But Like Sad? - Tumblr Posts

I know I’m going to release my COD stuff first but when I say you podcast bitches are not ready for my Wolf359 shit I mean that

I’m actually ruining my own life at this point because I’m just making myself sad over and over again but this project is literally all that’s on my mind. I sit in class and I think about it. I try to sleep and then I get up to write more. I attempt to get writing/editing done on my COD projects and I switch tabs. I can’t get anything done because suddenly I have an idea and it must be included.

??? Pt1

[***TW/CW vomiting - it's not described but he does talk about it a lot]

“General.” His greeting was short, curt. 

“Commander MacTavish,” Shepherd responded. He would never get used to that. Commander. It wasn’t his rank, at least not in his mind it wasn’t. In his mind, he was still Sergeant MacTavish- that was his rank before Shepherd ever got to him, before anyone had- he was second to Lieutenant Riley alongside Sergeant Garrick, under Captain Price. It was a lie, but it was his life, it had been for months and it felt more real than anything. He was a part of the 141. He liked his life the way it was even if it was a lie. He liked the 141, he liked Price and Gaz, he liked Ghost. 

It couldn’t last forever though, he knew that. He wished it could but he knew one day Shepherd’s orders would conflict Price’s and everything would come crashing down because he would have to follow Shepherd over Price. It was the chain of command after all and Shepherd had placed him where he was very tactically. Shepherd had never conflicted Price, at least past the point in which he was ordered to keep quiet about who had his true loyalty. 

It felt like it had been too long since he spoke but it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, “what can I help you with, General?” 

He heard Shepherd’s harsh laugh through the phone, “that’s why I like you, John,” he cringed a little at the name, no one calls him John. To everyone he was Soap, or in the case of Ghost and Ghost only, Johnny. “You’re always so helpful,” the General was silent for a second before he spoke again, “it seems like my dog has broken his leash, we should fix that yeah?”

Graves. To say he’d been out of line recently was an understatement, he’d gone off the rails entirely ever since Shepherd had merely suggested betraying the 141. He’d said it to both of them- separately, of course, the secret of his employer was secret from everyone, including Commander Graves. Soap didn’t like it but Graves took the idea and ran with it. The 141 were his friends but there wasn’t much he would do without directly defying orders. “What do you suggest we do?” 

“What do you do with a dog that doesn’t stop biting?” 

He knew Shepherd was a monster but he couldn’t wrap his head around just how seriously ill in the head he was until this moment, “you want me to… kill Commander Graves?”

The General laughed again, colder this time, “intuitive too. You know I always thought you’d look better in that leash than him.” 

He felt sick. “You want me to take over for Graves?” Shepherd didn’t respond. He would take over Shadow Company, how would he explain that to his team? “I- how?” 

“I don’t care,” Shepherd replied flippantly, “just get rid of him, he’s more of a liability to me at this point than anything.” The line went quiet and for a fleeting moment he thought Shepherd had hung up on him but he never was that lucky, “oh, MacTavish, when you’re done with Graves, get rid of Riley and the rest of Price’s team, we don’t need any loose ends. Good luck.” 

He was going to be sick. At least he was lucky that time because Shepherd actually did hang up on him. 

He barely had the time to bold from his room to the latrine before he was heaving into one of the toilets. There was no mistaking what Shepherd meant by that. He had to kill them. Price, Gaz, Ghost. His team, his friends, his family. He had to kill them. 

‘At least you don’t have to explain why you’re leaving…’

“Soap?” an achingly familiar voice called from outside the stall. The same voice that kept him alive mere days ago when he was running through an unfamiliar city, cold, injured, and alone, hunted by the same people he was meant to lead. The voice he’d have to forcibly remove from the world soon. “Are you okay?” 

He opened his mouth to respond but no words came out. What were you supposed to tell the man you considered your best friend when you just got the order to kill him? A sob tore from his throat. He hadn’t even realized he had been crying until that moment but he could feel the tears on his face, running down to his neck, the back of his hands wet from trying to wipe them away. 

“Johnny? Can I come in?” 

He couldn’t deny Ghost. He never could, but particularly not now. It didn’t matter either way, he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Ghost didn’t seem to care for his answer anyway since the door behind him opened slowly and Ghost stepped in. 

“Hey,” his voice was soft, quiet, as he crouched to meet Soap’s slumped form, “are you okay?” He pulled the glove from his right hand, resting the back of it on Soap’s forehead. His hand was cold, Ghost’s hands were always cold but they felt colder, unnatural. 

