artificialcorby

[artificialcorby]

might I leave a request for a potential punk ghostsoap? the choice is 100% yours ofc, just curious to see how you’d dress em as a punk adjacent person myself

Ah ofc @amazeingartist... so cool that you identify as punk, I can only ever aspire...

[artificialcorby]

💀 "Johnny, you with me?"

🧼 "You know it, Lt."

[artificialcorby]

× Christmas Eve ×

He had thought about this day so many times. Had imagined walking up to the familiar green door of his parents' house, heels clicking on the stone path towards it. Simon following right behind.

In his dreams they had matching scarves. He doesn't even know why. In some of his dreams they held hands after he rang the door, waiting for it to open.

In a few dreams he was greeted with a smile. As if there was nothing about bringing along another man, holding his hand, entering the house he grew up in. A home to both of them now.

But once or twice he dreamt how the face of his mother froze. As did his own.

"This is Simon. He is-...

"We're...."

He'd struggle for words while his mother's expression would fall, turning into a mask of utter disgust. Before she'd slam the door into his face and he could hear her crying.

This is usually the moment he wakes. Sometimes covered in sweat. Sometimes with just a single wet stain on his pillow, where his tears dropped from his face onto the fabric.

~

The house is decorated. But not overly. There's a wreath at the door, just like every year for as long as he can remember, a small tree with lights in the front yard, the Christmas tree visible in the window facing the street, more lights in the windows. The entire place radiates warmth, despite the light drizzle and the wind outside.

The walk up to the door has never felt so long. Never felt so heavy. His heart is pounding in his chest. His palms are sweaty. Johnny has a key, but rings the bell anyway, letting go of Simon’s hand when he does.

~

“They don’t know….” Soap said out of nowhere after several minutes of driving in silence.

“What do you mean?” Ghost inquired, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Me parents. I haven’t told them.” Johnny’s eyes were cast down to his hands in his lap.

Ghost didn’t need any more words of explanation. He understood. They never talked about it before, but he figured that Johnny wasn’t out to his parents yet.

Reaching over, Simon took the other’s hand into his, brought it up to scarred lips, placed gentle kisses on knuckles.

“Did you plan to tell them today?” he then asked softly.

“I don’t know.” Soap replied.

Did he? A part of him wanted to. A part of him tried to over the past few weeks. But he never found the right time. And he could never picture a positive outcome. Not the way they kept asking him about a potential girlfriend or when he wanted to start a family.

~

A small woman in her late 50s or perhaps early 60s with rosy cheeks opens the door, beaming at Johnny, holding out her arms to cup his face with her hands. And Johnny smiles. Smiles like Ghost has never seen him smile before. The woman's voice is loud, high pitched, but full of joy when she greets her son, gushing over him before he even gets to set foot into the house. Johnny still just smiles patiently, leaning in when his mother stands on her toes to squish and kiss his face as if he's just eight years old.

"Maw, that's Lieutenant Simon Riley." he motions at Ghost when they finally make it inside. "A telt ye aboot 'im."

The woman doesn’t lose her smile. But she keeps her distance when she greets Simon. Maybe it’s because Johnny asked them in advance to tone it down a little. Maybe it’s because he introduced him as his commanding officer. Or it’s because of something else entirely. The scars maybe? The reasons remain unclear.

“Iain, haud fashin’ yersel’ wi’ the fucken’ tree and git yer arse o’er here. Oor laddie’s hame.” she suddenly yells, turning her head towards the living room door.

“Johnny?” sounds a male voice from the living room. “Were ye meddlin’ wi’ the lights last year? They fucken’ pooched!”

“Naw, Ah didnae touch ‘em. Ye did, as aye.” Johnny responds exasperated, rolling his eyes and giving Simon an apologetic look.

“We got a guest.” his mother reminds. And his father calls from the living room. “Ah’m unner the bloody tree Isi, Ah cannae sup hands richt noo.”

Now it’s Johnny who raises his voice. “Haw, will ye yins no haud yer wheesht? Ye’re embarrassin’ me!”

Rubbing his face afterwards, he almost regrets bringing Simon into this. He should have known.

But much to his own surprise, he hears his Lieutenant chuckle next to him. Looking up he even sees him smile.

Simon takes his coat off, handing it to Soap, saying. “I’ll go say hello and see if I can help.”

The puzzled look on Soap’s face when Ghost walks away must speak volumes, since it makes his mother laugh.

Maybe he stresses too much about everything. Maybe it’s all going to be fine.

Maybe.

He stands in the door frame for a moment, watching a scene he would never have dared to dream of: His Lieutenant crouching in front of the tree, talking to the pair of legs sticking out from beneath it. The two of them talking like this isn’t the first time he brought Simon home.

“He’s no sae bad, is he?” his mother speaks quietly behind him.

“Nae… he’s not.” Johnny answers without realising. His mind is miles away.

“He’s a braw yin, too.”

Johnny’s face goes pale and he slowly turns to look over his shoulder, down at the woman behind him. The surging panic in his eyes is met with a warm smile and a comforting hand rubbing his back. No further words are spoken when he fully turns and crumbles into a much needed embrace, sobbing quietly at his mother’s shoulder.

“Ye didnae think Ah didnae ken me lad, did ye?”

Johnny doesn’t answer. And there is no answer needed.

Of course she knew. Mothers always do.

× end ×

[artificialcorby]

Still working on that Christmas solo for Soap.

Celebrating with his family. Bringing Ghost along.

