#a side of ghoap

[lostintransist]

Secrets are for Grownups | Part 8

Part 1 can be found here. AO3

Should I apologize for the below? Probably, but they deserved it.

CW: Allusions to past SA and calling men out on their own bad choices

Disgust is not a strong enough word for John to articulate his feelings toward his men. He studies them, unsure of how to move forward. They had remained seated as you fled for the kitchen. Simon’s fingers dug into Johnny’s shoulder and Johnny’s into Simon’s thigh.

“How could you?” John does nothing to mask the sorrow in his voice. “How is what you did to her any different than what happened to you, Simon?”

He exploded off the couch, fists clamped tight as his shoulders shook with the energy to fight down a strike.

“That was nothing like what happened to me, John,” Simon growled out, face set in anguish.

Johnny rose from the couch, a hand settling on his husband’s shoulder.

“How is it different then? Because she wasn’t in chains? Coercion traps people much more effectively than restraints. We all know that. We all took those classes about infiltration and interrogation together.” The two steps between them stretched like a ravine. “Did you ever ask her, either of you?”

Simon pales, Adam’s apple bobbing, “She never said no.”

John fired the killing blow, in a quiet, angry voice.

“Did anyone listen when you said no?”

He is moving before either John can blink — hurling open the door and vomiting into the flowers out front.

Johnny stared at John, hurt and betrayal chasing each other through his eyes.

“What if this had happened to one of your sisters?” John watched the words land and explode like the bombs Johnny had been so masterful at creating.

Dry heaving from the front porch drew Johnny away from the entrails of his decision laid out before him like someone had been divining a message from the lost gods. John moved to the front door and watched his men work their way home. Johnny limped and Simon swayed with each step. John shut the door firmly, resting his forehead against it.

He fought back the acid straining to breach his throat. He hadn’t known. He would have done something if he had known. All it would have taken is a quick conversation and two little boys wouldn’t exist, but neither would all this pain that attacked his people or himself.

Janet, his ex-wife, had blindsided him that year. Never once did she speak about being unhappy. None of her friends, her mother, or even her sisters had mentioned that she might be feeling unloved, neglected. John showered her in love and gifts and time whenever not on a job. He had thought them both happy. He had been wrong.

After a short job, John had come home to an empty house and a knock at the door. Within ten minutes of searching through the whole house and finding it empty of any trace of his young wife, he had been served. Sitting at the kitchen table he had read every line of the divorce papers, seething at the slander and the truth sprinkled to have the greatest effect.

She had dragged him through the courts. Her shark of a lawyer took a bite and a pound of flesh, as well as a healthy chunk of his paycheck for alimony. It would have been higher but the judge denied taking half of a war hero’s paycheck. Though that didn’t stop them from taking half of his retirement benefits for twenty years.

Every unclassified evil John had committed to keep the world safe had been thrown in his face. Conversations had in confidence, kinks they had explored together, every trip he had endured to bring Janet joy had needlessly been dragged out and laid before a judge, spoils of war.

John’s lawyer, a shark in his own right, kept John clear of as much as he could but spousal abandonment couldn’t be washed away with his years of dedicated service to the crown. He had been relegated to desk duty per Kate until the divorce proceedings settled down; that had been about the time you left if he remembered right. He hadn’t noticed anything. How could he have fucking missed something like this? Turning he rests his weight against the door, not trusting his legs to hold him at the moment.

His flagellation paused when you and Nyla appeared from around the corner. Both faces are awash with confusion as he answers the questions you undoubtedly have.

“Boys and I had a chat, they will reach out when they would like to schedule to see the boys. It might be a few days though.” John cleared his throat as he looked away from you to the wall of pictures.

“Are they okay?”

John glances at you, astonished you would ask after everything they put you through. Running a hand over his beard he chose what he hoped would not become a lie.

“They will be.”

Your eyes scour his face, tracing every wrinkle as if searching for confirmation of truth. Whatever you find there must satisfy because you nod once.

Nyla, mother instincts alert, narrows her eyes at him.

“What did you say to them?”

“I reminded them that if they stood outside their choices, they would be disgusted with them too,” John straightened, his chest stretching uncomfortably with the depth of his breath. Matching Nyla’s ever-narrowing gaze he continued, “I would give them the day before you talk to them. They are going to need it.”

She nodded once, firm and on par with a general sending his men to war.

“Dearie, why don’t you and John go out for the afternoon? It has been a heavy morning and I think you both could use an escape,” Nyla patted your arm affectionately.

“Oh, I don’t think,” you start to protest but Mama MacTavish is letting none of it slide. She cuts you off with a keen look in her eye.

“None of that now, you mentioned you need to go to the shops for more flour and sugar. Here’s a strong man to do the carryin’ for you since you complained that the workers are always a bit odd about helpin’ you.”

John has no opportunity to offer an opinion on the plan. Before he knows quite how it happened you are backing the van out of the driveway and sharing a look with him. Sharing a laugh you point the car toward town.

“How have you been John? We haven’t really had a chance to talk about you with all my drama going on.” You glance at him when you pull to a stop at a light.

“Not much to report. Still working for the crown but mostly handling paperwork and training now.”

You wince in remembered pain. John’s hatred of paperwork had been quite well known. It hadn’t gotten better.

“Are you dating? I remember you wanting a family. You seem like the type to want a family,” the van rolled forward as you set it in motion.

Snorting, John shook his head.

“Hard to find a woman willing to look past the insanity of my divorce decree and the demands the job had on me. And what makes you say I ‘seem like the type to want a family’?” He fired back.

A warm, embarrassed smile broke across the half of your face he could see.

“You talked about wanting kids with your ex before everything blew up. There was this,” one hand lifts off the steering wheel as you twirl it, looking for a word, “sparkle in your eye when you talked about having children.”

