HAI! I Rlly Like Your Platonic 141 Fics And I'm Wondering If We Could Get Some More Dad Price And/or

A message to the writers of the fandom from Javi 💜

Ao3 writers are the strongest Avengers

Weight of the World

You look to the sky that look so ominous. Yet you are just standing unfazed of what is about to happen as if you couldn’t care the world.

Suddenly rain pour down on you….

  Your whole body is now cold yet you felt something on your face…

Tears..

Tears that are running down along your cheeks.

That is when you felt a heavy feeling in your chest, you couldn’t quite place it. Was it based on your emotions or something else.

But all you could do is let it all out.

You cried very loud because you can’t take it anymore. Is is it because of your parents, friends, classmates,  anyone who torment you or someone you love that you lost in your life? Or is it because of what you felt because life doesn’t go exactly like you it want to be…

Darkness crept upon you.

‘Why is it always like this’

Call of Duty Modern Warfare Overview

Are you new to Call of Duty? Don't know where to start? I've got some videos for you! Here's a great way to get to know the games so far...

Modern Warfare is a reboot of the original Modern Warfare series from the 2000's. Many of the characters are re-designed, but there's quite a few that are introduced for the first time as well. Here's a video on the original series:

In addition, Call of Duty released a comic book about the original Ghost. It can be found here (TW for child abuse, torture, gore, psychological abuse, drug abuse, and more. Please read at your discretion)

On to the reboots!

@oleworldblues made a great guide that you can find here, (Which includes the SpecOps missions and the Atomgrad missions) but here's some other videos as well

This goes over the two campaign stories thus far (MW2019 and MW2022) and provides a great but detailed summary of the gameplay.

However, if you want to watch the actual games, which I highly recommend, you can find MW2019 here and MW2022 here. Honestly, they're really enjoyable because of the absolutely fantastic quality, and the no damage in particular makes for a very realistic gameplay. They also have no commentary, just pure gameplay

Warzone

Warzone is the multiplayer PvP version of Call of Duty where the 141 and their allies (Known as SpecGru) face off against their rival PMC KorTac. While not directly part of the campaign, the season clips are connected to the main storyline. Here's a great video with all of the warzone seas clips:

(Not included in the above- Shadow siege event)

Finally: The upcoming game. MWIII

There's been a number of trailer releases thus far:

Makarov reveal: Where we are introduced to the main villain of the game

Teaser Trailer: What we can expect to see in the upcoming game

Gameplay trailer: Footage of actual gameplay

Bonus: Call of Duty Zombies, which will be an addendum to the game and not part of the campaign

Finally: Here's the Call of Duty wiki, which is a great place for general questions about characters, but should not be taken for pure canon as there is sometimes inaccurate information included.

This is not an exhaustive list of everything, but I hope this is helpful in introducing folks to the canon events thus far. For future updates follow the Call of Duty social media on Youtube

Welcome to the fandom, and welcome back for those returning! See you in MWIII!

Cod fans tap in!!!!

And another thing!!

I’m not gonna act like the most pure person ever Bcs I’m into weird shit!!! but I can admit that!!! Some of you guys that are into the darker kinks IDRC about that! That’s fine but don’t come up here talking crap when people say that the stuff ur into is weird shit and then get mad and call them Morally pure good two shoes for saying it’s weird (which it is ). There’s a reason y’all don’t tell your IRLs about ts Because once again IT IS Weird SHIT!!! Stop acting offended when people call y’all out. Just as you have freedom of speech they also have freedom of speech!!! The internet is a public place!!!! just ignore and move on damn

Phewwwwww

Also a lot of y’all sound exactly like Lxlicons, Pxrn addicts and losers but like female when u say “iTs JusT FiCtIon” like omg stfuuuuuu. IDRC care about consensual non consensual kinks btw!!

Anyws how was y’all’s day???🤭🤭🤭🤭

Ang Huling El Bimbo the Music: thoughts and feelings

[SPOILER ALERT]

Can I just say I love the subtleness of the musical and how it just tells its message through the storytelling???

It touches a whole lot on the Drug War that the current administration is waging against the poor Filipinos who are more victims than the main perpetrators themselves. The end of AHEB which only shows Joy's death and the subsequent lamentation of her family and old friends as the perpetrator who now holds a political position as a councilor goes scot-free is saddening but feels true with what happens in the Philippines. The people who are at the bottom chain are caught or killed while the ones running things get to sit in their high chair.

I also love how the other three main characters Eman, AJ and Hector represent the three divisions of the Filipino middle class and their actions towards the injustices and aggression Joy, who represents the poor and oppressed, faces tell a lot about their positions and views. When none of them could save Joy from being raped, their actions tell a lot about their position. Their positions in the future also dictates where they came from.

Emman who seems to be part of the lower middle class and is also an activist shouts the hospital, focusing more on comfort although might not do much is the kindest of the choices. Going to the hospital would be a direct action to help Joy who is in distraught atm cope. It's also important to see that although Eman got a government post like he dreamed (to change the system), it's the system that changed him instead. With someone from a poor background and no backing, he works hard everyday and is rarely home because he has to "prove" his worth. His career is banking on how hard he works and he forgets that the reason he dreamed of this in the first place was to help advocate for better change in the Philippines and take care of his family with his wife/sweetheart.

