#chat: ghost

[marypsue]

Keep seeing that post where OP starts like 'Thinking about...grieving the undead' and then adds on about like. Real life situations where people have not died but have left your life and you would have reason to grieve them.

All respect, that's an important concept, but that is not what I am thinking about when I read 'grieving the undead'.

[shotmrmiller]

ghost getting himself a cute, soft girl he doesn't talk about much but is clearly obsessed with and price just thinks it's nice he's finally settled down, approves of the home he's made for himself, definitely approves of the one he's taken for himself.

soap asks kyle if he's seen you and he says, "yep. lovely bird he's got tucked away in her little dollhouse. makes great food, too." soap swears there's a subtle shift in his tone when he says "lovely", a hint of something deeper that flickers in his eyes for just a moment. soap simply sucks on his teeth, letting it slide. (although he knows that kyle's always been one to appreciate the good things in life.)

interest gnaws at him, a persistent itch he can't scratch. price likes you just fine, as does kyle. well what about him? he decides to bite the bullet and goes to simon with a knot between his brows, the corners of his lips tugged downwards. they've shared clothes, bullets, beds. if the other two got to meet you, why can't he?

"ya can come over for dinner on tonight. she'd 'ave my neck if she didn't formally meet ya anyway."

soap then asks, out of genuine curiosity more than anything else, if simon would have kept you in the dark from him hadn't he brought you up himself.

"ya meet 'er when i want ya to, boy, and not a moment before." the tone he takes is unmistakeable. his words are a command, not a suggestion, and soap instantly knows to not push further.

soap nods. "ah'll be there."

"course ya will. she'd be terribly disappointed otherwise."

yeah, he'd hate to have that.

soap sits in the living room, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the cozy place. with a full stomach and an unfastened belt, nursing a glass of kentucky. he can't remember the last time he ate that well or that much.

maybe it's the alcohol that loosens his tongue, or the fact that he wishes he also had a sweet little thing to keep at his side just like simon's doing with you now, but the thoughts he's been mulling over all evening since he first saw you tumble out of his mouth.

"while ah can attest to yer taste in sweethearts, can't say much about your alcohol. bourbon, LT?" he says, chest warm.

simon's arm tightens around your hips, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh. he shrugs, completely unbothered by the backhanded compliment. "can't be perfect in everythin', can we, sergeant?"

soap's cheeks burn furiously hot when you come to his defense with a smack of your palm onto simon's chest. "be nice to johnny. he's got a face that make up for some of his other flaws."

the teasing lilt in your voice unashamedly gets his southern blood pumping. he can't help it if certain things stir when someone as pretty as you look at him like that. soap swirls the amber liquid gently in the glass while keeping his limpid eyes on you, not even trying to hide the fact that his gaze hasn't wavered since your cheeky little comment.

you then whisper something in simon's ear, your cupped hand not even half the size of his head and soap has to rearrange himself from the outside when your teeth catch your bottom lip. simon looks up at you then, eyes heavy and half lidded, and a smirk plays at the corners of his mouth.

"'m not sure, love. you'll just 'ave to ask 'im yourself. go on."

you open that sweet mouth of yours, but simon cuts you off with a decisive wave of his hand. "no. you know how to ask for things."

your reaction to that is visceral, and you're on your knees faster than his alcohol-muddled brain can comprehend. don't look down 'er shirt, don't look down 'er shirt, don't-

"johnny, will you touch my pussy?"

he splutters at your question, completely taken aback, but it seems you're not done just yet.

"hands to yourself, sergeant. tha' not all."

you pout at simon, one that earns you a look that promises consequence, but do as he says.

"will you touch my pussy, johnny? pretty please?"

[vozart]

the people have spoken so here is viking soap and a bonus creep

[the-original-skipps]

So the trailer for this dropped

↓

HES A FKIN GHOST YA’LLー

[skyrigel]

Simon who's known for his dry sarcasm and bland remarks, it doesn't matter what one says to him. It's his natural instinct at this point — to jab back or give a solid burn.

So it happened like this, he was injured after one of the mission, minor wounds, one misplaced bone from wrong landing, but it was the hollow eyed look, the roughed up and neglected state that made you double take over the lieutenant.

“Oh god,” you muttered under your breath, pressing the syringe up in air to check its ejection, “You look terrible !”

The last part was directed on him. Simon whose eyes were pinned on your back moved ever so slightly when you turned around.

“So do you.” He said like the words were placed on his mouth tip and were uttered as soon as his lips parted.

The statement wasn't wrong entirely, there has been shortage on staff and so it's only you and a handful of other nurses over the double hour shifts.

