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Latest Posts by r005ter - Page 3
I'm not Simon Riley I'm Ghost: Chapter 17
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Ghost POV
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Everything was a mess, it had always been a mess. But it made sense before, Ghost knew what he was doing and why. This? Everything that Soap was? None of that made sense, it was just an unbearable mess. From the moment he got off that truck and gave him a cocky smirk everything that Ghost worked so hard for flipped upside down.
He couldn't deny that he felt something towards Soap, something he never felt towards a human before. Before they were just a means to an end, a step to getting to the next day and to his next meal. He tried treating Soap the same way he treated others, keep him on the other side of the wall with the other humans that Ghost had determined needed to stay alive in order for him to keep progressing.
Why wasn't he over there anymore?
Ghost had always been good at categorizing the humans around him, the ones he needed to keep alive, the ones that possibly could be consumed later, and the ones that were fair game. Soap was one that needed to be kept alive, without a doubt. But Ghost was having a hard time determining why him being alive became more and more of a priority. Price was at the top, him and Laswell. They pulled the strings, backed him up, sent him to places where he could hunt freely. Soap did none of that and yet --
Why are you so important?
After the mage put that spell on him, after the idiot got himself captured by running off to play hero, Ghost couldn't deny it anymore. Soap was special. But why? Humans were food, had always been food. They were the reason his kind fought so hard to keep the mortal plane as their domain, fought to hard to prevent them from progressing enough where they couldn't freely hunt them anymore. The opportunity to kill them became few and fewer, Ghost having to hide himself in their flesh to walk amongst them and keep hunting.
He defied logic to be here.
Why did it feel like Soap was waiting here? He wasn't, he never was. He could've gone his entire mortal life without needing to meet Ghost. Why would a sheep seek out the wolf? He was playing with his food, that's what this was. A new game to play --
No. This is not a game. This is real. Johnny is real.
Not just a human, he couldn't think that anymore. The worry he had over the man being unconscious, the relief he felt when he woke up. And the feeling he had when Soap's fingers were in his hair? Ghost never felt that before, this wasn't an emotion he had ever felt in his long life.
But Simon Riley? Deep in the memories he claimed as his own, such feelings were there. A skipped heartbeat, fidgeting hands -- Ghost was infatuated with a human. A human. Prey. It was wrong in every sense and yet... Ghost was never one to do what his peers did. As strange as this was it wasn't off brand.
"You worried over him for days and now he's awake you're avoiding him?"
Ghost didn't look at Runt as he walked into his office so boldly like no other, watching his elder brother carefully. Here, Price thought he knew Ghost the best. For the longest time he was the one who understood Ghost in a way no one else could. But there was no one who truly knew Ghost as well as Runt.
None bothered him when he was in his office. The door was closed and if anyone knocked he would tell them to fuck off and they would. Runt wasn't just anyone and Ghost didn't scare him, and Ghost couldn't only blame himself for Runt's lack of sensible fear.
Ghost turned his chair away when Runt tried to get in his field of vision, the younger brother scoffing.
"Self reflection fucking with you that much? Don't like what you're seeing?"
Ghost huffed, "I've seen plenty to know that I'm royally fucked."
Runt was quiet, too quiet, and when Ghost turned to make sure he was still there he found the beast grinning, teeth on display and pure, mischievous delight in his eyes. Ghost groaned and looked away again, he said exactly what Runt wanted to hear.
"Oh- Oh-"
"Shut up."
"No no- We're not moving on just yet."
Runt jumped Ghost's desk and grabbed his chair, swinging him around until they're face to face. Ghost pushed hard against Runt's chest, throwing him to the floor so he could stand. Runt quickly scrambled to his feet, still grinning madly.
"You like him!"
"No I fucking don't."
"Oh yes you do! You could've killed him ages ago when he started getting too close, or when he saw what you really were. But ya didn't!"
Ghost snarls and Runt starts laughing. He wasn't afraid, Ghost wasn't going to hurt him. But Ghost wasn't hurting him by grabbing him by the shoulders and repeatedly telling him to 'shut up'. It just added to Runt's joy and his laughter only grew quiet when there was the sounds of someone moving outside Ghost's, some ways down the hall. Both of them grew quiet as they could hear a nervous heartbeat and then a knock on Ghost's door.
"Lieutenant Riley? May I come in?"
Jamison.
Ghost shoves away Runt and straightens himself out, and Runt deciding to steal his chair while he's doing so. Ghost glares at him before he walks around the desk.
"Come in."
The woman stepped in, visually calm but her heart said otherwise. Ghost looked at her quizzically, "What is it?"
"The Captain wants to speak with you and-," her gaze goes to Runt who was watching her with black eyes, shamelessly eying her like he was thinking about having a bite. Jamison cleared her throat and looked back into Ghost's eyes, "You and your brother, in his office."
"Couldn't call me for that?"
"No, sir."
Ghost thinks for a second before nodding, "We'll be there. Dismissed, soldier."
Jamison nods before eagerly leaving. Ghost wondered if Runt made her uncomfortable, he sure wasn't trying to be friendly. Ghost had noticed his brother rather enjoyed giving the humans on base a fright. It wasn't like he was used to be able to intimidate someone.
"That man likes to think he has a leash on you."
Ghost snorts, "Oh, he knows he doesn't. Just likes to put on the show for everyone else."
Runt laughs and Ghost turns to him. In a instant he was behind the desk grabbing him, "Get your boots off my desk!"
Runt yelps when Ghost yanks him off the desk by his leg, dragging him out of the chair in the process. He landed on the floor with a heavy thud, blinking up at the ceiling before he looked to Ghost. Ghost drops his leg and moves around the desk.
"This place has changed you. A lot."
"Adapt or die, brother."
Runt gets off the floor, eying Ghost almost like he was looking at him in a different perspective.
"… guess I’ll follow your lead then."
Ghost can’t help the fondness he feels for Runt.
"Then follow away."
_
"What is that?"
Price had been waiting for them, and he had a crate with him. Ghost looked at the crate with caution and curiosity, looking to Price who just motioned to the crate. Runt was the one to step forward to investigate. When he pulled out what looked like smoothie pouches Ghost turned to Price with narrowed eyes.
"Your rations for the unforeseeable future."
Ghost grunted, Price staring hard at him. Runt chose to investigate the pouches, standing with one in hand. He twisted the top off, popping the seal and giving it a cautious sniff. When his face twisted with mild disgust Ghost groaned. Runt held the pouch away, processing the smell. And it was indeed a strong smell, something Ghost could only describe as a blended mixture of animal byproduct.
Ghost glared at Price, "It smells horrible."
"You eat animals! I know so, Farah-"
"Farah told you? Why not fucking ask me about what we eat?"
Price makes a face, forming the sentence visibly before he spoke, "I needed an answer quick to get this arranged and you weren't exactly available at the moment."
Ghost wordlessly motions to Runt who was still visibly offended by the food pouch, Price rolling his eyes with a scoff. Runt wasn’t paying attention enough to be offended, focused on the pouch. Finally he gets brave and takes a sip, the face he makes as a result not convincing Ghost to try one any time soon.
”This- John look at me- This is like you giving me an unseasoned, freezer burned hamburger patty when I’ve been eating T-bone steak.”
“You’ll have to deal with it not meeting your standards. If I find one soldier missing, hear about any people disappearing in town-“
Ghost met Price’s gaze, “We’ll behave. Eat our kibble like good boys.”
"Ghost this is literally dog food. He's feeding us dog food. I just got here a week ago and I'm eating dog food."
Ghost turns to Runt to silence him but Price stops him.
"There is an exception. You may partake to a... snack while in the field. Out of sight."
Runt glares, "Have to work for our food?"
"You have the rations, and sometimes you can have a treat."
Ghost could tell Runt wasn't happy. He was attempting a neutral expression, being careful to not grip the pouch too tight and make a mess. Price was rather stone faced, calm, in control. Runt wasn't the strongest back home, but a human still didn't compare and Price angering Runt could end poorly. Not that Ghost would allow it. This was a cushioned life and Price was in control. Maybe that's why he was unbothered by Runt's displeasure, he trusted Ghost to keep him in line.
'Trust'... does he trust me?
Ghost turned his head when he heard someone coming down the hall in heavy boots. Many have been passing by Price's office but these heavy footsteps were familiar and the smell of a particular cologne confirmed that ghost recognized who was approaching. He looked back to Price with a grunt.
"Nik's 'bout to interrupt any peace you've had today."
Price blinks, confused, until he hears a knock on the door.
