caroldanverslefttiddy

[caroldanverslefttiddy]

your body is your best accessory. a physically fit person walking into a room can say so much about themselves without speaking at all. they are desirable because they embody (in a literal sense) the best traits: discipline; integrity; and strength.

[caroldanverslefttiddy]

Everything okay?

If you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, you are not alone.  

If you are in the United States, please try:

National Eating Disorders Association (support, resources, treatment options)

If you are outside the United States, visit IASP to find help lines related to eating disorders for your country. 

For self-help courses on body image and general peer support, please try Koko. 

If you need some inspiration and comfort on your dashboard, follow Post It Forward on Tumblr.

[caroldanverslefttiddy]

ghoap or whatever idk the lore …

thanks for 700 followers on tumblr ! :-)

i may be having an art raffle over on twitter when i hit 1k, if anyone’s interested

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"Better late than never" part 8

COOKIES

Soap was aware of how much work is on Ghost’s shoulders, the man never gets a break. If he is not commanding a mission on which soldiers have to depend on his decisions, death being a repercussion of even the smallest mistake he could make. Then, he has to put up with recruits at training which is usually a shit show of inexperienced firearm usage and Ghost’s screaming and cursing. On top of that, he had a shit ton of paper works.

Since Soap figured out that he can actually help him with that, he had been doing it more frequently. Often staying late in Ghost’s room to fill out things he needed help with. Ghost never asked for his help, and neither did he say thank you. But Soap knew that he appreciated the help and maybe even his company because halfway through the work Ghost would ask if Johnny wants him to make coffee and they were also spending time together after they were done. There was always a plate of cookies on the desk for Soap to munch on- the cookies were there only when he was around.

Soap loved those cookies, but whenever he asked what brand they were the other men would say that he bought them in the canteen. Which had to be total bullshit since the ones sold there tasted of nothing but cardboard. Soap was certain that Ghost was straight up gatekeeping the brand- which was hilarious to him. But that day was the day he will finally get the brand's name.

“It seems we ur done fur today, Lt.” Soap exclaimed, putting the last document into a file and then stretching his hands above his head. He looked at the empty plate, only crumbs left after he devoured the cookies. “So… the cookies-”

“I told you I got them in the canteen. You sound like a broken record” Ghost cut in.

“No, na ye didn’t ye liar! Those are one of the best food I had and believe me I checked th’ canteen. They have only two brands! Both taste stale!” Ghost just crossed his arms “Ghost with all due respect ye can’t keep this one thing a secret. We speak aboot cookies, nae nuclear codes.”

“Biscuits, not cookies.”

“Oh, go 'n' bile yer heid!” They sat in silence for a second, then Soap eyed the trash bin. “I will go thro’ yer trash to find the packaging.”

“No, you won’t, Soap”

The sergeant stood up. 

“Sergeant…” Ghost warned, but Soap really enjoyed those biscuits. He bend over the bin, ready to inspect it. “Soap, don’t.”

“Ye won’t stop me, I just have to make sure there isn’t anything I don’t wanna stick mah hand in.”

“God give me strength.” Ghost whispered to himself. “You won’t find anything, there is no box, Johnny.” He sounded exasperated.

“Did ye pumpin' burned it or whit?”

“Wha- of course not! I am not you, you pyromaniac.”

“Then- No way!” Soap looked at him with big eyes. Ghost groaned already knowing what was coming. “Ye baked them!?”

“What if? Do you want to comment on it?” Ghost remembered well how everyone usually reacted to this information. They would say it was not a thing for men like him, for men at all. His previous team would burst out laughing if he told them. Of course, he had more faith in 141, in Johnny but his father's words stuck to him like glue. ‘Kitchen is a woman’s place, no wonder you are such a brat. You can’t even be a proper man.’ He would say whenever young Simon would be helping his mother with baking.

Ghost knew it was not true, of course, he did. But words like that stuck, especially when heard at a young age. Especially when followed by a ‘punishment’. 

Ghost didn’t notice when Soap sat again in his chair.

“Oh, ye bet I am going to comment on it. You are keeping those skills from us when all of us could be eating those delights!” Soap was smiling brightly at Ghost, simply happy to get to know something new about his friend. “You make amazing cookies- sorry. Biscuits.” The Scot mocked him and punched his shoulder playfully.

And how could he think that would get any other reaction from Johnny? Ghost blushed under the mask, not ready for the compliment. 

“When do ye bake them? How? Where?”

Ghost fidgeted with the aglet of his hoodie’s strings. “When I don’t get a full night of sleep- which is often. I snuck into the kitchen, nobody will stop me past midnight. I keep the ingredients here so nobody takes them.” He explained.

