#the next thread

[tonibeltran]

It’s unfortunate, really, that they’re talking about Elijah at all — not that Antonio thinks they shouldn’t be, because he’d rather not leave that elephant in the room for longer than it needs to be, but there’s a realization happening within him simultaneously that doesn’t sit well at all with the topic of conversation at hand. It more so happens because he finds he and Roman have somehow shifted closer to each other — maybe unconsciously so, after Antonio had leaned in to pick the lint off Rome’s hair — and suddenly no amount of alcohol in the fucking world seems sufficient enough to dull the green of Roman’s eyes. 

He shouldn’t be discounting this conversation so easily — for all intents and purposes, they should be giving Elijah shit. Antonio would be the first to admit his disappearance from their lives fucked him up in unimaginable, nearly-irreparable ways, and maybe they are better off without him, in the long run. Maybe the Elijah Falvey they’d known for two decades died with Harrison Morrey, and what a wasteful death that would be. But even as he wants to follow the thread of this conversation to its conclusion, whatever barrier his bloodstream has so meticulously built out of alcohol and drugs is suddenly vanished, unceremoniously disintegrated by something as simple as Roman Daniels’s fucking eyes.   

Antonio tries to focus on his friend’s words, hoping whatever epiphany happening within him isn’t written plain as day on his expression. He tries to hide his face behind another pull of his whiskey, but there’s only so much left of it, and he ends up having to put it back down before he knows it. Clearing his throat, he nods, knowing full well he’s missed ninety percent of what Roman’s said to him in favor of losing his goddamn mind, apparently. But Christ, he thinks, eyeing the delicate lines of Rome’s jaw — has he always been this pretty?

“I’m surprised I haven’t run into him again,” he admits, catching the tail-end of Rome’s grievances. Volleying insults back and forth — not abnormal by any means, though it used to be all in jest, back in the day. Antonio guesses it makes sense for that dynamic to exacerbate itself the way it apparently has, with enough anger to fuel it. “Not that big a place, Blue Harbor.” He waits for the bartender to refill his whiskey before adding, “So long as he doesn’t step on my toes, I don’t really care to step on his.” 

Does that sound weird? He feels like his tongue is too big for his mouth, suddenly. And is that sweat on his palms? “Fuck,” he mutters out loud, without meaning to. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore,” he says, because he doesn’t. In fact, a part of him thinks he’d do better to disappear from this moment entirely, but even the hypothetical loss of Roman’s presence feels worse than the cacophony of insanity inside him with Roman in front of him. Fresh air, he thinks suddenly. Fresh air should help. “I need a smoke,” he announces, grabbing at the pack in his jacket pocket. He meets Roman’s gaze, and feels his smile soften stupidly. “Join me?”

That was the difference between Roman and Antonio. It seemed like the latter never let it escalate, whereas Roman let his anger take the helm, to be taunted in response to his own jabs directed at the former keyboardist. There was not an ounce of self control when it came to their exchanges, and he found himself mildly envious that Toni could just hold his tongue. “Well, fuck him.” Roman held up his glass of water to sardonically toast their former friend, but it didn’t seem right, motioning the bartender over and ordering a beer. Less risky than the whiskey.

His lips twitched involuntarily at that thought, of the accidental rhyme.

“From the sounds of it, he’s dragged her into their fucking avalanche of shit to wade through. I’d almost feel sorry for her, but her family could afford to buy their own fucking town if they wanted,” Roman muttered, recalling what Nilay had told him when she confronted him, the accompanying scoff a reflex at this point, recounting the information he found when he had searched about the hotel and her family. “So she could easily buy a new Eli. I fucking would, but he must be happy in his cosy little ivory tower.” Maybe that was why he picked her after all.  Someone rich who could fight his battles and kiss his wounds better for him.

But soon, his thoughts were rid of Eli altogether. Antonio reached out to brush through Roman’s hair and he simply froze in place — though the touch was far from unwelcome, even leaning in towards Toni as an invitation of sorts. The whole exchange took about five seconds but in the bassist’s head it was a dragged out exchange, breathing feeling heavy and scalp feeling like it had been set alight. “Hm?” His focus was on Toni’s finger and thumb flicking away what looked like a speck of lint or dust, and he was soon inspecting his friend’s hands; admiring that they seemed strong and warm, and probably had good reflexes what with his continued playing…

The question registered, and Roman’s entire being soured at the thought of Eli interrupting his tipsy thoughts. “We haven’t said much to each other except volley insults back and forth.” He then admitted, seeing no point in painting himself as the victim to Toni. He knew Roman too well. “But it’s clear where he fucking stands mate, and honestly fuck him.” He took a sip of his pint. “We’re better off without him.”

[syrupbitee]

free my boy from his own show he did nothing wrong

[jez-bez]

Get it now? We are all different. But the one thing we have in common is Phukan, our only light.

[moondove330]

whoop!! based on this post hehe

[felassan]

Some notes from today's new BioWare Blog post, which contained some new character insights and also gave some information on what is coming next and when:

Creative Performance Director Ashley Barlow helped to cast and direct over a thousand conversations in the game

Lucanis is bloodthirsty, calculated, and a workaholic. He was raised with high expectations and fears disappointing those he loves. To him, being an assassin is his only job and identity to be excellent at. He's constantly attuning himself to the kind of shifting terrain of every mission. There's a lot of love between him and Illario

As Zach is a comedian, he would easily find the humor in anything Lucanis was saying

Neve is a Shadow Dragons rebel who cares deeply about helping people and never leaves work half-done. Epler: " [she is] the working class hero trying to make her hometown better"

Emmrich is sincere, friendly, scholarly, sophisticated, eager to teach and learn, a well-meaning but oblivious academic, with a "hot nerdiness". He assumes everyone has an academic's curiosity so can be pedantic on select topics

The Mourn Watch are revered in Nevarra but odd at best and evil at worst outside of it

Nick: "I love the fact that the writers took Emmerich and explored the whole idea of death and the whole idea of necromancing by bringing kindness into it. I really responded to that and got into that and I know it sounds crazy, but it’s to not have this idea that death is vulgar or something to be terrified about, but something to actually engage with on so many levels. I just love the fact that the writers had the courage to do that in a game like this."

