#cod unrelated

[tiddygame]

thinkin bout ghoap getting married and they want a real ceremony. they want a venue they want flowers and a reception and an open bar thats bound to end in drunken dances. they've fought long and hard, they just want one special, pretty day for them. a celebration not just of their union, but of the fact that they survived.

but simon starts to regret it when the planning starts because the only family simon has are the 141 vs johnny and every single mactavish from immediate family to “im pretty sure theyre like a fifth cousin or something but he was at christmas last year so he’s probably related somewhere down the line”

and simon is stuck thinking abt the memorial seats for johnnys recently deceased grandparents and how if they did that for him it would take up at least two rows of seats alone. empty seats with empty frames bc he only has a handful of group photos, none of which contain any grandparents or extended family. and he can’t tell if he’s more jealous or existential but he knows that neither are feelings you should feel when planning a wedding.

simon’s groomsmen are all 141, just price, gaz, and roach. but johnny couldn’t leave any of his siblings out, leaving a 3 to 5 gap. until johnnys youngest sibling asks simon if they could stand on his side instead.

no one had mentioned the problem bc no one was going to tell simon that he didn’t love enough people to have an even number of party members nor announce that to the entire family. nor was simon going to admit how much it stung. it was something his sibling wanted unbeknownst of the issue. and johnny can’t even pretend to be upset by it; no joking cries of betrayal, just simon smacking him for being a sap when he teared up over it.

and simon had been calm about that, just told them that they’d always be welcome on the better side and asked where they wanted to stand.

he didn't start crying openly until simon, johnny, and his parents had sat down to discuss more minute details of the planning and they started talking about how they would walk both of them down the aisle; his parents tossed around his mom walking one of them down and his dad the other but that was thrown out. they asked simon if he’d be okay with johnny's parents walking him down, if he wanted to be first or second, if he would rather walk alone or maybe even walk down with price.

and simon started mumbling saying that his parents didn’t have to do any of that and that he’d be fine walking down alone or whatever was easiest. and johnny, whose Simon’s Bullshit Detectors had grown fine tuned over the years, told him plainly that his parents were asking bc they wanted to walk them both down the aisle but would also be fine not doing that if it’s what simon preferred.

and he got out that he’d be fine with them walking him down the aisle if they really wanted before the first tear fell bc when tommy got married, it had been simon and their mother who walked him down before simon took his place as best man and he couldn’t think about anyone other than tommy being by his side but maybe this could be okay too

and he already knows that he’d be the first one to walk down because as he said (in private bc he can’t be mistaken for a softy) johnny makes a much prettier blushing bride.

the sign outside the ceremony space says to "choose a seat, not a side" and everyone smiles at the sweet sentiment, only a few knowing that simon's side would have been empty without it

and after johnny's parents walk him down, simon looks around and doesn’t recognize half the people sitting on his side but the first seat isn’t empty, holding four people there and then it’s johnnys grandmother who had called simon a dashing young boy in spanish when he first met the family, unaware that he spoke the language. and next to her was a cousin who had drunkenly challenged simon to an arm wrestle and lost in spectacular fashion and then his wife and three kids and starting the second row was laswell, who hadn’t been sure if she’d be able to make it and then her wife who he’d never met in person but maybe had the biggest grin out of everyone in the audience, but she had some stiff competition as every other seat was filled with either a mactavish or a close friend of the family who seemed just as happy to see simon standing up there as they were johnny

and maybe johnny isnt walking down the aisle or theres a service dog at simons feet but they survived goddammit and now they can celebrate and relax and grow gray hair side by side

uhh i forgot what the point of this post was. simon who was a mactavish long before any papers were signed and ghoap who finally get their fairytale 'and they lived happily ever after' moment

[homosexualgirlandbags]

Price, who went out in Manchester without an umbrella (a terrible decision) and ends up caught in a heavy rain. He absolutely fucking regrets wearing white in the weather, with his fucking tits sticking out. His clothes and hair sticks on him as he bursts through his flats door, heading straight for the shower immediately:

Nik who had shown up unprompted in Price's apartment, intending to surprise him only for Price to burst in through the door, looking very bit like a shaggy dog caught in the rain. And somehow, someway, looks fucking pathetically delectable in his poor state:

It doesn't take long for Nik to close the door after Price and join him in the shower, if just to get a little more of what Price was advertising underneath his shirt.

