endyourpartofthestory - Tumblr blog

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I crave soft Ghoap...

Give me Ghost constantly avoiding sexual intimacy with Soap because he's still working through that trauma from Roba.

Give me Ghost breaking down, feeling like he's a horrible boyfriend because he can't even be intimate with his boyfriend.

Give me Soap finding him in the midst of the breakdown and helping him through it.

Give me Ghost Simon opening up to Soap Johnny

Give me Johnny telling him that he'll wait until Simon is ready.

Give me their first time.

Give me Johnny comforting Simon and reassuring him the whole time.

Give me soft and tender Ghoap sex.

Give me Johnny helping Simon work through his trauma the best he can.

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beauty standards are so fucked up what happened to i love your body because it's you. what then.

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IN THIS HOUSE WE STAN KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK!!!!

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not even the guillotine could stop the head that I'd give him

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You can't tell me this isn't Captain Price

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you can love a character and still admit when they’re wrong…. i love Captain Price but can acknowledge his flaws (he has none) and can hold his accountable for his wrongdoings (he’s never done anything wrong in his life) and call him out for his actions (which are always correct)

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Wife missing hours nobody look at me

I miss my wife

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Ghost is, above everything else, a germaphobe. People could call him anything else and there’s a chance he’ll disagree with them just out of spite.

Which is why it’s so fucking strange that Ghost has little to no reaction when Soap picks off his plate or deposits something he doesn’t want. Gaz watches it with the highest grade of confusion.

Soap has been a part of the team for three months, and he’s got more brownie points than him. Gaz has known Ghost for years. The man doesn’t share, he throws the biggest bitch fits over blood and other sorts of stuff after the danger has passed. He thinks sharing food is gross, will never take food or water from a teammate, always calls dibs on first shower at safe houses.

Gaz narrows his eyes. “What’s tha’?” Soap peeks over to Ghost’s bottle.

“Lemonade,” Ghost responds dryly. He tilts the bottle, a reusable one he refuses to let anybody else touch, and Soap dips down and drinks from the straw. “Good?”

Gaz is going to have an aneurism.

“Mm,” Soap hums, dipping down for another sip before shaking his head, “Too sweet.”

Ghost shrugs and sticks the straw back into his mouth, idly chewing on it.

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Soap makes a face as he bites into his cheeseburger. He flips open the bun and narrows his eyes. “There’s fuckin’ pickles in here.”

“What? Thats fuckin’ unfair. I didn’t get any pickles,” Ghost gripes, also examining the inside of his burger. “Did we switch on accident? Did ya get onions?”

“Yeah,” Soap says, “Did you?”

“Mm-mm,” Ghost shakes his head, “Give me your pickles.” Soap plucks the pickles from his burger and deposits them into Ghost’s.

Gaz and Price share a look of concern and confusion. Gaz thinks he’s hallucinating, probably.

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Gaz, unsuccessfully tries to snatch a mandarin from Ghost’s yogurt bowl. “I will gut you,” Ghost drawls lowly, squeezing his wrist for a few seconds before dropping it. Gaz eyes the delicious mixture of granola, yogurt, mandarins, and strawberries with sorrow.

So, Ghost is still against sharing.

Soap pops in a few minutes later, coffee in hand. “Oooh,” he coos, sitting right up against Ghost. Ghost sends him a hot glare. “What’s that?”

“Yogurt.”

“Can I have a strawberry?”

Gaz expects Ghost to tell him to fuck off in one of his creative ‘Im coming on your bed tonight’ or ‘I’m gonna murder you’ monologues. None comes, though. Ghost simply pokes around in his bowl for a few moments before offering a spoonful of yogurt. Soap takes it, putting his whole ass mouth on the spoon and licking it clean with a happy noise. Ghost just scrapes some more on his spoon and puts the same. fucking. spoon. in his mouth.

“Thank ye,” Soap sings, scooting away and pulling out his sketchbook.

“Kill yourself,” Ghost mumbles, “Takin’ my damn food.”

Still an asshole.

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Gaz and Soap are watching the MCU movies for the hundredth time. Soap is halfway through his pint of dark chocolate ice cream, and Gaz is mourning the fact that he finished his popcorn.

