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s0fter-sin · 1 month ago

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ghost who works with abused dogs because he can relate to their fear and anger and soap who's terrified of dogs but needs a service animal after he gets shot

ghost who's covered in just as many bite scars and scratches as he is scars from his childhood and the military, but he never holds it against a single dog

he knows what it's like to feel trapped and think you only have one way out

he sits through the barking and the lunges, steadily gets closer as he gently talks with each dog, apologises when he moves too quick and gets bitten because it's always his fault, never the dog's. no one bites for no reason

the pride he feels when he gets to share their blanket for the first time is only matched by the day of their adoption

it’s soap's friend’s idea to bring him to check out a dog to foster while his service dog goes through training. he knows he's uncomfortable around dogs - he never made a production out of it but you can only duck around someone so they’re in between you and a dog so many times before they pick something up - but he just thinks he's not used to them and being around one will be enough to calm him down

soap knows he needs a service animal; both for medical reasons and help with every day tasks but also for emotional regulation. he pings from depression to apathy to white hot rage so quick it exhausts him; he's so tired of blowing up at people just because he can't keep his head on straight

he needs a service dog

but just hearing the barking from outside has him so on edge, he's almost sick from it

a volunteer shows them all the dogs available to foster. his friend gushes over every single one; cooing about how cute and sweet they look, just darling things, encouraging them to jump up on their barrier and play tug with their toys, and “come on soap, say hello”

soap keeps his distance, smiling thinly as the volunteer introduces each dog

but ghost happens to be in one of the kennels working with his latest trouble case

and he can plainly see how terrified soap is, no matter how well he thinks he’s hiding it

he flinches at every bark, his hands fisted at his sides, but his friend just doesn't notice; too occupied with the lab mix he’s playing with. ghost can see just how tight he's winding up, the tension creeping up his spine, his “smile” twitching uncontrollably, and it doesn't surprise him in the slightest when he finally snaps at his friend to “just fuck off, alright!” after he keeps pushing him to get closer to the dogs

the abrupt silence is tight and judgmental; the friend giving him a wild look. soap gives a short apology, still angry even though if anyone just took the time to look, it’d be clear he doesn't want to be, and storms out while his friend apologises to the volunteer; dripping with shame and embarrassment that sets ghost's teeth on edge

he could've stopped a dozen times before soap blew up, should've seen the warning signs that he was getting overwhelmed and afraid long before he got to that point

he spreads out a few treats for his dog, both a reward for his patience and an apology for prematurely ending their time together, slowly getting to his feet. he heads outside to find soap in the alley beside the shelter, swearing at himself under his breath and looking seconds away from punching the brick

and when soap snaps, “enjoying the show?”, squaring up with his teeth bared, ghost just leans back against the wall; open and non-threatening and waits for soap to come to him

just ghost who knows what it's like to be angry and afraid and has the patience to help soap feel more in control of himself, never flinching from his bark or his involuntary bite, as well as help him through his fear in time for his service dog

#soap losing himself to his injury and thinking he can never be normal again bc of his emotional regulation and his friends reinforcing that #by expecting him to still be normal even though he physically /cant/#just for ghost to only know this knew version of him and accept him without hesitation #soap being the one to have issues while ghosts already done his healing is just mwah 😘 🤌🏻 chefs kiss #i described ghost as a bait dog once and i stand by that #but soap going from a fighting dog to a bait dog and still acting like a fighting dog? and being punished for it? good shit #so its not ghost treating soap like a wounded dog; its ghost treating soap the way he deserved to be treated when he was in the same place #i almost made the friend gaz just for simplicitys sake but lets be real he would never ignore soaps wellbeing like that or expect him to be #normal and ‘just fix himself already why are you acting like this’#the friend is giving someone who ‘had mental issues before’ - ie felt sad once - and ‘got over it themselves’ by thinking positive thoughts #and doesnt understand or care that mental illness can destroy people and ‘manifesting health’ wont help anything #but bc they did go through /something/ soap internalises the shame that he cant and keeps ‘taking it out on them’#if you have a friend like that btw fuck them off they arent your friend #we’re a team. ghost team #coming out of my cage and ive been doing just fine.txt #ghoap #soapghost #ghostsoap #soap cod #soap call of duty #john soap mactavish #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mwii #cod mw2

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kortac-sweetheart · 4 months ago

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thinkin abt: classic “traitor” sergeant you and tf 141, except you have a different trauma response

cw: angst no comfort (yet), mentions of torture and physical harm, derealization, reader believes they deserve their torture (honestly selfship coded sorry) shout out to hedgehog’s dilemma one of my favorite dilemmas, very VERY canon divergent, no use of (y/n)

pt 2 with kortac maybe? as they slowly rehabilitate you and you learn to open up again

for as long as you can remember you’ve been an outsider. never quite fitting in with your classmates or even your “friends”. your two acquaintances (more like) in elementary school would drag you along, like a glorified pet, wherever they went. only to turn around and ignore you, chatting happily with each other as if you weren’t there.

