#johnny steele - power of the night | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

brewed-pangolin · 1 year

Text

Blue Steel

Photo credit to @adlerboi

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

There is literally no plot here. Just our Johnny boy living his best life between your thighs. Hope y'all enjoy it

18+ MDNI Explicit Smut, Fem Receiving, power play, maybe a bit rough around the edges. Just absolute filth.

Word Count: 3.3k

You honestly don't know how this always happened. Merely moments ago, you were having the most romantic candlelit dinner; glistening pinot grigio, creamy risotto with a savory salmon filet that all but melted in your mouth, and the man that, for lack of a better word, had all but swept you off your feet. Now, that same man had you sprawled across your luscious king-sized bed, half naked, open and soaking for him, the only way he ever wanted you to be.

"Fuck, bonnie. Y'always this wet for me?"

The smugness in his tone sent a wave of shivers through your veins. He knew the effect he had on you, but he wanted to hear it. Needed it. Wouldn't continue until those words trickled down your lust ladened lips.

"Yes, Johnny. Always for you."

Your words were wrapped in a desperate whisper, almost embarrassingly so. Johnny knew how to quell the quiver in your voice, make you sing like the erotic songbird waiting in the roost.

"Atta girl. Gonnae be good ta y'now bonnie. Food'll never fill my need for tha' sweet pussy a'yers."

His words alone made your cunt squeeze around nothingness. Begging him, pleading him to fill you to the brim. Clenching the sheets into your fists, your body writhed in a neediness only Johnny could summon from within. You watched through hooded lids as he sank between your thighs, that smug grin permanently etched into the corner of his mouth. His blue eyes blazing, like the flame atop a towering steel mill furnace. This is where Johnny came alive, where he longed to be on those lonely nights with you a continent away.

"Need you, Johnny. Please."

Your pleas were answered by the soft tips of his fingers caressing the flesh of your thighs. His touch was fire blazing, fueling the burn deep within your core. It was the blow of cool air on your soaked lips that had your eyes rolling back into your skull, back arching, fingers tearing into the sheets above your head.

"So fuckin pretty, hen. Never gonnnae get enough a'this."

The warmth of his lips on you never seemed to not take your breath away. Johnny was intentionally soft, slow, and deliberate with his mouth when first tasting your cunt. Like he wanted to savor it, lock it away for safekeeping. You didn't know, and you didn't care. All you wanted was him and his talented tongue on your most sensitive parts, the pulsing bud nestled within your swollen folds. But Johnny was a patient man and longed to push you to your limits of pleasure.

He started at a glacial pace; languid swipes of his tongue, flattened out to taste and mark the entirety of your cunt. He lapped through your folds as if he was famished, your essence the only substance able to quench his insatiable thirst. Johnny's hands moved in tandem with the workings of his tongue, fingers caressing the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs in methodically slow circles.

"Johnny, please..."

Your whispered mewl reverberated in Johnny's ears, eliciting a moan deep within his throat, his lips pressing deeper into the flesh around your soaking mound. His talented tongue followed suit focusing on your pulsing clit, hands meandering over the curves of your hips and splaying across the flesh of your exposed stomach. Your body reacted to him instantly, hips straining off the bed greedily wanting him to take more. You were met with a firm hold, and as your gaze moved to the valley between your legs, you were met with a maelstrom of dueling blue orbs.

"Patience, bonnie. Wanna take my sweet time wit'ya."

You'll blame it on the wine, but as much as you loved Johnny when he was slow and methodical you wanted nothing of it tonight. Blood running fire hot, bottom lip pinned down by your teeth you thrusted your hips into him once more.

"Teasing fucking bastard."

Johnny froze, his mouth still encasing the flesh of your cunt, hot air bellowing onto your wet folds as he let out lengthy huff, releasing with a sloppy wet pop. His brow was furrowed, eyes fire and brimstone delicately laced in flowing cerulean silk.

"Bastard, eh? Keep it up lass, an I'll show ya how much'a fuckin tease I am."

You wanted to, needed to prod and poke the bear. Release the wild animal you knew was just under that taught skin of the controlled Scotsman. Your hand released the sheet above your head and traveled effortlessly down the curves of your body, dancing above your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The burning fire in his eyes dimmed as your fingers laced into the thick locks of his hawk atop his head, the softness of it always sent a shiver of pleasure trickling through your veins. With a firm clench, you fisted a clump near the back of his skull and reared his head enough to give his neck a tight strain.

"Steamin bloody Jesus, lass."

Frustration through gritted teeth, the languid movement of his Adam's apple protruding within his thick neck had your walls clenching. And the cocky smirk on his lips glistening with your juices gave you all the willpower you needed to let go and give yourself to him.

“Fuck me with your mouth, Johnny.”

"Aye. Tha's what I'm tryn'a do, bonnie. Now lemme git back t'it, yeah?"

Your sultry coo flipped a switch within him. His mouth returned to your mound aggressive, determined, and intent on eating you whole. Johnny's fingers matched the ferocity of his molten maw, kneading and digging into the flesh of your thighs, leaving a burning trail within their wake that would undoubtedly smolder into an array of warm bruises.

"So good, hen. Y'always taste so good for me."

You knew he was lost within you. Eyes draped under heavy lids, mouth working in a sinful rotation from your walls to your clit. The low rumbling groans sending wave after wave of shivers up your spine.

"Open your eyes, Johnny."

Your voice was barely above a whisper, yet commanding enough to rile him up from his desperate feeding. The flash of sapphire between your thighs like an igniting flame, blazing and fighting against a shrouded, abysmal darkness.

"That's it. Gimme that blue steel, baby."

You couldn't see his mouth, but the evidence of the smirk buried within you legs was plastered on his visible face. That raging blue fire swirled into a darker hue, colored in mischievous and malcontent intention. His pace began to slow. Rapid and focused swipes on your clit were replaced by gentle prods into your swollen folds. Deliberately he avoided your pulsing bud, your body writhing beneath him, needy for his attention on your aching cunt.

"C'mon Johnny, please."

Denial is all you got in response. Your fingers gripped into the fabric of the sheets, desperately trying to relieve the tension as his mouth moved around your soaking folds. Soft puffs of warm air trailed his teasing rebuttals.

"Teasin bastard, right bonnie?"

Clearly, he was enjoying the torturous effect he was having on you.

"Johnny, pleasaaaah...."

Your plea morphing into a gasp from a forceful stroke of his broad tongue. Slowly he lapped at the sensitive bundle of nerves, each pass sending a bolt of pleasure tingling straight to your tightening core. It was only for a mere few seconds, but each swipe felt like an eternity. As though you were brought back to the beginning, surrounded by nothingness, the dark emptiness collapsing around you. Johnny's hot touch was the catalyst to your rebirth, ignition to a universe bathed in decadent pleasure. His mouth latching onto your mound brought you back to reality, his focused appendage making quick and precise circles around your throbbing nub. The burning cauldron within your core reignited, bellows of heat radiating across your flesh like swaths of a raging wildfire.

Johnny could sense your impending orgasm; feel it in your trembling hips, hear it in your shaky breaths accompanied by the pleading mewls trickling through your lips. You were close, so close.

“Don’t stop, Johnny. Please don’t stop.”

Your body nearing convulsion, teetering on the edge of oblivion with every movement of his mouth. White hot veils wrapped around your vision and just when you were about to fall, he halted. Dead stop. The heat from his mouth dousing your folds with puffs of hot air, the feeble excuse of a moan released from your lips eliciting a groaning chuckle that vibrated through your overly sensitive cunt.

“Tha’s a sound I could get used to, bonnie. Like hearin ya beg for me.”

Johnny’s verbal tease lifted the veil like a fog over a distant bay, leaving you awash in coveted desperation, body aching, pleading. As your vision began to clear you were met with a blue-eyed devil in the valley of your thighs, poised and ready to possess you, ensnare and bring you down into the depths of his pleasured hell. Your jab at him earlier almost working too well, the need to cum overwhelming your need to tease. Delicately your hands cradled the flesh of his stubbled jaw, fingers wrapping around the curves of his chin as your thumb traced along the snaking divot of his scar.

“Soap MacTavish, you’re gonna regret that.”

Your threat dripped in molten nectar, a deadly sweetness beckoning to an unwavering participant. Gingerly you crept your top half off the bed, leaning on one arm as the fingers of the other danced across the skin of his neck. Finding their place at the base of his skull you let your nails gently dig into the flesh at the nape of his neck. Your commanding posture mimicked his dominant stance, even beneath you Johnny still had a towering aura about him. He welcomed this assertive side of you, willing to play this erotic tug-of-war you so haphazardly thrust upon him.

“Eat your heart out, Sergeant.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

There was a low rumble wrapped around his words, and the tone of his voice wavered from controlling to what you could only call passiveness. The balance had shifted, scales dipping into your favor. The blue-eyed Scotsman, tested soldier and skilled marksman, was at your disposal.

With measured tenderness you brought his mouth back to your moistened core, giving him the impression that he still had the upper hand, even if just barely. Once his mouth fully encased your mound and his tongue reclaimed your clit, your hips began to move. You started slow; a gradual sway of your pelvis, a light grinding motion that mirrored the undulating swaths of his lingual tip. Johnny’s arms wrapped around your legs in response, hands gripping and kneading into the curved flesh of your hips. He ate at you hungirly, every needy pass of his tongue deeper and more forceful than the one before. Johnny’s moans were barely audible now, but the message they held was easily detected by your fingers pressed to the back of his neck. Like the distant bellowing rumble on the plains he no longer wanted to be heard, he wanted to be felt. And feel it you did.

Gradually you added more pressure to the base of his skull, pushing him ever more into the walls of your swollen core. And every inaudible rumble reverberated into your cavernous hole, sending shockwaves of burning pleasure racing up to the recesses of your mind.

“You like this, dontcha Soap? Like it when I ride your face, yeah?”

You locked eyes with him again, those bright cerulean orbs blazing with greedy intention. His audible groan all the permission you needed to continue on your sexual conquest. You were in complete control; assertive and composed, affirming your authoritativeness you pressed your hips down firmly onto his gaping maw, riding him faster, harder. You were reveling in it, basking in the glory you had over him. Your victorious mewls echoed through the curves and walls of your bedroom, ricocheting and molding with the animalistic sounds coming from between your thighs.

The sultry symphony only heightened with the constant barrage on your clit. Johnny may have been passive but it didn’t lessen his workings on your pulsing nub, a constant ebb and flow between your folds and delicate bundle of nerves. You were lost in your wallowing, riding the high of your impending orgasm as the coil began to tighten, constrict on itself again. So caught up in your own pleasure you failed to feel his adjustment, his movement beneath you. It wasn’t until his tongue delved deep into your swollen hole that you even knew he moved. The air in your lungs escaped through a choking mewl, hand gripped into the sheets and his skin simultaneously to regain some semblance to reality.

But your resistance to him was waning, breaking around him with every stroke. The faster you moved on him, the stronger his grip became, and the deeper he buried himself within your hole. It felt like time stopped. Seconds felt like hours, the universe pausing to let you enjoy the closest thing to nirvana either of you had ever felt. Your head lulled back, eyes clenching shut to escape the confines of your walls. It was the tap on your hip that brought you crashing back into reality.

“Steamin fuckin hell, bonnie. Gimme a chance t’breathe, yeah?”

He was breathless, and breathtaking. Every inch from his cheeks to his chin was doused in your wetness, glistening over his lips while his tongue swept over the swollen flesh. The sight of it turned you into nearly shattered glass, and Johnny was the last pebble hurtling towards your broken state.

“C’mon, Soap. Keep it up, baby. And if you do I’ll gladly choke on that delicious cock a’yers.”

There was a shakiness to your voice, commanding with a soft mitigation. Johnny could sense the change in play again, the balance once again moving to his domain. And he aimed to use your slightened weakness to his advantage.

“Carefull, lass. Ya may regret that.”

Not spoken, not whispered, not moaned, not even beckoned. Soap fucking growled. And with that, you broke. You willingly succumbed to him, sprawling out in defeat, letting him devour you whole. Johnny was ravenous, famished, wanted nothing more than to feast on your cunt. It was wet, sloppy, and beautifully disgusting. If it was anyone else, you would have been embarrassed. But for Johnny, this was his salvation.

His swollen lips like suction cups around the flesh of your hole, broad tongue pulsing into your needy cunt, strong muscular arms dangerously wrapped around the flesh of your thighs, and his rough hands fastening you to the fabric of your bed. It was so much, yet still not enough. Every fiber within you was tight, begging, and burning for the release that had been denied for so long. The sensation sending goosebumps stampeding over your taught flesh, combined with the bellowing fire radiating within your belly you all but shattered around him.

“Don’t stop, Johnny. Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Your mewl was desperate, pleading. And fortunately for you own sanity, Soap gave no indication to do so. He was gone, lost in the paradise of your soaking pussy, a stalking predator on the hunt for the most savory prey.

Once more the white veil crept into the corners of your vision; its warm embrace beckoning, welcoming, wrapping tightly around into an all consuming hold. Like a chained-down prisoner you let it envelop you, white hot tendrils like lightning caressing the entirety of your taught, pebbled skin. The orgasm you had so desperately been waiting for now danced on the flesh of your belly, waiting for the cue from its elusive partner to join the stage.

