#soap x cypher

[peachesofteal]

You think Soap would force Cypher into sparring with him under the guise of him being noble and teaching their civilian specialist how to defend herself? When in reality it's an excuse to body Cypher around and pin her to the ground to grind against her, nasty man that he is

The insane cackle that came out of mouth when I read this, such good brain worms, deep end brain worms.

18+ mdni / dark and twisty themes / forced orgasm, overstimulation, humiliation, dub con, Ghost is his own warning / soap x cypher masterlist

"Self defense?" You squeak, and he nods, pointing to the mat.

"If ye win, ye get to do whatever ye want with me, for the night." He answers, and your eyes brighten with excitement.

"Like, you could eat me out and wash my hair? And then we could watch a movie?" You bounce on your toes, grinning. Ye're so cute, he muses. So fucking perfect for him.

"Aye. And if I win... I get to do whatever I want with ye." He cautions, and you turn grave, considering with a tilted head.

"Okay." you blurt, too easily, and he almost laughs out loud.

It takes fifteen, twenty minutes to thoroughly wear you down. He glances touches across your tits, your ass, between your legs as the time passes, watching you squirm, watching you struggle with your internal battle, before he finally takes over, pinning you beneath him and making you call out in defeat.

He flips you on your back, settling between your legs, and your hips jerk, clothed cunt rubbing up against his half hard cock, and he jerks back in surprise, thrilled at the mischievous little look on your face. He tests it, grinding against you, pulling a little dazed moan from your lips, and he smiles, glancing at the clock. Almost time. Bold wee sweet, eh? We'll see how bold ye are.

"Should I give ye a reward, Cy? For bein' so bloody good for me?"

"Yes please, please. Sir." you plead, and he pulls at your pants, undressing you with frighteningly efficiency. He tosses your bra, pants and shirt to the side, pulling you upwards, stroking a thumb against the inside of your thigh, and then pressing against your clit, hard. When you moan, confirming his suspicions, his cock grows heavier in his pants, and shifts you so you're between his legs.

"Tell me yer safe word, Cypher." He cradles your face, ensuring he has your focus, and you stare at him with your wide, lovely eyes.

"It's c-code. Sir. Code."

"Good girl." He tucks you into his lap, still working his hand between your legs, stroking gentle and light touch overtop your panties, rubbing up and down the seam of your cunt, muscles and body twitching in his arms. "Think ye can come jus' like this? Just with me touching ye over yer panties?" You grunt out a response, and he taps at your clit, little whines slipping from your lips. "That's it, there ye go. Can ye give me a big one? Want to see ye cum, Cy." He's not giving you enough friction, he knows, and your hips rock, chasing his touch, growing more and more desperate, oblivious to everything else happening in the room.

But Johnny's not. Johnny's watching, see's when Ghost slips inside with a nod. When he picks up a chair on the edge of the room, and quietly sets it up not even three meters from where Johnny has you, in only a thong, on the sparring mat. He's still rubbing your pussy, circling around your clit, and when you shift, you catch sight of the Lieutenant for the first time, and you shriek, going rigid in his arms, legs snapping closed around his hand.

"It's okay, wee sweet." Johnny murmurs. "I've got ye." His fingers don't stop, and you breathe heavily in his arms, trying to crawl inside him, and hide.

"S-sir." you whine, pressing your face into Johnny's neck. He can feel hot how your skin is, how embarrassed you are, and he coos to you, still rubbing over your panties.

"What is it?"

"He... he's watching." You whisper, and he chuckles.

"Ah know, my genius. C'mon, don't ye want to show him how good ye are?" He murmurs, peppering kisses across your cheek, to your nose. You shake your head, but he's much stronger than you, able to turn you between his legs so that you're facing Ghost now, one of Johnny's hands wrenching your thigh wide. "Isn't she a sight, LT?" He nods, big, gloved hand palming the thick bulge in his pants, squeezing his cock, and he snickers. "I dinnae if she's ready for that, hasn't even take me yet, have ye, Cy?" You don't answer, and he waits another second for drifting his touch beneath the hem of your thong, and pinching your clit.

"No sir." You squeak, and he rewards you, circling pulsing slowly, achingly so, enough that your panting increases.

"Let's show him this pretty wee cunt, aye?" You choke on a shocked gasp, and pressed back into him, curve of your ass against the rock hard cock in his pants, and he laughs again, tugging at your underwear until it's down by your knees. Ghost's gaze is hot above the balaclava, watching you, staring at the wet pussy that's revealed, and Johnny tucks your feet on the outside of his boots, essentially pulling you apart like a oyster, exposing your pearl. "Dinnae move your legs." He whispers, giving you another kiss. "Or I'll let Ghost spank ye. And you won't like how he does it, I promise ye."

"S-Sir... Johnny-" you try to protest, but his fingers slide through your slick curls, and he's so pleased that you're already soaked.

"Do ye need to use the safe word?" He asks, and you pause, holding your breath... before shaking your head no. "Good girl, Cy. Gettin' all wet for me. Showin' Ghost your bonnie pussy." He presses the pad of his finger to your opening, just barely dipping inside, and you moan, head tipping back on his shoulder, eyes clenched shut. "Do ye like it, knowing he's watching?" He asks, pushing into your tight hole even more, and you shiver, trying to tell him no, but unable to get the word out. "I think ye do. I think that's why ye're soaked. Yer body canae lie, can it?"

"No sir." You breathe.

"What do ye think, LT?" He asks, and Ghost nods his approval, staying quiet. His cock is out now, gloved hand working it in long, lavish strokes, thickest thing Johnny's ever seen, and he smirks. "Ah know, it's hard to see her wee clit under all this." His index and middle finger parts your folds, exposing your center, and he watches Ghost's jaw part beneath the fabric. "Cy doesnae know it yet, but she's going to let me take care of everything soon. We're goin' start with shaving this bonnie cunt." He flicks his tongue across your cheek. "Let me show ye how it comes." He rasps, and you shake your head.

"N-no. No, Sir. Johnny, I c-can't-"

"Yes, ye can." Your legs kick, just a little, trying to close, and he grunts, tempted to smack your thigh to still you. This is not punishment, he reminds himself. You're still trying, thighs squeezing against his knees, and Ghost cocks his head, tucking his cock back into his pants, and stepping from the chair to crouch in front of where Johnny has you spread.

"Be still." He grunts, and then his hands replace Johnny's folding over your knees, keeping them pinned to Johnny's legs.

"S-Sir." You stutter, nervous, unsure, and he soothes you, glancing his touch over your lower belly.

"Shhh, ye're alright, Cy. Ye're safe. We're jus' goin' show Ghost here how beautifully ye come."

"Sir I- I can't- not with... not with him. Watching." you whisper, but your body says otherwise, and he can feel how hot your clit is, how desperate you are to orgasm.

"Ah think ye can, wee sweet. Just relax." He glances at Ghost, who's watching intently, one hand still holding your leg wide, although the other one is now staying on it's own. "Can ye see, LT?"

"Not really. Too much hair." He comments, like it's nonchalant, forcing Johnny to swallow a small laugh, nodding down to where his fingers work.

You gasp when Ghost's fingers spread your folds, parting them so he can see you better, stretching the hood of your clit upwards to reveal your swollen bud, and you jerk forward to stare at him, before whimpering and slamming your eyes shut again.

"Sir-"

"Ah know, ah know." He murmurs. "Can ye show Ghost how ye come, Cy? Can we show him how pretty ye are, when ye have an orgasm?" You shake your head with more denial, but your hips jerk as he works you, swirling around and around your clit, fingers soaked with slick.

"She's clenching 'round nothing." Ghost observes, and he nods.

"She does that. Really needs a fat cock for that hole, but we're not there yet, are we bonnie?" You suck in a sharp breath, and then pant out some nonsense, stretching against him. You're still flexing your hips with his touch, and he can feel how your muscles are tightening, tensing beneath him. "I think, she's almost... aye, there ye go. Are ye gonna come for my Lieutenant, Cypher?" He coos, knowing that you're on the brink, even though you're fighting it, trying desperately not to come, and Ghost chuckles, smug as hell. He increases his pace, feeling it all, your breath, your muscles, the stuttering of your hips, and he knows, he knows you're about to dive off the edge, whether you want it or not. "That's it, deep breath. Here it comes. Here ye go, wee sweet, come on-" Your fingers dig into his pants, wail cresting from your lips, and swoops his mouth over yours, swiping his tongue against yours, lapping up the sound and taste of your shrieks.

"Oh good, good girl." Ghost sings, but not to you, to your pussy, his thumb releasing it's hold and stroking over your too sensitive clit, rubbing you through the aftershocks while you bleat out a plea for him to stop. "What a sweet little pussy you have for my Sergeant, Cypher." He looks ridiculously pleased as he pulls away, tugging up the bottom of his balaclava to stick his finger in his mouth to taste you, and rolling up onto his feet. He squeezes his cock one last time, and then gives Johnny a nod.

"Alright, wee sweet. Ready to go? Let's get ye back to yer room, and we can watch that movie, aye?" Johnny hums into your hair, and nod, a little limp, but sated. Good girl.

#peaches writes #I originally wrote this differently and way worse #but took it down a notch #soap x cypher #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #ghoap x reader #simon riley

[kieranwritess]

fandoms n stuff

all hidden BTC but have more Keanu for your troubles; a strikethrough means I'm not writing for that fandom atm

Agent Carter - Peggy Carter, Daniel Sousa, Jack Thompson x reader, peggysous

Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. - Daisy Johnson, Daniel Sousa, pre-tws/framework!Grant Ward x reader, philinda, Elena/Mack, platonic!Coulson

COD: MW (reboot) - 141, Alejandro, Graves, Valeria, König x reader

Cyberpunk 2077 - Judy/fem!V, River/V, Panam/V, Saul/fem!V, platonic!Vik

Detroit: Become Human - deviant!Connor, North x reader, platonic!Hank

Main MCU - Bucky Barnes, Kate Bishop, Tom Holland!Peter Parker, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff x reader, platonic!Kamala Khan

Red Dead Redemption 2 - Sadie Adler, Javier Escuella, Arthur Morgan x reader

VALORANT - Brim, Cypher, Harbor, KJ, Neon, Skye, Sova x reader, nanobomb

#kieran's navigation #cod x reader #cod mw2 x reader #valorant x reader #rdr2 x reader #rdr x reader #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #cp77 fanfic #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #valeria garza x reader #phillip graves x reader #graves x reader #cypher x reader #sova x reader #harbor x reader #killjoy x reader #neon x reader #arthur morgan x reader #sadie adler x reader #javier escuella x reader #daisy johnson x reader #daniel sousa x reader #grant ward x reader #könig x reader #I FUCKING FORGOT KÖNIG

[gabriel-judgeofhell]

hello 19 y/o here im poly gay ftm looking to preferably kindate any of these ships 🫶 i can also do ghostroachsoap! n more than one! plss (preff gabv1el)

#poly #kindate #yeehan #ghostsoap #omen x cypher #cypher x omen #ghost x soap #kin #kin date #soap x ghost #t4t #mlm #gay #t4t mlm #trans #looking for a bf #want a bf #mdni #ftm #looking #no minors #kapglaz #gabriel #ultrakill #v1 #gabv1el #gabriel x v1 #gabrielxv1

[thedeepstate69]

My thoughts on certain val ships

(if you disagree w/ my takes thats swag nd i respect that)

Galaxsea (Astra x Harbour)

I honestly don’t have to many thoughts abt these two

they’re just cute and I love them

they’re both massive nerds and no one can convince me otherwise

they 100% braid each others hair

Reyge (Reyna x Sage)

I love them so much

They’re both so mother

Sage wakes up obnoxiously early (doctor things) and Reyna complains and drags her back into bed

Sage makes little trinkets out of jade (the stuff her powers use?? is it jade?? idk just roll with it) and gives them to Reyna

Reyna singing spanish folk songs to help Sage fall asleep

Reyna will whisper some raunchier comments in Sages ear just to watch Sage get flustered 

Cyberowl (Cypher x Sova)

Cypher forces Sova to take breaks when he overworks himself (which is often)

