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reds-skull · 5 months

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The World is Silent

[AO3]

Had this idea for the last couple of days, started writing it yesterday at 5am, went until 7am, slept, woke up, finished it instead of my uni work.

This oneshot is fucking depressing, and deals with some suicidal thoughts (made myself cry with this one, just be warned)

The world is silent. Plants cover the once indestructible walls of the base, vines making patterns in the cracks of the grey concrete. Leaves, old enough to brown and die, cover the training grounds, erasing the foot tracks, the memory that someone ever lived there.

Ghost cannot even indulge in the faint mark. He is not allowed to carry that reminder, that there was. There was an army here, there was a place he could call home.

There was. And now, there is no more.

The world is silent, but his mind screams. He walks through empty streets, under barren bridges and over desolate roads.

Ghost has been looking for more canned meat. He ran out a while back, not finding a will to go into the city. He hates the cities the most.

In the wild, in ancient forests and hills, he can pretend there’s still something out there, someone. A voice besides his own.

The city reminds him what was taken from him. He never truly cared for humanity - Ghost saw the worst of it as part of his job, and before that… he was nursed not on milk but on snake venom. His mind developed a taste for pain, and yet he always craved more. Companionship, comfort. And perhaps love, even if he does not know the true meaning of the word, even if he can’t imagine it. He wanted love. Still wants it, but that’s a dream he must leave behind.

Ghost knows he can’t love himself. And therefore there is no one in this world to love him.

He looks around, gun loosely on his back, for mere comfort. Wild animals won’t require an M4 to kill.

One of the many grocery stores he recalls come into view right around the corner. He can’t feel too happy about it when the entrance is blocked by a felled tree, one of the many storms in the past few weeks snapping its trunk.

Ghost could simply go to a different one, but there are not many interesting things left for him to do in this world. Or, there are not many things he wants to do. There’s no point to accomplish anything when there is no one left to share it with, no one left to congratulate him.

The nearby house renovating store had a few good saws, and Ghost picks one labelled for tree trunks before returning to his new enemy. At the beginning, he thought of everything as a mission, taking care and putting in the dedication he would back Before. Now, he’s too tired of it.

He’s too tired of everything.

Ghost gets to work on the tree, the back and forth motion of sawing leaving too much room for thought. His thoughts, when left unchecked, often lead him to memories. And memories, all they’re good for now is heartache.

Still, he remembers. Because he couldn’t bare forgetting.

He couldn’t bare forgetting how Price’s bucket hat looked, the curve of the front casting shadows over his eyes (were they green? Blue? Perhaps a mixture of both?). How Gaz would buy them all tea, the expensive kind, whenever he went on leave. How he would laugh at Soap, when the Scot took a sip to try (and how did his laugh sound like?).

And he could never forget Soap, Johnny. His blue eyes, the way they shone in sunlight. His crooked smile. His silly hair. How he wished he could remember all the jokes they exchanged, the small touches before missions, his Scots.

Ghost doesn’t only remember. He also changed them, in his memory. Price was just a Captain Before, but now he’s a father, proud of Ghost and supportive of him, someone to lean on. Gaz, a brother in arms, turned brother by blood, a person he could share his deepest secrets to, no matter how embarrassing. Someone he never had to hide from. And Johnny… Johnny became an infatuation. Ghost can’t call it love, because he does not know the meaning of the word.

The tree trunk splinters under the saw, and Ghost manages to cut away enough to move it to the side, unblocking the door. He throws the saw to the side, if he needed another, he would just go back to where he found it.

In this new world, there is no consequence for his actions.

He begins browsing through the shelves, finding himself drowning in memories once more. In this candy Price mentioned he liked, or the energy drink he shared with Gaz and Soap. In the scotch next to the Bourbon, in the tea next to the coffee.

Ghost’s heart skips a bit when he hears a whimper, and he instantly takes hold of his rifle and looks around. Despite no danger existing anymore, his heart still believes there’s a possibility. His mind doesn’t indulge in those delusions.

The whimpers and whines continue, and he steps around aisles, clearing corners just to feel safe.

He reaches the end of the store, and there lays a small bundle of fur, breath heavy. He lowers the gun, and the creature lifts its head.

A dog. It has brown fur, matted and dirty, and eyes… blue.

They remind him of Johnny.

Ghost wants to shoot the dog, for daring to look like what he lost. But he can’t even lift the barrel to aim, not when blue eyes look at him like that. He could never harm their owner.

