#captain mactavish mentioned

[akai-akai]

okay so I've ranted about my "Simon Riley is a Dork" philosophy, now I bring you...

John MacTavish is a NERD.

I see how he's often pinned as the rambunctious "airhead" of the team, and that may be true to some to degree but he's not STUPID.

Listen, this man is a demolition expert. That involves all kinds of maths, measurements, electrical work, mechanics, technical shit I'm not well-versed in, etc. Demolitions experts have to be pretty damn smart to be considered experts.

I think Johnny was 100% a robotics kid growing up. Maybe even dabbled in coding and mathematics club. I seriously think he was one of the nerdy kids in highschool/secondary school.

And though that part of him is still very much there, it's quieter now. Shrouded by professionalism and experience and maturity. But then, sometimes when he's had a few too many drinks, or if Simon plucks just the right strings, he'll go on these long tangents about the different mathematics, or about this robot he built by hand in highschool by himself in his parents' garage-turned-robotics-lab— the garage lab that he accidentally set on fire and blew up a can of old hairspray his sister had left on his desk. (He totally wasn't using it as a blowtorch to kill some poor unsuspecting bug, his sister just left the spray there and he didn't notice it. That small burn scar on his left hand is completely unrelated.)

And of course, Simon will sit quietly and patiently, watching the way Johnny's eyes light up and his face gets more and more expressive, arms and hands moving wildly, animatedly. He's so passionate, it makes Simon's eyes soften with affection.

And when Johnny's especially focused on the blueprints in front of him during a mission, clock ticking and pressure weighing down on him, he's a sight to behold. Somehow, that's when he works best. Brows pinched, lips pressed in a tight line as his brain works over the details, pieces a plan together as he mutters under his breath, pen scratching on the paper, recites numbers for the other team members to remember. And then his brows smooth out and he gets this giddy look as things click together in his mind and his head snaps up and he gets to work— John knows to let him take the lead here, and quietly notes to himself that John MacTavish would make for a great Captain down the line.

Sometimes when he can't sleep or his mind's a little too loud, he'll sit up at the little desk in his barracks with the dim lamp illuminating a worn-out blue sketchbook, pencil eraser trapped between his teeth as he scans his old notes and sketches and unresolved equations. Mundane math and physics that doesn't take a lot of mental power, but still relaxes him nonetheless.

In addition, he'd be good at sketching. Specifically blueprints and modeling. Dimensional stuff and perspective. Finds a quiet corner somewhere on base— usually that old tree out by the dirt track— and sketches away models, some of which are totally unrealistic but he doesn't care. He'll sketch a giant sci-fi atomic canon model with realistic mathematics and semi-viable science behind it if he wants to.

When he needs to memorize a new model, he'll draw each individual piece, each little working part as if he's dissecting it and mapping it out in his brain. Sometimes when Simon flips through Johnny's sketchbooks, he'll find 10+ pages filled with the same model, over and over, and it's like he can see every thought process, every reasoning, every time Johnny clicks something together in his mind.

Johnny is brilliant. He's a scientist, an expert in his field. He's a total nerd and I love him for it.

(His average shower thoughts are either complex science that would give the average person a migraine, or Simon's eyes. No in between.)

NSFW:

This time, the tables are turned. Johnny will be mid-ride on top of Simon in bed, purposely distracting himself in his mind to hold off his own release (bc it's a competition and he'll be damned if he finishes first) and then suddenly he'll remember a bomb blueprint he was deconstructing the previous day and he'll plop down, sitting up stock straight as he curses and something makes a PING! sound in his brain and suddenly he's leaning over while Simon raises a questioning brow, hands still firmly gripping Johnny's hips as he snatches his notebook and pen from his table side drawer, flops the book unceremoniously on top of Simon's chest, hunches over, and begins writing and muttering to himself.

And Simon just waits, halfway between disgruntled and amused. Just sorta resorts to grinding his hips upward— to which Johnny firmly plants his hips downward, keeping them still, and Simon just sighs and waits some more.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Simon's in love with this idiot, don't let him fool you. I love them a healthy amount.