"Often Nick is just playing off of someone making a sound, and he takes it and internalizes it and gives it meaning and care, which is amazing to watch."

The world has changed a lot since DA:I

Harding has been leading teams through the wilderness while covering friends in battle

Harding loves her mom. She loves to write letters home and is always talking about her mother. She likes plants and raising plants. She has grown and is a veteran now, a trusted voice at the table

Footage of the full DA:TV @ SDCC companions panel should be available in a couple of weeks

Next month there will be a new roadmap, more looks at the game, and the reveal of the release date

[emphasis mine]

And this paragraph:

"Dragon Age: The Veilguard sees players embark on a perilous quest to face powerful Elven gods and stop the apocalyptic destruction they’re unleashing. You’ll step into the role of Rook, battling on the front lines alongside a deep and compelling cast of companions who together comprise The Veilguard, a group of heroes who have come together to stop the veil from breaking and bringing about the end of the world. Rook must become the unexpected leader who can rally and unite the group. Throughout the game, you can explore the detailed storylines of each companion, navigating love, loss, and complex choices that influence your relationships."

[source]

[petricorah]

long hair sokka truthers lets goooo [id in alt]

[cowgirls-blues]

... I'm smoking, and I'm moving around a baseball around in my hand. And I'm counting the stitches. 'Cause it's a Möbius loop, it's just one line of stitches, I'm counting - kind of like a rosary. "Take me out to the ball game..."

I'm watching Candela Obscura for the first time and my brain just went "hey what if we drew Sean with huge Ghibli tears wouldn't that be fun???

[inspisart]

very happy with ezra's live-action casting and look

[veerbles]

my self indulgent dream fic is a canon divergence where adam bought an old secondhand nokia phone when he moved into st. agnes at the end of trb and ronan started texting him at random to spite gansey and declan, whose texts he never answers, and to spite adam, who has a limited texts plan and is anxious about it (although literally no one else ever texts him), and also because he's pathetically pining.

anyway. series retelling where adam and ronan grow closer through texts because being honest feels less terrifying through a screen

[amxrany]

!! CHAPTER 7 / DIASOMNIA ARC SPOILERS !!

Going into Vil's dream now lesgoooooo (warning i cannot find a lot for vil's segment for some reason so if i miss a lot of information im so sorry):

So I understand why they released Tapis Rouge before this update, because we are now in The Queen's Film Studio, where Vil tells everyone to look forward to live broadcast of the Diamond Film Awards (this is most likely a reference to another Diamond in-game)

(sheesh new vil outfit again)

But basically yeah Vil's dream is to be the fairest of them all and he got Neige as his assistant 😭

Rook sees that it is indeed Neige, and the group tries to get closer to Vil. But Vil called Grim a stray cat and shooed him away, he's now sad :((

Vil assumes we're paparazzi and tells Neige to throw us out, and we find out that Vil just abuses Neige. So the group tries to convince him to report Vil, but Neige becomes blot and tries to fight the group

(I like their weapon it looks neat)

They defeat Neige but security is now after their ass, and it's revealed that Diamon Film Awards is a type of awards show for actors and that in reality, Neige was the one who won the award. But in this timeline, it's Vil who wants the award. Not understanding how Vil changed, Idia mentions that Malleus's magic allows them to experience happy dreams, and those dreams can also release any resentment you hold deep inside.

We then go to Vil receiving his award, but Rook stops him by telling him his time in NRC, but Vil tells him he doesn't know what he's talking about; and we go through the dizzy-but-is-trying-to-remember-everything segment again. However, the darkness was swallowing Vil up, and we couldn't save him in time because Neige managed to sink him down even further but Rook used his unique magic to follow Vil

So basically this next dream is the "What if Vil succesfully poisoned Neige and won VDC" scenario, we're in the part where Neige actually drank the poisoned apple juice and yknow, dies, and the dwarves are surrounding him crying

Epel uses "Sleep Kiss" to see if there's still a chance in saving him and let's just say it's the most Snow White reference I've ever seen. Oh and Rook is on the verge of breaking down

On stage, Vil's team has won VDC, but Rook and Epel come in to stop Vil by reminding him how he overblotted, and that causes Vil to wake up. Vil is back to normal and he's grateful that Rook and Epel came to save him and Epel said of course, we're your hunter and poisoned apple after all

The darkness comes back again to swallow Vil, but Rook and Epel aren't letting go. But idia orders Ortho to tell Rook and Epel to let Vil go. So you guys remember that one part during the last update where Idia fight his own phantom in OB!Form? Yeah we're doing that too but with Vil.