‘He’s already dying. You’ve killed him just by being here.’

“You don’t have a fever,” Ghost mumbled more to himself to Soap but his voice snapped him back to the moment. “What’s going on, Johnny?”

He wanted to cry more, maybe throw up again, tell Ghost about everything that was going on, confess what Shepherd asked him to do. He couldn’t though. No one was allowed to know. Not even Graves. “I- I don’t know.” It was all he could manage. Close enough to the truth but way too far at the same time. He knew what he needed to do, but he didn’t know how he could. 

Ghost’s hand moved from his forehead to wipe the tears from his face, “are you sick? Did something happen?”

He shook his head, “the uh- the second one.” Talking to Ghost was never a problem for him before but now he had he had an even bigger, deadlier secret to hide, he couldn’t. 

“Okay,” Ghost ran a hand across his shoulder blades and down his spine, carefully avoiding his still aching shoulder. Soap drifted closer to him, resting his head close to his chest where he could hear his heartbeat.

‘He’s still alive. For now.’ 

Ghost’s hand stopped but instead of pushing him away like Soap thought he would, he pulled him closer. Soap fisted a hand in the back of his shirt to keep him there. Like if he gripped him tight enough maybe he wouldn’t have to ever let go. 

They sat like that for a moment before Ghost spoke again, “do you want to talk about it?” 

He could feel another sob catch in his throat, “I can’t.” 

There was a wetness on Ghost’s t-shirt but he didn’t show that he cared, he just resumed his action of running his hand up and down his back, “okay.” He let it go silent for another few moments, “can we at least get off of this disgusting floor? It’s a little uncomfortable, and… gross,” he laughed like he was trying to diffuse the whole situation. 

Soap let him go a little reluctantly, “right. Yeah- uh, yes,” he tried to push himself up but doing so only made him dizzy. 

“Hey, hey, I got you, you’re okay,” Ghost wrapped an arm around his waist to support his weight, “are you lightheaded or nauseous.” 

“I’m fine. Lightheaded, I guess. I’m not going to throw up on you, L.T., don’t worry.” 

Ghost laughed, “I’ve had worse things happen to me but thanks. It’s probably just fluid loss.”

Ghost was probably right, he didn’t know how long he’d been sitting on the floor emptying the little contents of his stomach. The stiffness in his muscles and the rawness and his throat said it was quite a while before Ghost found him down there. 

Ghost started moving the both of them towards the door, “let’s get you back to bed and I’ll get you a water and something to eat, okay?” His gaze was almost unsure like he didn’t know if that was actually the right thing to do. In a way it wasn’t, Soap was going to kill him one day- or have someone else kill him for him- and here he was helping him recover from throwing up just thinking about it. It almost made him want to do it again. It made him want to scream at him, to push him off and yell until they were both too angry with each other to think about anything. It made him want to make Ghost hate him so it wouldn’t hurt as much when he left but he couldn’t. Ghost was trying to help him, he at least owed him cooperation if he was… if he was going to kill him. 

“You’ll be okay,” Ghost said as he dropped him back in his room. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He would be okay. He would be alive and Ghost wouldn’t.

[if you saw this before I remembered this is not ao3 and I have to manually put the italics back in no you did not, anyway can I just say it is so real of me to say I'm going to post a snippet and then post something that's only slightly shorter than your typical Redamancy chapter. It is also so real of me to say I was going to post this yesterday and then not do it because I got pissed I couldn't think of a name (if you didn’t notice I still can't but I gave up half because I have a migraine and half because I just can’t be bothered to try anymore but like if you have a suggestion please hit me with it). Anyway, I don't have a whole lot planned for this but I do have a couple scenes that have been floating around both in my drafts and in my head so we'll see what happens to them]

??? Pt. 2

[Part 1]

“Hey,” Ghost’s whispered words accompanied his soft knock as he opened the door to Soap’s room for the second time that day. 

‘He must know something is very wrong to come in without permission.’ He knew something was wrong, but Ghost didn’t. Maybe he could feel it though. Maybe he found out about Shepherd and decided to confront him about it, Soap wouldn’t answer the door, he had to have known that. He tried to keep his body from tensing up. 

“You feeling better?” 