“Huh.” Soap chuckled. “No one in the right mind takes things from your shelf.”

“Yeah, but custard powder would look weird, wouldn’t it? Besides you literally take my milk every morning.”

Soap smirked. “I am not in the right mind.”

Ghost’s eyes wrinkled in a smile and he shook his head. “Just… don’t go gossiping about it,”

“Will you be making me more?” He raised his eyebrows.

Ghost hummed agreeing.

“We’ve got ourselves a deal, sir.” The sergeant pretended to zip his mouth. “I will have to steal th’ recipe from ye one day and sell it to mah ma’”

Ghost looked at the clock- it was already late. Could they?

“I can teach you now.” He proposed. “If you want.”

Soap was already standing. “Stupid question.”

It was so nice to see someone excited about something he likes. Soap often shares about his hobbies and he is happy to listen. He himself is rather reserved about his interests, so opening up and seeing someone so excited about it? If Ghost was someone else he would hug the Scot.

***

“So what are we making chef?” Soap clapped his hands, leaning on the counter while Ghost was preparing some bowls. Ghost looked at what they had.

“I am thinking bourbon biscuits.” Soap looked like he wanted to say something. “And no, there is no alcohol in them Johnny.”

“Pity.” 

“Go wash your hand, we will make the dough first.” After they did that Soap grabbed his phone and put on some quiet chill music, he didn’t want to push their luck. 

Ghost instructed Soap which dry ingredients he should be mixing first while Soap swayed side to side to the music, listening. Soap did exactly as Ghost told him, carefully measuring like he was building a bomb. Ghost said to add whole flour which would be alright if he didn’t dump it all at once in the sieve the lieutenant. A cloud of white powder covered them both.

Ghost took a deep breath and exhaled some of the powder. He could hear Soap trying to hold his laughter. He turned to scold him, but he was met with flour being blown straight at his balaclava. Soap was straight-up cackling at this point.

“Now ye are a real ghost!” He said between wheezing.

Ghost took some flour from the counter and messed Soap’s mohawk with it.

“Oi!”

They messed with each other like that for a while, when Ghost actually looked around. 

“Ok, stop. Price will kill us when he walks in here tomorrow.”

Soap had to have the last word. He grabbed the base of Ghost’s mask. Ghost panicked a little- ready to push Soap away. Luckily he only pulled at it a little to suddenly let it- causing the flour to lift from it.

“We will clean up later, Lt.” He came back to swaying his hips.

Ghost let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Soap bumped their hips together, prompting Ghost to relax and sway with him while they continued.

Ghost had to bite his cheeks to not smile like an idiot.

And for Soap the biscuits were no longer the prize, seeing Simon all domestic and relaxed while speaking about all types of flour and which one is his favourite? That was priceless.

***

Task Force 141 drank their morning drink of choice with the addition of perfectly baked biscuits.

I am really happy with this one <3 I am sorry for the late update but I have less and less time. I love reading your comments and thoughts on the fic <3

Also, I thought I will mention that I have a Ko-Fi now if someone feels like buying me some coffee. I am saving for university!

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Soap not being bothered by the idea of Ghost rejecting his romantic feelings, but being devastated by the thought of losing him as a friend if he expresses said feelings… good shit.

Ghost being so in love with Johnny and falling more in love with him when he realizes Johnny would never punish or hurt Ghost for not returning his feelings (he does, but still)… and he just wants to see Simon happy and be his friend. His person. Romantic or not.

Good.

Shit.

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Idk ghost just kinda seems like he a bit smelly

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○ behind a name — johnny “soap” mactavish/simon “ghost” riley — crack 「 “Oi, it’s ‘Don’t-Drop-The-Soap’ MacTavish!” A nameless Sergeant claps Soap’s shoulder from behind and narrowly avoids taking an elbow to the face when the Scot attempts to buck him off. “Awa’ an bile yer heid!” Soap splutter, but the man appears unaffected by the smaller man’s threats. The nameless Sergeant’s next move makes Ghost freeze: in a true act of brazeness, Nameless Sergeant drops his hands to the swell of Soap’s ass and squeezes. “Still got that fat arse I see,” He has the gall to sneer. --- ᴏʀ: Soap’s nickname is not from how quickly he cleans house, but rather on how he had the most fuckable ass in the SAS 」

The first time Ghost hears about the Scot’s nickname, he almost laughs at the ludicrousness of it. “What the hell kinda name is ‘Soap’?” He sneers instead.