and when you were older, you didn’t have any friends in class. always electing to sit by yourself and disturbing nothing and no one. fading into the background, like a shadow.

eventually you wind up joining the military, efficiently climbing the ranks until you land sergeant in task force 141. for the first few years of you joining, it’s much the same. that feeling of being other always lingering in the back of your mind, only amplified when observing the others in the team.

how soap easily makes gaz and price laugh, and even coaxing a chuckle out of ghost. how effortlessly they talk to each other, to the way tackling one another in a bear hug in the base halls was no big deal. almost envious at how openly they interacted with each other.

witnessing it makes you feel like you’re in school again. forcibly reverts you to the younger you that endured your so-called friends ignoring you.

but you don’t bring it up. ever. being here and fighting alongside them is already treading thin ice in your mind. already impeding upon their well established relationships. an intruder. an outsider. a stranger. a nuisance.

you linger behind them in hallways, erring from their side and sight around base. sitting far from the others during briefings, eating alone during mealtime. absent from post mission celebrations.

you keep them at arms length despite them being your teammates. it’s not their fault, it’s yours.

if i let them in, it’ll only hurt again.

but they break down your walls slowly, oh so painfully slowly. johnny now jokes besides you in the break room and during meal times, conversation is always pleasant with kyle, whilst simon looks out for you, very, very quietly. and john isn’t afraid to tell you of the good work you do on field, ruffling your hair like a proud dad.

things seem to be looking bright for you.

until they aren’t.

you fall asleep peacefully in your bed only to wake up strapped to an uncomfortable metal chair in the base’s interrogation room. a mole, unbeknownst to the rest of the team had planted evidence framing you and accusing you of betraying them. taking advantage of the thin fault line in your relationships, vulnerable and unsteady, compared to the stalwart trust they already had in each other. then, subsequently tearing that fault wide open, in order to break the team from the inside out.

your tenuous and fragile relationships finally blooming, only to be crushed under heel in a single night.

the light strains your eyes and the tight ropes dig painfully into your flesh, back aching and head throbbing as you await your fate.

three sets of eyes that only started to gaze warmly at you are now long gone. replaced with a plethora of emotions, betrayal, ire, resentment, bitterness, distrust.

you try to plead your case, that you have no idea what’s going on or what they’re talking about. you’ve never heard of any of these people in your life, nor have you ever heard of that operation at all.

but all of it is futile. you can see it clear as day in their eyes. they glare at you with such distain, it’s akin to what they gave their enemies on the field; except much much worse. this time it’s personal, someone they thought they knew.

they don’t believe you.

you realize that quickly. and after that you become borderline unresponsive. shutting down, physically, mentally, retreating into your mind, a desperate attempt to keep yourself safe from your allies-turned-tormentors.

you no longer scream your protests, all cries of agony quieted down until there wasn’t a single peep from you. although your tears never cease.

it angers them. they yell in your face, demanding answers to questions you haven’t the ability to answer. why were you being so difficult? if you’d just answer it’d be easier on you and them.

they subject you to a whole torrent of horrors. the restraints tightening and digging into your flesh, blood seeping into the rope. ghost slashes a knife up the side of your face, from your jaw to above your eyebrow bone. your eye just barely making it out unscathed because you shut it in time. then they start to rip your nails out, painfully, one by one. each time you don’t answer them, another one is torn out.

(they remember what you said offhandedly. that you didn’t like others being pushy, that you valued your autonomy highly. and what better way to break you than to rid you of it? stripping you of your nails, slashing at your muscles, tightening the ropes until you bled. anything, everything to ruin what little sovereignty you had left.)

despite being swathed deep in the recesses of your mind, you can still hear them. their voices muddied and muffled, as if underwater and you’re left unable to discern who’s words are who’s. not that it mattered anyway. the venom in their tone remained the same no matter who spoke.

“disgusting fucking traitor.”

“you’re such a pathetic piece of shit.”

“aww, cry some more.”

“should’ve never trusted you.”

“what an utterly worthless burden. only served to drag down the team.”

their words seep into your mind like poison through blood. it leaves you doubting, frantically questioning all moments you’ve shared with them. leaves you spiraling deeper and deeper into the dark abyss of your mind. your safe haven, and your cold prison.

did they always think this?

did they always hate me?

what did i do wrong?

i must’ve done something wrong to deserve this.

i deserve this.

i’m sorry.

you still remain motionless, and they scoff, looking down at you as they ash their cigarettes on your bruised skin. you don’t react. soap, frenzied, aggravated and wound up, lands a hard punch straight in your jaw. your head flying back with a sickening crunch before hanging low over your lap, face obscured.

gaz violently yanks your hair back, revealing your battered face. the lighting of the room casting long, tired shadows across it as he forces you to look at them. and you do, but not quite at them.

you don’t stare at them. you stare through them. like they aren’t there, like YOU aren’t there. they see nothing behind your eyes. it was like you were already dead. and maybe, at this point, it would’ve been better if you were.

