#implied ghostsoap

[rusticfurnace]

goodmorning

[gomzdrawfr]

My take on Butcher Ghost

[link]

[weeping-nemesis]

Suicide hotline

(a very rough concept that popped up in my head right when I wanted to sleep - hope it either inspires you or me to write!)

Warnings for suicidal ideation/mentions of self-harm/child abuse (tell me if there need to be more, it's late and the brain is slow)

---

Riley who never kept going for himself. From the day his little brother was born, he dedicated a lot of his time to protect him from their father's evil. Their family never had much to begin with, and barely scraped by as their father got more and more irritated and snappy with each withdrawal.

He took on everything - every punishment, every bout of anger that ended with things being thrown at him, kicks, punches, cigarettes being put out on his skin, and harsh words that cut deeper than any knife could the more often they came up. Most days he ended up so exhausted and on edge, he didn't have it in him to even change out of his school clothes before bed. At one point he sees his grades dropping, and ceases to have the energy to fix it. He needs all of it for Tommy. All that's left.

He'd convinced himself early that his existence was worthless unless he could do some good in the world. And that good turned out to be his brother. The little boy who did nothing to deserve being brought into such a depressing place.

And Simon tried. He really, really tried to keep up for Tommy. He did his homework with him, studied with him, went outside with him, kept him away from their dad, got him treats from the corner store with the little money he scraped up on the street - anything in his power to help him have a better future than himself.

Though there was only so much he could do until he cracked from the stress.

It started small, in a way that didn't concern him at all. His appetite had not been great for a while to begin with, and he figured the time spent fetching a meal for himself wasn't worth it, so he didn't bother. Then he went out with Tommy less - and bless him, he'd found a group of friends in school that he could hang out with... it's not like their father cared when they went out. It just wasn't right for them to come home at any time of day.

He got tired. Not the tired from a lack of sleep, but a bone-deep exhaustion that never seemed to leave. He stopped putting up fights with his dad, stopped resisting, and just took whatever came his way believing there was no salvation for him.

Tommy seemed oblivious to the changes, thanks to his new friends.

His mother, however, noticed something was off, but she was too busy working her arse off to afford cheap groceries to take care of either of them.

And Simon kept going, and kept going until his mind started spiraling even without any external input, and the cigarette burns weren’t only from his father's hands anymore - he needed to punish himself, needed to feel the pain he deserved for not being strong enough anymore, and all at once - or maybe it had been creeping in slowly - there was... death.

And he thought of it so much that his math teacher reprimanded him for zoning out in class, and he must have mumbled something akin to "I wish I died", because she looked at him, horrified, and took him aside during break, handing him a little card she kept in case her studentd were in trouble.

That was the first time he saw the number. At his lowest point, shortly before making a very stupid decision, he called. For his brother. For his mum.

-

Now, at twenty-nine, mask on and eyes as hard as he can will them to be, he sits in an empty storage room in a far corner of the base they’re stationed at - the room is barely lit and dusty, but the blinds wouldn't open, so they have to make do in here, with the stale are and uncomfortable folding chairs.

But it's isolated enough that no one else will be able to listen to them.

MacTavish is sitting across from him, his face for once not in a state of everlasting frustration, but contorted into a kind of deep concern that doesn't suit him at all. It's not a bad look, makes him actually look his age, but Ghost wishes it wasn't the sign of an intervention about to happen.

Ghost doesn't know whether it's about his recent poor performance during training, his reports, or the fact that he snapped at Roach this morning because he asked him if he wanted to go for a run with him-

"The number ye've been calling. Every day for the past two weeks. Shepherd asked me to investigate, thinks ye're losing yer loyalty tae him."

So he was tracking all the calls after all. Bastard.

"I'm not... it's just." There is a lump in his throat.

Ghost doesn't know how to explain himself. He likes MacTavish, trusted him with some of his lighter personal information, even, and for all he knows... he won't think of him as a mole. He probably pieced together a thing or two about his business with the General - his wit too sharp to miss the signs.

Knowing too much will taint him, and take away the only good thing in his life. But he also needs him to know. Needs one person to know what his life means, that he'll ruin everything he touches-

But he doesn't know to put it all into words. To explain that in order to keep them safe, in order to protect the team, he needs to keep going, to keep performimg, but he can’t do it alone, and yet he can't put any of them in danger, expose them to Shepherd's true self, or end up dead, because then some other poor soul will be his next dog, and he already died twice, but if he keeps slacking like he's doing recently, maybe he'll be relocated again, shown what it truly means to be an asset -

"Riley. Ye're scaring me. Ye're pale as a wall." MacTavish, bless him, doesn't touch him. Riley thinks he'd throw up if he did.

His heart is racing, and he can't from a coherent sentence so he does the only logical thing he can think of, pulls something out of the inside pocket of his sweater with a shaky hand, and holds out the same card his math teacher gave him all those years ago. Time has weatherd it, made the once thick paper softer than it used to be, crinkled the edges and had it acquire a slight yellow tint - but you could still read it well enough.

MacTavish takes it, spends a moment studying the flimsy thing, squinting at it suspiciously, until his eyes widen in horror.

Riley squeezes his eyes together at last, can't take it, and his ears start ringing before he hears what the Captain says. His hands itch for a cigarette.

