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"You think you're better than me because you aren't doing the trend of Ghibli style ai art."

No. I don't THINK I'm better than you. I AM better than you for not using a soulless, emotionless machine that steals from real artists and their hardwork. I will always be better than you. And for the record, it's not ai "art" it's ai garbage. You people are tactless weirdos for supporting such nonsense. I have seen my literature major friends doing this pathetic excuse of a trend when Ai steals from books and pieces they give up hours to study and learn.

Bunch of idiots.

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Sergent Cock or Sergent KFC?

It's been a while, preety boy :)

Here's a chicken for you. Don't eat it.

-🌷

we need to get this lass on the task force

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Ghost doesn't cutesy talk cats, he talks to them like other adult men and it's hilarious.

They're at a safehouse, and Ghost is listening to the radio, Price hears him talking to someone, and he's confused because both of his sergeants are conked out asleep.

So, he walks around the corner and finds Ghost sitting on a step with the radio playing and a stray kitten biting his laces while he talks to her. "I don't believe shoelaces constitute part of a balanced diet."

John just sits down on the step next to him and ignores how his knees click. "What's her name?"

"She's yet to disclose name or rank, but given that she's clearly smarter than those two through there, I'd say she's a lieutenant." He responds so dryly that John can't help but snort.

"Ah, I see. Making her way through the ranks at her young age, impressive." He leans forward to pet the kitten, flattening down the tuft of fur sticking up on her head.

"She's a hard worker, look at those paws. Grubby, she's been busy."

The kitten offers them a mewl in response, and he nods accordingly.

"She's stern, reminds me of Laswell."

That makes Ghost laugh.

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// GHOSTSOAP x sailor song! (🔊 ON ) // suggestive imagery ⚠⚠⚠ individual panels:

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Forehead smooches 💋

It's important to smooch your Soap at least once per day <3

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HES LAUGHING AT HIS OWN FUNERAL BECAUSE HES ACTUALLY ALIVE (i scream as they drag me back to the padded room)

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So, we all know Simon is covered in freckles, beautiful constellations blooming on his pale skin, nature marking the perfect paths for kisses along his collarbones, down the dip of his spine, scattered on his arms.

And his face, of course, little spots on his nose and cheeks, sneaky ones all the way up to his eyes. Hidden from everyone, full attire, a mask and smear black providing cover for the shy stars, like clouds do on windy, humid autumn nights. Cold and detached wrap to keep this weird sign of life on a living dead body from overly curious eyes.

But not from his Captain. Price knows these freckles, he's seen them young and bright, he's seen them dull and almost invisible on a half translucent skin.

He's seen them disappear, long, cruel winter and the mask almost grown into Ghost's skull wiping everything besides uneven scars and black ingrained into his skin. He's seen the summer taken out of his boy, replaced with the dead sleep of the winter, white and icy like Simon's eyelashes.

And, frankly, he won't have that.

If there's not enough sun for those little specks of life to shine, be it London fog half of the year or excruciating cold of the northern polar night they're stuck in on an op, Captain Price is giving his Lieutenant a personal sunshine. One that will melt polar caps if you let it shine in full brightness, hot, unpredictable in its flares, relentlessly glowing and cutting it's radiation through any barier.

Deadly as a burning globe of gas can be. Sergeant MacTavish.

Johnny doesn't have a problem with disregarding laws of physics. If this sole, dark, barren planet of ice refuses to circle him like everyone else does, Soap flips all those heliocentric theories over and instead makes a satellite to Ghost out of himself. Simon's joints stop aching when the shared space heats up, air few degrees away from rippling around Soap's broad form like it's boiling overhead a fire pit. His breath appears visible again, contrast to the almost non-existent fog that was leaking out of his mouth, making everyone who knew (not many of them) wonder, if Simon Riley actually ever left his grave.

One day, Simon's knuckles turn white and hurt. One day, Simon's frosty lashes flutter and not a single cloud of steam exits his mouth. One day, he feels frozen in place despite being basked in molten sunlight of Johnny's gaze, because Sergeant's restless hands found a makeup pen and are swiftly covering Simon's flushed cheeks in freckles.

Crowded constellations, all little sister stars from the MacTavish clan, clinging to Simon in semi-permanent kisses.