"John? I need a word."
Price looks to Ghost, honestly shocked, "How-?"
"Good hearing... and smell."
"Right... noted."
Ghost was amused as Price chased him and Runt out to have a talk with Nikolai, he had no doubt the man was going to at least ask Farah what all she knew about the mortifer. Ghost picked up the crate of rations, giving one last glare to Price before he headed out the door, greeting Nikolai as he passed with Runt in tow. The man gave them a nod, heartbeat calm and expression relaxed. The man never was on edge around Ghost, always acted like he was in control and exactly where he wanted to be.
Runt noticed Nik's overwhelming calmness, having been used to the few days of nearly everyone around him being on edge. He doesn't say anything, about it, still holding the pouch he had opened with distain.
"So, him saying I get treats for work means I can head out with you?"
Ghost shrugs, "Maybe. If you can keep up."
Runt scoffs and Ghost chuckles, "I'm faster than you and you know that."
"Maybe back home. But here? In that body? We have yet to see."
A clear challenge and Runt clearly was eager to accept it. Ghost wondered how Price would feel if Runt and him let loose, tested the limits to their stolen, mutated human bodies. He saw nothing off with it, it would be good to finally push his limitations. With what happened back in Strasbourg, he felt the need to be in tip top shape. He refused to let some mere vampire catch him off guard.
Ghost stopped and gave (shoved) the crate into Runt's arms before he continued on.
"Go take that to my room."
Runt glared at the command, "Am I getting my own room or are we sharing a bed?"
Ghost went to reply but the wicked grin that quickly that took over Runt's face made him hesitate a second too long to be able to speak.
"Or you could just go bunk with Soap and I can have your room," Runt purred, sounding quite pleased with himself.
Ghost said nothing, just quickly kicked the back of Runt's knee before he continued on, ignoring Runt's yelp as he stumbled.
"Rude!"
Ghost walked on, ignoring the feeling in his chest as he did. He only stopped when he noticed a familiar scent. Soap. Without thinking he followed the smell, his feet leading him outside. He saw Soap walking with Farah, leaving. Ghost felt relief that he was up and about, and some guilt for not having returned to see him since that brief interaction in medical. He waited for hours until he woke up and left so soon after he did.
I should've stayed... not ran like a coward.
These emotions were new, unfamiliar. As he watched Soap and Farah from a distance his heart danced with uncertainty and his head drowned with too many thoughts. How was he supposed to figure things out in this foreign territory? The years he spent disguised as a human and yet everything that was considered human was still so strange and unrecognizable to him. Nothing made sense anymore and there was one man to blame.
Ghost is starting to realise something.
It started off slow at first- pinpointing where soap was first in a room before the others, coincidentally spacing off in the same direction as soap, starting to follow soap wherever he went.
It’s nothing, really.
It’s nothing.
Nothing at all.
But it was really starting to bother him, the way Johnny started to get under his skin.
It pissed him off. Ghost always needs to be in his top condition during missions because one mistake could cost everything. How could he do that when before taking off soap would pat his shoulder and it felt like his ribs were caving in on him? How could anyone blame him when their thighs are pressed together, touching from ankle to shoulder and his heart would claw at his skin, begging to get out?
Or when soap would squeeze the nape of his neck as a friendly gesture and suddenly he was flushed and hot under the collar? Why was this happening to him? What is happening? Because all of a sudden Johnny’s summer, and he sinks into ghost’s bones and his skin, renders his muscles useless and his brain fuzzy and-
There’s something horribly wrong with him.
Johnny’s laughter makes his breathing pick up, it makes his fingers tremble and he wants to take that laughter and keep it in a locket to hang around his neck. Johnny makes ghost want to throw him against a wall and also cradle his face like it’s the most precious thing in the world. Johnny’s summer because he makes Ghost’s cold heart feel warmth again, makes him think of flip flops, missing teeth, shiny skin and a non stop itchiness. That’s what it is. It burrows under his skin, it makes his fingertips tingle and his heart ache and his ribs melt and his throat close up. This is soap’s fault. Ghost needs to kill soap.
That’s not quite right.
Because something in Ghost, in Simon wants to keep him away too, that terrorises his mind whenever he sees Johnny hurt. That he should steal him away and live in domestic paradise on the other side of the galaxy, because Simon knows better than to think that he can chase his past away that easily.
But then Ghost gets hurt, and it’s not that bad, really, he’s had worse. But now Soap’s tearing apart the place, face flushed and panicked. Panicked over Ghost. It might just be the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen. So when he grabs Soap by the shoulders and orders him to calm the fuck down, his brain suddenly surges forward for things to say.
I love it when you get concerned for me.
I love it when you touch me.
I love it when you remember things about me
I love it that you let me double check your gear because I can’t lose you.
I love the stretch marks on your hips that I accidentally saw when you came out of the shower.
I love your fucked up accent.
I love the way you say “canny” it’s so dumb
I love your face
I love you,
I love you,
I love you.
And it comes to a point where Ghost has to actively hold himself back because he accidentally held soap’s face in his hands and he cherished all 0.7 seconds of it before he violently ripped his hands away and walked off without a word.
It felt like all his ribs had broken in half and punctured his lungs and heart, and he was slowly bleeding out and suffocating. Johnny makes him feel like summer. Ghost starts to look forward to tomorrow, he starts to get excited at the new promise of physical touch, at the chance to casual love. He’s warm and gooey and Johnny’s melted his skeleton down and what’s left is Simon.
It was like nothing to Soap, and it drives Ghost crazy how it happened so fast. Johnny’s cradled Simon’s corpse in his warm hands and decided that he would love again, simple as that. And if he could do it like it was as simple as breathing, then maybe Ghost could love him the same way.
have you ever wondered what it would be like if half-vampire Ghost was made to drink diet soda, black tea, and bourbon? you and me both, but I did my best guessing
Bait & Switch, pt. 1
Part 2 >>
Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."
Call of Duty, implied soapghost, hopeful ending cw: torture, angst, MWIII spoilers
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Soap turns hazy, unfocused eyes toward the screen and watches the man with his face run down the tunnels under the English Channel. The man shoots at Konni soldiers, ferocity and desperation painted over every twitch of his brows and silent shout from his lips.
It all seems so real.
But it can't be. It's not.
He watches Price and the man with his face cut through the enemy. Watches them attempt to disarm the bomb.
Watches Marakov approach.
Their bodies jerk in succession as Makarov's bullets rip through them both. They hit the ground, and sympathetic pain throbs through Soap's shoulder.
He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. Not his wound. Not him. Just a man with his face bleeding onto dirty concrete on the other side of a black and white screen.
Makarov goes after Price. The man with Soap's face rises up to stab Makarov and–
Makarov blows a hole through the man's head.
It's surreal to watch his own face go blank. To watch the life drain from wide eyes within seconds. To see the others barely pause. Only standing beside the body for a few moments before continuing on because they have a fucking job to do. No time to pause and mourn the perpetual FNG.
Except for Ghost.
Soap's vision darkens on his right side, and he blinks away the sweat or blood – could be either or both but he's too numb to care – as Ghost falls to his knees beside the body of the man with Soap's face. The CCTV cameras are too shitty to see his eyes as he gazes down at the body leaking blood across the floor, but Soap hopes.
Hopes there's real emotion there. Hopes even more that Ghost finally sees it – finally sees that the dead man whose chest he's so tenderly pressing with his hand isn't his *Johnny.*
This time the watery blur appears in both eyes, and he doesn't bother to blink it away. Because he's seen all this before, and it never changes.
The door behind him opens, but he keeps his focus on the screen. He watches his former teammates leave the body behind in their desperation to follow Makarov.
But they won't find him. Soap knows because he recognizes the footsteps behind him as easily as he once recognized Ghost's.
Ghost, who made his gait purposefully distinct to alert Soap to his presence before slipping into Soap's bed late at night and who murmured soft words in his ear, words no one would ever believe the hardened man would say out loud. But he did. He said them to Soap as he took him apart piece by piece like he would a favorite gun, slow and deliberate, before putting him back together with love and care.
A hand slides into his long, filthy hair. Soap braces for the pain, and Makarov doesn't disappoint as he yanks Soap's head back.
"Enjoying the show?"
Soap doesn't respond. He never does, though it enrages Makarov.
On the screen, soldiers fill the tunnel, taking up the space won back by the 141. They set up a perimeter around the bomb.
The dead man remains sprawled on the ground, lifeless and forgotten.
"Look how they just left you behind. Left you to be picked up and brought here to wallow in misery."
A surge of anger burns through him—
But.