It's similar to that of the concept of Persona 4, where you learn how to accept yourself, even the ugly parts of yourself. Because Vil decided to use his weakness as his strength and overblotted to fight against his own phantom

MORE EVIL LAUGHTER AS VIL CELEBRATES HIS VICTORY DECLARING THAT HE'S THE MOST BEAUTIFUL OF THEM ALL. We are then transported back to the fake event with Dream Neige where Vil tells him that he is indeed the most beautiful of them all (that is so true queen go slay)

Pomefiore all go in for a hug, and the others join in as well

Sebek was surprised that Pomefiore wasn't just all about beauty, but they were really strong as well, and then Idia thought it was funny to show their Absolutely Beautiful cover in which Vil proceeds to ruthlessly criticize them for it 💀

Vil receives his own invitation of deafeating Malleus and that's where the update ends

HOOOO BOY where do i start, this update is so funny it honestly took me forever just to look for parts of Vil's segment. But assuming that we're going backwards the next update will most likely focus on Scarabia so manifesting that we get a Kalim card next so that we can complete the light trio fr fr

Anyways, see you soon in the next update!

Previous: Rook's Dream

[fawnnbinary]

would you still love me if I redid my strawhat hc designs.

[starry-bi-sky]

changeling danny has his wretched little claws in me so here's some AU fey lore

Okay so, i've got a lot of ideas for the Fey Lore in this au. But to start out what may become a sling of posts: a simplified set up of the Infinite Realms. I think I mentioned it before in a reblog of the original changeling danny post, but the fey wilds exist in the IR. In most fanon I see the same scale as the rest of the realms, however i have a different idea for it.

In simplified terms, the fey wilds and the ghost zone are two different things. They both exist in the Infinite Realms, however, they exist on different planes of existence. In simplified terms, there are three separate planes in the Infinite Realms.

The Long Far: Highest realm in the infinite realms. Home to most, if not all, the Ancients. Beings that reside in The Long Far are eldritch abominations, gods, personifications of concepts, and other celestial-type beings. The only way to access the Long Far is through the Starflare Currents in the Feywilds. Which are a nebula of stars that work similar to the ocean currents in Finding Nemo. They are a rapid vortex full of stars that pass over the feywilds that can be seen at night. In order to reach the Long Far, one must fly up to the Current and latch onto one of the stars rapidly flying past. And then they must stay on the star until the currents begin to ascend rapidly upwards. This is harder than it sounds. Ever been indoor surfing? Where you lie on your stomach on a small board and try not to get flung off? Exact same concept. It’s basically the world’s most terrifying escalator to the gods.

The Fey Wilds: The Fey Wilds isn't exactly strictly home to the Fey, however for convenience sake I'm calling it the Fey Wilds. This is the home to fey and other folklore and mythological creatures that may not want to reside in the Ghost Zone. There are no Fey in the GZ. It's not that they hate being down there, but. well.. they hate being down there. They think the place is ugly. The Fey Wilds has ever shifting, expanding amount of biomes. These biomes range from massive redwood forests, to swamps, to essentially Pandora from Avatar. The place can look almost entirely human one moment, and then like a different planet the next. Fey and other inhabitants know how to navigate this easily -- but ghosts? Not so much. There are currently two known ways to reach the Fey Wilds from the Ghost Zone and vice versa: Lake Portals, and Cave Tunnels. Which I will expand upon in a moment.

Ghost Zone: Exactly how it sounds! The Ghost Zone is, well, the ghost zone! It's essentially the same as canon. Same looks, same everything. This is the home of mortal souls and the occasional mythological creature or two, as well as weaker concept spirits. By that I mean like, ecto-octopi. Concept spirits can manifest in both the GZ and Feywilds. Ghosts tend to stick inside the Ghost Zone and avoid venturing into the Fey Wilds because, well, they're still mortal souls. They're gonna get jumped by a fey looking for a new decoration or a new pet/servant/whatever. Best to honestly avoid the fey wilds as a whole.

Now, I just mentioned that there were two known ways to reach the Fey Wilds from the Ghost Zone: lake portals and cave tunnels. I made goofy little visual aides which I will attach below, and then I will explain how they work.

I'll start with the Lake Portals. They are, well, as the name suggests lake portals. Not every lake in the fey wild is a portal to the ghost zone, and vice versa. They're rather uncommon to find in both planes, but it's not like they're hard to recognize.

In the Fey Wilds, lake portals will have a sheen over the water like an oil spill. But instead of the regular rainbow-y colors, it will instead have the ghost zone's colors swirling in it; green and purple. The water will have that sickly green tint to it, and have a slight glow. The plant life surrounding the water are not typically what you'd find in the Fey Wilds, but might in the Ghost Zone. They look different from the regular noxious swamp bogs in the wilds, so its easy to tell that they're lake portals.

In the Ghost Zone, the lake portals will instead be shimmery and blue like a tropical ocean. And just like how there are GZ plants in the fey wilds surrounding the water, there's fey wild plants on the island where the lake is.

How these portals work is rather simple. You dive in and begin swimming down. It's a long swim down, but that's all you gotta do. It will get dark, as there are no plant life in these portals, and no aquatic life either.

It starts getting complicated when you reach what I like to call the border. The border is as the name implies; its a border between the planes. In the lakes it's not physical, however you will feel when you've reached the border and crossed it. Intense vertigo washes over you as your sense of gravity begins to shift and flip; up is becoming down, down is becoming up.

Your goal at this point is to try and push through that vertigo and discomfort and make it to the other side of the border, without getting flipped upside down and swimming back to the surface you came from. This is harder than it sounds as you become dizzy underwater, and since there's no light anywhere, you will try and instinctively seek it out and follow it. You're down too deep to know where that light is.

Once you've reached the other end of the border successfully, your gravity will have flipped without you needing to do anything. You are now swimming up to the surface, and once you do, boom! You're in the ghost zone! Lake Portals are faster to use than tunnels, but very disorientating.