And that cue came when Johnny’s thumb pressed firmly into the flesh of your clit. Slow, concentric circles around the sensitive nub as his tongue continued to prod, tasting and devouring your cavernous hole. You wanted to meet his blue steel stare, craved it. But your body denied you. Every molecule, fiber, ounce of flesh was on the verge of combustion, and no amount of mindful wanting could put out that raging fire.

Your hips raised off the bed in response to your body’s desperation, back arching and hands fisting into the twisted sheets surrounding you. Johnny tightened his grip into your flesh, groaning, continuing to pulse his tongue into your cunt. He could feel the tightness in your flesh, read the raised pebbling like braille. And its message was loud and clear.

You were close, teetering off the edge of the pleasured cliff that he so willingly pushed you to. His thumb relinquished your clit, and let his tongue take over once more. Using both hands he raised your hips higher off the bed, bringing you ever closer to that final, sweet release. And it came with the softest of pressure of his teeth, lightly encasing the overused flesh as his lips delicately wrapped and sucked around the tip of your cunt.

The sudden change in sensation had you crashing through the floor. Your vision went blank, all sound and feeling seemed to disappear, and the only sensation your mind could focus on was the faint touch dancing around your tight bundle of nerves. An all-consuming wave of release flowed through your body, a tsunami of pleasure dousing out the bellowing flame that had been raging for what seemed like an eternity.

Johnny’s grip on your flesh began to loosen, releasing your clit from his pearly enclosure and replacing it with light pecks of his swollen lips. He reveled in his victory against you, drank on your orgasm and watched as you writhed and mewled his name so quietly it was barely above a whisper. He was set in reality while you sank into an abyss of overused pleasure, flesh so sensitive even the slightest touch made you quiver in response.

“So good, bonnie. ‘Lways so good for me.”

His soft whisper flowed over your soaken folds, a welcome breeze on a hot summer's day as you continued to drift deeper into a plain of distant nothingness.

Even in your state of post coital bliss you felt the shift in his position; a dip in the mattress to your side, gentle denim caressing the flesh of your thigh. But it was the ghosting of his lips up your belly that made your breath hitch within your throat. Slowly he traversed up your sweat silkened flesh, tasting and savoring the salty reward he so devilishly produced.

As he crossed through the valley between your breasts, your hands flew to the mane of his hawk, forcefully gripping it and bringing his lips crashing into yours. The taste of your release on him was intoxicating. The evidence of his endeavor pushed into your mouth, his tongue swollen and dripping in your savory essence. Wrapping your arms and legs around him, you squeezed his body to the point of molding within your molten state. Johnny moaned in response, its sound echoing down your throat and traveled deep into the broken recesses of your mind. You only released him when your lungs needed air, so desperate to feel him around you, your body had to intervene once more.

“God dammit, Johnny. Your mouth is fucking sinful.”

Your exhaustive purr elicited a playful chuckle from his chest, even after being completely ravaged, you still pushed him for more.

“Sinful, eh. Gonnae take me ta church then, bonnie?”

His voice was somber, victorious with just a hint of devilish charm.

“Hell no. I’m quite content to sit here and burn.”

With your soft quip you regained his mouth, letting his flame engulf you once more. You were his solace, his rejuvenation, the blissful fountain to quench his unsatisfied thirst. And your sweet cunt was his only direct line to absolute salvation.

This may not be very good, and yeah, it's all over the place. But I don't care. I had so much fun writing this. Soap may be the closest thing to myself I've ever written for, which is why I think I love him so much. Gonna take a few fics to get back into the swing of things, but it's nice to be back writing again. Much love, y'all 💛

#blue steel #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap squad #soap squad 🧼#soap smut #johnny mactavish smut #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #johnny mactavish #call of duty modern warfare #cod smut #soap mactavish smut

741 notes · View notes

ghosts-bandwagon · 1 year

Text

Request: “Price/Soap/ or Alejandro X SurgeonReader

You’re a surgeon, you’ve studied and worked hard to be where you are. With surgery comes loss. You do your best but you can’t save everyone. You know the pain and helpless feeling of losing a patient. But today something is just different and you end up breaking down as soon as you step in the door and throw your scrub cap on the ground.”

tw: mentions of death, loss, mentions of violence, angst with comfort

You were in school for years, passed your MCATs with flying colors, scored excellent marks in each of your rotations with your mentors and the staff giving you glowing recommendations. And when it came time to apply your skills, you did it with ease. And John couldn’t be more proud of you. In fact, he bragged about you every chance he got. Anytime he was deployed, he talked about you to his team with a grin going from ear to ear. And honestly, they were in awe as well. Not just because you were a skilled surgeon, but because someone like Price managed to pull someone like you.

John always kept his phone with him when he was on base, always with his ringer on as well. You made a habit of texting him when you were brought in on call, when you were about to enter the OR, and you’d call him when you were done and the patient was in the recovery wing. That didn’t change when he was home. Sometimes you’d call him, voice thick with exhaustion and the inkling that you might break, he could hear fighting your tears when you’d tell him about the patient you’d just lost. He’d rub the sleep out of his eyes, make a fresh pot of coffee, get in his car, and drive straight over to you. The staff all knew him by this point and buzzed him in without question. He’d hand you your thermos full of coffee and pull you in for a hug. If there’s anything he can understand, it’s the sheer, gut-wrenching, agony of losing someone entrusted to your care.

“You did all you could, love. Crack on, yeah?” He kissed your cheeks and rested his forehead against yours, you nodded and took a deep breath. You weren’t crying but you were pretty damn close.

Over time, you managed to steel yourself against that loss. Against that unforgiving blow dealt by the pain of losing someone on your table, under your knife. You’ve since learned to compartmentalize the loss and keep pressing on. It didn’t mean that it didn’t whittle away at you any less every time it happened, try as you might to prevent it but has anyone been successful in preventing the inevitable?

You’ve been keeping an eye on the news, mortified at the violence among the citizens for things that aren’t worth it. But as you watched the news, you knew you’d be called in one of these nights. It’s fine. Business as usual. It’s what you did, it’s what you signed up for, you’d do everything in your power to save them. John knew too, he was worried about you but he also knew you were strong and capable.

To help take your mind off things, John invited you and the task force out for drinks. He knew how, unfortunately, fond of them you are and knew they could help keep your mind off the growing unrest gnawing at your stomach. Which is how you found yourself sandwiched between John and Simon, with Johnny and Kyle sitting across from you. As much as you wanted to join them, you were on call and had to be ready to go at a moment's notice. You were happily sipping your water as you listened to Johnny’s enthusiastic story telling accompanied by Simon’s occasional grunts and eye rolls. Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you knew.

“Alright, that’s me, boys. Catch you guys next time, yeah?” You sighed, scooting out of the booth after John gave you room. You gave him a quick peck on his lips, “I expect him back home at a reasonable time, got it?”

“Yes, mum.” Teased Johnny, you threw your crinkled napkin at him with a laugh before heading out. You took a deep breath as you sat in your car, mentally preparing yourself for whatever was coming your way.

You got to the hospital and changed into your scrubs as quickly as you could, scrubbing into the OR as the nurse rounded you off on the case. Seems like it was your turn to deal with the fallout of whatever the hell was going on out there, you breathed deeply, steeling your nerves as you made your way into the OR.

Thirteen hours.

You were in surgery for thirteen hours. And it didn’t. Fucking. Matter. After suffering critical injuries, bleeding profusely, spending all that time with you and your nurses trying to stem the bleeding and repair the damage at the same time, it didn’t fucking matter. The patient had coded and was pronounced dead. You were numb. You were numb when you stiffly walked over to the family to inform them, you were numb when the man’s wife fell to her knees, clutching at your buttoned-up white coat, her husband's blood drying on your scrubs. You were numb when she was sobbing into your legs, you were numb when the rest of her family tried comforting her and pulling her away from you.

You were numb.

You didn’t call John when you were finished. You didn’t change out of your scrubs, didn’t bother taking off your cap when you got in your car. You don’t remember driving home, you don’t remember how you got home honestly, you don’t remember the painfully stiff walk to the front door, you don’t remember seeing the extra car in the driveway. None of it registered. You opened your door and tossed your keys on the table at the entrance, you didn’t hear Simon greeting you from the dining room, didn’t hear John calling your name as you dragged your tired body to your room. That’s not true, you heard them but either it didn’t register or you were too cold to care.

You were numb.

John watched in horror as you walked right past him. He saw you were still wearing your scrubs, he saw the blood that stained your pants and a little bit of your top, you didn’t react when you saw Simon (who you’ve drunkenly told John was your favorite), you didn’t even blink when John called out your name.

“Fuck.” John sighed, dread settling in his gut like a lead balloon, he’s only felt this intensity a handful of times on the field and it never ended well.

“I’ve seen that same look on you before.” Simon quirked a brow, looking at John over the rim of his cup,

“Hang back, Simon, might need you.” His heart hammered in his throat as he stepped out from behind the kitchen counter and jogged to your shared room.

“Sweetheart, can I come in?” He knocked on the door, when he didn’t get an answer he tentatively stepped in, gently closing the door behind him. He didn’t have to look very hard, your scrub top was on the floor and you stood beside it, pants still on, eyes fixed on the ground below your feet. You don’t know how long you were standing there, it felt like an eternity, it felt like a minute.

“I’m goin’ to help you undress, alright?” John’s voice was low, a calming baritone, thawing the frozen walls of your defense mechanism. He took a slow step towards you, then another, then another, and he was right in front of you. He kneeled down and gently undid the tie on your scrub pants, sliding them down your legs, tenderly lifting one foot and then the other to get them off of you. The warm occasional brushes of his fingers thawing you out even more,

“I lost another one, John.” Your voice was hoarse from disuse, his head snapped up at you, almost shocked that you spoke.

“Oh sweetheart.” He sighed, standing upright with a pop from his knees. He ran his warm hands over your arms, rubbing them in an attempt to warm you up. He watched the tears build in your eyes, watched the quiver of your bottom lip,

“I don’t think I can do this anymore, John.” You sobbed with your head hung low, he sat on your bed and gently guided you to sit beside him. He took your legs and placed them over his lap, gently massaging your calves as you leaned against him and cried into his shoulder,

“Take some time off.” His voice was calm, hands working methodically on the tension in your legs,

“If I’m not there, then who’s going to do the surgeries?” You hiccuped, your tears soaked through his tshirt as your sobs wracked your body,

“The other surgeons that work there.” He reasoned, “All the time you’ve spent there, you haven’t taken time for yourself. You’ve done more than enough for them, they’ll understand.”

“What if they don’t?”

“Then find somewhere else that does.” He shrugged, he knew it wouldn’t be that simple but at the same time he wanted to believe,

“I’m here for another two months, love. Take the time. Recharge. Go back refreshed.” His hands worked his way up your calves, to your knees, fingers getting between the tendons that shifted and clicked under his touch,

“I do miss you.” You sniffled,

“And I miss you. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me.” He nudged your head with his, resting his forehead against yours,

“Ok. I’ll text my supervisor.” You wiped your nose with the back of your hand, your breath hiccuping as you tried to calm yourself down.

“There we go.” He kissed your forehead and guided you to stand, he walked with you to the bathroom and helped you climb in the shower.

“You get cleaned up, I’ll fix you some breakfast, yeah?”

“Ok.” You smiled weakly at him as you turned the shower as hot as you could tolerate, “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He gave you one last kiss before heading back out into the kitchen. As you stood under the spray of hot water, your sobs started up once more, you covered your mouth as you leaned against the cold tile wall.

Yes, you were tired of the stress and pain of your job. Yes, it was taking a toll on you mentally, much more than it did physically after standing for long periods of time. Yes, your heart ached with every loss, despite your attempts to compartmentalize, you remembered their faces, the various states they came to you in, their families. And you’ve told him as much over time.

But you wouldn’t tell him about this one. You wouldn’t tell him that the man on your table had succumbed to wounds he received trying to help those involved in the riots lately. You wouldn’t tell him that his wife was pregnant when she fell on her knees in front of you.

But most of all, you wouldn’t tell him that your patient looked like him. You wouldn’t tell him that you had to fight your own mind and keep it from projecting your John onto the man in front of you. You wouldn’t tell him that your nightmares consisted of working for the military and operating on him and losing him. You both knew of the risks of his job, it wasn’t a foreign concept that there was a possibility he wouldn’t come home to you one day. You’ve glossed over it but never actually talked about it, never wanted to. Both of you foolishly believed that if you didn’t talk about it, it wouldn’t happen. It’s worked so far, so why fix what isn’t broken?

All of this was swimming in your head as you bit down on your knuckles to keep from sobbing loudly, like your body so desperately wanted you to do. But John knows you better than you dare to give him credit for, he knew you were still terribly broken up about it. Your John, your lighthouse beacon in the stormy sea of your heart, your gravity keeping you tethered to the ground you walk on. When you blinked the tears and the water from your eyes, you saw him standing under the spray of water with his tshirt and underwear still on. He held your face so lovingly, waiting for you to come back to him,

“Oh John.” You sobbed, throwing your arms around his neck, and burying your face in his shoulder, you cried and cried, your body shaking at the force of your wails. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding your head against his shoulder,

“It’s alright, love, I’ve got you.” He swayed gently under the spray of hot water, his broad shoulders shielding you, “I’ve got you.”

#captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #john price #captain price #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod one shot

222 notes · View notes

mlmxreader · 3 months

Text

War Takes Everything | Johnny Soap MacTavish x m!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Hi! I was wondering if I could request an angsty M!reader x Soap Mactavish where Soap mourns the reader? Hope you're having a great day. - @magarudyn-e ❞

: ̗̀➛ War will bring nothing but death and destruction, it does not discriminate and nor does it hesitate. War does not care what, or who, it takes.

: ̗̀➛ toxic gas, trench warfare, eaten alive, vomit, swearing, death, war

↳ @mockerycrow @seigwaidau @arthurmorgansballsack

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Trembling hands were met with something wet and sticky, blurred vision making everything incoherent to steel grey eyes; Soap swallowed thickly, trying to calm his ragged breaths but to no avail.

He told Price, begged him, not to send you; he begged and he pleaded, insisting that it was suicide - but you still followed your orders.

You still went out into those scarred and cursed lands where trees did not grow and grass did not blow.

Nothing had lived there for years, the great gaping wounds caused by harsh shelling had ripped the organs from everything and scattered it all around; tree branches rotted to nothing as the birds wept solemnly before fleeing.

The shells and grenades caused nought but destruction and death. The grey and lifeless hand of death touched everything on those lands with its clawed fingers, strangling it with fingertips digging into soft throats.

It was a horrid, despicable, place. Land was squabbled over, only to be lost within hours. Shrapnel chewed into body parts with jagged and rusted teeth, pulling it apart and refusing to let go.

Not even angels could be heard above the roar of the devil's symphony. Not even all the power in heaven could have stopped it. For everybody involved, trench warfare meant death; infection and disease ran rampant, spreading thickly just like the lice and fleas and ticks and rats.

Decent food was difficult to come by, stale bread with stale biscuits and occasionally lice fried over small fires, hardly even cooked; some resorted to eating the rats and mice that scampered around. Plump and juicy from feeding on dying men who cried out for their mothers as they died during the nights between either side.

At the end of the day, there was never any enemy to fight; Soap understood that, now.

He understood that those on the opposite side were merely doing the exact same, and that the blood on his hands could never be washed off; every life he had taken meant something, was someone. He could not go back and change that.

Yet it was still all so clear in his memory. The cold and damp, slick mud sticking to his trousers and seeping in through to his knees; the feeling of something wet and sticky on his hands as he howled and cried out for your family - yet they did not come.

They never would.

He could remember the cold feel of your skin and the greenish yellow foam upon your lips that you had choked on; the ultimate weapon of cruelty. Toxic gas. Used by both sides.

He could still remember sobbing loudly as he shooed rats away from you, screaming at them until his voice was hoarse and raw; he could still remember the soft kiss he had planted to your skin with his warm lips, and how he did not feel your chest rise and fall beneath his hand.

He swallowed thickly as he stared at the photo; you and Soap celebrating Saint David's day together. You had dragged him along as payment for him making you go to every single match that the Spartans played.

You had a daffodil and a leek on your hat, proudly wearing the flag as a cape; kissing his cheek right as he took the photo and grinned. It used to be his favourite picture, and now it only made his stomach churn.

Your things had all been packed by Gaz and Price, who had honestly been a massive help although he could not admit it; Ghost was indifferent.

Then again, Ghost always preferred you over Soap, and it wouldn't have been a shock if he blamed him for what happened. They got along, sure, but Soap never called him a friend; Ghost always called you his friend, though.

"Now why couldn't you have told Price to shove it?" Soap whimpered, his bottom lip trembling as he fell to the floor with his hands on the sides of his head. "Why couldn't you disobey one bloody order?!"

He knew you wouldn't answer. Of course he did.

You were meant to be his husband one day, you were meant to get married and to settle down and retire together; but you always knew that you would die in the battlefield. You always seemed to act like every day was the last, because in the life of a soldier, even just a single year meant a miracle.

Gripping his mohawk with one hand, Soap could feel the hairs ripping as he howled loudly; enough to make the neighbour bang on the wall to tell him to shut up. He hung his head, weeping.

He couldn't remember much of the funeral, except being dragged away from you by a weeping and sobbing Gaz, and he couldn't remember the weeks that passed, either.

Everything seemed like it wasn't real.

Licking his lips, Soap ignored his phone when it began to ring, and shook his head as he frowned and sunk down lower; lying on his side with his knees pulled to his chest as he snivelled and sniffled. He shrunk in on himself, especially when the door opened.

"Oi!" Gaz's voice. It wobbled and shook like he was seconds away from tears. "Johnny! I, erm... look. I thought... I thought you might... bollocks. Fuck it. I thought you might want to come with me to Price's - Ghost ain't gonna be there, and we're... we're gonna talk about him... about your husband..."

Soap could only sob louder, Gaz's footsteps getting closer; he heard Gaz sit beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Cry all you want," Gaz managed to say. "I'm gonna cry with you..."

Gaz had been your best friend, your reason for joining the army and the SAS, and although Soap knew that it was selfish to think so, he didn't want him there; he wanted to grieve and to weep in peace until he fell asleep on that cold floor surrounded by nothing and no one once more.

You had died too young, just as every soldier who fought in wars did, and you died for nothing; there was no enemy, no glory, no honour. There was nothing that war could have given, it could only ever take.

16 notes · View notes

honourablejester · 8 days

Text

Tagged by @theoutcastrogue to press shuffle on my general listening playlist 10 times and relate the results. Thanks!

I don’t have spotify or what have you, I usually listen to music on youtube on my laptop. But I’ve got a couple of playlists I’ve made, and if I shake them a bit, what comes out is:

Konya Wa Hurricane, Kinuko Omori/’Priss & the Replicants’. (It’s the opening song for the Bubblegum Crisis OVA series, the cyberpunk anime series of the 80s. In universe, it’s a song by one of the main characters and her band, aptly named Priss and the Replicants, which I love).

Sin City, Meredith Brooks. (I’m pretty sure this was from/for a Nic Cage movie, let me look this up, yes, Snake Eyes. But it’s a good noir sort of a song. “Change the names to protect the guilty, you’ll never leave Sin City … where you are king”).

Short Change Hero, The Heavy. (I’m 90% sure I first heard this song on a TF2 machinima, but it’s such a cool vibe for a post-apocalyptic western sort of deal. “This ain’t no place for no hero, this ain’t no place for better man. This ain’t no place for no hero to call home.”)

Power of the Night, Terrence Mann/’Johnny Steel’. (I’m starting to realise I have a lot of songs from various soundtracks on my lists. This one is from Critters, supposedly from the in-universe rockstar the alien hunters take the shape of. It’s a pretty sweet rock song though, and I do love Terrence Mann).

Keep the Streets Empty For Me, Fever Ray. (An eerie, drifting track that I think is about urban emptiness. Great thing to listen to at 4am on a thin night).

Labirynt, Zbigniew Preisner. (Again, if you want something drifting and eerie and vaguely unsettling. I cannot for the life of me remember how I stumbled across this, but it’s beautiful).

Spanish Train, Chris de Burgh. (Spanish Train & Other Stories was one of the tapes that always came on car journeys when we were kids. Chris de Burgh is one of the things from my childhood that really stuck. I love his story songs. Spanish Train is a fabulous little folk tale about god and the devil playing poker for the souls of a damned train).

Splitting the Atom, Massive Attack. (I found this because of the video, because the video is wild. A slow pan through a fractured black glass city to find the bizarre source of destruction at the centre. But the song itself is also great, a slow, dark, threatening rhythm. I also like their song Angel, and it’s also on my playlist).

Fancy, Reba McEntire. (I do not, as a general rule, listen to much country music, but I do like a few by Reba McEntire. This one is dark, about a girl whose mother sells her into prostitution because they desperately need money, and the woman the girl became coming back later after she’s made a life for herself to forgive her for it).

Starlight Brigade, TWRP. (This one was, again, because of the video, but it’s such a fantastic video. If they made a whole damn show of this, a-la Galaxy Rangers, or an animated music video move a-la Daft Punk’s/Leiji Matsumoto’s Interstella 5555, I would absolutely watch it. And the song itself is a fantastic synthy cheerful unabashed sci-fi cheese, and I love it).

I'm too scrambled for tagging right now, but anyone who wants to showcase their weird music choices, feel free to blame me!

#music #tag games #i have a lot of random songs from random soundtracks on there #and stuff i found on fanvids or because of the videos

7 notes · View notes

questforgalas · 8 months

Text

Summary: Betrayal in a foreign country. No one to trust but each other. Johnny "Soap" MacTavish barely made it out of the streets of Las Almas, but with Ghost's guiding word, he made it out alive. Now, making their way to whatever safety the wilderness of Mexico can offer, feelings previously hidden away struggle to be tamped down, and Soap struggles to keep his heart in check as he thinks about what he and his lieutenant found together in the streets of Las Almas

WC: 4.6K

Tags: Swearing, Soap gets stitches, blood, canon typical violence

Notes: I cannot believe that less than 3 weeks ago I didn't even know GhostSoap was a thing and now I'm writing fics. The power of subtext Activision. The freaking power of subtext ....

Anyway! This is not only my first GhostSoap fic, but it's my first time ever writing romance! Any feedback or suggestions are very welcome!! ***Updated 9/16 after my brilliant friend gave it a read and gave some feedback. Italics are actual dialogue from the MW2 (2022) mission "Alone" aka the GhostSoap mecca

“¡Déjanos en tranquilo!” - Leave us alone! “¿Donde esta el Irani?” - Where is the Iranian? “¡No está aqui! - He's not here “¡No sabemos! Salgan de mi - We don't know! Get out of my -

Enjoy :)

Read on Ao3

Johnny “Soap” Mactavish was willing to give his soul, left arm, and at least one testicle for the truck to never jostle again. Whether it was a pebble or a pothole carved from years of rain, traffic, and neglected infrastructure, each bump sent a chest-seizing jolt of pain through his right shoulder, and given the fact that the truck was pushing its speedometer’s limit through the rural desert of Mexico, he figured his chances of a smooth journey were slim, but he was at a point where desperation was taking over and logic flew out the shot-out window. Fresh blood trickled from the bullet hole making a window through his body - his trophy from a high-caliber rifle at point blank range.

Well, he had to survive to actually claim the trophy.

Most civilians assume that death is on a soldier’s mind every second during the day, even pestering them in their dreams, but the reality is that soldiers walk alongside death like an old friend. In the beginning, it dances around them, testing what will tempt them to come play for eternity, but over time, after successful missions and healed wounds, its eager energy abates. Transforming into a consistent presence looming near. Before each mission, after the final pull on his gear’s straps, ensuring the protection his life will depend on is secure, Johnny gives a nod to the ever present shadow lurking above and watches as it retreats back to its corner, waiting to greet him when the time comes.

With each bump of the truck, Johnny begged death to remain in its corner.

Las Almas, or the place from now on known as “the town that can get fucked”, may be forgotten behind the horizon, but not in Johnny’s mind.

“¡Déjanos en tranquilo!” “¿Donde esta el Irani?” “¡No está aqui! “¡No sabemos! Salgan de mi -” Gunshot. A woman sobbing into the night. Pouring rain creating another river of blood between the cobblestones.

A body greeted him around every corner. Women. Children. Men. Families. Individuals. In the streets. Inside homes. It didn’t matter. If they were a resident of Las Almas, they were guilty in the eyes of Shadow Company, and tonight, the Shadows were judge, jury, and executioner.

“War crimes, Johnny,” Ghost’s voice crackled through the earpiece. “Makes me want to commit a few war crimes of mah own,” Johnny ground out.

A growl crawled its way up his throat,teeth grinding at the memories.

Fuckin’ Shadow Company. Johnny’s seen some bastards with balls of steel in his time with the SAS, but none can compare to the American operatives seizing Alejandro’s base, taking the colonel into custody, and hunting him and Ghost through the streets, trying to cut all the loose ends that could end their reign of control. Now, Johnny and Ghost raced through the desert of Mexico, putting as many miles as they could between them and that hell hole near the Mexico-US border. Outside the window, a sliver of navy creeped along the black horizon, and Johnny tried to focus on the scenery racing by, but the blood loss won the battle, blurring his vision and causing a groan to escape, fighting the nausea rolling through his stomach.

“Hang in there, Johnny,” A deep, gravelly voice, thick with an accent that called northern England home, said beside him, “We’re nearly there.”

Calling on the strength of 1000 Highland warriors, Johnny flopped his head towards the driver’s seat. A black balaclava with a plastic skull sewn to the front covered a head that sat upon broad shoulders in a green-beige army jacket layered under gear. The jacket sleeves were rolled up, stopping just beneath the elbow, giving a glimpse of forearms bigger than most thighs, and Johnny blamed his current state on the urge to whine at the arm gripping the steering wheel blocking the tattooed work of art that he knew covered the left forearm.

The skull turned and whiskey eyes locked with his. “Ya with me, Johnny?” they asked, gaze returning to the road briefly before turning back.

“With ye, Lt,” Johnny slurred, Scottish accent so thick that even he had a hard time understanding him. He flashed a tired smile, giving a half-assed thumbs up. “For noo at least.”

“Eyes on the prize, Sergeant,” the driver said, steady and focused.

Steady and focused. The nature of the soldier behind the mask. The soldier who should have high-tailed it out of Las Almas as soon as shit hit the fan, but, instead, made his way back into the heart of enemy territory. The soldier who climbed a church and dipped into a finite supply of ammo to clear a path. All for one man.

