therhythmofeternity

[therhythmofeternity]

✧ 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄: Dating the CoD MW OG Series Characters.

✧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: Task Force 141 [Captain price - Captain MacTavish - Simon Riley - Gary 'roach' Sanderson] /Delta Force [Sandman] /US Army rangers [James Ramirez - Cpl. Dunn]. ✧ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Romantic/ X F! Reader! ✧ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Safe!

𝙏𝘼𝙎𝙆 𝙁𝙊𝙍𝘾𝙀 141

Captain Price

Price doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve. He feels deeply, but he doesn’t express emotions through words. His love comes through in action, loyalty, and presence.

"I don’t say things I don’t mean. If I say I’ve got you, That mean damn sure I do."

He might not be emotionally fluent, but he’s self-aware. If he’s with you, it’s because he’s thought it through — he doesn’t do casual or reckless in relationships.

His Way of Handling a Relationship is Protective, Steady, Private

Price is a protector, first and foremost. If he loves you, your safety and peace of mind become part of his internal mission. But he's not controlling — he respects strength. He just watches your back, always.

He values loyalty and expects the same. He’s not the jealous type — but if someone crosses a line, he’ll make it known with quiet intensity. You’ll never have to guess where you stand with him — he’ll show you through consistent actions, not sweet talk.

He can fiercely private. What happens between you two stays between you two.

His voice is calm and gravelly, rarely raised. He’s blunt, but never cruel. If you’re upset, he doesn’t try to fix everything — he listens, quietly, and grounds you.

"I can’t take the storm away, Love. But I’ll sit in it with you."

"Wasn’t planning on falling for anyone. You’ve mucked that up."

Classic dates in classic places with him.

A low-lit, old English pub — wood-paneled walls, crackling fireplace.

He Orders A whiskey neat or a pint of ale. For you? He learns your usual fast, but always asks anyway.

"You’re good for the quiet bits, y’know that?"

He’s not showy, but he watches you — really listens. He doesn't talk much about himself unless you ask, but when he does, it’s honest.

He never flirts like a player — more like a man who knows what he wants and isn’t interested in games.

He can emotionally withdraw under stress — not because he’s cold, but because he’s trying to protect you from the weight he carries.

He’s hyper-responsible, which can make him distant when his focus shifts to duty.

You’ll have to break through his walls slowly — but once you’re in, you’re in for good.

Captain MacTavish

Soap isn’t the kind of man to chase softness. He’s lived most of his life in hostile territory — physically and emotionally — but if he lets you in, you’re not temporary.

Soap is expressive in a way that Price isn’t — he shows affection freely through teasing, touch, and closeness. But he’s not careless with it. If he’s serious about you, you’ll know.

If he is in, He is all in, No mocking up.

MacTavish is emotionally available, even if he masks it with humor. He notices when you’re off — even if you haven’t said a word.

"Talk tae me. I’d rather hear what’s in yer head than guess."

He’s not afraid of your emotions. He’s been through too much to be scared of vulnerability.

You won’t hear big romantic speeches from him. Not unless he’s two pints in and feeling nostalgic. He doesn’t fall in love like it’s poetry. He falls like it’s fact — fast, irrevocable, with no safety net.

He's got that warm, gravelly Scottish tone. Even when he’s joking, there’s weight behind his voice.

"Yer late. Thought I’d have tae come drag ye out the flat. Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve dragged, mind you.”

He teases, yes — that dry humor is his way of saying he’s comfortable.

He’s protective, not possessive. There’s a line. And he respects it. He lets you breathe. But when something threatens what’s his, he turns steel.

“If anyone lays a finger on ye, they’ll be leavin’ with fewer than they came in with.”

And when the world burns, he’s the kind of man who’d shield you with his own body, not for glory, but because he couldn’t imagine it any other way.

He has thing thing, Writing Notes like "Out for run, If not back in 30 sec, Avenge me"

Brush your hair behind your ear without thinking. He kisses like he means it — firm, lingering, like he’s trying to remember what your lips feel like because he knows he might have to go again soon.