Humming in reply John did recall the few late-night conversations the two of you had fallen into over Chinese food you complained about. Thinking of those dreams still ached. Time to change the subject.

“I remember you not wanting kids. Did having Noah and Jace change that?” John reached forward and adjusted the air settings of the car.

“Yes and no. I told you I wasn’t sure if I wanted kids, not the same thing as not wanting them. I wouldn’t trade them for anything. Even if I could go back in time ten years and give myself all the tools to avoid the pain I might still make the choices I did because the idea of never meeting them or seeing them grow? Devastating. Will I have any more? I don’t know.”

The sentence trails off. John can sense there is more there and he gives a gentle tug to see if you will open up.

“Why don’t you know?”

You take your time to answer, using merging onto the freeway as an excuse to delay a reply.

“Men my age are not ready to be fathers, or they all want their own babies and not to raise someone else’s. You throw on top of that Jace and Noah have different fathers it adds a whole layer of being thought of as easy and more likely to cheat,” you cut him off when you can sense he is going to start to argue. “John I am not blowing smoke out my ass, I am in several groups online of other single moms who run into the same issues I do of men being weird about the fact I already have kids and all the misogynistic bullshit that comes with it.”

“What about older men then?” John challenges.

It’s your turn to snort.

“What? You mean the men who have divorced from their first wives and are looking for a woman to come in and play mom during their parenting weeks? It’s double the work with no real payoff. They are looking for someone to manage their kids while they go golfing on the weekends and make dinners during the week. Looking for a wife instead of live-in help because they aren’t rich enough to hire a nanny and a maid.” You shake your head and roll your eyes ending your rant with a sigh.

“Do you want to get married again then? This sounds enough to put anyone off finding love,” John prods a bit further, happy to keep the conversation off him and his unfulfilled dreams of a family.

Leaving the freeway the grumble of engine slowing fills the space.

“I want love,” you finally start, pointedly keeping your eyes on the cars ahead of you. “I want to know romantic love that settles into the backdrop of my life and keeps me warm at night. If that comes at the sacrifice of my boys, my freedom, my life though? I won’t take that chance. I would have to find someone happy to be a fourth father figure to my boys, who loves them and me fiercely, and makes life better.”

He holds his thoughts in, sensing that you have more to say. It took a few minutes, but John had been right. Settling into a parking spot of the wholesale bakery supply store you reach across the van to pop open the glove box and pull out a fast food napkin. The small space is nearly overflowing with them. Blowing your nose you drop the proof of unshed tears in the small garbage bag John hadn’t noticed.

“If it were possible to find a man who could do all of what I need, I doubt he would want me.” Your voice is small and sad as you say it, confessing to a sin you didn’t want to hold.

No words rise in John’s mind to soothe the ache he hears. He watches though as you pull out some cup holders he hadn’t noticed either. This damn car had so many nooks and crannies he wouldn’t be surprised if you could hide a body underneath the back seats. Lifting a plain band you slide it onto the ring finger of your left hand. Brows going up without his permission John is caught judging when you straighten up.

“The men in there are more likely to leave me alone if I have a ring on,” you say by way of explanation.

“Would be hard to catch a husband if they think you’re married,” John joked, climbing out of the car as you do.

“Not trying to catch any here. All these men do is belittle me for making my ‘silly little cakes’ instead of doing real baking like they do.” Rolling your eyes you stroll with him across the parking lot.

“The hell is real baking then?”

John had seen your work and tasted it. You could bake near anything and it might send him into space with how delicious he found it.

“Hell if I know. Because my ovaries are all tucked up safe in my body instead of dangling waiting to be hit it must mean I will never understand.”

The boisterous laugh draws eyes as the sliding door opens admitting your grin and John’s mirth. He trails after you as you push a flat cart around, pointing to items for him to load. At one point you are speaking to a tall man with a name badge, looking for a specific item you had been unable to find on the shelves.

A different employee walking by pauses, arms full of baking chocolate, to speak to him.

“I’m so happy she was finally able to bring you with her. The men who come by were starting to believe her husband was made up and bother her.”

She walks away before John can find the lever that allows him to open his mouth and deny the claim. Janet had been young when they married, the age gap almost uncomfortable as he thought of it now. John had vowed never to pursue a woman so much younger than him again. Though as he crept closer by days to forty he wondered if the nine years between you and him might still be too much.

The thought dogged his steps as he loaded your van with the bags and joked with you over lunch, staring at the ring you had forgotten to take off after the shop.

Could he have a chance at the dreams that haunted him since he was a teen? His mum had raised him until his gran took over the job and John shipped himself off to war. He knew from his time in therapy that the desire for a family stemmed from what he saw as the lack of it from early on. That knowledge didn’t stop the gnawing in his gut. Imagining you with his ring on your finger, his hands in your hair, your smile greeting him every morning instead of the coffee rings on his table, it tore at something inside him. It ripped and shredded because as much as he could pretend, he doubted you would want another broken military man in your bed or your heart.

Secrets Masterlist | Masterlist

@love-kha1 @sweetlike-sugarplum @vmaxis @splaterparty0-0 @momowhoo @talia-the-gemini @redkarmakai @aethelwyneleigh27 @asexualbuthorny @sleep101 @callsignbumblebee @lucienofthelakes @sirbonesly @demothers-empty-blog @fightmerahhh @skeletonsucker

[s3rrrpentine]

paint the town red or something idk ( ᐛ )و

me rambles:

uhhh i feel like i am being too hard on myself these days and i miss when i used to have fun and feeling satisfied drawing them doing silly things. i keep comparing myself with other talented artists so i pushed myself to be kind of like them. but. dear god. that is not me. it's a bit hard for me to follow trends when i don't feel like it. it's good for chasing numbers and i want to. but i also don't want to. sucks to be in the middle of anything and everything. like a limbo. what the hell do i even want. what do i even know. i just wanna draw ghostsoap. why does it suddenly becoming so hard on me. reminding myself to just fuck it and draw like always. somehow it's not enough and then i mess it all up all over again.