[lemonwrap]

And maybe we'll get lucky and we'll both grow old

Well I don't know, I don't know

I don't know, I hope so

—Ocean Breathes Salty by Modest Mouse

[hatsbuckets]

here’s a short idea of mine to distract you, didn’t manage to make it into a small fic cuz brain couldn’t come up with an ending of sort (as always😂) not sure if NikGhostPrice is your cup of tea so you don’t have to answer it if not!

Price with beard oil, Nik recommended him once and he would use it religiously. Keeps it soft, fluffy and smells really nice.

It’s a sort of ritual, either Nik or Ghost would join him, standing close to observe him slathering the oil on himself while Price hums a bit. It’s quiet and it’s comfortable, relaxing and serene.

Sometimes they touch his beard after he’s done, or Ghost looms over and not so subtly sniff him, rumbling in approval.

Other times they’re more hungry and aggressive, pulling Price away and pressing their face into his jaw impatiently while Price laughs.

I like two big guys spoiling our dear Captain with attention :3

hi gomz :) 🤭 I adore NikGhostPrice. Literally so much to unpack with these gruff ass men. Price trying to keep it together, Ghost a walking emotionally constipated cat, and Nik our low-key traumatized Russian who laughs through it. Yeahhhhh I like me some strong emotionally repressed men old man yaoi. thank you thank you <3 i uh took it and ran

Pure spoiled Price fluff ahead

...

The bathroom is warm, thick with steam from the shower that just ended. Price stands at the mirror, towel slung low on his hips, bare chest glistening faintly. His hair is towel-dried and tousled, but his attention is on his beard, neatly trimmed and still damp.

He hums as he unscrews the cap of the beard oil. The scent fills the room almost immediately, sandalwood and something smokey, a hint of citrus. It's clean and grounding. (It sells unscented, Nik added the essential oils.) Nik had given it to him once, with a small shrug and the casual authority of a man who knows what quality grooming smells like. Price had taken to it religiously ever since.

He drops a few golden beads of oil into his palm and begins working it in, fingers gentle, massaging through the grain of his beard, into the skin beneath. There’s care in the way he does it, like everything with Price, measured and thorough.

The door creaks open behind him. No rush. No surprise.

Ghost appears in the mirror first. Shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips, blonde hair still damp from his own rinse, his face clean and fresh. He doesn’t say anything, just leans on the wall behind Price, arms crossed, watching like it’s his favorite show.

Then Nik steps in after him, quieter, bare feet on tile. He doesn’t speak either. Just approaches, moving like a large shadow until he’s just behind Price, close enough to feel the heat rolling off his skin.

Price doesn’t look up. Just smirks faintly and keeps lazily working the oil in.

“Didn’t think you two were so interested in hygiene,” he teases, voice low and amused.

“We’re not,” Ghost rumbles. “Just yours.”

Nik reaches past him without speaking, palm up. Price raises a brow, but drops a few more beads of oil into his hand.

Price tilts his chin up slightly as Nik steps in front, fingertips slick and warm as they work through the lower part of his beard, like scratching an old dog under his chin. Slow. Intentional. Ghost’s eyes are glued to the motion.

“Could get used to this,” Price mutters.

Ghost moves then, silent, sure, and presses in behind him, chest to back, hands resting heavy on Price’s hips. He dips his head and noses at the side of Price’s neck, breathing him in.

“You smell like a bloody forest,” he says, voice low.

“That a complaint?” Price murmurs.

A low chuckle against his skin. “Not a chance.”

Nik finishes with a final stroke, smoothing the shape of the beard. His eyes meet Price’s for a moment. There’s something reverent there. And then his hands drop slow, one curls around Price’s waist. The other touches his chest, fingers splayed.

“You’re spoiling,” Price says softly, grin twitching. “Two bloody giants doting on me like I’m delicate.”

“You are,” Nik answers, pressing a kiss to his throat. “Delicately built for handling two greedy bastards.”

Suddenly Nik’s fingers are digging a bit deeper into his skin, possessive. Ghost’s mouth is open against his neck, breath hot. Price chuckles, but it breaks on a note of pleasure as Nik leans in and licks a stripe along his neck, shameless.

“Oi,” Price says, not moving an inch away. “You lot are animals.”

Ghost growls against his neck. “You smell too good. That’s on you.”

Nik presses his lips to Price’s cheek, slow and deliberate.

Price laughs, deep and indulgent. “Fine, at least let me put a shirt on first.”

Neither of them move.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he mutters. “Greedy, the both of you.”