They passive aggressively flirt with each other

Both of them are emotionally constipated

Cypher once called Sova beautiful and Sova could not think straight the rest of the day

Sova sleeps like the dead so Cypher will often wake up with random limbs in his face or Sova just lying on top of him

Viper x Chamber (i actually have no idea what their ship name is someone pls lmk)

Viper hooking up with Chamber claiming it’s “something to take the edge off” before falling hard

Chamber does something stupid and Viper just watches and realises she’s in love with a dumbass

Viper being in love with Chamber and being very unhappy about it

Chamber likes to buy Viper fancy gifts and Viper has no idea how to respond

Fadeshock (Fade x Neon)

Them both bonding over being afraid of their powers

Sleepy girlfriends 

When Fade stands up Neon pokes in the side and gives her a tiny electric shock

Neon is besties w/ Fades prowlers

Neon once made dinner for her and Fade and Fade was so close to proposing after eating it

Fade wraps herself around Neon in her sleep

Nanobomb (Killjoy x Raze)

They both sing along German rock music in KJs lab

KJ once pressed her alarm bot to boombot and said they were kissing

Raze had never been more in love

They’re both really smart but so so dumb

They binge watch soaps together

Raze made a version of boombot that doesn’t explode and just wonders around base

KJ calls it their child

#valorant #headcanon #valorant headcanons #nanobomb #reyge #cyberowl #galaxsea #fadeshock #viper x chamber #i cant read #gonna make a part two #since my brain has stopped working

[that-one-juggalo]

The name list (so far) that I keep in my notes app

Ziggy

Sterling

Rat

Art

Venus

Neptune

Saturn

Sage

Pluto

Moth

Leather

Red

Blue

Oreno (pronounced similar to Oreo)

Reno

Crane

TV

Bandana

Jam

Paine (pronounced the same as pain)

Zelen

Cratz

Morbid

Cypher

Straight

Twig

Bloom

Cloudy

Fog

Ambre (pronounced the same as ombré)

Possum

Ink

Gray

Goop

Eden (pronounced as ‘ee den’)

Maggotz

Tourmaline

Quartz

Rag

Brance

Box

Nox

Syrup

Maple

Oak

Triangle

Agan (not pronounced as again)

Skull

Crystal

Ford

Wasp

Crayon

Crayola

Prism

Malachite

Citrus

Premier

Rendezvous

Kite

Lighter

Checker

X

Vee

Idle

Cedar

Sock

Scoop

Lemon

Bag

Clementine

Teeth

Owl

Lamp

Monarchy

French

Ram

Ranch

Mustard

Ketchup

Seven

4

Stick

Bug

Oil

Essential

Chem

Pisces

Capricorn

Texus

Tag

Pickle

Mitochondria

Rubber

Soap

Water

Aqua

RN

XD

Grass

Dirt

Ammonia

Soda

Leg

Whisper

Tombstone

World

Mold

Ghost

Choker

Necklace

Lace

Earring

Ear

Uterus

Papaya

Fetus

Bra

Fruit

Iced

Ice

Pants

Shirt

Button

Cuff

Ambulance

Hammer

Book

Note

Therapy

Doctor

Swiss

Cheese

Bacon

Apparatus

Car

Pen

Hollow

Q

Alphabet

Shade

Desert

Cactus

Adore

Denim

Tab

Aux

Axel

Grime

Crime

Can

Periwinkle

Vail

Veil

Silver

Knit

Bucket

Rosemary

Marie

Crow

Raven

Corvid

Frog

Leo

Theodore

Sapphire

Magnus

Maddox

Bones

Bone

Chair

Moss

Ash

Asher

Friday

Thursday

Monday

Wednesday

Garden

Butters

Briar

Anise (pronounced ‘anees’)

Morrigan

Basil

Mush

Label

Satin

Bot

Boat

Thrash

Tin

Aire (pronounced ‘air’)

Tux

Smock

Smog

Bee

Jax

Jacks

Bug

Bugs

Buggy

Book

Carousel

Handle

Apollo

Hades

Merripen (pronounced ‘merry pen’)

Urith

Val

Kai

Storm

Overcast

Cyan

Alabaster

Alder

Atlas

Spider

Bear

Jackal

Finnic

Riot

Punk

Sorrow

Awe

Clover

Geode

Mud

Creek

Astro

Star

Comet

October

December

January

Pyro

Smoke

Ash

Flint

Nova

Coal

Fraise

Emerson

Johnson

Strange

Twist

Myre

Rigby

Thrash

Mosh

Pit

Peach

Sibil

Unice

Verian

Crisis

Trade

Bernard

Lizeth

Odet

Odere (pronounced ‘oh dear’)

Adele

Spruce

Atom

Flannel

Vision

Galac

Uni

Panel

Wind

Carpet

Bin

Straud

Thimble

Hand

Mushroom

Stem

Leaf

Root

Ransom

Zodiac

Transcript

Addic

Spec

Buzz

Pump

Pixel

Pixar

Lane

Unit

Spot

Traffic

Soil

Forensic

Hydro

Tramp

Clump

Wing

Stairs

Desk

Bilbo

Cryslis

Alister

Violet

Fin

Dal

Ginger

Snap

Crackle

Pop

Leopard

Track

Nail

Avery

Robbie

Ezekiel

Carlisle

Artie

Felix

Orion

Akeldama

Dyrk

Jezebel

Vinnie

Floyd

Avril

Zayn

[virgil-writes]

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

on AO3: chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven (ao3 only)

chapter 6 - the spork

SFW, but usual blood/gore warning. around 2.7K words.

chapter 7 - shower thoughts

on ao3 only, to avoid tangling with tumblr's nip ban rules. contains naughty things.

Why was it he had let her live again? Heisenberg couldn’t help but wonder, making his way across the bridge that led to the factory. The pot of stew felt heavy in his hands, heavy and warm; a pleasantry, not a threat, despite his impulsive behavior. What puzzled him, really, was that she seemed so comfortable in the face of animosity, like an aggressive man invading her home and threatening to kill her was just part of a humdrum day. He had thought the illusions and ominous offers were meant to lure passersby in, to drain them of blood and use their skin and bones for sordid rituals. He had gone through it all because he was certain nothing could kill him, even if it tried, but no violence came from her. Was she trying to keep people out?

There was no trace of blood on his face, no trace that he had ever broken his nose in such a ridiculous manner, no trace that he had ever been bitten by a half-dead lycan. She had been the only witness, and he doubted she would bother entering the village to spread the news. He would go as far as saying she was happy to see him, his restraint a breath of fresh air in what he could imagine was a violent existence. He would know; they both had that look in their eyes, the look of someone drained of life because they had seen too much, done too much.

Power, he cut himself off when his thoughts had started leaning too much towards emotions. Power, that was the reason he had let her live. She was a cyphered book, an old witch’s grimoire locked away in a dusty tower. He had treaded dangerous waters and climbed through the window holding onto unsteady stones, and had only been given a glimpse, a quick look at the first page. And what he had seen was intriguing, dark and mysterious, so alien compared to his parasite-infested, mold-ridden world. Power and curiosity, nothing more.

As if on cue, the front gate’s buzzer went off, the whirring sound reminding him of the old American game shows he used to watch as a child. Wrong answer.

“Oh, fine.” He grunted in exasperation, free hand thrown in the air in defeat. “I liked her.” The words felt like soap in his mouth, a punishment for his profanity and transgressions. But there was no mother to wash out his mouth anymore, to keep him quiet and obedient. It felt good to say it, good to admit it. He was no machine; he may no longer be simply a man, but he still had his humanity well rooted within him. Or at least he liked to think so.

He liked her, he repeated, an awkward wave of relief washing over him. Not in a sit and commit sort of way, though, he wasn’t about to run back to her cabin come morning with a fancy ring to put on her finger. Hell, not even in a hit it and quit it way, either. The enigma of her existence was intoxicating, a lonely witch living in the woods of powers untold, his very own little secret. His own puppet to manipulate, another tool in his arsenal against Big Bird Bitch, if all went well. What a great find, his chest swelling with pride at his masterful move.

And she did seem to take a liking to him, modesty be damned.

The garage doors greeted him with the familiar screech of metal, a cloud of soot and hot air blowing out into the yard, like a nice warm hug from his beloved metal beast, like it wanted to congratulate him on a job well done. Though there was little need for such precautions, Heisenberg checked the locks, scanned the room for any suspicious activity. Everything in place, every last bit of scrap metal thrown carelessly to the side exactly where he had left it. The factory was quiet enough at this hour, and you would have to pay close attention to hear the haulers walking to and fro, their rare vocalizations every now and then. He was in high spirits and there was much work to do, improving Eins and Zwei, setting aside some time to study Sturm’s case and prepare accordingly. And then there was the planning, the pouring over reports of the latest events, coming up with the best strategy to take out each of his precious “siblings”, wedging his beautiful little hag in just the perfect place within his plans.

The complexity of it all was a marvel to him, a puzzle he never got tired of putting together. He supposed he had Miranda to thank for that, for turning his world upside down, forcing him to push his capabilities to the limit because of it. Sometimes he dreaded to think about what would come after; his hatred was all that kept him going, doing the bare minimum to keep himself alive and functioning, to get him out of bed come morning. What would he do when they were all out of the picture? He could finally be himself, he supposed, though that sounded like a tremendous amount of work and pain for the meager reward of knowing the shell of a man he had become.

This was not the time to think about it, he reprimanded himself. The rebellion hadn’t even began and he had many sleepless nights ahead of him.

The smell of the stew reminded him that he would starve if he waited any longer to eat. He barely remembered when he had eaten last - was it this morning? Yesterday? Such moments were but a blur, a mere nuisance in his schedule. Heisenberg was good at many things, but cooking, that he had never gotten the hang of. Putting a stove together? Piece of cake. Making a fridge out of scrap metal and elbow grease? That he could do. It’s not like he had grown up on much, either, had developed a taste for fine dining, wine and biscuits. His parents had been the industrial kind in more ways than one: blunt, efficient, cut and dry. Their meals were few and far in between, whatever cooked up fast and was filling enough to keep them standing. He had lost the parents, but kept the philosophy over the years, surviving on jerkies and raw produce, or whatever the Duke had in stock to be stored and crudely roasted later.

Heisenberg turned the key to his quarters with a sigh. Home, sweet scrapyard at last, and he wasted no time kicking off his boots and levitating the hammer to place it against the wall next to his favorite chair He set the pot on the metal table before discarding his hat and trench coat, eyeing the bowl the entire time as if it was about to attempt murder. Which he figured it might, considering the person who had given it to him was a woman he had met just a few hours prior, who lived in a hidden shack in the woods and could shapeshift into a giant horned monster. She had tasted it before preparing his bowl, and it did look harmless enough. Heisenberg inspected it closely - it definitely looked very appetizing. Some meat, potatoes, herbs mixed into a thick broth. A hearty meal for a cold winter night. Even if it was poisoned, it looked good enough to be worth the hassle.

“Ah, right.” He stared at his empty hand, shaking his pointer finger disappointingly. A laugh escaped him as he pulled every drawer, went through every shelf. Chisel, saw, hammer. Screwdriver, nails, wrench. Pliers, clamps and cutters, nuts, bolts and screws. An old TV antenna, pewter tankard, and even a goddamn tooth crown. Everything he could think of, except the one thing he needed: a single fucking spoon.

He stormed out of his quarters and into the foundry with the fury of a god. Nothing would keep him from the possibly deadly bowl of stew that smelled like the best thing that would ever grace his lips. He had reanimated the dead to do his bidding, could move metal with his fucking hands. A spoon was no match for him. Grabbing a sheet of metal and a long-abandoned pen, he roughly drew the shape of what he remembered a spoon to be - it had been a while. Cutting through took longer than he expected, and he refused to buff the steel to make it shiny. If he did not ingest his sustenance within the next few minutes, he was positive he would simply lay down and die. He took hammer to metal to make sure the thing would actually hold liquid, then the idea hit him like a flash of lightning, and he cut three small indentations at the tip: half spoon, half fork. The perfect piece of flatware. He would call it… The spork. Finally, he filed the edges just enough that it wouldn’t accidentally rip out a piece of his tongue, and proudly walked back to his quarters, plopping himself down unceremoniously onto a nearby stool.

