This Was The Only Drawing I Could Find Rn, Drew This A Few Years Ago (I Was Fifteen, So It Ain't A Masterpiece).

I'm gonna try writing some things for the other boys, but honestly I've never played Cod, so I apologize in advance for making their characters not sooo accurate. Currently listening and watching their cut scenes to get a feeling of their personality, wish me luck

March 29th is National Vietnam War Veterans Day.

On March 29, 1973, the last remaining American troops withdrew from Vietnam, and President Nixon declared “the day we have all worked and prayed for has finally come.”

Today we honor and remember all of the brave men and women who served during the Vietnam War, as well as their families who also sacrificed so much. Let us give these veterans the long overdue recognition and welcome home they deserve!

Op, whatever you took, I need it

BLAME MY MUTUALS FOR ENCOURAGING ME TO POST THIS CRACK! IT IS AWFUL PLEASE FORGIVE ME. (I love you guys thank you for feeding my demons) anyway, It’s about cum. Read at your own risk.

-

Ghosts mind is bleary, it didn’t matter what else was happening all he knew was Soap. His body his flesh. With one last breathy noise Soap cums, spilling over his hand, and collapsing back into the covers.

Ghost smiles softly and then is in the bathroom running water over his hands, washing off the cum still spread between his fingers.

Ghost puts his hands together to scrub it off with the water.

Soap’s cum becomes sudsy. It froths up and starts to smell like clean grapefruit and sanitation.

What. The. Fuck.

This entire time! His boyfriend wasn’t the human, Ghost thought. No! No… Soaps cum was SOAP!

Ghost shoots out of his dream with a yell and a cold sweat.

He definitely gets smacked when he describes the dream to Soap later and asks him if he’s actually a soap dispenser disguised as a Sargent.

-

This was in my drafts as

“Ghost makes soap cum. Ghost washes hands. Soap’s cum turn into soap and Ghost wakes up in a cold sweat”

It’s awful I love it.

I'm ganna upload a few art pieces I made before finals kick my ass

Guys. What do you think think abt some fanart? I'd love to draw some, but I'm not sure it is what ya'll would like.

To any suicidal followers I may have: This is a sign to not kill yourself. You are loved and the world is special because you are in it. Keep holding on.

Reblog this when it’s on your dash. You will save someone’s life.

that 141 x reader you just did was so good! i need to know what happens next. like after reader is better, do they stay in the military? stay in 141? or do they take a discharge? I’m not the original ask but it was just so good.

love your writing btw!

thank you! here’s part two :)

part one here / part three here

you were beginning to hate the infirmary.

the white walls. the moans of pain. the smell of bleach and blood.

the reminder of why you were here. of who put you here.

your friends. your family. your team. john. johnny. kyle. simon.

you’d told the doctor to not let your teammates in, and she had tried, but there was only so much she could do. she couldn’t monitor the door all the time, and so a week after waking up from your coma, john price is sitting at your beside once again.

his hands are clasped together, knuckles white with the intensity of his grip. he’s leaning forward, elbows resting on the bed, hands under his chin. his position conveys his regret and worry. he looks like he should be in church, knelt between the pews and spewing silent prayers to a god that isn’t listening.

you haven’t spoken to him since he sat down ten minutes ago. the second you saw him step inside the infirmary, you knew he was there for you. there to try and speak to you, to apologize.

fuck him and his apologies.

you turned your head to the side, eyes staring at the white curtain separating your bed from the next. you studied the stitching while you listened to him breathe next to you. he hadn’t spoken either— just sat down and watched you.

it made your skin crawl, how he thought this was okay. how he thought this would be the way to get back into your good graces.

he clears his throat then, a sound you’ve heard a million times before. it makes you want to gag now.

“love,” his voice is soft, caring. you want to hit him in the jaw.

“can we talk? please?”

you don’t turn over, don’t even spare him a glance. you keep your gaze trained on the curtain. the only giveaway that he has your attention is the fists you clench at your sides.

he takes the silence as an invitation, that bastard.

“what happened—” he begins, then grunts. stops. takes a second, then begins again.

“what we did,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “it wasn’t right. the intel was from a trusted source. we—” he sighs then, and you can tell he’s rubbing his temple. he did that when he was stressed. when he was anxious.

“we were wrong to believe them over you, love. and im— im sorry.”

silence ensues. you don’t give him any indication that you’ve heard what he said. he sighs again, inhaling deeply.

“you’re still part of this team. johnny and gaz, they’ve been sitting outside this damn room like sentries. can barely pry ‘em away for drills.” he chuckles then, but it’s sad. pitiful. mournful.

