It's difficult to sit in the same room as Johnny's family and talk to the family.
Especially when there's a space on the couch next to him, awaiting the return of a man forever lying in the tunnels.
It's nauseating to sit opposite Johnny's parents as his father's dull gaze lingers on Simon's face and as his mother tries to blink away her tears because she's too prideful to let someone see her mourn.
"Ken, he wanted tae be a teacher when he was a wee lad. Before he hud his heart set oan serving."
Johnny's mother stares at the wall behind Simon's left shoulder, she can't stomach looking him in the eyes, and he couldn't bear to look into such familiar blue eyes.
"When he wis a wain, he swore that wan day he'd go tae Disneyland. Wan day he'd git married. Wan day he'd bring hame a wee yin of his ain an teach them watch football wae them lik him an his Da."
She's aged twenty years since Simon last saw her, hair unkempt and grey with age, skin dry around her nose from the constant tissues and sniffling. Every motion she makes with her hands is half hearted, like she can't fathom the words spilling out of her mouth.
"He never got tae go tae Disneyland."
Simon would give nothing more to have those few minutes back and take that bullet in place of a man who had a family back home.
Soap grabbing Ghost and dipping him. No warning, no music, just grabbing him and looking him in the eyes and dipping him. Ghost would tell you he didn't make a shriek at suddenly going backwards. Totally didn't grab onto Soap for dear life because he thought he was being thrown to the ground. The funniest ten seconds Gaz has ever experienced and Ghost won't talk to him or Soap now.
love how a good portion of the cod fandom looked at mw3's ending & just collectively went nope no thank you & then carried on creating fic/art/etc like it never happened like I genuinely love that
Retired Ghoap post Johnny's injury, starting their day preparing for a ceremony for Price. Due to the injury being through his brain, Johnny struggles with mobility and coordination in varying amounts. This is the same au as my "fall weather" piece! Most days he'll use his wheelchair but some days he'll take his meds (he's supposed to everyday..) and just use his cane. IGNORE that I forgot his scar in the last panel.
Gladiator!Simon, who killed the last reigning champion in the Colosseum and now wears his skull as a mask. It was a horrible, graphic display of brutality, not uncommon to the Colosseum, but decapitating someone and then skinning the head was barbaric according to the nobles watching the duel that day.
But you found it invigorating, seeing the blood spatter, hearing the cheers from the crowd, even as the nobility cringe away at their most prized possession now gone, all that money and time down the drain. Maybe it was inappropriate to cheer because you were the Emporer's daughter, but it was hard to resist the newly crowned champion.
He was covered in blood and sweat, the fibres of his muscles engorged with blood, making him appear even bulkier than he is as he towered over his dead opponent. He was rude and insensitive, tossing the head into the crowd before turning his back on the Emperor. Simon will pay dearly for that later.
You found him at sunset, hanging from an old cypress by a metal hook pierced through his lower ribs. You couldn't just leave him there; he was still alive and kicking! He's dirty and smelling, and too damn heavy, it was a struggle to get him back to your chambers, drawing him a milk bath to hopefully cleanse his wound.
Meanwhile, Simon was carefully committing every detail of you to his memory, the first touch of kindness in his sorry, miserable excuse for a life. His heavy hand gripped the back of your neck, resting his forehead against your own, his dark eyes peering into your own.
Simon is reborn, giving a new chance at life, at the Colosseum as your gladiator, bloodthirsty and craving a fight, full of vigour like he's still a young buck. And when you drag him back to your chambers after he came out victorious, his blood still pumping hot and full of testosterone from fighting in your honour, he lies you down on your bed, his fat cock throbbing against his thick thigh, his balls so full of potent seed, a final offering of loyalty for the future Empress :))
Of course, he needs to show off his virility, his sexual prowess. Simon needs to proclaim his undying love and devotion for you, breathing silent prayers into your skin before sliding into you with a pleasured moan <3
Light angst, Soap feeling self-conscious about himself, how boisterous he can be mostly.
Johnny's day has been awful since early morning, shower too cold, coffee too bitter, clothes felt itchy, training went sideways when he got distracted and a punch hit him fair and square on the chin, made his teeth tremble.
Ok, he can keep going. Maybe just bad luck? Must be, universe is going against him today.
His lunch? Tastes more like a salt rock, a mistake, surely other soldiers had the same bad luck. He rambles about this with Ghost who seems to not be listening, not about his morning, about the bruise that now decorates his chin. Simon's attention is elsewhere and it hurts when he shut ups and there are no questions.
Not even one.
The punch is nothing compared to this pain, being ignored, background noise, it makes Soap go back into that small doubt.
"Am I annoying?" Comes out softly.
He needed to vent, a couple of laughs and this day would be forgotten, instead his mind is starting to reel back, blue eyes looking for a confirmation.
"Sometimes, not all silence is meant to be filled Johnny" The tone is calm, half joking.
It's not a joke for Johnny though, who smiles as if it didn't hurt.
"Yeah, right" Chuckling.
Lunch is over, time to keep going with his day, ache on his chest starting to weigh down. Deliver some paperwork, clean his weapons, watch the sun coming down on the horizon.
Day is finally over, Soap can get back to his room, lock the door, take off those awful clothes. Low lights, it's just a bad day. He could take a shower but there is no energy to do so, besides maybe the water will come out horribly again.
"Just a bad day..."
Only silence replies, sitting down the edge of his bed, hands over his lap, thumbs tapping into each other, fidgety. Anxious.
It repeats in his mind. This is not the first time he has been called annoying, even if not with the direct word.
Sometimes.
"He didn't mean it..."
But did he? The doubt grows, and suddenly Johnny feels small, exposed, even though there is no one else there, but his mind? Oh, it goes searching for the smallest of details.
How his team could and will find him annoying over time, how he can become a liability. Talking too much during a mission, maybe too much energy while training, too loud, too boisterous, his laughs, his steps, his voice.
Laying down, closing eyes fiercely together, hoping for an ounce of sleep, half an hour, ten minutes, anything.
It never comes, he stays awake, all night long while the word repeats.
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