He won’t deny the fleeting notion of it perhaps being related to the crude saying of “don’t drop the soap” but instantly dismisses it as such because surely no sane man would adopt a moniker with such an implication behind it.

Price is quick to allay his uncertainty. “The lad’s called ‘Soap’ because of how quickly he cleans house. Nearly beat Gaz’s record during selection,” the Captain hums. “I handpicked him myself, so I don’t wanna hear shite from you, Ghost, ” he says, fixing the man with a pointed look.

Ghost lets out a huff of laughter at this. “Fair ‘nough,” he nods, taking a final drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and grinding the smoldering butt beneath the heel of his boot. “So when do I meet this ‘Soap’?”

---

When Ghost finally meets the man, he’s nothing like he expected him to be. For one thing, he’s Scottish and a bloody loud one at that — especially for someone who’s meant to be quick and efficient at cleaning house.

He’s also much smaller than Ghost had anticipated — though most people seem small when compared to his own 6’4” stature. For what Soap lacks in reach he makes up for in strength with his strong frame, muscled arms, and thick legs that even once allowed him to pin the Brit himself in a sparring match. Just the once though and it had absolutely nothing to do with how the smaller man’s form felt against his own.

Ghost eventually forgets all about the nickname entirely — often preferring to address him as “Johnny” instead, due to the lovely flush that settles across the bridge of the Scot’s nose each time he says it — until they have a run in with a few of Soap’s former company, that is.

“Oi, it’s ‘Don’t-Drop-The-Soap’ MacTavish!” A nameless Sergeant claps Soap’s shoulder from behind and narrowly avoids taking an elbow to the face when the Scot attempts to buck him off. “Awa’ an bile yer heid! ” Soap splutters, but the man appears unaffected by the smaller man’s threats.

The nameless Sergeant's next move makes Ghost freeze: in an act of true brazenness, Nameless Sergeant drops his hands to the swell of Soap’s ass and squeezes. “Still got that fat arse I see,” He has the gall to sneer.

Soap lets out a strangled yelp at this and Ghost sees red . “Sergeant!” He barks, causing the group of men to immediately stand at attention, their backs ramrod straight. 

“I don’t know what sorry company you come from, but I don’t tolerate any of that shite here — Do I make myself clear?” He snarls into the face of Nameless Sergeant who’s trembling and swallowing nervously. “Y-Yes, Lieutenant!” The man’s voice warbles.

“Now get out of my sight!” Ghost all but growls and the group is gone. Soap is running a frustrated hand through his mohawk, the tips of his ears red with embarrassment. “Alright, So—” The nickname nearly slips out, “Johnny?” He opts for instead, especially given what just happened.

Soap is rubbing the back of his neck — a nervous habit of his, Ghost’s noticed — when he peers up at Ghost, his face is still slightly flushed. “Aye,” he nods and chews his lip for a second before locking eyes with the taller man. “I can explain.”

Truth be told, Ghost wasn’t intending on addressing the incident at all, given how upset it had made Soap — but curiosity gets the better of him. Before he can answer, the sound of booted steps echoing at the end of the hallway makes them both freeze. “Not here,” Soap hisses, gesturing for the taller man to follow.

They arrive at what appears to be Soap’s personal quarters, based on the amount of Celtic F.C. memorabilia on the walls. Once inside, Ghost nestles himself against the closed door. “Well, go on then,” he goads.

Clearly the smaller man is filled with nervous energy, as he begins pacing the length of the room, his hands moving animatedly as he speaks. “That bawbag ye met back there was from me time in the SAS. Blootered eejits came up with the name ‘cos—” And the Scot says the last bit in a flurry that Ghost doesn’t quite catch.

“Slow down there, Johnny,” Ghost drawls for emphasis and he swears the man shudders at the call of his name. Interesting.

The Scot takes a deep breath and exhales shakily. “They call me ‘Don’t-Drop-The-Soap’ MacTavish ‘cos I got ‘the most fuckable arse in the SAS’,” He says more slowly this time, emphasizing the last bit with air quotes.

With a booted foot, Ghost pushes himself off the door he was propped against and begins to stalk towards Soap. “Is that so?” He clicks his tongue as his eyes rove down the form of the smaller man — dropping his gaze to appreciate the swell of his backside.

Soap lets out what could only be qualified as an indigent squawk.  “Steamin’ bloody Jesus!” He squawks and has the audacity to cover his behind with his hands, like a nan clutching her pearls. “L.T are ye checkin’ me oot?” 

Ghost nearly lets out a chuckle at this. “Nothin’ to write home about,” He scoffs instead and that’s the wrong thing to say — or right, depending on how you look at it — because Soap flushes red and he’s pissed.

