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[haakaan00502]

S̛̰̪̫̬̦̖̃ͮͩͣ̌͗͒ͨ̏̋͜͠Ṱ̷̸͇͈͓̺̖͔͎̂̋ͫ́ͤͬ̈́̓̓͆͠Ơ̴̡̧͉͈̗̯̘̝̣̺̫̰͔̄ͬ̌̊̆̋ͣ̑̾ͨ̓̓̋̾̈͟͝P̶̷̨̢̺̙͕̫̳̺͕̠̙͕̲̩̄̋́ͣͫ͋ͪͯ̈́̽̈ͪ̃ͧͮ̌ͪ͋̀ͧ͐͢͞ͅ

liking my stuff, every time I get a notification I feel guilty for abandoning this account

[haakaan00502]

Dodgy Intel, a terrible mission, and crucial changes in the extraction point left Ghost and Soap in a worn state. After finding a relatively safe space, but still miles away from comfort, they faced a solitary bed.

Of course sharing a bed is no problem, they aren’t the first case to huddle up for survival — they aren’t the first case either for other reasons. However, the bed itself was literally quite too small for two people. It barely fits one of them.

“You rest.” Ghost motions towards the bed.

“Aye, and what, leave you be?” Soap says, in a slightly offended tone. Soap looked at Ghost up and down once, he didn’t need to look twice to know how fatigued Ghost is from the recent mission. Of course, he too is tired, but to him Ghost would always be more.

More experienced in the battlefield, decisive, quick, calm and centered. More focused, refined, always an informed decision. A rumor between elites, but a real terrifying force to face against, and having rightfully earned every title he has ever received.

More than a coworker, a great person off field, kind and quite dashing. The man who works almost 8 days a week, dedicated but content. More than a friend, anything but what two of them would define as intimate, but always more than a friend.

So now, to Soap, Ghost is more tired.

“You rest.” Soap says.

Without much resistance, Ghost took the offer. As soap sat by a chair in the room, looking at Ghost who barely even managed to prop himself properly on the bed sleep soundly.

[haakaan00502]

Hello, this one has been rotting on my drafts and since its December it felt fitting. It’s still just a draft but I’ll finish it, someday.

Ghost’s Ten Steps to Survival.

…

Cold is a luxury during summer.

Moist windows replace the sun beams that would wake Ghost up in the mornings. He lifts his heavy eyelids, checking the clock by his side table and seeing it three hours past six am.

The sounds of shovels digging through snow, scraping against the asphalt replaces the rhythmic marching of new cadets, Ghost savors the tea as warm as the cold wind breeze would allow it to.

The soft flipping of pages, the smooth yet hard texture of leather replaces the cold stern shuffles of paper reports. Ghost leisurely reads through pages and pages of fictional wonder, a book suggested by Soap.

Soft breathing, a squeaky mattress, and shifting sheets replaces the cold winter nights. This year, Ghost has the luxury of sweat free masking, thorough book reading, and Johnny.

People, however, do not have the luxury of time.

December festivities do not excuse criminal activities, if anything it became a seasonal hotspot. Holiday leave, lowering most patrols, surveillance team having less staff, and the rest of the world being busy this festive season, so it comes to no surprise when Task force 141 receives a mission report instead of gifts this Christmas Eve.

It’s supposed to be just a simple ambush, the team waits and intercepts a suspicious vehicle. Simple as it sounds, gone through several times and over, it’s supposed to be a flawless mission. Wait, attack, gather, and leave, right?

Right?

Though, not everyone has the luxury of simplicity.

Like a painting, each brushstroke having its own meaning, accompanied with hundreds of streaks, touches, marks and lines forming a thousand piece artwork.

They find themselves in a snowy landscape, branches protruding through layers of snow, and the contrast of blood red in white white snow.

Step 6: Secure Shelter

[haakaan00502]

How do you make friends here bruh

[haakaan00502]

Ghost moved on instinct.

Running as fast as he could, just to reach the nearest camp, extraction point, medic, any source of help. His breathing erratic, his mask soaked with sweat, it clung to his face.

His chest leaning forward, his hands tucked behind Soap’s thighs, he continued to sprint. The scot had a pleasing amount of muscle and weight, but nowhere near what Ghost would struggle to carry. However, Ghost never knew that he would one day be carrying the deadweight of his most favorite person.

At that moment, where each step bore the burden of two lives, where each second is as crucial as the one before it, Ghost begged. Begged to whatever God that seemed to exist just at that moment.

