#warhunts. ghost

[hvndredbattles]

Really, Singh was a lucky bastard, catching shrapnel where he had. A little over and he'd have been looking at a femoral bleed. Any higher, and, well... Let's just say he's sensitive to the fact that he'd nearly found himself short the family jewels, so to speak. He'd limped along for all of a step or two before Ghost had, presumably, taken pity on him.

❛ thought you’d be lighter without all that blood. ❜ @warhunts (x)

"It's like body building, aye? Or wrestling." The bloodloss might be a bit more than Singh had initially projected. He's usually got a pretty solid brain-to-mouth filter, but not all of it's getting caught, now. "Just water weight."

[designedparadigm]

" it looks worse than it feels. " / @warhunts

   the  hiss  of  'bullshit'  lingers  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  but  he  bites  it  back.  a  sigh  passes,  before  the  liutenant  gets  himself  up,  turning  to  grab  the  medical  bag  and  start  rummaging  through  it.  pulling  out  a  few  tools  to  help  clean,  and  even  stitch.  his  work  usually  isn't  the best  -  but  hell,  he's  got  to  try  something. 

   "were  we  near  any  medical  -  i'd  be  draggin'  your  arse  right  there."  he  grumbles  it  out,  the  gruffness  of  ghost's  voice  significantly  lacking.  with  price  -  god  -  he's  always  brought  down  to simon.  even  with  ghost's  imposing  mask  -  he  doesn't  quite  feel  like  he's  matching  the  part. 

   "gonna  'urt."  he  makes  mention,  before  pulling  out  the  cleaning  alcohol,  opting  to  just  pour  a  good  bit  of  it  over  the  wound,  before  using  gauze  improperly  to  try  and  clean  up  some  of  the  blood.  he's  never  been  inclined  toward  medical  -  it's  showing  blatantly. 

   "gonna  'ave  to  stitch  it."  brown  eyes  glance  up  to  meet  blues.  "you  gonna  trust  me  to  do  i'?"  some  of  his  accent  starts  to  bleed  through  -  and  he  kicks  himself  for  not  keeping  on  top  of  himself.  he's  still  in  the  field.  he  shouldn't  get familiar  out  here.  his  gaze  drops  back  down,  brows  visibly  furrowing  beneath  the  mask.  a  discontented  grunt  escapes,  before  the  growl  of  ghost  creeps  back  into  his  voice. 

   "give  me  orders,  captain."  he's  pulling  out  the  suture  kit.  "i'll  kill  'em  all."  there  it  is  -  the  reason  no  one  else  wanted  to  touch  the  ghost.  that  part  of  him  that  is  geared  to  vengeance,  that  part  that  wants  to  spill  blood  in  retaliation.  how  he  can't  swallow  that  beast,  keep  it  down.  claws  come  out  every  time  -  and  he  doesn't  hide  it. order  me  to  indulge  it,  captain. this  kind  of  shit  doesn't  stand  -  people  he cares  about  injured  never  will  stand.

[warborn-tragedy]

What creature lies in your soul? | SSG RED "PIXIE" SIMMONS

ghost.

you are a shell of who you once were. a walking tragedy, you haunt the places you wander... hoping to find the shreds of your soul you have long since lost.

Tagged by: @hauntsect Tagging: @arcanumsolitude (Ilona); @warhunts (Price); @soapfcrce; @nezemny (Ghost); @inseparableduo; @mortau (Beau); @fe4rthere3per ; @toxichem and anyone else that stumbles across this that I missed!

[x-mencomics]

The Uncanny X-Men #193 - Warhunt 2, Part 1

Muir Island.

Sean Cassidy aka Banshee, former X-Man, minds his own business on a 10-mile run around the island. Suddenly, a guy in a red and black costume appears and kicks Sean in the face! Sean asks who this guy is and the guy is shocked that Sean wouldn't remember someone he MURDERED! Wait a minute! This is Thunderbird! From WAYYY back in issue #95, when he presumably died! Thunderbird says that Sean and the X-Men will do exactly as he tells them or they'll die!

Morlock Tunnels, New York.

