I Absolute LOVE Stories Of Ghost Getting To Meet The Mactavish Family Dynamic 🥹

I absolute LOVE stories of Ghost getting to meet the Mactavish family dynamic 🥹

Ghoaptober # 4

Prompt: Home

Words: 3100~

TW: Phonetic Scottish Accents (sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

This one did not at all go in the direction I meant it to. I genuinely thought this one was gonna be short, that's my bad for thinking a MacTavish family reunion wouldn't be chaotic.

So a bit of Premise, I have a headcanon that Soap's actual name is Coinneach John MacTavish, but only his family calls him Coinneach.

Enjoy!

Ghost tried to steady his breathing as Johnny led him up to a picturesque country home, then around the side, under a few lines of drying laundry, to the backdoor. Johnny gave the door a cursory rap as he pushed it open, he’d barely gotten one foot over the threshold when delighted cries resounded.

An older woman, maybe fifty years old came into view as she hustled over to yank Johnny down into a hug. A smile lit Johnny’s face, the likes of which Ghost had never seen before. It was warm and relieved, happy and teary. It looked like Johnny had been told ‘It’s all okay’ and, for the first time, actually believed it. Johnny and his mother held each other for a long moment, each just breathing the other in. Through the door Ghost could see that the space behind them was crowding with people, all impatiently waiting to have their go at hugging the returned MacTavish.

Mrs Mactavish pulled away, reaching up to clasp Johnny’s face between her hands, planting a long kiss on his forehead, then pulling back again to look him over, murmuring to him in Scots Gaelic. Something Ghost, thanks to Johnny, could now recognize.

Johnny had warned him that it was the primary language spoken under the MacTavish roof, in deference to Johnny’s Grannie, whose grasp of English isn’t the best. Ghost had been forbidden from worrying about it and Johnny had assured and reassured him that "Ma an’ all ae mah wee siblings speak English jus’ fine", so he was trying his best to obey and not stress out.

Mrs MacTavish released Johnny, prompting even more people to crowd into the room to get at him and Ghost redoubled his efforts to not freak out. Wishing he hadn’t been so adamant in rebuffing Johnny when he’d said no one would care if Ghost wore his mask. Being able to hide behind his balaclava would be really nice right about now.

“Ye mus’ be this Ghost fella mah Coinneach is always yammering abou’,” The voice piping up at Ghost’s elbow does not make him jump. Ghost is a highly trained Special Forces Operative, he would notice a middle-aged Scottish woman approaching him before she spoke.

He Would.

“Oh! Ah’m sorrae, laddie. Didnae mean tae spook ye,” Mrs MacTavish apologises, “Come in, Come in, Donnae stan’ on the stoop like y’ur nae welcome.”

Ghost finds himself ushered into what he discovers is the kitchen of the house. To his right was the kitchen proper, there was what Ghost could only guess was a genuine wood stove crouched directly in front of the door, guarding the threshold, in direct competition with the gas cooker that was against the far wall, bracketed by counters covered in various appliances that looked like they'd hopped straight off the pages of a fifties home catalogue, but still seemed to be in good repair, the cupboards hanging over them were closed with curtains rather than doors. The only acquiescences to the modern era were the nice big fridge humming away like an afterthought at the end of the counters, and the washer tucked away in the corner.

It was a nice kitchen, it looked homey, lived in.

To his left was a long oval table with an assortment of chairs surrounding it. Ghost could pick out a few chairs with carvings that matched the ones on the table’s legs that could only be the matching set, but they were outnumbered by chairs that had clearly been added as needed. He could also spot a leaning stack of metal folding chairs half tucked behind a hutch in the back, clearly the MacTavish house was well accustomed to crowds.

Ghost was chivvied into one of the seats around the table, his Special Forces joints extremely grateful for the soft cushion padding the chair and guarding him from the ache of the hard wood. A glance at his table mates revealed whom the cushioning was truly intended for. A lady that must be around seventy sat to his right, and to her right, at the head of the table, sat a man in the same age range. The man was watching him.

Ghost took an educated guess and presumed that these must be Johnny’s Grannie and Grandad.

Fucking Hell.

Johnny never told him their names.

He’d always just referred to them as Grannie and Grandad, so Ghost had always called them ‘your Grannie and Grandad’ when asking after them. He didn’t even know if they were MacTavishs. Thinking about it, they were probably Johnny’s mother’s parents.

Oh, Bloody Fucking Hell.

What the fuck was Mrs MacTavish’s first name.

How the hell had he managed to have a panic attack over memorizing the names of Johnny’s five siblings and never have the thought cross his mind to learn the names of his mother and grandparents. Ghost is in their house, sitting at their table, and he doesn’t have a single clue what their names are.