He spots a meat can on the shelf next to him. The dog still whines, albeit quieter now, curious of Ghost.

He opens the can, and slowly crouches, inching closer to the dog. It doesn’t seem afraid of him, and yet again he’s reminded of Soap. Soap was never afraid of him.

The dog sniffs the air, tries to get up on wobbly legs, and falls once again. Ghost stretches his arm close enough to let the dog eat, and it immediately starts slobbering up the food loudly. It almost makes him huff.

Ghost supposed he could sit here for a while longer. Nothing waits for him at base, nor here.

Nothing waits for him everywhere.

Johnny wakes him up again, licking his face enthusiastically. He groans and pets his soft head. The dog has grown quite a lot in the last few months, now reaching his mid-thigh when on all fours.

Ghost found himself a sort of routine, mostly forced to by Johnny. The little muppet likes taking walks around the forest, but he doesn’t like doing it alone. Ghost can’t be mad at him for that, not when he shares the sentiment.

He dresses up in warmer clothing, lacing his boots automatically, and walks out of his barrack room.

Ghost reckons he could’ve found a better place to sleep in, hell, even the Captain quarters would be better than the small room, paper-thin mattress, and bathroom made for dwarves that is Ghost’s room. He likes the familiarity of it too much to change now. It makes it so when he wakes up from a rare dream, where everything is as it was, he can pretend for a few more moments that he isn’t alone.

Johnny runs ahead, and waits for him on the top of the hill. He takes his time walking there. Johnny is well-trained, he doesn’t run off without Ghost, even if he doesn’t give him voice commands. A pat on his thigh is enough to summon him.

Ghost hasn’t spoken since it happened. He’s not sure if he can at this point.

‘It’ happened a while ago. Months, maybe years ago, he’s not been keeping track of time. One day, he woke up, and everyone just… vanished. At first, he thought he was having a nightmare, and he kept waiting to wake up. And he waited. And waited. Eventually he had to accept this is reality.

He tried to find a reason, back in those first days. Maybe he was drugged, maybe he lost his mind.

Ghost remembered the stories his mom told him, of the reckoning. Of how all the good people will go to heaven, leaving the bad ones here on earth. If Ghost still believed in God, perhaps he would’ve thought he’s the only bad person, left here on earth to be punished for his sins.

In those first few days, he waved off that theory, thinking to himself this couldn’t be hell.

Now, though… hell is an apt label for what this place became.

Johnny barks at him, shaking him off his thoughts. Maybe this isn’t hell, if he’s allowed one companion.

The forest has grown a lot since it happened. At least one thing enjoys the sudden lack of humans in its vicinity.

Ghost would appreciate the clean air, the warm sun and birdsongs, the happiness of Johnny’s wagging tail, if he could appreciate anything at all. He doesn’t see much point to anything, to enjoying, to feeling, to living.

He thought of ending it all, many times. Thought maybe it would end this nightmare, that if he’s dead at least he can’t feel this emptiness, he can’t remember.

But thinking about how, if he were to go through with it, he would end up back here, finding himself stuck, forever doomed to roam this wasteland…

He prefers living with the possibility of dying. It gives him a strange sense of hope. Something he’s been dwindling on, as the days turned to weeks turned to months, to years.

Sometimes he feels as though Before happened a thousand years ago.

He doesn’t miss many people. The vast majority of faces have blended together long before everyone disappeared. The only ones he truly misses are taskforce 141, his teammates. Price, Gaz, Soap. He repeats those names every day in his mind.

It hurts to remember, but in a way it’s also his duty. He can’t let their faces blend with the rest. They deserve better.

They deserved so much more than he gave them Before. He wants to go back in time and punch his past self, for being so careless, so unfeeling towards them, when the 141 was the only place he could call home.

Now, After, he has no home.

They’ve been walking for a very long time when Johnny stops to sniff at something on the ground, probably feces of a wild animal. Ghost waits a while before he checks it out, after Johnny tries to get his attention multiple times. He walks around the dog and squints at the dirt.

Ghost instantly drops to his knees, pushing his face down to inspect it closer. His heart tries to climb out of his chest, and he feels tears welling up his eyes. Fuck, he might’ve lost his mind already, because this can’t be real.

Footsteps, boot marks. Human. Recent.

He and Johnny have been scouring the woods for hours now, the adrenaline Ghost got since he saw the marks still yet to fade. If there’s another person around here, he has to find them.

