I Know It’s Dumb, But I Feel That As Far As Politics Of The Western World [is Concerned], It’s All

Say You'll Haunt Me | Simon Ghost Riley x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: Can I request “I thought I’d fucking lost you for good for a moment” with Ghost please? Thanks

summary: he's gone, he's gone for good... or at least, that's what everyone tells you.

tws: swearing, smoking, graphic depictions and descriptions of severe injuries, blood, death

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

All of the lights were off, they had been all day as you no longer had the energy to do much anymore; the lights were off, all the doors were locked, and aside from the quiet television playing old reruns of some stupid adult animation that you didn't even look at, all was silent within the house.

The bedsheets smelled like fresh washing powder, and the blanket was still warm from the tumble dryer; the curtains had not been opened in weeks, and did well to keep the light from the street lamps out properly.

Old clothes were packed into boxes, ready to go into the attic where they would stay; they didn't smell like the bedsheets. Dishes were still piled in the sink, ready to be washed after hours of supposedly soaking; the bins were nearly full, had been for days, and were almost ready to be taken out.

But none of that really mattered, there were bigger things on your mind; sleeping alone should have come naturally, you did it often enough before you had met the love of your life, but it never really did.

Late and long nights were more than regular. The king sized bed just never seemed the same without your lover there.

You sniffled, putting the phone down as you ignored the texts from your friends; you knew that they were only trying to be kind, to help you along, but you couldn't bear the thought of speaking to anyone.

Gaz called two, three times a day. Soap called, texted, sent you voice messages. Laswell texted throughout the day. Price did his best. You didn't want to speak to them, you couldn't.

You sighed, frowning as you dragged yourself to the kitchen; you made yourself a cup of coffee, justifying it by knowing that you wouldn't sleep anyway. You lit a cigarette, knowing it might help. It was better than nothing, at least.

It was better than spending another night in a house that just wasn't a home anymore, a house that was just an open, gaping, sore wound.

It started to feel different, though, you felt like you were being watched when you turned your back; you tensed up, swallowing thickly as your heart began to thud in your chest. You could have sworn that you locked the doors, you were sure of it.

But still, something was there with you, and when you heard the harsh and heavy footsteps, you could hardly move; you just about managed to back yourself against the counter, holding onto it tightly as you listened closely.

They were getting closer, and closer, and closer until-

"Don't turn the lights on."

You knew that voice, and relaxed when you realised, even daring to smile as you laughed softly, shaking your head. "Simon, you dick! You scared me."

"Sorry…" he was just a shadow when he stepped forward, entering from the hallway as he held his hands up. "Just… don't turn the lights on."

You nodded, taking a swig from your coffee as you hummed. "What happened? They told me… Price said you'd been… y'know."

Ghost's shadowy figure shrugged, and he sighed heavily. "Doesn't matter."

You figured that he probably just didn't want to talk about it, so you shrugged as you finished your cigarette and dared to sit up on the counter. "Well, I'm glad you're home. I thought I'd fucking lost you for good for a moment."

He nodded, but didn't make his usual move to stand between your legs like he usually did when he first came home. "I missed you. I'm sorry I never said goodbye."

You furrowed your brows, tilting your head to the side. "But… you did - at, at the airport."

He shook his head. "No, I mean… forget it."

You were worried, pouting as you frowned and cleared your throat. "Simon, what's going on?"

He swallowed audibly, but when he spoke, his voice was starting to sound more and more like radio static; crackled and buzzing, broken and bumbling. "Don't worry, I just… I only came to say that I'm sorry."

"Simon," you whispered. "Please, talk to me."

He couldn't stop you when you reached for the light, and nor could he stop you when you gasped and shuddered as you looked at him; half of his jaw was missing, the exposed flesh burnt and dripping with blood and pus. His stomach had a clear hole through it, exposing his bottom two ribs and how they were cracked, how his entrails had been split and were dripping all over the floors. His eyes were white and had thick yellowish crust growing over the lids.

