Help

help

I'm editing something for a class I'm in

(it's a documentary style group project)

and I just deleted all my progress. I was like 3/4 done

It's been a long fucking day and I want to jump out the window

I was inspired and it's a bit rushed but anyways

ghost who blooms like a delicate flower under the gentleness that is John Mactavish.

✨Let time pass pt.6 ✨

✨ Let time pass pt.6 ✨ . . More than a dream, but is it too good to be true?

borrowing from xmen first class but i like the idea of ghost having wings in the sense that they are always there, but they are not always a physical thing—most of the time, his wings are a mere tattoo wrapping across his back and shoulders.

they’re easy to keep a secret. he rarely ever lets them manifest, so it’s become second nature to think of them as only the “tattoo”. no one questions it if they ever catch a glimpse, at least nothing more than a harmless ask like when did you get that done? or is there a meaning behind it?

it’s easy, too, when he’s never felt compelled to show anyone the truth of his wings. at least, he hadn’t ever felt compelled before soap.

for whatever reason, the first time soap sees the tattoo, ghost feels the need to spill his secret, spill all his secrets right then and there. but he bites his tongue and grits out answers to all of soap’s questions, all the while he begrudgingly stands with his back bare to the man.

and then ghost feels the light brush of fingertips. the gentle trace along every line and curve of the wings, and ghost can’t help the way his back tenses—not from the fact of being touched, but the fact of the strange sensation it produces. and of course, soap notices, and immediately backs away.

ghost’s breathing has gone shallow. clipped.

“if i show you something, johnny,” ghost says quietly, “you promise it doesn’t leave this room?”

this room being the emptied locker room is almost laughable. soap nods though ghost can’t see it.

“of course, sir. i swear it.”

ghost nods, to himself more than anything, eyes screwed shut as he wills his wings to unfurl from his shoulders and come to life. he tries to ignore the quiet gasp that escapes soap, but it’s impossible.

more so when he feels his wings flutter involuntarily under soap’s renewed touch.

“this is—these are…” soap whispers, breathless. “does anyone else know?”

slowly, minutely, ghost shakes his head.

“well,” soap murmurs, “then i’m honoured.”

though his back is still turned to soap, ghost can almost sense the onslaught of questions that have risen to his tongue, but he doesn’t get the chance to ask any as voices suddenly grow louder and their peaceful space is intruded. in a practiced, swift movement, ghost’s wings melt back into his skin, and he and soap scramble to pretend like they were in the midst of their own separate, menial tasks.

ghost doesn’t know what had overcome him. he doesn’t know if it’s something he would ever be able to explain. but what he does know is that it felt… freeing, to tell someone.

no, not just someone. johnny.

he finds he doesn’t actually dread the inevitable moment when the topic would be brought up again, so soap could finally ask his questions.

I've had this idea for a while that I don't really know what to do with, but imagine that pre-141 Ghost and Soap don't know one another, except they do. They've been internet friends for years. They have a group, like 6 or 7 people that they play games with, they're constantly in discord calls together. But they're not Ghost and Soap online. Soap's username is Sealtits_9 (a play on Seal Team 6) and everyone knows he's a Sergeant in the army. They call him Sealtits, or just Tits most of the time. Ghost, or Left-sock-toehole as his friends know him, is Discord mom. He reminds everyone to eat and drink, corrals them towards their objective in game, gently parents them through arguments and sometimes real life problems. No one knows what he does or what he looks like. When they ask him how tall he is he gives a different answer every time. If someone asks about dick size he answers something along the lines of "miniscule" or "I don't have one, lost it in the war" just random unhinged shit. He's also constantly commissioning Soap for random shit. Any time he sees Soap has his commissions open he snatches up a slot and sends him some random ass thing to be drawn. Every time Soap is like "DAMMIT TOEHOLE I WILL DRAW FOR YOU FOR FREE STOP TAKING UP MY COMMISSION SLOTS" And every time Ghost replies "easy there Tits, I already paid you, please draw me Lady Dimitrescue as a rubber ducky." And yeah... idk I just like the idea of Ghost having online friends that don't know he's actually a really terrifying motherfucker. And of course he and Soap flirt all the time too.

((part 5)) ((X)) ~please read for context for: @8-rae-rae-8 this one is a little shorter but I feel like it hurts a little better. Next one part is gonna be really sad so :( ~~~

"Si? Are you awake?"

"Yeah, Tom"

"Do you want me to give you your shot?"

"No, thanks"

"Why not?"

