Fran Thoughts II

You like hurt/comfort because you like the idea that someone will comfort you when you are in pain.

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.

Taglist: @nickangel13 @katcaron @madamemelancholysstuff @kiroshang @pasta-m1lk @bythe-water-fountain @averyyreads @audacity9 @booty-shaker-90000 @diasnohibng @wintersnnowie @peachymonsters @pookie90 @warrior-of-justice

It's very easy to select the text of a fic and copy-paste it on Ao3, right?

Well, we can stop people (and AI) from doing this by adding a skin to our fics!

I just did it with all my fics and it works.

How to do it, step by step⬇️

1) Log in. Click 'Skins' in the menu, at the left. Then click 'My Work Skins' and after doing this, click 'Create Work Skins' at the top right.

2) Write a title for your skin (anything you want, it doesn't matter). Then in the large text box, write this:

#workskin * {

user-select: none !important;

-webkit-user-select: none;

-moz-user-select: none;

-ms-user-select: none;

}

This is what you should see:

3) Click 'Submit'. Your skin has been created, and now you have to add it to all your works.

4) Click 'Works'. Then click 'Edit Works' at the top right.

5) Click 'All' to select all your works. Scroll down and click 'Edit'.

6) Scroll down until you see 'Select Work Skin' and select the one you just created.

7) Click 'Update All Works'.

Now, people can't select the text of your fics and copy it😊

PS: I also recommend changing the visibility of your fics to 'Only Show to Registered Users'. You'll lose your anon readers, but it will protect your works a bit more against AI scrappers

Will forever be grateful for this post and your writings crab! I usually read this every know and then! Really recommend and read crabdrables blog!! Sorry for the VERY late thoughts but taking L's left and right irl lol Onto some of my personal thoughts:

Relating very much with reader's unending cycle of self-doubt and hatred that may stem from themselves and from family too.

Ain't exactly an academic achiever expect when college but please for the love of find time in social life to or you'll kind of end up with reader here. Asian things lol.

Speaking of Asian things, reader's parents love language here is more on actions and less on verbal. This alright but kinda toxic when its something one thing only. Reader craves to of validation through words too. What's one action can be interpreted as another; example reader wants their parents to apologize but instead was given food and spoils them instead of direct accountability.

Academic validation you'll find in majority of families unfortunately something reader thought that they should do for majority of their life but their is life outside school too.

Pleasing for other people is what person's identity will get themselves killed literally and metaphorically, it shows that reader is drained from what all happened in their life.

Reader really giving it all, as they think it would be make it or break it on the military.

Sad with reader that even if they joined the 141, their feelings of doubt and emptiness is still there and not easily those feeling be swayed easily.

Reader be yearning and wanting to be part of the 141 fam yet really made them out of place at the task force at first.

Calling "kid" by the 141 pulled me some of my heart strings, reader for sure was touched by their endearment thought they are still processing what the 141 say.

Reader's mind and thoughts be really damaged, so deep in their mind that they forgot the positive interactions with the 141.

Not the reader overhearing the string of Gaz' words and reader walking away not hearing the whole convo. Gaz seeing through reader and worried mother hen.

Ghost be the terrifying lt yet softie understanding big bro here.

Soap the ever social butterfly yet respecting social boundaries for reader.

Dad!Price ain't giving up reader that early. Yearning for someone like Price wanting to understand and talk to like reader here.

Reader may not feel that they have place in 141 but they already are, they are just in denial and still on process.

Reader be shocked that Price finds them.

Price be observant due to years being in the military.

“Something on your mind?” Price asks that lead to conversation his understanding that led to Reader's opening up even when they cried earlier.

Price be knight in shining armor and Papa bear that is ready to defend anyone and especially 141 and that includes the reader. "Violence and timing." as Price known quote.

Reader be awkward on calling Price's first name and sharing what on their mind is.

