man. Jackson had given a small huff of amusement and much to Roach's horror, his friend turned to the other man who'd come with Soap and asked, "Well alright, big boy. What's it gonna be, you gonna ride me from behind like the love birds? Or is it gonna be me at the back?"

The other man seemed at least amused by Jackson's words, a smile quirking up his lips and laughter shaking his shoulders for a moment. Rather than responding, he brought a hand up to his mouth and whistled through his fingers. A moment later and another horse, who had apparently stepped off to graze, was trotting back over. The other man chuckled as he pulled himself onto his horse, "How about neither?"

Jackson grumbled but pulled himself up as well. "Disappointing," Roach heard him mutter. He had to hide his laughter behind his hand and he could feel the rumbling laughter from Soap against his back. Within a few moments, they were off, making their way down the paths that would lead them outside of the city. 

The ride was rather calm and, with the steady motion of the horse and Soap's arms wrapped around him, Roach found that it was probably the best ride that he'd taken in his life. It wasn't until Soap's bustling camp was in sight that Roach started to grow nervous. They were now outside of Roach's element and the realm of what he knew. The last thing he wanted to do was make a fool of himself in front of Soap or any of his people. He tried to take several deep breaths to calm his nerves, but it wasn't until Soap whispered against his ear, "Calm down. I promise that there is nothing to be worried about," that he was finally able to begin to relax again. Of course, Soap following those words up with, "You look stunning, by the way," didn't help with anything other than growing the red flush to his skin, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

When they finally stopped somewhere close to the center of the bustling and, honestly, quite lovely-looking camp that Soap's people had set up, they were greeted by the two other men who'd been with Soap the previous day. Ghost and another one who Roach had yet to learn the name of. Soap got down from the horse first before wrapping his arms around Roach's waist to help him down after. The move resulted in the two standing quite close to one another, their chests practically touching as they caught the other's eyes. Roach was the one to look away, unable to hold Soap's gaze for longer than a few moments. 

When he stepped away, he was immediately greeted by the man whom he didn't know. He was giving him a bright grin and held his hand out to Roach, "I don't think we got a chance to meet yesterday, I'm Gaz, I'm part of Soap's council." 

Roach took his hand gratefully, giving him a small smile in return, "A pleasure to meet you." 

The next person to step up was Ghost. "Apologies for never introducing myself yesterday. You can call me Ghost, might I have your name?" He held his hand out for a shake and Roach almost took it before pausing.

He blinked at Ghost suddenly before narrowing his eyes at him. "Apologies," he spoke carefully, "You may not have my name. But I will tell you that I am called Roach." With that, he gently took Ghost's hand in his own to shake, "A pleasure to meet you." Much to his surprise, Ghost met his words with a bright grin. 

The man who'd come with Soap didn't offer his hand, he simply called out, "I'm Price, we're happy to have you here Roach." 

Jackson stepped off of his horse with a bright grin, "We're doing introductions?" He raised a hand in greeting to the three men, "Paul Jackson, Roach's best friend, chaperone, and the idiot who told him the letters wouldn't get sent." Roach gave a brief huff at the amused chuckle that pulled from Gaz and Price, but even he couldn’t stop the small smile that pulled to his face at his friend's words. 

His attention was brought back to Soap when the man stepped up beside him to wrap their arms together again. They shared a small smile with one another, Roach feeling much calmer than he had several minutes ago when they'd arrived. "Come," Soap started guiding him forward, "The games start soon. I'll show you to our seats."

Roach wouldn't say he was bored. He wouldn't say that in the slightest. In fact, he was quite interested in what Soap had described as a "simplified" version of the games that they would play back home for this celebration. The problem wasn't that he was bored, the problem was that he simply had no idea what was happening. So far they'd watched people throw stones, the person who threw theirs the farthest was declared the winner after three attempts. Then they threw bales of hay, and the person who threw theirs the furthest was declared the winner after three attempts. Two games of just throwing things. It was interesting, sort of. He just wondered if all of the games that they were going to watch were people throwing things. 

