I Want To Share Some Advice Given To Me By My Mother, Who Has Been Writing Longer Than I Have Been Alive,

Baby Yoda and Pedro Pascal, longer cut behind the scenes.

(Audio for Pedro Pascal talking head)

who is vetting these gaza gofundmes because I have seen quite a few "vetted" campaigns from supposedly reputable sources posted on here who have been spamming the shit out of me lately (as in, 6-10 messages in a row per day) with highly emotive, guilt-tripping language and provably stolen photos.

who is vetting these and how?

I know there are legitimate fundraisers out there since a few palestinian diaspora artists and writers I follow on other platforms have linked to their families' gfm's and, given their relatively high profiles and traceable stories, I have no reason to believe they're participating in a scam.

I am just extremely skeptical of the accounts I'm seeing here and concerned about people handing over their money to greedy scam artists.

also, coming to the site full of broke, chronically ill people saddled with student loan debt and medical bills, and sending them messages like, "honey, while you're sitting in your comfortable warm house that you own and drinking your favorite hot drinks and eating your favorite foods you are IGNORING me and my son who will die today if you don't urgently send $100! You are treating us like dogs! So sad😭😭" is probably not going to be very persuasive.

(yes, that is an actual message I received and yes, it is listed as a "vetted" fundraiser by one of the alleged scam-busters on here. not great!!)

The Making Of Jack Morrison.

If you like my art and want to support me, feel free to visit my ko-fi:

https://ko-fi.com/A403144D

Everyone who’s been talking to me knows i’ve been working on this comic about wlws and cats for a while and i’m so so happy it’s finally here!!! :D

idea stolen from this post :’3

This truly is the last thing I want to say on this blog and then I'm done, but given how the fucking catastrophe started it's only appropriate this is how I end it—

You have racist bias whether you like it or not. Particularly if you are US American, racism was baked into your worldview no matter what kind of household, liberal or conservative, you grew up in. Racism is quite often far more covert than it is overt. It is not just a voluntary behavior; it is more often the subconscious ways you organize and hierarchize other cultures and people.

In the case of Gaz—sure, you might actively believe that he deserves to be more included. You think he's a good character and people really should think about him more! But you personally headcanon him a certain way, and really it's not a headcanon you're actually all that into, so that's why you don't talk about him as much. It's not because he's black, it's because he doesn't fit the thing you like talking about the most. The fact that he's black is really just a coincidence, you're not excluding him because of that. In fact, you're sure other people like him for exactly the reason you're not all that into him, and you'll just leave it to them to pick up the slack. Or you'll get to him later! In fact, you have some ideas for him. You just haven't gotten around to them yet.

Take that and multiply it by thousands of white women in fandom—not just this fandom, not just Gaz's character, but every fandom and every character of color. It doesn't matter that there's no active malice behind not personally liking black characters and other characters of color. Non-white characters still take a backseat to their white counterparts, because white women in fandom cannot wrap their heads around black, brown, indigenous, and Asian characters as complex, complicated characters worthy of their interest or frankly, their desire.

They cannot wrap their heads around this because they were conditioned not to by decades of racist culture.

Case in point; plenty of white women in this fandom have fallen head over heels for Makarov and Graves. The sins of these out-and-out villains are totally forgiven by virtue of their sex appeal, and because they are portrayed by attractive, charismatic men who put a lot of passion behind their performances.

But can we say the same for Hadir? Can we say the same for Hassan?

The sins of these two Middle Eastern characters do not outweigh those of their villainous white counterparts, yet how many angsty fix-it fics have been written exploring Hadir's complicated relationship with violence and imperialism? How many enemies-to-lovers or even lovers-to-enemies fics have been written about Hassan, the face of whose homeland has been irrevocably marred by US interference?

No one who points out the racism of this trend is accusing these white women of active, militant white supremacy. I'm not saying any of you even have to like Gaz, Hadir, or Hassan. But your preferences have been tuned for you by a culture shaped by slavery, imperialism, and white supremacy. That is not something you can escape merely because you support the BLM movement or reblog vetted Palestinian gofundmes.

The only way you can truly fight your own racism is to be actively anti-racist. It is about far more than who you give money to or what graphics you pin on your instagram. It is an everyday practice of learning how racism has shaped your worldview for you.

This is not work that is done in a week, a month, or a year. Becoming anti-racist takes as much time as it took to make you racist in the first place. For some of you, the work may turn out to be easy. For others, it may be hard. You must do it either way.

Some good places to start:

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

Ain't I a Woman? by bell hooks

We Real Cool: Black Men and Masculinity by bell hooks

A Burst of Light by Audre Lorde

The Body Is Not An Apology by Sonya Renee Taylor

Fearing the Black Body by Sabrina Strings

Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi

Being Palestinian edited by Yasir Suleiman

“When people turn to fictional characters, it’s often because they want an escape. The stories of these people shelter us from the storm of our daily lives; they save us, if only for a little while. But when we really give in, become invested, let ourselves be vulnerable, something changes. We begin to feel that we know them. It’s no longer an escape, but part of us, something that makes us who we are.

These characters teach us that incredible adversity can be overcome. That people can love each other forever, That life can be an adventure. That magic can be real. And even if these miracles have never happened to us, we begin to go through life believing that, someday, they could.

If anybody ever tells me that storytelling isn’t important, I’ll show them this post”

Via themetapicture.com

YES. THIS. It doesn’t matter where the story lives - on a screen, in a book, in a video game - they all end up in our hearts. They end up becoming a part of our lives. No, more than that - they become part of our DNA. They become part of the air we breathe. They flow through our veins and inspire our dreams. And not because we give our entire lives over to them. It’s not about hiding. It’s about illuminating our lives, for the better, through the characters we love.

