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bi-writes · 6 months ago

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gIvE mE yOuR bAbY !!!!!!! (previous part, dark?reader x ghost, 18+ !!!!!)

you throw the pregnancy test angrily into the trash. you're staring at the mirror now, practically snarling at your reflection. you've been fucking your lieutenant for weeks now, and nothing.

nothing, nothing, nothing.

the fucking brute doesn't even want a baby--he's appeasing you, giving into you, but you know it won't be long until your lieutenant becomes just a little coherent and realizes he might not want this, might not need this, not as much as you.

but you're focused. it's him, god dammit, and it will be him. no matter what.

it's late, but you make your way across base anyways. there's no one around, not even the crickets, or maybe the rushing in your ears is too loud for you to hear anything but your beating heart. you fit your key into the lock, shoving his door open, and you see the sorry bastard sleeping in his cot.

he's fully clothed, the paranoid little shit. his belt is nowhere to be found, and he had the good idea to leave his tact vest on the floor by the door, but he's still wearing his cargo pants and a standard issue shirt, his mask hanging off his fingertips. he snores loudly, his nose broken too many times to offer him a night of quiet sleep, and it angers you to see him so peaceful.

you shut the door and lock it, taking the band off of your wrist and tying your hair up before shoving your pants off and tossing your shirt into the corner of the room. you reach over him, undoing the button of his pants and shoving them low. he blinks away the sleep from his eyes just as you straddle him, trying to get his pants just that much lower on his hips.

"the fuck are y'doin'?!" simon growls, his hands gripping your hips on instinct.

"i'm not pregnant," you snap. "now shut up and do what you do best. take these--" you yank on his pants again, but he's more than two hundred pounds of solid fat and muscle, and your tugs don't even budge, not even a little. "--take your fucking pants off!"

he grunts as he finally lifts his hips enough to pull them just low enough. you whine with relief, slipping a hand over him, spitting on his cock before spreading it over his thick length. he hisses, leaning his head back, chubbing up immediately.

"christ," he groans, licking his lips. "never gets old."

"yeah, daddy?" you coo, leaning down and kissing him wet. "'s too bad it hasn't taken yet..." you pout a little. "it's not working, why isn't it working?"

"'cause y'pout too much," simon scoffs. "y'r such a brat."

you whimper, pulling your panties to the side, scooting up as you sink down on his cock easily. you're positively sopping, and he breaches your cunt without much resistance. you fall over him, your hands on either side of his head, and you rock your hips gently as he gets even harder now that he's inside of you.

"simon--" you cry, leaning your head back. "i just want it so bad..." you start to bounce, your eyes rolling back as you hear the smack of your ass against his thighs. "want your baby, simon..."

"ackk..." he hisses. "i know. i know y'want it, luv. ahhh--cunt's beggin' fer it."

you nod, your eyes fluttering shut, and you keep up the pace, the squeak of his cot rattling as you throw your hips back harder.

"fuckin' hell, swee'eart..." he grits his teeth. "really workin' for it..." he chuckles breathlessly, reaching back and gripping your ass with both hands, easily supporting you to bounce a little harder with just the flex of his arms. "fucked ya just this mornin', and y'r already cryin' for me..."

you reach down and grip his jaw, licking over his bottom lip.

"need it all the time," you whisper against his lips. "n-need to be full...a-always..."

simon hums, nodding, "yeah? tha' wot it is? not fillin' y'r cunt often enough, tha' wot y'r sayin', baby?"

you kiss him hot and heavy, your hips bouncing a little more frantically as you lick into his mouth. all teeth and tongue, all wet and slobbery, positively drunk on the way his cock punches into you. you're needy and angry and so, so desperate for it, and you need all the time, need him to just, please, please, please, keep me this full all the time, please--!

"y'r such a needy little girl," he growls. "always so wet..."

"shut the fuck up, simon, and just cum--!" you gasp, cut off by the smack to your ass that he chides you with.