Price walks in on them, Simon sitting with his hands clenched tight and his breath held, Johnny with his tongue stuck between his front teeth as he keeps bringing spring out of its long dormant state on Simon's once again alive face.

Just like a sun should. Just like Captain Price expected.

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So..forgive me you're the first person I'm ever asking anything on Tumblr (Kinda new and I usually like to describe it like hiding in the corner and just watching everything quietly and leaving likes and I love your work) but I was thinking about your concept with 141 and reader dying and the notebook. Would there ever be a case where the others stumble upon it? Whether Price forgets (somehow) to put it away or someone's in the midst of searching for something and stumbles upon it?

Again, love your work, feel free to ignore this tho

Yeah, I think this type of readers people call “lurkers” which is cool🙂‍↕️you guys are usually the backbone of the audience, I enjoy you tremendously.

And that’s a really good question, anon!

You know what? Why not turn the heat up a little more for this pot with the frogs.

I can imagine Price not exactly forgetting it somewhere but harbouring it so close to himself that people start to notice. This specific notebook is always with him — under his armoured vest and in the front pocket of his shirts, on top of the stack of documents, edge of it peeking out of his pants pocket.

It’s always there when before he didn’t carry it with him. It’s small and simple, technically it shouldn’t rise any questions but Kyle is the first who notices it. Maybe because after your death he’s so sharply attuned to everyone else on the team, it’s practically unhealthy.

Kyle who watches John fumble with the leather bound corners of the little thing and wonders…what’s inside of it? They have been all grieving but your things have been taken by them all and shared fairly.

Simon doesn’t withhold your pictures or books with your annotations. Soap doesn’t say no when Gaz asks for one of the keychains. Kyle himself lets Simon and Johnny take one of your things each. Simon takes the big oversized T-shirt and Soap whisks away one of your hoodies, clutching it hard to himself, knuckles white with tension.

(Kyle will never admit but when he walked in on Johnny in hoodie with your name and rank on the back of it his knees buckled. For a moment a traitorous part of him thought you were there. For a moment he could breathe again)

So Price keeping something of you to himself almost felt unfair. It wasn’t, of course, no, Captain had every right to grieve and mourn in a way that made it easier for him.

But-

But Kyle missed you. Everyday and every morning he’d wake up, realisations hitting him again that you aren’t coming back. You are never coming back.

You disappeared so suddenly you were now everywhere.

The unwashed cup they couldn’t bring themselves to wash, the clothes and trinkets, the books and pictures. The notebooks.

Kyle remembers how you two played games in it, drawing X’s and O’s when debrief would get too long and your brains too sluggish to keep awake without external stimulation.

Kyle remembers you writing in them, so focused you oftentimes wouldn’t notice him getting closer until he’d plop himself down in front of you, pretending to pose. Your favourite model, wasn’t he?

Kyle remembers you smiling at him, eyes flickering to his face for a moment, your gaze so impossibly soft he feels like choking and burying himself next to you.

There is a whole life ahead. Kyle isn’t sure how to live it with a hole in this chest the size of your love.

It’s a selfish thought, maybe. Maybe he is selfish.

Maybe he should have been content with what he has been given. But he wasn’t.

So now he slips the notebook off Price’s desk when the man himself is so wrecked he can’t see straight. John’s drinking got worse after your death. Not yet enough to cause disciplinary action but enough to make them all worried.

Gaz has never seen him like that.

Why were they all lucky enough to meet you but not lucky enough to save you? Would the outcome be different if one of them went with you on that deployment? Could they save you if they knew how it ends?

Could they try?

Kyle’s fingers skim over the pages, your hoodie on him and if he pretends hard enough it almost feels like a hug. It almost feels like his body heat seeping through fabric is yours. Like you were just wearing it.

Like you didn’t leave at all.

Like you are coming back.

Kyle flips through the pages, gurgling wet laughter in his throat when he notices that you have been writing Simon’s jokes down and coming up with your own. (The “just got hospitalised due to peekaboo incident. They put me in ICU” joke almost makes Kyle choke).

Some part of him gets why Price has been guarding this specific journal so hard. Why he wasn’t letting anyone else close to it, because this right here is you.

Everything that’s left of your thoughts and feelings, of your humour and love, of your plans and scribbles.