Stories make our lives just a little bit more livable.

[Student Tales] During the checking of our exam papers....

Sir: “Oh, the numbers 41 to 50 bonus points is a Valentine’s gift for you.”

.

.

And also 51 to 60 on essay. Just check it already. There is no wrong in stating your opinion.“

THE BEST

Hiii Crab so happy to see you write outside of our rants/idea chats and my fellow delulu cod enjoyer! Would love to request Platonic!141 + Reader (sorry if this is long and somewhat confusing lol). You can do headcanons, drabble or whatever you comfy for. An idea that popped in my head kinda semi personal: Civ or 141! Reader though has parents and family is the reader is quite something else. Reader despite having somewhat normal upbringing still feel empty; they shouldn't be feeling this numb and empty deep inside of them. The reader craves the love that they give but couldn't or lack of receiving it back, though they don’t expect it or selfishly want it. Just someone who understands them even in their deepest darkest secret or flaw then boom cue the task force 141 unexpected yet welcoming to their life and maybe the one that the Reader can lean and let them be vulnerable on (finally).  

Take your time on doing this Looking for to your other writing genuinely -Cee, your fellow Soap delulu

GN!Reader & 141 (Mostly Price)

Warnings: Slight angst Ships: None. A/N: This absolutely ran away from me and I do not at all regret it, hope you enjoy, Cee!!! Words: 3549

Almost your entire life had been a cycle of self doubt that also started to churn and twist into self-hatred. You blamed yourself for the feelings. Afterall, you had a relatively normal upbringing. Two parents who were both present in your life, both of whom worked so that you all had food on the table and a roof over your head. A luxury that very few had.

The least you could do for them is follow the path that they wanted to put you on, no matter how much you didn’t want to do it. Because you loved them. 

So you excelled in your education, studying hard to try and impress your parents– to make them love you just as much as you loved them for everything that they did for you for your entire life. They wanted you to do all three sciences despite the additional workload it would add to your already stretched thin time? Then you would do them, take any extra classes after school in order to keep up with the work and not lag behind any of your peers. 

There was no such thing as a social life, either, not when you had homework and projects due. Friends were few and far between. Generally, most people left when they realised how hyper focused you were on your grades instead of social interaction. 

Did a classmate get a higher grade than you on a test? Well obviously you didn’t study hard enough, you just needed to dedicate more time to school even though school was all you had.

Did you get the highest marks in the class? Good, that was what was expected of you. Why didn’t you get full marks? You were better than that. You would do better because you loved your family. They showed it in their own way, of course, by encouraging you to study harder and get better grades. That was their love language, and yours was doing as they asked without a second thought. Because, at the end of the day, you were lucky to have an upbringing like you had. You would ignore the hollow void clawing at your chest because you had no right to feel that way– not when you had a roof over your head and parents that loved you(?).

It was when you came top of the class with full marks in a recent test, you came home with a beaming smile on your face and proudly showed the test to your parents. They took the papers from your hands, flipping through your work with critical eyes, before handing the papers back to you. 

‘Well done, we’re so proud of you.’ That was all you wanted them to say to you. That was all you needed to hear. To know that they loved you. 

‘Your penmanship is terrible.’ Was what you got instead. When you tried to point at the big 100% in green pen, you were waved away. ‘How are you expected to get a job when you write like a child? I’m surprised the teacher could even read your answers’. 

After several years of balancing a work and educational life and paving a way for a line of work that you didn’t want for parents you should have been grateful to have, you decided that enough was enough. 

No matter how hard you worked, no matter how high your marks were, they would never be proud of you. They would never return the love that you had for them until you nearly killed yourself trying. 

Spending your entire childhood, teenagehood and all of your current adulthood trying to please your parents predictably would damage one’s psyche. You had no friends, family who had never been devoted to you as you were to them, and high grades serving as the foundations to a prison-like future.

You dropped out of University. The only option forward that you saw was joining the army in the vain hope that the empty feeling inside of you would dissipate when you actually did something that you believed was more worthwhile than any University course. 

So you threw yourself into the military, working harder than all of the other recruits and training at every chance you could.

Your skills and determination became widely recognised amongst your peers. It took several years, but you eventually caught the eye of none other than Captain John Price. 

Impressed by your willpower that not many soldiers possessed, he offered you a place on the 141. 

Naturally, you agreed. You believed that being part of such a well renowned and respected team would finally beat back the lingering self doubt and emptiness that had curled itself around your heart.

It didn’t. If anything, it made it worse.

You were invited to join the 141, sure, but they had already established their own relationships between each other, had already bonded into a close knit group, and you were simply an outsider. Yes, you had been hand picked by Price himself, but that didn’t mean you were part of the team. They had their own inside jokes that they told to one another, leaving you feeling left out on most days.

And you felt… lacking around them. Ghost was stronger, Gaz was faster, Soap was smarter (he was a demolitions expert for crying out loud!), and Price was almost all of those rolled into one. They all complimented each other as a team. Meanwhile you felt like a spare tyre, a master of nothing and barely a jack of any trade. 

Despite how you felt about it all, they all called you ‘kid’. Regardless of age gaps between yourself and the rest of them, the nickname stuck mostly because you were the newbie. It came as a surprise that it wasn’t spat with vitriol as your peers before had, but it was in fact said with… an affection you couldn’t quite place.

You couldn’t ignore the hole in your chest that had been chipped at over the years, forming a gaping maw that no reassurances could really mend. 

Doubt lingered in the back of your mind, chipping away at your sanity as you prepared for the worst. How long would it take before they realised you weren’t good enough? 