He reached the nearest camp, soldiers quickly moved to assist them. They pulled Soap to a stretcher, the remaining warmth he offered mercilessly peeled from Ghost. He watched as they all withdraw to a tent, words yelled becoming incoherent to Ghost

Ghost fell, barely even being able to lift his arms up. His legs spread across the floor, the wall being his only support. He heaved, sweat and tears becoming hard to discern. His heart seemed to follow with the defibrillator.

“Clear!”

His mind, a warzone, a chamber of self hatred as he jots down every single mistake he had made. How he was so powerless against what he wanted and the duty and responsibility he had to uphold.

“Clear!”

Himself, a mess, every muscle strained, open wounds still bleeding, his heart irregular. His consciousness in a constant brink of passing out, his senses numbed he couldn’t even notice the rest of the team standing by him

“Clear!”

He, only a person, as fatigue finally catched up, as adrenaline ran out. Ghost slowly fades to unwanted rest, he cursed his own anatomy, only clinging to the thinnest of threads.

“We got a heartbeat!” The last Ghost heard collapsing with a sigh of relief.

Masterlist

[haakaan00502]

That Cod hyperfixation died like Soap mactavish

[haakaan00502]

Ghost despised Soap’s over friendliness.

An arm around someone else’s shoulder, a smile not for his, and foreign hand on his lap. It turns his gears, grinds his teeth, and prickles around his skin, causing him to a scowl his mask can only witness.

He’s jealous, and he knows that.

It's futile to resist disagreements, that is common knowledge, and the two knew that. A healthy relationship is one with many challenges, a phrase they try to engrave in their minds. But how long can a fight stretch for it to still be considered good?

Ghost tries to be understanding while Soap tries to understand.

They try to preserve each other, their lives, their love, contradicting what life really is, to erode

Life is to live, and living is just a sweeter word for dying.

No matter how hard they love, they can never escape petty arguments, shallow jealousy, drunk words and stupid decisions.

How hard they improve, they’ll never be “perfect” for each other. Because there is no right person, only someone who can tolerate your flaws.

Love is a daily decision

Not one single proclamation

It’s staying when given so many reasons to leave, when offered better chances. It’s doing things you don’t want to. It’s fighting but choosing to resolve.

Its a constant repetition of ‘I love you’s’

Masterlist

[haakaan00502]

I LEAVE FOR A MONTH AND COME BACK TO SOAP DEAD ?!2!>2!1

[haakaan00502]

Exam week, goodbye world (i failed chemistry)

[haakaan00502]

“Green?”

“It looks pleasant to the eyes,” Ghost says nonchalantly.

“I thought you like black,” Soap says, his voice smiling on the com unit.

“I did.”

Though looking irrelevant, if something so small as a favorite color could change, what can’t?

The day came when Ghost felt restful in a table filled with paperwork, taking his time going through them, enjoying the feel of pen on paper. The barely working desk fan, half open blinds sending stripes of sunlight into the room,

Sometimes Ghost finds himself driving in the middle of nowhere, parking just by the gravel side and rolling his windows down. Letting the nearest radio station play whatever, staring out to the tall grass dancing along with the winds.

He learned to walk during rush hour traffic, two cups of coffee in hand and trotting on the right side of the sidewalk.

He lived chaotically, deprivingly. Now his only trouble is if a pack of black tea would be enough for two.

[haakaan00502]

Ghost loved the ever longing stares Soap would give him, getting used to a hand on his hip, and fingers full with someone else’s. Ghost loved it when Soap would touch him in every place he had, as if the body he had sculpted was only for Soap to experience. He loved it when their mouths would crash, the taste of blood forever ingrained in his mind, and to think Ghost would still have his favorites. He loved Soap’s voice, the rough accent he learned to adore.

Soap loved that Ghost loved it, because even when all of Ghost’s senses were working, he still chose him.

[haakaan00502]

okay making friends seems essentially impossible on the doomed bird website unless you already know people. i'm a baby ghostsoap convert and i need to find folks to scream at/with/near about large, dangerous fruits.

pleaseee like/reblog/comment so i can follow ur codblog and make a disgusting little nest for myself amongst ur posts. (respectfully)

[haakaan00502]

So he laid there,

in unchanged bedsheets, his eyes never moving. His breathing, just at the right pace to keep himself alive, the only living force he has was his own biology, involuntary movements like the tears in his eyes.

Plants wilted, their cupboards piled with dust, a room once occupied by two yet now feels so abandoned. A bookmark wedged in a book that would never be finished, and still a dripping faucet with a broken promise of fixing.

Ghost laid there, in a bed too big for one. His eyes only ever blinked when it was too dry to cry. He stared seemingly at nothing but only the dog tag at his palms, as his fingers curled even at rest, even his hand misses someone so dear.

