#22 ghost

Sheep!simon who is used to people assuming things about him. He's big, a cathedral of a person, so people assume hes got hybrid genes to match. He's heard plenty of guesses, wolf, panther, tiger, bear. He never confirms anything, never denies it either. Its helpful for people to be unaware of his true status, a harsh stigma around prey hybrids and especially domestic ones.

Sheep!simon who hasn't made a hybrid sound in years. Who keeps his hair shorn to the root because if it grows out its into tight coils of blonde that remind him too much of his mother. His mother who he watched suffer each day for being a sheep, and thats the only trait she gave him. He got his eyes, his bulk, his face from his father. But the one thing from his mother? It feels too shameful, too weak to ever accept. It eats at him, but there's nothing he can do.

Sheep!simon who eats alone. He wears a mask anyways, so no one bothers him to eat with them. He finds some secluded nook, and makes quick work of a plate stacked with greens. On the grueling missions, packed too close with others to grab food without someone seeing his plate, simon forces himself to grab meats and a sliver of greens. The vague diet of a predator species. He eats everything, feels too guilty about wasting food not to, and simply ignores the painful twists of his stomach at eating stuff hes really not suited for.

Sheep!simon who feels anxious when hes not in a group, but feels even worse being near people he doesn't trust (everyone). He never truly rests, never relaxes completely as his mind fights with itself. Its exhausting, but hes felt this way since he was small, and has grown apathetic to it.

Just....consider it. (Yapping abt the specific sheep he'd be under the cut.)

✨tactical tape✨

there's no way those things stay up on its own

141's reactions under the cut:

You sat in a small room on a padded chair, with equipment set up around your arm, chest, and fingertips. A polygraph test. That's what you were being forced to take. And to your chagrin, Ghost is in the room with you and Captain Price.

"Try to relax, yeah?" Price commented. He must've noticed your restless leg.

"I'll do that, shall I? I've done nothing wrong, other than exist and I'm being interrogated. Because that's what this is— an interrogation." You finally turn your attention from Ghost to look at Price, who's sitting at the desk by your side. "Tell me, Captain. Did you get this same treatment when you came back after spending all that time locked up in the gulag?"

His dark eyebrows furrow in confusion. A sigh escapes your bitten lips. That's only in your...world, for lack of a better term. Dimension? Universe?

"I haven't been to the gulag here." Yeah, obviously.

With an impatient wave of the hand that doesn't have cables strapped to it, you mutter, "Let's get on with this circus act, then. Ask your questions."

Ghost steps forward, his arms unfolding as if he's about to speak to you, but Price swiftly intervenes, halting him with a raised hand.

"Alright then. Baseline questions first. Name." Ghost gives away nothing when you say your last name is Riley.

It goes like this for a few, then he switches to the control questions, until finally moving on to the relevant ones.

"How did you get here?" I don't know.

"Do you know why you're here?" No.

He pulls up a photograph. "Recognize him?" Captain MacTavish.

Another photo. "Him?" I don't know.

"What do you mean by that?" If that's Roach, I've never seen his face unmasked.

"You're sure you don't know him?" Unless that man's name is Gary Sanderson, no. I do not know him.

Price acknowledges your response with a nod, then shifts his gaze towards Ghost, whose head slightly tilts forward. Returning his attention to you, he retrieves a final photograph. "What about him?"

As you look at the picture, your eyes begin to well with tears, lip trembling violently. A new fracture reverberated through your tender heart, intensifying the ache in your chest. Yes.

"Who is he?" Price softly asks.

"That's my Simon," your voice broke on the last syllable. It was hard to not use a possessive adjective when the face of your husband was in that picture.

Blinking the tears away, you clear your throat. "Anything else, Captain?"

Price purses his lips under his hefty facial hair and responds, "Just a few more questions."

Once finished, you sat unabashedly staring at Ghost in the tiny room. "I wear Roach's tags alongside yours, in honor. He was with you until the very end, and for that, I couldn't be more grateful."

Ghost is completely silent, but you continue talking anyway. "I've been married to you since a bit after you came home on leave that one time. You know the one."

His eyes are emotionless, blank, as he stares at you. But you know him like the back of your hand. You've got his full attention.

"I accompanied you to your brother's wedding. He married a woman, Beth. She was good for him. They had a baby, your nephew, named Joseph. The love you had for him was one of a kind. I had told you later that evening that I dreamed of the day you'd look at our children like that."

With a shuddery breath, you tell him how none of those matters. Because your husband is dead, and you're stuck here. With his counterpart that hates you.

With a hushed click, the door closes shut behind him as he leaves, yet its resounding noise fills the compact room you're in.

You begin to fidget with the sizeable ring that hangs on a thin necklace beneath your shirt— the metal is warm under your touch as if it had never gone cold in the first place.

As if Simon had never taken it off his finger to go find Makarov.

ah theyre short but hurt. much pain.

Now ‘09 Ghost?

Vs.

22 Ghost who will actually come unglued if his shit updates against his will because how bloody fucking dare it change?!