pinguinwrites

[pinguinwrites]

I just think johnny could convince simon to wear a kilt

[pinguinwrites]

[pinguinwrites]

I am destroying myself so other people can’t. It’s the worst kind of control… but it’s the only form I know.

GhostSoap - prompt rescued thread from Twitter

tw: panic attack, dark musings

He watches Johnny sleep, how his features smooth out, muscles lax. Stubble dark against the white pillow… he looks awfully young like this.

Did he look young when he slept? Had he ever looked young at all, after…

Fingers clench around fabric.

Ghost’s eyes travel from Soaps passed out naked body to the mask in his hand. Rake over the worn cotton, uneven stitches, ravels how it feels rough even beneath his own calloused fingertips. Such a contrast to Soaps skin. Even his scars had been soft, their ridges like silk.

He turns it around and looks at the skull, carefully pushes against the resin, the slightly chapped paint at the edges of the bone’s outlines. Remembers how they press into his skin when he wears a helmet. How his skin is irritated and sore after long missions. When the balaclava the mask is stitched on is damp from wearing it too long… often soaked with sweat and blood from friction wounds around his nose and cheeks. And before he addresses those wounds, he always restitches the mask onto a new piece of fabric.

Because the is more important than his face. The pain and burning from his wounds a well-loved reminder to be alive. And a punishment all the same.

For being the one who is alive while they are not…

Every life he takes deserves a bleeding cut in his face. Until he can look in the mirror again, staring into the face that is filled with scars and emptiness. Until all these freckles that remind him of Tommy are gone. Until his brother can finally rest because Simon hast reached the sufficient level of hurt…. Or pain. Of punishment.

Ghost’s eyes blink slowly from the piece that defines his existence so fundamentally back to Soap. The human that does the same. Although he knows he doesn’t deserve it – him. His caresses. His softly spoken words.

It will all be a lie.

One day, this will not be the truth anymore.

He is not sure what hurts him more: Johnny loving him or the prospect of everything being a lie. And the pain reaches deep, makes it hard to breath when the thought crosses his mind. Flaring up nearly as intense as the irritated skin on his face.

Can he… should he give this much power into his hands? Was it fair to allow Soap to be the one to hurt him for existing? It was not his fault that Simon had failed to die. Wouldn’t he just burden another human with something that was his task…?

Ghost furrowed his brows when he felt his vision blurring at the edges. Blinking in rapid succession he felt moisture in his lashes, clumping at the sides and he blinked harder, frown deepening.

Was he bleeding?

Why?

He hadn’t worn his mask for hours now.

When the wetness dripped from his eyes onto the mask in his hands, he found the liquid clear. Not read.

Oh.

He was crying.

Why was he crying?

Irritation bubbled in his chest like a panic attack would. The faint pressure against his stomach. The shiver.

Ghost let go of a shaking breath he didn’t know he was holding. What was happening?

“Simon?”

Flinching like he had been hit he stumbled back, hands gripping the mask on instinct, an intrinsic motion, already moving the protective gear to pull it over his head. Securing. Punishing. His emotions were not for the world.

Soaps sleep rendered eyes met his panicked, tear-stricken ones. Grey stormy orbs that resembled the angry sea on a particular rainy day softened immediately. Flickered from his face to the mask and back.

Understanding passes his features.

Ghosts hates that. Loves that.

He is not made for being understood. It takes pain away; burdens the others he is bound to protect. They are not to shoulder his responsibility – he has to suffer for surviving, for being the one who crawled from that grave. He shouldn’t never have let Soap this close, there was no…

Panic like bile pushed up his esophagus, burning acid of self-loathing and the need for pain pain pain pain pain pain rendered his brain useless.

He shouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

He needed…

No air. It hurt. He would die here.

His mind crushed his being. His fault. His FAULT.

Until warmth chased the coldness of surviving away.

Strong arms that pulled his weak body against warm flesh. Fingers like scolding coals that pressed into his back and lips like lava that left way too soft kisses against his wet face. Kissing scars and freckles alike.

They made no difference between past and present. Infused him with the idea of a future instead.

Pressed the mask between their bodies where they met. Acknowledges his need to vanish behind the persona of Ghost because there was nothing left from Simon. But…

Johnny pried the shattered pieces of his being out of the darkness of his mind. Hold them in his hand and collected them like shards. Glued them together with love… around his mask. Around those scars.

Sudden calm washed over him like an ocean wave. He didn’t understand the words that Johnny whispered in his ears, his mind too far gone for anything coherent. But floating in this ocean that was Soap was okay… a tiny part of him, that spoke with the sound of his brother, told him, it was fine… and it lured him like a siren.

And he allowed himself to fall into the trap of being permitted an existence. For the while.

[pinguinwrites]

*fidgets nervourlsy* this made me write smut... will maybe transfer it from twitter to here as well... or make a full fledged oneshot out of this...

LT.

[pinguinwrites]

Soap: Is that makeup?

Ghost, wearing a smokey eye: Yep, trying something new

Soap: Cool, cool, cool…

(Later)

Soap, sobbing: He looked so good!

Gaz: I bet

Soap: God I’m so fucking gay for him

Gaz: I know

Soap: *continues crying*

Gaz: *sighs*

[pinguinwrites]

König makes me weak :<

Favorite Babygorl!!

[pinguinwrites]

König: "Tiger!" Horangi:"...put me the fuck down."

[pinguinwrites]

Might as well put up the sfw art that I do have.

