#muted on call

[bi-writes]

ok ok how about mute?ghost who you aren't sure if he's actually mute or if he just chooses not to say anything. you hear a different answer from everyone you ask. (18+)

ever since mexico, wouldn't say a fucking word.

nah, mate, he's been zipped shut since he enlisted.

heard it was a mad accident.

what you mean? heard him telling off privates not even a year ago!

well, since you're a certified yapper, and ghost can't (won't) tell you to shut up, you make him your living diary. whenever you see him around, you sit next to him, stop by his office, hop up onto his desk and talk to him. you tell him about your day, about the recruits that bother you the most, about the meals in the mess hall being worse on saturdays than on mondays (fuck, you'd think the weekend would put some pep in their step, no?).

but gosh, when ghost finally had you seated in his lap with your pants around one ankle, you really weren't expecting to hear him.

pussy-drunk, tongue out, hands gripping your ass as he listens to the wet smack of your thighs against his, and that's all it takes for him to let out the filthiest groan you've ever heard, enough to make you spiral, see red-hot stars, to shake and cry until you're cumming and babbling and even more incoherent.

when they talk about ghost, you still keep your mouth shut. you're still not sure if he talks, fuck if i know, is what you say.

but if you suck his cock just right, you're certain he's singing.

[jay-wasstuff]

So no one was going to tell me Logan calls Wade daddy instead of bub/ba in the spanish dub?

[shepscapades]

Posted to Twitter for the first time in 5 years /silly DSFGNFGB So here’s my atttempt at a more finished piece, inspired by Doc’s newest episode :D

Actually recorded a short timelapse for this one too, so that’s below the cut :D

[mactavishenjoyer]

09' Ghost, into his radio: "ROACH! ROACH! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU!?? RESPOND!"

09' soap:"how the hell is he going to respond when he can't fucking talk!"

09' Ghost :"he'll make someone else do it"

09' soap: "that's the stupidest thing I have heard all day."

A random man over their radios :"EAST HALLWAY! PLEASE I HAVE A WIFE AND KI-"*gunshot*

09' Ghost, with heart eyes:"see, I told you!"

09' Soap:

[thedevillovesflowers]

Almost…

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @smallwriter-sideblog ❤️

[molotovmetro]

The 141 + König with a s/o who goes non-verbal

Tiny disclaimer: im autistic and have moments of being non verbal during breakdowns etc, so this is based mostly off of my own experience, but if anyone feels like ive said inaccurate or offensive things, please let me know as that would never be my intention. The way I've written this suggests this is a negative feeling (, since thats how i experience it) but I understand that might not be the same for everyone. For some people this might just be a daily or

Requested by @apocalypticseagull

Warnings: mentions of stress and the slightest hint at possible injury, besides that nothing I can think of

M!reader

Ghost

Ghost relates to you. While he wouldn't claim his experience is the same, he gets moments of overstimulation where he wants everyone to leave him alone, and will just stop reacting to people.

When he feels like this, he prefers to sit in his room, either completely in the dark or with only a small lamp on, and have as little noise around him as possible.

If you're in a stress situation, not knowing what else to do to help you, that's what he'll resort to.

He'll take you into either his room or yours, whichever you would prefer, and holds you while letting you get away from all the triggers for a bit. Unless you're dealing with life or death situations, whatever work you have left for the day can wait. Your wellbeing always comes first.

Soap

Soap is a lot more observant than people give him credit for. He's the king of avoiding stressful situations for you whenever he can.

But alas, he can't avoid it every time. Whether you start saying less and less as the minutes go on, or just stop talking suddenly, he notices immediately.

Not that he'd be quick to admit it, but he's got a written list of everything you like, even if it's just something you mentioned in passing. He absutely will use this list to do whatever he can to make you smile and relieve some of your stress.

He'll make sure to find a way to still communicate that both of you are comfortable with. He'll happily lend you his journal to write in, or he'll ask Roach for some lessons in sign language. He'd break his back bending over backwards to make you comfortable if he had to.

Gaz

No matter how often it happens, Gaz still feels a jolt of panic whenever you don't respond over coms when you're on a mission. He almost sags in relief as soon as he hears you hum, or even just hears the crackly static of you pushing your radio's button.

He knows you're a talented soldier and you're more than capable of handling yourself, he still prefers to be near you at all times. What if something happens and you can't tell him? You could be in trouble without him even knowing. He'll, just knowing you're stressed is making him want to reach for you.

He likes his job, likes helping people and ridding the world of danger, but his favourite part of every mission is when you're sitting in the exfil helo after a good mission, and you give him that wide smile he's been waiting hours, if not days to see.

Price

You and Price have been working together for so long, you both know the drill. When he starts to notice you going quiet, he makes sure he only asks yes or no questions. On your side; one click of your radio button for no, two for yes. Throw in some improvised morse code when necessary, and you've got a solid communications system.