You glanced back at him, regarding, and assessed the minor wounds and some of which were not at all minor whatever the Lieutenant Riley had insisted on to the poor Doctor who was very happy leave him at that and assign the rest to you, a count of stiches and tablets and x-ray sheet rolled through your mind, unaware of the way Simon was biting his lips and looking very alerted. Like he was practicing something in his head.

“I didn't mean it.” He said quietly.

“mmm” You sat beside him, looking for the certain nerve and angling the syringe carefully over the pale wrist.

“I didn't mean it,” Simon said again, all hesitancy gone now replaced with a blazing edge, dragging his gaze along with you.

You could've laughed upon the urgency he said it with, the desperation came off in supersonic waves.

“I know, Simon.” You smiled kindly to his sincerest eyes. The sharp tip penetrating under his skin and emptying transparent vitals into his body.

“I think yer very gorgeous.” He blurted out and was torn between looking away or never letting go, at last he lowered his eyes where you applied little pressure oved his hand to redirect the circulation.

You pressed the gauze with eyes only on him, a sweet shy smile blooming across your exhausted face. “alright, rest now.”

And he did just as he was told. Probably the first time ever.

The last time he'd said, “I would rather rest in peace, than here.” And the doctor who had just dropped the bullet back on grey tray was horrified enough to ask whereabouts of the anthesia guy ASAP.

So if a certain nurse happened to smile throughout the thirteen hour shift, and if a certain soldier was thinking of ways he could end up in medical infirmary again. Then it was purely coincidence.

Masterlist

[theorist-fox]

Simon "I have no clue how to show what I feel so I'll fuck you silly instead (he whispers it in your ear when he thinks you're too fucked out to care)" Riley

Kyle "You don't love me? Okay, give me one night and I'll change your mind (he does. easily charms you at dinner and makes you babble his name at night)" Garrick

John "Please, I'm on my knees, hen. One taste and I'll leave ye alone (he doesn't. you don't want him to)" MacTavish

John "You don't have to think 'bout anything, I'll handle it (he does. you don't know how you've managed to live without him until now)" Price

OR;

Simon "I know you deserve better, but I can't lose you too. Tell me what you need an' I'll give it to you (but he loses you anyway, because that's a promise he couldn't keep)" Riley

Kyle "I'd drop it all for you. All of it. Just say the word, love, and I'll leave all of it behind (but it was a lie, because he swore loyalty to his captain first)" Garrick

John "As soon as I come back, 'm gonna marry ye (but he doesn't come back)" MacTavish

John "I'm sorry, but work comes first—you knew that from the very beginning (you did, but hope burned brighter, back then)" Price

[zhelin-thames]

Danny meets JL members #8

[Danny floating around a space station, inspecting glowing tech. Green Lantern (Hal Jordan) appears, constructing a giant glowing boxing glove with his ring.]

Green Lantern: [grinning] Who are you, Casper? And why are you messing with that? Danny: [turning around] First of all, rude. Second, it’s Danny, not Casper. Third… this thing was glowing. I’m like a moth to a flame.

Danny: [looking at Hal’s ring] Cool toy. Green Lantern: [smirking] It’s not a toy. It’s a highly advanced weapon powered by willpower. Danny: Uh-huh. So, like… can I try it? Green Lantern: [laughs] No way, kid. Danny: [phases through Hal and tries to grab the ring] Come on, share the cool space bling! Green Lantern: [yanks his hand away] Okay, definitely no.

[Danny watching Hal make constructs]

Danny: You’re telling me that thing can make anything? Green Lantern: Yep. As long as I can imagine it and have the will to sustain it. Danny: [grinning] So, like, a giant pizza? Green Lantern: [sighs, makes a glowing green pizza] There. Happy? Danny: [pretending to eat it] Meh, needs ectoplasm.

[Hal sees Danny go intangible to dodge lasers during a fight.]

Green Lantern: Okay, not bad, Ghost Boy. Danny: Thanks. You’re doing great too—for someone using a glowing green mood ring. Green Lantern: [narrowing eyes] It’s not a mood ring. Danny: [grinning] You sure? It kinda screams “emotional support jewelry.”

[Danny tries to prank Hal mid-mission.]

Danny: [phasing into the cockpit of Hal’s spaceship] Boo! Green Lantern: [not even looking] Saw your glowing trail. Nice try. Danny: Dang it! Why do you space people keep catching me? Green Lantern: Kid, you literally glow. Stealth is not your strong suit.

[Green Lantern tests Danny’s creativity with constructs.]

Green Lantern: If you had a ring, what would you make? Danny: [grinning] A giant thermos to trap bad guys. Green Lantern: …Why a thermos? Danny: Because ghosts. Duh. Green Lantern: [muttering] This is why I don’t work with teenagers.