Now cave tunnels are longer, but simpler. Essentially some caves have tunnels that lead into the ghost zone, similar to how in greek mythology there are random entrances to the underworld in the mortal world. I haven't exactly figured out what the tell is for when you're in a tunnel leading to the Ghost Zone, but I know that when it's the other way around it's rather easy -- as you start to climb up.

It's a less complicated explanation: essentially you are descending into the ghost zone through this tunnel. You are on your way down like Orpheus in search of his wife, or like Heracles doing his twelve labors. It can get claustrophobic and of course there is the border.

Unlike experiencing a shift in gravity, you're instead hit with the intense vertigo and an intrinsic fear to turn around. It's an instinctual response to your surroundings changing on a molecular level, and your body in response is telling you to Flee. Basically, you've taken a rip of the Cave Gasses and you feel like you're losing your mind. Once you exit the border its smooth sailing.

Sometimes you get unlucky and there's a Pit Drop and you're suddenly Alice in Wonderlanding your way down to the Ghost Zone. But hey! At least you're not swimming.

those are currently the only two ways i've come up with for traveling between the GZ and Fey Wilds. But all in all, it's meant to be very disorientating stuff; vertigo and nausea-inducing, with just a dash of Existentially Terrifying. Traveling between planes usually is.

[shrews-art]

Pain reminds us that we are alive or something I guess

[dezmolad]

I made an embroidered Prowl pin for @aishien-the-aishien! first time doing something like that XD

the embroidery is made on EVA foam, the back of it secured with another layer of it, attached with hot glue. Edges secured with yarn.

some photos of how it looked on different stages of creative process under the cut

the embroidery is made on EVA foam, the back of it secured with another layer of it, attached with hot glue. Edges secured with yarn.

[hexxedghost]

GhostSoap Sickfic Thread

Another crosspost from bluesky, hopefully this will help me get out of the writing funk I've been in. Please enjoy~

They’d made good time, the travel had been mostly silent, aside from the fog of their breaths clouding the air and the scattering crunch of snow beneath their feet. It’d been a straight forward mission, sniper duo set up. It had been a lot of waiting, but they’d had a clean hit on the target and a cleaner getaway.

Their vehicle slid for a second, the ground beneath the tyres thick with icy mud. The cold was seeping in, to the car, the heavy snowfall had shifted to sleet lashing against the windows with that harsh rasp of quickly melting ice tossed in rainwater. Soap leans forward, squinting out the window, while Ghost tries to keep them on the excuse of a dirt road they’re driving on.

They had a safehouse to take shelter in while they waited for updates from Price on their extraction. It wasn’t far at least, and the heavy rain would cover their tracks well. Still a pain in the bollocks to drive in.

“I see it.” Soap says, pointing through the windscreen. There’s a vague shape, a shadow larger than the surrounding trees. Ghost cuts the wheel in that direction, cruising as the gears grind when he shifts.

“Told you I shoulda driven.” Soap says, grin widening when Ghost glares at him.

“Enough outta you,” he mutters, as the car awkwardly slides and he pulls the handbrake.

He hops out the car, grinning to himself as Soap lets out a quiet shriek as the freezing rain hits him.  

“Cold, Johnny?” he asks over his shoulder, not bothering to hide the smugness in his voice. 

“Aye, we’re no’ all wearin hoodies are we?” Soap grumbles back. “Fuckin’ prick.”

He can hear the squelch of boots behind him and knows Soap’s following him.  

It’s not far, but they still end up drenched by the time Ghost is opening up the door, shoving inside and leaving puddles in the entryway. He moves further inside, quickly checking corners before radioing Price that they’ve arrived. Soap is clattering around somewhere, mumbling to himself as he fiddles with the heating. Price tells them to hang tight for a bit, he’ll keep them updated. Ghost radios back to affirm, taking stock of the hideout. It was well provisioned, enough supplies for at least a few weeks if it came to that. 

There’s a loud curse from the other room. Not panicked, frustrated. He finds Soap crouched in front of the heater. 

“It’s working, there’s no much heat from it though.” Soap says, looking up at Ghost from his spot on the floor. 

“Better than nowt.” Ghost shrugs, nudging open the door to the bedroom. He wants to get out of these wet clothes. His mask is damp as it sits across his skin, every inhale choking as the fabric clings to his nose and mouth. And his hoodie hadn’t fared much better under his tac-gear. 

Soap sticks his head around the door. “Do they anything in big bastard size?”

Ghost pelts a shirt at his face, the bastard just cackles. What’s worse, is that Soap’s right. Most of the clothes would fit Soap, but Ghost would be hard pressed to manage any of the shirts without ripping them. 

“Fucksake.” he closes the drawer. He doesn’t have a spare mask on him, and he doesn’t really relish the idea of stripping down to his skivvies if they end up having to leave in a few hours. He tugs his mask away from his mouth and nose at least, finally taking a breath that didn’t feel like it left water in his lungs. 

He tugs off the tac-vest and the hoodie at least, draping it over the back of a chair in the hopes of it drying out. Soap’s rattled through some cupboards and thrown…something into a pot to heat up. 

“Get us a cuppa, will ya?” Ghost calls out, holding his hands out near the heater after pulling his gloves off with his teeth. His circulation was shit, leaving his hands and feet vulnerable to the cold. Soap’s complaining in the kitchen, rambling on, but he presses a hot mug into Ghost’s hands not too long afterwards. 

He holds it between his palms, letting the heat leech in and return some feeling to his fingers. 

“Ta.” he mumbles into the cup as he takes a sip. The tea’s shit, Soap’s always is, but at least it’s warm. Soap holds out the saucepan of food, the spoon sliding against the metal with the motion. It’s edible, though Ghost couldn’t really say anything more about it, just mechanically chewing and swallowing without bothering to taste it.