Professor Xavier regains consciousness and finds Callisto taking care of him. She explains that he was beaten unconscious by anti-mutant protestors before one of the Morlocks found him and brought him to the tunnels. Callisto gives Charles a tour around the MASSIVE tunnels, revealing they even have an underground train that can transport them around down here. Charles is amazed. Then one of the Morlocks brings in an injured kid. More anti-mutant humans shot this kid! Callisto is furious and tells Charles that humans will never accept mutants.

Rocky Mountains, West of Colorado Springs.

Turns out Thunderbird isn't the ORIGINAL Thunderbird, who actually is dead. This is his younger brother who looks very similar to the original Thunderbird. This new Thunderbird blames Professor Xavier for his brother's death and he wants revenge. He's smuggled Sean Cassidy back to the USA and they're in Colorado, where the original Thunderbird died (again, see issue #95). Three other mutants, Roulette, Empath, and Firestar are here too. They are a team of mutants called the Hellions, with Emma Frost as their leader. The Hellions want to help Thunderbird get revenge on the X-Men.

Mid-Atlantic.

Storm is back aboard a ship, trying to get to Africa to visit her hometown. Last time she tried this, she was rudely interrupted by the wizard, Kulan Gath's spells (see issues #190 and 191). Storm looks out on the water and sees some strange, transparent-looking mountains. Someone behind her calls her name and she turns around to see the ghost of her mother! The ghost disappears. She believes that the mountains and her mother have some important meaning, and she vows to discover it.

Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

The X-Men and New Mutants train in the Danger Room. Xavier and Callisto arrive at the mansion, and Xavier thanks Callisto for her help in getting back. Callisto leaves, and Xavier takes a relaxing bath. Soon, that bath is interrupted by a call from Nightcrawler, telling the Professor to come to the Situation Room immediately. There, the team takes a call from James Proudstar aka Thunderbird. Thunderbird says he has captured Banshee and is holding him inside Cheyenne Mountain, the headquarters of NORAD. Thunderbird says he will kill Banshee in 24 hours unless the X-Men stop him. The X-Men head out.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[phasmasum]

⁽ ᴾᴿᴼᴹᴾᵀ ⁾ 𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗣𝗢𝗡𝗦𝗘 𝗟𝗢𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 . . . 𝙵𝙾𝚁: 𝙺𝚈𝙻𝙴 '𝙶𝙰𝚉' 𝙶𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙺.

“ It's just a flesh wound. Nothing major. ” said @warhunts.

“ 𝗦𝗛𝗨𝗧   𝗧𝗛𝗘   𝗙𝗨𝗖𝗞   𝗨𝗣.   𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧’𝗦   𝗔𝗡   𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗘𝗥. ”   To   say   he   was   pissed   was   an   understatement.   Misguided   rage   redirected   towards   a   bleeding   soldier   through   gritted   teeth,   in   spite   of   the   fact   that   buried   beneath   it   all,   he   was   only   angry   with   himself.   Angry   at   all   of   the   shit   that   had   hit   the   fan   and   gone   awry   during   the   last   mission,   angry   that   they’d   just   barely   made   it   back   to   the   rendezvous   point   by   the   skin   of   their   fucking   teeth.   All   whilst   underneath   Ghost’s   tutelage,   and   he   had   failed   them   on   a   near   catastrophic   scale.   If   he   couldn’t   even   protect   his   own   men,   𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯   𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵   𝘵𝘩𝘦   𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭   𝘸𝘢𝘴   𝘩𝘦   𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨   𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦?

Palm   pressed   against   an   open   wound,   applying   pressure   to   stop   the   blood   from   spilling   until   the   combat   medic   could   gather   up   what   supplies   they   had   available   to   them   and   MacGyver   a   temporary   solution   to   a   much   larger   issue.   It   wasn’t   nearly   as   bad   as   it   could’ve   been,   but   it   was   enough   that   he   wished   Gaz   had   said   something   sooner.   Wished   he   hadn’t   waited   until   they   were   ripping   through   terrain   in   the   Foxhound   to   get   back   to   the   safehouse.   𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵   𝘢   𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨   𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘰𝘵   …   but,   one   of   his   idiots   nonetheless.   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ( 𝙽𝙾   𝙼𝙰𝙽   𝙻𝙴𝙵𝚃   𝙱𝙴𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙳. )

“ You   get   hurt,   you   fucking   say   something,   do   you   understand   me? ” Tough   love,   they   called   it.   The   only   type   of   affection   he’d   ever   known,   and   the   only   way   he   could   express   that   he   actually   gave   a   shit   about   the   man’s   wellbeing. ( 𝙽𝙾𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝚂𝙰𝙸𝙳 𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙵𝙴𝙲𝚃. )

[soapfcrce-a]

[ 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 ] : receiver hears sender calling their name while asleep. (sleepwalking Simon time let's go) || @warhunts

He had to imagine that on some level? This was exactly what owning a cat was like. 

With the room assignments being what they were, Soap’s still very much groggy and sleep riddled brain had assumed that maybe the lieutenant was reminding him that the bandages currently wound around his midsection needed to be changed. And maybe, just maybe, there was that brief moment where he wanted to throw the pillow at Ghost and complain because he definitely took getting stabbed seriously.  

Except the listless, distant stare while Ghost repeated his name like some kind of mantra was enough to have Soap sitting up and doing his best to ignore the vague sore feeling. “Simon...?” 

No reaction—actually, there was but it certainly wasn’t a reaction to Soap calling the guy’s name. Alright... encountering this rarity(? He still wasn’t 100% sure about that one) wasn’t exactly how he expected to be spending 4am but here they were. “... ‘least yer subconscious wants t’ keep me involved.” 

Ah well, it wasn’t like Soap had planned on sleeping through the night anyways. 

[khozmoha]

character outline,     bold  applies.  italics  is  situational.  stricken  definitely  does  not  apply.

flaws,

moody.     short-tempered.     emotionally unstable.     whiny.     controlling.     conceited.     possessive.     paranoid.     liar.     impatient.     cowardly.     bitter.     selfish.     power-hungry.     greedy.     lazy.      judgemental.     forgetful.     impulsive.     spiteful.     stubborn.     sadistic.     petty.     unlucky.     absent-minded.     abusive.     addict.      aggressive.     childish.     callous.     clingy.     delusional.     cocky.     competitive.     corrupt.     cynical.     cruel.     depressed.      deranged.     egotistical.     envious.     insecure.     insensitive.     lustful.     delinquent.     guilt complex.     reclusive.     reckless.     nervous.     oversensitive.

strengths,

honest.     trustworthy.     thoughtful.     caring.     brave.     patient.     selfless.     ambitious.     tolerant.     lucky.     intelligent.     confident.     humble.     generous.     merciful.     observant.     wise.     clever.     charming.     cheerful.     optimistic.     decisive.     adaptive.     calm.     protective.     proud.     diligent.     considerate.     compassionate.     good sportsmanship.     friendly.     empathetic.     passionate.     reliable.     resourceful.     sensible.     sincere.     witty.     funny.

skills & hobbies,

art.     acting.     astronomy.     animals.     archery.     sports.     belly dancing.     bird watching.     blacksmithing.     boating.     calligraphy.     camping.     candle making.     casino gambling.     ceramics.     racing.     chess.     music.     cooking.     crochet.     weaving.     exercise.     swordplay.     fishing.     gardening.     ghost hunting.     ice skating.      magic.      engineering.     building.     inventing.     leather-working.     martial arts.      meditation.     origami.     parkour.     people watching.     swimming.     puppetry.     pyrotechnics.     quilting.      reading.      collecting.      shopping.     socialising.     storytelling.     writing.     travelling.      dancing.      singing.

tagged by :  nada tagging :  @bledlaw​,  @analyticallyminded​,  @carrioncop​,  @zloslwy​,  @discngaged​,  @beacondestroyed​ ( noah ),  @mimnghs​,  @requelstar​,  @warhunting​,  @gggno​ ( mo ),  @nobleyouth​ 

[designedparadigm]

❛  how fast do you think i can make you come?  ❜ / @warhunts

   an  eye  roll  is  what  soap  gives  ghost  at  first,  before  affixing  him  with  a  blunt  stare,  a  single  brow  raising.  "dinnae."  he  says  it  loftily  -  as  if  he's  not  laid  out naked  before  the  man  he  wants  more  than  anything  else  in  the  world.  as  if  it  won't  take  record  timing  -  with  the  way  he  already feels. 

