reds-skull

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

OOO I'm very excited to share this chapter! We're getting close to the finish line!

Its name is "The Song of Us"

Page 54 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 15:

The Blind man asks his companion, before dawn break, What do you believe, is a beast’s fate, Once death seizes its life, in his inevitable grasp? The beast, his heart knowing of the fallen knight’s pleas, Of men they lost, who were left to be but a worm’s dark feast, Answers, death reaches for monsters all the same as men, For the unjust, for the cruel, For the kind, for the forgiving, All bones become one, until they become none, As death is the only being, to see all as one and the same.

This city is quiet, in the way a drowning is. Something wicked is happening under the surface, hidden from plain sight. If only its victim had air to scream.

The Hunter has intel beyond the SAS’s scope, beyond Laswell’s. Informants, comms. A man pronounced to all as dead. How is it possible, they were written off as a non-threat before?

Soap grits his teeth, tapping the lit end of his cigarette on a wall. Simon started moving a few minutes ago, the poison once again retreating. By the haunted look in his brown eyes, John could tell they both know he’s running out of time.

Price has been arguing with Laswell while helping Simon. Something about the fact the Hunter seemingly didn’t exist a year prior, on paper. Appeared out of nowhere one day with an army behind them, ready to burrow into intelligence networks in a way even Makarov couldn’t.

Makarov’s name came up a lot in that conversation. Enough that Soap had to take a smoke.

Anger thrums through his veins. Begging for blood. The same incessant screaming that drove him to choke the life out of Makarov, the same fire that kept him going through this personal slice of hell.

Maybe he’s an idiot, for wanting to kill the Hunter, for believing it will change anything.

The cigarette’s flame licks his fingers.

Soap crushes it against the wall. He turns around, watching Simon and the Captain. Far enough to not hear them, but they seem to need a bit of privacy anyway. Soap can’t say he’s ever seen Price that emotional, in their short meetings.

He asks himself where Gaz is when the Lieutenant approaches him.

“Price is bloody livid, isn’t he?” Gaz huffs.

Soap hums. His eyes move from the Captain to Simon, his mask still on the ground besides him.

Kyle follows his stare, “did you know Ghost’s identity, when I found you two?”

“No”, the white skull almost glows in the moonlight, “I only found out when… the communicator tried to use it against him.”

He can feel Gaz scan his features, “and you still decided to work with him.”

Soap doesn’t answer. Simon and Price are hugging now, the movement uncoordinated to Ghost. He doesn’t know how he can tell.

He turns to face Gaz, “I swore we will finish this together. I don’t go back on my word.”

“We both know this goes beyond that, Soap.” Gaz gives him a half smile, “the way you look at him… Haven’t seen you like that with anyone else.”

Soap frowns, scoffing, “don’t know what yer-”

“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” Gaz asks, almost gently.

…Feelings?

…..Could he?

“I…”

“Don’t lie to yourself.” Gaz murmurs, “in all the years I’ve known you, you didn’t act like this. Going against everyone you know, jumping in front of him when Price starts threatening him, letting him rest his bloody head on your legs- c’mon Soap, you’re fucking smitten with the man-”

“Kyle.” Soap stops him, head hanging down to hide the embarrassment painting his cheeks red. He scrubs a weary hand over his features, looking up at his friend between his fingers.

Gaz’s eyes soften. Soap sighs, “I- this is not the time for that kind of shite. We need to fuckin’ dust the Hunter, and then-”

And then what?

Soap lowers his hand, stare unconsciously drifting towards Simon. Since when have his eyes started doing that?

It hasn’t been more than a month since he arrived to this godforsaken city. How is it that John can’t imagine being alone again?

Or… how can’t he imagine an ‘after’ without Simon?

“I won’t lie to you.” Kyle starts, his tone gentler, “I still don’t fully trust Ghost. Even if he is… Simon Riley.” the Lieutenant places a hand on his shoulder, “but I can tell what you truly want, even if you think it’s not feasible.”

“That’s because it isn’t-”

“Bullshit.” Gaz turns John around to face him, “look, we are not good men. We’ve been operating outside the law for… for as long as I can remember. What we do, the way we dirty our hands...”

Kyle lets out a shaky exhale, squeezing his shoulder, “what I’m saying is, we can make people disappear. And if you… if you want that, I can help. I’m sure Price will too-”

“Yer out of yer mind-”

“Are you going to go back to Scotland, mate?” Gaz’s voice sharpens on desperation, “are you gonna go back to feeling like you have nothing to live for? Can you really leave this life, leave Ghost, behind?” He almost whispers the end, “be honest.”

How could he go back? No apartment, endless job search, a buzz under his skin that cannot be scrubbed off, disappointment to his family, emptiness, emptiness, emptiness-

“What else can Ah do?!” Soap tenses under Gaz’s hand.

That hand keeps him steady all the same, “whatever you want, John.” Kyle smiles sadly, “me and Price don’t have that freedom, but you two? You don’t have stuffy generals breathing down your neck.”

“I don’t-” Soap cuts himself off, thoughts whirling faster in his mind. He gets reminded of what his therapist used to say about him, back when he was just discharged.

“You fixate on danger, John. To the point of obsession. You don’t know when to let go, if you believe you can make things right.”

“Even if the cost is more than you should be willing to pay.”

“Just… think about it. Besides…” Gaz looks away, expression darkening, “I have a feeling the 141 might need people like you in the future.”

Soap brows furrow, “dishonorably discharged adrenaline addicts?”

Kyle chuckles, “no”, his hands tighten on Soap’s shirt, “people we can trust. People who are willing to do what’s right, even if they know they shouldn’t. Even if they don’t act the way the higher ups would want them.”

His brown eyes turn to look at John, determination he first saw on bootcamp only growing stronger, “people like you.”

Soap goes through another cigarette with Gaz by the time Price and Simon return to them. Both of their eyes shine with tears.

“Laswell did some digging.” Price grunts, “wasn’t easy, finding intel on the Hunter. They know their way around our networks, clearly.” his stare flickers towards Simon, “this operation-”

“Mass murder” Soap corrects. Calling this an operation would spit on the dozens of innocent people left to rot here.

“Mass murder”, the Captain continues, “is very unusual for the Hunter’s soldiers. Almost… flashy.”

“The communicator admitted it was an attempt to frame me.” Simon rolls up the mask in his hands, slipping it on, “they needed to show the British Army I’m too dangerous to keep.”

“And they knew the SAS would send the 141 because of the informant.” Gaz huffs.

Price nods, “which they did succeed in, but it also exposed them to us.”

“The SAS wouldn’t have investigated it further if ye actually killed Ghost the first time around.” Soap grumbles, wincing a moment later when he remembered who he’s talking to.

The Captain takes it surprisingly seriously. “Correct. This is not the first time they hide behind a smaller, supposedly unconnected criminal.” he hangs his arms on his tacvest, commending voice booming in the empty streets, “the Hunter is now top priority for the 141, our orders are to eliminate them, along with any high ranking officers remaining within their army. This mission is classified to all but us and Laswell - anyone else will be treated as a potential collaborator of the Hunter.”

“What about Soap and Ghost, Captain?” Gaz asks.

Price sighs, “Ghost has escaped after releasing the civilian he captured as leverage. And John MacTavish?” a sly smile pushes his mustache up, ”he has never set foot in this city.”

Kate Laswell isn’t someone Soap knew well, back in his service. Has heard her name being dropped in a couple of debriefs, a few calls here and there regarding missions.

He becomes increasingly grateful she’s on their side, as she brings up more and more intel on the Hunter. Their main source of information is the informant Ghost killed - the man recognized several undercover soldiers moving supplies in and out of the city in the past few weeks. He knew something big was going to happen, but the SAS waved it off as a local gang.

On the day of his death, he managed to send in one last report. The informant knew his time was limited, that his cover was blown, so the message was painfully short.

‘Skull in warehouse, Konservy, game over’

It was not clear if who he referred to when he transmitted the name “Skull”, and at the time the comms officer asked the informant to repeat, thinking it was a mistyped “Ghost”. With what they know now, it’s highly likely he was actually talking about the Hunter, and their red skull insignia. Konservy is a name of a warehouse, two clicks out of the city, as Laswell quickly found out.

‘Game over’ is the agreed upon sign for caught spies.

Price and Gaz have brought out their maps, attempting to lock down the warehouse’s location. Soap and Ghost were gently shooed away after it became obvious they don’t have any more useful intel to provide.

“How’s your neck?” Ghost asks him, the two of them leaning against a crumbling wall.

Soap opens his mouth to answer, when gloved fingers brush over the bruised skin on his throat. “I uh…” he swallows, the hand following the movement, “I feel fine.”

Ghost hums, caressing the wound for a moment longer before pulling away. Soap wants to chase the touch.

He really is in over his head, isn’t he?

“Simon.” Soap looks up at the bright skull mask, “have you thought about… what are ye gonna do after?”

“...no.”

“...Would ye go back? To what you did before?”

Simon stares at him deeply, eyes closing, “I don’t think I can.” he looks back at Soap, “you? What did you do before?”

Soap chuckles bitterly, “ah, I was spendin’ my newly civvi life indulging in only the greatest of pleasures. Like sittin’ in an office for nine hours a day, or knittin’ a scarf on my therapist’s orders.”

Simon’s shoulders shake with a badly hidden laugh, “I’d like to see you knit.”

Soap grins, “oh I was a natural. It definitely didn’t have several holes by the time I was done.” 

“How did you get here, then?” Simon asks, mirth still creasing his eyes.

His smile drops, words dying on his tongue, “I uh…” that weeks-old shame starts creeping back in, “was about to be evicted. Got fired, bastards never liked me anyway. I jus’ took all of my money and… ran as far as I could.”

Simon hums, shoulder leaning in to nudge his. Soap thinks the conversation is over after a few moments of silence, the both of them mauling over the words, when Simon surprises him.

“Think I’d like that… running away.” he murmurs.

“Aye? Where would ye go?”

“Don’t know. Don’t think it matters.” Simon leans in closer, their foreheads almost touching, “as long as the company is good.”

Soap feels a shiver go down his spine, eyes wide as he tries to find the joke that must be in Simon’s.

But he looks so painfully sincere, even when he finally leans away, “too bad there’s none ‘ere. Might ask Laswell if she got any tips on finding partners in crime.”

Soap lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “think they make dating apps for fuckers like ye?”

“Doubt I’ll find anyone as mental as you on Tinder, Johnny.” Simon deadpans.

“That’s because yer looking in the wrong place - Christian Mingle is where the real crazy bastards are.”

Simon can’t hold in his laugh this time, and for the first time Soap hears the way he snorts a little when his giggles become uncontrollable. It’s a horribly endearing sound, one that he wants to hear for every day for the rest of his life.

It makes his heart hurt, heavy, sinking in his chest like a death sentence.

Gaz was right.

He’s in love with Simon Riley.

Gaz went back to get the vehicle he and Price infiled with. It had a laptop, a few maps, and the most wonderful MREs Soap ever had. He never thought he’d miss that shite, but after running on a handful of oranges and a possibly moldy sandwich, they tasted like heaven on earth.

As he and Ghost had their meal (Simon’s eyes sparkled in a way that told Soap he was clearly as delighted with the food as he was), the 141 finalized their plan with Laswell. Soap could see them arguing about something, but he was far too preoccupied with eating to care at the moment.

Ghost, however, did care, “need anything, Price?”

The Captain snaps his head up, taking off his hat and scratching at his hair, “we have an angle to breach, but…”

Gaz joins in, “We don’t have intel on how many guards are posted, their location… mission will be doomed from the start if we just go in guns blazing.”

“Why not do some recon, then?” Soap wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “we’re all trained for that.”

“Too risky, the warehouse is exposed, and the Hunter won’t leave any obvious gaps in security if they’re worth their salt.” Price grunts.

Ghost gets up, walking over to the maps spread on the truck’s hood, “then we break in.”

Soap smirks at the assurance in his voice, “and that’s why I love the Ghost.”

He instantly catches the knowing expression on Gaz’s face, as well as Simon stiffening beside him. Soap curses himself mentally, feeling his face heat up in shame. He prays for any god that might listen, that Ghost didn’t take it as seriously as the truth is.

Thankfully, Price saves him from blurting out some more recently-discovered-emotions, “no other way but through, eh Simon? What do you have in mind?”

Ghost scans the maps of the warehouse Laswell has sent over, “The Hunter doesn’t know we’re working together, if they’re expecting an attack they would only expect two people - me and Johnny.” his eyes flicker to Soap’s for a brief moment, “if we split up, the 141 could take them by surprise.”

“You said they’re after you and John, Simon. If they catch you, we might not be able to help.” Price says grimly.