[Green Lantern complains to the Justice League group chat.]

Green Lantern: Why is the ghost kid my problem today? The Flash: He’s everyone’s problem, Hal. Welcome to the club. Wonder Woman: Perhaps he’s a test of patience. Batman: He’s surprisingly effective. Danny: [joins the chat] Aw, Bats thinks I’m useful. Green Lantern: Who gave him access to this chat?!

[Later, Danny with Sam and Tucker]

Danny: So, I met Green Lantern today. Cool guy, bit of a control freak. Tucker: Dude, his ring can do anything! Did you try it? Danny: No, but I did call it a mood ring. Pretty sure he hates me now. Sam: Sounds about right.

Masterpost

[cynsbasement]

practice doodles with a new brush :3

[wombywoo]

detour 🚘

[ghouljams]

Hi! I love your work. It always make my day better after a long day from work

I saw the Valentine’s asking with the 141 boys, and I also have another idea.

Like imagine a inexperienced!Reader that never had a Valentine’s Day, no lowers, no boyfriend nothing. Then she gets really excited for it since she and Ghost started dating, but then Ghost forgets.

Imagine the angst and Ghost’s reaction when he realizes he messed up.

*gritting my teeth* talk to your partners for the love of God

Neither of you having any experience with dating means flying blind and hoping Simon will catch but but so often he just... doesn't. You expect him to anticipate your needs, to think of the same things you do, to care about the same things, and he just doesn't. You're quietly excited for Valentine's day, coasting on the stories of others whose partners went all out, hoping silently for a bouquet and chocolates, but unwilling to spoil the surprise for yourself by asking. You watch videos of people dressing up, videos of decorating their partner's house, videos of heart shaped jewelry and lovey-dovey couples.

You're giddy when the 14th rolls around. Simon comes over right at 6 for your usual friday night routine, and you though you're disappointed not to see roses when you open the door, you tamp down your disappointment by rationalizing he must have something else planned. And he just... doesn't. You lay in bed next to him and listen to him snore as you stare at the ceiling. Nothing. You got nothing.

You get nothing the next day.

Or the next.

It's Monday when you get a text from Simon asking if Friday was Valentine's and you laugh bitterly to yourself that he either didn't know or didn't care enough to remember. You ignore him the rest of the day, and it's only when he knocks on your door after work that you find the strength to glare at him.

"You didn't say anything." He reasons out as soon as he's in your flat.

"You should've known." You spit back.

"Why the fuck would I know if ya didn't say anythin'?" He growls back.

"You didn't see all the hearts all over the place and-"

"Because I'm off base so often." He cuts in, rolling his eyes.

"I-" You stumble on your argument, before holding strong, "I wanted a Valentine's day."

"Then you should've said something, I'm not a fuckin' mind reader." Simon crosses his arms over his chest, and tips his head to look down on you. Something you've seen him do to recruits on the few occasions you've been able to see him at work.

"You should've known." He raises a brow, "You could've gotten me flowers, at least! Everyone does something for Valentine's day."

"Didn't do anything for me." Simon sniffs. Again you stumble on your argument. He takes your silence as a chance to deliver another devastating blow, "Guess we're both bad at this."

[ikiprian]

Clark is taking Kon and Jon out for a classic, super-style bonding flight. Just a quick jaunt around the US and back!

They don’t get far. Somewhere in Illinois airpace, they run across another family.

The three (a hulking man, a snarky teenage boy, and a cackling youngest girl, each a grayscale blur in the blue, blue sky) throw neon-lit beams of energy at one another, quips and insults flying almost as fast as they do. It looks like training. It looks like fun!

The boy of them looks like a younger version of the man. Exactly like, even. Clark is familiar with clones.

The youngest, a girl, looks like both of them, but not quite. Perhaps she will, age sharpening her childish features, but it’s hard to say. More likely, she’s the man’s daughter.

Interested, Clark introduces himself to Dan. He seems to be a hero in his own right, even if Superman’s yet to see him in action. And it’s not often Clark sees a family so like his own!

[ca-tsuka]

"Ghost Cat Anzu" (Anzu, chat-fantôme) french/japanese animated feature film directed by Yoko Kuno & Nobuhiro Yamashita. Produced by Shin-Ei Animation & Miyu Productions. Based on the manga by Takashi Imashiro. Coming soon in Japan (Toho), France (Diaphana), North America (GKIDS). First teaser here.

[scrombit]

hes a pretty pink princess

[vozart]

No. 1 for Soap 🤲... mayhaps Ghost helping him?(I'll write something for it 🥺)

"dont pout, sergeant. i got you."

