#modern warfare 2009

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

omg stop a cap mactavish drabble where they're caught 'n he's gotta keep the reader calm would feed my soul

—Listen To My Voice

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [He orders you to focus on him as the sounds outside the cell get closer. He promises nothing will happen to you. You know he's lying.] ❞

“Jus’ keep your eyes open and listen to my voice, eh?” The heavy Scottish drawl snaps you back into focus, your head pounding awfully and pain ricocheting up and down your limbs. It’s a stiff and unyielding order. “C’mon now, Sergeant.” 

Coughing, you hack up splatters of blood onto your cargos—hands and arms tied down with rough rope that skins you every time you shift. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, blinking rapidly as the footsteps walk away from your holding cell and disappear with the slam of a far-off door. 

The Captain ahead of you grunts, his hard blue eyes sliding down the wreckage of your uniform; the open wounds and torn fingernails. He doesn’t look much better, truth be told. Your captors had taken pleasure in making you watch the other get brutalized—the vile rage in your eyes yet the inability to do anything. 

It was mental torture as well as physical.

“Oversight ought to know we’re gone,” Soap slides out smoothly, tilting his mohawked head to the side to study the room in casual sweeps, as if not bloodied and broken. “—they’ll be sendin’ out recon teams to scout the area in little under a day. Standard protocol.”

His voice trails, seeing your gaze locked onto the door of the cell, pupils nothing but tiny dots in your burst veins of the once white sclera. Blue finds the way your body shakes, and the man’s large fingers twitch along the arm of his chair.

In the back of his throat, he lets off a rumble and resets his stubbed jaw; the scar along his left eye shifting with his expression. 

“Sergeant,” your face twitches, but you don’t look at him. Inside your chest, your rattling lungs can nearly be heard aloud. 

Captain MacTavish’s lips tighten. “Didn’t I tell you to listen? Pipe up! This is important.” 

Your mind dances between hysterics and the numb oblivion of shock. While Soap had years to adhere to the idea of bare torture—even going through it before—you had no such luck. Experienced with weaponry, yes, but One-Four-One had only taken you on with the idea that you could become better than you already were. 

You’d never gone through an actual interrogation beyond training. 

Fast flinching eyes dart to your superior, chest heaving and adrenaline coating your expression. Blood drips to the floor. 

Soap grinds his teeth and sighs through his nose.

She won’t last like this, he tells himself—blunt and honest. He’d told Price it was a bad idea to let you tag along, and without the reassurance from his fellow, he would have straight-out denied you coming. Too inexperienced. 

This was exactly what he had been worried about. 

But, hell, if that fear in your eyes didn’t make his stomach knot; a heavy rage at the image of your broken skin as all he could do was watch. But it was a silent kind of fury. Weighted with the knowledge of revenge. 

While the man hated dogs, he sure acted like a loyal one. 

“One day,” the Captain tells you—hardened; inflexible. His orbs are like hard steel and his stiff body like rock. “You can take one more day. Just need to focus on me…Copy? I don’t want your eyes to leave me. Not through any of it.”

You push through your haze, staring into his eyes with the vile stench of fear in the air. It was human nature to not want to be harmed. To dread pain and suffering in all senses. 

This man seemed apart from that. 

The Captain grunts, harsher now, “Copy?”

“I-I,” you stutter, lashes fluttering. “I copy, Sir.” 

“Relay.” He barks, watching you closely.

“One day.” Answering immediately, you clear your throat and stifle your whimper of agony—a few of your ribs are broken. “I can make it one more day.”

“Good.” Soap’s accent makes the words clipped and true. Taken as law. “Nothin’ll happen that won’t be repaid. Keep that close, it’ll help.” 

“How many times have you been through this?” Talking helped with the nerves, your focus leaving the sounds in the distant hallways and the loud voices wafting in the vents. The room was cold; you shiver and grimace as your body moved. 

“Too many.” Soap huffs, pulling at his restraints with a heavy hand and growling under his breath when nothing happens. “Comes with the territory, you’ll get used to it.”