Ghost sighs, looking away frustrated. His head turns to face Soap, eyes calculating, “...what if they don’t know it’s us?”

“What?” Price asks.

Ghost continues, eyes still staring deeply into his, “Johnny can easily disguise himself, he’s done so before. All he needs is to cover up his face and hair.”

The Captain nods to Ghost, “and what about you, son? Everyone knows your mask.”

“But no one knows his face.” Soap answers, understanding washing over him, “but Simon-”

“I can’t be Ghost if we want to finish this.” Simon brushes fingers over the bone-white teeth of the skull mask, hand tightening into a fist.

Gaz nods slowly, “and we can’t be the 141.” he sends a meaningful look to the Captain, “this operation has to be kept secret. If the SAS learns we collaborated with the Ghost…”

“Then we won’t be.” Price walks to the back of the truck, pulling out 3 black balaclavas and throwing them to Soap and Gaz.

Price begins explaining their plan, “Laswell has gathered up a few blueprints of the Konservy warehouse. There are several key points that appear to be far too open for us to breach, all except one - the offloading garage. We’ll split into two teams, me and Gaz will take the offices and CCTV rooms, clearing the way for Soap and Ghost to infiltrate the main machinery room.”

“Our plan depends on each team watching the other’s six, we’ll have to keep comms up.” Gaz adds.

“Once the first team takes over the CCTV room, we will be able to locate the Hunter. The faster we do this, the less likely reinforcements will arrive.” Price hands Soap and Ghost a radio.

“Do we know where they keep their vehicles?” Soap asks while fitting the comms over his clothes.

“Yeah, should be around where we first enter. Why?” Gaz raises a brow towards him.

A wicked smile spreads on Soap’s lips, “might be able to set up a little surprise for any newcomers.”

Ghost chuckles darkly, “always ready to craft a trap, aren’t you, Johnny?”

“Never failed me before, Simon.”

“You can take a look at our supplies, take whatever you need.” Price looks over each of them, “any questions?”

Soap flexes his hands, adrenaline thrumming a familiar song through his veins, anger painting his vision red, “what are we waiting for?”

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod soap #cod ghost #cod gaz #cod price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john price #kate laswell #BLOOD||HUNGER #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #cod fic #cod fanfic #gaz saying what we all think... finally someone notices #also taking some dialogue from the pre prison break cutscene dont mind me #im very excited to write the final battle i want it to be epic >:D #also this took a while bc i had to think of the plan and i always overthink shit when they make plans #like the thing with the informent: i searched for like an hour codes to cypher his message #only to realize... laswell would probably decode it before sending it to price and the gang......

[reds-skull]

Sorry I found this animation and I had to see Soap do it, now I'm really done for today

This took actually 4 hours, 3 of them just trying to make the easy way work (spoiler alert - it fucking didn't), last hour I just gave up and fixed the textures manually.

Thank you to @hauntedbubbles for the models and plug-in to import them to Blender! You can find that on this post.

You might ask why... I spend 4 hours trying to make this fucker dance. And that's because I wanna see them be silly and Activision is not gonna give it to me, so I'm making it myself.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod soap #john soap mactavish #cod fanart #cod gif #literally laughed out loud when I saw it #I saved a few more I might do later #honestly was supposed to do uni work #but uh... once i started this i had to see it through #anyways hope you enjoy soap absolutely killin it

[reds-skull]

This took actually 4 hours, 3 of them just trying to make the easy way work (spoiler alert - it fucking didn't), last hour I just gave up and fixed the textures manually.

Thank you to @hauntedbubbles for the models and plug-in to import them to Blender! You can find that on this post.

You might ask why... I spend 4 hours trying to make this fucker dance. And that's because I wanna see them be silly and Activision is not gonna give it to me, so I'm making it myself.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod soap #john soap mactavish #cod fanart #kinda? not really #cod gif #I got the model for Ghost as well just didn't want to spend any more time on this today #but I'll make that boy dance as well dw :) #Soap's beard took the fuckin longest like jesus christ why did they have to put so much detail on his damn face #I keep looking at this gif and smiling :) I love making things that spark joy #if you see the broken parts of the model no youre not #look what i used to make him move isnt made for... this purpose #but i forced it to. bc I really wanted to make this for some fuckin reason lmao

[reds-skull]

Could we possibly get Soap yelling at a recruit for trying to steal Ghosts mask, with Ghost in the background like that’s my mans.

Or something you want to do for shits and gigs because you can and it’s fun

Sorry this took a while, I kinda made a mini comic because, as you said, I can and it's fun lol

Thank you for the ask! This was quite fun to make haha

#asks answered #ty for the ask <3 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod soap #cod ghost #cod gaz #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #cod fanart #call of duty modern warfare #gaz is aware for exactly what's going on and he's done with their shit #I love drawing Soap angry and Ghost absolutely whipped for the man

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

I was really in a writing mood this past few days, so this time it didn't take me 2 weeks to write a new chapter! yey!

This one, however, was really hard for me to make sense of plot wise... hope the final version doesn't have that issue.

This chapter is called "The Bearer of Gold"

Page 18 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, riddle 3:

I am to be wielded by the mighty, clothed in bloodred, My place was first, among rivers and trees, With fair game, now I am the demise of sinful things, The death knell, the stone of the grave. Beasts know of me, by the skull on my face, I have no name, no kin to call mine, Tell if you can, you who are wise in ways of what is true, Say what I am called.

“Beautiful”, Johnny called him. Damn Simon’s cold heart for skipping several beats.

He attempts to shut down the thoughts swarming his mind, all originating from that one simple word. They need to acquire a radio, find the 141’s frequency, and get them to accept a meet up.

Ghost is still holding awkwardly onto the wrapped sandwich Soap shoved into his hands a few minutes ago. They’ve been quietly gathering their possessions, both mulling over their newfound plan. It’s not one he likes, but if there’s one person in the world he’s willing to place his bets on, it will be Captain John Price.

He called him “Beautiful”-

Shut the fuck up, fuckin’ hell.

Ghost roughly unwraps the sandwich, taking an aggressive bite. Soap raises an eyebrow but thinks better of questioning him.

“Got any ideas as to how we’re gonna get our hands on comms?” Johnny breaks the silence as they start walking out of the dilapidated coffee shop.

Ghost swallows around the bite, “can nab one off a dead body.”

Soap smiles in amusement, “yer stone-cold, Simon.”

“Not like the tosser will need it.”

The Sergeant shakes his head and laughs, then turns to him with a mischievous smile, “someone asked me if glass coffins will ever succeed.”

“What did you tell ‘em?” Ghost slowly asks.

“Remains to be seen.”

They both blink at each other for a few moments, before they break down with badly suppressed giggles. It goes on for long enough that Johnny starts wheezing.

“Alright, enough horsing around, Sergeant.”

“Aye, let’s get back teh-”

“Your throat sounds a little hoarse there.”

Johnny groans, giving his shoulder a small bump with his fist, “stop! Ye feckin’ menace.” despite his words, Soap can’t seem to help the grin spreading on his lips.

Ghost takes his eyes off him, scanning the horizon, and stops Soap with an arm, “small merc camp, ten paces ahead.”

They both drop to a crouch, readying their rifles. Wordlessly, Ghost motions for Soap to take the right, while he circles around the other side, clearing it of hostiles.

It seems relatively empty, save for two soldiers that couldn’t talk any louder if they tried.

“Hunter’s getting impatient. Said we should’ve nailed down the Ghost by now.” a soldier who is half-heartedly keeping watch says to the other, who’s looking through their supplies for something.

The other grunts, “like that’s fucking easy. You heard what he did at the water tower. Besides,” the soldier throws something aside, and Ghost finds Soap’s eyes watching from the darkness behind the soldier’s shoulder, “he’s not working alone.”

The soldier on overwatch sharply turns to face his conversation partner, making Ghost crouch farther down, “what the fuck are you talking about? It’s the Ghost, he doesn’t work with anyone.”

“The guy that ran around a couple of days ago, fuckin’ blowing up our shit? Pretty sure it’s the same one Richardson’s squad called out in the civvi fight.”

Soap is trying to communicate something to him, he realizes with a flash. The Sergeant lifts a finger, and draws it over his neck in a slicing motion.

“Doesn’t matter if Ghost got a pyromaniac friend. We’re a whole goddamn army, we can deal with two guys!”

Ghost nods, sliding a knife down his sleeve, and raising three fingers as a countdown.

“Now the Hunter doesn’t only want Ghost’s head, they also want the civvi bastard-”

The soldier didn’t get to finish his sentence before Ghost and Soap pounced, slapping a hand over their mouths and slicing their throats in under 5 seconds.

Johnny walks over to him as he wipes his knife on the dead body, “sounds like the Hunter knows about me by now.”

“Sounds like they want you dead.” Ghost grumbles, harshly pulling the comms off of the soldier’s tacvest. He rises to meet Soap’s eyes, “if they catch you-”.

Soap places his hand over Ghost’s, “if they catch me, I’ll make sure we both go down.”

Ghost’s heart twists at the thought.

“Beautiful”, Soap said, his eyes softer than Simon has ever seen. Nobody ever called him beautiful, not with that much reverence in their eyes.

If Johnny dies-

Soap takes the comms from him, clicking it on and switching through stations. Bits and pieces from the Hunter’s soldiers’ orders cut through static, and the longer it goes on, the more visibly frustrated Johnny becomes.

At last, they hear a familiar voice, “0-6, think I found another one of those… traps.”

Soap’s cheeks blush, and he smiles sheepishly. Ghost wonders if the traps ever worked on someone else, and they just weren’t there to see it.

“Soap is nothing if not resourceful.” Price huffs, his voice through comms bringing so many past memories to the surface.

Ghost shoves them back down, “time to use your acting skills again, Johnny.”

Soap nods, inhaling slowly before clicking the radio, “this is 7-1 in the blind, how copy?”.

The line goes quiet before Gaz replies, “...Soap??”

“Aye”, Johnny acts frightened, “managed to get away from Ghost, but I don’t know when he’ll come back.”

Price interjects, “where are you right now?”

“A few paces away from a coffee shop, somewhere near the plaza.”

Crinkling fabric can be heard through the radio as the two soldiers jump into action, “try to stay close by, Soap.” Gaz says urgently, “we’re coming for you, about fifteen minutes out.”

Soap gives Ghost a winning smile, his voice at odds with his expression, “I will, thank ye. Going dark.”

Johnny shuts the comms, elbowing him, “how was it?”

“Oscar worthy.” Ghost deadpans, pulling the Sergeant to sit on one of the many ammo crates littered around. He can’t help but still worry about the darkening bruises wrapping around Johnny’s neck.

Soap goes down easily, swinging his feet a little, “what are ye gonna tell Price when they arrive?”

Ghost looks away, into the dark abyss of the night sky. Deep waters try to drown him, his mind sinking into a mix of what it remembers, and what it knows will never be the same.

Will Price even recognize him, after everything?

He inhales deeply, “The truth.”

They see the headlights a few minutes later, shine down the barren roads of the city. Soap notices first, jumping off the crate and alerting him.

“Showtime, Ghostie.” Johnny repositions his rifle to rest by his side, before Ghost nicks it.

The Sergeant whips around to pout at him, so Ghost explains, “you’re supposed to be my hostage. Don’t usually allow those to run around with a gun.”

“...fair point.” Soap lifts a hand towards him, and for a second Ghost’s heart betrays him as he wonders what the Sergeant’s goal is.

Turns out, he was just taking out a knife. “If it comes down to this…” Johnny presses the hilt into Ghost’s palm, “keep the act up.” blue eyes pierce him, and he can almost believe they see the turmoil that plan causes.

It’s different, the logical part of Ghost’s mind says. You’re doing this for your shared goal, to kill the Hunter.

…And then what? What would they do after that? 

“Drop your weapons, Ghost!” a gruff voice barks at him.

Gaz and Price step closer to the meager light of the merc camp, their rifles trained on Ghost’s head. He raises his arms slowly, but Soap pulls them down.

“Gaz, Captain.” Johnny greets them calmly, a stark contrast with the performance he gave the 141 on comms.

Gaz shines a light at them, blinding him momentarily.

“Bloody hell, Soap!” Gaz growls, “what the fuck did he do to you?!”

Soap rubs at his throat, “it wasn’t Ghost-” 

The Lieutenant steps closer, barrel not straying from his head, “like hell it wasn’t. Give me a good reason to not drop him right now.”

Johnny steps in front of Ghost right as Price reaches out and pulls Gaz back.

“Kyle”, the Captain reprimands firmly, “you know what we heard from the civvies.”

