#and that simon is the og to me

[mcspicey]

Adventure time fanart that younger me would adore

[moondirti]

i accidentally deleted the ask i received yesterday (like an idiot) so im dumping the rant i left underneath it for archival reasons

what i love most about big ugly brute simon is pairing him with girls who get a little too close. perhaps they catch him staring in public and smile politely, a little daunted but attributing what they can to innocent intent over malice. who treat him with basic decency, or perhaps extend a little extra kindness if they take the dead look in his eyes to be consequence of a rough day. the one's who hold doors open for him, or let him skip in line because he looks like he can really do with the coffee. the maybe he's just misunderstood, never judge a book by it's cover, treat others the way you want to be treated type.

kind, polite, genuinely good girls, who live life by the please and thank you handbook they were given in kindergarten, and were never taught when to keep it to themselves. well-meaning always, yet either foolish or curious when they give a beast the benefit of the doubt.

because while their courtesy is just that in the eyes of conventional society, it has an absolutely foul effect on one simon riley.

say it's because hardly anyone is ever keen on him. certainly not pretty birds, with pretty wrists, and pretty hair and clothes and easily corruptible smiles. at the first sign of warmth, he'll pounce. all animal, blinded hunger. cruel passion he knows you're not built to take, your heart pulpy like saccharine fruit. cruel passion that he will inflict anyway; trailing behind you all the way home, choreographing meetings, pushing your courtesy to its limits by being nothing but a rude brute. he bullies his way into your life, making a man-sized hole where he was uninvited (though he'll contest that. what does a smile mean if not lay over me and print yourself on my womb?). bullies you into submission, weaponising that tenderness to suit his real needs–

not coffee, or a good morning, or anything but a warm cunt and meal to come home to.

i don't think he'd ever ease up the intensity, either. even if you acquiesce or are flattered by the distasteful attention. though simon might soften up to you (in the only way he can: lending his ear while you talk about his day, or walking blocks in the rain to fetch takeout from that specific greek place you've been craving), he's still mean about it. presses you where you're weak, isolates you from your friends. hones derision when you continue to be just as amicable to everyone else. you must be asking for it, see, if you had been asking for it with him. is a big dick about it, callous and nasty as he can be – because you allow him to be, babbling tearful apologies into his chest instead of standing up for yourself.

doesn't believe any of it, of course. he knows you're too sweet for your own good. but he can't help but love seeing you get all desperate when you cry. makes his knees go weak. his head itch. you'll hold on to his arm – soft and wet and repentant, pure silk against his gnarled edges (a point people will always latch onto. how'd he land that? right minger he is) – until he growls something about making it up to him.

which you jump at. good, good, generous girl. will seat yourself, fine china between thighs that could crush you, and choke on his ruddy cock. maybe he holds you down on it, stuffs your nose onto the untamed mess of his pubes until your little legs kick for breath. or, maybe he'll lead you to down to fit your tongue in his ass, tugging himself over you until cum mats your hair. whatever the most vile, debased thing he can conceptualise at the moment is fair game. not necessarily because of the deed itself, but because he lives for nothing more than watching you do it despite not wanting to. to please him :(

sorry im a little crazy about this

[starlightvld]

Up in Smoke

(Also on AO3)

The first time Ghost rips the cigarette from Soap's mouth, drops it on the ground, and stomps on it as he passes by, Soap is too stunned to say anything for a full ten seconds. They've only been working together consistently for a couple of missions, and even as his superior officer, the audacity of the action floors him.

By the time his brain restarts, Ghost is long gone.

--

The second time Ghost steals Soap's cigarette, he bursts out in a string of Scottish curses and tackles Ghost from behind before the wanker can drop it on the ground. An impromptu sparring match ensues, fists and curses flying. 

Afterward, he doesn't feel much like a cigarette anymore — not with the split lip, anyway. Besides, the buzzing under his skin that usually drives him to smoke is just... gone.

Price catches wind of the incident, of course, and calls them into his office a few hours later. By that time Soap has calmed down enough to be... maybe not okay with it, but at least able to see the humor. 