Price despite reader's doubts on their place on 141 still reassures and knows that reader is in the right place. That not anyone could replace reader as they already carve into 141's hearts.

Price giving reader more credit as he sees that reader worked their ass off hard and well.

Not the joked that turned to not joked with hugging and effing Reader still protecting their parents and Price horrified with the silence and revelation.

Captain with his words about obligation and not love for sure hit Reader's head like a truck.

Price really giving the words that Reader crave and wanted to hear for their whole life, did gave them hope and made them less empty.

Papa John Price gave hug that Reader may not realized that they need it.

Reader felt seen and appreciated for who they are. Reader be stuck and with their found family as long as they can (forever).

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!

Not me having a dream last night of shielding and trying to protect Simon Riley with my mid size body versus him wanting to shield me instead with his large hulking body against the would be assassin.

We were protecting each other back and forth, swapping places on who would rather be hurt repeatedly till I woke up from the dream.

you can and should throw rocks at AI “Artists” btw. its fun AND free

Hurricane, Right Hand Man, Guns and Ships, The World Was Wide Enough, and Who Lives Who Dies Who Tells Your Story footage from Hamilton’s America

You can only upload 5 minutes so I had to narrow it down to just a few of the songs we got footage of :P The jump-cuts are like this because we didn’t get consecutive clips :P Here’s my Guns and Ships gifset from this vid :) Also… Anyone else cried in who lives who dies who tells your story?? I was weeping! lol

The Fuckery of the COD Sunshine Zine

Hey y'all, it's been absolute eons since I've been around. I've not been apart of the COD fandom for a while or writing but I felt that I had to speak up in case others weren't aware of what was going on with a specific Zine for the COD Fandom. Tagging them because at this point, everyone deserves answers.

Please ignore some of the tags though trying to get this post out there to be seen by the fandom since it's fucking bad.

@sunshine-soap-zine

Basically, in short, all money meant for the Zine and merch was used up by Micky (one of the people in charge of it). Merch has allegedly thankfully been made and SOME has been shipped out, digitial copies of the Zine exist, but the physical Zine itself? There's no money left.

Over $6,500 was raised in profits that was supposed to go to Care for Gaza and Stonewall Scotland, two important charities near and dear to many, but all of that was used up and now there isn't even money left for the physical Zines, much less the charities.

You read that right - over $6,500 USD was set and slated in proceeds were to go to charities progressing LGBTQ+ rights and supporting those in a genocide and it's all been used up by one person and they still don't have the money to produce physical Zines and to get them out to those who paid for them. That's not even counting the original money MEANT for the Zines themselves too.

The Zine was centered around our beloved Soap MacTavish - who happens to be my favorite character. Seriously, I absolutely adore Soap. He's my favorite beyond favorite, so when I saw there was a Zine that happened to come across my timeline, I was thrilled! Especially because there were many artists there who I've either bought work from prior or who I'd been following for a while and was happy to see them finally get their stuff printed!

And now it's been unfolding in a disastrous way and I'm so... baffled, disappointed, and pissed off. I'm putting this under the cut because this is going to be a VERY long post.

Now, before I start into this shitshow, let me make two things abundantly clear:

This is NOT related to the Soap Journal Zine - they are two SEPERATE projects run by different people. DO NOT GO AFTER THEM OR ASK THEM ABOUT IT, they are unrelated.

The moderators, writers, and artists had nothing to do with this. NOTHING They were just as unaware as we (the public and consumers) were. They were not informed of any of this until the twitter and instagram post early this morning/late last night. They're not responsible for the actions of the person in charge and had no clue this was happening. If they did, they'd be exactly as appalled as they are now, I'm sure. They would've done something. But multiple artists and people on the actual discord have come forward and said that they, flat out, weren't aware and have expressed their disappointment and anger.