Gaz exhales slowly, lowering his rifle minutely, “you know I don’t trust them. Or him.” he motions to Ghost.

The soldiers stare at him intently, their gaze almost a physical weight on his unexposed skin. The way Price is looking at him, with barely hidden contempt…

It’s not one he ever experienced from the man that helped him when he had no one to turn to. Not the man that showed him first what kindness looks like. Price saw him as an enemy, as he should.

Still, it can’t help but hurt.

Soap gently puts a hand on his shoulder, making Ghost refocus, “what did the civvies say?” Johnny asks.

“Said some bastard with a weird haircut and a masked man helped them fight the militia overtaking the city.” Gaz grounds, sneering, “the militia Ghost brought here. Makes no sense he bloody turns against his own people.”

Price’s eyes didn’t stray from his, unnervingly still. Ghost feels nervosity travelling down his limbs. That, and the poison freezing in his veins. That shite has a sense of when’s the worst time to leave him helpless.

“Makes more sense if they betrayed me first.” Ghost breaks his silence, Johnny turning to stare at him for a moment.

Gaz squints, “so that’s what this is? You’re going on a fuckin’ revenge trip?”

“This isn’t about revenge.” Soap steps towards his friend, “we’re here to end this. The Hunter needs to go down, once and for all. This city, hell, anywhere else won’t be safe if they’re around.”

Gaz scoffs, “the Hunter is nothing compared to Ghost. If anyone is threatening the world it’s him-”

Ghost cuts him off, “you think they’ll stop with this city? Maybe after they’re done gutting this place, they’ll move to London, Lieutenant.” he says the rank mockingly.

“You’re an assassin with an international name, Ghost.” Price narrows his eyes, hands steady on his weapon, “we’re aware of the Hunter’s capabilities, and yours far exceeds theirs.”

‘You’re a worse thing for this world than the person massacring this town’, in other words. Ghost’s jaw clenches.

Soap interjects, “what do ye even know about the Hunter?”

“We know enough.” the Captain’s voice hardens, “you’ll either join us, MacTavish, or we will take both of you into custody.” his expression almost begs for Soap to see reason.

Soap, however, opens his mouth to continue arguing, but Ghost presses a hand to the Sergeant’s nape, leaning down to whisper, “let me take care of it, Johnny.”

Soap’s blue eyes snap up.

“Beautiful”

A single word never held so much meaning to Simon.

It claws at his gut, the dread of what he’s about to do. It feels as hard as crawling out of the grave, as scary as choosing to think for himself, for the first time in a decade. As terrifying as seeing Johnny’s life seep out of his lungs.

So he doesn’t let himself think about it a second longer.

Simon lifts a hand, and takes off the mask.

He forces his eyes to stay open, stare at Price’s twisting expression. Keeps his back straight, and walks towards what once was his only friend, his mentor, the reason he’s alive.

For a beautiful moment, the world falls still, and Simon can pretend he didn’t die in that grave.

Price mumbles, “...Simon?”

“Hello, Price.”

The Captain’s rifle falls with a clatter to the ground, “you- you were dead. We found your grave.”

Simon feels a sort of numbness spread through him. His automatic response to the wave of emotions threatening to flood him.

“I dug out. Couldn’t let Roba break me, so I broke him.”

Price’s chest heaves, and for a moment Simon thinks he sees tears gather in his eyes.

“I know it’s been… years.” Simon breathes, trying to not let the pain show in his voice, “but I need your help. Soap needs your help-”

“I buried you, son.” Price cuts him off.

Simon gives in to the urge to close his eyes, “I know.”

Strong arms wrap around him, making him stiffen in surprise, and he opens his eyes to a fishing hat and the strong smell of cigars.

Even a decade later, the Captain still smokes the same damn cigars.

Simon doesn’t know what shocks him more then, the wobble in Price’s voice, or the words he says.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Simon.” tremors go through the Captain’s body, Simon slowly wrapping his arms around it, “we should’ve never stopped looking, should’ve never let you on that mission”

“Price-”

“should’ve killed that bastard Vernon myself-”

“John.” Simon tightens his hold, “I don’t blame you. I never would.”

He feels the telltale prickling of the poison, knowing he would fall to the earth at any moment. For once, he knows that between Price and Johnny, there would be someone to catch him.

“I just need you to trust me, Captain.”

Price pulls away, only enough to face him. The Captain’s cheeks are watery, and he looks more grief stricken than Simon has ever seen. He wonders, if that’s how he looked in his funeral. If, despite what he always told to himself as Ghost, there was someone to mourn him.

Price nods, “Simon, I would always-”

The timer runs out. Like clockwork, the poison paralyzes Simon, making him fall limp.

Like he knew, There are arms to catch his fall.

“Shit! You didn’t say you’re fucking broken!” Price growls.

Soap leads him to lay on the ground, “He was poisoned by the Hunter, when the bawbag stabbed him in the back.” Simon mourns the fact he can’t feel Johnny’s attempts at soothing his muscles, “it’s gettin’ worse.”

Gaz joins them on the ground, crouching by Price, “you know where there’s an antidote?”

“Thought you didn’t believe us.” Soap questions.

The Lieutenant glances at Price, “if the Captain trusts him, that’s all I need. And I will always be on your side, Soap. Even if you decide to be my enemy.”

Simon manages to hiss between clenched teeth, “antidote’s on the Hunter. They must ‘ave it for interrogations and torture tactics.” he shoved down a whine when Johnny’s fingers curl into his hair, trying to lift his head from the cold dirt.

“How long do these episodes last?” Price asks above him.

Simon groans, “last one was twenty.”

“Bloody hell”, Gaz frowns, “do we have intel on the Hunter’s location, Cap?”

“Negative. Mission was only concerned with Ghost.” Price answers somewhere above him, while Simon fights a losing battle against the tremors wrecking his body. “What do you boys have on them?”

Soap’s hands lift Simon’s head to rest in his lap, and he might’ve felt flustered if he wasn’t in so much pain, “we know they don’t talk, they had a communicator fer orders. Never shows their face, never on field.” the Sergeant’s mouth turns downwards in a snarl, “we caught the communicator, but…”

Simon musters the energy to talk, “he knew who I am. Knew I was Simon Riley.”

“That’s impossible.” Price leans down to stare at him, “nobody knew you were alive, Simon, your records were wiped clean. If there was ever a chance, no matter how small, that you survived Roba, I would’ve-”

“Roba” Simon grunts, the pain increasing, “I killed his cartel. Everyone thought it was a rival gang, but-”

“The Hunter must’ve deduced it was you.” Gaz finishes for him.

They knew. Everything about his past with the cartel, what he has done in Mexico. What happened to his family.

How Price pulled Simon out of that hell.

The Hunter knew that the Captain was his weakness.

“Who gave you intel I was going to be ‘ere?” Simon’s arm starts twitching uncontrollably.

Price places a hand over it, holding it still, “we had an informant in this city, he contacted Laswell moments before being shot. He knew someone put a hit on him, and requested the Ghost specifically.”

Simon’s brows furrow. They requested him-

The man he shot on the rooftop. Ghost didn’t think about him a moment after the body dropped.

“The Hunter bought that hit.” cold realization trickles through Simon, “they knew he was working with Laswell, Captain. They didn’t tell me details, they never do” he exhales shakily, “all I ever needed is a face and location.”

“Not even I knew the informant’s real identity.” Price shakes his head, “either we have a hole in our security, or…”

“A rat…” Gaz sighs.

The words die on each of their tongues. This has become more than the city’s civilians lives on the line, more than Ghost’s mythical mercenary status.

Price jumps to his feet, pulling out his satellite phone, “Bravo 0-6, requesting connection to Watcher-1.”

“0-6” Laswell’s voice echos through the phone, somehow no different from a decade ago, “go for Watcher-1.”

“Anyone else listening?” Price casts a grim look at the city.

Laswell sounds confused when she answers, “just us. What’s going on?”

“Check up on your informants, restrict access to this mission effective immediately. We have an intelligence leak.”

“0-6, can you repeat your last-”

“Someone has access to our intel, Kate.”

Laswell goes silent for a second, “give me a name, John.”

The Captain locks eyes with Simon, “the Hunter.”

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod soap #cod ghost #cod gaz #cod price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john price #kate laswell #BLOOD||HUNGER #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #cod fic #cod fanfic #I feel so bad making Gaz and ghost enemies in this AU :( #sorry boys this time around you fucking hate each other #the talk between price and ghost might be the saddest thing in this fic #also laswell lesgooo #shes so fucking mad :)

[reds-skull]

Got some feedback on my last semester's work (only... 3 months later lmao). They said I needed to work on my backgrounds more.

So obviously I took the opportunity to paint some Cyberknights concept art. On the right is Soap in a medium-threat zone, and on the left is Ghost on his way to an abandoned city.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod soap #cod ghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #cyberknights au #cod zombies #cod mwz #cod fanart #this is vague enough fanart to go into a portfolio #im still working on the request! and on the next bloodhunger chapter... and on a comic...... #i wanted to do gaz and price as well but... that might take a while longer

[reds-skull]

First time asking you something and i'm shy so going anon lol. But since you mentioned you took requests....

Dragon Ghoap, like Soap and Ghost but dragons. But if you're not comfortable with that then bunny hybrid Ghost please!

No worries anon! Thank you for the ask <3

I was on an animal shifter AU fic binge a few days ago, so that has been on my mind lately haha. Decided to do both of your requests because of that!

For the dragons, in my original webcomic I have a dragon shapeshifter, so I based Ghost and Soap's dragons on the anatomy I gave that one. TLDR I like basing dragons on different animals besides lizards, so Soap is a hyena dragon (his hair always reminded me of a hyena, and he gives me dog vibes), and Ghost is based on a panther (which I first saw in this fic, and it felt right instantly)

For the bunny shifter, honestly the look of Simon's mean face with cute bunny ears was too funny for me to take seriously. Also added a little comic of Soap's first meeting with bunny-Ghost.

I don't think I did him justice unfortunately though, sorry anon lmao

#asks answered #ty for the ask <3 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod soap #cod ghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare #cod fanart #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #requests are still open btw! #dragon Ghoap was so fun to design... you don't know how much I love dragons #Soap especially... feral little bastard (beloved)

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

So many projects, so little time... anyway, here's chapter 11, "The Battle-Sick"

Page 3 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable ?:

I was a wonderful thing, shaped for fighting, Loyal to my masters, I slayed living warriors, Friends and foes, I was a weapon of war. I shall never be avenged, shall I fall in battle, As I am cursed, in the eyes of kin and enemies, To be not a man, but a monster. I am starved, of blood and flesh, Alone I roam this land, a damned Beast.

Soap can feel Ghost’s gaze burning at his nape, questions left unanswered in the silent space between them.

In the span of a few hours, Soap saw someone else come out of Ghost’s actions. A man, buried years ago in dry earth, dead in all ways but physically. The man Captain Price mourned, the man he aspired to be.

The man that saved those children wasn’t the infamous Ghost. 

Soap brushes a shaky hand over his mouth, the metallic taste of blood still sticking to his teeth. He’s running out of adrenaline, he knows, and the wheezing of his breath seems to be only getting louder in the empty alleyways.

He trips over nothing, barely catching himself on the cold wall, when strong arms pull him up.

“Coffee shop, on our three. Hold on just a little longer.” Ghost murmurs, hand coming under his shoulders to support his weight.

Soap goes to answer, finding his voice weak and scratchy, “aye.”

Ghost’s breath on his neck is somewhat soothing, in a way Soap shouldn’t find from a man like him.

The coffee shop has seen better days, to say the least. The stairs to the first floor have collapsed, and the ground floor is completely trashed. Quite like everywhere else in the city, Soap bitterly thinks to himself.

Ghost lets him down on the only chair that seems stable in the shop, and turns to clear it of hostiles. Soap gets up to follow him, but his vision darkens the moment he tries to get on his feet, and he falls back with a huff.

It would’ve made him angry, to be left so useless, but…

Simon has been left paralyzed, defenceless, shoved a knife to his palm and bared his scarred throat, and still trusted him. Never looked at him with any less than…

Than what? What is that emotion, in Simon’s eyes, when he looks at Soap? He blinks away the dark tendrils encroaching on his vision, brows furrowed as he tries to keep a semblance of a train of thought.

Ghost returns before he can veer it back on track. “Please tell me you found somethin’ teh drink.” Soap groans.

“Affirmative, got us a tea.” Ghost spreads the supplies he gathered from around the shop on the table next to Soap, teabags among the bottles of water and scrap fabric.

