specter319

[specter319]

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Posted: 07:04 UTC December 27, 2024

[specter319]

𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗞 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗘𝗟

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[Prologue] [Chapter One - you're here.]

[View this on AO3]

A/N: Surprise! The genuine Christmas present. Hope you guys have a happy holidays and see you for the next update in mi to late January, due this not being a complete story, I am having to go for a monthly update schedule. However, given the previous chapter was a prologue, to get you introduced to the world. I figured I might give you the first proper chapter, a tale about a sister and an anti-social butcher. Trigger Warning: None, as of far. Word Count: 1.7k Words. Characters in Chapter: John 'Soap' MacTavish, Various other characters, mentions of John's Family Story Blurb:

When John MacTavish had a single rule of putting his family first. He'd never figure that a drunken night after partying would change everything. A blur of headlights, the roar of engines, and the sight of a white and blue car tearing through the highway below him would ignite something in him he couldn't ignore.

In a story set in the year 2000, John MacTavish finds himself with a bunch of fellow illegal street racers after getting in through friends of friends, and with eyes set on him as a member for the taking, a fish out of water. It's up to him to find what had pulled him in to begin with. 'The Blue Comet'.

—

Inspired by the Five Star lyric line from 'Rain or Shine': "Silk and steel, that's the way you feel. And how I love you now."

𝗔 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗗 𝗙𝗜𝗦𝗛 𝗢𝗡 𝗔 𝗧𝗘𝗡-𝗙𝗢𝗢𝗧 𝗣𝗢𝗟𝗘 — 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗢𝗡𝗘.

The moment that John Ádan MacTavish stepped foot in his street, it was almost as if he’d moved an invisible tripwire. Attached to the door of his cream-coloured house down the street, squinting as the light of the morning sun all but worsened his throbbing headache, water long gone as he chucked it in a bin near the park that seemed almost a country and a half away as he saw one woman standing miles down the footpath arms crossed around her chest as she stood there waiting. No, his mother had more of a concerned, meeting him in the middle sort of behaviour, knowing he’d spent a well-earned night with friends after completing an exam. A mixture between resentment and knowing he was going to form an aneurysm at the mere sight of who presented themselves in front of John had him wanting to turn around. In fact, he even tried it, hoping that he wasn’t seen. The street before their house would serve a great purpose.

“Better turn right back arund Johnny, before ah stairt running after ye” It was Lisa, and not even seconds into the sentence did Johnny’s mind pound all the more knowing what was about to be around the corner as he gave up, walking back towards the house as he closed the distance between the two of them — swearing that his mind was going to give him the final warning before it burst a vessel at being too close to his sister.

“Th’ fuck hae ye been?” It was silent enough to not cause a scene, but sharp enough to pierce his ears, to awake the entire neighbourhood and look around to see what was going on. At least she had the decency to do that, but not enough to baby him in his actions.

“Loud” Johnny warned as he raised a singular finger to her before it was slapped away, grabbing him by the shirt and trailing him along with her.

“Git inside, ye eejit.” Of course, Lisa was a tough love kind of sister, and as much as he hated it, he at least knew how to handle himself in moments like this, which did, yes, include walking home, with a hangover. “Cannae complain that ye let us ken ye were after a party bit whit th’ hell were ye even daein’ at the party anyway? Ya reek like a deid fish.”

Johnny turned around to look at Lisa like her mere existence was unwanted, even if the same feeling was mutual. As he inhaled the smell of his faded Shania T-shirt, he reeled back in the realisation that he did — in fact — smell like a dead fish.

“Got wasted tae celebrate an exam we passed whit’s wi’ th’ questions, Detective MacTavish?” He’d never hear the end of it if his mother got involved, as he slinked up the stairs, and knowing Lisa, she was more than likely going to, but he knew why. That was the thing with having an older sister like Lisa: he could always keep her on her two feet. And she hated it, as much as she loved him.

“Making sure ye didn’t shag an unlucky lass.”

“Whit’s it tae ye?!”

“Och! For once mah brother was touched wi’ something ither than a ten-foot pole.”

“Away ‘n’ bile yer heid.”

And right on cue, Lisa had a smug look on her face as another voice called.

“John. You apologize tae yer sister.”

Johnny stood there, at the top of the stairs, looking at his sister with mere disapproval as she raised her brows. She’d won for now.

“Sorry, Lisa,” John called before his eyebrows furrowed. “Not that ye deserve it.”

“Heard that ye wee shite!”

“Lisa!” That got John to at least laugh a part of the headache away in the domestic scene before he moved off to his bedroom. A warm twenty-minute shower and an unquestioned two-hour nap later had him waking around midday before he woke up to his mother’s calm knocks on the door — something that Johnny raced to as he placed his shirt on out of decency and a paced time he got to have rather than having his privacy invaded by one older terror from his mother’s womb and a younger one that was, much to his dismay and constant talks on how not to be, learning from her older sister.

As he opened the door to smile at his mother, he was handed a stack of washed clothing that his mother knew he could’ve had done himself as he let her in and he went to place the clothes down on the bed as he sorted through the clothes as he went to begin placing them in their assigned spaces in his tallboy.

“Need ye tae go ’n’ dae some shopping’ wi’ Lisa.” Of course she did, the old witch of a woman loved seeing her two eldest be friendly with each other, that wasn’t the reasoning at all.

“Cannae ah go wit Mairi?” John begged his mother as he gave her puppy eyes.

“Be nicer tae Lisa ’n’ I would’ve considered it, unless you’re dragging ‘er ‘long as well.” Yep — death sentence, in his mother’s form before John sighed as he put his head down and nodded, was he good enough to drive? Maybe he was feeling a bit ill...

“Dinnae even think about getting out o’ it, ye’re goin’ wi’ yer sister.” She pointed at him as she scowled at him before she chucked a finger in the direction of the door. “Ye’r old enough tae handle yer sister, git.”

There was no room for an argument in the MacTavish house once Fiona MacTavish had the final say before she took over John’s duties of placing things back into his tallboy.

It felt like the world, for a moment, was against the man in a house full of women as Lisa stood beside the door and threatened to chuck the car keys in his direction to see if he was paying attention or not. He, of course, was, but it wasn’t without a flinch as she snorted at his sudden jolt.

“Chicken shit, y’er.” It was only a roll of his eyes from Johnny as a response as he took the keys from her and flinched in her direction, which, in turn, got her back.

“Chicken shit, y’er.” He mocked.

The small little 205 could never handle more than one passenger in the car with the way it both leaned in John’s favour and made the man look like a hunkering giant due to his mass in, what could only be seen as a clown car as it moved along the highway — he was yet to get a better car, if his job could only pay a lot more for what he was trying to achieve . And, if it never had an issue to begin with.

“So, whit did happen at that party anyway?” There was the caring Lisa that he knew.

“Finally, th’ black hear’ finally haes colour in it.” That earned him a slap on his arm in response before John finally explained what happened. “Ye were richt about th’ lassie, except ah git distracted by a bunch o’ loud cars.”

As she turned the dial for a part of the heater, putting her hand on the air vent, she grumbled in realisation that — there was in fact, nothing coming from the car at all, even with the fan speed cranked all the way and back again to turn it on and off.

“Ye getting distracted by ‘ther things? Na surprise there”

“Aye, seems tae run in th’ family”

“Shut yer trap”

“Thing hasn’t worked fur ages, ah will gie ye mah jumper when we git there”

“Ta”

She hadn’t, of course, forgotten about the conversation that the two had dropped as he chucked the jumper in her face as she gasped, getting out of the car as he moved to the boot as she took her time putting his jumper on as she scolded him in the mirror, only getting an ever polite smile back as he closed the boot. That earned him another slap on the arm in eventuality as the two got ready to go, and John, was on this time, doing the heavy work of pushing the trolley around as he conversed with his sister, mindful of the early morning crowd that had bustled in at the time.