If this turned out to taste like boiled dirt, it would be the biggest disappointment of his life yet. But it wasn’t - in fact, it was the best thing he had eaten in decades. Creamy, just the right amount of spice, meat cooked to perfection. Somewhere deep within his soul, he knew a proud ancestor watched as he took a generous bite out of a tender potato chunk. He could get used to this, he mused, a mouthful of pork and a hum of approval later. Maybe he should visit more often.

It was over all too soon, and he found himself staring at the empty bowl with so, so much sadness in his heart. Maybe he should have stayed for dinner. Forlorn and full, he leaned against the workbench, one hand reaching down to untuck his shirt, dexterous fingers then quickly unbuckling his belt and popping the button on his pants. Head thrown back, he let out a happy, satisfied sigh when his stomach was finally free of its cloth constraints. He pat his belly with a chuckle, feeling the faint lines of toned muscle above his belly button, then the creases on his hips - he didn’t look bad for being almost a century old, eh? He had gained some extra weight, it’s true, since the Duke introduced him to some modern novelties such as frozen pizza and energy drinks, but hauling corpses and building intricate machines was good exercise. Just the right amount of bulk and sprinkle of muscle, if he did say so himself.

For a moment, unbidden, he wondered if she would like it. If she would like him, all of him, more than what she had seen, more than what she had heard, more than what he had offered in their brief encounter. He hadn’t kept up with the beauty trends, and any man with functioning limbs and two braincells passed as hunk material in the village, but he just knew that he was quite the specimen. He was reminded of that look in her eyes, the one that stirred something within him he hadn’t felt in way too long.

Not that he was interested, of course. His curiosity was only natural, seeing as he hadn’t spoken to anyone from outside this little bubble of a hellhole for decades. Even when he was sent out into the world, his orders were very specific - grab what needs to be brought back, do not talk to victims of the evil plan. As much as he wanted to do it as a fuck you to Miranda, instead he always decided to bide his time. Blowing his cover could mean failure - or death.

She would like it, he decided, checking out his reflection on a well polished piece of metal. Not that it was difficult, of course. Who wouldn’t? The charming beard, killer smile, steel blue eyes. He could treat his hair better, true, wash the soot off his face. His clothes needed washing and his feet needed some time out of those damp boots. He had one too many broken fingernails and more scars than skin at this point. Still, she would like it - on second thought, maybe after a nice, hot shower.

He busied himself with all manner of tasks after dinner. Washed it down with a nice gulp of Gibcos, then made his way down to one of the operating rooms. He pushed aside the gurneys in his way, the quiet humming of the soldiers’ reactors a comforting sound despite the macabre landscape of the room. Beyond the door and behind the large window pane a very, very dead body lay waiting for him, a chunk of its torso and head missing. The lycans had done a number on the poor bastard, catching him off-guard as he made for the outhouse, so we was told. A man couldn’t even shit in this village in peace, he laughed humorlessly. The corpse was barely cold when Heisenberg dug it up and dragged it back to the factory. There was no funeral, no mourning of the deceased: in cases such as these, the villagers thought it best to bury the disfigured relative and be done with it, fingers crossed that they wouldn’t return with a hunger for human flesh a scant few days later. Despite the body’s horrid conditions, it would still be of great use to him. Strong legs and a wide torso, a perfect specimen for his latest experiment.

Sturm, he would call it, after the god-awful noise the propeller engine made. He tentatively pushed down one of the blades - it needed more oil. Rusty recycled chainsaws had been abandoned for a reason, but there was time to better the mechanical parts yet. First, he needed to figure out how to attach the engine, set up the circuitry, add in the artificial blood. Removal of internal organs was simple enough, a nice big heart to tie it all together. On the other hand, seating the mechanical core was a messy process that took him hours to get right. He didn’t want to waste time, or this corpse, when he had already come this far. He abandoned the project for a few minutes when the thighs gave with the weight, off to build braces to hold the thing together.

It looked mostly done after that, and revival was one powerful electric discharge away. Heisenberg held tight against its mechanical nervous system, focusing on channeling all of his energy - it would need an even bigger discharge than Eins and Zwei. Seven thousand volts, and not even a hint of movement. Eight thousand, he grunted as the current flowed through. Attracting metal was easy enough, but having electric organs was tiring work. He had all but given up when he heard the whir of the blades, Sturm’s body jolting on the operating table in a mix of eagerness and terror. The thing lifted its arms to touch him, chainsaw rippers spinning uncontrollably as Heisenberg took several steps back. He covered his face just in time - the desperate creature once again reached out to him, dumb enough not to notice the death machine attached to its own body. An arm hit and shattered the glass of the operating room, the other colliding against Heisenberg’s chest. Fuck, there was blood everywhere.

“Halte!” He bellowed before Sturm could get any closer, removing his now bloodstained glasses to stare at the thing like his gaze could drill a hole right through its spine. “Dummkopf.” And just as quickly as it had risen, it fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, metal bending in odd places with the impact. Heisenberg let out his frustration with a furious kick on the engine before deciding that if he tried again for the night, he would probably end up throwing the whole thing in the grinder. He’d rather avoid having to clean the blades of all the tissue that would be stuck to them.

Seemed like he would have to take that shower after all.

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x oc #karl heisenburg x reader #but only if you squint really #virgil writes #long post ///

[whydidireadthis]

All-New X-Factor

In 2014, Marvel embarked on the All-New initiative, perhaps reasoning that novelty would bring and keep readers. There was, at least in some cases, an attempt to go back to the high-flying adventure at the heart of the superhero genre, with less of the soap opera angst and sophomoric antics that seemed to drag comics down more every year.

As usual in superhero comics, they looked for a name. This time, they got Peter David, who had done X-Factor work before and, in my reading experience, did a good job making his first run on the title compelling...at least, until editorial started interfering and promptly ruined it.

Peter David and the Fan Favorites

I’ll say this and get it out of the way: I don’t like Peter David that much, personally. He’s at least as much of an asshole as I am, and he’s a real internet troll, as well as petty. But I’ll also say this: pretty much 90% of all well-known popular figures in superhero comics are some brand of either “crazy” or “asshole” if they’re not just plain stupid. David is extremely overrated for having written Young Justice throughout its run, despite it not being all that good and nobody apparently being willing to read it again without nostalgia goggles glued to them.

But at least he’s not any one of the seemingly endless hordes of names overrated for outright garbage. He does decent work, even if most of the time I don’t find it that exceptional, and doesn’t seem to need a strong editorial influence to keep his work tolerable. His sense of humor can bring a quality of realism and believability to the characters and situations, which is a really good thing. Often, it’s the lack of any humor at all that makes stories seem artificial and stilted.

All-New X-Factor assembles a team of characters that are basically all “fan favorites”, often underrated or relegated to the background in larger casts, and introduces a couple of new characters as well. The team lineup is a solid one that really showed a lot of potential. And I’ll admit, starting at the next-to-last issue and then jumping back to the beginning to read through, that was potential that never really came to any fruition, which is a huge shame.

The thing is, when David joined up with the original run of X-Factor, way back in volume 1 issue #71, he also stayed for 20 issues. And similarly then as now, the stories he told were derailed by the scourge of everything: “events”.

These “events” continue to plague the superhero universes, with meaningless crossovers that accomplish nothing. Storylines are built up in individual titles, then events come along and force those storylines to stand still while the event introduces new ones...and then after the event, it’s forgotten along with everything started during it, and also everything before it. So the title inevitably is cancelled, or the creative team swapped out, because it can’t recover from the ground level it’s essentially been reduced to. It is, in a word, Sisyphean.

And that’s basically what happens here. The Axis event dominates more of the run than any single storyline, and it’s a crossover. And not a particularly good one. What is really the worst about it, though, is the fact that even though the most pressing problems are solved on-panel, much of the resolution of the story takes place between issues and is just obliquely referred to in the next issue.

This is really not an okay way to do things, unless you’re doing a flashback to deal with it for some reason. Remember, “show, don’t tell” is usually a good rule of thumb, especially with comics.

It kind of exemplifies this run, though. Nothing really amounts to anything or leads anywhere. All-New X-Factor is basically one huge plot cul-de-sac, consisting of characters that were treated like shit in previous writing, trading references to some of that bad treatment and commiserating. In that, it usually gets its best moments. That’s essentially what you can take out of it: moments, with incidental connecting plots that don’t really add up to much. You think things are going to go somewhere, but they basically stay where they are.

And it’s fine, setting and sticking to a status quo is fine, but it is also unfortunately paired with a seeming lack of exceptional quality to the writing and characterization. It’s remarkable that Peter David, who most famously wrote that twenty issues of the original X-Factor, shaking up the by-then-stale series and reacquainting us with newly-relevant characters, seems to have forgotten who these characters are, and has no real idea who the others are that he’s saddled with.

At least in his original run, he had things happen that were appreciable, like Polaris breaking her jaw and having to recover from that. There’s nothing to really work with in All-New X-Factor, because the overwhelming impression is that David doesn’t really understand most of the characters and doesn’t want to take any risks with them. Which I applaud, don’t get me wrong -- I’d rather see someone who doesn’t get the characters be more cautious, instead of throwing it to the wind and totally ruining them. But David, in most of his more ambitious turns in the title, ends up forcing some of the characters into situations that don’t really suit them and do them no favors as people.

The Team Lineup

I always thought trying to claim Polaris was related to Magneto...was stupid. It’s facile and obvious, and it does nothing to develop the character at all. But for a while, Marvel were bound and determined to not only tear down any sympathy for Magneto, but also seemingly wanted to find some replacement. Ideally with boobs, similar to their desperate need to make X-23 a thing. So not only is Polaris dealing with her adult half-siblings (which, I will tell you, is not at all how that works in real life), she’s also conveniently comic-book crazy. Meaning that she sometimes goes a little violence-happy and has to be talked down, but only when the story needs her to do so.

It amounts to basically nothing and vanishes pretty quickly. She’s supposedly the leader of the team, but functionally there really isn’t a leader. It’s more like she organizes them sometimes, and occasionally she has some advice on how to do things. She is mostly easy enough to like, and the good thing about having a character who’s been so chaotically inconsistent is that any coherent personality is an improvement. Lorna is basically the same Lorna, personality-wise, that she was in David’s first run, with a weird personality tic.

Quicksilver is basically how he’s always been: a less obviously gay, and significantly less interesting, Northstar. And yes, I know Jean-Paul was created later. It doesn’t matter; that’s how people always tend to write the both of them. Pietro’s entire character in All-New X-Factor is “mildly clashing with Gambit”. That’s it.

Doug, also known as Cypher, gets the most character-building, which is nice since Abnett and Lanning’s fairly crap tie-up for their run on the New Mutants series didn’t leave him much to work with. Of all the characters involved in the title, Doug benefits most from it and actually gets the most to do. It isn’t always good, but at least it’s not essentially rehashing old plots from the first run of New Mutants that were done far better then. It is pretty puzzling that the character still has yet to resolve significant issues with various other characters who were extremely prominent in his life before dying and coming back to life, and I just have to chalk it up to yet another missed opportunity with the potential of All-New X-Factor.

Gambit is one of my favorites, but he’s almost always written badly. Either he ends up a shitty caricature even of the outrageously exhausted trope he came from, or he’s a misremembering of the 90s X-Men cartoon, or he’s just a completely different person than he’s ever been.

Here, Remy is sort of okay, most of the time, but he does some stupid things that aren’t really suited to him, like his lame and uncharacteristic pick-up artist turn in one issue that literally never manifests again at all in the entire series. Not that he isn’t a flirt, but this was phoning it in where it counts, and really disturbing where it didn’t.

He constantly seems toned down from his usual wit and cheer, to the point where he feels almost nihilistic and embittered. There’s little distinctive about his speaking patterns, too, which makes it seem strange when compared to a character like Rogue, whom I am bringing up not because of their extremely unhealthy, often ignorantly-celebrated and stupidly-promoted past relationship, but because she speaks like she just fell off the turnip truck and Gambit barely shows any signs in accent or in syntax of being from the deep Louisiana bayou.

