To Any Suicidal Followers I May Have: This Is A Sign To Not Kill Yourself. You Are Loved And The World

Alive / Part VI

Note: I have no idea about Soaps family in canon, so this is all what I hc it. Word count: 546

When Soap had said that his family had a farm, Ghost didn't expect this. It was a giant area in the middle of the highlands, wide paddocks, fluffy sheep and green trees. According to Soap a rocky beach was only five minutes from there. As soon as Ghosts old pick up truck pulled in the drive way, they were swarmed by Soaps mum, Molly, a small, middle aged woman with rosy cheeks and a flour covered yellow apron, who pulled her son into a tight hug. "Ma wee baby!", she exclaimed, pressing a kiss on his forehead before looking at Ghost and extending her hand. "Simon, ah take it?", her smile was big and genuine, apparently not minding the black surgical mask. "Yes, ma'am", he shook her hand, not able to resist a small smile himself. She shushed them inside, and Ghost felt a bit misplaced in the comfy kitchen, where a middled aged man, a woman and a man, each with a toddler in their arms sat on bar stools at the aisle. They were all so... lively. Big smiles on their faces, seemingly unbothered by the 6'2, completely dressed in black and rather intimidating figure in their house. "S'nice to finally meet ya, lad", Soaps dad, Callum, said, firmly shaking his hand. "Y' too". He glanced over to the other man and woman, judging from the likeliness, the woman was Soaps sister, Isla, the man then must be her husband Alec. They both smiled at him. Isla pointed to the little girl in her arms, introducing her as Ailsa, the boy in her husbands grasp as Archie. The urge to hold them suddenly overcame Ghost, scaring him a little. He hadn't felt that since Tommy was the same age as them. The interaction was awkward in itself, but strangely not unpleasant. Ghost knew none of them , yet they seemed to accept him without question or complaint. Didn't ask questions about the mask or his work, just simple small talk, which didn't feel pressured or forced. It seemed like the warmth he knew from Soap ran in the family. "I got yer room ready", Molly interrupted his thoughts, Soap loudly joking with his niece and nephew in the background. "Since Isla and Alec are here too, you'll have to share a room with John", she winked. "Shouldn't be a problem, I hope?" Ghost looked at her for a moment longer than necessary. "Er, no, that won't be a problem, thank you", he hurried to say. Molly grinned. "John! Show Simon around, won't ya? I have to get dinner ready", she patted Ghosts shoulder before getting to work on the cooking aisle. "Yes, ma'am", Soap picked up his bag, wincing slightly, his shoulder still sore. "Give me that", Ghost mumbled and quickly pulled the bag up, letting Soap lead the way up the stairs to a room on the western side of the cottage. It was a small room, but cozy. Old wooden floor, floral wallpaper on the walls, a big window with a small balcony and plants all over the room. And one king sized bed. Ghost didn't know whether he should be happy or nervous. (Molly ships them. She could've put an extra mattress in the room, but then again, she loves weddings)

This is how I imagine their farm to look like. Sorry if I accidentally posted you house

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Shattered

Ghost and his mask were one. Everyone knew that. Sometimes you thought that he couldn’t take it off if he wanted, that it had grown on his face. But on the most recent mission, things went south. There were more hostiles than you expected, and Ghost got overrun. He was a big boy, but even he couldn’t hold his ground against seven attackers. They knocked him to the ground, beating him until he was unconscious.

By the time you and Gaz finally managed to get through to him, he was covered in blood and bruises. His mask was destroyed. The skull sewn on the balaclava was broken into several pieces that were scattered around him. While a medic rolled him on a stretcher and carried him away with Gaz‘ help, you crouched down and picked up the shattered skull.

Ghost was brought to the infirmary immediately, he had a cracked rib and bad concussion. You cradled the pieces and put them on the desk in you room, carefully putting them back together. Luckily you had a bottle of glue laying around.

After gluing the pieces back together, you decided to paint the cracks a dark black. The mask was broken but now it was whole again. Just like Ghost. Well, for the first part. You wondered if there was something in this world that could slot the pieces of his broken soul back together. He’d never be the same again, just like the mask. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t bee good again.

You were a bit nervous when you knocked against the door. „Yea?“, his usually deep voice was even more gravelly now. It sounded… Weak. You slowly opened the door, looking at the figure laying in the bed. He was pale, his head bandaged, his hand gripping his injured side as he sat up. Even here he had on a black surgical mask.

„I uh, wanted to see how you’re doing“, you said, the nervousness in your voice more audible than you’d like. „Had worse“, he mumbled, suppressing a wince as he shifted. „Yea…“, you didn’t quite know what to say. „I got something“, you reached inside your duffle bag and pulled out the fixed mask.

Ghost froze up immediately as he saw the mask. You got nervous. What if he didn’t like it? What if he’d get angry you painted his mask? You heart beat so fast you’re sure he’d hear it. „It was broken, I fixed it“, you hurried to explain yourself. „I can see that“, he said without any expression or hint as to what he was thinking. „Why are there black streaks?“, he asked. Shit. He didn’t like it. He probably hated it. You shouldn’t have painted it, you shouldn’t even have touched it. „I can get them off, I‘m sorry“, you immediately started to start scratching at the paint, trying to get it off.

„Stop.“, he commanded. You stilled and looked up at him. „Don’t. I like it.“, he reached out. You gave him the mask. „Turn around“. You did as he said.

