Record-keeping...

Soap has problems with a washing Machine...

I want write a Mini fic about this situation, but i'm really Bad with that, so if someone get inspired with this and want do a fic THANK YOU

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Alive / Part XI

Trigger warning: Talking and descriptions about sexual abuse and rape. Word count: 669 They started the hike in silence. An awkward silence. They both knew they'd have to talk about it, but neither of them knew how to start. They knew how to kill, but they didn't know how to love.

About an hour of silence went by before they stopped. It was a beautiful view from a hill down the valley on the one side, and a steep cliff looking down on the wind whipped sea on the other.

Ghost took off the backpack he was carrying, taking out a water bottle and handing it to Soap. "Thanks", he mumbled before taking a few sips.

After a few minutes of more silence passed. "We have to talk", Soap said. This one phrase made Ghost more nervous than he'd like to admit. Less nervous than when he was on a mission that could easily end deadly. "Yea...", he mumbled.

Soap seemed nervous too. "I'm sorry, Simon. I shouldn't have done that", he said awkwardly. Ghost wanted to tell him he didn't mind, but that wasn't the truth. At least not the whole one.

Soap sighed. "When I uh, when... The accident. I could hear you. You said you loved me", he looked at Ghost with those blue eyes of his. The same colour as the stormy sea, dangerouse but, oh, so tempting. Ghost wished he could live in them. Soaps words hit him. He hadn't expected him to hear them. Hell, he thought he was dead.

"You, you what?", was all he could say. Soap smiled. "You heard me. And I heard you." His gaze seemed to stare into Ghosts soul. "Do you love me, Simon?", he asked, plainly. Ghost was taken aback, not knowing what to say. Well, he knew what to say, but he didn't know if he could say it.

Ghost sat down clumsily on the grass, Soap sitting down a meter in front of him. "I thought if you liked me too, I could, you know, I thought you'd like it...", Soap tried to explain himself. Ghost wished he could tell him, tell him everything, but it hurt, it hurt so bad.

"I'm sorry, Simon.", he apologized. Ghost wanted to scream. "I love you", he mumbled. Soap looked at him with a mix of surprise, sadness and hope. He smiled. "Well, that's good. Because I love you too, you muttonhead". A quiet sigh of relief escaped Ghosts lips.

Soap seemed to be contemplating what to say. Ghost leaned back, lying down on the green grass. Soap did the same thing, lying next to him. "If you like me too, then why'd you seem so.... Averse?", he asked.

Ghosts mouth opened and closed like a fish. The words, the truth wanted to rip out his body so desperately. But he knew it'd rip him apart. But if he left it unspoken, it would eat him from the inside.

"They hurt me....", he whispered. "They touched me, they made me do things", he got choked up. "I had to, I had to, I had to survive, it wasn't my fault", he got panicky. "Hey, hey, Simon", Soap tried to ground him. "It's alright, I'm here, I'm right here", he placed a careful hand on Ghosts side. "You're safe now"

Slowly Ghost started to calm down a bit. "I just want you to know that we don't have to do anything. I'm just happy to be here with you" Ghost wanted to scream yet again. He didn't deserve this, he hadn't allowed himself to indulge in many things. Pretty much nothing.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?", Soap asked. Ghost gulped. "They touched me... I didn't want them to, I didn't want it", he breathed heavily. "They forced me on my knees... I couldn't breathe". Soap sighed. "I'm so sorry that happened, Simon".

They just kept lying in silence. It was a comfortable silence. The memories still hurt. But it felt like they couldn't quite reach him. He felt safer.

He felt safe. For the first times in ages.

Notes: I know that this description of deep trauma is pretty unrealistic, but this is for the sake of the fanfiction, since I don't want to write a hundred parts of unlinear healing and therapy until they finally bone.