“How did mah brother git distracted by loud cars?”

“Ah dinnae ken, they seemed, gallus?”

It took her a moment to realise that where he had been the night before, had been filled with many reports in the newspapers about locals, even news casters showing that no cop had once gone to chase after those and that local neighbours were quite tired of hearing them blasting down the highway every night with their engines at ‘full blast’ or, so it had been reported, given some papers had been known to blow things out of proportion.

“Ye mean th’ street racers? They wur th’ ones ye wur sae interested in?”

“Micht o, wit that blue comet an’ all’” A chill went up his spine at the sight and the way his sister looked at him as if it was his mother standing right before him as his eyes settled in for the sudden scolding he was about to get.

“Ah will nae take up ma brother been’ wrapped around th’ pole thank ye, god kens how th’ hell you’d wanna even join th’ forces whin ye kin end up in some identical wey.” She of course had no power to stop him, it was in the MacTavish blood to go and be rebellious, and John, of all people, got a good part of that out of his two other sisters.

“Ah dae need a new car though.”

“Yer nae-” People turned towards Lisa, as if the both of them had been caught red-handed as they moved along, John all the while staring daggers into his sister’s sudden loud outburst. “Yer nae getting an illegal race car, God kens you’d murder ma wi’ a heart attack.”

It was some part of the entire truth though, and John did need a better car than the one he had, and though his mother might die in the process at a car that might have a loud exhaust in the morning, usually, nothing went wrong with them because they were so well looked after. Or, that’s what his mind believed, because there was nothing that seemed to stick out on that car that made it seem to go faster, it just was.

And yet, here he was, thinking as his sister talked, all the while thinking nothing but about that blue car, the comet, he called it. He could never actually put his mind on it as to what it looked like, except it was fast, and had a modified exhaust, because the science side of Johnny’s mind knew that no way in hell was a normal car capable of that unless something had been changed in it.

“Earth tae Johnny?” A voice interrupted as he shifted attention to his sister, now on the left side of him as he pushed the cart along.

“Aye?”

“Gonnae gimme th’ keys?” Lisa questioned as she held out her palm.

“Oh, aye.”

“Dinnae be daydreaming bout the race cars again, Johnny, ah swear.”

“Na!”

“Then whit else dae we hae tae git?”

Silence, on Johnny’s part. Had he been that off in the clouds?

“Eejit brother ah hae” Lisa scolded as she shoved the list at his chest and looked at him. “There wis na lamb in Aldi, sae ya need te go ta th’ butcher. Good luck, ah will nae help ye” And as she began pushing the trolley away to the bay, she stopped in the middle of the parking lot as a car stopped before her. She waved a hand over to Johnny to get moving. A sigh moved from his lips as he looked around.

MacGregor Meats looked good enough?

Hopefully, there wasn’t going to be a cockroach roaming across the floor like there was in his last visit to a place like this. What he was greeted with, but, as he came in was a calm doorbell that rang as he pushed the door open, and a place that looked like, though sure, had seen better days, was holding up in a way that didn’t make the place feel like it was seconds from shutting down, but instead, that an entire family looked after it.

“What can I get you?” A man yelled before he finally revealed himself. Dirty blonde hair, whiskey eyes, a black work apron, and a mask that covered a good portion of his lower face were what Johnny was greeted with as he all but tried to take in the features of the well-built young man and try and order at the same time. How did Lisa even do that?

Johnny stumbled over his words — like a fool — as the man all but raised his eyebrow in wonderment if he was having a stroke or had seen something behind him before he finally spoke up.

“I’ll tak’ a lamb pack,” Johnny spoke.

“Sorry?” The man said, utterly confused.

“I’ll take one of yer lamb packs,” Johnny enunciated.

“Could’ve said that,”

“Aye, ah did,”

“Fuckin’ Scots,” the man mumbled.

Thing was, Johnny had caught that, as a slight smirk moved across his face as he watched the back of the man face him as he pulled, what seemed to be, lamb, towards him . Obviously pulled from a refrigerator as he started cutting into it, though there were packs of lamb already sitting there ready to go, it was obvious that he’d gone above and beyond for John as his eyes roamed out towards the window and glanced at the blue Ford in his line of sight. It looked new. It looked like the blue car he’d seen, was it a new Ford model they’d announced?

“Dae ye hae any idea as tae who that car belongs tae?” John asked before he only got a chop of the knife as a response into the lamb’s flesh.

“English?”

So he was toying with him, and that smirk came back as he did as he instructed.

“Well, I say, good sir, does one happen to have a pinnacle of an idea as to whomst’s vehicle that belongs to?” It was a terrible mocking, but it got a reaction out of him, a glance back, even as he stopped cutting the lamb and got to see those whiskey-brown eyes for a second more, rolling in the back of his head too.

“No. I don’t.” Was his simple answer before he finally chopped a few more times and made a move, ever still as he was to begin with in his movements other than cutting the lamb as he brought parts of it all together before he grabbed some clear food wrap and began placing it over the box.

The way the man carried himself made Johnny see him almost wiser in his years than he was, as if he was a lot older than his own face, wit, body, and looks had even let him. Given the maturity he carried seemed a grade all the mile above John’s own as he turned around and placed the pack, now in a plastic bag and covered in paper wrapping, finally nodding his head over to the counter as he pressed a few buttons as the plastic clattered against the metal.

“That’ll be 70 pounds,” he stated as John handed over the cash before John moved to take the meat.

“Hae a cracking’ dae, aye?” John said before he smiled. If he wasn’t going to understand him, why not walk out with a final hoorah as the man gave him a look of discontentment before he waited for the door to close and for the Scot to disappear.

“Fuckin’ Scots,” The man said before he adjusted the mask around his nose and got back to work.

[specter319]

𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗞 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗘𝗟

[Link to the work on AO3] A/N: Surprise, I'm back for a little Christmas present, after months of not being around thanks to University taking my entire time up (like to a point where I couldn't even do what the University even requested of me.) I'm back and here in the flesh with something that is now taking the top spot compared to my other story that yes — I'm reworking. I've done some world building in the Delta Squad Universe and realised that none of the other character involved would be even alive. So while that is on my slow WIP list, have this — something that inspired by my 2025's Game of The Year series. And a small little indie game named Night Runners. When I saw this, the 2000's aesthetic. I immediately ran to my MacBook's keyboard and started typing a furious storm, so much so that I'm now several chapters in and 25,000 words deep, and with an ending in mind, but no end in sight ironically enough. Trigger Warning: None, as of far. Word Count: 1.7k Words. Characters in Chapter: John 'Soap' MacTavish, Various other characters, mentions of John's Family Story Blurb:

When John MacTavish had a single rule of putting his family first. He'd never figure that a drunken night after partying would change everything. A blur of headlights, the roar of engines, and the sight of a white and blue car tearing through the highway below him would ignite something in him he couldn't ignore.

In a story set in the year 2000, John MacTavish finds himself with a bunch of fellow illegal street racers after getting in through friends of friends, and with eyes set on him as a member for the taking, a fish out of water. It's up to him to find what had pulled him in to begin with. 'The Blue Comet'.

—

Inspired by the Five Star lyric line from 'Rain or Shine': "Silk and steel, that's the way you feel. And how I love you now."

𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗧𝗡𝗧 𝗧𝗢 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗡 — 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗨𝗘

It was strange, hearing that low hum at 2 o’clock in the morning. When all that was around were that of empty streets, barking dogs, and the light rumble of voices. Sometimes becoming uncontrolled bouts of drunk laughter. He never took note of much else, the traffic. The loud sounds of throttled engines as they tore through the sound of quiet. It happened every couple of nights. How they hadn’t stopped it, changed the way the highway structure behaved. He didn’t know.

Because John MacTavish never understood the urge to move faster than the speed of sound. Something akin to a cheap thrill rather than something paying off in the long run. That’s because he was on the scientific side of it, saw that an engine could run down as fast as the car itself. Hell, though he’d played Need for Speed or Gran Turismo, given they were fresh, new. It never appealed to Johnny what a car did. Other than at a certain amount of compression, creating a combusted explosion. And that bit, he was most interested in.