[haakaan00502]

Ghost squints his eyes as the chopper flies off, sending dust into the air. He stands, his body present but his mind still gone, thinking about the recent operation. He walks mindlessly, doing a quick mind map of the intel they gathered just from their recon mission.

He looks forward and sees a Sergeant with a hair ruffled, sand everywhere as if the man has tussled on the sand. He brings himself around with pride and an air of confidence, talking with peers after a successful mission. They just started working together no longer than 3 months ago.

Their eyes meet and for a while, Ghost swears he wants to look away, Soap’s smile widens, his heels turning towards Ghost.

“Aye L.T., up top?” Soap says energetically, bringing his hand up for a five.

Ghost stares, not really knowing what to do. His arm moves but he instinctively stops it in place.

“No? Ah well,” Soap chuckles, giving Ghost a quick tap on the shoulder before walking towards camp.

“Need a shower, sand is a bitch and a half,” he walks, waving Ghost a quick goodbye.

Soap trots forward, the desert heat casting a mirage, distorting the horizon. Though only one warmth stands out under the sun’s beams. Ghost stares right on his shoulder, the brief contact left him stunned. Derailing Ghost’s train of thought, only focused on what a simple touch made him feel, a simple touch that for once didn’t cause him to recoil.

Soap left him with a thought.

‘Don’t leave him hanging next time.’

[haakaan00502]

As if orchestrated by the universe itself, a comedic theatrical play, toyed around by fate.

Ghost woke up in a panic, seeing Soap’s room empty of its owner. Later finding out that Soap got dispatched earlier as per the Sergeant’s request.

Sent to a mission thousands of miles away in foreign land just after a night they fought, it left Ghost irritated. Branding Soap as childish for not even bidding a farewell just because of a disagreement.

The first night, he slept out of spite, a frustrating feeling wedged between the crevices of his rib cage, the second night, he couldn’t. By the fourth, he increased his workload, wanting to do anything but stay idle to which he got lectured from by his captain.

After the first week he started sleeping in Soap’s room, and the following days that followed that. Relishing in what little traces his sergeant left, to the scent down to the unfinished book Soap left on his counter. He slept in the bed they shared alone, haunted by an afterimage of the imprint Soap’s body would leave in his bed. He always adored Soap’s ability to sleep so still at night, it helped Ghost memorize his features.

By the third week, Soap’s perfume expired, leaving only the smell of his own, traces of his hurt. Ghost stared blankly at the gray tiled floors as Soap’s other teammates relayed intel about their situation. The static of the radio placed him in a trance where the only words he could make out is ‘M.I.A.’

Price reassured Ghost not to make assumptions, never to make assumptions. Of course Ghost didn’t, but that doesn’t change the fact that he grieved. He grieved the first night Soap left, he grieved the second night he hasn’t come back, and every night up to this moment.

He stayed out on the porch, looking at the stars city lit skies could never offer. Wondered if Soap still remembers how to locate the way up north, the way back to his arms. He grieved but for no man’s death, Soap isn’t dead, he wouldn’t die Ghost knew that.

Rather he grieved for the words he couldn’t say, for the words he wanted to and meant to say.

He entered back inside after the breeze became too cold to bear, missing a certain warmth more than usual. A single thought before he closed the door goodnight,

‘I’ll leave the lights on for you.’

[haakaan00502]

Ghost’s Ten Steps to Survival Master Post

Step 3: Self Defense

[haakaan00502]

Ghost's Ten Steps to Survival

Longer post than usual, also posting in no particular order. Halfway writing this I realized it wasn't really that much of a Ghost x Soap post and just ended up being the two of them in a recon mission. Basically its not romantic as I thought it would be.

Already wrote it, be a waste if I don't use it. Thanks for reading, enjoy : D

And yes, it says ten steps so expect nine more.

Approximately 2k words.

TW: Gun Violence

Masterlist

Step 3: Self Defense

One… two… five… seven… twelve, In his boot, three in his belt line, some in his sleeve, one on the side of his knee. Ghost was decorated with knives.

Being over prepared will always be better ten times and over than being not, Ghost faces a battle with something constantly changing, with new variables popping up in the least expected times and places.

He’s prepared for something unpreparable, life.

This wasn’t the first time he was overgeared, he had plenty of MOLLEs, and he’d make sure each and everyone of them are used. He has rules, plans in his mind for very specific scenarios, even back ups for events he wouldn’t know what’s going to happen.

