ROACH!!! MY BELOVED 🪳🧎‍♀️

Y'all ever heard Shivers by Ed Sheeran? Yeah, it came on my spotify shuffle and something clicked in my brain.

─•────

Being around Damian was exhilarating.

Even as a kid, Jon felt this and acknowledged it despite Damian's bossiness, arrogance, and know-it-all attitude. All of those traits that Jon found annoying also grew into a feeling of excitement.

There is something about Damian's assertiveness, his proud and somewhat arrogant attitude. Blunt and direct, but fiercely loyal. Both independent and rebellious, and so deeply compassionate that it sent shivers through Jon whenever he thought about it.

That's not to say that Damian's recklessness didn't worry him at the same time. Because while Damian could be calculated and thorough, he wasn't a stranger to letting his emotions take over. As exciting as it was to be around Damian, Jon was often worried.

One bad slip, the snap of a grappling hook, a hit to the head that's a little too hard—all of that was enough to take him away from Jon permanently. So Jon always kept an ear out and was there the second he felt Damian's life could be in danger. Even so, the adrenaline that came with being in Damian's life was addicting.

Jon was far different from his father. While his dad represented peace and tranquility, Jon himself could be chaotic and unpredictable, and when paired with Damian, it was never seen as a bad thing. If anything, Damian himself could be chaotic and unpredictable, and that fascinated Jon over the years; seeing Damian embrace those traits that were often viewed as negative. He'd never met anyone like Damian before—someone so opposite from his wholesome and peaceful upbringing on a Kansas farm.

Damian was new and exciting.

The adrenaline rush that came with fighting next to him was truly intoxicating. The grin of victory that would spread across his face as if he knew they were going to win anyway.

The smirk he started to wear whenever Jon came to his rescue, as if he were a trained lap dog.

"You seriously need to stop pulling dangerous stuff like that! You do realize you're still human and could die, right!?"

"But you wouldn't let that happen, now would you?"

That all-knowing smirk on Damian's face was enough to prove his point. Because Jon be damned if he wasn't going to drop everything to save the one he loved.

Oh, and how he really did love him.

He never thought he could love this hard and this passionately. Someone who made his soul feel like it was on fire. He wanted nothing more than to be the guy who got to kiss Damian, make him smile, and see sides of him no one else got to.

So when leftover adrenaline led to heated make-outs in alleyways, being wrapped up between Damian's legs and arms never felt like enough.

Sneaking out in the middle of the night was nothing new to them; they'd been doing it since they were kids. But to simply sneak out because Damian thought it'd be fun to visit the San Diego Zoo at night, to have Jon fly them halfway across the world to patrol because, quote unquote, they needed a change of scenery, getting hot and heavy in the Batmobile because:

"You've kissed me just about everywhere. My dad's car should be no different,"

And it was just the way that Damian said some things that could drive Jon absolutely insane. He knew he should say no; they could get caught, reprimanded like they were kids again despite almost being in their 20s. But how could Jon say no when Damian said things with such an alluring tone?

"If we get caught," Jon walked towards Damian only to trap him between himself and the car, inching closer just so his lips could brush against the others, arms wrapped around his neck to pull him even closer, "just know my death is gonna be on your hands..." And Damian chuckled against a kiss that was only going to deepen because it was true; if his dad were to catch them, Jon's death would be on his hands.

And being able to stay up all day and all night with just Damian alone?

God, Jon loved nothing more.

Damian could tear him apart, put him back together, and take his heart as if he owned it.

And he did.

Damian owned everything that was Jon. And in return,

Jon owned him.

Roach my beloved. Our fallen hero 🪳🧎‍♀️

roach is OBJECTIVELY the best cod character. i dont know what about him but like mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. we NEED more roaach content in this world like where is he !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

name: whatever

age: 25+ y/o

pronouns: he/him (they/them is fine too)

fandom: cod

other interests: gaming, webcomics, manga, anime, conventions, writing, youtube (fooster, insym, gronkh and more), art, music (lots of punk)

my ask is open

my ghoap playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3M4zkvPRnLbgF6sM2nBMka?si=8affbabdc349447f

my cod fanfics:

1. Scared of the Dark [completed]: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48170800/chapters/121474507

2. In my Scope [on going]: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50164864/chapters/132591490

3. One Shot, Letter to Johnny [completed]: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55109887

tiktok for stupid videos:

https://www.tiktok.com/@whatev_i_guess?_t=8m5WNlIhmuf&_r=1

instagram for cosplay photos:

https://www.instagram.com/whatev_i_guess?igsh=MTNtNDdkb2F5bms3

anonymous questions link (answered on ig):

https://ngl.link/whatev_i_guess1

Dang, so much in depth detail, names, ‘nd stuff. I love it 🙂

Ghaoptober #1

Prompt: Drive

Words: 2200~

TW: Mentions of Torture. (sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

This one got very out of hand, I couldn't think of anything to do with cars, so I took it in a different direction.

