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ltash · 6 hours

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Make a wish

You celebrated your birthday with Ghost and TaskForce and you wished for nothing but him.

"To love is nothing. To be loved is something. But to love and be loved, that’s everything."

After Captain Price and his team finished breakfast, you settled in the living room. You brought the tea trolley over and made them tea, handing a cup and saucer to everyone.

"Thank you, kid," Captain Price said as you served him.

You gave tea to Soap and Gaz too. "Ghost, you want tea?" you asked.

"Sure," he replied.

You handed him a cup as well. "Yer hoose is braw, and it's right lavish an aw." Soap admired.

"English Mctavish." Ghost facepalmed.

"I said your house is lavish and its nice." Soap explained.

"Thank you. My father built it. I'll give you a home tour once you guys finish your tea," you offered.

"She is a master in archery aye. She has horses too. She can shoot an arrow right at the aim while riding a horse," Ghost added.

"That is impressive, Nora," Gaz admired.

"Thanks. I will show you how I do it," you promised.

"Oh, I forgot," you said, suddenly remembering. "I did some shopping and the bags are still in the car. Let me fetch them."

As you made your way to your car, Ghost followed you. "The guns you bought, let me take them inside," he offered.

You opened the car doors and took out the bags while Ghost grabbed the gun cases. Together, you walked back inside.

You handed over the bags to each one of them. "Soap, this is for you. Kyle, that's one for you. This one's for Simon and Captain Price," you said, distributing the gifts.

"Thank you so much, lass," Soap said rummaging through the bag.

"Are ye pullin' ma leg? how much did ye spend on thae things?" He asked.

"Well! That is none of your business. Gifts don't come with a price tag." You folded your arms on your chest.

"Thanks, Nora, but you didn't have to put in so much effort," Kyle added, looking genuinely touched.

"Thanks, kid," Captain Price mentioned, nodding appreciatively.

"Don't mention it. I went shopping and thought, why not grab something for you guys?"

Ghost placed the gun cases down on the table. "She bought these too," he added.

Ghost opened the gun and sniper cases in front of everyone, revealing the impressive weapons inside.

"Whoa! A sniper! Are you kiddin' me?" Soap exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement. "Whit will ye dae wi' a sniper?"

"I like snipers, plus Ghost is here. He’ll teach me before he goes back. He taught me a couple of days ago," you explained with a grin.

"Wow! This is one o' the best snipers in the world," Soap said, admiring the sleek design. "Thank ye so much."

"Yeah, Ghost recommended it to me, so I got it," you said, glancing at Ghost.

Soap looked over at Ghost in disbelief. "Weel, LT himself disnae hae a sniper like this. It's much better than the ones he's got."

You smiled. "Well, now he has it."

Ghost shook his head. "No, I don't. And I don't want it anyway," he said quietly.

Soap chuckled. "Yer loss, LT. This is a beauty."

Ghost simply shrugged, the rare softness in his eyes replaced by his usual stoic expression.

"Why? It's a gift from me to you," you said, looking at Ghost.

"If you had mentioned it when you were buying it, I would have never let you get it in the first place," Ghost replied. "It's too expensive."

You shook your head. "Gifts don't come with a price tag. Captain Price, please make him understand."

"Take it, Ghost," Captain Price said, nodding.

"I can't, Price," Ghost insisted, shaking his head in disapproval.

"Okay, then throw it in the garbage, will you?" You snapped, shutting the sniper case with a bang. Your lower lip started quivering, and tears welled up in your eyes as you ran upstairs.

"You broke her heart, LT," Soap said, his voice filled with disappointment.

You closed the door and fell face-first onto the pillow, tears streaming down your face. It was so embarrassing and disappointing at the same time. Your sobs filled the room, muffled by the pillow.

A soft knock on the door interrupted your crying. "Open the door, love," Ghost said in a gentle tone.

For a moment, you hesitated, your emotions swirling inside you, but then you slowly got up and walked to the door.

You opened the door, still feeling annoyed and hurt. "What do you want?" You said, your voice tinged with frustration.

Ghost came inside and closed the door behind him. He walked over to your bed and sat down, he pat his thigh and opened his arms for you gesturing for you to come sit on his lap.

For a moment, you stood there, conflicted, but then you slowly walked over and allowed yourself to be enveloped in his comforting arms.

"You cryin', love?" Ghost asked softly.

You wiped your tears hastily. "No," you replied, trying to regain your composure.

"Hmm, I see," he said, his gaze understanding.

"Why did you embarrass me in front of your team?" You asked, your voice tinged with hurt.

"You got it for yourself, love. That's why," he replied simply.

"I can get another one for myself," You insisted.

"Okay, I'll take it, but only on one condition," he said.

"What condition exactly?" You asked, curious.

"You'll have to take mine. I'll teach you how to use it. It's smooth in my hands," he explained.

"Okay, deal!" You agreed, offering your hand to shake, but he surprised you by kissing your knuckles.

"Come, let's go downstairs," he said, taking your hand gently.

"Ghost!" You called out as he turned to leave.

He looked back at you. "Yes?"

"Do you still have your navy blue uniform, the one you wore when I saw you for the first time?" You asked, still holding his hand.

"Yes, but why do you ask?" he inquired.

"Will you wear it for me on my birthday? You look so good in that. I'll unwrap you as my gift," you said, giggling at the thought.

"Yeah, sure, but get ready to explain why I'm wearing it to my team, especially Price," he chuckled.

"Leave it to me. No worries," you assured him, and you made your way downstairs.

"Did you change your mind, LT?" Soap asked as you entered the room.

"Yes," Ghost replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Good," Soap said, nodding in approval.

Meanwhile, you glanced into Captain Price's eyes, seeing a mixture of curiosity and intrigue reflecting back at you.

You led them to the back of the house where your horses were stabled.

"Meet Arther and Elfie," You introduced Soap to your beloved companions.

"Such bonnie horses," Soap remarked, admiring their beauty.

Next, you demonstrated your archery skills, drawing back the bowstring with precision and releasing it with practiced ease. Captain Price watched intently, a glint of admiration in his eyes.

"Remarkable," he exclaimed, genuinely impressed by your proficiency.

Ghost retrieved his sniper rifle and handed it to you. "Try it," he encouraged.

You hesitated, feeling the weight of the weapon in your hands. With his guidance, you took aim, your finger hovering over the trigger. The rifle trembled slightly as you pulled, but you managed to hit the target, albeit not as accurately as you had hoped.

"It's not easy," you admitted, feeling a twinge of disappointment.

"But you did well, considering," Ghost reassured you, his tone encouraging.

You smiled gratefully, grateful for his support.

As the evening descended, the cake was delivered, marking the beginning of your birthday celebration. Your house help had meticulously arranged all the decorations and table settings before bidding you farewell for the night.

Meanwhile, Captain Price took the opportunity to discuss their upcoming mission with his team, their voices low and serious as they strategized.

Feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness, you retreated to your room to change into your birthday dress. The corset that came with it proved to be a challenge as you struggled to zip it up on your own. Frustrated, you knocked on Ghost's door, hoping for assistance.

He opened the door, and your jaw dropped at the sight before you. He had changed into the navy blue uniform, looking incredibly attractive in it.

"What happened?" he asked, noticing your expression.

You entered his room and closed the door behind you. "Simon, can you please help me zip my dress? I can't reach it," you requested, feeling a rush of embarrassment.

Standing in front of the mirror, you were almost ready, the dress clinging to your figure. He stepped behind you, his presence towering over yours. The corset accentuated your petite frame, making you feel even smaller in comparison.

