Callmekomi - Rain

can i get a little help with dinner tonight 🙏🏾❤️‍🩹

v: Nia-Pia

c: NiaPia4

WAAAAAAAAHH

Emmm so imagine:

141 team is eating their meal in the canteen. Everyone is just kind of quiet, enjoying the warm meal and each other's company. Everyone except Soap. Soap is being obnoxious. He talks about his day, the badass thing he pulled off with Gaz on the mission, he moves a lot while at it. He gesticulates, he throws his hands around Price's shoulders. He is being himself.

He isn't everyone's favorite.

"Can you please shut up!" One of the cadets near by stands away from the table. "Some of us want to eat in peace."

Soap is petrified, he wouldn't usually care but... Maybe he is just to much. His teammates probably want to rest too and all he is doing is ramble in their ears and he just should-

"Did you forget your place?" Ghost says loudly, he didn't even look away from his meal.

"Ah- Lieutenant he is just so-"

"Obnoxious?" Price finished for the rookie. "Sergeant MacTavish here is a whole lot. Yes. But he keeps our minds away from all the shit we have to witness."

"In the future you will be thankful to have someone like him on your team." Gaz added.

"Next time you say something to him, think twice." Ghost finished.

The cadet just stood there for a second. When Ghost finally gazed upon him, the man quickly scattered and left the canteen, mumbling apologies.

"Go on Soap." 141 said in unison.

Soap smiled.

URGENT HELP SAVE THE LIFE OF MY CHILD.

Dear humanity,

Please Help Me – My Son May Die at Any Moment.

I'm Amal, a mother of three children, living under the weight of the genocide taking place in Gaza. 🍉

My son is suffering from a severe and life-threatening injury after being shot by Israeli drones. He urgently needs medical treatment outside Gaza.

Time is running out, and we are facing a critical situation. I am asking for your generosity to help us save him either through a donation or by sharing this urgent plea with others.

I beg you, i kiss your feet, to help my son. My son may die at any moment

I lost most of my family. I'm afraid to lose my son too 🥺

Mohammed deserves to live a happy and healthy life, just like every other child on this earth

Please Donate now :👇.

https://gofund.me/2f20a398

'

For the first time since the war started, I managed to get a green apple 🍏 on April !.. and haven't had any since ! Now we haven't had any aid trucks in the south in ages !!

Verified by @90-ghosthere Olive Branch, line 508 of their spreadsheet PLEASE DONATE HERE

🙏 🌼🎨

Hello, I am Mahasen,a Digital Artist from North Gaza, where creativity thrives despite challenges. My father passed away, making me the main provider for my family.

Before the war, I worked in motion graphics with international companies, specializing in character design and storyboarding.

The conflict forced us to evacuate repeatedly, and our home was damaged. My essential art equipment and tablet were stolen and destroyed, representing years of hard work and creativity. Now, we are homeless, unsafe, sick, and financially insecure.

Our family includes:

My mother, 62.

My sister Mai, 35, visually impaired.

Myself, Mahasen, 31.

My brother Mohammed, 28, visually impaired, and his wife Iman, 28.

My youngest brother Amin, 21.

Your support is crucial to help me rebuild and ensure my family's safety and survival. Your contribution will replace my tools and restore our hope and creativity.

My Socials: @MahasenAlkhatib Instagram here X here Facebook here My Main Post here

Please Help me Share AND Donate

gofundme.com

Donate to Help Mahasen, a Digital Artist from Gaza and Her Family!, organized by Mahasen ElKhatib

Hello, I am Mahasen, a Digital Artist from North Gaza, wh… Mahasen ElKhatib needs your support for Help Mahasen, a Digital Artist from G

Gonna do parallels for Soap and Ghost too bc who am I kidding

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x John 'Soap' MacTavish Butcher shop AU Words: 1090

@horsebra You have poisoned my brain with the butcher shop AU. You know how flower shop AUs use floriography (flower language)? I'm going to make a meat language and no one can stop me. I am so sorry if the cuts of meat are different/named differently in the UK. This fic burst out of my brain too quickly for research.

Simon hears a bell endlessly ringing at the counter. Someone is tapping it like a child and he just knows it’s Johnny. He hates that he knows that. He’s only stopped by a couple of times, but he’s wormed his way into Simon’s skull.

Like knowing the way he constantly taps the bloody bell on the counter.

Simon sighs and puts his boning knife down. The slab of the cow isn’t going anywhere and it has more patience than Johnny. He adjust his gaiter as he steps out of the cooler without taking his apron off. Low and behold, Johnny is there. His face lights up when he sees the double doors open. He waves to Simon. The mechanic dragged in dirt and whatever else you can find on the floor of a garage. He’s leaning against the counter wearing clothes stained with motor oil and Christ knows what else.

“How’s it going, Simon?”