"What's this about you muppets scuffling by the smoking area?"

"Just a little sparring to blow off steam," Soap says.

"Ghost?"

"Nothin' to worry about, Captain."

"No? I've got one soldier who looks like he just got back from a bar fight, and the other..." He squints at Ghost. "He get a hit in on you, too?"

"Yeah," Ghost replies in that deadpan tone of his. "Coupla black eyes."

It's a joke. 

Ghost is telling a joke. And it's objectively not funny. It's not. But Soap bursts into hysterical laughter all the same. 

The corners of Ghost's blacked-out eyes crinkle. 

Price rubs his temples before dropping his hand on his desk. Soap presses his lips together to contain his laughter.

"Sparring happens in the gym. I'm sure you know the place. It's where we have things like mats and gloves. I catch you two bare-knuckle fighting again, and you will regret it."

And it's enough to sober Soap up. He avoids Ghost as he ducks away to catch dinner.

--

The third time... well, no. He supposes that's really the fourth time. 

Because the actual third time, Soap had come back from a shit mission where everything went wrong. Intel was faulty, exfil was delayed, and people under his command died. It didn't happen as often in SAS as it had in the regulars — the soldiers here were well-trained and hard to kill — but that made it all the worse. 

When Ghost tried to pluck the cigarette from his mouth, Soap growled. 

"Back the fuck up, Lt. Or Price is gonna be disappointed in both of us."

Ghost paused, and their eyes met. Slowly, Ghost lowered his hand. 

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Fuck no."

"Thank God."

Soap didn't have it in him to even huff a laugh. He took a long drag and blew the smoke away from Ghost as a peace offering.

To his surprise, Ghost didn't leave. He spun around and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. They stood there together, utterly silent, as Soap let the heat and sting in his lungs soothe the beast inside that wanted to rip the world apart.

When he was done, though, he was surprised to find he didn't want another. Usually after shit missions, he'd stand there and smoke half a pack before his hands would stop shaking.

He finally met Ghost's eyes. The man quirked a barely visible brow.

"S'pose we should take it to the mats this time?"

Ghost pushed off the building and started walking. Soap followed like a lost child looking for a way home. 

--

The fourth time is in Chicago. His hands are shaking not from losing soldiers but from almost losing his own life. The cigarette trembles in his grip as he stands outside the bar, the biting wind turning his fingers and probably his lips blue. He lifts it to his mouth, inhaling deep—

And then it's gone.

The whine that bubbles up from his gut and bursts from his throat is nothing short of humiliating. But God. God. He needs it.

"Not now. Please, Ghost."

"Why?"

Ghost hasn't thrown the cigarette down. Yet. He cocks his head to the side and gives Soap a long look. Soap can only tremble from the cold and a need that goes deeper than a simple hit of nicotine.

"I just... I need it."

The cigarette drops to the ground, but Soap doesn't have time to lament the loss before that same hand is curling around Soap's neck and pulling him into a fucking massive chest. The other arm comes around Soap's shoulders and...

Ghost just stands there, holding him. And Soap can't help melting into the warmth and solidity of the man who saved his life just hours ago. He dares to curl in deeper. To raise his hands and clutch at Ghost's jacket. To let a few, silent tears escape his tight control.

Finally, his muscles relax. Ghost must feel it, because he turns and leads Soap back toward the bar.

"Why do ye even care?" Soap mumbles from his spot tucked into Ghost's side.

"Because those things'll kill ya."

Soap supposes the "I like you alive" is implied at this point.

--

Soap loses count after Chicago. He gets stretches of days when Ghost is on a solo op or out with one of the other operators when he can smoke in peace. So he does.

At first.

He's been hooked since he was a rebellious teen trying to make his mark on the world. He's tried to quit multiple times, but it never seems to stick. The first bad mission or adrenaline-filled near miss and he's back at whatever smoking spot he can find, puffing away.

He finds himself trying to cut back, though, even when Ghost is away.