Hulk screams at Tony Stark’s kind of corpse when Ghost walks in. Ghost makes his way to the fridge, pokes around, and then grumbles to himself. Gaz ignores him for the most part until he hears an indignant noise from Soap. He looks over and Ghost is sitting half on the arm of the couch and half on Soap, mask rolled up to his nose and using Soap’s fork to dig into the ice cream.

Gaz watches with mild horror and mostly confusion as they continue to share the pint of ice cream until theres nothing left.

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The worst part, Gaz thinks, is how his heart nearly gives out every time it happens.

Ghost is particular about things. One of the things he’s particular about is his tea. He likes it a certain way, at a certain temperature, and at a certain time. He has a certain brand, a specific blend, measures the grams of tea like a psychopath before and after he makes his mug.

Gaz almost passes out when a half awake Ghost stumbles into the rec room and Soap is hot on his heels. Ghost is not a morning person, he’s more like a rabid creature in need of a rabies vaccine. Gaz learnt early on that Ghost should not be interacted with in the thirty minutes of him rising from his slumber.

Ghost sits at the table, staring off into nothing. Soap busies himself at the counter. Gaz wants to say something when Soap drizzles honey into a mug of tea. He wants to live, more though, and he doesn’t want to irritate Ghost so early in the morning by being too loud (or by existing, really, Ghost sort of hates anything that breathes in the morning time).

Ghost looks at Soap as he moves over to the table. To Gaz’s complete and utter shock, Soap sips from the fucking mug before setting it in front of Ghost. Ghost just curls around the mug like a reptile starved of heat and sips at it slowly, a content hum leaving his lips.

Soap places a hand between Ghost’s shoulder blades and rubs there for a few moments. Gaz watches Ghost slump further into the table, eyes fluttering shut. Soap says something Gaz can’t hear and Ghost gives a tiny nod of his head.

Gaz has to sit down.

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Gaz has enough a few months later.

It’s hot. It’s hotter than it fucking should be in the UK.

Soap is happily chewing on an ice pop, pressing the cool ice to his forehead on occasion. Gaz had finished his a while ago and was mourning the loss of the cool weight in his palms.

Ghost appears out of thin fucking air and dips over to the ice pop, licking between Soap’s fingers at the bottom to catch some juice before taking a small bite out of the top. “Ugh, ew,” He says. Gaz is expecting him to comment on the spit, the germs, how he finds it disgusting, “Is that fucking watermelon?”

“I like watermelon,” Soap mumbles defensively. “It’s good.”

“Eugh,” Ghost says, making another mildly disgusted noise.

“What the actual fuck.” Gaz mutters.

“What?” Soap and Ghost ask at the same time.

“Whaddaya mean what?” Gaz gestures. “Ghost just got your spit all in his mouth. Ghost, I hate other people’s germs just sucked on your popsicle, Soap. And you share forks, spoons, straws, sometimes plates. To be honest I am completely and utterly confused and mildly concerned somebody hit their head.”

Ghost takes another bite from the ice pop, despite expressing his disgust over the flavor a few moments earlier. “Oh,” He says casually, “It’s not weird if it’s him. It would be kind of weird if I was grossed out by my own husband’s spit. We’ve done dirtier shit.”

Gaz just stares.

“Gaz? You awrite, mate?”

“I think I hit my head.”

Kyle needs a fuckin’ nap.

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it's just me and my gay fanfics against the world

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Ghost who has a medusa tattoo that covers most of his upper thigh and hip and Soap who can’t help but feel a little bit of rage anytime he sees it pop up.

a drabble from me thinking about ghosts backstory my poor little government sanctioned killer

anyway content warning for ghosts backstory mention

Ghost only sleeps without a shirt and in shorts when it’s sweltering hot. He’s never fully uncovered. Soap’s fine with that, he doesn’t care at all.

But it’s hot days like this where he’s lounging in bed in his boxers and he’s watching Simon get ready in the bathroom that he can’t help but feel a little angry. Thin snakes poke out from the band of his shorts. Over his hip, curling around and looking at John with hot glares he didn’t realize somebody could make snakes have. Hiding in the soft skin behind Simon’s knee.