He’ll hold you longer than necessary when he returns from the field. Bury his face in your shoulder for a beat.

In arguments, He is so stubborn If he thinks he's right, he’ll dig in. His pride is a battlefield of its own. But when he realizes he’s wrong? He’s quiet at first.

“Still a pain in the arse sometimes. But so’m I. So... call it even?”

He is all about fancy restaurants, Not everytime and sometimes, He would like it if you ask or suggest.

He once got a little bit different, Both of you at the shooting range, You will fire rounds, And when the clip click empty, He says

“Not bad, hen. Could use ye on my six next time. I’ll put in a word.”

Other days, it’s old pubs. Brick walls, loud laughter, whisky with too much bite. He leans close to you over the table, the low amber light flickering in his eyes.

“Ye look good in this light. Bit dangerous, even. Lucky I’m trained tae handle that sort o’ thing.”

And on the rare quiet night at home? He’s in joggers, cooking something he half-burnt because he got distracted telling a story. You end up on the couch with a bottle between you and his arm resting behind your shoulders. Close, but never crowding. He lets you lean in first.

Roach Sanderson

He’s not intense like Ghost or bold like Soap. What you get with Roach is warmth and the gentleman.

The kind of man you don’t realize is falling for you until one day he’s at your door, Smiling genuinely.

He’s gentle — in tone, in touch, in how he handles people. That doesn’t mean he’s soft. He’s a soldier — a damn good one. But with you? He lowers the volume. Slows down.

He’s thoughtful with his words — not because he’s shy, but because he means what he says.

“Let me know if you need anything, alright?” “Hey! That looks good on you.”

He can be a candlelight-dinner guy, He will google Like a curious man, He will practice cooking something he has never done, Just to surprise you.

He likes Hikes dates with packed lunches where he points out weird birds or cool rock formations

Sitting on the roof, sipping something warm while he plays music from a little speaker.

And when he laughs — it’s the kind that softens his face. The kind that makes you forget there’s a world beyond the two of you for just a moment.

He doesn’t like being away for long. Deployments eat at him. He doesn’t make promises he can’t keep, but when he gets a chance to talk to you? He makes it count.

“I don’t know where we’ll end up. But I know where I want to be. That’s not a question anymore.”

And when he returns? He does sweeps you off your feet. He pulls you into a hug that lasts long, breathes you in like you’re air after a warzone, and finally whispers

“Missed this. Missed you.”

He’s touch-oriented, A hand on your back when you walk together. Knees touching when you sit on the couch.

He kisses like someone who believes in quiet permanence — slow, grounding, not rushed.

He likes resting his head on your chest when he’s exhausted. Not because he’s needy — but because he trusts you enough to be vulnerable like that. It calms him.

when he wraps his arms around you? You feel all the strength of a soldier — but none of the sharpness.

His love is like Being loved by someone who never needs the room’s attention — only yours.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon Riley doesn’t fall in love the same way others do. He doesn’t ask for it. Doesn’t expect it. Hell — he’s half-convinced he doesn't deserve it.

Simon isn’t one for softness — not because he’s cold, but because softness was a luxury he unlearned to survive. His whole life’s been about closing doors, keeping people at a distance. It’s safer that way — for him and for you.

So when Simon falls in love, it’s not with fireworks. It is when trust slowly built, and walls gradually lowered. You don’t get the whole of him at once. You get pieces — offered carefully, like a man laying out weapons for you to inspect, one by one.

Simon’s voice is dry, low, and deliberate. And when he does speak, his words land with weight, and you feel them.

He teases you with this dry, sardonic edge — a little smirk under the mask, you just know it.

“You get lost on the way to the couch, love? Or just fancy starin’ at me all night?”

He’s Simon to you. Not just the mask. Not just the Ghost. The man underneath — bruised, loyal, and trying his damn hardest to be worthy of the one person he let in.

“I’m not perfect. Not even close. But I’m yours, love. All the broken bits too.”