You were so deep in your doubts that you didn’t realise that you had been distancing yourself even more than before until you overheard a conversation in Price’s office a few months down the line.

“-- they don’t belong on the team.” Gaz said as you passed Price’s office and your heart dropped. It was only the tailend of what he had been saying but you had gotten the gist. You wanted to stay, to listen to the conversation more and listen to what your team had to say about you, but you didn’t. What you were going to hear were likely things you had already told yourself right from the start. You keep walking on, ignoring the sting of tears burning in the corners of your eyes. The blood rushing in your ears prevented you from heating the rest of the conversation. 

“-- not only are they acting like they don’t belong on the team, but they’re acting like they’re not good enough.” Gaz continued, sighing in frustration.

“Maybe they need more time.” Ghost rumbled in reply, “Let them come out of their shell a little bit. Best not rush these things.” He was talking from experience, after all.

“Aye… maybe I can invite them out for drinks or sommat? I wouldn’t want them getting transferred before we got to know them a little more.” Soap had been the one that had tried the hardest to get close to you but had also tried to give you space so as to not suffocate you with his personality. 

“They won’t be getting transferred.” Price said with conviction, tapping his desk, “I chose them to be part of this team and this is where they’re going to stay. Let me have a word with them first.”

“Aye, sir.”

— — — — — —

You found yourself in the smoker’s shelter outside the main building. It was late enough that most of the soldiers had gone to bed or off to do their own things elsewhere so you doubted that you would be bothered for a little while. Just enough time for you to get your thoughts together. Your tears had dried in your eyes a few minutes ago, making them sting in the cold air. You didn’t need to look in your reflection to know that you probably looked like a wreck– entirely unbecoming of a soldier of your apparent status. 

You didn’t want to get transferred. Despite your distance with the 141, you didn’t hate them. Far from, actually, you held a great deal of respect for each and every one of them. It was just that you felt like you didn’t have your place amongst them. Not good enough to be associated with them. 

“Bit late to be out here in the cold, chuck.” A voice startled you out of your thoughts– one that you would recognise anywhere from the low rasp of a smoker's lungs. 

“Captain.” You croaked, wincing at the patheticness in your voice. There was a scuff of boots as Price came closer, leaning into your line of vision with a furrowed brow which only furrowed more as he took in your dishevelled appearance.

“Something on your mind?” He asked kindly, perching on the arm of the bench to give you some personal space. He left his question open, allowing you any chance to steer the conversation how you wanted to. There was no judgement for catching you at your lowest, no disgust at your red rimmed eyes— just polite understanding and a non verbal offer of pleasant company. 

“Why did you pick me, Captain?”

The question made him tilt his head, a frown beginning to tug on his features. You were worried you had insulted him.

“What brought this on, huh? Someone say something to you? Need me to have a word with them?” He straightened his back, scowling. Whilst you felt like you didn’t have a place in the 141, you could never deny the shield of protectiveness that Price held over his team. You remember in the back of your mind the day that some General who thought he was hot shit had the audacity to undermine Soap as nothing more than a ‘yappy dog’ when offered the Scot’s demolitions expertise. Price had appeared almost out of thin air and almost ripped the General a new one and things would have escalated into a fist fight had Laswell not intervened. It wasn’t as though Price didn’t think his own soldiers were capable of defending themselves, but he couldn’t care less about punishments aimed his own way over that of his Sergeants and Lieutenant. It was just a surprise that the protective streak extended over you, too, despite your distance to your teammates.

“I’ll sound stupid.” You mumbled, looking down at the ground as if expecting him to chastise you like a child. He didn’t.

“I’ve had my fair share of stupid over the years. Try me.”

“... and ungrateful.”

“I once had a guy punch me in the face two seconds after I took a bullet that would have killed him.” Price countered with a cut off chuckle once he remembered what was probably a mission long finished and cleared his throat. “C’mon, tell Captain what’s on your mind.”

And he sounded so sincere when he said it. Sounded like he genuinely wanted to hear what was going on in your head– that he was willing to waste what was already his important and limited time on someone like you. 

“Sir—”

“John.” Price corrected gently, crows feet more noticeable at the corners of his eyes scrunched up when he smiled, “We’re off duty, you don’t need to be so formal.”

“... John.” You echoed, finding that you really didn’t like saying that. It felt like calling your teacher by their first name in primary school or a classmate’s parent other than their last name. 

“Now, c’mon, tell me what’s on your mind. Might not be a therapist, but I’m better than bottling it up.” You wondered in the back of your mind how often Price did this. Sat with his soldiers and talked with them, offered them a listening ear to hear their vents and fears. You couldn’t help but feel honoured to be one of the few he willingly offered said time to. Your silence stretched on as you thought of the words to say, how to phrase what you wanted to say without sounding unappreciative of the opportunity that Price had offered you when he requested you join his team. 

“I don’t feel like I belong here.” You blurted once the silence had stretched on for long enough to border on uncomfortable. John’s face fell and you quickly realised how bad that sounded and rushed to correct yourself.

“No, no, wait, let me explain–” the Captain closed his mouth to allow you to continue speaking, but you could tell that it was hard for him. “I just… you could have anyone better than me, you know? I’m not a demolition expert. I’m… I’m not the best Sniper. I’m the slowest on the team, pretty sure I’m the weakest–”

“Nope.” Price interrupted, finally breaking the bubble of your personal space as he took a proper seat next to you on the bench but still respecting the distance enough to keep a few inches between you. “Nope, not lettin’ you say another word.”

“But–” 

“Nope.”

“Cap–”

“No.”