DO NOT drag the moderators, writers, and artists. This isn't on them. The moderators are doing all that they can to try and fix things and are scrambling to find a solution for this clusterfuck. It's an absolute shit shown given what's been handed to them and how it's been dumped on them, but they're doing their absolute best. Plenty of them were victims of this too as they too contributed money and many of them bought bundles themselves!

Onto the meat of this.

This post was made on the instagram page and the twitter for the Zine:

And honestly? I'm not sure where to begin.

First and foremost, I'm not going to take into question their health. That's none of my business. I'm not going to call them a liar or state that that never happened - once again, none of my business. I'm not going to nitpick that and I do sincerely hope that they're well and things start to get better for them.

What DOES matter is that the money for the Zine was used up. It's gone. Y'know, the main anchor of the project that MANY artists put their blood, sweat, and tears into. A digital version was released months ago but the physical one is now into question.

Allegedly, all the other merch is on hand. Some people HAVE received some, but plenty others have not - especially those (like me) who had bundles.

Now, I'm not sure how much I actually believe this given that this bomb was dropped after months of near silence and the very rare occasional update.

I just said this but I'll say it again: I'm not sure where to begin because this is a fucking mess. So I guess I'll just start listing the issues first and foremost.

Issue A: Progress was routinely lied about.

These are exact screenshots from the twitter. We were told directly that EVERYTHING was being made and everything was on track.

And then came the first delay.

Now I'm like most people, I realize things happen. Just because there's one delay doesn't mean it's the end of the world. Sometimes things take longer to manufacture, sometimes they take longer to ship, sometimes there's an issue in quality and you need it redone. Hey, the world isn't perfect and neither are we. I didn't think too much of it.

So it was pushed off, Etsy gave a notification to review and did it's usual notification where it'd ask you to report if you have any issues. I, in good faith, didn't refund it. Because I figured that doing so would yank the rug out from underneath and could cause issues when it came to production and shipping. I had faith.

Then, November rolled around. Then December. January. February. Updates were sparse, they seemed to be getting merch in and together. This should've been more of a red flag, comments asking seemed to be met with general reassurance that it was still happening. Not really specific but still at least trying to say it would happen which started to get fishier than a sardine factory.

The fact that it was pushed off from November/December and now we're in May and only SOME people are getting merch speaks volumes.

But you want to know why I'm really questioning this?

Etsy's policy for refunds is, drum roll.... 180 days. Just about six months after an initial purchase.

And guess what time line that aligns with?

Oh, right. Exactly. It aligns EXACTLY solidly past with what we're being told and when. Which means refunds are basically on "if I have the money and if I'm able to get it and you'll have to take my word"

Disputing with the bank may also not work because for many, this is WAY over the time to dispute charges. It goes for Etsy, it goes for the bank, and credit cards which were purchased on. Basically, it gives a "you're shit out of luck amigo" level of time.

FOR THOSE WHO ARE HAVING A HARD TIME GETTING A CHARGE BACK FROM THEIR BANK, here's the information on how to file a fraud report, including for Non-US residents! https://reportfraud.ftc.gov/faq

(Including this because Micky basically fucked us every which way here by waiting out the period and I do not think this was anything but intentional)

Which screams that this was planned beyond planned because you cannot look me in the eyes and tell me that someone was dead silent on a project for months where they lost all the money because they were embarrassed alone.

Especially when the community, the artists, the mods, were incredibly amazing and VERY supportive. Hell, one artist who I've extensively bought merch from before even confirmed they'd have helped and would have tried to get shit figured out! Because that's the kind of people they are. They want to help, they understand things happen, they wanted everyone to get what they ordered as this is a passion project for them too. The point is, the mods would've at least had a plan and so much could've been avoided.

It all aligns far too suspiciously. Embarrassment? Like this isn't more fucking embarrassing? Like this isn't humiliating and stressful beyond admitting to your mods you fucked up and finding out a game plan instead of remaining radio silent?

Oh, by the way

THE ETSY SHOP IS CLOSED which makes it even harder by the way.