Alive / Part VII

Word count: 399

Soap wasn't lying when he said his mum could cook. Ghost was glad he had something else than the horrible food from chow hall and MREs. Molly had made a hearty stew with carrots, potatoes and pork (Idk about real scottish stews so this is how my German grandma makes them). Now he and Soap were sitting in the bedroom in a comfortable silence. "'M gonna shower.", Soap announced, trying to pull off his shirt, but wincing. "Need help?", Ghost eyed him. Before Soap could answer, he got up and carefully got the shirt off without hurting him. Once it was, he couldn't help but stare a bit. He'd seen Soap shirtless, and naked, countless times, but this was different than neonlit communal showers. "Like what yer seeing?", Soap grinned. Ghost rolled his eyes. "Quiet". He looked at the bandage. "I'll change that when you're done. Don't use all the hot water" While Soap was in the shower, Ghost slowly started putting away his clothes, then stepping outside on the balcony. He had a beautiful view on the area, the sun starting to set and casting golden light on the fields. "I love sunsets", Soap appeared next to him, towel hanging low on his waist. Ghost subtly eyed the dip on his waist and the two prominent veins running along his v line. "Yea, they're beautiful". He cleared his throat. "Now let me take a look at that", he carefully peeled off the water proof bandaid off, exposing the still open wound. "It's healing nicely", he commented, setting Soap down on the bed and taking out gauze and a bandage from his bag. "Hold still", he gently began wrapping it around his shoulder. "Being gentle for me, huh?", Soap teased. "For you always, Johnny", Ghost flicked his ear playfully. After he finished wrapping up the shoulder, he helped Soap into his shirt and went showering himself. When he stepped inside the bedroom, Soap was sprawled on the bed, scrolling through his phone. "Yer beautiful, lt", he grinned. Ghost flipped him off before settling down on the bed. "Shut up". Soap scooted over a bit. "Make me" Ghost shot a warning glare towards him. "Don't tempt me, Johnny. You'll bite off more than you can chew" Soap snickered. "Oh I promise you I have enough space in my mouth". Ghost let out a groan. "Go to sleep, sargeant." "Yes sir"

The sharpest lives :)

I'm not sorry

Would ya'll like to read some Gaz and Price as well? I honestly don't know too much about them but I'd love to write something for them. Same thing for Ale, Rudi, König and Horangi.

skanies 🐍

i’m loving these new marker brushes so much they are so fun to use

Bloody hands

Trigger warning: Graphic descriptions of pain, wounds and violence.

Note: The way I described it here is how I learned it in my tactical field care course, which is very different from what spec ops learn, so sorry for the inaccuracies. Also, there will be tactical inaccuracies as well, I have no idea what strategies the SAS uses on their missions.

Pairing: Ghost x Soap

Trope: Hurt/comfort, whump, angst

Word count:

It was a simple intel mission, something they’d done dozens of times before. Soap grabbing the intel from an old abandoned warehouse, Ghost in sniping position from a hill near the warehouse.

„Smooth as butter“, Soap thinks as he scouts the warehouse. The few hostiles were quickly eliminated, and he starts searching for the laptop. „How’s going in there, Johnny?“, Ghosts deep voice cracks through comms. „Beautifully, sir“. „Good. As soon as you got the intel, come to my location. Evac will take about half an hour to get here“. Soap rummages through a desk. „Understood“.

After a few minutes of searching, he finally finds the laptop. „Got it, Ghost“, he announces. „Well done, Johnny. Now get your arse over here“ „Yes sir“.

Soap quickly leaves the warehouse, carefully making his way towards the hill about two hundred meters away. „How’s the view from there, lt?“, he jokingly asks. No answer. „Ghost?“, he asks again. Still nothing. He gets a bit worried. „Ghost, you OK over there?“. Silence. He curses and picks up his pace.

As he reaches the foot off the hill, he sees something bloody in the tall grass. He scrambles towards the figure, sighing in relief when he identifies it as not Ghost. But a knife stuck out of the mans neck, it was one of Ghosts. He was in trouble.