But He doesn’t sound the least bit annoyed.

...(soft cuddles below. I meant for this to end here, but I needed them 🥺)

They don’t move. Price sighs, quiet, content, and lets his shoulders drop just a little, body easing back into Ghost’s chest while Nik rests against his side. The heat of them wraps around him like a second towel, solid and comforting.

No one says anything for a long moment. There’s no need. The only sounds are the distant hum of the shower pipes settling and the soft inhale-exhale of three steady heartbeats.

Nik lifts his hand again, thumb brushing under Price’s eye like he’s memorizing the lines there. He doesn’t speak. The silence is one Price has learned to read in touches and glances. Right now, it says: You are here. You are safe. And you are mine.

Ghost’s hand shifts slightly, from hip to stomach, slow and splayed. He presses his face into Price’s neck, breath fanning over damp skin, his eyes shut. Nik's hand finds Price’s again, fingers lacing.

It’s quiet again, but the weight of them is there, pressing in just enough. Price lets his eyes close. Leans his head back against Ghost’s shoulder. Nik shifts only to press a kiss to the back of Price's knuckles.

“You lot keep this up,” Price mutters sleepily, “I’m gonna fall asleep right here on the bloody tile.”

Ghost snorts. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Nik’s low chuckle is like velvet. “Bed, then.”

It's more like a suggestion that’s already halfway to a command. But Price feels the tired in it, the weight in his chest, and he turns in Nik’s arms slowly, lifting a hand to cradle Ghost’s jaw for a moment before nodding.

Price never gets that shirt.

The lights stay low. The covers don’t matter at first, because they’ve got each other.

Nik sits against the headboard, Price is pulled back against his chest, broad and solid and always warm. Nik wraps around him like armor. One arm drapes heavy across his stomach, the other resting across his chest, hand curled gently over one shoulder. Price exhales, soft and low, letting the weight settle into him.

Ghost settles in last. He moves without words. He crawls up into the space between Price’s legs and chest like he was made to fit there, bigger than he should be for curling up like this, but he makes it work. Nik moves his hands to make room and hold him too. He presses his face to the center of Price’s chest, nose to skin, arms loosely around his and Nik's waists. Like a fucking cat.

Price huffs a quiet laugh and cards a hand through his damp hair. “You’re too bloody big for this, Simon.”

Ghost just grunts. His voice is half-muffled, lazy.

Price rolls his eyes, but his hands are already moving, one over Ghost’s back in slow circles, the other resting atop Nik’s where it lies on Ghost's back now. His eyes slip closed.

The three of them stacked together like puzzle pieces, breathing each other in, fitting around one another in the stillness. It’s the softest part of their day. The safest.

Ghost shifts just enough to press a kiss to the center of Price’s chest, then sighs. Nik’s breathing slows behind him, steady and even. Price lets himself relax, lets his body go slack.

The room is quiet except for their breathing and a hum of a fan.

And when sleep finally finds him, it’s easy, like slipping beneath water, held and warm and wanted.

[lamentable-comedy]

you know, that one story about a relationship between a guy with an unprecedented one of a kind power and his kind of dead love interest who wears a lot of fancy floral print outfits

(aka Simon Snow Pushing Daisies AU)

[kittygowrite]

Hmmmm the dilemma.... Do I set up a Ko-Fi?

Pros:

- money (obviously)

- possibly more motivation

- could maybe do writing comms in the future?

Cons

- more pressure (I feel bad lol)

- money stuff scares me 🥲

- don't want to turn a hobby into a chore

What are we thinking? I know I'm a small account and I honestly don't think I would get much off of it? Like would people want to contribute? I’m not totally sure if it's possible to change how much each "coffee" is but if I set it to lower just for little tips would people want to do that more? Hmmm

We'll make a poll?

[madness-poison-chat]

🚨Urgent help to save my sister’s life.🚨

Hello human

I am Walid from Gaza.🙏🍉🇵🇸

My sister is having surgery and she needs money and I didn't get much of this💔. If you can help me just a little before it's too late to save my sister from death🙏🏻😭

Please donate now👇🏻

https://www.paypal.com/donate?campaign_id=BF789MVEUAQF8

On it.

[nekrosmos]

Random aaahh question…Do you have CoD OCs? If yes how many and what are their roles?

I kinda do have one, although I'm still working on him, very much a WIP !