“there’s nothing we can do to make this right,” he tells you. you’re still mulling over what he said about johnny and gaz. still hung up on the fact that he didn’t mention simon at all.

simon, who did the most damage to you, both psychologically and physically. simon, who shared your bed. simon.

simon, who is too much of a coward to face you for his crimes.

“but we want to try,” price is speaking again. “if you’ll let us.”

he stops talking. waits a beat, then two. then, you hear his chair scrape. he’s getting up, and that’s when you turn your head to face him.

he looks bad. bags under the eyes, skin pale, beard overgrown. you think he deserves this. deserves worse than this. his eyes meet yours, and they widen the tiniest bit at the attention you’re showing him.

your voice is full of venom as you speak.

“nothing,” you seethe, angry tears blurring your vision. “will ever undo what you did to me. what he did to me.”

price knows you’re talking about simon. the whole team knew you were a thing. hell, when they’d strapped you to that chair and debated who would ‘interrogate’ you, they hadn’t even thought to include simon. why would he want to torture the person he loved?

to their surprise, he had volunteered to take point.

“when i get out of this bed,” you continue. “im gone. and i never, never, want to see any of you again, or else im putting a fucking bullet between your eyes.”

the captain doesn’t speak. you can see the remorse on his face. you couldn’t care less about his feelings.

he gives a short nod, and without another word, he turns and leaves the room.

after john’s visit, no one else tries to visit you. you no longer catch glimpses of kyle or johnny outside the infirmary door. you’re glad they’re starting to get the hint.

but you’re still getting flowers. you don’t know where they’re coming from. sometimes they’re dropped off by a nurse, other times they appear in the morning after a restless sleep. there’s never a note. never anything to suggest who would be leaving them.

you know it’s one of the 141, but you don’t know exactly who. you feel certain it’s not simon.

but, unbeknownst to you, it is him. he knows you don’t want to see him— to see any of them. price had told them all about what you’d said to him during your talk.

price had also told them that he’d already started preparing your transfer papers. that had caused an uproar from soap, who’d quickly been quieted by a saddened price.

simon had expected it. expected worse, actually. he knew that if the roles had been reversed, he wouldn’t have been as merciful as you. it made him hate what they’d done to you so much more.

there had been the tiniest doubt in his mind when all the evidence pointed to you. he hadn’t believed it at first— and then things became damning. everything pointed to you. trusted sources were pointing their fingers at you, and everyone listened. he had listened.

he had volunteered to torture you because he’d been angry. rage he hadn’t felt in years bubbled to the surface of his skin, and he wanted to tear you limb from limb. how dare you come into their lives— his life— and betray them so substantially?

simon didn’t trust easily. he was battered and broken and scarred. shattered and malformed pieces hastily glued back together. he let the team in. let you in. let you see his face. let you into his bed. let you into his fucking heart.

and you turned around and drove a dagger into him. or so he thought.

he thought his anger and actions had been justified. thought he was doing the world a favor by butchering you. but he was wrong. the team was wrong.

he finds himself regretting how he hadn’t listened to your pleas, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

he knows the chances of you forgiving him, of letting him back into your life, are slim to none. but how could he not at least try?

you’d know each other for years. been together for years. all of it thrown away because he still knew the hurt of betrayal all too well. because it was too easy to fall back into the mindset that it was him against everyone. that the only person he knew, the only one he could rely on, was himself.

so he left flowers. your favorite ones. and he did so without making you face him, without apologizing or groveling. it was the least he owed you.

a month after your coma, you were finally allowed out of the infirmary. you were still healing, skin still tender and bruised. pink, jagged scars lining your skin; eternal reminders of the pain you’d been subjected to.

you’d been given a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, which you’d pulled on with much fuss. every time you struggled or stumbled, you found yourself getting angry. angry at the men who did this to you.

the anger was going to eat you alive, at least that’s what the psychologist that had been dropping by to see you had said. she’d told you you need to let it go, and you’d laughed in her face.

how do you let something like this go?

you didn’t know. you didn’t think you were strong enough to do that. not a good enough person to forgive the men that had carved into you.

once you had dressed, you shuffled out into the hallway. you’d profusely denied an escort, and the doctor had reluctantly acquiesced. she’d let you go, with just the promise that you’d keep your iv hooked in.

so here you were, trudging down the halls of the base, iv pole rattling along behind you.

you could feel eyes on you, but no one dared to get too close. you were glad. you didn’t want more empty apologies and sympathetic words.

you still remembered the way to price’s office like the back of your hand. you doubted you’d ever forget it.

time and time again you’d found yourself here. sometimes, getting reprimanded. others, congratulated. a few times you’d shown up in tears, and price had let you in without a word.

now you were standing outside his door, trying to contain the rage in your veins.

you raised a hand. knocked once, firm and loud.