Any time Ghost is on base, all bets are off. In addition to darting by and making a grab for it or sneaking up behind him and flicking it out of his hands, Ghost has gotten more creative. Sometimes Soap will pull out a cigarette only to find he's "lost" his lighter. Sometimes the cigarettes themselves go missing — he clutches his chest and mourns all that wasted money whenever a whole pack disappears. 

He supposes it's all just going up in smoke anyway, though.

He should be angry. But in truth, it's almost a relief to hand over the reins to Ghost. To let the man help him by annoying the shit out of him until he wants to give up on it entirely.

Which is definitely the point. Ghost has made that perfectly clear.

So, whenever he gets the urge to calm his racing thoughts or overactive mind with a cigarette, he finds Ghost and annoys him instead. They talk, or spar, or simply sit in silence together, doing their own thing. Ghost doesn't often touch him — their moment in Chicago is still the closest Soap's ever gotten to the elusive Ghost — but he also doesn't push Soap away when he slumps into Ghost's side after a hard day or leans over his back when he's sitting at the table in the 141's common area on base.

The urge doesn't go away, of course. And sometimes, when things get really bad, Ghost will just sit or stand with him like he did the third time. Still, he finds himself smoking less and hanging out with Ghost more.

--

The last time Ghost steals a cigarette from Soap, he simply stands beside Soap and holds out his hand. Soap immediately knows something has gone terribly wrong. Still, he's too invested in the game now to not hand the cigarette over.

He nearly keels over when Ghost pulls up his mask and takes a long, hard drag. Soap watches in fascination as his cheeks hollow, his neck muscles strain, his lips curve around the paper. It's erotic in a way he really shouldn't be thinking about in regards to his emotionally unavailable superior officer, but the knowledge hasn't stopped him yet. Since that day in Chicago — probably before if he's honest — he's only ever wanted to be closer.

Ghost coughs a little and hands the cigarette back.

"Fuck. Just as disgusting as I remember."

"Ye used to smoke, then?"

"Before I joined up, yeah. Hated it, though."

"The smell? Or—"

"Everything. The taste, the smell, the heat..." Ghost trails off, his hand rubbing over his bicep in a strangely specific way. He shakes his head and looks back at Soap. "Not your problem, Johnny. Forget about it."

Soap's hand is darting out, fingers curling into Ghost's jacket, before he's properly thought through the action. Ghost pauses before turning back. They stare in silence for a moment until—

Soap stubs out the half-burned cigarette and drops the butt in the trash. He licks his lips. Glances up at Ghost. The mask is still sitting on his nose, and Soap stares at his lips for longer than he should before pulling the pack out of his pocket and throwing it in the trash, too.

"Cannae have ye thinking I stink, can I?"

"Too late."

But Ghost's throat bobs with a hard swallow. Soap wets his lips, takes a step closer, and uncurls his fingers to slide his hand up Ghost's chest until his fingertips are resting on Ghost's shirt collar.

"I dinnae think it is."

Ghost turns and walks away. Soap closes his eyes and drops his hand, internally cursing his impulsive behavior. The scuffing of boots walking away from him is like nails on a chalk board.

Until they stop, and a gruff voice calls out, "You comin'?"

A slow smile slides across Soap's mouth. "No' yet."

A huff — exasperation? laughter? a bit of both? — before, "Better get movin' then."

And Soap has never been more glad to follow an order.

[deepseagraveyard]

ba dum tss 🥁❄️

[t4tails]

[toomanywordsnllines]

heyyyy~ poses on the floor sexly.

Do you ever think about how Roach didn't immediately die from his wounds back in the original mw.

Do you ever sit down and think about Roach, laying down on the floor bleeding out, helpless, having to watch his soulmate (his other half, the love of his life (so much more than romantic love, so much farter from platonic love, so much them), his Ghost) die instantly by the gun shot wound.

Do you stare at the wall and imagine Roach still having time to feel agony and grief, even while in pain, even if short, even as he bleeds out himself, even as he gets drenched in gasoline and consumed by fire.