Basic information: His name is Soan Lannoy (he/him), he's a french trans guy in his late 30s who used to be a Shadow, until the Alone mission, during which he deserted after not liking that betrayal from Graves. He has a lot of complicated feelings around it, since Graves was his mentor and friend and supported him during his transition.

Also, I ship him with Gaz :3c

VERY rough sketches of him:

I also have my main OC, Aedeus, who I throw into every possible AU imaginable, and so they ended up in a CoD AU as well. They're just here to kiss everyone though, especially Graves :3c

[selbstverbrennung]

i wish we actually had people characterising ultimis being crazy, instead of them being all lovey dovey woobified. those are middle aged men in ww2 with every vice imaginable. they are not good to each other, they are the most toxic relationship feasible because they're all each other has. they are doing everything in their power to ruin each other's lives, but also maybe they're fucking. out of necessity. to survive.

[reds-skull]

Bringer of Demise - Chapter 2

[FIRST PART] [AO3]

I'll be honest, I wasn't that confident with the first chapter (probably because it's been a while since I sat down to write something) but I like this one much more. The angst is definitely helping lol

Here's chapter 2: Like a House Fire

“Simon-” Soap jumps as the door slams behind him. Ghost grunts, walking further into his room to sit at the desk, reports now laying forgotten. Not that they need them anymore, with Novikov’s arrival.

Soap takes a sit in front of him, the bed creaking when he leans forward to look in Ghost’s dark eyes. “Talk to me, mo chridhe.”

Ghost slides the mask off his face, and throws it on the desk with so much force some papers fly and land behind it. Soap waits as he stares at the wall for a minute or two, lost in whatever dreadful memory the Doctor brought forward.

“Novikov was the one that tested me. When they brought me back from Mexico.” he starts, voice carefully monotone. “Went through regular shit at first. How long I can use Limbo before I have to stop. What happens if someone shoots at it from the outside. See if sound travels, if comms work.”

Soap holds his tongue, ignores the questions that float to his mind about the process. It’s more important for him to listen to Simon.

“Didn’t really have a problem with those. Expected them, really.” Simon shakes his head, bitterness bleeding into his voice, “it started going wrong when Shepherd came into the picture.”

At the mention of that name, Soap’s jaw clenches. General fucking Shepherd, the man behind Graves’ leash. Ran like a coward after his dog died, still off grid even after Laswell got the go-ahead from CIA to start a search for him. Soap remembers the few meetings he was in, how Shepherd would address Ghost. Spoke to him as if Limbo wasn’t tearing itself apart because of his orders.

Ghost never told him much about the bawbag, Soap never asking. Felt wrong, with how little he willingly gives Ghost about his own past.

“What did he do?” he asks, a little hesitant to hear the answer.

“Novikov wasn’t pushing me hard enough, according to him. Because he was afraid of what my powers would do to me or to others, or for a different reason, I didn’t bother finding out. Don’t know if the Doc tried to resist. It doesn’t matter.” Simon lets out a mirthless laugh, “you know the rest.”

Soap nods. “Ye think… he will do it again? Push ye to…”

“I’m not worried about me, Johnny.” He leans closer to Soap, and it dawns on him that Simon’s not as angry as he is terrified, “there’s nothing new Novikov can tell me to use Limbo on that would break it like last time. But you… they never found your limits, have they?”

“... You know they didn’t need to.”

“I don’t think that ever satisfied Novikov, or the higher-ups.” Soap frowns, Simon’s voice lowering to an almost whisper, “I think they were just as tied up in red tape as you.”

He doesn’t respond to that. He doesn’t think he needs to, they both know Simon is right.

Soap’s memories of that time period are… muddy at best. And it wasn’t because of the shot he received to the head, the day he died.

In the weeks following it, Soap felt like everyone that knew what happened there was walking on eggshells around him. Not many knew, they tried to sweep it under the rug immediately to avoid an international incident, but those that did…

When Soap refused to use his powers on field, his Captain was irritated. Said he’d go to the higher-ups, get him written for insubordination.

The very next day, the Captain took him to the side and asked him to tell him. Fuck the higher-ups when it comes to his own personal curiosity, eh?

Soap refused, obviously. The Captain let it go, eventually, but Soap always wondered if he was trying to send him into impossible situations to see just how much destruction he can survive.

“I’m not going to let him do anything to you, love.” Simon’s voice makes him refocus on the present, “Novikov tells you to jump, you ask me how high.”

Soap scoffs fondly, the anger that has bubbled up in his chest subsiding, “they’re gonna write ye up, LT.”