[notozthewizard]

I am *not* procrastinating doing my important projects by sketching ghoap hurt/comfort, why do you ask?

[chiiswizz]

Ghost loves Soap ALL the time no matter what he's got going on, but, like, c'mon, long haired Soap am i right

[the-raindeer-king]

Selkie! Soap getting caught in Fisherman! Ghost's net, and he's mad at getting caught and not willing to go down without a fight. Except it's really unnecessary because Ghost isn't a poacher, and he's not interested in getting into a fight with a 600lbs+ animal.

It catches Soap off guard, and he keeps an eye on the fisherman after that, curious as to why he's even in the area. But it doesn't take long to figure out that he's just trying to catch fish, trying to make a living.

Soap takes it upon himself to help, chasing fish into the net. At first, it's really just to get the human out of his territory. But he gets used to the human's presence, to the routine of the fishing boat arriving at the crack of dawn.

Until the boat stops coming.

Well, really, that's just not acceptable in Soap's mind. They'd had this routine for months now, and to disappear without so much as telling him is rude. Sure, Ghost didn't know he was helping him, as Soap had kept himself out of sight. But he had been there! He deserves an explination!

So, he takes it upon himself to find Ghost on land, to swim to the dock that Ghost's boat is at, and look for the fisherman in the little town nearby, selkie coat pulled tight around himself.

[verdantcreek]

he was the best of us. | lyrics from fin by mustard service

[s0fter-sin]

prince!ghost and lord in waiting!soap

ghost is a warrior prince, next in line after king price and it’s always been accepted he would be the lone ruler; never one for entertaining the courts or indulging foreign rulers trying to consolidate their power. he hardly acts like a prince at all, in name only when he spends more time as a pseudo captain of the guard. price has never begrudged him that, not when he himself has been a lone king since his inauguration

though he’s a warrior prince, he’s never lost the favour of the people; many see him as a guardian even if he doesn’t interact with the people as much as benevolent and stalwart king price. who he does interact with is the kingdom’s children; always ready to bend a knee and listen to bright voices, to praise stick swords and shields or hear the plight of a struggling family. it was a common belief that if he wasn’t out protecting, then he was with the protected; face covered, blonde curls shining in the sun

soap’s always loved ghost. as his lord in waiting, it’s been his job to attend him since they were young and even as a child, he’d idolised him; his skills in battle, his surety. he thought his life would be nothing but service, clothing a brat prince and making sure his shoes shined. but ghost has proven more than that; he treats him as an equal, consults him on strategy and court politics and over time that idolisation turned into love

and ghost has always felt the same. he’d begrudged the idea of a lord in waiting, not wanting someone always in his business but then came this spitfire who never missed an opportunity to push back on him; to make him dig deeper. johnny is more than some mere servant; he’s his confidant, his best friend, his… everything. he could be simon with him, not prince ghost

but simon figures that out too late

king price gets word from king shepherd, a kingdom they’ve only recently stopped feuding with and he’s offering up his son, prince graves, as a way to bond their kingdoms together and firmly put war behind them. price is ready to deny him, he doesn’t fear war from shepherd, when he sends some ancient laws that leave him unable to refuse. he hates it, hates that he’s ruining ghost’s happiness and feels like he’s betraying his adopted son but there’s nothing he can do

graves comes to their kingdom within the month and it’s clear from the moment he walks through their gates that he’s the opposite of ghost; arrogant and conceited, his ceremonial armour glossy and untouched by battle. he’s dismissive of their servants, of their ways, of their people and ghost hates him

graves insists that the wedding happen as soon as possible, pushing the craftsmen and cooks beyond their limits to prepare and every moment ghost spends with him, the more he dreads his wedding day. every evening he retreats to his room, exhausted, and it’s all johnny can do to keep him afloat; trying to keep him positive as ghost falls away and simon breaks in his arms. he wants to whisk him away like the old tales, the pain his oldest friend and love is in making his heart ache but all he can do is promise to be there with him

but it seems graves wants to take even him away

“soap’s been my lord in waiting since we were children,” ghost protests, voice barely clinging to civility. “i wouldn’t want to lose such a valuable worker.”

“there are plenty of decent servants in our kingdom; you’ll forget this one soon enough,” graves waves away, carding a possessive hand over his curls and it’s only bc he’s looking for it that soap sees ghost’s jaw twitch beneath his neck gaiter. “it’s custom for one marrying into our kingdom to embrace all that it has to offer, leaving who they were behind to become someone better. you’re entering a new life with me; you don’t need the baggage of this dreary place.”

soap feels sick as he walks behind them, his blank expression hiding all sign of his breaking heart.

“soap is beholden to me,” ghost declares. “we were sworn together by the old laws. i’m afraid a custom isn’t enough for me to break a vow to the gods.”

graves lets out a disgruntled noise, tugging harshly at one of ghost’s curls with only a thin veil of fondness; his conceding smile not reaching his eyes.

