A little WIP so far of our boys and some ramblings from me because it's late at night and a fictional man hits too close to home! -- note, a little bit of angst is included :,)
I was thinking about it a lot, and I believe I like drawing/thinking a lot about Ghost and Soap so much because of my idea of how their dynamic works.
To preface, I see the insight of Ghost's past that was featured in the 09' comics applying to the reboot MW universe. Ghost's... experiences... with his father, the betrayals he's faced, and especially the things that happened in Roba's facility. It undoubtedly gave him tremendous trauma surrounding trust and intimacy and heavily affects the way he interacts with and shows his love to Soap.
It's made it to where a lot of what's come to be "standard" things in a relationship like intimacy, the sweet loving words he's been deprived of for so long coming from Soap, and being so vulnerable with someone is honestly just... confusing at best and terrifying at worst.
And I imagine for him it's so fucking frustrating to feel these things because... It's things that come from someone you care about so much. It's someone showing you all the best parts of them and how much they cherish you.
And god, it's frustrating when in the face of all this care and love, all you feel is uncertainty, hesitation, and fear that someone could love and place so much trust in you like this. And when you see it's making your partner feel bad or like it's their fault, it shatters you.
Without a doubt in my mind this has caused rifts between the two of them, with Soap feeling a little stung at times that his way of showing affection - touch - isn't always the most well-received by Ghost, which isn't his fault by any means. BUT this is why communication about when is the right time to have these close moments is so important to them.
I wanted to draw a scenario I think would be rather frequent between them, which is them cuddling and Ghost savoring the closeness, but there's still a shred of distance - a small wall he subconsciously wants to maintain his comfort. And I imagine he does this by adjusting Soap ever so slightly; his hands guiding his to where they should rest.
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him as an ex boyfriend who calls you saying he misses you and NEEDS you just because of the booze.
no matter how hard you try not to let go, you always end up in the same bed at the end of the night
“come back, luvie”
since when were you his “luvie”?
only when he was too drunk to think, too high to function, too out of his mind to know what he had just said.
even during the time you were dating him, he was a ghost of a partner. not one word said that he loved you, not one touch that might have suggested you were his lover, not one action that made you seem anymore than an acquaintance. the only words that ever really held your relationship together was the grumbled “alright” to your confession.
you hate him so much. how could he call you after never once picking up his own phone? after he left with seemingly no regrets, no feelings, like your relationship with him wasnt worth a thing?
oh, but you love him. too much to block his number. too much that you’re awake at 3am waiting to see if he’ll call you and tell you to come over. too much to refuse the offer of just pretending to be… something, anything to him.
and a few hours later, you’ll be laying on his bed, alone, while he’s out smoking a cigarette. perhaps you’ll delude yourself into believing he’s thinking of you; comforting thoughts that he still loves you. ah, maybe you’re a little drunk yourself. maybe the booze is talking. because you know Simon “Ghost” Riley doesn’t love you, he never did.
Summary: It is a beautiful autumn afternoon to go for a last run before reporting back to base, until it isn't.
Do not read if you're under 18. This work contains mature and triggering themes.
Word count: 1400~
Task Force 141 member sheet
Name: [REDACTED]
Call sign: Canary
Rank: Corporal
Specialty: Sniper. Infiltration.
Status: On medical leave until November 18th XXXX
November 17th
Socked feet padded across the cold ceramic floors, a soft amber hue bathing the living room in the late afternoon sunlight. Canary readied herself for her run, the last one before her reinstallment in the task force after a two-month medical leave.
There was now only a faint scar where her shoulder injury had been, a reminder of a mission almost gone terribly wrong. She had been lucky, nonetheless, as she was allowed to carry most of her leave at her own apartment. She appreciated the six weeks of almost-civilian life she was granted, being able to buy her weekly groceries at the nearby farmers market, and catching up with old friends. But to say she was anxious to return to her military routine was an understatement.
Besides, she would be able to see her lovers once again after so long. Just as she was hospitalized, both Simon and Johnny had been shipped off who knows where. All communication had been nonexistent ever since, and every day she dealt with the dull weight in her chest of not knowing where or how they were. One of the reasons why she had requested to carry her leave out of base, was actually not being able to sleep at her barrack, knowing that the one next to hers was quiet and empty. Price had assured her that they would be back around or at the same time she returned to her duties, which may or may not have caused her to count the days down until her leave was up.
Canary whistled a tune that resembled a catchy pop song that had been playing non-stop on the radio for the past week as she secured her running shoes with a double knot. She felt light and airy, all her belongings were packed and her fridge had been emptied. The apartment was sparkling clean and ready to become unused again for who knows how long. The only thing left to do was to get herself takeout dinner on her way back and go to sleep early, to be up at 4 AM sharp to report an hour later on base.
She grabbed her running hoodie - which had been Johnny’s until she refused to give it back - and her gloves. She took a moment to admire these with a blossoming smile.
~~~~
Canary had just sat down on her bed when the door knocked. After an awfully eventful day as a newly appointed corporal in the infamous 141 task force, she barely had any energy to take off her boots, but she still swallowed the groan that nearly escaped her and called out for the person to walk in.