Soap sneers, “awa’ an’ bile yer heid, we’re in a fuckin’ coffee shop and ye pull out tea, fuckin’ Brits-”

His list of expletives is cut by rough coughing, and Soap has to spit out the excess mucus on the floor. Ghost crouches down, and gently cups his cheek. Soap’s eyes snap to his. Whatever emotion is swirling in those dark brown eyes, he still can’t name, but it makes his heart twist.

Ghost tilts his head up, brushing fingers over the probably bruised skin of his neck, “have any trouble breathing?”

Soap’s breath catches, not from any physical wound, “no. Jus’... throat pain. Ah didn’t lose consciousness.” cold hands soothe over his bruises, making him involuntarily sigh.

Ghost nods, “tea will help with that.”

“Fuck off.”

He chuckles as he pulls back his hands, Soap almost chasing them. Fatigue is starting to take its toll on him, and his head feels like it weighs more than a LTV right about now. A tap to his cheek makes him open his eyes (when did he close them?), “can’t sleep yet, Sergeant. Gonna clean your face.”

That’s the only warning he gets before a wet towel brushes over his mouth, sweeping over flaking, dried blood. “Surprised the wee ones weren’t afraid o’ either of us. One skull-faced bastard, the other looks like a damn vampire.”

Silent laughter shakes Ghost’s shoulders, “those kids were tough ones, swear they were about to fight me when we first met.”

“Tougher than they need teh be, at their age.”

Ghost’s movements become somber.

Soap catches one of the many questions floating through his tired mind, “why’d you save ‘em?”

The towel is thrown to the side, replaced by a dry one, “...I wanted to.” Ghost simply answers.

It doesn’t satisfy him, “that why ye worked with the Hunter?”

Ghost’s hands freeze for a short moment, before continuing to softly clean Soap’s neck. His words weren’t said with anger, but the harshness of them remained all the same. It leaves a bitter note in Soap’s mouth.

At what point did seeing Ghost get hurt by his words stop bringing any sort of satisfaction?

“I worked with the Hunter because… I worked with anyone. No questions asked, no job too dirty for me. Not that it was ever about money.”

Ghost lowers his hands, resting them in his own lap. His eyes drift downwards, lost in the past, “I did what I did because I didn’t know anything else. Survival meant fighting, and it didn’t matter who.”

Ghost rises to his feet, taking a cup off the nearby shelf and setting about to make the tea, “as long as there was blood on my hands that wasn’t mine, I knew I was alive.”

Soap opens his mouth, cruel words at the tip of his tongue, but he falters when Ghost’s really hit him.

Because he knows that feeling.

That hunger for violence, that need to feel bones break under his hands, a yearning stronger than anything for fresh blood. It is not a want, it is not something they take pleasure in. It’s simply the only way to feel alive. For Soap, it may be only for the Hunter and their soldiers. 

But when you’re constantly trying to survive, won’t the whole world start to look like an enemy?

“Why didn’t you stay with the civilians?” Ghost shakes him from his reverie.

The answer is stupidly simple. “I told ye we’re doing this together.” Soap stares deeply into Ghost’s widening eyes, “and I meant it.”

“But…” Ghost sighs, “we don’t have a way to find the Hunter.”

He hands Soap a cup, the aromatic tea somewhat pleasant for once. It is cold, but it does help the scratchiness in his throat as it goes down.

“Aye… We’ll-” a yawn cuts off Soap’s sentence, “we’ll need teh catch another fecker, maybe…”

Ghost’s eyes narrow at him, “what you need to do is sleep, Sergeant. You can’t even stand on your feet, can you?”

Soap scoffs, “‘course Ah can, ye weapon.” he thumped the mug down on the table, and held on it for dear life as he tried to rise from the chair.

Ghost caught him no more than 2 seconds later, when Soap’s face was about to have a very personal meeting with the dirty floor.

“Of course you can, huh?” Ghost goads.

Soap drops heavily back down, “wheesht.”

“Speak English.” he can fucking hear the smirk on Ghost’s lips.

Soap drops his head, finally giving in to the need to just crumple, “means shut yer puss…”

A hand on his hair surprises him, but Soap doesn’t dare move as fingers card through the tangles. It feels really nice… almost putting him to sleep.

Ghost’s voice is soft when he orders him, “c’mon, I’m sure we can find you a better spot for a nap than on a stool.”

He doesn’t really answer, far too knackered to be coherent. Soap feels the hand recede, and footsteps echo farther and farther away from him. A few minutes later, Ghost returns to urge him up, “set up some blankets and pillows behind the counter.”

Soap appreciates the attempt to keep him in the know, but at this point he’d let Ghost lead him over a cliff, and he won’t complain one bit.

The makeshift bed reminds Soap of the shitty pillow forts he would build with his sister back when they were kids, and the blurry memories make him suppress a laugh. With the way Ghost is staring at him, Soap thinks the giggles make him all the more concerned.

And what a concept that is. Ghost, concerned over his well-being.

Ghost lets him down carefully, wrapping him with moth-eaten blankets. Compared to the last “bed” Soap slept in, this is as good as a five-star hotel.

He can barely keep his eyes open, but Soap, as aware as he is in his compromised status, can’t let his guard down when Ghost turns to walk away. He manages to catch the sleeve of the giant man, and dark eyes turn to stare at him.

“Yer… yer not gonna leave me, right?” he mumbles.

Ghost stops, “just gonna go keep watch by the window. Not leaving.”

Sleep claws on Soap’s eyelids, and it takes far too much willpower to keep them open, “stay ‘here Ah can see ye… Don’ run off now…..”

The last thing he hears before he goes unconscious is, “never, Johnny.”

Gentle fingers card through his hair.

“Johnny.”

John groans, unwilling to open his eyes and start the day.

“Wake up, love.”

“‘S too early for that shite, let me sleep.” he burrows deeper into his pillow, enveloped in warmth and safety.

His pillow starts, very rudely, shaking with laughter, “fine, you lazy bastard.”

That voice… sounds familiar. Familiar in the way a knife’s weight is in John’s hand, in the way blood spills over his wounds, like the buzz of adrenaline in a fire fight.

Yet John feels… safe.

Gentle fingers card through his tangled hair. Why would it be tangled? Isn’t he at home?

“Can’t sleep yet, Sergeant. Gonna clean your face.”

John frowns, “my face is clean.”

Hands tilt his face up. There’s some sort of tackiness to his skin, he notices. A metallic taste bursts on his tongue.

John opens his eyes.

Dirty blond hair, messy from a mask pulled off non too kindly, rich brown eyes wide in surprise, dark like a grave’s fresh dirt. Scars leave valleys and hills on pale skin.

The features are there, but John can’t make sense of them. A stranger’s face, yet it feels so familiar.

Perhaps it is only the emotion carved into it, fear and shock twisting the man’s eyes.

Soap wakes up with a start, grasping tightly at the thin blankets wrapped around him. It takes him a few seconds to shake off the dream’s warmth, to feel again how cold the coffee shop really is. He takes a cursory look around - Ghost must have left for overwatch while he was sleeping.

He eventually forces himself to get up, encouraged by the fact that his legs stay somewhat steady under his weight.

“Ghost?” 

Soap walks over to the wider area of the coffee shop, where once there were floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed patrons to bask in the sun while drinking, but now are shattered.

In a dark, hidden corner, that Soap almost dismissed immediately, a huddled shape rested against the wall. Ghost’s dark gear blends near perfectly into the shadows. Soap is sure, if he wasn’t looking for the damn man, he’d never find him.

He has to step closer to actually see his eyes through the mask and darkness. Ghost is completely out, so still, he might as well be dead.

Soap huffs. In the entire time they’ve been fighting together, he’s never seen him asleep. The nearest thing to it was the rest in the shed, but even then Soap knew Ghost was constantly ready to strike, if it were needed.

Here, curled into a small ball, hands wrapped around himself, Ghost looks so unnaturally small and harmless. 

Soap doesn’t realize he’s smiling until Ghost shifts, murmuring something under his breath and curling further into himself. 

He scoffs internally and turns to find something to eat. The fuck is he doing, thinking this giant international criminal is cute. He blames that weird fucking dream he had, as well as a million different other excuses.

Soap repeats the mantra in his head ‘He’s not fuckin’ cute, he’s not goddamn endearing’, as he finds a couple of sandwiches that seem to be edible enough. He collects enough for Ghost as well, for when the bastard wakes up.

Whining from the dark corner makes him freeze.

Soap turns to look at Ghost, his shoulders now taut and shuddering, “...Ghost?”

“N-no… I wouldn’t… I’m sorry…” Ghost whispers, eyes scrunched shut.

Nightmare. Soap wonders if that’s what Ghost saw back in the shed. “Ghost”, he calls again, louder, the previous calmness he felt washed away.

Ghost’s hands crease his black jacket, leather gloves cricking in his tight grip, “I’m sorry… P-Price…”

He knows he shouldn’t get closer, that night terrors can make the friendliest of soldiers hostile, when shrouded by conjured nightmares and warped memories. But the sight of Ghost in that state makes Soap feel the need to do something, anything to help him.

He chances a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, “...Simon? Wake up, yer safe-”

Muscles bulge as they shoot up at him, Ghost wraps his hand around Soap’s, and in a blink, they’re on the floor. He pins him down by the neck, heavy breathing and shaking.

It hurts tenfold, to be choked for the second time in a few hours. Soap claws at the massive arms, attempts to lessen their heavy weight on his windpipe. Even in his sleep, Ghost is a force to be reckoned with.

When Soap sees those dark eyes open, searching wildly for hostiles, he thinks that perhaps, in his sleep, Ghost is even more terrifying. Fighting against the worst his mind can think of.

“S-Simon-” Soap manages to whisper.

The hands retreat instantly, and Soap turns to his side, coughing and massaging his wounded neck.

Ghost has crawled backwards until he hit the wall, eyes still wide open, their whites standing out over black painted skin. Soap heaves himself to his knees, moving closer to the shivering man. But Ghost shakes his head.

“Don’t-” Ghost says between breaths, “stay back.”

Soap, as he often does, refuses to listen, “why?”

Brown eyes flicker down to his neck before returning to his, “I’ll hurt you.”

“Ye won’t.” Soap stops in front of him, sitting back on his haunches.

Soap can see the tension still wrecking though Ghost, muscles trembling with fatigue and soreness. He chances a hand again, laying it on Ghost’s shoulder. The body under his palm freezes.

He leans in closer, tries to see inside Ghost’s eyes to his thoughts. 

This close, he can see just how pale his eyelashes are, how there are flecks of black shoot through the rich brown umber of his eyes. Something about them draws Soap in, in a way an oil painting would. How dark Ghost’s eyes are, how his pupils blend with the sclera.

“Johnny-” Ghost whispers, “the mask…”

Soap’s brows crease, “ye want me to take it off?”

“Please.” 

At his begging tone, Soap doesn’t hesitate, and slowly slides a hand over the skull, pulling it up and off.

Simon stares up at him, his eye black running down his cheeks, from tears or rain, he's not so sure anymore. At that moment, Soap realizes what emotion lingers in Simon’s eyes wherever he looks at him.

Faith.

Simon… has faith in him. More wholly than Soap remembers ever seeing.

Not just in life and death, but with this as well. With his most vulnerable moments. It shines through so clearly now, the serenity over Simon’s features the longer he looks at Soap.

He looks…

“Beautiful…”

Simon frowns in confusion, “what?”

Soap presses a thumb to the dark tear tracks, swiping under Simon’s eyes. “Yer bonnie. Never… noticed before.”

Simon opens his mouth to answer, and it breaks Soap from the trance he was stuck in. He pulls his hand away, as if it was burned, and wrecks his mind for a way to veer the conversation away from his stupid, weird behaviour.

Stupid steamin’ dream, stupid Simon with his stupidly pretty eyes, stupid-

“Ye said Price’s name. When ye were…”

Simon looks away, lips curving downwards minutely, “don’t remember.”

Soap sighs. Should’ve expected the deflection-

“He was… my captain. Before.” Simon murmurs, eyes on the broken shards of glass scattered on the floor. “I haven’t seen ‘im in years, not since I became legally dead.”

Soap can imagine. He remembers, even in his brief interactions with the Captain, just how much it was obvious that Simon meant a lot to him. If he knew Simon was Ghost, surely Price would-

“That’s it.” Simon murmurs, eyes alight with a new fire. Soap raises an eyebrow, and Simon turns to face him fully.

Gone is the softness in his tone when he says, “I know how we can get to the Hunter.” 

Ghost stands up, offering a hand for Soap, “we need to get our hands on a radio.” Ghost leaves him behind as he starts collecting their equipment.

Soap follows him, shoving a still wrapped sandwich in his hands, “what are ye planning, Simon?”

Those dark eyes stare at him with newfound conviction, as Ghost pulls the mask back over his head.