He doesn’t let you see the weight often. But it’s there. One night, after a mission, you find him sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, mask half off, rubbing at his temples. Asking him if there is something wrong.

“You ever look at someone through a scope… and wonder if they had someone waitin’ at home too?”

You sit beside him, and he doesn’t move for a while. Did not answer him, He just looked at you, Blankly, But his blue eyes peircing something valuable.

And when he is too in love with you “You make it bearable. The noise. The shit I carry. Just… don’t leave, yeah?”

He would not mind with fancy restaurants or clubs, But he is Actually not a fan of crowded places or too many eyes.

Late-night drives where he lets you pick the music or talk with him while he silently watches the road, hand resting on your thigh.

A walk through quiet streets, The firing range, where he gently adjusts your grip and grins (just barely) when you outshoot him.

Sometimes, he’ll cook — badly. Eggs that are half-burned, toast too dry. You’ll tease him and he’ll grumble,

“Oi, I can clear a room in thirty seconds, I’m not meant to be Gordon bloody Ramsay.” (is gordon ramsey in cod timelines?) But he tries. Because you’re worth the effort.

He is a bit handsy in public, Palm on your lower back when you pass. Forehead kisses when he arrived you to your place, Holding you to his chest like a shield — like he can keep every bad thing in the world out if he just pulls you close enough.

He’s not possessive, but he is protective. he knows where you are without looking. If someone gets too close? He steps between — calm, wordless, but lethal underneath.

And when he’s feeling safe? You might catch him with his mask off, half-asleep on the couch, head on your lap. No words — just peace.

𝘿𝙀𝙇𝙏𝘼 𝙁𝙊𝙍𝘾𝙀

SANDMAN

Sandman has this kind of gravity that draws you in — not because he demands attention, but because he commands it. With just a look. A word. The stillness in how he carries himself.

Dating Sandman isn’t fast. It builds like something meant to last And that’s exactly how he treats it: like something worth building right.

He doesn't come at you with charm or sweet talk. At first, you might even wonder if he's into you at all.

He is steady and slow to open up, but when he does, it's ironclad.

He believes in commitment, loyalty, and showing up — not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard. He’s not the guy who runs when things get messy.

He respects independence — maybe because he's had to survive on his own for so long. But when he’s with you, it’s like a home he doesn’t have to protect.

He would try extravagant restaurants. A tucked-away bar with dim lighting and old jazz on the speakers — not because he’s a jazz guy, but because it gives you room to talk without yelling.

A drive out into the hills, engine quieting under a starry sky, where the silence isn’t awkward. “C’mon. Let’s go for a ride.”

His way of speaking is sharp, dry, and always with a little edge of sarcasm. He’s not verbose, but what he says lands hard. His tone's low and steady.

He locks in, Into talking with you, with listening to you.

“Look at you, fancy. Wearing shoes without holes today, big promotion?”

He likes when you’re sarcastic back. He doesn’t want coddling. He wants someone sharp — not because he can’t handle softness, but because he needs someone who understands how much he’s seen without needing it explained.

He doesn’t talk about the war. Not unless he really trusts you. And even then, it’s brief.

He's not emotionally blocked. He's just emotionally disciplined. Years of compartmentalizing for survival. But he’ll be there when you need him. No hesitation. You call, he shows up. No questions, no complaints.

He doesn’t yell. Ever. If you’re arguing, he just gets quiet. Steely. Controlled.

“You done?”

Not passive-aggressive just intentional. He doesn’t waste words on emotional flailing. But he’ll listen if you're honest. He respects clarity, not drama.

He does not mind affection in public, Hand holder or just sitting together — Brushing your hair out of your face when you talk or just looking, Without even thinking hand behind your back while walking.

He’s not big on PDA, he’ll quietly step close. His hand finds your hip, pulling you subtly into his space, and he kisses you — not long, but firm.