“i never made a vow to the gods,” johnny points out later. “price gave me to you because he was sick of me setting fire to the kitchens.”

simon hums and sets his freshly cleaned armour aside, turning to him with a twinkle in his eyes he’s barely seen since sheperd’s missive. “you pinkie swore that you would never leave me; that’s more powerful than any promise to the gods,” he says and soap’s thrown back fifteen years, to a willow tree big enough to touch the sky; to two boys from different stations who didn’t care that one was dressed in silk and the other in scraps.

johnny feels a lightness he hasn’t in a month as simon winks at him. “besides, do you really think graves is smart enough to figure it out?”

the days pass quickly, graves’ veneer of affection growing ever thinner, and before either of them are ready, it’s the eve of ghost’s wedding.

he’s said nothing, done nothing but stare at the wedding robes graves had tailored for him in the fashion of his kingdom and johnny doesn’t know how to break the silence. he draws out each second as he fusses with the cape piece and ensures the shoes shine in the fire light until he has no more excuses.

he sighs as he straightens up, brushing off polish onto his pants. “i suppose this is where i leave you,” he says with a weak smile but it quickly dies when simon still doesn’t look at him. “i’ll be here in the morning to help you get ready… good night, simon.”

johnny bows and makes for the door, trying to convince himself he didn’t just say goodbye.

but he’s stopped by simon’s hand loosely wrapping around his wrist.

he looks back as simon finally tears his eyes away from the robes, looking at him with such clear longing it almost brings him to his knees.

“i don’t want graves to be the first man to touch me, johnny,” he confesses and johnny’s breath hitches. “i don’t want to be married to another… not when the one i’m set to wed isn’t you. but if i have to do this… please let me feel loved one final time.”

simon’s thumb brushes the back of his hand; their kingdom’s greatest warrior caressing him with a touch light as silk. he doesn’t pull johnny in, doesn’t need to; johnny’s already sinking into his touch.

desperation and love tinge every movement; johnny dancing his fingers over simon’s neck gaiter until he all too happily removes it, baring his scarred cheeks and lips. johnny kisses each one, willing his love and his touch to linger above all others as they move together; sharing breath, sharing body, sharing soul the way they wish they always have.

when ghost makes his way down the aisle, it’s not in the fine embroidered robes graves had laid out for him. he’s in his battle armour; dark and weathered, the sign of the ghost, the warrior prince, going to battle. the only thing missing is his helm, tucked under his arm.

showing his hair; curls gone and shaved tight to his skin.

a thing done only in a time of great mourning.

graves looks irate and it’s the only spark of joy ghost feels as he stops before the altar; set beneath the willow tree where johnny promised himself to him. one final insult.

ghost is silent throughout the ceremony and in spirit and in grief, so is the entire gathered kingdom until the priestess reaches the final vows and suddenly, a great roar rises above the crowd as seemingly every child in the kingdom swarms the altar.

ghost is too shocked to do anything but let them push him away from graves, bullying their way between them like they’re preparing to protect him just as he’s always protected them.

graves is furious but the children stand firm in the face of his threats until he moves to strike one-

and freezes as soap’s blade finds his throat.

“you would dare hurt these children?” he growls, sword following graves as he stumbles back. “you’ve kept up your charade the entire time and here is where you show your true colours. i think it’s time i show mine.”

graves splutters as johnny turns to the priestess and king price, falling to one knee and offering up his blade. “your grace, i wish to challenge prince graves for the hand of prince simon!”

his voice rings clear and he feels the eyes of every person in the kingdom.

but he only cares for one man.

who is watching him with more love than he’s ever felt.

“who are you to challenge me?” graves sneers. “you’re nothing more than a servant; no better than the dirt on my boots.”

johnny doesn’t bother to look at him, too caught in the love in simon’s eyes and the grateful look on king price’s face. “then you should have nothing to worry about. you’ve been crowing your accolades from the rooftops since you got here; let’s see if you live up to the hype.”

because simon only ever introduced him as his lord in waiting.

never as sir soap- his second in command and one of the greatest swordsmen their kingdom has ever seen.

[ohbo-ohno]

hey hey heyyy saw this and thought of youuu

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT83xLH3c/

(completely sfw don't worry) but like, Imagine for one reason or another you desperately need to get married (maybe to qualify for your medieval grandpa's will) but no one wants you for whatever reason so you promptly go down to the gallows where this murderous ex Soldier was to be executed and you are just "he'll do" not aware that he comes as a package deal with his partner who didn't get caught 👀

are you. are you joking. oh my god

thinking about a woman who's got a terrible home life. i feel like either her parents want to marry her off to some guy who's like 80 or they treat her like a workhorse and are super abusive

and to her, quite literally Anything is better than the life she's stuck in. and for a woman in this time period the only real way to escape is to get married. and since no one will marry her (she's poor and everyone knows how her family is).... well there's really only one choice

she definitely proposes to soap, not ghost. the man getting dragged to the gallows is perfectly at ease - shoulders rolled back, easy smile on his lips, you would never think he's being led to his death. there's something in his over all demeanor that makes it almost easy to jump from the crowd and shout a proposal

he's excited, almost ferally so. he grabs your wrist and holds tight, doesn't let you get even a full armlength away from him. that's when you start to think maybe this was a mistake, but it's far too late now. he's also weirdly insistent about the two of you going to a very specific room in a very specific hotel (or whatever they used to be called)

you get a bit more scared every second that goes by, but you're well aware what a man expects on his wedding night - you grew up on a farm, you know how animals mate. it's scary, of course, but you know you'll have to bear it

except when you get to the room, he doesn't try and take you. you know he wants to - there's a tent in his pants that makes your face flame - and he keeps you flush against him. he sits at the table? you're in his lap. you try to go to the bathroom? he stays so close to you that you decide it's not worth the potential humiliation.

he talks your ear off the whole time - tells you how pretty you are, goes into frankly excessive detail about what he likes about every single part of you, tells you how he wants to "stuff you full", says things like "'m not so bad, kitty, know ye must be scared but i'll take care of ye, don't worry" and "just wait til he gets here, then we can get started" and no matter how much you ask who he is he refuses to tell you

he has his mouth pressed against you throat (switching between licking, biting, and talking about how he can't wait to see what's under your skirts) when the door opens, and you realize that you've truly made a mistake

the new man who walks in has to duck beneath the door frame, he's so massive. had he been the one walking to the gallows, you never, ever would have proposed. he's got to be twice the size of you, his face covered, the rest of him filthy and covered in dirt

(((if i had the energy i'd write dialogue here, but anon i am sleepy)))

soap would be soooooooo happy to present you to ghost, is literally drooling and beaming as he grabs you by the hips and hooks his chin over your shoulder, big hands stroking across your stomach and skirts as he says isn't she so pretty?

anyways. you're getting railed that night. hope you like being on the run with two criminals who have absolutely no intention of crossing over to the light side!!