It’s tangible proof that you were here. You lived, you loved, you thought. You were there and you were a person. Their favourite person. Their beloved one.

Maybe that’s why your small note hits him harder than he could have ever expected. A small resigned “I’m not sure I fit in. I’m not sure I’m not second…or fifth best in this case. Don’t even know if I wanna talk about it. Just plain stupid” splits Kyle’s scull open and leaves him bleeding and aching and shaking.

What…what did you mean “fifth best”? Why would you say that? What- no. Nonononono. No, it’s not fair. It’s not true, it has never been true.

Kyle feels like driving back to the cemetery and wrapping his car around the poll.

Kyle feels like clawing at the ground and sobbing-sobbing-sobbing.

Kyle feels like begging.

Please, no. Please, come back. Please, let him fix it, let him tell you the truth, let him tell you.

Kyle understands why Price was guarding the journal this fiercely. Kyle is so mad he feels like demolishing John’s office and yelling until his voice is raspy useless thing, vocal cords damaged, headache pounding inside his head and he’s burning from inside out.

Kyle looks at the page, his whole core so hollowed out you could feel an echo if you’d knocked.

Kyle doesn’t know what to do because you are gone.

Because he wants to say “I’m sorry, love, I’m so sorry, I’d be better if I knew”, he wants to say “come back and scream at me, come back demand attention, come back and hurt me in return just please please come back”.

He wants to say “I love you” in a hundred different ways, he wants to kiss it better, he wants to hold you again, he wants you back, why can’t you come back, why can’t he get you back? He will change, he will do better, he will pay attention, he’s sorry, love, he’s so sorry.

Soap finds him just blankly staring at the page and he doesn’t understand at first, concern sharpening his features like one of the razors he uses for his drawing pencils.

Johnny sinks down next to him, lips pressing to Kyle’s temple, breath panting when Gaz doesn’t respond because he can’t.

He doesn’t know what to say.

How do you live knowing you may never change what already happened? How do you keep going knowing your tenderness is decaying six feet underground, that your love is springing with flowers when they should have stayed above the ground and picked them? How do you get over it? How?

Johnny’s eyes skim over the page and Gaz can feel when the realisation sinks in, when the body next to him is getting poured full with raw ache and ice sharp panic.

Johnny asks “Gaz whose journal is that”, Johnny pleads “Mate, talk to me, where did you get it?”, Johnny whimpers “Kyle tell me it’s not theirs, Kyle please, Kyle say something”.

Kyle doesn’t know what to do other than wrap himself around Soap and hold him despite the thrashing, despite the disbelieving laughter that descends into gasping for air and clawing at his back and shoulders.

Kyle doesn’t let him get out and do something stupid, like drive to the cemetery and wrap a car around the poll and curl near your gravestone.

There is an awfully loud gulp and the journal is getting carefully taken off Kyle’s lap, Simon’s fingers long and scarred — things broken too many times to grown back straight and narrow, calloused pads of his fingers catching on the paper of the notebook.

Kyle has to drag him down to them, he has to practically kick the ground from under Ghost’s feet because the man looks like he will get the shovel and get you out of the coffin.

(Kyle doesn’t want to think how Simon refused to let them bury you, how he sat with you for days, until the decomposition became evident. Kyle doesn’t want to think how Simon placed a phone in your coffin despite knowing that you are not coming back. Kyle doesn’t want to think that Simon was terrified the 4 of them might bury you alive).

Ghost looks like the sky just fell on his head, crashing his spine and grinding down his nerves. Ghost looks like he wants to cry but doesn’t know how.

Ghost looks like how they all feel.

Kyle forces the man into their cuddle pile and forces his hand to wrap around Johnny, because Soap digs his fingers into them like he’s falling-falling-falling. System crashing, bomb ticking, Rome burning down.

Funny how Ghost never understood the phrase “going mad with grief”, always felt like it was a bit of dramatisation. People die every day after all, don’t they? It’s statistically impossible to never lose a single person.

Funny how Soap gets it now perfectly. The shift of tectonic plates in his brain, the rewiring of the whole system, pain so intense he might have ash for heart now.

Funny how it’s not funny at all but Gaz still laughs, face wet when Simon tightens his grip and pulls Kyle in, letting him hide his face.