The snakes look angry and protective in the way they stretch out and curl around Simon. John’s never seen the full thing. He isn’t sure he wants to. He feels angry just seeing the small amount of the tattoo.

“I can feel you looking at me,” Simon says. John looks up from the back of Simon’s knee and meets his eyes in the mirror. Simon’s rubbing what he thinks is moisturizer into his jaw still. Simon turns and looks at John over his shoulder.

“I love you,” John sighs, “so much.”

Simon slightly raises both of his eyebrows. “I love you, too.” He turns back to the sink and washes his hands. John doesn’t miss the way Simon doesn’t look into the mirror. John’s eyes drop back down to the snake glaring at him from Simon’s hipbone. He wonders if he’ll turn to stone.

Simon smacks all of the lights off, crawling into bed with only the soft light of the lamp that stays on forever. He curls up on the edge and John can’t fight the smile as he raises his arm and Simon scoots back until they’re flush against each other.

John can’t help the way he gently brushes his hand over Simon’s hip, down over the shorts and back up. He sighs heavily. Simon tangles the fingers of John’s other hand and his hand together. “Why’re you breathing like that? It’s not thinking time it’s sleeping time. Go to sleep.”

John hums softly. He brushes his lips against Simon’s neck, kissing a freckle he knows is there. The silence settles again, but John doesn’t stop thinking. He doesn’t stop thinking about how Simon deserved sweetness. He didn’t deserve half the things that happened to him, and they happened anyway. What kind of world do they live in if good people are crushed into a box that makes them hurt? If Simon was a little weaker would he have been poisoned by the word of his father? Would Roba have broken him down into a brainwashed soldier.

“Sleeping,” Simon says again, “Not thinking.”

“Sorry, hen,” John whispers. He rubs his thumb along Simon’s hip and thigh again and he huffs out another sigh to quell the bubbling irritation.

Simon kicks off the blanket and rolls onto his other side. “What could have possibly crawled up your ass in the ten minutes it took for me to get ready for bed?” He glares mildly at John.

Simon looks mildly irritated and a little concerned. John loves the way his hair flops across his forehead. “You deserved better things.” When Simon had flipped over he had let go of his hand, but had also placed his hip near it. John runs his thumb over the tattoo. Simon’s face softens out into mildly exasperated and fond. “I get so angry when I think about everything everybody’s done to ye. I jus’… I wanna take it all away. I want you to have better memories.”

Simon has mentioned before that his good memories are far and few in between. Most are neural or not really bad or bad. And then some are worse.

“Johnny,” Simon says gently, “You’re sweet, but you’re gonna kill yourself with the amount of brain power it would take to mentally smite every person that has ever wronged me. I’m okay now. I’m happy now.” Simon traces shapes on John’s stomach. “That’s what matters.”

“I want you to be happy all the time.”

Simon smiles softly at that. He chuckles, too, which actually offends John a little bit. “You’re a sap, MacTavish,” Simon sits up on his elbow and drops a kiss between his eyebrows. “Think of it like this: If there was only one season, would we be able to appreciate the warmth of summer after the cold winter? Would we be able to appreciate the flowers blooming in spring after everything died the past autumn?” Simon settles back into his pillow. His fingers still trail gently along the lines of John’s muscles, even if they had paused when Simon had laughed at him. “We wouldnt. Because it would always be sunny and flowery and it would be the same all the time and we wouldn’t realize how beautiful the flowers are or how nice it is to not be frozen to the bone while waiting for some prick to come to a window so we can snipe him.”

John does see his point. He also thinks that the whole entire thing would have been a lot more cheesy and corny if Simon hadn’t thrown in the literal murder plot. He feels like he just watched a TV show from when he was a kid and realized the dark, disturbing meaning. “That was really cute and then it got kind of cheesy and then it got dark.”

Simon pinches his side. “Shut up. Do you get the moral of the fuckin’ story?”

John sighs. “You can’t appreciate being happy without being sad.” It’s corny and he hates it but Simon’s right so he hates it more.

Simon nods minutely. Then, he does the whole five yards of nonsense he does that includes using way more force than necessary to cover them both back up with the blanket he kicked off in a fit irritation and also manhandling John’s arms to hold him. “In my case it’s more appreciating not being traumatized every five business days, but, you know, the lesson differs from person to person.”