What the fuck, Johnny.

The awkward staring contest he’d been entered into by Johnny’s Grandad was only growing more and more uncomfortable. It’d be rude to look away without saying anything, but what the fuck was he supposed to say, ‘Sorry for barging into your home, Johnny demanded Simon Riley crawl out of the grave that Ghost left him in to come meet the extended MacTavish family’?

Johnny rescued him by coming to the table, leaning down to accept his Grandad’s seated one-armed hug and back pats, then pressing kisses to his Grannie’s cheek as he passed by on his way to drape himself over the back of Ghost’s chair, because sitting in chair like a normal human eludes Johnny.

He talked back and forth with his grandparents for a moment then turned to Ghost to make the least helpful introduction he has ever been forced to be a part of, “Ghost, this ‘ere’s mah Grannie and Grandad,” then turning to his grandparents, “this is mah L.T, Ghost.”

Johnny’s Grandad seemed well used to Johnny’s foibles and reached an arm across the table to shake Ghost’s hand and supplement with his own introductions, “Ah’m Amhlaigh Milne, an’ this is the missus, Fionna Milne,”

Amhlaigh Milne’s hands were broad, with liverspots speckling the backs, textured by hard calluses and soft wrinkling skin. His handshake was cursory and firm. He was a man that had shaken a thousand hands before and had no interest in adding pomp or frippery to the exchange.

“Simon Riley, sir, ma’am,” Ghost replied, nodding to Mr then Mrs Milne, “Thank you for having me in your home,”

Mrs Milne said something to Johnny in Scots, sounding almost despairing. Johnny cried a shocked ‘Seanmhair!’ and a wild barking laugh carvoted out of the kitchen, followed by a multitude of variations on the same. Mrs MacTavish had been puttering about the kitchen getting tea and nibbles together, and was now bracing against the counters to not fall off her feet laughing. The people that Ghost hadn’t been introduced to, but could only assume were Johnny’s siblings, were leaning against each other and various pieces of furniture as they fought to stay upright on knees weakened by their cackling.

Well, it was good to see that Johnny came by it honestly.

Mrs MacTavish pulled herself together enough to pick up the tea tray and bring it over without spilling, the occasional giggle rattling the teaset before she made it to the table.

“Ma says-,” Mrs MacTavish cut herself off, planting a hand on the table as a new wave of laughter wracked through her, Johnny was hiding his face behind a hand, but the deep red of his ears betrayed his blush, “Ma says, it’s guid tha’ Coinneach is the firs’ ae her grankids tae bring ‘ome a fella, bu’ did ye have tae be a fuckin’ sassenach!”

The last of the translation is squeaked out in between laughs, but Ghost thinks he’s gotten the jist. Mrs Milne was hoping her grandchildren would bring home partners that were Scots.

Add her to the tally of people Ghost had lived to disappoint.

“None of your siblings have had partners before?” Ghost turns his head to address the question to Johnny, getting some vindictive pleasure from the offended squawks coming from the peanut gallery of siblings milling about in the kitchen.

“Nae, they’ve ‘ad partners, bu’ all ae 'em 'ave been too feart tae bring ‘em fer a visit,” Now Johnny is the one laughing, and the greedy beast that weaves through Ghost’s ribs squeezes tight, viscerally glad to have been the one to cause it.

A succession of offended noises comes charging out of the kitchen, followed by the siblings in question.

“Oi!” barks a young man with Johnny’s mousey brown hair, Mrs MacTavish’s straight nose, and hazel green eyes that Ghost doesn’t recognise, “Ah’m nae feart!” The rest of his defense is in Scots Gaelic and therefore lost to Ghost, but by the gasps and laughter it triggers, it’s nothing good.

“Artair!” Mrs MacTavish scolds, and Ghost assigns the name to the face on the internal profiles he’s been habitually building in his head for Johnny’s family, “Donnae say tha’ we’ve company!”

“He cannae understan-” Artair complains,

“Tha’ donnae matter. Artair MacTavish, ye’ll watch y’ur tongue or so help me Jesus, Ah’ll give ye a doin’!” Mrs MacTavish asserts, hands on her hips. Nodding sharply when Artair obediently subsides, “Noo, did ye wan’ a cuppa, Ghost?” She presents the full tea service to Ghost.

“Please, call me Simon, Mrs MacTavish,” Ghost almost begs of the woman, being addressed by his callsign by such a motherly figure is disconcerting in ways that Ghost refuses to analyze.