Soap had been checking in on him practically every few minutes, leaning over to his seat to ask if he was hungry or thirsty. Roach could see that he wanted to ask more, he could see it in the way that the man's eyes scanned his face nervously. It was clear that Soap wanted to ask if he was enjoying himself, but he never did. The men were setting up for the next event and the excitement of the crowd was palpable, though Roach couldn't quite understand why. It wasn't until, when the call for any participants to step forward came up, that he understood why. 

Soap stood from his seat and stretched upward before turning his gaze to Roach with a small smile, "I'll be participating in most of the games from here on," he stepped toward him and took his hand, "Cheer for me?"

Roach softened under his gaze and gave him a small smile, "I will, please just forgive me if I accidentally cheer while your losing, I'm afraid I still don't fully understand everything." Soap gave a low chuckle at his words before leaning over him to press a kiss against his cheek. With that, he stepped away, leaving Roach a heated mess with a tingle under his skin where Soap had pressed his lips. 

He watched as Soap joined the rest of the participants in the next event, receiving many greetings and slaps on the shoulder when he stepped up with the rest of the group. He had to remind himself not to openly ogle the man when Soap reached up to start undoing the ties on his tunic and armor, slowly dropping them into a pile with the other men's tops until he was left bare-chested. 

Roach had to admit that he was more than surprised when four men carried in a tall log together and set it on the ground close by where the participants were lined up. "This is one of his best events," Roach turned to see Ghost had taken the seat where Soap previously was. His face was pressed into something neutral, "Though, I think today I imagine all of his events will be his best events."

Roach hesitated for a moment before asking, "What does that mean?"

Ghost turned toward him and a small smile tilted up his lips, "Well, he has someone to impress today, so I imagine he'll try to ensure a top placement." 

Those words made Roach squirm in his seat nervously. He knew to expect this, of course he did. It had been one of his first lessons when he was younger, back when a governess still had to smack his hands and back with a stick to keep his posture correct. Men will try to impress you. They want to see if you're easily impressed. They want to see if they could impress you enough to get what they want without marriage. He picked at his fingers at the thought, straightening up in his seat as, one by one, men started to move up to the line, taking turns picking up the large log and running with it before tossing it out ahead of them as far as they could. They only got one chance and, for many of the men, it was quite an impressive show of strength. 

"Soap's up," Ghost muttered to him. They both watched as Soap gave a brief stretch before stepping up to the log. Roach had to admit, it was an impressive and tempting sight. Muscles rippled along Soap's arms and back and lifting the log seemed to almost be no trouble to him. He, like the others, ran forward to toss the log. Roach could tell that he'd easily outdone the competition and, for one small moment, he let a smile cross his face. Then he remembered his rules. Never let a man know that he's impressed you. He straightened up in his seat at the thought, picking at his fingers more viciously as he smoothed his face into a neutral mask. Even as Soap turned back to shoot him a bright grin, he only allowed himself to return the sight with a slight smile before turning his gaze away, completely missing the way that Soap seemed to deflate slightly at his lack of reaction. 

The next event was tug of war and, though Soap was on a team for this, Roach could easily tell that Soap was doing a great deal of the work for his group. If Roach had thought the sight of Soap lifting the log was something tempting, he was sure that watching Soap doing this event was temptation in essence. His face was twisted into something hard and focused and with every move, Roach could see the full effort of it throughout his body. The way that his arms and legs flexed with nearly every pull had Roach captivated and feeling just a bit too hot under the collar. Even Jackson seemed impressed based on the wide-eyed looks that he was sending Roach and the muttered words, "My fuck up just offered you that on a silver platter. I expect a gift basket." Still, even with this, Roach managed to keep his face schooled into a bit of cool indifference. When he clapped, he made sure to do it for just the appropriate amount of time and that the sound of his hands wasn't as loud as Ghost or Jackson next to him. That was more habit than anything, but he still did it.  

Then came javelin throwing. Another event that showed off all of what Soap had to offer and had Roach fighting against his own body to keep himself fixed in a neutral position. Though, possibly the worst of the events for him to remain calm through was clearly the last of them: wrestling. 