You lick your bloodied lips and feel the cuts in them. “...Is that a good or a bad thing, Sir?” 

His lips twitch into a low smirk, shooting you a sly narrowing of his lids. “Well, I’d say that’s up to you now, isn’t it?”

In the grimness and the barbarity, you huff what can be described as a dead woman’s laugh. 

The Captain, still trying to find a loose area of the rope, grits his teeth and utters, “There’ll be no deaths here ‘cept the ones outside this cell, eh? Like I said—focus. When I tell you something, I don’t care how hard it is, you’ll be listenin’ to me. Got that?” 

Footsteps sound up again from beyond, and you tense, eyes flinching wider. Soap grunts out an order and you keep your feral gaze locked on his. Blue eyes bore into you, flaying their meaning deep into your body like you’re made of clay. The uptick in your pulse makes you shake wildly. 

“Keep those eyes right on me. Nothing’s goin' on that’ll kill you, aye?” The door turns and the unlocking of the barrier snaps like electricity up your spine. You want to run, but you know you can’t.

And through it all, you stare straight into Captain MacTavish’s frozen eyes—his strong brow pulled in with authority. He nods his approval with a quick jerk of his head. When the door opens, you can’t help but fear he’s lying.

TAGS:

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[summoningflames]

this is my favourite asmr video and now my favourite art trend thank u

[chompeblr]

Ghost and Roach “training” the new K-9 unit. My piece from the Stay Frosty zine :3

[credince--writes]

Here's your reminder that 09' MacTavish had RABIES.

[deadunderorbit]

history repeats itself

wonder what MW3 brings us

[raccoonsockss]

i am thinking so much about john soap mactavish from call of duty modern warfare 3 (original series) and i feel like there’s so much untapped angst potential for him in this fandom.

like do you think he was ever angry at price for leaving him with all that responsibility? especially when they found him again?????

do you think he blamed himself for roach and ghost getting killed by somebody he chose to work with as their captain???

do you think he woke up after the fight with shepherd and his first thought was anger that life has to continue after losing everything?

do you think he started to see his past teammates in yuri or just a pale imitation of them???? and did he hate him for it??

do you think he died thinking about how he was being betrayed again???? how he’d failed again??

do you think he was almost relieved to finally be able to fucking rest???

because i do!! i do and it’s haunting my every waking moment!!!

[artemiisus]

Posting this here too. Sometimes selfinsert is the best therapy ☆

[yooo-lets-go]

Blade Runner 2049 ghostsoap anyone?

[roachy-draws]

He's a leash kid now

Y/n: Calm down

Roach: *rabid dog noises*

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hello hello, and first and foremost, ✨ congratulations! ✨

I hope this can count as a prompt, it's a quote I really like: "I have loved since you. But when the new paint gets scratched, there you are underneath." - maybe with Ghost or Cpt. MacTavish?

Thank you so much, have a lovely day! 🥰

—New Paint

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Fighting to forget you, MacTavish finds comfort in whoever he can. Yet, like the layers of paint on the walls, it always peels back to you.] ❞

He saw you again when he was out at the pub, another girl on his arm. For a moment he had thought it was a trick of the light—a ghost walking down the same haunts that the two of you frequented. 

You were in your old spot again; smiling with your friends and talking, hands moving in a fast display of stories he’s sure you would have loved to tell him if he were there, too. But the problem was that he wasn’t.

John’s smirk that he had held for this new attraction for the night lost its edge, flickering down to a flat line as you tossed back your favorite drink—the one he’d ordered for you every time you came here together. You were wearing an old shirt he’d seen you buy at a boutique down the street from your house. 

The man stared, the words and loud noises fading like the backdrop of a picture. 

You. 

Why was it so hard to imagine you existed outside of what used to be? 

Your hand covers your mouth when you laugh, and John has to stop himself from telling you that you shouldn't hide your smile—but that won’t work. You’re not his anymore. 