“But you could have anyone better—“

“But they wouldn’t be you.” He deflected easily. Far too easily. He leant back on the bench, crossing one leg over the other as he folded his arms over his chest. His fingers twitched and you could tell he was itching for a cigar but didn’t light one out of respect. 

“Alright, sure, I can ask Laswell to give me one of the best soldiers in the SAS and have them brought here tomorrow. They could be the best of the best, top of their class, better than you and maybe even better than me. But that’s a bit of a stretch.” He winked and earned a weak chuckle from you. “But they won’t be you. I don’t pick just on skill alone, kid, I pick based on how I feel people would fit into the team. I chose you because I knew that you’d be perfect.”

“As for not being a demolitions expert, let  me let you in on a little secret. I’ve no fucking clue about demolitions, either. And you don’t have to be on the team to be the ‘best Sniper’. You’re better than most, and that’s what’s important. As for being the weakest– did you or did you not bodily lift Gaz in a fireman’s carry during training the other week while he was trying to act as an injured civilian? Quite dramatically, might I add. Swooned and everything.”

You remembered that practice mission. Quite fondly, actually. Gaz was a civilian and , after being struck by a foam bullet from Soap, had dramatically screamed in agony and crumpled to the floor. When you had lifted him up and over your shoulders, the bastard continued to wail something along the lines of telling his non-existent spouse that he loved them and that his money be given to his equally non-existent children. Soap got in another shot to the man’s head, knocking off his cap in the process. Distracted as you were trying to haul your teammate out of the danger zone, you couldn’t help but laugh thinking about it now. 

“Last time I checked, Gaz is somewhat heavier than a sack of flour. Don’t tell him I said that, I’ll hurt his feelings.” Price was right, you supposed. You were more than capable of carrying Gaz over your shoulders, maybe even Soap or Price himself if the time called for it. Ghost you weren’t so sure about, though. The man was a walking mountain. 

“What I’m trying to say is that you have to give yourself more credit. You’re more than good enough to be on my team. I chose you for a reason.”

You… did not expect that sort of reassurance from Price. You had hoped for something along those lines, yes, but perhaps with a thrown in criticism or three. You waited for a ‘but’ that never came. The man snorted beside you and when you gave him a quizzical look, he waved off your concern.

“Shit, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think the next thing out of your mouth would be that your parents never hugged you as a kid.”

Your silence made him slowly turn his head towards you. It would have almost been comical if the situation wasn’t. His face crumbled and a wounded sound emerged from his throat.

“Sometimes they did!” You rushed to defend the people that raised you. “And they gave me food and shelter, clothes when I needed them–”

“Fucking hell. No, that’s what they’re supposed to do because they’re your parents. What about telling you that they were proud of you? That they loved you? I saw your records. Top of your class in not just your training but in your education, too. Triple sciences, mathematics, all of it. They had to be proud of you for that? My parents would have killed for me to get even a passing grade in my GCSEs.” You looked down at the ground and it was Price’s turn to have his eyes fixed on you. 

“They were proud of you, weren’t they?” He asked again, leaning forwards so he could catch your eye, his own filled with concern. “Kid?”

“I don’t talk to them much anymore.” 

Price inhaled sharply and he leaned back again, looking around and clenching his jaw as if fighting back his anger. His fingers twitched again. You admired his self control as he was still yet to grab a cigar that you knew he kept on his person. Usually in his breast pocket while his lighter was in his right pocket.

“Listen to me.” The Captain said, a more stern edge to his voice now that he had gathered his thoughts together. “Whatever your family said to you— how they treated you? Forget it. They showed you obligation. Not love. They didn’t want what was ‘best’ for you, they wanted bragging rights. What you’ve achieved– here, in bootcamp, in university and in school, is something to take pride in– no, no, look at me.”

Your gaze had trailed to the side so you avoided looking at your Captain in the eyes. He noticed and clicked his fingers to gain your attention back on him.

“Don’t look away from me because I want you to listen to what I’m gonna say and I want you to look at my face as I say it.” Your eyes met his blue ones, “You should be proud of everything that you’ve achieved in your life. I’m sorry that your family never told you that and I’m sorry that I haven’t said that enough to you since you joined 141.”

You opened your mouth to say something– to argue or disagree but he shook his head.

“No. It’s my turn to speak now. I’m proud of you. I am so proud of you. Everything you’ve done and everything that you’re yet to do, I will always be proud of you. You’re an exemplary soldier and I knew the moment I saw you that you would be a perfect addition to the 141 and you have proved me right time and time again. You belong on this team just as much as the rest of the boys. Do you understand?”

So many words– proud, proud, proud. That’s all you had wanted to hear for so many years from someone whose opinion mattered to you. You wanted to be seen and Price, this godsend of a man, had seen you and more.

“Kid, do you understand me?”

You nodded once and then realised that Price wouldn’t have been able to tell through your shaking. Tears blurred in the corners of your eyes and you nodded again, not trusting your voice in case it shattered. 

“What do you need from me?” Price’s voice was oh so soft, like he was talking to a frightened fawn. He could see how much his words had affected you and it clearly broke his own heart.

“A hug.” Your bottom lip wobbled and his face softened as he opened his arms, twitching his fingers to urge you closer.

“I can do that.” 

You leaned into him and he quickly wrapped his arms around you, drawing you in close. You could smell the lingering scent of his last cigar. The smell of his office and cleaning oil. You felt his chin on the top of your head and felt how his chest rumbled as he spoke.

“You’re part of the 141 whether you like it or not, alright? Me and the boys want you here for as long as you want to be.”

At that moment, for the first time in your life. You felt wanted. You felt appreciated and you felt seen.

have a request? send one in!

