family portrait :D young sam and sybil are behaving themselves and vimes is throwing a hissy fit because they tried to make him wear the helmet
[id: a digital painting of three people sitting for a portrait in a domestic interior. young sam is standing with his hands behind his back and beaming proudly. vimes is standing behind him with his hand on his shoulder, wearing a shiny military uniform and a surly expression. sybil is sitting on the right with an arm around young sam, smiling at the viewer. a plumed helmet is sitting on a table on the left. end id.]
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Ghost's attention almost had a weight of it's own, dark eyes sharp when they locked on the object of his interest, his focus absolute and unwavering.
Most of the time it was cold, clinical, assessing; analyzing the risks and the possible benefits.
Sometimes it was predatory.
Possessive.
Dangerous.
It was always heavy.
It was always there.
A physical touch, blade pressed to skin, cold air on the back of the neck.
Most people found it unnerving, but Soap felt almost naked without it; the weight of Ghost's attention was as familiar as the shape of a knife in the palm of his hand, the scent of smoke, the burn of good scotch at the back of his throat.
With Ghost next to him, or knowing he's watching from afar, following him with a scope - it was grounding.
It felt right.
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