"y'listen t'me--" he grips where your hair is tied up, yanking on it, forcing your neck back and baring the soft skin to him. he sits up, shaking you practically, manhandling you until you're underneath him now, scratching at his biceps as you try to gain control again. it's pointless, really--he can pin you down with one burly leg, and he's got the weight of his entire body holding your hips down as he forces his cock so deep, you feel him right in your stomach. "listen t'me, little brat, you'll get wot i give ya, and you'll like it, yeah? you'll take it, and you'll say thank you, lieutenant, olright?"

you whine, pushing your hips back, feeling the heat of him, and you don't stop crying until he cums. it isn't even about getting off yourself; you just need to be full of him, all the time, always, whenever he's near.

you lose none of your enthusiasm. simon wakes up with your mouth wrapped around his thick cock, and he falls asleep with you pushing back against him as he fucks you from behind. you grab him by the vest as he passes by where you're hidden in a supply closet, and you fuck him fast and hard before sending him off to training again. you slip into his office and take him on his desk, crowd him in the corner of the room that you both are sitting in when you're out in the field. you give him no room to breathe, you just force his trousers as low as holsters will let you and fuck him until he gives you what you need.

"insatiable little girl," he always says into your ear, but you can't help it. your lieutenant is not just your certified baby daddy, he's everything you've been looking for in a man. disgusting, all brute strength, a taker, selfish, obsessed. he isn't normal, and you adore that--you fucking hate normal. you don't want someone passive and sweet, you want someone possessive and a little fucked up, and it's just a bonus that his cock matches his size and that he knows exactly how to use it to make you boneless and feral.

he's just so hot. rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, you drool at the sight of his tattoo sleeve. as he gets dressed in the morning, you catch a glimpse of his bare ass, and you have to fuck yourself on your fingers to refrain from making him any later. seeing him smirk under the mask, it drives you insane, especially when he gives you those eyes--the eyes that say fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. you especially love him making his way back after an op, his body hot under his gear and smelling like sweat and sand and smoke. you lick the ash off his fingers and make him fuck you with his mask stuffed into your mouth because you want to taste the essence of him at his most authentic--adrenaline hungry and bloodthirsty.

"gonna milk me fuckin' dry," he murmurs one evening, running a thick hand over his length. you lay beside him and mewl, your knees still open from when he was just on top of you. your back arches as you feel his spend dribbling out onto the bed, and you reach down and use your fingers to stuff it back inside. as he massages himself, he grunts, the squelch of your slick making it easy for him. "twice olready, 'n y'wanna go again, tha' it?"

you give him big eyes, squirming under his gaze. you slip your fingers out, putting them into your mouth and sucking soft. when you let them go, you smile at him lazily.

"yes, daddy," you whisper, nodding. "p-please...please give me more..."

he chuckles, breathless, and he nods.

"woteva y'want, baby. turn over. give it t'me."

fuck, it makes you so wet all over again to hear him say it. to hear him tell you that you can have it all, have all that you want, that he'll give you whatever you need. it makes your head spin, it makes you dizzy and giggly. you've only ever heard him bark orders outside of this room, but when you're alone, he caters to you and only to you--he's wrapped around your finger, and he doesn't know it, and it makes you positively hungry and satiated all at the same time. hungry for more of it, satisfied knowing it's yours and only yours.

it's days later, when he has you cock-drunk (again) and utterly exhausted that he speaks to you again, really speaks. he smooths a hand over your stomach, pulling back your hips until you're nestled under his arm and pressed back to chest against him. he nuzzles his nose against your jaw, kissing under your ear.

"y'not pregnant yet?" he murmurs. "y'sure of tha'?"

you close your eyes, humming as you nestle into the warmth that he gives off. you shrug, trying to blow it off, trying to seem nonchalant and unbothered. you don't know what he'll do once he finds out. you don't know if he'll push you away, knowing he's given you what you asked for. you want to stay like this, basking in the post-orgasmic bliss of simon's incredible fucking, and you want to think of nothing else but gathering enough energy to do it all over again.

you can tell him about the positive pregnancy test later. right?