There’s also an on-again, off-again narration from him...at least, that’s what I managed to figure out, because it’s not really made clear and seems extremely questionable at several points. It only appears in a handful of issues, and it never adds anything to the story. It’s almost ironic, really, because if Remy’s focused on as a narrator, you’d think he’d get more of a personal examination and development.

Nope! He gets one issue that really doesn’t focus on him at all.

Danger is a character I’ve always thought was idiotic, but she ends up kind of amusing, mainly for occupying the “fish out of water” role in the group and because of other people’s reactions to her. She’s still a pretty stupid character, and her introduction in the series does her no favors, but she is one of the few to show any real development over the course of the series. Essentially though, she’s one of the series’ deus ex machina characters, because none of the stories really seem to be committed to any sort of resolution. It’s almost ironic, since the team is filled with extremely powerful, highly capable characters, but only a couple ever distinguish themselves in resolving a problem.

Harrison Snow, the head of Serval Industries, basically occupies the other deus ex machina slot in the title. He’s not interesting or likeable, or sympathetic or compelling in any way, and what little development he’s given -- which links him to the godawful 2099 stuff -- is too late and not anything anyone cares about.

Seriously, stop trying to make 2099 happen.

At Least They’re Committed

Remember how I said there was a lack of commitment? It’s the same with the tone of the whole series. There’s no real reason they should be affiliated with this corporation, but they are for some reason anyway. There’s opportunity for scathing satire of the corporate world, but it never really shows up, outside of a couple of throwaway lines. X-Factor being, for some reason, a corporate-sponsored team never factors into the series all that much.

And it starts to get frustrating after a while, especially given that David’s original run actually committed to something. At that time, X-Factor had become a government-sponsored team, and examining the relationship between the US government and the rest of the Marvel Universe was a pretty large part of the team’s arc. Here, the only compare and contrast we get is to the Avengers, which barely factor into anything.

That brings me to Alex, Havok, who is in the series for the first few issues and then vanishes, never to return. He’s now a member of the Avengers (and if you don’t know why, you’re one step ahead of the writers; AvX was the absolute bottom of the barrel, even for an “event”) and decided to get Pietro to join the team in order to keep him informed on Polaris. I wish I could say this went anywhere, or played with any development to make it seem creepy, or sad, or just plain obnoxious, but it doesn’t. Alex is written like Scott, when Scott’s written his worst: a bland yuppie who reminds you of that person you know’s forgettably boring dad.

Alex and Lorna had a long-running relationship that ended at one point and never really rekindled, and that was even further sidetracked by Marvel’s insistent retcons of Magneto and his family, with further ruin thanks to -- let’s all say it together now! -- events. Here, David could have introduced a tension between Alex and Lorna again and had the two advance...but they never really address it or even really talk directly. And when Alex is done with eavesdropping, Pietro decides not to return to the Avengers, and Alex disappears from All-New X-Factor.

When another Avenger shows up, it’s Wanda, of course, since there’s a half-assed need to address Lorna’s sudden investment in her just-as-sudden half-siblings. But trying to make a joke out of something so serious as to be unforgivable is a poor choice, and it’s one of many that David makes during the run. Wanda is, by this point, an irredeemably terrible character and a bad person, someone who would greatly benefit the world by not being in it. If the point hadn’t been brought up, it could have been forgotten...and for the betterment of the narrative. But as it was brought up, it can’t really be ignored. It doesn’t help that, throughout her appearance, Wanda is pretty hard to like, when she’s not being noncommittally boring.

But this brings us to our last members of the team, and they’re two I can’t really address without bringing up the story further.

Warlock is a familiar face to anyone who knows the New Mutants, especially Doug. He’s kind of fun to have around, but it’s a real disappointment having the once-potent Magus turned into...yet another corporation. But as with Serval Industries, there’s no real commentary or satire to this decision. It’s just there, as if the absurdity of it, in and of itself, is supposed to be funny or clever somehow.

Spoiler alert: it’s not.

The story does do some interesting and even fun things, though, and it’s nice to see Warlock, especially with Doug around for him to play off of, as the two are perfect together.

But this also dovetails nicely into one of my most significant problems with All-New X-Factor, which is the fact that David manages to fuck up Doug, Warlock, and Danger all at once. He does this by a probably accidental or incidental storytelling bias, but so much of the series revolves around it: I’ve heard it called, and accurately, “straight people baby daddy problems”. That’s it in a nutshell.

Straight People Baby Daddy Problems

Danger trying to score makes up a level half of the series, and it’s amusing for a small amount of that time. Some of the reactions she gets are genuinely funny, and her fixation on sex does bring up some questions that most comics would never, ever even think of presenting. It also makes her much more likeable as a character, and it humanizes her to an extent, enabling the audience to sympathize with her more effectively. I don’t have a problem with this direction for Danger, especially since she’s basically just the emotionless big gun. She needed something, anything, to make her more compelling, and having her be curious about sexual relations does add an interesting queer dynamic to the whole thing, which I like.

But I’m not sure that was intentional. I’m not sure it was meant to be more than a throwaway joke that just kept coming up when David couldn’t think of anything else to punctuate a scene; sometimes it would work, sometimes it would just make me wonder if this was an attempt at a running gag that didn’t always fit.

The thing that made it not work was that Warlock and Doug were put at odds with each other because Danger approached Doug for sex, after Warlock and basically the entire rest of the team turned her down. It kind of feels creepy (but that’s not new territory in the series up to this point), but the part that doesn’t work is that David has Warlock coming off as jealous. Of Doug.

Maybe I’m not reading it the way it was intended, but if anyone in this situation, Warlock should be jealous of Danger. Warlock and Doug are not just friends, by any definition of the word. They have communed the very essences of their beings, basically mingled their souls, as well as their physical forms. Maybe David planned for the real target of jealousy to unfold, but he was aware that he had a certain number of issues left and kept writing as if he had unlimited time and space to address these things. After so much that amounted to nothing, why bring up something that is exactly the opposite of how these characters would act in that situation, then do nothing with it?

Even in this run, though, Warlock is very attached to Doug. For that to come out of nowhere makes it seem even more questionable. If that’s not what David intended and it was in fact supposed to be Warlock jealous of Danger and protective of Doug...he definitely didn’t present it very well.

I mean, it wasn’t well done by any means, but if he was aiming for that, he definitely missed and botched the shot.

But Doug constantly gets abuse heaped on him, and I really don’t like that. It was lazy, half-assed writing when it happened in New Mutants, and it’s lazy, half-assed writing here. At the very least, David has more respect for Doug than Abnett or Lanning seemed to (and certainly more than the patchwork of writers from New Mutants v1, least of all Louise Simonson), but at the same time, he’s only rarely allowed to be funny, strong, or compelling, much less actually do anything. He’s an immensely powerful character, as are all the members of the team, but they almost always end up playing second fiddle to Danger and Snow.

The last member of the team is Georgia, whose storyline is just...

Okay, I’ll be honest, I hated her. She was an annoying kid character who was fickle as anything and frankly came off as an obnoxious little twat. I didn’t care about her stupid story, her background of abusive, violent bigots, unlikely magic business, or her inane powers. She’s irritating all the time, she runs hot and cold and is utterly impossible to depend on, and there was no reason at all for them to basically make her part of the team instead of sending her to the X-school so she could actually learn to use her powers rather than being a danger to everyone around her.

She basically served no useful purpose and constantly derailed the stories to revolve around her, making her come off a lot like a Mary Sue type of character, a la Kitty Pryde, who is the Marvel Universe’s most painful Mary Sue. Once upon a time, Kitty was interesting and even sympathetic. That was a long time ago.

I suppose the thing that I disliked the most about having Georgia around was that when Luna finally showed up, she ended up basically pushed to the background in favor of Georgia. But if Luna had occupied that position instead of Georgia, then Pietro could have actually, you know, had some development during the series. Imagine the dynamic evolving between Pietro and Luna. The two haven’t had much opportunity to be together. I always thought Pietro and Crystal was a stupid relationship, and even worse that they were married and popped out a kid, but marriage was the big thing in comics at the time, and they often did that with characters they couldn’t think to do much else with.

(Not that they’ve changed much; nowadays, it’s just a method of killing characters off without really killing them off. They tried for years with Northstar, and then decided, hey, gay marriage is hot right now -- that’ll get him out of our hair. Subsequently, they had Iceman realize he himself was gay, but Jean-Paul had been shuffled off into the dead hell of comic-book marriage by then, essentially making useless the one “will they or won’t they?” storyline that gave both Bobby and Jean-Paul any meaning whatsoever in the past twenty-something years.)

Anyway, we’re stuck with Luna and Pietro has to live with his previous mistakes, which he does end up admitting. And I’ll admit myself, I have no idea what he’s talking about because my knowledge of and interest in Marvel from 2000 to now is minimal. It is nice to see him have to own up to his actions, though, and it is really great that he gets to connect with Luna again. But wouldn’t this have been even more meaningful if she had occupied the role of “clever young character learning about herself, her parent(s), and the world”? It would’ve required far less building of an ultimately useless character who basically tended to just shove the characters we know and actually like to the background or into some kind of fucked-up abuse. The elements were there, freely available, for David to use and create a close-knit, intimate group of characters who could develop richly between their party dynamic.

He just...missed it by that much.

Every time.

Dangling Threads

The Gambit story, close to the start of the run, brings up parts of Gambit’s backstory. Basically, the stupidest parts of his backstory, like the Thieves Guild and this floating island they somehow have now. And the aforementioned Danger, who behaves horribly during the story, which really should have added more pathos so that we could sympathize with her ordeal.

But it seemed to treat the people on the island as if they were nothing to be worried about, that it was okay that they were put in mortal danger by, uh, Danger. Everything was somehow resolved by one of the most awkward and frankly ludicrous non-resolutions ever, and it raised far more questions than it answered. And I mean, this is ludicrous even for a superhero comic. I could have got behind it even then, if it had been funny or witty or engaging, but...it really wasn’t.

Harrison Snow's 2099 shit doesn’t even show up until basically the last issue, but we’re treated to an ongoing saga of infidelity with his wife, which involves his secretary and then, later, Gambit. It’s very forced and awkward, but what makes it worse is that even after Remy is made aware of what happened and who she is -- which she was not honest about -- Snow abandons Gambit on a mission and he’s horribly abused and put in danger of his life. Which isn’t funny or amusing, and it’s nothing that anyone would just shrug off.

But that’s exactly what happens in the next issue, with a non-resolution to the subplot that addresses exactly none of the real concerns the characters, especially Gambit, should have. Especially given that he was shown to have concerns about even belonging on any team, least of all this one, in the issues up to then. He showed indications, and rightly, of being ready to leave the team over the debacle...and he should have, with an utter lack of any real dealing with the problem. Instead, he just apparently takes Snow at his casual handwave towards the whole situation. Sloppy writing.

The same can be said for Snow’s own subplot with his secretary and wife. The secretary basically drops out of the story early on, and the wife only pops up to be a hostage later. She’s kind of amusing for what of the story she factors into, but it feels like plot elements that were built up as being major are just dropped unceremoniously. Which is kind of a trend for this title.

But I said I didn’t hate the run, and I don’t. There are problems with it, but it’s not unenjoyable to read. It’s actually one of the more fun series that Marvel’s put out in a long time. It wasn’t perfect, or even close, but it at least didn’t nosedive into angst so deep that only teenagers wallowing in their own self-importance could tolerate it...like most X-titles unfortunately do. It tried to be more of an adventure title with interpersonal things, and that was why it was more enjoyable than not. It’s just too bad that David tended to revolve it around the “straight people baby daddy issues” and not anything more interesting or novel.

Gambit, especially, deserved better. He’s a well-loved character, even if he oddly sees comparatively little fanwork and merchandise. It’s unfortunate that most writers (and a good number of fans, for that matter) just don’t get him or what he’s about, tending to boil him down to just some “bad boy womanizer” type, which he really isn’t except superficially; he has a facade that he’s employed for so long that it’s second nature, but it’s all part of being a master thief. He’s not a simple character, which is probably why superhero comics tend to fail him; they simply don’t have the time, and often don’t have creators that care, to understand who he’s supposed to be.