That’s why as his bunch of drunk friends, close to no sailors’ legs, walked along the bridge. With a giggle, one of them made it wobble before one of the girls screamed out to stop, all the while they all laughed. John carried on like a scared cat as the very same one shaking it saw him flushed with panic as he stopped.

“Fuckin’ Lavvy heid” John called out in slight anger before one of the girls came up to him. A way to tease him, but the very same one who screamed out for the guy to stop.

“Such a big baby you are, Johnny boy.” She spoke as the others continued on, hands moved around him as she hugged him from the side.

“‘Cause ye kin talk Kimberly ,” John bit back as he laughed, “ye wur panicking then!”

“No, I wasn’t.” She stated back, trying to brush off the fact that John would, of course, remember that she, in fact, was.

There had been a strange little bout of intimacy between the two over the past couple of months. And both of them could see it . They’d been so close to kissing on many occasions, but in some parts, something would always distract them. Make them turn away or get interrupted by something they didn’t want as a distracting factor.

But Johnny always seemed to dwell on it. As if it was an early warning sign not to get too close to her. But close enough to where she could feel the blood race in her body. Could smell the lingering hints of sweat, a mixture of various drinks that hadn’t settled in on John yet. But enough to where she could single out what he’d had at the party. One of which was the stench of tequila. It was too close for Johnny. Almost like a siren call, that woman. She was trouble, and he knew that trouble wanted him as much as he wanted to sink into the flame of her body.

“You catchin’ up, lovebirds?” An Irish voice called out, loud for a quiet area, no less. John stared at her, looking at her lips, then back at her almost toxic green eyes with the way the two stood there. Had they kept looking at one another…

“Coming,” Kimberly called before she smiled at John. We’ll get back to this, you and I, later.

So Johnny stood there. Rebuilding the pieces of his mind as he figured out what had happened between the two of them. Before he swallowed what little saliva she had sucked out of him from looking at her. When he heard that sharp whine, a loud crackle. He knew what it was, heard it every week. The roads below them were a festering playground of cars. When people weren’t on this section of highway strip at this time of night. And somehow, they’d decided that tonight would be the perfect time to do so. Four hours before the sun always came up.

Lights flickered through metal poles. Two boxes of shaped metal came blazing through at speeds a cop would drool over. As he watched them grow bigger with the shortening gap of distance below him. It was a dangerous dance as the pair of them corrected their steering. The only thing heard were the screaming revs of their motors. The rubber compound of the tires pounding like a cardiac arrest in someone’s rib cage. Passing under the bridge and blowing Johnny’s hair back as he rushed over to the other side of the bridge to see what they were doing, where they were still going . Flames shooting out of the exhaust as one of them finally shifted. And the acoustics bounced along the fence the houses had protected them from that sound.

He kept his eyes on where they’d last seen them, a white car, a small thing compared to the blue comet he’d seen chewing miles up on it but taunting it no less . As Johnny stood there on the footbridge, the smell of petrol lingering in his nose as he heard the sudden rev limit hitting at the sound of a winner . It was a familiar pattern he’d heard time and time again. And this time, he’d managed to see who was behind it. But from that sheer moment alone, Johnny MacTavish’s brain chemistry had altered. Be it worse or better now for the life of a scientific university student.

It soon came to be that after that moment in time, Kimberley had never gotten back to what they were about to do, for she was already sitting on the lap of another boy, the very same Irish bastard that was calling out to them, making out with him in a careless fashion . All the while, they got further drunk around them, and those two took it to the room. And all the while yet, Johnny’s mind flashed to how smooth the cars had been, spoke about it many times to his friend in a heavy Scottish brogue that only another Scot could understand as he let his body send him into a state of memory so deep he didn’t believe it was a dream, where he was behind the wheel instead, but unable to control the car . It took handwork from thought to get something like a comet to dance.

And that thought left him as soon as he’d awoken, his mind not thinking any longer of the girl, or of the race last night, but of the looming and loud crack of thunder in his head from the hangover he had, a simple sign that he’d drunken too much — but what was new . Because even as the thunder rumbled in his head, it took on the shape of the dancing cars, even as he grabbed his phone out and took minutes to get through a menu to find ‘Messages’ as the phone beeped at the warning of low battery, with a simple message shot out .

MK B home soon. J x x

And as soon as he’d sent out a message to both his mother and sister, he’d shut his phone down so he could save whatever battery remained . And as the morning came to, and the others soon came alive, no one reminded him of the Brogue rambling he’d done about dancing cars . Rather, passed it off as a drunken and now, it seemed hungover state that Johnny was in. Hell, even laughed at his drunken state given he’d often act child-like in his drunken reprimands which also came with a god-awful pig-like laugh that was only worsened when it started out in an evil cackle too .

He never believed how bad his laugh was, for though people often spoke about it, there was no real evidence. And that was more than enough for John to not believe it as a firsthand account. Even as they swore up and down that it happened again amongst the brogue rumble of his voice accounting for some kind of dancing . So with a coffee sculled down, a strip of bacon stolen, water and a painkiller taken, John was out as the party had been set up .

So it became no wonder John felt a weird sense of déjà vu wash over him when he walked over that footbridge again. To see it full of life, the 9 a.m. traffic coming through in droves as per usual. Watching as he looked on at cars whizzing by at the typical speed.

Not the speed they were going last night, no, about two times slower, if at best. And even as he stared at all the cars going past, John felt his brain doing something, he didn’t know what, it was still the hangover finally breaking through . But he’d feel lesser pain if so. He didn’t care, for he was too tired, but it was a great observation nonetheless in why cars made such a great deal of, even if it didn’t interest John .

Because then he thought about his own, his shit box of a 205 he had at home, on the precipice of another incident that left the car collecting dust . It was almost as if the car itself had made him personal enemy number one the moment he turned on that ignition. So he too hated how the cars whizzing past carried a wind mixed with that very same fuel that made his brain flash back to the very same moment . If not where he was several hours earlier.

It finally pulled him away as soon as his eyesight landed on strands of hair, damp from the sweat of last night, as he pushed it back past his forehead . Unscrewed the cap of his bottle to take a swig of his water, desperate at best too, before he sealed it back up. He knew once he got back in class, there would be many things spoken about in said party. Especially who Kimberly slept with, given John hadn’t. Because only then as he watched another blue car pass by. Did he finally push himself off the rail, in a stumbled manner and walk home, even with the pounding headache.

[specter319]

Not doing this to my boys at all

ship so good, a future where they’re safe and retired is called an au

[specter319]

#I KNEW THEY HAD KISSED #there was an unspoken vibe to the tension they had #its the same thing with dragon quest #tell me Erik and the Luminary haven’t kissed

I’m sorry. Y’all are gonna release Twisters on digital, include deleted scenes as a bonus feature, and NOT include the kiss??? Who do I have to pay to get that kiss in HD??? (But the cute cheek touch scene KIND OF makes up for it.)

[specter319]

#CROW IS COOKING IN THE KITCHEN #I REPEAT #CROW IS COOKING IN THE KITCHEN #Specters Recs

PROLOGUE — THE SOUL (Ghost x GN!Reader)

the soul masterlist

summary; laswell is providing you one possible last chance. will you waste it? callsign used is maverick.

[WARNINGS; anxiety, slight paranoia, slight angst.]

The blood in your head rushes underneath your skin as you stare blankly at the floor, sitting uncomfortably on a too-harsh, poorly produced plastic chair that’s digging into your sit bones, your hands on your knees with a slight grip on your kneecaps. A low, uneasy rumbling sensation grows in your gut; it's deadly silent, the exception being the clock up on the wall. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock, Tick—

You don’t jolt when the door opens with the click, but your right index finger lifts for just a moment. You don’t look up either, swallowing harshly as the figure approaches you with light footsteps. The muscles in your shoulders and neck twitch and slowly begin to tense up, a slight ache developing already as your fingers dig into your kneecaps as an attempt to settle rolling thunder in your stomach. A pair of dark brown leather women’s loafers come into view, your eyes studying the shiny material for a moment.