Yep.

Closed.

You can't leave a review. You can't comment. You can't do anything aside from hope Etsy might take your side, but after it's been this long, it's very unlikely to happen.

Issue B: They lied about donating the money to charity (allegedly).

I'm only saying allegedly because I do not have a screencap from the discord, seeing as I'm not on it, but I was told by someone who was in there that they were all told that the money raised for two charities was donated in December. I'm taking their word that they were told it was already donated.

Either way, point being, the proceeds were SUPPOSED to go to two charities.

And this wasn't a little pittle of money, oh no. This was supposed to be a big amount

And now that's most certainly not happening.

The entire reason I felt GOOD about getting literally everything (I mean I saved for the everything bundle, I went to the T-shirt and hoodie, I even BOUGHT RAFFLE TICKETS and won one of the prototypes for fucks sake) was because any profit was going to worthy causes. The profits weren't supposed to be lining anyone's pockets, it was supposed to be going to two very worthy charities that are helping actual people in need who could desperately use it.

(Linking to the charities right here BTW)

Care for Gaza

Stonewall Scotland

This massive amount of money was supposed to go there and yet now that's not going to happen because even the books can't be produced. The very core of it.

And (allegedly) they said that it had already been donated.

I cannot express how fucking furious I am that someone would do something so vile as LIE ABOUT DONATING TO A CHARITY THAT'S HELPING PROVIDE AID IN AN ACTIVE GENOCIDE

Let that sink in. Let that stew.

That's what Micky fucking lied about. That's where the money was supposed to go. And now? Now that won't ever come close. I'm furious, insulted, and a list of fifty other million things that will have me foaming at the mouth if I think of them.

How can you be so low as to LIE about that? To lie about giving money to those in need? To fuck up the funds that badly? I would say I have no words, but I do. Just right now, all of them would rightfully have to be censored for how fucking deplorable this is.

Issue C: The money not being in a separate account

Okay, so I'm no expert financial advisor, but I'm going to lay out what has to happen and what SHOULD happen for any project (especially a collaborative one)

Whenever a project is supposed to take place, money SHOULD be set aside in a separate account. This money is placed there because it's for that project, for that project alone, and shouldn't be touched. This is how things are funded. People gave you the money for something to be done, you put that money aside, you use that money and withdraw it when time comes to pay for production or whatever else that needs to be done.

It's in a separate account because that's not meant as YOUR money. Not until a project is done, and most certainly not to be lumped in with everything else. After all, you need to keep invoices and have your ducks in a row - especially when it's a massive amount and it comes time to do taxes. That streamlines it and is vital. It helps determine what expenses went where and is how you remain transparent.

Now, how a debit card works is that it's pretty much always automatically tied to a checking account. It will always pull money from said account when you use it. That's the basis of it and why it's not a credit card.

That means that all of the money was tied to a debit card and this card was GIVEN TO SOMEONE for use other than for the project. This was a debit card that was somehow casually used several times until the money was gone.

Now, I'm really calling bullshit or that's extreme money mismanagement. Because anyone who has run any business or project will tell you: Business funds separate, you do NOT mesh them with personal. That's not your money to use.

HOW was the money used on medical bills like that and that easily when it should've been in a separate fund?

Why was it tied to that debit card? Why was that casually carried around? Why was that given to someone who had no ties to the project?

And what would have been done if that money wasn't there? That's my question too.

The money wasn't handled properly and it resulted in it being GONE. Medical bills are an absolute bitch and a half and yeah, the American healthcare system sucks major sweaty donkey balls, but that's not what the money was for.

Sorry, that might come off as harsh but it's the truth. That money is not for personal use. You took on a project, you committed to it, you spent the money on something that wasn't that. Regardless of the cause, cause I'm not going to dig and debate on how true the medical stuff is, what happened is

The money isn't there and the money was used for something other than it's intended purpose - the money people GAVE to fulfill a project that they were eagerly waiting on, and plenty worked hard for.