“Simon i’ tis,” Mrs MacTavish easily agrees, and starts identifying the nibbles she's brought over, “These ‘ere are egg an’ cress pieces, bridies, butteries, tablet, an’ shor’ bread. Have y’ur pick ae the lot.”

“Mah ciallian, did ye-”

“Nae, Da. Ah didnae pu’ onions in the bridies,” Mrs MacTavish supplied before her father could finish his question.

“Guid lass. Pass us up a few, noo. There's a guid lad,” Mr Milne chivvies Johnny into popping a few on a plate for him, Ghost was fascinated to see Johnny automatically make up and pass along a cup of coffee too. His family had never had that kind of camaraderie. A sudden wave of despair welled up to drown him as the unwelcome thought that he had no idea how his mother used to take her tea and there was no one left that he could ask struck him.

Johnny gently squeezed at the nape of his neck, bending down to put their heads in line, so that he could mutter to Ghost what exactly was in all the snacks Mrs MacTavish had just offered him. If Ghost leaned into the contact, buoyed by Johnny’s presence, that was between him and the devil, thank you very much.

Having clocked the identity of the coffee pot, Ghost got himself a tea from the teapot. Opening dishes until he found the milk powder, he mindlessly filled a mug with coffee for Johnny and slid it over along with the milk bowl, setting the dish back amongst the teaset when Johnny had taken what he wanted. The teapot was ensconced in a nicely knitted plaid tea cosy, a brief glance up at Johnny netted him a nod, and he studied the cosy with more interest.

So this was the MacTavish… hmm.

Another glance to Johnny, with a tip of his head in Mr Milne’s direction. Another distracted nod from Johnny, one of his sisters was ranting to him about an incompetent chef.

So this was the Milne tartan.

A woman burst through the backdoor, a small dog following at her heels. Another ecstatic cry went up and the family rushed to welcome her home. Johnny had told him that this was the first time all the MacTavish children would be under the same roof in years, Johnny’s mother had been planning it for months.

“Kennie!” the latest addition cheered, breaking free of the scrum to tackle Johnny in a hug, “How’ve ye been! Still ten, ten, an’ two?”

Johnny threw his head back in a laugh, then held up his hands to wiggle his ten fingers at her, “Aye, ah’ve still go’ all mah bits, Maggie.”

Ghost watched the crease of his eyes, the flash of his teeth, the jump of his chest. Glutting himself on Johnny’s happiness.

“So ye finally brough’ us y’ur man,” Maggie nodded in Ghost’s direction, a released Johnny coming to perch at Ghost’s shoulder again. Memorizing her face Ghost updated his profiles, this must be Maighread, the youngest.

“Aye, doin’ Ma proud, Ah am,” Johnny retorted, “Pickin’ up the slack ae allae youse,”

“Oi,” Maighread barked with a laugh, bending to pick up the dog that had been standing on its hindlegs to paw at her thighs, “A’ leas’ ah’ve brough’ Ma her firs’ grankid,”

“Aye, right.” Johnny conceded, reaching forward to give the dog a few pats, “An’ how’s wee Calum been farin’?”

“He’s grand! Vet said he’s great joints for nine,” Maighread enthused, then gave Calum a smooch on the head and pressed him into Johnny’s arms, “ ‘ere, be a lad an’ hold him while I say hullo to ar seann-phàrantan,”

Watching Johnny juggle a small grey dog and a hot mug of coffee twisted a smile onto Ghost’s face.

“Calum?” He let the question stand on its own and was gratified by Johnny’s response.

“Aye, he’s Maggie’s wee lad. A mini schnauzer. She go’ ‘im off a breeder, he didnae qualify fer a showdog, so noo ‘e’s the first MacTavish grankid. Ma’s go’ ‘im in the albums an’ every’hing.” Hearing Johnny’s accent thickening with every second that he spent amongst his fellow Scots was captivating, “Maggie trea’s ‘im like ‘e’s her own bairn.”

Ghost is not legally obligated to confirm or deny whether he did or did not open a mental profile for Calum the nine year old miniature schnauzer.

“Why’re you holding him?” Ghost asked,

“Dae ye wan’ tae?” Johnny asked in return. That hadn’t been why he’d asked, but he wasn’t going to say no.

Ghost nodded and scooted back from the table to give Johnny room to set the warm armful of dog on his lap, carefully bringing his arm around to make sure Calum didn’t accidentally fall.

Calum the miniature schnauzer snuffled at his face, his shirt, his hands, then seemed perfectly content to take a seat on his lap, propping his forepaws up on the table, like he truly was part of the family.