Maybe he had time to caress Ghost's unmovable cheek one more time. Maybe he took his glasses and closed his eyes for his own peace of mind and for the deep respect he felt for the man. Maybe he cried his final tears not because of his own pain or for his own death but because Ghost went first.

He left first.

Because I sit down sometimes and I think about how Roach didn't die right away. And it seemed like the universe looked at him and laughed because Ghost died instantly. Like a cruel joke.

A final fuck you to him.

Roach didn't die immediately. He could've maybe tried to get away, maybe get a knife and kill Shepperd. Get revenge. Proceed with the mission. Use Ghost's radio and warn the others- But no, he stayed, watched tiredly, that sick fuck turn away after taking everything from him, watched Ghost's lifeless body singe, watched as the flames consumed his own flesh and tried to burn him before he succumbed to his own wounds.

Him and Ghost became, together, the ashes that later fed the land and grew the greanest grass.

Price and Soap probably didn't even have enough of them bodies to put on a casket.

They, together, will be on that field forever.

[morbidpaintz]

can't sleep, decided to go back and rework this a bit

[thecrimsonjaguar]

Massive Spoilers Ahead

Ok I liked the last two episodes but I have my nitpick. Let's get this out of my head so i can go to sleep.

So I'm not surprised that betty and simon "broke up" but like I kinda am? I've wanted Simon to move on from betty, to be able to live in the present and cherish it for what it is, but I think it's the way they broke up honestly that feels a bit off

They couldn't be together anymore. betty merged with golb and simon couldn't follow, and the cycle of chasing each other eternally wasn't healthy. People say their relationship when they were together was unhealthy and while that isn't untrue, the chasing and obsessing over each other was way worse. Betty tore herself apart for simon, and simon was left with a hole in his heart for 1000 years that he could never fill.

And it's that obsession which feels a bit... i dunno, left out? It's definitely addressed in the show, beth pointing out that nova was obsessed with casper. But it's also pointed out that Nova and Casper did love each other.

And Simon and Betty DO love each other so their parting, as reasonable and as fulfilling as it is, feels anticlimactic in a way? I think they should have parted with tears in their eyes, both acknowledging that they've made mistakes and the past can't be changed but they love each other so, so much and they wouldn't trade their time with each other, as short as it was, for anything. Betty's "You were a wonderful experience" doesn't track with the betty in elements wanting to go back in time to prevent simon from finding the crown and stopping the mushroom war and the betty in the finale who SUMMONED CTHULHU AND THEN MERGED WITH IT TO SAVE SIMON SPECIFICALLY BECAUSE KEEPING SIMON SAFE WAS HER TRUEST, DEEPEST WISH

im being a bit dramatic. the series finale was good i think, and most of everything i wanted happened.

Betty clearly wanted what's best for Simon, and what would be best for him now is to move on. But I think admitting that to herself, to Simon, should have been more painful. That's my nitpick. Simon's tale is a thousand year old tragedy and I think letting go would have been the most painful thing Simon and Betty had ever done.

[xbirdiex]

Imagine if I just tell everyone and anyone that there is nothing more I want right now then to be smooshed, face down against the bed, in a really loving headlock by massively appreciated bulging biceps and rutting hips. Like just imagine... golly I'd be such a whore

[lunarrosette]

Here are my bitches and hoes

3 green bitches and two old men

[shrekgogurt]

too much of a milk anti to get that sweet sweet @rainbowrowell reblog but i was taught to never compromise my morals

[boxofthings]

Hello! I have a question I want to ask but you don't have to answer if you don't want to.

I'm recently found out about Ghost x Roach ship and looked it up along with others ghostroach fics you and other recommended.

What I'm curious is, what made you ship it? What moments of them made you ship them? What hints have you seen from them? Or was it "I think it's a neat ship"? And I don't play cod nor likely would play it in the future. But I did watch the walkthrough of the og cod mw and still trying to finish it.

If you can answer this, thank you very much!

Hi! Completely happy to answer this and it's nice to see new people getting into ghostroach haha :)

I'll admit, there honestly isn't much in terms of hints in the games/in canon that prove these two would be a good couple/in love, and it's mostly due to the early fandom efforts that helped elevate the likability of ghostroach.