You trembled, taking a step back. "Si- Simon?"

"I told you not to turn the lights on," he wheezed.

You shook your head, looking at how the muscle and fat of his left arm was exposed and weeping. "Simon?"

"You shouldn't have turned the light on," he was becoming more and more unintelligible. "I have something to tell you, one last time."

You were speechless, bottom lip trembling as everything started to become a multi-coloured blur; something warm and wet was on your cheeks, but his static laced, buzzing voice was all that you could hear.

"Before I go," he hissed. "I loved you."

You wanted to scream at him, to demand an explanation for what was going on, to beg and plead for him to just tell you what the fuck had happened and why he looked like that, but by the time that you had wiped your eyes and nose, he was gone; all that was left, on the countertop next to where he had been standing, was his identification discs.

When you held them, they felt hot and nearly burned your hands; they were dented, the shape clearly that of a bullet, and your heart sank. Price had told you that they couldn't find Ghost's discs, but now you had them in your hands, and you understood what had happened, why Ghost had come back but hadn't stayed.

"Simon," you whispered, swallowing thickly. "Please haunt me again."

*hugs*

aww thankyyy friend *hugs back* 😭♥️

Some helpful searches for finding blogs that support/use chat ai platforms.

I suggest searching content and then tags separately. Sort by latest posts rather than top posts so the search will yield more results. Tumblr searches are weird that way.

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examples: cod ai, hotd ai

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SEARCHES FOR AI IMAGES

midjourney

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**I'll add additional searches as I discover more.

I do not support the harassment of blogs that use a.i. However, I block them because I prefer not to see their posts & I'd prefer they neither see nor interact with my blog in any way.

Hey so uhhh. These are some messages I received in my inbox yesterday back to back before I even had a chance to see the message, let alone respond to it. I’m going to post it because I’m pretty sure this is somebody trying to guilt me into participating in a scam. The account only has one post which is nearly identical to the first message I was sent. Please vet the people you are sending money to.

so to be clear,

1. Codslut isnt dead

2. "Codslut" is most likely "sheheal"

3. People with racist tendencies will do anything and everything to defend themselves from criticism including traumatizing a shit ton of people on the internet by faking their death.

I'm so fucking tired wtf is happening 💀

all over the fair argument of "not including Gaz in 141 posts is weird".

I dont think anyone deserves death threats over a fictional character but faking your death isnt any better tbh. This is so childish and disgusting.

here's another veiled racist thing i've noticed amongst the CoD fandom. it's when writers deliberately title something like "call of duty headcannons" or "(situation x) with call of duty men" rather than titling it "141 headcannons" or "(situation x) with 141" to give the excuse of not adding gaz.

because if it's "(situation x) with call of duty" it's less likely that people are going to call out the exclusion of gaz because the horizon has been expanded. which is still unsettling to me because when i see this title, followed by Price/Soap/Ghost/König, it gives off the feeling that if i were to ask "why'd you leave out Gaz?" i'd get a "it's Call of Duty men, not 141 men"— if that makes sense? idk if that makes sense.

which then makes me wonder if it's "Call of duty men" then why include these three specific men of this specific faction and then remove their teammate and add another character from a different faction, rather than writing about four characters from four different factions?

if it's call of duty men, why not go Price/König/Nikolai/Alejandro? instead of trying to hide behind a fucking technicality to hide your racism??

Happy Father's Day. I broke my own heart writing this. This is purely self-indulgent and only those who have lost a father or father figure I think will truly understand the emotion in this. This is a description of a platonic relationship. Please use discretion when reading as it has brief mentions of grandfathers, stepfathers, and biological fathers passing away by heart attacks and suicide. No graphic descriptions but mentions of blood. I listened to this the entire time I wrote. Enjoy <3

That's My Girl

1.2k She had lost every father figure in her life, so what was she supposed to do when her Captain rumbled praises to her which simultaneously broke and healed her wounded heart. And what is she supposed to do when he takes a bullet in his shoulder?