(ghost fucks you first, bc soap needs to learn to be patient with his new toy, but he lets you suck his cock while he waits for his turn. when soap fucks you next, you're laying on ghost's stomach and he wipes away your pretty tears as johnny does his best to break your back. the next day johnny laughs when you're walking with a small limp, and ghost makes him apologize with his tongue <3)

[shotmrmiller]

okay i saw this tiktok vid where this guy was asking a couple on the street how long theyve been together yada yada and he finds out that her husband gave her like a $35k engagement ring and the guy asked the wife "what does he get in return?" and the husband was like 🤨 "i think i should answer that" and just thinking about price and his wife being interviewed and him not liking what the interviewer was implying and shutting him down 🤭

methinks price getting very defensive over anyone so much as giving a huff his wife's way is incredibly attractive. like her only job is to exist and love him, everything else he can take care of.

[ghcstao3]

in so many ways is ghost attracted to soap—but watching the sergeant run drills brings a whole new level of something to ghost’s fantasies.

he’s good at running drills, and just as good at reprimanding subordinates when someone is out of line. ghost isn’t sure what name to assign to the sentiment he feels seeing soap shout at someone to get back in order, seeing him have sir, yes, sir screamed back until soap is satisfied with his chewing out and a recruit’s throat has been run raw.

so if ghost makes excuses to supervise soap running drills more often than not, then that’s no one’s business but his own.

[lemonwrap]

Imagine: Ghost’s mask is permanently attached to his face.

It’s probably with pins in the bones, or something like that to make it extremely difficult or even impossible to remove. It hurts to eat and talk, so Ghost doesn’t speak much, and it keeps his identity hidden at first. It was Roba’s doing, of course.

It had been the 141’s job to take down Roba, which is why they were in Mexico in the first place and came across Ghost as he was escaping after killing Roba. They take him in, and Ghost becomes familiar with Price, Soap, and Gaz, the members of Task Force 141. Despite his trauma and initial reluctance, Ghost grows very close to Soap, begins to see Price as an almost father-like figure, and becomes good friends with Gaz.

They make it their mission to remove the mask.

[hostilecandle]

I just saw a post unironically being up in arms and pissed that the pricegaz ship exists because "a captain and a sergeant is a huge power imbalance" Please I need yall to be so fucking for real with me rn 😭😭 I've seen this take so many times and enough is enough.

Look at me, I'm gonna tell ya something, come closer- YOURE IN THE FUCKING WAR FANDOM. For the love of God get off your morality high horse and come back to earth for a second. I'm begging you to go touch some grass. If you want to play a morality game, a power imbalance between an officer and those he's in charge of should be the LAST of your worries in this fandom. (Also how funny that ghost and soap weren't mentioned as a power imbalance when it's just as bad. Yeah I fucking caught that you hypocrite)

Like come on let's be for real, if you really cared about fictional morality issues, well you wouldn't be in this fandom would you? You would be beyond pissed and sick to your stomach that there's war, actual torture, racism, and all the other "fun" things that come in a game about a proxy war and terrorists for fucks sake. You don't have any box to stand on, you're in the CALL OF DUTY FANDOM 😭😭😭 Yall wanna be special and unique SO bad. Yall just want a reason to say you're better than others and you froth at the mouth at the chance to do so.

You know this shit ain't real. You know it's a game but even still, you have to try and find something to make you better than those degenerates and it's pathetic. And again if you really cared, this game series as a whole should offend you. If yall are really so pressed about fiction and reality this whole series should make you want to throw up. This is the game series that brags about how realistic it is and how they've brought in people who've experienced this to make it as real as possible. But wait, you don't care about morality as long as it's fictional children and brown people being murdered but GOD FORBID Gaz takes a cock up his ass from Price. Its just gone TOO FAR 🙄🙄

Obligatory you can just dislike a ship for any reason. Things are allowed to squick you out. That's FINE. That's good and healthy even. You don't have to like every ship. What pisses me off is the moral soap box yall have to stand on to preach and prove why you dont like it and why everyone who does like it is bad. Idc someone doesnt ship gazprice, (I enjoy it but personally have ships I like better myself) but getting mad it exists is genuinely, and i cant stress this enough, pathetic. It's old and I'm so sick of seeing it. This is not the fandom for these games. Go back to something made for children if you want to have the moral understanding of one.

[panchulien]

Rubbing my evil little hands as I see you get more and more into Graves. Yes. YEEEEEEEEES.

STOP THATJSJDKWJEKDFN Your master plan is working... I am not immune to Graves propaganda I'm afraid... Something about painfully American characters always get me. (last time it happened with Ted Lasso) But I'm soooo enjoying this mission. I want to dislike Graves SO BADLY but UGHHGG GRABS HIM. He's so sure of himself and his lines are KILLING me. 😭 Warren Kole the man that you are...

[reds-skull]

Bringer of Demise - Chapter 4

[PREV PART] [AO3]

This chapter went places I didn't plan for, so it has a surprising amount of comfort. Anyway, it's called "Molten Core".