Clearing his throat, John brings the pint to his lips and takes a long swig of it, letting the alcohol coat his stomach and spread its effects to his mind. 

He can’t remember most of the fight, and he knows he blocked out a lot of it—there were too many things said, too many moments of blind malice. But he still knew it was his fault, and that fact won’t ever leave him. 

John shimmies the woman out of his arm, stomach tight all of sudden; whatever joy that had been in his mind was gone—stolen. 

And when he looks back over to your table, he finds you standing with your friends, but you aren’t speaking to them. 

You’re looking at him. 

John freezes, face frozen into a picture of shocked nothingness. You don’t go closer—John doesn’t stand. But you both stare for a long moment of forgotten lifetimes; of memories made and the ones lost to roads less taken. 

What you both could have been together will haunt him for what little of a life he’s got left. Even if he paints over that wall, that shade of color that symbolizes you in every sense and word, it would never be enough to block you out. Every scratch would tear it away, and your pigment would always shine back through with a vengeance. 

It always would have been you. 

You blink at him, your eyes are all at once glassy as your friends filter past, moving to the door, oblivious. But only moments later your lips twitch upward, a delicate twist of flesh and a loaded gun to his head all at once. 

He hesitates, knowing that this would be the last shred of anything decent that he could have taken part in. His light in the dark…but he wasn’t yours.

So, John tinnily smiles back at you as your body pivots away, watching blankly long after your shadow has disappeared to claim its place in the recesses of his waking mind.

And he lets you go.

[summoningflames]

UHM UH GAY BUG?!

[temeyes]

hat evolution

[credince--writes]

Imagine: 09 & 22 141's SWAP

hear me out:

Au fanfic where modern 141 raid some kinda weird multiverse cult sciency bunker & get transported to a universe where their 09' alters retired or at least settled down & had kids. (Like they swap with their matches)

Like 09 Ghost & Roach got together, & had a surrogate kid with Roach's sister. One daughter, named Elizabeth.

Captain MacTavish got hitched & settled down and had 3 kids, Three Boys named Logan, James, and Oliver.

Price is a proud uncle-Grandpa

And Gaz is... white? (IM SO SORRY JUST THAT CONCEPT HAS ME CACKLING)

Like:

"You should call Liz." James urges, pushing on Logan's shoulder as they continue to stare at the two men who seemed so much like their father and uncle hog-tied in the living room, still struggling against their bindings.

"He looks mean." Oliver squeaks out, hovering behind his two older brothers while peeking out to look at him.

"He fuckin' tried to stab me." Logan hisses out, pulling out his phone and pressing the 'call' button onto Liz's contact form.

"Hello?" Her voice crackled in, the connection spotty for a moment before evening out.

"Hey, Liz. Where are you?"

"Hanging out at home, why?" She asks.

"Where... Where are your dads?"

She laughs, and absolutely cackles on the other end of the phone for a moment before picking the phone back up. "It's Thursday."

Logan pulls the phone from his ear and puts it on speakerphone. "An' what the bloody fuck does that mean Liz?"

"Remember how a few months ago I walked in on them banging in the living room and-"

"Get to the point, please." He all but begs, not wanting to relive the horrible conversation the two had when the incident happened.

"They go have old man gay sex at a hotel every Thursday now so I can't walk in on them. Like wine and dine then go tear up the-"

Logan's eyes nearly bulge out of his head, cutting her off. "You need to get to the hotel- you need to go there now and find Gary because something's happened and-"

"Hey, you're breaking up. I gotta go My Dad's calling me." She replies, hanging up the call.

Logan stares at the two men wrestling against their bindings on the ground.

"Logan?" Oliver asks.

"Yea, buddy?" He asks, picking the little boy up.

"What's gay sex?"

(Meanwhile, Roach was getting his back blown out when 09 Ghost turns into '22 Ghost LMFAO)

[rhymewithrachel]

Made the tiniest 09 ghost sculpt

[deadunderorbit]

better luck next time

[h3llh0vnd]