AJ who is at the very middle of the middle class chooses the police instead, relying more on the legal system that probably would seem like a fair judge ( probably to imply his trust on the system who perhaps would be fair to him but unjust to others) and his focus on the social aspect of it, aka how other people would perceive what happened. The middlest middle class whose position on the pyramid is dependent on how others perceive you hits too hard for AJ who becomes a successful businessman. He gets a wife, knowing full well that she would simply be a decoration for him to keep appearances, as he is in fact gay. AJ might know some people here and there but to primarily keep his connections, he has to look the part and in exchange for that, he hurts his wife and continues to hide who he truly is.

And God, Hector, this fucking bastard, I hate him but he represents the Upper Middle Class rhetoric so well. Hector tells everyone to keep quiet, to not do anything, overglorifying Joy's trauma and hardship as her being strong. And that speaks so much about how the upper middle class operates, how it's the upper middle class who rarely if ever listens, because although they might not be as powerful as the Filipino Oligarchs, they are pretty much the people living the "Fiipino Dream" and to keep their position, the upper middle class turns a blind eye to the suffering of the Filipino poor. Hector who had always lived comfortably chose to protect his own comfort even in the face of grave injustice. Hector makes it in life too. He's got the resources and the connections, just enough to get him a famous name as a tv director but being in the upper middle class means you still have to bow your head to those with power, to the great oligarchs who control how things go. You see Hector who is "a famous director", under the orders 'from above' has to make his series about ratings than the story itself. He has to accept people with connections into the movie because despite his position that many Filipinos dream about, he isn't exactly the omnipotent hand that can control everything.

God this musical feels so real. The characters too also just represent so much of the struggles of Filipinos, of the lapses in our society and how it continues to harm us and those around us. Please watch The Huling El Bimbo.

Can the scam accounts STOP sending me asks?! I’ve blocked 5+ in the last 24 hours.

HIRAETH — A Simon Riley fic.

❱ This is a longer version of the au I posted on tiktok ^^ I do apologize for the repetitive use of some words. I'm working on expanding my vocabulary! Your kind word means a lot to me, especially the readers on tiktok, you guys mean a lot to me ! ꜝ？This fic may contain heavy topics such as death, depression and melt-downs, if any of those are not to your liking. Please do so exit the fic.

the fic is unedited, grammatical/spelling errors may be found!

HIRAETH — (n.) A homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; The nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

"[name]?!"

He frantically called, dropping the weapons he held to take a good look at your figure who collapsed on the floor. 

The mission had been awfully longer than they anticipated, by the time the third hour arrived, you and Ghost already had fatal wounds.

He hardly swallowed, feeling his throat dry. 

He would rarely call you by your actual name. Ghost always abide by the rules, lover or not, he called you by your callsign through the battles you fought with together,

This one, however, happens to be an exception.

Your panting chest, bloody body, and exhausted expressions stated so. 

He knew, you knew.

He was only grateful you were with him.

The physical pain had caught up to him, he sat beside you. Taking your dainty form close to his, holding you close to him. You could hear his heartbeat,

They were oddly calm.

"Lieutenant—"

"Simon. It's your Simon."

He mumbled, taking your hands in his. Clasping them together gently,

You gasped for air, though in his arms it felt as if you could still conquer ten groups of syndicate. He held you so gently, so protectively. You swallowed,

"Simon?"

"mm?"

"I hope I loved you enough in this lifetime."

You could hear his breathy chuckle, the rasp in his voice another proof of his exhaustion.

"You're rushing, doll, we are still at the part where we reminisce about the memories yea?"

You smiled at his words, disregarding the growing pain on your abdomen. You noticed his own body, the scars and blood covered your lovers figure, You knew it was inevitable.

Without mentioning anything about your wilting bodies, you smiled up at him.

"We haven't lived enough yet." You spoke.

"Indeed,"

"We'll just have to meet in our next one and make the most of what we missed in this one."

Your smile grew, "I didn't know you believed in reincarnation, Si."

"For you, I will. This life failed us," He spoke with weak determination, "This isn't our end, [name].

 I'll find you just as I did before."

With one final kiss, he held your body tighter to his. Covering your ears as protection for the upcoming explosion, as he whispered sweet nothings, 

"If I'm as grumpy in our next life, Please find it in you to be as patient as you are to me in this one. I love you, [name], see you there alright?"

It wasn't long until a blinding explosion defeaned both of your ears, the noise was much bearable for you as he covered your ears tightly. Pressing your body close to his, Well it is the last thing he did, love you and hold you til you both accepted the inevitable fate you've been bestowed.

At his very last moments, he held you tight.

﹑

﹑

﹑

"I'll find you in our next life."

﹑

﹑

﹑

"See you there, alright?"

﹑

﹑

﹑

"Love me just as much as you did on this one."

﹑

﹑

﹑

Soon after the final explosion, Price made sure to clear the place. The eerie silence of Ghost's nonexistent callouts haunted him, along with the walkie he found which belonged to you.

He knew there was one answer, but he had a tiny speck of hope. You and Ghost never failed them, it was this life that had failed you countless times.

"Captain, it's been hours, it's just—let's try to be realistic. There's no way Lieutenant would be so quiet unless he—"

"Have trust in them. They're both strong."

As the two discussed whatever conclusions were the most possible, Gaz had found himself in a particularly secluded room. It was wrecked, obvious that the explosion did not spare it,

"Cap.. captain, you might want to see this."

With hitched breaths, the three of them stared at what the room unfolds. 