"guess not," you whisper, and you moan unexpectedly when you feel him chub up against your ass. fuck, he can go for hours--his stamina knows no bounds.

he doesn't tell you that he found that little test, in a plastic baggie stuck behind the extra toilet paper in the bathroom. instead he grins wide, knowing you've lied, and he hikes up your knee as he pushes into you.

"hmmm..." he growls in your ear. "then we won't stop. won't fuckin' stop until y'ave it. until y'r tits are fat, and 'm fuckin' sure y've got m'baby there--" he cups your pussy as he bottoms out, swirling two fingers around your puffy, abused clit. you nod, slipping his fingers into your mouth, sucking on them desperately.

you won't stop. you'll never stop. you'll never let him go.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon thoughts

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girlsoutlate · 6 days ago

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the lead up to price sharing his birdie with his men, and badly hidden curiousity on their behalf

i tried just writing the meeting but i found it difficult so i wrote this as a little inbetween piece, enjoy

fem reader described as having hair that can be tied up, slight age gap (older price) THE BOYS ARE NOSYYY

the 141 can be considered nosy by nature, but have the excuse of it being their job. some are more open than others about their home life. ghost seemed to live quite a solitary life whereas gaz and soap had shared family pictures. nevertheless, there was some idea of each others lives outside of the military. but one person stayed an enigma: captain john price. maybe because it felt strange to know so much about their superior as well as role model. price had never shown an aversion to talking about his life, but the 141 had never asked- shocking to say the least. they all had their own theories. gaz thought he used to be married but it ended in a disastrous divorce- yet there was no trace of any mrs price. soap guessed he liked the company of pretty women, if you catch his drift. but never heard any boasting from his captain. ghost concluded he was similar to him, perhaps with a few more friends and a family, there was no reason to think otherwise. yet none of them guessed there was gorgeous thing like you john was all to eager to return home to each night, until now.

the 141 had been seeing signs of a woman close to their captain for about a month now. it started with a faint hint of fruity perfume under his cigar musk and aftershave, that was out of place on such a man. gaz pointed it out, making the rest of the 141 laugh. however it was forgotten about by the next hour, no one thought anymore of it. then the next day a hairband around prices wrist. he must have forgotten to take it off after you taught him how to plait your hair the night before. it was a work in progress. the simple black band was noticed by ghost while exchanging paperwork. he brushed it off despite finding it a little odd. the first piece of solid evidence they find of the captains mystery woman was his lockscreen.

they were in their common room, taking a break from the never ending pile of paperwork. squashed on the small couches they were joking about the new recruits, which was one of their many favourite topics to complain about. the hum of fluorescent lights was drowned out by their banter. mugs with dregs of coffee in them and a half empty pack of fags sat on the table. while talking, prices phone lit up with a notification. soap, the nosy shite, immediately noticed his lockscreen. a picture of a woman with her back to the camera: gossamer hair and skin that glowed in the sunny view she was admiring. with an eyebrow quirked, soap turned to his captain and asked too casually "whose tha'?". without missing a beat price replied smugly "the missus". for once soap shut up, and looked at the others with his mouth slightly agape, checking if they heard the same thing. ghost let out a grunt which they now knew to be a laugh. gaz's eyes were growing wider by the second. price seemed done and returned to whatever the previous subject was, which had quickly become forgotten. at that point gaz, soap and ghost were a pack of dogs with a bone. who was prices pretty birdie?

over the next month or so the boys had heightened interest on their captains home life. of course they cared about the details of the captains weekend plans, did he fancy going to that quite pricey restaurant that had opened up? it was necessary for them to ask the source of his dinner that evening, did he know the recipe? the competitive streak in them was made apparent sooner rather than later, all fighting to get more important information than the others. even though, if anything was discovered it was immediately shared. one day gaz stumbled upon gold.