The notion that he just conjured it up in his deranged mind becomes less and less likely when he continues to find more signs that something, a human, has been here recently. Broken branches, too high for any animal to do, candy wrappers, knife marks, cloth pieces. Ghost feels a painful hope, sharp and spiky, wrapping itself around his heart like barbed wire.

He had hope, at the beginning. The rest of the 141 were on assignment when it happened, and so Ghost never had any proof they are really gone. He credits this fact to the way he’s been able to not lose his mind completely.

Johnny stills next to him, ears swiveling around as he listens to something. Ghost wishes he could ask the dog what he heard, but before he could dwell on that, Johnny started running, Ghost chasing after him.

Sharp branches cut his arms and clothes when he pushes through the overgrown trees, trying to keep Johnny in his sight, but too quickly Ghost loses sight of the dog, and he has to stop to take a breath. He remembered then that he didn’t eat or drink in the last few hours, mind and body only focused on the hope of finding someone.

Perhaps, he is losing his sanity.

Some far off branch snaps, and he instantly crouches to hide behind a bush. Old habits die hard and all that.

In the distance, he could hear something. Ghost understands there are two paths of action in front of him - run away or investigate.

Ghost, as he has nothing to lose and everything, everything to gain, starts slowly sneaking towards the sound.

He feels like puking when he makes it out, not because it disgusts him, but because his body simply can’t contain the sudden influx of emotions within him.

He hears humans. Speaking. In English.

As his mind tries to catch up on the fact, as Ghost lets himself indulge for a few moments in what could be the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, the voices drift away. Instantly, he jumps from his hiding spot, looking around, searching.

Nothing.

There was always nothing, wasn’t there? His cruel brain decided to give Ghost hope, just to rip it away when it was done toying with him. He sits back on the ground, tears streaming down his mask, but he is silent.

The world is silent.

Johnny returned to him while he made his way back to base. The sun was setting, and raindrops started drizzling the empty fields he once trained in. Ghost absentmindedly is reminded that the pipes have been rusting, and are due to burst at any moment and flood his room.

He couldn’t bring himself to care. Johnny will wake him up before it either way, the cricking sound sure to alert the dog.

The mud caked boots stay outside his door, and he collapses on the thin mattress. Ghost doesn’t bother doing anything else, he’ll survive one day with no water and food. Johnny curls up next to him, fur dirty and soaking wet, but Ghost still presses his face to it. It makes him feel less alone.

Sleep comes and goes throughout the night, dreams meld into reality, memories resurface and call for Ghost. Lie to him that they’re still here, speak to him softly in a way he doesn’t deserve anymore.

Ominous cricking wakes him for the final time, and Johnny bolts out of the bed and sounds half a bark. Something gives and the pipe snaps, but while he waits for water to drench him, Johnny runs out of the room.

Ghost feels his heart jump to his throat when he realizes the pipe burst in another room.

He springs out of the bed, feet sliding on the base floor as he runs a couple meters to the room next to his. The door labelled ‘Soap MacTavish’ has water leaking from under it.

Opening it reveals just how much damage the water caused. The bed is absolutely drenched, the closet next to it not faring much better. Those do not matter to Ghost, not as much as the items on the table do.

One day, after it happened, Ghost searched through his teammates’ rooms. He’s not sure what he wanted to find, perhaps he was just missing them a lot.

For each member, he left an odd shrine on their table. Price has his cigars, an extra bucket hat, and a few photos he took throughout his career. Gaz has the expensive tea he was apparently planning on surprising them with, as it was hidden under his clothes, and his sunglasses. Johnny’s is made of the Ghost Team mask he kept, his personal file, and his journal.

All of which, are now ruined beyond repair by filthy, sewage water.

Ghost’s hands are shaking as he reaches for the journal, which took the brunt of it. The pages are stuck together, and he fears if he opens it, they would fall apart. The name etched on the cover is still legible, and that’s the only comfort he can take from it now.

Inside it were drawings, places the 141 went to together, and portraits of the members themselves. They didn’t take a lot of pictures together - elite taskforce and all that, and so the sketches inside were the only true memory he had. And now he doesn’t.

The mask is a little wet, but it will dry. It will be fine.

In the personal file, Ghost didn’t have much he doesn’t remember by heart at this point. At the start, he used to go through and memorise every single detail from everyone’s files - date of birth, past missions, blood type - and at this point he could write a new one from scratch.