“Don’t care. They won’t boot me out anyway.” he answers smugly, scarred lips quirking up in a way that makes Soap want to explode the rest of the world, if only to keep him safe.

He returns the smile, “sound awfully certain of yerself. Should I ask Price if the power went to yer head?”

Simon huffs, “just the facts, Johnny. Not only I’m legally dead, they wouldn’t want someone like me strolling around civvies in case I go off and send a couple hundred to Limbo.”

“Sometimes I forget just how much off yer heid you are, Simon Riley.”

“Takes one to know one, and all that.” Simon moves to get up, when something pulls at his leg.

A few dark hands started petting at their boots, so gently they didn’t notice. Soap smiles, leaning down to return the favor with his left hand.

“Look, we made yer friends worried.” the hands wrap around his fingers, chasing the little white flames.

Simon shakes his boot, loosening the residents of the void’s hands, “you know that’s not how that works.”

“Well, they react to our emotions, you never know!” he turns back to the hands, “don’t listen to him, he’s just grouchy ‘cause I’m not holdin’ his hand.”

He’s happy to continue playing with Simon’s “friends” until a shrill sound cuts through the air. Soap watches Simon grab his phone from his pocket.

“It’s Rudy.” he taps his phone and sits down next to Soap, “Rodolfo?”

“Fantasma. Is Soap with you?” Rudy greets, voice hurried.

Soap takes Simon’s wrist and brings the phone closer, “aye, what’s wrong?”

“All of our revenants were woken up by our Reapers, I… I assume it happened to yours as well.”

Christ, must be later than midnight in Mexico right now. Getting dragged into your Reaper’s realm in the middle of sleeping… can’t be fun.

“Affirm.” Ghost says, “I assume yours asked about Fate and Lumity?”

“Yes.” there’s someone talking in the background, and Soap realizes it’s Alejandro, giving out orders, “some of our revenants chose Fate. We’re in the process of reprimanding them, but… It’s more important that I tell you what we gathered.”

Simon and Soap share a look. Anything would be helpful at this point.

Rudy continues, “the ones that chose Fate didn’t give us much. Apparently their Reaper just left, only saying they chose right. It is mine that explained the most.”

“You did say your Reaper was chatty…” Simon mutters.

“It is.” Rudy sighs, “my Reaper didn’t get mad when I chose you. It said it was expecting it.”

Rudy’s Reaper… Reaper of Matter… is on Lumity’s side?

“The Reapers are… in a state of disorder.” he pauses, mulling over the words. “... My Reaper said this hasn’t happened since before the age of revenants.”

“Did it say what’s Fate’s goal in all this?” Simon asks.

“No. I don’t think it knows.” Rudy begins talking in Spanish to someone on the other side, far too fast for Soap to understand. “-Jabón y Fantasma?”

They can hear some rustling before Alejandro’s voice comes through, “Hermanos! You landed us in a real shitshow this time around, eh?”

Soap smiles sheepishly, “good teh hear ye, Ale. Sorry about the mess.”

“All good. Well- for now.” Alejandro hums, “I have a feeling that is due to change at any point.”

“Ye said it…”

Rudy turns the phone back to him, as he says, “whatever it is, you can call us. We’ll continue to update you.”

“Appreciated, hermano,” Ghost answers, “same goes for us.”

“Don’t be strangers. We’ll talk later.” Ghost and Soap say their goodbyes as Rudy hangs up.

So the Reapers themselves don’t quite know what Fate is planning… he didn’t think it was possible, but Soap is even more unsettled. Reapers are volatile as it is, though before they could’ve trusted them to not meddle in their “boring human affairs”.

A Reaper even Reapers can’t foresee… how can they prepare against something like that?

Soap eventually returned to his own barrack, long after daylight faded. Sleep evaded him for most of the night, burning moths fluttering around his cot as he tosses and turns, flames occasionally charring his blanket.

When morning finally comes, he finds himself in the revenant training grounds along with Ghost. Anxiousness drips down his spine as they wait for the Doctor and his assistants.

Ghost knocks their boots together, and Soap calms. He’s not going through this alone, unlike any other revenant.

He begins to hope Novikov has simply forgotten about them when the man is late. Unfortunately, he doesn’t. Almost 20 minutes after the tests were supposed to start, the man comes hurrying down the training grounds, the papers in his hands miraculously not flying away in the gentle breeze.

