(was i supposed to be working on my ghosts continuation or my ghostroach fic? yes
did i instead start a soapghost oneshot that has been consuming my mind and has been my way to cope after mw3? also yes
ksjdgf but fr tho im actually proud of how its going, heres a lil exert from it under the line that i rlly love, im almost done so itll probably be out after i put chapter 2 of my ghosts continuation out)
Ghost always had a hard time being himself, anytime he even thought of being vulnerable, it felt as though air was being drained from his lungs, his blood was turning acidic, and his skin felt like lava against his bones, rejecting itself from his body, making him question if he even had one to begin with. He was so used to the pain, so used to being put through hell to become someone else, that vulnerability was his holy water, burning his body in an attempt to cleanse him of his sins, only to damage him in the process.
Ghost was safe, Ghost would keep him free of harm, but Simon? The sheer idea of being seen as Simon was enough to make him scream. It was enough to make him scrub his skin until it was blistered and red, it was enough to make him want to peel his skin off in the hopes of being left someone new. He couldn’t handle it, he could handle torture, he could handle the deaths of his family, he could handle his own death for when the time comes. But he couldn’t handle being seen as Simon.
Simon was the scared little boy who clung to his mothers dress. Simon was the boy who hid under his bed, hoping his father would go away. Simon was the boy who was scared of snakes and loud noises, who was overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of his hometown. Simon was the boy who was afraid of loud people, who was afraid of extroverted, confident people who knew what they wanted.
Like Johnny.
Oh, but Johnny.
With Johnny, he was free. With Johnny, his caged wings, tied down by his guilt and fears of the past were safely untied and cast aside by his presence. His stoic expressions and thick shields he set up to protect himself from the pains of losing another person he loved were torn down and replaced by Johnny's arms, his words and touches healing his wounds that had been aching for years.
With Johnny, he could be Simon again.
With Johnny, he could be free from the coffin, he could be free from that hook, free from the faces of his mother and brothers dead bodies, their mutilated forms etched into his mind, his sister in law and little nephews cold, cold, corpses haunting his memories every time he closed his eyes, their bodies violated in ways no one as innocent as they were ever should be.