[nyxiswrites1200]

Thinking of John Price being married to the prettiest wife. He invites Soap, Ghost, and Gaz over to his house where his pretty girl is sitting in the pool in the smallest bikini.

Getting all flustered because of the other guys but Price kisses her and says it's fine.

Ghost especially can't help but stare. He's never seen something so pretty in his life. Price knows you like him, you like the masked brooding L.T.

You sweetly ask for permission and of course Price grants it. You get to flirt with Ghost and hold on to his muscular arm while you try to convince him to get in the pool. However you just end up beneath him on a pool chair as he touches you.

"You take good care of your husband, love?"

"Mhm, I do. Let daddy fill me up all the time"

"You got room for one more?"

Letting him fuck you as Soap and Gaz try not to stare but they sit on the edge of the pool with their cocks hard. Price watching as he shamelessly strokes his cock, asking you how you like Ghost's dick in your tummy because it's so big.

Ghost fucking you in the backyard of your husband's house as the rest of em watch, trying not to be pervs. But you're just a sweet pretty little thing :( they can't help it.

Ghost is pounding you, making you moan so loudly. Good thing there's a tall fence surrounding the yard. He's got you pinned under his large frame, not even undressed.

Soap and Gaz cum in their swim trunks and Price's shoots over his happy trail on his stomach as Ghost pumps you full, leaving you dripping with his cum. You already know Price is going to want to fuck it back into you tonight along with his own.

Ghost was sweet though. Sent you flowers when he was away because he didn't want you to feel used even if you did want his cock anyway...

An: I don't know what came over me guys <3

[rainyramblesscramble]

Hehehe DOODLE PAGE BE UPON YE 🫶

includes past and current suggestions/requests by @lialucis @thatoneautisticshark and @ghostmoon1 …as well as two requesters from discord whose tumblr tags I unfortunately do not know :(

Thanks everybody for getting me to 350! I have had so much fun thus far and I hope to see y’all through many more ups and downs 🫶

[a-b-riddle]

Going back to the idea of 141 protecting accused reader

Check CW in tags

Price collects the names of everyone involved. Who accused you, who took you in, questioned you and anyone who laid their hands on you. Although Kate had nothing to do with it, the Americans, those fucking shadows overstepped. The best Kate can hope for is to avoid a charge with aiding in a war crime. Joining Kyle in interviews to find out the specifics. Who was cruelest? Did anyone touch you sexually? Were you starved? Questions they knew would overwhelm you if prompted.

Once Price’s job is done, Kyle starts to collect all the intel with a simple name. Digging into the lives of everyone responsible for breaking you as well as their loved one. It doesn’t take Kyle long to start planting things to make their lives go nuclear. Evidences of affairs that were AI generated sent to the wives waiting back home with their husbands attached with apology letters from the mistress. Insisting that she didn’t know he was married and to please use this as evidence if she chooses to divorce him.

Simon is the judge, the jury and executioner. Most of the shadows steered clear after everything came to the surface that you were truly innocent. That doesn’t stop him from beating them bloody during sparring. Challenging any one of them. Embarrassing them in front of their peers only to catch them off guard later in the night. Carving their skin, taking their fingernails as trophies. Having to refrain from showing you that he was giving you justice in the only way he knew how.

And then there was Johnny….

Sweet Johnny became your primary care taker. Isn’t phased when you need help bathing or going to the bathroom. Johnny who administered your pain medicine around the clock. Who was your advocate about dealing with the doctors and medical staff when you felt too overwhelmed. Who scheduled your medical appointments for your burns, lacerations and the other injuries and illnesses you sustained. Severed ACL. Upper respiratory infection. Kidney infection. UTIs from lack of hygiene items. Never once making you feel embarrassed. Getting you in touch with a therapist.

All of them doing their part to help you in anyway they can. All of them promising to never let you away from them again.

[cluelessatthispoint]

Dragon's Hoard: ch 11

(inspired by Blugiragi and Docdudo)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sensed him long before you saw him.