   "guess  yer  jus'  gonna  have  tae  try  it,  huh?"  a  smirk  curls  upon  his  lips,  a  smug  aura  overtaking  him.  he's  so  confident  now  -  but  it's  when  a  return  smirk  graces  ghost's  visible  lips  that  soap  freezes.  realizes  the  mistake  in  that  moment. 

   "hey  -  wait  -" 

   before  he  can  continue,  he  watches  as  ghost's  head  disappears  between  his  legs,  large  hands  holding  his  thighs  apart,  soap  leaning  himself  back  into  the  bed,  curling  his  fingers  into  the  sheets. shite. 

   the  first  thing  he  feels  is  warm  breath  tickling  him  -  and  he  jerks  back,  only  to  find  he  doesn't  move  very  far.  he's  very  much held  in  place  -  and  it  takes  his  breath  from  him.  he squirms  in  that  moment;  being  rewarded  by  a rich  chuckle. god  -  that  voice  alone  could  probably  talk  him  into  coming. 

   but  of  course;  that's  not  what  he's  being  faced  with.  something  he's  all  but shown  when  a  warm  tongue  swipes  across  his  clit,  sending  a  jolt  through  him  -  something  that  causes  his  mouth  to  open  and  a  loud  moan  to  come  passed  his  lips,  his  body  shuddering  against  his  will. 

   "yer  a  right  fockin  bastard,  ye  ken?"  soap  hisses  between  clenched  teeth  -  only  to  be  rewarded  with  ghost's  mouth  entirely  over  his  clit.  it's  quick,  the  way  there's  suddenly sucking  and  that tongue  attacking  at  him. 

   "shite  -  fockin  -  shite  -"  swears  pass  between  sharp  gasps,  soap  writing,  but  staying good  enough  to  keep  his  hands off  ghost.  he  can  do  that  much  -  he  has  that  control. 

   what  he  doesn't  have  control  over  is  the  way  it  all  builds  up fast.  he's  never  been  this incessant  or needy  with  himself.  he's  never  had someone  else  be  like  that  with  him.  he  regrets challenging  the  lieutenant  immediately.  it's  mere minutes  before  his  cries  reach  their  fever  pitch  and  he  reaches  what  he  can  only  call  an  earth  shattering  climax. 

   heat  rushes  through  him,  and  his  entire  body  jolts  and  writhes.  he's  not  aware  he's yelling  -  and  only vaguely  aware  of  the rush  of  fluids  that  escape  him.  he knew  he's  a  squirter  -  but  never  to that  degree.  he's  never  been  pushed  to  the  edge  that violently.  he  could  never  bring  himself  to  the  edge  and  over  it  like  ghost  just  did. 

   he's glad  for  the  respite  after,  when  ghost  pulls  off  of  him.  a  forearm  comes  to  rest  over  his  eyes,  soap  letting  heavy  pants  pass  him. god  damnit.  he  scolds  himself.  couldn't  hold  out  -  not  when  it's ghost. 

   "ah  ken  how  yer  lookin'  at  me  an'  ahm  tellin'  ye  tae  stop  now."  he  grumbles  it,  breathless.  "an'  if  yer  gonna  ask  me  whit  ah  learned  -  ahmn  gonna  tell  ye  shite  all.  dinnae  care."  his  lips  curve  upward  into  a  smirk.  "ain't  gonna  admit  tae  shite.  yer  gonna  have  tae  drag  it  oot."  with  that  he  raises  his  forearm  to  look  at  ghost,  a  defiant  teasing  look  glinting  in  mischevious  blues. 

  make  me  regret  sayin'  that,  lt.  yer  capable  of  it.  i  want  that  part  of  ye.