His arms wrapped around you protectively, dried blood covered the two of you as you held each other. The sight pinched the soldiers heart, how could such a tragic sight depict so much love?

The two of you laid, almost showing no signs of life. Price had to drop his equipment, staring at the sight and taking in the vulnerability and acceptance you both showed,

"They held each other." Soap mumbled,

"Tightly." Gaz whispered, staring at the grip your cold hands had on ghosts arms that wrapped around you lovingly.

Price found himself approaching the two, with a heavy heart. He checked for a sign of life—anything—holding your pulse first,

Nothing.

"They're gone."

He whispered, the silence of the room almost suffocating the room. None of them had yet broken down, though they felt as if their knees would give out. Price reached for Ghost's after checking yours,

Eyes widening as he frantically double checked Ghost,

"There's—He's still breathing."

﹑

By the time evac had arrived, Price had known it was far too late to save both. He knew this was now their reality. As he sat outside the room where Ghost lay unconscious, completely unaware of the world he’ll wake up to, unaware that he’d live to see that his lover is now gone.

Price felt his stiff heart ache as the thought of them accepting the inevitable death whilst in the arms of each other. How could the two of you receive such a cruel end? Not only were you separated, you had passed thinking you remained in the arms of your love,

He also knew you would hold no grudge if you find out that Ghost had survived the tragic explosion, Price could imagine the gentle smile on your lips while saying ‘I know he will, he’s always been tough.’

He closed his eyes shut, holding his head as he rested his arms on his weak knees, “how the hell am i supposed to tell him.” standing up to return to his station, looking at the window to see Ghost’s resting figure.

As days went by, Price had to argue with people to push further the funeral. It can’t happen yet, not without ghosts. He knew he could only delay it for a few more days. He had faith in his comrade, but at the same time that hope easily withers as days pass them by like a blur.

“Captain if we don’t proceed with the funeral, [name]’s body, it’ll—”

“We have to wait for him.” he interjected sternly, glaring at the soldier, “we have to.”

He knew his logic had given out in favour of his emotions, he can't bring himself to betray simon. Not when he's already been through, he'd lost the person he cared for the most, He just can't do this to him.

“Captain the body, they're doing everything they can to help preserve [name]. But if this keeps on, the body will decay completely! Do you think the lieutenant would be delighted to see the person he loves rotting? He wouldn't—I'm sorry captain. This needs to be done, with or without him.”

Price grimaced, the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he closed his eyes shut. He pinched the bridge of his nose, before nodding with a heavy heart.

“Very well.”

“Proceed with the funeral.”

﹑

“Si, have I told you how much I love your eyes?”

“‘Mm? Yeah, all the time, doll.”

You chuckled, ruffling his hair. You loved the way his eyes squint whenever he’d smile, even the slightest smile he shows, you loved it every single time.

“I love looking at them, they look really pretty.”

“You think so?” He asks, caressing your face.

“I know so. I want them to be the last things I admire before I pass away.”

His eyes weakly fluttered open, his breaths shallow but much more stable than. He’d woken up certain that he’ll turn to see your peaceful face, away from the wars, away from the scars of the battles you both conquered, he knew and was certain he’ll turn to his side to see you peacefully resting with him after the turmoil you've both overcome, as proven of the light that blinded him when his eyes fluttered open,

As soon as his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he sat up, with a relieved sigh. Turning to his side, prepared to caress your soft skin, 

His breath hitched.

You weren't there.

You weren't anywhere near his proximity, where are you? He finds himself sitting on an empty hospital bed with nothing but his dumbfounded state. He looked around, observing the place with a tired frown, he felt rage. Why is a dextrose connected to him? That was where your hand rested before the explosion killed the both of you,

..right?

“[name]?”

He whispered, standing up, ignoring the piercing pain he felt all over his body. Pulling the dextrose and removing it from his arm roughly, 

Why is he breathing? Why is he alive?

“Hell, what is this?”

No. no no no no no no no.

He stormed out of the room, uncaring about the strange looks thrown towards him as he opened each and every room of the hospital. Panic surging through his body, he won't accept it, he won't. You've gotta be inside one of these god forsaken rooms,

Shocked screams and gasps were heard by every door he opened, abruptly interrupting the patients as he searched for those particular eyes. That particular person he needs. He was determined, in one of these rooms you would be laying down on the bed, resting, waiting for him.

If he’d survived, you surely did too.

He won't live otherwise, not without you. And so he continued barging inside rooms, panting and grumbling to himself everytime a different pair of eyes looks at him in terror, they weren't your eyes, you wouldn't have looked at him with a petrified expression, you would look at him with a smile,

Like you always do.

You open your arms and wait for him to close the distance and embrace you, pressing your bodies tightly against each other like he did the night of the explosion.

“Lieutenant!”

Price’s voice rang through the silent hallways, with workers of the hospital frantically following the two of them, “what are you doing simon—”

“Where are they?”

“Where is [name]?!”

He angrily snapped, voice flowing with venom as he started to feel himself fall into a hysteria.

“Where’s my [name], john?” he repeats, this time weaker. Desperate for answers, desperate for your whereabouts, desperate for you.

“Simon, let's calm down. Let's go back to the room and talk.” Price tried to calm him, slowly making his way towards his friend, aiming to take him back and avoid him from causing another scene.

“No.” he shakes his head in disbelief, tears brimming on the verge of falling, “tell me where they are.”

Price felt his heart sunk, he'd never seen the hard-headed ghost look so vulnerable and desperate. “Simon, come on let's go.”