Ghost didn’t breathe the way the others did. Didn’t move, didn’t sigh, but he was there. Just at the edge of your vision. A shift in the shadows. A second weight in the silence.

He clung to the shadows and wore it like a second skin. Still and soundless, the kind of stillness that made your bones itch. Something primal in you knew not to look directly at him. But you did.

You turned. And instead of vanishing like a bad thought, he stood at the mouth of one of the side tunnels—half-consumed by flickering dark, half-revealed in the pulse of firelight. Watching.

When you turned, you expected him to vanish. Instead, he stood at the mouth of one of the side tunnels, cloaked in the flickering dark. Watching.

He said nothing.

As if he knew what happened yesterday with Soap still bothered you. It lingered in your mind like a never-ending nightmare. Shuddering at the memory, your eyes meet Ghost's for only the briefest moments. His silence spoke volumes. It screamed. You knew he knew. Knew about what had happened with Soap the day before. Knew how the memory still festered beneath your skin like an old bruise that wouldn’t fade.

Your breath caught. A single glance into the hollows of his mask, and it was like staring into an empty grave. A grave he very well might have crawled out of.

With your back to the cave wall, the feeling of solid rock against your spine almost burns from how cold it is. Your thin arms wrapped around your knees for warmth. The fire in the center crackled quietly, a low murmur of warmth and light against the cooler draft from deeper in the den. You didn’t look at him long. You’d grown used to the others filling every silence with noise, but Ghost never seemed to need sound. And strangely, that made him less unbearable to be around. Almost tolerable.

At least he wasn’t trying to touch you. Or talk. Or pretend to understand.

But that didn’t mean it was easy, either.

It wasn’t long before the quiet of the new day was broken, by Soap. the werewolf came bounding into the room. You heard him before you saw him— always did. His impressive claws clicking on stone, the slap of something soft, maybe a pelt being dragged across the floor.

“There you are!” he chirped, too loudly. His grin was sheepish, his ears pinned back like a dog that knew it had done something wrong but wasn’t sure what. And sure enough, there was a pelt being dragged by his side. But in his arms, he held something, almost tenderly. He was holding something—a little doll, maybe. Squinting, it takes a moment to makes sense of what he's holding. Rather than a doll, it looks more like a bundle of dried grass tied with bits of twine, knotted in places to suggest the shape of limbs and a head. “Made this for you. Look—see, it's even got a wee face on it.”

He crouched, holding the thing out like a peace offering. The smile on his face faltered as you just stared. The longer you stared, the more the hairs of his mohawk started to spike.

You didn’t want the doll. Not because it was ugly (though it was), or because it came from claws that had once curled too tight around your arms. But because it was too late. The damage was done. He didn’t understand what he’d done to upset you, not really. And that made the apology feel wrong. Like a not so well practiced performance.

Soap’s ears flicked nervously. “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t ask for it,” you said softly, indignation curling in your stomach.

Soap blinked. You could see the sting in his cerulean eyes even as he tried to laugh it off. “Right. Of course. Just... thought it might help.”

You didn’t answer.

The silence thickened—until Price’s voice cut clean through it.

“Hatchling,” came the gravel-deep rumble, and Price emerged from the far tunnel, his one wing half-spread for balance as he ducked under a low arch of stone. His eyes were narrowed, not in anger, but in that assessing way dragons often looked at things they considered theirs. “Soap love, out of the way.”

Soap hesitated, then stepped aside with a huff, tail flicking. He muttered something under his breath you couldn’t quite catch.

Price settled in front of you with slow, heavy movements, like a mountain deciding to sit. His golden eyes studied you with practiced patience.

“You’ve been quiet.”

You said nothing.

“Can’t blame you,” he said. “What happened yesterday... shouldn’t have. Not like that.”

You stiffened. His tone was calm, but it curled uncomfortably in your gut. You didn’t want to talk about it. You especially didn’t want to understand him.

“I told Soap not to roughhouse with you. He doesn’t know his own strength. Thinks humans are made of bark and bone like he is.”

glaring, you send a steely gaze up at the dragon hybrid. Your expression a little sharper than intended.