“Quite alright, I’d say,” he answers. “You?”

“Can’t complain,” Johnny replies. He leans down to look at the display cool like a kid at a candy store. The last few times he was here, he just bought some sausage. Today he’s browsing very dramatically. “Whit dae ye cry thon yin?” He points into the display.

“English, Johnny.”

He rolls his eyes and speaks slowly. “What do you call that one?”

“Hanger steak.”

“Is it nice?” 

Simon’s eye twitches. He loathes that question. “Everything here is ‘nice.’ Are you looking for something specific?”

“Aye, I’ve got someone to impress. Gonnae make them dinner.”

His fingers twitches. A date? 

“Filets are the most sought after.” He points to the long, well-trimmed tenderloin. “Cut it from tenderloin; it’s a very underutilized muscle, so it’s always the most tender.”

“Aren’t those a wee small? My guest has an appetite.”

Simon is trying to not read into his statements. He’s probably this friendly with everyone. He could be having family over.

“How many people?”

“What?”

“How many are you feeding?”

“Oh, just two.” He holds up two fingers. “Two people, but big appetites.” He still doesn't clarify if it's a date or something friendly.

“Go with ribeye.”

“Why’s that?”

“With good marbling it’s quite tender. Thick cut means it’s a large portion and you’re less likely to over cook it. It’s the same part of the cow as prime rib, but if you’re just cooking for two you don’t need a whole roast."

"Quite the salesman, you are," remarks the other man.

"It's easy when you only sell great things."

“Well, Simon, you’ve got a sale!" He has a beaming smile on his face. He’s been enjoying this little lesson. “I’ll take those two.”

Simon puts on gloves and pulls out the two pieces Johnny points to out of the display case. Johnny walks over to the register while Simon drops the cuts on butcher paper. The mechanic watches him wrap up the meat and place it on the scale. A few button presses later a label gets printed. 

“What are you going to serve with these?” Normally he wouldn’t ask a customer something like that. Small talk isn’t one of his strengths.

“Figure I can’t go wrong with potatoes and veg.”

“That you can’t,” Simon remarks. Johnny leans forward on the counter again. Simon is trying to ignore that he needs to mop the floor and wipe down every surface Johnny has leaned on or touched. “When's this dinner?” Simon asks. He can't help himself from prying when he really shouldn't be.

“Tomorrow,” he answers.

“You should take the steaks out of the paper, sprinkle them with salt with a heavy hand and let them rest uncovered overnight,” he says as he rings up the order. He's just giving good advice to a customer, this isn't out of the ordinary. Johnny happily hands him money and Simon hands him the bag.

“Oh uh, how do I know when they’re done? I've never cooked steaks before and I really don’t want to mess up something this nice.” Of course he’s going to wing this, like everything he seems to do. Normally Simon wouldn’t care, but he abhors wasted food. Especially when it's from his store. He’s feeling generous and is willing to give a little lesson.

“Give me your hand,” Simon orders. Johnny cautiously holds it up and Simon pressed his palm flat and rotates it so its facing up.

“Press here. This is what the steak feels like raw.” Simon presses his thumb against the base of Johnny's thumb near his wrist. Johnny does what he’s told. “Now touch your thumb and your pinky together.”

He does and Simon presses against that same spot on his palm. Johnny copies that action.

“This is what the steak will feel like when it’s well-done.” Simon squeezes Johnny’s wrist a bit threateningly. “If you cook these well-done you’re never allowed back in my shop.”

“Hear you loud and clear,” he replies with a smile. Simon leads him down the rest of the hand.

“Thumb and ring finger feels like medium. Middle finger is medium-rare. Pointer finger is rare.”

Johnny keeps switching the finger that touches the thumb and keeps testing what the differences are. Simon still hasn’t let go of his wrist, he's probably been holding on a bit too long. Johnny looks up at him expectantly and Simon quickly lets go. He can't help himself he gently grabs the other man’s pointer and ring finger.

“Aim for rare or medium-rare. If your da—guest wants anything higher than tell ‘em to get lost.” Simon lets go of his fingers. but Johnny doesn't move. He keeps switching the fingers touching his thumb and pressing against his palm with the other hand. He's looking very studious as he tries to internalize the lesson despite how basic it is. Simon has never seen that man focus on anything as intently as this.

“Thanks for the tip, mate. Never would have thought of that.” He doesn’t look up when he grabs the bag off the counter. He's still pressing his thumb against his other palm when he turns to head out of the shop.

“Oh uh, Simon,” he says before opening the door. He’s rubbing the back of his neck with a smile on his face like he’s up to no good.

“Yeah?” Simon was about to walk back into the cooler.

“You free for dinner tomorrow?” He holds up the bag of steaks. If Simon was holding anything in his hands right now, he would have dropped it.

born to love forced to grieve

Leonard Cohen, from The Book of Mercy (1984)