“Sergeant! Lieutenant! I apologize for the delay.” Novikov calls when he gets close enough, somewhat out of breath, “yesterday’s incident had us sifting through reports all night, as you can imagine.”

The Doctor pauses to take another deep breath, and flips through the folder he brought, “as I’m sure you understand, this will not be a standard revenant test. I will not be redoing your basic tests, Lieutenant. As for you, Sergeant…”

Novikov turns his bespectacled grey eyes to him, and gives him a small smile, “I understand that I will not be able to test your limits here, but the records of the Verdansk incident are enough.”

Soap’s back straightens, and he can’t help but growl, “ye know about it?!”

He can count on two hands the amount of living people that know the whole truth behind his Reaping, and about half of them are in the 141.

“Laswell has allowed me access to the files. I’ve known about the incident beforehand, of course, theorized Konchar had-”

“Don’t ye dare say that fuckin’ name.” he snarls, flames flickering within his clenched fists. It doesn’t stop the stream of blurry memories, of melting skin beneath his fingertips-

Soap forcibly exhales, coercing his flames to die down.

Novikov doesn’t seem offended by the interruption. On the contrary, he looks… intrigued.

“I’d like to test the difference between your hands, to start. I have only been made aware of the changes in flame color, and the markings, of course.”

Soap glances at Ghost, who gives him a nod.

“What do ye need me to do, Doctor?”

“This is most intriguing… the flesh of your left hand is cooler than your right, but the flames are considerably warmer…”

Soap feels the ground between his fingers crumble to ash. So far, The tests are quite… boring, if he’s honest.

He’s had his own morbid fascination with his own powers, for a while. Wondering how it compares to other explosive compounds, trying to run the numbers to find the closest approximate. He thought, if he could find an equation, he could control his powers better.

Soap gave up on it soon after. Didn’t have enough data to work with, and generating more meant using his powers, and well…

Novikov lifts his pen, “very good, Sergeant.” steamin’ Jesus, he’s not 5, is he gonna give him a sticker next? “Now, Lieutenant, remove any clothing on your right arm, if you will.”

Ghost, who up until now stood motionless in his best imitation of a statue, stares at Novikov for a long moment, before slowly removing his glove and tucking it into his belt. He steps closer to Soap, rolling his sleeve to reveal pale, scarred skin.

“Now, with your left arm of course, I want you to attempt to explode the Lieutenant’s arm.”

Soap notices the assistant with the heat-sensitive camera aim it at Ghost, “it’s not gonna do anything to him, Doc.”

“Then there shouldn’t be any problem demonstrating it.” Novikov doesn’t look up from his papers. Bawbag.

Ghost offers him his arm silently. Soap knows it won’t do anything to him, they bear marks to prove it.

Soap takes the arm. White flames wrap harmlessly around it. He focuses his powers to his left hand, the air around them distorting.

It feels fundamentally wrong to try and hurt Simon. His breathing picks up, fingers twitching as the flames climb higher and higher.

“-it’s as if they’re trying to reach equilibrium. The flesh cools the flames, the flames heat it in return-”

Ghost doesn’t react, not that Soap can see with his vision tunneling on their joined limbs. The fire burns, searing, scorching, mutilating-

“-You may stop now, Sergeant-”

He can’t hurt him, how could he ever dare hurt him? Why isn’t anyone stopping this?

Like a bystander watching a house fire, Soap is helpless in front of the flames. He can almost smell the bubbling flesh from here, the melting of everything in the face of unending ruin-

“-ohnny. Enough.”

Soap jumps, the world rushing back to his senses. He turns his head shakily, to see Novikov’s gaze boring into him.

“Ah’m not- I can’t-” he mumbles, words barely forming on his lips, “Ghost-”

“You’re alright, Johnny.” Ghost’s smooth voice is steady as ever, but his eyes betray him, “it’s over.”

Novikov affirms, “We got all we needed, Sergeant.”

Ghost lifts his hand towards him, and Soap barely suppresses a flinch as it trails down his bicep. “You’re alright.” he repeats.

Soap nods, feeling like a bampot all at once. Of course Ghost is fine. They already knew this, he told Novikov as much not 10 minutes ago.

Stupid, stupid, fucking stupid. Soap grits his teeth, “what’s next, Doctor?”

Novikov takes a while to answer, and Soap avoids Ghost’s perceptive gaze as they wait, “I have received approval for Limbo, Lieutenant. I’d like to see the changes it went through first-hand.”

“... Understood. We will need to put some distance between us.” Ghost grunts.