Lieutenant Simon Riley may go by “Ghost”, but he was Johnny’s savior.

“We’re about 30 minutes out from the safehouse,” Ghost continued, giving Johnny’s body a once over then turning his focus back on the road.

“Safehouse?” Johnny asked.

“Alejandro’s. Gave me the location just in case.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

“It was need to know.”

Any other time, Johnny would have a quick retort on the tip of his tongue, but the only energy he could dredge up now resulted in his head falling against the headrest. Resting his eyes sounded like Christmas morning, and he didn’t see the point in fighting the heavy lids anymore.

“Hey, hey, Johnny. Keep those pretty blues open,” Ghost coaxed, switching arms on the wheel to give Johnny’s knee a shake. “Haven’t been able to check ya from that gun bash yet. You’re stayin’ awake until I can, yeah?”

Johnny grunted an acknowledgement but didn’t register anything after “pretty blues”. Scalding scarlet ran from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and he prayed to whatever deity out there listening that if Ghost noticed, he’d pass it off as Johnny’s body reacting to the injuries.

The lieutenant showed favoritism with one-word answers instead of grunts. The most words he uttered were barked orders on missions. He haunted the walls of briefings and worked alone unless ordered otherwise. Most importantly, the mask never came off. Hiding away the man beneath. Johnny shouldn’t be latching onto one comment about eye color. Shouldn’t be memorizing the feeling of the hand resting on his knee, tethering him like a life raft thrown at sea.

“We’re teammates. Friendship’s not in the field manual, Johnny.” “Neither’s mask makin’...”

But then he thought of tonight. Ghost’s voice breaking with panic when the bullet went through his shoulder.

“Go Johnny, get out of there!”

Staying back for him when decades of experience said to get to a rendezvous miles away. Thought of Ghost’s voice in his ear.

“Stick to the edges and stay low.”

“Look for supplies - things you can make tools with. Welcome to guerilla warfare…”

Coaching Johnny through the streets. To salvation. To him.

“I’ve set up a sniper position in the church tower. Find your way there, and ya just might make it.”

Awful jokes grounding Johnny each time he felt his mind beginning to snap.

“What has two legs and bleeds?” “Don’t tell me…” “Half a dog.” “Ah asked yoo not tae tell me.”

As if his lieutenant recognized the many tones of his voice, recognized when he was on the brink of falling.

“Two goldfish are in a tank…” “Goo on…” “One turns to the other and says ‘You know how to drive this thing?’ Little army humor…” “Very little.”

The banter that danced dangerously on the edge of flirting.

“Fashioned a trip mine, Lt.” “A man after my own heart.” “Thought you’d like that.”

And when it danced right off of the edge.

“I drink bourbon.” “Like a good ol’ boy, Lt…”

“The mask…take it off.” “Show my face?” “Yes, sir.” “Negative.” “Are yoo ugly?” “Quite the opposite.”

He ignored the flutter in his heart.

Just teammates.

“Didn’t know yer a medic,” he managed to say, pulling himself back.

“Best you’re gonna get for now,” Ghost replied.

Johnny huffed, keeping his eyes open by watching the Mexican desert race by. The sliver of navy along the horizon was growing, shades of blue pushing against the star-speckled black. It brought him back to their first days in Mexico, back when it was all simpler.

The jet lag was a bitch to overcome, the time difference between Al Mazrah and Mexico proving too much to adjust to right away. He’d been staring up at the ceiling, awake and alert hours before it was necessary, trying every trick in the book, but when the tenth attempt at counting sheep failed, he surrendered to the internal alarm clock and rolled out of the creaky cot, groggily pulling on a sweatshirt and barely tying his boots.

The unfamiliar halls of Alejandro’s base were quiet, too early for anyone to be stirring, so he wandered his way outside like a specter in the night. The comparison gave him a chuckle, thinking about the actual ghost who haunted the halls of 141’s base. As if he conjured the man himself, Johnny exited onto the courtyard to find Ghost casually leaning against the nearest wall.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he greeted, posting up on one of his lieutenant’s sides, sliding down to sit on the pavement.

“The usual,” Ghost grunted back.

“Jet lag?” Johnny asked absentmindedly, staring across the base at the horizon.

Ghost didn’t answer, standing there still as a statue.

When Johnny joined task force 141, he thought it was something about him that kept the lieutenant at an arm’s distance. Each attempt to engage in conversation either received grunts or cold eyes staring back. Most people with basic survival instincts would take the hints and walk directly the other way. Too bad Johnny wasn’t most people. In fact, the lieutenant’s icy exterior only intrigued him, pushing towards a delicate balance on the edge of curiosity and obsession.

Knowing better than most that in the military everyone had their pasts, Johnny took care to never step over the line - clocking Ghost’s invisible boundaries - but he undoubtedly toed it more than anyone else.

“Mornin’, Lt!” accompanied by little taps on the shoulder

“Lt! Ah have a seat over here for ye, sir” when Ghost tried to haunt his usual spot for briefings.

Jabbering on about whatever topic came to mind to fill the silence when the two were on recruits duty.

Offered easy smiles. Asked questions he knew he wouldn’t get answers to, patiently waiting anyway. Searched whiskey eyes for any change in a meticulously built exterior.

Then the long flight from Al Mazrah plopped in his lap like a gift. Hours of just the two of them on a cargo plane with nothing to keep them occupied except each other’s company.

Johnny couldn’t even wait for the ramp to close. “Tradin’ one desert for another, huh Lt?” he said, lopsided grin on his face. “Lucky us gettin’ the whole international sand experience. Think we won a lottery or somethin’?”

Blank eyes stared back at him.

“Never had much of an opinion aboot sand. Growin’ up in Glasgow ‘n’ all. Sure we have the river, but not itchin’ tae swim in that anytime soon…” And so he went, filling the air with whatever his brain conjured.

These exchanges between them were never transactional. He knew what to expect from the man sitting across the way - head at a slight tilt, blank eyes straight ahead, the occasional shift to waken stiff limbs - but being in Ghost’s presence was enough for Johnny. So, he let his own eyes drift up to the cargo hold’s ceiling, feeling a dreamy smile creep across his face as he wove his favorite memories into words.

Time passed. Unsure how long, lost in the tales.

“Keep in mind, A’m a wee, trustful lad at this point. Barely seven. Ava, th’ one above me, wee devil that one. Still is, honestly. If there’s trouble, Ava’s not usually far from it.” He laughed up at the ceiling. “Anyway, Ava and Ah are playing in the yard in the back when she looks at me and goes, ‘Oi, Johnny. Bet ye can’t climb the tree in a minute!’” Johnny put his hands on his hips, mimicking a power pose. “And Ah, the brave lad Ah was, said ‘Aye, yer on!” and didn’t Ah scamper as fast as mah wee legs could take me. Noo keep in mind, Lt, this tree was a big motherfucker. Trunk as thick as three of ya. Old, craggily bark - kinda like ya too - and some branches Ah’d consider low noo. Decent for climbin’, just maybe not at seven…

So, Ah scamper up quick as Ah can. Never looked back. A’d never actually climbed up the thing, but a bet was on the line! Granted, Ava hadn’t actually bet me anythin’, but still. Ya know what happened? Ah made it up there! First time! Took longer than a minute, Ah know that noo, but wee me thought Ah aced it. Ah gave a whoop, turned to rub it in Ava’s face, and was greeted with an empty yard. Wee scamp had gone inside! Then Ah looked down, and noo, Ah wasn’t necessarily scared, but it was a hell of a jump! Not for the faint of heart Ah tell ya! I called for Ava a few times, but that devil just appeared in the windoo of the kitchen and smiled. So Ah chose the mature route.” He paused, sly smile sneaking its way onto his lips. He was about to continue when he heard…

“What did ya do?”

He blinked up at the ceiling, registering that the question did actually come from the cargo hold. He whipped his head down, looking at his lieutenant for the first time since they took off, and found Ghost’s attention right on him. “What?” he eloquently managed to say.

“The mature route. What did ya do?” Ghost asked.

It took a second for Johnny’s brain to catch up. “Oh. Oh ya. The mature route. Ah took th’ high road of course,” he flashed a smile. “Started yellin’ for mah Ma. As loud as mah wee lungs would let me. Ava scurried off to get the ladder as soon as she realized Ah wasn’t quitin’,” he finished, chuckling, the soft laugh bouncing around the cargo hold.

Then his mouth snapped shut. He wasn’t laughing that loud. It couldn't have been…

Sure enough, though his mouth was sealed tight, the laugh continued. Not as strong as his, but it was there, fluttering around the hold. Over on his spot on the bench, Ghost’s shoulders moved barely a hair up and down but the soft shake was noticeable, and Johnny couldn’t believe the deep crinkles appearing around the lieutenant’s eyes. Eyes that weren’t blank or cold, but warm, near glittering.

The crinkles remained as the flight passed, giving away the hidden smile beneath, and Johnny decided those crinkles were his new favorite thing.

Something flipped then. Johnny couldn’t pinpoint exactly what, but sitting on the ground in the middle of the night, staring at the quiet Mexican desert, he didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. It was comfortable, soothing. A peace he didn’t know with anyone else. The sergeant lazed on the ground and his lieutenant stood near, watching the black of night give way to the gray of dawn.

Watching that same horizon through the window of the truck, that morning a week ago felt like a distant memory.

“Hey Johnny,” Ghost said, breaking through his daze, bringing him back to the present.

“Yea?” he answered.

“Where do fruits go on vacation?”

“Spare me,” Johnny grimaced.

“Pear-is”, Ghost finished.

“Ach. A’m already in enough pain as it is,” he groaned.

“Can’t be worse than your hair.”

Johnny found the energy to flip his middle finger. “Away n’ bile yer heid,” he scoffed.

“Fuckin’ scots and their sayin’s.”

“Admit it, Lt. Ya’d be bored without me.”

“That’s one way of lookin’ at it,” Ghost mumbled.

The lieutenant’s hands rotated along the steering wheel, turning the truck off of the gravel road and further into the Mexican wilderness. A ramshackled barn came into view, alone against the mountains, and they pulled up to the end of the drive. Ghost gently patted Johnny’s knee, giving his body one more look over, seeming content with the state of him, and exited. At last letting his eyes close for a moment, Johnny recalled every pep talk stored in his brain to gather the strength to get out of this truck and to the shelter they desperately needed.

Once he was confident he’d tricked himself into thinking he didn’t have a bullet hole dripping blood all over him, he grabbed the door handle, took a deep breath, and pushed into the oncoming morning.

_____________________________________________________________

“Yer sure there’s none of the good stuff lyin’ aroond?” Johnny ground out when the needle started another pass through his skin.

“Alejandro thought of everything except anything stronger than ibuprofen,” Ghost murmured, scolding eyes flashing up before returning to their work. “If you’d quit squirmin’ this would go faster.”

“Oh right, cause yer a perfect patient in medical,” Soap grumbled.

The lieutenant didn’t bite at the bait, staying fixed on the wound, steady fingers guiding the needle while his other hand braced the back of the sergeant’s upper arm, and Johnny tried, oh he really did try, to keep a professional composure, but when each wince earned him a “You’re doin good, Johnny. Almost there”, he found very little motivation to keep still. An especially painful prick forced his head thudding back against the old, wooden planks, breathing through it, but butterflies replaced pain when a gentle thumb found its way under his shirt sleeve, rubbing up and down his skin.

“Alright,” soothed from under the balaclava. “Just a couple more passes. Good as new soon.”

How the man hunched over his shoulder, tenderly patching him together, was the same man with enough blood on his hands to be dripping Johnny wasn’t able to piece together. The same hands that never met a bone they couldn’t break delicately laced a needle through his skin and eased the tension in his chest with a single touch.

The hands of the ghost of 141. A demon who lurked in the darkness - greeting his targets with a brutality that made them pray for the devil to save them - was Johnny’s guardian angel.

“You are stone cold, Simon.”

Myths come from fantasy, but legends, well, legends grew from the seeds of truth, and Johnny witnessed first hand that the legends of Lieutenant Riley could claim an entire forest. His presence on the field drew every soldier like moths to a light, ready to follow wherever he may lead. He knew where an enemy was going to be before the enemy knew themselves, and the precision with which he wielded a weapon - whether it be a knife or a rifle - was as if it were an extension of himself. An ease and familiarity that spoke of relentless dedication, endless hours of practice, and scars of lessons learned. Mistakes to never be made again.

Watching Ghost work on the field was to witness a masterpiece performed, and Johnny only ever wanted it to end with lively whiskey eyes staring safely back at him.

“Ya want to be better than me, Johnny.”

None of that intrepid, brutal force he became familiar with on the field could be found in the ridiculous jokes he now knew the man was fond of nor in the gentle murmurs from behind the mask as he focused on the final stitch. As he slowly peeleed away the complicated layers of Simon Riley, Johnny was beginning to think that that was impossible. No one could be better than the man in front of him.

A stiff tug in his arm pulled him out of his head. “There we go. Can quit your whinin’ now,” Ghost said. He brought the arm closer, inspecting his work and letting go when he seemed content with it. “I’ll grab another bottle of water from Rodolfo and some more pain killers. Try not to get more hurt while I’m gone, yeah?”

The lieutenant stood from the worn stool he had claimed and turned to dispose of the needle and materials in the small waste basket waiting nearby. He turned to the cracked door leading to the main area of the barn, but stopped to give a quick glance at his sergeant, hesitating.