There was even a bit of acknowledging the fact that Gambit is attractive, and he got to show a lot of skin, even appearing almost naked on a cover...at first. This vanished as the series went on. Even that would have been a refreshing change from most teams’ way of dealing with the character, who in All-New X-Factor became less and less prominent, and less and less relevant. We couldn’t even have eye candy Gambit, and we ended up with Remy in one of his dullest stretches, though mostly inoffensive.

It’s just disappointing that so often, the best and most meaningful traits of the character are overlooked or forgotten. Marjorie Liu’s run on X-23 -- my general dislike of the title character aside -- actually addressed a lot of things that most writers never touch upon or even notice. For example, some of the coded queer tones that come up repeatedly with Gambit and the fact that he’s a mature adult that often functions best when he occupies the role of an “older brother” type. Liu usually at least tried to write Remy believably and realistically, and that character was an interesting person with real feelings that were not easily pinned down.

I will say this, though: for all my disappointment in David’s portrayal of Gambit, he at least managed to avoid having Rogue make a guest appearance. It seems like a token inclusion anytime Gambit is anywhere, largely due to people bowdlerizing the characters and overblowing their relationship, and it always invariably makes Remy into barely an arm-warmer for Rogue. Everything about Gambit is cheapened by attaching him to Rogue so casually and easily, and every bit of development between the two is made even more puerile and obviously dysfunctional, rather than allowing the two to grow as people separately, accepting that they can one day possibly be friends, but they don’t really work together romantically.

If they ever did, if that all wasn’t just a convenient excuse for Remy’s well-hidden thoughts and feelings...but we won’t get into that here. That’s a discussion for another day.

Quicksilver came off well enough, mainly because there was so little done with him that what was done seemed even better. Doug saw some much-needed character improvement and building, though he didn’t get what he really deserved out of the run.

The rest was a mixed bag, mostly not much going on with them. Polaris seemed to stabilize remarkably fast, and that’s certainly a good thing for her. But there’s a plethora of issues waiting for her to address that might have been brought up, which were never really dealt with.

To the Future

I can only hope that whoever takes over the writing for any of these characters, they give it a little bit more thought than Peter David did when writing All-New X-Factor. I do hope that they keep the lighter tone, but even comedies have stakes. The tone in this series was insistently light despite the things that happened, and it wasn’t something that was really appropriate at all times, like dealing with Scarlet Witch.

Things don’t have to be relentlessly dark or oppressive in order to deal with serious problems, but you do have to actually deal with the problems, or else it can get as frustrating and feel as meaningless as a lot of this series did. David’s original run on X-Factor made its cast, who had largely been sidelined and neglected, feel new and interesting again, as well as realistically a group of friends. This run tries to recapture the same magic, but it falls short because of a lack of commitment all around. In some parts it’s overambitious, with its new characters it never develops or makes likeable or at least interesting. In others, it’s lazy and clumsy and fails to invest the effort it needs to realize and complete any of its concepts.

It is a pretty interesting series to read through, though. Would I recommend it? Sure! It isn’t a waste of time, and there are moments that made me laugh out loud, which is really not something most comics make me do anymore. At least, not intentionally. Straight people baby daddy problems notwithstanding, there’s some fun adventure to be had and a little character development that, thankfully, isn’t glacier movement that ruins the characters irreparably.

It just occasionally dents them and writes checks it can’t, or isn’t willing to, cash.

The art is splendid when it’s Carmine di Giandomenico, who did most of the interiors. He has a gorgeous style, and I love the very physical, tangible feel of the forms of the characters. In motion, they are graceful and spectacular, and there’s an obvious great knowledge and appreciation of anatomy. It’s especially nice to see that now, in comics, we have men that actually have genitals. And yes, this is an important thing in art and storytelling. It’s weird when men have smooth crotches that look like they’re made out of flat plastic.

Pop Mhan’s couple of issues are perfectly fine, but after getting used to Giandomenico, it seems almost jarring to have this different, perhaps more conventional, style presented, and it doesn’t quite feel suited to the story or the characters. The two issues Mhan does are two of the weakest, though, so that also doesn’t do the artist any favors.

Giandomenico’s bodies are really pleasing, and everything looks...right. There is also no shortage of amazing, luscious ass in the series, mostly Gambit’s, and it’s great to see for once. Pietro, at times, seems too bony, but he’s strangely not given much opportunity to show off at all; he’s either in costume or in casual clothes, rarely anywhere in-between.

My only complaint comes from Giandomenico’s portrayal of Remy, and while I do like seeing so much of him -- at least at first in the series -- the inveterate Gambit reader in me has to point out that Remy has body hair. Giandomenico only ever seems to put hair on Jean-Luc, which is cool, but Remy has always had it. It stands out especially when Kris Anka’s cover art has Remy with the hair, but the interiors don’t have it. Remy doesn’t depillate, he just trims.

I really wish I liked Anka’s work on the covers more, but it’s kind of uneven throughout. Sometimes I like what he does, sometimes I don’t care for it. I don’t hate his work, and I think he’s very expressive in his style and brings a lot of fun to the subjects. There’s life and liveliness and energy in what he does, which is what superheroes really need. He also doesn’t hesitate to “sexy up” male characters, which is nice. The cover to issue #3 is wonderful and adorable and everything it should be, whereas the cover to issue #9, naked Remy and all, just isn’t right. He’s too bulky, and the composition is uneven and strange.

I do appreciate Anka getting the full frontal sketch out there, though. Bravo! We need less body shame in general. This wave of puritanical bullshit is...well, bullshit. Honestly, maybe if All-New X-Factor had been a mature title and thrown some more adult dealing with things it brought up and danced around, it might have been better. Although the more adult-oriented Marvel titles tend to be up their own asses and filled with enough grimdark edgelord shit to make a high schooler tell them in embarrassment to take it down a few notches, David might have thrived in an environment where he could cut loose a bit more.

As it is, All-New X-Factor is something that is better than it probably deserved to be, but not as good as it could have, and should have, been. It’s something worth reading through at least once, but it may not hold up to repeated read-throughs. If you’re a big fan of any of the characters, at least give it a chance; they each have some moments to be in the spotlight, although not all of those are going to be good or necessarily even in-character for them. It’s just nice to see them, which unfortunately all of the team’s members suffer from not having happen enough.

But whoever was responsible for that Longshot redesign needs to be slapped. Whatever the shit garbage that was supposed to be...brush it under the rug with the rest of Axis and forget about it.

#x-factor #all-new x-factor #comic review #writing critique

[peachesofteal]

soap x cypher masterlist Soap/female reader You missed a check in / 18+ / Your Sergeant commits a war crime for you, hurt/comfort

"It's alright, Cy. It's jus' me. Ghost is standin' watch at the door."

He smoothes the bar of soap over your shoulder, easy and slow, telegraphing his movements the same way he'd try to calm a spooked horse, pressing into their flank with gentle, reassuring pressure. I'm here, his fingers tell you. I'm right here.

"What do ye mean, they missed a check in?"

Laswell, to her credit, is very calm. Always collected in the face of danger, turmoil, and she gestures to the screen, where a blueprint has been replaced with a map.

"They were due in at this checkpoint at 1300."

"Any contact?" Price tilts his head, studying the satellite imagery.

"No. The security detail's gps is showing stationary, but the other vehicle has started to move off course, north." Johnny feels sick. The other vehicle, the one Laswell is talking about, is the one you are in. The one carrying the two analysts and some cut rate american sergeant.

His chair clatters to the floor with bang, fists clenched so tight they shake.

"We'll get 'er, Johnny." Ghost promises, and Price nods, waving them out the door.

"Let's load up."

"I- I don't want to." He doesn't need a clarifying question to understand what you're talking about. He understands you. That's all he'll ever need.

"You dinnae have to. Keep 'em closed for me then, aye? I'll take care of everything." You're still wearing your pants, and your boots, even though the shower is washing water down your body, soaking them until they stick to your skin.

You whine. There are no words spoken, but you fingers twist in the pockets, the belt loops, and he knows.

"Alright, alright. Let's get these off then. I'm going to undo your button and zipper." He murmurs softly, stripping them down your ankles, goosebumps sprouting from your skin as the water splashes against you, raining down onto his hair. His clothes are soaked, stuck to his skin like tar, each flick of his wrist or pull of his arm heavier than usual. He kneels, one knee between your feet, and begins unlacing your boots. "Gonna take yer boots off, now. Then we'll get ye out of everything." You nod. "We'll get ye washed up in no time, get ye into some comfy clothes." He glances upwards, ensuring you heard him, and then taps your calf one by one, urging you to lift a foot at a time as you hold onto his shoulder for support. "There ye go, good girl." He praises once you're nude, rising back to his full height, bar of soap still in hand.

"Johnny." Your press into him, face in his neck, fisting the front of his jacket, trying to burrow yourself beneath his skin. It’s all wrong, how you drift so aimlessly into the ether of somewhere else, lost in the present, in the incendiary magma of a memory he wishes didn’t exist.

"Shhh, wee sweet. I've got ye. I'm here."

"Ye get yer filthy fuckin' hands off her RIGHT NOW." Johnny screams, gives the command at the top of his lungs, Kyle shooting him a nervous look over his scope.

"There's no need to get upset-"

"Shut up." Ghost grunts. "Let the analyst go, an' maybe we'll keep you alive as a prisoner." The woman shakes her head, and then shoves you forward, closer, but no father away from the barrel of her gun that rests right at your temple.

"She's my only leverage now." The body of your co-worker is crumpled on the concrete, blood spilled around him like a halo. Johnny's vision dims red.

"Ye dinnae ken who ye've got in your hands." He warns, a click echoing across the room.

Someone is trying to argue with Simon, just outside the door. Johnny can hear it, the frustrated tenor of someone who's about to make a terrible mistake, the irritated grumble that gets silenced immediately by Lt's bark, more than enough persuasion for them to move on to the next floor's showers.

"Cy?" He murmurs, but you don't respond, face still tucked in his clavicle. You've stayed there, curled up against him, letting him clean you, dirt and blood all washing down the drain as you kept your eyes closed and he re-inspected you for wounds. "I'm goin' take ye back to my room." He holds your upper arms, moving you in step with him, directing you out of the shower and onto the mat, where he reaches for the first of many towels, ghosting the texture across your shoulder, then your cheek, before using it as intended, wrapping it around your body and reaching for the next. It's all he can do now; take care of you, get you clean, get you comfortable, hold you while you sleep and stare at the ceiling, recounting every second of today, fixating on the pieces that could have gone wrong, that could have ended your life and lost you to him, forever.

"Cold." Your whisper redirects his attention. Reminds him of his focus.

"I know, is a wee bit, isnae it?" He brought a sweatshirt, one of his, and once he's got you mostly dry, he taps. "Arms up, wee sweet." When your head pokes through the hole, he smiles, even though your eyes are still closed. "There she is, mo ghraidh." Your pointer finger strokes over the middle of your forehead, circling as if you're outlining a target, and then traces up his neck, over his jaw and across his cheek, patting his lips. They curve beneath your touch, eager to do your bidding, pleased by your silent request. "Of course I'll give ye a kiss, Cy, give ye whatever ye want, always."

"Time's up. What's it gonna be?" Price demands, and the gun digs into the side of your head, forcing you downward at an odd angle, panic plainly displayed across your face.

"Johnny." Your voice sings like an off key chorus, an echo of voices too twisted, too shrill.

"It's alright Cy, nothin' is goin' happen to ye." The woman with the gun laughs. It's decadent, believable, like she truly thinks she's going to get away, or take you with her. "I'm goin' to kill ye." He promises. "Whether it's now, or later. It'l be me, wringing out yer last breath."

Her hand moves to your throat and squeezes.

It's enough. More than enough.

"Guess it'l be now, then." And with no announcement, no more second chances, no more second guessing- his finger pulls the trigger.

“You killed her.” Your whisper trembles in the dark. His muscle involuntarily tenses, and relaxes just as quickly, sinking into the mattress, pulling you tighter into his arms.

“An’ I’d do it again. I’d do it a thousand times over to save ye.”

#soap x cypher #soap x reader #peaches writes

[peachesofteal]

I have this thing kicking around in my head about Johnny teaching a technical skills lab on base, because he’s so revered in his field, and you’re one of his students.