There were a few events between the javelin throw and wrestling, long enough for Soap to come back over to him and talk for a few moments. Roach could see that the man had a bit of an edge to him that hadn't been there when he'd left, a tenseness to his shoulders and a crease along his forehead that gave away that he was thinking about something. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but every time he opened his mouth to speak he slammed it closed again. By the time he stepped off to join in the queue of participants for wrestling, Roach had felt a blossom of guilt in his chest. Despite the calm and, in his opinion, decent conversation they'd shared for the brief few moments they had, Roach felt as though Soap left more frustrated than he'd arrived and something in the back of his mind told him it was his fault. The thought caused him to bite harshly at his lips before ignoring the sting to bring his thumb up to his mouth so that he could bite at his nails nervously. 

He wondered if Soap had seen through his neutral expression. He wondered if he'd given himself away. He wondered if he'd already ruined any affection that the other man had for him. He bit at his thumb harshly at the thought and, when he pulled his finger back, he could see red beginning to flow down his finger where he'd broken skin. He was quick to hide his hand against his clothes. He went back to biting harshly at his lip. 

Several different competitors wrestled with one another before Soap got his chance. Slowly they were eliminated, but Roach wasn't interested in them. His eyes kept flickering over to where Soap was preparing himself. They kept tracing bare skin and wondering what it would be like to touch. They kept sketching the lines of Soap's face into his mind. And when he looked away, his mind would plague him with the question of whether he'd already made the man lose interest. All because he couldn't stick to his rules. 

The rules were a problem for him though, especially when Soap finally stepped up to wrestle his first opponent. It was a match of strength and strategy and a rather violent one based on the several pairs that had gone before Soap and his opponent. Soap's opponent was a large man, larger than Soap himself by a great deal, and he was littered with war scars. Just the sight of him had Roach feeling nervous for Soap and he couldn't help but lean over to ask Ghost, "Soap's opponent is rather large...I, well, should I worry for him?"

Ghost gave a low chuckle, "I wouldn't." He leaned over conspiratorily to whisper to Roach, "Soap never loses the wrestling event. Never."

The words relaxed Roach by a great deal, but not enough to stop him from wanting to jump to his feet and cheer for Soap as the match actually began. It was a great deal of grappling at first, just each of the men trying to get a grip on the other. Then the real fight began. 

Though the other man was bigger, Soap was quicker and smarter with how he used his weight. Within only a few moments he was able to get his arms around the large man's waist and lift him up to tip him back to the ground. From there he moved into a harsh and strict hold around the other man's throat. The other man wasn't willing to go down easily and he struggled hard against Soap, forcing him to fight to maintain his grip. Roach stood to his feet with the rest of the crowd and found himself leaning forward desperately, his eyes wide as he watched Soap fight to keep the other man down. Despite Ghost's words that Soap wouldn't lose, Roach still found himself trying to fight back the desire to jump around and cheer when the match was finally called in Soap's favor. 

He barely managed to keep his reaction down to just an excited squeak and, even then, he was forced to hide his mouth with his hand in hopes that Soap wouldn't see the bright grin that he wore. He collapsed back into his seat as he watched Soap get led off of the field with cheers, the other man being led off to a medical check. Despite his attempt to keep his emotions and thoughts in check, it was clear that Ghost had picked up on how impressed he was with Soap. At least if the amused grin that he sent his way was anything to go off of. 

The rest of the rounds went much the same for him in the way that he was forced to fight against himself to try to keep his reactions down. With every opponent that Soap pinned, with the more sweat-slicked and mussed that the man became, Roach found it harder and harder to keep from popping up to cheer with the rest of the crowd. He found it harder and harder to keep a grin from splitting across his face. When, at the end of it all, Soap was declared the winner of the event just as Ghost told that he would be, Roach had to grip tight to his seat to keep himself in place rather than joining the numerous people who were running out to congratulate Soap on his victory. He wasn't able to hide his grin though, or the delighted laugh that escaped his throat when Soap was nearly knocked over by an overexcited pat on his shoulder. 