As quickly as he could he runs up the hill, searching the ground for Ghost in his ghillie suit. When he finds him, his blood runs cold. Ghost is lying face down on the ground, a puddle of blood pooling around his torso. „Fuck, Ghost!“, Soap curses, quickly kneeling down next to him.

He turns him around and immediately grimaces at the sight. The mask was broken, his eyes closed. Blood pools out a bullet wound in his stomach, dark and slow.

„No no no no“, Soap mumbles, immediately pressing down on the wound, grabbing the med kit from his backpack. „Ghost! Wake up!“, he tries to urge the other man, putting on latex gloves and scissors, cutting away the fabric from his torso. Ghosts eyes flutter open. „Johnny“, he mumbles.

„Hey, hey“, Soap tries to talk to him, keeping him awake somehow. Ghost tries to speak, but his voice strangles into a pained moan when Soap starts packing the wound with quick clot gauze.

He tries to hide it, for Ghosts sake, but Soap panics. Ghost is hurt. That doesn’t happen. Some cuts and bruises, sure, but not like this. He was in pain, and he couldn’t hide it. Soap had never seen Ghost lose his composure, but here he was, hands gripping the fabric of the ghillie suit with white knuckles, small moans and whimpers leaving his lips as Soap tries to keep him from dying.

„It hurts“, Ghost mumbles, writhing under Soaps hands. „I know, I know, I‘m sorry“, Soap tries to comfort him, running his hands over Ghosts body to check for other injuries. The thoughts in his mind are running a hundred miles and hour as his hands press against his muscles, trying to ignore how he feels underneath his fingertips.

He grabs the morphine pen, uncapping it and stabbing it into Ghosts thigh, releasing the pain medication into his blood stream. „It’ll be better soon, I promise“, he tells him. His fingers reach up the the dishevelled mask, slowly pulling it off „I have to take this one off, lt. Gotta make sure you don’t accidentally swallow your tongue, yea?“ Ghost faintly nods, not enough strength in him to speak, a warm, comfortable cocoon starting to envelop him.

The sharp and agonising pain in his side slowly lessens to a dull ache, which is far more manageable. He tries to stay conscious, for Soap, but it is no use. He’s so tired, and no amount of struggling keeps him from slipping into a comforting darkness.

Soap in the mean time attempts to stop the shaking in his hands. He’s a sniper, a demolitions expert in the SAS, for fucks sake. He can keep his cool in the most stressful situations, but right now, he’s scared. Scared that it won’t be enough, that Ghost will die under his incompetent hands, killed on a stupid mission in a strange country.

Soap takes a look at his watch. Evac should be there in ten minutes. He prays to God he’ll be able to keep Ghost alive in the mean time. He doesn’t know what to do if he can’t. Ghost has passed out. At least he doesn’t have to feel the pain anymore. Soap would do anything to take it for him. With shaky hands he grabs a tube from the kit, intubating Ghost as gently as he can.

There isn’t much else he can do now anymore, only making sure Ghost keeps breathing and his heart keeps beating. He takes a look at the other far less damaging wounds, a fairly deep gash on his thigh and some bruises. With careful hands he cleans the gash from the dirt and dried blood, tightly wrapping a pressure bandage around it.

There isn’t more he can do now. He just has to wait and hope. A shuddering breath escapes him as he leans back on his knees, looking at Ghost. He looks so… Small. It is terrifying. Soap is used to being cared for by Ghost, whether it be being pulled out of the line of fire by the straps of his vest or big hands pressing into his body to stem a flow of blood. But not the other way around. The most he did for Ghost was helping him wrap a bandage around his arm once. But now, the mighty, strong and scary Ghost lies on the ground, hurt and weak.

It wasn’t the first time Soap had seen his face, but definitely the longest. His eyes were closed now, but Soap knew they were beautiful. A deep and rich brown, like the bark of an oak tree in summer. His lips were dry but of a slight pink colour, and way too plump for his own good. Soap wonders what they’d feel like on his, on his skin, on his-

The familiar sound of a chopper coming closer tears him out of his thoughts. He quickly scrambles up, packing the leftover plastic wrappers of the med kit in his bag pack, kneeling next to Ghost with a hand on his chest.