“There’s only one other person who would be able to locate the Hunter in this city.”

Soap’s brows shoot up when he understands.

“Captain Price…”

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod soap #cod ghost #cod price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #john price #BLOOD||HUNGER #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #cod fic #cod fanfic #soap out here dreaming of having a domestic life with ghost #and describing him like 'he has eyes like an old oil painting and the softest of touches' #and hes still like 'i should hate that guy huh' #my idiot son #anyway i think i say it every chapter buttt #next chapter will be very tasty >:D

[reds-skull]

Rules: in a new post, post the names of all the files in your wip folder regardless of how nondescriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet and tell us about it!

Tagged by @forestshadow-wolf , thank you so much!

I don't actually have a lot of writing wips, so I'll also add my drawings/comic ones!

[Writing] BLOOD||HUNGER chapter 11 (temporary name) pillow fort - it's time these fuckers got some sleep

[Writing/comic?] Cyberknights AU, still very rough, but I'm planning on making a comic prequel to a potential fic (like I did for revenant AU part 1)

[Comic] Revenant AU part 2, prequel comic about Makarov, his powers and Reaper

[Writing] Revenant Side Stories part 2 - Spinal Blades, Graves' Reaping!

[Drawing] requests ghost and soap dragons - for the follower milestone, I'm going a bit off track because I have a different preference with how I draw dragons haha

[comic] Price, Ghost, and a bunch of cats - Price finds Ghost feeding cats on base after a meeting. It's far more angsty than you might expect

Tagging whoever wants to join and didn't get tagged yet! (because I don't know who got tagged already tbh lol)

#not art #tag game #not tagging all the things here bc I dont wanna flood the tags #this was kinda fun at first I thought I only had like 2 things to write down #but I realized there's a lot of stories I got in my head that I just... didn't start actually working on lmao

[reds-skull]

Thinking about the inherent tragedy of being Gaz

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod gaz #kyle gaz garrick #cod fanart #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty fanart #thinking about gaz specifically in #BLOOD||HUNGER #his role is small but still #Lieutenant Gaz watching the world fall apart #willing to let his best friend try to find some sort of purpose in life #even if it kills him. Because he'll be dead either way. #in another universe they'll all be happy together. But not in this one #anyway really had fun with the background in this one as you can tell lmao #started working on the requests btw just had this wip and I felt like finishing it

[reds-skull]

Congratulations on hitting 2k followers! It’s super well deserved and you sound be really proud of yourself, you earned this! 

Awh thank you so much <333

#asks answered #ty for the ask <3 #real talk it means a lot bc what i put here is my most experimental and honestly kind of weird art #everywhere else i got standards and restrictions but here i go wild with themes and subtext #and yeah this is a fuckin cod fan blog but #i try to put a lot of personal emotions into the comics and fics #and its wild to me that those parts resonate with so many ppl yknow?

[reds-skull]

You all, thank you so so much for 2000 followers!!!

Every interaction I had with each of you had been nothing but kind, and you don't know how much it means to me :)

Like last time, you're welcome to request any drawings, I would love to draw them!

#not art #this number is unreal to me tbh #1000 was as well but... goddamn..... #thank you especially with your kind words for my writing #I was really nervous at the start but y'all really helped me push through that doubt ^_^ #also last time the requests literally kickstarted rev au so I'm excited to do more!

[reds-skull]

Today I decided to be brave and try and sketch out how I imagine the motorcycles would look for the Cyberknights AU

Putting a horse head on a bike was harder than I thought it would... but for the literal first time drawing one, I think I did alright

Also redesigned Gaz because I hated his previous one, now he looks much cooler (and there's more emphasis on the Aether tech he uses as an Aether expert)

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod soap #cod gaz #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #cyberknights au #cod zombies #cod mwz #cod fanart #the horse head would go down like in the top sketch when driving in full speed #and the suspension allows some limited jumping (probably not as much as a real horse) #also they're fucking huge as you can tell by comparison to Soap #each member will have a slightly different bike but I'm not feeling like designing them all today #tried looking for references but unfortunately it seems like not many ppl put horse heads on their bikes... #also yeah they drive with reins like a fuckin horse its a little silly but I like it lol #thanks for everyone that showed interest in this au! I like worldbuilding for it #I have many thoughts about G.H.O.S.T. especially... but alas

[reds-skull]

Fanfic Recommendations: Writers

I thought of making this kind of list for a while now, since in my notes I save writers when I like most/all their fics (instead of saving each work individually)

This list is going to be very long, I'm gonna try to add to each writer a little description of the type of work they usually write.

Should leave this as a disclaimer for all my fic rec posts, but always look at the tags and CW on each fic before reading!

As always, if a link doesn't work, you're welcome to reach out!

[This list will include both SFW and NSFW writers, since a lot of them do both]

thirteenbullets - Writer of Anytime You Need Me, basically the ultimate hurt/comfort series. [fun fact, part 6 was the first fic I read in this fandom, and I partially blame how good it was for how fast I got obsessed with cod lol]

mothbeast - Writer of Pattern Breaker, one of the more well known fics for ghostsoap (for a good reason!). Love their other fics as well [some are NSFW]

glaciers (Hayfever_Street) - Non AU fics, where they put ghost and soap and various situations for angst! [some NSFW]

Red_Clegane - non AU and AU fics, some of the best non-military AUs I've read. All of their fics share a similar taste, but they're all equally good, so if you like that style you'll enjoy most of them [some NSFW]

sauceboss_yahoo - AUs with supernatural elements, and non-military AUs. Some a/b/o if that's your style [which obviously means there's some NSFW]

yourvaliants - AO3 account of valiants on Tumblr, I'll expand more when I get to Tumblr users, but this is just their place to post NSFW comics since Tumblr doesn't allow that.

wayfaredsoldier - non-military AUs, AUs with supernatural elements, and in canon universe [some NSFW]

MildLimerence - If you want smut with good plot, this is the writer for you haha. They have several soulmate AUs and fantasy/supernatural AUs, as well as canon universe [mostly NSFW]

Arodana - supernatural AUs and non-military AUs, very enjoyable long works [some NSFW]

crown_twist - a mix of NSFW and hurt/comfort oneshots, if you're in the mood for something short and good this is the writer for you [some NSFW]

ElizaStyx - mostly oneshots for a variety of pairings, a mix of NSFW and fluff [some NSFW]

Sillililli - Canon and non-military AUs, with just a pinch of NSFW [little NSFW]

Louffox - Canon and non-military AUs, a lot of angst and hurt/comfort. A few longer works and a good amount of oneshots [some NSFW]

kcisbroken [previously artbykc0001] - Historical AUs, sometimes MCD, some non AU oneshots and NSFW [some NSFW]

Hochseeperle - non AUs, angst and hurt/comfort, with NSFW [some NSFW]

eggtimelads - Supernatural AUs, non AUs, oneshots that literally changed my brain chemistry (not clickbait) [some NSFW]

blackbird_flyaway - supernatural and non AUs, recently started a zombie AU (that I just discovered and go read it after finishing this lmao) [Some NSFW]

TheLastTheosaurus - hurt/comfort oneshots. Good ol' reliable [no NSFW]

Nuria123 - absolutely amazing non AU, non-military AUs, and fics so emotional they made me full on sob. A mix of oneshots and longer works [some NSFW]

AvaLoren - non-military, non AU, and a little bit of fantasy, and medieval AUs, mostly oneshots with some longer fics [some NSFW]

WhisperedWords12 - non-military, non AU, and a little bit of fun shifter AU, many oneshots that are mostly NSFW [a lot of NSFW]

Wheezing_Joe - non AU, oneshots with some onehsot series, hurt/comfort and angst galore. Very nice stuff [no NSFW]

coderaven - non-military AUs and non AUs, emotional hurt/comfort, a little supernatural AUs [some NSFW]

oh_ellie - non AUs, hurt/comfort, and a whole lot of smut [mostly NSFW]

headlocket - author of all that's said in the low light. I don't need to say anything else, if you didn't read it yet, you really REALLY should! [little NSFW]

Grangers_apprentice - [note: majority of works locked for users with no AO3 accounts] non-AU, supernatural AUs, some oneshots and some longer works with series. A bit of a/b/o if that's your style [some NSFW]

DarkMoonMaiden - non AU, hurt/comfort and smut. Mostly oneshot, some series [mostly NSFW]

merikai - non AU and non-military AUs, hurt/comfort and angst oneshots [no NSFW]

simcoehole - supernatural but military and non AUs, mostly smut [mostly NSFW]

Epifauna - non AU oneshots, a lot of fluff with some angst [little NSFW]

prettyunhinged - non AU oneshots (some as long as multi chapter works though), angst, fluff and smut [some NSFW]

oshikiri_toru - non-military and non AUs, with some supernatural elements. Very long oneshots with angst and smut. Very underrated writer imo! [some NSFW]

xEclipse - non AU, fluff and smut oneshots that can get very sweet [some NSFW]

unravelledorfrayed - non AU, misunderstanding hurt/comfort (the good kind) [no NSFW]

lkst - very unique AUs, as well as non AUs. A bit of smut and a lot of angst [little NSFW]

now, there are some blogs here that write a lot of little drabbles that are always a treat to read, so I'm also gonna add some of them.

cod-dump - mostly non AU, with the exception of the Teen!Ghost AU.

forestshadow-wolf - AU and non-AU, also has many downloaded fics for you to read (they're a lifesaver when AO3 is down)

valiants - as mentioned above, comic artist and occasional writer, honestly a huge inspiration for me, it terms of storytelling and art style.

ghcstao3 - also has an AO3, wanted to put them here because they post a lot of drabbles here that don't get posted on AO3.

captain-mj - also has an AO3, like ghcst posts a lot of fics here that don't get posted on AO3. Many are NSFW, as a heads-up.

That's all for now, in the future if I make fic recs for longer works, you will probably see some from these writers.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #fic recs #not art #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #i put links for blog bc i didnt want to tag everyone #doing this instead of uni work bc i really dont feel like doing it :DDD

[reds-skull]

Hi I just finished reading There’s something odd about Sergeant MacTavish (I loved it) and I put my down for five seconds then had a thought… Soaps creature(?) reminds me of your art peace from Jan 2 is there any connection there or am I crazy? Either way you’re Art, Writing and Foreshadowing was great and the metaphor was on point it didn’t feel to heavy handed at all even if hearts probably are actually really heavy to hold lol :)

Hello! I'm very glad you like it!

When I first read this I was like 'huh what did I post on January 2nd-' and I instantly remembered what you're talking about.

(for those that don't wanna go search, it's this one)

When I originally painted that one, I was basically exploring the themes I was planning for BLOOD||HUNGER, not There's something odd about Sergeant MacTavish. But when I look back at that painting, it DOES look like what I imagine "the red man" (Soap's creature as you call it). Both of the fics I listed above are working with similar themes of blood and gore as metaphors, and the right part of the painting is based on the muscular system of the face, just like I describe "the red man".

So tldr, the connection isn't intentional, but now that you mention it, it does feel connected haha. Thank you for pointing it out, it's really cool for me!

#asks answered #ty for the ask <3 #and thank you for the compliments on the fic itself <3 #I woke up and got really happy seeing everyone's comments and tags :)

[reds-skull]

There’s Something Odd About Sergeant MacTavish

[AO3]

This monster of an oneshot got me in a chokehold the moment I started writing. Had a lot to say about this version of Soap and Ghost, apparently.

Friendship is not on the field manual, he told Johnny a long time ago. No protocols for personal relationships between soldiers, no set procedures for what he asked for, so many months ago.

Despite that, what Ghost and Soap have can’t not be friendship - not with the way they practically spend all their free time glued to each other. Morning, sipping tea and coffee together. Noon, checking in before splitting for their respective duties. Afternoon, lunch and paperwork in Ghost’s office. Evening, relaxing in the 141 common room. Bid each other goodnight, go to sleep, rinse and repeat, ad infinitum.

His routine used to numb him. Same shite, day in, day out, only finding excitement on missions. 

Johnny, in his own annoyingly endearing way, ‘blew it all teh high hell’, as he would gleefully shout after shaking the earth to its very core with an explosion.

And Simon, as much as he puts on a front and complains, wouldn’t have it any other way. Or… no.

Better not be greedy.

His schedule was clear for the rest of the day, something that in the past would’ve irritated him to no end (nothing worse than wasting time). Now, however, it just gives him a chance to trail behind Johnny.

His blue eyes flicker over the training recruits, sharp as ever as they search for weaknesses to correct. Ghost can pinpoint the exact moment he zeroed in on a soldier, his jaw working before he shouts, “Rogers! Put yer arms higher, don’t give ‘em easy access teh yer throat!”.

