gh7stly

[gh7stly]

HELLO! I'm Mei. 20 | they / them.

This is an archive account for my writings. I like writing but I don't like the commitment to it, so most of my fics are kept in my google docs. This account is just a way for me to post for anyone that has interest but also just for myself.

You can ask anything/expand on my blorbs on my inbox, I'll write it once I have time! Thank you.

[gh7stly]

UNFINISHED WORK. Trigger warning for Self Harming. I won't ever finish and I want to delete it from docs so I'm posting it!

It took Price nearly a month to catch up with Ghost's antiques. At first, he was in denial, then confused, he was done at some point but eventually let that go.

Awkward posing, his body always looked tense and turned in a somewhat unnatural way as if he was purposefully turning certain body parts away from his vision. It was natural enough that he couldn't point that out without sounding like an asshole but noticeable enough that bells ringed into his ears instantly. Price let that go, though. Ghost was as sharp as ever and recovered from their last straining mission.

He didn't comment on that, forced himself to stop recognizing that pattern and kept going on with life. It was hard, though. When Ghost sat down during this concerning month Price almost felt like going down this unknown territory, Simon was one of his men for goodness sake but he didn't. It clearly was something that didn't affect Ghost’s performance and, by visuals alone, he didn't seem like he was doing badly mentally. 

The month passed eventually, new and more serious things showed up and with time, that was barely a weird event Price remembered. He didn't remember, actually, at all.

As for Ghost, he hasn't felt a single true feeling or anything of that matter for nearly two months now. The beginning of it was weird and off putting. Soap came, as always, to check up on him and to chat a little. What Ghost felt at that moment was, well, nothing. Just dread. Soap didn't stop talking ever and Ghost’s attention was into something else, he couldn't even feel bad for letting Soap talk alone, just kept looking and nodding whenever it felt like it was right.

Later that week, everyone got out for drinks. Horrible night for Ghost too, everyone looked clearly more connected with each other than with him, he chimed in and made jokes and they laughed but it ended at that. He started noticing and Gaz talked easily about his personal life with Soap, Price gave his two cents every now and then. Ghost couldn't, though. It didn't work.

Was he going crazy? Whenever words came out of his mouth he stuttered, the phrases didn't quite connect to make enough sense and it felt like the air got awkward. So they kept talking, and Ghost kept quiet. Soap laughed at something Price said, Gaz agreed heavily to Soap's comments, Price seemed content to share them both his thoughts. Where was Ghost in all of this? He didn't seem… there. Didn't feel important nor necessary. So he made himself that way.

The self harm started that same day. As soon as their car parked on base, he gave everyone a short “g’nite” and made his way to his own dorm, locking himself in the bathroom. 

There was a calling he never realized existed deep into his mind, a voice begging for something. 

To be hurt.

Simon Riley would never, ever in his life call it that way. Ghost? Wouldn't even acknowledge it as something that existed. Simon felt ashamed that he would indulge in self harming in his late thirties, but here he was, punching his body and pinching it to make sure it would bruise. It hurt, and that physical feeling felt freeing. It hurt so badly he could barely withstand it but the thought of how he would look later made it worth it.

Was he doing it just for the aesthetic of it? So he could look pretty in purple? That passed through his mind and made him stop and analyze the situation he was in right now. It was, on average, hitting 33°C everyday. He had to use summer-deployment-clothes. He didn't feel seen for the first time in 15 years and his first reaction was to… harm himself? He looked ridiculous. And it would be basically impossible to hide these things during these conditions.

But as he looked in the mirror, the redness spreading in his stomach and arms seemed so small but the beginning of something. Maybe he wanted attention? That was the reason why this had started. 

Pacing around in his room, he tried to put his mind at ease through logical thinking. He was drunk, his feelings were clearly clouding his mind and this was a one time thing. He settled down for the night with an ever present ache on his arms and tummy that didn't let him fully calm down.

—

It happened again the very next day. For someone who couldn't feel anything, Simon felt a lot during these 24 hours. Shame, fear, anger. All of those towards himself and specifically anger, there was so much anger. He didn't know what to do with all that.