Price informs them he called Commander Karim on the way here, asking her to send a team to aid them when Soap and Gaz’s situation became known. Soap was secretly grateful, if not for himself, for Gaz, that they won’t take the helo the rest of the way.

He doesn’t want to imagine how scared that would’ve made Kyle.

The rescue team looked for the pilot as they helped the taskforce, Soap despondently looking away when they find the front half of the helo. Charred black and mangled beyond recognition, there wouldn’t have been anything left resembling a human after going through that.

Add that to the tally of people he has failed to save.

Soap hates to admit it, but the morphine makes healing so much smoother. What once was a constant, sharp pain has been dulled down to a distant beating. Ghost let him lean against him when he became loopy, telling him that’s a side effect.

A few trucks eventually arrive, several ULF fighters wearing plain clothes jumping out. It seems like Commander Karim has sent a medic team along, but as Gaz isn’t physically injured, and Soap won’t benefit from anything more than a few hours of rest, they give Kyle a shock blanket, and sit them in one of the trucks.

Ghost keeps a hand around him as they’re driven to the camp, Soap nearly cracking a tooth with how hard he clenches his jaw. The roads here are not very considerate of his open wounds, that’s for fucking certain.

He doesn’t think the shaking is only from the pain, though. Soap continues to glance at Gaz, his eyes fogged over.

What happened was eerily similar to Kyle’s Reaping. Similar enough that Soap has almost no doubt it was planned, that whoever planted the bomb wanted to take him out the same way he died.

“Whoever”... if it’s not Makarov, it’s one of his fucking allies, they don’t need proof to know that by now. Only a few people knew the 141 was supposed to leave today, especially when it came in at such a late notice.

Soap’s flames glow brighter. Novikov knew.

When he gets his hands on that fuckin’ Doctor…

Another bump jostles him, making his back hit the side of the truck. Soap barely contains a yelp as pain flashes up his spine. Ghost pulls him closer, glaring at the road like it can feel remorse. It makes Soap smile.

If it weren’t for Ghost calling that meeting… this truck would’ve been far emptier.

The ULF base they arrive to is unlike any other base Soap has been in. Nestled between a mountain and a forest, the place itself looks benign; a few shacks that have seen better days and one or two actual structures, surrounded by a wooden fence.

As their truck drives closer, large metal doors embedded in the mountain’s side open, revealing the true base.

Concrete walls stood in stark contrast to natural excavated stone, dimly lit by floodlights and ancient-looking lightbulbs, Soap could see from the makeshift road how the large cavern has been sectioned into different parts, with tunnels shooting off the main area everywhere he looks. He can’t tell soldier from civilian here - most don’t wear uniforms or identifying marks, besides a green cloth wrapped around wrists or heads.

The truck stops near what he assumes is medical, and he takes a moment to thank every Reaper the drive is fucking over. Ghost helps Soap jump out, supporting him as much as he can as they make their way to one of the beds. Not like he’ll be sleeping tonight much, by the time his skin reforms they’ll probably need to be in debrief.

Still, one of the nurses pulls the curtain around the cot, the thin fabric barely blocking any light, not to mention the lack of roof. Doesn’t do much to block the sound of the bustling base, either. He appreciates the thought, though.

He lets go of Ghost to carefully drag himself to a prone position, grunting until he manages to settle. Soap closes his eyes, allowing the pounding in his head, the synchronized beating of his open wounds, to take over his senses.

It makes it so when something cool touches his shoulder, he jumps in surprise, eyes flicking to see Ghost crouched over him.

“LT? What are ye-?” he lets out an involuntary sigh as fingers kneed at his muscles, every part of him feeling both untethered and knotted beyond belief, “fuck…”

“That good, Johnny?” Ghost skirts around his injuries, peeling away the cloth that melted into his skin, “helps?”

Helps? Simon is seriously asking if this gentle touch, so careful and soft, seeping away the cloying heat burns always carry, is helping?

He asks if it helps when wherever his fingers brush, muscles and fascia and skin rush back to heal, begging to be held, cells working overtime just for the chance of prolonging the contact? Burning through what energy he has remaining, healing scars that would take hours in seconds, as if those callused hands have reached inside him, found the wires that lead to his molten core, and for once instead of turning up the heat, mercifully decided to let the pressure building and building out, finally letting him breathe?

He asks if this helps? Soap wants to cry.

He buries in face in the scratchy pillow, hoping to muffle some of the frankly embarrassing noises he’s letting out, disguise the stutter of his breath.

“Aye… I… thank ye.”

“I’ve got you, Johnny.” Simon murmurs, hands not leaving him for a second, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

Soap lets go, and the humming of the base, the blinding lights, the ache of his broken body, it all falls away, replaced by pale fingers, turning the valves, depressurizing.

He falls asleep, impossibly, and when nightmares hound him, he can trust in dark brown eyes to be there when he startles awake, trust that they’ll let him drift back. Let him back into a peaceful, dark void.

Soap is only mildly annoyed Ghost let him oversleep. He’s too grateful for the extra hours of healing to be truly mad, either way.

When he gets up, the skin on his back is mostly formed, still scarred to high hell but that’s to be expected. The chair besides the cot is empty, Ghost probably leaving for debrief a while ago.

With the few words he remembers in Arabic, he manages to ask a nurse for a spare shirt and get directions to the meeting rooms. Walking pulls awkwardly on his skin, the stiffness one he’s familiar with, yet forgotten in the past few months.

Been a while since he was sent on bomb disposal, after all.

The ULF fighters aren’t as frantic as they were earlier, and the base seems emptier. He makes his way through, marveling at the sheer amount of revenants he can spot. Just like Las Almas, Urzikstan has an abnormal amount of them, as war zones often do. To think this country has been surviving through almost 30 years of conflict…

This area seems more well-built, and he has to open three doors before he can find his team. Five heads turn to stare at him, the 141 as well as Commander Karim and Alex caught in the middle of debriefing.