“Ach, Lt. I’m fine. Quit yer mother hennin’,” Johnny urged, waving him off with the good arm. That earned him an eye roll, but Ghost continued through the door, leaving the sergeant alone for the first time since they high-tailed out of the main plaza of Las Almas.

A breath Johnny didn’t realize he’d been holding blew out, feeling every muscle in his body relax. Maybe it was the blood loss. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Or maybe it was the fact that his body was a livewire, aware of every brush of his lieutenant’s knee or every touch of his calloused hands. Whatever it was, an unbidden image of him falling to the floor like a gelatinous blob popped into his mind and there was no fighting the fit of laughter bubbling up inside.

As fate would have it, that was the moment Ghost decided to return, finding his sergeant choking on laughter with tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Ah think Ah’m finally starting tae crack, Lt,” Johnny managed to say as he caught his breath.

The lieutenant took his perch back on the stool, staring with a look that would pass as unamused to others, but not to the sergeant who cataloged every iteration of Ghost’s gaze, recognizing a fond glimmer shining through.

“I think that ship sailed a long time ago, Sergeant,” Ghost said as he handed over the bottle in one hand and offered two pills lying in the palm of the other.

“Yer bum’s oot the windae,” Johnny responded, eagerly grabbing the items.

Ghost heaved a heavy sigh, eyes rolling up to the ceiling. “English, MacTavish,” he said as Johnny threw the pills into his mouth and took a hefty swig, swallowing as much as his empty stomach could handle.

In the corner of his eye, he noticed Ghost going preternaturally still for a second, but the lieutenant shook himself out of whatever stupor had taken over, hand rubbing the back of his neck while his gaze found the floor. When the bottle was empty, Johnny chucked it into the waste, whimpering when the action pulled at the fresh stitches.

“Try not to break those. I just finished ‘em,” Ghost scolded, gazing back at his sergeant. “Come ��ere. Gotta check that head of yours.”

The lieutenant leaned forward as he spoke, his left hand beginning to rise, but then suddenly hesitating mid-air, appearing unsure. Johnny watched, not daring to move. A battle flickered through his lieutenant’s eyes, hundreds of questions, thousands of doubts flitting by in the span of a second. Then, a look Johnny recognized all too well because he’d seen it reflected back at him in the mirror every time Ghost haunted his waking dreams.

Longing.

“So yoo do like me?”

“I like you alive, Sergeant.”

Finally, Ghost’s gaze set with a look more common for the lieutenant. Determination. The hand closed the distance, barely cupping the side of the sergeant’s face, still giving him an out if he wanted, and Johnny held his breath, afraid that any sudden movement would spook the man away. When the hand continued to hover, not fully touching but not retreating either, he seized the moment and leaned in, a content hum floating from his throat at the contact.

“Taken a shine to me then, Lt?”

Never before had he been this close to Ghost, only getting as close as professionalism would allow, but he’d clocked the stunning color of the lieutenant’s eyes. The only bit of the man not hidden. Now, barely a hands-breadth away, he could take in every strip of amber swirling through the whiskey pools. The lone spot of brown that sat in the right corner. The small wisps of green haloing each pupil. His hand itched for the weight of his pencil and sketchbook, overtaken with the need to capture a scene that even the Renaissance masters would struggle to do justice.

Simon Riley stole his breath away.

“Absolutely beautiful,” Johnny said before his brain could catch up.

“Keep it tactical, Sergeant,” Ghost murmured, thumb grazing his cheek. “Need to check that head of yours, remember.”

“Whatever you say, Simon.” Johnny could be ordered to rip open his stitches and put the bullet back in, and he would. Right now, he’d do anything Ghost asked him.

Instructions were given - follow the finger, to the right, now left, look up, look down - the test completed, and when the thumb paused, Johnny leaned further into the touch, shamelessly nuzzling the palm, seeking that feeling again. A soft chuckle escaped from under the mask.

A peaceful smile snuck onto his lips. “What’s the verdict, doc?” he asked softly.

“A concussion, but nothin’ that’ll kill ya” Ghost answered, matching his tone. “Should be ok to grab some shut eye before we head out.”

They stayed that way, lost in eachother, gentle strokes resuming against the sergeant’s cheek. Neither dared to move. Johnny knew that Las Almas changed them. An electric current appeared between them when his feet first hit the pavement before Al Mazrah, and that current became a tether with every step in the blood soaked streets tonight, pulling him not to survival, not to revenge, but back to Ghost. Because he knew now, as long as he had Ghost - his guardian angel full of hidden scars and terrible jokes and brutal kills and gentle touches - he’d survive.

“Tryin’ to keep you alive and get you here in one piece…Let’s worry about you, Johnny.”

He clung to the idea that he wasn’t alone in this, that he wasn’t the only one who wanted to stay in this pocket they carved for themselves. Didn’t want to break this spell. Because in the back of his mind, Johnny knew that once it was broken, the crushing weight of reality would come falling back onto them. Where they were a lieutenant and a sergeant. The ghost of 141 and his subordinate.

Teammates. Just teammates.

Try as he did, the tease of sleep eventually won the war over a shot nervous system, and Johnny felt his eyelids drooping without his consent. He knew that if it wasn’t for the hand on his cheek, his head would fall directly onto his chest. Whiskey eyes warmed to pools of gold gazing back at him. “Time to get that shut eye, Sergeant,” Ghost said.

To his dismay, the hand finally moved, leaving his skin ice cold. Through half-closed lids, Johnny watched Ghost rise from his stool and reach for something just out of sight. Lamenting the loss, Johnny moved to lie across the cot but only managed to clumsily flop down on his back, the exhaustion finally taking over each of his brain cells. Some needles of hay made themselves known through the rough cloth cover, but it could have been a mattress at the Ritz for all Johnny knew. A moment later, rough wool covered his arms.

“Not gonna tuck me in?” he teased.

A huff floated in the air, “You’re a right pain in my arse,” Ghost responded. “Go to sleep. I won’t be far, just gonna help Rudy prep.”

“Can’t pull the wool anymore, Lt. I know ya like me alive,” Johnny muttered, eyes surrendering to the sleep pulling him in. Hanging onto his last tether of consciousness, a soft murmur full of gravel floated into his ear.

“More than you know, Johnny.”

#tay writes #divider by samspenandswords #ghostsoap #call of duty #soapghost #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley

45 notes · View notes

iggysolosgoku · 4 months

Text

Get to know me

Name: Johnny

Age: 18

Requests are open!

Wattpad: IGGYSOLOSGOKU

TikTok: Hxhandjjbafan

Favorite animes: Hunter x Hunter, Jojo's bizarre adventure, jujutsu kaisen,demon slayer and sailor moon

Favorite movies: Scott pilgrim vs the world, repo the genetic opera, scream, the whole Chucky franchise, five nights at Freddy's, the whole trolls franchise, nightmare before Christmas, and Edward scissorhands

Stuff I will write: Fluff, found family, platonic stuff, nsfw, sfw, LGBTQ, yandere, autistic reader, chubby reader,any character reader (ex: mitsuri reader), and poly

Stuff I won't write: incest, angst, age gap,any trolls character x reader cause that's just weird, and animal x reader

Animes and movies I write for: Hunter x Hunter, Jojo's bizarre adventure, Jujutsu kaisen, demon slayer, and Scott pilgrim vs the world

Characters from hunter x hunter I write for: Gon freeces (platonic ONLY), Killua Zoldyck (platonic ONLY), kurapika, leorio, Bisky, wing, illumi Zoldyck, the whole phantom troupe (minus bonolenov, kortopi, and Franklin I like them but not like that), Kite, and Knuckle bine

Characters from Scott pilgrim vs the world I write for: Scott pilgrim, Ramona Flowers, Kim Pine, Stephen Stills, Young Neil, Knives Chau (platonic ONLY), Julie Powers, Stacey Pilgrim, Lucas Lee, Roxie Richter, Gideon Graves, Katayangi Twins, Matthew Patel, Envy Adams, Todd Ingram, and Wallace wells (platonic for girls)

Characters from Jjba part 1 I write for: Jonathan Joestar, Robert E.O Speedwagon, Erina Pendolton, and Dio Brando

Characters from Jjba part 2 I write for: Joseph Joestar, Caesar Zeppeli, Lisa Lisa, Suzi Q, Kars, Wammu, Esidisi, And Santanna

Characters from Jjba part 3 I write for: Jotaro Kujo, Noriaki Kakyoin, Muhammad Avdol, Jean Pierre Polnareff, Joseph Joestar (platonic ONLY), Holly Kujo and Dio Brando

Characters from Jjba part 4 I write for: Josuke Higashikata, Okuyasu nijimura, koichi hirose, Rohan kishibe, yukako yamagishi, toshikazu hazamada (I don't support his actions), Tonio trussaradi, Yoshikage Kira, Reimi Sugimoto, and Mikitaka hazekura

Characters from Jjba part 5 I write for: Giorno Giovanna, bruno bucciarati, Leone abbachio, Trish una, narancia ghirga, mista Guido, panncotta fugo, risotto Nero, melone, formaggio, illuso, prosciutto, pesci (platonic ONLY), diavolo, doppio vinegar, squala, tiziano, cioccolata, sorbet, gelato, and ghiaccio

Characters from Jjba part 6 I write for: Jolyne Kujo, ermes Costello, narsico anasui, weather report, foo fighters, and Enrico pucci

Characters from Jjba part 7 I write for: Johnny Joestar, Gyro Zeppeli, hot pants, Diego Brando, and Lucy steel (platonic ONLY)

Characters for jjba part 8 I write for: I have not read part 8 yet

Characters from demon slayer I write for: Tanjiro Kamado, zenitsu agastuma, inosuke hashibira, nezuko Kamado (platonic ONLY), genya, and all the hashira

Characters from jujutsu kaisen I write for: Yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, nobara kugisaki, maki zenin, toge inumaki, satoru gojo, nanami kento, kamo choso, and geto suguru

I will NOT write for: Hisoka Morrow

#hxh #jjk #scott pilgrim #jjba #demon slayer

8 notes · View notes

anjaelle · 1 year

Text

Warped | Pt. II

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Characters: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Black!Reader x Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia Summary: You're in the middle of what's possibly a CO2 fueled hallucination, and you're curious to see how long this lasts before you just kick the bucket. Warnings: Language Word Count: 2.4K a/n: My first attempt at a throuple with two different relationship dynamics. Kind of excited to see where this goes.

Part I | Masterlist | ꩜The Warped Mixtape ꩜

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You woke up in the passenger seat of a pickup truck, leaning your heavy head against the cool window. A power ballad you vaguely remember hearing in passing crooned softly through the radio speakers. The driver drummed on the steering wheel and you couldn't help but notice the way he hummed slightly off key.

The downtown storefronts passed by in a slow neon and beige blur, so you shut your eyes to keep yourself from puking.

“Hey! Look who decided to wake up!”

You groaned, taking a deep breath, “Sssshit.”

You sat up in your seat, briefly glancing over to find the blonde man from the hotel regarding you with a raised brow.

“Can’t handle the heat, huh?” He shook his head, “You’re lucky I’ve got these arms of steel and fast reflexes or you would’ve hit the ground like a bag of rocks.”

He took the opportunity to flex his left arm that draped lazily over the steering wheel. It was nice to know the thrumming pang in your head wasn’t from a concussion. You instinctively reached for your phone in your pocket, only to find your car keys.

“Ugh, where’s my phone?” You mumbled, searching your other pocket and coming up short.

You could feel him burning a hole into the side of your face every time he took his eyes off the road to look at you.

“Oh my god, what?”

“You keep babbling about bizarro shit, y’know. And a ‘thank you’ would’ve been kinda nice.” He rolled his eyes and turned the radio up louder, making your head pound even more.

“Thank you,” you said, rubbing your temples, “for making sure I don’t crack my head open on the floor of your hotel. Because we both know you can’t afford the lawsuit.”

He snorted good naturedly, which wasn’t the reaction you expected. But you were just glad he gave you the grace to be a bit of a bitch while you tried to get your wits together.

“Sorry, um…”

“Jake.” He finished for you.

“Sorry, Jake.” You apologized, “I’m just…it’s been a long day. I’m not trying to be a monster.”

“You sure?”

It was your turn to snort. The car’s AC wasn’t super strong, but it did feel significantly cooler than it did in the hotel. You hovered your hand over the fan and goosebumps raised along your forearms.

“Ginny thought it’d be a good idea to take you on a drive in the cool air. AC’s busted in the staff room, so this was the only option. …Why’d you faint, anyway?” He asked. Less out of obvious concern and more out of abrasive curiosity.

You shrugged, but kept your eyes trained on the road. “Too much to drink last night, I guess. I’m probably just dehydrated and hungover, or something.”

He drummed his fingers on the wheel and tsked, “You girls never know how to handle your alcohol. You’ll go into another town for vacation, split a bottle of Johnny Walker. Next thing you know you’re practicing your mechanical bull techniques on the bartender-slash-front desk guy.”

There was silence between you, save Steven Tyler’s soaring falsetto crackling through the speakers.

“So you fuck the hotel guests.”

“Not all the guests,” he glanced at you and tried to hide his growing smirk, “just the hot ones.”

If vapes existed, you're sure he would've taken a hit of it now for emphasis. In lieu of a response, you watched the passing town outside of your window.