“come in!” price called from inside.

you were already twisting the door knob, pushing into the room.

your eyes found price first. he was leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. his hat was absent from his head, instead resting beside him on the desk.

and then you noticed simon.

he was wearing all black. his hands were covered, bones decorating the black gloves. gloves you’d seen many times before. gloves that had been pressed to gunshots, trying to stop the bleeding.

the lower half of his face was covered, allowing you to see from his eyes up. his sandy blonde hair was ruffled.

you quickly turned your attention back to price.

“love, what are you doin’ here? you should be in bed—” he began, but you waved a hand as you stepped further into the room. you pulled your iv pole in behind you, then kicked the door shut.

“don’t talk, just listen. i still mean what i said when you came to visit. the only reason im here right now is because you haven’t put in for my fucking transfer.” you hissed.

the captain’s eyes widened, his face taking on a sheepish expression at the revelation that he’d been caught. simon stood quietly beside him, eyes trained on you. you ignored him.

“love, i didn’t want to do anything before you were ready—” he began. you cut him off.

“bullshit! you didn’t want to do anything because you don’t want me to leave. you want me to forgive you, right? hear you all out? come back and be a happy little family again?”

the room fell eerily silent as you stared at the captain. your heart was roaring in your ears.

“put in the fucking transfer, john.” you finished.

he reluctantly nodded. he inhaled, his eyes glancing at his lieutenant briefly, before he spoke again.

“of course, love. ‘m sorry.”

you didn’t say anything else. you turned to go, your back to the men, when simon’s voice cut through the air.

“you should be respectful to your captain, sergeant.”

you froze as you took in his words. was he fucking serious?

you didn’t turn around. you trained your eyes on the door as you spoke words through gritted teeth.

“you should watch your tongue, lieutenant, before I fucking cut it off.”

with that, you pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway, slamming it loudly behind you.

author’s note:

apologies for the wait! I hope everyone enjoyed! (this is being posted before proofreading, so I hope it’s okay— I’ll read through it later, it’s just late and im tired lol)

Why. Why must you do this to me?

no but I've been thinking about Soap with temporary Prosopagnosia (face blindness) after his injury

---

Price had put Soap on medical leave after he got out of the hospital, his only responsibility being rest and recovery. Of course Ghost took time off to be with him as well. He didn't even need to ask either, Price just did the paperwork for the both of them at the same time.

Some days were better than others. Sometimes Soap had trouble remembering words or doing delicate tasks with his fingers. Ghost always waited patiently for him to work it out, only helping when Soap asked him too.

For the past hour, Soap had been lying in their bed, his lighthearted laughs filing their flat as he watched something on his phone. Ghost was sitting in the other room and reading a file Price had sent over, informing him on their continued investigation to find Makarov.

Ghost heard a particularly loud laugh before the box spring squeaked lightly, the sounds of Soap shuffling off the bed following soon after. He heard footsteps begin to approach him and he glanced over.

"Ghost!" Soap said cheerfully as he looked down at his phone. "You have to see this funny cat vid-"

Soap abruptly stopped speaking as he looked up, the words getting caught in his throat. The wide smile that always spread across his face with enough brightness to light up Ghost's entire world suddenly fell, swiping down in one smooth motion. His eyes widened slightly, almost as if in shock, and his mouth dropped open a sliver. His eyes locked onto Ghost's face, but there was no warmth to be found.

It was fear.

"Who are you?" Soap choked out, taking an apprehensive step backwards.

Ghost was immediately on his feet, the look on Soap's face shattering his heart. He raised his hands out in front of himself and curled his shoulders in, trying to make himself look less intimating.

"Johnny... it's me..." Ghost said slowly, the words coming out calmly despite the rising worry in his chest. "It's Simon."

Soap tilted his head as a deep furrow scrunched up his brow. His eyes jumped back and forth across Ghost's face, refusing to focus on one thing.

"What..." he let slip from his lips, breathless and confused. "I... I don't..." He squinted slightly. "...Simon?"

"Yeah, it's me," he said quietly, taking a careful step forward. Thankfully, Soap stayed where he was and he let Ghost approach him, although he still looked unsure, small.

Ghost gently took Soap's hand and placed it up against his face. At the same time, he wrapped his arm around Soap's waist and pulled them closer together. Once their bodies were pressed up against one another, Soap let out a shuddering sigh and he dug his face into Ghost's neck.

"I..." Soap started hesitantly, holding Ghost back tightly. "I don't recognize you..."

His usual confidence was gone, the words coming out weakly, almost broken in shame.

"But you recognize my voice?" he asked.