No. That's not right. Soap was never in that tunnel.
He's been in this cold, dark room since the mission in Siberia, taken down by a bullet and dragged away before he could radio for help. He has no idea how long he's been here, but he's endured every kind of torture: electrocution, waterboarding, frostbite, knives, pliers, hot pokers, and more. His body is a canvas of scars and burns
Through it all, he held on to his faith with ragged, broken fingers, with bloody teeth sunk into the promise of hope, that his team would find him. That *Ghost* would find him, rescue him from this hell, and wreak havoc on their enemies.
Until Makarov showed him why no one had come for him. Why no one will ever come for him.
A knife flashes in front of his eyes, fluorescent light reflecting off silver. Soap's voice grates through the air like steel against steel.
"Who was he?"
Makarov lets go of his hair, leaving behind a dull throb of residual pain, and rounds the chair Soap is tied to, hands on his hips and a sadistic glint in his eye.
"Him? Oh, just someone who got confused about his role in this lovely little play. Perhaps the serum was a bit too effective at turning him into you, disgusting loyalty and all, hmmm?"
Serum.
Memories resurface slowly. He's had this conversation with Makarov before. A sliver of panic bleeds into his numbness.
Christ have mercy. He's fucking losing it. How long before he stops remembering? How long before he becomes a shell of himself?
Maybe it doesn't matter. After all, no one is coming for him.
When Soap doesn't say anything more, Makarov's glee sours into a frown. The blade flashes in front of his blurred vision once more before pressing against his neck.
"I admit I thought you would be easier to break. You seemed so obedient in Verdansk. You could've ended me, but instead you followed orders like a good little soldier. And here you are."
The knife digs in, but pain is a familiar friend he's learned to ignore. When Soap doesn't react, Makarov sighs.
"I suppose if you won't break on your own, it's time to get experimental."
He brings out a syringe and holds it up as if considering his next action. The liquid inside glows a sickly yellow green, and Soap's stomach churns at the thought of what new pain this torture it might bring. Because he knows Makarov's pause is just for show. There is no escape.
The gleeful grin returns as he jabs the needle into Soap's neck in the same spot he'd just cut him open. The liquid is brutally cold as it enters his blood stream, his muscles seizing from the rapid temperature change.
WIthin seconds, Soap's world tilts sideways. His eyes blur yet again. He blinks and blinks, but the room goes softer with every passing second. His muscles relax, and he slumps forward in his chair, the bonds securing his wrists behind him cutting into his skin, though he can't feel it anymore.
Makarov sounds like he's underwater when he speaks. "Good. Let us begin."
Blackness takes him.
---
When Soap wakes, he's no longer in a dark, cold room. Through the broken out window of his full helmet, he sees strange buildings rising up into a swath of blue sky. Giddiness that borders on panic wells up in his chest.
He's outside. He made it outside. Did he escape? He doesn't remember.
His gaze falls, and the world stops.
He's surrounded by rivers of blood, knife in hand. His heart pounds like he's dying.
And on the ground lies a Ghost, splayed out like a sacrifice, bloodied and beaten and looking up at Soap like he's seen God.
"Johnny?"
Part 2 >>
Ouch. This hurts a bit 🥲👍
"Why'd the soldier run into the demo site before it went down?"
Soap sighed, throwing a long suffering glance to his Lieutenant. He shifted his grip on his rifle. He could pretend he didn't hear the man but... either morbid curiosity or masochism won out. He wasn't sure which. "Why?"
"To C-4 himself."
"Awful."
"More?"
"As if you'd stop if I said 'no'." Years of practice kept a smile off his face. In all the time Soap had known Ghost, the man's sense of humor had remained steadfastly terrible.
Their unit advanced. Ghost and Soap were in the lead, spread far enough to need comms to talk, but close enough to signal one another if need be. Their men fanned out behind them.
"You hear 'bout the microwave incident on base?" Ghost's voice had taken on an ethereal quality.
Glancing over again, Soap spared a moment to admire the other man's silhouette against the muted orange glow filtering through the trees. He deftly stepped over branches and around trees. Rifle at the ready. Always ready.
Soap had missed this. Missed him. Missed them.
Soap hadn't blown up a microwave for fun in much too long. He hadn't had time, too desperate to fix things. Things were fixed. He'd need to change that when they got back. "Go on."
"Lost two kernels in a popcorn explosion."
"Tragic. Your jokes are painful, Lt."
"I'm just warming up."
Good. "That's a worrying statement."
"'Fraid of a good time, Johnny?"
"Afraid your jokes'll be the death of me."
"You could only hope so."
Trees and branches created illusory enemies as the trudged through the wood, but their trained eyes and steel nerves kept their small platoon from panicking. Sure-footed, they kept searching.
Soap offered one of his own. "What do you call an officer who spends too much time at the head?"
"What?"
"A loo-tenant."
"Not bad." A pause, Soap had just begun to soak in the praise when Ghost continued. "Not good either."
"Fucker. Yours're no better."
"I'm much better."
You are. "Keep telling yourself that."
"Why's there no winning a war with zombies?"
"Ghost." Soap's warning fired off nearly unbidden. He didn't like where this joke was headed. Behind him he heard one of his men misstep, a twig snapping. Perhaps the cause of his warning had been mistaken.
"Cause it's dead even."
"No. Too topical, Ghost. Don't like that one."
Minute crackling from the smoldering world around them filled the uncomfortable silence that followed his outburst.
"Lighten up, Johnny." Easy for him to say.
"I'll try, Sir."
"Heard the Navy is the most religious military branch. 'Parently they love a good warship."
***
Why did they have to use comms? Why did they have to keep that thing around?
The Sergeant was a freak, but at least he was still human. Still alive.
"Hnnnnnnggggrrrrrrraaaaahh." The fucking monster that had once been their Lieutenant moaned, scratchy and split. It traveled through the smoke unnaturally, fraying the nerves of the men it led.
"Go on."
"Rrrrrah arrrrrrrrnnnnnn."
"Tragic. Your jokes are painful, Lt."
It still moved like a man, from a distance you'd never know.
But the sounds. Why did they keep it? It was one of them.
"Eyuhm. Mruuuuaaammm."
"That's a worrying statement."
Why the hell did the fucking thing moan into comms? Why did the Sergeant respond like it was talking? Why did they all have to pretend they weren't being led to their deaths by a fucking Zombie and a mutant who'd lost his mind?
"No. Too topical, Ghost. Don't like that one."
MacTavish's snap quieted the monster for a moment. Holy shit he could breath again.
"Ahhmff. Ohnneeee."
"I'll try, Sir."
The beast began to moan again, it floated back to them, broken bloodied nails against his nerves. It crackled through their comms. It was destroying him. "I can't fucking take this anymore!"
Both freaks rounded on him. He leveled his gun at the former Lieutenant.
"Corporal Evans, what the fuck?" Sergeant MacTavish snarled. Green eyes mutely glowing.
"That fucking thing keeps moaning. He's dead, he's one of them! Why are we pretending he isn't?"
The Sergeant was moving before Evans could even blink. Evans fired off a shot but it went wide, nowhere near his target, as the Sergeant laid hands on him.
Green smoke emanated from the mutant, eyes glowing fiercely as he threw Evans into a tree and held him there. Pain in his collar bone and a loud crack told him it had been broken.
The Sergeant barked something at him, but his ears were ringing too loudly and his mind was clouded. He must've hit his head against the tree.
***
"Heard a shot, boys. Report."
"Evans lost his damn mind and took a shot at Ghost." Soap spat. He was ready to rip the Corporal limb from limb, the traitor would deserve it.
"He hit?"
A hand landed on his shoulder. A bloodied skeleton print glove, missing the ring finger and revealing grayed flesh and blood caked under the nail.
Toxic green met milky white. Ghost's eyes still conveyed such intense emotions. He was worried about the shot and yelling giving away their position. He was feigning indifference to being targeted. He was angry about Soap losing his head.
"Ohnee. Rauhghh." Ghost's voice echoed within Soaps mind as well. 'Johnny. Cool it.'
"Ghost's fine. Shot missed."
"Hhhnnnnaowww."
Soap rolled his eyes and dutifully translated for the others. "Apparently I just broke Evans's collar bone."
Price grunted before ordering. "Right. Bring him back in one piece, he'll be dealt with later."
Two of the others had stepped up. Zip-cuffs and duct tape in hand. There'd be no more outbursts from Evans, then.
"He probably got heated because you're not translating for us, Soap. I'm missin' his comedy gold." Gaz piped up.