“Maverick.” Laswell speaks firmly, her voice low and serious. There’s a bite of irritation coming from her—a word of warning, almost. You bite down onto your lower lip for a moment, your upper canine tooth sinking in as you lower your shoulders, however they aren’t any less tense than since the first moment you stepped into this room. Your eyes move from her loafers up her dark gray dress pants, up her white dress shirt and finally focusing in on her face. Laswell’s eyebrows are furrowed together, a wrinkle in the middle of them, her eyes narrowed. You can see the corner of her lip is curled a bit upwards. Her bun is nearly perfect, her bangs sitting beautifully across her forehead.

“Laswell.” You echo easily, your voice low in your throat. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Your eyes flicker down to the manila folder in her hands, multiple packets and mismatched papers stuffed into it. Your eyes squint for a moment with recognition; your file.

“You already know what I’m going to say, aren’t you?” Laswell questions, a hint of exhaustion her words—you can’t care enough to decipher if it’s because of you or not right now. Your eyes flicker back down to the waxed floor to where her feet are. Your hands let go of your kneecaps, instead letting yourself lean your forearms down on your thighs and partially onto your knees. Your hands hang between your legs, your back bent down with your head looking down. “Yeah.” You utter, feeling the tension in the air thickening by the second.

Of course you know why you’re here. You always know why, because it’s your own doing. Being called into Laswell’s office—or asked.. More like commanded to answer her phone calls—is practically a hobby for you by this point. You could recite the lectures you’ve gotten like the way a bad yet catchy song is something you find yourself singing to yourself. One part of you is amused with how you haven’t been discharged yet. How haven’t you been is one part miracle, another part devastating. For you or the people around you, you cannot quite tell yet.

“You have a problem, Maverick. We need to fix this.”

You nearly snort, leaning back upwards with one forearm on your leg, your palm grabbing your other knee. “Like I don’t know it.” You mutter, your voice a bit gritty from how low you speak. Laswell makes a displeased noise, her eyebrows tightening together. “This isn’t funny.” Laswell says firmly, her tone stern and unmoving. “I’m not laughing.” You easily retort, your face tightening for a hot moment. You’re both silent, almost like you’re in an unofficial staring contest until Laswell mutters something unintelligible, leaning back against her desk and putting your fat file on the top of some other papers. “I need you to listen to me,” She begins, putting a palm on her knee, smoothing out her dress pant-leg. “They’re considering letting you go.”

That gets your attention right quick. Letting me go? You think to yourself, letting your facial features do the talking for you. Laswell lip twitches, her fingers brushing across her bangs to “fix” them. She’s stressed. “..They need me.” You say slowly, your gaze watching her much closer now, trying to read every part of her body language. “Yes, they do, and I’m trying to do everything I can for you.” Laswell avows, her tone stressing her words. Her fingers twitch where they rest on her knee before she pushes herself back to a proper standing position, her hands in the front of her. Your heart tightens in your chest for a second as you watch Laswell struggle to find her words.

“Look.” Laswell sighs out, her voice serious as you make eye contact with her once again. “I can try—I’m not saying I can, but I’m saying I might be able to provide you one last chance.” Laswell presses her lips together for a moment, silence overtaking everything between you and her. “You are aware of what this means, right?”

You almost want to laugh in her face; how could you not know? Instead, you offer a more polite response—a simple nod.

“I’m serious, Maverick. I’ve tried to pull every single goddamn string I have, all for you. They want you gone.”

Ouch.

“I get it.”

You press the heels of your hands into your eyes until pain prickles at the corners of the nerves in your eyes and you see stars, as well as colors. You inhale deeply, painfully aware of how much space air takes up in your lungs, aware of the way your chest expands until you slowly exhale. You sit up straighter than before, putting your palms back on your kneecaps, lifting your head to look at the woman in front of you. “I get it.” You repeat, quieter this time, but not any more soft than before.

Laswell’s eyes scream doubt. They scream disbelief, anger, worry, and burning determination. “I already sent your file over to your last chance. I’m begging you to straighten yourself out, Maverick.”

You only offer a shrug, your mind struggling to comprehend what this could mean for you. You’ve thought of this moment for months—over a year by this point, honestly. Now that it’s finally here, you aren’t really sure what to make of it all yet.

One last chance. Maybe.

🏷️; @kivino @soapybutt17 @microwavedcheetos @frazie99 @narcolepticduck @ch3rrykoolaid @kimdiedlater @glossysoap @thisuserloveshalloween @missborntodiex @indefenseofkara @mushr00mf00d @queen-leviathan @specter319 @morganight @theunplannedvariable @spacelia @1117sblog @snoowply @dumb-fawkin-bitch @elliotisgae @abigatorchomp @s8nsbride @talooolaaloolla @sstormyskyess @spicyspicyliving @nyushkawritesstuff @tipsykeen @sweetcorpse

wrongfully tagged or you no longer want to be tagged? let me know, no hard feelings. :-)

[specter319]

[specter319]

#not the 141 anymore #its actually the 1 coo 1 #love this

Cuddle time ☺️☺️☺️

[specter319]

𝘾𝘼𝙇𝙇𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝘾𝘼𝙍𝘿 — 𝘿𝘼𝙈𝙊𝙉 '𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙅𝘼' 𝙒𝙀𝙎𝙏 (𝙈𝙒𝙄𝙄 𝙄𝙉𝙎𝙋𝙄𝙍𝙀𝘿)

During my hiatus (which I know was very unexpected and I apologise for that) I did some very, very long cooking in the kitchen, which meant entire world building from the ground up. And figuring out who Damon was as an entire base character. And though I've done a good portion of this, I haven't entirely gotten to his backstory yet, though I have a few ideas here and there. He's not entirely done. So while I get some more renders done and some changes here and there done. Take this for the time being. if you have any questions about Damon, don't be afraid to send them to my ask box or leave them in the comments! Inspired by @shadow0-1's renders | Font | A track from Damon's playlist.

[specter319]

Will never not be weak in the knees over Activision feeding my thoughts

THE MARSHAL 🤠💀 GHOST OPERATOR SKIN

[specter319]

Now you’re making me want to draw them in album covers 🏃

New Military Express headliner - Task Force 141

(ref ⬇️)

[specter319]

ACE COMBAT AND CALL OF DUTY CROSSOVER IS WHAT I NEED RIGHT NOW

Soaring Ever Higher - Ghoap/Ace Combat 7 crossover preview

“This is Bravo 0-7. I’m in a hotspot, multiple tangos on me,” he hurriedly explains his situation just as a bullet chips away at the tree not even a few feet from him. He has no choice but to throw himself on the ground to make himself the smallest target possible. “Fuck!”

“Break the contact and proceed to the RV!”

“Negative!”

“I can turn around and make a sweep; he’s got the IR tag; I’ll see him and can provide support,” Strider cuts into the conversation.

“You’re RTB, Strider 1; do not stray from the course!” yet another voice, male, older. Perhaps Strider’s CO.

“I’m not leaving him there if I can help!”

“That was a direct order, Strider. Return to base immediately! You are not armed for close air support!”

“I still have the 20mm; that’s more than enough! Re-entering OA in two minutes!”

Ghost doesn’t say anything, but he’s bloody grateful for Strider’s help. Carefully, he turns and dusts one tango he has in his sights. There’s plenty more as another salvo of bullets flies over his head.

“ETA thirty seconds, Ghost; hang in there, soldier!” Strider says.

