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superfallingstars · 5 months

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one of the (MANY!) things that i can’t stop thinking about regarding that horrible discourse post is the way that the terms sexual harassment and sexual assault are thrown around. i think that whether or not the incident (where james turns snape upside down with his own spell and exposes his underwear in front of everyone) “counts” as sexual harassment or assault doesn’t really matter. at least, not in the way the people in that discourse post think that it matters.

how we as the readers would define this event based on our own morality is relatively unimportant. what actually matters in this situation is how snape experienced it. nobody involved in that discourse post considers whether snape himself would define this event as sexual assault – and even if he would define it as such, whether that would influence his perception of how harmful it was. after all, people can experience the same event differently; what one person considers a bad day can be extremely traumatic for someone else. because of this, trying to objectively quantify the degree of harm snape experienced by defining this incident as sexual assault, harassment, bullying, or whatever, obscures the most important part of the incident – which is how it affected snape! it's so frustrating, because this is something that we could actually have interesting discourse about. did james know how deeply his actions were affecting snape? would he have changed his behavior if he knew? or did he already know, and simply not care?

but even more frustrating is the fact that despite all of the animosity in that post, i don't think anyone involved actually cares about whether or not the incident was sexual harassment/assault. the function of those terms in that post is simply to assign morality to the people involved. if the incident counts as sexual assault, then snape is a Victim and therefore Good, and james is a Perpetrator and therefore Bad. if it wasn’t sexual assault, then the incident wasn’t really that harmful, so snape is Bad and james is Good. it’s mind-bogglingly reductive. i guess it's just remarkable that everyone involved in that post seems so confident in their ability to define sexual harassment and assault, while simultaneously ignoring any of the effects that this could have had on snape. instead, sexual harassment and assault just serve as proxies for morality in the never-ending argument of whether or not snape Bad.

tl;dr what you call this incident does not determine the amount of harm it caused, and also you should care about the amount of harm it caused if you're going to make claims about morality

#yeah ok i failed at not joining the discourse. oh well #also i didn't even get into the problematic implications of conflating victimhood with moral goodness #when really that has no bearing on someone's morals #because “victim” as a term is applied to someone not because of something they did but because of something being done to them #and morality should not be determined by things out of one's control but by the person's actions. right?#regardless i'm keeping that in the tags for fear of being misinterpreted #because if anyone interprets me saying that victim ≠ good as me saying that victim = bad i will explode you with my mind.#hp #discourse #hp discourse #my posts #severus snape #james potter #marauders #tw sa #sa mention #tw assault #tw harassment #idk what tags to use!!!!!

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robiinurheart33 · 15 days

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Ghoap as Once more to see you by Mitski

“In the rear view mirror, I saw the setting sun on your neck

And felt the taste of you bubble up inside me”

Ghost always thought of Johnny as something that could never be diminished, never replaced, never dimmed. An unstoppable force of nature. The very definition of the sun to him.

Johnny blazed beautifully. He brought life and colour to everything around him, even to ghost. He thought of mortals that worshipped sun gods, that thanked them for bringing life around them, how they brought upon the very beginning of humanity. Ghost feels his hard ridges melt away in Johnny’s warmth, how he brought his humanity back to him. He doesn’t even know how he did it. It was like second nature to soap, breathing the life back to Simon. It was like nothing to soap. It was the whole world to Simon.

It was acidic, the way he felt about soap. It burned through his skin, sticky-sweet, and made a home in his body. It clung and absorbed itself into his bones, merged and became part of his DNA. It stabbed into the very core of his being, infecting him. He hated it, hated the way it made his heart clench and his throat close up whenever he saw Johnny.

He hated it.

“But with everyone watching us, our every move

We do have reputation.”

Soap knows Ghost has a irrefutable reputation. Something that he didn’t have to fake, he is and always will be the Ghost. He’s violent, and bloody, and he’s always being watched with a thousand eyes. Around the base, in the cameras, by higher ups. It’s a precaution the undead have to deal with. It’s a precaution that’s strangely similar to a prisoner. The thought makes uneasiness curl in soap’s gut, making him scratch the nape of his neck in irritation, grimacing.

Ghost has always been just out of reach. Being a private, hearing rumours of a massive killing machine roaming around SAS, a distant thought of maybe rising high enough in the ranks to actually meet the guy. He wouldn’t live long enough for me to meet him. Some part of him snorts. But actually seeing him, a 6’2 wall of muscle and broodiness, soap knew then that he was irrevocably fucked.

Soap isn’t stupid. In fact, he can confidently say he’s a smart ass cookie. Which is why he knows he absolutely cannot risk Ghost getting compromised just for soap’s selfishness. Soap is glaringly aware of the eyes staring down at Ghost, and by default, at him. Soap is his Sargent. Soap is his friend. Soap is his…his.?

Soap scratches at the nape of his neck, picking at a scab and drawing blood.

“We keep it secret, won’t let them have it

So come inside and be with me, alone with me”

Graves. Shepard. Laswell. Even Price. Ghost knows what they have is fragile, bubble light and just as explosive as anything he could come up with. He trusted Price, he did. But ever since that mission with graves where everything went to shit, he keeps thinking of Johnny, his Sargent alone and hurt, in a village filled with shadows, just barely scraping past losing more and more blood the longer he stays there.

Ghost doesn’t trust anyone. Not even himself. He places his whole heart, his life, his mind, his body, his everything to Soap, whatever he wants, he’ll do it. Before soap, he’s always been good at being a weapon, a mutt if he thinks about it long enough. To his Dad, to Roba, to Shepard. He knows what it feels like to be dehumanised, desenitised to whatever the hell people see him as. A monster, a spirit, an unknown. He doesn’t care.

But.