“Price. Where's my [name]?”

﹑

“They're gone.”

Price had managed to pull the hysteric Simon back into his room, sat him down on the bed despite his protest and cries. The sight crushed price’s heart,

“No.” ghost protests, “they're most certainly not.”

Price looked down, sitting himself down as well. Unable to take the lump suffocating on his throat. Ghost’s voice destroyed him, and he bet it would crush your soul to see your lover ask so desperately for you.

“When evac came, [name]’s already dead. It was too late, Simon, I'm sorry.”

“Then why!?”

Price looked up at Simon's exclamation, “why the hell did you think i wished to live if it was too late for [name]?!”

“Why did you have to save me, price?” he weakly stood up, looking down at price as tears fell down his eyes, they were tears of rage and grief—tears that he had rarely shown anyone but you.

“Saving me knowing I'll wake up without my [name], what did you— what did the lot of you think? Now tell me,

Tell me what ill do, tell me price, what the fuck should i do?”

He cried, weeping his unfeeling heart out. He cant feel anything, none worth mentioning—the hurt of losing you plagued his heart,

“I can't, price, I can't do this.”

“Send me out there, make me fight those syndicates, have me tortured for months but not this—not this, i beg you. Don't make me live without [name], don't do this to me.”

Price felt his own tears pool his eyes, he couldn't take it. Not when ghost stared at him with contempt and helplessness.

“Take me back to [name].”

“Please.”

Without you, there was nothing else left for him. Without you he wouldn't wake up looking forward to meeting those eyes that once looked at him with adoration. Without you he wouldn't feel that extraordinary love you had saved only for him. Without you he won't feel, without you he is nothing at all.

Nothing but a breathing piece of sorrow revived to a body which was once happy with you.

Without you he's simply nothing.

Jamie, you have to work tomorrow! You have an early shift!

Me: "OKAY BUT FIRST!."

made me cry a effing river before I slept 😭

(Gif originally by @shadow0-1)

Today. Yesterday. Tomorrow. Again.

(Soap x GN! Reader)

Rating: Mature Wordcount: 5400 Tags: Doomed Narrative, Time Loop AU, Heavy Angst, Blood and Injury, Self-Sacrifice, Whump, Hurt Very Little Comfort, Happy Ending, (I PROMISE THERE'S A HAPPY ENDING!!) Warnings: Major character death. That's...literally the plot A/N: Hi here's the doomed timelines AU nobody asked for

Call of Duty Masterlist

Summary:

The 23rd time you meet Soap, you don’t bother to smile. You know how this ends.

“Nice to meet you, Soap.” You say for the 23rd time, words that have passed your lips in more lifetimes that you wish you didn’t remember. “I look forward to working with you.”

And I don’t look forward to watching you die.

The first time you meet Soap, it’s how you expect. 

It’s a warm spring day, the kind where you need to shed layers in the brightness of afternoon, only to don them again come sunset. He stands just beyond the shade of the barracks, awash in sunlight that seems to catch the blue of his eyes. You blink as you take him in, and it’s the only barest indication you give at the instant impression that he’s handsome.

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you. You reach for it automatically, remember yourself and offer a pleasant smile in return, along with your name. 

“Looking forward to working with you, John.” You reply, and John- Johnny, as you’d come to call him in the tender moments between you, chuckles. 

“Call me ‘Soap’.” He tells you easily, and you smile a bit wryly, tilting your head at him. 

“The hell kind of name is ‘Soap’?”

- - - - -

It’s easy to work with Soap. He has a cheery, bright demeanor to him that is immediately endearing. He’s friendly, outgoing. His smile is contagious, and the bark of his laughter becomes familiar to you. You listen and guffaw at his jokes over the comms, try vainly to hide your smile when he says them before you. 

It only makes his eyes twinkle to see you try and conceal your amusement, and that becomes familiar too- the sparkle of his irises with endless mirth. 

He catches you during your duties, sidles up beside you during weapons training, becomes the first to suggest himself as your partner during drills. The company he offers is warm, welcome, lifting the dusky heaviness of your heart into something more tender, fragile. You hold it for him, feel his grin bleed into yours, lay awake at night and sometimes think about the shake of his shoulders when you get him to laugh. 

You feel endlessly special when he devotes his time to you, feel as if Soap treats you like you’re the only person in the world. Even in the presence of others he finds ways to indulge himself in you. A nudge of his boot against yours under the table of the briefing room, tossing you an extra round of ammo as you gear up for a mission, finding an excuse to sit next to you on the chopper ride home. Soap feels like a breath of fresh air, the first taste of a cool breeze during summer, a respite from the weight of the world. 

Like two stars in orbit, you circle each other, drawing closer into the gravity of each other’s gazes. You try at first to resist, to hold yourself away from the feelings of the other sergeant, knowing at any moment that he could be taken from you. It’s written in the wheels of fate, your destinies as soldiers. If you’re lucky, if you stay alert, if you train hard enough, if chance smiles upon you, maybe you’ll both live to a day where the sound of rockets and bullet-fire doesn’t haunt your waking dreams.

Yet you can’t resist him. When you fall asleep against his shoulder after a days long mission with hardly any sleep, when he playfully grapples with you over the last slice of pizza during movie night, when he gives you that smile during a rare night off-base at the pub- how can you resist?