Okay, I rarely ever write platonic fics, but I just came up with this, and had to write it. So yeah, I really hope you all enjoy. Ghost is more of a brotherly/fatherly type figure in this fic, so yeah, sorry if you aren’t into that. This ended up being way longer than I thought it would be, and I still want to add more. So umm, I’m gonna cut it off where I have it, and if anyone wants a part 2, I’ll make it…either that, or I might just make a part 2 cause I feel like it. So yeah. Enjoy 🖤🖤

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x platonic!Reader

Training with the Ghost

Warnings: language, inappropriate talk, violence, age gap between reader and Ghost (don’t know if this even matters, cause it’s a platonic relationship, but yeah)

-Some of this is unedited-

Being a woman in the military was hard. It was sometimes unfair, the men around you were sometimes condescending, and looked down on you for simply being a woman. It was the hardest thing you had ever done. Your time in training had never been easy. You always had to work harder than everyone else to prove yourself, since you were the only woman in your squad. Your staff sergeant was a dick, and always had been since the day he laid eyes on you. Your lieutenant was different however.

He was the most known man around base, though no one you knew seemed to even know his first name. He was either referred to as Lieutenant Riley, or as he seemed to prefer, Ghost. You had never spoken to the man, but you held a heavy respect for him regardless, both for the way he commanded his platoon of trainees, and how he carried himself. He didn’t take shit from anyone, you had seen that first hand when a young man from a different squad had stepped out of line towards Ghost.

Ghost had been overseeing the hand to hand combat training one day, keeping a sharp eye on each recruit, as he silently judged everyone’s performance. One of the recruits had gotten a little too confident when he won his spar, so Ghost had felt the need to point out his mistakes, and correct them. Of course, the recruit didn’t take kindly to it, and had made a rather inappropriate and rude comment about needing to ‘show the lieutenant that perhaps he wasn’t the best on base anymore’, or something along those lines. Of course, being the ever observant man he was, Ghost had overheard him.

What had earned your respect for Ghost, was the fact that he didn’t get mad and scream at him, or throw his rank in the recruits face, like the staff sergeant from your platoon probably would have. He didn’t have too. Instead, he said, ‘Alright.”, took his jacket off, and walked onto the sparing mat. It didn’t take long, and the recruit was flat on his back, a few bruises littering his face and arms.

Unlike most of the women in the platoon (and most of the base), you weren’t actually attracted to the lieutenant. I mean, yeah, you definitely saw the appeal, with his looming height, deep voice, and the balaclava’s he always wore. You felt more of an admiration for Ghost than you did attraction though. You wanted him to see you as the strong willed, hard working woman you were. Someone he would be proud to be on the battlefield beside, and would trust not to fuck things up. Not someone he wanted in his bed, like majority of the woman on base. When the other women in the platoon would gather together and gossip, while watching Ghost eat, walk, shoot his rifle, or really even breathe, you kept to yourself. You thought it was sickening, hearing them talk about all the things they would do to him, and all the things they wanted him to do to them. If it was a woman in Ghost’s shoes, and all the men were huddled around, gawking at her, and openly trying to flirt with her every chance they got, the very women who were doing exactly that to their lieutenant, would say how gross the men were.

Unbeknownst to you, the first time Ghost had ever really noticed you, had been in the mess hall. He was sitting with Soap, and had barely pulled his balaclava up over his top lip, just enough he could drink a cup of tea without wetting the bottom of his balaclava. Of course, he heard the recruits from the table across from him, all women, begin to whisper and stare. It didn’t bother him, but it didn’t exactly excite him either. He didn’t give two shits what anyone thought, and he sure as hell didn’t care if some recruit wanted to fuck him or not. Soap didn’t say anything, but he heard it too, but he knew better than to bring it up to Ghost, who he knew would much rather be anywhere but the crowded mess hall anyways.

It wasn’t until one of the woman turned to you, asking a little too loudly, “L/n, what do you think? Average or above?”

Of course, she was referring to Ghost’s dick. It didn’t take a genius to understand that. You nearly choked on your coffee, giving her a wide look, as the women giggled at your reaction. “Excuse me?” you asked, sitting your mug down.

She rolled her eyes, giving you a smirk. “Come on, you’re not a preteen. You know what I mean.”

You gave her an incredulous look, wiping your mouth with a napkin before speaking. “I mean, does it matter? It’s not really my business how big anything is.” you answered back.

Ghost’s ears, along with Soap’s, perked up at your words. The woman scoffed, leaning forward towards you. “Seriously? Have you never wondered about it? I mean, seriously, look at the guy. You aren’t attracted to him at all?”

You sighed, poking around at your eggs with your fork. “I didn’t say he wasn’t attractive, I mean, I get the appeal, yeah. But like, it’s really not my job to sit and fantasize about my lieutenant, ya know? I just think it’s kind of gross.” you answered honestly.

Soap glanced at Ghost, raising his eyebrow. The woman continued her argument, saying, “Oh my god, you make it sound like it’s a crime to think about someone you think is hot. Like, what the hell, L/n?”

You rolled your eyes this time, sitting your fork back down, and looked at her. “I’m not saying it a crime or anything, or that you guys shouldn’t do it necessarily. I’m just giving my honest opinion, cause you asked.”

A different woman, a brunette you couldn’t stand since the day you met her, scoffed. “Oh shut up, L/n. Stop acting like a fucking Saint. You stare at him all the time when he’s doing demonstrations.”