What was the last thing you remembered before blacking out?

It’s 1989.

It couldn’t have been. Yeah, there were a bunch of old cars around. And people were speaking differently. And you can’t find your cell phone anywhere, and this town seems to pray at the altar of Ronald Reagan. Maybe you’re being kidnapped and brainwashed. Maybe you’re suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning and this is your vivid dream as death approaches.

That’s it. You were dreaming. Who cares if the sun beating down on you through the window felt all too real, and you could feel the vibrations of the radio through your skin? It was all fake. A complex hallucination.

“Alright. C’mon, Olive Oyl.” The engine cut and you realized you’d pulled to a stop in front of a small pharmacy.

“Olive Oil?”

“Always fainting? Needs a big, strong man to help her. Olive Oyl! You know.” He climbed out of his car before you had time to tell him his nickname sucked, and he needed to workshop a new one. You watched him round the front of the car and bang on the hood with his knuckle, “Chop, chop! Let’s fuckin’ go, Princess. Hurry up.”

You felt your eye twitch. But you reluctantly complied, pushing the door open to climb out of the truck. He didn’t even wait for you to fully exit the car before he strode into the store and shut the door behind him.

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

The inside was freakishly clean and bright white. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a weird glow over everything in the store. If they were trying to mirror the unnerving feeling of walking into a doctor’s office, they nailed it. Or your dreams were very good at hyperrealism. If you were still buying that delusion, anyway. Your eyes scanned the shelves and you were faced with some products you’d never be able to pronounce. You wondered why you were even here to begin with. You probably should’ve asked before you got out of the car.

“I don’t have time for this shit, Mick.” You heard Jake groan at the other end of the store.

You heard laughter and someone drumming on a countertop, “C’mon, bro. Loosen the stick up your ass sometime.”

In the brief time that you’d known Jake, you’d hardly classify him as the anal retentive type. Then again, he could've easily been putting up a front.

“I’m just here for the prescriptions. That’s it.”

"Don't tell me you're still upset about that girl--"

"AH AH!" Jake clapped, cutting the other guy off, "Prescriptions. Ixnay on the girl...thing."

There was a brief pause in the conversation as his friend opened some drawers and shuffled some objects around out of view. You peeked from behind a shelf to see Jake shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. Admittedly, it tickled you to see someone manage to break down his bravado. And with such little effort. As if sensing your questioning stare, he stopped shifting and turned to wink at you.

"Liking the view?"

"There's not much of a view to look at." You strolled to meet him at the counter.

"It's fine," he shrugged, leaning over with his elbows resting on the spotless linoleum countertop, "I'll be here when you stop living in denial."

Hearing you approach, Jake's friend popped up from behind a shelf and shot you a wide smile.

"Well that's a new face. What's up?" He tossed a white paper bag of pill bottles at Jake and extended a hand to you, "I'm Mickey."

You introduced yourself and shook his hand, "Nice to meet you. I like your shirt." You nodded at the intricately designed band tee peeking out from behind his lab coat and his eyes lit up.

"You like Mötley Crüe?"

"Aaand now we're leaving." Jake said grabbing you by the shoulders and guiding you away from the counter.

But Mickey hopped over the counter and fell into step beside you. "No offense, but you don't really look like the type."

"I don't like them. I do take offense. And you don't look like the type, either."

He chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair. Because of course he did. Now you understood how Mickey and Jake were friends.

"Touche."

Jake pretended to gag behind you, and released your shoulders to push the front door open. You were immediately smacked in the face with the desert heat. And when you swayed on your feet, you immediately reached out to grab someone's arm.

"Whoa, whoa, hey." Jake wrapped a strong arm around your waist and Mickey held onto your hand as the world seemed to spin around you.

You heard the echos of Justin Timberlake's SexyBack in the distance, and you furrowed your brows in confusion.

"What the hell?" You slurred.

"What?" "We didn't say anything." The boys said. You didn't even notice them carrying you back into the pharmacy until you were seated on a plush chair behind the counter.

You took slow breaths, resting your elbows on your knees as the music seemed to fade out of your consciousness.

"You guys don't hear that?"

They said nothing, but you strained to hear the last of the bass as it seemed to disappear entirely. You were thoroughly confused, you felt drunk, and you wanted to lie down. You were sure you looked insane to them. Mickey passed you a tiny dixie cup of water and you gave him a small smile in thanks.

"So..." Jake knocked on the counter and leaned on it in front of you, "What were you saying you heard?"

A deep sigh rushed out of you, "You're just gonna laugh at me."

Mickey snorted, "Maybe."

"I might. No promises."

"Then why the fuck would I tell you?" You whined, frustrated with the circumstances over the last 24 hours. You just wanted to go home. Fuck the desert.

They exchanged glances with one another and Jake nodded.

"Go ahead, crazy girl."

Mickey punched him, "Stop before she stabs you."

"I'm not going to stab anyone, and I'm not crazy...I don't think."

"You sound crazy to me." Jake grumbled.

You ignored their antics and weighed the options before sighing again.

"I'm from 2022. Well...technically 2023. I don't know anymore. One of them. It's supposed to be 2023 now. I drove here from another town trying to meet my friends. I stopped just to sleep, I woke up, and everyone's saying it's 1989. I'm--hallucinating. Clearly. Because I called my mom at the hotel, and my grandmother answered. But that's impossible, because my grandma died when I was a kid. And I know it was her, because she called my mom by her first name. But my mom was a teenager. And I can't find my fucking cell phone and my car isn't my car. All I have is this goddamn pager I don't even know how to use." You pulled it out of your pocket and flung it across the counter.

"I don't even understand what the hell is going on. And it's hot. And I'm tired. And I'm hearing Justin Timberlake in the middle of the desert. And I'm not even going to explain who that is, because I know you people won't know who he is for another 10 years. Or at least you'll pretend you don't know. Because apparently everyone here is in a goddamn cult, and I'm your latest victim. And at this point it's only been less than 24 hours but if this is your method of psychological torture, I'd rather you just take me out into the middle of nowhere and shoot me."

After you finally finished, the only other sound filling the silence was the 50's pop standard wafting through the speakers of the shop.

Jake semi-gently grabbed your chin and tilted your head up to look at him. His grip was stronger than you were used to, and you were not accustomed to random men touching your face. He raised his brows at you like someone talking to a child.

"Are you done now?"

You raised your brow at him and the way he seemed to try and condescend to you. The way he gripped your cheeks in his one hand was overly familiar, considering you only knew him for one day. You had mixed feelings about it. You pushed his hand away.

"Don't touch my face, I don't know where your nasty hands have been."

"You're hysterical," he said, holding back a smug grin, "Just a little desert mania, that's all."

You thought of arguing, but you knew it wasn't going to prove anything. Talking to him was useless. But you could see Mickey peering at you curiously out of the corner of your eye, so you directed your attention to him.

"Go ahead, ask me anything. You look like you might believe me."

Jake tossed his hands in the air and turned his back to the both of you, "I can't fucking believe this."

"Well, I mean..." Mickey's eyes shifted between the two of you. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and leaned back against the counter, "If you're from the future--which would be fucking crazy--who's going to be our next president?"

You thought about it for a second. "It's Reagan now? George H.W. Bush is about to get sworn in right? And then after that, Bill Clinton, because George H.W. Bush is only getting one term. And then Bill will get two. Then George's son George W. Bush will get two terms--"

"She could just be making this up." Jake mumbled into his hand.

You rolled your eyes and huffed, crossing your arms. "Fine, ask me about something that'll happen later this year, if you think I'm lying."

He thought about it a little harder, but then Jake swiveled around and perked up.

"Who's gonna win the Super Bowl?"

You shuffled through your internal rolodex of meaningless sports shit your parents instilled in you. Any other time you wouldn't remember jack shit, but there was something specific about '89 that your dad was always raving about.

"Who's playing?" You asked, rolling the answer around in your head.

He laughed, "You don't know?"

"Just answer the question." You responded, cutting your eyes at him.

"The Bengals and the 49ers."

Oh!

"The 49ers are going to win," you said, tiredly, "Um...I know there will be a tie at half-time. And the score will be like, I don't know, 15-20 or 16-20. Or something."

Mickey raised his brows at you and then looked over at his friend, "Are you going to bet on this?"

Jake looked you over and worked his jaw in deep contemplation, "I'll bite, Crazy Girl. If you're right, I'll believe you. If you're wrong, I'm getting my money back from you and tossing you into the outskirts."

Oh wow, because that was the thing you cared most about. You slumped back in the chair, completely over being interrogated. Mickey sat on the arm beside you, gently nudging you with his elbow.

"If you're really from the future...do we have flying cars in 2023?"

"No."

He frowned, and you immediately wanted to fix it. It didn't look right on him. You nudged him back.

"But you can carry a whole library of music in your pocket on a portable device. And it's touchscreen."

He grinned at you and you felt your cheeks warm up, despite everything. At least someone was being nice to you.

"Sweet!" He said.

"Alright," Jake clapped once and pushed himself off the counter, "enough with the bullshit. I came for the drugs, now I gotta head back." He looked down at you and pursed his lips, "Can you walk, or do I gotta carry you?"

The thought of his hands on you made your eye twitch, so you pushed yourself up and spun around to show that you were alright.

"Great, get your ass moving," he said, pushing the counter door open so you could pass, "Because I wasn't gonna carry you."

"I wasn't gonna carry you." You mocked in a low voice with a slight southern twang as you passed him.

"Real mature."

#jake seresin x reader #mickey garcia x reader #jake hangman x reader #mickey fanboy garcia #glen powell x reader #danny ramirez x reader

38 notes · View notes

blowflyfag · 8 months

Text

Pro Wrestling Illustrated : APRIL 1996

close-up: THE KID

Part 2

Transcript Below!!!

At 6’2” and 212 pounds, The Kid hardly looks like the typical professional wrestler … But he isn’t typical: the six year veteran is a high-flying, high-risk, aerial artist who has scored several shocking upsets simply because he’s willing to take chances … Spent most of his early years competing for Minneapolis-based Pro Wrestling America … As The Lightning Kid, he won the PWA light heavyweight title in both 1990 and 1991 … He also held the PWA tag team title (with Jerry Lynn) and the PWA TV title … Moved to texas and won the Global Wrestling Federation junior heavyweight title twice in the second half of ‘91 … Later accepted an offer to wrestle in Japan and battled such superstars as Jushin Liger, El Samurai, Ultimo Dragon, and The Great Muta … Lost most of those matches, but gained valuable experience … arrived in the WWF in April 1993 hardly made a splash … Lost his debut match to Louie Spicolli … Also lost to mid-carders such as Doink the Clown and Mr. Hughes, The Kid scored one of the biggest WWF upsets ever by pinning Razor Ramon on May 17 WWF Monday Night Raw … Kid seemed as shocked as everyone in the building … From that point on, fans called him the 1-2-3 Kid … Also pinned Terry Taylor and Ted DiBiase on several occasions … Just as impressive were two victories over former AWA World Champion Rick Martel … Jerry Lawler started poking fun at him on segments of “King’s Court” … Moved up as high as fourth in the WWF ratings in 1993 … Was pinned by Irwin R. Schyster at SummerSlam ‘93 … Lost by countout to Marty Jannetty in a thrilling match on August 31, 1993, in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Kid was injured when he misfired on a daring dive and hit a steel railing. Jannetty helped him back to the dressing room … Went in a slump after suffering a series of embarrassing losses to Doink … Also lost to Bastion Booger because of interference by Johnny Polo … Polo pushed Kid off the top rope, leading to the pin … Helped protect Ramon from an attack by Schyster, Diesel, Adam Bomb, and Martel after Ramon won his first Intercontinental title, on September 17, 1993 … At the 93’ Survivor Series, he teamed with Jannetty, Ramon, and Randy Savage to defeat IRS, Diesel, Martel, and Bomb … Wrestled well, but made one mistake too many and lost a crucial RAW against Shawn Michaels … Michaels twice power-bombed Kid before Ramon came to his rescue … Won his first major title on January 10, 1994, when he and Jannetty teamed to beat The Quebecers for the WWF World tag team title; Kid pinned Jacques following a flying bodypress from the top rope … Lost the belts back to The Quebecers one week later … Kid stunned Jeff Jarrett in the quater-finals of the 1994 King of the Ring tournament, but was piledrived by “Double-J” three times afterward … There was no doubt as to whether Kid would be ready for the semifinals later that evening, but after a bried delay, he came out and lost a tough match to Owen Hart … Owen went on to win King of the Ring … Had a thrilling match with WWF World champion Bret Hart on July 1, 1994. Kid kicked out of several pin attempts, shocked Bret with a spinning savate kick, but erred by trying a dropkick from the top rope. Bret moved out of the way and Kid landed on his back. Bret won by submission to the “sharpshooter” … In a battle of aerial artists on August 15, 1994, Kid won by disqualification over Owen Hart after Jim Neidhart interfered. Owen then locked Kid in a “sharpshooter” for several minutes … Teamed with Ramon, Fatu, Davey Boy Smith, and Sionne to beat Jarrett, Diesel, Neidhart, Owen Hart, and Michaels at the 94’ Survivor Series. The Kid, however, was one of the first wrestlers eliminated … Teamed with newcomer “Man O’ War” Aldo Montoya in matches against The Heavenly Bodies and others … Teamed with Bob “Spark Plugg” Holly to beat Bam Bam Bigekow and Tatanka in a tournament final for the vacant WWF World tag team title at the 95’ Royal Rumble … But glory didn’t last long. One night later in Palmetto, Florida,The Smokin’ Gunns beat The Kid and Holly for the belts …

#wwf #world wrestling federation #god this one sucked to transcrive #magazine transcript #magazine scan #pro wrestling illustrated #123 Kid

7 notes · View notes

dp-marvel94 · 9 months

Text

Face to Face- Chapter 55

Summary: When Danny went through the ghost catcher, he expected to be cured of the ghostliness that had haunted him since the accident, not to wake up on the lab floor with his parents saying he’d been overshadowed but everything’s back to normal now. But why does Danny Fenton cry himself to sleep to then dream of flying? Why does Phantom, the ghost who was supposedly possessing Danny remember a life that wasn’t his? Most of all, why do both the human and the ghost feel that something vital is missing, in their very soul? Or: Trying to cure himself of his powers one month after the accident, Danny accidentally splits himself but neither his ghost nor his human half know that that is what they did

First -> Last -> Next

Word Count: 4,666

Also on AO3 and Fanfiction.net

Note: I'm back with a new chapter! It's been a minute; I've been busy with Invisobang but I'm excited to be done with the writing and onto the editing process. Also, notice, we finally have a final chapter count! More about that and my Invisobang story in the end note.