His skin still feels clammy. When Soap’s shoulder bumps against him, it nearly burns, heat radiating off the Scot. He always ran hot, but not this hot. Soap’s flicked on the TV, and is chattering away, Ghost lets the words wash over him, keeping his ears honed for a crackle from their radios but settling into a hazy state as he stares blankly at the screen. At some point, his eyelids grow heavy. 

-

Soap looks to his right, words trailing off as he sees Ghost has fallen asleep, elbows resting on his knees. Isn’t the strangest position any of them have slept in, fuck, he’s seen Price sleep standing in the heli before. 

But it was odd for Ghost to sleep without sorting watch first. As his arm brushes against Ghost’s he frowns. The skin felt damp, and clammy. The water must have soaked through his gear faster than he’d thought. Soap mulls that thought over as he gets to his feet, and gently moves the big bastard so he’s lying down at least.

It’s always a delicate exercise, attempting to move Ghost in his sleep. Partly the sheer weight of him, but also his tendency to lash out if you jolted him awake. They’d worked enough ops together that Soap’s an old hand at it now, managing to settle Ghost into the couch without incident.

Guess he’s got first watch then. He gathers up the leftovers and dumps them in the fridge that buzzes in the corner of the yellowed kitchen. Most of the house is still dim, they’d not wanted too many lights in case anyone had managed to track them. He sets up by the window, debating opening it before looking at the near horizontal rain outside. Fuck it. He lights up a smoke, snagging an old can for an ashtray and watches in the sleeted gloom for anything that might cause alarm. But there’s nothing. Just this tiny corner of dry amongst the sodden hills.

-

Ghost stirs a few hours later, sitting up and blinking around blearily.

“Left me to fend for us then, LT. You must have been shattered.” Soap says brightly from his perch by the window. Ghost seems to frown at him before nodding, sluggish. Soap frowns himself. “You weren’t injured, were ye?” he asks, getting a shake of the head and a muttered grumble in response. Still, he seems pretty out of it. Maybe he’d just hit the wall, happened sometimes, adrenaline fading to leave you feeling wrung out like a crumbled paper bag.

“Go sleep some more. Reckon we’re in the clear, still phishing it doon.” Soap gestures to the window, where the rain is falling in angry sheets, slapping against the window. There’s no argument, just the creak of the couch as Ghost heaves himself to his feet. His steps sound unsteady as he stumbles towards the door, bumping into the doorway. 

“Yer awake, aren’t ye? No’ sleepwalking?” Soap teases, but there’s a prickle of unease. It’s out of character for Ghost. Even if they were taking shelter in a safehouse, Ghost didn’t really let that steely awareness drop until they’d been back on base for a day or two. There’s no response, just a dull thud of a body hitting a mattress and soft groan. 

Soap cuts his eyes back to the window, but keeps his ears sharp, just in case. Something about it doesn’t sit right with him. 

-

After a few more hours, Soap decides to catch a nap on the couch now that it’s free. The rain still hasn’t let up, and he can see deep troughs of water going by the house. The valley below them was probably flooding at this rate. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about hostiles finding them. 

He radios Price to update him, jaw cracking with a yawn as he does so. Price tells them to sit tight, as long as they held here, they’d be fine. All else fails, they’d have Nikolai do a flyby to extract them when the skies cleared. 

There’s a loud thud somewhere in the house that has adrenaline course through him, eyes sharp and hands immediately grabbing for a weapon. Silently padding down the hallway, he pauses at the bathroom door. 

“Ghost?” he calls quietly. There’s another thud, but he can hear the familiar rasp behind the door, though the words are unintelligible. The handle is cool under his palm as he twists it, peeking his head around the door. “Fuck, ye alright?” he slips inside, kneeling beside Ghost where he’s splayed on the ground. Ghost is still mumbling something, but he can’t make any of it out. 

“Alright, let’s get ye up, aye?” he gets his arms under Ghost’s and manages to get him sitting up. Ghost still feels damp, even through the undershirt he’s got on. It’s got that odd sort of bodywarm feeling that tells Soap it’s not water but sweat. 

He crouches in front of him, and Ghost manages to look at him, eyes still bleary and unfocused. 

“S’too hot.” he finally manages to say. Soap nods, tugging at the fabric. 

“Let’s get those off ye, aye? Cool down.” he murmurs gently. Ghost scoffs, but it makes a horrible rattling noise. 

“Trying to get into my pants, Johnny?” he scoffs, but his voice skips out, throat sounding dry and raspy. 

“You wouldn’t know what to do with me in this state, LT.” Soap smiles, but it lacks the usual humour. Ghost seems pretty disorientated, limbs heavy and uncoordinated as he tries to assist in getting the shirt off. As Soap checks him over, it's pretty clear Ghost is sick. His skin feels warm and feverish under the clammy sweat, and his voice is becoming more raspy as he mumbles. 

“S’warm.” Ghost says, and without ceremony tugs his mask off, letting his head thump back against the cool tiles. 

Soap tries not to stare, pale lashes and freckled skin in his peripheral as he leans over and turns the shower on. 

“We’ll get you cooled off.” he says, awkwardly shuffling Ghost around until he’s sat on the tiles in the shower. He keeps the water lukewarm to start, not wanting to shock him with a sudden blast of cold. 

There’s a heavy, rattling sigh from Ghost as the water hits him, eyes clenched shut as he curls in on himself. Soap wets a cloth and wipes down some of the sweat still clinging to him, slowly adjusting the water to something more tepid. 