he was in prices office, relatively spacious with a small couch in the corner and a bookcase in another. whilst chatting about an upcoming meeting, a buzz emanated from prices phone. before gaz could read the caller id price snatched it up and grumbled "won't be a minute". thinking it was a work call, gaz was surprised to hear his captains voice suddenly becoming as soft as it could. turning to face the window johns small smile wasn't missed as he murmured "hi love, how are ya?". staying still and quiet as to not get kicked out, gaz listened to the chirpy voice that could be faintly heard through the tinny phone. with a content sigh john replied "steak for dinner? tha's perfect". a wide grin crept on to gaz's face. a giggle and another sentence could be heard before price replied "of course i'll pick tha' up for dessert" both of you let out a small laugh when john continued "are ya tryna kill me?". just when gaz thought this couldn't get any better, price fondly said to you "i'll see ya at home sweet'eart". as he hung up and turned back around the sergeant found it near impossible to dampen his grin.

john had told you of his boys' detective work, which he considered shoddy at best. as you were flitting around the kitchen that evening, you were bemused at your boyfriends recount of the day. when he described his sergeants face after the phonecall you let out a loud laugh, bouncing off the tiles of your cosy kitchen. john sat by the table watching you busy yourself by the counter, as he nursed his beer he couldn't help but take in your appearance. tendrils of loose hair curled around your ears, escaping from your loose ponytail. although hidden by one of his tops and comfy jogging bottoms, he could make out the slopes and peaks of your body that he was all too familiar with. as you turned to face him, he was drawn closer to the twinkling reflection of light in your eyes. before he realised it he was towering over you, eyes raking over your form with the beer abandoned on the table. you looked up at him, hand on your hip. "john are you even listening to me?" you asked, face comically blank. "sorry doll, what was that?" he huskily replied, slightly dazed. "pass me a can. please?" you asked, adding a awfully fake cheesy smile at the end.

pressing a kiss to your lips as an apology, he was about to pull away before you deepened it. pulling his barrel of a body against yours, his mouth slightly opened. the bitter taste of beer and cigars mingled with sweet cider from yours. pulling back, slightly breathless, johns blown pupils met yours. "yer so gorgeous, don't know wha' i did to deserve ya" he muttered, the closeness of his voice making you slightly weak. as his calloused thumb brushed over your warm cheek you coyly commented "what would your men think if they saw you like this?". for a moment john faltered, thinking about how they would feel if they saw him being intimate with someone like you- let alone how he would feel. his flushed cheeks were the subject of your teasing for the rest of that night.

while eating your dinner you brought up the 141 since you were already talking about them. you knew your boyfriend felt a responsibility to look after his girl, despite you being more than capable. whenever his deployment was brought up it was usually by him. telling you where he went and anything that he thought might interest you, from an aspect of their culture to a cute cat he saw. sometimes he brought trinkets back. but never about what he had done, or what he had ordered to be done. so the members of the 141 were more characters in your head than real people. you knew their names and basic personality but that was all. so when you asked "how much do they know about me?" it was rather tentative. john paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, thinking. shaking his head he replied decidedly "not much, besides y' mine. they're nosy fuckers, practically begged me to show them a proper picture of you". you hummed in response, finishing your mouthful of food. quietly you muttered "maybe it wouldn't be so bad if they knew more". letting the question hang in the air, you picked up the last forkful of food which went down your throat in a lump. john was silent, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

he considered your proposal, if his girl was concerned then it was worth thinking about. plainly he asked "why?", trusting you to be open. "well, you spend a lot of time with them- i'm not jealous. its just that.. you trust these men with your life, i don't even know what they look like." pausing for a second you continued "its more for my sake than theirs. if i knew them past their names it would make it, well, easier to be apart from you for so long. i know you can look after yourself, but i- i'm always gonna worry about you." with that said, the air in the kitchen grew heavier. you kept your eyes glued on to your plate as johns gaze from across the table burned in to you.