That being said I'm sure me and other ghostroach shippers can agree that a large reason why this ship is so appealing is more or less the "they died together" and the "doomed love/lovers" trope that makes room for so much angst (which we all know fandoms EAT UP) <-- This is the reason why I personally ship them I just love tragic couples

The og MW games came out when I was pretty young and yk how kids tend to hyperfixate on the most random things. Mine just happened to be og Ghost, and since we play as Roach I suppose me getting into GhostRoach was a bit like self insert?

But at the same time I thought of Roach as his own character and the fact that he didn't have a backstory (or really any info), that gave people the opportunity to give Roach any personality/quirks that they desired lol.

He was like a blank canvas for writers/artists to just throw their ideas on, and it's pretty common for people to ship their OCs with the most popular character, who, for MW2, would've been Ghost.

It's harder now to find the older content, but back then I remember GhostRoach being pretty popular (or as popular as a ship from COD back then could be) and I did notice people liked to make Roach out to be Ghost's perfect dichotomy, which seems to have stuck, as a lot of GR writers/artists nowadays, including myself, like to portray these two as two opposites that attract.

And with Ghost having a hella angsty backstory combined with him being a bit of a closed off, cold, soldier, it kinda seemed inevitable that ghostroach would become a thing, with people back them headcanoning Roach as a more optimistic, wide-eyed, type of person (and we all know people LOVE the brooding, hardassed, broken character falling in love with the caring, more lively and human character)

Even tho canon doesn't really offer much, there are still small moments that people love to bring up when justifying this ship. Like when Ghost specifically requests to be teamed with Roach on the op to raid Makarov's safehouse, as well as near the end of the Loose Ends mission where Ghost is the one dragging Roach's injured body to safety whilst reassuring Roach that he's got his back. And of course, when Shepherd betrays them, Ghost screams when Roach gets shot and immediately tries to apprehend Shepherd (him screaming "No!" just sounded so shocked and pained). All these moments made it seem like Ghost really cared about Roach.

The way these two died was pretty jarring, if I remember correctly I think even news articles were talking about this plot twist and their deaths. So these two are pretty well-cemented in video game history.

At the end of the day, though, GhostRoach is a pretty "I think this is neat" kind of ship. It's definitely enhanced by the nostalgia of the old games and the factor of being able to project onto Roach as a blank character lmao, but yeah you can't deny that people are gonna hyperfixate the hell outta the pairing that's always doomed to end tragically.

I feel like I could go on and on about them but I don't want to subject y'all to my messy rambles haha but if anyone wants to add their own thoughts I'd love to see it!

[mentally-at-home]

[starlightvld]

Bait & Switch, pt. 6

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 >>

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, soapghost // CW: angst, Hurt/Comfort, boys kissing, MWIII spoilers

---

Ghost wakes slowly. And then all at once.

The bed is empty.

He's ripping out the IV line before he finishes the thought. His stitches sting as he rolls out of the bed, eyes taking in every detail of the room as he drops into as low of a crouch as he can manage. A murmur from the door to the right catches his ear, and he bursts through at full speed, intent on murdering whoever dares—

"Ghost! What's wrong? Are ye hurt?"

Ghost catches himself on the doorjamb and blinks at the sight of a concerned and very naked Soap shivering as he sits in a shower chair, a nurse frozen in the middle of handing him the hand-held shower nozzle. She blinks at Ghost, and then the gruff nature he's come to expect from the hospital staff reasserts itself.

"You shouldn't be up and about with that wound. Get back to bed."

Ghost hesitates. Soap gives him a small smile as the nurse finally hands over the nozzle.

"'S'alright, G-Ghost," Soap says through chattering teeth as he lets the warm water flow over his body. "Th-they'll get ye cleaned up next."

With a blink and a nod, Ghost backs out of the room and closes the door. He stands there in front of the door, his side burning from the strain on his stitches and his mind reeling from the fact that Soap left the bed and he didn't notice.

That isn't good.