“Yer alright, eh?” Soap murmurs, pushing back Ghost’s hair to check his temperature again. It’come down a bit, though Ghost’s eyes are still glassy when they look at him. Soap shuts off the water, grabbing a threadbare towel. The air is still cool, even with the heater on in the living room, and he reckons the chill is what got the poor bastard sick in the first place. 

He’s towelling off Ghost’s hair when the bigger man’s forehead thumps against his chest. 

“Don’ feel good.” he utters so quietly, Soap nearly misses it. He cards a hand through his hair sympathetically, he was in a bad state the poor sap. 

“Let’s get you to bed then, eh Ghost?” he says gently, eyes quickly taking stock of what the bathroom has. There are painkillers, at least, for the fever. There might have been honey in the kitchen cupboards when he was rifling through them.

“Buy us a drink first.” Ghost slurs into his collarbone as he slumps forward. Soap sighs, at this stage Ghost was going to be no help. At least if he was making shitty jokes, he was probably feeling marginally better. 

He groans as he manages to wrestle Ghost to his feet, mostly draped over Soap’s back, his feet proving to be unsteady beneath him. 

By the time he stumbles to the bedroom, he’s practically carrying Ghost, complaining under his breath while Ghost seems determined to be as useless as possible. The mattress protests with a loud squeak as he tosses Ghost down onto it, catching his breath before returning to the bathroom. 

“Take those, and drink that if ye can.” he says, setting the glass and painkillers beside him. It takes a few seconds for the words to register, but at least there are no protests from Ghost.

“What’re you doin’?” Ghost asks, head lolling to the side. 

“Helpin ye.” Soap tells him. He’d have to tell Price, in case it got worse. The skin under his palm feels scalding when he checks again, and when Ghost shifts to burrow himself under the blankets, he feels like a bit of a prick when he pries them from tightly clenched fingers. 

“S’cold.” Ghost growls, glaring at him. 

Soap rolls his eyes with a sigh. “You’ll fuckin cook, Ghost.”

He finds a threadbare sheet that seems light enough as a compromise. Ghost snatches it and curls up under it, sniffing loudly and is asleep again within moments. 

Soap snags his comms from the living room, and gets a hold of Price. The rain’s still saturating the area, so they’ll have to bunker down for a while. Though Price does seem concerned when Soap mentions he’s sick. 

“Not injured?”

“No, we got away clean. Bad flu or something, think it might be from the rain. We got soaked.” Soap says, going through the cupboards again. There is a lone jar of honey tucked away that he pulls out. 

“Alright, take care of him.” Price says, voice crackling. 

“As if I wouldn’t.” Soap points out easily, digging out some tea. Given how croaky Ghost had sounded, tea would probably be a good idea when he woke up. Price is quiet for a while, before finally telling him he’d keep Nik on standby, they’d get them once they had a window. Soap frowns to himself, the silence being odd, but shrugs it off. Price was probably just eager to get them back on base. 

-

He checks in on Ghost throughout the rest of the day. For the most part, the man just seems to sleep, dozing and sometimes muttering to himself. Eventually he shakes him awake, food places on the small table beside the bed. 

“Ye need to eat something.” he says quietly. Ghost’s eyes are glassy as they stare up at him, blinking slowly. 

Soap puts an arm around his shoulders and helps him sit up, passing the bowl of food over once he’s sure Ghost isn’t going to drop it. 

“What’re you doin’?” Ghost asks, mumbling around the spoon. 

“Takin care of ye, ye dafty.” he slips the back of his hand against Simon’s neck. “Least your temperature’s come down a bit.”

“Why?” 

“Painkillers helped, probably. And not letting you cocoon yourself in blankets.” Soap says. The bowls empty, which is a relief, at least Ghost is keeping food down. He sets water and hands painkillers over, nudging Ghost’s hand when he doesn’t take them. Eventually, he looks up and sees Ghost looking at him. His mask is still off, and it’s strange to see him barefaced. The squint to his eyes in familiar but seeing the rest of his face tense with expression is something he can’t help but watch. Though there are heavy bags under his eyes, skin reddened from rubbing at the tacky feeling. 

“What?” he asks, he’s been staring too long and distracts himself by pushing Ghost’s hand so he actually takes the next dose of painkillers. 

Ghost does, draining most of the water afterwards and coughing to clear his throat. 

“Why’re ya taking care of me?” he croaks. 

“Cos you need it.” Soap says easily, confusion drawing his brows into a frown. Ghost doesn’t seem to know what to do with that answer, sitting there listlessly until Soap gently tips him onto his side and tells him to go back to sleep. 

-

The next day, he walks into the kitchen and nearly shits himself at seeing the looming figure hunched over the counter. 

“Fuckin’ hell Ghost. Nearly made me heart stop.” Soap cries, hand pressing hard against the rapid thump under his ribs. Ghost reaches out with a heavy hand and tries to grab a cup, that slips through his stiff fingers and shatters on the floor. 

“Fuck.” it was probably meant to be a shout, but with how swollen Ghost’s throat sounds, it came out a more of a weak rasp. 

“Ye could have just said something, ye stupid prick.” he chides, using his heavy boots to kick away most of the shards. He rests a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, but it’s quickly shaken off. 

“Gerroff. Can do it myself.” Ghost sounds…well like he’s trying to be angry. It’s coming out closer to grumpy. Still, he’s clearly irritated. 

“Shouldn’t have to, though.” Soap says, setting a hip against the counter. He wonders if it’s the weakness that bothers him, or having to rely on other people. Neither are things Ghost tends to allow, out of sheer stubbornness most likely. Soap’s the same when he’s sick, so it’s not like he’ll begrudge him that. 

Still, he’s being an idiot. 

