Admortire
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Ghost is motionless, staring down at John's outstretched hand like he's trying to recall on which page of How to Behave Like a Real Human in Polite Society he’s previously seen the gesture.
Before things can get awkward, John turns the aborted handshake into a jovial, manly sort of punch to Ghost’s shoulder. It's rather like how he imagines it would be to hit an adult moose, both in the physical sensation and in the frisson of anticipated danger it elicits. Gamely, he says, “Truck’s just about set, sir. Glad to be working with you.”
Ghost’s eyes flick up to John’s face, and then higher, to his hair. He frowns.
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Two idiots are assigned to an ambulance. They fall in love.
- Language:
- English
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Bookmarked by Admortire
16 Jan 2026
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“I have no fuckin’ clue what you two are on about,” Ghost stated tonelessly. “Fuck’s a Tim Allen?”
“You’ve never seen The Santa Clause?” Gaz asked, grasping at his chest in feigned shock.
“Seen ‘im? Just shot the guy.” Ghost wiped blood off on Soap’s shirt sleeve, making him swat at the hand. “Also, what about me made you think I watch a lot of Christmas movies? I need to correct that.”
“Ghost, you’d love it. Santa dies within, like, the first five minutes.”
“... Promising concept.”
A mission drags out and the 141 are stuck in the States for Christmas. Luckily, the Laswells welcome the extra company. While Soap misses his family, he doesn’t really mind spending the holiday with his second one.
Bookmarked by Admortire
17 Dec 2025
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He sat down with his guitar, propped a leg up, took a deep breath, and let it have it. The music came easy; he let it take him away. His lights came on; his fingers hurt. A notification popped into his vision, suggesting he eat and hydrate. The song grew, a real soulripper. The inevitable loneliness of it all. The terror. The crescendo falling off into the quiet melody, the breath after the scream. The resurrective procession of hope and rage. Of love and fear.
(Or, in which Kerry Eurodyne spends a day trying not to ruin all of his remaining relationships more than he already has).
Bookmarked by Admortire
17 Nov 2025
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I could never forget you. Not in this lifetime. Not in the next. Not ever. I'll find you." Simon's never been more certain of anything in his existence. The promise lives in his bloodstream, in his molecules. In the atoms themselves, vibrating on a frequency only he can hear. Johnny, they say. Johnny MacTavish. The true north of Simon's compass. He could be chopped into pieces, blown up, liquefied. Scattered across the universe like the dust of a dying star. He'll always know Johnny. And he'll always find him.
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Time is immaterial. Space is a lie. Neither can keep Simon from finding Johnny, no matter what lifetime they're in.
Bookmarked by Admortire
06 Nov 2025
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"Close now. Remember the rules?" Ghost talks loud to be heard, but his voice rumbles low and deeper through him than the engines and their repetitive noise, an edge there that Soap can’t put his finger on, reminiscent of how he sounds when Price tightens their leash.
"There are no rules," he echoes their earlier conversation, but relents as Ghost narrows his eyes. "Forty-eight hours. I'm late, I fail. I'm caught, I fail. I die to some random animal attack or 'cause I break my ankle, I fail and ye won't come find me. That about it?"
Soap has some things to work out. Ghost is happy to help.
Neither is prepared for just how far they'll go.Bookmarked by Admortire
27 Oct 2025