“Aye, tha’s fine,” Johnny supplied at Ghost's questioning look, “Donnae le’ ‘im jump up or no’hing, bu’ it’s fine as long as ye wipe the table after ‘e gets doon.”

Ghost was then perfectly content to sit, drinking his tea and petting the dog weighing down his legs. Normally the hustle and bustle of the many people talking and swarming about the rooms would quickly become too much for Ghost and he would need to take a break or else risk disassociating or having a panic attack, but oddly he was feeling fine.

With Johnny standing sentinel at his shoulder, his hip pressed against Ghost’s side, and his arm arm idly draped across the back of his chair, Ghost was able to feel secure where he was. In spite of the commotion and chatter around him.

Eventually the whole MacTavish brood was sat to the table, including Calum, who had abandoned Ghost to curl up on Maighread’s lap as soon as his owner had sat down. With cuppas and plates of nibbles close to hand, the air thrummed with idle chatter. Everyone updating and catching up, sharing the newest gossip about people that the table’s occupants would never meet. Mr Milne clearing his throat muted the room, though the silence wasn’t the oppressive tension that Ghost’s father had loved to employ, rather it was more of a curious waiting.

“Riley, ‘ave ye met,” Mr Milne cast a wide gesture out to encompass the entire room, grunting like he’d expected as much when Ghost replied with a quick ‘No, Sir’, and then proceeding to efficiently go around the table, putting names to faces.

“Mah oldes’ daugh’er, Oighrig.”

“Oh, jus' call me Effie, dear,” Mrs MacTavish interjected,

“Oighrig’s oldes’, Iseabail,” Mr Milne spoke on, unphased,

“Izzie,” the woman sat to Johnny’s left offered,

“Ye know Coinneach o’course,” Mr Milne didn’t miss a beat and Ghost got the feeling that this was routine for him,

“Folk ‘roun ‘ere call me Kennie,” Johnny grinned up at him, his chair leg-to-leg with Ghost’s letting Johnny easily press up against Ghost’s left arm,

“Then the twins, Donella-”

“Nella,” Chirps the woman directly across from Ghost

“an' Eilionoir,”

“Ellie,” Spoke the identical woman sat to Donella’s right,

“Artair,” The young man sat to the right of Eilionoir offered only a nod, “our younges’, Maighread,” Mr Milne indicated the woman sat to his own right,

“Call me Maggie,” She offered with a bright smile,

“An’ Maighread’s Calum,” Mr Milne rounded out, giving the dogs ears a ruffle.

Ghost gave the table a nod, “It’s good to meet you all, thank you for having me,”

His thanks are immediately waved away, eight separate voices speaking their denials of any thanks being necessary. Ghost holds his hands up in surrender and sits back to sip his tea

“So Ellie, did ye tell tha’ man wit’ the gormless ring idea tae get tae fuck?” Maighread’s question forces an aggravated sigh out of Eilionoir, and with that the conversation moves on.

Ghost is happy to have the attention off him, but is even happier to revel in the line of heat that comes from Johnny pressed tight against his side. Planting a hand on Johnny's leg, Ghost silently urges him impossibly closer, appeased by the way Johnny immediately obliges him. Scooting half off his chair he pushes down on Ghost’s shoulder and tugs him around by the waist so Ghost's slumped back against Johnny’s chest. Perfectly aligned for Johnny to drop his head down to rest his chin on Ghost’s shoulder, the soft scratch of the shaved sides of his warhawk rasping over Ghost’s ear and rubbing intoxicatingly against his cheek. Ghost squeezes at the leg he hadn’t released and revels in the tight squeeze Johnny returns to him.

No one at the table gives their new seating arrangement a second glance and Ghost allows himself to wholly relax. Dropping his weight back onto Johnny without any fear of falling.

There aren’t words for the feeling that fills up Ghost’s chest. The closest might be devotion, a gluttonous loyalty, content to share only because it gains him ever more of Johnny, others drawing out sides of him Ghost can’t. A burning obsession that banks and surges with every moment, every glance, every touch that Johnny allows him.

What else is he meant to feel for a man that brings him home.

Thank You For Reading!

So the idea I set out with was "Soap takes ghost home to meet the family, ghost gets a bit overwhelmed by the amount of people, and realises he’s treating soap like some absurd mix of a touch/worry stone and a therapy dog. Thereby realising that soap makes him feel safe, and that wherever soap is, is home to him." I don't know how that became 3000 words, but here we are.