Y'all will be feeling the feels.

[artificialcorby]

Blade Runner 2049 ghostsoap anyone?

[artificialcorby]

× The Sinner ×

CW for mention of religion, internalized homophobia, masturbation and §uicidal thoughts.

He woke up early. After yet another nightmare. They're more frequent now and harder to shake during the day. To clear his mind, he goes for a run; leaves the quiet base before it wakes for yet another day.

It's still dark but he knows the narrow field path by heart. Knows every tree, every root, every bump in the ground. He knows where the path forks and which one to take to either get to the small church on the hill, which he used to go to with his family when they visited his cousin at base or further away from the urban area out onto the fields.

The fields that know his sins better than the small church does. The fields to which he entrusts his secrets.

His breath forms small clouds in the crisp morning air. Dead foliage crunches under his shoes with each step. It's the only sound he hears besides his heartbeat and his steady panting as he runs uphill. Soon he'll reach the top, looking over fields stretching as far as the horizon. The sun will come up soon and burn in a myriad of reflections in the morning dew on every leaf, every blade of grass. And for a brief moment the world will hold a collective breath and marvel over the beauty of HIS creation.

It's where he feels closer to the heavens than anywhere else.

He's been running for a while now, but his mind won't stop revolving around …him. The other day he watched his Lieutenant train the recruits. Still thinking about it when he went to bed. Thinking about him in a way he shouldn't. Quietly moaning his name.

He stops in his tracks. The cold wind cuts like knives on his skin so he doesn't even feel the tears. He yells his frustration, his anger and his fear out onto the fields before he breaks down.

He will deny this ever happened, deny his sobs, deny his pleas to be wiped off the surface of the world this instant.

But ultimately he won't pray for salvation. He won't pray for absolution.

Sitting on top of the hill, watching the sun slowly crawl over the edge of the horizon, warming his body, he only asks for one thing:

A single day.

Or just a moment.

One minute.

One kiss.

If he could get that, he accepts damnation. He accepts eternal torture. He accepts whatever fate awaits him.

Because recently he realised something.

He'd rather get one second of pure bliss, feeling instead of just imagining his touch and be reassured that these feelings run both ways than be granted eternity in a so called paradise…

… without Simon.

× end ×

[artificialcorby]

Sunset 🌥️

I wish Ghost took off his mask in *that* scene. My man, you're scattering the ashes of your best friend, please… good thing I can draw it myself, I guess 🥲

(Important disclaimer: I don't think he'd actually throw away their masks, I just wanted to make this comic extra sad)

I do respect what the devs and actors managed to pull off despite misguided executive decisions. It's disappointing that they didn't get to tell the story they originally wanted to, but I'm sure they did their best. 🫡

Anyway, now that this is out of my system, I'll just pretend MWZ Soap will hop through a portal and rejoin the MW crew in a retconned future. Anything goes in the multiverse, after all ;)

Okay, back to my (ir)regularly scheduled GhostSoap posting 🧡

[artificialcorby]

//mw3 spoilers

He’s fine, what do you mean? He’s just in recovery

(And I’m still in denial)

[artificialcorby]

The brightest smile I've ever seen...

[artificialcorby]

A little something from my RP account.

Spoilers ahead.

× An apology ×

Short Solo.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I didn't finish my task. I didn't finish defusing the bomb. Despite my efforts I didn't have enough time. I'm sorry that this fell onto you. On top of everything else.

I'm sorry that I became reckless. Tunnel vision on the task. To get it done, no matter what. I'm sorry I got slowed down when I caught a few rounds. I know I could have been faster if not injured. 

I'm sorry that I didn't watch my back. That I paid no attention to the sound of the heavy door being opened behind me. I'm sorry I decided to focus on the bomb in front of me even when I noticed movement in the corner of my eye. I'm sorry I noticed too late that someone was standing right next to me. I'm sorry I saw the gun pointing at me too late to react. Because all I cared about was the bomb.

I'm sorry that - because of me - you didn't get to catch Makarov.

I'm sorry you had to watch me go down. I'm sorry you had to see my lifeless body on the ground. I'm sorry for the blood on your hands when you touched me. I'm sorry I put the mission at risk for you who remained.

I'm sorry you didn't get the time to process the situation, because I left you with the bomb to deal on your own.

I'm sorry you had to pronounce me dead. I'm sorry you now have to go on without me.

But above all I'm sorry for all the things left unsaid. Words that could have given you some kind of comfort when I'm gone. Maybe closure. I'm sorry for being a coward. I'm sorry I didn't take my chances when I could. Now is not the time, I thought. But the time was always. And now there is none left.

I'm sorry you have to live with the uncertainty of what could have been. I'm sorry I became just another tombstone for you to visit. Another ghost to haunt your dreams. I'm sorry I left you with all this.

I'm sorry Simon.

You don't deserve this.

🎶But since it fell into my lot

That I should rise and you should not

I'll gently rise and softly call

Good night and joy be to you all

So fill to me the parting glass

And drink a health whate'er befalls

Then gently rise and softly call

Good night and joy be to you all🎶

[artificialcorby]

Final journal entries.

Spoilers ahead.

[artificialcorby]

I want you to be near...

[artificialcorby]

"let me be your shelter let me be your light you're safe, no one will find you your fears are far behind you"

[artificialcorby]

They’re watching Gaz beat Soap’s record (again)

[artificialcorby]

just checking...

[artificialcorby]

Activision needs to pay for my therapy

[artificialcorby]