"Roach," he was brought back to himself at Ghost's call of his name. He felt panic run through him as he realized that he'd managed to break one of the rules that had been melted into his brain since he was a youth. After all, he'd certainly shown how impressed he was with Soap. "Come with me," Ghost held a hand out to him, "I'll take you to Soap's tent, you can congratulate him on his win there." 

Roach was too far lost in his own racing thoughts to even wonder where Jackson had gone off to. Even though his friend was really just a decoy chaperone, he typically would have voiced his opposition to the idea, especially when Roach himself seemed so nervous. But, when he looked over to where his friend had been sitting, he found that Jackson was nowhere to be seen. It meant that he had no help in trying to resist the desire to see Soap. Alone. In his tent. It meant that he allowed himself to be guided through the camp to one of the large tents. Ghost didn't follow him inside, he only gave him a quick grin and a word that Soap would be at the tent soon enough. 

Roach felt like a fool when he was finally alone inside the well-furnished tent. He stumbled over to the table in the tent and took a hesitant seat at it, his hands shaking ever so slightly as he did. First, he showed that he was impressed and now he found himself waiting in a tent alone for Soap to arrive. He couldn't imagine what the other man thought of him. He couldn't imagine how much he'd embarrassed himself. He was sure that Ghost would tell Soap of his excited reactions. He was sure that they would laugh over how quickly he'd managed to lose himself in the display of strength. He felt sick at the idea. And now he was waiting for Soap alone in his tent. What had been impressed upon him since he was a child was that this would ruin the way that the other man saw him. Any of that affection and love he had for him would be tainted with the knowledge that he was an easily swayed creature who would be more than willing to find himself alone in a tent with a king. As his governess had often said, all he'd done was tell the other man that he was nothing more than a whore. 

He covered his face at the thought, dread building up in his gut. He'd lost his opportunity. He'd lost his opportunity to perhaps have someone so sweet and kind who claimed to truly love him. He was sure of it. 

"Roach." His head shot up at the call of his name and he found himself meeting the gaze of Soap, standing still bare-chested and sweaty at the entrance to the tent. Neither of them said anything for several moments, just staring at the other. Roach resisted the urge to trace the lines of Soap's body with his eyes. 

The silence pressed on and Roach grew more and more uncomfortable. He couldn't handle the way that Soap was looking at him. His expression was one of disappointment and frustration and Roach was sure that both were aimed at him. He had to try to salvage the moment, he had to try to salvage this. He had to get another chance. He pushed himself up from his seat quickly, "Soap-"

"I apologize," Soap moved further into the tent, passing him in favor of tossing open a chest and pulling out a fresh shirt from inside. He pulled it over his chest, slowly covering himself from Roach's eyes. "I hope that the day was not too terrible for you." Roach nearly reeled back with the words.

"Terrible?" 

"Yes," Soap turned to him, his eyebrows furrowed, "I apologize. I thought you might enjoy yourself coming to watch the games, but I see now that it was the wrong choice." He hesitated for a moment before stepping toward Roach with furrowed brows, "I hope though...that you might give me a second chance to impress you. Another chance to, well," he took Roach's hands in his own carefully, "To perhaps try to earn your affection." 

Roach could only feel shock running through him. He didn't quite know what to say or to think. He'd assumed that Soap would be upset with him, that Soap would have lost affection for him but, instead, it was like Soap was worried about just the same things that he was. He was worried about the fact that he supposedly hadn't managed to impress Roach that day, but that instead, he'd managed to bore him. It was a complete shock to Roach. He didn't understand how Soap hadn't seen how enraptured he was by the day. How much he had enjoyed himself. 

His silence seemed to be the wrong answer because, after a long moment of observing his face, Soap stepped away from him. His eyes were downcast and his voice sounded weak as he spoke, "I will have you taken back home, then. I apologize."

Roach reacted on instinct then, stepping toward Soap quickly to take the man's hands in his own, mirroring the way that Soap had so often made the action toward him, "But I did enjoy myself today!" He spoke quickly, "I have enjoyed myself and I was desperately impressed with you!" He pressed himself closer to Soap.