That's fraud. Flat out. Shit happens but that's not shit happening alone. That's basic fraud. Wrongful deception that resulted in financial gain. And considering the fact that we were lied to for months, it easily falls under that definition.

Oh, also mentioning that this isn't a small amount of money given. Considering the donations were close to $7,000 USD, much MORE was taken in for everything - but that means that well over $7,000 was spent because that part was meant to be donated and yet there's still no money for the Zines.

I'm going to have good faith and will go with the merch is mainly done, because some people have gotten packages and received some. Maybe that's misguided, maybe I'm a hopeful cunt, but pics HAVE been shown of merch and some people have received them.

Point still is - the Zine isn't here. The physical version? Non-existent. We were lied to for MONTHS that it was under production and all was well.

The donations? Spent. Gone. Over $6,000 USD. There's no money left to produce the Zines. Money? Tied to a debit card and used on personal expenses.

Now I'm not entirely heartless, medical situations can put anyone in a hard place, but medical issues do not excuse misusing money given to you for something you PROMISED, a project you voluntarily took on, and lying for MONTHS on end until no one could get a refund without basically having to go to the god damn government to fist fight for it.

You cannot use money that's not yours for things that they're not for. End of story. Doesn't matter what happens, doesn't matter how valid the claims are or not, using money for what it wasn't intended for for your own personal sake is TEXTBOOK FRAUD.

This harms literally fucking everyone involved.

Obviously, the charities that the money was supposed to go to. Lying about giving money to charity is a low, promising to do it and using it on yourself for any reason is LOW. I'm sorry, I felt comfortable giving money because I knew profit would go to help struggling queer people and people victims of a literal genocide, not go towards one person in particular. That's disgusting, deplorable, and I've got no amount of bad words I can string together because nothing comes close to the hatred and vitrol I feel right now.

The artists who worked VERY hard on this and bless them, MANY ARE RELEASING THEIR ART AND STORIES FOR FREE ON THEIR PLATFORMS AFTER THESE EVENTS, now have this tied to their name through no fault of their own. This is a project that was a first for many of them - a first chance to see their art in a project, their first collaboration, their first time to get their art published and to feel it in their hands. And this is the thanks they get after being the backbone. The fucking disregard to these lovely people who were the backbone of the project and the only reason why it exists is appalling. To go radio silent on them, on the mods who HELPED, and to steal money out from under everyone is appalling, disgusting, and deplorable. They worked so damn hard on this and for many, this may be a reason why they never do a zine again, because it's that awful.

This is something that ties their name to a project that's now experiencing major drama and scandal. And if someone doesn't look into it, they might associate them with that, they might not buy from them (gods I hope that doesn't happen because they do not deserve this or any flak) - you're harming their livelihoods, their career, and are smearing mud on their reflections.

Here's a list of the artists who took part for anyone interested and PLEASE PLEASE support them if you can, even if it's only a like or reblog! Many are releasing their works to the public and all have been affected by this clusterfuck. They're absolutely amazing and have made beautiful pieces. I cannot say it enough that they've done wonderful work and deserve every bit of positive recognition outside of this fuckery.

"Sunshine" Soap Zine

"Sunshine" Soap Zine

This is the landing page for everything about our zine!

This, naturally, financially harms the people who PAID for this. Me personally? I fucking saved for this and now I'm not sure I'm even going to get the basics of what I got. I spent about $400 USD which isn't anything light, this isn't chump change, or something I toss around likely. I know I'm lucky to even have that much but Christ on a cracker, I love Soap so much and thought it was going to good causes, I feel fucking sick knowing it didn't. I'm holding out hope that the mods can arrange something - I'll take what I can get, but I'll go fight tooth and nail for a refund if I don't.