Suddenly, the smaller man is stepping into Ghost’s space. “‘Nothin’ ta write home aboot’?” The Scot spits, his accent thick — a common occurrence when he’s worked up — as he twists around and cocks his hip, jutting his ass out. “This?” He jerks a thumb backwards for good measure.

The hunger in Ghost’s gaze is searing hot as his dark eyes raze Soap’s backside like coals. Ghost’s hands itch at his sides for just a touch of the proffered Scot before him — like a feast before a starving man, ready to be devoured  — but opts for crossing his arms across his chest instead, his muscles tight with tension. “I suppose I could be convinced,” Ghost suggests with a shrug, the implication behind his words perverse.

Luckily, Soap is quick to catch on to the suggestive undertones of Ghost’s response. “Oh,” the smaller man breathes out, uncharacteristically quiet for once in his life — but only for a beat because within the next second the cocky Sergeant that Ghost has been captivated by is back with a wicked grin. “Aye, that can be arranged.”

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sometimes i’ll think about a situation where ghost and soap are both held hostage and they’re given that ‘one of you is gonna die and you get to choose who it is’ ultimatum and how ghost, being the smart dumb fucker he is, knows how to play the game better than the hostage takers so he’d tell them to shoot soap and soap’s going to tell them to shoot him to save ghost. but ghost knows because they both ‘want’ soap dead, it means ghost will get shot instead. and ghost dies knowing he saved soap’s life, but soap has to spend the rest of his days thinking that ghost truly didn’t care about him ultimately after everything they’ve been through, all the jokes, all the banter, johnny learning who simon is, seeing him under the mask because ghost trusted him. only to spend forever thinking it was all a lie. when in reality ghost loved him more than anything and that’s why he had to sacrifice soap to get himself killed to keep him alive.

anyways yeah it hurts when i think about it but i just think ghost would be proud of himself for it because he’s stupid and in love and thinks it was an honour to save john mactavish

[caroldanverslefttiddy]

ghostsoap(ish) drabble from this idea

One of the first things Soap really takes note of about Ghost, is that his Lieutenant is scarily stealthy.

Of course, it should only be natural considering their line of work, but sometimes his ability strikes Soap as odd. Like the complete silence in which Ghost moves, or his uncanny ability to get places with speed near inhuman.

But it’s never quite enough to actually question, which irks Soap, because he wants to know that he isn’t just imagining things, that Ghost’s skills really are weird, no matter how often the Lieutenant shrugs off Soap’s jabs and halfhearted comments. It irks Soap, because something else has to be at play, but he can’t figure it out—it fills him with the same kind of frustration as seeking out a word left just at the tip of his tongue.

Then he’s finally given reason to press.

Soap and Ghost are left waiting alone for exfil, doing some last minute scouring of the warehouse they’d raided and cleaned out. Soap has his back turned to his Lieutenant while he digs through scattered files, Ghost on the lookout for any stragglers they might’ve missed.

Ghost then utters something about going to check the office, and as Soap turns to acknowledge him, Ghost has just vanished. No footsteps, no rustle of kevlar, no trace to him having ever stood just feet away from where Soap knows he had been.

And when Ghost reappears behind him after several minutes, the door to the office having not so much as moved, Soap starts having some real suspicions. Ghost hardly seems anything but indifferent.

Now, Soap had never been one to believe in the supernatural. He still doesn’t for that matter—he just becomes a little wary of Ghost’s namesake.

“ETA five minutes,” Ghost relays to him. A hand is then waved in front of Soap’s face—he hadn’t realized he’d been staring. “Are you alright, Sergeant?”

“I’m—” Soap blinks. His mouth feels dry. “Fine. Are you?”

Even though he can’t see it, Soap knows Ghost’s eyebrows are furrowed beneath his mask. “Now isn’t the time for games, Soap,” he grunts.

Soap shakes his head. He huffs and scrubs at an eye with the heel of his palm. “Never mind,” Soap grumbles.

Ghost seems satisfied with the reply. They leave the warehouse in silence to wait on the last few minutes before exfil. Soap can’t help but throw glances at Ghost all the while, as if convinced he could catch the man disappearing into shadows again.

Stupid, Soap thinks. That’s not possible.

Price tells him just as much after debrief, when Soap had been desperate to bring it up to someone.

Just a trick of the light, I’m sure, Price says. Soldiers see things all the time.

It was a bullshit answer, Soap knew. But he was in no position to accused his Captain of anything. Some things are just… classified, Soap supposes.

But Soap's curiosity still nags at him, and he's forced to question the source if he wants any semblance of closure to his dilemma—even if it's just as much of a lie as Price had offered.