With no school and no alarm set for the morning, Danny happily slept in. He slowly blinked awake to soft golden light, rolled over, and…. drifted in and out of sleep for another hour at least.

He woke up again to the light shifted. A glance at the clock: 10:30. The boy scrolled through his phone for a while before his rumbling stomach convinced him to get up.

Down in the kitchen, Danny enjoyed a bowl of cereal. He hummed happily, mind going over plans for the day. No school! Other than a bit of homework, he was free. He could just relax, watch TV, hang out. Maybe Sam and Tucker would want to do something or…

He dropped his spoon, the thought hitting him. “I should go see Sidney.” The other ghost had no idea that he was back to normal now. And he still had so many questions, so many plans to make.

Mind made up, the half ghost put his bowl in the sink. Ghostly keen ears picked up on voice downstairs; his parents must be working. He should check with them before going out.

The boy opened the basement door, briefly knocking to get the adult’s attention.

“- doors for the portal are a good idea. But wouldn’t ghosts be able to just phase through the steel?”

“What if we came up with some kind of phase-proof paint?” Dad raised a hand, turning to look up at the boy at the top of the stairs. “Morning, son.”

“Morning.” Danny started down the stairs. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Installing steel doors for the portal.” Mom turned on her stool. “We haven’t had problems with ghosts coming through but it could become one. Especially if more natural portals are opening up.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “That couple who showed up last night came through a natural portal, you said.”

“Yeah.” The boy nodded, going on to explain everything that had happened with Johnny, Kitty, and Shadow at the concert.

Both adults nodded as the story finished. “So there was another natural portal.” Dad said. “We really need to work on a way to track and map out those.”

“We could modify the Fenton Finder and-” Mom started, already switching to problem-solving mode.

Danny held up his hands. “Before you get into it, I came down here to tell you I’m going to go see Sidney.”

A worried look crossed each parents’ face, eyes flickering to the portal.

The boy shook his head, interpreting the look. “I’m not going through there. I was gonna go to the school and see if I can use his portal.”

The worried looks eased slightly but… “So you’re still going into the Realms?”

Danny nodded at his mom’s question.

The woman’s brow furrowed. “You won’t be able to call us if something happens.”

“I’ll stay in the lair.” The boy shook his head, voice placating. “I’m not going to go flying off to some random place without a plan. And I’ll be with Sidney if something happens. He knows his way around.”

The parents traded a look, silently communicating. Finally, Mom sighed. “Alright. Be back before dinner.”

A smile cracked on the halfa’s face. “I will.”

“And-” Dad said pointedly, causing the boy’s smile to dip. “Tell your friend we want to meet him.”

“Yes.” Mom nodded vigorously. “You can bring him over whenever. Even today! We really want to pick his… brain?” Her brow wrinkled at the phrase.

“Core?” Dad shrugged, eyebrow raised.

Danny laughed. “Alright. I’ll see if he wants to come over later.” He started turning to leave. “I’ll see you guys later.” He stepped up the first stair, mind already planning. He’d walk to the school, sneak in. Invisibility and intangibility were good for that….

He paused, core suddenly itching. He could walk or…

Deciding, Danny summoned the rings. Once. Twice. It took three tries for them to pass.

His parents gave him curious looks. “What are you doing, Danno?”

“Well, um. I was going to walk but…” The boy shifty awkwardly in the air, suddenly nervous. “I’m kinda itching to... And I haven’t really done it in a while but I really want to fly there.”

Another pair of concerned looks was traded. “Can you keep it up long enough to get there, son?” Dad motioned to his floating form.

“I think so?”

Mom raised a brow challengingly. “You think so? Danny, I don’t want you falling out of the sky.”

“Well.. I can feel when I’m about to change back. So I can land before them. And I can kinda still fly as a human so…” He shrugged.

“We did see that yesterday, Madds…” Dad nodded, a brow raised at the woman.

“Yes, we did…” The woman’s expression softened. “Go on then.” She waved him off.

“Yes!” Danny fist pumped, already zooming up the stairs.

“Bye son!” “Love you Sweetie!”.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flying to the school was fast. And true enough, getting to Sidney’s locker was easy with his powers.

Landing in the hall, Danny cautiously looked to both sides. No one- teacher or custodial staff- was in the hall. He turned visible, opening the rusty door.

“Sidney!” He hissed, eyes fixing on his tarnished reflection. “I’m me, Danny.”

There was a long pause, leaving the ghost floating awkwardly. But…

The image rippled, the sudden movement startling the nervous boy.

“Sidney!” Danny exclaimed, realizing.

There was his bespeckled friend. Through the mirror, the other ghost waved excitedly, a grin spreading across his face. A clear invitation to come through.

The halfa touched the mirror and again it rippled, a familiar wave of green passing over. A cold feeling brushed Danny’s hand. Like before, the portal opened.

The halfa smiled. Taking a breath, he let his body relax, feeling liquid and boneless. He effortlessly slunk through the opening. Recoiling back into his proper shape, he emerged on the other side, into Sidney’s lair.

“Hey, Sidney! How’s it going?” With a smile, Danny held a closed fist up in greeting.

The other ghost blinked confusedly at the gesture, tilting his head in question. But he quickly caught on. Sidney tentatively raised his fist before he delivered the expected fist bump. “This is a nice surprise. It’s great to see you… Danny.” He trailed off slightly, eyes widening as he slowly withdrew his hand.

Danny lowered his own fist. “What?”

“You’re different…” The nerd’s brow wrinkled for just a moment. Then…. his mouth fell open, eyes sparkling with excitement. “You re-joined, didn’t you?!”

“Yes?” Despite the surety of the answer, his voice still pitched up in question. “How do you even know that?”

“I can see it! Your aura looks so much warmer.” The other ghost motioned. “And your core sounds happy!” Sidney gave a little clap. “So things worked out?”

Danny stared for just a second, mind working. More questions… what exactly was that about seeing his aura and hearing his core? But the boy shook his head, dismissing them for now. “Yeah!” He beamed. “That’s why I wanted to come see you. I managed to re-merge a few days ago and…”

In quick order, the halfa recapped what had happened in the two weeks since he’d seen his ghostly friends. Making up with his parents, practicing his powers, meeting the dragon ghost, and finally being able to fuse back into one person. “So yeah. It’s really great to feel like myself again. So…” He rubbed the back of his neck, then shrugging. “I kinda wanted you to actually met halfa-me and hang out for a bit.”

“Well then…” Sidney laughed, holding out his hand. “My name is Sidney Pointdexter. It’s nice to make your acquaintance.”

Grinning, Danny took the hand. “Daniel James Fenton-Phantom. You can call me Danny. I’m happy to officially meet you.”

The shake ended, both boys dropping hands. Then…

“Do you want to see my garden?”

“Yes! I’d love to.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“...And this is a tiger shrub.” Sidney pointed at the squat but bushy plant.

Danny studied it with wide eyes. So different from the plants he was used to…. Neon blue veins criss crossed the stems. Stripped flowers the size of his hand- black as the void of space and day glow orange, reminding him of his dad’s signature hazmat suit. And the fist sized fruits….

“Tiger fruit! That’s what I tried last time I was here.”

“Yep.” Sidney gave a nod. “Grown right here.”

The half ghost’s head turned, taking in everything. “This is incredible…”

It really was. Plants of every describable color-- and quite a few he had no words for – covered just about every inch of the roof and the courtyard below. Bed of pitch black lettuce. Trees with perfectly hexagonal pink leaves. A literally squirming vine with what looked like some type of gourd attached, except perfectly spiraled and covered with different colored polka dots.

A bit of awe leaked into Danny’s voice. “Really incredible, Sidney.”

The other ghost puffed out his chest slightly at the praise. “I’m happy to hear you think so, friend. I have been tending it for decades.”

The halfa nodded, appreciation just growing. “Mom and Dad are gonna want to see this.” His eyes widened. A sudden idea… “Pictures! I should take some pics.” His hand flailed, patting the top of his pants, up to his torso.

“What are you looking for?”

“My phone. I brought it downstairs with me this morning….” It should be in his pocket. Except his hazmat didn’t have any pockets. His hands suddenly froze. He’d transformed before leaving the house. Danny smiled sheepishly. “Guess it's in my other pants.”

“Pictures? Phone? Other… pants?” The poor guy looked so confused. “What are you talking about?”

The halfa lowered his hands. “So humans are okay being here for a little bit, right? Like, I’m not going to fall through your lair or something.”

“Probably not?”

That was good enough. Two flickers of his rings. Danny turned human. And…

“Wha!” His body sank into the roof. “I’m not even intangible!”

Sidney grabbed him. “You are not falling through the roof.”

“No, dude. I definitely am.”

“No.” The word was definitive, without question. “Close your eyes and say it. ‘I am not falling through the roof.’” The other ghost pulled up.

“I am not falling through the roof?” His feet touched down, solid on the concrete.

“You are not going to fall. You are solid. The roof under you is solid. You won’t fall.” Sidney continued.

He did feel solid…. “I won’t fall.” Danny said confidently.

He opened his eyes, just as his friend let go of him. The half ghost looked down. He dragged one shoe across the surface. “Huh. Solid.”

Beside him, Sidney nodded. “That’s how things work in the Realms for humans. As long as you think something is solid, it is.”

Danny raised a brow. “But if I think it isn’t…” Instantly, his shoes started sinking. “Heh.” He chuckled. But with just a thought, the boy stepped up, his perspective shifting as the ground became solid again. “So humans are the ghosts.”

The other boy nodded. Then his eyes trailed down the halfa’s now human body. “So you can change back and forth.” There was more than a bit of awe to the words. “That was quite a light show, bub.”

“Like my magical girl transformation, huh?” He grinned. “Now. Why did I…” He reached for his pocket. “Right, my phone.”

He swiped the device out of his pocket, alighting the screen with the press of a button. No service of course but… he opened the camera app and pressed on the screen to take a picture. “Nice, it’s working.” Danny took a bunch of photos before swiping to the gallery. “Not too bad.” He gave an appreciative nod. The phone camera couldn’t really capture the vividness of the colors or the real depth of the scene. But it wasn’t bad for a phone camera.

“Whatcha got there?” Sidney leaned over his shoulder. “Jeepers!” The ghostly nerd’s eyes widened comically. “How’d ya do that?”

Danny shrugged. “I just took a picture on my phone.” He held out the device. “Want to see?”

The other ghost eagerly took the device, holding it close to his face, father away, and then back. “Phone… like telephone?”

Danny nodded.

“This is a telephone?! Where’s the cord? The rotary dial? How are you supposed to give your pal a bell?” Sideny turned the device once, twice, before his finger brushed the screen. The image swiped to the next picture, causing Sidney to freeze, startled. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

The halfa laughed. “It’s a touch screen. You just changed the picture.”

His friend unstiffened at the words, eager fingers returning to the screen. “It takes photographs like a camera… but there’s no film. And it’s a telephone.” His voice trembled with awe. “This is like something out of Science Fiction Quarterly.”

“You think that’s impressive,” Danny grinned, full of mirth. “Wait until I tell you about the internet.”

“.... What’s the internet?”

That inquiry led to an hour, at least, of fielding questions. Sidney zipped around the garden, excited and awestruck. Danny chuckled, appreciating his friend's enthusiasm.

“The modern world’s wonders never cease.” The ghostly nerd ran a hand over his hair. He suddenly stopped in his pacing.

“What?” Danny pushed off of the tree he was leaning against, standing fully.

“Can you take a picture of me?” Sidney asked sheepishly.

“Sure.” The half ghost shrugged, pulling the phone out of his pocket. He positioned the device in the air. “Smile.”

The other ghost did so. A few presses of the button and Danny presented the images.

There was Sidney, floating in front of the tiger shrub. His glow blurred the image slightly, his edges fuzzy but…

“Jeepers. That’s amazing.”

