My latest Price drawing. I couldn't find any Price pictures that I wanted to use for a pfp so I made my own. Unfortunately when I tried to download it from ibis paint, it says the canvas size is too big...
just a regular dude who has a handful of facial scars, decent communication skills, and semi-healthy coping mechanisms
everyone expects him to be a dramatic edgelord and sometimes he plays into that, but he’s also a little goofy. He does sudoku puzzles and takes bubble baths and loves fuzzy slippers but can’t wear them around base
he’s not an extrovert but he’s not an introvert either; he’s the life of the party if you get a couple of drinks in him but no one ever invites him to go drinking because they’re all scared of him
he had a couple of years of mandated therapy that actually managed to do something so now, twenty years later, he’s just a regular dude in the military who made wearing a skull mask his shtick that he still gets a kick out of but doesn’t really care for the dramatics of it all anymore
Soap getting caught by Gaz while drawing Ghost and find himself lying about starting a project where he is drawing everyone on base and he is just starting with the ones he see the most when half of the sketchbook is just drawings of ghost.
Soap has to go throught with it for months just to keep faces. Gaz knows he is lying from the begining but he is not passing on an occasion to get a free portrait
So this is the first official Ghost story on my blog. I know, I know, it's been a long time writing and I've not written something for the guy, but it's really just because I get so worried about writing him poorly.
I know he's a big military guy who hates having emotions and kills any and all kindness in his heart, but I also really like the idea of him exploring the concept of healing from his trauma? I dunno, I just thought about it.
Also, like König, I can't imagine Ghost keeping normal pets. Originally I had him get a spider, but then I read over his backstory again and it made more sense for him to get a venomous snake. I think it's a major step to overcoming his trauma. By the way! Big trigger warning, this is about a snake! This entire fic centres around a snake!
Anyways, I had some fun writing this but it made me super sad.
TW: Snake, discussion of past abuse, emotional trauma, child abuse (referenced), emotional disregulation
Wordcount: 1.7k
Art from This Post
Story Below the Cut
A Boy, A Twisted Memory and A Desire for Love
Simon locked eyes with the little black and yellow creature housed deep within its cave. It was a small thing, barely hatched from its egg it looked like. The length of a ruler at most. It was a light thing, covered in fine scales along its supple body. This thing was venomous, yes, but it couldn’t do any real damage. It was a threat maybe to a mouse, but a man such as himself wouldn't fall to such weak poison. Swelling, pain, nausea, yes. But death? Not quite.
And yet, his heart quickened within his chest. He could feel the sweat forming on his brow. It had been so long since he’d seen one of these beasts, and yet the same fear from back then wormed its way inside him now.
“Hungry?” Simon’s voice was particularly gravelly, roughened by sleep deprivation and lack of use.
The creature made no move. He’d be surprised if the thing even heard him. Did it even have ears? He’d have to ask the breeder later.
“Been a long time since I’ve seen one of yer kind before,” he admitted. He didn’t quite know why, but it felt somewhat soothing to speak to the thing.
“I killed the last one of ye that I saw. Crushed the fucker right under my boot, I did.”
It didn’t seem to scare the beast off. He wondered if it really was more afraid of him than he was of it. He hoped that was true. He didn’t want to admit that the fear still wriggled under his skin.
“He wasn’t anything like what my dad ‘ad,” Simon closed his eyes as the oppressive memories washed over him, “that one was a right bastard. Bigger than anything I’ve seen ever since. Shoved it right in my face, he did. Wouldn’t let me go till I kissed it right on the lips. If it bit me, I wouldn’t be standin’ ‘ere. But you,” Simon opened his eyes, dark eyes matching two glassy eyes of inky black, “you’re nothing. You're pathetic. You’re… You're so small.”
Simon turned back to the breeder.
Finally, the creature came to its senses and slithered back further into its burrow. So sleek and streamlined, and yet so slow to move. It was afraid of him, that Simon decided the moment he noticed that despite backing away, it didn’t dare look elsewhere.
“How much for this one?” he asked as he pointed at the plastic cube.
“That one?” the woman blinked and looked at what he was pointing at, “the female or the male?”
“The female,” Simon clarified.
“Oh she’s pretty, isn’t she?” the woman adjusted her glasses as she slid behind the plastic cube, “poor girl’s probably pretty scared being out here.” She didn’t mention how terrifying Simon was in his dark clothing, rough fabric stretched tight across his broad frame. He was used to scaring people by this point. Sometimes, like now, he wished he wasn’t.
“How do you pronounce that?” Simon pointed at the name that had been scrawled in blue ballpoint pen on a blank sticker.
“Boida dendrophila,” the woman replied, “she’s pretty young, but she’ll get big soon enough.”