“I’m going to have your ass for this, Trigger!” Ghost is almost tempted to say something at that point. Luckily, the grey war beast makes a hell of an entrance right then. Ghost’s only warning is a shout of “incoming!” as the fighter swoops from the left and spreads some 20mm cheer across the jungle.

Yeah, I have way too many WIPs but I simply had to start this, because I fell in love with Ace Combat and then an idea popped up of Johnny taking on the role of Trigger and it went downhill from there. So, there will be a one shot. Soon. It could be a proper story, but I don't have the resources to support third ongoing project at the moment. Waiting for Connection and Serpent's Coil are still being worked on, don't worry.

[specter319]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄? (Ace Combat x CoD 141)

A/N: As a little Christmas present, I decided to work on a little something something, seeing a random anon state in @mockerycrow's Ask about fighter jets and Task Force 141 got my interest real quick, having been someone who got introduced to these two fandoms 1-2 years ago I absolutely adore the storyline in regards to Trigger and Count, but also the storyline as a whole, neatly wrapping up the reason why three strikes is called three strikes, if only a certain other game could have the same sort of stable plot- Complaints about the plot aside for those who stumble upon it have fun with this little short story that's been brewing in my head! Please enjoy the Homoeroticism of Ghost and Soap Trigger Warnings: Mention of Blood Word Count: 2.5k Words Characters: John 'Soap' MacTavish x Simon 'Ghost' Riley, mentions of Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick and Johnathan Price.

From the moment John MacTavish’s Scottish blue eyes gazed upwards into the beautiful atmosphere above him, he knew he was utterly and completely fucked. It all started with one moment in time, watching the infamous ‘Ghost’ launch one of their newly brought F-35s testing it out for another squadron, making sure all systems were in check. Watching it from the fences as the utter decimation of their ears thanks to the lack of protection were good faith to the man taking it, for what seemed to be a joy ride. And as Kyle and John stood there, seeing it hovering just mere meters above the runway, their joy was all but uncontainable in knowing just who was behind the sticks.

Conversations were the only thing that took over the engines' mighty roar as Kyle and John yelled at the inanimate object in celebration.

“Ooh yeah! Ooh yeah!” Kyle yelled out.

“Ooh, go ‘un, go ‘un” John egged right back.

And then, just as it pulled up, sure it was now at best pulling upwards of 5 gees, the men on the ground cheered.

“Go on you fuckin’ beauty!” Just as it was making its way further into the clouds, graciously curving its own form into the shape of them. 

They were ecstatic, joyful, even, at least one was, to see a man so tall, almost built like a damn statue from ancient history managing to tame a beast so wild, and wicked. And yet, knowing that it was almost second nature in that man's blood to fly it, because that bastard was the only one allowed, thanks to the great charm of the bastards in the west, to have an F-22 Raptor. The only one in the UK, belonged to a man who had no name, never showed his face to the people he didn’t know, including the two men who stood there on the grassy knoll outside of the airbase cheering him on. 

What a weird shitpot of luck that was, almost as if the gods of fate above had been watching the two men above, seeing them be so supportive of a man who never had the cheers of his fellow squad members, but instead, feared him. Tried to rebel against him, just to get a far enough away distance to stay away from a man and his, as some people called it ‘Raptor’s Ghost’.

Those that had seen it, had been lucky enough to tell the tale, at least, on the side he came back to, fellow squadron and captain, but those who had been on the receiving side of those guns as they lifted from their molded seam, only saw a wisp of a dark gray aircraft, before a fiery explosion filled their cabin.

Yes, there was one thing to be known about this ‘Ghosts’ jet — he’d specified that he must have it in a darker gray. Just a couple of shades darker than what the original metal was painted as. And the thing was? Somehow, amongst his captains ranking, the government and even the fuckers down in Lockheed — they’d said yes to the request. Even if a few bureaucrats in the Pentagon were waving the red flag from the start.

So he guessed that’s what the plan was then, to go and catch a sneak in the middle of the night of what it looked like, though Kyle tried with all of his might to persuade him otherwise, John was dead set on seeing the beauty that stood in the dead of the night in Ghost’s hangar, wielded far away from the rest of the base, but close enough to know that the rest of the team always, haunted by a Ghost, he guessed that’s where the name came from then. Given that this was usually seen beside the B-2, a call sign of Ghost would’ve been fitting for someone in a something like this. And it seemed like fate was tempting him all and amongst this, because, as John approached the hangar, as big as it was, there was a crack left open, not closed, like all the other times he’d passed it in his own jet. Only to then realize this was the reason why they had called him Ghost to begin with, no one thought he was around, until it was too late.

Everyone knew this Ghost, was a guy, they’d heard his voice, never heard him laugh, was only ever a man of a few simple commands and went off when requested. What caught John MacTavish off guard however, was not only the hangar open, but the place had reeked of oil and fuel, only to be diverged its acoustics of the tin metal in the sound of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, a far cry from the throat roar of the hotdogged engines, John could already tell what Ghost had been doing to the poor thing. Either someone had been here recently or there was still someone here, but that never mattered as his Scottish blue eyes once more, got him fucked over, classical music be damned.

The metallic gray was no longer present, much like he had seen on the various photos that had beautifully given the thing a personality of beauty, and yet deadly. But instead, it was given a more, mature grayed look, as if it was a rehashed version of the F-35, the very same one he had been seen in this afternoon in a reskinned jet. Sudden realizations hit the man when thinking in Ghost’s logic, not too shabby for a Ghost when John had realized that much to his enemies disliking, when they suddenly realized that the jet was no longer a most recent US fighter, it was too late to break off anyway.

And much akin to John’s own footsteps, he’d realized that he was pulled in by the absolute sheer squared beauty of the thing and had moved right into the Ghost’s trap.

“What are you doin’ in my hangar?” Ghost lowly spoke, standing to the side, having seen him since he strolled in here. 

“Jesus wept!” John spoke as he suddenly turned around, the closed distance between them was something almost scary at just how close and personal this man had gotten, and all amongst that, he seemingly had the goal to wear a bloody balaclava, all the while wearing a stripped down version of the gear they would have to haul around on their bodies. Was he really that comfortable in wearing the same shit each day? At least the only thing invading his senses was oil and fuel. 

“I said what are ya doing here?” Ghost questioned before his eyes glanced over at the hangar “Squadron leaders gonna know about this,” his voice loomed.

“Sorry,” That’s all the weak bastard had as he tried to pick himself up faster than he could pull back on his own stick. “A’m interested in that piece of art ye’v got there, heard you were the one flying the Lightning around this mornin’”

“So you were the two hanging around the fence”

John stiffened at the sheer mention of that, he’d seen them? He didn’t think he had given the height already gained as he passed the pair of them from the runway.

“Wanted to watch her give her a proper launch, sir” John hesitated as Ghost only snorted and shook his head at the mention of the last word.

“Flight Lieutenant to you” This Ghost guy seemingly didn’t want to have him out of his hangar after all, but there was no doubt that heavy brown eyes were on him, painted darker then the plane before him as his eyes registered on MacTavish’s uniform still barely on given the zip that was seemingly fought with, the sheen of sweat that was just above the ridgeline of his eyebrows gave away just how much he’d been working during the rest of his day, when he seemingly wasn’t cheering this man on, then again. MacTavish did seem like a familiar last name, what could hurt but to take a guess.

“Apologies,” John moved ever so closer to the jet, almost as if he were to go ahead and, to the thought running in the back of Ghost’s mind, steal it. Poor bastard, probably wouldn’t be able to handle the ride as well as he could. “Does that mean I get to call you LT then?”

The cocky chatter over the radio, often with another teammate, only gave Ghost all the more confidence to take that stab in the dark to try and pinpoint just who he was.

“You can, so long as you tell me if you’re the one flying that bloody F-16 around.”