“Would ye just go and fuckin rest? You’ll make it worse.” he tries, hoping rational thought would win out. It doesn’t. 

“Used to takin care of meself. Don’t need your help” Ghost mutters, glaring at the countertop.

“Too bad, you’ve got it anyway.” Soap says, crossing his arms and giving Ghost a look. Soap was the more stubborn of them, quicker to let his temper flare. But when Ghost actually worked up to anger, he was the most infuriating bastard to deal with. Nothing would shift him if he set his mind to something.  

“Fucks sake, will ye let me take care of ye, Simon?” he huffs out a breath, frustrated. Ghost ignores him, pushing away from the counter and staggering back towards the bedroom, the door slamming behind him.

Soap throws up his hands. “Fuckin sulk then, ye oversized bairn.”  he mutters to himself, staring to clean up the shards that glittered on the floor. 

-

The rain was still pelting down outside. Soap thinks the only reason half the mountain hasn’t slid down with it, is because of the dense forest just above them, old roots tying the earth together tightly. 

Ghost had mostly kept to the bedroom, though Soap hadn’t heard movement in a while. As much as it might lead to them snapping at each other, he still knocks and calls out. 

“Ye alright?” he waits and, hearing no response, opens the door slightly and peeks around. “Ye dead?” he teases, but doesn’t get a response from that either. There’s a lump of blankets in the middle of the bed, and when he shifts one to peek in, there’s Ghost curled up in a ball. 

“Ye still feeling shite?” Soap guesses. Ghost just sniffles miserably in response. Soap rubs his shoulder sympathetically. “Wait here. I’ll get ye something.” 

He’s in the kitchen for maybe 10 minutes, using his hip to push the door open. When he looks up, Ghost still hasn’t moved from his huddled position. 

“Figured soup would help, for yer throat.” he says casually, placing the bowl down and sitting on the corner of the bed. . 

“Hate being sick.” Ghost says to the mattress, voice muffled. 

“Aye. Don’t think many people like it.” Soap says, smiling when Ghost glare at him from under his arm. “Reckon you can eat that?” 

Ghost doesn’t answer, just sits up and stubborn, grabs the bowl, draining most of it without bothering with the spoon. 

“Fuckin goblin. I got ye a spoon and everything.” Soap teases, flicking him in the side when he glares again. 

His gaze is drawn to the window, where the rain still pelts down outside. There’d been a few moments of just hazy clouds, but it seems to be going strong. 

“Me mam used to make me chicken noodle when I was sick. Cannae eat it anymore now, tastes like snot to me.”

“Charming.” Ghost’s voice echoes back from the bowl.

“Ye don’t have foods like that? Ye eat too much of it when yer sick?” Soap leans back on his elbow, swinging his leg off the edge of the bed.

Ghost shakes his head. “Wouldn't know. Jus’ took care of it meself.”

Oh right. Well now Soap feels like a tit for brining it up. “How ye feeling?”

“Annoyed that you keep asking that,” Ghost shoots back. At least the food seemed to have given him some energy.

“Stop being sick then.” Soap teases, nudging Ghost’s thigh with his elbow, grinning.

“Fuck off,” the words don’t have any heat to them and Soap’s grin just widens, though he lets out a squawk when Ghost shoves him off the bed in retaliation.

“Yer a child, ye know that?” he says, rubbing at where he’d hit his arse on the bed frame on the way down. Ghost gives him the finger from where he’s cocooned himself in blankets again.

“Either way, shove over.” Soap says, motioning with his hands.

Ghost sticks his head out from the blanket, hair tousled and pointing in odd directions. He squints at him. “Wha’?”

“I’m no’ sleeping on the couch again, me backs broke with it.” Soap says, flopping down on the bed. “Ye can keep your naffy blanket, probably more sweat than fabric at this rate.” he kicks his boots off and shifts down the bed. He’d mostly been doing it to annoy Ghost, but he finds himself drifting off after a few minutes. 

-

When he wakes up, Ghost has curled into him, forehead pressed against his neck. His fever has broken, but there’s still a wheezing rattle somewhere in his chest.  

He shifts and Ghost grabs him, snuffling in his sleep in a way that should be gross, but instead Soap finds it endearing. Gaz had already teased him for his not so subtle crush on their lieutenant. Soap had questionable taste in men, apparently. 

As Ghost hacks up phlegm onto this shirt and instead of feeling sickened, Soap’s heart melts in his chest, he thinks Gaz might have a point. Christ, he was gone on him. 

He tries not to think about the trust It’s about the trust, really. It doesn’t come easy, particularly for Ghost. But he knows the trust between them runs deep. The fact that Ghost hadn’t put his mask back on, sure he was sick and overheated, but he was a stubborn enough prick that he would risk cooking his brain just out of spite. 

Soap runs a hand through Ghost’s sweatdamp hair. There’s a small pained noise from the other man, burrowing deeper into the hollow of Soap’s throat. He’d probably hit the aches stage of the illness then. Was always the part Soap hated most, besides the sore throat. Not being able to complain about being sick often left him more agitated and snapping at anyone near him. 

He presses a small kiss to Ghost’s hair as a particularly painful sounding cough racks through him, mumbling soft murmurs to his temple to try soothe him. 

Through the water stained grey of the clouds, he can see the sky becoming lighter. 

“Yer still taking care of me.” Ghost slurs into his collarbone, the last coughing fit apparently waking him up. 

“Aye.” Soap says simply, his hands still gently carding through Ghost’s hair. 

“Not used to it.” he shifts slightly but doesn’t try to move away. 

Soap doesn’t know if it's the flu or the early hour that seem to have loosened Ghost’s tongue. He’s not normally this free with his words, preferring instead to hide behind jokes and the occasional brutal jab of honesty that left you reeling from the impact.