Soap stomps over to the pair, forcing Rogers’ hands to the right position. His Sergeant makes another round, tapping a boot at the back of another recruit’s knees. Ghost narrows his eyes when he sees the man open his mouth to retort, but the soldier thinks better of it. It may not be his lesson to teach, but Ghost wouldn’t pass an opportunity to put an idiot in his rightful place.

The second half of the recruits, who have been watching and learning from their peers’ mistakes, start talking in hushed voiced among themselves. Ghost doesn’t pay them any mind until Soap’s name comes up.

“There’s something… odd about Sergeant MacTavish.”

“Right?? He’s not this annoying usually.”

Ghost’s lips pull back in a sneer.

“Lieutenant Ghost must be rubbin’ off on him, the bloody bastard”

“Oh, you know they’re doing a whole lot more than just ‘rubbing’-”

Ghost places a hand on both the recruits’ shoulders, making them jump. They both turn their head comically slow to stare up at him, “s-sir, we… we just-” 

“I don’t think you two are training hard enough, if you’re sitting ‘ere chatting like old ladies.” Ghost squeezes their shoulders, a gesture that would almost be comforting if not for his ice-cold tone, “think two weeks at the latrines will really make you appreciate the Sergeant.”

The recruits don’t dare talk back to the Ghost, so they’re left with gaping mouths. Ghost gives them a shove forward, making the two stumble, “go on then, bathroom’s not gonna clean itself.”

The rest of them are deathly quiet after the interaction. As they should’ve been from the start. Ghost internally sighs, refocusing back on Johnny. Who has noticed the commotion, and is now gazing at the retreating backs of the misbehaving recruits.

Ghost watches the muscles of his neck twitch, and Soap rolling his shoulders with a face of mild discomfort. It goes away quickly enough, and his Sergeant goes back to screaming at the soldiers, but he still makes a mental note to investigate that at a later point in time.

He keeps to the sidelines until the recruits are dismissed. The hungry soldiers practically run to mess, and while Ghost does his best to walk around them towards Johnny, when they finally fuck off Soap is nowhere to be found. 

Ghost stands alone on the training mats, uselessly swiveling his head.

Friendship is not on the field manual, and blasted schoolboy crushes on your subordinates most certainly aren’t.

Ghost wishes he could say he knew when it started. Maybe, knowing the root of the cause would’ve allowed him to chop down the entire tree. Somewhere between Chicago, Soap’s life almost slipping between his fingers, and now, he fell in love.

Even thinking about it makes him want to scoff. Those words don’t fit someone like him, someone with enough blood on their hands to fill several swimming pools, someone that keeps everyone at arm’s length, so mistrusting of his surroundings he wears a literal skull mask everywhere he goes.

But how else would he describe it? That warm feeling that spreads through his chest every time Johnny smiles up at him? The urge to let a brief touch linger, the need to stay near him at all times? That desperate part of him, that wishes for more?

Love is a disgustingly soft concept, not made for men like Ghost. But it’s what Johnny means to him. Johnny is love, simple as.

If only it was simple as.

Ghost has been looking for him the entire day, since the incident on the mats. For someone as loud and bright as Soap is, he sure can just fuckin’ disappear with no trace. He’s about to give up for the day, a bitterness weighing heavy on his tongue, when he spots a familiar shadow walking around the edge of the base.

It’s a more wild area, a small bit of thick forest, a place usually reserved for sniping drills. The figure appears between trees, slowly walking deeper.

Ghost quickly catches up, trailing the man. Only when he’s in reach, he notifies Soap of his presence.

“Didn’t know you could physically be this quiet, Johnny.”

Soap doesn’t startle, nor does he turn to acknowledge him. They both stop walking.

Ghost tried to lean over to see his face, but his Sergeant turns away. “Ah know when Ah need to shut it, LT.”

“Never stopped you from going loud anyway.”

Soap huffs, “aye, guess no’”.

Ghost waits for him to elaborate like he usually does, the growing silence unsettling him more and more. Did those recruits really bother him that much?

“I sent those tossers to the latrines, you know.”

Johnny glances at him, before returning to watch over the quiet forest, “I know.”

Soap knows their opinion is worth fuck all, young wankers still wet behind the ears. He should know, he’s worth a hundred of them, on the field and off.

Johnny eventually breaks the silence, “think it will just make things-” he exhales heavily, passing a hand through his hair, “let’s jus’ go back to base, LT. Sorry I disappeared on ye.”

“Don’t worry about that…” Ghost lets his words trail when Soap starts walking without him, head seemingly drowning in thoughts. He follows him, overcast by his shadow.

He thinks the dark is playing tricks on him when he sees the muscles of Johnny’s back convulse weirdly.

Ghost tries to fight it. That all encompassing want, need, to have Soap. And while he’s no stranger to war, this enemy is one tough fucker.

The Ghost, most feared soldier in the SAS, survivor of the worst of the worst. Bested by fucking emotions. He felt like he was winning, for a while there. That no one could tell, just what’s going on behind the mask.

As the days go on, though, it is clear people are catching on.

“I haven’t seen Sergeant MacTavish around Lieutenant Ghost as often anymore…”

And people love to fucking gossip. 

“Think they had a fight?”

“A love quarrel, perhaps”

The resounding laughs make him grasp his fork tighter. Couldn’t they at least wait long enough to be out of earshot of the person they’re talking about?

“No wonder the Sergeant has been this pent-up. Just heard Christopher got yelled at again, for being late by two minutes. Two minutes!”

Ghost is about to show them what yelling really is, when another Lieutenant comes by and shuts the bastards right up. He turns his eyes to Johnny, who is sitting in front of him, like every morning.

Unlike every morning, he doesn’t drink his coffee. Or speaks. Just stares at his breakfast.

“Johnny? Alright?”

Soap snaps his eyes to his, the blue in them looking almost… red? No… must be the light.

He blinks rapidly, and they return to their usual blue-grey, “aye, LT.”

“Not hungry?”

Soap smiles, or at least tries to, ending up with more of a grimace than anything, “think I’m catching something, not feeling up to it today.”

Ghost hums. Could explain his demeanor as of late, “get to medical after mess, I’ll take care of your assignments for the day.”

“Ye really don’t have teh do that-”

“Soap.” Ghost uses his commanding voice, “...let me take care of it.” he adds in a softer tone.

Let me take care of you.

Johnny smiles, a small but genuine thing, “...thanks.” he gets up, not before patting his bicep, “next time we’re in a pub, I’ll get ye a drink.”

Ghost basks in the brief contact, “it better not be the shite you like.”

Soap laughs as he walks away, “no promises!” 

He can’t help the smile spreading on his lips. Love is a dumb concept, not made for him, but…

But fuck if it doesn’t make him feel elated, to hear that voice happy and laughing.

It used to scare Ghost, how colossal those emotions he felt for Johnny were, at first. Would keep him awake at night, spiraling into haunting himself with lines of thought.

‘What would I do if he died? How would I go on?’

It used to scare him, how at those moments, he knew he’d give anything to make sure Soap lived. Fuck his life, fuck the SAS, fuck the world, if Johnny MacTavish wasn’t a part of it.

Soap is damn lucky he loves him so much, if only because he wouldn’t go train these fucking daft idiots instead of him otherwise. Ghost is starting to understand why Soap is getting more agitated these days.

He ended their exercise early, when one of them managed to break a finger by misplacing it when shooting a rifle. It’s like they never held a damn firearm in their whole life.

Fucking hell. He needs to punch something, before he punches someone.

As he gets closer to the gym, Ghost starts hearing shouts. Sounds more like a damn fight ring than a military workout. The recruits are doing something stupid again, he can already tell.

Looks like he might end up having to punch someone instead today. That’s fine by him. He cracks his knuckles.

At least he’ll get to release all this energy somewhere.

The doors smack loudly into the wall behind them when he opens them, and very quickly his theory is proven right. In the center of the room, a large crowd formed a ring around two fighters, the grunts and cracks of punches thrown drowning in the circle of soldiers.

He starts making his way through, recruits snapping their head to shout at him before closing their mouth with a click when they realize who they’re talking to. The crowd begins dispersing, some attempt to run off before they could feel the wrath of their superiors. All the while, Ghost lets his anger build, ready to crash it all down on the unfortunate bastards that decided today is a good day to re-enact Fight Club on base.

When he reaches the center, that rage comes crashing down, alright.

The view of Soap’s bloody form, nose running red and knuckles redder, makes it all fizzle out. His opponent staggers away, clearly the loser of the match, but Ghost doesn’t give a fuck about him.

“What the fuck are you doing, MacTavish?!”

His Sergeant heaves a breath, spitting out a bit of blood, “what does it look like, LT?” he answers, an edge of sarcasm underlining his words. Ghost is well versed in Soap’s insubordination, but it was never directed towards him. Not like that.

He doesn’t look away from Soap’s eyes when he growls to the group, “out.”

The soldiers falter for a moment, so Ghost turns to them, snarling, “OUT! Before I make you all do ten more laps around base!”

They all practically sprint out, leaving Soap and him alone. Johnny holds himself up shakily, adrenaline still coursing through his veins, searching for another face to punch. Ghost grabs his bicep, and wordlessly drags him to the showers.

Trains of thought rush through his mind, trying to find reason in Soap’s actions. Anger and worry mix, most of all the frustration that comes with being unable to help.

Something’s clearly bothering Johnny, and Ghost doesn’t know where to start fixing it.

He sets the Sergeant down on a bench, and goes to search for a first aid kit, when Soap huffs, “yer overreacting. We were just sparring.”

Ghost slams the kit next to Johnny’s thigh, the man not flinching even a bit, “what was going on out there was not ‘sparring’, and we both know it.”

Soap’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t retort. Ghost takes his bruised hands in his, examining the torn skin on his knuckles.

“Johnny-”

Soap groans, “aye, I know, I fucked up.” he scrubs his free hand over his face, wincing as Ghost sanitized the wounds, “I’m sorry ye had to go and deal with the recruits. Guess it was all fer nothin’-”

“The fuck’s up with you?” the words come out not as gently as Ghost hoped they would.

Johnny glares at him, “oh, don’t you start as well! We all know what’s wrong with me, don’t we? Everyone’s got somethin’ teh say about MacTavish, about how Ah’m too loud, too annoying, too distracted.” he pulls his hands away from Ghost’s, when the muscles under his skin strain against the tension lining his form, “Ah know! Ah’m fuckin’- Ah’m tryin’, alright?! Don’t need ye teh start tellin’ me that as well!”

Ghost leans back, knowing full well shock must be written all over his features, but Johnny’s too far deep in his own head to recognize it. 

“Johnny-”

“Ah’ll do better, sir, Ah just- they were talkin’ shit, and Ah had teh-”

“You’re enough, Soap.”

Johnny’s brows fly up, “...huh?”

Ghost sighs, “you’re good enough already. You’re the only one that comes close to beating me in sparring, excluding Gaz. You can make bloody bombs on the go with generic kitchen appliances. Your shots land, even when you’re tired and broken. You keep going, even if everyone else gave up.”

Soap’s eyes soften, and Ghost takes his other hand, starting to treat it as well, “the recruits can’t tell their asses from their mouths, Johnny. They don’t know what it truly means to be a good soldier, a good man.”

He lets his fingers gently graze Soap’s, “you’re… important to all of us.”

You’re important to me.

Johnny looks down at their hands, “I… I could be better, though.”

“You could”, Ghost agrees, and Soap’s eyes gaze up, “we all could. Won’t come from destroying yourself, though, Sergeant.”

Soap nods slowly. He breaks the contact, raising to his feet and rolling his shoulders, “aye. Thanks, LT.”

Ghost follows him when he chucks off his shirt, eyes trailing on the bruises littering his back. The thickly corded muscles (that Ghost will refuse to drool over, even if they are undoubtably impressive) twist as Johnny takes out his towel for the shower.

Ghost is about to turn around, let his Sergeant have his privacy, when those muscles start convulsing, like he thought he saw back in the forest. He hears Johnny hiss, and decides to voice his concern, “you seem tense.”

Soap turns around, a sheepish smile on his lips, “uh, aye, probably all the… ‘sparring’.”

He nods, back straightening in determination. Finally, something Ghost can fix. “Give it ‘ere, then.”

Soap blinks, “huh?”

“Come ‘ere, Johnny. Can help with that.” he guides Soap back on the bench, walking around and settling behind him. 

Ghost takes off his gloves. He hasn’t given a massage to someone else in… years, probably. But he’s sure he remembers enough to help Johnny, even a little bit.