Price’s brow lifted. “Fair enough.”

He shifted, then reached out, slow and deliberate, as if you were a skittish animal. His clawed hand didn’t touch you—but hovered just close enough to make your skin prickle.

“Let me show you something,” he said.

You didn’t move, but your silence was enough.

Price nodded once, then turned, gesturing for you to follow. Reluctantly, you did. Brushing off your knees with both hands as you rise to standing.

He led you to the edge of where the mouth of the cave just about opened to the world outside. Ghost lingered behind, silent as breath with Soap who could be heard whining in his thick accent.

“This,” Price said as he stopped beside a stone shelf tucked beneath a low overhang, “is where we teach.”

“Teach?” you echoed.

“Yes, to teach other. How to live in the same den without tearing each other’s throats out. Just far enough into the cave, and shallow enough to take advantage of the outside if needed." The walls etched with tooth marks, talon scratches and burnt marks.

“Ghost, Soap and Gaz, they learned how to deal with me. I learned how not to torch them when I’m pissed,” he said with a dry smile. “Now we’re going to learn how to live with you.”

You stared at the stones. They didn’t mean anything. Not to you. Not yet.

“I’m not part of your pack,” you said, voice low. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“No,” Price agreed, surprisingly gently. “But you’re still here. That makes you part of it—whether or not you think so.”

His words were meant to comfort. Instead, they curled around your ribs like vines, squeezing.

“You can’t just decide that.”

“I didn’t,” he said. “The others did. All of us did.”

He stepped back, giving you space, but his presence lingered like smoke in the lungs.

"I'm your Papa. We're your papa's now."

Then he said it.

The thing you didn’t want to hear. The thing you couldn’t un-hear.

Behind you, Soap shifted again, claws scraping softly on stone. Still holding the grass doll like a promise already broken. And Ghost—

Ghost hadn’t moved at all.

But the white of his mask burned like frost in the dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

here is chapter 11!!!!!!!!!!! I hope that you all enjoy it! With the requests now closed. I'll be getting to work and hopefully posting more regularly.

[transmascsimonriley]

drunk 09 ghoap kiss

[laswells-ashtray]

Going off the idea of ‘Price vs the entire month of December’.

He definitely mutters to himself ‘I’m gonna k-ll myself’ just as a way to cope.

However, he’s awful for saying it when others are around because he simply forgets that they are there. Doesn’t matter who it is, friend or stranger, he has definitely said it once.

So newly joined Gaz and Soap had a wild time getting use to that, because it was always quietly muttered under Price’s breath in the most random of moments.

Gaz watches him walk into a counter, takes the corner of it to his hip and immediately mutters "someone hand me the bloody rope". Gaz almost has a heart attack.

He awkwardly has a wee chat with Ghost that just ends with the lieutenant saying "Yeah, he does that a lot, You'll get used to it." At first, it does little to cease his worry but after three weeks of knowing the man he does in fact get used to it.

Soap does a double take the first time he hears some variation of it because he genuinely thinks he's heard his captain wrong. But no, when John gets brain matter splattered across his hat Soap does hear him say "I'm taking cement shoes the next time I go for a bloody swim" under his breath.

He also asks Ghost about it. "Is that no a wee bit... detrimental tae his health tae be constantly threatenin' suicide?" "Sergeant, does thinking positively make the days go by any faster in this line of work?" "Fair enough."

He makes a conscious effort to stop himself from saying it around Kate or Nik.

If he slips up and says it around Nikolai then the other man will be plastered to his side for the next two weeks despite how hard John tries to convince him that no, he didn't mean it and sometimes it's just therapeutic to mutter to himself instead of shooting whatever pissed him off this time.

He says it once in front of Laswell then she'll glower at him until he apologises and she won't stop until she thinks he means it.

If he hears anyone else mutter it then he's alert and worried but he feels he should be exempt because they all know someone he works with will lightly kill him and make it look like an accident long before he ever considers taking a dance with a rope. It does not stop the general annoyance his colleagues and friends have towards this habit.