You raised your eyebrows, laughing at just how ridiculous she sounded talking to you. By that time, the conversation had gained attention from people nearby, and you felt eyes on you, waiting for your answer. You didn’t know however, that one of those pairs of eyes belonged to the vary man who was being discussed. “Uhh, yeah, I study Lieutenant Riley during demonstrations, because he’s the best one at them. While your all sitting there creamin’ your pants, I’m actually trying to learn something from someone who has way more experience than me. I mean, shit, you guys don’t think it’s badass that out of every platoon, we’re the ones who have a member of 141 teaching us stuff? Like, that’s a fuckin’ honor, and all you can do is sit around and wonder how big the man’s dick is?” you asked, giving the two women who had decided to try and make you out to be an idiot, looks. “You know what, if the two of you stopped trying to eye fuck him so much, and actually learn from him, you might not be so low in the platoon. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me? I think it’s something to think about, though.” And with that, you grabbed your tray, and stood from your seat.

The two women gave you hateful glares as you walked away, and threw your trash into the closest bin. You laid your tray in the stack it went in, before leaving the mess hall, and heading to the gym. Soap had chuckled, nudging Ghost’s foot with his. “Shit, Lt. Looks like you actually have a real admirer.”

Ghost didn’t reply, only slid his balaclava back over his lips, before standing from his seat, and left the mess hall. A few days passed, and you were sparring with a guy from your squad. Of course, he put you on your ass, and of course, your staff sergeant hadn’t done anything to show you how to keep from being put on your ass by a man twice your size. When everyone else left, you sat down in the middle of the mat, running your hands through your messy hair, and trying your absolute best not to lose it. Nope, you would cry in the showers, alone, tonight. Not in the middle of the training gym, where anyone could walk in, and have yet another reason to tell you that you didn’t belong. You didn’t know someone else had stayed behind, until you heard Ghost drawl out behind you. “Get up.”

You jumped, turned and looked at him, before scrambling to your feet. “Lieutenant, I’m so—”

“Don’t apologize, just pay attention.” he said, his tone low, but not as cold as you had heard it before.

You nodded, saying, “Yes, Sir.”, and stood up straight, looking at him expectantly.

He nodded once, before nudging his head at you. “Get in your ready position.”

You did as he said, putting your arms up in front of you, like you were getting ready to fight. You waited expectantly, wondering what Ghost was gonna do. Suddenly, he reached out with one hand, and shoved your shoulder, hard. Of course, you lost your footing, and he put you on your ass with one hand. You could’ve cried, really, you wanted too. If a fucking hole appeared in the floor underneath you, you wouldn’t have hesitated to crawl into it, and just die. Ghost didn’t make any noises, or even give you a look of pity. He simply said, “Get back up.”

You pulled yourself up wordlessly, not meeting his eyes.

“Stop lockin’ your knees, you’re losin’ balance. Relax a little, don’ be so tense. Again.”

You got back into the position, this time relaxing your body more, like Ghost said. You waited, this time preparing yourself, as he reached out again, and shoved you. It moved you back, of course, but you didn’t lose your footing that time. Ghost gave you an approving nod, before he got into his own fighting stance. “Hit me.”

Your eyes widened, and you stuttered out, “Excuse me?”

You heard him sigh, and saw his dark eyes roll, as he spat back, “I didn’t stutter. Stop actin’ like I’m some celebrity, and fuckin’ hit me, Private.”

You swallowed hard, and went to hit him, only to wind right back up on your ass. You huffed as your back hit the mat, knocking the breath out of you a little. Once you caught your breath, you breathed out, “Permission to speak frankly, Sir?”

“Granted.”

“This is why I didn’t wanna hit you, Sir.” you said, sitting up.

You could’ve sworn you heard him chuckle, but as quick as you thought you heard it, he was already saying, “Up, come on.”

You stood, looking up at him, and said, “Sir, I think we both know that you’re gonna put me on my ass every time.”

He nodded, agreeing with you. “Yeah, I will. I’m bigger, stronger, more experienced. Of course you’re gonna wind up on your ass, Private.”

You stared back at him, your mouth slack, before you asked, “Umm, so, what do I do, Lieutenant? To…not be put on my ass?”

You saw a flash of amusement cross his eyes, as he replied, “You’re predictable. You go for the most obvious attack. If you get into a fight with someone bigger than you and try to overpower them, or go for an obvious attack, you’re gonna lose. Every time. Use what you have, your weight, height. Stop relyin’ on your fists for everythin’.”

You nodded, letting him show you in more depth what he was saying. You were smaller than all of the men in the platoon, and especially your squad, so he showed you how to dodge, and use things other than your fists, to take down someone his size, or really, anyone that was bigger than you. By the time you had finished training with Ghost, it was time for dinner, and you were sweaty, sore, and tired. Of course, Ghost had barely broke a sweat, and looked like he was only stopping due to the fact you were about ready to collapse. “Alright, that’s all today. Meet me back in here tomorrow at 0700.”

“Umm, Sergeant Wilson has me on Latrine duty at 0700, Sir.” you said, wiping your brow with the back of your arm.

“Alright, 0400 then. Should give you plenty of time to get back and get it done.” he replied easily.

You gave him a tight lipped smile, before nodding. “Yes, Sir. Should I let Sergeant Wilson know?” you forced out, hoping he couldn’t hear the dread of getting up so early in your voice.

Ghost did, he heard it loud and clear. He didn’t acknowledge it though, and shook his head. “No, I’ll tell him. Get some rest, Private.”

You nodded, replying back, “Yes, Sir, Thank you.”