"Dad already did it"

"...Oh...I'm sorry"

"It's okay, bud. go back to sleep."

~~~

"Ghost... Ghost...Simon--"

Simon blinks, watching as old memories fly by. His shared bunk bed with Tommy, the skull mask, the snake, the needles, his mum, Tommy, Beth, Joseph—his vision finally settles on Major Cowells, towering above him.

“There he is,”

the uneasy, lechrious, predatory feeling is back and he's reminded once again of Roba.

Simon blinks a few more times, trying to settle on blinding lights above him. His vision suddenly blurs again and the white hot pain of a needle in his side makes him let out an unintended gasp. “W-wa…”

“shh, sshh, you’re okay ,mo ghràidh, I’m here…”

“Joh….y…?"

the figure's contours and its face morph once more into a fisherman’s hat, a skull mask, a mohawk, a baseball cap, and sun-tanned skin before Simon completely indulges in sleep.

"It's okay... you're oka...clo...ey...slee..."

~~~

”you said you knew who it was? Sir?”

Johnny’s footsteps are heavy, and loud and demand the attention of his exhausted captain. Price doesn’t say much but after a while of staring off into the void, a small window into the hospital room, he sighs, scratching at his beard out of habit.

“good to see you too, Soap,” The captain sighs again, reaching into his pocket to play with his last cigar ((of a set Simon bought him the previous Christmas)), playing with the bitten edge. “, I do, but we can’t discuss here. Meet me in my office at 10. I need to find Laswell and she’s damn near hard to find when she doesn’t want to be found.” ~~~

"...Uncle Simon? Daddy?"

"Joe!"

Both men turn, the needle hovering over Simon's bare abdomen- to which he quickly puts his shirt down, hiding a gnarly bullet wound from his last tour.

"what-what are you doing?" the six-year-old presses, opening the door wider and then quickly closing.

"What do you need, Joe?" Tommy takes a step towards the youngest, the needle now resting on Simon's bedside table, insulin long forgotten.

"Why--what were you doing, daddy?"

Simon sighs, coming over and gently picking him up, settling the child on his bruised hip. "Your daddy was helpin' me with my insulin."

"...oh...well okay! Uncle Si?"

"Yeah, love?"

"What's insulin?"

~~~

"...so..." Laswell sighs, resting against Price's desk, her arms crossed, and with the light settling in over the horizon, her wedding band sparkles and the light irritates Soap's eyes. ", with all that said, we believe Major Cowells has been working with the remnants of the Zaragoza Drug Cartel."

"..Manuel Roba?" Gaz gawked, moving from his space and leaning against the door to make sure no brass, Cowells, made their way in.

Price solemnly nods, running a weathered, calloused hand against his exhausted face. The Captain looked tired, the bags under his eyes looked more like Ghost's eyeblack than anything that could brought on by stress. "Yes -- and yes. I know, I know. Ghost killed all of them, so we thought."

"So how does Major Cowells factor into this?" Gaz presses, taking a couple steps further so he is more integrated into the conversation.

"We believe Major Vernon and Roba had a network running right under our noses."

"Steamin' Jesus!" Soap suddenly shouts, and the rage Price was hoping for is finally back-- He was more stressed out about the fact that Soap had become subdued, lethargic, and tired after Simon was admitted. A week ago.

"I know," Laswell sighs, taking a step towards the whiteboard. ",I know. Which is why I have contacted Los Vaqueros and am hoping they will assist us."

"Any reason they wouldn't?" Gaz speaks up again, shifting through confidential documents and maps.

"None that we haven't already planned for."

~~~

“Insulin overdose.”

Soap said it over a hundred times, feeling the word on his tongue , trying to make sense of the cluster fuck around him.

“Soap — mate, please.”

“I know! I know! I just…” he flops down on the common room couch beside Kyle, throwing his head back to the wall with a satisfying thump.

“I know,” Gaz smiles, placing a gentle hand on his friends shoulder. “He will pull through, Ghost always does.”

“…but Simon might not.”

~~~

Two weeks of Johnny sitting by the bedside. Two weeks of Johnny sewing and resewing Ghost's masks back together, talking to him even though he wouldn't answer, combing his unruly curls back, coloring in his tattoos, finishing or redoing portraits of Simon, reading his favorite book to him, washing his--

crying at the bedside

--washing his scared face, trying out new lotions that Gaz recommended to try and smooth out his scars.

Anything to block out the empty pit in his stomach.

~~~ “He didn’t tell me.”

“Soap, Bruv—“ “Son—“

“Oooh! Don’! I dinnea wanna hear it!”

“Soap, he couldn’t tell you, he couldn’t tell anyone.” Price tries to reason, placing a fatherly hand to his son— but Soap shrugs him off, moving away from the hospital bed, away from Simon…away

“I’m not everyone. I’m his Johnny and I’m different.”

reblog, comment and like!! my DMS AND ASKS ARE OPEN((please bug me about this i need someone to talk to :())

all ideas for this will be under the tag #Diabetic! Simon Riley

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