Gravity pulses between you when you at last fall into him, feel his breath against your lips as your fingers comb through his mohawk. He breathes the blessing of your name against the corner of your mouth in a panting gasp, flexes his fingers across the small of your back when he drags you even closer. The taste of him is honey and ale, a sweetness with a beloved bitter aftertaste, one you drink down greedily in the form of his moans against your flesh. 

When you lay in bed together after, sweaty limbs tangled together, you watch the tender, soulful smile form across the handsome planes of his face, and you know. 

He’s yours. 

There’s kisses stolen in the hangar before take off, moments hidden in the shadows of safehouses. He cups your face and lifts it to him in the aftermath of battle, smears ash against your cheek with his gloved thumb. You try to carve each moment into your heart, never fail to try and memorize the glint of his eyes, the soft slope of his smile. You know the shape of him in the darkness of his bedroom, know the sound of his voice even blinded by the brightness of his mere presence. 

Johnny is the sun- emanating a gentle, beckoning warmth from afar. Yet when you get closer you see the glory of his inferno, see the flashing burn of his eyes in the midst of battle. The solar flare of his battle cry seems to carry you like soar of Helios's chariot upwards into the heavens of his devotion. When you touch him, you’re seared, branded by his fingers as they trace sentimental sketches across the dip of your waist. You want to bask in him, feel the ember of his stare as he gazes at you silently across the table of the restaurant he takes you to for your official first date. 

“What?” You ask him, averting your eyes a little bashfully, catching his shrug in your periphery. 

“Just lookin’.” He replies with a grin, his cheek smushed as he balances on his hand. “Just seeing how pretty you are.”

You kiss him for that, and when he laughs you kiss him again. 

You kiss him a thousand times, each as sweet and passionate as the last, know the curve of his smile on your lips. You kiss him before your next mission, when he holds you against the wall of the armory and tells you how he can’t wait until you both get back. 

He doesn’t. He doesn’t come back. 

He’s looking at you in the chopper when you hear the sound of the RPG. The explosion has him backlit for all of a moment before the world is spinning, the roar of the dying engine in your ears and Price’s holler to “BAIL BAIL BAIL-!!”

You reach for the rope, glance behind you to see Soap not out of his seat- a breed of panic in his eyes unlike that you’ve ever seen from him. The jammed clasp of his strap is caught in his hands as he tugs at it desperately, and you meet his gaze for all of a moment, seeing the imminent knowledge of what comes next in his beautiful blue eyes. 

You fall, without him, are caught by the canopy of trees where the snap of branches under you muffles the distant sound of the helicopter exploding as it lands. 

You ignore Price’s orders, run desperately for the wreckage, only to be greeted by an inferno that stretches towards the sky. 

Johnny is on fire, and this time when you reach for the burn of him the flames are real. They scorch your flesh and you shout his name even as you try to reach him, already knowing it’s too late. When Ghost and the others haul you back you fall to your knees, grip the scorched earth beneath your fingers and scream.

And then you wake up. 

Warm springtime. 

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you.

You blink, heart still hammering in your chest, feeling the warmth of flames chase you even as songbirds sing in the trees. Yet Johnny is alive before you, whole, smiling, looking so much like the man he was when you met him for the very first time. 

“Was it a nightmare?” You ask him breathlessly, and Johnny- Soap- merely arches a bewildered eyebrow at you. 

“What?”

Nightmares, you come to learn, are so much more kind. 

It happens all as it did before. The jokes over comms, the glancing gazes over drills, the bump of elbows in the mess hall. It’s familiar, sweet, amorous…

And you know something is terribly, terribly wrong. 

Back to the start, somehow. You don’t know how, you don’t know why- but there’s no denying what has happened. Johnny died. You went back, and now you have a chance to save him. 

It’s months before the helicopter crash. You replay the scene over and over again in your mind, and you keep arriving back to the look in Johnny’s eyes as realization washed across them. Everyone who dies a sudden death is confused, scared, not ready, and the knowledge and horror you saw in his stare haunts your waking dreams. 

Yet Johnny falls in love with you just as he did before, and you fall into him so readily, desperate to accept his warmth in the wake of his death. Orpheus embracing Eurydice, you try to trace him into your skin, imbue the memory of him into the marrow of your bones and pray that you can reverse his fate. The gears of destiny tick in the back of your mind even as he stares at you over the restaurant table on the evening before your departure. 

“Just lookin’.” He tells you when you return his stare, mistaking your concern for confusion. “Just seeing how pretty you are.”

When you kiss him, you try to swallow the sob in your throat.

When you get on the helicopter, you point out his jammed strap with shaking fingers, and he blinks in astonishment. 

“Hell’s bells.” He huffs, fiddling with it before it comes loose, and it stays that way for the remainder of your journey. “That coulda been terrible, ey bonnie?”

He makes it out this time, and when he rises from the forest floor he rushes to you, cups your face in his hands and stares down with eyes glinting in concern. 

“Sweetheart.” He breathes, chest heaving with exhilaration. “Are you hur-”

He jerks back at the sound of a gunshot, and you drop automatically, crawl to him just in time to catch his hand as he reaches for you. The bullet wound at his collarbone gushes red, red, red, and your hands are coated in it as you plead, tell him he’s going to be okay-

The light fades from his eyes, still staring up at you, the last thing he sees. 

You still feel his heartbeat on your hands when you wake up. 

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you. You tremble, take it and see him blink in surprise when he feels the uncontrollable shake of your palm against his. 

The second time, you think it’s a fluke, a horrible prank. 