Two soldiers storm out, a stretcher in their hands. Soap helps them to roll Ghost onto it, and he gets quickly carried inside the chopper. A medic awaits them, and Soap hurries to report about Ghosts condition to him.

„Sit back, I‘ll take it from here“, he says and turns to Ghost. Soap lets himself fall heavily onto a bench, his own exhaustion getting stronger. He fights to keep his eyes open and trained on Ghosts unconscious figure, taking his hand in his and squeezing it, hoping he could feel it.

„You’re gon‘ be alright, ok? I‘m here, I won’t leave you alone“

HIIII!!! I just wanted to say that i really love ur writing! I've read ur traitor series and I can't wait for part 4! I'm a new author, and english isn't my first language, so it's sometimes very hard for me to write bcs i'm stil not that good, but ur fics have helped me improve<3💗!

thank you so much!🫶 im glad you’ve enjoyed the series! and speaking of part four, here it is :)

part one / part two / part three / part 3.5 (drabble)

simon didn’t turn to watch you leave the gym.

he stood there, eyes forward, mask clenched in one fist. he could feel the blood drying on his skin. he made no move to wipe it away.

he didn’t blame you for your anger— he couldn’t. he understood the rage. had felt it himself a time or two.

but he couldn’t take everything lying down.

did he deserve your wrath, your fury? yes— and he knew that. there was no making up for what he did; he realized that, but why couldn’t you understand?

he’d never fully taken his walls down around you, and that was no fault of your own. he was a guarded man, and his past gave him every right to be.

he had been burned and broken too many times. he’d seen the people he loved murdered because of him.

he swore he would never let that happen again. he put those walls up, and you knocked some of them down.

but there were some you’d never gotten through, at least, simon told himself you hadn’t. there was always something he was holding back, a piece of himself he wouldn’t give freely. he told himself it was because he couldn’t stand to love you so deeply and then watch you leave.

but really, it was because he needed an out. he needed a way to justify his leaving if something ever happened— and that’s what got him here.

simon trusted the 141 with his life. he trusted his captain with his life. price had never led him astray; john knew his face well before any of the others. well before you.

and when someone you trust so deeply, someone you’ve followed for years, tells you that the person you love has betrayed your team?

you can’t help but believe them. and that’s what simon did.

the evidence was coincidental at first. wrong place, wrong time. but then, everything started to seem like more than a coincidence. pieces of a complicated puzzle were fitting together. things only you and the rest of the 141 would know were leaked.

and all the signs pointed to you.

and although he didn’t want to, simon couldn’t help it. the second price had confided in him that you may be the rat, simon began to distance himself. you had been confused, but he had offered no explanation.

price was the one to question you first. it was a heated conversation in his office, consisting of him showing you the evidence and you becoming furious at the accusations.

johnny came to you next, buttering you up with his flirtatious and unarming words before asking if you’d leaked information.

then there was kyle, who pleaded for the truth. he told you that a case was being built against you, and that if you came clean now, things wouldn’t be so bad.

simon never tried to talk to you about it. the other men would tell him what you’d said, but he had never gone to talk to you himself.

maybe it was pride. simon wasn’t trusting, not after his past. he had let the 141 in, had let you in. and now you were a suspected traitor, and he was angry at himself. angry he hadn’t seen it sooner; angry he’d let you in at all.

but maybe it was hurt. hurt that you’d done this to him, to the team, after knowing everything they’d been through. after stitching up wounds on the battlefield and taking bullets for one another. after sharing simon’s bed and whispering you loved him.

all he knew was that he trusted price. and as evidence built, so did the distance between the two of you, until you were tied to that chair.