She had struggled with the lack of a father figure in her life since she was a girl. Her grandfather stepped up when she was little, he had already been a constant in her life, but once he had cemented himself in it he died soon after. Her stepfather came into her life in a whirlwind of emotion and she wasn’t sure how to feel about a person her mom preferred over her when it suddenly didn't matter anyway as he died of a heart attack when she was ten. Her uncle didn’t know she existed and from what she had heard he preferred it that way. And the dominos all fell because her father committed suicide when she was still a babe. 

It led her to here. Emotion bubbled from her chest every time her commanding officer praised her. His gruff rumbling voice hit just where she needed it most. The smoothness of his voice scraped against a jagged piece in her heart, constantly reminding her of all that she had unfairly lost. He was a tall, rugged man, all she had imagined a father should be. His presence was a welcoming one of safety and security. Knowing that no one could get through to her if he was standing in the way made her heart soar. 

It was all massively inappropriate, and she knew it, but the way his presence soothed her was addicting. She hadn’t felt such peace since she was a child. Alone in bed, she wished for his strong arms to wrap around her, embracing her in the safety of a fatherly reassurance that everything would be okay.

She had always kept this boundary because she knew what it meant if she crossed that line. They were not family, and if they were they could never be on the same task force. Emotions blind logic, and if she thought about the way this man, her Captain, presence made her feel she knew that she would do anything to keep him alive. She couldn’t lose another father figure, especially one that she had chosen for herself. 

It wasn’t until the mission that she realized how horrible her infatuation was. Captain Price was yelling orders when he took the bullet to the shoulder. It felt like everything began moving in slow motion after that. All she saw was her grandfather in the coffin, her stepfather on the bathroom floor, and some inkling in her heart from when she was a baby when that first piece of her heart shattered off at her fathers' last breath.

Before she could even blink she was on her knees before him, hands pressed into the wound that was oozing blood. Glancing him over she assessed what she could do. He was shot inches away from his vest, bullet lodged in his muscle.

“I’m gonna have to dig it out.” Her voice grated as she pulled her hands away from the wound. 

Captain Price grunted underneath her. She looked at him for the first time since she went to him, his eyes were scrunched and forehead creased, but he was awake and aware. He reached out, a gloved hand gripping her bicep. 

“Fuckin hell.” He gasped, gripping her arm as she cut away the clothing around the wound. There was no time to be kind, not when she still heard the sound of bullets whizzing above them. The rest of the task force had them covered, but this was something that couldn’t be put on hold until they were out of the line of fire. 

Embracing the calming sensation of adrenaline she focused on the task at hand, grabbing packing gauze and alcohol from her kit. The sound of his grunts of pain was background noise as she packed the wound, the bullet now lying on the ground beside them.

It wasn’t until he gripped her arm to the point of bruising that she realized he had been calling her name. Not her rank, not her last name, but her name. He was leaning toward her on his good shoulder, trying to make eye contact.

“You good?”

“Hey, hey look at me.”

“Sergeant.”

That did it, she looked up at him eyes locking into his.

“You broken?” He was worried, she could read it all over his face. Why would he be worried? He was the one who was shot, the other men were still taking fire, and it was starting to rain.

Rain, they were inside a building. She looked down at her pants, watching the droplets fall. She was crying. Tears were pouring down her face, her bloody hands trembling on her lap with the scraps of his shirt and bloody gauze.

She shook her head, reaching to clear the overflowing tears from her eyes until she realized her hands were still covered in blood.

A large hand reached out to brush her cheek, wiping some of her tears away. Captain Price stared up at her, surprise and compassion swirling in his eyes.

“You called me, Dad”, he said under his breath, cupping her cheek against his palm.