“Figured with how stubborn ye are. Had to fight ye for it” he teases letting his eyelids blink heavily. They could probably both do with a bit more sleep. 

Ghost tucks himself closer, heaving a phlegm sigh again, before simply saying. “Ye were kissing me. On the ‘ead.”

Soap doesn’t feel tired anymore, his stomach dropping for a moment. 

“Sorry, won't do it again.” he apologises, shifting his hand away when Ghost grabs it and puts it back in his hair. 

“Liked it, was nice” he croaks. 

“Oh.” Soap waits a moment, before resuming what he now realises is basically patting Ghost’s head. “Alright then”

The sun has risen, the slow inching of light through the clouds matching the deeper breaths coming from Ghost as he fallen asleep again. Soap soon follows suit. 

-

It’s later in the day when Soap awakens. Ghost is still a warm, heavy weight draped over him, but when he cranes his neck to look down at him, whisky coloured eyes peer back up at him. 

“You wanna shift it, I’ll make us a cuppa?” Soap asks, nudging Ghost’s side with his knee. Ghost doesn’t move at first, but eventually rolls off the side with a grumble, burrowing under blankets again. 

Soap hisses as his bare feet touch the floor, the cold having seeped into the wood overnight. The rains starting to let up though, more of light drizzle than the torrential downpour that had become background noise over the last days. 

He sets the tea on the bedside table, stepping lightly when he hears Ghost snoring beneath the blankets. Least he was actually getting some sleep. 

He dug out the comms unit, and waited for Price to radio back. Apparently the forecast was looking good, if the weather kept clearing up they’d have Nik swing by tomorrow. The valley below had flooded, but they were well above the danger zone at least. 

He ducks back into the bedroom after fiddling with the heater again. Ghost is sitting up in bed, the cup held between his palms. 

“This from you, then?” he asks, raising the mug in Soap’s direction as he sits on the bed. 

“Nah, that could have been anyone.” Soap grins, “Someone could have broken in, the only race of them is that cup of tea.” he stage-whispers, still smiling at the unimpressed look Ghost gives him. 

“Know you made it.” he says after taking a sip, “It tastes like shit.” 

“Oi!” Soap swipes at him. “Make yer own then, cheeky.” 

“Didn’t say I didn't want it,” Ghost says, stubbornly holding onto the mug and hunching over it.  Soap laughs, fiddling with the corner of the blanket. Ghost drains the rest of the cup before settling back, quietly observing him for a while before he finally speaks. 

“You fancy me.”

It isn’t a question, so Soap doesn’t treat it like one. Instead, he just shrugs, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. 

“Aye.”

“Always seemed like the type to go after what you want, Johnny?” Ghost raises an eyebrow. 

And he’s a fucking sight, isn’t he? The mask is still off, the pale light through the window makes it seem as though he’s glowing, pale skin littered with raised scars. He wishes he could capture the way Ghost looks right now, soft and sleepy eyed, the sharp intelligence in honeyed eyes flicking over him. 

“Worried about what I’d lose if I did.” Soap eventually manages to get out, throat feeling tight. It feels like his toes are hanging over a precipice, like another step will change everything. 

“Not gonna lose anything, Johnny.” Ghost says with a tilt of his head. 

“You sure about that?” Soap mumbles nervously. 

“Not going anywhere.” is the even reply, no skip in the words, just steady and true. 

Fuck it. He trusts Ghost. And if this ends up going tits up, he trusts him enough that they’ll figure it out somehow. They always do. 

He clambers over Ghost’s legs, hands digging into his shoulders as he brings their mouths together, teeth clacking at the bad angle. He doesn’t care. 

“I’ll get you sick.” Ghost mumbles against his lips. Soap kisses him again anyway. 

“You’ll just have to take care of me next time, eh?” he whispers back, dragging Ghost back to press every unsaid word into his skin. 

-

They’re back on base for a few days, when it finally happens. 

“Jesus Tav, you right?” Gaz says, glancing over after the sneeze. 

“I dinnae wanna be sick.” he complains, eyes feeling hot and tacky. 

“You look like shit.” Price says, looking concerned as Soap coughs so hard he sounds like he might dislocate a rib. 

“Warned you.” Ghost says, nudging him with a shoulder. Soap glares at him, but the warm mug of tea pressed into his hands feels like an apology. 

Later that night, when Soap’s hacking up a lung, eyes streaming and nose running, there’s a gentle hand rubbing at his back. 

“Hate being sick.”

“Reckon everyone does.” Ghost chides, as Soap half-heartedly glares at him. There’s a kiss pressed to Soap’s temple, and patient hands helping him back to bed. 

“Cannae be fucked with this, Simon.” Soap groans, curling into a ball. 

Ghost runs a gentle hand through his mohawk, “S’alright, I’ll take care of you.”

[pastafossa]

Trying to write this chapter and I swear to fucking catholic white jesus I'm going to bash both of them over the head with the horny bat, we have been circling this chapter for hours now. Matt: she wanted it in the last chapter, I'm just saying we could make it work

Me, pinching nose before slapping the outline and script: important conversations need to happen here. Plot relevant ones. Not smut. Also she literally has a fractured wrist and nose, a concussion, and fifteen stitches in her leg. At least wait until the sutures come out

Matt: I could be careful. Really careful

Me: No, no, you fucking blueballed-

Matt: that's your fault, not mine

Jane: he really could be careful though, I'm down for the attempt

Me: shut up, you're NOT helping, I'm running this chapter-

Jane: yeah well I didn't vote for you

Me: