Reading Today’s Daily Dracula And Man. You Do Not Understand How Much I Wish Team Kill Dracula’s

Hello! I haven't done any non-141 headcanons yet, so here we go! I always mildly dislike when people put König into the 141 stuff, bc my boy is in Kortac but thats a me going wild about categorization so like

Anyway!

Some König cod headcanons!

König. My boy. My very, very big boy. I don't know how many of you have been around someone his height, but I have. You can feel those fuckers looming behind you. They really do tower over everybody. He is also very, very cocky on the field. Have you ever heard his voice lines??

Despight that, he struggles a bit in social settings. He was a bit of an outcast in highschool. But not because he was just a bit weird, he genuinely kinda deserved it. Was very, very awkward, shoved himself into conversations without being welcomed, stared a lot, said some...more questionable things. And I'm sorry for this one, but there is no way he had good hygiene when he was a teen.

It's when he joined up that things got better. He had a female drill instructor who beat the feminism into him, and he is still embarrassed that it took that much abuse for him to get it. He is very, very sorry to all women.

He learned how to take care of himself after a couple more years. Learned that he was sensitive to perfumes, so he uses all unscented products. It's a bit uncanny how he smells like nothing besides very faint soap and cloth.

Because he is so damn big, my boy learned how to sew from his mama. Not well, mind you, but enough to adjust clothing. He makes his own masks for the field. His guilty pleasure is the steadily improving stuffed animal collection he has that he sewed himself. Just toys made from whatever scrap fabric he could get his hands on. His favorite? An octopus made from one of his old masks.

Soap is a pitbull, and no im not taking any criticism on this fact ty <3

Boxer!Simon Riley thoughts 🤤

To be perfectly honest Anon, I think Boxers are too goofy for Ghost. I imagine he'd be a better German Shepherd (a bit cliche but yea) or a Kangal Shepherd, idk something big and like a protective/security dog if that makes sense?

I think Soap would be more of a Boxer. Idk, tbh I haven't put much thought into the 141 as animals, but I can see Johhny as a Boxer, Ghost as a Kengal, Gas as an Austrailian Shepherd, and maybe Price as a Rottie? Idk I'm rethinking this as I type it

No no no Because I loved the Fae!141 so much! It was far less them just liking her for looking kind of fae and way more reader becoming sort of more confident. The fae get-up is just a tool for her to use. The boys are attracted to it becase 1) jewelry like that is sick as fuck and who doesn't love a dressed up girl? Like??? And 2) they respect how shes adapting and playing the court.

Its amazing no matter how you read it, much love ❤️💕♥️💗💖

The duality

This is absolutely amazing and absolutely canon

Imagine Ghost accidentally conditioning the 141...

Ghost is busy. Always. Too much paperwork, too many reports, too many logistics to handle before training. It’s 1400 before he realizes he’s skipped lunch. Again.

Not a big deal. Not the first time. Won’t be the last.

But he is hungry.

His eyes land on the bright pink bag of Valentine’s Day mini Snickers that’s been sitting, untouched, on his desk for a week. They were part of a bulk shipment to the base; some gift or something.

Not exactly lunch. But it’ll do.

He grabs the bag and heads for the training field. He’s two minutes late, not that it matters much because Soap and Gaz already have the unit ready.

"Where’s Price?" he asks, tearing open the bag as he walks up.

"Got pulled away. You’ve got this one, Sir," Gaz replies, raising a brow as Ghost lifts his mask just enough to pop a Snickers into his mouth.

Ghost doesn’t react, just grunts.

Today’s drill is a simple infiltration exercise. Hell, it's something Ghost or Price hardly have to be here for. Their presence would be more of a formality. Gaz leads the attackers. Soap leads the defenders. The teams get ten minutes to plan, to prep.

And then Ghost sounds the time up, and the groups move.

Ghost watches, leaning against a crate, chewing another Snickers, barely paying attention to one of the new guys—until the kid steps right into a trap. Ghost sees it before he does.

Blue powder erupts into his face.

Soap’s defenders descend, but the kid doesn’t go down easily. Blind, but still fighting back, holding his own until his team pulls him out.

Soap's team wins. Barely.

When it’s over, the teams regroup. Ghost is still eating Snickers.

He turns to the recruit, still dusted blue.

"What 'appened?"

"Didn’t see the wire." The kid shifts uncomfortably.

Ghost turns to the unit. "Who set it?"

One of the defenders raises a hand. Ghost considers him for a moment before reaching into the bag.

He tosses a mini-Snickers at the soldier.

The guy catches it. Looks at it. Looks at Ghost. Eats it.

Ghost turns back to the newbie. "Held your own. Tha' matters. Surprises happen. Don’t let ‘em get you again."

And that’s it. Training’s dismissed. Ghost pockets the rest of the Snickers and moves on.

...

The next day, Price is still gone. Ghost doesn’t skip lunch this time, but he still brings the Snickers bag.

They run the same drill.

Same recruit. Same route. But this time, he checks everything. Quick. Efficient. Finds the wire. Disarms it.

No blue powder today.

Gaz’s team wins.

Ghost eyes the recruit and flicks a Snickers at him. The kid catches it mid-air.

...

By the end of the week, Price is still gone. Ghost keeps the pink bag of Snickers on him during training. Like it's just another part of his kit.

One or two mini snickers get handed out every session. And nobody really notices at first. But the team starts moving differently.

They work harder. Smarter. More ruthless. More efficient. No one wants to be the guy who doesn’t get a Snickers.

Even the veterans sharpen their tactics. Gaz and Soap notice. But no one says a damn thing. If Ghost is going to give them snickers, then shut the gel up and let him give them snickers.

...

They're sent on a mission. High stakes.

They don't lose a single man. Not a single injury.

At the end of it, back on their transport home, Ghost pulls the pink danm bag from some unassuming pocket and hands out the snickers.

The men take them without question. They earned it.

But Ghost is running low. The bag nearly empty.

...

At the next training, Ghost doesn't hand out a single snickers. Not on purpose, but the bag is empty, so there's nothing left to do.

But the others notice. Gaz squints. Soap looks like a confused dog. Head tilt and all. The newbies glance at each other, shifting.

...

Two days later, Ghost swings his door open at 0600 sharp—and pauses.

Sitting just outside his door, neat as you please, is a bag of mini Snickers. Not the Valentine’s ones anymore. Just regular.

Ghost blinks. Hums. Pleasantly surprised, he picks up the bag, inspecting it briefly before stuffing it into his tac vest like it’s just another piece of gear.

He doesn’t think much of it. It’s a good snack.

At training, he does as he always does. Watches. Observes. Evaluates.

And then, without thinking, he tosses a Snickers at a recruit who clears a building faster than expected.

He snaps to attention as he catches it, eyes shining. Ghost does not question it.

The pattern continues.

And when he starts running low, Ghost finds a fresh bag of Snickers waiting for him.

Somebody—somewhere—has decided that the Snickers will not run out.

...

At training, at drills, in the field, there is a silent expectation. A new, unspoken rule. Do something exceptional? Get a Snickers.

The machine of the 141—the deadliest operators in the world—now snaps to attention at the crinkle of plastic.

They move with a ruthless kind of precision, bodies coiled, eyes sharp—waiting, anticipating.

Even Gaz and Soap are part of it now—though everyone refuses to acknowledge it outright.

But the moment Ghost hands one of his men a Snickers, he takes it.

Silently. Gratefully. Like a goddamn reward.

Ghost does not acknowledge this. Not out loud. But he keeps handing them out.

And they keep earning them.

They'd quite literally kill for a Snickers. (imagine what they'd do for an expensive piece of chocolate)

...

And then Price comes back three weeks later. He walks into the training area and pauses.

Something is off.

The unit is too sharp. Too focused. The newbies stand stock still in their group, as if waiting for something.

Gaz and Soap exchange a look. Soap refuses to meet Price’s eyes.

But he doesn't acknowledge it, until he begins unwrapping a plastic sleeve holding a new pen. The plastic is thick and loud. And half of their fucking head snaps his way. The hungry eyes of three dozen of soldiers latching on him.

Ghost, standing at the edge of the group, tears open a fresh bag of Snickers.

And now the entire fucking unit reacts. Subtle shifts in stance. Focused attention. Expectant silence.

Price squints. Frowns.

Ghost flicks a Snickers at a recruit. He earned it today.

The recruit catches it like it’s a holy offering and eats it immediately.

Price’s frown deepens. Slowly, carefully, he turns to Ghost. “The fuck did I miss?”

he was waiting for his goth bf to pick him up

Ok but i love this tho? It gives me life

Is this fandom still alive? Anyways bagginsheild loml

captain mactavish outside the bar: *lighting a cigarette* "when i graduated high school you were 13 isnt that weird"

riley, so drunk he cant stand straight: "can yuo put that out on me"

It’s common knowledge that Bilbo WILL stab a bitch

Day 3 of Inktober : Path

This is the photo I used for inspiration

Credit : Finn Hampton on Unsplash.com