Soap couldn’t bring himself to respond. No, he wasn’t feeling better. He wouldn’t feel better any time soon. And he didn’t feel better about Ghost checking on him either. Not after he found him puking his guts out in the latrine earlier after he was told to kill him. 

“Soap?” the bed behind his back dipped a little as Ghost settled on the edge, there was a gentle click like he tried to softly set something down on the nightstand, “Johnny? You awake?” 

He nodded. The room smelled a bit like mint now. 

A hand brushed over the side of his arm briefly before it was gone like it hadn’t been there at all. “How are you feeling?” 

“Better.” He felt worse, actually. His throat was dry and raw, it hurt to talk, his eyes burned a little, it took too much effort to move. It was less of a feeling like he was going to throw up and more one that he should consider throwing himself off a very tall building to spare his friends. It wouldn’t matter in the end though, he knew that. Shepherd wanted them dead, he’d find some way to kill them with or without Soap.

The question though is would it be better if it was him? He could do it fast, make sure it wasn’t painful. Maybe they’d let him explain things. Would they forgive him? Orders are orders, they all knew that, and sure, they defied them all the time but orders like these weren’t ones you were able to brush off or glance around by doing just enough for it to be considered complete without actually doing it. You couldn’t half-kill someone, it didn’t work that way. You either kill them or you don’t. He had to even if he didn’t want to, they’d know that, right?

“Good. Turn over,” Ghost’s hand pushed gently at his shoulder until he flipped onto his back. He reached over to flick on the lamp on the nightstand. There was a steaming mug sitting next to it that hadn’t been there before and a tiny packet of soup crackers next to it. Ghost took his glove off and placed the back of his hand on Soap’s forehead again. His hands were warmer this time- it was probably just from carrying the tea he’d brought but he felt more alive that time. Soap didn’t know if that made him feel better or even worse. 

He pushed himself up, dislodging Ghost’s hand, “I told you I wasn’t sick.” 

“Yeah, but sometimes you lie.” The way he said it was joking but it hit hard. He was lying to Ghost. Not about the not being sick thing- sick in the head for being able to accept killing his friends so easily, maybe, but down with a virus, no. 

He was lying. About his mission. His rank. His loyalty. He was lying about being Ghost’s friend. Because someone who had friends would be able to stomach killing one of them, let alone all of them, and yet here he is, friendless and a liar. 

Ghost’s voice dragged him back from his spiral again, “do you want to talk about it.”

“I can’t.” 

He tilted his head as he studied Soap for a long moment, “why can’t you talk about it?” He laughed like he was trying to lighten the somber mood they’d thrown themselves into, “you love talking.” 

He could feel the tears start to well up in his eyes again and he tried to speak but Ghost cut him off with a gentle hand on his face, tilting his chin upwards so that he had to meet Ghost’s eyes, “you don’t have to-” he pushed Ghost’s hand away and looked back down. The touch returned just as gentle but slightly more forceful than before, “listen to me. You don’t have to tell me anything. You don’t have to tell anyone anything if you don’t want to. But if you do you can talk to me, you know that right?” 

And that was the problem yet again. He could talk to Ghost because Ghost would listen and he did know that but you can’t just casually tell someone that you’re going to kill them. Particularly Ghost. He wasn’t the coldblooded killer the legends made him out to be, he cares about people, and sure, Soap might be one of those people- maybe not though, you never know with Ghost- but he wouldn’t hesitate to take him out if he perceived him as a threat to the team and their mission. And he was their biggest threat right now. 

He nodded and Ghost’s hand drifted away and he wanted to pull it back, to pull him back, but he couldn’t. 

“Are you at least going to be okay?” 

“I will be.” He’d have to be. If he was going to be the last of them he would have to be okay with that. If he was going to be the last of them because he was going to kill the rest of them he’d have to be okay with that. 

Ghost nodded and pushed himself off the bed, “okay. Drink that, and try to eat those, you’ll feel better.” He turned when he got to the door, “by the way, I told Price you have the flu so if he comes by act like it.” 

(Don't mind me just dropping another little part of this instead of the next Metanoia chapter just because it's been on my mind a lot recently. Anyway, I think I'm going to give up on trying to think of a title because usually I get them pretty fast but I've been sitting with this one for like a week and I still have nothing (again, if you have any ideas please hit me with them cause your bitch is desperate). But enjoy scene 2/4 that I've actually thought about, not sure how I'm going to connect this one to the next one but I'll figure it out I guess)