His gloved hand brushed against the bare skin of your back as he took hold of the zipper, and you sucked in a breath at the unexpected sensation. Your heart raced as you felt the warmth of his touch, his closeness sending shivers down your spine.

He zipped up your dress smoothly, his voice breaking the silence. "You're good now," he said softly, his words lingering in the air between you.

"Thank you," you murmured gratefully as you turned around. He put his index finger beneath your chin and tilted your head up meeting his gaze.

"Ready to be be my good girl tonight. Will ya?" His masked lips touched your cheek.

You blushed and ran towards the door. Standing at the doorway you peaked a last glance at him. You exited Ghost's room and returned to your own.

As Ghost stepped out of his room, he encountered Soap making his way upstairs.

"Going on a mission, LT?" Soap teased, noting Ghost's uniform.

"Yes, birthday mission," Ghost quipped in response.

"Seriously! Why are you wearing your uniform?" Soap inquired, his curiosity piqued.

"Because she asked me to wear it," Ghost explained simply.

"Hmm, I see. She likes you in it," Soap remarked before continuing downstairs, leaving Ghost to ponder his words.

They all waited for you downstairs, their anticipation palpable in the air. With a final glance in the mirror, you made sure everything was perfect before slipping on your heels and descending the staircase.

As you reached the bottom step, you were greeted by their warm smiles.

"Here she is," Captain Price announced, his voice carrying a note of pride.

"Wow! Lass, you're looking so beautiful," Soap complimented, his eyes twinkling with admiration.

"Thank you," you replied, feeling a blush creeping up your cheeks at his kind words.

You couldn't help but notice Ghost's gaze fixed on you, practically staring. His intense scrutiny made you feel vulnerable, as if he was seeing right through you. Yet, amidst the intensity, there was a glimmer of admiration in his stare, a silent acknowledgment that spoke volumes.

"Make a wish, lass," Soap chuckled, gesturing towards the candles on the cake.

Closing your eyes, you made a silent wish. A wish for Simon to be yours forever, for his safety, and for him to return to you unscathed from every mission.

With a deep breath, you blew out the candles, the room erupting into cheers and the chorus of "Happy Birthday."

As you opened your eyes, you felt a rush of warmth and gratitude wash over you. It truly was the best day of your life after your father's death.

Captain Price stepped forward, presenting you with a small box. You opened it eagerly to reveal a beautiful, delicate metallic quartz watch nestled inside.

"Thank you! It's so precious," you exclaimed, touched by the thoughtful gift.

As you all enjoyed the cake and then indulged in dinner, Captain Price suddenly cleared his throat, directing his attention to Ghost. "Simon, why are you wearing your uniform?" His question caught Ghost off guard, but before he could respond, you jumped in to explain.

"Actually, I asked him to wear that for my birthday. I was curious to see him in uniform," you said, offering Ghost a reassuring smile. His eyes crinkled from behind the balaclava he was wearing, a silent acknowledgment of his amusement.

"Alright, gentlemen, want something to drink? Please, help yourselves," you announced, rising from your seat and making your way to the bar. You took out the glasses, giving them a moment to process the exchange.

Soap and Ghost then took the dishes to the kitchen while the rest of you settled in the garden, enjoying the pleasant evening. Soap, with his characteristic sense of humor, regaled you all with his silly jokes, eliciting laughter from all of you.

"Hey LT, what has five toes and is not your foot?" Soap said.

"What?" Ghost asked.

"My foot!." Soap said and burst out laughing.

You couldn't control your laughter too. Soap was so funny.

"Your turn LT". Soap pointed towards Ghost.

"What do we call the fish who wears a bow tie?" Ghost asked.

You looked at each other's faces.

"Sofishticated." Ghost said.

Nobody laughed.

"What? Wasn't it funny?" Ghost said.

He was met with silence.

As the night grew late, you found myself sitting beside Ghost. His hand resting on the small of your back while everybody was busy talking.

He turned to look at you. Your blue eyes met with his caramel ones.

You stood up and went to stand at the door, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

"Aye! Come join us," Ghost called out, noticing your presence.

"No, you enjoy yourself. I'm going to bed now," you replied, turning around to head upstairs.

But before you could take another step, Ghost approached you and grabbed your wrist. "Hi, Lieutenant," you teased, your voice soft and playful.

You placed your hands on his chest, tilting your chin up to look at him. "Hell, if you put a bullet through my heart, I will spare you my life," you retorted, a smile playing on your lips.

You took the whiskey glass from his hand and placed your lips at the same spot he drank from and chug it at once.

You turned to go upstairs, but Ghost surprised you by grabbing you around the waist, causing you to squeak in surprise.

"Is everything alright there?" Captain Price's voice rang out from the garden.

"Yes, everything is fine, Price," Ghost replied calmly, his gaze locked on yours.

With a swift motion, Ghost lifted you into his arms and carried you upstairs, his strength both surprising and comforting.

"Your room or mine?" he asked with a playful smirk, his eyes dancing with mischief.

#cod ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #task force 141 #task force x reader

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mikichko · 3 days

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⛔ this blog is 18+ !! minors and ageless blogs please dni ⛔ part of adoptive parents!ghoap x reader inspired by this tiktok cw: afab!reader, series revolves around a child so be mindful!

“i’m sorry i’m a bad kid miss”

johnny freezes midstep at the unmistakable sound of zachariah’s voice. not too far from your classroom’s door, he comes to a full stop. the hallways are empty now, his arrival delayed by trouble at the coffee shop, which makes it easier for zach’s voice to carry down to him. he stiffens as the words register, not missing the wobble in his son's voice.

there’s no way you’d be telling zach, his son, that he’s a bad kid.

he wills himself to breathe deeply, inhaling sharply as his feet carry him silently to your classroom. he understands that his son requires extra handling. that his behavior and temperament when worked up are an adjustment to all those involved. but that doesn’t give any of them the right to attach such foul words to his boy. he has to pause a step before your doorway, taking deep silent breaths to ease down his temper. his hands flex inward, blunt nails pressing firmly against the calloused skin of his palms before he attempts to release the tension in his body. he has to keep it together and not cause a scene in front of his son, no matter how disrespectful he’s being treated.

what he doesn’t expect, is to find you knelt before zach. you have your back turned to him, focused completely on zach as you hold his face in your hands. and though he can’t see you, he can certainly see zach. his little boy’s face is covered in red splotches, his eyes watery, and his eyelashes wet as he blinks rapidly trying to hold back his tears.

“sweetheart,” you stoke your thumb across his cheek, catching a tear before it has a chance to fall. “you are not a bad kid.” zach presses his lips together at that. just like he does when simon tells him that clover will tell him if zach feeds her his vegetables again. or when johnny tells him that they can turn the frosting pink with strawberries, like he doesn’t quite believe him.

“where did you get that silly idea from, love?”

zach takes a breath, tries to, but a tremble shakes his small body. you stroke his cheek once more, speaking in a low comforting voice, “it's okay sweetheart. take your time. we’re not in any rush” he bites his lip, nodding slowly before he closes his eyes and tries for another breath, much steadier this time.

he doesn’t meet your gaze when he opens his eyes. instead, looking down as he talks, voice small, “everyone says im just a bad kid.” the trembling starts up again as he continues, “and you’re so nice to me.” he stops, another shaky breath rocking his body, “and i want to say sorry for being so bad even though you’re so nice to me.”

johnny’s been out of the service for years now. he thinks that he and simon have adjusted to civvy life as best as they possibly could, after everything. and yet, right here right now, he can feel soap stirring from his hibernating state. he thinks of seven inappropriate acts of violence he can perpetuate against the staff members of the school before he reels himself back in. he wants names. of every single person who had the gall to say something like that to his son. would like to see how they posture up when someone their size, possibly larger, meets them face to face.

for a brief second johnny wonders if you knew about this. had you said this to zach before?

the thoughts are wiped from his mind as he sees how your spine goes rigid. your shoulders tense, body unmoving but your hands stay soft and gentle for his boy. it’s only for a moment, then you ease up again, your back moving as you breathe deeply. he doesn’t need to see your face to confirm your innocence. not when he can see so plainly the way you hold his boy’s face as if you’re cradling the world’s most precious thing in the world. the way that you murmur reassurances as his tears fall and his body shakes, your fingers wiping away salty tears before they even leave their dewy mark on his skin.