Not blaming the mods either as this harms them like a grenade to the nads. They DID NOT KNOW, I'm stating this again, THE MODS TO THIS PROJECT WERE UNAWARE OF THIS RUG PULL. THEY ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE, THEY'RE HANDLING THE FALLOUT. They're doing the best they can but I'm not counting on miracles. After all, they've basically been woken up to being told ON FUCKING TWITTER AND INSTAGRAM "oh the money is gone I spent it. gonna try to get money for the zines sorz". My lord, I can't even imagine how awful I'd feel and the panic. Because now they have to scramble and run around like chickens with their heads cut off because they were thrown a flashbang of fuckery and now?

Micky disappears for the weekend.

That's really the icing on the cake.

Health issues or not, you can't drop this massive fucking nuclear bomb after months of near radio silence and then go off for the weekend and leave your mods to deal with that.

"I am doing everything in my power to rectify this situation"

HA

Bull. Fucking. Shit.

If you were, you wouldn't be leaving your mods for the weekend. You'd actually be addressing comments and concerns. You wouldn't be making MORE EMPTY PROMISES.

I'm not believing one word that comes out of Micky's mouth because I did before and look at where that got me. I'm not going to take the word and value of someone who says they'll refund after purposefully lying for MONTHS and waiting out the period that Etsy and most credit card companies will refund for.

If you wanted to do everything in your power, you'd not offer more hollow promises, you'd offer complete financial transparency, you'd actively START getting your ass to work on this instead of dropping a statement, saying three things, and scampering off.

If you were doing everything in your power, we wouldn't be here, now would we?

Leaving now is telling not only me that you don't give a fuck and you don't respect the situation, but you do not respect the very people who made this possible and helped you EVERY STEP OF THE WAY.

I'm irate, I'm furious, I'm so pissed off that I took a step back into the fandom and clawed my way out of the coffin where I buried myself for this.

You lied to me, you lied to the artists, the writers, the mods, the charities - to EVERYONE involved. You kept us all in the dark, you took our money and hard work, and spit in our face. And you go off for a god damn weekend after ripping out our hearts and trust alike, and leave them to clean up the mess you made for your own selfish sake.

Soap wouldn't fucking want this. Not for his memory to go down like this.

What a god damn sick way to "honor" it and to pretend like you care. Fictional character or not, he's my absolute favorite and means the world to me. If it weren't for him and COD, honestly I wouldn't be going down the career path I am, I wouldn't have the future I do. And I took a leap of faith because I wanted to support the community, I wanted to support the artists and writers who pour their heart and soul into what they do. I wanted to honor the silly fictional mohawk man who meant so much to me who, as stupid as it sounds, changed my life.

And this is the thanks we get for the community who supported you, who trusted you, who believed in you, who waited so patiently for this, who wanted to do something good not only for themselves but everyone around them, who were excited for this - who dared to hope for the best.

MWIII Campaign Thoughts and Reviews

(Played in the recruit difficulty because I suck at FPS games, and I want to explore and spent time in the campaign without dying too much). Leave some thoughts!

⚠️SPOILER ALERT⚠️

So… that was devastating. 

(+) To start things off, Makarov - Boy, holy shit. Yes. YESSS. They didn’t hold back with the new Makarov. He’s a mastermind, he’s a charming fella, he’s a psychopath lol. And the fact that he smiles a lot in this campaign just adds to the creepiness. I might get some side-eye here, but this Mak can go head-to-head with the OG!Mak. He’s always onto something, he’s proven destructive, had the 141 hauling ASS to chase him. I know just one game with rushed development won’t be enough for an iconic character like him, so I’m glad they didn’t kill him.

(-) I absolutely ABHOR, DETEST, LOATH the Open Combat Missions (OCM). It is so very not Call of Duty campaignesque. it doesn’t help anything with the narrative, and if anything, it even took away the narrative for us. The former missions in former games are iconic in their own way because the mission designer put a lot of thought into how the game will be played, the situations we found ourselves in.