Hope you Enjoy!

Ghost steps back, wiping his hand off on his thigh, uncaring of the sticky smears it leaves behind. Staring, he lets the knuckles of his -marginally cleaner- hand press against his lips through his balaclava as he debates with himself. The action was a remnant of Simon Riley's old habit of chewing on his fingers. The interrogation was stalling, it'd been going on for too long, their guest had lost the haze of shock and fear, he was starting to acclimatize to The Ghost. It was taking more to pull less from him, and he still hadn’t fessed up to where his homebase is. 

Thaddaeus Gedaliah, the man in charge of getting a lot of very bad people what they needed, where they needed it. He’d been a lucky grab off a facility raid, they’d had no information on Gedaliah being anywhere near that side of the globe. The 141 found it highly suspicious, as they were well stuck into to the habit of looking gift horses in the mouth.

Ghost thought back, trying to recall the base’s practice schedules, then walked out of the room to consult with Price. 

“Router Woods is empty right now?” He stood alongside the Captain, staring in at Gedaliah as the man dropped his head back, letting it hang off his shoulders as he slumped into the chair he was bound to. He was closer to breaking than Ghost had estimated. 

Good. 

Now the trick was making sure he broke in a helpful direction and didn’t just lose his mind. 

“Should be.” Price affirmed after a moment of thought and a quick check on his phone, “Need it?”

“Affirm, Johnny’s exercising?”

“He usually starts around now. But you already knew that.” Price side-eyed him.

Ghost nodded as he turned away and headed for the exit. He had already known, but it was only polite to give the Captain an idea of what he was planning. Cresting the stairs and pushing through the doors, Ghost held up a hand to ward off the glare of the sun and glanced around for anyone he could send running for Johnny.

The interrogation block was part of the general detainment building, a good two-dozen metres back from the rear of the main-building, situated smack dab in the centre of the base. The actual interrogation block was on the bottom floor, deep underground to take advantage of the natural soundproofing. 

“Corporal Winslow!” Ghost called the woman over, standing through the obligatory salute and ‘Sir!’, “Where are you headed?”

The Corporal seemed confused -Ghost couldn’t blame her, he wasn’t one for small talk or asking after others-, but answered promptly. “I’ve just begun my free hours, Sir. I’m-”

“Good,” Ghost cut in, “Tell Sergeant Mactavish to R.V with Captain Price and I at the south entrance of Router Woods A.S.A.P. You’ll find him in the delta sector of the gym.” 

The Corporal gave a crisp, ‘Yes, Sir!’ with another salute and obediently trotted off in the direction of the gymnasium centre. 

Giving a satisfied nod, Ghost headed back down into the interrogation block. Corporal Winslow was shaping up well with her recent promotion, there’s not many that would have handled a blood stained ghost-story barking orders at them with her perfunctory calm. 

“Planning to wash him out?” Captain Price asked, meeting him at the base of the stairs.

“With your permission of course, Sir.” Ghost let a grin stretch his mouth, but bowed his head to the Captain with sincere deference. If Price disagreed, Ghost would listen.

“Nah, you know that I trust you with this. If this is what you think will work, this is what we’ll do.” Price held open the door to Ghost's working room for him.

Stepping up to Gedaliah, Ghost let his excitement shine through his eyes. Reveling in the nervous swallow that bobbed in the other man’s throat. This wasn’t what Gedaliah had come to expect. The door had only opened long enough to permit Ghost’s entry for the past three days, Gedaliah hadn’t seen another human in at least seven before that. Thaddeus didn’t seem excited about this sudden change in routine.

Smart man.

Any wounds still freely bleeding were bluntly staunched, a gag stuffed into his mouth, hands tied behind his back, and his ankles secured to his hands. Ghost tested the give of the serviceable hog-tie, then hauled him up over his shoulder. Easily ignoring all squirming as he carried him out of the room, giving Price a thankful nod. 

Router Woods was a barbed and fenced-in copse of woods that made up a not insignificant part of the base’s northern footprint. It was occasionally utilised for training programs or punishments. 