Maybe you’re late the first day. It’s a small class, so your haggard entrance is noticed, and you try to take your seat without causing too much disruption, but it’s too late. He’s already noticed you…

And he holds you up after class.

You’re mortified. You’re not usually late. You’re not usually out of sorts- but you’ve been all over the place recently, your standard routines and procedures all out of whack because you’ve been transferred halfway around the world to this base, to run analytics for some half cocked initiative you’ve never even heard of. You need structure. Not ever changing parameters that make your head spin.

“I’m so sorry, sir. I’m not usually late, I had trouble with my keycard and I got lost on the-“

“Did I ask ye for excuses?” He’s standing in front of you with his arms crossed, bright blue eyes narrowed, and you gulp. You feel pinned, trapped beneath his gaze, like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. Trying to explode.

“N-no.”

“No what?” He cocks his head, and at the reminder, your eyes widen before finding the floor.

“No, sir.”

“Much better.” He murmurs, stepping closer, boots scuffing along the floor. “Missing any instruction time is considered unacceptable.” He moves closer, close enough that you can see rich amber hues of his hair, the texture of the patch on his uniform. You can’t help but lean backwards, trying to give him back the space that he took up, and his expression shifts- taking on a nefarious edge.

“Did I tell ye to move?”

“No sir.” You whisper, nervous. Unsure. He doesn’t look away from you, studying you intently, a bug under a microscope.

His gaze is predatory, hungry. Seeking. Something about it makes heat flare in your belly.

“The time missed will need to be made up.” You nod immediately.

“Okay.” He raises an eyebrow. “Sir.” You add, and you’re rewarded with a smirk.

“Good.” He gives the praise slowly, a small section of your brain melting away in front of him, internally struggling to keep yourself together. “Tomorrow. 0700.” He turns away to the desk, pulling a bag from the chair and giving you one last parting look. “Dinnae be late, or the punishment will be double.”

Punishment?

#soap x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #peaches writes #soap x cypher

[peachesofteal]

soap x cypher masterlist / 18+ mdni / dark and twisty themes overall but this is very soft / inspired by and written for @eilidh-eternal

Johnny is fuming.

You've skipped his lab. Not only have you skipped his lab, but you didn't even let him know. Where are you? He hasn’t even see you in days, getting in late from an op last night, collapsing into bed exhausted. All he wanted was to see your face this morning, peering at him from between the sea of students.

"Sir?"

"What?" He snaps, temper flaring, irritation running hot. The student, a transfer bomb tech from another unit, gulps. Get yerself together, he seethes. Ye're acting like a bloody fool. The tech voices a question, a complicated technical one, but easy to answer, and he rattles off a response before excusing everyone for the day.

He has more important things that need his attention.

He goes back and forth on punishment as he stalks over to the tech building. Overstimulation? Should he tie you to his bed and strap the head of a vibrator to your clit until you're crying? Denial? Humiliation? Should he shave your cunt, and then eat you out for hours, not letting you come once? Should he spank you until your ass is raw and you can't sit for a week?

Anger turns to worry when he steps onto your floor, and doesn't find you. You're not at your console. You're not in the bathrooms, or the break room. You're not anywhere.

He marches to Laswell's office, knocking twice before pushing the door wide, to her surprise.

"Soap?"

"Cypher not in today?" He skips the pleasantries, and she gives him a knowing look.

'She's out sick." Sick? You're sick? His mind is already scrambling, and he barely hears her parting words as he makes for the door, anger draining from his body and being replaced with worry, fear. Why didn't you tell him?

He gets his answer easily enough when you answer his incessant knocking with both wrists in braces, KT tape stretched from the back of your hands to your knuckles. Your face is twisted up, brow furrowed, and he immediately steps forward, hesitant to touch you, but yearning to provide you comfort, to help. To fix.

“Oh, Cy.” He murmurs and you look down to your feet.

“‘m sorry I missed class, I couldn’t… I can’t type, or pick anything up, so-“

“It’s okay. Let’s not worry about that now.” He herds you gently, turning you back into your room, relaxing as he feels you lean into him, one of his hands cradling yours carefully. “Carpal tunnel?” He knows all about it, of course. He has your medical file memorized. Knows about the flare ups that are really bad, knows you’re a perfect candidate for surgery, even though from the looks of it, you’re avoiding that option. He always thought he’d cross that bridge when he came to it, getting you to have the procedures scheduled, but it seems like that bridge is coming up now.

“It’s bad.” You croak. You can’t even work the door handle, trying in vain to flex your fingers, his heart sinking at the agony on your face, when you start to crumple, tears starting in the corners of your eyes.

“Shhh, I’m here, I’m here, wee sweet.” His arms wrap around you, holding you there for a second, rubbing your back, your shoulders, trying to reassure you. “I’ll take care of ye.” He promises, shutting the door with a firm click, and leading you over to your bed, encouraging you to sit, keeping his touch as gentle as he can, as to not jostle you or your hands. “What do ye need?” He smooths a hand over your hair, and you sigh.

“Something to eat.” Oh, sweet Cy. How long have ye felt like this? This is his fault. He should have been here last night. “And some ice, maybe?”

“Have ye taken anything?” He’s already pulling out his phone, shooting a text out to cash in on a favor owed to him by another Sergeant, essentially using them as a delivery service for your needs. “What sounds good to eat?”

“I don’t know, I can’t pick up-“

“I’ll take care of that.” He’s unmoored by your suffering, but a select piece of him is secretly delighted he’ll get to feed you, wash your hair, help you with your clothes, take care of all your needs. His mouth practically waters. You chew on your lip, wincing as you shift and he moves with you, encouraging you to lay down your back, tired eyes blinking up at the ceiling. Poor baby, probably hasnae sleep a wink. “I’ll pick for ye, Cy.”

“Okay.” You whisper, eyes slipping closed. He leans, lips dotting across your forehead.

“I’ve got ye. Want the lights off?” You nod, and he gets up to flick them off, clicking on the little bedside lamp that has the yellow shade, the dim one that you like “Whit feels good for yer hands? Ice? Elevation?”

“Both.” He tacks ice onto the ‘to be delivered list’ and then grabs a pillow, tucking it into your side to place your one wrist on top, arranging your giant quilt on the other to do the same.

He fusses over you, making sure you’re comfortable, making sure you’re content, propping you up on more pillows when everything is dropped at your door, and he stashes the ice in the freezer for after he feeds you.

“Got some soup.” He tells you sweetly, and you brighten a little.

“What kind?”

“Yer favorite. The cream of mushroom.” You smile at him and he holds you there, indulging in your sweet expression, until it starts to fade, drooping with realization. Confusion.

“Wait… how do you know it’s my favorite?”

#peaches writes #soap x cypher #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish

[peachesofteal]

Soap x Cypher

COD masterlist 18+ mdni / dark and twisty themes / explicit Soap/female reader - tag: soap x cypher

Sergeant MacTavish doesn't appreciate tardiness Sergeant MacTavish teaches you a lesson Sergeant MacTavish catches you working late Sergeant MacTavish teaches you a lesson about honesty Sergeant MacTavish accompanies you to an outpost Sergeant MacTavish takes care of a problem Sergeant MacTavish shows his LT how good you are Sergeant MacTavish slips up Your Sergeant commits a war crime

#masterlist #soap x cypher #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader

[peachesofteal]

Girl- 😭😭

The soap fic is making me feel things that are new to me. I recently found you and been following you for a whole two days and read every single series you got on here, you’re truly amazing and so talented peachy<3

If you ever decide to continue the soap little Drabble please do tell

-🍅

🖤

18+ mdni / mild dark and twisty / dom/sub dynamic

It’s 0200.

Johnny frowns when he sees the northwest corner window still lit. It's 0200, why are you still in the tech building? Are you working?

It's easy to slip inside. The computer jockeys don't pay attention to their security, they think their key cards are the end all be all. Good thing his works for every door that exists on this base.

He stops to watch you, before making himself known. Watches how your shoulders slump with your posture melted, forehead in your hands. You blink at one of the screens, just barely squinting, quick fingers across the keys in a record time. He knows from your file that you're a bit of a marvel, procured for intelligence from a backwater town in the United States, impressed the brass all the way to the acting director of the CIA. You can do things with computers that would make a civilian's head spin. And yet... you can't get to class on time. Can't remember to eat. Can't sleep through the night. Can't communicate with your peers or superiors effectively. Can't hold still.

He can fix that.

"What's my wee genius up in the middle o' the night?" You shriek at the sound of his voice, whirling in a panic, eyes darting to every dark corner while your hands stick out in front of you. He sighs.

"S-Sergeant." you stammer, and it's so cute, the way you get so twisted up, the way you tremble when he looks at you. He could eat you up. But not tonight. Stepping closer, he can see the stress on your face as clear as day, and it twists like a knife in his gut. He wants to see your other face, the sweet one, the submissive, teary, dreamy, floating face, the one you made after he took the paddle across your ass fifteen times and made you squirm. The face you made when you were out of your body. The face after you cried out your last count, half lost to the pain.

"Ye're done for the evening."

"What? No, no- I... I have to get this done. It's for tomorrow and if it's not done, Chief Laswell will-"

"Do we need another lesson? Maybe one on following orders?" He lets his tone go sharper, rougher, and when you react, eyes widening before they're cast downward, pleasure moves through his body at lightning speed. There it is.

"No, sir."

"Do ye need me to accompany you back to your quarters to ensure ye follow my instruction?"

"No." You glare, and then immediately look away with defeat. "Sir." He motions for you to get up, pulling your backpack from the ground and tucking the thermos and folder from the desk inside, zipping it up and ensuring it's not too heavy before handing it off to you.

"Good girl. Off ye get."

#peaches writes #johnny soap mactavish #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #I'm getting too invested in this #johnny soap mctavish x reader #🍅 anon #soap x cypher

[peachesofteal]

Soap x Cypher's masterlist 18+ mdni / dark and twisty themes / dubcon / explicit, spanking Soap/female reader Sergeant MacTavish teaches you a lesson about honesty

"Cypher."

"Yeah?" You barely look up, too focused on the raw data that's filtering across your screen.

"Laswell asked for you." You don't hear it at first, the request. You're too lost in the lines and lines of code, numbers, letters, symbols all working together, where is it, where- "Cypher!" your coworker barks, and you jump.

"Shit. Sorry... what?"

"Laswell. Upstairs. Briefing room. Now?" Your lips quirk, head hanging. Yeah, guess you deserved that.

"Did she say for what?"

"No. And it's not my place to ask." They jerk their head, and you lockdown your console. Fine.

Station Chief Laswell scares you. She's probably one of the smartest people you've ever met, quick with analysis, observation, she can read a situation from top to bottom in less than three seconds. She knows everyone, and everything.

And, she handles the 141.

You don't have frequent interaction with her. You report to her, ultimately, but it's hard to understand where she falls on the org chart. It's hard to understand where you fall on the org chart, if you're being honest, since you're not military, just a civilian contractor. All of the authoritative titling and chain of command makes your head spin a little bit, and you've pretty much decided to ignore it all. Keep your head down, do your job, mind your ps and qs. Your yes sirs and no sirs.

You tap your knuckles against the briefing room door.

"Come in." It's a man's voice, a deep, smooth voice with a British accent, and it makes you pause, confused. I thought Laswell was up here?

You push the door open, hesitantly, and what you find makes your stomach nearly crawl up into your mouth.

The 141 are in here. You glance around hastily before finding Laswell, eyes a little wider than you’re comfortable with. They’re all seated at the table, looking at you, and when you peek at Sergeant MacTavish, he cocks his head so subtly, you might have missed it. Fuck. Shit. Why is he looking at you like that? You think you might pass out. Why do you feel like this around him?

"Gentleman. This is the civilian specialist I told you about." She gestures to you, giving them your government name before continuing, and they all nod. "This is Captain Price, Lieutenant Riley, Sergeant Garrick, and Sergeant MacTavish." She points to each, making the introductions to which you nod, and smile, trying as hard as you can to make eye contact so they don't think you're rude. When she gets to MacTavish, your stomach heats, and on instinct, your eyes drop to the floor before glancing back up to find him focused on you, jaw tight, eyes narrowed.