But OCM's, we're like... Left to our own devices without any story-driven dialogues.

I think one of the reasons why MWII was so close to everyone's heart was because of the banters between the characters, especially in Alone. Here, because it's literally our choice and our time, it left us with no actual given time to know and love the characters more than we already did. Yes we love the characters, MW19 and MWII did that for us. But in this one? They said "character development is done, mate. Now go to war.”

Then again, is OCM a product and evidence of MWIII’s rushed development? 100% yes. I don’t give a shit if they cover it with “oowh we make OCM so you can play the missions differently each time without repeating the same mission over and over again!”. Let me ask you this, Activision - Have ‘repeating the mission over and over again’ been a problem with us campaign-enjoyers? No! I played the MWII campaign like 5 times, in all difficulty (except realism I still love my life), and I enjoyed it, because the mission designers took a lot of time and thought to it instead of just creating a map, putting a bunch of loadouts scattered around the area and throw us in it. So yes, it’s clear that OCM is a product of rushed development. It sucks the life out of the campaign missions.

(+) Look, I said it before that I will go to the campaign with the lowest expectation possible. I expected Mak to be sub-par, I expected them to play safe with the characters, and BOY WAS I WRONG. Settings aside from the point above where the character feels stuck on the character development (which is a huge minus btw), all the characters have time to shine in their own missions, especially Price because I feel like we play him the most. However, I do also love the fact that the girls get shit done here. Farah and Laswell did their work so beautifully and apparently it was revealed that Laswell will be a MP operator, so that’s cool. 

(+) Ghost being a menacing presence, can stood his ground. Price being level-headed though at the same time unhinged as usual. Gaz being the voice of reason throughout the entire fucking game LMAO. Soap being the brave man he is, the passion and fury is evident throughout the campaign. Farah being badass and dependable as usual. Alex being the main supportive guy to Farah (Faralex is canon at this point argue with a wall). Nikolai being our most reliable get-away guy. And of course, Graves and Shepherd being the fucking goofy ahh duo I actually find interesting. The trial cutscene was such a goofy scene LMAO the fact that they backstabbed each other in the ass is real funny. I side with Graves though. However wrong and unhinged he may be, Graves is just a guy doing his job and did what he’s told to do.

(+) I love the fact that Mak tried to frame Urzikstan to pin the blame on them. It's exactly what the OG!Makarov did but in HD. The Passenger mission is phenomenal and more damn traumatizing if only it was a bit longer and more stretched. There are many more reference to the OG games and I absolutely love it.

Now…

Soap’s Death

Remembering all the MWII missions with Soap... It hits differently now, man. 

(-) I've read a lot of people's arguments about it that the fact that it happened is just for shock value and kind of disappointing. Because let’s be real here, Soap is an SAS who got the name Soap because of how much of a slippery bastard he is. Granted, Mak is an ex-Spetsnaz and can fight with Soap. But how he went down in a goddamn takedown without any chance of fighting is just… it’s not it.

To add to that, the reaction from the boys is just... Underwhelming? Like I get it they're battle-hardened SAS soldiers, but let them show some damn emotions for fuck’s sake. One of the main reason why the OG!Soap’s death is really painful is because of Price’s reaction to it. How he said “NO. NO NO NO SOAP!!” While he shook Soap’s lifeless body in the table. At least let Price kneel to him, straighten his body, touch his vest. Close his eyes, gather Soap’s hand and PUT HIS GUN ON his chest all the while Ghost and Gaz knelt beside them. I do love the fact that they literally went to Scotland to let go of his ashes with Ghost holding the urn though. I cried in this scene. 

And the fact that it happened with the shortest campaign out of all the reboot MW games, it just felt rushed. Yes. It’s completely rushed, there’s no doubt about it. Again, the result of rushed developments.