Taglist: @synthe4u

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Look at my cat ya all. She's so beautiful. Her name is Santra. Been giggling at her for the past two hours, she thinks I'm going crazy.

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Typed so much in one day, my social battery ran out. Aight time to disappear for the next 3-4 business days.

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I cannot speak for everyone. But I can assure you, I will let you know every time if it's something I said or her if she uses my anon again. The only thing we can do is spread the word. This is unfair to you, the community and the trust between your anons. You stay safe first, love.

Okay okay what the hell? Impersonating my anon?? I have been waiting to close my anon 🌷 for days like I once promised you. I'm the pink tulip anon. And Ethan oh god! I just saw what happened. I promise you I don't even know who the hell that is. This is insane and made me sick to my stomach. I never wanted to close my anon like this I thought eventually things will happen when I gain enough courage. Not sending anonymous asks triggers my anxiety but WHAT THE HELL??? This is just ridiculous!

nonnie believe me!!! i've known u were different this whole time!!!!!!!!!! but she was using the tulip anon on other accounts (i personally deleted the ones she sent me 'cause i had you!!!!) & i wanted to make sure ppl were aware of that. hope u understand & i'm rlly sorry about this whole thing. it's such a giant mess. feel free to keep using the emoji here, it's for YOU!!! you had it first anyway

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Yes. I have seen that too, but no you don't have to apologise ever. This is NOT your fault, I completely understand how uncomfortable she's making you and it is pathetic truly. She has been using 🌷 and faking the way I speak for a while. I am not saying calling Simon "pretty boy" is something to put a label on, but I have seen that happening with other blogs, imitating exactly how I speak when I follow only you and @/ ask-phillip-graves with the same emoji, they were the one who chose it for me! I'm just, very confused and lost about this whole thing. I just wish they leave you alone because this is turning into cyber harrasment.

Okay okay what the hell? Impersonating my anon?? I have been waiting to close my anon 🌷 for days like I once promised you. I'm the pink tulip anon. And Ethan oh god! I just saw what happened. I promise you I don't even know who the hell that is. This is insane and made me sick to my stomach. I never wanted to close my anon like this I thought eventually things will happen when I gain enough courage. Not sending anonymous asks triggers my anxiety but WHAT THE HELL??? This is just ridiculous!

nonnie believe me!!! i've known u were different this whole time!!!!!!!!!! but she was using the tulip anon on other accounts (i personally deleted the ones she sent me 'cause i had you!!!!) & i wanted to make sure ppl were aware of that. hope u understand & i'm rlly sorry about this whole thing. it's such a giant mess. feel free to keep using the emoji here, it's for YOU!!! you had it first anyway

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This is why we can't have nice things.

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I'm gonna give him a kiss on the forehead

f1 kuna

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Put a mask on the second one and it's literally you

This is literally you.

Or this.

...i don't see the resemblance

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Found your spirit bird then.

This you?

yes.

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GRAVES REQUEST! :3 graves w a fast talking new yorker reader (preferably a lawyer?) i can imagine him being real well behaved around her and it really throws everyone off

It does throw everyone off ESPECIALLY his Shadows when this smooth talking southern commander suddenly goes all obedient and quiet around his lawyer wife who with a snap of her fingers can make him go all soft eyed

His southern charm does nothing when it comes to your strong temperament, you're like a fuse that once is lit cannot be concealed, sometimes you're not even mad or upset, you're just used to speaking fast and anyone who doesn't know you thinks you're scolding Phillip

You'll randomly arrive unannounced on base and strut in as if you own the place, well your husband runs it and he bows down to no one but you so technically you do lol

His shadows aren't supposed to see their commander as someone who could be controlled easily by anyone else, and who would have thought the pretty lady who arrived wearing nice and elegant clothing would be the one to break that impression of theirs, they had all looked amongst themselves in confusion when you walked in and Phillip didn't direct a harsh look or word towards you

Instead he paused, dropped whatever he was doing and was immediately by your side greeting you with a warmth they had rarely ever seen in him, the Shadows knew Phillip had a family, they could tell that much from the polaroid he kept of you in his pocket, which they sometimes found when attempting to pickpocket him for fun

But they never thought he could be so...yielding to anyone... the more you know