An instant later, Ghost - her Lieutenant and the protagonist of her dreams as of late - was inside her barrack. She stood up straight, but he dismissed her before she got to salute him. Was this a surprise inspection? Canary resisted the urge to look around her own room to see if anything was out of place. She felt a wave of panic rise when she realized she couldn’t remember whether or not she had picked up her dirty socks from under the bed.
“How can I help you, Lieutenant?” she asked, almost regretting it when he locked his stare on her eyes and her heart rate spiked.
“...I came to bring you this,” he said after what seemed like hours - but were probably just a few seconds - and extended his arm to her, on his hand was a box roughly wrapped in yellow paper.
Canary gingerly took the box from his hands and inspected it, before looking up at him again with a questioning tilt of her head. She thought she heard him gulp before crossing his arms over his chest.
“...It’s from me,” he explained, “and Soap.”
She blinked and nodded, carefully unwrapping the box and opening it from the side, sliding its contents onto her open hand. They were a pair of tactical gloves with bone designs - a replica of his own, she noticed. She looked up at him again, this time there was a slight warmth on her cheeks. She wouldn’t know until much later, but the same flush sat on his own cheeks, beneath the balaclava and skull mask.
“...Happy birthday, Canary.”
~~~~
Whenever she thought back to that moment, the warmth returned to her chest. And whenever she slid the gloves on and adjusted them to her wrist, she imagined Simon and Johnny holding her hands.
With her gloves adjusted, she secured her ponytail and walked out the door, saving her keys in the pocket of her hoodie. She greeted Marian, her elderly neighbour, and left on her run.
Her route wasn't a complicated one, it was a long road that crossed the University campus and ran through the forest, then turned before the bridge and led back into the city. In total, it was about 10 kilometers long. It was often frequented by other young people, mostly university students, who chose it to exercise. This didn't bother her, she tended to prefer this as it made her running route less solitary.
However, an unusually long weekend and the closeness of final exams made the route more solitary, as students either traveled home or shut themselves into their homes to cram. Canary didn't mind this at all, taking the chance to do more sprints and put herself back into the mindset she would be in during her missions soon enough.
Her rhythm was good, cutting through her route like a sharpened knife. She imagined herself at times doing a sprint race with Johnny, like they would during training. It wasn't the same without his taunting and their bickering, but she knew they would do it in no time, any day now.
Canary crossed a few people during her run, but the crowd dwindled even more when she crossed the forest. The trees blocked most sounds from the city, allowing her to enjoy the chirping of some birds that hadn't migrated, and the brush of a breeze in the forage. It was a calm day, the sound of her breathing and the crunch of the fallen leaves beneath her feet being the only disturbance in the area.
Out of nowhere, the hairs at the back of her neck stood and a chill ran down her spine. She was being watched. Canary stopped and looked around, trying to find whoever was looking at her. She decided to continue this time being more mindful of her surroundings, although her instinct screamed at her that she was walking into a trap.
As she got closer to the road near the bridge, Canary felt a sharp pain on the right side of her back. She swallowed a cry and reached for the object that pierced her skin. It didn't feel like a bullet, but something with a needle. Her blood turned cold when she pulled it out and examined it.
A tranquilizer dart.
Judging from the direction from where it was shot, she realized it had come from the forest. Soon she heard a rustling of leaves, and she now had only seconds to reach the road and hopefully flag down a passing car for help.
Canary abandoned the trail to run in the muddy grass, nearly slipping twice. She was still gripping the dart in her left hand, when she realized that the drug could knock her out at any moment now. Her pursuer was gaining terrain on her, and a quick look over her shoulder didn't help her nerves. She unfastened her glove and secured the dart in it to make sure she wouldn't lose it, when she felt a weight being thrown on her back.
Both her and her assailant tumbled down violently onto the grass and she struggled against him, only to find out her legs weren't moving. In her panic, she tried to move around to try and get a better look at the man, but her face was shoved down in the mud. Soon, her arms felt numb as well, the only feeling was the sensation of being zip-tied, and a fog began clouding her eyes and mind. She tried to scream for help, for Simon, Johnny, anyone, but her voice was hoarse and weakened, her breathing growing shallow and heavy under the weight of her attacker.
She barely caught the sight of a gray van pulling up in a hurry, and male voices shouting to each other, then her world went black and silent.
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Leave a Light On (Gary "Roach" Sanderson x GN!Reader)
TW: Angst, mentions of death and the feelings surrounding. Light swearing, likely military inaccuracies. Non-Canon ending to MW2 2009 events
Blog HQ
You heard the doorbell ring, excitement expanding in your chest as you walked to answer it. Your last call with Gary 3 nights ago left off with him implying that they would be heading home soon for a few days. The idea of seeing him again made you feel giddy, the same feeling you had when preparing for your first date with him.
Excitement quickly turned to confusion, shock and a sinking feeling when you were greeted by Price and Soap. Both with stoic expressions, neither giving you any sort of clue as to what they were here for.