He steps on a landmine, scattered to the four winds.

The third time, you’re petrified. 

A man hidden in the darkness, he lunges for you. Johnny pushes him aside. The blade wedges between his ribs.

The fourth time, you beg destiny for answers.

You make it to the compound, the fence lights him up like a firework.

The fifth time, you try to tell him, only to find your throat clogged, unable to speak. You try to tell him a hundred more times in the months that follow, and each time the words are stolen from your breath, as if fate forbids you to inform him of his doomed destiny.

“...Nothing.” You tell him when he asks after you’ve tried to speak over the restaurant table, your food barely touched. 

Johnny shrugs. “Doesna matter, too busy looking at how pretty you are.”

You cry silently that night in his bed, while he dozes gently next to you, unaware of what awaits him. 

You can’t tell him. You don’t know how to save him. You still love him. 

He’ll forget he knows you, forget he loves you by the time he wakes up

You’ve found eight ways for Soap to die, and have taken years to defy all of them. You have to write them down everytime you wake up unless you somehow forget. The notebook is filled with scribbled reminders, ever present in your pocket even as he steals the last slice of pizza out from under you.

He doesn’t have enough ammo. Remind him to take extra clips

He put his knife on the wrong strap that he usually does, fix it for him.

He steps on the landmine fourteen steps after the creek. Stop him.

You can’t stop trying. Not when it’s him.

Yet each time you find a way to outsmart the latest execution of him, fate finds one more thing to steal him out from under you. Unstoppable, imminent, condemned to wake up and see his smiling face mere moments after his heartbeat slows to nothingness.

“I love you.” You whisper as you cradle his head in your lap, knowing he already can’t hear you, glassy eyes staring up at the sky. “I’ll see you soon.”

You burst into tears by the 19th time, buckling in on yourself much to the shock of the men around you, relaying startled looks of confusion between them. You excuse yourself, find a dark corner to fold into and sob, knowing this time you’ll fail too.

It’s Soap who finds you, sits beside you, says barely a word when you cry into his shoulder even though he doesn’t know you. Not yet. 

Falling in love with him each time is painful. Your heart beats for him and him alone, but you know it’s only a matter of time before you lose him again. You’ll go right back to the start, to him having just met you, not yet falling into gravity with you, even as you hear the tick of gears turning ever closer to the moment you’ll watch him die.

“Don’t you know me?” You want to ask him, want to bunch his shirt between your fists and let tears stream down your face. “Don’t you know you loved me?”

His smile doesn’t waver. He jokes and laughs and playfully teases you and it hurts. It’s a balm that burns, heals your heart and yet doesn’t erase the scar. He’s your only comfort, the only thing you have as you feel your soul chipped a little further each time he leaves you. You can’t tell him why you cry into his arms, can’t confess to him that you’ve seen him die more ways than you care to remember, that you’ve tried to save him in dozens of lifetimes and he doesn’t even know.

He holds you even though he doesn’t understand, hushes sweet endearments into your hair and comforts you, not knowing how this will end. 

“I love you.” He tells you softly as you hiccup against his chest, not knowing what else to say. “Ever since the moment I first saw you, I’ve loved you.”

Your tears drip into the fancy china at the restaurant he takes you to and Johnny looks afraid.

The 23rd time you meet Soap, you don’t bother to smile. You know how this ends.

“Nice to meet you, Soap.” You say for the 23rd time, words that have passed your lips in more lifetimes that you wish you didn’t remember. “I look forward to working with you.”

And I don’t look forward to watching you die.

He looks at you, blinks. His brow furrows.

“How’d you know my name?”

This time, you forget to warn him about the rigged doorway, and he vanishes in a flash and puff of smoke. 

“Don’t cry.” He wheezes when you bend over him, words pouring from your lips in a ceaseless mantra. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “I always hated watching ye cry.”

You wake up. Everything happens as it did before. You meet him, you listen to the sound of his laugh, you finish one of his jokes over the comms and he groans.

“Don’t tell me ye know that one too!” He grouses, and when you smile your chest aches with the force of thirty lifetimes. 

You place a palm against his back, unable to help yourself as you enter the compound, wanting to feel the frame of his body just one more time before destiny finds a new way to kill him. He looks at you over his shoulder, smiles even as uncertainty colors the blueness of his gaze. 

“Yer like my guardian angel.” He tells you, still smiling even after all this time. “Dannea what I’d do w’out ye.”

A grenade at the staircase. He pushes you out of the way. He doesn’t duck out of the way in time.

You close your eyes when you wake up. You can’t bear to look at him, knowing you’ll just lose him again.

You try to keep him from loving you, thinking perhaps that is the crime to warrant this eternal punishment. You can’t stop loving him, but maybe, maybe you can stop him from loving you. Maybe if you never have him to begin with, maybe you can save him. 

Yet Johnny is drawn to you anyways, sucked in by the way your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, like a moth to an infant flame. He hovers at the fringes of your soul, tries desperately to find his way inside, and you can’t help but let him. He comforts you when you cry against the futility of it all, and there’s nothing you can say to him to explain. You wet his shirt with your tears, knowing it’ll be the one he dies in.

The next time, you force yourself to not speak to him, to try and avoid him at all costs, try everything to drive him away. If he never loved you to start, then maybe he’ll live. He seems pre-ordained to find a way to confess to you, ask why you hate him so, look at you through glistening eyes and ask “What did I do?”