The Doctor waves his hand, “naturally. You’re familiar with your limits, I’ll leave it to your judgement.”

Soap feels Ghost urge him to move, and they begin walking.

“Johnny-”

“Aye.” Soap huffs, “sorry, LT.”

“What for?” Ghost hums, “you did nothing wrong.”

He doesn’t answer to that. If Ghost didn’t see his fuck-up, he’d rather not bring it up.

“If you need to stop at any point-”

Maybe he’s easier to read than he thought, “Ah’m solid, Simon.”

“You froze there. Don’t think you can hide it.” or maybe Ghost knows him too well by now.

They come to a stop, facing one another. Soap bites the inside of his cheek, “I’m- I’ll be fine as long as Ah don’t have to repeat that.”

“You won’t.” Ghost assures him, “ready for Limbo?”

If there’s a place to find peace of mind, it’s the void, “aye. Been a while since we paid our friends a visit, hm?”

Ghost chuckles, “only you’d call them that.” He raises his voice, shouting to Novikov, “Limbo out in five!”

The Doctor gives them a thumbs-up, so Ghost closes his eyes.

Entering Limbo never got less jarring. Soap gets used to it faster if he expects it, but the shift from the colorful, lively world to the still void is an odd one.

Still, once he gets accustomed to it, he can’t help but smile. As weird as it is to say, he missed this place.

Limbo’s victims are docile, chasing after bright moths with no sense of urgency. Like shooting stars, they paint the dark skies of Limbo with radiant yellows and oranges.

This might be the only good thing Soap’s powers have ever done.

He catches Ghost staring at him, his eyes a glowing white, “what?” he asks with a small grin.

“Better?”

“Aye.”

“Sergeant!” Novikov shouts, though it sounds muffled as it enters Limbo from the other side, “try to explode something!”

Soap frowns, “is he talkin’ about yer friends?”

Ghost mutters, clearly unhappy with the disturbance, “don’t know.”

“What do you want ‘im to test it on?!” Ghost shouts back.

“Any material will do! I assume you’re standing on something, correct?”

Soap looks down, at the solid black ground. “What is this made of, anyway?”

The way Ghost hums back tells him ‘fuck if I know’. He crouches down, placing both hands on it. The texture is almost like a glass pane, except his fingers can’t get a grip on it no matter how much he tries.

Before he can hesitate, Soap flexes his fingers.

Nothing happens.

“Huh.” he tilts his head, “suppose it makes sense.”

“How so?” Ghost kneels beside him, sliding a finger over the undamaged surface.

“My powers have to come into contact with a material to explode.” Soap shrugs, getting back on his feet, “void’s made of nothing, no?”

“Hm.” Ghost casts another look around Limbo, and blinks.

Soap catches himself before his knees buckle from the rush of color and noise back into the world. Ghost hooks an arm under his shoulder as a precaution, but he assures him he’s stable.

“Absolutely outstanding! This is the first time you couldn’t explode something, is that correct, Sergeant?” Novikov half-jogs to them.

“Uh… Aye?”

The Doctor’s eyes gleam with wonder, “Incredible! If only there were more Revenants of Destruction in this base, I would be able to test if this is a result of a relation between your Reapers, or a consequence of your powers mixing… Alas, this is not the purpose of my visit.” 

Novikov’s assistants are absorbed with the testing equipment they brought, some looking like set pieces of a low budget sci-fi movie to Soap. He’d love to nick one to take apart, but the shite’s probably so delicate even his fingertips would burn and destroy them.

“Now, for the next test, I’d like you to-” a shrill noise cuts Novikov off, and Ghost pulls out his phone.

Soap pouts when Ghost answers. Why does no one ever call him?

“Affirm. We’ll be there in fifteen.” Ghost ends the call, “we need to go to a meeting with Laswell.”

Novikov’s eyes dim, “ah, I see… I suppose we can continue this afterwards.”

“You’re invited too, Doctor.” Ghost grunts, making both Soap and Novikov swing around in surprise.

When Laswell finally shows up on screen, she seems different from what Soap remembered.

Dark eye bags, pale, hair more grey in some places. He almost didn’t recognize her, and looking around the room tells him the rest of the team thinks the same.

The rest, except Price, “how are you, Kate?”

Laswell sighs, more hair falling off her tight bun. “Let’s get to work, John.”

As she brings up several images on screen, Price reports in their mind, “someone attacked Laswell and her wife in their home two months ago. She got off with minor injuries, but her wife… her concussion was severe enough that she barely talks most days.”