Her eyes slid shut against the touch. Too worn out to comprehend what just happened. Letting out a shuddering breath she whispered, “I’m sorry, Captain.”

He humphed, a short sound in the back of his throat. 

“Look at me.”

She obeyed the order, taking another deep breath and bracing for a lecture, but his face was soft.

“I don’t have kids. You muppets are enough.” He confessed softly, bullets still whizzing above their heads. “I don’t think I will ever have kids, but to know that you respect and care about me enough to mistake me for your father when I’m hurt..” He trailed off.

“I’d like to think I’m all of yours father, in my own way. Don’t be embarrassed, everyone has their own stories from before coming into the army. Now don’t tell Ghost this but even he has slipped up once or twice with calling me dad.”

A smile twitched at her cheeks, the adrenaline finally melting away allowing her to feel the gravity of what just happened. Her heart felt like it was in her throat as she chuckled softly at his confession. 

Captain Price smiled at that, patting her cheek gently, “That’s my girl. Now since you got me all patched up Sergeant let's see if we can get evac in here.” 

The helicopter ride back to base gave her time to process and realize how much she had overthought her reaction in the first place. Captain Price's words healed her in some way she didn't even realize. Of course, she wasn’t the only one dealing with daddy issues. People escape into the military for all sorts of things. And she did her job, she was focused on saving his life and didn’t mean to call him dad. Even though she did he didn’t look at her with disgust, but with fatherlike pride, like she had just validated something he had been wrestling with for a while. 

After that, the only thing that changed was Captain Price's willingness to interact with her in more ways. A clap on the shoulder, a hug pulling into his side, letting her rest her head against his shoulder on long flights back from missions. It was something they both needed, and they found it in each other, an adopted father and daughter.

Yup definitely gonna rise from my writing hiatus. Will definitely start writing just gonna start brainstorming with my feelings. The hell cod mw3?!

Will write some fanfictions (x reader too) just not smut I don't know how lol.

Me if Price dies :

Me if Gaz dies :

Me if Ghost dies :

Me if Soap dies :

this 'culture' of getting emotionally attached to famous people often makes me uncomfortable, i'm not gonna lie. i'm not judging anyone but myself when i say that. when at the end of a day watching a movie/tv show with my favorite actor or actress (or simply seeing a photo of them) is the only thing that makes me smile.. i find it sad. but then i remind myself that this is a weird world we live in and we all cope in different ways and storytelling (movies, books, tv shows, writing etc) as always been mine. i started watching the mandalorian several months ago and i'm going to be honest i watched it because i was bored. i've seen all the star wars movies and i liked them but i wasn't really invested until i met din djarin. this show really opened a door for me. not only did it allow me to find a universe made for me. but it also reintroduced me to pedro pascal. an actor that my younger self unfairly overlooked. but now i'm all grown up (kinda) and i'm able to see how talented he is. he brings so much authenticity to his characters and never shy away from a challenge. between oberyn, javier and din you can't deny his impact on pop culture. but what truly makes him someone special for me is his heart. in this business people are usually saying shit you want to hear to sell their movies and they move on. they feel like unreachable entities and it left us with a cold feeling. which is not the case with pedro. not only does he interacts with us (as best as he can) but he also make sure to make his voice heard. and also the voices of people who aren't heard. he is someone who feels like you could grab a coffee and have a chat with i deeply love this about him. today is his birthday and i guess this was my way of wishing him the best fucking birthday possible. i hope he'll spend it surrounded by his loved one and cakes. i'll probably drink a cocktail in his honor (look at me finding excuses).

happy birthday pedro thank you for being my lifeline when i needed it the most. you opened my eyes to so many things. and i'm grateful.

everyone: what's your goal in life?

me: to write a story so soul snatching, so gut wrenching and so devastatingly beautiful that it leaves you crying at 3am when you have a 8am lecture/shift and it inspires people to write entire essays, to write entire fanfics, mood boards and playlists based on it.