Right before he leaves for a dangerous op, he won’t make a speech. He just steps close, tilts your chin up, and kisses you like he’s trying to burn the feeling into memory. His other hand settles at the small of your back, pressing you against him. The kiss lingers — not rushed, but not leisurely either — just enough to leave you breathless.

When he pulls away, his forehead rests on yours. “I’ll be back. Don’t doubt it.”

At home, He’s warm. Physical, but not in a performative way. His touch is protective — hands around your waist when you're cooking, or pulling you close to him on the couch while watching some old film, He always prefer this time when you just rest your head on his chest.

𝙐𝙎 𝘼𝙍𝙈𝙔 𝙍𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙎

CPL. DUNN

Dating Dunn means you'll laugh even on your worst days. He’s the guy who’ll crack a joke mid-argument just to break the tension — not because he’s not taking it seriously, but because he hates when things feel heavy and unresolved.

"Look, if you wanted someone normal, you probably shouldn’t have gone for the guy who once gave CPR while yelling about how he’s not licensed for this crap."

He’s a soldier, sure — but drop him in a weird social setting, or ask him to explain how he feels, and he short-circuits a little. Not in a dangerous way — more like a guy who doesn’t know how to not be on edge, even when the moment doesn’t call for it.

He’ll joke when you’re upset, but not to dismiss you. He’s trying to pull you back to ground level. And when joking doesn’t work, he drops the act. Holds your face in his hands. Looks you right in the eye. He might fumble for the right words, but he’s there.

Dunn has that East Coast or maybe Midwest American inflection — not country, but definitely American. Cusses a little too often. Talks fast when he’s emotional. Will absolutely make some smartass remark even in heartfelt moments — it’s just how he processes.

“I love you. I mean it. I’m not just sayin’ that ‘cause I got shot at today… though I did. A lot. Like, a lot a lot. But still dude. You matter.”

He’s got no taste for fancy wine or clubs. But a dimly lit dive bar where the jukebox still works and the fries are greasy? That’s Dunn’s sanctuary. He’ll try to teach you pool, fail miserably, then blame it on the "shitty chalk."

“Nah, I let you win. For morale purposes.”

To dunn, Burger Town is a prime date spot. The same one from his deployment days — just without the Russians shelling it this time.

He orders for both of you without asking because “trust me, I know the menu like the back of my hand.” Then he points at the laminated tray paper and starts giving mock “battle briefings” about which burger is superior.

Half the date is him making ridiculous analogies about fast food and firefights. The other half is him leaning back in the booth, one arm along the seat, listening while you talk about your day.

When your fries show up, he ahem and steals exactly two. Always two. “Just testing Yknow.”

He’s protective. Not possessive. He worries when you’re out late, texts dumb stuff like "yo you alive?"

If you’re sick, he’s surprisingly gentle. Knows how to check vitals, dress wounds, keep you hydrated. That medic training didn’t leave him — and when it’s someone he loves? He’s relentless.

“Hey, c’mon. Sit up. Drink this. I am not lettin’ you go down from a damn flu.”

He doesn't always tell you when something's wrong. Sometimes he hides it under jokes. Other times he pulls away, thinking he’s "doing you a favor."

If Dunn isn’t working or out with you, he’s at home in a T-shirt and worn sweatpants, watching TV and providing “commentary” on whatever’s on — from sports to cooking shows. He’ll insist you sit next to him.

He’s a smirker when it comes to kissing. Sometimes it’s playful — like you’ll be mid-argument, and he’ll lean forward with a “yeah, okay” and just kiss you until you forget what you were even saying.

Other times, it’s slower. When the night’s winding down and the noise is gone, he’ll pull you closer, let his forehead rest against yours for a second like he’s grounding himself, and then kiss you like he’s letting go of every bad thing he’s ever seen.

He’s big on hand placement — thumb at your jaw, fingers at the back of your neck, or one arm around your waist pulling you against him. And after? He always mutters something dumb just to keep from looking too serious.