When you were allowed to turn back, he looked like himself again. He looked like Ghost. The black streaks formed an intricate pattern, making the mask look even more intimidating than it already did. He grabbed his phone and looked at it in the camera. „It looks good“. You held your breath. He liked it. He thought it looked good. That was unexpected, to say the least. „I‘m glad….“

You turned around, opening the door. „Wait“, he said. You looked at him. „Thank you, (name)“. „No problem“

The black streaks had formed a small heart on his forehead.

Alive / Part I

Word count: 244 Simon firmly believed that regret was one of the most painful things someone could experience. It set his body ablaze, burned through his skin and into his bones.

The few seconds it took to run over Soaps limp, unconscious body, all of the things he wanted to say flung through his head like shrapnel from a bomb, boring their sharp edges into his mind.

He knelt down next to him, shaking hands desperately trying to find a pulse. There was none.

„I‘m sorry, Johnny. I‘m so sorry.“, his voice strained with shock and despair. „I love you. I need you. Please don‘t die, please.“ The black fabric of his mask was wet with tears.

Through the painful ringing in his ears, he could hear Price order a medevac over comms.

He held him in his arms until evac arrived. Softly cradling his head, silently praying for those storm blue eyes to open again.

His fingers rested on his pulse the entire time, trying to conjure up a faint rhythm, even though he knew that it would not come.

His forehead rested against Soap‘s, nobody daring to pull him away. Suddenly, there was something. A weak, light throb under his gloved fingertip. His head jerked up, eyes wide with a mixture between hope and despair.

Hastily, he pulled the glove off his hand, pressing his finger into Soap‘s neck. There it was again. A pulse. Weak and unsteady, but it was there.

Johnny was alive.

The image of Ghost sitting in a corner and chewing on that thing like a lil gremlin got me cackling

ghost is a smoker. soap knows this.

how could he not? he’s heard ghost excuse himself plenty of times for a smoke break, has seen that the man always has a light on him, has even witnessed ghost standing off on his own with a cigarette balanced between his lips.

except… come to think of it, soap has never actually seen him take drags of those same cigarettes. and every time anyone has asked to bum a cig off ghost, he always comes back with some retort like get your own or i don’t share.

but obviously he’s a smoker, right? because what else could it be?

well, soap discovers exactly what when he sneaks out for some fresh air one evening, and manages to spot ghost before ghost spots him. using that advantage, he sidles up to the lieutenant, giving ghost barely any time to snuff out his cigarette and all evidence of his smoking before soap’s appearance beside him.

but then soap hears a crunch and is absolutely horrified when ghost takes the cigarette into his mouth and fucking chews.

“ghost?”

“hm?”

“what the fuck?”

as it would turn out, ghost is not a smoker—at least, not anymore. he just always has a pack of candy cigarettes on him that have helped him curb the real habit.

the discovery makes for a good laugh later, but the relief of learning that ghost was not, in fact, eating a real cigarette is the only thing soap is willing to concern himself with for the time being.

I forgot about this blog. again. forgive me.

Alive / Part lll

Word count: 486

The next few weeks went by agonisingly slow. While the others were training, Soap had to stay in bed. Even if he were allowed to get out, he couldn't. The damage done to his brain impacted his balance, coordination and speech. He already dreaded the months, maybe even years of physical therapy needed.

The only good thing in this whole shit show was Ghost. He came every day around 1700 (5pm for the Americans). Soap tried to hide his excitement when he heard the heavy footsteps approach his door, but it worked poorly. He told himself it was just because he was glad about any distraction, even though his heart didn't beat so fast that the machine started beeping every time Gaz or Price came over.

The conversations with Ghost were nice. Other than the first time when he woke up, the lieutenant wasn't weirdly nervous. Since Soap didn't have much to tell other than that his nurse painted her nails blue, Ghost was usually the one to talk. He told him about training, mostly. How Gaz managed to land face first while fast roping, or how Price was heard screeching like an eagle when a mouse wormed its way into his rucksack. (He still denies it, claiming it was a bird). They talked about the most mundane and sometimes, quite frankly, most boring things. How yesterday in chow hall, they had chilli con carne but without chilli and without carne. But Soap is thankful for every minute he gets to spend with Ghost. Even if they run out of things to talk about, it is a comfortable silence. Ghost brings Soap books, and since his eyes and head start hurting after a while, he reads them to him. If only Soap could focus on the actual story and not how Ghosts lips move behind the mask, how his deep voice grows calm and soothing. He wished he could raise his hand and cup Ghosts jaw, gently tracing his bottom lip.

"Johnny? Y' listening?", Ghosts eyes looked up at him, deep brown, like the leaves on a chestnut tree in autumn. He was getting distracted again. "Er, ya, m' 'ere, lt", he stuttered. Ghost sighed. "Y' should sleep a bit." He looked at his watch. "''t's 1900 already (7pm). Don't wanna strain that fragile lil head 'f yours.", he grinned under the mask. Soap rolled his eyes playfully. "Ugh, fuck you, Ghost" "Later." He got up and placed the book (Ballad of songbirds and snakes) on the nightstand. "Y' need anything else?". Those damn eyes looked at him again. Soap wished he could live in them. "M' fine. See you 'morrow?" Ghost nodded, winking before closing the door behind him.

Soap sank back in the pillows with a groan. "Bithidh an bastard sin 'n a bhàs dhomh-sa". (That bastard is gonna be the death of me)

He couldn't wait to wait to see him again tomorrow.

Guys. What do you think think abt some fanart? I'd love to draw some, but I'm not sure it is what ya'll would like.

“tumblr mutual” beloved friend I would pick up at the airport if y’all visited my home city