It isn't safe.

They might be in a military hospital on a friendly base, but they're still on foreign soil that's much too close to the Russian border for Ghost's comfort. How can he protect Johnny if he doesn't even notice him leaving the bed? He needs to stay alert.

And of course, it's in this moment of panic that his mind catches up and presents him with the visual of water sluicing over Johnny's scarred body. He's still beautiful, all sinew and packed muscle, but his skin is a tapestry of past torture, every jagged line and burn mark a testament to Makarov's cruelty. Ghost's gut churns with anger. He wants to rip Makarov's arms off, wants to take a knife and show him how it feels to be carved into pieces, wants—

The door opens behind him, and he whirls around to find Laswell and Price walking in. Laswell looks up, her expression instantly dropping into exasperation.

"Why are you up?"

"Soap's takin' a shower."

"That doesn't answer the question or explain why you're bleeding all over the floor."

Ghost looks down. A drop falls from his fingers to form a small pool of blood to match the puddle by his opposite foot from when he was facing the door. Johnny's scars still dance in his mind, a vision of horror and beauty, and the truth slips out.

"He wasn't in the bed when I woke up. Ripped out the IV 'cause I thought they'd somehow taken 'im without me knowin'."

Price sighs. "Ghost—"

Price cuts off as a nurse and an assistant file into the room behind him. The assistant doesn't pause in their duties, stripping the linens from Soap's bed and replacing them with the efficiency of someone who's done it thousands of times, but the nurse takes one look at the pooling blood and narrows her eyes at Ghost. If Ghost were a lesser man, he would be intimidated. As it is, he stands there while she shakes her head, tuts, and walks over to bandage the wound. The assistant cleans up the blood and leaves while the nurse finishes up with his hand and then pushes him toward the bed as she heads for the bathroom.

Ghost has her arms behind her back and her chest against the wall next to the bathroom door before anyone else can move. Laswell and Price call his name, but neither tries to pull him away.

"What th' fuck do you think you're playin' at?"

The nurse — or whoever she is — tries to act scared. "I-I don't know what you're talking about! I'm just here to..."

She trails off, clearly not having thought up an excuse, perhaps not expecting to be challenged. Price snorts and wanders up to them, tapping Ghost's shoulder.

"Not very good at this, is she? Here, I'll hold her, you search her pockets."

At that, she goes berserk. She kicks out at Ghost's knee, which he manages to avoid, but at the same time she also throws her head back and connects with Ghost's nose. Price catches hold of her just as the bathroom door flies open, a wet and naked Soap nearly colliding with them as he charges out of the room while the other nurse yells at him to come back.

The woman hisses, and with a strength she shouldn't possess, she rips her arm from Price's grasp, digs a hand into her pocket, and pulls out a syringe.

Which is filled with a vibrant green liquid. 

Ghost slaps the syringe out of her hand just as she tries to stab Johnny with it. She screams in impotent rage, her eyes wild. 

"He will come for you!" she bellows in Russian. "He will kill you all!

Another syringe appears in Ghost's peripheral, and it's testament to his training that he recognizes the clear liquid and the nurse from the bathroom. She jabs the syringe into the woman's neck, and the woman struggles for a few more seconds before she slumps to the floor. Price lets her fall.

"Check her teeth," Soap croaks from where he'd slumped against the wall. "She might have a false tooth with poison. Probably didn't think to use it before Nurse Williams here got her."

Laswell kneels down and begins checking the unconscious woman's mouth. "Nurse Williams?"

"Yes, ma'am?" the nurse pants, her eyes wide with fear and adrenaline.

"Please go get security."

"O-oh! Right, yes!"

The woman runs out of the room. Laswell stands, the syringe filled with green liquid, a fake tooth, and a glass capsule in her hands. She places them into her bag and looks at Soap.

"Put on some clothes, Sergeant. We're leaving."

---

Ghost expects more resistance on the way out of the hospital, but the news of an attack in the locked down wing has sent the staff into disarray. Laswell uses the confusion to her advantage, explaining that she's been ordered to move Soap and Ghost to another location until security is restored.

