My Cod Fanfics:

We need more Duke Thomas in our lives ✊😔

duke thomas sighting / batober

Bait & Switch, pt. 1

Part 2 >>

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, implied soapghost, hopeful ending cw: torture, angst, MWIII spoilers

---

Soap turns hazy, unfocused eyes toward the screen and watches the man with his face run down the tunnels under the English Channel. The man shoots at Konni soldiers, ferocity and desperation painted over every twitch of his brows and silent shout from his lips. 

It all seems so real.

But it can't be. It's not.

He watches Price and the man with his face cut through the enemy. Watches them attempt to disarm the bomb.

Watches Marakov approach.

Their bodies jerk in succession as Makarov's bullets rip through them both. They hit the ground, and sympathetic pain throbs through Soap's shoulder. 

He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. Not his wound. Not him. Just a man with his face bleeding onto dirty concrete on the other side of a black and white screen.

Makarov goes after Price. The man with Soap's face rises up to stab Makarov and–

Makarov blows a hole through the man's head.

It's surreal to watch his own face go blank. To watch the life drain from wide eyes within seconds. To see the others barely pause. Only standing beside the body for a few moments before continuing on because they have a fucking job to do. No time to pause and mourn the perpetual FNG.

Except for Ghost.

Soap's vision darkens on his right side, and he blinks away the sweat or blood – could be either or both but he's too numb to care – as Ghost falls to his knees beside the body of the man with Soap's face. The CCTV cameras are too shitty to see his eyes as he gazes down at the body leaking blood across the floor, but Soap hopes.

Hopes there's real emotion there. Hopes even more that Ghost finally sees it – finally sees that the dead man whose chest he's so tenderly pressing with his hand isn't his *Johnny.*

This time the watery blur appears in both eyes, and he doesn't bother to blink it away. Because he's seen all this before, and it never changes.

The door behind him opens, but he keeps his focus on the screen. He watches his former teammates leave the body behind in their desperation to follow Makarov.

But they won't find him. Soap knows because he recognizes the footsteps behind him as easily as he once recognized Ghost's.

Ghost, who made his gait purposefully distinct to alert Soap to his presence before slipping into Soap's bed late at night and who murmured soft words in his ear, words no one would ever believe the hardened man would say out loud. But he did. He said them to Soap as he took him apart piece by piece like he would a favorite gun, slow and deliberate, before putting him back together with love and care.

A hand slides into his long, filthy hair. Soap braces for the pain, and Makarov doesn't disappoint as he yanks Soap's head back.

"Enjoying the show?"

Soap doesn't respond. He never does, though it enrages Makarov.

On the screen, soldiers fill the tunnel, taking up the space won back by the 141. They set up a perimeter around the bomb.

The dead man remains sprawled on the ground, lifeless and forgotten.

"Look how they just left you behind. Left you to be picked up and brought here to wallow in misery."

A surge of anger burns through him—

But.

No. That's not right. Soap was never in that tunnel.

He's been in this cold, dark room since the mission in Siberia, taken down by a bullet and dragged away before he could radio for help. He has no idea how long he's been here, but he's endured every kind of torture: electrocution, waterboarding, frostbite, knives, pliers, hot pokers, and more. His body is a canvas of scars and burns

Through it all, he held on to his faith with ragged, broken fingers, with bloody teeth sunk into the promise of hope, that his team would find him. That *Ghost* would find him, rescue him from this hell, and wreak havoc on their enemies.

Until Makarov showed him why no one had come for him. Why no one will ever come for him.

A knife flashes in front of his eyes, fluorescent light reflecting off silver. Soap's voice grates through the air like steel against steel.

"Who was he?"

Makarov lets go of his hair, leaving behind a dull throb of residual pain, and rounds the chair Soap is tied to, hands on his hips and a sadistic glint in his eye.

"Him? Oh, just someone who got confused about his role in this lovely little play. Perhaps the serum was a bit too effective at turning him into you, disgusting loyalty and all, hmmm?"

Serum.

Memories resurface slowly. He's had this conversation with Makarov before. A sliver of panic bleeds into his numbness.

Christ have mercy. He's fucking losing it. How long before he stops remembering? How long before he becomes a shell of himself?

Maybe it doesn't matter. After all, no one is coming for him.

When Soap doesn't say anything more, Makarov's glee sours into a frown. The blade flashes in front of his blurred vision once more before pressing against his neck.

"I admit I thought you would be easier to break. You seemed so obedient in Verdansk. You could've ended me, but instead you followed orders like a good little soldier. And here you are."