ARUGH thank you for this request i loved drawing it :) if you right something for it i would be truly honored <3

[yi3248]

roach with ducks for @roachy-draws :D!!!

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Johnny sings. Simon mourns.

cw: mcd, grief, suicidal ideation.

Price had put the bullet in Shepherd and Ghost had put the bullet in Makarov as they had agreed. That meant the business of the 141 had concluded. Without Johnny, Simon intended to disappear. Properly this time. There would be no crawling out of the grave he’d dig himself. There had been no tears shed, no outpouring of grief. Simon was completely and utterly numb. Like someone had encased him in ice the moment the light had faded out of Johnny’s eyes; any hope for Simon had died with him, leaving only the shell of Ghost to be puppeted by Price’s orders.

When Simon had pulled that trigger and Makarov’s body had hit the floor, he’d felt nothing. No triumph, no closure. Just an emptiness. A great, yawning void where emotions should be. Where Johnny should be. He’d learned long ago that revenge healed fuck all, so he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. But it had felt like just another kill. Just another fruitless step towards the inevitable darkness that awaited. Price had watched him in the back of Nikolai’s Black Hawk with a crease in the centre of his brow, but Simon had been lost in his own head.

Simon had little doubt Price had seen the writing on the wall and when he had summoned Simon to his office two nights before Simon was due to depart Hereford, Simon reckoned it would be a last ditch effort to get him to reconsider the plan he knew had been percolating on the inside of Simon’s skull since they had spread Johnny’s ashes over Moray Firth.

Simon knocked twice and waited for Price’s bark from the inside before he turned the handle. “You wan’ed to talk, sir,” Simon murmured through the mesh of his mask when Price continued to scribble on the paperwork in front of him.

”Yeah, Simon. Take a seat.”

Simon watched Price’s hand. Something weren’t right. There was a subtle shake to it, and Simon realised that it had been the thickness of Price’s voice that had drawn his attention there. Looking for reassurance in the strongest, most trusted pair of hands he knew. But, it was almost like he’d been—

Impossible.

The chair groaned under Simon’s weight and he scooted forward to the very edge of it, back straight, curled fingers on top of spread thighs.

“What ‘m abou’ t’ show ya, I need ya to know I had to make a decision to keep it to meself ‘til now,” Price said. “I needed ya focused. If ya never wanna see me again, I’d understand.” When Price looked up, Simon wanted to gag. Not from disgust, but because his body didn’t know how to process the quiver of horror that went through him at the remains of Price’s tears. His eyes were red, still glistening. His breath caught in his lungs and he had to force himself to let it out in a stuttering grunt.

“Whot is it?” Simon managed, finally.

“Ya need t’… we got ‘em, now ya need t’ start healin’. For him. Ya can’t jus’ throw away what he was denied, Simon. You…” Price pinched the bridge of his nose and trailed off, clearing his throat. Whatever this was, it was eating him alive. Price reached for his phone as he stood up to circle his desk, his thumb sweeping across the screen until he found what he was looking for. “Watch this. I’ll send it t’ya after. But I need ya to watch it here, olrigh’? I jus’—just in case, I can—fuck, jus’ watch it, Simon.”

There was that shake again and Simon took the phone quickly. The face he saw on the screen, frozen behind a large black play button, made a knot tighten in his throat. “Johnny…” His thumb hovered, his fingers creaking around the plastic case of the phone. Price reached down, his own thumb brushing over the top of Simon’s nail to help him those final few centimeters.

Johnny came to life before Simon’s eyes. ”D’ye really think he’ll wanna hear me croonin’ like a wee cat?” He asked the man behind the camera. Hearing his voice again lit a tiny pilot light deep in Simon’s chest and it was like feeling warmth again after being buried beneath ten feet of ice. A pressure began to build behind Simon’s eyes, but he swallowed it down so he could focus on the irreverent bastard that had given his life meaning over the last few years.

”Don’t you Caffliks sing ev’ry Sunday, la?” Price. That was Price. He only went a bit Scouse when he’d had a drink, and judging by the flush in Johnny’s cheeks, they both had. Simon glanced up and saw the pain on Price’s written in deep lines around his eyes.

”When…?”

”While you were away,” Price croaked. “Jus’ shut it. Watch.”

Simon looked back to the phone. Johnny was looking over his shoulder, the scruffy back of his mohawk facing the camera. Someone spoke—Garrick. “Weren’t you an altar boy? Bet those old priests helped you hit the high notes.”

”Get tae fuck ye filfy cunt.”

”Oi, oi, lads, now now, c’mon… fer Simon. E’ll love it.”