"You're Cypher." Lieutenant Riley comments, and you nod, surprised. How does he know you?

"That's uh... my nickname. Sir."

“Cypher is our resident analytics expert, and we believe she’s located your targets.” Laswell continues, tapping a key on her laptop that wakes up the black screen of the giant TV. You do a double take when you see your work up there, your lists of compiled data, cross matched and sorted. “I was hoping you could walk them through some of this.” Oh. Oh no. Talk to them?

“Uh okay.” Your fingers find each other, instinctually, trying to pick and tear at your skin as your heart rate speeds up. “This is-“ you glance at the screen, and then back at their expectant faces. Sergeant MacTavish is watching you, predatory gleam in his eyes, and you gulp. Is it hot in here? It’s hot in here. “This is a highlight of hot zones in two different target cities. It’s pulled from local agencies’ databases, everything from license plate readers to residency records, IP hits and census information. After cross matching with all possible identities for your targets, family members, associated persons, patterns of behavior, I confidently believe I've identified and located your subjects, and they reside in these areas.”

"You know who they are?" The Captain asks, surprised, and you nod.

“How confident are ye?” Sergeant MacTavish asks, and you blink.

“Uh, like ninety percent” He looks… displeased. “Sir.” You tack on at the end, hoping to see some sort of approval for it, and when it doesn’t come, the ache inside you widens.

“I like those odds. Heard you were good, but this is something' else. Our intelligence has been working on ID'ing these guys for months with no luck.” Sergeant Garrick raises an eyebrow, exchanging a look with his Captain, and you brighten a little bit. Okay, that’s good. Right? You did good?

“Not sure ninety percent is good enough.” Sergeant MacTavish answers, and Laswell nods like she agrees. You wilt. Welp. And now your boss agrees. “Can ye show me the raw data?”

“I- sure, it’s…” you snap your mouth shut abruptly when he stands, and motions for you to follow him out the door.

“Let’s go then.”

You don’t make it back down to your console. Instead, he pushes you inside a maintenance closet, hand firm on your shoulder, guiding you down to your knees in the back, behind a shelf.

“Sergeant I don’t understand, I-“

“Ye tryin’ to send us out on a wild goose chase?”

“What?” You stare up at him, jaw slack. He’s terrifying, lit by damp, yellow light, arms crossed in front of his chest. There’s something in the way he looks at you, something that makes your thighs press together instinctively and at the same time, your heart starts palpitating. “Sir, I don’t-“ his hand darts forward, pinching your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, squishing them just a bit with a menacing smile.

"Are ye tryin' to send us on a wild goose chase? Yes or no, specialist."

"Nossir." It mushes together in your mouth, vowels trapped between your cheeks, and he nods.

"I didnae think ye were." He releases you, only to step closer, and you gulp when his hands find the waistband of your pants. "Take these to yer knees. Now."

"My... my pants?"

"Aye." When you don't move, he sighs. "Ye dinnae want me to have to ask a second time, do ye?" And no, you don't. Because you're sure whatever is coming will be far worse if you test his patience.

It's humiliating, dropping the pants to your knees, and the mortification gets even worse when his finger slips under the hem of your very boring, generic brand black cotton thong, pulling it with a yank so it jerks you forward and you almost trip.

"Sergeant... Sir, I'm sorry, I-"

"Why are ye sorry? Stay put." He turns away for a second, locating an old, fold up chair that he sets up where he was standing, settling into it with his knees spread. "Now, come."

"I'm sorry, I don't know why... why this is happening, I don't understand." You try to explain your confusion, but it all comes out as nonsense, and he nods, sympathetically, like he's sad for you, in a mocking, cruel way.

He taps his thigh.

"Hips here." He instructs, moving you like a doll when you start to bend down, pressing your belly against one leg, your breasts and collarbone against the other, ass in the air. "Bleedin' Christ. Ye sure are a sight." He squeezes you, fingers rough in the swell of your cheeks, before smoothing over the skin of your hip, pressing a firm palm to the small of your back. "Do ye know why we're doin' this?"

"No." You whisper, eyes closed. You don't know why you're doing any of this, why he's doing it. You don't know why he picked you, why he keeps you in his sights, why he has you bent over his knee. You don't know why you felt floaty and fucked up after the first time, why you dreamt about it, why you felt like you needed it. This is wrong. Isn't it? He swats your ass, barely a tap, and you flinch. "Sir. Sorry. Sir."

"Ye said you were ninety percent."

"I did."

"But I know, ye're better than ninety percent, aren't ye, my wee genius?" Your lungs are burning with the breath you're holding, and you let it out in a burst.

"Yes." You whisper to the floor.

"Why did ye lie?" The question is followed by a swing of air, and then a palm is stinging across your skin, pin prickles of pain making you whimper. "Count."

"One-e." You gasp. He doesn't pull his punches. He strikes fast. True. Twice in a row, the intensity making you choke on a whine. "Two, three. I didn't."

"Ye did." He rubs the point of impact, cooing at your ass like it needs comfort, before asking again. "Why did ye lie?"

"I wasn't, I-" Smack. This one comes in the exact same spot, a cruel choice, and you bite down on your lip, eyes scrunching shut. "Four."

"Why did ye lie?" You don't answer right away, and he swings, palm swatting down onto your other cheek, skin rippling beneath the hit. It steals your breath, and he prompts you again, with the same question, and you fail to answer, his response coming swiftly against you, smacking raw against burning skin. It's starting to shift now, the pain blurring the lines between uncomfortable and unbearable, while also taking on a different characteristic all together, one that has blood rushing beneath your skin, clit rubbing against the front of your pulled tight thong uncomfortably, not enough contact or pressure to do anything, but enough to drive you insane. You blink, trying to keep yourself together, trying to prevent floating away into space somewhere.

"Sir!" You pant, and he laughs, shadow of a hand swinging through the air, landing against you with a resounding crack.

"Tell me. Why did ye lie?"

"I-" You scramble for an answer. Why did you lie? Why didn't you just say the truth, the facts. What you knew, without a doubt. Why did you lie? "I was scared."

"Of what?"

"Of... of the room. Of making a mistake."

"But ye didnae make a mistake. Ye found a needle in a haystack." You nod. He's right, you did. "So the next time I ask ye how confident ye are, ye say one hundred. Ye tell everyone in that room, that ye did something other people can't, and ye own it."

"Y-yes sir." You whisper, and he runs a palm over the screaming skin of your ass.

"Good girl." He murmurs, your lower lip trembling. "Ye did good for me. So good."

"Thank you." You sniffle, and he shifts your body, lowering you to your knees in front of the chair, pants bunched under your bones like a little cushion.

"Sir?" You ask, confused as he pats your cheek, bending to press a long, hot kiss to your mouth, fingertips stroking across your pussy, overtop your underwear, before pulling back with a devilish smirk.

“Open.” He instructs, and your eyes widen. “Not goin’ tell ye again, sweet Cy. Open. Now.” You do, lips parting, mouth cranking wide, and he removes his fingers, hand drifting to his pants. Oh, fuck.

If your mouth wasn’t already hanging open, it would have dropped to the floor when he pulled his cock free. It’s long, long enough that it’s intimidating, and thick, probably as wide as your wrist, flushed red at the tip. There’s a bead of pre come dripping from the head, cozy crop of brown curls at the base.

“S-s-sir.” You squeak, and he smiles, cupping the back of your head as he taps your lips with it. "It won't- I can't, it's too-"

"I'll teach ye." He grunts, feeding you his cock slowly, tears falling down over your cheeks when he presses it into the back of your throat, as much as you can go, not even to the root yet. "That's it. Jus' like that, easy." He uses your mouth, your face, hand firm on the back of your head, stroking in and out between your lips until they go numb, faster and faster until you believe you might pass out, cock head jamming down past your tongue, blocking your airway with each thrust. You think you might black out. You could be blacked out right now, and not even know. You're not positive you're still in your body, the body with a sore, stinging ass, wet pussy, and occupied mouth, your Sergeant using you as he sees fit, determined to possess you like some sort of demon. You gag on him, throat seizing, and he pushes through it, bound and determined, your name a ragged whisper whistling through his teeth. "Fuck, swallow it. Dinnae lose a drop." He grits, and then plunges all the way, flooding you with sticky, sour salted earth that pours down your throat, hot come dripping down into your stomach.

You sit there, on your knees, after, stunned, unmoving. He shifts around you, pulling your pants up, fixing your hair, wiping your face. He's speaking to you too, murmuring soft words in your ear, lips touching your cheek, your temple, something about how good you are, how sweet, how he's not going to let anything happen to you, how you don't have to worry, because he's here now- and you slip into it like you're falling into your bed, closing your eyes and drifting away, melting into his side when he gathers you up, cradles you against his chest.

"C'mon sweet Cy. Let's get ye to bed."

#peaches writes #soap x cypher #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish

[peachesofteal]

How would Soap react if he saw that Cypher was being harassed or stalked by some other individual on base? This individual is completely unaware of Soap's fascination with and control over Cypher. Maybe she is being preyed upon by some stereotypically young and horny meathead and his buddies or an older officer who has never served in a combat role. What would Soap do to that person? What would he say to Cypher about it, if anything?

18+ mdni / dark and twisty themes / no smut, Johnny beats the shit out of someone / soap x cypher masterlist

Early morning is one of Johnny's favorite times. He enjoys the quiet pace, the peace before chaos, the relaxed, subtle silence that slowly gets washed away as people start their days.

He particularly enjoys you in the early mornings, watching you make your way across base before any of your counterparts, settling into your work without turning on most of the lights, tweaking the nuances of your new routine. Cup of coffee, speciality keyboard, water bottle, your favorite jacket. Every morning, he marvels at how stunning you are, how perfect, beautiful in every way, down to each individual strand of your hair. He watches how you tackle the things thrown your way head on, sinking into your expertise that surpasses, he suspects, every one else in the room, sees how you treat everyone kindly, how you work so passionately and diligently. It makes his heart glow in his chest, love and obsession and possession burning in his blood, always pushing him closer to get a better look, encouraging him to linger where he can't be seen.

But this morning, something is different. You're late, far later than normal, and you seem... off. There's something off balance in your steps, something in your face that unsettles him, worries him. You power up your work station, arranging your belongings as you like, but instead of appearing happy, healthy like you normally do when you're about to settle into your day.... you look distressed.

He badges into the building without another thought. Anxiety is churning through him now, mixing with fear until his steps are more than hurried, and people are throwing him bewildered looks as he barrels down the hallway. Whatever it is, he'll fix it. He'll make it okay. He'll take care of you.

He stops short just inside the room where you work. Some people look his way curiously, but when he returns their probing eyes, they flinch away in a panic, burying their noses back in their computers, pretending he's not there. Good.

He's about to start towards your console when someone else does the same, a private that doesn't even work in this building, his eyes narrowed and hungry on where your elegant fingers fly across a keyboard. What the fuck?

You don't notice the private at first, which irks him, makes him even more worried, your lack of situational awareness scratching at him beneath his skull. It's a danger to be here in the first place, so close to an engagement zone, and the fact that you're less than aware does not make him feel good.

When you do, finally, look up and spot the oversized low rank that's heading your way, you stiffen, fingers slowing to a stop, throat bobbing with a swallow. He says your name, informal as all get out, and you shift in your seat, fingers coming together, one of your many tells. You're uncomfortable, he realizes. This bloke has been making you uncomfortable. He's chatting you up, or trying to, brushing his hand against your arm, the motion making Johnny see red, and the way his face twists, like he's in on some sick joke, tells Johnny all he needs to know. Slimy git.

"Private. What's yer business on this floor?" Johnny barks, louder than necessary coming to stand beside your chair, across from where the private lurks, chatter around the room dying out as you stare up at him, wide eyed and... relieved.

"Sergeant MacTavish, I wasn't aware the 141-"

"I didnae ask ye what ye're aware of, private. I asked ye what business ye have here." He repeats, inflection flat, and the private gulps, stammering out some bullshit excuse until Johnny is excusing him, encouraging him to make himself scarce.

