Simon Gets A Message From Reader While He’s On Base. It’s A Video. The Thumbnail Looks Like A Blurred

me and my 150 friends

And on a similar fucking note

I’m so fucking sick of seeing noncon cod fics get a huge amount of notes when there are writers who spend countless hours curating intimate and in depth pieces that are not mindless smut fics that completely assassinate the characters who you are writing for.

The CoD men are not abusers. They are soldiers who have been subject to horrifying violence and human rights abuses and who’s ENTIRE STORY is trying to make the world safer. Why the hell would they sexually assault people when it goes directly against their core beliefs.

And Ghost.

Ghost is a sexual assault survivor. It’s in the comics you didn’t bother to read. Why on EARTH would he experience violent trauma and decide to replicate it on other people? It is incredibly disrespectful to write him as a monster with no regard for consent given his background. AND it’s so clearly indicative of the fact that you’ve done zero close reading of the things you are writing for.

It is so horribly clear to me that so many people in this fandom don’t actually bother to read the wiki, watch the games, have ANY knowledge of the media you are writing for. Just took one look at a tall military man and decided to ‘simp’ for him by writing him sexually assaulting people or being abusive and violent. It’s not fucking sexy to be sexually assaulted. It’s not fucking sexy to be the subject of dubious consent. And ‘borrowing’ those characters to make them do as such genuinely concerns me.

What concerns me more will be the attention these fics get. You wonder why writers are leaving. It’s shit like this. The clear disregard of beautifully written fiction in favor of noncon smut that ignores the basic fundamentals of these deeply complex characters who are instead reduced to ‘rough military man sexy’.

Do better.

aimless fluff tonight because im feeling it. john price x reader

“mm…hello?”

“there’s my girl.”

“john?”

he can see you with clarity when he closes his eyes. you’re rolling onto your belly, readjusting yourself between the soft cotton sheets and the early morning pitch. rubbing your eyes, stifling a yawn, settling back into a lullaby consciousness and a blissful ignorance to hour on the clock.

when he opens them, the image is gone, but your voice remains.

“everything okay?”

he hums.

“jus’missed hearin’ your voice.”

and what a sound it is. even through the tinfoil connection- softness breaks and mends with your deep breaths on the other line. like the spinning of yarn. he fidgets with the frayed ends of the mittens you made him before he left.

your giggle is a drug- intoxicates him until he’s leaning into the cement, trying to keep his inebriation a secret from simon, who is pretending to be asleep for both of their sakes.

“since when did you become such a sap?”

he chuckle is low. “always been that way, m’fraid. jus took marryin’ you to bring it outta me.”

your laugh is tired, and he hears your response before you say it. makes his heart twist.

“im missing you, john.”

“I know,” he closes his eyes again, trying to conjure the image of you, but it’s hazier now, distant, “couple more days.”

“you better…” you’re sniffling now, and john closes his fist around the soft gloves and pictures you in the living room, perched in your chair and hiding their beginnings from him because it was ‘a surprise’, “you better come home.”

“of course I will darlin’,” he smiles, “always do, don’t I?”

that seems to satisfy you, if only enough to lull you back into your sheets. he rolls his shoulders, allowing himself to listen to your breath pattern. memorizes it, and if he plugs his ears, he can pretend you’re sleeping next to him.

pretend that you belong where it’s grimy.

“promise me, john?”

thrifted chair. oak desk. office calls and paperwork. that’s what you voice sounds like- the temptation to never make another promise he cannot keep.

maybe he is getting to old for this.

“promise.”

i need john price to put me in a chokehold and prone bone me. sorry

just some bloke…

I still can't believe how many cishet men are fumbling the bag with this Call of Duty thing.

You have tons of women suddenly interested in the thing YOU are interested in, and instead of bonding over shared interests, you choose to gatekeep and be a misogynist.

Just buy a skull mask you fucking dingus

Simon who never hesitates to call or message you whenever he's out with the 141

Simon who would admire you from afar whenever your busy doing smth

Simon who would squeeze you into embrace whenever he comes home as if theres no tomorrow

and the very same Simon you plan your happy ending with.

idk if yall missed my headcanons but i got bored and figured out which dog breed the 141 would be + co authored by my dog neek friend

holy shit biblically accurate simon riley dropped