The knife digs in, but pain is a familiar friend he's learned to ignore. When Soap doesn't react, Makarov sighs.

"I suppose if you won't break on your own, it's time to get experimental."

He brings out a syringe and holds it up as if considering his next action. The liquid inside glows a sickly yellow green, and Soap's stomach churns at the thought of what new pain this torture it might bring. Because he knows Makarov's pause is just for show. There is no escape.

The gleeful grin returns as he jabs the needle into Soap's neck in the same spot he'd just cut him open. The liquid is brutally cold as it enters his blood stream, his muscles seizing from the rapid temperature change.

WIthin seconds, Soap's world tilts sideways. His eyes blur yet again. He blinks and blinks, but the room goes softer with every passing second. His muscles relax, and he slumps forward in his chair, the bonds securing his wrists behind him cutting into his skin, though he can't feel it anymore.

Makarov sounds like he's underwater when he speaks. "Good. Let us begin."

Blackness takes him.

---

When Soap wakes, he's no longer in a dark, cold room. Through the broken out window of his full helmet, he sees strange buildings rising up into a swath of blue sky. Giddiness that borders on panic wells up in his chest.

He's outside. He made it outside. Did he escape? He doesn't remember.

His gaze falls, and the world stops.

He's surrounded by rivers of blood, knife in hand. His heart pounds like he's dying.

And on the ground lies a Ghost, splayed out like a sacrifice, bloodied and beaten and looking up at Soap like he's seen God.

"Johnny?"

Part 2 >>

Random Duke Thomas Headcannons pt 3

I think Duke would gets given a lot of gifts while on partol. It comes with working the day shift, really.

The first few weeks people were hesitant about a Bat being out during the day, some openly hostile, but now many see it as just a part of Gotham's charm.

One day, a girl runs up to him, holding a paper tightly to her chest. It was a drawing she made in class of Batman. The girl asks all shyly if Duke could give it to him and what was he meant to say? No?

So Gothamites started giving him things, first with kids crayon drawing, the some teens who made badges and pins, adults with letters of gratitude. Soon Duke was passing on drawings, t-shirts, crocheted dolls, poems, etc to all the batfamily.

Gothamites wanted to share their love to their heros. Bruce, Dick, Barbara, Cass, Damian, Stephanie, Tim, Kate, even Luke now had piles of trinkets after only three weeks.

One day, while on patrol as usual, a kid waved him down. He held poorly wrapped box in his hands. Duke swung down and took the box from the boy. When serching for the same he was shocked to find "Signal" written messy across the top.

Inside was a drawing of Duke a week ago, saving the boys dad who got trapped under his car. He hung to photo up on an empty wall in The Hatch.

Soon, that wall became more full than the rest of the family's piles.

When he gets in his own head, doubts clouding his brain, he stares at the wall. Art, photos, poems, letters, badges, stickers, patches, pins, shirts, dolls, shoes, all the items from Gotham, showing how he is loved by them. How he is their hero.

Duke still is asked to pass on gifts for the rest of the Batfamily, but more often he gets given gift for himself.

Hear me out, hear me out:

COD, more specifically Task Force 141, but in the ATLA universe 🫢

This can include other character too within the COD franchise, but just think; COD x ATLA

Ooooohhh, the possibilities 🤩

I’m wheezing at Tim’s

batman…..

Something about this line always hits me.

"Being Robin gives me Magic."

Idk how to explain it but the general gist of a street kid who has seen the worst of humanity,finding magic in fighting crime.

🤯

Ouch. This hurts a bit 🥲👍

"Why'd the soldier run into the demo site before it went down?"

Soap sighed, throwing a long suffering glance to his Lieutenant. He shifted his grip on his rifle. He could pretend he didn't hear the man but... either morbid curiosity or masochism won out. He wasn't sure which. "Why?"

"To C-4 himself."

"Awful."

"More?"

"As if you'd stop if I said 'no'." Years of practice kept a smile off his face. In all the time Soap had known Ghost, the man's sense of humor had remained steadfastly terrible.

Their unit advanced. Ghost and Soap were in the lead, spread far enough to need comms to talk, but close enough to signal one another if need be. Their men fanned out behind them.

"You hear 'bout the microwave incident on base?" Ghost's voice had taken on an ethereal quality.

Glancing over again, Soap spared a moment to admire the other man's silhouette against the muted orange glow filtering through the trees. He deftly stepped over branches and around trees. Rifle at the ready. Always ready.

Soap had missed this. Missed him. Missed them.