JAMES RAMIREZ

He’s got that soldier’s presence — upright posture, sharp eyes, that mix of readiness and ease like he’s always scanning the room but never looking tense about it.

With you, he’s not trying to play the part of a hero or the untouchable tough guy. He’s confident, yes, but not in a way that steamrolls over people. And when it comes to you, he’s careful — not cautious like he’s afraid, but deliberate like he knows exactly what you mean to him.

Loves challenging you, at racing to the car, at who can guess the other’s order at a restaurant. When you win, he smiles like he planned it. When he wins, you hear about it for days.

James talks like he means every word. Straightforward. No filler. His humor’s quick and a little biting, but never cruel. When he teases you, it’s warm, like he’s letting you in on something.

“That’s my girl, knew you’d keep up.”

Date spots..Burger town.

It’s not a joke with him — he genuinely loves it. There’s a comfort in a greasy paper bag and a corner booth, just the two of you laughing while the smell of fries hangs in the air.

He doesn’t hesitate. When James wants to kiss you, he does — steady, sure, like he’s claiming the moment. Sometimes he’ll cup your jaw and tilt your chin up; other times he’ll just grab you by the waist and pull you in.

He kisses like he talks — direct, no wasted time — but there’s always that gentleness underneath. His lips linger just long enough that you feel it even after he pulls away.

And he’s got this habit of kissing you mid-laughter. Something about catching you off-guard, lips brushing yours before you can finish your sentence, makes him grin shyly.

Ramirez isn’t afraid of PDA. If you’re walking together, his arm’s around your shoulders without hesitation. At crosswalks, he’ll rest a hand at the small of your back, not just to guide you but because he likes keeping you close. In the middle of a conversation, he might lean in and press a quick kiss to your temple or your cheek — nothing showy, just enough to make you feel claimed and cared for.

When you’re together, there’s a rhythm to his affection. He’ll crack jokes, tease you, talk about the dumb things he and the guys got into during training.

At home, James loosens up. He’ll sneak up behind you, hands at your hips, lips brushing your neck. He’ll spin you around mid-task, kiss you like he’s got nowhere else to be.

“Didn’t think I’d get this. Not after everything. But… yeah. I’m glad it’s you.”

[therhythmofeternity]

I just watched dead poets society for the first time and im in TEARS i went in blindly and now im blinded by tears

[therhythmofeternity]

Taser, Taser, Taser!!!

Rookie!COD men and getting tased for training.

Ghosts, 141, bonus!Konig & Horangi (did not proof read this im sorry)

Ghosts

Elias Walker: Grunts heavily and tenses mainly his forearms, but aside from that handles it pretty well, didn't need to be lowered to the mat and was pretty chill afterwards.

Gabriel T. Rorke: Goes for the pepper spray instead of the taser, spends a solid minute huffing and puffing in the field as he tries to bear the fact his eyelids are burning and there's too much yelling around him, Elias laughs at his extra few days of suffering and he's pissed.

Thomas A. Merrick: "MOTHERFUCKER" Very loudly as the pins latch on and send the initial shocks, spasms the whole time he's lowered onto the mat—lets out the biggest sigh when it stops.

Ajax: Yells LOUD then completely freezes as he gets lowered onto the mat like a popsicle by his laughing teammates.

Keegan P. Russ: Doesn't make a sound, just goes stiff as a board while his face scrunches up and stays stood. Once the five seconds are over goes a little limp, mutters a "Fuck, that sucked"

Kick: Did not make any noise, just tensed up like hell and involuntarily threw his head back so quick he got cramps after.

David "Hesh" Walker: A loud throaty yelp, had to be lowered on the mat cause he leaned forward the moment the pins latched on and proceeded to Michael Jackson dip down.

Logan Walker: Got paralysed so bad he couldn't even move his face, muscles, or vocal chords, so his face remained the same while he went down like a statue. Cue teammates and instructors asking him if he's dead while he's on the mat recovering.

141

John Price: Heavy grunt, didn't get lowered on the mat and took it like a champ. Calves cramped for weeks afterwards.