the captain realised that you wanted to know more, for your wellbeing rather than the 141's. now, he realised it was quite a simple conclusion. he imagined his girl cold and alone in an empty house, no idea where he was or who he was with, for weeks at a time. five minute phone calls spent trying to find better service than speaking to each other. no idea who john was fighting or how difficult it was. no clue about who he was trusting his life with in your absence. how on earth could he not expect you to have an issue with it? he kicked himself, he made his sweetheart worry. he could have prevented it and he didn't, too focused on a successful mission than the only thing he wanted to return home for. price knew this had to change, or risk isolating you even more than he does because of his job.

john stood up, chair screeching on the kitchen tiles while he sighed "fuckin 'ell i'm an idiot". gathering both plates and putting them on the counter, he ran a hand across his face and turned to you. just as you took a breath to take it all back, john interrupted you: "you should meet 'em". you cocked your head to the side, looking at him with slightly narrowed eyes. "whats changed your mind?" you enquired, curious about the sudden change. replying half-heartedly, still deep in thought "just thinkin' about you here on your own, worryin'". taking a deep breath he stated "i'll talk to them about it. you". walking up to him with a small smile on your face you leant up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, beard tickling your chin. "thankyou john" you whispered. reaching up to get the plates the rumble of his voice deep in his chest saying "anythin' for you doll" reverberated against your back.

as he turned to get the dessert out of the fridge the most pressing question yet entered his mind: how would he ask the 141 to meet his birdie- without them going mad?

thankyou for reading :))) each like, comment and reblog is greatly appreciated. this is more for context to the main meeting that has been stuck in my head for ages. if you liked this keep an eyes out!!!

heyyy guys long time no see. had a crazy two weeks, found out my boyfriend was practically cheating on me for the last month of our relationship and he already has a new girlfriend after two weeks. apart from that im grand. sorry it took so long for me to post properly again, thankyou for being patient

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shotmrmiller · 10 months ago

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smut because somehow i always end up there.

yknow something that pushy ass cbf!johnny would do?

tell you that he'd get more benefits and/or pay if he had a spouse.

"Because you're in absolute poverty, Johnny."

He clicks his tongue. "Be serious, hen."

You are being serious. Johnny's not hurting for cash. His parents are still alive, so he has no need to buy a place of his own, and even then, he just swings by his family's home before coming back to stay with you until leave's over. Honestly, you should be charging him rent.

"Johnny. Unless you're planning on buying another ostentatious vehicle with tires too big for this tiny town, I'm not seeing what you're seeing."

He digs his thumb into the arch of your foot that's draped over his lap. "But think o' the possibilities! If say, you married me, ye wouldn't need to work anymore. Jus' worked on gettin' the job of yer dreams! An' besides, ah'd never realistically settle down anyway; too busy savin' the world an' all."

The extra income must be drastic if he's this insistent. "Why not marry the big brit with the skull for a face? You talk about him enough to sound like you've got a hard on for him."

He avoids your gaze when he informs you that Ghost is already married.

"And what about me? What if I find a boyfriend or something?" you playfully teased. Johnny's bright blue eyes turned to ice.

"Is there someone?" A muscle worked in his jaw.

Dread crawled up your spine. Abort. Abort. "Of course not." The tension melted from his face— gaze gentling and lips softening.

Christ, can he be intense sometimes.

You clear your throat. "Say I do marry you. What do you get out of this as my benefactor? Math isn't mathing, Johnny."

His lips curl upwards in amusement. "Nothin' between us would change. Jus' get a nice, shiny band on my hand tha' keeps unwanted advances off of me, and I wouldn't have to live on base anymore. Tired of eatin' tha' slop at dfac."

Johnny's long fingers curl around your ankle, thumb drawing gentle circles on the bone. "C'mon, hen. Think about your career! Marry me and ye won't even have t'change yer last name, swear."

Once again, fooled by the pretty face and dazzling smile.

You were a MacTavish by the end of the month, and he'd ended up in your bed that same night. Pushed your face into the soft mattress as he bullied his cock into you, telling you to feel how he splits his little wife's pussy open.

