Hii I'm A New One Here In Your Blog! How Are You Love?

I'm gonna give him a kiss on the forehead

f1 kuna

HES LAUGHING AT HIS OWN FUNERAL BECAUSE HES ACTUALLY ALIVE (i scream as they drag me back to the padded room)

I started the semester with straight A's but now am not even straight anymore...

Sergent Cock or Sergent KFC?

It's been a while, preety boy :)

Here's a chicken for you. Don't eat it.

-🌷

we need to get this lass on the task force

h/c that soap insinuates ghost is ugly for months, because it's the only thing he can think of for someone so skilled and too elusive to have any visible flaws, and he can't be nice even to his favorite superior. and ghost is amused by it, mostly because it's the least mean thing he's heard about him.

up until it's price who gets a little too loose lipped during a visit to the pub that, as usual, is missing ghost. he lets a nickname slip from way back before simon was ghost of pretty boy riley and soap's stupid, pining brains latches onto it.

and of course, his usual taunts reflect this change.

instead of saying ghost is doing them all a favor by covering up his ugly mug, he finds himself saying that ghost has done them all a favor because he'd be too much of a sight for sore eyes for them all to aim right. instead of saying that he should take off the mask to really scare hostiles, he finds himself saying ghost should take it off to stun them.

ghost reacts just the same, with some quip or a huff of a laugh. but that little bit of attention is always enough to feed soap.

he really learns how this change makes ghost feel when he's covering him while soap's setting up charges in the basement of a building, left completely unguarded. he doesn't even think when he tells ghost "just sit there and look pretty for me. a little bit o' eye candy while i work never hurts."

and ghost just had to pick that day, of all days, to ditch the grease paint that would hide his red face well enough for sunglasses.

Sometimes I feel like I don't even deserve to see him on my phone's screen. He's so beautiful with his long/medium unruly curls with the darkest of blue mixed along with black. His eyelashes that can rival a little deer. He's so freakishly tall but somehow seems like a tall child stuck in an adult body. He's such a goofy little guy but he's also the smartest man in the room given any situation (minus if his brother is there sorry Sherly).

I like how he's so passionate about everything, be that chemistry, literature or music...oh his music! I wonder if Sherlock ever sits at his desk writing music sheets over his violin and wishes if he could play all the stringed instruments. The way he is, he probably tried. I'm sure John gets most of his rants when Sherlock is fixed on a topic. I wonder if William got to see this beautiful side of Sherlock during those three years they spend in New York. I wonder if Mycroft was the one who got him into music when he couldn't give him time because of the age gap so Sherlock became dependent on this particular hobby to distract himself. I wonder if he ever wanted to compose the music he wrote. I wish our little detective was real.

I hope he knows John forgave him for his absence. That John only wants him safe and sound.

And I hope he knows his brother was mourning him. That it's about time they offer eachother closure. That his brother loves him.

And most importantly, I hope he knows his Liam views him as hope. That William will burn the world once again if something happens to him. He's the only remaining light in William's life and always will be. They don't ever have to go through something alone ever again, be that tragic or beautiful. They have eachother.

Sorry guys I got a little emotional with this one :3

To be an eldest child is to swallow all the words you have ever wished to speak and all the emotions you ever wanted to express.

Albert: How would you describe Sherlock Holmes?

William, without hesitating: Mine.

all the old ghost archives i liked that was deleted off my old blog

this is my new account, same user same style whatever

Concept of a concept time:

Reader who goes through the whole relationship with Ghoap or the whole 141 believing that they would always come second place, because of course Simon would burn the world down if Soap was taken out of it. Of course, Price would do everything and anything to save Simon. Of course, Simon would turn into monster if it meant keeping his family safe, keeping his TaskForce safe.

Of course, Kyle would go mad with grief if he was to lose Johnny. Of course, Kyle would become a shell of himself if he lost Price.

Of course they would all shatter without each other alive and well. It was obvious. It was a fact.

Reader who sees it and places themselves on the outside of it, because these men were already something before they came along. These men were already tight knit and close to each other.

These men were already family when Reader got dropped into their laps. It’s only natural they don’t really slot fully. There’s just no more space.

Reader who takes every bit and crumb of an affection they are given. Reader who gives away everything. All of them. Every kiss and confession, every hug, every bit of love and care they have. They give it all, because yeah, maybe they will never be a part of these 4. But they can be near and maybe…maybe that’s enough?

Reader, who dies. Not instead of Soap, not instead of anyone. They just don’t come back from the job one day, their foot locker was supposed to be shipped out to the family. But there is no family.

So 141 takes it. Who, if not them, right?

Reader, who dies and haunts the narrative from that point on. Reader who leaves a hole the size of a person and no one can fill it. It’s impossible.

Reader, whose warmth was seeping through them all for so long, the absence of it feels like a whiplash. The absence of it feels in their bones and it’s cold-cold-cold now. Their hearth dies and there is nothing to do about it but keep going.

Soldiers die every day, this one shouldn’t have been special. But they were.

Kyle who takes their personal things before someone else can come and toss them out, sleeping with their T-shirts and hoodies. Part of him dies with Reader. Part of him is getting buried with them. He’s sitting at their funeral until Price leads him away.

Simon who takes their photos and books, hiding them, keeping them safe. He needs to have it, because memory is traitorous and one day he might not be able to put a face to the name and he’s terrified of it to the point of feeling sick.

Soap who takes mementoes — keychains and magnets from all of the deployments, he takes every knick knack they found in the foot locker and Reader’s room, he stores them next to his. There are new keychains on every set of his keys. He’s fumbling with them every time he feels like there’s knot in his throat and he can’t speak.

Price gets the notebooks. Just a few of those were in a footlocker, filled with scribbles and meal plans and random quotes and games Reader played with Kyle during boring briefings. But it feels like them. It smells like them. Reader never wrote a consistent diary, too little time and too much going on, but they notated the places and times and that Soap coughs like a sick Victorian child and that Kyle has the most perfect beauty marks on his thighs and that Price sneezes like dad and that Simon sleeps with lamp on.

It is everything there was of them. Everything there’s left of their love and John isn’t sure he’d be able to part with it. It isn’t fair that it happened like that. It isn’t fair that he feels like destroying his whole office when he reads the “im not sure i fit in. on the bright side I reckon if something was to happen to me, no one would mourn too long. they have each other, I should be happy it is like that. I should be grateful” because it’s not fair-not fair-not fair-not fair.

John doesn’t show these diaries to anyone. John guards them like his most prized possession, reading it over and over because you, silly perfect thing, why haven’t you said anything. Why haven’t they noticed anything.

John doesn’t show it to anyone because he’s not sure if they won’t crumble under the notion. He’s not sure they won’t shatter when the rest find out that Reader died thinking they weren’t part of the family.

John sobs so hard, bile rises to his throat, world swimming in his eyes and it hurts, and he’s so fucking angry and it’s so unfair. Because it’s not true, because of course you were part of them, of course you matter, of course they mourn.

Because you die never finding out how much you were loved. Because there’s nothing he can do.

And it’s not fair.