Having this system is also a huge bonus during stealth missions, when he can't talk freely without risking being spotted.

He loves hearing your voice, but he doesn't treat you any differently when you can't talk. He'll support you in whatever way you need, without making it feel like he's babying you.

The two of you are a well oiled machine. No matter how stressful the situation, usually you can tell what the other one is thinking just by looking at them. You know you both have each other's back, verbal communication or not.

König

König doesn't mean to make a big deal out of it, and he won't if you don't, but he does worry.

After a situation like that happens once, he commits everything that helps you to his memory, and uses the knowledge to help you the next time it happens.

Even down to the tiniest detail, he'll remember. If you don't like a certain texture or can only stand a certain flavour of drink during moments like this, he's making sure you have everything you need and are as comfortable as possible. Whatever is stressing you will be dealt with by him while you're resting and calming down.

If you want to be alone, he understands and respects that, and gives you the space you need. But if you don't, there's nowhere he'd rather be than by your side.

[eyelambspider]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞. - König

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : a year after a near fatal encounter with an enemy bomb, könig has developed severe ptsd, insomnia, and experienced the loss of his voice. Resorting to sign language and therapy, the large quiet colonel finds little to look forward to then returning to the battlefield as a sniper... and y/n, whom he has been... 'observing' for a while. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1.2k 𝐚/𝐧 : gyahhh, i also have a bot on janitor of this bot (he meets y/n in group therapy) so check it out if you like this! this is also quick posted dmm, just wanted to get my writing out there finally 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : dark themes, yandere personalities, mentions of harm/gore/ptsd/death, no mentions of y/n

❝ 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐔𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐓. ❞

König's brows furrowed a bit. The endless droning on from his therapist, Doctor Esteban, having temporarily held his attention. Even as he stared down at the textured brown carpet between his boots.

"König," the Doctor sighed softly, pushing his pristine glasses up his hooked nose as he stared at the broken soldier. He knew better than anyone that war was capable of breaking even the strongest men.

The Colonel sitting in front of him on the repurposed couch was no different.

Just another soldier, no matter his rank, build or height- reduced to nothing but a survivor to the horrors of a brutal bombshell.

"Happiness," he started again, "is a valuable asset. Especially now." Esteban noted, glancing down at his perfect penmanship with a soft grimace.

Today would've been almost exactly a year since it had happened to him. And they both knew it would be nothing more than what it was. An uphill battle towards König's recovery.

"What things make you happy? What things do you like to do recently?" The Doctor's glasses gently clinked again as he shifted, trying to catch the soldiers eye to no avail.

"Have you picked up any hobbies?"

There was a silence, for a moment, but the Doctor waited with a ghost of a smile on his lips. For he had hope, perhaps the only one in the room who currently did.

Hobbies? Happy?

The words stuck like grime against the sides of his skull, unable to be shaken away.

Amongst the nightmares and sleepless nights... there was only one thing that even remotely made him forget about the sound- that haunting sound of the Earth splitting beneath his feet.

The Doctor's smile quirked awkwardly, seeing a visible shift in König and the way he sat. The question of happiness having seem to struck something in the veteran who refused at every turn: to quit service. Even after having lost his voice.

The six foot ten man shifted visibly, his elbows propped loosely on his knees, head tilted downcast... but it was all in his eyes. Those piercing blues that shone from the black sniper veil he wore, cast over his face like a shadow. Lifting finally to glare through the white coat that sat opposed to him.

Side to slow side, König shook his head, the shirt draped over his face hissing almost inaudibly with the movement. The only thing that could fill his newfound silence.

"No?" Esteban quirked a brow, clicking his pen against his paper like he did when he was thinking. Incessantly.

"I know you are eager to get back to the field, König, but I have to clear you for that. And to do that," Esteban gestured between the space, "I need to know you are actively recovering."

While Esteban gave him something to think about, another soft sigh left his lips, considering his and the Colonel's options. The next step, perse. The sound of clicking following.

"When we meet up next, I want to hear of a new hobby? Alright? Show me some progress to report on. It will be good for you," Esteban pushed gently into his head, only to have that piecing glare fall back to the carpeted floor, seemingly going idle again. Or uninterested.

"I do not mean cleaning your sniper, like I know you like to, or any physical activity." An idea struck the Doctor with a pearly smile. "Nothing related to your service," The Doctor set his pen and paper down finally and laced his hands in his lap. "Take up something creative. Knitting, painting, cooking-"

König shot a glare over at the Doctor this time, who in turn held his hands up in mock surrender. "Something new. Try something new and tell me about it next time, hm?" The Doctor looked over the rim of his glasses expecting compliance he knew he would eventually get. If König ever wanted to work in the military again.