Ghosts exposed mouth was one of the benefits to his condition, he refused to use a different mask since the incident. His slack, broken jaw didn't stop him from smiling.
"Hnnh hnnhh huaaaaaarrrrrnnnnnghuhh."
Soap closed his eyes and centered himself. Things had been so touch and go for so long. Theyd kept Ghost caged because they didn't know they could still trust him. No one could hear him. When The Director had offered to change that, in exchange for Soap participating in a few experiments, he'd jumped on it. Hearing the man in his own mind now, he could never regret it. Even if the damn respirator on his face could never be removed.
" 'Picasso used to drive a tank. Was known for art-illery.' Sure you want me to keep translating?"
"Terrible, Sir."
"Fucking hell, Simon, that was bad."
A few of the men around them laughed or chuckled. None would look either officer in the eye though.
"I was trying to save you all." Soap said before taking his position back up and letting his men handle Evans.
They resumed their advance through the smoldering wood.
👀?
UH OH! Pokémon TV is shutting down! It would be a shame if some guy on Tumblr shared a link to every season of AniPoke from Indigo Leauge to the last batch of episodes with Ash in it along with some movies, that would be a shame!
Edit: For some reason Netflix is removing the Journeys series…Yknow, *a series that’s an exclusive to its platform in the US*
I don’t wanna act holy-er than thou but uh reblog this even harder than before cause screw Netflix
Roach my beloved. Our fallen hero 🪳🧎♀️
roach is OBJECTIVELY the best cod character. i dont know what about him but like mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. we NEED more roaach content in this world like where is he !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It’s the small things I like seeing in this fandom ☺️
good morning
I absolute LOVE stories of Ghost getting to meet the Mactavish family dynamic 🥹
Ghoaptober # 4
Prompt: Home
Words: 3100~
TW: Phonetic Scottish Accents (sfw)
This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels
This one did not at all go in the direction I meant it to. I genuinely thought this one was gonna be short, that's my bad for thinking a MacTavish family reunion wouldn't be chaotic.
So a bit of Premise, I have a headcanon that Soap's actual name is Coinneach John MacTavish, but only his family calls him Coinneach.
Enjoy!
Ghost tried to steady his breathing as Johnny led him up to a picturesque country home, then around the side, under a few lines of drying laundry, to the backdoor. Johnny gave the door a cursory rap as he pushed it open, he’d barely gotten one foot over the threshold when delighted cries resounded.
An older woman, maybe fifty years old came into view as she hustled over to yank Johnny down into a hug. A smile lit Johnny’s face, the likes of which Ghost had never seen before. It was warm and relieved, happy and teary. It looked like Johnny had been told ‘It’s all okay’ and, for the first time, actually believed it. Johnny and his mother held each other for a long moment, each just breathing the other in. Through the door Ghost could see that the space behind them was crowding with people, all impatiently waiting to have their go at hugging the returned MacTavish.
Mrs Mactavish pulled away, reaching up to clasp Johnny’s face between her hands, planting a long kiss on his forehead, then pulling back again to look him over, murmuring to him in Scots Gaelic. Something Ghost, thanks to Johnny, could now recognize.
Johnny had warned him that it was the primary language spoken under the MacTavish roof, in deference to Johnny’s Grannie, whose grasp of English isn’t the best. Ghost had been forbidden from worrying about it and Johnny had assured and reassured him that "Ma an’ all ae mah wee siblings speak English jus’ fine", so he was trying his best to obey and not stress out.
Mrs MacTavish released Johnny, prompting even more people to crowd into the room to get at him and Ghost redoubled his efforts to not freak out. Wishing he hadn’t been so adamant in rebuffing Johnny when he’d said no one would care if Ghost wore his mask. Being able to hide behind his balaclava would be really nice right about now.
“Ye mus’ be this Ghost fella mah Coinneach is always yammering abou’,” The voice piping up at Ghost’s elbow does not make him jump. Ghost is a highly trained Special Forces Operative, he would notice a middle-aged Scottish woman approaching him before she spoke.
He Would.
“Oh! Ah’m sorrae, laddie. Didnae mean tae spook ye,” Mrs MacTavish apologises, “Come in, Come in, Donnae stan’ on the stoop like y’ur nae welcome.”
Ghost finds himself ushered into what he discovers is the kitchen of the house. To his right was the kitchen proper, there was what Ghost could only guess was a genuine wood stove crouched directly in front of the door, guarding the threshold, in direct competition with the gas cooker that was against the far wall, bracketed by counters covered in various appliances that looked like they'd hopped straight off the pages of a fifties home catalogue, but still seemed to be in good repair, the cupboards hanging over them were closed with curtains rather than doors. The only acquiescences to the modern era were the nice big fridge humming away like an afterthought at the end of the counters, and the washer tucked away in the corner.
It was a nice kitchen, it looked homey, lived in.
To his left was a long oval table with an assortment of chairs surrounding it. Ghost could pick out a few chairs with carvings that matched the ones on the table’s legs that could only be the matching set, but they were outnumbered by chairs that had clearly been added as needed. He could also spot a leaning stack of metal folding chairs half tucked behind a hutch in the back, clearly the MacTavish house was well accustomed to crowds.
Ghost was chivvied into one of the seats around the table, his Special Forces joints extremely grateful for the soft cushion padding the chair and guarding him from the ache of the hard wood. A glance at his table mates revealed whom the cushioning was truly intended for. A lady that must be around seventy sat to his right, and to her right, at the head of the table, sat a man in the same age range. The man was watching him.
Ghost took an educated guess and presumed that these must be Johnny’s Grannie and Grandad.
Fucking Hell.
Johnny never told him their names.
He’d always just referred to them as Grannie and Grandad, so Ghost had always called them ‘your Grannie and Grandad’ when asking after them. He didn’t even know if they were MacTavishs. Thinking about it, they were probably Johnny’s mother’s parents.
Oh, Bloody Fucking Hell.
What the fuck was Mrs MacTavish’s first name.
How the hell had he managed to have a panic attack over memorizing the names of Johnny’s five siblings and never have the thought cross his mind to learn the names of his mother and grandparents. Ghost is in their house, sitting at their table, and he doesn’t have a single clue what their names are.
What the fuck, Johnny.
The awkward staring contest he’d been entered into by Johnny’s Grandad was only growing more and more uncomfortable. It’d be rude to look away without saying anything, but what the fuck was he supposed to say, ‘Sorry for barging into your home, Johnny demanded Simon Riley crawl out of the grave that Ghost left him in to come meet the extended MacTavish family’?
Johnny rescued him by coming to the table, leaning down to accept his Grandad’s seated one-armed hug and back pats, then pressing kisses to his Grannie’s cheek as he passed by on his way to drape himself over the back of Ghost’s chair, because sitting in chair like a normal human eludes Johnny.
He talked back and forth with his grandparents for a moment then turned to Ghost to make the least helpful introduction he has ever been forced to be a part of, “Ghost, this ‘ere’s mah Grannie and Grandad,” then turning to his grandparents, “this is mah L.T, Ghost.”
Johnny’s Grandad seemed well used to Johnny’s foibles and reached an arm across the table to shake Ghost’s hand and supplement with his own introductions, “Ah’m Amhlaigh Milne, an’ this is the missus, Fionna Milne,”
Amhlaigh Milne’s hands were broad, with liverspots speckling the backs, textured by hard calluses and soft wrinkling skin. His handshake was cursory and firm. He was a man that had shaken a thousand hands before and had no interest in adding pomp or frippery to the exchange.
“Simon Riley, sir, ma’am,” Ghost replied, nodding to Mr then Mrs Milne, “Thank you for having me in your home,”
Mrs Milne said something to Johnny in Scots, sounding almost despairing. Johnny cried a shocked ‘Seanmhair!’ and a wild barking laugh carvoted out of the kitchen, followed by a multitude of variations on the same. Mrs MacTavish had been puttering about the kitchen getting tea and nibbles together, and was now bracing against the counters to not fall off her feet laughing. The people that Ghost hadn’t been introduced to, but could only assume were Johnny’s siblings, were leaning against each other and various pieces of furniture as they fought to stay upright on knees weakened by their cackling.
Well, it was good to see that Johnny came by it honestly.
Mrs MacTavish pulled herself together enough to pick up the tea tray and bring it over without spilling, the occasional giggle rattling the teaset before she made it to the table.