After a quiet walk around the back of the base, so as to not prematurely scar any rooks and FNGs, Price and Ghost approached the south entrance. Router Woods' south entrance, matching all of its other entrances, was two trees with orange flags tied round their trunks with a rotting shack nearby that holds some surplus supplies, a log-book, and -if you’re very very lucky- a pen. 

Ghost dropped his luggage, rolling out his shoulders as Price popped into the booth to check the log-book.

“All clear. Last person logged as leaving 15:34 yesterday with no new entries.” Price read off, stretching the book's tether to get it into the light coming in through the shack’s open door.

“Good-”

“L.T! Price!” Came a cheery shout, the voice lilting with an unmistakable Scottish brogue.

“Johnny,” Ghost greeted, reeling in the Scot by the back of his neck to rub his balaclava-covered cheek over the top of his warhawk. Grinning at the happy squirming Johnny struggled to contain as he tried to stay firmly within range of the affectionate marking. 

“Hi, Si,” The Scot murmured after Ghost lifted his head, staring up at him with warm eyes that roiled with possessive greedy insatiable want. 

“Hi, Johnny,” Ghost murmured in return, rocking him gently by the firm grip he'd kept on his neck.

“That's enough of that, you muppets,” Price cut in, tossing the log-book back into the shack and securing the door with the Military Grade slide-latch that had been crookedly screwed into the frame. 

“Aye, right,” Johnny shook himself off after Ghost reluctantly released him, “Wha’d ye need me for then?” 

“Need you to wash out a target, Soap” Price informed him as Ghost didn’t seem inclined. Distracted, as the Lieutenant was, with watching his Sergeant. 

“Oh, ye always give meh the nicest ‘hings, L.T,” Soap all but purred, staring into those heated brown eyes, a wicked curl taking up the edges of his lips. 

“You’re not too tired, Johnny?” Ghost questioned.

“Nay, L.T. Hadnae even started my workout when Winslow grabbed meh.” Soap reassured, reining in the instincts urging him to wiggle about and rub happily up against his superiors.

Gedaliah chose that moment to take umbrage with being ignored and began flailing about like a landed fish, drawing Johnny’s gaze. The Sergeant's pupils focusing in on the roped man with a predatory gleam. 

“Someone’s eager,” Price’s face was serious, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes betrayed him, pleased to see his men happy, “I’ll just get our friend ready while you bring Soap up to speed, shall I,”

Ghost planted a hand on Johnny’s chest and walked him back a few steps, clocking the way his eyes never lost their lock on Gedaliah. “Soap,” He drew Johnny's focus to him, grabbing him by the chin when his eyes kept darting to where Price had given up unraveling Ghost’s knots and was cutting Gedaliah free.

“MacTavish.” he shook the Scot by the jaw, letting his fingers press firmly into Johnny’s cheeks, feeling the shapes of his teeth under his fingertips. Staring into his Sergeant's eyes to make sure he had his full attention, he felt Johnny nod into his grip. Letting Ghost know that he had him now. 

“Limbs only, No body-shots, No touching the head. He's mine, I’m not done with him.” Ghost kept his words calm and clear, making sure Johnny was registering what he was saying, “Copy?”

“Aye, Ghost.” Soap nodded, taking in deep huffing breaths, “Not mine.”

Ghost smiled at the basso notes creeping into Johnny’s voice, releasing his face and giving him a rough pat on the head, “Good boy.”

A scuffle snapped Johnny’s attention back to where Price was restraining Gedaliah, the man had tried to break Price’s grip, but the Captain still had him well in hand. 

“Ready? Ghost, you have a set of comms?” Price questioned, and at the successive yesses released his hold on Gedaliah, shooing the man into the woods when he turned a hesitant look on them, “Well go on then, you wanted to run didn't you?” Price raised a mocking eyebrow. Nodding with satisfaction when Gedaliah promptly turned tail and skedaddled into the woods. 

“You gonna run him or makin’ it quick?” Price propped his hands against his hips and turned back to Ghost, keeping an absent eye on Soap stripping down to his skivvies beside the Lieutenant.

 “Run him,” Ghost replied, his full attention on the now sky-clad Scot beside him. Without looking away, Ghost pulled a small bell out of a pocket, hooked it onto himself and tugged free the rag that stopped its ringing, “Need him scared,” 

Soap’s breathing slowed and rasped. A rumbling echoing up from deep in his chest as he stared into the trees. Tremble and shakes taking over his muscles. His skin jumping like a horse twitching off flies. 

“You got that Johnny?”