"But," Soap shook his head for a moment, there was a spark of hope in his eyes, but most of his face was twisted into disbelief, "during the events, you seemed so...bored." He hesitated for a moment, "You do not have to lie to spare my feelings. I am here to prove myself to you, not the other way around." 

Those words made Roach wince just slightly and things seemed to snap into place for him. This had to be another one of those moments of cultural differences between them. Something similar to the issue with the chaperones the previous day. Soap wanted to impress Roach, he wanted Roach to see what he had to offer, he wanted to see how much Roach was enjoying himself. And Roach believed that if he allowed himself to appear impressed, if he allowed himself to show how much he was enjoying himself, he believed that Soap would lose interest in him. He was in the mindset that he had to impress Soap. Though Soap had told him he loved him, though Soap had confessed to him, Roach had not allowed himself to fully believe that it was the truth. And now, now Soap thought that he was the one failing. 

"It is my fault," he explained quietly, "I thought...I thought that if I showed how impressed I was with you, how much I enjoyed myself, I thought that you would be disgusted with me." 

Soap blinked wide at him, horror spreading across his face. He stepped closer to Roach and used one of his hands to tilt Roach's chin up, forcing them to lock eyes. "Why would you believe that?"

Roach could feel his face going hot and he was quick to step away from Soap to begin pacing and picking at his nails again. "I have rules that have been drilled into me since I was a child," he started, his voice shaking with nerves, "Rules on how to act in every situation. Rules on propriety. Rules for maintaining my reputation. Rules for...for courting." He turned back to Soap and began to nervously straighten out his clothes. "I was taught that if I allowed a man to see that he impressed me, that I was enjoying myself with him, it would make him believe that I am not proper for marriage. That I am not worthy of him."

Soap shook his head, "Why would any man not want to see that you are impressed with him? Why would any man not want to see that the person he loves enjoys their time together."

"Because if they do," Roach explained carefully, "They will believe that they do not have to marry the person to get what they want from them." 

There was a long pause between the two men. Soap was clearly trying to work out what Roach was implying with his words and Roach waited patiently for him to connect the dots. He saw the exact moment that realization bloomed across Soap's face. "Roach," Soap stepped closer to him, "I do not wish to marry you just to have a chance to be between your legs. You understand that." He took Roach's hands in his own, tugging him closer, "Tell me that you understand what I am saying?" 

"I do now," Roach shook his head, "I am so sorry. I did not mean to make you feel like I was bored or unimpressed with you." He paused for a moment before shyly admitting, "I was quite impressed with you today, and," he moved one of his hands to grab nervously at the fabric of Soap's shirt, "I should say congratulations on your wins."

"What Ghost told me," Soap started quietly, his forehead pressed against Roach's, "About you cheering for me? It was true?"

Roach gave a slow nod, "Even while trying not to show any sort of, well, emotions, I am afraid I just got too excited to see you doing so well in the last competition." He shook his head at himself, "Though now I wish that I had stood up and cheered for you the way that I wanted to." 

In the next moment, Roach found lips on his again. He relaxed into the kiss almost immediately, his arms moving to wrap around Soap's shoulders to tug him closer. Soap responded by tugging at his hips, pulling their bodies flush to one another and sending a flash of heat down Roach's spine. "I," Soap pressed their lips together again, chuckling into the kiss, "So I impressed you?"

Roach couldn't help but give a small laugh of his own back into the kiss, pulling back just long enough to say, "Very much so," before his lips were captured by Soap once again. 

When Roach was, eventually, brought back home from his first courting day with Soap, he didn't think that he'd ever felt happier in his life. He and Soap had spent the rest of the evening pressed into the other's side, grins on their faces as they talked to one another through the feast that came after the games. Jackson had showed up sometime after the feast started, a dopey grin on his face as Gaz and Price followed behind him. Roach hadn't paid much attention to him, too focused on Soap to really think about his friend's disappearance or his sudden reappearance. Soap had held his undivided attention for the rest of their time together and, even on the ride back to his home, the two were chatting with one another smoothly, as though they'd always known the other. 