The moment he rests his hand on his Sergeant’s shoulders, he has to hold back his surprise. The muscles are so tense, they feel more like rocks than damn flesh and bone. He pushes away the shock, and begins slowly kneading them. By Johnny’s appreciative hum, Ghost reckons he must be doing something right.

He tries digging in a little into the solid muscles, but soon enough his fingers ache from the resistance. “You feel tenser than Price when he runs out of cigars.”

Soap gives him a half-laugh, “can’t say Ah had anyone teh give me back massages, LT.”

“No bird back home?”

That makes Johnny fully laugh, “no, Ah’m not… not the type teh keep someone fer that long.” he groans at a particular twist of Ghost’s hands, “where did ye even learn teh do this? Ye should consider changing jobs.”

He trails his hands down, mildly concerned that the muscles don’t get any less tense, “had a sister-in-law, she had muscle cramps when she was pregnant…”

Johnny turns his head to stare at him, “ye got a sister-in-law??”

“Had.”

He didn’t elaborate, but from Soap’s silence, he knows the other understood it wasn’t divorce that took her away.

“Ah’m sure she appreciated it.” Johnny sighed, “Ah know I am.”

Ghost smiled, patting his Sergeant’s shoulder, “feeling better?” he flexes his sore hands. Soap’s muscles certainly don’t feel any less tense. At least he seems cheerier.

“Aye, now I owe ye two drinks.”

Ghost goes to leave the showers, “just stay out of trouble next time.”

He hears a small, “...yes, sir.” before the door closes.

If someone were to look inside his head, it will very quickly be clear just how much he’s infatuated with his Sergeant. They might ask, ‘why not tell him?’.

Ghost could never. His vocal cords weren’t built for such soft confessions, his fingers not shaped for holding. And even if they were, Ghost is not one to ask more than he can receive. Being around Johnny as much as humanly possible is enough.

It has to be enough.

Still, he can’t help that ache in his heart, deep in his rib cage, that wishes it could hold Johnny, and never let go. It’s one he can ignore, like most of his aches, on the daily, but…

Soap isn’t around now to distract him. They were sent on separate missions, Johnny on an intel run, and himself on lookout duty, over this slimy bastard or another. Ghost doesn’t give a fuck, mounting his aches on the man behind his crosshairs. Can’t even fuckin’ shoot the bloody man, because he’s ‘too valuable’ or some shite.

He returned a couple of days ago. Soap’s squad is still out there, had some delay in their exfil. When he asked Price about it, apparently he didn’t have clearance to know more.

The Captain barely managed to kick him out of his office before Ghost went on a rampage.

Only after a long, painful, empty week later, does he finally hear some good news - Soap’s team will arrive in a few hours.

Ghost’s feet take him to the tarmac, and only once he sees the distant shape of the helo, does that ache subsides. He impatiently walks to the doors before they open, making sure to be the very first to see Johnny.

And when he, at last, sees him - those blue eyes were not all that blue.

Bloodshot, darkened by the shadows of the helo that seemingly wrap around his figure, Johnny didn’t spare him a glance before stomping off. The rest of the squad trickled out of the chopper, and Ghost saw 3 body bags in the back.

“You heard what happened on Soap’s mission?”

“He fucked it, right?”

“Well, it was more of Rogers’ fault, the idiot got caught and cornered. Sergeant just had to save him.”

“‘Had’. Should’ve left him for after the intel. Should’ve known it was rigged to blow. Isn’t he a damn expert at that?”

Ghost barely listens after that. They all filtered into the briefing room, generals looking furious. Soap didn’t even have time to change, still in full gear and absolutely covered in grime and blood. He has his arms crossed, and to Ghost it almost looks like he’s holding himself together.

It takes hours for them to finally leave, Ghost’s team dismissed before Soap’s. He stays behind, listening to the muted screams of the COs, before the doors slam open, his Sergeant walking away with unexpected speed.

Ghost, as he always does, silently follows.

He catches up to Soap while he’s struggling to remove his gear, movements uncoordinated, agitated, tense.

“Johnny.” his Sergeant ignores him. Ghost gently takes his hand, and lifts it off the straps of his vest. “I’ll get it.”

Soap, for his part, turns his head away. Ghost’s heart squeezes horribly when he feels the shakiness of him. It takes every cell in his body to not give in to the urge to wrap his arms around Johnny, a feeble attempt to shield him from it all.

“Ah’m…” Ghost slowly takes the vest off, and starts working on the various tools strapped to his hips, “ye told me Ah’m good enough.” Johnny whispers.

“You are.” the shaking in Soap’s limbs worsens. 

He’s still not looking at him. “The… the mission failed. Because of me. Three recruits are dead. Because of me.”

The lights in the armory flicker. Soap crosses his arms again, forcibly. 

Ghost risks crouching down, catching Soap’s eyes, “you didn’t know-”

“I SHOULD HAVE!” Soap’s voice quivers, the flickering light casting a shadow over his eyes. Yet, Ghost can still tell how much he’s hurting.

Ghost gives in.

He pulls Johnny into a hug, ignores his thumping fists, “let go- Ghost, let go of me!” Soap growls. He can almost feel Johnny’s heart thump hard against his chest as well, and he presses closer.

“Making a mistake doesn’t erase all the good you’ve done before.” he murmurs to his warhawk. Johnny’s hands stop trying to push him away.

“You’re a good man, Johnny.”

Soap grasps tightly at the back of his hoodie, “stop-”

Ghost softens his tone, “I’m serious. I…”

I love you. I love you as you are. I love you because of what you are. I love you I love you I love you-

Ghost swallows thickly around the words clawing their way up his throat, “let's go back to the common room, hm? I’m sure Garrick and Price will be happy to see you.”

Soap lets his head rest on Ghost’s shoulder, “at least someone is…”

Ghost delicately raises his head, “I’m happy to see you as well, Sergeant.”

Johnny’s answering smile may be only a shadow of its usual brightness, but it eases the ache. They leave the armory behind, the lights instantly stopping their flickering.

It hurts, sometimes, to love someone so wholly, Ghost discovers. Love makes you want, and for Ghost, that never panned out well.

And yet, he wouldn’t see a world where Johnny didn’t mean so much to him.

Soap knocks his knee to his, the action negligible in the eyes of others, but for his heart it means everything.

They haven’t moved an inch away from the other since their talk in the armory. Ghost was about to leave, let his Sergeant catch some well needed rest, when they were called back to action.

Less than 24 hours since the failed mission, Ghost and Soap are on their way back, accompanied by a fresh batch of recruits. He can tell Soap is determined to fix his mistakes, finish the objective, and get everyone out alive.

Johnny’s knee starts bouncing, his fingers dig into the flesh of his forearms, teeth ravaging his lower lip. Leaving dark red behind.

Ghost watches him for a moment, before intervening.

“What’s on your mind, Sergeant?” he lowers his head to privately whisper in Soap’s ear.

Johnny stops his movements for a second, “the mission, sir.”

“What about the mission?” Ghost lets a hand rest on his shaking leg.

Soap sighs, finally letting some tension bleed away, “Ah need… I can’t fuck this up.”

“You won’t.” Soap opens his mouth to argue, but Ghost continues, “you won’t. If something goes bad, it’s on me. I’m your superior, I’ll take the blame.”

Displeasure paint’s Johnny’s features, “ye shouldn’t do that fer my mistakes.”

I would take on each and every sin you committed, if only to lessen your burden a tad, if I could.

“It’s my job, Johnny.” he takes his hand away, “stay focused, now. Landing in 5.”

Soap frowns, the thoughts passing through his mind almost visible through those turbulent eyes, “...aye.”

The compound reminds Ghost of his time working as a butcher. Walls stripped to their foundations, rooms gutted and wiped clean. Dark gunpowder mixes with dried, flaking blood. The carcass of an animal, a bloody maw for them to pass through.

The farther in they walk, the more signs of life appear - makeshift covers, forgotten MREs, recently discarded ammo magazines. Hostiles that need to be dealt with.

In the brief he received on the helo, Ghost learned that the compound splits into two sections here: a research facility, where the intel was supposed to be, and a base for the soldiers protecting the sensitive information the former building contains.

“Soap”, his Sergeant turns to face him, previous anxiousness hidden away behind his professional facade, “take Alpha 1-3, 1-5 and 1-6, go clear the research facility. Might still have intel to salvage from there.”

Johnny recognizes the opportunity Ghost is giving him, “aye sir!”

“The rest of you, on me!”

He can’t waste time watching Soap’s form disappearing behind the corner. As much as he hates separating from him, if they do find intel, Ghost knows it will ease the guilt gnawing at Johnny.

Ghost clears hallway after hallway, finding only a handful of hostiles. The soldiers are obviously unprepared for another attack at this scale, still licking at the wounds Soap left on them. It all goes smoothly, far too smoothly for Ghost’s liking.

He learned to not trust his luck far back, in rooms with smoke-stained, peeling wallpapers, and broken beer bottles.

Static from his comms makes the hair on his nape raise, the crunching unnatural and disturbing. “Soap? Alpha 1-3? How copy?” he attempts to decipher the white noise, straining his ears to hear the almost-there words.

A shrill scream cuts through the buzzing, “-NO! GET AWAY-!!!”

“Johnny?! Answer me, now!” fear, a chilling venom, spreads through his veins.

The other recruits look back at him with a similar terror. Bits and pieces pass through their radios, “I DIDN’T MEAN IT, PLEASE-!”, “-I’M SORRY, I’M SOR-”, “-HELP!!!-”

“S-sir?” 1-4 wobbly asks, “what do we-”

Ghost bursts into a sprint, holding his radio tightly, “Soap! This is 0-7, we’re on our way to back you up!” he addresses the recruits, “keep yourselves sharp, and stay together! This could be a trap!”

A chorus of “yes sir!” sounds behind him, lost in the winding halls of the compound. His boots thump the tile floor with the beat of his heart, his fear carved into the burning in his lungs.

A deep rumbling takes over the static, the recruits wincing and pulling the comms away from their ears. A primal fear, one Ghost hasn’t felt since digging himself out of the grave, spreads through him.

“...LEAVE….. ME………”

Yet, something else rises within him. That voice… the words leave an ache in his heart.

“Sir… whatever the fuck that thing is… We can’t just go there, right?” Alpha 1-2 asks him, the rest nodding in agreement.

Ghost wastes a moment to tower over him, “your teammates are stuck with that thing. Are you going to leave them to die?”

“N-no sir.”

“Louder!”

“NO SIR!” the dread washes away from the recruit’s face, determination replacing it.

Ghost sharply nods, “then let’s move!”

He’s not leaving any man behind today. No matter what’s waiting on the side - a deranged hostile or a damn fairy tale monster. They go out as a team.

Ghost tries to push away the voice he didn’t hear yet, the glaring silence a hole burrowing into his chest. Nothing could distract him enough, the ache growing and growing. But he can’t sink just yet.

Soap still could be out there, incapacitated in some way, or without comms. Possibly having to go dark, in light of the thing that rumbled through their radios.

He’s not optimistic, never tries to be.

But he can’t accept defeat.

Only Johnny’s body would be the final nail in his coffin.

The first recruit their group encounters is alive. Covered in blood, catatonic, and deep in shock, but alive. Ghost attempts to question him, but it becomes clear the man doesn’t even hear him.

He leaves one soldier with him, ordering him to call for a med evac. The rest continue with Ghost, disturbed by the state of their teammate but obedient to his commands. He doesn’t voice the questions that keep rising in his mind. Ghost needs them as sharp as they could be about now.

The winding hallways open wider in the next turn, and the scene in front of them only confuses him further.

The first thing Ghost registers is red. His first instinct is to call it blood, but the webs covering the walls are very much not blood. They’re… unlike anything he has ever seen.

The recruits are the second. Alpha 1-3 and 1-6… the rest of the missing team. Except…

Don’t think about it. There’s no body.

Yet-

“Rogers”, he calls for 1-3, who’s crouching over 1-6’s still form, “give me sitrep, now!”

Rogers’ eyes are wide, akin to a prey animal cornered by its hunter. He looks anywhere but at Ghost, mumbling lowly. In frustration, Ghost twists a fist in his collar, and drags him up, “answer me! Where is Sergeant MacTavish?!”

“He’s not- not him- n-not him-”

Ghost grits his teeth, growling, “speak clearly.”

“There’s something wrong about Sergeant MacTavish!” Rogers finally spits out, tears springing from his frantic eyes, “that’s not- he did this- he did this!” his breath hitches on sobs, arm weakly pointing to the crimson tendrils hanging from the ceiling around them.

Fucking hell. Bastard lost his mind.

Ghost lets go of him, vitriol evident in his voice when he grounds, “stay here. All of you.”

He takes a step towards the red mess, when a hand grasps at his pant leg.