“Right, an’ ye sure ah can’t jus’ tell him over a tiext, maybe a… ye knoow, a water emoji…”

”Naw, naw, he’s a proper romantic, like. C’mon, look… I’ve got…” Price played a few chords and the camera shook. The picture turned upside down and then righted itself, and suddenly Simon was looking at the both of them as Price set his phone against something on a nearby table. Bloody wankered, the both of ‘em. Despite the pain balling in his chest, Simon’s lips twitched into a faint smile.

”Awrigh’, but if he rips th’ shite outta me, ‘m gonna pish in ye boots next op, sir,” Johnny said, squinting at Price. He lifted his phone from his lap and tapped at the screen. In the next moment, a grainy violin played a few notes and then… and then… and then…

…Johnny started to fuckin’ sing.

“Oh, my love seid tae me ‘will ye meet me by the sea? Ye c’n kiss me underneath the misty mo-o-on’. He is stunnin’, he is pretty, he's as warm as amber whiskey, and as bonny as the heather on the hill.” Price played along beneath Johnny’s voice, smoother than honey, warmer than an August evening. The smile that split over Johnny’s face as Price echoed ‘oh my love’ in his gravelly voice, still perfectly in tune, made something crack at Simon’s core.

Johnny drummed his fist against his thigh. ”When I was a young boy, my mother seid tae me, "find yerself a pretty lad, don't take his love fer free", from fields of Aberfeldy t’ the shores of Loch Maree, I knoow that he's the only one fer me.” His palm opened as he sang through the chorus again, his heel bouncing against the floor, his shoulders relaxing, his voice lifting as he stylised through another ‘oh, my love’ before breaking into the next verse. Larger than life, brighter than the sun. Simon’s next breath burned out of his lungs like it was made out of dragonfire. He—Johnny was singing to him—Johnny was—Johnny—

“He was dancin’ by th’ fire as a pi-per played a tu-u-une, he wrapped his arms around me an’ he asked, ’are ye my groom?’ A dram of amber whiskey an’ a twinkle in his eye, we danced beneath the Caledonia sky—oh my love seid tae me, will ye meet me by the sea, you c’n kiss me underneath th’ misty mo-o-on. He is stunnin’, he is pretty—”

The crack widened. Simon felt his chest quiver, his heart thundered, something weight-bearing gave way, a molten chill coursing through his veins, like glacial ice had melted away and now threatened to drag him under in the current as it searched for an exit. Johnny continued to croon through the chorus, his voice lifting and falling, his blue eyes crinkled at the corners. Simon’s entire world narrowed in on him, his cheeky smile, the handsome cut of his jaw, the stupid fuckin’ ferret fuckin’ haircut the fuckin’—the fuck—the fu—

The song ended and Johnny stopped the backing track on his phone. Price’s hand stilled on the strings, his whiskers twitching. “Well, bloody ‘ell, that weren’t ‘alf bad.”

“Man of many fucking talents! The bastard’s toast, mate.” Garrick called from somewhere off screen.

”Aye,” Johnny said, and then looked directly at the fucking screen with those bright blue eyes full of promise, and life, and love… looked directly at the—he was looking at the—“Be seein’ ye, L.T.”

Simon didn’t remember leaving the chair.

He didn’t remember staggering for the door.

He didn’t remember yanking his mask from his head as the balaclava suddenly felt suffocating rather than protective, stifling him like Ghost was trying to keep a stranglehold.

He didn’t remember when his hands began to shake, his fist threatening to shatter the phone, breaking the white plastic of his mask, or when his knees gave way. Only that Price was there to catch him when he began to fall apart, strong arms wrapping around his chest. Simon’s fingers scrambled into Price’s back, clawing at the firm bulwark of it as the first broken noises wheezed from his chest. “Johnny… Joh—Johnny…”

”I know, son. I know—i’s ok, i’s ok, I gotcha, let it go… s’olrigh’…”

Price held him so fuckin’ tightly, buried his face in Simon’s neck as they ended up on their knees, Simon’s manic scrambling too much even for Price to handle. Every raw emotion, every broken part of himself that he had pushed down to get the job done, poured out in the animalistic, shattered sobs that wracked through his entire body. Ugly, gasping, broken noises, with tears, and snot, each breath rasping from his burning lungs as he fought against the tsunami of agony that pulled him under.

Simon clutched the phone to his chest, like he could absorb the image of Johnny into his heart and use it to glue the shattered pieces together, his face buried in Price’s shoulder, blunt nails biting into the cotton of his shirt, howling like a wounded animal as everything he had lost, everything that he could have had, finally swallowed him whole.