Soap hadn't blown up a microwave for fun in much too long. He hadn't had time, too desperate to fix things. Things were fixed. He'd need to change that when they got back. "Go on."

"Lost two kernels in a popcorn explosion."

"Tragic. Your jokes are painful, Lt."

"I'm just warming up."

Good. "That's a worrying statement."

"'Fraid of a good time, Johnny?"

"Afraid your jokes'll be the death of me."

"You could only hope so."

Trees and branches created illusory enemies as the trudged through the wood, but their trained eyes and steel nerves kept their small platoon from panicking. Sure-footed, they kept searching.

Soap offered one of his own. "What do you call an officer who spends too much time at the head?"

"What?"

"A loo-tenant."

"Not bad." A pause, Soap had just begun to soak in the praise when Ghost continued. "Not good either."

"Fucker. Yours're no better."

"I'm much better."

You are. "Keep telling yourself that."

"Why's there no winning a war with zombies?"

"Ghost." Soap's warning fired off nearly unbidden. He didn't like where this joke was headed. Behind him he heard one of his men misstep, a twig snapping. Perhaps the cause of his warning had been mistaken.

"Cause it's dead even."

"No. Too topical, Ghost. Don't like that one."

Minute crackling from the smoldering world around them filled the uncomfortable silence that followed his outburst.

"Lighten up, Johnny." Easy for him to say.

"I'll try, Sir."

"Heard the Navy is the most religious military branch. 'Parently they love a good warship."

***

Why did they have to use comms? Why did they have to keep that thing around?

The Sergeant was a freak, but at least he was still human. Still alive.

"Hnnnnnnggggrrrrrrraaaaahh." The fucking monster that had once been their Lieutenant moaned, scratchy and split. It traveled through the smoke unnaturally, fraying the nerves of the men it led.

"Go on."

"Rrrrrah arrrrrrrrnnnnnn."

"Tragic. Your jokes are painful, Lt."

It still moved like a man, from a distance you'd never know.

But the sounds. Why did they keep it? It was one of them.

"Eyuhm. Mruuuuaaammm."

"That's a worrying statement."

Why the hell did the fucking thing moan into comms? Why did the Sergeant respond like it was talking? Why did they all have to pretend they weren't being led to their deaths by a fucking Zombie and a mutant who'd lost his mind?

"No. Too topical, Ghost. Don't like that one."

MacTavish's snap quieted the monster for a moment. Holy shit he could breath again.

"Ahhmff. Ohnneeee."

"I'll try, Sir."

The beast began to moan again, it floated back to them, broken bloodied nails against his nerves. It crackled through their comms. It was destroying him. "I can't fucking take this anymore!"

Both freaks rounded on him. He leveled his gun at the former Lieutenant.

"Corporal Evans, what the fuck?" Sergeant MacTavish snarled. Green eyes mutely glowing.

"That fucking thing keeps moaning. He's dead, he's one of them! Why are we pretending he isn't?"

The Sergeant was moving before Evans could even blink. Evans fired off a shot but it went wide, nowhere near his target, as the Sergeant laid hands on him.

Green smoke emanated from the mutant, eyes glowing fiercely as he threw Evans into a tree and held him there. Pain in his collar bone and a loud crack told him it had been broken.

The Sergeant barked something at him, but his ears were ringing too loudly and his mind was clouded. He must've hit his head against the tree.

***

"Heard a shot, boys. Report."

"Evans lost his damn mind and took a shot at Ghost." Soap spat. He was ready to rip the Corporal limb from limb, the traitor would deserve it.

"He hit?"

A hand landed on his shoulder. A bloodied skeleton print glove, missing the ring finger and revealing grayed flesh and blood caked under the nail.

Toxic green met milky white. Ghost's eyes still conveyed such intense emotions. He was worried about the shot and yelling giving away their position. He was feigning indifference to being targeted. He was angry about Soap losing his head.

"Ohnee. Rauhghh."  Ghost's voice echoed within Soaps mind as well. 'Johnny. Cool it.'

"Ghost's fine. Shot missed."

"Hhhnnnnaowww."

Soap rolled his eyes and dutifully translated for the others. "Apparently I just broke Evans's collar bone."

Price grunted before ordering. "Right. Bring him back in one piece, he'll be dealt with later."

Two of the others had stepped up. Zip-cuffs and duct tape in hand. There'd be no more outbursts from Evans, then.

"He probably got heated because you're not translating for us, Soap. I'm missin' his comedy gold." Gaz piped up.

Ghosts exposed mouth was one of the benefits to his condition, he refused to use a different mask since the incident. His slack, broken jaw didn't stop him from smiling.