For anyone curious here are my notes on the MacTavish family:

Amhlaigh Milne -Grandad Fionna Milne - Grannie 69yo Oighrig MacTavish - Mother 53yo Iseabail(lesbian, the devil's advocate, she likes to look like the reasonable one and sometimes she is, trained as a professional chef, Job: restaurant owner) 34yo +1yr Coinneach John, 33yo +2yrs Eilionoir(Poly, is used to sharing Donella's partner, is not attracted to Donella, thoughtful and assessing, judgemental, realist leaning pessimist, job: makes jewelry) Donella(Poly, is used to sharing Eilionoir's partner, is not attracted to Eilionoir, more outspoken, open-minded, optimist, Job: professional horse trainer,) 31yo +3yrs Artair(sarcastic, always has a comment, acts like the baby of the family, Job: broker, he gets a budget from his client to find a specific/rare item for them, he bids in auctions and stuff), 28/yo +1yr Maighread(is the baby of the family, no one asks Maggie to do anything she doesnt want to, kind, warm, obliging, but not selfless or overly giving, Job: house sitter). 27/yo

Eilionoir and Donella live together and have four cats, all of which used to be stray cats. Their names are Sir Gawain, Darcy, Croissant, and Soot.

A photo of Calum to make it fair.

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

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

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r005ter

2 months ago

Roach! You will forever be my #1!!! 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

This is sabotage.🚬

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r005ter

2 months ago

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.

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r005ter

7 months ago

DC inspired crossover/au

A collection of very old half finished doodles Not sure if I'll ever do anything more with this so might as well post them

|| Soap/Harley Quinn | Ghost/Poison ivy | Gaz/Catwoman ||

Cringe but free

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r005ter

7 months ago

So valid

this is how you eat pizza

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r005ter

7 months ago

I'm not Simon Riley I'm Ghost: Chapter 17

___

Ghost POV

Everything was a mess, it had always been a mess. But it made sense before, Ghost knew what he was doing and why. This? Everything that Soap was? None of that made sense, it was just an unbearable mess. From the moment he got off that truck and gave him a cocky smirk everything that Ghost worked so hard for flipped upside down.

He couldn't deny that he felt something towards Soap, something he never felt towards a human before. Before they were just a means to an end, a step to getting to the next day and to his next meal. He tried treating Soap the same way he treated others, keep him on the other side of the wall with the other humans that Ghost had determined needed to stay alive in order for him to keep progressing.

Why wasn't he over there anymore?

Ghost had always been good at categorizing the humans around him, the ones he needed to keep alive, the ones that possibly could be consumed later, and the ones that were fair game. Soap was one that needed to be kept alive, without a doubt. But Ghost was having a hard time determining why him being alive became more and more of a priority. Price was at the top, him and Laswell. They pulled the strings, backed him up, sent him to places where he could hunt freely. Soap did none of that and yet --

Why are you so important?

After the mage put that spell on him, after the idiot got himself captured by running off to play hero, Ghost couldn't deny it anymore. Soap was special. But why? Humans were food, had always been food. They were the reason his kind fought so hard to keep the mortal plane as their domain, fought to hard to prevent them from progressing enough where they couldn't freely hunt them anymore. The opportunity to kill them became few and fewer, Ghost having to hide himself in their flesh to walk amongst them and keep hunting.

He defied logic to be here.

Why did it feel like Soap was waiting here? He wasn't, he never was. He could've gone his entire mortal life without needing to meet Ghost. Why would a sheep seek out the wolf? He was playing with his food, that's what this was. A new game to play --

No. This is not a game. This is real. Johnny is real.

Not just a human, he couldn't think that anymore. The worry he had over the man being unconscious, the relief he felt when he woke up. And the feeling he had when Soap's fingers were in his hair? Ghost never felt that before, this wasn't an emotion he had ever felt in his long life.

But Simon Riley? Deep in the memories he claimed as his own, such feelings were there. A skipped heartbeat, fidgeting hands -- Ghost was infatuated with a human. A human. Prey. It was wrong in every sense and yet... Ghost was never one to do what his peers did. As strange as this was it wasn't off brand.

"You worried over him for days and now he's awake you're avoiding him?"

Ghost didn't look at Runt as he walked into his office so boldly like no other, watching his elder brother carefully. Here, Price thought he knew Ghost the best. For the longest time he was the one who understood Ghost in a way no one else could. But there was no one who truly knew Ghost as well as Runt.

None bothered him when he was in his office. The door was closed and if anyone knocked he would tell them to fuck off and they would. Runt wasn't just anyone and Ghost didn't scare him, and Ghost couldn't only blame himself for Runt's lack of sensible fear.

Ghost turned his chair away when Runt tried to get in his field of vision, the younger brother scoffing.

"Self reflection fucking with you that much? Don't like what you're seeing?"