John can’t help the ugly snorting sound he makes. Simon squeezes their hands together, shuffling in his spot to get more comfortable. “That’s not funny.”

“You laughed.” John thinks Simon sounds a little smug. “Now sleep.”

John hides his face in between Simon’s shoulder blades so the nightlight lamp whatever the fuck it is in the corner doesn’t bother him all night and does exactly that.

Because Simon’s right, in the end, he’s happy now and frequently argues that he’s happier because of what he experienced. That because his dad was a complete prick and his captain sold him out and all of that other shit he’s able to appreciate the things he has now more because he knows what it’s like to not have them. 

And, yeah, John’s heart sometimes shatters and rage spills into his chest when he thinks that there was a time that Simon wasn’t loved and cherished. But it’s okay because John can love and cherish and treat him well now to make up for when he wasn’t there. Some things John will never be able to fix, like that stupid lamp in the corner of the room that Simon refuses to turn off, but he can fix other things. He can fix Simon not knowing what it’s like to have nice surprises like chocolates on his pillow when he gets home or a hot meal when he finishes mowing the lawn or a warm towel after the shower that John had tossed into the dryer and pulled out seconds before.

Simon reaches back and smacks his side. “Sleeping,” John whispers against his spine, “Sleeping, Ah’m goin’ ta sleep.”

Simon grumbles out something that sounds like, loud ass brain.

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brother’s best friend trope except ur simon’s sister and you both grew up with johnny!! pt. 1 for some context <3

you remember the day the mactavish family moved in down the cul-de-sac, a loud and proud scottish family— a mother, three daughters and two sons. all were older you, which meant you seldom had the opportunity to actually talk to them :(

well, not that you could at first. you still giggle when you remember how michelle and johnny mactavish turned up outside your door, askin’ if you and simon had lost a football. "maw found a fitba in oor front gairden and was curious if it belongs tae youse?" squeaks michelle, all toothy and sweet with her fiery red hair. you and simon exchanged a look, almost like ??? was that english??

regardless, it didn’t take long for simon to become close to johnny, both at the cusp of boyhood and enjoying the exploration of manchester’s back alleys and abandoned train tracks. it was hard living at home, how horrible your dad and older brother was towards you and simon. so, he starts to bring you along on their little expeditions, to protect you.

you’ve always been a shy little thing, and johnny takes every chance he can to make you squirm and blush. “och! look at this chonky wurm!” he chortles out, dangling a slimey worm to your face. simon stifles a laugh as he watches his best mate chase his baby sister around, a potent concoction of boyish laughter and grossed out whining.

even when you’re in your teenage years, it doesn’t change the way johnny enjoys teasing you. "don't look behind ye, but ah hink that lad ye fancy is starin' at ye." he whispers lowly, nudging you gently as he motions to a haggard old man, picking his nose at the bus stop while you all wait for the bus home from school. “johnny!” you whine out, a smirk tugging to your lips as you playfully shove him. simon watches on, a quiet presence in the dynamic riley-mactavish trio.

and then something changes in the dynamic. simon and johnny both decide to apply for the military, and the rest of the mactavishes have either moved back to scotland or have moved elsewhere in england. and it breaks your heart being stuck at home, having to wait those couple of years until you could make the decision to fend for yourself. “i’m not leaving you. i.. need to do this for myself, yeah?” simon promises as he stands at the bus stop, pleading for you to understand that he’s not abandoning you— he could never abandon his baby sister like that.

but it hurts, it stings and you can’t help the onslaught of angry tears that stream down your cheeks as you watch him leave. he’s abandoned you. the last person to ever take care of you, and he’s gone and left you.

for years— no, almost a decade— you cut contact with simon. when the time comes, you haul ass and move up north to pursue a degree in the arts. you push those bittersweet memories of growing up with your big brother and his best friend, how much you all laughed until your bellies hurt, how they were both always there for you whenever you needed a break from your hard life at home.

those memories dissipate. that is, until, you receive a call from simon.

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i’ve have been scrolling for 2 days now trying to find a soap version and couldn’t find one

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In an effort to avoid supporting megacorporations, I shall now be posing questions directly to tumblr that I would otherwise have googled.