Soap does. He does care. And fuck, if that doesn’t break down every single god-damned wall he meticulously built up to completely sweep him away and keep him safe. Alone. Together. Just them and no one else. He knows he doesn’t need anything else he doesn’t want anything else he just. Wants. Johnny. Johnny might not belong to him, but Simon knows that every single atom of himself belongs to johnny.

Ghost knows better than anyone else how dangerous it is to be associated with him. And he won’t let the same thing that happened to his family happen to Johnny. So he does the opposite of what his heart wants. He keeps his distance, doesn’t talk more than necessary, showing everyone that they’re just teammates, friendly only for the sake of the task force.

But under closed doors, in the private channel, ghost lets Simon loose. He holds Johnny tight, he tucks his head into the crook of his neck, and he relaxes. Simon felt like a snake, twisting and turning, gripping harder and harder into his desire. Here, where the world is only him and Johnny, Simon takes his time. He gets lazy and carefree as much as he gets, sinks into the solid warmth of Johnny’s presence. Alone. Together.

“If you would let me give you pinky promise kisses”

There was a certain desperation that always came with the job. Soap knows that. He just never thought it would be like this. Heart aching- quiet sobs- the demand to be violent, the all encompassing love that came with it. Soap always knew he was messed up, no one would willingly sign up their life to die if they weren’t a little fucked up in the head. But god, it was- should be concerning to Soap how far he would go to to keep Ghost safe. To keep them safe. Ghost was no softie, the thought of it is laughable, but Soap has always been aggressively protective- even possessive of what he thinks he should stand up to. He’s unwaveringly loyal, both a valuable asset and his greatest flaw.

Soap wants to dig his nails into Ghost so hard his pale skin tears, sink his teeth into his jugular until his entire mouth is filled with his blood, meld their ribs together and press his heart right against Simon’s cold, beating one. Soap wants to tuck his head into the crook of Simon’s neck, fling a leg over his and feel his chest slowly rising and falling. He wants to share their body heat, entangle their legs, so that he cannot tell where Johnny ends and where Simon begins. He wants, he wants, he wants.

“Then I wouldn’t have to scream your name

Atop of every roof in the city of my heart”

Ghost had never felt an emotion as strong as this. It felt uncomfortably similar to anger, or his anxiety. It poked and prodded at his heart, his lungs, his throat. His gut churned nervously and he felt like throwing his head on the nearest solid surface over and over again. His intrusive thoughts became even more uncontrollable, the violent nature of his animalistic side howling in excitement.

Every time someone laughed with or touched soap, he could feel his subconscious screaming in protest, to gnash his teeth at anyone who dared get close to soap. He felt like a disobedient dog, nipping at soap’s feet for an ounce of attention.

He felt feral, like he wasn’t completely himself and it scared him. Every time he spots a mercenary sneak up behind soap during a mission, his heart screams and his hand lines up immediately and shoots on instinct, as simple as breathing.

“Good shot, L.t.” Soap breathes.

He only grunts in reply, his mind crooning.

Of course. I wouldn’t ever miss. Not if it’s for you. Only for you. Just for you, Johnny. I would do anything.

Ghost compartmentalises, pushing that part of him deep, deep down.

“Keep it tactical, Sargent.”

He wishes he could do the same.

“If I could see you

Once more to see you”

Soap knows Ghost is beautiful. He doesn’t need to see his real face to know. It’s in the way he carries himself, his thick British accent, the arrogant quirk of his eyebrow that shifted under his mask. He never had any urge to take a peek at his face under that mask, always respected his boundaries, always stayed fairly within line.

But during the mission in Las Almas, where Ghost had so unwaveringly pulled off his mask, Johnny felt like his whole world had been shaken. Maybe it was because Ghost was his whole world Soap had been obsessed ever since. The crooked curve of his nose, his clipped and messy dirty blonde hair, the slight curve of his Cupid’s bow on his upper lip, the jagged scar that had been carved into pale, almost sickly skin. It was all so utterly Simon. Soap felt unhealthily obsessed. Genuinely, he thought that he could not be any more head over heels, and he goes and does this.

It was stupid how eager Soap was to draw his face. It was like he was a puppet on a string, pulled by his untethered compulsiveness. He had to be cautious. He yearned rip off the mask Ghost has just put on again to kiss him stupid in front of everyone. 141, maybe. But not the Los Vaqueros. He does have that sliver of sanity to hold himself back. But god, if that doesn’t just open up a door of opportunities for him behind closed doors. The extra areas of skin that were now not so unreachable was like dangling a candy in front of a child and expecting them to not take it.

Simon is beautiful. Simon is so pretty. Simon’s stunning. Pure Bonnie.

Soap wills himself to shut the fuck up and focus on the mission. He wants to see Simon again. Preferably, in a setting with more light. Soap feels like he’s rediscovering ghost all over again, he wants to see his smile, his annoyed expression, his huffs and grunts, everything on his face. Good lord, does he have dimples? Soap thinks he might just die.

The act of seeing ghost’s skin lights something in soap. He doesn’t know what it is, but he feels the impatience and desperation to find out what it is. He grapples and tries to identify it, but like his callsign, it slips away and he’s left with a frustratingly empty feeling he knows only ghost can fill. I’ll find out. I swear, I’ll find it out.

Soap has never been a patient man.

#FINALLY #GOD #IM DONE #SHIT THIS TOOK SO MUCH LONGER THAN IT SHOULD #FUCK #it’s a lot longer than I expected too #Jesus #please like this or I’ll explode and start crying #/hj #it’s been a rough few months guys #tumblr cut me some slack pls #no pressure tho it’s ok #hope y’all like it I spent so much time on it #robs ramblings #call of duty #john soap mactavish #ghoap #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap

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