(+) Now, with that said, I kind of want to shed light on how Soap is literally the youngest guy in the group. He had so much to live for. He's a sunshine in the middle of this gruff emotionally hardened man. He's such a joy to be around. He's brave. He's fresh. The fact that he's got so much to live for adds to the sadness and bitterness, which I actually like.

Sometimes I do kind of like those kinds of deaths, where the character is too soon to die,  because it hit so much harder and in a different way than the OG! one. We got to see the OG!Soap went from when he was an FNG, turn to a captain, to a man of fortitude that  earned Price's honor and sacrificed himself to protect Price. We saw how he developed and changed. We saw his entire career with us throughout all the OG!MW trilogy.

Reboot!Soap's story barely even started, and the fact that he's still so young, imagining how he'd be one hell of an officer, how he'd lead his team in the future. 

OG!Soap’s death is sad because all the times and memories we’ve been through with him, but Reboot!Soap’s death is equally sad for the times we could’ve gone through with him.

I want to say this though, some people said that Soap's death is sudden, but I wouldn't agree with that. I think the telltales are all there.

In the helicopter scene after Price and Soap caught him in Verdansk, Mak literally SAID HIS FULL NAME. That is a literal pinpoint death sentence from Makarov. And how emotional Soap’s reaction is compared to the other boys when the airport blew up. The signs are literally all there! I saw it coming actually. 

So is Soap’s death rushed? Yes. Could it have been executed better? Is it for shock value? Yes. But is it as sad? Yes. Honestly, I blame the rushed development and due dates for this. Activision is a cash grabber who wanted a yearly release so they can catch more money. I fucking bet my ass that initially they didn’t want to kill Soap, but it’s like a last-minute decision to make this game actually look like it’s worth 70 dollars. 

WHAT'S NEXT?

Now. Shepherd is positively fucken dead. Price is now an actual criminal and a fugitive. He just killed a 4-star US Marines general in his own office. Price is entering his insane and unhinged era. I do wonder if he'll go even more unhinged than this.

The story will undoubtedly continue in the MP seasons (although probably only 2 seasons that mattered because it'll also undoubtedly be filled with skins and collabs and shit). I think it will also focus more on transitioning to the next CoD games, which will be Black Ops (It is confirmed that for the 2024 and 2025 CoD, it will be Black Ops games).

We're talking future here, so if there's going to be a CoD MWIV, It might be possible that this is the game where we'll finally defeat Makarov while the 141 copes with losing Soap. I do wonder if Price will become too unhinged and will get rid of everything on his way to kill Mak. will become too much for Gaz, and Gaz would do something against Price's command or wish - and Ghost will have to choose a side. Now that's the kind of drama I want to see.

What do I score this campaign, what do I score this campaign... The story is actually good, but because the development is evidently rushed, the packaging feels a bit hollow. It's a 7.5/10 for me!

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Wait you know what

We get to pet a dog named Riley. 10/10, Game of The Fucking Year.

Reboot!Logan/Hesh (?) 👀

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So there it goes! If you've read this far I love you and Activision will pay for my therapy (ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ)

Lindsey Stirling — Shatter Me  {Sentence Starters}

“Shatter me.”

“Then, I’ll have to fly.”

“I pirouette in the dark.”

“I wouldn’t be so alone.”

“The world is spinning…”

“I’m scared of changing.”

“The days stay the same.”

“Somebody, shine a light.”

“So, cut me from the line.”

“Dizzy, spinning endlessly.”

“I’m frozen by the fear in me.”

“I see the stars through a mirror.”

“Somebody, make me feel alive.”

“If only the clockwork could speak…”

“If I break the glass, then I’ll have to fly.”

“The world is spinning, but only in gray.”

“There’s no one to catch me if I take a dive.”

“Somebody, make me feel alive and shatter me.” 

“Tired mechanical heart, beats ‘til the song disappears.”

“If only the clockwork could speak, I wouldn’t be so alone.”

“We’d burn every magnet and spring, and spiral into the unknown.”