“Ma says-,” Mrs MacTavish cut herself off, planting a hand on the table as a new wave of laughter wracked through her, Johnny was hiding his face behind a hand, but the deep red of his ears betrayed his blush, “Ma says, it’s guid tha’ Coinneach is the firs’ ae her grankids tae bring ‘ome a fella, bu’ did ye have tae be a fuckin’ sassenach!”
The last of the translation is squeaked out in between laughs, but Ghost thinks he’s gotten the jist. Mrs Milne was hoping her grandchildren would bring home partners that were Scots.
Add her to the tally of people Ghost had lived to disappoint.
“None of your siblings have had partners before?” Ghost turns his head to address the question to Johnny, getting some vindictive pleasure from the offended squawks coming from the peanut gallery of siblings milling about in the kitchen.
“Nae, they’ve ‘ad partners, bu’ all ae 'em 'ave been too feart tae bring ‘em fer a visit,” Now Johnny is the one laughing, and the greedy beast that weaves through Ghost’s ribs squeezes tight, viscerally glad to have been the one to cause it.
A succession of offended noises comes charging out of the kitchen, followed by the siblings in question.
“Oi!” barks a young man with Johnny’s mousey brown hair, Mrs MacTavish’s straight nose, and hazel green eyes that Ghost doesn’t recognise, “Ah’m nae feart!” The rest of his defense is in Scots Gaelic and therefore lost to Ghost, but by the gasps and laughter it triggers, it’s nothing good.
“Artair!” Mrs MacTavish scolds, and Ghost assigns the name to the face on the internal profiles he’s been habitually building in his head for Johnny’s family, “Donnae say tha’ we’ve company!”
“He cannae understan-” Artair complains,
“Tha’ donnae matter. Artair MacTavish, ye’ll watch y’ur tongue or so help me Jesus, Ah’ll give ye a doin’!” Mrs MacTavish asserts, hands on her hips. Nodding sharply when Artair obediently subsides, “Noo, did ye wan’ a cuppa, Ghost?” She presents the full tea service to Ghost.
“Please, call me Simon, Mrs MacTavish,” Ghost almost begs of the woman, being addressed by his callsign by such a motherly figure is disconcerting in ways that Ghost refuses to analyze.
“Simon i’ tis,” Mrs MacTavish easily agrees, and starts identifying the nibbles she's brought over, “These ‘ere are egg an’ cress pieces, bridies, butteries, tablet, an’ shor’ bread. Have y’ur pick ae the lot.”
“Mah ciallian, did ye-”
“Nae, Da. Ah didnae pu’ onions in the bridies,” Mrs MacTavish supplied before her father could finish his question.
“Guid lass. Pass us up a few, noo. There's a guid lad,” Mr Milne chivvies Johnny into popping a few on a plate for him, Ghost was fascinated to see Johnny automatically make up and pass along a cup of coffee too. His family had never had that kind of camaraderie. A sudden wave of despair welled up to drown him as the unwelcome thought that he had no idea how his mother used to take her tea and there was no one left that he could ask struck him.
Johnny gently squeezed at the nape of his neck, bending down to put their heads in line, so that he could mutter to Ghost what exactly was in all the snacks Mrs MacTavish had just offered him. If Ghost leaned into the contact, buoyed by Johnny’s presence, that was between him and the devil, thank you very much.
Having clocked the identity of the coffee pot, Ghost got himself a tea from the teapot. Opening dishes until he found the milk powder, he mindlessly filled a mug with coffee for Johnny and slid it over along with the milk bowl, setting the dish back amongst the teaset when Johnny had taken what he wanted. The teapot was ensconced in a nicely knitted plaid tea cosy, a brief glance up at Johnny netted him a nod, and he studied the cosy with more interest.
So this was the MacTavish… hmm.
Another glance to Johnny, with a tip of his head in Mr Milne’s direction. Another distracted nod from Johnny, one of his sisters was ranting to him about an incompetent chef.
So this was the Milne tartan.
A woman burst through the backdoor, a small dog following at her heels. Another ecstatic cry went up and the family rushed to welcome her home. Johnny had told him that this was the first time all the MacTavish children would be under the same roof in years, Johnny’s mother had been planning it for months.
“Kennie!” the latest addition cheered, breaking free of the scrum to tackle Johnny in a hug, “How’ve ye been! Still ten, ten, an’ two?”
Johnny threw his head back in a laugh, then held up his hands to wiggle his ten fingers at her, “Aye, ah’ve still go’ all mah bits, Maggie.”
Ghost watched the crease of his eyes, the flash of his teeth, the jump of his chest. Glutting himself on Johnny’s happiness.
“So ye finally brough’ us y’ur man,” Maggie nodded in Ghost’s direction, a released Johnny coming to perch at Ghost’s shoulder again. Memorizing her face Ghost updated his profiles, this must be Maighread, the youngest.
“Aye, doin’ Ma proud, Ah am,” Johnny retorted, “Pickin’ up the slack ae allae youse,”
“Oi,” Maighread barked with a laugh, bending to pick up the dog that had been standing on its hindlegs to paw at her thighs, “A’ leas’ ah’ve brough’ Ma her firs’ grankid,”
“Aye, right.” Johnny conceded, reaching forward to give the dog a few pats, “An’ how’s wee Calum been farin’?”
“He’s grand! Vet said he’s great joints for nine,” Maighread enthused, then gave Calum a smooch on the head and pressed him into Johnny’s arms, “ ‘ere, be a lad an’ hold him while I say hullo to ar seann-phàrantan,”
Watching Johnny juggle a small grey dog and a hot mug of coffee twisted a smile onto Ghost’s face.
“Calum?” He let the question stand on its own and was gratified by Johnny’s response.
“Aye, he’s Maggie’s wee lad. A mini schnauzer. She go’ ‘im off a breeder, he didnae qualify fer a showdog, so noo ‘e’s the first MacTavish grankid. Ma’s go’ ‘im in the albums an’ every’hing.” Hearing Johnny’s accent thickening with every second that he spent amongst his fellow Scots was captivating, “Maggie trea’s ‘im like ‘e’s her own bairn.”
Ghost is not legally obligated to confirm or deny whether he did or did not open a mental profile for Calum the nine year old miniature schnauzer.
“Why’re you holding him?” Ghost asked,
“Dae ye wan’ tae?” Johnny asked in return. That hadn’t been why he’d asked, but he wasn’t going to say no.
Ghost nodded and scooted back from the table to give Johnny room to set the warm armful of dog on his lap, carefully bringing his arm around to make sure Calum didn’t accidentally fall.
Calum the miniature schnauzer snuffled at his face, his shirt, his hands, then seemed perfectly content to take a seat on his lap, propping his forepaws up on the table, like he truly was part of the family.
“Aye, tha’s fine,” Johnny supplied at Ghost's questioning look, “Donnae le’ ‘im jump up or no’hing, bu’ it’s fine as long as ye wipe the table after ‘e gets doon.”
Ghost was then perfectly content to sit, drinking his tea and petting the dog weighing down his legs. Normally the hustle and bustle of the many people talking and swarming about the rooms would quickly become too much for Ghost and he would need to take a break or else risk disassociating or having a panic attack, but oddly he was feeling fine.
With Johnny standing sentinel at his shoulder, his hip pressed against Ghost’s side, and his arm arm idly draped across the back of his chair, Ghost was able to feel secure where he was. In spite of the commotion and chatter around him.
Eventually the whole MacTavish brood was sat to the table, including Calum, who had abandoned Ghost to curl up on Maighread’s lap as soon as his owner had sat down. With cuppas and plates of nibbles close to hand, the air thrummed with idle chatter. Everyone updating and catching up, sharing the newest gossip about people that the table’s occupants would never meet. Mr Milne clearing his throat muted the room, though the silence wasn’t the oppressive tension that Ghost’s father had loved to employ, rather it was more of a curious waiting.
“Riley, ‘ave ye met,” Mr Milne cast a wide gesture out to encompass the entire room, grunting like he’d expected as much when Ghost replied with a quick ‘No, Sir’, and then proceeding to efficiently go around the table, putting names to faces.
“Mah oldes’ daugh’er, Oighrig.”
“Oh, jus' call me Effie, dear,” Mrs MacTavish interjected,
“Oighrig’s oldes’, Iseabail,” Mr Milne spoke on, unphased,
“Izzie,” the woman sat to Johnny’s left offered,
“Ye know Coinneach o’course,” Mr Milne didn’t miss a beat and Ghost got the feeling that this was routine for him,
“Folk ‘roun ‘ere call me Kennie,” Johnny grinned up at him, his chair leg-to-leg with Ghost’s letting Johnny easily press up against Ghost’s left arm,
“Then the twins, Donella-”
“Nella,” Chirps the woman directly across from Ghost
“an' Eilionoir,”
“Ellie,” Spoke the identical woman sat to Donella’s right,
“Artair,” The young man sat to the right of Eilionoir offered only a nod, “our younges’, Maighread,” Mr Milne indicated the woman sat to his own right,
“Call me Maggie,” She offered with a bright smile,
“An’ Maighread’s Calum,” Mr Milne rounded out, giving the dogs ears a ruffle.