[ohgeesoap]

Soap's journal entries concerning dogs. Typed out under the cut in case they're difficult to read.

Consider me a cat man now.

We overcame ultranationalists, chopper crashes, danger close with gunships, but a goddamn dog is what'll get me into an infirmary? Rabies, ridiculous. What a waste of time. Obviously can't tell Price or Gaz. Nikolai seems capable of keeping a secret. Probably keeps vials of vaccine vaulted with manifest intel, secretive bastard.

--

And no, I haven't exactly been on my booster shots. Think Nikolai said every two years but didn't think I'd be back in Russia so bloody soon. So yeah, was happy to follow Price and Roach over the net. Not just because it meant I was far from the mutts, but because I got to listen to the two of them working together like we once did. There was the same option: take out the target or let them him pass. Nice to hear Price taking Roach under his wing. Know the effect it can have.

[s0fter-sin]

idk why it wouldn’t let me answer this @kissmesharman but i absolutely love this, ghost not knowing how to process his omegan traits, to allow himself to be the one who is vulnerable and be protected instead of protecting is so ‼️ being soft, being open and accepting always came with consequences; it was always met with pain and betrayal and you only have to learn a lesson so many times before it sticks

the insidious ways roba and his ilk tried to force him into complacency, using their pheromones and rumbling and scruffing to trick his instincts into submitting- all they did was make ghost bury his omega so deep inside, he almost laughed at the irony of his own burial. even after he’s exhumed, he doesn’t hear it for years; naturally doesn’t heat even without suppressants, doesn’t purr, doesn’t feel that innate safety an alpha’s presence is supposed to bring

just being near other designations calms you down, whether they’re family, pack or even strangers thrown together in too-cramped barracks. it levels out your hormones, gives you people to act your instincts out on, and it’s never a surprise to walk into the cherries’ barracks and find them all tucked inside the resident omega’s nest; discordant purrs and chuffs layering over each other, too-big feet tangled together, still young enough for the milky smell of pup to cling to the edges of their scent especially clumped together like this. a lot of them won’t make it through selection, won’t find pack in each other but it’d be cruel to strip them of this simple comfort

ghost hasn’t stepped inside a nest in almost a decade

hasn’t felt the desire to build up softness and safety, to spread that feeling of home to the 141 even after he admits to himself that they’re pack. even after months of rejection - growling at soap’s happy chuffs whenever he saw him, pumping off bitterly aggressive pheromones to drown out gaz’s pack?home?safe?good? scent until he knew the beta felt sick with the sour poison, avoiding price whenever he was in pre-rut despite it being the most tempting and warm time of year for an omega to be near an alpha, those days before the terrible need when alphas are all affection, rut drunk with the happiness and safety of pack - they still welcomed him with open arms and bared necks as if he were a second pack alpha and not an omega

he’ll posture and loom over any unfamiliar presence, anyone that could potentially be a threat to his pack; his growls a thunderous undercurrent that shakes the very ground and makes anyone who hears it submit on instinct. soap and gaz happily submit to him; almost vibrating in place when he scents them, enduring their appeasing nibbles and licks at his hidden mouth, falling to heel whenever he decides to take over a situation. price shows it in other ways; nose blind after too many breaks and too many cigars, he lets ghost gentle him when his stress reaches its peak, hangs his head and just breathes as ghost threads his fingers together and cups them around his neck, squeezing his scent glands with his palms. ghost bumps their temples together and they’ll just stand there until the burnt scent of tension leaks out of the air

they’re not shy with their submission until most people just assume ghost’s an alpha based purely on the actions of his pack

they’ll never point it out, but the 141 has never suffered for lack of a pack nest. bc ghost unknowingly makes individual nests wherever they go

he’ll push soap into the comfiest sofa cushion after scoping out a safe house, tug gaz’s jacket straight when he uses it as a pillow and eye mask in one, pace in front of the bedroom price claimed to ensure his pack alpha is safe inside his den. he divies out rations, always opens them and switches the desserts so gaz and soap don’t argue over who got the better one; takes the instinctual first bite of anything scavenged or hunted to know it’s safe just to wait until everyone’s done eating and full before taking his own portion. they all present themselves for ghost’s inspection after missions; lets him run his hands and nose over them to check for injuries and it’s ghost who more often than not ends up taking care of them instead of sending them down to medical

they’ll never tell him, never make him face his own behaviour before he’s ready to come to terms with it himself. as much as ghost’s convinced himself otherwise, his omega is alive and well and his pack will welcome his shy return whenever he feels ready to step back into the light