“my love,” you start sweet and soft, “there is no such thing as a bad kid.” one of your hands moves to push back his hair, damp as a result of his tumultuous state. “do you know what the nice thing about being alive is?” zach shakes his head, lips still pressed tightly together but breathing a little easier now. “it’s everyone’s first time.”

you scoot forward a bit before you sit back on your heels, lowering yourself even more. “no one knows what they’re doing, especially not you! you’re only five!” zach shudders out a breath, nodding and johnny finds himself nodding along with him. he’s not a bad kid, for god’s sake he’s barely even five. he’s still learning what being a kid really is.

“do you remember when your daddy and papa first got clover? clover didn’t follow the house rules, right? but clover wasn’t a bad dog, she just didn’t know what the rules were. she was just learning.” the tears have stopped falling now and zach breathes better, albeit a little snotty, as he nods along to your words.

“you’re not a bad kid zachy. not at all. don’t listen to anyone who tells you otherwise.” you continue to stroke across his forehead and cheeks, zach’s eyes flutter as you soothe him. “ you are an incredible kid and i’m so glad to have you in my class. it’s not a chore to be nice to you sweetheart. it’s one of the easiest things that I do. I promise.”

the words aren’t even out of your mouth before zach launches himself forward, with no warning. his small arms wrap over your shoulders, using the strength of his whole body to hug you. he whispers something to you that johnny can't make out. you simply stroke his back and remind him how happy you are to have him here. he’s doing his best and that’s all you could ever ask of him.

and johnny can see that you’re doing your best. that you are doing more for his son than any other educator in this entire building, hell his entire academic career, had ever done for him. it untangles the knot of anger that sat at the bottom of his stomach, replaced with something softer, warmer. his skin pricks up, goosebumps spreading across his arms and hair standing on end as he watches you console this boy who he loves so much and is raising as his own. he knows for a fact that you would never speak such ill words to his child. that if anything, you’re the shield that protects him from that and worse.

he takes a few steps back from the doorway, collecting himself before heading back, making sure his steps are heard. he knocks on the open door before stepping into the classroom, still finding you knelt on the floor but with zach in front and not wrapped around you. already, the redness is fading from zach’s fair skin, eyelashes still wet but with no new tears clumping them together. “ah sorry, was I interruptin’ something?”

you look over your shoulder at him, your small smile widening into a grin. “mister mactavish! right on time. I was just talking with zachy about what a good boy he’s been these past couple weeks.” you turn back to zach, and he giggles before you rise to your feet, no doubt a wink exchanged between you both. “a great improvement indeed mister mactavish. I think that warrants a reward, don't you?” you flash him a blinding smile.

johnny would give his son all of life’s rewards if he could. he knows how good his son is. but as he looks over at the sight of his son, his boy, leaning into your hip, looking at you as if you hung the stars, he can’t seem to find his voice. he simply nods.

“alright zach,” you pat him on the head, “go on and get your stuff so you and your papa can get back home to your daddy. alright?” another nod and zach dashes off to get his backpack and jacket from his hook.

johnny clears his throat, his voice finally finding him, “thank you.”

you blink bewilderedly at him, “what for?”

“reminding him he’s not a bad kid.”

your eyes widen just a fraction before you let out a small laugh, “ah, so you heard.” you break his gaze, looking over where zach is collecting his belongings. when you look back at johnny, your eyes have softened, “you don’t have to thank me for that mister mactavish. I meant what I said. he’s a wonderful kid. we just have to keep reminding him of that. especially when no one else will.”

#.txt #.cod #.mine #.soap #have to come up for a name for this series #also this is very much inspired by a sweet little boy I had #love him so much i hope he's doing great #soap #john mactavish #john 'soap' mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #that tiktok made me miss my kids SO MUCH #(from when i was a teacher)

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inkformyblood · 3 days

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never tastes so sweet (GhostSoap Mermay 2024)

Ghost x Soap, Mer! Soap, Scientist! Ghost; medical experimentation scene, established relationship. Lemon.

Something is hissing just beyond the broken edge of Johnny’s vision, mechanical in the back and forth tone of it, and he almost wishes that he would die so the noise would stop. There’s a dull throbbing ache at the nape of his skull, a matching pulsation along the swell of his forearm, and Johnny knows, without needing to look, that there will be a clotted hole where he had been injected with a sedative.

The taste over his tongue, all discarded offal and the sterile swipe of antiseptic, would be enough to clue him in.

Simon really has pulled out all the stops for this little fantasy of Johnny’s.

Johnny chirps before he can catch himself, the vocalisation rumbling through his throat, his chest, the fin wedged between his back and the smooth glass of the tank trying to rise. Simon is entirely human, broad-shouldered with thick thighs that would propel him through the water if Johnny could ever coax him into swimming with him, so he wouldn’t understand the implication in the gesture Johnny cannot make at the moment. He would want to learn though, to set Johnny back to rights even with every muscle weighing him down like a diver’s belt and smooth Johnny’s fin out, his careful touch making sure every fold in the panels is exact.

He cuts his teeth on another trilling vocalisation, forcing his eyes open as he swallows it back. Everything still tastes sour but the taste is slowly fading as he wakes. It does pull every mundane ache into sharp relief and Johnny groans as he stretches, rolling onto his belly and propping his chin onto his forearm. Outside his tank sits a lab, the walls bracketed by a row of counters in plain neutral colours. The walls are plain, windows stretched at a human’s standing eye level. There is a handprint on one, broad fingers splayed wide and Johnny knows, immediately, aching to touch, that it is Simon’s hand that left the mark. The lab is empty except for Johnny, the mystery hissing noise revealing itself to be a large filter attached to the tank, causing bubbles to spill over the top.

If Simon isn’t coming to him, Johnny will just have to go and find him.

Pressing his hands against the glass, Johnny pulls himself upwards. It is slower going than he would have expected, the remnants of the sedative still clinging like an oil spill in his veins, trailing lingering fingers over the spread of his chest as he breathes deeply, his arms aching by the time his head breaches the water. It smells sterile, lemon-scented clean, the same way that Simon smells when he drops onto the end of the pier, his shirt sleeves pushed up around his forearms and his palms dusted with ash. The air is cool, a shiver biting into the freshly exposed twitch of Johnny’s ears as he pushes himself up, hanging suspended in the air before he lets himself tip forward.

The impact doesn’t hurt as much as he thinks it should.

“I see I’ve picked a feisty one.” Simon’s gaze is cold above the dark fabric of his mouth, an indentation where his mouth should be but utterly featureless otherwise. He lifts Johnny up further in the cradle of his arms, one slung securely beneath Johnny’s fin and the other curved around the fin along his spine to press against his cheek. He pinches Johnny’s ear, bending it forwards so he can inspect the other side of it. “Number two-zero-seven-three-five-two-one.”

Just a sequence of numbers and it is so bitingly attractive. Johnny tugs against Simon’s hold, his tail flopping weakly against the other man’s thigh, and he goes nowhere, earning himself a twist to his ear in admonishment. The pain is dull, concentrated all the same, and Johnny expects it to end after a few seconds, his lesson begrudgingly learnt.