No, what was important for him in Johnny’s file was his photo. A small passport one, where he almost smiles to the camera, in a way that brings Ghost back to how he used to see it every morning. How fucking lucky he was back then, and he never appreciated it.

He holds the small photo up, and chokes on nothing when he sees how mud and grime covered most of his face, leaving only one, blue eye staring at him. Something about it almost feels judging.

And in his mind it does, it’s angry and accusing, it’s asking why he let this happen, when he knew the pipes would burst. How could he be so bloody stupid, so careless, as to let what little he has of Johnny left be destroyed?

Ghost sinks to his knees, cradling the photo to his heart, uselessly trying to wipe the dirt off it, adding more water to the room. Johnny comes to whine next to him, nudging his hands and shoulders, but he’s too far gone in self-hatred and regret.

How much more can he already lose?

Eventually, he gets up. Shakes off the water, and goes to find something to soothe the ache in his stomach with. Johnny left a while ago, probably let himself out on a walk. Another being Ghost disappointed today.

He rummages through the canteen, where he stores all the food. Electricity stopped a while back, and he didn’t know how to operate the generators. He’s been meaning to learn, but…

Nothing feels real as he walks around gathering random cans and tins. It’s almost like he’s not in control of his body anymore. He feels empty, inside and out.

Ghost munches on what could be tinned apples when Johnny barks outside. The sun is just starting to rise at this point, and Ghost thinks he’s probably just chasing an unfortunate squirrel, but the dog comes rushing into the canteen, and barks at him.

The dog is unwilling to accept his disinterest, as it starts to grab at his pant leg and pull him off the bench. Ghost pushes his head away and sighs. He supposes he could follow Johnny to whatever he wants to show him. Perhaps it would distract him from the black hole in his heart.

They walk through the forest yet again, Johnny running ahead and coming back, trying to urge Ghost to run, but he’s too tired. The dog is unrelenting, though, and so he keeps walking.

The forest has a clearing nearby, a place with soft grass and little white flowers, that in the summer looks like it’s out of a movie scene. He remembers Johnny drew it in his journal, and his stomach churns and aches.

Ghost stops dead in his tracks when they get closer. He looks up to see smoke coming from the clearing’s direction. Could there be a forest fire? Did a rogue lightning light the grass on yesterday’s storm?

He starts walking with more purpose now, Ghost can’t let another thing be destroyed by his inaction. Johnny loves the forest, and Johnny loved it.

The dog runs off again, and Ghost hears something yelp in surprise. It sounds… so achingly human.

What he stumbles into, when the clearing is in sight, makes him want to turn away, to run, to rush into.

The source of the smoke turns out to be a campfire. Around it are three tents, so very clearly military issued. A man stands outside, on his back, as Johnny is licking his face. The man laughs, and the other two tents rustle.

One of them opens, and a second man calls for the one being assaulted by the dog. He seems happy to see him, and Johnny runs to greet him as well.

A third man joins them, visibly older and crankier at the occasion. He quiets down soon enough, when Johnny comes along to be pet by him.

Ghost’s heart, which was empty and bled dry, collapses on itself. He’s breathing heavily, the edges of his vision swim. These men, they look… they sound like…

Johnny is finished with his warm welcomes, and decides to run back to Ghost. One of the man breaks away from the group to chase him, smiling as he calls the dog back.

Ghost is frozen in place, even when Johnny licks his hand to get him to move.

The man gets closer, and Ghost feels water run down his cheeks, blinded by blue eyes and warhawk, smile lines and a scarred chin.

He halts, those blue eyes (that Ghost has never forgotten, will NEVER forget), stare, wide and full of emotion, full of life.

The man speaks.

“... Simon?”

And the world is no longer silent.

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tearlessrain · 2 months

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please help me- i used to be pretty smart but i’m having so much trouble grasping the concept of diegetic vs non-diegetic bdsm!

gfkjldghfd okay first of all I'm sorry for the confusion, if you're not finding anything on the phrase it's because I made it up and absolutely nobody but me ever uses it, but I haven't found a better way to express what I'm trying to say so I keep using it. but now you've given me an excuse to ramble on about some shit that is only relevant to me and my deeply inefficient way of talking and by god I'm going to take it.