[i-cant-exist-as-a-real-person]

I 100% believe that Kyle “Gaz” Garrick is a germaphobe

The kicker? He doesn’t know that he is

He grew up with his mom always cleaning, even if it looked spotless because she was convinced that there were germs

So now Gaz keeps those habits he learned from his mom with him

He comes in being outside and immediately wash his hands because “you don’t know what could have hit my hands”

He throws away food that are about to hit their expiration dates because just the thought of food past that date makes him physically ill

Gaz wipes down almost any surface before placing his things down purely because there could be something deadly there

The 141 never found an issue with his until the day that Gaz flipped his lid because Soap grabbed a chip off his plate, without washing his hands, and they all had to convince Kyle not to throw out his food because it was not “contaminated with whatever germs Soap brought inside” (They couldn’t stop him and he threw the plate out anyways)

[beescrafting]

Through heaven and hell...

Price is now retired... Living in a slow town with a small population further up in England's more rural area.

During one night at the pub and a near PTSD attack, he finds himself talking to a gentleman named Nikolai.

______

Life was slow now. With creaking old joints, pains from active duty, John found himself in a small little town far out into the country side of England.

It was quiet.

It is nice.

It was boring.

Compared to the normal loudness of a battle feild, the gunfire, the yelling, the bombs... Then again those silent missions... Either way John found himself bored out of his mind.

Theirs only so much a man can do with gardening or trying to learn how to knit.

So alot of the time, he found himself jogging and working out, doing small jobs with helping the community, and then drinking.

This is where John found himself every Friday night, at the pub at the edge of town. It's not the most popular pub, but its a good one.

That's where John found himself right now. Sitting in a corner of the bar, cradling a whiskey to drink.

The bar was briming with life, from workers taking a moment to calm down for the week ended talking with friends and watching sports, to some young men on a few dates with their girlfriends or boyfriends.

This town truly was something else.

Drinking his whiskey John sighed. The noise in the background was slowly startling to frazzle out, sounding like background noise as he more focused on the tv. It was a program about a war going on...

John tapped his finger against the table slightly, taking a deep breath. He was starting to hear the voices of the men he failed to keep alive... The men who died by his side due to his faults.

Their screams of pain over the coms as they suffered and died by the enemies hands.

The sound of gun fire and bombing ringing in his ear it was-

"are you an angel, because I want to pray to you~" A thick russian accent suddenly broke his train of thought from such a wild thing to say.

John turned to face the man only to be met by a older gentleman with a smirk amongst his face. His stuble was nice it really brought out a strong mans exterior if you were to ask anyone.

"pardon?" John said raising a brow as he studied the man.

"ha sorry, just trying to get you out of that head of yours мой друг" (мой друг = my friend) the man said while taking a seat next to John. He was wearing a dark brown leather jacket with some jeans and a nice random t-shirt from something John didn't know. "My name is Nikolai, friends call me nik, and you are?" The man- no... Nikolai asked.

"John... John Price" john replied back, he found himself smiling slightly, he had been lacking a bit with human connection lately after all... And John had a feeling Nik understood him more then he let on.

"well John, care to explain what's got you stuck in that brain of yours?" Nik asked leaning a bit closer after ordering for another round for the pair. Another Whiskey and a cherry vodka.

Mhm very nice.

Maybe this truly is what he needed, someone to talk to and drink with. He hadn't had much contact with anyone from his job in a bit, Ghost and Soap were still in the army serving under a new captain now no doubt, and Laswell had her wife and job in the CIA...

