Here Ya Go People Who Need This

Or, in some cases, all of the above

one does not simply become a queer fan of tolkien without fixating on aragorn/legolas, samwise/frodo, gimli/legolas, or thorin/bilbo… it is folly.

Angst angst angst (GhostSoap)

The touchdown back onto base after the death of Hassan was a breath of absolute fresh air to Soap’s aching chest. He was in pain, but was insanely happy that he’d survived the shit show that was the task to detonate that missile, fight armoured guards with nothing but glass and a box cutter, and directing Ghost to kill Hassan while Soap hung off a damn skyscraper. He was alive. And he was happy about it.

If he weren’t concussed from a hit in the head, hurt from a fall from elevators, being shot, being beaten and jumping through windows, he’d be practically bouncing off the plane. Instead, he followed Price out of the plane and took as deep a breath he could before the stabbing pain returned to his ribs. He would need to go to the infirmary, but eh, that could wait. What he really wanted was to talk to Ghost. He wanted to perhaps plan a time for them to chat after he was out of the infirmary.

He turned to Ghost with a big smile on his face, looking up to the blank eyes that were looking off into the distance.

“Hey Ghost~! Wasn’t that great?? We all did so well!”

Ghost didn’t respond. He looked down at Soap, who would’ve been a miserable sight. Cut, bruised, a gash on his forehead with blood down his face and neck that had dried, shot, burnt. Beaten in general. Foolishly, he kept talking.

“I can’t believe we succeeded on such an impossible mission, it sure is exhilarating!”

“The only reason you’re alive is because of me.”

“… What?”

“You heard me.” Ghost started advancing on Soap, who backed off, sensing anger. Every step that Soap took back, the taller man stepped forward.

“Your stupidness meant that you got shot, and you had to traverse a city alone to get to me. Why did that take you a fucking hour, Soap?? I was there within fifteen minutes! You nearly died!”

Soap shrunk in his skin. “Woah woah- where is this coming from…?”

Ghost paid no attention. “You seem to think you’re a human fucking pin cushion! You’ve been shot how many times in the past 48 hours?? Graves, Hassan, Shadows?? And all through that you don’t shut up! You’re only quiet when I want you to talk to me!”

“I followed yer orders…”

“I had to save your life twice!”

“… ‘m sorry… I thought we were friends… what about all the joking-“

“I work alone, Johnny. That way I don’t have to save people and I don’t have to be saved.”

The last sentence was spoken with such a blank tone that it almost scared Soap more than the shouting. Everyone was looking at them. Everyone was looking at Soap. Recruits too, hearing that he had to be saved multiple times, that he’d been hurt so many times over. He looked down, furrowing his eyebrows in an effort not to cry. His chest was tight, and all the pain he’d felt before was tripled. He always struggled with the feeling that he didn’t belong, but he thought Ghost actually liked him as a person. Now, he was ashamed, embarrassed, and burdened by a freight train’s weight worth of impostor syndrome.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, but shook it off and barged past Price; the owner of said hand. On his way to the infirmary, probably in Ghost’s field of vision but he hoped not, he began sobbing. His hands, bloodstained and cut, soaked up the tears and smeared oil and blood and grease all over his face. He was pathetic. He didn’t belong. He was stupid to think he made a friend, especially in someone who wore a fucking skull on his face.

(There will be more parts)

I loved this fic the second I read it! Can’t wait to read the last chapter.

Idiot's Guide to Dating by Simon Riley

this is part five! read on ao3, or read on tumblr - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4. no archive warnings apply! this is pure, unadulterated fluff :]

A groan escaped Ghost as his alarm went off. He rolled onto his side, clumsy fingers reaching out until they brushed against the clock and turned it off. He’d not quite been brave enough to leave his room, yesterday, though it was late enough that he could pretend he was resting.

That was a lie.

His sleep had been quite disturbed, in fact, restless, consistently drifting into panicked thoughts about Johnny, and how the hell you were supposed to confess to somebody that you loved them.

Of course, he told himself, that the other must know, right? What else would his words from yesterday mean?

‘Like’ could mean platonic, though. Soap could think that this was just a friendly thing... Ghost wasn’t a very friendly guy. He could have just assumed-

Another groan escaped him, and he buried his head into his pillow. Fuck Soap. How dare he make the Ghost fluster like this? Simon had killed plenty of people, and he had seen a great many things, but here he was, panicking over his crush like a child. It was an entirely foreign feeling to him, and he couldn’t figure it out.

Deciding to no longer dwell on these thoughts, he pushed himself up and got changed. He’d go on a run, and that would clear his mind, and all would be fine.

It was easy to fall into a routine, and it soothed his fraying nerves. His brain could switch off for a moment, as he worked just on instinct. Getting dressed, then brushing his teeth, washing his face, putting his mask on, putting his shoes on, leaving the base – the list continued. It was all usual, to him, and it helped things get easier.

Another thing he was entirely grateful for was the fact that the run went easy. It wasn’t an overly cold morning, though it wasn’t too warm, and it wasn’t too muddy – everything was perfect. That made his skin crawl. It was... too nice. Given his plans to officially romance Soap, it felt wrong. Ghost couldn’t be lured into a false sense of security.