hours blend into days and days possibly into weeks. your life has been nothing but torment and agony for who knows how long. never allowed a moment of rest or respite, being violently slapped awake if you’ve ever got lucky enough to grasp at increasingly ephemeral shut eye. time slips away into nothingness when your whole life has turned to pain.

they’re starting to grow more desperate for answers; despite everything they’ve thrown at you, you still haven’t “cracked”. and so they turn to more.. permanent methods of harm.

by the time price barges through the door, alarming everyone that you were innocent and you were falsely framed by a mole, your pinky is already severed and falling to the floor.

as if it were only a cruel nightmare, everything ceases immediately. and you pass out as you’re rushed to the base medics.

you’re awake once again, but you’re not quite all there. still safely tucked away in the depths of your mind. everyday is still a blur as your battered and beaten body tries to heal, ignoring the pity in passersby eyes’ and forced to rely on the kindness of base medics for hygiene. as if it wasn’t humiliating enough to end up in such a state.

even in your semi lucid state you still recognize them, the weight of their gait and their footfalls against the floor. always bracing for further injury whenever they draw nearer, clenched eyes, hunched posture, and a deep grimace. turned away out of fear for an impact you can’t ever guarantee is truly gone.

you silently reject their help, withdraw in on yourself to a state they’ve never seen before. you stop talking to them entirely, stop talking to everyone for that matter. whenever they try to sit next to you, you always flinch before scooting away from them, or most times you hobble away from them entirely. they never stop you. and you never look back.

(they wish you would yell at them. slap them, lash out at them, anything would be better than your numb indifference towards them now. with your anger they know for sure that you’re still in there, but, now. now it’s like a wraith is haunting the halls, more of a ghost than the man fool himself could ever hope to be.)

you return to the field as soon as you can. and everyone is surprised that your performance hasn’t suffered as much as they thought it would, considering… everything.

you’re already burdening everyone enough. if your performance were to decline then they would surely toss you aside, and everything would be for naught.

but the higher ups can see the mental toll it takes on you. to be besides them, as if this never happened. everyone can see the way they inadvertently hurt you more, can see the writing on the wall if you continue to work with them.

and so, they set up a transfer. to kortac.

you certainly have no complaints, but your ex-tormentors undoubtedly do. up in arms about the whole thing until they’re told to stand down. to follow orders.

just like they did before.

things were the same in the days leading up to the transfer. you avoid them, taking different hallways around base. never interacting more than the bare minimum, efficiently finishing missions without small talk or celebration. and always rejecting their offers of help with a faraway look and shake of your head.

and on the day of the transfer, they still try to plead for you to stay. to apologize for what cannot, and can never be undone.

you’re fed up with all of it.

clearing your throat and murmuring just loud enough for them to hear,

“forgive me if i’m speaking out of line, but who was the one to call me quote, “an utterly worthless burden?” was it lieutenant riley or sergeant mactavish? perhaps it was sergeant garrick? well… it doesn’t matter anyway. you’ll be better off without a detriment dragging down your team.”

they look heartbroken, stammering out apologies after apologies, but it all sounds so empty to you. until johnny whimpers out “god, we’re so sorry. you didn’t deserve what we did to you, not at all. we’d— we’d do anything to take it back!” he’d go on and on until you cut him off.

“didn’t deserve it? of course i deserved it, i must have done something worth punishing. otherwise… otherwise…” you were trembling, your hands painfully clutching your arms. your head bent over and face obscured from your hair, eerily similar to when you were being tortured. the sight of you so battered and broken burned into their mind.

foolishly, someone reaches out a hand towards you and you jerk back violently, as if burned. hyperventilating and quivering as you dig your painfully throbbing fingers into your arms, eyes wide like a frightened animal. the sight of them, looking at you so concerned, the sight of your missing pinky and your bloodied fingertips, it’s all too much. the room in spinning, the floor is collapsing underneath you and your head feels like it’s underwater, “don’t— don’t touch me!”

your voice feels like it doesn’t belong to you, and you can’t take it anymore. blindly rushing out the door as fast as your feet can carry you. running away from the room— away from them, they don’t move to stop you, rooted firmly in place.

they knew they fucked up immensely, but it was only then that they understood the magnitude in which they ruined you. unintentionally led you to believe that you deserved the hell they put you through, only confirming and fortifying your feelings of being an outsider.

unworthy, burdening, all of those hurtful notions you held about yourself that they had once tried to erase, back a thousand fold.

and they had no one but themselves to blame for it.

(they nearly buckled under the weight of their actions. realizing that they’d never get the chance to even attempt to atone for what they’ve done. that you’d leave forever believing that they had hated you the whole time. and that you hate them now, too.)

pt2

#tf 141 x reader #tf 141 x you #john price x reader #price x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #god i hate tagging all of them #reason why i dont really write for tf141 lol #anyway #is this angsty enough? ive reread it too much and now i cant feel sad reading it #ending is kinda ass but adhd is kicking my ass so #and i dont want to hold onto this any longer #i need like 3 business days to recover from writing this #leon writes ˖◛⁺⑅♡#cod x reader

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