His eyes instinctively scanning the nearest exit, his hands always near the most probable environment weapon, he stands no further than six feet away from the door. His age is enough credibility for his experience, he lives in a job that works for death.

It had always been like that, or he now, will always be like that. 

Life wanted him dead, now he lives knowing he’ll die. 

…

The faint sounds of an engine dying gives brief life in the empty urban streets. Ghost shifted slightly, the dust on the floor flying into the air, the sun shining on them, making it look like winter’s first snow. 

“We’ve been compromised Johnny,” Ghost says rather calmly, gathering his belongings he could carry on his body. Doing a quick inventory before looking at Soap who’s slightly hurrying in collecting his own.

“This operation’s been nothin’ but a bust,” Soap sighs as he stands next to Ghost, rifle equipped.

“We confirmed hostile movement in the area, half the job is done.” 

A sound of glass breaking from the distance didn’t startle the two. Soap checks the area outside by the window, as Ghost contemplates their next move. The floorboards he stands on make the slightest squeak with the tiniest movement, he looks around and weighs his choices. 

 “It’ll take them two minutes to reach our floor,” Ghost says to Soap as they both walk towards the door.

Succumbing to old habits, beforehand he memorized the layout of the building. One he found annoying due to its quirkiness. Six floors with two entrances on either side. With there only being a set of stairs on the east side going up to the fifth floor, then the next flight would be on the far west, going up to the sixth. 

He nods at Soap to which he nods back. Ghost opens the door abruptly, they run towards the stairs, jumping off the rails and skipping half the flight.

Not wasting a single second, they start to run again. Going through dust stained floors with chipped paint walls, their boots creating a loud thump with each step. They near the next staircase, stopping when they hear heavy footsteps going up at an alarming pace. 

Quickly they run back, going inside one of the rooms, leaving the doorway wide open. Ghost hid behind the door while Soap is at the side of a cabinet.

Ghost slows his breathing down in an attempt to mask the sound, his rifle pointed directly at the door. The smell of damp wood flooding his nose, his heart rate rising by the drop of a leaky plumbing. 

Trained footsteps walk past their room, hitching Ghost and Soap’s breath. They hear the door adjacent to them open, causing Ghost to tighten his grip on the rifle.

Everything went silent aside from the mental swears he is having. 

Drip.

Drip.

The sound of a squeaking floorboard alerted Ghost, using the door’s eyehole as a guide, he shot through it. The sound of a body dropping.

Swiftly, he grabbed the dead man’s arm and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut. Soap takes the queue and starts pushing the cabinet, blocking the entrance. 

“Insane bastard,” Soap says between breaths as they both listen to more footsteps and chatters outside the door, barely audible.

The two look around for possible reinforcements to give them ample time to think of a plan. Ghost starts looting the body, checking for I.D.s or any sort of identification for evidence. He found only ammo and standard knives. He takes the enemy’s rifle, disassembling it. 

The thumping on the doors gives Ghost and Soap a sense of urgency, they start to speed up their search. Ghost goes through the cabinets and lockers installed through the walls. Soap inspects the walls, checking if there’s parts made out of hollow material and seeing if breaching is possible. 

He checks the desk, going through the drawers to find anything useful. He tries pushing it to provide an extra barricade only to realize it's drilled to the floor. 

Another sound of glass breaking alerts the two, they both look towards the door and see smoke coming out of its gaps. Slowly, the wooden cabinets they used turn against them as they start to catch on fire.

“Can’t this day get any worse,” Soap grunts, unlocking windows to prevent the smoke from filling the entire room. 

“It’s your lucky day Johnny,” Ghost says, pulling out a rope out of one of the lockers.

…

“It’s ye lucky day Johnny,” Soap mumbles to himself annoyed.

“Shite,” Soap says fifty feet above the ground.

Barely half his foot on the ledge, he treads carefully looking for an angle to safely jump down from. He looks down at the ground littered with broken debris and overgrown grass, not necessarily afraid of heights but still enough to break a sweat.

With the rope passing through his legs and over his head, Soap carefully rappels down the building, the rope offering just enough length for a single floor. 

Soon as he secures his footing over the fourth floor’s ledge, he surveys the room. Seeing if anyone is inside before attempting to open it. 

“Ghost!”

“Soap?” Ghost yells from over the fire, looking down from the edge.

“You better get down and fast, I’m breaking the window.” Soap says, holding onto the rope tighter before grabbing his rifle and pointing its buttstock on the window edge.

Ghost makes sure the rope is tied tightly on the desk, tugging it multiple times to check its sturdiness. He grunts as he braces himself before wrapping the rope over his body. Groaning after imagining the rope burns he’ll be getting. 