It doesn’t.

Johnny hisses, bares his teeth at Simon as he leans into the harsh hold, the continued twist of his ear until all he can hear is the blood rushing through his head, his vision consumed by pale blue eyes staring down at him. Observing him.

“Interesting,” Simon murmurs. He tips Johnny back into the tank, the warmer water a rush through his gills, over his bared teeth as Johnny rights himself. He covers his ear with one hand, searching for the open wound that must be there, pain radiating through his head in low pulses like a second heartbeat, heat bleeding through the rough pads of his fingers. There’s nothing.

Simon turns to one of the desks, drawing out a dark blue notebook from one of the drawers. He checks his watch — a heavyset diver’s model that replaced the slimmer silver piece he used to wear before his visits to the pier became commonplace — and begins to write something. He doesn’t look up at Johnny, keeping his attention focused on the paper before him. A minute passes, then two. Johnny’s tail swishes against the empty base of the tank, trying to kick up sand so he could escape, old instincts rising to the surface. This is so much fun already.

The pen clicks as Simon finishes his sentence and places it down. From this distance, Johnny has no hope of reading the words but it doesn’t matter as Simon begins to read his notes aloud, a fresh hunger cutting into the hollows between Johnny’s teeth, his belly growing warm.

“Subject shows signs of discontent, initially attempting to escape the tank through a vertical escape. It was apprehended by scientist S. Riley and the identification number was confirmed. Subject responded reactively to a minor negative stimulus applied to it’s ear and was returned to the tank.” Simon turns, clasping his hands in the small of his back as he studies Johnny once more, his expression inscrutable, his stance making his chest press forward. He is framed by his lab coat, dark shirt beneath neat and pressed, his trousers similarly unremarkable except that Simon is wearing them.

Johnny had never been so fascinated by one individual before. Everything Simon does is notable because it is him doing them. He had suggested this scene, that Simon pretend to have captured him for experimentation while Johnny is however reluctant he felt like being, but this is far beyond his wildest imaginings. The identification number is likely false, not actually tattooed onto his ear, but it feels real. He bares his teeth up at Simon, keeping his belly flush with the bottom of the tank.

He’s going to make Simon work for his data.

“You’re only making this harder for yourself.” Simon’s voice is flat as if he’s addressing a piece of furniture in his way, an uncooperative machine that is taking too long to respond, and Johnny realises that that is what he is to Simon here and now. Johnny is a thing. An object. An inconvenient bullet point in Simon’s list of tasks.

Johnny slides his hand down his torso, the slight curve of his belly, to the opening in his tail. Barely visible but he opens beneath his own touch, letting him press the pads of his fingers over the swell of muscle either side of his opening. His cock is soft, lying heavy and mostly concealed in his sheath, but Johnny stroked over it once, pulling the skin taught before releasing it. There’s electricity fizzing through his head, his breath coming in short bursts. He could call this off right here and now, scramble out of the tank and fuck Simon on the bleached-clean floor, mark up his coat with ink bled straight from the other man’s notes, Johnny’s unwieldy strength keeping them both stationary until they’re satisfied.

Needs some fucking patience.

Johnny chews his lower lip, works his teeth into the meat of his tongue when that doesn't work. Simon’s put effort into this, all because Johnny mentioned he’d like to try it. He won’t ruin all of this planning just cause he can’t hold out a little. He pulls his hand free, his fingers stained a faint pale blue and licks over them, tasting salt.

“Subject is displaying unknown behaviour,” Simon notates, his pen freshly picked up and scrawling across the notepad. “Additional research will be needed if this is due to the stress of capture and the negative stimulus.”

He places the notepad back down and turns away from the tank, from Johnny, picking something up from the drawer once again. Simon reaches down at his belt, his head bowed as he fumbles with something. Johnny creeps forwards, unable to make out anything past Simon’s bulk, pressing his nose against the cool glass of the tank. His touch smears, further clouding his vision, and he wriggles above the fog to keep his eyes on Simon. He almost wishes he hadn’t when Simon turns around, a recorder placed onto the desk behind him and a large noose on the end of a pole in his hands.

Anticipation is almost as terrifying as the capture itself.

The edge of the tank comes up to Simon’s chest, an uncomfortable angle for him to stand with his arms raised to catch Johnny with the pole, so he kicks a set of steps that Johnny hadn’t noticed previously over to the tank, locking them into place. He steps up onto them, staring down at Johnny curled on the floor of the tank. There’s something primal hissing at the base of Johnny’s skull, instinct digging claws into the furrows of his brain and tearing through soft flesh that doesn’t know what is happening. There is no cover for him to flee under, not enough space to manoeuvre by design, leaving fight as his only option.

Simon tugs his mask down, a pre-arranged signal, and Johnny sits upright, curls his hands into his lap to tug at the webbing between the digits as he pays attention.

“You good, Johnny?” Simon cocks his head to one side, trailing his fingers over the surface of the water. “Looking a little more spooked down there. Won’t be able to hold you properly with one of these if you fight me fully.”

Johnny pushes himself to the surface once more, lingering just beneath the pulled-taut tension of the water to snap at Simon’s fingers. He’d blunt his teeth over Simon’s calluses, tear his gums open by snapping the many bones in his hand for the sake of the marrow, kiss the remaining skin like it would make for every transgression in his life. Kissing the extended pads of Simon’s fingers is close enough and Johnny breaks through the water with Simon’s touch on his lip, his gaze focused utterly on Johnny.

“Couldn’t break out the fancy tank for me, Si?” Johnny’s voice is a rasp, a blade drawn over a whetstone to try and hone it into a point. He coughs, dipping partially back beneath the water so he can push some water deliberately through his gills. It itches the same way a healing wound does, something natural but still horrifying all the same. He rises up to continue speaking, his voice clearer now. “I’m good, head’s a little foggy so I’m running on instinct first but I won’t fight you too much. Just a little tussle, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Simon pauses, his thumb working over a groove in the pole, his over hand still resting on the surface of the water near to Johnny, but not touching him. “Fuck, I love you.”

Johnny surges forward to kiss him, not caring about the water that splashes over the edge and onto the floor, onto Simon. His love tastes stale, old cigarette ash clinging to the seams of his gums, the edge of his lower lip rough beneath Johnny’s, but he still presses ever closer. It is only when Simon’s hands steady against Johnny’s shoulders, not merely holding him but lifting him, keeping him from sliding free of the tank entirely, that Johnny draws himself back. He balances on the edge of the tank, his earlier artificial exhaustion nearly a memory, only half of his tail still beneath the water in his haste to be closer to Simon.

Simon’s eyes are wide, his pupils blown dark and his cheeks are stained the same shade as a sunrise bleeding across the water. The colour isn’t restricted to just his cheeks, flooding over the curve of his ears and leaking into the rough line of his neck, vanishing from sight beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. One of Johnny’s scales clings to the pout of his lower lip, another to the rough edge of the scar that stretches from one corner of his mouth, and Johnny reclaims them onto the pad of his finger, anointing Simon’s brow with them instead. They gleam beneath the harsh glare of the lights.

“Love you,” Johnny murmurs, returning his hand heavily to the edge of the tank. It cuts into his palms as he shifts his weight, unwilling to sink back beneath the water until Simon knows it is the truth with every heartbeat. “Do you want to continue?”

“If you do.”

Johnny cracks himself open with a grin, would peel flesh and muscle from his bones to offer them to Simon, but he settles for lowering himself partially, leaning forward to kiss Simon again, brushing his mouth over the other man’s. He keeps his lips curved over the sharp jut of his teeth, unwilling to slice at Simon’s mouth and introduce another distraction. “Capture me, love.”