Soap corners his Lieutenant one morning in mess, at a time far too early for the rest of those on base. Ghost doesn't seem particularly pleased to have his peace disturbed, though he softens somewhat when he sees that it's only Soap who joins him.

"Tell me," Soap says, "Tell me what happened on our last mission. While we were waiting."

With his balaclava pulled over his nose so he could eat, Soap can see the frown that tugs at Ghost's lips.

"What do you mean?" Ghost asks. "You were there. Shouldn't you know?"

"No, I mean—" Soap sighs, frustratedly gesturing his hands like it would urge his words out into the open. "You didn't go into that office. Couldn't have. I would've heard the door. But then—then where did you go?"

Ghost stares at Soap, his dark irises entirely unreadable. After a moment, he pulls his mask back into place and makes to leave without a word, but Soap catches his wrist.

"Ghost."

The Lieutenant doesn't move, even when Soap lets go of him.

"Simon," Soap tries.

Ghost sighs. Though he remains tense, his shoulders slump in defeat—or the closest to it that he'd allow.

"Do you ever keep your nose where it's meant to be?" Ghost wonders dryly.

Soap can't help the grin that finds his face. "Never, sir."

After some internal consideration, Ghost rolls his eyes. "Another time, Johnny."

As Ghost walks away, Soap does his best to ignore the disappointment that flares in his chest at yet another dead end. The approach had almost seemed promising for a hopeful second, but of course it wouldn't be. Nothing could be so simple.

But as Soap watches Ghost leave, his Lieutenant glances back at him with a curt nod of his head before vanishing as soon as Soap blinks.

Soap's eyes widen, because at this hour, with no one around, there was no humanly possible way for that to have happened. Mess is a wide open space, and Ghost had been nowhere near an exit.

Not a trick of the light, then, Soap concludes. And while he figures now with certainty that something supernatural had to be in the works, his curiosity would only swell every time he saw Ghost from then on, as the Lieutenant continued to deny him an explanation.

But if Soap had started to see the way shadows sometimes shift unnaturally when Ghost had been nearby, then he never mentions it.

[caroldanverslefttiddy]

why is fire a no go?

Guys what if Soap's skull mask is red because he wants the enemies to focus their fire on him?

Like he's a Sergeant, he has people under his command, under his protection, we've seen him focus on saving people in that first mission, I think he's very protective.

I also think he's not very careful with his own well being, unconsciously thinks of himself as less important than everyone around him.

So what if he spray paints that mask bright red to make sure that if anyone there is spotted and shot it will be him? And if he's hurt, or dead, but everyone else is fine, then he's happy with that.

I dunno, I think unearthed trauma suits him. And I think it's funny that Soap's way of dealing with it is by being self-sacrificial, and Ghost way of dealing with it is the exact opposite, unconsciously leaving people behind if there's the slightest chance of them being dead because he can't stop or he's gonna die too (and he can't be back in a coffin and fire's a no go also so he just can't die period), and then being so deeply overwhelmed with guilt that it sends him in a spiral...

Makes for quite a funny couple dynamic... And honestly I don't even think Price would say much about it because you know he's just as fucked up and if he recognizes that they're fucked up then he has to acknowledge that he is too and he's barely hanging on as it is, but he can't break because what's gonna happen to his kids if he does?

I think in this case it's a job for Laswell, she's fucked up as well but has a very comforting wife and a therapist, so she's working on herself at least.

[caroldanverslefttiddy]

soap: if you were to get a piercing, what would you get? me, personally, i’d—

ghost: a lobotomy.

soap: that’s not—

ghost: a lobotomy.

[caroldanverslefttiddy]

“Dear Diary…I met this fella on 141 named ✨ ꜱᴏᴀᴘ ᴍᴀᴄᴛᴀᴠɪꜱʜ✨ ⁱ ᶜᵃˡˡ ʰⁱᵐ ʲᵒʰⁿⁿʸ And I hate to admit it, but I’m chuffled to bits to have met him. He’s a вℓσσ∂у нαη∂ѕσмє мαη. One of these days I’ll ask if he fancies a drink because that  𝓽𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓴  and his 𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗲𝗸𝘆 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗵𝗮𝘄𝗸 𝗵𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗰𝘂𝘁 are gonna 𝙈𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙈𝙀 𝘼𝘾𝙏 𝙐𝙋 –” 

THIS is my absolute favorite video on the entire internet. As soon as I saw it and @rowbiez art (x) I knew I had to recreate it in my Ghost cosplay. 

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Talking to me is like walking into a room and catching the last bit of a conversation except over and over again

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