“Aye,” The word crackled from Johnny’s throat and the first grotesque snap rent the air. Soap fell into a crouch as his balance became compromised. His form warping, twisting, reforming into something broader, taller, furrier. 

The nauseating noises slowed to a stop and Soap walked his front limbs forward, letting his claws dig into the dirt as he dropped his hips close to the ground, giving a great whining yawn as he stretched his back out in a passing imitation of snake-pose. 

“Soap,” the amalgamation of wolf and man whipped its head around at Ghost’s call, Johnny’s blue eyes watching him from above that sharp-fanged muzzle. Ghost swung a flat palmed hand out to indicate the woods and barked, “Fass!” 

The werewolf wasted no time, launching forwards into the trees, sniffing briefly at the dirt to check which direction his prey had run, then picking up speed. Ears swiveling, focused on finding any sign of his quarry, Soap absently registered the quiet chiming that meant Ghost was following behind. A splash of blood on the leaf litter lit up his senses and sent him flying after the source. Johnny’s brown-furred tail vanishing amongst the foliage, followed by a crash and screams that Ghost easily recognized as Gedaliah’s. He picked up his pace to an easy jog, coming upon the scene of Gedaliah with his arm stuck tight in the trap of Soap’s jaws, the werewolf growling like a Harley, standing dominantly over the prone man, giving into his instincts to snarl and shake his prey every so often. Drawing pained wails from Gedaliah.

“Good, Soap,” Ghost calls, amused by the immediate tail-wag the praise gifts him, “Soap, Aus!”

Well-trained as any military man, Soap immediately releases the arm and back off a few steps, slavering jaws shaking with the need to regrab his prey. 

“You didn’t even get ten metres,” Ghost tsks down at Gedaliah.

The strangely amiable voice jolts Gedaliah out of the paralyzing staredown he’d been trapped in with Soap and he scrambles to turn over onto his belly and stumble to his feet. Strange, Ghost hadn’t got around to working on Gedaliah’s legs yet. 

Watching Gedaliah catch his balance against a trunk, Ghost offers some advice, “If I were you, I wouldn’t…” He trails off as Gedaliah takes off into the trees, leaving a trail of heinous cursing like bread-crumbs, “...run.” Ghost continues, glancing down to where Johnny is dancing on his paws, straining at the invisible leash of Ghost’s command, “It only triggers his prey-drive.” 

He watches Gedaliah bull his way farther into the forest, pleased to see that the man’s legs do seem to be working fine, it must have just been fear weakening his knees. Soap’s whining pitches up, the occasional yelp and quiet yowl creeping in as his new toy gets further and further away, but the werewolf doesn’t give voice to anything Ghost could reasonably call a bark.

What a good boy.

“Fass.” The syllable had barely crossed Ghost’s teeth before Johnny was racing away. Kicking up dirt and baying like a maniac. 

Ghost gives a wry shake of his head. He cannot believe he actually fell for that idiot. With a sigh that held more affection than exasperation, he started jogging after them. Maybe two more take-downs and Gedaliah should be more willing to talk. 

Ahead of him, Johnny tries to make a quick turn, doesn’t account for his momentum and skids sideways into a tree with a canopy shaking thud. The oversized mutt shakes himself, sniffs around, then takes off again. Tail wagging with uncontained joy the whole time.

Maybe three more take-downs.

Thank You For Reading!

So I chose to interpret drive as 'Prey Drive', and for that I needed it to be werewolf!soap and handler!ghost, nothing else fit. Also as you might have guessed, in this au, the 141 chose a homebase that has a little forest so wolfy Soap can run around in it.

I can't promise that all of my Ghoaptober responses will be this long, they most likely will not, but I'll try my best to make them nice to read regardless!

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

"Stop hogging the ciggy"-

Scene from "earthmover" commissioned by the author of the fic <3

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.

We need more Duke Thomas in our lives ✊😔

duke thomas sighting / batober

PITCH-HIT A GIFT FOR THE GHOSTSOAP SERVER GIFT EXCHANGE 💪never done '09 soapghost so I hope I did them justice <3

Also haven't done a comic in fuckin forever but shshshshhhh

Ok, this is a bit more personal question for cosplayers and other content creators. I wasn’t thinking of cosplaying (‘cause I don’t have the budget for that) but was thinking of doodling character skits.

This is mostly skits of the COD fandom, but I’ve seen other content creators facing issues with its toxicity. I know toxicity isn’t new thing, but this is the first time I was considering getting more involved with a fandom. Usually I’d sit on the side and watch whatever unfolds.

Thoughts and also input from experience?

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