Ghost huffed, "I've seen plenty to know that I'm royally fucked."

Runt was quiet, too quiet, and when Ghost turned to make sure he was still there he found the beast grinning, teeth on display and pure, mischievous delight in his eyes. Ghost groaned and looked away again, he said exactly what Runt wanted to hear.

"Oh- Oh-"

"Shut up."

"No no- We're not moving on just yet."

Runt jumped Ghost's desk and grabbed his chair, swinging him around until they're face to face. Ghost pushed hard against Runt's chest, throwing him to the floor so he could stand. Runt quickly scrambled to his feet, still grinning madly.

"You like him!"

"No I fucking don't."

"Oh yes you do! You could've killed him ages ago when he started getting too close, or when he saw what you really were. But ya didn't!"

Ghost snarls and Runt starts laughing. He wasn't afraid, Ghost wasn't going to hurt him. But Ghost wasn't hurting him by grabbing him by the shoulders and repeatedly telling him to 'shut up'. It just added to Runt's joy and his laughter only grew quiet when there was the sounds of someone moving outside Ghost's, some ways down the hall. Both of them grew quiet as they could hear a nervous heartbeat and then a knock on Ghost's door.

"Lieutenant Riley? May I come in?"

Jamison.

Ghost shoves away Runt and straightens himself out, and Runt deciding to steal his chair while he's doing so. Ghost glares at him before he walks around the desk.

"Come in."

The woman stepped in, visually calm but her heart said otherwise. Ghost looked at her quizzically, "What is it?"

"The Captain wants to speak with you and-," her gaze goes to Runt who was watching her with black eyes, shamelessly eying her like he was thinking about having a bite. Jamison cleared her throat and looked back into Ghost's eyes, "You and your brother, in his office."

"Couldn't call me for that?"

"No, sir."

Ghost thinks for a second before nodding, "We'll be there. Dismissed, soldier."

Jamison nods before eagerly leaving. Ghost wondered if Runt made her uncomfortable, he sure wasn't trying to be friendly. Ghost had noticed his brother rather enjoyed giving the humans on base a fright. It wasn't like he was used to be able to intimidate someone.

"That man likes to think he has a leash on you."

Ghost snorts, "Oh, he knows he doesn't. Just likes to put on the show for everyone else."

Runt laughs and Ghost turns to him. In a instant he was behind the desk grabbing him, "Get your boots off my desk!"

Runt yelps when Ghost yanks him off the desk by his leg, dragging him out of the chair in the process. He landed on the floor with a heavy thud, blinking up at the ceiling before he looked to Ghost. Ghost drops his leg and moves around the desk.

"This place has changed you. A lot."

"Adapt or die, brother."

Runt gets off the floor, eying Ghost almost like he was looking at him in a different perspective.

"… guess I’ll follow your lead then."

Ghost can’t help the fondness he feels for Runt.

"Then follow away."

"What is that?"

Price had been waiting for them, and he had a crate with him. Ghost looked at the crate with caution and curiosity, looking to Price who just motioned to the crate. Runt was the one to step forward to investigate. When he pulled out what looked like smoothie pouches Ghost turned to Price with narrowed eyes.

"Your rations for the unforeseeable future."

Ghost grunted, Price staring hard at him. Runt chose to investigate the pouches, standing with one in hand. He twisted the top off, popping the seal and giving it a cautious sniff. When his face twisted with mild disgust Ghost groaned. Runt held the pouch away, processing the smell. And it was indeed a strong smell, something Ghost could only describe as a blended mixture of animal byproduct.

Ghost glared at Price, "It smells horrible."

"You eat animals! I know so, Farah-"

"Farah told you? Why not fucking ask me about what we eat?"

Price makes a face, forming the sentence visibly before he spoke, "I needed an answer quick to get this arranged and you weren't exactly available at the moment."

Ghost wordlessly motions to Runt who was still visibly offended by the food pouch, Price rolling his eyes with a scoff. Runt wasn’t paying attention enough to be offended, focused on the pouch. Finally he gets brave and takes a sip, the face he makes as a result not convincing Ghost to try one any time soon.

”This- John look at me- This is like you giving me an unseasoned, freezer burned hamburger patty when I’ve been eating T-bone steak.”

“You’ll have to deal with it not meeting your standards. If I find one soldier missing, hear about any people disappearing in town-“

Ghost met Price’s gaze, “We’ll behave. Eat our kibble like good boys.”

"Ghost this is literally dog food. He's feeding us dog food. I just got here a week ago and I'm eating dog food."

Ghost turns to Runt to silence him but Price stops him.