“Ah- sorry fer being late, nobody woke me up-” Soap starts, the screeching of dragging chairs cutting him off. He barely manages to brace himself before he gets a careful hug from Gaz, Ghost scanning him for signs of discomfort from the corner of his eye.

Soap returns the favor, tightening his arms around Kyle, “good morning to ye too, Garrick.” he says fondly.

“Bastard” Gaz laughs wetly, pulling back, “how’s your back? Should you even be out of bed yet?”

Ghost meets his eyes. “Had some help with healin’ this time around.” Soap says.

He feels Price pick at his mind, and smiles. “Well, you came just at the right time, Sergeant. Take a sit.”

“Yes sir.” Soap lets Gaz lead him to an empty chair, Ghost sitting down on his left. An ungloved hand takes his, fingers squeezing his comfortingly. He tries to not let the squirming fuzziness in his heart show on his face, as Price begins talking.

“Our target is what used to be a Russian prison, which was captured by Urzik rebellion forces and converted to a makeshift holding facility.” Price points to the map spread on the table.

Commander Karim joins in, “currently, this facility is under Al-Mudahiyn’s control.”

“Al-Mudahiyn?” Soap asks.

“The Sacrificers. Made up of ex-ULF fighters.” Karim and Alex share a look, “we don’t make a habit of attacking them directly, as we both share similar goals in the end, but their methods have forced our hands in the past.”

Alex sighs, “Al-Mudahiyn would rather let whole villages die if it means killing more Russians. They’re powerful, don’t get me wrong, and it definitely helps that the Russians are fuckin’ afraid of stepping into their territories, but…”

“I will not allow my people to be trampled for a chance at revenge.” Karim almost snarls. “Our intel has reason to suspect this facility has been used to transport the revenants kidnapped by Graves. As I’ve said before, we will need to go on a recon mission to understand exactly who and how many soldiers are currently there.”

“Recon will be done today, and if nothing’s out of the ordinary, we will infiltrate tomorrow night.” Price continues.

“Wait,” Gaz pipes up, “if Graves left the revenants in that facility… doesn’t that mean he worked with Al-Mudahiyn?”

“Yes.” Alex answers, “this is why we also suspect they’re working with Shepherd.”

Steamin’ Jesus. What a mess.

“Those fucking dogs can’t help but dirty their hands.” Karim mutters under her breath, a few curses in Arabic he doesn’t recognize lacing into her words.

“What’s the plan, Commander?” Ghost asks, sharp stare burning into the maps.

Soap looks at them as well. The route to the facility is marked by a black line, a winding way going both under and on ground, avoiding enemy encampments marked by red and green. This is going to be hard right from the get-go, he can already tell.

He wonders if his wounds are healed enough by now to not reopen in combat… if he was still with his old team, they would’ve probably sent him already, so he supposes it’s fine-

“You’re going to a medic to get checked after this, Sergeant. If you don’t get cleared, you’re staying here.” Price shoots his thoughts down. Soap frowns with indignation, Price wouldn’t bench him for the whole mission just because his injuries might reopen, right? Besides, he can heal them on field, no need to-

“Soap.” Price sighs outwardly, “stay here for the recon mission, at the very least. The team isn’t in the headspace to see you harm yourself again, and you aren’t, either. Focus on resting for tomorrow, got it?”

Soap looks down, at his and Ghost’s tangled hands, looks to his right at Gaz, whose eyes flit to his back every few minutes. Focuses for just a second on how much his body aches.

His knee-jerk reaction to all those details is to try harder. Heal faster, get back to the field as soon as possible, fix this, because it is his fault, if he only detected that fucking bomb, disarmed it before it could go off-

But… he could give what Price ordered him to do a try.

“Alright, Captain. Not gonna bench me for tomorrow as well, right?”

Price sounds exasperated in his mind, “I’m not sending you to the field broken.”

Farah begins talking about today’s mission, and Soap diverts his attention, leaving Price’s thoughts unanswered.

He hopes to all Reapers the medic clears him for the infiltration. After the explosion, Soap doesn’t think he can let his team out of sight.

Fate isn’t just after Soap and Ghost, anymore. None of them are safe.

The medic did not clear him for duty. In fact, by the look in his eyes Soap would reckon the medic would’ve preferred to ground him for another month. To his surprise, the medic instead sent him to another part of the clinic, explaining to him in a mix of English and Arabic that there’s something that could help him there.

Well, if it gets him back to the field tomorrow, he’d try it.

He was instructed to wait, standing in a line of people trailing far behind a door. Soap passed the time by having a staring contest with the peeling off-white paint slapped on the wall in front of him, and do his best to not think about last night.

So far, the wall is winning, and he managed to shove down any rising memory pretty well, beside the way Gaz’s eyes looked, wide open and horror-struck.

He’s glad Kyle got Price and Ghost, that they’re such a close-knit team. If Gaz was under his last CO…

Soap sighs, temping down the fire bursting from his fingertips. It has gotten large enough that it started garnering attention, and he rather not scare the wounded here.

After what felt like hours (it was probably just 30 minutes, but God were they boring), Soap enters the room to find a cot and a chair, in which a boy no older than 16 sat. He assumed the kid was the patient before him at first, but the boy motioned for him to lay down.

He understands more from the tone than the words themselves that the boy is asking him something, “sorry, my Arabic is a wee bit rusty. You know English?”

The boy blinks, “uh, a little. Do you feel pain somewhere?”

Curious, Soap sits on the cot, “got exploded yesterday, my back’s a bit of a mess.” the boy only gets more confused, so he adds, “Ah can heal from those, just- I was told you can help?”