Mottled the delicate skin of your neck and collarbone with purple love bites when he hooked your knees over his shoulders, forcing you to take all of him in that devastating angle.

Made you look at yourself in the mirror in the bathroom, one hand gripping your neck, and the other on your swollen cunt, rubbing tight circles on your slippery clit. "Look at how beautiful y'are. How good yer takin' me." He tilts your head upwards, locking eyes with you. "This cunt was made f'me, wasn't it, wife?" he rumbles.

If he said anything else, it was promptly drowned out by a buzzing in your ears as your world went white. Warmth trickled down your legs as pleasure burst through you, spasm after gut-twisting spasm. Johnny blessedly slows down, working you through it tenderly, until you hiss in discomfort from oversensitivity.

"The way ye look in yer pleasure is somethin' i'll see behind my eyelids forever, bonnie."

Heat licks up the sides of your jaw. "Johnny, please—" you cut off, a moan tumbling out of your lips when he presses himself flush against your arse.

"Dinnae worry, ah'm not done with ye jus' yet." There's a hand in between your shoulder blades, pushing down gently. "Bend over, hands behind yer back, Mrs. MacTavish."

ghost is in fact, not married.

and the pay raise is mediocre.

#call of duty #johnny soap mactavish #cod mw2 #cod mwii #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish smut #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader

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the-ace-with-spades · 10 months ago

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This, I hope, will eventually be posted on ao3 as a proper fic – current draft title is exhumation — but just in case it will not, gonna post it here and let it stew

Canon Divergence AU with secret Identity and later identity reveal drama

(also this involves the backstory from the Ghost comic because I vaguely remember reading it when I was in high school…)

Soap and Ghost meet before they become Soap and Ghost. Johnny is 20, Ghost is 25, and they’re stationed around the same place but different squads — somewhere not far away from Manchester — and they don’t know they’re both from SAS. They meet when Tommy tries to be supportive of Simon’s newly announced queerness and takes him out to a gay bar on Canal Street. Tommy is the one to chat up Johnny (while Simon, obviously not a fan of crowds or loud places, hides away in the bathroom) with ‘see, my brother this and that’ and ‘if you give my brother a chance, he will this and that’. Believe it or not, once Simon strolls back in with all his social awkwardness, Johnny is actually charmed. Things roll around for a couple of months before they admit to each other they’re in the armed forces.

By the time they find out Simon is of higher rank, they’re already gone for each other. They decide to keep going anyway — it’s legal, as of 2001, and they’re not planning on getting a civil partnership for a while, anyway, so in the end, they keep going. Simon changes his next of kin on file to Johnny, they ‘share’ a flat off base, and Johnny’s met Simon’s mum and brother. He more or less knows the lore of the Riley family, mostly how much of a piece of shite his father was and Tommy’s recently fought addiction, and somehow, Simon feels alive for the first time in his life.

It’s all going so perfect, they’ve been together for almost two years, which isn’t long for most, but feels like forever when you’re in the military. Johnny gives him a ring, a sterling silver one with thistle ornaments and a small garnet centre stone. It’s not a proposal, they can’t get married legally, and they won’t have anything but Simon’s will binding them legally for as long as they’re both in the forces — Simon doesn’t know it, but there’s a matching simple band waiting to slide in with the ring he’s got on his tags, and one day, Johnny plans for him to have a full set.

Simon and his team get send out, Simon tells him it’s going to be a long one, somewhere in one of the Americas — Central or South, if he had to guess by all the self-learning Spanish books that cluttered Simon’s bedside table — and Johnny, well, he’s got a bad feeling but when does he not, with their jobs?

Simon’s team gets back, partially. There’s talk about betrayal from his captain, and he’s painfully absent, Simon’s friends look half-dead and act half-dead and no one is telling Johnny anything. He spends his afternoons with Simon’s mum, taking care of her as best as he can while Simon is gone, even though it was never the plan, and dodges Tommy’s aggressive questions, because he knows goddamn nothing.