“She’s one of them big ones, yeah?” Simon asked aloofly.
“You bet your arse,” the woman grinned, “she’ll be big soon enough. Don’t know much about ‘em?”
“Oh no,” Simon leaned down to take a better look at the little beast, “I’ve been doing my reading.”
“You got a big enough enclosure for her?” the woman quizzed him.
“Sure do,” Simon hummed, “I built her an enclosure myself. It’s nearly as tall as me, long too. Got some nice branches for her to climb and all that..”
“Wow that’s a lot of space. You sure that’s not too much?” the woman frowned.
“She won’t be in there for a bit, I’ve got something for while she’s small,” Simon reasoned.
What a stupid question.
“Oh well that’s fine,” the woman broke out into another smile, “but yeah she’s eating mostly baby mice, an adult once in a while. You know she’ll be eating bigger things when she’s full grown, right? You can handle that?”
“I think I’ll be quite alright,” Simon mused, “have to admit, she’s a right beauty.”
“She really is, isn’t she?” the woman gushed, “I’ve been raising her since she was just hatched. But now? Well, normally I sell them off a bit sooner, but she grew on me. Unfortunately, the husband isn’t too fond of her and wants her to be moved on.”
“Why’s that?” Simon looked at the woman from behind his sunglasses.
“Oh he got bit when she was the length of a pencil,” the woman laughed, “he’s held it against her ever since!”
“Heard her kind can get pretty feisty,” Simon commented as he looked back at the spider.
“They can get a bit aggressive, I won't lie to you. A bit territorial, too,” the woman explained carefully so as not to scare off the only interested customer she had all weekend.
“Real fast,” Simon continued on, “with nasty bites.”
“Sounds like you’ve done your reading,” the woman laughed uncomfortably.
“Course,” Simon refrained from rolling his eyes, “so how much is she? The sticker’s ripped.”
“She’s on sale, actually,” the woman grinned, “only a couple hundred quid.”
“That much, eh?” Simon straightened up to tower over the slender woman.
“Normally she could be anywhere up to four hundred,” the woman fought back against the subtle threat of intimidation.
“Well then,” Simon looked down at the cube, “looks like I got a good deal then.”
“You won’t go stompin’ on her, will you?” the woman furrowed her brows.
“No ma’am, that was just what I had to do when I went out to the Middle East,” Simon chuckled humorlessly, “I wouldn’t dream of hurtin’ this here little lady.”
The woman grinned as she counted her bills, Simon smiled just slightly as he picked up the container and brought it back to his car.
When he got home, he carefully moved the little creature into the glass enclosure of dirt, leaf litter and cork bark. He put it back in its place on his shelf and smiled.
“Dendrophila, eh?” he chuckled, “how ‘bout Ophelia? That’s a cute lil name for ya.”
The creature only burrowed away under the cork bark, eager to get out of sight of the frightening giant before her. He didn’t blame the little thing, he’d be terrified of himself if he was a younger man.
Once, he’d hardened himself into an unstoppable thing, a monster of a man. He had formed his shell through cruel lashings the world had lavished upon him. He took ablutions in raining blood. He was festering sickness or silver sin. He was what he despised in the world, the monster he tried to protect his own family from. When his brothers in arms welcomed each other warmly, they regarded him as a feral dog to be kept at a distance, chained in the backyard, out in the rain.
In Simon’s heart there was no room for love. He was not a man forged in kindness and love. He was the unfortunate son of Mr. Riley, cursed from birth to be raised in the muck and mire of human atrocities. He had been calloused by the time he was nine, and by the time he joined the military even the recruiting officers were afraid of him. He was too cruel, too strict, too much for anyone to handle. He could brute-force his way through life, but only for so long.
Even monsters had hearts. This was the unfortunate fact that Simon had learned far too late in life. He hated himself for how he wallowed in his loneliness. He thought his team would be enough, but there was a despicable part that still resided deep within him. He could offer his rotten sort of love to his teammates, but he could never care for them like he needed to. There was a part of him that had been stunted since childhood, and far too late it breached his skin to scream into his ears, begging him to please just notice me, notice me and don't let me die here inside of you.
He didn’t want to, but he spoke to a therapist. It was Price's advice after he'd broken down with a bottle of whisky in one hand and a revolver in the other. Price promised to never say a word as he unwound his lieutenant's fingers from the trigger.
A week later he'd arrived at a small office. They’d been cowed by him at first. Everyone was, but something about frightening the one person he wanted to be helped by hurt a part of Simon he wished to rip from his chest. Once he would have laughed, but in that office, he could only hurt. No tears fell, but his walls did and he was able to speak openly for the first time in his entire life without the help of a bottle of jack and a pair of dice. It felt wrong. He hated it, but he learned.