He sinks like a stone then, tearing himself away from Simon all at once, but it wouldn’t be an absence that would haunt him for long. Johnny lies flat along the bottom of the tank, first on his belly and then flips onto his back. It isn’t quite the same view as sunlight filtering through the water, a fisherman’s hook slowly making its way towards him, beautiful in its unobtrusive danger. No, this noose is crafted for Johnny alone. He scratches at the edge of his slit, his fin flaring out at the twist of pain and pleasure his rough touch causes. His cock is heavier inside the sheath, nearly sliding free, and his fingers come away bright with his slick. He hooks his fingers just inside his entrance, drawing it open as Simon looms over the top of the tank, pole in hand like a vengeful god, like Johnny’s vengeful god.

The noose slips around his neck and Johnny fights it.

Not fully, not like he could, potential caught between his teeth like a mouthful of flesh, squirming through his veins to try and get him to struggle more. He could drown Simon, pull him enough that he would fall into the tank with Johnny and hold him down, swallow the final gasp of air that would rise from his lips. Johnny lets Simon pull him upright, his tail hitting an angry beat against the side of the tank. The sound echoes, deep and sonorous, a whale’s song seeking companionship, and Johnny snaps his teeth as Simon locks the pole into place along the top of the tank, keeping him stationary.

He’s fully exposed now, the bright flash of his slit opening along his tail as his cock slides free, heavy and full. Johnny curls his hands over the line of the pole, tipping his hips towards Simon, presenting himself to the other man. He knows he is pretty to look at, all bright colours and attitude to back it up. Simon’s eyes are wide, dark as his gaze lowers to Johnny’s cock. He thumbs at the recorder on his belt, the fabric over his mouth moving as he speaks, but Johnny can’t make out the words over the rush of blood in his ears, the incessant need clawing at his belly.

He wants to fuck Simon. Now.

Simon looks like he feels the same way.

“Gonna let me fuck you on your lab floor now, Si?” Johnny rasps, grinning at Simon wide enough to ache. “You just might soak through your neat white coat otherwise.”

Simon swallows, his gaze darting to Johnny’s face and then again to his cock. “Yeah, already am. We’ll do this again later, but I need you to fuck me now, Johnny.”

#ghost x soap #soap x ghost #ghoap #ghostsoap #soapghost #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #my writing #fanfic

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rememberwren · 17 hours

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A Dichotomy of Thought || 1

You move next door to a disabled veteran and his troubled partner.

Warnings and details: disabled!Johnny; established Ghoap future Ghoap/reader; domestic abuse (not Ghoap); heavy themes of suicide, violence, abuse, poor coping mechanisms, prescription drugs. I’m not sure if I have anything here, let me know if anyone is interested in this series.

A helicopter goes down in the mountains of Kazakhstan and it takes a piece of Soap with it. They never recovered the arm—nor the three service members who lost more than their arms in the crash. The thought is one that Johnny’s mind cycles back to often, in moments of quiet or while he lies awake at night feeling tremors in an arm that’s no longer attached. Suddenly he’ll wonder: what are those bones up to, buried in snow and ice so deep the sun will never touch them again? Do they miss me?

Fuck, he misses them.

After the accident, the world is very black and white. Mostly it’s black. Blackness at the edge of his vision threatens to creep in when he stands too long, when he stands on his own, when he turns his head too fast. Anytime his blood pressure rises over that Goldilocks number of 120/80, it threatens to drop him faster than Simon used to during their first weeks of training together in the 141.

The doctors say that he’s a miracle. The traumatic brain injury had his brain swelling and pushing at the confines of his skull like water freezing in a bottle. Give him a little longer in the cold and maybe his cap would blow off. Except it hadn’t; he was still dealing with swelling all over: in his thalamus, his hypothalamus, in his cerebrum, all the words he’d never bothered to learn in school and couldn’t fucking remember now no matter how hard he tries. He gets the point. Simon does too. Johnny should be dead.

Instead he just wishes he were.

Even now, when he can remember his name and Simon’s and even (more often than not) the name of the waitress who serves them chicken and waffles at the local diner every Saturday, there are still more bad days than good. Still more darkness than light. Still more nights waking up to the sound of helicopter blades slowing, the relentless hum becoming a deafening chop chop chop like the thrum of his heartbeat. There’s that moment of weightlessness when the helo goes down and he has yet to go with it that makes him wake in a cold sweat, nauseous and looking for something to be sick in.

Through it all, Simon is there. Simon is the light. He’d laugh if he heard Johnny say that—though a laugh is probably too generous. Simon doesn’t laugh much these days. Not when he spends three fourths of his time taking care of Johnny and the other fourth thinking about how better to take care of Johnny. If it weren’t for Simon, Johnny would have done himself in by now. There’s a thousand ways to do it; plenty of arms and munitions in the apartment they share together. Or there are the pain pills, if he wanted it to look like an accident. A few too many of those and he could crawl right through that darkness in his vision and find out what’s on the other side. As soon as the thought crosses his mind (and it crosses his mind more often than that fucking chicken crosses the road), the guilt comes, like anyone and everyone can read it on his mind: his mama rest her soul, Simon, Jesus on the cross. After all of the work that has gone into him, into saving his broken body and mind, into rehabilitating him, how can he even think of throwing in the towel?

Turns out it’s pretty fucking easy to think about it.

As a matter of fact, he’s thinking about it the first time he meets you, when you nearly do the job for him.

It’s spring, cool, and he’s working up a goddamn sweat anyway. Simon stands in the alleyway, smoking and pretending not to watch as Johnny hobbles up and down the length of the parking lot with his forearm crutch. His armpit throbs. His knee throbs. His head throbs as he continues along, beating out a strange little rhythm on the concrete—thum-thump, thum-thump, thum-thump. He says all the curse words he knows and dreams up a few new ones too. It’s supposed to be getting easier, but Simon just pushes him harder to make up for the ground he covers. That’s one of the shitty parts about loving an ex-military man; he never goes easy on you.

Johnny’s thinking about the tub upstairs, just big enough for him if he curls in on himself. Sometimes a hot bath helps the knots in his muscles, but sometimes when Simon leaves the room to get a washcloth Johnny will slip beneath the surface of the water and see how long he can hold his—

Then you come out of absolutely nowhere in your shitty little four-door and nearly hit him. As a matter of fact, you do hit his crutch, sending it sprawling out of his hand and sending him clattering to the ground on his bad side. For a moment, he thinks: this is it. This is how I die. Not in a helicopter in Kazahkstan but here, now, today, and he can’t tell if it’s relief in his belly or regret. Then your tires squeal like pigs on the pavement, the smell of burnt rubber thick in the air, and he is face to face with you and your horror, close enough that the air from your hasty turn brushes along his body and sends his heart pounding.

“What the steaming bloody fucking Jesus do you think you’re doing?” he finds himself shouting, pain lancing all along his side from his fake knee to the stump of his arm. Simon is there all at once, cigarette abandoned to smolder to ash in the alleyway, putting his hands under Johnny’s armpits and lifting him like a child even when he yelps in pain like a kicked dog. Johnny leans against him heavily. The edges of his vision are turning black. He bangs his fist against the hood of your car. “Did Jesus send ye? Did He tell ye to finish the fucking job and do me in? ‘That’s the cunt right there, beam him with your car’? Did he tell you that?”

You reluctantly get out of the car, not even wearing a goddamn seatbelt. The car’s soft, insistent alarm begins to remind you with unending politeness that the door is open and your seatbelt is off while you stand there, pallid, eyes huge and watering in the face of Johnny’s shouts.