SO. the way diegetic and non-diegetic are normally used is to talk about music and sound design in movies/tv shows. in case you aren't familiar with that concept, here's a rundown:

diegetic sound is sound that happens within the world of the movie/show and can be acknowledged by the characters, like a song playing on the stereo during a driving scene, or sung on stage in Phantom of the Opera. it's also most other sounds that happen in a movie, like the sounds of traffic in a city scene, or a thunderclap, or a marching band passing by. or one of the three stock horse sounds they use in every movie with a horse in it even though horses don't really vocalize much in real life, but that's beside the point, the horse is supposed to be actually making that noise within the movie's world and the characters can hear it whinnying.

non-diegetic sound is any sound that doesn't exist in the world of the movie/show and can't be perceived by the characters. this includes things like laugh tracks and most soundtrack music. when Duel of Fates plays in Star Wars during the lightsaber fight for dramatic effect, that's non-diegetic. it exists to the audience, but the characters don't know their fight is being backed by sick ass music and, sadly, can't hear it.

the lines can get blurry between the two, you've probably seen the film trope where the clearly non-diegetic music in the title sequence fades out to the same music, now diegetic and playing from the character's car stereo. and then there are things like Phantom of the Opera as mentioned above, where the soundtrack is also part of the plot, but Phantom of the Opera does also have segments of non-diegetic music: the Phantom probably does not have an entire orchestra and some guy with an electric guitar hiding down in his sewer just waiting for someone to break into song, but both of those show up in the songs they sing down there.

now, on to how I apply this to bdsm in fiction.

if I'm referring to diegetic bdsm what I mean is that the bdsm is acknowledged for what it is in-world. the characters themselves are roleplaying whatever scenarios their scenes involve and are operating with knowledge of real life rules/safety practices. if there's cnc depicted, it will be apparent at some point, usually right away, that both characters actually are fully consenting and it's all just a planned scene, and you'll often see on-screen negotiation and aftercare, and elements of the story may involve the kink community wherever the characters are. Love and Leashes is a great example of this, 50 Shades and Bonding are terrible examples of this, but they all feature characters that know they're doing bdsm and are intentional about it.

if I'm talking about non-diegetic bdsm, I'm referring to a story that portrays certain kinks without the direct acknowledgement that the characters are doing bdsm. this would be something like Captive Prince, or Phantom of the Opera again, or the vast majority of bodice ripper type stories where an innocent woman is kidnapped by a pirate king or something and totally doesn't want to be ravished but then it turns out he's so cool and sexy and good at ravishing that she decides she's into it and becomes his pirate consort or whatever it is that happens at the end of those books. the characters don't know they're playing out a cnc or D/s fantasy, and in-universe it's often straight up noncon or dubcon rather than cnc at all. the thing about entirely non-diegetic bdsm is that it's almost always Problematic™ in some way if you're not willing to meet the story where it's at, but as long as you're not judging it by the standards of diegetic bdsm, it's just providing the reader the same thing that a partner in a scene would: the illusion of whatever risk or taboo floats your boat, sometimes to extremes that can't be replicated in real life due to safety, practicality, physics, the law, vampires not being real, etc. it's consensual by default because it's already pretend; the characters are vehicles for the story and not actually people who can be hurt, and the reader chose to pick up the book and is aware that nothing in it is real, so it's all good.

this difference is where people tend to get hung up in the discourse, from what I've observed. which is why I started using this phrasing, because I think it's very crucial to be able to differentiate which one you're talking about if you try to have a conversation with someone about the portrayal of bdsm in media. it would also, frankly, be useful for tagging, because sometimes when you're in the mood for non-diegetic bodice ripper shit you'd call the police over in real life, it can get really annoying to read paragraphs of negotiation and check-ins that break the illusion of the scene and so on, and the opposite can be jarring too.

it's very possible to blur these together the same way Phantom of the Opera blurs its diegetic and non-diegetic music as well. this leaves you even more open to being misunderstood by people reading in bad faith, but it can also be really fun to play with. @not-poignant writes fantastic fanfic, novels, and original serials on ao3 that pull this off really well, if you're okay with some dark shit in your fiction I would highly recommend their work. some of it does get really fucking dark in places though, just like. be advised. read the tags and all that.

but yeah, spontaneous writer plug aside, that's what I mean.

#I found their original stuff while I was researching various waterhorses and their folklore for no reason #because one of the characters in their original work happens to be an each uisge #and then it turned out it ALSO included a lot of figures from welsh folklore in general #so yknow if you happen to have my incredibly specific hyperfixations you'll love it but even if you don't it's great #I didn't mean to bring up phantom of the opera so much it just happens to be very relevant to a lot of my talking points #I haven't actually seen it in years

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