That was the only thought that made him happy. Or at least, kept his life's purpose within his control.

König thought it over for a moment before nodding slowly.

As he stood, he remembered to thank Esteban for the time, bringing his hand (palm towards his mouth) and extending outwards. A simple sign he had learned: thank you.

Something new. A new hobby.

It gave him something to think about at least as he left the session, making his way back down the familiar halls of KorTac's base of operations. Merc's and operators alike passed him, or more like, moved around him as he walked. His height and silent presence parting the swarms of rookies and office bugs like the red sea before him. Something that actually hadn't changed for him in the past year.

What changed? What changed in him ran deeper than any physical scars or his inept vocal chords could reach.

It scarred his very soul.

And in all honesty, if he could tell anyone, even his Doctor about it. They would shudder at the thoughts and images that plagued him.

The Colonel made his way down the hall, blue eyes unwavering from its mark... who walked a few feet ahead of him. Unaware just like always that he was following.

Maus.

An imperceptible pang echoed through his chest as he stared ahead.

You had no reason to believe anyone was following you. In fact, you had never noticed him following before. Coincidentally, his path and schedule always lined up with yours. Able to trail after you down a simple hallway after each one of his therapy sessions.

Like clockwork, you were always there. A few steps ahead, but so-so impossibly far behind.

What made you so fucking special?

It was a thought that simmered under his skin like an itch he could never scratch. Uncomfortable and aggressive. Sometimes at night, he wouldn't dream of the bomb.

He wouldn't hear the whistle of it falling from the sky. Or the screams of young boys in men's camouflage using their lasts breaths to cry for home. Or the sound of the devil ripping the earth from beneath his feet. Or the feel of fire latching onto his throat like an iron noose.

No.

He dreamt...

He dreamt-

He snapped out of his thoughts as you turned the corner, your side profile visible to him through the crowd even as you tried to blend in and get back to your work. The sudden change snapped him out of his trance.

He blinked, breath suddenly ragged like he had run a marathon, stopping in the middle of the hallway. Disconnected as people opted to walk around him. As if he was merely a specter in the world of the living.

König didn't know if he dared to turn his head and catch another glimpse of you because...

For the second time in his life, he was scared.

Terrified of the thoughts that now flooded his head.

König's head turned slowly to the right. Body moving on its own accord to follow the sight of your retreating form. The way your hair swayed with your steps. The way you looked down momentarily, flashing a glimpse of your nape to the fluorescent light of the base...

His once dull, tired eyes dilated as he gazed upon the delicate sight of your exposed skin.

At night, he dreamt of wrapping his rough hands around your throat and watching as the light faded from your fucking eyes.

König's heart stopped as the dream reappeared like a vision swimming before him, the itch swarming under his flesh like serpents wanting to strike.

This time, instead of turning away and walking to his quiet quarters, his boots turned right. Continuing to follow after you.

[horreurscopes]

tiffany ferg's new video about white people who have complexes about their dark blonde hair and/or are delusional about brown hair being blonde and the dark blonde/light brown identity debacle is SENDING me because it's SOOOO true. with much love in my heart nearly every single white friend i have ever had HAS solemnly let me know their hair used to be blonder when they were kids. GET their cheese loving ASS #whiteinfighting

[tkachukisms]

my mind is a beautiful place full of love | last post :)

[no-one-fights-alone]

[flying-cat]

I feel like people just can't read because how do you take "I hardly saw my friends after graduation since our days off don't coincide" as "they abandoned me" and not "adult life makes it difficult to meet with one another."

[dragoneggs]

Quick thing of this bearded vulture inspired skydancer thing I’m thinking of geneing

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Scars

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

Warnings: mentions of torture, mentions of survivors guilt, heavy angst

Quiet Series

Took some inspo from thoughts shared between me and @thedevillovesflowers hope you like

Ghost wasn't unfamiliar with scars. He had a lot of his own. Some of them were from the field, a lot of them were from his time stuck in Mexico. A permanent brand on his skin to remind him what happened, as if he could forget, but they never really bothered him.

He made peace with them and though sometimes when he catches them in the mirror and remembers how he got it, he for the most part was indifferent about them.

You weren’t like that with your scars.

There were a few across your face and neck but he knew there had to be more you were hiding underneath your clothes. You shied away when someone pointed them out or when someone asked about them before you got that distant look in your eyes.

Whenever it happened around Ghost he’d get a little defensive for you, since you never told them to go away. He’d always give them a look, tell them to mind their business before they scurried off.

He knew what they could possibly be from and he understood why you didn’t want to talk about it. He couldn’t help the pit forming in his stomach when he looked at them from afar or when you weren’t paying attention to him, and the pit only grew when he noticed that they weren’t faded.

He never asked about them. It wasn’t his business and he didn’t tell you about his so there was no point.