He nodded once, dismissing you, and you hurried out the training gym. You were honored that Ghost was even taking the time to train you, but 0400? Really? Sighing, you skipped dinner, going straight to the showers, before climbing on your bunk, and going to sleep. The next morning, you woke up dazed, before cursing, and grabbed your watch. 0349 am. “Shit!” you whispered, hurriedly jumping up, and throwing on your clothes. You made your bed the quickest you ever had, before running out the barracks. It took fifteen minutes to get to the training gym walking, but you sprinted through the base, only slowing when you saw a superior, which wasn’t very often, since it was five minutes till four in the morning. You practically burst into the training gym, heaving for breath, as you saw Ghost looking down at his watch, not looking up, as you dragged yourself towards him. “Two minutes late, L/n.” he chastised, finally looking down at you.

You nodded, knowing better than to try and make an excuse. “I apologize, Lieutenant. It won’t happen again, Sir.”

“Better not. Catch your breath, an go ahead and stretch, we won’t be stoppin’ till 0600.” he said, taking off his jacket, and tossing it in the floor by the mat.

You nodded, placing your hands on the top of your head, and took deep breaths in your nose, and released them out your mouth. You did as he said, and began to stretch as you caught your breath, not wanting to pull a muscle half way through training, and make him regret offering to train you in the first place.

“Did you sprint here?” Ghost asked, and it looked like he may have had an eyebrow raised, from the way his balaclava bunched up by his right eyebrow.

“Yes, Sir.” you said, putting your hands down, as your breathing had slowed almost back to normal.

“What time did you leave the barracks?”

“Umm, five minutes till, I believe, Sir.”

You heard Ghost barely chuckle, shaking his head, before he went back to the stoic man you were used too. “Alright, get in your stance. I showed you what to do yesterday, now I want you to actually do it.”

You nodded, getting down and ready, as Ghost did the same. The whole time you were sparring with him, you could tell he was holding back. He was letting you get hits in, but even then, you never could pin him, or tap him out. He seemed to be pushing you to keep going, testing your stamina, to see how far you could go before faltering. Ghost wouldn’t say it out loud, but he was impressed. You had sprinted to the gym, with less than five minutes to make it there, and were only two minutes late. You had to have been hauling ass, which meant you felt bad about being late, and didn’t want to keep him waiting. Any other time, he would’ve said fuck it. If the recruit couldn’t even be on time, why waste his time? But he saw something in you, a fire that reminded him of himself when he was younger. You wanted to be great, and you seemed willing to put in the extra effort to get there. Hell, you had sprinted a literal mile to the gym, knowing you were gonna be late.

Ghost pushed you to your limit, only giving you a minute or two between spars to catch your breath, before he was on you again. You had bruises covering your arms from blocking, your legs ached from pushing yourself forward against him, but the one thing that wasn’t bruised was your knuckles. Ghost had noticed you were holding back, and stopped you, grabbing one of your hands, and inspecting your perfectly plain knuckles. “I want these bruised when you leave, you hear me? Stop pullin’ your punches. You don’t think I can take a punch from you?” he accused, trying to get under your skin, and bring that fire out that he knew you had.

“Yes, Sir, I think you can.” you answered, still as polite as ever.

Ghost kept pushing, shoving your hand down from his, and got into your face a little. “These other recruits don’t give a shit about you. Sergeant Wilson doesn’t give a shit about you. To him, you’re just waitin’ to be another statistic. Is that what your are, L/n? Another recruit who thought they could make it?”

“No, Sir.” you replied, his words getting to you a little. It was only because you knew he was right. Wilson didn’t think you could make it, and the men in your squad just thought of you as an easy win.

Ghost’s eyes bore into yours, as he gritted out, “Stop pullin’ your punches then. You give it your all, or none. Otherwise, you’ll just continue being the weak lil’ girl, who doesn’t belong in their eyes. Prove ‘em, wrong.” he ordered, backing up, and getting back into his fighting stance. “Go.”

This time, you gave Ghost your all. Your didn’t pull your punches, jabs, kicks, or anything. You let him have it all, and you felt him fight back a little harder too. You were no where near his level of expertise, but the fact he had actually broken a bit of sweat by the time 0600 rolled around, filled you with pride. You had made Ghost sweat, in a spar. Hell yeah. Before the two of you left, Ghost had told you that he had informed Wilson that you would be meeting with him at 0400 every other day, for training. Yes, that included Sunday’s. If Ghost was gonna train you, he was really going to train you, and he was sure to tell you that the next time you were late for training, you would regret ever catching his eye in the first place.

You knew he wasn’t bluffing. Just because you were a woman didn’t mean he would go easy on you in the slightest. Really though, you didn’t want him to go easy on you. You wanted the full training experience with Ghost, no matter how bruised up you ended up, or how sore your limbs were. He was a dangerous man, and he knew what he was doing on and off the battlefield. You wanted to be just like him, if not greater.

So, for the next few weeks, you met every other day with Ghost, being sure to arrive to the gym before 0400, and were ready to begin training on the dot. You had gotten good over the few weeks you had trained with him, and eventually, the both of you were pouring sweat by the time 0600 rolled around. You had learned how Ghost fought, being able to anticipate what he was going to throw at you. You still hadn’t managed to pin him, or much less tap him. But still, you were giving him a run for his money, which in a way was refreshing to Ghost. He looked forward to the training, feeling better throughout the day, after the two of you had a session. He was proud of you, a feeling he hadn’t really felt in a long time towards anyone other than his teammates.

You arrived one morning before Ghost, deciding to go ahead and get your stretching done, and maybe do a pre-workout on the treadmill. You had jogged half a mile when the gym doors opened, and you heard Ghost enter. What you hadn’t expected, was to see Sergeant MacTavish beside him. The Scotsman looked miserable, his mohawk disheveled, like he had been forced out of bed before he had wanted to be. He was still rubbing sleep out of his eyes, and you pursed your lips to keep from giggling in amusement. “Fuck, Lt. You owe me, ya know?” he mumbled, stopping to stand by Ghost, as he dropped his hand, giving you a smile as his gaze fell on you. “So this is your prodigy then?” he asked, giving you a one over.