Soap nodded in silence.

"Okay..." Ghost said quietly, letting his fingers trace up and down Soap's spine. "Just close your eyes then. Listen to me speak."

Soap closed his eyes.

"I got you," Ghost murmured soothingly. He wanted nothing more than for his imperfect words to reach Soap and rid him of his fears. He wanted Soap to feel safe. "It's me. Just listen to my voice, love. Everything's going to be okay. I won't let go. I love you, Johnny."

Feb 2024

A phantom memory huh

Alive / Part XII

Trigger warnings: Explicit sexual content in the form of a handjob. (I pray that my parents will never find my blog, Annie, ich weiß, dass du das hier lesen wirst. Kein. Einziges. Wort. Sonst werf ich dich ausm Fenster. Das gilt auch für dich, Milena. :)) Notes: This is my first ever attempt at smut, so sorry if it's awkward to read. I also have no idea how to conjugate "Lay", so sorry to all the English majors out there. Word count: 668

They stayed on that hill for hours. Barely talking, just looking at the sky and sea in silence, enjoying the moment together.

The sun started to set, the sky painted in a deep gold, the sunrays making the scene look etheral, like sunlight pouring out of a hundred broken urns.

When they got home, the house was still empty (Molly knew they'd need some time to get it going, so she made sure they'd have their peace)

"I'm gonna take a shower", Ghost announced. Soap plopped down on the bed. "Have fun"

Ten minutes later, Ghost stepped out the bathroom, blond locks wet, his bare torso bathed in the golden sunlight, a towel slung over his hips. "Looking good, lt", Soap smirked. Ghost grumbled and sat down on the bed. "Shut it" He lay down next to Soap, the towel dangerously low on his hips. Soap peered down. He was unsure, but he really wanted to. "Can I?", he asked quietly. Ghost swallowed, then nodded. Very, very slowly and gently Soap pulled away the towel, eyes fixed on Ghosts cock. "Not bad, lt". It was already half hard. He looked at Ghost again, checking for any sign of discomfort. He didn't find any, his eyes half lidded and it seemed like he was holding his breath. With a featherlight touch Soap ran his fingertips over it, cataloging every ridge and vein. Ghost let out a shuddering breath. "That sensitive, huh?", Soap teased. Ghost just nodded. "Please, stop teasing me", he whispered. Soap raised an eyebrow. "Yes sir" Soap leaned over the bed, grabbing a small bottle of lube from the nightstand, squirting a bit on his hand before wrapping it around Ghosts cock. He really was sensitive, letting out a small gasp at the sensation. Soap took this as a sign to take up the pace, tightening his hand and rubbing his thumb over the red tip. "Does it feel good?", he looked at Ghost whose eyes were fixed on Soaps hand around his cock, biting his lower lip to supress the sounds threatening to escape him. "Simon?", he asked again. Ghost nodded, eyes lidded. Soap chuckled. "Usually I'd have you say it loud, but I'm gonna let it slide". He continued at the same pace for a few minutes, letting Ghost get used to the sensation. He seemed to enjoy it quite a lot. A grin spread on his face as Ghosts subconsciously thrust his hips upwards, and he sped up and tightened his hand, drawing a small gasp from him. He gripped he sheets, his knuckles white. "Wanna hold my hand?", Soap asked, to which Ghost only nodded, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. His breathing got more erratic, and Soap could feel his cock twitch in his hand. "You're gonna come, Simon?", Soap cooed. "Y-yes", Ghost gasped. "Go on then", he whispered. Ghost let out a strangled whimper, squeezing Soaps hand tightly, white ropes soaking Soaps hand. His thighs trembled and he was breathing as if he'd run a marathon. Soap pressed a kiss on Ghosts forehead, getting up to get a wash cloth. Gently and carefully he wiped his body down. "Thank you", Ghost whispered. Soap grinned. "Did you like it?" Ghost nodded. "Then I guess it's a job well done, no need to thank me" He smiled. "I'm gonna shower" "Wait!", Ghost said, slowly getting up. "Give me a second, and I'll return the favour", he mumbled, hands shaking slightly as he reached for Soaps pants. "No no no, Simon, stop", Soap grabbed his hands. "There is no favour to return, you don't owe me anything", he looked Ghost in the eyes. "I want you to know that. I love you. You don't owe me. I choose to make you feel good. It's not a debt. We're not in a rush. We can take as much time as you want and need." Ghost nodded and sat back down on the bed. Soap smiled.

"Sleep a bit. I'll be there when you wake up"

Notes: Sorry that it took so long, I had to stop various times to stop cringing. It's also quite awkward writing this stuff in class. Anyway, I'm omw to bathe in holy water.