John’s eyes suddenly went wide, and of course, that cocky Brit saw it, and with his own pair too. His soul had actively left his body in the acknowledgement that someone had noticed his maneuverability, everyone else had F/A-18’s. But MacTavish was the one that stood his ground when he said he wanted a former fighter pilots F-16, ready to be given back to the Americans, decommissioned, probably in a scrap heap, and yet, here he was, breathing new life into it and treating it like it had just come off the factory rollers. Though, his only fault that he seemingly had with it, was that of the lack of gun ammunition, paling in comparison to something like the beast that stood before him.

“Uh, and why would tha’ be?” 

Ghost paused, raising a brow in confusion, maybe he was going to have to talk to John’s squad leader, had he really not seen beyond his two feet at just who he had under his wing, the man could maneuver the thing as well as he could like the jet he stood before and maybe, if he ever took the chance (which, in high unlikely doubt he would) he could probably pilot Ghost’s, if not, with just a bigger amount of hesitation.

“Just wanted to give a recommendation to the squadron leader as to who to take under our wing, old talents retiring at the end of the year, figured I’d give whoevers flying that F-16 and the one with the yellow strip along the body of the ‘18 a fighting chance at joining the 141” He brushed it off, like it was a chance to come clean. Ghost knew that MacTavish was the one flying the thing, often put in a good word about it to Price. And Price often agreed, that and ‘Gaz’ who was often his wingmanaccording to Price’s notes were often hotshots, but never in an egotistical, ‘wanting to show who’s boss’ way, it was always one of teamwork, and he quite enjoyed seeing them chant as one of their other teammates took down a target before they did.

“The 141?” MacTavish asked

“Yeah, just need to find out who the pair are in the two jets first” Ghost was toying with him as he finally made a move over to his own, inspecting the various scratches that were seemingly evident in the light, but gave the aircraft a seemingly weathered look, one that, Ghost admired. 

“There a reason why they call you the Ghost?” Quick this one was to change the subject, avoiding it, but copying him all the more in his movements as John did the same, placing a gentle hand along the aircraft as his calloused fingers felt a deep scar along the face of the jet, maybe that’s why he rarely had repairs done to the thing other than ones that were required. Maybe that’s why he wears the mask, he’s damaged, just like the bird before him – but he still flies, still finds meaning in the daylight and blue hues of skies.

“There a reason why you’re dancing around the question?” Their hands moved along the surface of the steel at almost the same time, unknown, but as if they were tracing one another's patterns as the question was left in the air for a bit too long before they finally moved to the nose of the aircraft, having no choice but to look at one another as they did so.

“Could say the same,” He watched as Ghost moved towards him, facing him, how he towered over the man with that stature of power, and yet, the only real dominating power he seemingly had left was his rank, and the jet. Because all the smug bastard did was place his hands behind his back and look down at the Scotsman, as if inspecting him as he did the jet, to see if like him, he too had scars beneath that mohawk and blue eyes that seemingly contrasted ever so beautifully along the dark gray. “What happens if one of us already knows the answers?” 

“Then I guess one of us will have to await the answers of the future, but if they already know the answers, they shouldn’t have to wait too long” They both knew one another were staring, helplessly, but stopping it neither as eyes behind that mask squinted ever so gently. So he did have his scars, one on the chin, must have had a bad accident for it to get that bad, and the blood from it too.

“Then I guess I’ll ‘ave ta’ see me way out of this museum then huh? Wouldn’t want ta make a scene now aye?” John smiled, physically having to retch himself from the spot he stood in, not wanting to move away from the view that was before him.

“Don’t quite appreciate customers making a scene and disturbing the nature of this art” So he wasn’t the only one to quickly move along with what he was suggesting as he followed him, only ever a few steps behind, maybe that’s why he got that name, loud as anything in a jet, then he never exists once the engines shut off.

Ghost eventually stopped following him as John made his way out near the doors of the hangar, lingering around just a bit more before he stopped in his tracks, just maybe, if he really did have the answers, he could see how his future LT would respond. “Don’t think I could handle two pieces of art in a museum, never been able ta handle more than one” He swore up and down he saw the man’s head snap into place about that comment, a slight squint at the body language that John was trying to portray as he moved through the hangar doors. “Have a good night, LT”

“Officer Mactavish.”

Payback time.

“Aye sir?” And they’d fallen into line already, a wingman, of sorts, to a Ghost.

“Call me Simon”

Now MacTavish was standing there, being a complete idiot, baffled by the fact that he, of all people, managed to get into the inner circle of a man named Simon, a Ghost. A snort was then heard through the airy atmosphere as he suddenly turned around and walked back towards the stairs of his office, looking back over his shoulder, leaving him in a scrambled state that was the brain of John MacTavish.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” He paused, “For a F-16 Pilot.”

So that’s his name.

[specter319]

ᴛᴀʀɢᴇᴛ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ: 'ꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇʀ'

Feel free to ask me about anything in my Inbox, however, rules are posted down at the bottom of this post, so please respect them, but also, don't be afraid to let the voice, and some, intrusive voices win.

ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ & ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ

TMNT (2007):

Ink: City Lights - Discontinued

Second Chance - Discontinued

Call of Duty (2019 Remastered Series):

Operation: Sentinel - Reworking Tumblr version here

What's Your Name? (John 'Soap' MacTavish x Simon 'Ghost' Riley / Ace Combat inspired fic) - Complete

Silk & Steel — Prologue Tumblr Version here

Black Angel Squad

Operation: Sentinel - Work in Progress Tumblr version here

Shorts & Other Things

Damon's Short ("You Can Go Now") - Complete

Character Rundowns:

Damon 'Ninja' Lincoln-West —

Military File — Get to know Damon from his Military File (circa. 2023)

Who is Damon — Coming Soon

Calling Card — MW2 Inspired Bio

More Coming Soon!

General Rules:

When asking a question in my inbox, go ahead, and ask anything, but just know, that when it is answered, this is a reflection of who you are to the community and who you want to be seen as a person in front of others.

Depending on the stated questions, I will answer them, however, if these questions remain unanswered, I'm either wondering how to word it, or not answering it at all, because again, as I have properly stated above, let some intrusive thoughts win, but not all.

Feel free to ask me about anything including these fandoms that I've listed below, which I will keep you lot posted about. Feel free to ask me about my stories, and characters, or what your take is on the characters in these games.

I will, however, not be answering any and all political discussions out of the answers from my inbox in terms of real-life events. I will however, be willing to see what the characters are willing to see in certain events, but will be only doing it for my own characters and not ones made by other people — otherwise, they would've been well known by now.

My current fandoms I am a part of: TMNT (2003-2007) Ace Combat Call of Duty Ready or Not Dragon Quest Night Runners

[specter319]

Thought of Simon just then commenting in disgust about the readers pizza being something like Hawaiian or Garlic all the while he sits with something basic like a Margherita, Meat Loves and what not

I had a cute little idea for the requests where it could be a platonic Simon and Reader where they can tell Simon’s stressed post-mission possibly from flashbacks or just a mission going wrong and whatnot and gets him to go with them for take out just to try and let Simon know they have someone to lean off if need be 🥺

this is so sweet :,) please enjoy anon!

(platonic) simon ghost riley & gn!reader

wc: 1k ao3

ghost is an expert in disguising how he's really feeling. you can only glean so much from just his eyes, the rest of his expression perpetually hidden beneath his mask and leaving most people oblivious to his mood.

you, however, are not most people.

it subtle, but the tells are there if you know what to look for. lately he's been more irritable than usual, snapping at people and losing his patience at things that typically wouldn’t faze him. you don't think anyone else has picked up on the tension in his shoulders, something that’s clear to you after all the time you've spent with him.

it's made especially obvious that something’s going on with him in the way he jolts when you open the door to his office. his head snaps up to look at you, the icy look he sends you only fueling your concern for his out of character reaction.

"haven't you heard of knockin'?" he growls from behind his desk, papers scattered over the surface, and if he wasn’t still wearing the balaclava you’re sure his hair would be in a similarly dishevelled state from how his fingers worry his head.