You wonder if maybe that’s destiny too, if it’s truly Soap falling in love with you, or his strings being pulled by the same machinations that inscribe his death. 

When he asks you again, tries to approach you with flowers and apologies, and offers to take you to dinner on the eve of his death, you wheel on him in desperate fury. 

“You don’t actually love me!” You cry, face hot with tears. “Can’t you see that?! All this time it’s just- it’s just the story we’re in. Just because you’re supposed to love me doesn’t mean you do. It’s all just a fucking lie.”

Soap is stunned, too shocked to speak. In all the dozens of lives you’d lived, you’ve never ever yelled at him before. 

Hurt flashes across his eyes. His eyes drop along with his hands, the bouquet limp in his grip. The bitterness of his smile as he refuses to look at you threatens to shatter your heart like glass. 

“You hate me.” He murmurs, as if to himself. “I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean tae…”

He falls silent, and eventually he walks away. 

You don’t get on the chopper this time. You can’t stand to watch him die again. 

You try to tell him again, ask him why. Why does he have to torture you like this? Why love you, why allow you to love him so deeply, only for him to leave at the end of this doomed story bound to repeat? Why would he love you?

He looks torn. He’s hurt. He wants to comfort you. He doesn’t know what to say

“Why wouldn’t I love you?” He asks in a whisper, devastated by your outburst. 

You can’t speak. You’re forbidden to tell him. You want to. You can’t.

“Bonnie-” He tries, stepping forward, trying to embrace you as if that will somehow solve everything. 

“No.” You manage, pressing backwards as he reaches for you, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. Pain dances across his eyes. “Go away, Johnny.”

He leaves. 

He dies anyway. 

When you wake up, your body feels weighed down with the passage of a hundred lifetimes, and your legs fall out from under you without warning. Johnny hauls you into his arms, his blue stare flickering with concern. 

You forgot how much you love being held by him. 

This time, you don’t push him away. In fact, you never do again.

Yet things are different now. It’s subtle at first, things you take for granted. Something in this story has changed, and in turn it’s changed him. Johnny walks into rooms and seems to forget why he’s there. He asks what day it is and frowns in confusion when Ghost replies blandly for the second time that day. 

“Didn’t you already tell us this?” He asks of Price during a meeting, and Gaz’s head snaps to him, to the smartness of his tone towards your captain. 

“No.” Price responds gruffly, succinctly, and continues on. You watch Soap, see the way he doesn’t seem to understand. His fingers tap on the table, and it’s a small gesture meant to conceal the worry in his eyes- the knowledge that maybe, maybe he’s been here before.

“I saw you in a dream, once.” He tells you one night as you both clamber onto the roof of the barracks to stare at the stars. “Before I even met you.”

You stare at him, and he laughs a little nervously, rubbing at his nape. “A bit crazy, eh? Sounds like am’ off ma heid.”

You shake your head, slide your hand over his, feel your heart thump when he looks at you in surprise. “Tell me.” You whisper, and when he smiles you shudder, feel the weight of destiny press heavy on your shoulders. 

“I saw you crying.” He murmurs, and his eyes are a little distant, like he’s looking back at a life that no longer exists. “I told you not to cry.”

“Don’t cry.” He wheezes when you bend over him, words pouring from your lips in a ceaseless mantra. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “I always hated watching ye cry.”

This time, you nearly die beside him, and almost wish fate would take you too.

He has nightmares now. He thrashes in his bed, a cold sweat dampening his skin when he wakes. You ask him what it was, what vision plagues him, and he only shakes his head, eyes distant and terrified. He clings to you like he’s a little boy frightened by shadows, gazes at something you can’t see but know all the same. He doesn’t have the words, but he doesn’t need them.

You roll over one night, startled to find him wide awake, eyes unblinking as he stares at you. His voice sounds like an echo of himself, a dark magic winding through his words that sound like an all too familiar prophecy.

“I saw myself die.” He tells you, in a voice you’ve never heard- one you’ll never forget. “You were there- and then you weren’t.”

He finds bruises on himself the next morning, in the same places you watched him become riddled with bullet holes. 

You’re running out of time. You don’t know when you’ll wake up and he won’t be there. You don’t know if this will be the last time you ever see him. 

“Please.” You beg him, tugging on the straps of his vest as he steps towards the chopper. “Johnny please, don’t. Stay here. Don’t go.”

His eyes shine with worry at the sudden, fervent desperation in your words, and he opens his mouth to respond-

Only for his eyes to take on that foreign, distant stare once more.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, and once more you’re forbidden to tell him. 

Because you’ll die. Because I’ll be forced to watch. Because I have no way to stop it. Because I’ve seen it happen a hundred times and I can’t do it anymore.

Inevitably, you arrive here, and this singular moment in time, at the place where you’ve yet to find the part in which he survives. 

It always ends like this.

You survive the crash, fend off the ensuing ambush, weave past the landmines and the soldiers patrolling the perimeter, disable the electric fence and disarm the rigged door. You make it inside, stop him before he triggers the tripwire, disarm the pressure plate, lob the grenade back up the stairs, open fire on the door to his left before he passes it. You anticipate the reinforcements at your back, fix the radio when you signal for ex-fil, remember to give him your extra ammo. You know when the roof collapses and drag him to safety, point out the missed charge in his demolitions package, take out the turret before he even spots it-

Then you arrive here. 