A light flickers on in the boy’s dark eyes, and he instructs Soap to take off his shirt and lie down.

After getting situated on his stomach, the boy places his hands on his scarred skin. Soap is surprised the sight didn’t make him flinch.

He’s even more surprised when he feels his muscles twitch, skin tingling as it follows the boy’s hands.

“Yer… you’re a revenant?”

The boy nods, his focus on his powers, orchestrating his cells to go into overdrive and heal. Must have been Reaped by Flesh, there are a few in the SAS. Most of the time, they can only heal themselves…

“How old are you?” he finds himself asking out loud.

“Fifteen.”

Far too fucking young to be in this position. Too young to already be used to seeing injuries like his, to be desensitized to the cruelty of this world, to be acquainted with death.

He wonders where are his parents, his family, and he doesn’t dare to ask because he fears the answer is one he already knows.

“What’s your name?” Soap asks instead.

The boy’s gaze dart to his before returning to his task, “Amir. You?”

“John, but most people call me Soap.”

That makes Amir’s brows furrow, before he gives him a half smile, “like… cleaning soap?”

“Yep. Cool name, no?” he boasts sarcastically.

Amir laughs, “yeah. Very cool.” he answers, matching his sarcasm.

They fall silent, Amir passing fingers over his spine, the sensation making Soap grunt. “Move your shoulders” the boy tells him, and he gives the joint a careful rotation.

Amir seems pleased, “any more pain?”

“... No.” Soap lifts himself up, moving his torso and marveling at how the muscles barely hurt. There’s definitely some tension left in his skin and flesh, but it doesn’t feel like it will rip open at any sudden movement. “Thank ye.”

Amir smiles, “you are welcome.” he switches to Arabic, calling the next person over, and Soap takes it as his sign to leave.

To combat his new problem with boredom, Soap decided to explore the base. By now, he’s managed to find their mess mostly because of the wonderful smell wafting from it, their armory, and showers.

Eventually he reached a quieter part of the base, deeper into the mountain. Reading the signs beside each door, he gathers this is the barracks. Soap attempts to read another nameplate when he hears someone walking towards him.

“I believe you are supposed to be on bed rest, Sergeant.” Commander Karim calls out.

Soap huffs. Price told the fucking Commander to keep an eye on him. He’d be annoyed at the lack of trust if he didn’t know he would’ve done the same in his place. “I was sent to Amir, he fixed me up.”

Karim nods, “you should consider yourself lucky, then. Amir is usually quite busy.”

Soap feels the same pity he felt before rise again, “ye don’t have teh answer if it’s confidential or anythin’, but… how did he get here? How did he…”

How did he die so young?

The Commander stares at him for a moment, before turning around, “after me, Sergeant.”

Karim leads Soap outside, through a smaller tunnel opposite of the entrance. The sun blinds him after so long underground, and he takes a deep breath of fresh mountain air.

When his eyes adjust, a city comes into view, tucked around a river. Even from here, he can see remnants of airstrikes dotting the fields in its outskirts.

“This was my city.” Karim points to a neighborhood, farthest from the river, “my house was there.”

Commander Karim doesn’t look at him when she says, “the Russians attacked when I was seven. A missile hit the building me and my mother were in, and we died.”

She allows the statement to hang in the air, allow the horror to seep into Soap. “... Ye were Reaped at seven…”

“I’m not an anomaly in that, Sergeant. Many of the revenants in the ULF died before reaching maturity. Many of them, the last living member of their family. Amir is no different, I am no different.”

No words feel like enough, regardless he says, “Ah’m sorry, for whatever it’s worth.”

Karim sighs, “it’s not worth much, these days, but I appreciate it.” she makes eye contact with him again, “I am sorry for what happened to you and Sergeant Garrick last night. I was told your injuries were severe.”

She ignores the surprise on his face, “Captain Price informed me of your Reapers’ warning, that there is a traitor amidst your people. I want to assure you, the ULF is on your side. Betrayal isn’t foreign to either of us, but it has a way to gnaw at trust. It is important, I believe, to be able to trust your allies.”

Soap is reminded of Graves, a tingling in the back of his neck, and nightmares of a useless body, helpless and numb. Remembers that Karim and Alex were kidnapped by the revenant they thought was one of their own.

“I trust ye, Commander, and Ah’m sure the same goes for the rest of the team.” Soap assures, fully believing in his words.

Somehow, he feels that the Commander could tell. She gives him a small smile, and looks back at her hometown. Skin refracting sunlight, she seems at ease, in a way Soap hasn’t seen in Las Almas. Her care for her country, her people, is different than he experienced himself. He wonders what it feels to give yourself so wholly for such thing.

Soap supposes he knows a similar, except his home is with a small taskforce, made of men he would give his life for with no hesitation.

Commander Karim gave him some work to do, utilizing his knowledge of explosives to tinker with their existing supply and optimize it for field use. He’s elbows-deep in a pile of C4 when a voice begins echoing in his mind.

“Farah informed me of your shape, kid. Debrief in ten, don’t be late.”

Soap practically jumps out of his chair, running out of the armory and almost colliding with the poor soldiers in the hall.

A mix of excitement and nerves fills his lungs. Time to get back to the field.

[the-californicationist]

Simon "Ghost" Riley

From what you've gathered, timber-specialist and ex-lieutenant Simon lives a peaceful life with his husband, Johnny, and his dog, Mathan (Scots Gaelic for "bear"). Nothing too out of the ordinary... so why do you get the sense that his protective skull mask does more than just shield him from chainsaw shavings? What is his secret?

If you haven’t caught up with Chapter 04, check it out here!

[tavysboy]

i am going to create an au that is so niche no one can stop me