Why your boyfriend wasn't pushing them out of the way to pull you into a tight embrace.
You were smart, you knew this meant 1 of 3 things.
1). The least probable option - Gary was hiding somewhere, waiting to surprise you. It would be a bit of a cruel surprise, not at all in character for him.
2). More likely, and what you were hoping for (as negative as it sounds) - he was injured. Currently questioning anyone who even so much as walked by his room where you were. When you'd be coming in. When he could see you again.
3). You didn't even want to acknowledge this as an option. You refused to even formulate the sentence in your mind. He went somewhere that you couldn't follow.
"Oh, two of my favourite Johns. What brings you?" You started, forcing a smile onto your lips; knowing it didn't meet your eyes. Trying (and failing) to discreetly look around for your boyfriend.
"May we come in?" Price started, voice soft. One you would use when asking a child where their parents were when you found them lost in the market.
"Is he here with you?" You asked, sucking in a large breath as you watched the two men look between one another. Holding it in your lungs, focusing on the burning sensation. Trying to forget the breaking of your heart.
Either injured or....
"Let's talk inside, yeah?" Soap interjected, casting you a pleading look. Hand coming to rest on your forearm.
"Of course. Sorry, I lost my manners" you exhaled, feeling your hands start to shake as you backed up. Gesturing for them to pass through the threshold. "What do you typically drink in the afternoons? We have tea, coffee, probably beer in the fridge. I can't attest to the quality, that's Gary's department" you chuckled dryly, cringing internally as your voice shook.
You nodded along to their responses, a coffee and a tea. Making quick work to brew the drinks, your head spun and your lungs burned. Like you were both drowning and burning alive at the same time. Your heart and soul cried, screamed, begged for good news.
"He's gone" Price finally explained, deciding to be upfront about the news. You were family, and he knew his sergeant would be pissed to high hell if he prolonged this for you. Roach loved you up until the second he was taken from this world afterall...
"Gone where" you challenged, tears forming in your eyes as your jaw locked. You knew what the Captain meant; but God you didn't want to believe it.
"I'm sorry, I'm so damn sorry" he began, equally as shaky hands pulling out 2 slightly burnt tags. Your breath hitched in your throat as if someone had just punched you directly in the gut.
Metaphorically he just did.
Staring at the soot coating the metal, you felt the tears escaping and falling freely as you thought back to the first time you picked Gary up from base.
It was the second or third deployment since you two moved in together; but the first time he was able to give you enough warning where you could make the drive out to meet him. Through all the happy tears and lovestruck kisses, you heard a rather bizzare nickname being thrown around.
Roach
You didn't think too much of it, too focused on your person being back in your arms. It wasn't until Simon bid you both goodbye and referred to Gary by the name that your curiosity spiked.
"So, what was with the nickname Simon called you earlier?" You asked on the drive home, fingers intertwined over the center console. "Seems bizzare to name your friend after a bug"
You smiled at the soft chuckle you received. How much you missed the sound. You listened happily as he explained (in as much detail as he could legally give) how his codename came to be. You survive so many once in a lifetime events, people start to notice. You're stuck with me forever, because like a cockroach -- I can't die.
"Except fire. I heard you can burn cockroaches and they die" you teased, sparing a glance to see the confused expression from the comment.
It was supposed to be a joke...not a fucking prophecy.
--
It was the slight movement in the bed that pulled him out of his thoughts. Making him aware of the tears that stained his pillowcase and the dull pain in his abdomen. Running his hand over the spot, he looked over to see you had rolled over in your sleep. Now facing him with a peaceful expression; you'll slowly be shifting unconsciously to lay your head on his chest. Rubbing your cheek into his skin, somehow relaxing more than you already were at the familiar, close feeling.
Soon enough you'll be reminding him that he's alive. That it's only nightmares and guilt haunting him. The fear he felt that day still clear in his mind. Laying on the ground, a burning warmth seeping through his body.
He truly thought it was the end, his final thoughts were about you. The future you two were planning, the vacations he wanted to take you on, everything you wouldn't get.
"You're thinking too loud, centipede" you mumbled, once again pulling him from the personal hell he created for himself. You shifted closer, head resting against his shoulder as your palm replaced his. The light pressure alleviating the ache.
"Nightmare again?" He didn't have to answer, you knew him better than he knew himself. Though he never went into details about how every nightmare since he was discharged home was about your reactions to his death.
Some nights you wouldn't be here to receive the news, deciding that the life of a military partner wasn't what you signed up for. Others you would be relieved. Gary knew these weren't accurate, just the ungrounded fears clawing their way to the surface of an overtired mind.
Other, heavier nights you would blame yourself. For everything you did and didn't do, wondering how things could have changed if you did A, B or C different. One that stuck with him was the night you couldn't live with the guilt.
He actively tries to forget that one.
"You're alive. You're here, in our bed with me. It's April 30 at.....0230. When you should be asleep" The soft words to bind him back to reality, accompanied by the warmth you were emitting pulled a soft sob from his chest.
God he was lucky to be alive. Even luckier to have you.