“The detonator doesn’t work.” He tells you for the thirty sixth time, out of a hundred and forty eight lifetimes. You know what comes next. The chopper will get here, you will be overrun, and Johnny will kiss you one last time with an apology, push you into Gaz’s arms even as you scream. Then he’ll make his way to the control room without you all, will stay behind and make it his final, valiant act. 

Then you’ll watch the facility explode with him still inside, hear the gears of fate click and send you hurtling back to the beginning.

If you stop him, you’ll all be shot down. You’ll be the only survivor of the crash, and will see the broken bodies of your teammates join him. Or someone else will take his place, and your rescue chopper will be shot down anyways. 

There’s no escape. This is always the moment that you can’t save him from. Thirty six lifetimes and you know in just a few minutes you’ll wake up, will hear his voice begin it all again, over and over until one day you wake up and he isn’t there. 

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you.

You had a dream last time. You were both sitting at the restaurant table, and you spoke before he could. 

“Are you going to tell me how pretty I am?” You asked him, swallowing down grief, feeling it bloom like a macabre bouquet when the sound of his joyous laughter tickled your soul.

“Stole the words right from mah mouth.” He chuckled.

You blinked, and the seat across from you was suddenly empty. 

You close your eyes, in this moment, try once more to find the part where you all make it out alive. You try to find the part where you don’t lose him. Where you’ll go back to that restaurant and it’ll be the last time. 

You’ve had enough.

“I’m going to stay.” Soap declares, eyes grim with resolve. 

He turns to you.

You close the distance, reach up and kiss him. You tangle your fingers in his mohawk like you did the very first time, listen to his shocked gasp as you try and drink in the taste of him just one more time. Just one more time.

Honey and ale. A bittersweet goodbye. 

You snatch the detonator from his hands, raise your hands to his shoulders and push.

He topples backwards, nearly colliding with Price, and it gives you just enough time to bolt for the door leading towards the control room, locking it behind you. 

Soap screams your name, hurls himself at the door, frantic desperation coloring his beautiful blue eyes. The color of a sky in summer time, of a fresh breeze that reminds you so much of him.

There’s a nervous smile on his lips, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. He thinks it’s a prank, another joke between you two, and he says just as much, voice wavering when he asks you to unlock the door. 

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” You whisper, tears warming your eyes. “I can’t lose you again.”

Confusion makes him pause, but it’s only for a moment. 

“Open the door.” He demands then, jiggling the lock uselessly as his voice rises. “OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!!”

“I love you.” You whisper, raising your hand to the glass pane, your splayed palm against his closed fist and the world between them. “In this lifetime, and the one before. Ever since the day I met you, I’ve loved you, Johnny.”

He calls your name, voice cracking in desperation and he begs you to come back. You take a few more moments, and think to yourself how unkind it is that the last time you see him will be like this. Afraid, broken, desperate.

Terrified.

Just like how he was all that time ago, the first time you failed to save him.

Not this time. 

“Don’t cry.” You tell him quietly. “I always hated watching you cry.”

You leave him even as he screams after you, running in the direction of the control room. 

You don’t know this part. You’ve only ever watched Johnny or one of them vanish in this direction. You aren’t prepared for this the way you are with the rest of this story. You’re not ready for the hail of gunfire that greets you, the bullets ripping through flesh. Your blood drips red onto the floor, you run low on ammo, and yet somehow you press on.

Not this time. You think. Not ever again. You can’t take him from me any longer. I won’t allow it.

You’re limping, heavily wounded, riddled with bullet holes, chest seizing and smearing an abstract of crimson behind you as you finally make it to the control room. By the time you dispatch the remaining soldiers you’re on the floor, feeling the corners of your vision pulse red and black as the gears turn, as the clock ticks down. 

The timer has just enough time to make it out once you start it. You know you won’t be able to. 

So you watch the numbers click on the countdown, flop onto your back and cry.

You didn’t want this. 

You wanted just a little more time. Maybe you should have let him go, let him finish this if only he can wake up and not know you. Maybe you should have let him die one more time, if only to get the chance to fall asleep in his arms months into the future and past, knowing he was going to die. 

It’s too late now, and as the numbers click down, as your heartbeat thrums in your ears and your vision pulses red, you can only try to remember the feeling of his smile against your lips, the sound of his laughter, your name breathed into your skin as he wraps his arms around you, safe from destiny in his embrace.

“Ever since the moment I first saw you, I’ve loved you.”

You love him. You’ve always loved him. In this lifetime, in the hundred lifetimes before. In a thousand lifetimes to come you will still love him. Even if you go back, wake up again to that warm spring day, you know you will only love him once more.

You wish he was here, at the end, and wish that even if he was he’d find a way to live without you.

When you exhale, it’s the sound of his name, the memory of his eyes as they stare across you from the restaurant table, full of endless devotion.

The world goes dark. 

And then you wake up.

It’s bright. 

You don’t expect what comes next. 

There’s no birdsong. No springtime warmth. Only the beep of a heart monitor, the feeling of cottony sheets tucked into a hospital bed, the fluorescent glow of overhead lights. 

And the sound of a voice. 

Johnny is holding your hand, head bowed, tears falling freely down his face. 

“I did it.” He sobs, words choking his throat, shoulders trembling. 

Whole. Alive. Just like you. 

“I did it.” He cries again, looking up and finding your eyes with his that swim with emotion. When he speaks, it sounds like the weight of a hundred lifetimes presses down on him. 

“This time. This time, I saved you.”

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