"...i did." you shut the door behind you, and with dismissive a roll of his eyes ghost looks back down to his work and does his best to ignore you. 

the longer you watch him, the more exhausted he seems; you can see the bags under his eyes now the eyeblack has been washed away, and the slight tremor in his hands as he attempts to write in a legible way. 

people have been talking, you hear them gossiping about how they’ve seen ghost roaming the halls late at night. none of them thought anything of it, but you knew that meant it was getting bad again, so you decide to just bite the bullet and try your luck. "you got a sec?"

he glances up at you, eyes sharp under his furrowed brow, letting your question hang in the air for a moment. you wait in silence for his response, only the rhythmic ticking of the clock for background noise.

"just spit it out." he finally grumbles, dropping his pen and crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back in his chair. you take it as a good sign that he didn’t outright tell you to piss off.

"i'm going for takeout, do you wanna come with me?" you try, a hopeful little smile on you lips as you slowly approach his desk. his eyes follow your movement, unreadable, and there's another pause before he answers.

"ask one of the others."

"i would’ve if i wanted to." you reply, smile deflated slightly by his clipped tone. he doesn’t react, simply observes you with the same deadpan stare, but you won’t give up that easily. "c’mon, mate, i'll pay?"

at that ghost releases a long sigh, letting his eyes fall shut in a slow blink before pushing himself to stand. "...if you insist."

you grin, a sense of triumph coming over you as he rounds his desk and gestures for you to move. both the walk to your car and the drive into town are spent in relative quiet, the space where ghost would usually respond to you with quips of his own filled only by his short hums.

you don't push or pry, you know he's not quite himself at the moment – it was the whole reason you were doing this, after all.

you let ghost choose where to eat, despite this being your idea, and he settles on that greasy pizza place you always seem to end up at on a night out. he still doesn't say much as you're ordering, or while you're leaning on the wall outside waiting for your food, until you speak up and voice what you’ve been thinking for the last week or so.

"look, i know you like keeping it to yourself, but," you start, watching the cars go by to avoid his gaze, "you can always talk to me, ghost."

"cheers." if you were anyone else, you'd be fooled by the ease in which he brushes you off, but there's something else in his voice as he replies. "you gonna give me a motivational speech?"

"i know you don't think anyone notices, but i do." your voice is low as you look over to him, the look on his face decidedly sadder than earlier in the dim evening light. "if i can help you, i want to."

his movement stutters, pausing with his hand halfway through rubbing his eyes like you'd caught him of guard with what you said. you're almost worried he'll shut down completely, but a second later he mumbles, "...you don't have to do that."

you huff. "you heard me, i want to."

"why? you got your own issues, no point boggin' yourself down with mine too."

"you're my friend, ghost. that's how it's supposed to be." you reply, nudging his arm with your elbow. he's stiff under your touch but, unlike earlier, his shoulders sag and his hands have stopped trembling. "you tell me your troubles, and we deal with it together. two heads are better than one an'all that."

"thank you."

you almost miss the whisper. you do your best not to react before he looks away again, trying not to make a big deal out of his vulnerability. instead, the two of you go back to standing side by side in silence, watching the world go by with a lot more peace than before.

your order is eventually called out, and ghost goes inside to collect it while you wait outside. it may not be much, but you're glad he didn't completely shut you out. you're not sure you know anyone who deserves a shoulder to lean on more than ghost.

when he comes back out you reach to take the boxes from him, but he just shoves a twenty pound note into your hand, and before you can react he's already marching back to the car.

"hey, i said i'd pay!" you call, a fond smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you jog after him.

"course i'm not lettin' you pay, you twat." he glares back at you, but the look holds no malice. a beat passes before his face softens almost imperceptibly and he adds in a quiet murmur, "not after all that."

[specter319]

𝗢𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡: 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗟 UP IN THE AIR

Authors Note: Hey you lot! Sorry to keep you guys hanging, but this will be the final update for the story, for this year. I'm taking a Christmas break to go and work on myself, reblog some fan art and stories that catch my eye, update my Tumblr blog, and even, work on some more stories including this one. Yes, the brain rot for Call of Duty is real — and when you actually listen to your brain and write, with nothing in goal, you end up getting....[Checks other document] 3,000 words of a chapter that hasn't even seen the end of it yet. Anyway, enjoy the final chapter post for 2022!

GIF by Loonlypaper as well as concept for message Pairing: Damon 'Ninja' West x Kaden Lincoln, Simon 'Ghost' Riley x John 'Soap' MacTavish, Zack 'Nemo' Hayes x Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick. Word Count: 2.3k words

no use of y/n eventual relationship establishment, however, Damon and Kaden are married. Summary: In a nation unaccustomed to war, Australia's newly elected government faces a dire crisis when rumours of a biological weapon on home soil, send shockwaves through the Government's defence sector. Dispatching a team of elite operatives to deal with it, the containment goes heads up as they look for other options.

The Black Angel Squad is soon assigned as the situation quickly spirals out of control behind the team's back unknowingly, and to stop a bleeding wound, Task Force 141 is brought in to assist them amid a frantic cabinet meeting of last-minute options and consistent fuck ups, forging an uneasy alliance between two teams. As tensions soar on both ends, questions arise about one thing: Was this the making of a weapon to begin with? Warnings: slow-burn, zombies, canon typical violence associated with Call of Duty, gruesome depictions of death, blood, swearing.

Ao3 Version

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The sound of rubber reverberating through the firewall of the giant SUV had drowned out some of the Taylor Swift, Kaden just had to play. While nursing a cup of freshly brewed coffee, straight from the motherland of the golden arches. Another one of the track fives that Damon had heard a million times started playing with that familiar piano rolling through, mere seconds in, though he enjoyed it. There was always something about the lyrics that Damon had noted, never willing to comment on, that he could see resonated with Kaden’s relationship between his parents, ever since he placed that ring on the very same finger that nursed a coffee.

“Can we skip this one? I don’t like it,” Damon simply stated as he looked out the window, Kaden giving him a glance of skepticism.

“Out of all the songs, this one? Seriously?” Kaden questioned as he kept his eyes on the road.

“Never liked it, anyway, next track,” Damon said before he pressed a button on the screen though the same rubber sound filled in the cabin, a tired sigh revealed what Kaden was about to say.

“You just like this one because it’s more country.”

“Yeah, so what if I do, she makes a great country song.”

There was a pregnant silence in the cabin, maybe Kaden had finally caught onto why he skipped it, but like they were always doing, one was always interested in what was rattling around in the others mind, never having enough time to truly interrogate or question one another’s actions.

“Are you awake yet?” Kaden questioned.

“Nope, still very much dead inside,” It was a question both knew the answer to after so many years.

Breakfast had not gone the way of calming them down since Cameron had told them the simple detail. No further information had been given out about the incident other than the fact that they were being assigned  alongside a task force to figure out just what exactly happened, other than a few details about what plane they were on, and the reports had been seen. When they had pressed for more? Nothing. Cameron had even pleaded with Colonel Vanessa, someone who was able to get anyone to heed to her command given the status of their task force to do something about it, pull some strings to get some form of an answer, but even when she did, not one of the higher ups were willing to give an answer other than ‘we’ll get back to you on that one.’ Not only was she pissed, but it had left an uneasy feeling in the pits of their Bacon and Egg filled stomachs as their radios went off. 

“How you two lovebirds doing in there?” It was Zack, taunting as always. 

“Pending divorce and assault charges,” Kaden replied back sarcastically.

“We love to see it!” Zack replied back in a monotone voice, it was truly a shock when he used the generational slang that Kaden and Damon never truly understood, but somehow, did all at the same time given they were only born three years apart. “How long till ETA?”

“Fifteen minutes. They should be landing in ten, least that’s what we’ve been told.”

“Of course you’re too lazy to check how long we have left to go,” Damon chimed in.

“Yeah, it’s fun driving you two up the wall.”