Ghost just couldn’t imagine that ever happening to you and he couldn’t understand how you weren’t just like him.

You were guarded like him but you seemed to have so much more life about you than he did. You were a lot more kind than he was and yet you suffered the same way he had.

He couldn’t help but wonder what he’d do if he ever found out who did it. He wasn’t sure if they were still alive but if they were he knew that some part of him would have a hard time controlling his anger.

You didn’t deserve what happened to you.

You wished you could believe that.

Every time you noticed your scars or someone pointed them out it always ended in the same all consuming guilt eating you alive until you found yourself laying underneath your bed for comfort.

Your scars were a harsh reminder of what happened, of how you failed, of how you betrayed your own.

They reminded you of your last team. The family you had once that you had again and how you being alive now betrayed them.

The scars reminded you of all the pain you went through, that being your punishment for being alive.

They reminded you of him.

He was the reason you ended up there.

He was the reason you were still here.

In the moments that you laid underneath your bed, the hard floors reminding you of your cell and giving you some sort of sick comfort as you closed yourself inside your mind, you blocked out the pain and tried to remember the good times before this.

The good times with your old team. The love you had felt for him before everything had been forcefully broken inside you.

He was still alive and he had the answers the 141 needed. He knew where Makarov was and would be, he knew at least the few things that would make the hunt easier, yet you couldn’t say anything about him.

The fear gripped you tightly. You would be punished for not saying anything, you’d be seen as complicit, the 141 would turn against you, but you couldn’t say anything.

He’d come for you. He knew it would be you because you were the only one left. He’d throw you back to the wolves…

“You won’t say anything, will you little mysh?” You can still hear his voice clear as day. You can still feel the heat from your blood running down your face, the copper and salt from your tears staining your mouth.

All you could do was nod.

You hoped that Price could find out where Makarov was before he showed himself again. If he found out you’d have to be on the run, you’d have to find some way to disappear if they didn’t kill you before you could escape.

Price would be furious.

Ghost would be too. Even more so maybe. You couldn’t imagine the pain he’d feel-

“Quiet?”

You didn’t even hear Ghost knock or enter your room, but his voice pulled you out from the riptide inside your mind.

He was a lot like him. Big, strong, scary and exceptionally good at his job. Sometimes when you got just a glance of him you saw him, and got scared.

But Ghost was warmer. He was protective, he didn’t possess you, he was kind in his own way and he trusted you. He made you feel safe.

He was not him.

You held your arms closer to you, pressing your face against the dusty wall. You ran in here after someone said something about your scars and then you spiraled.

You’re not sure how long you were under your bed, stewing in anxiety and dissociation before Ghost came to find you.

“I know you’re in here.” He grunted out and you heard him walk around for a moment. “Knock on something.”

Would he ask what was going on? Would he know, somehow read your mind?

Somehow you got the courage to raise a shaky hand and knock on the springs underneath your bed.

You didn’t turn around to look at him as you heard him kneel on the floor. You could feel his eyes on you and you felt shame wash over you.

You felt pathetic.

You were an elite special forces member and you were hiding underneath your bed like a child. You were having a mental breakdown when you needed to be healthy. They could kick you out for this.

But Ghost didn’t judge you, he was far from the person to judge for something like this.

“Have you had water?” He wondered and it took you a moment to shake your head. “Be back.”

You listened to him walk away before he came back with a glass of water. You glanced back to see him set it down just outside your bed, and you expected to see his eyes but all you saw were Ghost’s dark warm ones.

You couldn’t let that disappear.

“Dinner’s soon. I’ll bring you a plate.” He offered and you turned to him fully.

“Stay.” You signed. “For a little bit.”

“Don’t think I can fit under there.”

You couldn’t help but scoff and that seemed to make his shoulders loosen. You watched as he settled against your bed.

“If my back starts hurting, you’re doing laps.” He threatened jokingly and you giggled.

His warmth, his care made you forget about your scars even for just a moment.

A/n: who is him? why is him? Perhaps we’ll find out

[alkalineapparition]

Jaws

Alone and half feral in a dirty cell, Ghost finds you during a raid beneath a foreign military research lab. It quickly becomes clear that something isn't right with you, your behavior more beast than human.

A result of horrific human experiments, you're a failed attempt at making genetically modified soldiers with killer instincts and keen senses. Instead they produced you - a mutt.

Ghost is assigned to be your handler, to help you heal and shape you in to the 141's very own attack dog. But the bond between a handler and their beast eventually turns into something more...

*Reader has human anatomy*

18+, MDNI

[mactavishenjoyer]

Soap:"I like Ghost."

Roach: Shit, I like Ghost too.

Soap:"damn...wanna make out?"

Roach: Yeah.

[thedevillovesflowers]

Comfort in the lion’s den 🦁

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world ❤️