Johnny doesn’t give up. He waits.

Simon is gone six months — MIA, officially, but KIA in the words of anyone from the brass — when he emerges back from South America, giving Johnny a new heart and a new life. He comes back different, but Johnny doesn’t care, it’s Simon, it’s still him, and maybe there’s something dead in his eyes, and maybe he spaces out more often than not, and maybe he feels cold in Johnny’s arms, and maybe he doesn’t sleep in the same bed, but it’s still Simon, he just needs to heal and figure out how to keep on living.

And Simon tries — he’s got episodes every day, than every other day, than every week, every other week. He goes to therapy, he spends his days cooking with his mum, spends his days cleaning the whole of their flat again and again, spends his days wandering around Manchester, buying Johnny’s favourite drinks, favourite books, favourite breakfast babs.

He tells Johnny bits and pieces, about what happened, enough that Johnny can put it together in a horrifying if blurred picture, and things start to improve, slowly.

He comes back to their bed. He wakes up before Johnny, makes him breakfast, kisses him on the forehead and struggles with the crosswords from the newspapers he picked on his morning run. He goes out with his former teammates, very short trips but trips nonetheless. He stops being afraid to be alone with his nephew, stops being afraid he'll hurt him. He never quite gets used to the scars, covering them more often than not, not wanting the looks.

Second week of December, ten months after he was brought back to the UK from North America, his psychiatrist signs him off for a phased return to duty. No deployments, only base and training site duties, regular sessions with both the psychiatrist and the psychology for the first four months.

Johnny hasn’t seen his family since before Simon gone MIA — finally feeling okay-ish, Simon tells him to go Scotland for Christmas. He’s got his mum, his brother, his sister-in-law and his nephew, and he’s, weirdly, feeling almost optimistic about life.

Obviously, he can’t be happy for long and shit hits the fan.

On Christmas Day, Johnny gets a call from Greater Manchster Police. He and his sister drive down the country and in the early morning of the Boxing Day, Johnny is showed the tags with the familiar silver ring on it, sooted at the edges and slightly misshapen, melted.

Fifteen minutes after he identifies Simon’s body, they tell him he killed his whole family, probably in a PTSD induced episode, then set their house on fire and killed himself right after, when the trauma-haze went down. They tell him he was lucky not to be there when it happened.

Johnny doesn’t believe it. Simon’s mind’s been bad, but it’d always turn on Simon, not on others, he had too much control to let any episode take him over so much. So he doesn’t care what the police or the public says — he arranges the funeral and Simon is buried with the rest of his family.

Meanwhile, Simon goes on a rampage in Mexico. He kills everyone and anyone he even suspects to be involved with Roba’s people. He leaves a trail of dead people behind him for weeks until finally, the US military catches up — General Shepherd catches up and identifies him. The British Army doesn't know what to do with him — officially, he's dead already, the General Register Office has already issued his death certificate to his NOK, the armed forces had condemned his family's tragedy. His existence is…inconvenient. He is suspected to be either compromised or too unstable to be of use to the Army, even if SAS sees how valuable someone who could single-handedly destroy a whole cartel family and fake his own death could be.

Enter John Price, who had met Simon during SAS selection and had a bit too soft of a heart. There's a mural agreement — Price will take personal responsibility to keep him on a leash, at least until he proves he is not a liability, and he will remain dead on paper but active in the Army. No one is to know he is alive — not even Johnny, or maybe especially Johnny, who will be the last person anyone will see as a revenge method. Simon Riley's name is redacted from all available documents.

And thus, Ghost, a nameless lieutenant and a walking cautionary tale, is born.

The only thing Ghost has not predicted is that eventually, almost six years after he put Simon into the grave, Johnny will join the 141.

And somehow, Ghost is just Johnny's type, again.