"There is an exception. You may partake to a... snack while in the field. Out of sight."

Runt glares, "Have to work for our food?"

"You have the rations, and sometimes you can have a treat."

Ghost could tell Runt wasn't happy. He was attempting a neutral expression, being careful to not grip the pouch too tight and make a mess. Price was rather stone faced, calm, in control. Runt wasn't the strongest back home, but a human still didn't compare and Price angering Runt could end poorly. Not that Ghost would allow it. This was a cushioned life and Price was in control. Maybe that's why he was unbothered by Runt's displeasure, he trusted Ghost to keep him in line.

'Trust'... does he trust me?

Ghost turned his head when he heard someone coming down the hall in heavy boots. Many have been passing by Price's office but these heavy footsteps were familiar and the smell of a particular cologne confirmed that ghost recognized who was approaching. He looked back to Price with a grunt.

"Nik's 'bout to interrupt any peace you've had today."

Price blinks, confused, until he hears a knock on the door.

"John? I need a word."

Price looks to Ghost, honestly shocked, "How-?"

"Good hearing... and smell."

"Right... noted."

Ghost was amused as Price chased him and Runt out to have a talk with Nikolai, he had no doubt the man was going to at least ask Farah what all she knew about the mortifer. Ghost picked up the crate of rations, giving one last glare to Price before he headed out the door, greeting Nikolai as he passed with Runt in tow. The man gave them a nod, heartbeat calm and expression relaxed. The man never was on edge around Ghost, always acted like he was in control and exactly where he wanted to be.

Runt noticed Nik's overwhelming calmness, having been used to the few days of nearly everyone around him being on edge. He doesn't say anything, about it, still holding the pouch he had opened with distain.

"So, him saying I get treats for work means I can head out with you?"

Ghost shrugs, "Maybe. If you can keep up."

Runt scoffs and Ghost chuckles, "I'm faster than you and you know that."

"Maybe back home. But here? In that body? We have yet to see."

A clear challenge and Runt clearly was eager to accept it. Ghost wondered how Price would feel if Runt and him let loose, tested the limits to their stolen, mutated human bodies. He saw nothing off with it, it would be good to finally push his limitations. With what happened back in Strasbourg, he felt the need to be in tip top shape. He refused to let some mere vampire catch him off guard.

Ghost stopped and gave (shoved) the crate into Runt's arms before he continued on.

"Go take that to my room."

Runt glared at the command, "Am I getting my own room or are we sharing a bed?"

Ghost went to reply but the wicked grin that quickly that took over Runt's face made him hesitate a second too long to be able to speak.

"Or you could just go bunk with Soap and I can have your room," Runt purred, sounding quite pleased with himself.

Ghost said nothing, just quickly kicked the back of Runt's knee before he continued on, ignoring Runt's yelp as he stumbled.

"Rude!"

Ghost walked on, ignoring the feeling in his chest as he did. He only stopped when he noticed a familiar scent. Soap. Without thinking he followed the smell, his feet leading him outside. He saw Soap walking with Farah, leaving. Ghost felt relief that he was up and about, and some guilt for not having returned to see him since that brief interaction in medical. He waited for hours until he woke up and left so soon after he did.

I should've stayed... not ran like a coward.

These emotions were new, unfamiliar. As he watched Soap and Farah from a distance his heart danced with uncertainty and his head drowned with too many thoughts. How was he supposed to figure things out in this foreign territory? The years he spent disguised as a human and yet everything that was considered human was still so strange and unrecognizable to him. Nothing made sense anymore and there was one man to blame.

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r005ter

4 months ago

people don't talk enough about how fucking funny it is that bruce can sub in his kids as batman when he's too busy. like can you imagine it from the league's perspective? imagine you have this really mysterious, geniusly scary guy that you know next to nothing about, never cracks a smile and yet always comes out on top, and one day he shows up to a league meeting and there's just something... off. about him.

you can't pin it down because he's literally acting exactly the same as usual and there's no reason to think there's anything wrong, but maybe he shifted in his seat one to many times, or he looked just a tad bit too bored during green lantern's case review, but something's just... odd. so you quietly ask superman after the meeting if anything's up with the bat bcs you know those two are closer and also clark can hear heartbeats so if something's wrong surely he'll pick it up? and without hesitation he leans over to you and mumbles 'yeah batman was busy, that's his 17 yr old son. he's a crime lord and kills people sometimes though so we're not allowed to let him into the weapons department.' and then walks away like it's normal.

like the whiplash the league must go through every time they realise that no, this is not their fearless dark and brooding leader, this is in fact one of his dipshit kids being forced to sub in bcs the real batman broke an ankle, is incredible.