(The rest is up to you - I'll figure it out once I actually write a fic again heh)

[amazeingartist]

So your OC standards are

-older than him even by a year

-hot

-muscle

-them man tidd

Quite unintentionally true lol, Alec is just very head over heels for Aiden and isn’t reeeeally the jealous type (at least not in these crackship scenarios lol)

[natelia-aldelliz]

Ghost after meeting Soap.

Price : Have you slept?

Ghost : Depends what day it is

Price : Go to bed.

[shyravenns]

Quick soap doodle inspired by That instagram reel

[freetowriteforme]

Simon finds a kitten :)

               The streets were slick with rain and blood as Ghost crept along the walls of the alleyway. He had been taking down soldiers left and right and felt deep-rooted exhaustion in his bones. “Ghost, give me a sit-rep.” The smooth voice of his captain flowed through the speakers, breaking the lieutenant’s concentration. “All good here; the perimeter is secure.”

               “Good, we got the laptop. Meet at the checkpoint for exfil.” The telltale clicks from the comms signaled Price signing off, Ghost moving to do the same. He was reluctant to admit it, but he missed the familiar playful banter in his ear when Soap attended missions with him. Ever since the man went on leave to spend time with his family, he’d felt increasingly lonelier than ever. The lieutenant hadn’t realized how dependent he’d become on the sergeant’s warmth and conversations until it was stripped away from him.

               His gear was thoroughly soaked, sticking to his skin as an uncomfortable second layer of flesh. Even his mask began agitating him, wanting nothing more than to return to his barracks and rip the thing off. Before he could fully step out of the alley, he heard a quiet squeak from behind him. He whipped around, gun drawn at the ready, but was met with dead air. He scanned his surroundings for another second before hearing the same sound, looking down to see a knocked-over trash can.

               Ghost approached it carefully, still unable to trust the situation entirely. He crouched to peer inside, but it was too dark to make out much fully. Another timid squeak echoed from the metal, sounding more akin to a mew now than a squeak. He hesitantly reached a hand in, searching around for the source of the noise. His hand met solid, something tiny and frail under his hands. Even through the gloves, he could tell the thing was soft, most likely an animal. The same quiet mew resounded at the touch, the animal pulling away from him sharply.

               He paused, assessing the situation before making any further steps. If he had to make a guess, the mewing was from a cat of some kind. With how small the thing felt beneath his hand, he had to guess it was still a baby. He didn’t hold much knowledge of cats, never having a pet even in his youth. He held out a single finger to the creature, allowing it to smell him. He knew he must smell like gunpowder and the coppery scent of blood, but it was the best he could do.

               After a few moments, a petit grey kitten stumbled further out of the trash can, pale moonlight allowing him to take in its features. The most striking thing about the baby was the pale blue eyes that blinked owlishly at him. They almost reminded him of a certain Scot, but he quickly pushed it aside.

               “Hello there, little one. Where’s your mother?” He glanced further into the bin, hoping to see another set of eyes glowering at him but was met with only darkness. Wherever the kitten’s mother was, it abandoned the baby long ago. The animal was severely malnourished, and sympathy tugged at Ghost’s cold heart. The small piece of him that still housed Simon cried out to help the small, frightened creature. This time, Ghost was weak enough to give in.

               The baby nuzzled its soft face into his gloves, allowing the man to pick it up carefully. He debated how to transfer the tiny creature to base with him, still needing his gun to incase any stragglers remained in the area. He eventually decided his breast pocket was the best he could do, removing any of the contents inside to new homes. He gently placed the mewing creature inside, feeling it shift around and get comfortable. His heart nearly melted when he heard a soft purr.

               He hurried down the deserted streets, wanting to escape the rain as quickly as possible. “There you are, Ghost. Come on, let’s get out of here.” He entered the van, the captain following swiftly to fill his own seat. The ride back to base was relatively quiet, the kitten falling asleep in his pocket and not making another noise. “Night, Simon.” The captain muttered before parting ways, allowing the lieutenant to seek off to the communal kitchen in search of some food for the tiny baby. He was unsure of what to feed the malnourished animal, pulling out his phone to do some quick research.

               Eventually, he settled on eggs, seeming like the most likely thing they would have in the fridge. Just as he suspected, he spotted an egg carton on the top shelf and removed a single egg.  He quickly cracked it into a pan, scrambling them thoroughly to ensure they were fully cooked. He grabbed a small plate and placed the kitten on the counter in front of him, the tiny creature sniffing the food suspiciously. Once it was deemed safe, the baby began devouring the feast, satisfied to have something to eat again. Ghost would need to go to the store and gather supplies for the cat, but for now, this would suffice.

               He gently petted its head with a fragile finger, allowing the kitten to finish the eggs. It left out a quiet yawn, leaning further into the petting with a content purr. “Let’s get some sleep, shall we?” He scooped the kitten back up in his arms, rinsing the plate in the sink, before taking off to his barrack. He decided it was safest if he had the baby sleep on the floor, using old hoodies and shirts to make a crude bed. He watched as the creature smelled the clothing, purring happily and nuzzling into the soft fabrics.

               “Goodnight.” He whispered, turning off the light and drifting off to sleep.

Very indulgent fic of Simon getting a kitten; I will probably write more about this. I just love the idea of Ghost being a cat dad, don't bully me. Personally, I've never owned a cat since I'm allergic, but I would love to.

TLDR: I'm living vicariously through Ghost.

[gomzdrawfr]

Rocking the green outfits

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