He sees then that one of your eyes is swollen almost completely shut, blood turning the white sclera pink like the fine mist of blood over the snow when they finally pulled Johnny free from the helicopter. No wonder you didn’t see him coming, with a single functioning eye. He’s opened his mouth to tell you so (and to tell you a dozen other fucking things) when he nearly swoons, the rug of the world being tugged under his feet by the hand of God.

Simon slips a firmer arm around Johnny’s waist.

A man gets out of the passenger side. He begins to berate you for not paying attention, for nearly killing Johnny. Johnny agrees, but is annoyed all the same. He’s the one who almost died; leave the shouting to him.

“I’m so sorry,” you choke out, tears dripping near-constant from your eyes. “I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry. Let me get your—”

“Done enough, haven’t you?” Simon asks cooly. It sends you reeling back into the car where you sit with both hands over your mouth, chest hitching with your panicked sobs.

“Hey, is he, like, okay?” your partner asks.

“Fuck off,” Simon says, deftly ushering Johnny over one shoulder and holding the crutch in the other. He carries them back to the elevators without breaking a sweat, and Johnny cries on his shoulder from the pain of it, the sheer embarrassment of it the whole way home. The day before Kazahkstan he couldn’t have been able to tell you the last time he cried; now he cries every fucking day from one reason or another.

“I’m fine,” Johnny says when they make it back to the apartment and Simon eases him down into a chair. They arrange his knee in the one position that has it throbbing less, but then Johnny bats Simon’s hands away. “Go. I’m fine. I don’t need you hoverin’ over me.”

“Alright.”

“Fuck off with yer alright.”

Simon doesn’t say anything. Johnny hears his footsteps leading toward the bedroom they share—hardly a bedroom, how long has it been since they slept there together peacefully? Since they fucked? Johnny can tell you how long it’s been. Since before things went black and white. The footsteps stop then.

“You stepped in front of her, Johnny,” Simon says, his voice low but not quiet enough to count as a whisper. “I watched you do it. Don’t think you’re so fucking slick.”

He shuts the bedroom door behind him.

#ghoap x reader #dichotomy of thought

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minceraftblogger · 3 days

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A non-exhaustive list of objects I am certain Etho does not own, in no particular order:

1.Hand towels/liquid hand soap

-he washes his hands with dish soap :/ he washes them for sure but I know they’re dry

-he treats the dryness with O’Keeffe’s Working Hands salve

2. Pillow cases (uses t shirts)

-I’m willing to believe he owns one pillow case that came with a sheet set with the caveat that the set came with two but he lost one

-I do believe that he washes his sheets at least monthly.

3. Corkscrew

-no way he’s a wine guy.

4. A suit jacket

-if he’s married, he either eloped in a plaid button up or rented a suit. Willing to negotiate this point if he is an ex-Mormon.

5. Kitchen scale

-if he measures something, it’s by eyeballing it.

6. Bag clips

-“it’ll go stale when it goes stale” he thinks. His cereal is always stale. It’s never not been stale.

7. Leafy vegetables

-This man min-maxes his health by supplementing micronutrients so he doesn’t have to eat foods he dislikes.

8. Separate shampoo and conditioner.

-he’s clean, but he’s an all-in-one gent.

-kind of a gimme tbh I think we all know in our hearts that this man doesn’t condition his hair and he certainly does not moisturize his face.

Items I am reasonably certain he owns:

1. Very nice pair of hiking boots

2. At least one rifle for big game

-inherited from grandfather

3. A few pieces of lame Minecraft merch purchased by well meaning relatives

4. Multiple generators apparently

5. World’s nastiest, holiest pair of pajama pants

6. Two bath towels (only)

7. One extremely well seasoned cast iron skillet for eggs and grilled cheeses

8. Cowboy boots

-“ya ever hearda Miiiiiinecraft?” -tips hat-

9. Retro video game consoles

-they weren’t retro when he bought them.

-targets of theft apparently

-he’s a Duck Hunt champ

Bonus: all socks, underwear, and t shirts are bulk purchased from the same brand.

#ethoslab

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s0fter-sin · 2 months

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i need ghoap frantically making out against a door finally taking the leap on their feelings. need ghost grinding against soap, expecting to find him just as hard as him, only to feel nothing

and in all his wisdom and experience, he concludes soap was tortured and never told him

he’s trying to think of a delicate way to say he understands, that he’s been through it and it doesn’t change anything about how he feels (and who the fuck touched him so he can hunt them down and rend them limb from limb)

meanwhile trans!soap’s just trying to find the best angle to grind his cunt on ghost’s thigh

just it never even entering ghost’s head bc he’s never known a trans person but he has met plenty of people who’ve been tortured - himself included - so of course that’s his logical leap

soap takes off his shirt and he sees his top surgery scars and ghost asks if he wants him to kill the one who did it and soap just hums like, “actually, man did pretty good, they healed real well,” and ghost’s just teary-eyes with awe at how well he’s coping, “looking on the bright side, that’s my johnny.”

imagine he thinks johnny was fully castrated but sees he’s determined to still have a sex life with him so he buys packers and straps to help him bc hell yeah healing and soap’s just like, “holy shit i’ve never had such a thoughtful partner before, such a sweet man, lt.”

#he a little confused but he got the spirit #its so good bc it can be super angsty of ghost really dreading whats been done to his sergeant and trying to make it right #or just go full crack treated seriously and have fun with it #i love just completely oblivious ghost #in any military context hes the smartest guy in the room #he always knows the play and has more experience than anyone #but stick him in the normal world? man is Lost #ghost just thinks hes had some kind of reconstruction surgery after being tortured and accepts thats what johnny looks like #bc hes never seen a pussy before #it takes years for soap to actually come out to him bc he just never thought to #hes seen him naked theyve literally slept together what else is there for him to say #then he shows him like a family album or something and ghosts just like ‘why arent you in any of these i only see girls’#and he just goes ‘hang on a second’#soap gets one of his sporadic periods one night and panics a little thinking it would weird ghost out or remind him that hes not cis #but ghost just thinks its a normal part of such a thorough reconstruction that hed bleed sometimes #and doesnt question it when soap grabs a pad out of his drawer bc ‘thats such a good way of handling the discharge my johnnys so smart’#just really supportive ghost for the wrong reasons #coming out of my cage and ive been doing just fine.txt #we’re a team. ghost team #soapghost #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #john soap mactavish #soap cod

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natelia-aldelliz · 1 year

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Ghost gifts a single tiny ear loop to Soap one day. Says he noticed Soap had pierced ears. That rings keep from handling a gun or a knife properly. He doesn't make eye contact, tries to hide his face, even as he's already wearing his balaclava.

Soap blinks. Ghost has already given him gifts and only behaved that way for the very first one. He doesn't understand. The earring is very simple, but seems to be made of expensive material and not only covered with a thin leaf of gold.

"Didnae it come with another one?" he says, jokingly.

But Ghost flushes, turns his head, and lifts his mask, only enough for Soap to see the glinting of the other earring on his ear. Suddenly he understands that it's not simply a gift. Ghost favoured practicality, but he wanted to give him a ring.

He grabs his hand as it falls back down.

"Simon, what is this?" he asks softly, not daring to be hopeful just yet.

With his other hand, he reaches out to gently turn Simon's head back towards him. His cheeks and his nose are flushed, it makes the warmth of his dark eyes, generally hidden behind a sneer or a bored expression, undeniable.

He looks nervous. Johnny's heart is beating faster. Could it really be...?

"I know", Simon starts then pauses, uncertain. "I know I'm probably not what you thought you'd have, when you were younger" Soap wants to interrupt, to scoff, to protest that Simon is way better than anyone he could have hoped for, but doesn't. He never wants to cut off his love when he's barely starting to open up.