Simon "Ghost" Riley: Whole body tensed, and his fingers twitched and spasmed, the only sound that came out was a sharp exhale like he got punched in the gut.

Gary "Roach" Sanderson: Pained grunts and groans , got lowered on the mat and ended up splayed there for a good minute like a crime scene body outline.

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish: Literally yowled, then groaned so loudly on the way down people thought he was gonna start vomiting. After getting his bearings, jumped up and swiped his forehead "I'd say i did pretty grand" with a small nod.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick: Sharp exhale, followed by a slurred curse, and his boots repeatedly grazing the ground as his legs spasmed while being lowered onto the mat. When it was over, sat up on the mat and silently contemplated his choices, brows tightly furrowed.

Bonus, KorTac duo

Konig: Let out a small yelp, teammates tried to guide him down, except he was too heavy so they nearly went down with him, so he falls with an unceremonious 'BLAP' sound while stiff as a board.

Horangi: Tried really hard to be quiet, ended up sounding like he was crying with the way his breathing pattern went the way it does when you're sobbing. Preferred to stay still on the mat in hopes of disappearing.

[therhythmofeternity]

Keegan Russ x GN!Reader

You’re tired, you can feel it deep in your bones, it feels like molasses stuck seeping in your muscles, weighing every step on concrete, and making everything feel greyer. But there’s a mission and a job to be done so you’re hauling yourself to get ready.

Pulling gear on, fastening straps and buckles, a robotic sequence you’ve gone through more times than you can count.

And finally the mask, you swipe it off the table, pulling it over your head and fixing it to your features, a soft sigh escaping you before moving on.

So you’re in the empty brief room, earlier than everyone and waiting, leg drumming and jaw setting, you shift your posture letting a breath out when Keegan practically bull dozes through the door—hinges thrown wide, you jump a little from the sudden entrance, gaze locking onto him.

His eyes are ever so slightly frenzied, scanning, hair mussed, and head turning every possible direction.

You blink, slowly, bleary from the lack of sleep muddled with curiosity.

“Have you seen my—“ he looks at you, eyes locking onto you, well, the mask on you.

“Think you have something of mine, sweetheart” he says pointedly, not accusing, not mad, just a slight breath of relief and amusement on his lips.

“My bad” you sigh.

Sorry this is short and basically giving nothing, just wanted to get something written and out to hopefully combat the writers block 😔

[therhythmofeternity]

guys one day i'll overcome my writers block, promise (how do u overcome it)

[therhythmofeternity]

me and em dash for life

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

[therhythmofeternity]

My dog is sleeping behind me, and the constant urge to look back at him constantly grips at me, even though i know he's there, and that he's safe. How could anyone ever fault Orpheus for looking back just to see Eurydice?

[therhythmofeternity]

I would like to formally apologise for my inactivity as a writer

(Pls still read my upcoming fics)

(Shaking in my boots)

[therhythmofeternity]

my dream as a fanfic writer is for one day, one of my fics to be someones comfort fic. like the fic that they reread when they don't feel good and want to be happy. i want my words to comfort someone one day

[therhythmofeternity]

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

IT MAY TAKE ME A MONTH TO PUT OUT A CHAPTER BUT AT LEAST IM NOT USING AI TO WRITE IT

[therhythmofeternity]

I love putting traumatised men in domestic situations

[therhythmofeternity]

Remember

Call of Duty: Ghosts always felt... off. Not just in the graphics, the textures, or whatever technical flaw caught your eyes—it was deeper than that. It was in the way the game was put together, the way scenes unfolded without care, like the developers were just going through the motions.

Take that infamous kick scene. The driving sequence. The way he wasn’t even there when he clearly should have been. And then there’s Hesh—his own father, Elias wearing the ghost mask, speaks to him in his natural voice, says, "That is really admirable of you," and yet Hesh doesn’t recognize him until he takes off the mask. Really? That’s how that moment plays out?