wonder woman: so that's my proposed plan, what are your thoughts batman?

batman: hn. i think that- *voice raising two octaves* oh shit hold on my phones buzzing

the league:

batman, answering the phone and immediately dropping the Bat Posture™: what do you mean- aw come on little wing that's not fair! but- no, NO DON'T YOU DARE TELL ALFRED I'LL BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU- IM SORRY OK I'LL BUY YOU MORE- *catches sight of the league watching him, baffled* *stiffens* ok listen i promise to replace them but i gotta go, please show me mercy iloveyoubye *hangs up*

the league:

batman:

batman: *coughs awkwardly*

superman: *sighs*

batman, to superman: ...red hood found out i ate his chocolate pretzels-

superman, shaking his head: just... just stop.

the flash: so this isn't batman either, is it?

wonder woman: if this one's also a criminal im losing my mind.

superman, tiredly: no no, this one isn't a criminal. this one's actually a cop.

batman: *sinks down in his seat* b's gonna kill me

green lantern, mystified: where does he keep GETTING you all from!?

'batman' dick, who made a pact with jason to Always Fuck With Bruce Whenever The Opportunity Arises: batman is a whore.

they think they've finally sussed out all 2 of batman's kids and then one day during a meeting 'batman' ends up on a 30 minute rant about different hacking methods this tech villain could be using that results in him half way through a sentence breaking off to say '-oh uncle clark could you pass me that pen- thanks, anyway so-' and then five minutes after that when the league have all been exchanging incredulous looks he finally freezes and is like. SHIT.

wonder woman: you're different from the other two, aren't you?

batman: maybe i am maybe i'm not, you can't prove it.

wonder woman:

green lantern: so like, are you new or have you just managed to avoid sub duty up until now?

superman, coughing: actually, this is this ones ninth occasion of replacing batman. you've just never realised before.

the league:

batman: yeah actually the other two are kinda mad i lasted longer than them...

the flash: how the fuck does he keep getting kids with the exact same build as him!??!?

'batman' tim, spent 20 minutes padding the suit out so he would look the part, still mad that bruce keeps palming WE work off on him: oh he forces us to take steroids for it.

the league, concerned:

superman, pinching the bridge of his nose: now come on red robin-

batman, fully tearing up and looking distraught: PLEASE uncle clark, it HURTS, you can't keep COVERING FOR HIM!

superman, frantically to the league: this one lies.

bonus

the league, squinting at batman:

the league: ...

superman: *head in his hands, too disappointed to do anything*

the league: *silently exchanging looks, wondering if anybody's brave enough to say anything*

duke as batman, fully aware this is fucking stupid but jason and tim fell on the floor laughing when dick came up with the idea and frankly, he wanted to see if anybody would have to guts to call him out: so, are we all ready to start the meeting?

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r005ter

5 months ago

Danny sparkling at the idea of new weapons. Claws he had been rewarded for defeating a boss.

On the right is Danny floating above the ground ready to fight with his glowing fist. His powers replacing guns btw- as he shoots with them.

Just a few fun action doodles, playing with Danny's design
Here's him floating/skiiing across the floor preparing to strike again with the Soul Shredder.

A few concept ideas for Danny's Devil Trigger form/ Demon form that he gains at the end of the story. Its suppose to be inspired from not only Dante's and Nero's Demon form, but from his ghost form and reaper/ghost looking demons.

I played through all the Devil May Cry games- and one LOVE the series >:UUUUUU So perfect. And two- I immediately like amg Danny would fit with these cast of characters XDDDD so uh. I have an idea ;3 of Danny being brought into this world because Pariah Dark is deciding to draw power from his "home" to take over both realms. And Danny has to find a guy name Dante and beat Pariah. ;3 Danny's powers shifting to work more in devil may cry universe- maybe even hinting that perhaps he didn't die in that portal because his blood was not fully human ;3 OH And the sword- is actually Fright Knight's sword- Soul Shredder that he gains after defeating a fright knight that was forced back into servitude. Also think it be cool if he had a weapon from the reapers >:O- so a giant pair of scissor blades >w< (I've been simmering over this for a month- I even made a comic ;3) The Devil Trigger concepts are based from demon forms- from the reaper/ghost like demons- and then from nero's form too. So simmering uou. But I like to relate Danny to death because of his "ghostliness". Link to Comic:

Tumblr

Impy's Sad Obsessions

Here's a comic depicting a snippet of a story Idea I have. >w< Danny comes across Clockwork's lair, see's some visions of a past he wasn't

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r005ter

1 month ago

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.

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