"Well, I use to be in the army" John mumbled before talking more to Nik about what it was like, he and nik both learned a few things from one another. They truly had alot in common.

~~~

This is just the intro for what's going to be started, its not very long but its a ground breaker for what I have planned. Thank you for reading, and if you wish to be tagged for me updates to this, then please let me know, and if you have any questions my ask's are always opened! Their will be other updates too other then short little writings such as art, thoughts, and chapter idea's. I do hope you enjoy this project among the many more I'm work on. - Bee

but i do think i know of two people who'd like this, @panchulien and @hexxedghost ,w,

[wolverinecore]

No mention of Gaz even though hes the main character since mw ‘19. Activision isnt hiding their blatant racism anymore.

These characters have over 5 skins yet Gaz only has 2 which came during launch. Im so fucking tired of this shit

[brokenpieces-72]

trick or treat!

The door opens to reveal a woman with short hair and pale skin, in a long dress and a friendly smile. A bat is squeaking away on her shoulder and yes you can pet him, he's friendly. The Matron of Bats greets you like she's the nicest aunt and puts red velvet cookies in your candy bag.

She lets you know there is a lovely group of men down the street who enjoy getting new people to come to their door. With a friendly wave she shuts the door.

Upon arriving at the door of the suggested residence, you're a little surprised to find a large figure with skeleton face paint opening the door. He doesn't say anything but doesn't need to as a fanged and mohawked figure greets you. That is a fucking sick costume, and tells the rest of his buddies to come see. You then see a man with a loose pirate costume and more fangs smiling, impressed with your efforts. Following behind is a guy with wolf ears poking out of a cap, and a wolf tail.

They give you a full sized candy bar and then notice you're by yourself. That's not safe. Especially for a human like you. They offer to be a chaperone, if only so they can make sure you get home okay. Don't worry, they don't bite. They know some good houses too, like the woman with the blond hair and the witch costume.

You have a good and safe night. You do find it odd all four men were wearing fangs though.

[laswells-ashtray]

Okay, kind of a weird ask BUT.. Ghost 141.

And I’m not talking abt how they are now, no, I mean like ACTUAL see-through dead people from different periods of time OR from the same time period.

I could imagine that Soap is from the Viking era(Makes sense?), Price is from the Victorian Era, Ghost is from the early Reconstruction days after WW1(I think), and Gaz is from the 70’s or 80’s!

How they meet is completely unknown, but now they stick together like glue and just roam around the Earth as it is.

Sometimes I feel like they’ll see things from their past that no one else can, and the others are confused because- what’s there? Like for example, John was walking the halls of some large abandoned mansion and all of a sudden he sees his lost(and long gone) lover Nik, damn near tearing the house apart trying to look for the criminal before coming to the realization of what he was doing and disappearing for a while.

Nobody knows what the hell that was about, but they most certainly know that it must’ve been serious if the man disappeared for a week straight.

When John finally reappears, the other three men don't know what to say. He looks worse for wear, his clothes are ruffled in a way that requires effort to achieve as a phantom, and his eyes are empty.

They had spent the week debating the identity of the Nik he'd be screaming for. Simon had assumed the person to be a domestic servant but they'd debated the use John had for one. John never had a family, he had been an anomaly of his time. No wife, no children and he wasn't particularly inclined to any career path. He'd stuck to whatever earned him the means to live but much about his life had been kept private and none of the three had felt to pry.

Gaz has other assumptions, might've been taboo in the 80s but it certainly wasn't unheard of. He's unsure about what would've happened if you were perhaps "caught" in Victorian times but he assumes it can't have been good.

But Gaz had spent enough time in queer spaces amongst his people to know one when he saw it. John had been trying to tear his way through them just to get a glance of the Nik he was yelling about and Gaz had heard him muttering to himself about a Nikolai on more than one occasion.

Sure, they'd all developed over the years of being stuck as spiritual presences but some things lingered. Occasionally Soap would slip into a damn near unintelligible rant about something that would leave them all confused. Although, he is just Scottish so that might be it. Simon still struggled to wrap his mind around modern-day laws, smacking around your kids could earn you a prison sentence. He'd get a distant look in his eyes before quickly switching topics whenever it was brought up. Gaz would be the first to admit that hearing about modern-day movies centred around queer stories would always sweep him off of his feet.