Ghost gave the table a nod, “It’s good to meet you all, thank you for having me,”
His thanks are immediately waved away, eight separate voices speaking their denials of any thanks being necessary. Ghost holds his hands up in surrender and sits back to sip his tea
“So Ellie, did ye tell tha’ man wit’ the gormless ring idea tae get tae fuck?” Maighread’s question forces an aggravated sigh out of Eilionoir, and with that the conversation moves on.
Ghost is happy to have the attention off him, but is even happier to revel in the line of heat that comes from Johnny pressed tight against his side. Planting a hand on Johnny's leg, Ghost silently urges him impossibly closer, appeased by the way Johnny immediately obliges him. Scooting half off his chair he pushes down on Ghost’s shoulder and tugs him around by the waist so Ghost's slumped back against Johnny’s chest. Perfectly aligned for Johnny to drop his head down to rest his chin on Ghost’s shoulder, the soft scratch of the shaved sides of his warhawk rasping over Ghost’s ear and rubbing intoxicatingly against his cheek. Ghost squeezes at the leg he hadn’t released and revels in the tight squeeze Johnny returns to him.
No one at the table gives their new seating arrangement a second glance and Ghost allows himself to wholly relax. Dropping his weight back onto Johnny without any fear of falling.
There aren’t words for the feeling that fills up Ghost’s chest. The closest might be devotion, a gluttonous loyalty, content to share only because it gains him ever more of Johnny, others drawing out sides of him Ghost can’t. A burning obsession that banks and surges with every moment, every glance, every touch that Johnny allows him.
What else is he meant to feel for a man that brings him home.
Thank You For Reading!
So the idea I set out with was "Soap takes ghost home to meet the family, ghost gets a bit overwhelmed by the amount of people, and realises he’s treating soap like some absurd mix of a touch/worry stone and a therapy dog. Thereby realising that soap makes him feel safe, and that wherever soap is, is home to him." I don't know how that became 3000 words, but here we are.
For anyone curious here are my notes on the MacTavish family:
Amhlaigh Milne -Grandad Fionna Milne - Grannie 69yo Oighrig MacTavish - Mother 53yo Iseabail(lesbian, the devil's advocate, she likes to look like the reasonable one and sometimes she is, trained as a professional chef, Job: restaurant owner) 34yo +1yr Coinneach John, 33yo +2yrs Eilionoir(Poly, is used to sharing Donella's partner, is not attracted to Donella, thoughtful and assessing, judgemental, realist leaning pessimist, job: makes jewelry) Donella(Poly, is used to sharing Eilionoir's partner, is not attracted to Eilionoir, more outspoken, open-minded, optimist, Job: professional horse trainer,) 31yo +3yrs Artair(sarcastic, always has a comment, acts like the baby of the family, Job: broker, he gets a budget from his client to find a specific/rare item for them, he bids in auctions and stuff), 28/yo +1yr Maighread(is the baby of the family, no one asks Maggie to do anything she doesnt want to, kind, warm, obliging, but not selfless or overly giving, Job: house sitter). 27/yo
Eilionoir and Donella live together and have four cats, all of which used to be stray cats. Their names are Sir Gawain, Darcy, Croissant, and Soot.
A photo of Calum to make it fair.
PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist
So valid
this is how you eat pizza
DC inspired crossover/au
A collection of very old half finished doodles Not sure if I'll ever do anything more with this so might as well post them
|| Soap/Harley Quinn | Ghost/Poison ivy | Gaz/Catwoman ||
Cringe but free
Dang, so much in depth detail, names, ‘nd stuff. I love it 🙂
Ghaoptober #1
Prompt: Drive
Words: 2200~
TW: Mentions of Torture. (sfw)
This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels
This one got very out of hand, I couldn't think of anything to do with cars, so I took it in a different direction.
Hope you Enjoy!
Ghost steps back, wiping his hand off on his thigh, uncaring of the sticky smears it leaves behind. Staring, he lets the knuckles of his -marginally cleaner- hand press against his lips through his balaclava as he debates with himself. The action was a remnant of Simon Riley's old habit of chewing on his fingers. The interrogation was stalling, it'd been going on for too long, their guest had lost the haze of shock and fear, he was starting to acclimatize to The Ghost. It was taking more to pull less from him, and he still hadn’t fessed up to where his homebase is.
Thaddaeus Gedaliah, the man in charge of getting a lot of very bad people what they needed, where they needed it. He’d been a lucky grab off a facility raid, they’d had no information on Gedaliah being anywhere near that side of the globe. The 141 found it highly suspicious, as they were well stuck into to the habit of looking gift horses in the mouth.
Ghost thought back, trying to recall the base’s practice schedules, then walked out of the room to consult with Price.
“Router Woods is empty right now?” He stood alongside the Captain, staring in at Gedaliah as the man dropped his head back, letting it hang off his shoulders as he slumped into the chair he was bound to. He was closer to breaking than Ghost had estimated.
Good.
Now the trick was making sure he broke in a helpful direction and didn’t just lose his mind.
“Should be.” Price affirmed after a moment of thought and a quick check on his phone, “Need it?”
“Affirm, Johnny’s exercising?”
“He usually starts around now. But you already knew that.” Price side-eyed him.
Ghost nodded as he turned away and headed for the exit. He had already known, but it was only polite to give the Captain an idea of what he was planning. Cresting the stairs and pushing through the doors, Ghost held up a hand to ward off the glare of the sun and glanced around for anyone he could send running for Johnny.
The interrogation block was part of the general detainment building, a good two-dozen metres back from the rear of the main-building, situated smack dab in the centre of the base. The actual interrogation block was on the bottom floor, deep underground to take advantage of the natural soundproofing.
“Corporal Winslow!” Ghost called the woman over, standing through the obligatory salute and ‘Sir!’, “Where are you headed?”
The Corporal seemed confused -Ghost couldn’t blame her, he wasn’t one for small talk or asking after others-, but answered promptly. “I’ve just begun my free hours, Sir. I’m-”
“Good,” Ghost cut in, “Tell Sergeant Mactavish to R.V with Captain Price and I at the south entrance of Router Woods A.S.A.P. You’ll find him in the delta sector of the gym.”
The Corporal gave a crisp, ‘Yes, Sir!’ with another salute and obediently trotted off in the direction of the gymnasium centre.
Giving a satisfied nod, Ghost headed back down into the interrogation block. Corporal Winslow was shaping up well with her recent promotion, there’s not many that would have handled a blood stained ghost-story barking orders at them with her perfunctory calm.
“Planning to wash him out?” Captain Price asked, meeting him at the base of the stairs.
“With your permission of course, Sir.” Ghost let a grin stretch his mouth, but bowed his head to the Captain with sincere deference. If Price disagreed, Ghost would listen.
“Nah, you know that I trust you with this. If this is what you think will work, this is what we’ll do.” Price held open the door to Ghost's working room for him.
Stepping up to Gedaliah, Ghost let his excitement shine through his eyes. Reveling in the nervous swallow that bobbed in the other man’s throat. This wasn’t what Gedaliah had come to expect. The door had only opened long enough to permit Ghost’s entry for the past three days, Gedaliah hadn’t seen another human in at least seven before that. Thaddeus didn’t seem excited about this sudden change in routine.
Smart man.
Any wounds still freely bleeding were bluntly staunched, a gag stuffed into his mouth, hands tied behind his back, and his ankles secured to his hands. Ghost tested the give of the serviceable hog-tie, then hauled him up over his shoulder. Easily ignoring all squirming as he carried him out of the room, giving Price a thankful nod.
Router Woods was a barbed and fenced-in copse of woods that made up a not insignificant part of the base’s northern footprint. It was occasionally utilised for training programs or punishments.
After a quiet walk around the back of the base, so as to not prematurely scar any rooks and FNGs, Price and Ghost approached the south entrance. Router Woods' south entrance, matching all of its other entrances, was two trees with orange flags tied round their trunks with a rotting shack nearby that holds some surplus supplies, a log-book, and -if you’re very very lucky- a pen.