Okay, he had to admit, it sounded odd to find things being too nice wrong, but he could admit that he was a paranoid bastard, sometimes.

Once the run was over, he returned to his room to change clothes and freshen up, not wanting that sticky, post-run feeling to stick with him throughout the day. It was routine – fuck, he liked routine.

With that done, donning a hoodie, jeans, and, of course, his mask, he made his way to the kitchen in order to grab some breakfast. The first disruption in his plan was here, though that was mostly because he hadn’t really considered the rest of the day. Johnny was there, fussing with the microwave as Gaz and Price sat by and watched, offering the occasional tip, but not helping him.

That microwave had never been the same after Soap arrived on base. He was pretty certain it was now a short horror story Price told the rookies. He couldn’t blame him.

Apparently, his footsteps weren’t as quiet as they usually were, as, when he stepped in, Price glanced over his shoulder and offered a hum, “Morning, Simon,”

“Lt!” Before Ghost even got the opportunity to respond to their Captain, the Sergeant was turning around excitedly to face him. There was a grin on his lips that had his heart fluttering, and he hated it because it was so silly and childish, but... honestly, at the same time, he really liked the feeling.

In the back of his mind, he quietly blamed Soap for making him feel like that. It was unfair, honestly.

“Johnny-” Ghost began, not quite certain what he was going to say, but he was cut off before he could figure that out, regardless.

“Me and the Sergeant have... some paperwork to do, regarding our last mission,” Price spoke up, suddenly, giving Gaz a look.

“We do?”

Price nudged Gaz’s shoulder, and understanding dawned across his features.

“Oh! Yeah, we do. See you guys later,” Gaz flashed a grin at them, pushing himself to a stand and following Price out. When the duo walked past Ghost, their Captain nudged his side, and Ghost watched them leave, bewildered.

“Meddlin’ bastards,” Grumbled Soap, which only added to Ghost’s bewilderment, truly. He turned to look at the Scot, whose grin turned a little sheepish, turning back to the microwave to try and figure it out. “Eh... Good morning, Lt?”

“Decent,” Ghost responded, finding himself still feeling a little... outcast, in this situation. There was nobody else in the room, and nobody would be interrupting them, it seemed, so this was the best opportunity he had, to confess to him, but he still found himself lost.

Despite his list, he was fucking floundering, and he scoffed at himself. He was Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, god dammit, he physically dragged himself out of his grave, and here he was, flustering himself at the thought of asking Johnny out.

He just... had to do it. He could do it.

Ghost stepped closer, rounding the counter near him, and just as he went to speak, he registered something that threw him off-kilter, all over again.

“Are you... heating up pizza for breakfast?”

“Oh- uh... aye, ran out of cereal, and I’ve never really... cooked anything for breakfast, so...”

Ghost slow-blinked at him because this wasn’t the first time his Sergeant had thrown him off-guard like this, but it was definitely towards the top of the list.

“Sit down,”

“Uh- Why, Lt?”

“Sit down,”

“Copy that, sir,” Johnny grinned at him. It should be an infuriating expression. It, in fact, made his stomach erupt in butterflies again. Ugh.

Ghost shuffled to grab what he needed; two eggs, a bowl, a pan, a whisk, and some bread. Once done, he began cracking the eggs, so he could stir them.

Recognition crossed Soap’s features, and a shocked little gasp escaped him. “Are you... making me breakfast?”

“You’re not eating pizza this early,”

“Aww, Simon...” Johnny cooed, and yet again, it should piss him off, but it didn’t, in fact, it made his cheeks flush under the mask, and he let out a huff.

“Shut it, Sergeant,” Being told to shut up by Ghost should have him complying, if for nothing else, then out of a healthy respect for remaining alive. Soap’s actual response was a laugh, which was perhaps more of a cackle than anything else.

He hated how nice that laugh was.

As Ghost worked, the other did lapse into silence for a few minutes, which surprised him. A quiet Johnny was one he was not used to – even in the ride to Alejandro’s safehouse, after the shitshow that was Graves’ betrayal, the man managed to talk the whole way there. Incessantly.

The memory made him smile.

Ugh.

“Y’know, I could get used to this,” Johnny spoke up, suddenly.

“What?”

“I mean... this. You cooking for me. Looking all domestic in your hoodie and shit,” he laughed.

“Domestic?”

“Yeah... I mean... You look casual. Apart from the mask, but I’m coming around to it. Still makes you look strange, but... I’m coming around to it,”

“You like it?”

“I... guess I do, yeah,”

“You like me?” His words echoed the ones from yesterday, from their mission.

“I... do?”

Ghost turned around, pleased to notice that there was a light flush coating the Sergeant’s cheeks, accompanied by a distinctly confused expression. It was nice to be the one causing that expression, for once. He walked up to the counter, leaving it as a barrier between them, and leaned against it, his elbows used to prop it. He leaned into Johnny’s space, watching as the other man swallowed thickly, wide-eyed but smiling nonetheless, which reassured him that he was reading into this right.