[designedparadigm]

we have to stop the bleeding . / @warhunts

   god  does  he  want  to  put  up  a  strong  front.  to  smile  and  laugh  it  off,  to  swat  ghost's  hands  away  and  continue  on. soldier  on,  even. 

   but  it hurts. 

   soap  lets  his  legs  collapse  out  from  under  him,  his  back  to  the  sturdiness  the  wall  of  the  safehouse  gives  him.  he'd  leaned  on  ghost  this  whole  way  -  got  his  blood  all  over  his  damn  lieutenant,  disgraceful,  isn't  it?  he  cracks  a  wry  smile  at  the  thought. 

   "coated  ye  in  my  blood,  i  did.  shite."  his  head  lolls  to  the  side  as  he  scoffs.  "ahm  better  than  that.  usually."  he  is  -  right?  right.  it's  all  bluring  a  little  bit,  but  it's  fine.  it  will  be  fine.  he  lets  out  a  hiss  of  air,  slipping  blue  eyes  closed.  rest  -  maybe  just  for  a  minute.  he  can  do  that,  right?  yeah.  yeah  -  he  can. 

   "ye  dinnae  have  tae  be  worryin'  bout  me,  ye  ken.  ahm  fine."  mumbled  out.  "no  good  if  yer  caught  up  worryin'."  he  opens  his  eyes  to  give  a  lopsided  grin.  "worry  too  much  like  this  and  yer  gonna  get  me  thinkin'  tae  ask  fer  ye  tae  kiss  it  better."  is  it  the  blood  loss  that  has  him  saying  it?  god  only  knows.  could  just  be  shitty  humor  to  cope  with  the  pain. 

   "hell  -  maybe  ye  should."  a  chuckle,  then  a  wince.  "fockin'  painful,  this  shite  is." almost  doing  me  in.  "ye  ken..."  he  trails  off,  before  looking  away,  furrowing  his  brow.  he  lapses  into  silence,  mind  clouded.  it  shows  in  the  way  his  eyes  momentarily  lose  that  hopeful  bright  light  -  the  way doubt  shadows  his  features. 

   "lt."  he  says  it  softly.  "tell  me  it's  gonna  be  okay."  for  the  first  time  -  soap  asks  it,  raising  a  vulnerable,  uncertain  gaze.  primal  fear  deep  down  that  he  supresses  flashes  - tell  me  this  isn't  my  last  moments.  reassure  me  we'll  make  it  out.  together.

[hvndredbattles]

let’s get our story straight . / soap for yves (@warhunts)

"I don't think there's any universe where no one thinks we had anything to do with this." In particular, Yves is thinking of two LTs who aren't likely to be amused by the latest maybe-caused-by-sergeants kerfuffle.

Honestly, a broken kettle wouldn't be a big deal anywhere else. The trouble is, they're so far from another one it's not even funny. And sure, they can boil water in other ways. But Yves thinks the principle of the thing is more important in this particular instance.

"Maybe we just weren't here, yeah? Outpost ghost."

[designedparadigm]

[ patch ] sender carefully patches one of receiver's wounds / @warhunts

   soap  keeps  bright  blues  focused  on  ghost,  drinking  in  every  movement,  watching  as  ghost  focuses  on  patching  up  his  arm.  he  has  to  bite  on  the  inside  of  his  lower  lip,  a  fluttering  feeling  taking  over  his  chest.  is  the  room  hot?  he  fidgets  slightly,  averting  his  gaze,  trying  to  focus  on...  anything  else  in  the  safehouse. 

   it  doesn't  do  him  much  good,  because  his  gaze  lands  right  back  on  ghost,  and  he  swears  they  both  hear  his  heart  thudding  against  his  ribcage. 

  awfully  fuckin'  useless,  ain't  i? 

   "lt  -  ain't  tha'  brittle,  ye  ken?" 

   two  different  things  -  and  it's  all  soap  can  do  to  offer  a  smile.  it's  a  bit weak,  but  that  is self  doubt  echoing  in  his  mind.  can't  outrun  it  forever.  he  takes  his  eyes  away  -  fighting  the  urge  to  pull  back  and  say  he's  got  it.  he  wonders  if  he  deserves  this  -  deserves ghost.  he  closes  his  eyes  and  lets  out  a  breath  past  his  lips. 