And then there’s Rorke. Somehow, impossibly, he appears out of nowhere, defying all logic and any sense of realism. Sure, you can bring a character back from the dead, but not like that. Not in a way that feels rushed, forced, as if the writers just needed him there and didn’t care how it happened.

That’s what Ghosts was—a game that could have been great but felt like it was thrown together in a hurry. A story that had moments of potential but was buried under careless execution. And you can’t tell me otherwise.

For me, I never really went deep into Call of Duty: Ghosts looking for hidden secrets—things like mask paintings or small details—because honestly, it felt like they were just thrown in for fun, without much care. It never seemed like the devs put real meaning behind them.

But even with all its flaws, Ghosts will always be the best Call of Duty story game in my eyes. There’s just something about it—it carved out a place in my heart, and no other COD has really done that since. I can only hope it makes a return in 2027, but at the same time... I’m scared.

Scared that Activision will ruin the beauty of it. That they’ll strip away what made the characters special. Or worse—just erase them completely, the same way they did with Roach, the Army Rangers (ramirez, foley and dunn), and Delta Force (sandman, frost, truck and grinch). What, were they too cool for you, Activision?

Whatever. No matter what happens, Ghosts will always stand out to me.

[therhythmofeternity]

Grey

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader Late night smoking

WORDCOUNT: 697

WARNINGS: smoking

A/N: a short very unpolished piece because i can't sleep and the sun is up. Also smoking is bad for you, don't do it! Not a lot happening in this fic just slightly intimate vibes

It was late, one of those nights where you tossed and turned in bed with no luck of sleep gracing you with it's dreamless black. At some point you decided to crane your neck to look at your bedside table, the digital clock on it reading 02:37.

You were done upon seeing the time, deciding you had better things to do than waste away on your bed all night. So that's how you found yourself in the kitchen, gulping down a glass of water—eyebrows knitted together in frustration.

You stood there for a moment, having placed the glass on the counter, before your rumination was interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Can't sleep?"

You turn towards the sound, "Simon."

He was leaning on the doorway, clad in a hoodie and some sweatpants; his signature balaclava on.

"Looking like shit, love" he chuckles, or at least that's what it sounds like to you.

"Thank you, just what I wanted to hear" you deadpan,

He says nothing in response, only walking up to you and leaning down examining your face,

Tall bastard this man is, towering anything around him.

You only stare back much too tired to really do anything, he eventually leans back pulling something out of his pocket waving it lazily—your eyes trail towards it, a pack of smokes.

A wordless invitation, one you had gotten used to as routine.

Managing to always find each other under the black of night, engaging in a routine that had formed under some strange tired circumstances. A pack, a knowing gaze, a huff, and a walk to the rooftop.

The warmth radiating from him was always welcoming, contrasting the cool breeze that would bite right through your skin.

It would always start out quiet, but eventually after a few puffs the conversations would start. The first few times there'd be little to no words spoken, and then casual conversation entered the scene, usually about mundane things.

And then at some point, after a good while of the routine it'd lead to more vulnerable conversations; maybe it was the time of night, or the shared sleeplessness but it led you both to open up little by little.

Sometimes neither of you had to even talk, just the company was enough to soothe both your souls.

Walls crumbled and eroded by whatever divine hand willed it to fall.

And Simon didn't speak much, at least when he didn't need to—specially not when he knew that you understood him perfectly fine, no words needed.

And so you stand comfortably beside each other, leaning on the railings and staring into the distant city skyline, no other sound but leaves rustling in the wind and soft breaths.

"Y'shouldn't be smoking" he says, giving you a sidelong glance as you breathe the grey wisps out into the air.

"Could say the same for you" you tilt your head to him, cradling your face in your hand, the other offering the cigarette back to him

He simply scoffs, plucking it from your fingers and bringing it to his lips in one smooth motion, balaclava scrunched up to his nose

"I'm talkin' about you" he huffs, voice a low rough sound—smoke blowing through his lips as he spoke. The scent hit your nose–familiar and unpleasant, you thought.