Soap looks up, making sure Ghost is ready before he smashes the window. Quickly he jumped inside, putting the rifle up to his sights as he began clearing the room. 

Ghost slides down the rope until he is by the fourth level, he reaches by the edge with his foot, jumping over the window sill and firmly lands, crunching the broken pieces of glass. He cuts the rope as high as he could reach and throws it at the corner of the room. 

Soap nears the door, back hunched, each step calculated. He leans back on a nearby wall, placing the back of his hand on the door. Next he touches the doorknob, checking if it is warm. 

He signals Ghost before he starts walking backwards, eyes never leaving the door. They meet halfway through the room.

“Fire hasn’t reached this level yet.” Soap informs over his shoulder. 

Ghost looks at the door, making multiple decisions in a split second before deciding on the obvious two.

“Up or down.” He turns to Soap.

“Up?” 

“Want a party down there? Be my guest Johnny,” Ghost says, starting his move.

“Shot alive, or burned alive, great,” Soap sighs, following.

Ghost goes towards the door, opening it before taking a step back, looking through each angle he could see outside. He steps out, his gun pointed opposite to the door, checking for anyone down the halls. Soap follows, doing exactly the same in a delayed manner, constantly sticking behind Ghost. 

They move down the hall, towards the end while minding their footsteps, avoiding loose boards. Ghost treads forward as Soap walks backwards.

They reach the staircase, hesitating for a moment. 

Ghost takes a breath as if he is about to dive, he slowly creeps towards the staircase, his gun pointed. He sticks to the wall, his eyes directly in front, looking for anything that stands out. Listening for any movement, even checking for the slightest hint of someone else’s smell.

He takes the first step up, pointing his gun up to the middle, turning his body to check the upper floor’s railings. Clear. He takes another step, checks, clear, and another, and yet another, repeating the same movements. Most silent footsteps, the faintest breathing, and a heart so calm so he won’t hear it beating. The only positive thing in this scenario was having someone to cover his six, Soap’s a bonus too, Ghost thinks. 

They reached the floor they were in before, the sound of fire cackling dampening one of their senses. Every second they move and every second they stay is a constant risk, something the both of them cannot wait to get out of.

The two move moderately fast but in a constant manner, keeping momentum. They walk past the room they locked themselves in, the fire seemingly walking on the walls. Soap wraps ripped clothing around his mouth to help with the smoke, but still occasionally coughs.

Ghost shoots the broken bottle a quick glance, seeing the shatter-patterns point toward the direction they are heading towards, confirming that he made the right decision. 

He starts a small sprint, signaling Soap to do the same as the ceilings of this abandoned office building, finally serving its time and starts to give out. Ghost starts running towards the window at the end of the hall, smashing it before jumping out.

He lands at the fire escape, shooting down, quickly killing one enemy camping by the fourth floor fire emergency exit.

Ghost starts going down the stairs, looking behind briefly only to see a fierce looking sergeant on high alert. Giving him a warm and proud feeling in his chest with a strange comfort of safety.

The shots from earlier and clanging of metal surely alerted everyone in the building, they descended as fast as they could without tripping. 

They hear foreign shouts from the windows as they receive gun shots. Hiding below the fire escape, they have to get out as soon as they can before more hostiles show up. He signs Soap to make a run for it, which Soap follows.

Soon as Soap sprints, the gunner from the window follows suit with shots. Ghost aims up, using Soap as a distraction to give him enough time to zero in directly at the enemy’s head before shooting, killing the man instantly.

“Perfect shot L.T.”

“You called it Sergeant-“ Ghost hears gravel move just right behind him, his hand quickly moving to the gun strapped on his chest like it was a magnet.

But before he could even look behind him, he hears a loud thud fall to the ground. 

“Though I think mine’s better.”

Ghost turns his entire body around, seeing a dead man on the ground with a bullet between its eyes. He releases the breath he hitched earlier, releasing some tension from his back. 

“Doubt it,” Ghost said, a smirk concealed by his balaclava, though Soap already knew that look in Ghost’s eyes.

The two jog towards their armored truck parked behind the trees hastily, Soap reaching by the driver’s door first than Ghost. 

“No way, I’m driving this time,” he says as he hopped on the seat before Ghost could protest.

Ghost was about to speak until rounds of fire hit the truck’s rear, making dents on the bullet proof glass, some ricochet to barks of wood. 

“Get in!” Soap yells as he covers fire as Ghost enter the passenger’s seat, grunting.

“Good ol’ boy.” Soap smirks, stepping on the gas as Ghost groans.