Ghost dropped his luggage, rolling out his shoulders as Price popped into the booth to check the log-book.
“All clear. Last person logged as leaving 15:34 yesterday with no new entries.” Price read off, stretching the book's tether to get it into the light coming in through the shack’s open door.
“Good-”
“L.T! Price!” Came a cheery shout, the voice lilting with an unmistakable Scottish brogue.
“Johnny,” Ghost greeted, reeling in the Scot by the back of his neck to rub his balaclava-covered cheek over the top of his warhawk. Grinning at the happy squirming Johnny struggled to contain as he tried to stay firmly within range of the affectionate marking.
“Hi, Si,” The Scot murmured after Ghost lifted his head, staring up at him with warm eyes that roiled with possessive greedy insatiable want.
“Hi, Johnny,” Ghost murmured in return, rocking him gently by the firm grip he'd kept on his neck.
“That's enough of that, you muppets,” Price cut in, tossing the log-book back into the shack and securing the door with the Military Grade slide-latch that had been crookedly screwed into the frame.
“Aye, right,” Johnny shook himself off after Ghost reluctantly released him, “Wha’d ye need me for then?”
“Need you to wash out a target, Soap” Price informed him as Ghost didn’t seem inclined. Distracted, as the Lieutenant was, with watching his Sergeant.
“Oh, ye always give meh the nicest ‘hings, L.T,” Soap all but purred, staring into those heated brown eyes, a wicked curl taking up the edges of his lips.
“You’re not too tired, Johnny?” Ghost questioned.
“Nay, L.T. Hadnae even started my workout when Winslow grabbed meh.” Soap reassured, reining in the instincts urging him to wiggle about and rub happily up against his superiors.
Gedaliah chose that moment to take umbrage with being ignored and began flailing about like a landed fish, drawing Johnny’s gaze. The Sergeant's pupils focusing in on the roped man with a predatory gleam.
“Someone’s eager,” Price’s face was serious, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes betrayed him, pleased to see his men happy, “I’ll just get our friend ready while you bring Soap up to speed, shall I,”
Ghost planted a hand on Johnny’s chest and walked him back a few steps, clocking the way his eyes never lost their lock on Gedaliah. “Soap,” He drew Johnny's focus to him, grabbing him by the chin when his eyes kept darting to where Price had given up unraveling Ghost’s knots and was cutting Gedaliah free.
“MacTavish.” he shook the Scot by the jaw, letting his fingers press firmly into Johnny’s cheeks, feeling the shapes of his teeth under his fingertips. Staring into his Sergeant's eyes to make sure he had his full attention, he felt Johnny nod into his grip. Letting Ghost know that he had him now.
“Limbs only, No body-shots, No touching the head. He's mine, I’m not done with him.” Ghost kept his words calm and clear, making sure Johnny was registering what he was saying, “Copy?”
“Aye, Ghost.” Soap nodded, taking in deep huffing breaths, “Not mine.”
Ghost smiled at the basso notes creeping into Johnny’s voice, releasing his face and giving him a rough pat on the head, “Good boy.”
A scuffle snapped Johnny’s attention back to where Price was restraining Gedaliah, the man had tried to break Price’s grip, but the Captain still had him well in hand.
“Ready? Ghost, you have a set of comms?” Price questioned, and at the successive yesses released his hold on Gedaliah, shooing the man into the woods when he turned a hesitant look on them, “Well go on then, you wanted to run didn't you?” Price raised a mocking eyebrow. Nodding with satisfaction when Gedaliah promptly turned tail and skedaddled into the woods.
“You gonna run him or makin’ it quick?” Price propped his hands against his hips and turned back to Ghost, keeping an absent eye on Soap stripping down to his skivvies beside the Lieutenant.
“Run him,” Ghost replied, his full attention on the now sky-clad Scot beside him. Without looking away, Ghost pulled a small bell out of a pocket, hooked it onto himself and tugged free the rag that stopped its ringing, “Need him scared,”
Soap’s breathing slowed and rasped. A rumbling echoing up from deep in his chest as he stared into the trees. Tremble and shakes taking over his muscles. His skin jumping like a horse twitching off flies.
“You got that Johnny?”
“Aye,” The word crackled from Johnny’s throat and the first grotesque snap rent the air. Soap fell into a crouch as his balance became compromised. His form warping, twisting, reforming into something broader, taller, furrier.
The nauseating noises slowed to a stop and Soap walked his front limbs forward, letting his claws dig into the dirt as he dropped his hips close to the ground, giving a great whining yawn as he stretched his back out in a passing imitation of snake-pose.
“Soap,” the amalgamation of wolf and man whipped its head around at Ghost’s call, Johnny’s blue eyes watching him from above that sharp-fanged muzzle. Ghost swung a flat palmed hand out to indicate the woods and barked, “Fass!”
The werewolf wasted no time, launching forwards into the trees, sniffing briefly at the dirt to check which direction his prey had run, then picking up speed. Ears swiveling, focused on finding any sign of his quarry, Soap absently registered the quiet chiming that meant Ghost was following behind. A splash of blood on the leaf litter lit up his senses and sent him flying after the source. Johnny’s brown-furred tail vanishing amongst the foliage, followed by a crash and screams that Ghost easily recognized as Gedaliah’s. He picked up his pace to an easy jog, coming upon the scene of Gedaliah with his arm stuck tight in the trap of Soap’s jaws, the werewolf growling like a Harley, standing dominantly over the prone man, giving into his instincts to snarl and shake his prey every so often. Drawing pained wails from Gedaliah.
“Good, Soap,” Ghost calls, amused by the immediate tail-wag the praise gifts him, “Soap, Aus!”
Well-trained as any military man, Soap immediately releases the arm and back off a few steps, slavering jaws shaking with the need to regrab his prey.
“You didn’t even get ten metres,” Ghost tsks down at Gedaliah.
The strangely amiable voice jolts Gedaliah out of the paralyzing staredown he’d been trapped in with Soap and he scrambles to turn over onto his belly and stumble to his feet. Strange, Ghost hadn’t got around to working on Gedaliah’s legs yet.
Watching Gedaliah catch his balance against a trunk, Ghost offers some advice, “If I were you, I wouldn’t…” He trails off as Gedaliah takes off into the trees, leaving a trail of heinous cursing like bread-crumbs, “...run.” Ghost continues, glancing down to where Johnny is dancing on his paws, straining at the invisible leash of Ghost’s command, “It only triggers his prey-drive.”
He watches Gedaliah bull his way farther into the forest, pleased to see that the man’s legs do seem to be working fine, it must have just been fear weakening his knees. Soap’s whining pitches up, the occasional yelp and quiet yowl creeping in as his new toy gets further and further away, but the werewolf doesn’t give voice to anything Ghost could reasonably call a bark.
What a good boy.
“Fass.” The syllable had barely crossed Ghost’s teeth before Johnny was racing away. Kicking up dirt and baying like a maniac.
Ghost gives a wry shake of his head. He cannot believe he actually fell for that idiot. With a sigh that held more affection than exasperation, he started jogging after them. Maybe two more take-downs and Gedaliah should be more willing to talk.
Ahead of him, Johnny tries to make a quick turn, doesn’t account for his momentum and skids sideways into a tree with a canopy shaking thud. The oversized mutt shakes himself, sniffs around, then takes off again. Tail wagging with uncontained joy the whole time.
Maybe three more take-downs.
Thank You For Reading!
So I chose to interpret drive as 'Prey Drive', and for that I needed it to be werewolf!soap and handler!ghost, nothing else fit. Also as you might have guessed, in this au, the 141 chose a homebase that has a little forest so wolfy Soap can run around in it.
I can't promise that all of my Ghoaptober responses will be this long, they most likely will not, but I'll try my best to make them nice to read regardless!
PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist
😍😍😍
KÖNIG WOULD NOT CALL HORANGI KÄTZCHEN!!!! NOONE DOES THAT THATS THE EQUIVALENT OF CALLING SOMEONE KITTEN!!!!!!
König would coo “hier Mietz Mietz Mietz” (here kitty kitty kitty) whenever he was in the same room as Horangi and wants to talk to him!!!!!!! König LOVES long pet names!!!!!!!!!! And he loves corny ones the most!!!!!!
“Mein Schatziputz”!!!! “Putzibärchen”!!!!!! “Mein geliebster Tieger”!!!!!!!!!!