"I know that I'm not easy to be with some days, that I'm not friendly and easy going like you, like someone you'd deserved to be with." he continues, unconsciously pushing his face more into Soap's hand. "But... I love you, more than I thought I could, and I'd like... I'd like to be with you, for as long as you'd have me..."

Johnny's heart is soaring. He has no idea how to react. He'd have to get all the giddiness out first, and the moment doesn't seem appropriate for jumping around and squealing.

"Officially," Simon continues, voice quieter, out of breath. "If you want to."

A gigantic grin splits Johnny's face. All of his limbs are buzzing, he needs to stand up, to run, to explode something. But he's terrified to spook Simon so instead he just squeezes the hand he's holding rhythmically and moves his feet back and forth.

"Baby, are ye asking me tae marry ye?" Johnny says. He's pretty sure his voice is wobbly, but can't really hear it himself as the blood in his ears is louder than the rest.

Simon's eyes do something, what is visible of his face looks like he has an expression on but Johnny can't analyze it now, doesn't dare to see the hope in his eyes, the pleading in his brows.

"I... Yes, I guess I am," the love of his life says finally. "If you want to. You don't have to."

Soap can't keep himself in check any longer. He's making a high pitched noise, jumping up and down where he's seating on the bed, and throws himself at Simon.

"Of course ah fooking want tae!!!"

Simon lets out an excited giggle, swept in Johnny's mood, and tightens his arms around his lover. No, his fiancé.

This is the best day of his life. He just has to deal with this mission tomorrow, and then they can start to plan everything.

#cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #and now a bit of angst as a treat :#soap goes on his mission and doesn't return - ghost immediately goes to look for him and only finds traces of a struggle #then price receives a bloody earring and instructions to give out state secrets in exchange for soap #ghost goes ballistic - price doesn't deal with terrorists but has to make them believe he does to gain some time #they need to find where they keep soap - when they eventually manage to rescue him he's in a pretty bad shape and cries when he sees ghost #he looks like he hasn't slept since he was taken and his lobe is covered in dried blood where his captors ripped the earring from it #he sobs in ghost's arms that he lost it #that ghost had given him something so precious and he wasn't able to keep it and ghost knows that it's only because he's been tortured and #sleep deprived but it still breaks his heart & he doesn't know what to do and how to make soap understand that he loves him no matter what #johnny needs a medic and fluids and sleep and stitches and a cast but he can't bring himself to let him go so he just carries him #and doesn't let him go until he absolutely has to even as soap falls asleep on the way back and even as the others look at him with a look #on their face - it doesn't matter anyway soon he'll be simon mactavish and everyone will know #as he's waiting at soap's bedside watching him sleep price comes in and gives him the earring - it's been cleaned and looks good as new #then price asks him if he's invited and after a minute of ghost looking at him with wide eyes he eventually nods #'of course' he says 'we wouldn't be anywhere without you old man'#and price gently punches him in the shoulder #'you have to stop calling me old the recruits are convinced I'm like 50'#and ghost smiles for the first time in a week - he won't stop though - not until he convinces the recruits that price is at least 60

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leathfaic · 1 year

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the exact moment ghost realises how hard he is falling for soap is when after "alone" soap turns over his backpack. there's a bunch of explosives and traps he built left over. they don't need them anymore now that there's better gear at hand in the safe house.

and yet. johnny made all that fighting his way out of a town full if hostiles. while shot. and ghost who's an expert at this wasn't even sure he'd make it out.

but looking at this display of creative and deadly adaptability? the fact that there is enough left over to do it all again?

i think that's when he fully realises why he was so keen to wait, why he was so upset at the idea that johnny might not make it, why he tried to keep him going with stupid puns and banter over comms.

#ghostsoap #cod mwii #soapghost #ghosts love language are weapons and deadly competence #at least one of them is #he's super proud and then it just slowly gives way to the realisation of what that other feeling is #meanwhile soap is probably trying to figure out if he can recycle all that stuff into smth fun that goes BOOM #probably where the charges for the prison break came from #hc

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kastlequill · 10 months

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hey, so we all are in agreement that if price, gaz, ghost, or soap die in mw3, we’re going to collectively ignore it ever happened right? great, glad we had this talk!

#activision could show me one of them getting shot point blank and i’d just be like #wow how ambiguous im glad to know he lived and came back home after recovering :D #gaz ? not dying. idc.#ghost ? not dying. idc.#soap? not dying. idc.#price? not dying. idc.#(its honestly difficult to imagine ghost surviving/not dying in combat because i feel like thats the only way he goes out)#(but idgaf hes living because i FUCKING SAID SO)#gaz isnt dying above all the others like i love the other 3 but GAZ IS NOT DYING.#call of duty #cod #cod mw3 #my ramblings

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ghcstao3 · 6 months

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oh my god i literally just checked a second ago and they were not, but thank god i have notifs on hehe. ok for starters im so sorry abt the absolute spam i just gave you. second as i was going thru literally everything i was thinking abt ghoap and narcissus and echo, but like happy ending... bc it really is a tragic tale and ghoap deserve better :')

the happy-ending, ghoap-ifying of greek myths is so real honestly

Maybe John hadn't been completely blameless, but it wasn't—he wasn't at fault for someone else's advances. He wasn't—he didn't deserve this.

To have his own voice stolen. His own expression. John never meant so much harm as to be cursed with such a cruel punishment.

Forced to only ever be able to speak when spoken to, and even then only to repeat those words back. For John, it's a worse fate than death—particularly when he finds himself having fallen for a mortal man.

Of course, the man—Simon, as John has overheard in spying on a group of hunters, as John has repeated quietly to himself every chance he had gotten—doesn't know of his existence. So when he gets separated from his group, lost in an endless forest, John wants to feel bad, but he doesn't.

Because it means just maybe he'd finally have a chance. If Simon could love him back...

"Hello?" John hears Simon call out. "Is anyone there?"

Unable to help himself, John calls out with the same words. He still hides, has to—but he'll call attention to himself anyway, in the hopes Simon might pursue him.

There's a drawn out pause. John thinks Simon has already caught on.

"Show yourself!" Simon shouts, and John parrots.

The crunch of foliage beneath Simon's steps gradually sounds closer to John, but not close enough. John wills Simon to speak again, and before long, he says,

"Whoever you are, come with me this way."

It's the final pull for John. With Simon's words on his lips he reveals himself to the man, a bright smile on his face.

Simon startles with John's appearance, but he doesn't back away, or go on the defensive. He just stands with his head tilted in curiosity, brow furrowed with a confusion John wishes he could smooth out with his thumb.

"Who are you?" Simon asks.

John hates that all he can do is pose the same question.

Simon's frown deepens. "Are you doing that on purpose?"

His smile all but fallen, John shakes his head. He's beginning to realize with great anguish how foolish he'd been to believe Simon could love him back at all, let alone with his affliction.

But Simon steps forward, toward John.

"Has it been this way for a long time?"

John nods. "...a long time," he sighs. He hangs his head, gaze falling to the forest floor—but not for long, as Simon grows ever closer and tilts his chin up with a hooked finger.

This close, John can see just how pleasantly warm Simon's eyes are, as dark in colour as they may be.

"Could I possibly help?"

John blinks up at Simon, wide-eyed. He'd never known mortals to be so generous, not to a complete stranger. "...help?"

Simon nods.

John gapes. After a moment he shrugs, then pauses—nods back.

The corners of Simon's lips twitch upward. He shrinks away from John, but takes John's hand as he steps back.

"Help me return to the group first," Simon says. "Then we'll... we'll see what we can do."

Simon begins walking, John trailing along beside him, but suddenly stops in his tracks to turn to John for just a moment.