[pinguinwrites]

Musings in a tight spot

[first thread in 10 years - I am still figuring this out]

Re-posted thread from Twitter

GhostSoap musings

tw: slight angst, romance

Ghost watches Soap prepare explosives, observes how nimble fingers open jars and packages. Eyes trailing over materials and liquids, face pulled into a concentrated frown, focused single mindedly onto his task.

He does not know how intently Ghost stares. Maybe feels his eyes on him but he does not see. Soap starts murmuring things, rows of numbers as he calculates between his breathes like he counts the distance before pulling the trigger of his sniper rifle. Evaluates the amount of compartments he needs to set up a veritable bomb. Works with what he has at hand, which is not much given their situation. But Johnny is nothing short of creative – especially when he as a mission.

Which right now is survival.

His own and Ghosts.

They are stuck. Locked. No chance to open the reinforced steel door which is their only way out.

Still, Ghost doesn’t feel trapped. Or desperate.

Because Soap is there and as long as he believes in a solution, things will turn out fine. And even if not… well, then he will die here. His life only on borrowed time anyway. And he had made the most out of it – especially since Soap had barged into his life.

“One more glowstick, L.t.” Soaps voice is distant, clearly focused on his work of a makeshift demolition charge.

Ghost watches with something like adoration how these nimble fingers do a work so delicate – fingers that could snap a grown man’s neck with brutal force.

As ordered, he snaps a new light for his Sergeant to help him see what he is doing – one of their last. Time is running out… slowly.

Some more minutes of silence before Soap leans back and exhales long and slow.

“Should work.” He says and looks to Ghost, face suddenly a tag apprehensive. “I hope. Sorry for the mess we are in… if we don’t get out…”

Ghost shakes his head. Fierce. Grips Soaps shoulder.

“O don’t care about any ‘ifs’. I trust you. It will work.”

‘And If not, I am allowed to die with you here’, but of course he does not speak those words aloud. He would never.

Soaps eyes lock on his for an indifferent amount of time. Watches. Thinks. Smiles finally.

“Hm.” He humms, the smile slowly tugging at his lips until his teeth show in the eerie light of their glowstick. “As long as you are around, everything will work. Make me hot enough to light every fuse.”

This was not what Ghost had meant he felt warmth creeping up his face. Nothing could be seen due to his mask but still, he felt like…

“If you light me up, I will gladly burn to ashes in your hands.”

He sees Soaps eyes turning big. Mouth open. And realizes that he had spoken this out loud.

Fuck.

He wants to say something, a bad joke. Something snarky. Something threatening. Even a simple sorry. But his ability to speak seems to have left him. So he just stares. And Soap stares as well before he snaps his mouth shut and takes the makeshift bomb into his hands. Turns around and starts the process to mine the door.

Comes back, takes Ghosts hand into his own and pulls him away from the metal, back into the room and into the darkness. Shoves him behind a desk and squats down next to him.

They cannot see their expressions here.

“If you meant what you said, we will get out of here alive. And you will take me on a fucking date… and then we can… burn together…”

Soaps voice is awfully quiet. So loaded. Ghost still feels their linked hands. Presses his thumb into the palm of Soaps hand.

“Sounds like a good idea, Johnny.” He doesn’t trust his voice with more than that and feels Soap slowly pressing back.

���Door breach in 3… 2… 1… cover.”

The explosion is loud. Something is either very wrong or very right – the heat rolls over them and on instinct, Ghost pulls the Sergeant into his arms, cradles him against his chest as he uses his whole body mass as a shield from the fire and debris. To keep him safe. At least enough to survive.

And they do survive, somehow getting out of this mess. Clothes burned and charred but very much…. Alive. And Simon takes Johnny on a date afterwards. In between all their awkwardness they find their fire. All consuming but making them feel alive instead of burning away and into ash.

[pinguinwrites]

My first attempt at a little comic strip, have mercy ٩(｡•́‿•̀｡)۶ Ghost is very invested in his cookie jar.

[pinguinwrites]

Do I... know throw my thread here or do I just wait and hope that Twitter will work again...????

[pinguinwrites]

trees

tree climbers

[pinguinwrites]

Soap: *watching a video compilation made by a recruit titled “Best/Sexiest Lieutenant Ghost moments caught on camera”*

Price, walking into the room: What are you watching?

Soap, panicking: PORN

[pinguinwrites]

Ghost: "You'll never find the body" is such a weak threat. "You'll never stop finding the body" is much better Soap: "They'll be finding parts of you for at least four months. And you'll be alive for three of them" Ghost, sighing: This is why I like you Graves: *desperately trying to get out of the chair he's tied to*

[pinguinwrites]

Info-Post

Hello peeps - I am a Twitter refugee ^^" I was here once, with a different blog and a different fandom but that has been... ten years now. I have no idea how tumblr works these days but I need a platform next to AO3 to smash my brainworms somewhere... so while Twitter fights itself, I will likely stay here...

so some random information what will happen in this blog:

current fandom obsession: CoD - GhostSoap makes me INSANE and Trigun - (Mash)Vashwood has me in a chokehold

what I do: writing bullshit, nsfw things (how does this work here nowadays...), headcanons, I will likely transfer my Twitter threadfics and here...?

my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KleinerDickerPinguin

seeing that I find all my moots ... somehow... u.u

[pinguinwrites]

Help Q_Q

Okay - Twitter just marked me as a bot after I started a threadfic - I cannot interact with anything, not writing dms, not retweeting nothing at all... so if you are from Twitter and you followed me there, pls come here u.u

I was never more creative writing-wise then there these last two months and I really like the dynamic and everyone I follow there. It makes me incredibly sad and... I dunno.

I hope we all meet again - here, there when it is back to working... just... leave a small sign of life...

[pinguinwrites]

Down time