During gym in the morning his focus would keep switching away, during lunch he could feel everyone's looks towards the purple on his arms,  while he trained the recruits there wasn't any life or want of anything. Nothing. He got so angry, so fed up. So, the only logical, clear answer to all of this was… to discount everything on himself.

[gh7stly]

EPILOGUE — poly 141 x immortal gn!reader

<not proofread or anything, been sitting in my draft for the longest time! i hope someone'll enjoy>

The blood that painted your body itches, you noticed. It irked you, really, so the idea of spending one more hour on the same clothes you had on when you left for this mission was a torture by itself. As the helicopter shook one last time while landing, you immediately started making your way to the community bathroom, ignoring every greetings of other soldiers, previous mission partners and privates in the way. Muppets. 

“I thought the military taught basic etiquette, soldier. Been looking forward to making it home?” A voice not so strange called after you, slowly turning around as if scared to scare it away, Kate Laswell enters your vision. “Happy?”

You make a false discontent face. “Last time I saw your face I had 7 less lives in my hand, happiness is not the right feeling…. More like a bad omen?”

“I’m glad You're here and alive, then. You even taken a bath yet? There's subjects to be taken care of and I need you available as soon as possible, and, yes, I'm making the proposal again”, you take notice of how she avoided the responsibility and somehow proved your “bad omen” point, Kate's proposal didn't mean good things to come. “This is not the place to talk about it, Spook, but it is the right time. We need y-”

You bark out a laugh. “Fuck no, Laswell”, patting her on the shoulder, you turn around and start walking. “Coronel is not agreeing, plus, I have no interest in your suicide inhibitions against the US. Give up!”

“Spook. The time is running out. You know why you'd be the most important thin-”

“Thing?” 

Laswell makes a disapproving sound from getting interrupted again. Aware of the sudden seriousness of the moment, she grabs your arm to go further into the corridor away from the crowds and recruits.

“You are not a 14 year old girl, Spook. You are a soldier, a soldier responding to one of the biggest special forces in the world, and you have the ability of doing what I could only wish to do”, she stopped walking abruptly and stared down into your soul, this discussion is your least favorite one to have. “You can fuck up. Has this not internalized into you yet? Dead boys are sent to their mamas everyday for a tiny mistake but you have the ability of throwing it all into the air and walking away unharmed, so why not use who you are for the better cause? We need you”

Her words punctuated your gut, your frustrations boiled up deep in your stomach and revealed itself by the shaking in your hands; they've gotten worse recently, you've come to notice. There wasn't much to do about it except put them into fists and dig your nails deep into the palm of your hand until it made you grounded enough to find your voice, stuck in the back of your throat. This subject, this proposal and its implications had enough force to make you crumble easily, Laswell of course knew nothing about it – just that you were stubborn and kept refusing. 

“I am here because you asked me to make you useful, because you wanted to help. I know you're a human, Spook, but you're in the military and not a playground. What you want is not what you're getting sometimes, not because you don't matter, but because you are a useful trick we could have up our sleeve. So I'm going to ask you again, are you going to fucking help or not?

Staying in silence, you bit your tongue to stop from getting an insubordination letter. Part of you, the human part you guessed, felt talked down still. Did you ask for this life? Who made you this way? Wanting to help didn't mean killing yourself on purpose on missions, didn't mean getting used by superiors like an unbreakable toy. You're here because you wanted to be a hero, but right now, you're afraid of having more blood on yourself than the villains.

The other part, the freak one as you called, knew that that's exactly what you were. A puppet. From the moment you joined the military, it was better to devoid yourself from feelings, needs, or any basic thought. You liked it, even. Getting pushed to the limits of morality, treated like a piece of a big chess match. A cold air passed through you both until you finally had swallowed enough ego to speak.

“Let me at least change clothes and then you can go through your little plan." That was the closest thing to a yes you could've gotten before puking bile, but it was enough for her.

“Thank you, Spook. 1700 sharp” nodding, you let out a sigh you weren't aware of holding.

“You're a bad omen, Laswell. After today, I hope it'll be a long time until we meet again.” Even with the harsh words, a project of a smile showed in your face. Kate Laswell was probably the closest thing to a mom you'll ever have in your life. “I agree.”