“I like you too,”

“You... do?”

He was so proud of himself to have such a talkative man so tongue-tied. A smile quirked his lips and, judging by the fact that Soap’s eyes flitted down, that was clear, even with the mask on. Good.

“I do. Been gone on you for a while, Johnny. Didn’t know if I should tell you, but...”

“You’re not... takin’ the piss, aye?”

An amused chuckle escaped Ghost, pretty certain his newfound confidence only came from that thrilled glint in Johnny’s eye, “No, I’m not ‘takin’ the piss’,”

“C’mere,” Soap stood up, gesturing to his side. Feeling rather like he couldn’t deny him right now, Ghost obliged, rounding the counter and standing in front of him.

Carefully, almost like one would to a feral animal, Johnny reached his hands up, taking Ghost’s face in his hands. “Can I... kiss you?” His voice was so soft, so tender, in a way he was so unused to from the other, he was helpless to simply nod his agreement.

Rather than lift the mask, which he’d expected the other to do, he instead pushed onto his tiptoes and kissed him through the mask. It was nothing more than a peck, hesitant and careful, but the other relaxed when Ghost didn’t pull away.

The fact that Soap saw the mask as simply another facet of Ghost was... so sweet, honestly. It was such a kind gesture, but he didn’t need that, now. No, he needed to know what Johnny’s lips felt like against his, not through the mask.

His head tilted back out of his grip for just a moment as he reached up and lifted his mask up, noting how Johnny’s pupils blew wider as he did. This time, Ghost was the one to lean down, pressing his lips against his. Everything sort of melded into place, at that moment. His hands wrapped around Soap, finding his waist, gently squeezing at the firm skin he found there, and – well, shit, everything was perfect.

As much as he would like to say that he spent the next few minutes kissing Soap as he pleased, it instead was interrupted by the smell of burning.

The eggs.

A frustrated groan escaped him, suddenly parting from Soap only to round the counter once more and switch the stove off. There was probably no saving them – maybe breakfast would have to be fucking leftover pizza.

He turned around once more, watching as Johnny laughed at him, and only found it within him to roll his eyes, teasingly. He had a nice laugh, the asshole.

“Ah... Maybe I’m not the only one who shouldn’t be trusted to cook, eh, Simon?”

“You’re a distraction,” Simon accused, fondly, the smile clear in his words.

“A pretty handsome distraction,” he waggled his eyebrows in a way that should have been stupid looking, but he truly found it charming. Definitely an asshole, how dare he be so endearing?

“Watch yourself, Johnny,”

“Don’t think I need to, Simon, not when you’ve been watching me?”

“Like a hawk. Don’t you have work to do?” Really, Simon just... needed a few minutes to process everything that just happened.

Maybe he needed to scream into his pillow just a little. Things never went to plan, he needed to celebrate, you know?

“Got some training today. I’m... free this evening, though,” once more, the man segued from teasing to tentative and tender in moments. It was so fucking sweet.

“Meet me by my room, at 5 pm,”

“You gonna take me out?” The words were teasing. Ghost needed to rectify that.

“I am.”

“Oh... Aye- Uh.. Right! Okay. I’ll see you then, Simon,”

“See you then, Johnny,”

The shorter man scarpered around the counter once more, pressing one final kiss to his lips for good measure, before backing off. Before he left, he grabbed the cold pizza from the microwave, and brought it with him, to wherever he was going.

Cold pizza for breakfast... Jesus, Simon certainly knew how to pick them. As he turned around and began to clear up the mess he’d accidentally made, he couldn’t bring himself to be mad about that, though. Nah, he was pretty certain he couldn’t have fallen for the average person, so he’d just have to deal with those quirks. Well – maybe he’d just try to quell them. How a man could live off of cold pizza in his late twenties was... insanity, really.

Once the kitchen was cleared, Ghost pulled his mask down, and began to settle into his daily routine for work. A smug, prideful feeling stuck with him the whole time, making him want to preen, stick his chest out and fucking boast to anybody that came near him – he fucking wooed John MacTavish, and he did it well, dammit. Maybe he was better at romancing people than he’d thought, hey?

Now to plan their date. On short notice. What... sort of date would Johnny enjoy?

Maybe the plan had been a little short-sighted. That was fine. It worked out perfectly anyway.

wait….are any americans aware that the cia overthrew the democratically-elected premier of iran in 1953 because he wouldn’t concede to western oil demands….and how that coup was the reason for the shah’s return to power, the iranian revolution, and the resulting fundamentalist dictatorship…..like, america literally dissolved iranian democracy and no one knows about it???

YASSSS

I’m a nice person!!!

I don’t deserve to be mistaken as straight.

I think we may have a vine problem.

Bilbo was only gone for like, a week, and Thorin acts like will never see him again

*Bilbo has gone to Dale to get seeds for his garden*

Dwalin: Hey, Thorin--

Thorin: Bilbo used to called me Thorin ;-;

Dwalin: That's because it's your fucking name you idiot.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5243690

I need a way to remember this masterpiece so I can re-read it

Chicken Chicken, chicken chicken chickens