"Thank you," he says.

And as John repeats the words, he knows the sentiment isn't from Simon—it's for John to use.

It may not be reciprocated love just yet, but... it's a better start than John has had in a while. He'll gladly follow Simon anywhere, even if he's never relieved from his hex, because despite his frustration at not being able to form his own words—it's the first time he's felt properly heard, properly understood since he'd been cursed.

#ask #a little communication goes a long way #so many problems solved just like that #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #alternate universe #writing

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hood-ex · 6 months

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My dad was Bruce-ing again today.

Dad: Where are your keys? I'm gonna go put more air in your tire.

Me: I already filled it up this week.

Dad: Oh okay.

Dad goes upstairs for a second and comes back with a bag in his hand.

Dad: Here, take this poncho and put it in your glove compartment. In case you have to pull over in the rain, put it on so other cars can see you.

So then I took my new bright ass orange poncho to my car, bypassing the three water bottles my dad had stuffed in the door pocket as well as the emergency phone battery pack charger he stuffed in another pocket.

#i also have an air compressor in my car. toilet paper. jumper cables. portable jumper cables/battery charger. tool box.#and then my own contribution includes a first aid/emergency kit #honestly surprised he didn't get me a jack to put in there but then again idk how to change my tires so alkdja #no but this man is literally bruce in the ''always be prepared'' type of way.#he literally has a closet dedicated to extra food and toilet paper and soap and tons of other things #we call it his store. ''hey we're out of dishwasher detergent. oh i'll go look for some in dad's store.''#he also has flashlights Everywhere. i probably have 2-3 in my room bc he's just randomly like ''em take this flashlight.''#he literally gave me another one like a week ago or something. and y'know what they've actually been handy as fuck when the power goes out #he's also given me a penlight for my purse but i think i need a new one #just whew.

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crumbleclub · 11 months

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hmm.

the afton kids having complicated methods of hiding information or contraband from william.

#especially true for family business au but he def goes thru their stuff in canon as well #he has all those cameras for fuck's sake #forget a journal with a lock. elizabeth in particular probably goes to the library and finds ways to encode information #so that it looks entirely innocent. like in drawings even #mike and evan def hide stuff too but my take on libby is that she's a kid genius so she's prob the most sophisticated #evan probably has the best hiding places for himself and mike hides objects more #i can also see him being a visual learner who has to draw and write to figure out ideas #but if he didn't want william to see he'd do it by scratching in the dirt or with soap on a window or smth he could easily wash away later #fnaf #cw abuse #afton siblings #afton kids #michael afton #evan afton #cc afton #elizabeth afton #william afton

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artistfingers · 1 year

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sketches from the first 3 chapters of my tsukihina fic, soap bubble (●ˇ∀ˇ●)

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fanart #tsukihina #tsukishima kei #hinata shoyou #kageyama tobio #yamaguchi tadashi #art scribbles #art writes #soap bubble #*kageyama squint* made me laugh SO hard HGAHGHg also the one of tsukki and kags sitting together #the way kags is leaning away LMFAO #also i love tadashi. need to draw him more <3 #ALSO also. I WAS waiting to post this when ch3 goes up but…. I have other art that’s even more spoilery for ch3 #so I am posting this now and more art later with the chapter #gfjsgsjsh enjoy the teaser in the meantime if you’re reading along I GUESS!!!

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atopvisenyashill · 10 months

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not an f&b aegon ii fan, not a hotd aegon ii fan, but a secret third thing (a fan of the aegon ii that only exists in my mind)

#extreme mommy issues his father figure is his grandfather & a dude who literally cannot stop committing hate crimes deeply upset that he #could have been his older sister’s male wife but his mom said no and now he has to be king #wants to be a good husband to helaena but resents how gentle she is and dependent on his protection wears his hair short bc he resents his #father’s obsession with valyria when westeros is here now and needs him to do more than just acclaim rhaenyra decades ago and aegon #his true love is his dragon and he was never going to live long after sunfyre. the son that actually DID come with fire and blood to save #his mother but it wasn’t enough never enough because he’s the oldest son but he’s also only second born and what is a second born son than #girlson who is functionally useless as anything more than a pawn to his family.#dying miserable and alone without even his mother’s love bc he came for her too late but he CAME FOR HER!!! HE SAVED HER. too bad.#she doesn’t care anymore bc everyone she really loved is dead. dying a pawn and yet the powerful man in westeros.#letting the narrative consume him alive after sunfyre is injured and finds him on dragonstone. he knows he’s doomed when he goes up against #baela. he does it because what else do you do. you’ve gone too far. killed too many. you killed your sister’s children and she killed yours #in return and now you can’t go back. no choice but mutually assured destruction with the only woman who ever saw how dangerous he was and #how desperate for loce he was. once upon a time. he was a baby bouncing in his sister’s lap on the throne. and she was beautiful and tall #and soft and smart and she told him he was beautiful and loved and pointed out every name and held him the way a mother does.#it has to end there. if the narrative eats me and sunfyre alive it has to eat her too. he won’t go down without her.#getting on my soap box #aegon the usurper

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s0fter-sin · 1 month

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thinking about the way ghost doesn't hesitate to start killing shadows when graves betrays them but soap only takes one hostage

you can almost hear the voice in his head telling him it doesn't have to be this way; they can still talk it out

"i'm calling shepherd"

his first instinct when confronted with betrayal is to play it by the books; to go up the chain and sort it out democratically. that goes against everything we've seen him do; he’s quick to drop his enemies and bucks authority at every chance except for the one time he's confronted with the barrels of his allies' guns

he wants a peaceful resolution; for the first time we've ever seen, he doesn't want violence to be the answer

there has to be another fix, a solution that doesn't end with him killing the same men he's been working with; his friends

nothing's happened yet

it doesn't have to go this way

but ghost has been betrayed before. he knows the way this ends; either with him six feet under or his enemy

he doesn't hesitate

it's only when they knock alejandro out that soap shoots; when they spill the first blood and cross a line they can never come back from

only when ghost orders him to run and he has to cover his retreat

and somewhere along the line, between civilians’ screams and taunting voices, between his shaking breath and ghost steady in his ear, that naivety is stripped away; his trust turned to teeth that he uses to sink into throats of men he'd have given his life for

"be careful who you trust, sergeant; people you know can hurt you the most"

he's learned the price of trust

just like ghost did

but unlike ghost, he has someone to guide him through the aftermath

"good advice, It"

#i might crown myself the ceo of soap meta at this point i love digging into this boy #but it seriously fucks me up how much he tries to de escalate the situation #invoking shepherd like hes trying to remind graves of who funds him and the power he holds #the consequences he’ll face if he goes through with this. just stop and think it through first #only to be stricken silent when graves drops ‘general shepherd sends his regards’#he doesnt say a single word after that #ghosts the one who picks up the lead for him ‘he knows about this?’#he can still function through his shock and the gut wrenching betrayal bc he’s been through this before #and he knows freezing will get him killed #but soap doesnt #he freezes #getting shot is something he wouldve been through before but being shot by an ally?#at that moment he isnt sergeant mactavish #hes johnny and hes in shock #and thats why ghost yelling for johnny doesnt reach him #he only breaks through when he calls him soap. when hes forced back into a soldiers mindset #thats all thats keeping him going. he isnt johnny a man whos been betrayed by a friend #hes a soldier following direct orders to keep himself alive #i can only imagine the after #when he lets his rage run out and is faced with the vulnerable and painful betrayal #but ghosts there to help him through that too. there for johnny the way he wished someone had been there for him #coming out of my cage and ive been doing just fine.txt #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap cod #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #soapghost

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