Even if he was more used to the openness after they'd taken to following around a CIA agent that John had found amusing. The woman was a powerhouse and finding out she had a wife floored them all but they'd taken to lingering around the couple's home for amusement.

But John had never been willing to elaborate on the Nik he so desperately sought. No one quite knew what to say to him when he came back after disappearing for a week, trying not to ostracize the man through sheer verbal accident.

It surprised no one that Soap had been the first to talk but even Gaz would've expected a more tacful greeting.

"John, you're back. Just in time, the lesbians got a new cat."

Silence falls over the four of them for a moment. Simon facepalms with enough force that Gaz worries for his nose. John looks utterly caught off guard and the way his nose scrunches is undeniably endearing.

"What- what colour is it this time?" He asks, voice utterly wrecked. He sounds as if he'd been gargling glass shards for fun.

"Grey. Looks like mold."

They all smile at the way the man's lip quirks, a faint hint of a smile shining through.

[sunshowersanddandelionwine]

Hi regarding your Haunts post. It was so cute! Ghost got immediate brownie points for taking care of Soaps sister, I hope the rest of the group leave needing a change of cloths.

Haunts are usually seasonal right? (Idk I’m not American) So Ghost could be working at it whilst on leave as a favor or it could be one of those community outreach/recruitment things the army sometimes hosts or a family fair/expo they also attend.

What would everyone’s costumes be?

Would there be a competition on who could get the most scares? (Excluding ghost) who would win?

If Soap joined Ghost the next year would they do a couples costume?

Anyway cool post thank you for sharing it.

thank you!!! :D and yeah, ghost might be dressed as a crazed masked killer but hes not gonna just let this kid sit in the middle of a dark maze with a bum ankle lol he might play a monster but hes not actually one. and while its against policy to stalk guests through the whole grounds (something something harrassment something something liability blah blah blah), price lets this one slide because he heard maggie backstage and was very much not impressed. gaz and roach might have joined ghost in the stalking. just a little ^-^

and yeah, most haunts (at least in the US) are seasonal! they typically run from sometime in september through halloween or occasionally early november. there are a few year round houses thought! a local haunt in my city actually runs all year, and its located inside a mall! but youre right, he could just be on leave for a month or so to help out with community outreach! i think id want the rest of the riley family to be alive in that case just so he and tommy could cause a ruckus together XD

as for costumes... i definitely see ghost as a slasher villain type character, sort of in the veins of jason voorhees or michael myers. its probably cliche but i think it fits the vibes! gaz would kill (hee hee) as a vampire, either in just stage makeup or full special effects and prosthetics. price is probably either a werewolf or in a ghillie suit for jumpscaring. nikolai doesnt work as a scare actor himself (he works backstage) but if he was forced to, hed want to be a victim lol. laswell is a mad scientist type, no question. roach pulls of a zombie way too well. once she joins the haunt, maggie would be a slasher too as ghost's protege. (dont tell anyone but he teared up a little when she told him.) if soap joined the team, hed probably work backstage with nik, and like nik he'd want to be a victim XD

oh for sure theres a competition for the most scares, and theres also a competition for the most creative scares! like you said, ghost wins the most scares almost every year, but roach has come very very close many times! hes a sneaky little bug, and he always catches people completely off guard :D the most creative scare the last year went to nikolai, who did some wizardry with the lights and sound effects and nearly gave price a heart attack.

a trophy is waiting for anyone who manages to scare laswell. no one has ever been able to claim it skfjhsdlkfhsdl

OHHHH ABSOLUTELY GHOAP WOULD!! i love that :DDD i think the whole haunt has a costume contest for the end of the season afterparty, and its the most ridiculous thing ever. ghost gets soap to come as his plus one, and its adorable! idk what their costumes would be tho so if anyone has suggestions please let me know!

[notnelle]

- if you must die, sweetheart, die knowing your life was my life's best part.