“It looks pretty good.” The half ghost shrugged mildly. “Wanna take some pics with me?” He held up the phone, turning the screen towards the pair and…

A flurry of activity. The friends made silly faces at the screen. Danny gave Sidney bunny ears. More pictures of the garden, of the ghostly nerd picking fruit and watering the plants. One from above, the image perking into the courtyard. The empty halls of the school. Outward, facing the open Realms with its purple doors and swirling clouds.

Danny lowered the phone. “Mom and Dad are going to love these.”

Sidney lowered the watering can. “They can visit too, if they want. I do wanna meet them.”

A nod. “Yeah. I was supposed to ask you about that. They’re really excited to pick your brain. Do you want to come over with me after this?”

The other ghost laughed, before shrugging. “Righto! That sounds neat. We’ll fly over after lunch. I want to see all those new fangled personal computers and flat TVs!”

Danny held out his phone, wearing a smirk. “Behold. A new fangled personal computer!”

Sidney rolled his eyes, returning to inspecting one of his vines. “And I can talk to your folks about taking you to the Ghost Writer’s library.”

“Mom, Dad, and Jazz were really excited to learn about that too.” Danny chuckled.

“If Ghost Writer is okay with it, I’m sure they can visit some time too. And my lair too, if they want to see it in person.”

A nod. “They’d like that.” His brow furrowed, a thought tickling his brain. His family actually planning to visit the Realms….

“My parents and sister can’t come through your portal though. We’ll have to figure out how to get here from ours…” Danny turned, surveying the green atmosphere. “Our portal can’t be that far. I did end up here by accident. Let’s see, I came from that direction…”

Danny turned, facing the front of the school and… he breathed, his core pulsing strangely. He couldn’t see anything but…. an odd sound, a humming tickled his core. There was… a pull.

Sidney must have picked up on his odd expression. “What is it?”

The half ghost pointed. “The portal’s…. That way.” He suddenly felt more sure. “Yeah. If I go straight that way… maybe for thirty minutes or so?”

A hand moved to rub his chest. That pull…. He’d felt something like it before, the metaphysical connection between his two halves. This was similar but… dimmer, with a different flavor, on a different wavelength. Danny’s nose wrinkled. “That’s weird, right? I feel like… I just know where it is.”

“It’s not that weird.” The nerd shifted awkwardly in the air, face scrunched up in thought.

There was something to that look…. “What is it?”

Sidney looked down, fiddling with his fingers. “It’s normally taboo to talk about another ghost’s… death unprovoked. But you did tell me some about it… and I have an idea about your portal…”

Danny’s eyes widened, understanding. “Sid, just tell me what you’re thinking. I won’t get upset.” The words earnest and gentle.

“Alright.” The other ghost sighed. “It’s pretty common for a ghost to be linked to their place of death or their grave. And you did say the portal is where you died….”

The half ghost frowned. “Linked? Linked how?”

“Like you can always find your way back, no matter where you are. Or some ghosts can see or hear what is happening there from a distance. Like… hear a loved one talking at their resting place.”

The hestance in those words… “Sidney, are you…”

“Linked to my grave? Yes. And… to my locker.” His voice lowered, arms wrapping around himself.

Danny paled, heart squeezing. The implications there….

The other ghost rubbed his face. “A bully locked me in there, right before spring break. I remember yelling for hours. But no one came. No one cared no matter how much I banged on the door or cried or…” His voice trembled, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. “I had my pocket knife in my front pocket. And it was so stupid but it hurt… everything hurt so much…” For just a second, neon green cuts welled on his wrists, the marks gone in the next blink.

“Sidney…” The half ghost stepped forward, his warm living hand covering his friend's cold ghostly one. “I’m so sorry.”

The nerd rubbed his eyes. “My first life ended too soon but… “ He shrugged. “I’ve got another one and it’s been pretty good. Besides, we were talking about you, not me.”

“Alright… but you can talk to me about it if you want.” Danny paused for a second, then sighing as he accepted Sidney’s nod of acknowledgement. He wasn't going to push… “So… I probably am linked to Mom and Dad’s portal then.”

“That or you’re sensing your lair.” The ghostly nerd’s brow wrinkled. “Are you feeling a pull, like you really want to go there?”

Danny considered. “Maybe?”

“Try transforming. Maybe if you’re a ghost, it will be clearer.”

The halfa obeyed, the rings flickering once before passing over his body. Now in ghost form, he floated off the ground.

“Are you feeling a pull now?”

Danny’s brow furrowed. “It’s… louder?” The hum danced at the edge of his perception. “Like… the line is thicker?” Fishing line as opposed to the previous spider silk. “Line’s not really the right word though. It’s more liquid?” He shook his head. “It feels like someone turned up the contrast on a photo but… no, the pull’s not any stronger.”

“That is strange…” The other ghost rubbed his chin.

The half ghost wanted to roll his eyes. ‘That is strange’… how could Sidney even make sense of what he was trying to describe? It didn’t even make sense to himself.

Instead of commenting, Danny shook his head. “What did finding your lair feel like?”

Sidney looked up. “Well, I woke up floating in the middle of all this green. I was really confused but there was this… pull, in my chest. All I could think about was following it. There was something at the other end, somewhere I needed to go. So I followed and I found the school.”

He definitely wasn’t feeling anything that desperate….

“Maybe your lair is forming but it isn’t done yet.” His friend suggested.

“That’s a possibility?” Danny raised a brow.

The other ghost shrugged. “You’re a halfa. Anything’s possible.”

Said halfa also shrugged. “I guess we should just follow the link and see what happens.”

“It’s as good a plan as any. Now…” Sidney grabbed the basket full of freshly picked fruits and vegetables. “Let’s go eat.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two enjoyed a meal in the cafeteria, chatting about books and movies. It turned out Sidney was a big fan of science fiction and Danny had just read H.G. Well’s “The Time Machine” for school.

Both full after the delicious lunch and the conversation drawing to a close, Danny stood up. “We should get going.”

The other ghost nodded. Then hurrying to the other end of the room he grabbed a cloth bag. “Here’s some food for later, things from the garden. And….” He presented three glass jars with holes in the top, a bit of soil, and… “That’s a cutting from my tiger shrub. That one’s spotted squa-pump-chini. And midnight arugula. I can show you how to plant them once we get to your portal. They’ll need a bit of water. And lots of talking to. That’s the most important part; they won’t grow unless you tell them they’re doing a good job.”

Danny laughed. “That sounds like something Sam would say.” He’d have to show her these.

“I’m serious. Realms plants are very sensitive to emotions. Feed them some good ones and they’ll be flowering in no time.”

“You got it, boss.” He took the jars, carefully placing them in the bag and the bag on his back.

The pair floated towards the school’s entrance. Sidney pushed the doors open, motioning to the swirling green atmosphere. “After you.”

And with that, the half ghost took off, following the strange hum of the portal through the uncharted Realms and back home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The flight back to the portal was much less eventful than his last trip. Danny passed that same sideways river. (Revir Syawedis, Sidney said it was called.)

That same floating island, covered in trees. (“Skulker’s island.” The ghostly nerd shivered at the words, hurrying past it.)

A school of now-more-familiar blobs swirled around them, a few approaching to nudge at both boys curiously before darting back to their group.

Sidney scratched one between the eyes, the little things letting out a hum. “Ah. Spotted blobs. Always friendly little guys.”

“Spotted? But they’re all one color?”

“Watch.” Sidney instructed, ectoenergy flickering in his hand. The blob trilled, body flashing with…

“It does have spots.” Danny laughed, eyes crinkling in happiness as the green and purple spotted blob darted back to its school.

The pair continued on, darting past more floating rocks. Above that floating highway the two biker ghosts had driven one. More confusing, twisting masses of stairs.

And barely twenty minutes after leaving Sidney’s lair…

“We’re here.” The almost anxious buzz in Danny quieted at the sight of the floating pillar with the tiny metal frame on top.

It was Sidney’s turn to look amazed. “Your parents made that!”

Danny nodded, flying down to meet the cliff near the bottom. His friend followed. The two circled as they flew up.

“I’ve seen this plateau before. It’s right next to the infinite highway.” The full ghost offered.

It was the same purplish rock as last time, interspersed with hand and foot holds. But…

The halfa blinked. “That wasn’t there before.”

Danny eyed the staircase carved into the rock. He reached out, touching one of the steps. His fingers brushed the surface and… he shrugged, confused core settling. Something about this felt right…

“Danny.” Sidney nudged him, pointing.

There was the outline of a door, carved into the rock. Both reached out to touch….

A cold, electric flicker sparked from the half ghost’s core.

His friend said what Danny was already sensing. “It feels like your aura.”

The feeling radiated…. home, belonging, safety.

Danny smiled. “So it’s a lair in progress, huh?”

He could almost picture the cozy room behind the door….

Dismissing the image, Danny flew up. “It’ll be ready soon.”

Arriving at the top, he landed. His eyes crinkled up, pleased at the little tufts of purple grass, spreading across the bare rock. Or… he drug his shoe across the surface… actually, it was packed dirt.

Sideny eyed the area approvingly. “This will be a great place to plant those cuttings.”

“Once Mom and Dad take a look, yeah.” Thinking of them….

Danny floated forward, approaching the portal. His hand parted the green mist. The action tickled his mind, a reminder of his dream. The place where he died and where he was re-born….

Shoulders relaxing, he flew through.

The boy started calling even before he was through. “Mom! Dad! I’m-”

The clatter of two chairs cut off the word, both adults jumping to their feet and wielding whatever tool they’d been using weapons.

“Home?” Danny finished.

“Oh, Hi sweetie!” Mom dropped the wrench on the table, pulling down her goggles. “And you brought your friend! Sidney, I presume.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The full ghost nodded, offering a hand to shake which the woman accepted.

“Danno!” Dad grinned. “And Sidney!” Another handshake, this time so enthusiastic that the nerd bobbed up and down like a balloon. “Nice to meet you, kiddo!” The adult’s brow furrowed, gaze flickering to the portal. “We really need to make a doorbell for that thing or something.”

“We really should. When we build the doors, we’ll need a way for Danny to open them from the Realms side too.”

“Maybe some kind of DNA lock?” The other adult suggested.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” Danny nodded.

“We can discuss it later.” Mom waved off. “And speaking of the Realms…” The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly, serious and concerned. “I thought you told us you were coming back through Sidney’s portal, Mister.”

“Yeah. I did…” The halfa shrugged, suddenly sheepish. “But I brought Sidney with me!” He motioned to his friend. “And we found out my lair is forming right under the portal! And!” He swiped the bag off his back. “We brought food from Sid’s garden! And these plant cuttings.” Danny shoved the jar with the tiger shrub cutting forward enthusiastically. “See!”

Dad accepted the jar, studying it with wide eyes. “Check it out, Madds!”

The mother’s gaze flickered to the jar, then back to her son. Her expression softened. “Alright. I’m glad you’re back safe.” She ruffled his hair. “It sounds like you had quite the adventure.”

“Mom!” Danny shrugged away, complaining like any normal teenager.

“Is this one of those new fangled personal computers?!” Sidney interrupted from where he was floating over one of the lab tables. He pointed excitedly, apparently distracted by one of the parents’ inventions.

“Afraid not.” Dad chuckled. “That’s the Fenton Finder!”

“Fenton Finder? What does that do?”

The question was enough to send the man into an excited invention ramble, the full ghost listening intently with wide eyes.

Danny watched for a minute, feeling the warm heaviness of a transformation coming on. He flickered back to human and stretched, his hands reaching over his head. “Man. I flew for a while.” His stomach grumbled. “I need some human food.”

With a word to his friend, Danny started up the stairs.

His mom interrupted. “Have you done your homework yet?”

He paused, eyes widening. “I hadn’t even thought about that.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I should…. Sid, I’m going to get a quick snack and work on homework for an hour or so. My room’s upstairs if you wanna hang….”

He trailed off, seeing the other ghost wave him off, still intent on the conversation with his parents. Danny blinked. How did this keep happening….

With a silent chuckle, Danny walked up the stairs. His parents getting along with a ghost again… who would have thought?

Note: I hope you enjoyed the chapter! As always, I eagerly await ya'lls' thoughts, especially as this fic wraps up; there's one more chapter after this-already written- and then an epilogue which I only just started on. I'm super-excited at see this all come together. And about my Invisobang story! I am writing a sequel to my first Invisobang fic which was called I am you(and you are me). This new story is set right after D-stabilized. A rough blurb is below. Consumed with worry and scarred after watching Dani almost die, Danny begs her to come home with him and meet Jazz. He wants to see her safe and happy and taken care of so badly. An important reveal also weighs heavy on him – Dani isn’t the only living clone… and the other is him. He needs to tell her the truth; maybe that will convince her to agree to the idea of telling his parents. And she'll stay in Amity Park, by his side where he'll never have to worry if she's safe ever again. Meanwhile, Dani has mixed feelings. She's still reeling from the loss of her clone siblings. Danny’s unexpected worry and care make her uncomfortable in light of that… and her guilt; she did hurt him and help him get kidnapped twice. How can he care about an imperfect, a mistake like her? But having clean clothes and a bed is wonderful and things aren't so simple, after learning that one of his clone brothers is alive. Will Dani accept the help she needs and let herself be loved? Or will she push Danny and Jazz away and run again? There will be lots of sibling fluff and bonding. Misunderstandings and emotional conversations and healing. I'm very excited to share what I've been working on soon!

#Danny Phantom #Face to Face #Double Danny #my fic #Split Danny

8 notes · View notes