Damon looked over at Kaden as he shook his head. “Keep that up and you won’t even get cookies.”

“Sorry,” Zack quickly mumbled back. As much as he hated the cookies, he was at least grateful for the gesture.

An audible snicker moved through the pair before the silence of the song in the cabin kept them lingering back to the shady feeling of just what exactly were they keeping from them finding out. Damon realised he’d picked up on something about that feeling, deciding to announce it over the radio in a timely fashion as always.

“You know that Professor?” Damon mused, silence over the radio before he checked the rear view mirror, a familiar black SUV sitting behind them - Cameron and Zack in the second car.

“Professor Campbell, yeah, what about her?” Cameron replied.

“She was kind of shifty, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?”

Kaden was even interested as he looked over at the male, quick to squint his eyebrows in a questioning demeanour.

“Police chief interrupts her when she gets, to his definition at least, rowdy, doesn’t dare to comment any further on what she said though.”

There was silence, between the bickering and nonsense of that mornings early antics. Damon picked up on one thing many people usually couldn’t — body language.

“Could just be a plain sexist cop trying to tell a woman what to do,” Zack interjected.

“He might be, but, that aside, it wasn’t like that,” Damon stated as he paused, it was the quiver in her voice. 

Had she said too much? 

“She had a moment of hesitation in her voice. Like she’d let on a bit too much than what we needed to be told.”

“I think you’re clutching at straws now, Damon,” Cameron replied. “No way a woman of her stature could be shut down by someone lower than her rank.”

“If the money pays well enough,” Kaden murmured as he raised his eyebrows, leaning back into the seat, slowing the car down as they turned off the freeway.

“Just let it go Damon, I’m sure they’re just figuring out things as they happen and they have no information.”

But he didn’t want to, for the sake of his own team. He begrudgingly did so as he let the radio go silent and sighed before he placed his head roughly against the headrest — for a moment, Damon had gotten too far into his head, and Kaden had noticed.

“You think there’s something else behind it?” Kaden questioned, deciding to run with his idea. Damon knew he was letting him have his moment to cool down, to let him explain himself when others wouldn’t. To hear out each others sides, it was a thing they did, a subtle way of holding each other in an embrace, without physically needing to. A way of always being there for one another.

“For someone so professional, she certainly seemed like she was getting paid to keep a lot behind that curtain of hers.”

“Politics is a high pressure situation, and when shit hits the fan, especially when it’s out of control in seconds. People can break under the pressure. You, of all people would know that.”

“But this pressure and their pressure are completely different.” 

“Depending on it’s context, yeah, I guess you’re right. But, if the situation requires you to have control at all times and something happens under your watch that you can’t control?”

“You start to panic,” Damon added. Maybe it was just that, maybe she was panicked over nothing, and the fact that if she slipped up on any minor detail. She would be gone from the security of the seat she walked to every morning that she had safely called a job. But Damon was still doubtful in the back of his mind of something being off. Knowing that he was stressing over the unknown, he was better off doing the same over the miles of road that was in front of him. Only moments away from the Task Force they were set to meet in regards to this, they’d never gotten any information about them, just the fact that four of them, were to present at the airport. And they didn’t even know exactly who each individual would look like, though, given the plane they would be in. It wouldn’t have been too difficult to spot a few people walking out of an exit not used by common people.

“Hey.” 

“Mhm?”

With a shift of his hand, Kaden quickly grabbed it from the corner of his eyes and moved a thumb over his knuckles. He grounded him in his thoughts of worries as Damon soon returned the gesture by interlacing his hand into his.

“It’ll work out, somehow.”

Damon only took in a deep breath as the car zoomed along on the highway, passing signs that only showed them getting closer to the destination that they needed to be at, and in the sky, just as red and green lights flash ever so subtly, revealed exactly who they were looking for.

“That’d be our assets,” Kaden spoke up before he finally moved his hand gently away from Damon’s, already missing the warmth.

Kaden pressed the button on his radio, he wasn’t too sure about it just yet. “Plane coming in hot that’d be them, right?” 

“According to Flight Tracker, that’d be a yes,” Zack replied.

Another pause of silence.

“…You did not just use Flight Tracker to tell us that was the aircraft.”

“Take a wild guess boys, what’s it going to be?”Damon got a scalding look from his husband, a smile almost played on his face.

“Airbus A320?” Damon quizzed, he was playing into Zack’s love of aircrafts.

Zack made a buzzer noise in response to Damon’s guess. “787.”

“Damn.”

“Zack!” Kaden interrupted, he was still awaiting the answer to the question, but instead, silence moved through both vehicles cabins as they made the final turn off into the airport. It already looked busy with the amount of taxi’s lined up in the ranks, and vehicles dropping off passengers given the early hours of the morning were seemingly the best. However, it was with luck that they were skipping all right past that, and to an entry gate that awaited a few security guards. Confused just as much so in wondering why their presence was here.

“Car behind with you?” The man asked as he looked back at the second black SUV.

“Yeah, here to collect a few people,” Kaden stated as he handed over his ID, Vanessa had obviously planned ahead, and on extremely late notice, what a godsend of a woman she was. 

“Ah, Lieutenant Lincoln West, welcome, if you just follow the yellow line on the road and go to gate two, the people will be waiting for you there,” The man stated before he backed up and pressed a button, the gate moving open.

Kaden paused at the sound of his marital name being stated aloud, it was too late to correct him, but a nod of appreciation was something he gave back in return before the pair of black cars moved into the airports smaller roads. Upon inspection, there was so much the men hadn’t seen behind the scenes of a place that was so busy, known for it’s destined lines and planes taking off like it was a last chance, as Kaden slowly drove in, he quickly took his hand back to the radio to question just what Damon had inspired him to wonder about.

“Did they seriously not give us information beyond an incident and a Task Force?”

“Other than what we know, what time they’d be arriving? absolutely nothing,” Cameron replied.

As the comms went silent again, Damon looked over at Kaden with a knowing smirk as he finished off his coffee.

“What?” Kaden asked, that smirk usually meant trouble.

“It’s just — never thought I’d hear someone say my last name next to yours, it sounds good.” “Maybe I should’ve had Zack in the car with me,” Kaden grumbled. Damon looking falsely offended as that smile, moved his way onto his face. Only something his husband could make him do, he still made him laugh with the small things, after all these years. 

A cute shared moment aside, as the smile faded from both mens eyes, something now was off about all of this mornings efforts to Kaden as he gave a suspicious glance to Damon. Efficiency and effectiveness as well as proper planning was something that their Squad worked on, throughout plans, multiple paths and questions in any form that included ones of stupidity were how they worked in order to know exactly how to pin point what they were after. And with the way this incident fell into their hands, it was now a growing pit of doubt forming in Kaden’s stomach as he did nothing but await for yet another set of gates to open as they got closer to the taxiing aircraft.

Planes always fascinated Kaden, just how massive the wing size of such a plane could support itself. Though nowhere near as geeked out about it as Zack was, the sheer size of them always had him in bewilderment, even with the size of the 747 he was stunned by the sheer mass of how something could easily float in the sky and have it done with 2 million lines of code. As he parked up near the plane on the side of the road, careful to leave some space for the working airport crew, a few looks from the crew who had seemingly worked hours on the shift were giving each other looks. 

Why were they here?

Though they were on time, it was almost another half an hour before anything truly started moving in full force. And as Damon tapped Kaden’s shoulder, a quick button on the radio had Kaden relaying that they were ready for them to move as all four of them got out of the car. Leaving doors opened as they moved in front of their doors, and saw the ones to the airport open, ones that were rarely used by people unless it was for a connecting flight.

And just like that, the first man to appear was that of a lenient male in a blue shirt and a mohawk.

“How the hell’d he manage to get through selection with hair like that?” Zack questioned.

[specter319]

Snow!Ghost does something to me

Simon "Ghost" Riley in "Frozen Tundra" | Modern Warfare III (2023)