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haven’t seen one for gaz yet and i do NOT tolerate gaz erasure

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the au I didn't know I needed

Ok ok ok ok ok

I'm gonna try to act semi-normal and not ask for the HTTYD AU and instead ask for the Streamer AU or else I'll esplode

don’t be NORMAL in my ASKS *le gasp* how dare you! (/j).

I have, like, very little written, but since you’re asking for it, I’ll give you my favorite part from the WIP :D

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Ghost rubs his temples, five seconds from beating the shit out of either himself or his computer when his phone dings with the Twitch notification. He stares at it for maybe thirty seconds before caving and putting his headphones on. He connects them to his computer, logging into twitch and clicking on Soap’s stream.

“—and so, thats why I couldn’t have whipped cream until I moved out.”

Ghost drops a few question marks in the chat.

“Oh God, did you pop in just as I said the end of that story? Basically I filled my older brother’s room with whipped cream. Anyway. Hi, Ghost, my lovely loyal little lurker. Ghost’s my favorite mutual even if he’s bad at replying. Soap does an endearing little wave. “There’s a poll in chat, for everyone dropping in, on options for my next art. I cant decide.”

Soap explains them briefly. One is a sketch he needs to render, the next one is an assignment he needs to work on for a perspective class, and the last one is a chibi commission.

Ghosto7: not my fault im military and you somehow only message me when i’m deployed

Ghost votes for the chibi commission.

“Yer not allowed to be deployed, yer my fav mod next to my sister.” Soap raises his hand and looks seriously at the camera, “Slash J, obviously. Thank you for your service, Ghostie.”

Ghost types in Lurk! and leans back into his chair. Soap chatters on about his artwork softly. Ghost is always quite soothed by Soap’s mindless talking. He’d found Soap when he was still a fairly small streamer. Soap was incredibly active in his little community, chatty on discord, and :D’d his way into Ghost’s life vía back and forth DMs involving accurately portraying military gear and other random military related stuff for a short comic.

And then Ghost caved and continued texting him whenever he was free. He zones back in at the mention of his name, “Thanks to Ghost for all the reference pics he sends me.” Ghost watches the cursor on screen expertly sketch out an M4. He recognizes a cropped picture in the corner of a picture Ghost sent of his own guns when John had asked.

Ghosto7: my prized possessions are being used for entertainment

Soap reads it after a seconds and says, “Your reference photos are always so yummy.”

Ghosto7: is that why you bark at me

Soap shoots the camera a look. “Disclaimer to the other several thousand people hanging out, I said one message saying ‘woof’ when Ghost sent me a cute picture of him snuggling with an off duty dog. I was barking at the dog, not him.”

Ghosto7: chat, he’s lying, i sent him pics in my uniform and he said “aWOO i love me a man in uniform” and sent me a poorly edited yassified emoji.

Soap waves his hands, smiling wide, “No, you’re such a liar. He’s lying. I swear.”

Ghost opens his Imessages, scrolls up to a few weeks ago and screenshots. The exchange is Ghost’s picture, hips down, of him in his dress blues for a fancy event, and Soap’s ‘AWOO’ followed by heart eyes and then ‘love me a man in uniform’ followed by the smirking emoticon.

He sends the Image in discord.

Ghosto7: check discord

Soap side eyes the stream. The chat is exploding with keyboard smashing and LMAO’s filling it up.

“I… Dont know if im okay with this…” Soap clearly does something off screen and sighs deeply. “Okay… In my defense…” Soap dramatically slowly drags the image onto the screen over his drawing program. “Is saying awoo to a homie all that bad?”

The air horns from points start going off and somebody says via the voice to text “this is solidifying the rumors that you and ghost are dating stop howling at men” which makes Soap cover his face and groan loudly.

Ghosto7: Lurk!

Soap says, “You bastard.”

Ghosto7: yeah. the military does that to you.

Ghosto7: Lurk!

The chat settles down after a few more jokes and Ghost zones out to the sounds of Soap’s pen on his tablet and the conversation he keeps up with the chat.

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anyway. that’s my fav bit. i think it’s funny because from an outside perspective, soap being like “i don’t bark” and this dude in chat is like “why are you lying *reciepts* you’re barking at me all the time*