His therapist told him that to help rid himself of this festering parasite of an emotion, he should try to nurture the damned thing. Simon had laughed in the man’s face. He then told him to go to Hell. The man had learned not to flinch in the face of a predator, and so pushed forth. He said that to grow, Simon could try getting a cat or a dog. Something he could raise with the love he never had been given as a boy.
He said that he needed something to love or else he'd never be able to heal. Simon scoffed and left the room, but not before booking another appointment. The smug look on his therapist’s face disgusted him. He turned quickly and left.
So maybe it was out of spite that he bought Ophelia, but there was a part of him that felt like he needed the little creature. He needed something to love, and so he did. He loved the Ophelia with all his heart. He nurtured her and cared for her as best he could.
Months passed, and he started to handle Ophelia. She hissed, she scurried away, she did everything to get away from Simon’s touch. He figured that if he had to face himself, he’d do much the same. He wasn’t a creature born of love and compassion. He was death, in face and in heart, but each time he brought Ohpelia’s container out and changed her water, when she ate from his tongs, he could feel his rotten heart beating within his chest. It made him smile despite himself.
He was not a creature of love, and yet it was love he felt when Ophelia tentatively reached out and slithered up his hand. When he raised her up, ever so gently, he couldn’t help but cry.
How cruel was the world that a boy, born from street gutters and raised by heavy hands, would only ever feel love for the first time in a dingy London flat on his thirty-first birthday, alone save for the venomous snake in his hands?
here azure, since I'm on spring break so I decided to make these wallpapers in my free time, and what better than to share it with you.
Took me quite a while to make them, between playing the campaign again and keeping all the necessary programs open to capture the images, not to mention the editing and extension process.
you can support me by liking or reblogging!
enjoy♡⸝⸝💌⊹。°˖
rules
- Don't repost to another platform (Pinterest, Instagram, etc.)
- If you see that someone is stealing my work, don't hesitate to write me
Will only drink black teas, absolutely despises herbal, green or rooibos teas
Of the black teas avoids anything floral because he thinks it’s a bit too frilly for his palette
Never adds sugar to teas, says it ruins the flavor
Will add milk to help cool a tea, but only just slightly
Claims drinking a freshly made cup of tea on a hot summer day helps cool him down
How this works is beyond me, but he claims it anyways
Thinks adding cream is a vile concept and anyone who does so should be interrogated by the CIA
Soap
He’ll drink a cup of tea with Ghost, but he’s really more of a coffee person
Prefers medium roast with a heavy serving of cream
He can’t stand adding milk, but will use it if there’s nothing else
Adds sugar when he gets a chance
Despises sweeteners and will make little digs at anyone who does use sweetener, usually citing health reasons
Don’t try arguing that adding two spoons of sugar is just as bad, he won’t hear it
As for tea he prefers rooibos, which drives Ghost up the wall
Is down for anything, really
Gaz
Doesn’t like hot beverages
Prefers either a cool glass of water or juice
Does not understand caffeine addiction whatsoever
Claims the drinks are healthier and more refreshing
People just think he’s incredibly dehydrated in the morning
Will take orange juice from concentrate without batting an eye, but really enjoys more exotic juices if he can get his hands on them
When stationed in foreign countries he’ll try juices made from native fruits
Really likes cactus and mango juice, but is not opposed to papaya
Dislikes southern lemonade with a passion, claims it’s far too sweet
Is surprisingly peppy in the morning despite only drinking juice
Roach
Whatever’s there will work
However, he tends to prefer teas
He’s especially fond of green teas
He goes on about how healthy they are for the mind and body
Also will go on about how easy they are to transport and keeps a small sachet of matcha powder (the cheap stuff) on him to prove his point
He thinks Ghost is a snob and should just get over himself
Has tried to sway the others, but they all tell him matcha tastes like grass
He thinks they’re all idiots
Price
Coffee only
Does not fuss over his coffee whatsoever
Whatever’s in the canteen will do
His one gripe is adding cream or sugar
He will only take his coffee black
Some have tried to win him over with coffees made with cream/milk/sugar, and he’ll be polite enough to drink them and thank them, but he really doesn’t like it too much
He will tell them to not fuss too much if they get him another coffee so they don’t do it again
Cannot stand people whining about how they take their coffee and how the military doesn’t give out the good stuff
He just considers them weak whiners
This includes Ghost when he complains about not having enough black tea in the canteen
Price glad to say it to his face
He could not care less about age or temperature
He’ll pull a day-old cup straight out of the fridge and down it like there’s no tomorrow
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