“Y-y-you can’t go there! Don’t go there! It hurts!!!” Rogers cries, the other recruits trying to gently pull him back.

Ghost gives him a cold stare, “stand down.”

Rogers, in the recesses of his mind, understands the threat for what it is, and lets his shaking fingers fall away from his leg.

The recruits look up at him, all expressions lost, and they don’t dare follow when Ghost leaves them behind, steps dead silent.

Whatever this shite is, he’s getting Soap out.

Whether it’s alive or dead, it doesn’t matter. He won’t let him rot in this literal hell.

Johnny deserves so much more than that.

The red webs become thicker, the deeper he traverses. They now cover the walls, the floors, every single inch of the compound’s structure.

Deeper into the beast’s belly Ghost goes.

The rumbling they heard on comms now echoes among these walls, a heavy breathing of a thing he dreads to identify. Every instinct in his body tells him to run, every step a monumental task to reject the need to turn back.

But he can’t. Not without Johnny.

Even the light is covered now, red beams barely peeking among the webs. Ghost attempts ignoring his current reality, if only to try and submerge the fear clawing at his very cells.

What he imagines instead, is him.

“Creeping Jesus, sir. Yer seeing this shite? Right out o’ a horror movie.”

Ghost can almost hear his lilting Scottish accent, the rough way it sounds the words.

“Ye fit right in, already got the outfit an’ all. Guess that makes me the helpless lass runnin’ awa’ from ye.”

His eyelids flutter, at the memory of Soap’s cheery tone, when he’s trying to joke but failing at holding his laughter back.

It sends a stab of pain through his heart, but Ghost would prefer that to the all encompassing terror. A distraction he welcomes, perhaps too openly.

It makes him lose his focus, and his boot crunches loudly on the red floor.

Ghost freezes, breath caught in his lungs.

“....LEAVE….!!!!!!”

The webs pulsate, winding tighter around the concrete walls. It shakes the entire building, threatening to collapse on everyone. 

Ghost’s hands shake, even as he strengthens the grip on his rifle.

The world doesn’t matter, things both understood and incomprehensible, if Johnny isn’t by his side.

He rounds the corner, the lights flickering, the world blinking in and out of existence.

In front of him, is a figure.

As red as fresh blood, as twisted as corded muscles, as imposing as a knife to the throat.

The origin of the crimson strings.

His legs refuse to move, and Ghost is left helpless for the first time since he donned on the mask. His eyes drag down the imitation of a man.

Beneath him, a chest cavity is cracked open. The body is laid crumpled on the floor, a dark warhawk popping against the bright reds.

“......WHY….. ARE YOU HERE……..?”

Ghost understands the source of his ache, why his heart twists at every word of the bloodied man.

“...Johnny?”

The red man quivers, veins pulsating.

“......GET OUT……..”

Ghost inhales sharply, using every drop of willpower to make his legs unstick and move.

“I’m not leaving without you.”

The red tries to catch on Ghost’s boots, try to pull him away from the bodies.

“.........I TRIED… TO KEEP IT IN…… BUT THEY HURT ME… THEY HURT THEM…….”

He recognizes the rumbling sounds for what they are now.

Soap is crying.

“Who?”

“.....IT WAS A TRAP…..THEY BLAMED ME…AND THEY WERE RIGHT…I WASN’T ENOUGH…….NEVER ENOUGH……….”

The webs pull strongly at his right leg, and Ghost falls to the ground with a grunt.

“You’re enough, Soap. I told you, this time I take the blame-”

“IT WAS ME, GHOST! IT WAS ALL ME!!!”

The walls shake with the force of his voice, Ghost hastily covering his ears with a wince.

He crawls forward, inch by inch.

“Johnny-”

“I KILLED EVERYONE! LEFT THEM DEAD…. THEY TRUSTED ME! THEY TRUSTED ME!!!”

Ghost strains his muscles against the tendrils, belatedly realizing the contact is burning through his clothes.

“Who? Who did you kill?”

He can almost reach him… Just a little more…

“OUR TEAM, GHOST! I- I KILLED THEM!”

Ghost frowns, “they’re not dead, Johnny.”

The red man halts, his exposed heart thumping. His face is a mangled form of muscles and veins, eyes dark red and glassy.

“....DON’T……..DON’T LIE…………..” the man heaves, heart stuttering, “.....THE AMBUSH……I COULDN’T HOLD IT TOGETHER……….”

Ghost is close enough to see Johnny’s face, red splattering his pale cheeks, face twisted in pure anguish.

Hands around his chest, as if he tried to physically push the man back in and failed.

“I saw them. Alpha 1-3, 1-5, 1-6. They were scared shitless, but they’re fucking alive.”

Red tears drip down the crimson man’s cheeks, some falling on Ghost and burning his palms.

“......DON’T LIE-”

“Johnny.”

The red man closes his mouth, tilting his head and finally looking at him.

“Do you trust me?”

Ghost reaches a hand, but the man flinches away.

“......I TRUST YOU…….”

It hurts. Every touch of that crimson substance shoots pain throughout his system.

But more than that, the tone of his voice, the defeat. Ghost’s heart hurts with his.

“Let me help you, Johnny.”

The man shakes his head minutely, leaning back as far as he can.

“.....I’LL HURT YOU……”

Ghost lays a hand on the crimson man’s hand. It does hurt, it hurts a lot.

“Then we will be in pain together.”

Ghost uses the last of his strength to shoot up, wrapping his arms around the man.

The muscles convulse, red enveloping him. It feels like hugging thorns.

He squeezes harder.

“......WHY…?”

The heart, beating so hard it shakes Ghost to his core, feels so fragile between them. He pulls one hand away to gently cup it.

“I… I kept things from you as well, Johnny.” Ghost confesses, “I was afraid, you’d see the bloody mess inside of me, and run away.”

The heart in his hand beats louder.

“It doesn’t matter how ugly the things you hide from me are.”

He looks at the red eyes.

“I’d love you in any form you take.”

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The crimson heart melts, taking with it the man, and the webs that twisted around them. Ghost falls to his knees, body curling in on itself in pain. He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing harshly.

A hand on his cheek lifts his head carefully. He cracks his eyes open.

Blue greets him.

“Simon…” Johnny whispers, eyes filling with tears, crystalline drops.

Ghost lifts his hand, ignores the aching. It holds nothing compared to the balm over his heart.

He doesn’t know who pulled the other first.

All that mattered at that moment, is the hesitant touch of their lips.

It tasted like a vow.

‘You may hold my heart

If I can hold yours.’

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod soap #cod ghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #cod fic #cod fanfic #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #you can probably tell by now how i like to write my oneshots #its all one big metaphor baby #and its alllll pain. Up until the very end :)

[reds-skull]

More Cyberknight AU sketches... I can already tell I'll have to do something with this universe, considering how much I'm thinking about the world building, plot, characters...

Speaking of world building, gonna write down some of it under the cut, if anyone's interested... (it turned out to be....... a lot..............)

Alright, so obviously there's a lot of influence of medieval knight armor, so my first line of thought was adding some sort of magic system. Initially I was like "well, can't use the magic system I have in my original stories, since Revenant AU is based on that, and if I do that again it would be way too similar". I considered scrapping magic off this AU completely, because I didn't think I could make a magic system different enough from rev AU to not be just the same thing but To The Left. And then it hit me.

COD already has a magic system. In Zombies.

Now, the Aether is not really treated as magic, more like scientific phenomena, but it's practically magic, taking to account the field upgrades, and its effect on living being (zombies, and special zombies like manglers, mimics, disciples...).

And the moment I thought about that, everything started clicking together.

Picture this, post apocalyptic world. Operation Deadbolt failed, and the Aether spread from Urzikstan to the rest of the world. Decades later, humanity found ways to ward it off, leaving swaths of land infected with the Aether, quarantined away from the remaining human cities.

This quarantine isn't perfect, however, and certain Aether forms threaten the delicate peace on the cities. This is where the Cyberknights come in.

Using Aether portals (the ones in-game), they teleport deep into Aether territory, and with motorcycles traverse the land, tracking big Aether forms that pose a big enough threat.

Scientists have found ways to build weapons made of Aether. The more in the metal, the better, so guns were now dwarfed by the power of swords and spears. These new weapons use the Aether of fallen enemies as a power source, for charging a powerful attack (in-game they're called Field Upgrades, and I'm giving them a lore explanation as to why it takes a while to charge them, and why it charges by killing zombies).

There are a few types of Aether forms: Aether-Mechanical (think the Manglers from the game), native Aether forms (Disciples, mimics, Aether worm), and infected Aether forms (humans turned zombies). Because of that, each unit must include at least one of each: a mechanic (in charge of equipment, and the mechanical nature of Aether-Mechanical forms), an Aether expert (for teleporters, and Aether forms in general) and a fighter (acting as sort of a tank as the others work).

I also thought a bit about the 141's weapons and field upgrades, so here's a little blurb on each:

Soap - Wields 2 short swords, the right with Cryo Freeze (Ammo Mod in-game), and the left with Napalm Burst. Field Upgrade is Frenzied Guard: Killing zombies grants a shield, but all hostiles are attracted to Soap once he turns it on. This Field Upgrade is usually reserved for fighters, which Soap used to be, but he's now acting as a mechanic for the 141 unit.

The blue and red in his design are for his ammo mods, ice and fire, and the helmet obviously resembles his hairstyle. Originally I went for something more Scottish, but it didn't look exactly like I imagined (Scottish warriors were notorious for not wearing a lot of armor, and they kinda scared other cultures, sometimes carrying the head of their enemies to intimidate others. So metal haha).

Gaz - Wields a spear, that uses Aether as a sort of magnetic force, meaning he can throw it and pull it back. Field Upgrade is Energy Blast: turning it on will create a force field around him, pushing and injuring anyone attempting to get close to him (this is a modified version of the Energy Mine in MWZ, just thought I can make it more interesting).

The purple on his belt are Aether crystals, as he's the 141's Aether expert. The "horns" on his helmet are actually a detector of Aether forms (and they're there to look cool).

Price - Wields a foldable shield, and a short sword, with Brain Rot applied to it (Brain Rot will make a zombie turn to your side for a short while, attacking hostiles for a few moments before their head explodes). Field Upgrade is Healing Aura, which will... heal everyone around him, obviously. Price is the fighter of the 141.

Price is nicknamed "The White Knight", as a well known fighter with a long history of felled Aether superforms. The piece on his right arm (his right), is his shield in folded form.

G.H.O.S.T. is a robot, powered by Aether, the first of his kind. This means he uses 2 Field Upgrades: Aether Shroud, making him go invisible for a short while, and Tesla Storm, which channels bolts of electricity through his body and his teammates', as well as his knives, so he makes sure to throw them in tactical positions before activating this. The electricity doesn't hurt his teammates, their armor makes sure of that, but it will kill lower Aether lifeforms, and damage the stronger ones. G.H.O.S.T. is the secondary fighter of the 141.

G.H.O.S.T. - Wields several knives, that use a similar technology to Gaz's spear, meaning he can pull them back at will.

[Edit: forgot to mention that the things sticking out of his forearms are his knives]

His design is based on the "Gilded Ghost" skin in-game, without the gilded part lol. The purple parts are the Aether powering his mechanical body.

For the story, I have something planned... but I don't wanna spoil you lmao. I was thinking a lot about Soap, who (if I make a fic which lets be honest I probably will) will be the POV.

Soap joins the 141 mainly as a mechanic. Each unit has a fighter, a mechanic, and an Aether expert. Gaz is the Aether expert, and Price is the fighter, G.H.O.S.T. acting as a support for Soap when the unit splits up. Soap comes from the northern territories, so he's very different from the rest in terms of his background, basically an outsider. He used to be a fighter, but a knee injury forced him to change positions. All members of a unit can fight, but it's not their main job, bar the fighter of course. He feels bitter about that.

He finds in G.H.O.S.T. an odd companionship, considering the robot can't feel. His AI is exceptionally advanced, so he does talk unnervingly, almost like a human. Soap often just rants, talking about his home city, about the life he used to have, and G.H.O.S.T. listens with no complaints, not that a robot can really complain.

It all changed on one fateful deployment, where Soap and G.H.O.S.T. get separated from the rest, and Soap finds the truth behind G.H.O.S.T.'s technology...

That's all I'm gonna leave you with for now, haha. As you can probably tell, I spent a lot of time playing Zombies in MW3 (idk I just find it a good way to relax), so I really enjoy trying to think of explanations for each mechanic, and how the world would look like 50 years in the future.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod soap #cod ghost #cod gaz #cod price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john price #cyberknights au #cod zombies #cod mwz #cod fanart