Roach's family had clearly noticed his happiness, though only his brothers had commented on it. His father had only given a small, almost unnoticeable, smile, and his mother's face had been twisted up into a scowl. He didn't pay much mind to them and only stayed in the sitting area for long enough to answer their questions about the day. When he started upstairs, he could hear their whispers following him. He assumed it was about his day with Soap, so he ignored it. He didn't care whether they liked Soap or not. He liked Soap and that was what mattered. 

Despite feeling exhaustion pulling at him, he still had a smile on his face when he finally made his way into his room. His chest felt lighter than it had in a year and he was humming lowly to himself, a song that he heard at the feast. It wasn't something that he did often and it, above all, told him just how happy the afternoon away from home had made him. How happy Soap had made him. There was hope burning strongly in his chest and, he felt for the first time in months that things might actually go his way. That the universe finally seemed content to give him a win. To give him an out. He started to undo his top, intent on sleeping the night away.

"You seem happy. I can't help but wonder why?" 

It was like ice-cold water was dumped over the top of Roach's head. He turned quickly and stumbled back against his bed, gripping tight to one of the posts for support. Makarov was sitting in one of the chairs in his room, his hands folded in his lap. He was watching Roach closely with his usual smugness. There was something else there though. A thinly veiled rage that had the man's hands folded together just a tad too tightly. A rage that had his shoulders set harshly and his eyes narrowed. It terrified Roach. He tried to push past it. "My prince," he gave a short bow, "I apologize, I did not see you when I came in."

"No," Makarov agreed, "You did not. I imagine it had something to do with your day today. Your courting with King MacTavish." He slowly pushed himself out of his seat. He folded his hands behind his back, the smug smile gone from his face in favor of something harder, "And how did that go for you?" 

"Well," Roach nodded to him, "It is a pleasure to get to spend so much time with him. After so long apart." 

There was a long pause. "Do you take me for a fool, Roach?"

Roach shook his head quickly, "Of course not, your majesty." His chest felt like it was going to collapse on him. He wanted out of that room. He wanted away from Makarov. he wanted Soap to be there.

"Then," Makarov took a step toward him, "Why do you continue to play this game?" He took several more steps and Roach answered by backing away at the same pace, trying to keep his distance. 

"I don't," he stuttered, "I am afraid I don't understand."

"You and I," Makarov's voice was no more than a hiss, "Both know that this relationship with King MacTavish is fabricated. You never met the man before he appeared here." Roach's back hit the wall. Makarov continued toward him. "I am not sure what agreement the two of you have made. I am not sure what you have offered the man." He stopped in front of Roach, their chests practically touching as he caged him against the wall. "It will not deter me." One of his hands reached out to stroke along Roach's cheek and Roach gave a small shudder at the feeling. He felt sick. "I enjoy the chase. It will make it all the sweeter when you are finally mine." 

They stood for a moment. Roach didn't dare to move as Makarov continued to stroke his fingers over his cheek almost reverently. Roach couldn't understand what he'd done to make the man so obsessed with him. He couldn't understand why he was so intent on having him. He supposed it didn't really matter. What did matter was that Makarov wanted him. Makarov wanted him and he wasn't willing to give up something that he wanted so easily. 

"My prince," Roach dared to speak after a moment, "Might I be left alone? I fear I am exhausted." 

Makarov's lips quirked up into a small smile, as though the words somehow amused him. He stayed for another long moment, only stroking along Roach's exposed skin without speaking. It was until his finger had trailed down Roach's neck that he finally stepped back. "Of course," he answered with a small bow, "Rest well, Insect. You will need it." He gave one last quick brush against Roach's chin before stepping away. Roach gave another bow as Makarov left the room, not raising back up until he was sure that he was alone.

The happiness he'd felt earlier was gone. In its place was a building dread. He should have known that Makarov would not give up so easily. He should have known that things would not be so easy for him. Still, even in that moment, even as he collapsed onto his bed with tears pricking at his eyes, there was a bit of hope remaining in his chest. Soap wanted him. He wanted Soap. So long as that didn't change. Makarov could do nothing. What could a prince do to a king? The words were little comfort to him, but they were something. That was all that mattered. That he had something. 

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