Once he's gone, you release a long breath, shoulders slumping. He wants to take you in his arms, and hold you. Wants to comfort you, tell you he'd never let anything happen to you, that you'll always be safe, as long as he lives.

But he can't. He knows what a brazen display of affection would do to you, in this setting. How it would harm, instead of help. So, instead-

"Are ye alright, wee sweet?" He keeps his voice low, and your eyes slip closed.

"Yes. Thank you... Sergeant." You whisper.

"Do ye need a break?" He'll take you back to your room, if you do. Or his. Make up some excuse for Price and get you out of work for the day, in a blink. You shake your head.

"No, sir." He nods, squeezing your shoulder with slow, gentle touch, before giving you a long look, and taking his leave.

The pub that everyone frequents off base is a dingy thing. It's dark, and dirty, just the way Johnny likes it. Simon can smoke inside here, right at the bar, and he's just putting his first cigarette out when Johnny's target stumbles, half drunk from the toilets.

"That him?" His LT grunts, and Johnny nods, swallowing the rest of his beer in one go. Simon slaps a folded bill down next to the ashtray. "See you in five."

It's not hard, to get the private outside. He's more drunk than Johnny originally thought, and ushering him towards the back door is as simple as telling him he wants to have a chat, keeping his tone light and easy.

The private doesn't realize the danger he's in until he gets to the alley, and sees Ghost stepping out from the dark.

"Wh-what is this?"

"This-" Johnny hums, removing his jacket as Ghost grabs the private by the back of the neck, turning him. "is a lesson for ye."

"A lesson?"

"The civilian specialist. Cypher." Ghost tells him, removing his hand, letting him shift fully to face Johnny, stricken.

"She doesnae like ye. She doesnae want ye, and she never will. Dinnae ever, ever, touch my girl again." He pushes him, just a little, as a pre cursor, a warning for what's next. The private's eyes are wide, and scared, and Johnny smirks. "If I ever see you-" He swings, landing his fist across his jaw, hard enough that he knows the private is seeing stars, and Ghost steadies him for the next. "looking at her again-" he swings, again. There's a satisfying crack this time, the private's nose, blood spurting from the wound like a fountain, and the injured man howls, loud enough that Ghost is clamping a hand over his mouth to shut him up. "or talking to her-" he lands two more punches to his face, a jawbone hit, and eye socket. Nothing breaks, which is ideal, but he puts enough force behind them that he knows the eye will swell shut, for days. "even breathing near her-" His last punch is the knockout. It sends the private stumbling backwards, and Ghost slides out of the way, letting him fall, his body sprawling across the pavement like he's fallen from the roof. "I'll fucking kill ye. I'll kill ye, and bury ye in a nameless pit. Do ye understand?" He spits, and the private tries to say yes, but it comes out as a cry.

"Nod your head." Ghost instructs, and he does, miserably. "You tell anyone about this, I'll do worse than what Sergeant MacTavish is promising. We were never here. Copy?"

"Yes sir." The private blubbers, and Johnny shakes out some of the tension between his shoulders. Much better.

You're still awake. He's on edge, and was hoping to have a few hours in your room, watching you sleep, listening to the rise and fall of your chest, soothing himself with your presence, but instead, you're still awake, and he's at a loss before he accepts he can't fight it, and knocks on your door.

"Sergeant?" You're surprised to see him, caught off guard, and he's driven to soothe you, stepping forward inside your room, clicking the lock behind him.

"That private won't be bothering ye anymore." He tells you lowly, and your eyes go wide.

"I- What? Sir?" He pulls you into his body easily, your nose in his neck, his cheek pressed to the top of your head. He can feel the tension slowly leaking from you, his hand working broad strokes up and down your back, murmuring to you about he'll always keep ye safe, how he'll always take care of ye, and upon pulling away, he's incredibly pleased to see that you seem happy... even relieved. "Thank you, sir." You whisper, and he rubs a thumb across your cheek.

"I want ye to call me Johnny, Cy. Instead of Sergeant." Not instead of sir, but he doesn't think he needs to tell you that. He presses a kiss to your forehead. "It's late, ye should be in bed."

"I couldn't sleep." You confess, and he nods.

"I know. C'mon. I'll help ye."

#soap x reader #soap x cypher #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish #peaches writes

[peachesofteal]

Soap on the escort mission with Cypher to her temporary base: they're both given rooms, but he tricks her into thinking they were only given one so they only have one shower and bed. He gets her into sleeping in the same bed, copping a feel and cuddling her so tight it feels like he's suffocating her

Oh my god yes but also this sent me off the deep end, sorry.

18+ mdni / soap x cypher (fem reader) / dark and twisty themes

First of all, the entire trip is nauseating. You weren’t given much notice. You’ve never ridden in a helicopter before, and Sergeant MacTavish has to show you how to buckle the straps, knuckles brushing along the tops of your thighs as he clips you in. You’re way outside of your comfort zone. You’re so off kilter, more changes, adjustments to your routines, more strangers. When you get to the outpost, it’s even worse. The systems are rudimentary. You can work with anything, because you’re good, but harvesting the data that Laswell has tasked you with is going to take longer than you’d like. The group you’re with is… small, as well, just you, Sergeant MacTavish, and Sergeant Garrick, who confidently ignores you unless you speak directly to him.

All of this piles and piles on top of you until you’re practically having a nervous breakdown on the first day. Nothing goes right, no one at the outpost is kind, and they all stare at you as you work, like you’re some kind of freak. You’re pretty sure you even hear someone make a joke about you under their breath, something cruel, something that sounds like the things kids used to call you in school. Awful, isolating things, things that always made you feel more alone than you already did. It picks at you, picking and picking, and then you break.

You run into Sergeant MacTavish in the hall, who stops you, alarmed. You try to tell him you need to go to your room, that you need some time to decompress and sit in the dark, but you can't get the words right, they come out messy and mixed up, and you get stuck on a few, repeating them more than once, embarrassment simultaneously trying to melt you into the floor. You’re ripping at the skin on your fingers, digging into the cuticles, trying to keep a lid on yourself when he informs you that the outpost is over occupied, and you’ll be bunking with him.

After the initial shock, he herds you with efficiency to the room, firm hand on your shoulder blade, and you’re surprised at how well the touch grounds you, closing your eyes, sinking into it, listening to the sounds around you, his breathing, the scratch of a door handle, a lock clicking closed.

"Keep 'em closed." He coos, and the command relaxes you. You like the dark, it comforts you, and you think he knows, because the lights never flick on, even though the room is nearly pitch, only one little window in a concrete box, the standard issue. When you don't respond, he hums, pulling you back into the warmth of his body. "Do ye need a lay down?" He murmurs into your hair, petting over your skin, under the neck of your shirt-jacket combo, and you nod, fingers still picking at your skin until his hands overtake them, separating them by force. "Words, sweet Cy."

"Yes, sir." You croak, and he rewards you, in a way, with his arm across your chest, pressing you harder against his front, his chest, stomach and waist, the pressure working like a tea kettle that's boiling, letting off steam.

"Good. That's good, bonnie. Let's get ye comfortable then." He works your clothes, unbuttoning your jacket, your pants. He lays you on your back, eyes still closed, pulling your boots off, divesting you of everything but your underwear, folding your feet onto the mattress together so your knees are bent, and then laid to the side, outwards. You let him move you, shift you around like a doll, unable to protest. The words just won't come out, half afraid you'll earn yourself a punishment, and half afraid he'll stop whatever he's doing right now. You don't want this, do you? Don't you? A hot mouth washes over the inside of your thigh, thumb pulling your panties to the side to expose your cunt, and he clucks his tongue. "Ye need a shave, wee sweet." Oh my god. Oh my god? Your cheeks burn, entire body doused in gasoline and then lit on fire with shame. "Dinnae worry, we wonae be doin' it tonight." His mouth is closer now, you can feel it, the thorned silk of his stubbled cheek against your leg, nose nudging into the curls between your legs. Your heart thumps inside your chest at the first contact of his tongue to your clit, and even with your eyes closed, you think you can see the moon, the sun, the fucking stars.

"Fffuuck." You moan, unable to keep yourself quiet, and he brushes his calculated touch back and forth at the perfect rate and speed, pad of his thumb rubbing soft circles into the flesh of your thighs at the same time, pressing them wider and wider, giving him more and more access to your weeping pussy.

"My sweet Cy." He breathes into your body, flicking around your clit, across it, electrical pulses spreading up through your belly. "Ye jus' need someone to help ye. Take care of ye and this bonnie pussy, aye? Treat it nice." He's working you over so well, like an expert on your body, pushing and pulling you towards the cliff, and you writhe on the bed, the burn spreading, shoving your too busy brain and too busy thoughts slowing slipping away with every second.

"Yeah." You pant, dumb. What? What are you saying?

"Want ye to come for me, baby." His voice goes serious, mouth pulling away a fraction, and you whine a little, confused. "But ye need to be good, and ask. Ask yer Sergeant for permission."

"S-s-sir. Can- Can I-" You struggle with it, brain overloaded, floating away on a cloud, and he smacks his palm against the flesh of your ass, from the side.

"Try again."

"Sir. Please. Pleeease. Can I- I come?"

"Aye, wee genius. Come for me, let me see it." It only takes a few more seconds, long strokes of mouth and tongue against you and then you're bursting into stardust, wild and fast orgasm slamming into you, as he coos to you about how good ye are, how ye wonae need anyone else now, he'll take care of everything, anything, how sweet, and your brain glitches trying to piece together his meaning until you're turning to putty, sinking deeper into the mattress under the aftershocks.

Later, not long after, he folds you into bed fully, nestled under the covers in the dark. He slides in behind you, blazing heat of his body against yours, hard cock against your ass in his boxers, and you gasp, squirming, trying to shift away until he tightens his grip, smothering you still, arms locking around you too tightly, and soothing you with calm touch in all the right spots until you're drifting off into sleep.

#peaches asks #peaches writes #soap x cypher #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader

[peachesofteal]

Follow up to this? 18+ MDNI / mild dark and twisty themes / spanking, dom/sub dynamics

You’re uncomfortable.

Seven bright, blazing screens of monitors sit in front of you, information filtering through your brain at the speed of light. This set up is so fast, so much faster than your agency’s at home, it’s processing capability nearly makes your head spin.

It’s a dream come true, but all you can think about is the memory of Sergeant MacTavish’s punishment from yesterday morning, and the raw, stinging skin of your ass.

“Keep em right here.” His gloved hand strokes over your knuckles, where they’re hanging on for dear life, gripping too tight against the edge of the desk. Your cheek is pressed against the cold finish of the wood, eyes clenched shut, entire body shuddering in disbelief. You’re still confused, stunned even, not sure how you ended up belly down, bent at the waist in front a member of the ONE FORTY ONE. “Dinnae move them. If ye do, we’ll have to add more.” Something is burning inside of you, an unbelievable, unbearable fire, threatening to spill over and burn you alive. Dark, awful thoughts rise to the surface. They whisper terrible things to you, try to pull you away with them. “Do ye understand?” He prompts.

“Okay.” You whisper, eyes clenched shut. He’s going to spank you. Sergeant MacTavish is about to spank you, like a child. Like you’re in trouble.

“Ye forgot something.” He chides, and you blow out a breath.

“S-sir.”

“That’s it. Good job.” A zipper echoes, and you fight the urge to turn your head and look. “Ye’re goin’ count. One for every minute late.”

“Yes sir.” Something flat, like a plank, pressed against the plush of your ass, and jolt with a whimper.

“Ready?” He asks and you nod. “This will make ye feel better darling, trust me.” He murmurs, pitch dipping into some deeper, darker. Something formidable.

The next thing you feel is the harsh, sharp swing of whatever he’s using against your skin, over your pants. It stings, hot fire spreading across your cheeks before it fades out, and you take a deep breath.

“One.”

“Hello? Earth to Cypher?” Your nickname. You blink. Your coworker is staring at you, and you shake the stupor off.

“What?” Shit. How long were you out? Did you space? Or were you-

“I asked if you had figured out that embedded code yet, on the geofencing.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She gives you a thumbs up, and you promise to send her the file, already drifting back to your muscle memories.

#soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #peaches writes #soap x cypher