(He would also probably use “mein edler Ritter” (my noble knight) as a teasing nickname whenever Horangi got defensive over anyone being just the smallest inconvenience to Königs day)
For the love of my sanity, START USING GERMAN AND AUSTRIAN NICKNAMES CORRECTLY😭😭😭😭😭 I don’t think I can handle reading a noun uncapitalized or a VERB OR ADJECTIVE CAPITALIZED DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT DOES TO ME?????????
name: whatever
age: 25+ y/o
pronouns: he/him (they/them is fine too)
fandom: cod
other interests: gaming, webcomics, manga, anime, conventions, writing, youtube (fooster, insym, gronkh and more), art, music (lots of punk)
my ask is open
my ghoap playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3M4zkvPRnLbgF6sM2nBMka?si=8affbabdc349447f
my cod fanfics:
1. Scared of the Dark [completed]: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48170800/chapters/121474507
2. In my Scope [on going]: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50164864/chapters/132591490
3. One Shot, Letter to Johnny [completed]: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55109887
tiktok for stupid videos:
https://www.tiktok.com/@whatev_i_guess?_t=8m5WNlIhmuf&_r=1
instagram for cosplay photos:
https://www.instagram.com/whatev_i_guess?igsh=MTNtNDdkb2F5bms3
anonymous questions link (answered on ig):
https://ngl.link/whatev_i_guess1
Do you have any good irondad fics that aren't just fieldtrip to stark tower (I do love them but there is a 99.9 percent chance I will have already read it)
Oh boy do I have any good irondad fics without the field trip trope?? OF COURSE I DO !!!! the field trip trope lowkey isnt that large amount of the irondad fics, and its even less of a big amount of the WELL WRITTEN irondad fics. only a few field trip fics are good. but anwyay. here are my 6 recs (keep in mind some of these might be hella angsty, bc im a BIG ANGST READER): Expirement!Peter Parker & coparenting with May
Shameless Inspired Fic & Bad May Parker
Skip Wescott & Foster Kid! Peter
Emancipated Peter Parker & Chaos
MJ/Peter & Identity Shenanigans
Heroin Addict! Peter & found family
let me know how many of these you've already read <3
Hear me out, hear me out:
COD, more specifically Task Force 141, but in the ATLA universe 🫢
This can include other character too within the COD franchise, but just think; COD x ATLA
Ooooohhh, the possibilities 🤩
I live for an asesexual Ghost
never having loved someone like he does soap before, ghost expects their first kiss to be the way it’s always described in books, the way it’s always shown on tv, the way it has never been with the few other people he’s been with intimately. he expects some big revelation, euphoria, an insatiable need for more.
he expects something to change about him, expects he’ll suddenly have the sexual urges he thinks he’s meant to, that he believes he hadn’t yet been incited to have just because he hadn’t met the right person.
but there’s isn’t any of that. there’s isn’t anything at all, really—no sparks flying, no fireworks. his heart doesn’t skip a beat, nor does his stomach flip. it’s just… a kiss.
ghost thinks he must be broken.
because he does love soap, he’d be a liar for saying otherwise. he fantasizes about a future with the sergeant, one beyond the plan they both had for themselves to work until they die. he likes when soap touches him, likes that soap isn’t afraid to be physical like everyone else, thinks he could be intimate with soap if he really tried.
except he now realizes that he doesn’t really want to be intimate. not like that, anyway. ghost loves the thought of kisses without heat behind them, loves the thought of curling up in bed together on rainy days. he loves the idea of always having soap within reach, of soap plastering himself to ghost’s back as he cooks, of ghost tangling his fingers in soap’s mohawk. domesticity is something he finds he craves to have with no one but soap, but any thought beyond that… he doesn’t think it’s revulsion he feels, but it still leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
but it’s hard to admit to soap he probably shouldn’t pursue this, because ghost couldn’t give him what he needs. what he surely wants. not now, probably not ever, and he understands if it’s a dealbreaker—but soap just gets this odd look on his face, a disbelieving, amused sort of half-smile like ghost had just told him the most outlandish thing.
“i don’t care about sex, if that’s what you mean,” soap tells him. “i want you, simon.”
ghost heart hammers in his chest. “but what if—“
“no what ifs.” soap’s thumbs draw soft lines across ghost’s cheeks. ghost sags at the touch, melts into soap’s warmth. “i mean it. i’m happy if you’re happy.”
“yeah?”
soap smiles bright. “yeah.”
the assurance doesn’t quite soothe all of ghost’s worries, but he’s glad to know he might at least have a fighting chance to love soap just as he wants to.
People out here really be using c.ai to unleash the most toe curling, thot driven sin out there
Meanwhile I’m out here writing myself either totally hammered while singing to Billy Joel at a karaoke bar, or living a normal life as a high school student whose unaware that my parents live a double life and secretly turned me into a sleeper agent, or as an indoctrinated child experiment who has no concept of their own humanity.
What I’m trying to get at is; ever written crazy adventures on c.ai? If so do tell, I’m curious 👀
Ok, this is a bit more personal question for cosplayers and other content creators. I wasn’t thinking of cosplaying (‘cause I don’t have the budget for that) but was thinking of doodling character skits.
This is mostly skits of the COD fandom, but I’ve seen other content creators facing issues with its toxicity. I know toxicity isn’t new thing, but this is the first time I was considering getting more involved with a fandom. Usually I’d sit on the side and watch whatever unfolds.
Thoughts and also input from experience?
Ok, so I was looking through a COD Monster AU and she had interesting and creative interpretations regarding to what the characters would be like as this specific monster/hybrid or otherwise.
These characters include:
-Price
-Soap
-Ghost
-Gaz
-Alejandro
-Rodolfo
-Valeria
-Graves
-König
-Horangi
-Laswell (makes a brief appearance but she seemed to stay human)
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So focusing on the 141 members it’s clear she did the ‘19 versions, so no Roach. :’(
(Which is FINE btw, totally understand why she didn’t include Roach, people can include whoever they want in their AU, I’m not hating).
BUT, this fandom seems loose with cannon anyway, so I thought I’d go brainstorming what Roach would be like as a monster/hybrid.
These are my head-cannons:
For the most part it seems like the monster designs retain aspects related to their monster side (claws, wings, talons, scales, fur, shadows, fangs, etc). So going off of that, I’d incorporate that into Roaches design.
First and foremost, Roach has to have his signature antennas. >:DAnd just for fun maybe include insect inspired eyes, and maybe insect wings? Pincers (maybe)? I’ll leave that up for interpretation.
He has an ability to communicate telepathically to roaches. This could be great for spying (Roach has all the tea) and for intimidating the enemy. What’s more terrifying than being bombarded by a huge swarm of roaches? :D
Thought it’d be fun if Roach had a smaller build to him? Like, I’ve seen some fan art where people depict him being a menace by hiding in small crevices and/or cupboards, or somehow ended up hanging in the corner of a ceiling somewhere. I thought that’d be perfect! (I’ll leave that up for interpretation).
Or, OR, let’s go completely off the rails. Since his original design has him mostly covered up, he's just completely made up of roaches that are embodying military suite (Armor? Clothing? Don't know my military term that well).
And like, when first meeting him you're under the impression that he's a human or something but then later on you just see his body burst into an army of roaches, like a hive mind situation. 👀
And like, I’ll leave it up for interpretation if he can still talk or not, since he’s essentially just made up of a swarm of (intelligent) roaches.
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The original maker of this AU is @bluegiragi. Just a heads up, she’s mostly known for making (+18) content. I was intrigued by her character designs and stayed for the lore. 😗
While I’m not too crazy about the erotic side of her work, she is writing an interesting story and am curious where she’ll take it. 👀
(Plus I’m a sucker for a good ghoap story). 😔👉👈
Oh my gosh, WAIT. Another interaction featuring Soaps new skin. They recreate that scene in HTTYD 2 between Stoick and Valka 🫢
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There’s no way. The man who died right in front of his eyes, standing there alive. His sergeant, his teammate, Soap.
Johnny was the only thing that circled in Ghosts head. In disbelief, he slowly approached him. Soap shifted his position, holding his ground as the green smoke illuminated around him.
Soap: “I know what you’re going to say, LT.”
Soap: “How could I have done this? Stayed away all this time. Why didn’t I come back to you?”
He said expectedly.
Ghost continued to slowly walk up to him, not uttering a word. Soap continued to speak, keeping cation as Ghost grew closer.
Soap: “Oh don’t be so Stoic, Ghost. Go on, shout, scream, say something-“
His sentence was cut off as a warm hand cupped his cheek. Soap finally dared to look into Ghost eyes, only seeing nothing but pure love reflecting in them.
Ghost: “You’re as beautiful as the day I lost you…”