You watch his lips wordlessly before looking away and taking the cigarette back, taking a drag. It burns the back of your throat and makes the alveoli in your lungs screech, but it always gave your mind some form of quiet.

You can’t say you liked smoking or really anything about it, it was more just a portal to the companionship of the man beside you.

"Only smoke when you do" you admit casually, voice soft and carried by the breeze

He takes a glance at you, his eyes unreadable in the low light

"And if I quit?"

"Then I'll do the same" you shrug, slotting the stick back into his fingers

"You're ridiculous" he scoffs, dropping the cigarette and crushing it with his boot.

You watch silently, a small curl to your lips

"Yeah?"

He leans forward ever so slightly.

"Yeah."

[therhythmofeternity]

Important PSA

I normally don't do call-out posts, but after everything that went and what I've been told/shown, I can't stay silent about this, especially after it has badly effected close friends of mine.

TRIGGER WARNING UNDER THE CUT: Threats of suicide, self-harm, doxxing and harassment. Please proceed with caution when engaging with this post.

As of this month, this individual has been the subject of drama and unprompted harassment in the Ghosts fandom as well as in both servers (one of which I'm the moderator), as well as on here due to them harassing and acting aggressive on here to those who attempted to reach out to them.

*Urls blacked out for privacy reasons*

They've attempted to get back into the server despite leaving, and if you're here in there, do not understand any circumstance send them a link. This is for safety reasons

•Them sending anonymous hate in response to being blocked

Huge trigger warning for the images down below, as they contain a photo of their self-harm they themselves posted in the server as well as doxxing someone they've had issues with

*Openly bragging about someone who deactivated due to the constant harassment and doxxing*

I have been made aware of his behavior in the other server, where he harassed and insulted a minor over their art, as well as breaking the rules over SFW/NSFW content

Him also openly admitting to being transphobic on his alt account.

Due to the image limit on posts, I will be reblogging additional screenshots through there, and possibly a lot if anything else comes out.

Please block and report this person, and do not engage or talk to them under any circumstance. Please stay safe out there!

[therhythmofeternity]

Welcome!

INTRO

Rea, 19˚⁎⁺˳✧༚ she/her

Hello! Here’s my official introduction and navigation area.

I like to write mostly for CoD, mainly F/GN!Reader and for Sgt. Keegan Russ, my requests are open if you’re ever interested in that! I'm also a big fan of Sleep Token so there's gonna be a lot of fics just based on their songs/lyrics.

I am also just getting back into writing (haven’t in years) so this is mostly practice for me :)

NAVIGATION

KEEGAN P. RUSS

ʅ The Scent of the Past: light angst, ‘what could’ve been’, unspoken feelings.

ʅ Mask: drabble, didn’t realise that was yours whoops, Keegan’s sweet about it, super short fic

—

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

ʅ Grey: softer Ghost, unspoken connection, late nights, shared cigarette, comfort

—

COD MEN HCS

ʅ Taser, Taser, Taser!!!: Ghosts, 141, König & Horangi reactions to getting tasered for training, crack

REQUEST GUIDELINES

Mainly for Ghosts and TF141

ʅ I don’t mind NSFW, but please know I have no experience in writing it

ʅ I’m open to most things but extremely heavy themes, my limits are body horror and any topics past that is a no.

ʅ I love writing AU’s so don’t be afraid of asking for that!

ʅ I don’t write big age gaps, alpha/omega, etc.

ʅ I really only write character x reader, not character x character

ʅ Send as many as you like, just be kind and respectful.

ʅ Be as specific as you like or just drop an idea HOW ʅ Asks/submissions

[therhythmofeternity]

Both at the same time

There are two types of writers:

1. 'It's fiction, it doesn't need to make sense!'

2. 'I didn't account for the rotation of the planet and how that affects the constalations while my characters stargazed at different times of year, I have failed as a writer, and this entire thing is trash'

[therhythmofeternity]

Hell yea

Can you dance?

Dare I say yes?