“Did they catch the fucker that did it?” Soap thinks back. If they didn’t, he’d gladly volunteer to put the bastard six feet under. He owes Laswell that much.

Price stops him from continuing to plan a revenge, “Kate killed him, son. She’s trained for field work, an everyday burglar doesn’t stand a chance against her. Now focus up.”

Soap huffs, “yes sir.”

“-we found signs of Shepherd’s work around Urzikstan. Supposedly, he’s working with one of the resistance groups there.” blurry satellite images pop up on screen, convoys and remote buildings hidden between green hills.

Gaz frowns, “either he suddenly grew a moral compass, or there’s a catch.”

Laswell nods, “it’s possible it’s a false lead, but with recent clashes between Urzik forces and the Russians, I’d like you to personally investigate it.”

“We’ll get it done, Laswell.” Price says, his authoritative voice on full blast.

“No one I trust more than you.” Laswell smiles, in a way Soap has never seen. “Now, obviously as you all are grounded, I wouldn’t just send you on what could potentially lead to nothing…”

She begins talking to Novikov, “we’re working on tracking the missing revenants Graves and Shepherd trafficked.”

The Doctor nods, adjusting the frankly huge glasses on his nose bridge, “many of them belong to rarer kinds of Reapers. If they were to fall into the wrong hands…”

“We can’t allow that to happen.” Ghost finishes sternly.

“Commander Karim has been working to find them, but there’s so much she can do while also fending off Russians.” the screen switches to a compilation of names and passport photos, each listing both a date of birth and Reaping. “This is your official reason to be sent to Urzikstan, boys. Whatever intel Graves has left behind him regarding the revenants’ location, we need it.”

“When are we up?” Price asks.

“1600.”

Gaz whistles, “brass’ knickers are all twisted up, huh.”

“Miss Laswell, if I may.” Novikov pipes up, “I have yet to finish the renewed revenant test of Sergeant MacTavish and Lieutenant Ghost. I will not be able to give you an accurate recommendation before that.”

The fuck’s he talking about?

“I understand, Doctor, but it’s out of my control.” Laswell exhales, “this is why I invited you to this meeting. Based on what you do know, what is your verdict?”

The entire room swivels to stare at the Doctor. Novikov scrambles to flip through the papers in his hands, before speaking with an air of defeat.

“Considering my current understanding of Lumity, and the state of Sergeant MacTavish and Lieutenant Ghost… I recommend that until further testing, they should be separated as much as possible on field, if their powers are to be used.”

… What?

[starryylies]

The high

The lyrics don’t rhyme

The rhythm doesn’t match,

The beats of my heart which are going fast.

The rabbit said id be fine

But it’s the rabbit who lied-

For maybe I was the reason he had to die.

The music isn’t audible

The sounds are fading away

The earth is crumbling apart

While I’m the only one who stays.

The lights aren’t shining

Maybe my eyes aren’t working

Because I can’t see the good times

For which I was working

The songs dissipate

While my voice breaks

The high I once reached

Has already ran away.

[cupids-fiction]

there is sometimes an overwhelming urge within me to get into call of duty purely for those little gay fuckers that haunt me on every platform

soap i see you. once i get over my fear of cis male cod gamers ill come get you dw bae.

[yandere-wishes]

I just got the CUTEST ask ever and figured now is a good time as any to address this.

Guys I'll be quit on here for a while. Finals week is upon us and I've been suffering like crazy 😭😭 one more week and a half to go and than I'll be free!!

Meanwhile for the Anon who requested the Yandere! Hal Jordan x Batman's sidekick reader, YOU ARE 100% GETTING THIS FIC DARLING DW!!! I LOVE IT SM!! just please bear with me everyone🙏🏼💞🙏🏼💞

[ctrl-alt-bucky]

Why and how has nobody drawn Ghost with the tiniest, ittiest bittiest little kitten standing on his shoulder yet. I feel let down by this fandom. What did we do to end up here

[capt-zjaybird]

Nice

Now do I get to guess which ones are bots and which ones are real people or

[scealaiscoite]

dia dhuit uibhíní, i hope ye’ve been well since last we spoke! for reasons known only to the almighty and the person who handles my antidepressants, i’ve rediscovered the want to post prompts 😯 obviously of the niche and borderline unusable variety, but that should come as no shock. i hope that ye’ll enjoy them whenever i get them to ye! xx