   "ye  dinnae  have  tae.  ye  ken?"  a  chuckle  passes  his  lips.  "whit'll  the  others  say  hearin'  i  was  relyin'  on  ye?  i'll  get  chewed  up,  aye?"  he  lets  a  laugh  pass  him.  "should  be  takin'  care  of  myself,  shoulnae  i?  yet  here  i  am  -  lettin'  my  lt  do  it  fer  me.  almost  like  i'd  be  lost  without  ye."  he  stops  himself  abruptly,  surprised  at  the  words  he  babbles  out.  maybe  that's  too  close  to  the  truth  than  he'd  like.  he  closes  his  eyes,  letting  out  another  soft  breath. 

   "thank  ye.  fer...  botherin'  and  carin'."  it  feels  weird  saying  it,  and  he  fidgets  again.  "dinnae  expect  it.  ken  ye  dinnae  have  tae  go  oot  yer  way  an'  ye  did."  the  accent  bleeds  in,  and  he  finally, finally,  opts  to  shut  up.

[designedparadigm]

"do us then. smash or pass." ghost for swagger / @warhunts

   "es  tu  sûr  de  vouloir  savoir?"  a  snicker  follows  his  words,  but  swagger  opts  to  give  a  rolling  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  the  smirk  is  in  place,  and  heard  through  the  smug  snark  his  tone  usually  carries. 

   "it  is  -  'ow  do  you  say  -  smash?"  he  inclines  his  head,  putting  the  french  accent  on  rather  heavy,  fucking  around  as  per  his  usual.  though  his  answer  is  quite  true  -  he's  not  going  to  lie  about  it. 

   "if  just  to  see  the  look  in  your  eyes  when i  am  the  one  bringing  you  to  orgasm."  an  airy  wave  of  his  hand  follows.  "to  have  you know  when  you  look  at  me  what  i  have  been  able  to do  to  you."  the if  only  to  hold  it  over  your  head  is  all  too  clear. 

   "ce  serait  inestimable."

[designedparadigm]

" you're getting blood on the carpet. " / @warhunts

   a  scoff  escapes  swagger's  mouth,  hearing  those  words  coming  from ghost  of  all  people.  he  rolls  his  eyes  -  something  evidenced  by  the  way  his  stance  slightly  changes  to  slight  exasperation  -  before  slowly  turning  his  head  to  bother  to  glance  to  the  other,  taller  imposing  figure. 

   "il  y  a  un  problème?"  it's  shot  off  with  snark,  swagger  clicking  his  tongue  following  it.  "tu  peux  juste  venir  me  mordre."  he  shoots  it  off  with  ease,  a  laugh  following  it.  he  knows  he's  covered  in  blood,  some  of  it  his,  some  of  it  his  enemies.  it  doesn't  stop  him  from  picking  the  nearest cushioned  seat  and  parking  his  ass  right  in  it,  crossing  one  leg  over  the  other. 

   swagger  raises  his  gaze  to  lock  onto  ghost's,  and  one  doesn't  need  to  see  his  face  to  know  there's  a  snide,  smug  smirk  sitting  upon  his  lips  as  he  speaks,  making  his  best  mockery  of  the  english  accent;  "copy?" 

[soapfcrce-a]

[ 𝐑𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄 ] ― sender and receiver see each other again after a period of being apart // from ghost or price || @warhunts

“Cap’n?” It’s an immediate double take when he notices the older man at the door, admittedly quite surprised. “Thought the base woulda been out cold by the time m’ van pulled in.”

Not that Soap was complaining, nor thought it weird or anything. It was just… not exactly what he was expecting from returning from leave. Choosing to believe this was all chance? Oh, definitely so. “Woulda been in earlier, but th’ sodding train was late.” A bit of a grumble as he set his bag back in his trunk—though he paused for a moment to pull out a bag.

“Here.” He handed over the bottle shape bag and gave a little grin. “M’ mum says hi by the way. Remembered y’ liked this brand, insisted I bring ye the unopened one from the Christmas dinner.” A snort. “Surprised m’ cousin didnae insist on bringing it back with ‘im.”