#yes this going to be a then/now pov mix #soap angst will be like 70% of it #ghostsoap #ghoap #cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #fic ideas #charlie writes #haven't slept yet so going now #goodbye be back in 2h #op

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slavghoul · 2 years ago

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Slav, do you ever just get the feeling that Ghost is getting turned into everything it shouldn’t be? I have always frowned on gatekeeping things and exposure is good for a band’s success etc but it’s putting me in the mind of all of the various things in the world that were ruined by too many tourists. Like national parks getting trampled or famous statues being discolored after everyone needed to touch it. You know? To be fair I’m a chronic overthinker but I can’t help but feel like I’m witnessing it (the fan side, not the music itself) being twisted into exactly what Tobias would hate.

This response came out VERY lengthy, I apologize in advance.

To answer your question shortly: yes, I do feel that way sometimes. However, I would be hesitant to involve TF in this discussion because I don't know him on a level that would allow me to gauge his true feelings on any particular matter. If I were to say "I hate it when Ghost fans [blah blah blah], because he would hate that!" it would only be an attempt to justify my own opinion about something, not a genuine concern for his feelings. Implicitly, I would also be shaming other fans and making them think that they are enjoying the band "the wrong way" when in reality, they simply enjoy it differently than me. That's unfair because I have no right to dictate how others should perceive Ghost. Everyone's experience with the band is unique and personal to them, and I have no authority to infringe upon that.

I think the sort of disillusionment that you describe is a common experience when you're a fan of virtually anything and it evolves. There's no solution for it. It just is what it is. The question is, to what extent is it a result of the band "being turned into something it shouldn't be" and how much of it is simply due to our own personal sense of nostalgia?

If you became a fan of the band several years ago, you'll likely always look back on those times through rose-tinted glasses. No other experience will ever compare to the emotions you felt back then, because they were formative and unique to that time in your life. You may continue to enjoy the band, but it's unlikely that anything will be able to replicate the same level of excitement and anticipation you felt when you were first introduced to them.

Of course, it's true the band has evolved and there's no denying that the community has undergone a significant shift over time. If you had seen them in concert a decade ago, the majority of the audience were people in their 20s and 30s. You had an odd kid here and there and the occasional, let's say, 'senior citizen' headbanging, but majority were young adults. It made for a very different dynamic which was also reflected in online spaces in terms of what was being discussed, how it was being discussed, and what the focus was on. These days, Ghost attracts a much wider age range with a significant portion of their current fans being on the younger side, pre-teens and teenagers. That's fantastic actually, I am very happy that is the case and I welcome them all. However, being 30-ish myself, I simply don't enjoy things in the same way they do and I don't focus on the same things they do.

It's very easy to become jaded when that's the case because you start to feel like you're no longer part of the target audience, and that can be disheartening. I make a conscious effort to prevent that from becoming an issue for me because I love Ghost dearly. At its core, it is still the same band I fell in love with. TF is doing exactly the same thing he has always done, but now on a larger scale, obviously. It's not being transformed into anything it hasn't been before. It's a bit more commercialized, sure, but that's not a crime.

Basically, it's up to us to decide how we want to engage with what is being offered. You need to find a way of consuming Ghost in a way that is comfortable to you or else you may get disenchanted very fast.

At the risk of sounding like a giant dick, I will admit that I intentionally stay away from the fandom and don't follow anyone because.. man, it's actually impossible to say this without sounding like a dick.. because I don't see eye to eye with majority of other fans and it taints my experience if I see too much of what others are saying or doing. To reiterate the point I made earlier, it doesn't mean that others are doing anything wrong and I'm doing it right; no, we are simply doing it differently. I made peace with the fact that I can't control how others act and that's completely fine. I live in my own little Ghost bubble, which, although solitary, is a tranquil place. I decide what I want to see and what I want to share, and who I want to talk to and about what. That's my way of remaining levelheaded and keeping the thoughts you describe at bay.

Apologies for crafting a whole ass high school essay on this fine Friday evening.. if you know me you know that I think and talk a fucking lot, hehe. I don't even know if anything of what I said makes sense, probably not. If you're still reading, thank you and sorry!

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