"Hnnh hnnhh huaaaaaarrrrrnnnnnghuhh."

Soap closed his eyes and centered himself. Things had been so touch and go for so long. Theyd kept Ghost caged because they didn't know they could still trust him. No one could hear him. When The Director had offered to change that, in exchange for Soap participating in a few experiments, he'd jumped on it. Hearing the man in his own mind now, he could never regret it. Even if the damn respirator on his face could never be removed.

" 'Picasso used to drive a tank. Was known for art-illery.' Sure you want me to keep translating?"

"Terrible, Sir."

"Fucking hell, Simon, that was bad."

A few of the men around them laughed or chuckled. None would look either officer in the eye though.

"I was trying to save you all." Soap said before taking his position back up and letting his men handle Evans.

They resumed their advance through the smoldering wood.

Duke is unapologetic for everything that comes out of his mouth. In fact, give him a mic, he'll say it louder.

Some way too old for that guy, trying to flirt with Cass: You know, you seem so mature for your age…

Duke, popping out of nowhere: And you're really fucking dumb for yours, man, fix this puddle of desperation on your head first and only then think about trying to fit into society. If even your hair doesn't want to be with you, what are you counting on?

Cass, who really didn't want to ruin her cute dress with blood: 👍🏻

A really annoying paparazzi: Hey, boy, how does it feel to become rich after, well, whatever you were before? Have your, erm, extracurricular activities changed? What's your favourite thing to do now?

Duke, with the straightest face known to mankind: No, it's still your mom. My favourite extracurricular activity, planning to do her more actually, thanks for the question.

Bruce, trying to parent a whole ass teen: So…

Duke: I really shouldn't have told this terrible, rude, insufferable piece of person to go eat shit. I genuinely regret it. I should have told her to go eat shit and die choking, such a missed opportunity, damn, I'm still upset.

Bruce: ...

Bruce, to himself: Why am I even trying?

There are a bunch of compilations on YouTube and Tiktok “Duke Thomas-Wayne has no PR training whatsoever”. Duke personally likes every single one of them.

Welp. I got some reading to catch up on 👀

Collection of 09 SoapGhost fics

SFW:

I Will Follow by m1ckstart

Burdens Of Command by m1ckstart

Sleep by Asasin

When I Die by InterGalacticKnight

A Toast To Life And Death by InterGalacticKnight

What Remains by m1ckstart *note: mentions of hooking up, but no explicit scenes

rather waste my time with you by s0fter-sin

Winter fall by callofdudes (part 2)

Around my bed, America by Kabbal (Aledane)

And If I Let Myself Go, I'm the Only One to Blame by softer_sin *note: mentions of hooking up, but no explicit scenes

5 times Riley ended up in Mactavish's lap for purely "tactical" reasons and the 1 time it wasn't by SpotlessSpectre *note: not complete

yours to keep by anonymous

Unnecessary by FiddleOfGold

Moments by FiddleOfGold

Demons by MilkSergeant

NSFW with Trans Ghost:

Reverence by SharkNoises

Sunshine enough to spread by MGCraig

You’ve got a pretty kind of dirty face by qwentinsmith

hunger by bravo07

Soft lips are open, them knuckles are pale by bbgrlsimonriley

Fantastic Phantom Feelings by ErlKönig (Herm_own_ninny)

patience is a shitty virtue when it's me getting fucked by you by ErlKönig (Herm_own_ninny)

Oh Captain, My Captain by ErlKönig (Herm_own_ninny)

hush by puppyghost (whinypuppy) *note: this one is 22 but I read it as 09 caus beggars can’t be choosers

when i think about you i touch myself by sghostriley

Bloody Hell by garbage_cannot

sweet love of mine by gh0stspace

Poison burn by Mossbeast

NSFW:

Stutter by m1ckstart

Venus Flytrap by 6sundragons

Don’t Interfere With a Mans Work by InterGalacticKnight

Yes Sir by InterGalacticKnight

A night in the Afghanistan desert by Hetsez

Morning Pleasures by Asasin

we could do this all night by Torierra

Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo by x_posed_again

gimme just a little bit (more) by applepieces

Hands That Are Softer Than Voices by ultrakombo

In Your Absence by badlifechoices *note: not complete, no explicit content yet

Fed by His God by Azilver

clockwork by NarcissosByThePool

Sounds Almost Romantic by haggywags

2024 kinktober (bootworship) by sghostriley

Playing With Fire by CedarDove

I will update this post whenever I find more <3