https://blue.feedland.org/?river=http://data.feedland.org/blue/feeds/Traumschwinge.xml It's just a feed for now Wed, 25 Dec 2024 18:56:49 GMT feedland v0.6.43 https://cyber.harvard.edu/rss/rss.html Wed, 25 Dec 2024 18:56:50 GMT http://rpc.rsscloud.io:5337/pleaseNotify Wed, December 25, 2024 1:56 PM EST #ghoapfic #ghostsoap #traumwrites Ghost hadn’t been invited for Christmas. Johnny had tried, multiple times, every time he’d talked about Christmas in the MacTavish household. But every time, he’d failed to gather enough of his immense courage. Ghost wouldn’t have said yes anyway, he told himself. He was more of a Grinch than a Santa, he reasoned. He didn’t want to drive all the way up to Scotland. However, when he went to Soap’s room to leave him a little something on his desk to find after his return and saw the presents for Soap’s sisters and their spawn on the bed, forgotten, he didn’t even think. He packed all the presents up in a big sack and got into his car. Soap had left two hours ago, too far to turn around, if he even noticed before getting to his parent’s house. It was on Ghost to save the MacTavishes’ christmas. Thank God Price insisted they all take two weeks of leave every Christmas. Thank God for Soap’s file being so readily available for him, allowing him to punch his parents’ address into his phone before getting behind the wheel. He was an hour out still when he noticed a text from Soap. «Shite, this year I done did it, LT.» Ghost snorted at the message. Ignoring all safety and traffic laws, he texted back: «ETA T-60 Minutes». He got a number of question marks in response, but ignored them to focus on the road. He made good time, allowing him to stop at a store just two towns over from his destination. He dawdled, just a little, to be exactly on time as he pulled his car into the MacTavishes’ driveway, boxing in Johnny’s, just because he could. He donned his latest acquisitions, got the sack from the trunk and stomped up to the door. He didn’t even need to ring the bell, because a whole gaggle of kids almost tumbled over each other in their rush to invite him. The grown-ups followed at a more sedate pace, but Ghost barely registered them. He was too focused on Soap’s surprised face, eyes full of wonder and delight. “Ho ho ho,” he declared, his voice adequately lowered, dropping the sack of presents on the doorstep. “I’m here to save Christmas for one Johnny MacTavish.” The expression on Soap’s face was priceless. Everyone turned to look at him, even the children. And he… he didn’t hesitate long before launching himself at Ghost. Ghost caught him, allowing himself to be hugged. “What the hell, Ghost?” “Not Ghost tonight,” Ghost grunted. “Who then? Santa?” Soap tugged at the fake white beard, adjusted the ridiculous red hat with its white fake fur trim. “Mh. Yeah, Santa could work. Merry Christmas, Johnny.” “Merry Christmas, Santa Simon.” Wed, 25 Dec 2024 18:56:49 GMT https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787987 https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787987 #ghoapfic #ghostsoap #traumwrites Ghost hadn’t been invited for Christmas. Johnny had tried, multiple times, every time he’d talked about Christmas in the MacTavish household. But every time, he’d failed to gather enough of his immense courage. Ghost wouldn’t have said yes anyway, he told himself. He was more of a Grinch than a Santa, he reasoned. He didn’t want to drive all the way up to Scotland. However, when he went to Soap’s room to leave him a little something on his desk to find after his return and saw the presents for Soap’s sisters and their spawn on the bed, forgotten, he didn’t even think. He packed all the presents up in a big sack and got into his car. Soap had left two hours ago, too far to turn around, if he even noticed before getting to his parent’s house. It was on Ghost to save the MacTavishes’ christmas. Thank God Price insisted they all take two weeks of leave every Christmas. Thank God for Soap’s file being so readily available for him, allowing him to punch his parents’ address into his phone before getting behind the wheel. He was an hour out still when he noticed a text from Soap. «Shite, this year I done did it, LT.» Ghost snorted at the message. Ignoring all safety and traffic laws, he texted back: «ETA T-60 Minutes». He got a number of question marks in response, but ignored them to focus on the road. He made good time, allowing him to stop at a store just two towns over from his destination. He dawdled, just a little, to be exactly on time as he pulled his car into the MacTavishes’ driveway, boxing in Johnny’s, just because he could. He donned his latest acquisitions, got the sack from the trunk and stomped up to the door. He didn’t even need to ring the bell, because a whole gaggle of kids almost tumbled over each other in their rush to invite him. The grown-ups followed at a more sedate pace, but Ghost barely registered them. He was too focused on Soap’s surprised face, eyes full of wonder and delight. “Ho ho ho,” he declared, his voice adequately lowered, dropping the sack of presents on the doorstep. “I’m here to save Christmas for one Johnny MacTavish.” The expression on Soap’s face was priceless. Everyone turned to look at him, even the children. And he… he didn’t hesitate long before launching himself at Ghost. Ghost caught him, allowing himself to be hugged. “What the hell, Ghost?” “Not Ghost tonight,” Ghost grunted. “Who then? Santa?” Soap tugged at the fake white beard, adjusted the ridiculous red hat with its white fake fur trim. “Mh. Yeah, Santa could work. Merry Christmas, Johnny.” “Merry Christmas, Santa Simon.”