and simon had taken his hurt, his anger, out on you. he wasn’t proud of it, and he knew now that he was wrong. but he was still a little angry. angry because you couldn’t see his side of things— not like he could see yours.

so, he was an ass. he didn’t apologize. he snuck flowers to your bedside but kept his distance. he told you to watch your tone because you were still part of the team, and speaking to price like that was only something an outsider would do.

and he told you that he’d spared your life because he had. anger had consumed him, and truthfully, you were lucky he hadn’t done worse.

even if he’d smothered his feelings for you with rage, he still harbored love for you, and that’s why some part of him held back.

he knew you would probably never forgive him. he had made his peace with that.

but he couldn’t stand the fact that you couldn’t understand why he’d done what he did.

the creak of the gym door opening broke simon from his thoughts. he pulled his mask back on before turning around and making his way to the door.

it took one firm knock on the door for price to answer.

the door clicked open, and price sighed when he saw simon, scrubbing a hand over his unruly beard before letting the taller man in. price turned, walking back to his desk chair, while simon closed the door behind him and locked it.

“this is a bloody mess,” the captain said, falling heavily into the chair. it squeaked at the sudden weight, old leather crinkling and crackling.

“doc came and saw me earlier, ‘fore she left for the night. told me about some new injuries, and yelled at me for letting that happen.”

simon didn’t speak. price’s eyes met his, and he sighed again.

“fuckin’ hell, simon. what the fuck did you say? doc said she had to stitch up both their hands.”

“doesn’t matter what I say,” simon spoke, eyes still on the captain “they won’t fuckin’ listen.”

price shook his head. “that’s not true, ‘nd we both know it,” he sounded tired as he spoke, dark bags under his eyes. he paused for a moment, then spoke again.

“spoke to laswell after you left earlier. she said she’ll try to speed up the transfer process. tryin’ to avoid more fuss, and im not fightin’ it any longer.”

“they’re part of our team,” simon spoke, tone rough.

price shook his head. “they are, but I can’t keep doin’ this. can’t keep pushin’ off transferin’ because of you lot. it may be better for us, but not for them.”

the room fell quiet. simon inhaled, exhaled. his fists clenched at his sides before quickly unfurling once more.

he didn’t have a right to be mad at you for leaving, but he was.

“laswell say anythin’ else about tha’ transfer?” simon asked.

price leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “not much. no word on where or with who, but even if she knew, doubt she’d tell us. for their sake.”

simon gave a small nod and made to turn, but froze as price spoke again.

“she did say she didn’t know if it would go through. they’d have to pass another eval.”

they both knew what that meant. if laswell said that, then she didn’t believe the transfer would happen. kate wouldn’t outwardly say it, but price had known what she’d meant.

pushing the transfer through wouldn’t matter if you couldn’t pass a physical and psychological evaluation— and laswell didn’t think you could.

although he wouldn’t admit it, price was unsure, too. torture was something that took an incredibly devastating toll on the mind and body.

but torture at the hands of your team? there was no telling the damage that that would do to someone. to you.

an honorable discharge was more likely. and, if that was the case, then your rage would likely grow tenfold.

you career, your livelihood, taken from you by the hands of the men you trusted the most. your family, cutting you up and pushing you out.

damned by your team and your country, regardless of everything you’d done for both of them during your service.

you were just another cog in the machine, one that had been damaged and discarded, and a discharge couldn’t make that any clearer.

he thought back to what you had said in the gym earlier, before you’d left.

‘you should have killed me.’

maybe he should have.

thanks to everyone for your patience! also just incase you didn’t see my post about it—

im no longer doing a taglist! my side blog @troiastitans will reblog my works from now on, so if you want to know when I post, follow that account and allow notifications!

as always, thank you for the love! (also I hope you all enjoyed a little peek into simon’s head!)

Does anyone have an idea for some drabbles? I wanted to start writing for Gaz, Price, Ale, Rudi, König and Horangi, but I'm not sure what ya'll would like. I also write x reader, as long as it's sfw.