“Private L/n, Sergeant. It’s nice to meet you.” you said, with a small smile.

“Call me Soap, L/n. I don’t do the titles and shite.” he replied back, chuckling. “So, you’re gettin’ too good for Lt. to handle?” he asked teasingly.

You blushed at his words, giving Ghost a look, refusing to answer. Ghost rolled his eyes, saying, “She’s gotten used to me, not too good. You’re gonna spar with Johnny today, while I observe. Give me a chance to study what you need to work on, and you’ll get some experience sparring someone you won’t be able to predict as well.” he informed you.

You nodded, “Yes, Sir. Ready when you are Soap.” you said, stepping back, so he could take his place on the mat.

He rolled up the sleeves to his shirt, and took his place on the opposite side of the mat. You both got ready, and Ghost told you to go. At first, it took everything in you not to let Soap overpower you. He didn’t fight the same way Ghost did, which threw you off. He also didn’t hold back like Ghost, giving you his all. He managed to get you pinned to the mat, both his hands holding your arms flat beside your head, and you gritted your teeth as you heard Ghost begin counting down, about to call it.

Though this was a very…demoralizing position, Ghost had really pushed Soap to pin you down like that at some point, to see if you could get out of it. A lot of the men in your squad liked pinning you like that, since it was a show of power, and just degraded you even more when they did. Ghost had never pinned you like that during your sessions with him, mostly because he himself didn’t want to put you in that type of position. Soap didn’t mind though, not if it was something that would help you in dealing with the childish and immature boys in your squad.

Ghost had however, explained to you in detail how to get out of the position. You took a deep breath, planting your feet firmly against the mat, before bucking your hips up as hard as you could. Though Soap was bigger than you, and physically stronger, your hips jarred against him, and sent him forward. Ghost had of course forgot to tell him that he had told you what to do to break that hold, so the next thing Soap new, his face was in the mat. His hands instinctively left your wrists and went to mat, and you immediately moved your hands away, and ‘hugged the tree’ aka, Soap, like Ghost had told you. You pressed your face tightly into Soap’s chest, so he didn’t sit up, and just slide his arm between his body and your throat. Your arms wrapped tightly around him, as you quickly pushed yourself with your feet, and shimmied your way higher up his body. Soap grunted, and pushed himself up on his arms, unable to stop you from hooking your arm under his, since he was still recovering from face planting into the mat.

Using your opposite side from the arm you had pinned, you pushed up, pivoting your body weight into his, and rolled him onto his back. Once you had him on his back, you took a mount position, keeping your hips away from Soaps, so it made it harder to buck you off. He reached up with his arm, and praying that it actually worked, you wrapped both arms around it, using your momentum on top of him to pull his arm out to the side with your body. Your ankles immediately locked around his other arm, as you thrusted your hips upwards, extending his arm back the best you could. You could feel him pulling you up off the mat a little, as he fought to get his arm free from your hold, but you arched your back, practically hugging his arm, and digging your fingers into his skin, determined not to let go. Your thighs burned, as you felt Soap trying to get his other arm free from your legs, and if he did, you knew you we’re screwed. All he would have to do is manage to get his hands together, and he would roll you up, where he could stand. You’d be slammed into the mat, and it would hurt like a bitch.

You grunted, tightening your grip with your legs on his other arm, your ankles locking in an iron grip, as you extended his arm outwards more. Finally, you heard Soap’s hand smack the mat, before you let go. You untangled your limbs from him, breathing heavy, as you felt Soap sit up, his own breaths heavy, as the two of you had fought like hell to either pin or submit each other. It hit you all at once that you had pinned Soap MacTavish. He was older than you buy a good few years, was bigger, and was even a member of Task Force 141. Holy shit, I made a member of 141 tap.

“Shite.” you heard Soap curse, before he chuckled. “Well, guess you deserved that tap. That was a pretty dirty pin, huh, Lass?”

You laughed a little, going limp on the mat, as you replied back, “Yeah, it was.”

“Sorry, wanted to see if you could get out of it. You did good. Ghost didn’t tell me he’d told you what to do. Was expectin’ I’d need ta show ya.” Soap said, shooting a glare at Ghost, who stared at you with an impressed look.

You laughed, closing your eyes, as tku reveled in the victory. Ghost walked up a moment later, extending his hand to you, which you took, and let him pull you up. Soap had took his shirt off, which had been sticking to him with sweat, and wiped his face off. Ghost gave you a nod, saying, “You did good. Watch your footin’ though, that’s how he got you on your back.”

You nodded, accepting a bottle of water and a towel from Soap. “Yes, Sir. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Ghost nodded once more, before dismissing you for the day, after telling you he would see you tomorrow in squad training. You bid him and Soap bye, leaving the gym, and Soap took a seat on the mat after you left. He took another large sip of water, propping his arms up on his knees, as he looked up at Ghost. “Ya know, I didn’t hold back. She’s a hell of lass, Lt.”

“I know. She’s gotten better since we first started. Couldn’t even get out of a chokehold the first week.” Ghost said, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Soap smiled, giving Ghost a look. “You care about her, don’t ya?” he asked gently, knowing feelings were a sensitive thing for Ghost. The man didn’t reply, and that told Soap all he needed to know. He stood, giving Ghost a proud look. “She looks up to ya, Lt. S’alright to admit you see somethin’ in her, no matter what that somethin’ is.”

“I know, Johnny.” he replied, not saying anything else after.

Soap nodded, leaving the gym, and leaving Ghost alone with his thoughts.

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