The poor administrator is so rattled he doesn't question it.

The adrenaline crash hits Ghost the moment he and Soap settle into the back of the black SUV Laswell procured from... somewhere. Ghost feels naked without his guns and mask, but he supposes he's lucky to have his own clothes, recently back from being washed, and a medical mask to cover his face. Too bad he didn't get to take a shower.

Soap curls into Ghost's side, clearly having his own version of an adrenaline drop. They managed to grab his IV, so he's not at risk of a literal crash, but his body is shaking, a sheen of sweat making his skin glisten in the sunlight. 

Price hops in on Soap's opposite side, and Laswell takes the passenger seat. Gaz is in the driver's seat, and he takes off as soon as the doors close.

"Where to?" Gaz asks.

"For now, head for the western border," Laswell says as she pulls out her laptop. "I need to do some digging. Right now, I'm not sure what — or who — is safe."

Gaz just nods in reply. Price scoots forward and murmurs something to Laswell. They end up in a hushed conversation, but Ghost couldn't care less. All his attention is devoted to the shivering man at his side.

"Alright, Johnny?"

"Fuck. Knew s-someone would be c-coming for me," Soap says through chattering teeth. "Just didn't realize it would be so s-soon."

Ghost gathers Soap closer against his side. Unfortunately, it's his bad side, and he doesn't quite managed to hold back the hiss of pain. Soap instantly pulls away despite Ghost's grip on him.

"I'm no' gonna be responsible for yer wound getting worse. Just sit there and let me rest my head on your shoulder."

Ghost sighs and does as he's told if only so Soap will try to rest. He grabs the blanket they filched from the hospital and tucks Johnny in, which seems to help. His shivering subsides, and soon after, long slow breaths fill the spaces between the road noise and Price and Laswell's murmured conversation.

They're well into their second hour of driving before Laswell begins to give Gaz verbal directions. Ghost grits his teeth — it's not a good sign that she doesn't trust GPS. When Price finally sits back in his seat and leans his head against the headrest, he looks like he's aged a year.

"Gotta be someone high up, yeah?" Ghost asks.

Price looks down at Soap, who is drooling on Ghost's shoulder, and readjusts the blanket on his shoulder. "Laswell thinks it's one of the British generals this time. Thinks that's why we haven't been able to catch Makarov all this time. They're tipping Makarov off to our movements. And whatever this stuff is" —Price gently taps the IV bag they attached to a hook on the ceiling— "she thinks Makarov is developing it for someone in the chain of command. Or at least promising them super soldiers while he goes off and does his own thing."

"Fuckin' hell."

Price's gaze lands heavy on Soap, his expression drawn. "We're lucky you're a paranoid bastard. How did you know the nurse was a plant?"

"Beside the fact that she was new, her clothes didn't fit right, her bandagin' job was shite, and she shoulda tried to reinsert the IV?"

Price snorted. "Yeah. Aside from that."

"Her scrubs top was too tight, and she had no cap on the needle, probably for quick insertion before the other nurse could stop her. I saw the shape of the syringe and the needle poking out of her pocket as she did her shite bandagin' job."

"Christ."

Ghost quirked a brow at Price. "Might be a paranoid bastard, but I'm also observant."

Price hums. "So they were planning to pump him full of that stuff so he'd go on a rampage, someone would kill him, and they'd quietly get rid of the body before we had a chance to react — if we weren't already dead. Thank god you stopped her."

Ghost shrugs and looks forward at the long stretch of road before them. "Whatever it takes to keep Johnny safe. You know that."

Price is quiet for long moment. When Ghost looks back, his gaze is assessing.

"I do. And we may need to hold you to that."

Ghost doesn't hesitate. Doesn't look away. Doesn't even blink.

"Just tell me what to do."

---

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 >>

[cloud-sitting]

THIS LITTLE DUDE’S EYEBROWS WALKED

SO THAT HERS COULD RUN

[spectralarchers]

Me, six months ago, the instant I found a new traumatized military man and this time he wears a fucking mask: