#will solace loves abba | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wibixthecowboy · 1 year

Text

Play the Song: Chapter 12: As we Breathe

Task Force 141 needs a new sniper and despite their complaints, they're assigned Flash, a joke-making, ABBA-listening, 20-year-old sharpshooter with better aim than the whole team combined. In other words, Ghost is practically handed the love of his life but he needs time to adjust because she's a firecracker.

Warnings/Tags: !graphic depictions of panic attacks!, references to suicide attempts (no descriptions), references to SA (no descriptions), Age gap (20/30-32), gore, descriptions of injury/blood/wounds, justified angst, tooth rotting fluff, slow burn, protective ghost, family dynamic, big brother soap has an attitude problem, father figure Price, wholesome brother Gaz, touch starved Ghost, eventual smut, praise, choking, thigh riding, unprotected (wrap it up people), size kink, oral f receiving, ghost will do anything to get his dick sucked, idk I’m sure it will get dirtier as I go, shifting POV

A/N: I know what you all want and I am here to give it to you. Enjoy my two, severely emotionally underdeveloped loves interacting in (somewhat) non-deadly scenarios.

Words: 6.7k

Side note: All of these characters are fictional! Please don’t be weird about their real life actors, leave them out of this and be respectful!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Tag list: @urfavsunkissedleo @butskii @abbiesxox @itsasecrets-things @thatonewriterthatnooneknows @copiasratscheese @Sheviro-blog

★Flash

“Will you just take the fucking applesauce?” Gaz’s voice is bordering a whine and Flash doesn’t feel the least bit guilty when she declines again. She is hungry, but her hunger doesn’t outweigh her need for entertainment. For something other than the dusty novel she’d snatched from Price weeks ago and the small window to her left.

For the last three days, she’s been stuck in her bed. Her only solace being short trips to the bathroom and the horrible nurse service being provided in shifts by Soap and Gaz. Both arrive either so guilt ridden or angry that their conversations are reduced to mumbled words.

After she’d passed out in the truck- passed out, not died, (a correction she’s had to make every time Soap decides to give her another rundown of what he likes to call her ‘Rick Grimes’ moment) the team was able to stop enough of the bleeding and get her to the nearest med bay before her heart stopped pumping.

She’d been kept sedated for the next four days, lulled into a hazy half conscious state by a concoction of epinephrine, morphine, and god knows what else. The magic drug- a more advanced and highly addictive form of a stim shot, had practically healed everything. By the third night, she’d been able to lay on her back without pain, and by the fourth, her injuries were reduced to bruising and two half healed and itching cuts on her shoulder blades and forehead. When the doctors had given her the order to ‘take it easy’ and ‘stay in bed for a few more days’ she’d nearly laughed in their faces. But after an awkward ride back to the base with Price, it was made clear that she’d be on her ass until the doctors cleared her.

Since then, she’s been rotting away in bed. With the fog of a rather severe concussion gone and only a slight wobble in her step, Flash felt confident enough to get back into training. Others, not so much.

“Stop coddling me and I just might.” Her words, although bitter, are spoken through a half smile. The joints of her legs ache with the need to move. She can’t remember the last time she’d gone longer than a day without some sort of physical exercise.

“Oh for fucks sake. Just take it.” Gaz lets out a frustrated groan and tosses the container and spoon at her blanketed legs. They land just shy of the unread paperback by her shin. A copy of ‘True Grit’ that Price had silently handed to her after she’d begged him to let her join their next raid. “Maybe Ghost will spoon feed it to you if you ask nicely enough.”

His hand freezes against the door handle and Flash’s eyes widen. That was the first Ghost had been mentioned since the incident. After his freak out. No one had spoken to her about it, so she didn’t bring it up. Other than foggy memories of him sleeping in a chair next to her bed at the med bay- his head lolled to the side in a way that made her knees weak. Ghost had been absent.

“Just eat the food.” Gaz says nothing more before slipping from her room and shutting the door gently behind him.

Guilt coils her stomach into a tight knot and the game that she’d been playing for the last few days loses its appeal.

The applesauce is dull and pasty, and when she swallows, it sticks in her throat like mud. The first night she’d woken up from her drugged sleep, she willed her memory to clear, to give her a picture of Ghost’s face that wasn’t blurred with tears and blood loss. But it was useless. After that, avoiding thinking about the last few moments in the truck had been easy. Until now.

Although every sense of hers had been compromised, her brain had no problem recalling every point of contact that Ghost had made. As if her body remembering the gentle way he held her hand against his cheek was more important than remembering to breathe. As if it still is. The healing drugs didn’t touch the burns left by his desperate hands.

The scraping of her spoon against the nearly empty plastic cup does nothing to drown out the now crashing waves of memories. Him grasping at her legs and shoulders to haul her to the truck, begging her to keep her eyes open, removing his mask. The last bite of her applesauce tastes of brine and copper and it gags her. When she coughs the skin of her hand comes back splattered with shining red. Stumbling to the bathroom, Flash drops to the blessedly cool tile in front of the toilet but the food weighs heavily in her stomach, refusing to move despite the foul taste in her mouth. When she looks down there’s a splatter of pureed apple across her right hand where the blood stained just moments ago.

Avoiding her two mirrors, Flash rinses her hands, ties her hair back, and changes her clothes for the first time in three days. She needs out, and god help anyone who tries to stop her.

_____

The hot Las Almas sun burns the sensitive skin of Flash’s scabbed and stitched shoulders and sends a steady stream of sweat gliding down her spine that drops to the dusty dirt road just a few minutes from their base. She’d found it while stalking Ghost on one of his runs after a dull morning of training. Now it serves as the perfect place for her to slip away unnoticed and run until her feet bleed.

She’d been going for about an hour already, entranced by the steady thump of her braid against her back as she let the hot afternoon sun dry the waves that so violently threatened to pull her under. An angry, clouding storm of failure covers every expanse of her mind. She’d failed the one chance she’d been given. Price had finally given her an in, a way to prove what she’d so desperately been trying to show them, and she’d blown it in less than an hour.

A familiar crunch of tires sounds from behind her and she moves to the edge of the rough dirt road, giving the truck room to pass, but it slows to match her pace. When she glances over, she nearly stumbles on a loose stone. Ghost is sat in the driver's seat, one arm steering at the base of the wheel and the other holding a bottle of water out the window.

“You don’t have to say anything, just take the water and I’ll leave.” His voice is withdrawn, quiet in a way that tells Flash that he understands her need for silence. And when she takes the bottle from his bare hand, the faded scars only prove her right.

He watches her drink and she pretends not to notice as the water wets her parched mouth and throat. When she finishes that one, he gently pulls it from her grasp and another is pressed into her empty hand. Flash sips this time, breathing deeply between swallows, catching the breath she hadn’t noticed she’d lost. His gaze falls to her shaking knees and the shivering of her strained thighs and she waits for him to admonish her, to order her back to the base and put a padlock on the door this time, but he only turns away to set the empty bottle somewhere in the back seat.

“Do you want to drive with me?”

The question catches her off guard. The softness with which its spoken, still detached and hesitant but sentimental nonetheless. She opens her mouth to deny, admit that she’s ran this far to be alone, but the aching in her chest tugs towards him like a magnet.

Silently, she rounds the car, slides into the passenger seat, and Ghost continues driving wordlessly down the path, at a leisurely unhurried speed. With the windows down, the hair that had fallen from her braid flutters around her face in the light wind, tickling the bare and damp skin of her neck. She licks the dry skin of her lips and tastes the salt beaded at the bow of her mouth.

The slow roll of sand dunes calms the racing of her heart and she syncs her breathing to their soft shapes, in with the incline and out with the descent. Her sweat slick legs stick uncomfortably to the warm leather seat but the relief of resting her strained muscles surpasses the discomfort.

Flash closes her eyes against the bright setting sun, oranges and yellows shine brightly in the sudden darkness and the knot in her stomach loosens enough that she can fill her lungs completely. Fresh air, spun with the sappy golden light spilling across the desert blows across her face and cools the twin trails trickling over the curves of her cheeks. Salt spreads across her tongue, but this time it carries something much heavier. They come faster now, rivulets running and turning into streams that course over her chin and down her neck, bleeding into the sweat soaked collar of her shirt. She doesn’t open her eyes as the crushing weight of the fear she’d felt sets in. So she cries. She cries for what could have happened, what would have happened if she hadn’t pulled herself from the water, and hates every second of it.

Then a warm hand is nudging her own. Ghost, in a silent mimic of her gesture from days before, wraps his smallest finger around her own and squeezes. The fear lessens, pulling back to a dull throb against her ribcage. She doesn’t open her eyes as she unwraps their pinkies and slides her hand into his to lock their fingers in a tight hold. His hand envelops her own, warm and comforting, and she fastens herself to him like a tether to a dock. Afraid that if she lets go she just might drift out of reach.

They say nothing as they cling to each other, and Flash doesn’t dare turn her now open eyes to Ghost, afraid that she’ll snap their tether by acknowledging it. So she keeps her gaze on the pinks and purples sprawled across the dimming sky and tries to ignore the burning disappointment when one final turn brings the familiar concrete building into view.

“Can we do one more loop, I can’t- I-” She begins to ask, faltering when Ghost obliges without hesitation. And a burning sense of endearment spreads so quickly through her that the stinging behind her eyes recedes. Blinking away the thick tears still lining her lids, Flash sniffs once and then sags further into her seat.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

His question is a formal invitation, an obligated question. One she’s been asked on multiple occasions and refused each time. She could ignore it now and it wouldn’t be brought back up, she knows that for a fact. But whether it's the burning need to confess or the lack of social interaction, Flash feels the confession loose from her mouth in a stream that she can’t seem to stop.

“I killed him with a rock.” Even though the words are spoken by her, the depravity of the statement makes her heart stutter. “When I missed with my knife I just smashed his head in with a rock.” The memory flashes through her mind, a stunted and bloody reel of pictures. “It was too easy.”

A long stretch of silence fills the space between them and Flash can’t help but worry he’ll slam on the breaks and shove her out, tell her just how damaged she must be to resort to something so animalistic, so beyond human norm. The weight of his hand in hers grows cold and she has the sudden urge to tuck herself into the small space at her feet, away from the heavy words floating between them and the piercing blue eyes at her side.

“When you know someone coming to kill you Flash, everything turns primal. It’s not something you learn through lectures. I’m sorry you had to learn so quickly.” His words are like a balm to her nerves. Petting back the raised hackles of her mind. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to stop it.”

“It’s the SAS Ghost. Things happen. I won't always have someone there to save the day.” She speaks firmly but turns to Ghost with a sad smile, the action has the dried tracks of her tears itching. When she brings her empty hand up to wipe her cheeks, the dirt lining her fingers has her squeezing it back under her thigh.

He lapses back into his familiar silence and Flash tries not to think about the dirt wiping from her hand onto his own clean skin where their palms meet. Then becomes increasingly aware of the dust clinging to her thighs and arms and how it rubs off onto the dark surfaces of the truck. Ghost doesn’t say anything. His unoccupied hand taps lightly against the steering wheel, another quirk that Flash quickly learned meant he was picking his words carefully.

“Knowing something is going to happen doesn’t make it any easier to cope with.” The tires crunch as dirt turns into gravel, they’re just minutes away from the base now.

His words, although validating in their own way, crack open a spot in her steeled mind that she is nowhere near ready to unravel. So instead of responding, she closes her eyes and lays back against the seat, focusing on holding the now cool night air in her lungs. She grips Ghost’s hand steadfastly. When they pull into the lot this time, her mind feels clearer and when she releases his hand to go inside, she feels a little less broken.

_____

★Ghost

Although her eyes are focused on Price, taking in every word he speaks with an endearing efficiency, Ghost still watches them. Searching for the voided, lost look that most recruits adopted after their first incident. The look that he’d seen hints of while driving with her hours before. But the blue remains sharp as they scan the layout of the next warehouse they’d be raiding. A dilapidated barn just a few miles from Alejandro’s ranch. They would leave tomorrow to spend the next two days planning their approach with Alejandro and his team. His bag, packed the moment he got back from their drive, waits next to his door. It was his desperate attempt to keep himself in his room. To keep himself busy so he didn’t cross through the bathroom and to Flash’s door to press his ear against the wood. Just to make sure she was still there, still breathing.

It was easy to brush off at first. The shaking was from strained muscles and elevated heart rate from his morning jog. But that day, when she’d come over the hill looking half dead, still clutching a bloodied rock, the fear, and dread that gagged him was undeniable. The anxiety that shook his experienced hands as he attempted to wrap unwilling bandages over a seemingly unending expanse of flowing blood was beyond uncharacteristic. Soap had taken the gauze from his hands and shoved him to the side, working with Gaz to stop the bleeding. Her clouded, half-lidded gaze had sent him into a shaking, gasping sort of fit and it was Soap who had ripped the pill bottle from Ghost’s pocket and shoved two of the pills into his palm with shaking, bloodied hands before returning to monitoring Flash’s heart rate.

After getting her to the med bay and stabilized, he’d remained at her side for the entire stay. The gentle flutter of her eyelashes was his only respite as she drifted in and out of a drugged sleep. The only time he left her side was to slip into the staff bathroom and to down another cup of the never-ending supply of dirt instant coffee the front office kept. Price had ordered him back to the base hours before she was to be taken off the sedative. It was a short exchange over the phone, gruff, tired, and ending in a snapped command.

When Price returned with her that night, Ghost had been waiting in the window. He wasn’t sure what his plan was, but when he saw the way Price had to practically lift her from the passenger seat and brace her as she limped to the door, he’d retreated back to his room, unable to look at the bandages at her temple, ones he wasn’t capable of tying. Instead choosing to curl against his headboard and choke on uneven breaths until a drug haze pulled him under.

Looking at her now, nothing like the small girl, pale skinned and drowned in hospital blankets, the beating of his heart doesn’t slow. Soap, next to him, is doodling small flowers on the mission summary and Gaz sitting beside Flash, is tugging at her sleeve. After one particularly harsh tug, she whips around in her chair and levels him with a harsh glare, when she goes to turn back, her eyes catch his. The irritation melts from her brow and Ghost struggles to keep his breath steady when his gaze drops to the blue-green bruise that still curves along her cheekbone. Flash catches his line of sight and lets the hair tucked behind her ear fall into her face, covering the bruising entirely when she turns back to Price. But the image remains, permanently branded against the large corner of his mind she’s always occupying.

They go on like that for the rest of the meeting. Eyes occasionally meeting only to hover for a moment before flitting away. Acting like he hadn’t just watched her shatter in the small cab of his truck an hour before. He knew better than to push though, the need to just forget was more familiar to him than it should be. So he watches her take notes instead, careful little words in the spaces between paragraphs with a pencil he now recognizes as his own. Stolen from the space next to his paper, he hadn’t even noticed. And despite everything, amusement flickers in his chest, and a familiar warmth tightens his ribs. Ghost dips his head down to level his eyes with Flash, glancing at the pencil in her hands and up to her waiting gaze. She smiles at him. It’s half done, morphed into a slight grimace from the split in her lip, but it still carries her usual air of mischief. And he thinks that maybe, things might be okay.

_____

★Flash

Flash is brushing her teeth when she sees Ghost again. Her hair still damp and curling from the shower she’d taken to scrub the dried sweat and dust from her skin. She’d also braved a look in the mirror. A small blue-purple bruise curves along her skin between her cheekbone and eye, a half healed split at her lower lip, and a stitched line at her temple were all that remained of her encounter. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but better than she’d been expecting. Her shower though, had run out of her allotted bathroom time and into Ghosts. It wasn’t the first time it happened, but when it did, he would politely apologize and leave her to finish.

But now, dressed in joggers and a delightfully worn shirt, he hovers in the open doorway. She wonders if he feels it. The pull.

He’s about to turn and leave when Flash finds herself mumbling through a mouthful of toothpaste, “Don’t leave I’m almost done.” She’s not quite sure why she asks him to stay, but she does.

Flash can’t help but smile at the way his socked feet shuffle awkwardly against the tile, not sure where to stand. It’s incredibly sweet, and the softness of the action only strengthens the pull that begs her to step forward and into him.

“So,” Flash starts, spitting her toothpaste into the sink before continuing to lazily brush in half circles, “do I get to see your face now? Or is that something you reserve for people who are near death?” In one smooth movement, she’s resting on the counter in front of him, hoping the toothbrush hanging from her lips hides the wince as her sore muscles strain. “Ya know, like a ‘I can show you but then I’d have to kill you’ type a’ situation?”

Ghost is silent, unresponsive to her prodding. Any other night he would have told her to drop it and go to bed. Maybe give her a snarky response if she’s lucky. But tonight he’s quiet, just as before. And then she sees it. The way his shoulders curve inward and the flickering of his eyes as they move to look at anything that isn’t her.

“You know it's not your fault right?” Flash’s voice is soft, the same one she’d use to coax a scared dog from a corner.

“What?” A whisper.

“It’s not your fault.” She slides from the counter, leaving her toothbrush next to the basin, she walks quietly towards him. Cautious, slow enough for him to back away, she reaches up to brush a hand against his face. It’s a daring move but he doesn’t pull away.

The cotton of the mask is warm from being so close to the heated skin of his cheeks. Golden lashes brush against them and their freckled surface as his lids shutter closed. Flash drinks in the rare moment of softness. Her mind drifts back to her last few moments in the truck, how warm the skin of his face had been and suddenly, she’s never wanted anything more in her life.

“Can I touch-” Her words breathe out into the empty space between them and Ghost’s eyes fly open, wide and searching her own.

“Blindfold, I - can you wear a blindfold?” His words are stuttered and rushed with a desperation she can’t even begin to understand. Flash offers him a silent nod and then the space in front of her is empty.

She lifts herself back onto the counter, just to busy herself as she listens to the opening of a drawer and the quiet whisper of him digging through clothes in his room. He returns with a beautifully patterned terracotta scarf. Like the one’s she’d seen at the market. He sets it gently in her lap but she pushes it back into his hands.

“Here, you can tie it. So you know I’m not peeking.”

He nods once before taking the brown fabric with shaking hands and folding it into a neat strip and leaning in close to wrap it gently around her eyes. Flash senses his hesitation as he pauses before tying the knot. Wary of the bruise beneath her eye. She gives her best reassuring smile and it seems to do the trick.

“Is that too tight?” He whispers and Flash shivers as his breath fans across her ear, light and warm.

“No. It’s perfect.”

There’s a gentle rustle of fabric and then his mask is resting on her lap. Nerves beat her heart up into her throat.

“Are you scared?” Her whisper is careful, spoken into the quiet space between them. A question spoken to him but a silent admission of her own.

“Yes.”

“It's only me.” She can’t help but smile at his honesty.

“That’s what I’m scared of.”

“Can I touch you?” She murmurs, and he hums a confirmation. It’s a quiet, broken noise.

A soft sigh breaks the silence when the pads of her searching fingers meet his cheek and draw upwards to a rather prominent cheekbone. She can’t help but smile at the heat she feels beneath her fingers, he’s blushing.

Quick breaths come from his nose, followed by two long exhales. Subtle enough that if she weren’t inches from his face would have gone unnoticed, but his warm breath falls against the small strip of her cheeks left uncovered by the scarf. Her heart swells in her chest when she realizes he’s attempting to calm himself.

“Why do you keep trying?”

His words catch her off guard and her exploring fingers come to a halt at his browbone. A displeased huff urges them on and to a soft brow. Flash takes a moment to think, but it doesn’t take her long to find a response.

“Because you deserve to heal.” Ghost turns his head into her hand, muffling a groan. It’s a noise unlike anything she’s ever heard before. An amalgamation of sadness and desperation that makes the blood in her veins slow to listen.

“Has no one ever told you that?”

“No.” He speaks into her palm, hiding his face as if she could see him through the scarf.

“Well, you do.” She smiles softly and flinches in surprise when his thumb brushes against the soft skin of her lower lip. He pulls back quickly,

“Sorry, I-”

“No, you’re fine.” Flash reaches down and grabs for his hand, bringing his thumb up to her lips again when she finds it. He takes a shuddering breath and she wishes for just a moment that she could pull the blindfold up from her eyes and look at him, see the way his body is reacting to her touch, rather than feeling, and hearing it.

“Your smile.” His thumb parts the plush of her lips, so gently she almost doesn’t feel it.

“What about it?” She can’t help but laugh at his odd remark.

His face under her hand moves, and a familiar divot forms under her ring finger.

“Oh good lord you have dimples?” She breathes against his hand.

“Just on the left.” His words are murmured, shy if she thought he was capable of such an innocent emotion. And in the warm darkness of the bathroom, without seeing the scars on his hands or the dazed look his eyes so often held, she realizes just how innocent he is. The boyish way he holds her face, similar to the way a child learning to write struggles to grip a pencil. Like the concept of touching someone without the intent of harm is as foreign to him as a new language. And the realization absolutely crushes her.

“Freckles, dimples, blue eyes. You must be a real stunner.” She teases, an awful attempt to fight the burning behind her eyes. The skin beneath her hand warms again and the overwhelming urge to throw herself into him is consuming, to wrap herself so tightly around him that their skin fuses and they become one. The thought is as terrifying as it is tempting.

“Far from it.”

She frowns at his words but the hand on her face smooths her brow in a gentle caress. Her next exhale comes shakily through her nose.

Braving the waters, Flash traces up the soft curve of his cheek and her fingers catch on slightly raised skin, silkier than the rest, a scar. It travels from his left cheekbone to his hairline just above his eyebrow.

“How did this happen?” Her imploring question is light and spoken without pressure. He could leave it unanswered if he wished.

“My father.” His response is quiet but it’s a scream to her ears. Images of him as a child, a defenseless teen screaming as he clutched his head in pain fill her mind in a rush. She quickly moves on. Feeling for more, battle-oriented scars, but she feels none.

“Do you have any more?”

A rumbling laugh vibrates down her arm and warms her chest.

“Plenty. Although the reconstructive surgeries helped, there’s always going to be a mark.”

“Where?”

A gentle hand reaches for hers and guides her fingers in an arc from the corner of his mouth to a point near his hairline. She traces the spot over on her own until she feels the slight change in texture, the jagged shape that whatever had cut him left behind. She didn’t dare ask its origin.

“Your scars make mine seem like papercuts.” A nervous laugh blows past her lips.

“And I hope it stays that way.” He glides warm fingers just inches from the stitches on her temple. “You already have enough.”

“Nothing near as cool as yours.” She protests, tracing his cheek once more to emphasize her point.

The room is silent, and for just a moment, she thinks she's ruined it and then he’s laughing again. Stuttered like he hasn’t had enough practice, and Flash wishes he’d never stop.

“What?” She asks, incredulous.

“I’ve never had someone call my scars cool.” The stuttered laughs come through his nose now, in gentle breaths of air that warm her own cheeks.

Another mostly nervous laugh looses from her parted lips at the absurdity of their situation. If someone told her a year ago, as she unabashedly stared at Ghost giving his lecture, that she’d be on the counter of their shared bathroom, blindfolded and committing his face to memory with her hands she’d probably laugh. And then file a report.

Flash smiles shyly before bringing her other hand up to gently cup his face, eager to change the topic. “Is this normal?” She breathes as he leans further into her, now pressing against the counter space between her legs. Heat radiates from him, warming her in a way she’s never felt before.

“Is what normal?”

“Wanting to touch you so badly my chest aches.” The admission makes her heart stutter in embarrassment and something warm and syrupy slows the muscles of her mouth.

“I don’t think so.” His answer is mumbled, and before she can feel the sting of rejection, he’s pressing his forehead to hers in an almost feline gesture.

Their lips are just inches away, all she’d have to do is tilt her head up and they’d be kissing. The thought sends her heart thumping so painfully that her stomach rolls with nerves. Enough that she just savors the closeness they have already.

“I feel like I’m going to puke.” She whispers to him with a nervous smile and instantly regrets it. There’s just something about his presence that loosens her tongue in ways it shouldn’t.

But then Ghost is laughing again and pressing his forehead harder against her own. “Me too.”

And the confession is orchestral.

Her arms reach from where they’re pinned between them and up into the soft curls at the nape of his neck. A muffled moan is pressed into the skin of her neck so she does it again, a gentle scrape through his hair. Tremors wrack his body in waves. Then he’s pulling away and her hands are slipping from his shoulders too soon.

“Off the counter, face the mirror.” Although his voice is still soft and shaken, it’s demanding enough that Flash doesn’t protest. She feels him reach around her for something on the counter, muscled chest pressing close to her shoulder.

“I’m getting some deja vu.” Ghost’s murmur is quiet and entirely self-indulgent.

“To what?” Flash’s brows furrow in confusion under the soft silk.

“Well uh-” His words stumble out, unprepared. “That night you took that pill?”

Flash’s stomach sinks and her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth when she responds. “Uh-huh.”

“You were struggling a bit with cleaning the scratches. You couldn’t even hold the cloth.”

“Oh god.” Even with the scarf on her face, Flash still has to drop her head in her hands. “I didn’t do anything weird? Did I?” She thinks back to the table that morning, Soap's laughing and Ghost's not so subtle smile.

“No.” Ghost runs a finger slick with a paste that she quickly recognizes as the salve the doctor had given her for sore joints over her skin. Far from the scratches and cuts on her shoulders. She practically purrs at his touch combined with the cooling effect of the paste. “But you’re very touchy.”

Embarrassment floods hot through her chest and she starts to apologize but Ghost interrupts her again.

“Don’t apologize.” Those fingers drift up and to an unblemished space just past her shoulder. “Just be quiet and let me make up for my mistake.”

“You don’t have to-” Her words end in a sharp moan when his fingers dig into a tender spot against her neck. “Holy shit.” His fingers fumble a bit but he regains his composure quickly, returning back to the spot and rubbing delightful small circles against the knot. “Jesus-” Her mumbling is cut off with a soft hush and she finally gives in, dropping her chin to the heated skin of her chest as he loosens the muscles that had grown stiff after days in bed. When he reaches a spot along the arch of her spine, smoothing deep half circles into the muscle there, a broken whine falls involuntarily from her mouth. It’s entirely pathetic but she’s too far gone to care. This last sound seems to signal him though and he’s stepping back, dropping those magic hands from her lower back.

“Okay.” His voice is breathy ghost of a whisper and despite never seeing his face, Flash knows that if she were to pull the blindfold from her eyes, he’d be shaking and casting his eyes to the floor, those precious strawberry blonde curls falling across his forehead, and cheeks ruddy with the warm blush she’d felt just minutes before. But she leaves it tied neatly against her damp hair, even though her fingers itch to slide the soft fabric from her eyes.

There’s a rustling, Ghost is reaching past her to grab something from the counter and she can practically smell the anxiety leaking from his skin, along with something else she hadn’t noticed until now.

“Is that citrus?” She tries not to sound too surprised, she shouldn’t be. It had been one of the first things she’d noticed when flopping herself onto his bedding. Something she did not want to think about.

“It’s uh- oranges?” He sounds unsure, Flash is about to point this out but he continues. “My mum wore it.” There’s another brief pause. She can practically hear his internal debate over whether or not he should continue. “It’s- It helps with- anxiety.”

“Oh.” She stands there for another moment, not wanting to leave quite yet, but not having anything to say. He doesn’t move either, just stands quietly in front of her. “I like it.”

“Me too.”

Gentle fingers slide the scarf from her eyes, the light of the bathroom is blinding and she has to blink several times to clear the dots from her vision. When her eyes finally focus, she cranes her head upward from the soft cotton of his chest. Ghost’s eyes are staring into the mirror above her, at himself. There’s a small strip of exposed skin between his shirt and balaclava. She can see the collarbone that she’d whispered to so many nights ago.

“I’m going to bed.” She says to the strip, and without looking back at his face, turns and walks as calmly as she can to her room. Even though the racing of her heart screams at her to run, to hide, to grab him by his stupid masked face and kiss him.

The last thought scares her enough that she shuts the bathroom door with a bit too much force. The sound makes her jump. It’s entirely pathetic but the creeping sickness from this morning is gone, replaced with something much much worse. Something deadly, something terrifying, something that makes her want to laugh and cry. So she does both.

It doesn’t help.

_____

Flash can’t wipe the love-sick smile off her face as she walks to their small kitchen. Her water bottle swinging in time with her steps.

“He won’t always be like that.”

The metal bottle clangs loudly against the concrete when her hand slackens in surprise.

“What?” She breathes, heart beating wildly in her chest.

“I said, he won't always be like that.” Soap says from the small couch in the ‘living room’. He’s draped himself lazily over the arm and is flicking through an old copy of the ‘New Yorker’. A cartoonish drawing of pointing Uncle Sam is printed on the front under bold red letters reading ‘I WANT YOU’.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She says calmly, swiping her bottle from the floor and continuing towards the sink, averting her eyes from the dramatic cartoon.

“Oh don’t play coy. You’re smiling like a fuckin’ teenager in love Lass. I know.” His tone isn’t accusing, if anything it's bored. Like he couldn’t be bothered to finish the conversation he’d started. “He’s true to his name. He’ll be kissing you like he needs you to breathe, and then the next mornin’ float right by you. Stings like a bitch. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“How do you know?” She asks over the flowing tap. “Did you two...” Her half question drifts, waiting for him to pick up. It takes the metal burning into her palm for Flash to realize the water is steaming, she tips the bottle over and starts again.

“Were we together?” He flips another page, casual, like he’s not admitting to fucking his best friend. “I guess you could call it that.”

“He wasn’t interested in that... stuff?” She thinks back to the way his hands trembled the first time he’d touched her, and the way he practically vibrates when their bodies come within inches of each other.

“No,” a devilish chuckle comes from behind the paper “we didn’t have trouble in that department.”

“So you were a thing?” She asks and is blindsided by a sudden burning in her chest. It curls around to tense the line of her shoulders, bringing them closer to her ears like raised hackles.

He finally lowers the magazine and shakes his head at her reaction. “No need to get possessive. It lasted about two months before he realized that fucking every ten minutes wouldn’t fix his shit load of issues.” His words immediately drench her in a cool wave, and an embarrassing guilt flushes high in her cheeks, along with a biting sympathy at his confession. “My feelings were unrequited, unfortunately.” He gives her a sad smile. “He needs someone who isn’t broken. He needs someone who can guide him out of the shit storm he’s been led into.” The magazine is flipped back open and brought back up, his tone turns curious. “Someone like you.”

She starts to deny, to tell him that she is far from unbroken, but Soap waves another hand at her.

“Don’t bother, I don’t care.” A plain lie. “I just wanted to warn you. He can be-” a pregnant pause splits his words, “he can be challenging. He’s got a cargo container of shit that he hasn’t even begun to unpack. It can lead to some pretty rough mood swings.” Soap puts the magazine back down. “What I’m trying to say is he’s a real piece of work, but if anyone deserves the help, it’s him. I just hope you’re the right person.”

Flash can hear the unspoken words ring through the air between them.

‘Because I wasn’t’

When Flash reaches Ghost’s door in the bathroom, away from the prying eyes still pretending to read the old magazine, she knocks softly, waits a few moments, and then knocks again. There’s no response.

He’s blocked himself off again.

Disappointed and trying not to think of Soap’s words, Flash slinks dejectedly back to lie in her bed. Her IPod still lay on her nightstand, nestled in the center of a neatly swirled nest of wires. Right where Ghost had put it her first night there.

Then for some reason, imagining him taking the time to do something so unimportant with so much care, for her no less, sends a wave of something nearing homesickness through her. A brittle sort of feeling. And for the first time in over five years, Flash has the urge to call her sister.

“This is not good.”

A/N: AHHH MY AWKWARD LITTLE BABIES. I hoped you loved this as much as I loved writing it. God I love unhinged relationships, they’re just *chefs kiss*.

#Ghost x reader #Ghost x female oc #SImon riley #Cod fic #Simon Ghost Riley #Alejandro Vargas #Valeria #Modern Warfare 2 #Ghost stories #Headcannons #John soap mactavish #John Price #MW2 #Gaz Garrick

174 notes · View notes

bilbysaurus · 2 months

Text

What I write:

Percy Jackson/Heroes of Olympus:

Percy Jackson

Jason Grace

Leo Valdez

Nico Di Angelo

Will Solace

Annabeth Chase?

Piper Mclean?

Magnus Chase:

Magnus Chase

Alex Fierro

Samirah Al-Abbas?

Hearthstone

Blitzen

Harry Potter:

Harry Potter

Ron Weasley

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Draco Malfoy

Tom Riddle?

Sirius Black

James Potter

Remus Lupin

What I will not write:

Smut

Polygamous Relationships

Incest (no.)

Abusive Relationships

What I will write:

Fluff

Platonic

Angst (i'll tryy)

What would they do if...

Headcanons

Yandere

that's it for now my love :)

25 notes · View notes

nancys4gf · 2 years

Text

knowing me, knowing you | steve harrington, jonathan byers

— knowing me, knowing you, there is nothing we can do. knowing me, knowing you, we just have to face it, this time we're through. Abba, Knowing Me, Knowing You.

summary: you get cursed by vecna, but your boyfriend doesn’t know your favorite song. someone else saves you instead.

pairing: steve harrington x female reader | jonathan byers x female reader

warnings: angst

note: i couldn't sleep and i kept thinking of jonathan being painfully in love with his best friend, so i wrote this to break my own heart. also, the reader's favorite song implies something about the story 👀 and there's a little ambiguity about the interpretation of the last scene. maybe i'll write a part two?? idk. anyways, i hope you enjoy!!!

̟ ̇.˚︵‿୨♡୧‿︵˚.✩

“stay with me, please, stay with me,” steve urged, shaking your shoulders, wanting nothing more than the color to come back to your eyes, now white and rolled back into your head.

“what’s her favorite song?” dustin shouted. “steve, what’s her favorite song?!”

“i don’t–” steve screamed back, exasperated. “i don’t know!”

“think!” robin chimed in.

but he couldn’t. the only thing he could do was shake you and scream for you to wake up, even though he knew it was no use at all. he looked at his friends, a silent plea in his desperate, wide eyes.

“i don’t…”

“knowing me, knowing you. abba.” it was jonathan who spoke.

“are you sure?” steve demanded.

“i’m sure.” jonathan snapped. “she always used to dance to it with her mom when she was a kid.”

steve nodded frantically, but it was dustin and lucas who started searching through the different tapes, while max screamed at them to hurry up.

“here!” lucas cried out, and jonathan put the headphones in your ears.

right after abba started playing, you suddenly got off the ground, hovering in the air with open arms. all of your friends backed away in horror, but jonathan couldn’t move, only being able to scream your name.

“no, no, please,” steve cried from the ground. “come back to me, come back.”

seeing you up there, hanging in the air as if your body was merely a lifeless doll that looked too much like you, but wasn’t really you, jonathan byers had never felt more scared.

you couldn’t leave him. not when you still hadn’t formed your crappy band with a crappy name and crappy songs. not when he still hadn’t taken pictures of you graduating, on your first day of college, getting your first apartment. not when he still had so many things to say to you.

jonathan knew you were loved by many. he saw it in your friends' terrified faces, who would do anything in their power to save you. and he knew you deserved all of that and more. but recognizing his own raw pain in steve harrington’s screams and in the way he prayed for your life, made jonathan feel venomous.

he didn’t even know your favorite song. or the reason why it was so special to you. he was sure steve didn’t know the way you liked to eat your ice cream (mixed-up until it was almost melted, and then with cereal on top). nor your favorite poem, which he had once memorized for your birthday, and still couldn’t forget.

he knew steve loved you. but jonathan also knew he loved you better.

abba was playing as if from far, far away, when you opened your eyes and fell to the ground, gasping for air. steve already had his arms wrapped around you when jonathan got to your side.

“i’ve got you." he heard steve whisper in your ear, over and over again as he cradled you, hugging and touching every part of you he could reach.

jonathan held on tight to your shaking hand, wrapping it up with both his hands so you knew he was there. so you knew he would always be there.

your voice was weak and broken as you muttered, “don’t let go.”

“never.” steve replied, planting a kiss on your forehead. “never.”

jonathan was used to the ever-present ache in his chest when he saw you with him. but the way you had begged steve not to let go, with pure fear and love in your voice, destroyed him. you were looking for solace and protection in someone that wasn’t him. someone that would never be him.

#jonathan byers #jonathan byers x reader #jonathan byers imagines #jonathan byers au #jonathan byers angst #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington au #steve harrington angst #stranger things imagines #stranger things x reader #stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things angst #stranger things 4 #vecna #vecna's curse

705 notes · View notes

mxlfoydraco · 1 year

Note

Hello! I came upon one of your rec list on the drarry tag earlier and I was wondering if you still do them? If so, do you know any drarry fic that is draco + career centered? Like draco being excellent at his job and it being more in the foreground. Something like Heal Thyself by astolat or Little Red Courgette by blamebrampton. Competent draco is the norm but I was wondering if you know of more fics that explores his/their careers more :) Love your blog 💕

Hello friend! I'm very tentatively doing recs always with the caveat that I'm not super up to date. I think majority of the fics in the Draco-centric list fit this description so I'll add onto that without repeating myself.

All Our Secrets Laid Bare by @firethesound (2014, E, 150k)

Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on.

What Dreams May Come by @firethesound (36k)

If Harry had to get called into work on his day off, at least he was able to get Malfoy called in too.

Any Instrument by @dictacontrion (131k)

Draco Malfoy wouldn't go back to England for anything less than an exceptional case. Being asked to figure out why Harry Potter can't control his magic might be exceptional enough to qualify.

The Vanishing Department by @dictacontrion (47k)

The things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, even if that involves a lot more form-filling, bickering, covert glancing, miscommunication, and flying furniture than we might expect.

The Ordeal of Being Known by @lou-isfake (146k)

When Auror Potter is anonymously cursed with silence by being forced to hide his own voice inside his mind, there's unfortunately only one person in the country with the qualifications to fix it: Certified and Licensed Healer Legilimens, Draco Malfoy, specialist in Mind Curses and Afflictions. It's obviously a terrible idea, a disaster waiting to happen, but Draco's never been able to back down from a challenge… especially from Potter.

Balance, Imperfect by @bixgirl1 (91k)

When Harry sustains an injury in the line of work, he no longer knows how to navigate the life he loved, and finds help and solace from the most unexpected source.

The Four Doors by @fluxweeed (48k)

It’s been four months since Harry lost his memory. Four months of dead ends and no answers. With time running out until his memories are gone for good, Harry agrees to a course of Legilimency therapy with a renowned specialist: Mind Healer Draco Malfoy.

Open for Repairs by @drarrytrash (34k)

After the war, Draco works at a tv repair shop and Harry breaks things. feat. sad boys in jumpers and more ABBA than is probably necessary

What We Pretend We Can't See by gyzym (131k)

Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.

Foundations!verse by Saras_Girl (364k)

Harry is about to discover that the steepest learning curve comes after Healer training, and that second chances can be found in unexpected places.

All Life is Yours to Miss by Saras_Girl (114k) Professor Malfoy’s world is contained, controlled, and as solitary as he can make it, but when an act of petty revenge goes horribly awry, he and his trusty six-legged friend are thrown into Hogwarts life at the deep end and must learn to live, love and let go.

Taking Chances by @gracerene (135k)

After the war, Draco disappeared and started over in America, vowing never to return to Great Britain and the fraught past he left behind. Unfortunately, when his mates convince him to sign up for an exchange programme for the last year of their Auror Training, Draco learns that he doesn't have much of a choice in the matter.

Conquering the Dark by @noeeon (23k)

Harry's a Healer specialising in the care of children, Draco Malfoy's an expert in neuromagic at St Mungo's. A difficult case forces them to work together and, in the process, unearths some of the trauma of the past, as well as the chance for healing in the present.

The Printed Press by Soupy_George (119k)

Draco has worked hard to gain a reputation as an unbiased reporter for the Prophet. He never imagined this would lead to Harry Potter offering him a job, or how much accepting said job would change his life.

Home Truths by @skeptiquewrites (67k)

In the off-season Harry decided to fix up Grimmauld Place and found that Draco Malfoy was the only person who could help him. A demanding career and unrelenting press scrutiny were enough to deal with before Harry added a house with a mind of its own, family history, and a tense, flirty, complicated relationship with his childhood nemesis to the mix.

All the Earnest Young Men by @tepre (29k)

All over London portraits are disappearing from their canvases. Auror Harry! Expert-in-Magical-Art-Theory Draco! There's running, dancing, falling through ice, what’s this paper giraffe doing here? A great time was had by all.

Under Giant Mountains by @wolfpants (33k)

Harry doesn't know where he's going. Everyone else has their life paths figured out; he doesn't even know where his map is. Who'd have thought Draco Malfoy bathing in a Norwegian forest would be the guidepost Harry needed? In which Harry's trip to Norway to visit dragon-wrangler Ron introduces him to hikes from hell, mysterious natural magic, foraging, magical bathing, a new and bizarre friendship, and the frustrating, heady allure of his former nemesis turned sexy globetrotting field researcher.

Paper Rings by @lettersbyelise (50k)

When Harry’s in need of a divorce lawyer, he has no choice but to turn to the best in the trade. Draco Malfoy’s reputation for discretion is flawless, and his track record for winning cases is close to perfect. But he’s also ruthless, passionate, and as infuriating as ever, and the brief relationship he and Harry had in Eighth Year still feels painfully fresh despite two decades spent apart. What Harry and Draco used to be is all in the past. And surely they can work together in these new, emotionally charged circumstances without falling in love all over again… can’t they?

The Kisses Don’t Count, If No One Else Knows by oldenuf2nb (41k)

Minister for Magic Harry Potter does not love his job. The one bright point in his life is his secret relationship with Quidditch Super Star Draco Malfoy. When they're 'outed' by a peeping tom with a camera, Harry has to decide what's really important.

The Truth About Love by @amywaterwings (52k)

In which Draco is a high-powered magical divorce lawyer and Harry is the Unspeakable assigned to seduce him. It goes as well as one might expect.

Picking Up Pieces series by TessaCrowley (22k + 21k) The Unbearable Burden of Caring: Fifteen years after the War, Draco is a social recluse and award winning author. Harry is an auror who works too hard, ensuring his old war wounds never heal. They meet at a masque ball, unaware of each other’s identities. In another situation, it would have been love at first sight. But for them, it would never be so simple. Sins and Scars and Shattered Things: Fifteen years have passed since the War, but the wizarding world isn’t quite ready to forgive Draco Malfoy for his past sins, or for being in love with Harry Potter. For a former Death Eater who escaped conviction, it is a trial by fire.

Coffee, Cakes and Doorknob Snakes by Omi_Ohmy (40k)

Harry's house is trying to kill him, and only one person can help him: pity it's Draco Malfoy

I Do Not Love You by Writ_and_romance (228k)

In 2013, a carefully-designed Obliviation leaves Harry reconfiguring his life and identity without any memories of true love; an act that's essentially erased Draco Malfoy from his mind despite a wedding band and shared home. In 2000, Draco had expected Pansy's relationship with Luna to bring the Gryffindors a bit closer to his orbit of quiet, carefully pacifistic existence, but he never expected to navigate such a transparent embrace into a unit of family, friendship, and love. A mystery, two love stories, and a reminder that learning to love never has an end date.

#drarry #drarry fic rec #drarry fic recs #draco malfoy #harry potter #drarry fic #drarry fics #my recs

240 notes · View notes

fryingpan1234567 · 1 year

Text

OKAY I SAW A POST ABOUT THIS AND I THOUGHT IT WAS VERY INCORRECT SO HERE WE GO I’M FIXING IT

RIORDANVERSE IN HOGWARTS HOUSES

Gryffindor: Hazel Levesque, Piper McLean, Thalia Grace, Clarisse La Rue, Reyna Ramirez-Arellano, Thomas Jefferson Jr., Halfborn Gunderson, Mallory Keen

Gryffindor’s main traits are bravery (obviously), being headstrong, poor impulse control, team players. Hazel? She prevented the apocalypse by killing a giant, her mother, and herself, single-handedly putting Gaea to sleep again. Piper is the girl who told The Daughter Of Athena to ignore her brain and just feel. Thalia was literally immortalized for her bravery on Half-Blood Hill. Clarisse fought the drakon in the Battle of Manhattan and kicked its ass by herself. Reyna’s mother is the goddess of strength and bravery, and she has the ability to share that through her troops. TJ physically cannot say no to a challenge. Halfborn wins brawls with two axes and no shirt. Mallory armed and blew up a fucking car bomb because some stranger pushed her to. This group is the definition of YOLO… I guess except for TJ, Halfborn, and Mallory. They’re more like ‘YOLI’- you only live infinitely.

Hufflepuff: Nico di Angelo, Will Solace, Frank Zhang, Magnus Chase

Puff People traits- kindness and patience, balance and mediation. But they also take those who don’t fit into any other house. That’s my main reason for Nico; it’s like his whole character. Will and Magnus are both healers exasperated by their friends and chaotic partners almost dying all the time. Frank is a shapeshifter with crazy diverse lineage, meaning he doesn’t quite fit anywhere as well. This group is needed to be the mediums of their groups.

Ravenclaw: Annabeth Chase, Rachel Elizabeth Dare, Samirah Al-Abbas

Before you come at me for stereotyping Annabeth as an Athena kid = Ravenclaw, Ravenclaws are witty, quick thinkers, and as logical as possible. That’s literally her. This is the girl who came up with, on the spot with a broken leg, to trap Arachne with her own webs. Rachel is The Prophet of the Greeks, and she acts the part. Sam has the best work/school/religion/life balance I’ve ever seen in my life, and she’s nailing all of it. These girls are the brains of every operation and you can’t convince me otherwise.

Slytherin: Percy Jackson, Jason Grace, Calypso, Leo Valdez, Alex Fierro

MY PEOPLE- Us Slytherins are cunning and ambitious, duh, but also loyal to a fault and would kill for our family, blood or not. Percy is easily a Slytherin- loyalty is literally his fatal flaw. Jason is interesting, but I wanted to put him here because his actual life goal is getting his orange and purple friends to get along. Calypso would have been a major factor in Percy and Annabeth’s deaths in Tartarus because of that curse she threw at him; that girl holds a grudge. Leo Valdez is the most stubborn egotistical asshole we all love to see, and his sarcasm is one of the best things about him (Percy too). Alex… I really shouldn’t have to explain. They’re like the most Slytherin Slytherin ever.

anyways!! Percy Jackson!! is not a Gryffindor!! HIS FATAL FLAW IN CANON IS LOYALTY. THAT IS A DEFINING TRAIT OF SLYTHERINS.

thank you for coming to my ted talk

82 notes · View notes

everly98 · 11 months

Text

Evelyn Rigby Bauman

“Hi there! My name is Evelyn Rigby, a sixteen-year-old girl from Chicago with a rather unconventional background. I happen to be the biological daughter of Murray Bauman, who, despite his eccentric and sometimes foolish nature, is my father. Unfortunately, after the death of my biological mother, I found it challenging to accept him as a father figure.

So, I temporarily moved in with the Byers family, Joyce and Jim Hopper, and their three children: Jonathan, Will, and Jane. Jane, in particular, always amazed me with her childlike wonder, as if she had been sheltered from the world. Staying with them helped me cope with my grief and adjust to my new reality. It also introduced me to their group of friends.

I'm an introverted teenager who prefers a more masculine look, sporting jeans and oversized t-shirts. Despite my initial aloofness, I'm actually a highly sensitive and compassionate person. I despise all forms of bullying, discrimination, and inequality. You could say I'm a bit of a feminist.

I find solace in Gothic and classic English literature (although I secretly enjoy romance novels too). I love playing the bass, reading comic books, pulp novels, and superhero stories. I have a slight fascination with crystals, particularly amethyst. When it comes to music, I'm into classic rock from the '60s and '70s, but I have a soft spot for ABBA and a passion for karaoke.

My all-time favorite movie is the cult classic musical, "The Rocky Horror Picture Show," and I have a crush on the English actor Tim Curry. However, my true weakness lies in ghost stories and haunted houses. I can't get enough of them.

So, that's a little glimpse into who I am, Evelyn Rigby. An introspective and sensitive teenager who loves diving into the realms of music, literature, and the supernatural.”

#strange things #stranger things fanfiction #Murray Bauman #stranger things headcanons #Jopper #will byres #jane hopper #fandom #stranger things oc #stranger things fame oc #fan fiction #jim hopper #Joyce Byers #hopper x joyce #picrew me #avatar

4 notes · View notes

italian-wall-lizard · 2 years

Note

Top 10 characters that you just want to scream about to anyone who will listen

ohhh boy

you already know who’s at the top of this list

1. alex motherfucking fierro. yeah i’m that predictable

2. nico di angelo, don’t post about him much but my guy needs some love

3. will solace he’s the perfect mix of dork, asshole, and idiot and i love him for it

4. hazel levesque! badass and severely underrated in both the books and the fandom she’s super powerful

5. magnus chase. once again i am that predictable

6. leo valdez, he doesn’t get too much camera time on my page but i love my favorite transmasc asshole

7. hey look not a rrverse character! charlie spring. i need help

8. another rare character! aled last, he is so complex and interesting to try to figure out. also i just love him

9. samirah al-abbas, she’s so fucking cool. balances saving the world, collecting dead norse souls, a fiancé, fasting for ramadan (when she doesn’t even have to in sotd because she was traveling), training to stop her asshole father from being able to control her, and on top of that has time to do ap trig? forget stopping loki with a walnut THAT was the real accomplishment of the series

10. rayla. the loml forever and ever we’re actually married if you didn’t know

#alex fierro #nico di angelo #will solace #hazel levesque #magnus chase #leo valdez #charlie spring #aled last #samirah al abbas #rayla tdp #mcga #toa #pjo #hoo #heartstopper #radio silence #tdp #rrverse #osemanverse

52 notes · View notes

thecaptainwithperfecthair · 1 year

Text

my father in law slipped away in his sleep, in the early morning as the sun was just beginning to rise on monday. there is solace in knowing that he was in no pain when he went and that he will no longer be in pain. yet there is still the hollow, numb, carved out pain that remains; the moments of forgetting reality and thinking he may still call to ask us to come play a game of crib or watch mamma mia and sing along with abba.

my heart is broken - for the pain my partner is experiencing, for the keen loneliness my partner has mentioned feeling now that their only remaining family has passed, for the time lost, for the pain my father in law felt in the days before he passed, for the echos of memories that right now bring both comfort and pain and that may one day be a source of solace and love.

i wish, in many ways, that i could carry all this pain for my partner, to spare them from this heartache. logically, i know all i can do is be there, remind them that we are a family still, that their dad was, and will forever be, proud of them and has always, and will always, love them.

i wish i knew what to say or why i was writing this. does any of it make sense? i genuinely don’t know. words have always been a solace for me and i find myself lacking words for the first time in many years.

this will all take time. that’s what they all say. yet time rarely feels more finite and uncertain than during times like this.

the others we’ve lost in our lives, their memories keep popping up, as if trying to tell us they’re here for us too during this. my father in law has definitely already been visiting in spirit - fleeting glimpses of comforting love that tell us he’s here however he can be right now.

next steps seem insurmountable, attempting to figure them out draining energy we didn’t even know we had until it was already lacking.

you’ve only been gone a day, my darling, amazing, kind, and loving father, and your presence is already missed beyond measure. i know if you were still here, you’d start rattling off bad dad jokes to try and make us laugh. i know you’d prefer if we were laughing and joyful and you would do anything to make sure we were happy - i promise we will be again one day. for now, we need to rest in our nest of sorrow and cherish all the memories you gifted us and everyone whose lives you touched - and you touched the lives of so many. your friends have been a steady stream of compassion, love, and strength, and we are all doing our best to honour your steadfast, loving, generous, and blessed memory.

does this make sense? i don’t know. nothing makes sense right now. the only thing that makes sense is that you were, and are, a truly loved and amazing man and i can never thank you enough for raising a person as amazing as my partner, for your unwavering support as we built our lives together, for the joyful memories you gifted us, for all the generosity, love, and more you showed not just us, but everyone you ever encountered in your life. i promised this before and i’ll promise it again - i’ll do my best to take care of your child/my partner. they will always be loved and never alone. you can rest now, we’ll play crib again with you when we can.

#tw death #tw loss #loss #loss of a parent #parent death tw #death #coping with grief #grief #personal

3 notes · View notes

einsteinsugly · 2 years

Text

Steven Hyde: A Character Analysis, During and Beyond The Show

Based on @maxgrayarchived's "Are Your Characters Developed Enough?" Originally intended for OCs, but since I further develop the T7S characters beyond the scope of the series in a meaningful way, I'm trying my hand at it.

PS: One question was redundant in Hyde's case, so I omitted it. And another was more of a question for couples, so once again? Omitted it. And I combined a question, because I already answered it in another one.

*****

What does it mean for him to be in love? Someone who gets how he ticks, someone who helps him out when times are tough. Add the punch in the gut, romantic feelings, stability, and security, and he's golden.

What (who) is he attracted to? A 110-pound former cheerleader with pink toenails and a love for ABBA and Mariah Carey. He's only aesthetically attracted to the tough blondes with boobs, and that's it.

How's his family life? Better than ever. He hasn't seen Bud and Edna in a long time, but that's fine by him. He's got the Formans, the Barnetts, Jackie, and the kids. That's all he needs.

How's his social life? Solid. He's got Forman and Donna, Kelso and Brooke, and Fez and Rhonda, of course. He's got Buddy and his partner Vic, Leo and his son Paul, and Jackie's former co-host Manny and Sonia back in Milwaukee. Plus, Pastor Dan's brother Sam Easton and the manager of the Hyde Park Grooves, Desi Blake. And Colette's pretty cool, too.

What's his sexual and romantic history? He was with a plethora of girls before Jackie, from Chrissy to Kat, but none of them really mattered that much. Just sexual blips on the radar, until Jackie.

Jackie's his fuckin' everything, and he was more than willing to protect her against Kelso. Fine, he could be a territorial dirty dog sometimes, and he acted like an ass. He cheated on her with the nurse, brought Raquel to the basement, ran off to fuckin' Vegas and drunkenly married Sam out of pure vengeance. Wishing Sam was Jackie, when in reality? He still had a chance, until he blew it. And he was angry, and took it out on her and everyone else around him. Including himself. He fuckin' deserved this fate, just like Bud and Edna before him.

But the Formans and Donna helped him see the light. Forman and Donna were finally getting their shit together, and his foster parents wanted him to have a better future than his predecessors. So, with true grit and patience, he took the chance to improve his life, and ran with it.

So, as an older man, he looks back at his past self with particular ire sometimes. But the past is in the past, man. He can't change it, but he wishes he could. He earned Jackie's trust back, little by little, and he's never gonna throw that away again. Yeah, Hyde calls Kelso Gaston (from Beauty and the Beast), but that movie recalls a familiar story from the distant past. In the present, he's got his wife, Jackie. The kids, Becca and James. And life is damn good.

What's he skilled in, and what are his hobbies? He's smart, on and off the streets. He picks up anything a book or a situation has to throw at him, in the blink of an eye. He can also pick apart stupid arguments, particularly from dense politicians, with relative ease.

He's good at chess, playing cards, tinkering with cars (Jackie is, too), and he's learned how to play the guitar. He caught on quick, and he's taught the kids, too. Music is life, and his passion, though. It gets him through the good times, the bad times, and everything in between.

How was his school experience? He didn't try, and hung out under the bleachers. He's lucky he graduated, but school isn't really for him. WB made him take a couple of business classes, and that was fuckin' hell.

Is he an extrovert, an introvert, or an ambivert? An ambivert who leans on the introverted side. He finds solace in hanging out by himself or with his wife, listening to music. With Forman and Donna sometimes, too. And with the kids, Becca in particular.

Is he right-brained, left-brained, or balanced? A mix of both, and he channels what he needs to in order to get shit done.

What are his most prevalent strengths and weaknesses?

Strengths: He's a borderline genius, he's relatively patient and adaptable, and he thinks outside of the box.

Weaknesses: He can be vengeful, petty, and stubborn. He doesn't take well to structure, or rules. Not even some of the good ones. He's also emotionally stunted, given his childhood, but his heart's usually in the right place.

What are his goals and dreams?

As a teen: To fuckin' make it.

As an adult: To thrive, with his wife, his kids, and his friends by his side.

What are his fears and insecurities? To end up like Bud and Edna, to have fuckin' nothing to lose. With a massive chip on his shoulder.

What does he believe in? The system sucks, but he can find a way to weave in and out and make it better. Pounding the pavement, and trusting his gut. As a rebel, with a cause.

Who would he die for? His real family, and his friends. And whoever's in danger.

#that 70s show #that 90s show #steven hyde #jackie and hyde #jackie burkhart #red and kitty #eric and donna #kelso and brooke #my essays #eric forman

2 notes · View notes

myuniversallanguage · 1 month

Text

The Medium is the Message

Language is the code by which we understand one another. It is a formal series of characters and sentence structures unique to our region and upbringing. Many become stuck in a cycle of Ethnocentrism where they constrict themselves to their little bubble. When you travel outside that bubble, communicating with each other can be riddled with misunderstanding. So much is often lost in translation. However, there is nuance to communication. Canadian philosopher Marshall McLuhan coined, "The medium is the message" (McLuhan, 1964). The medium represents the vessel we use to communicate, while the message is its perception.

Growing up extremely sheltered, I cherished the glimpses of other worlds I caught in different mediums. I escaped to foreign lands in fantasy novels and drawing worlds, unlike my own, in sketchbooks. However, the medium that would change my entire perspective on life was far more subtle than these. It required almost no effort, falling in love with music. Characteristic of love at first sight, I found myself in love at first sound. The difference in the medium of music, I have come to realize, is that I didn't need to understand the language or complex lyrics. There is something innate within ourselves to be moved by vibrations culminated by musicians. I joined a dance team and performed alongside music competitively for over six years. Nothing compares to our innate human ability to dance. While technique can make it into a sport, dancing is primal. We are moved by more than words.

My journey with music began with my father. Collections, car rides, vinyl records, and kitchen karaoke deepened familial bonds. His passion for specific bands and their history facilitated endless conversations about inspiring artists. I vividly remember driving to school with him, wearing out the passenger seat as we rocked out to Boston's self-titled album on CD. It would take the entire drive to get through the whole CD, and the memories I associate with it never fade when I listen back. My love for collecting albums emerged from hand-me-downs of his favorite albums. The first of which was that very same self-titled album. There is a profound pride in holding onto what brought my father solace in his youth. As I grew, that collection metamorphized into a culmination of what ignited the most joy in myself. I now own over fifty records, a handful of cassette tapes, and over a hundred CDs.

Exploring foreign music, however, has allowed me a learning experience that will stick with me forever. Classic bands like Nirvana, Prince, Queen, Boston, Bowie, ABBA, and Journey characterized my youth. They are famous worldwide, not simply within English-speaking countries. That type of fame is almost incomprehensible when considering the various language barriers that must exist for listeners across the globe. I couldn't quite grasp the idea until I popped my metaphorical bubble once and for all. Korean, Spanish, and French music have shifted my worldview completely. Not only do I find myself picking up on the common phrases and lyrics, I don't need to understand a single word to recognize the feeling they bring.

Crying along to a song laced with lyrics I don't recognize was not on my yearly bingo card. Like many in the States, I hadn't realized how much nuance is involved in the songs we listen to. The notes, the rhythm, the composition, the inflection, and so much more can evoke emotions deep within ourselves regardless of language. Our brains have powerful processing abilities that not only allow us creativity to listen to music but to make it as well. The band that has carried me on their shoulder's through my time at university has been Stray Kids. They are a Korean boy group that explores a variety of genres, including songs in multiple languages. Songs written in Korean, Japanese, and English fill their discography. The choreography for the music video of their song "MIROH" was influenced by the Māori culture (Bell, 2019). Regardless of the language or cultural origin, their music contains elements that inspire profound emotions in millions.

With over 30 million listeners worldwide, (Instagram, Stray Kids, 2024), Stray Kids is changing how so many people perceive the medium of music. Their mantra speaks to those who have felt lost or unaccepted, urging a sense of interconnectedness between humans from all backgrounds. "Stray Kids Everywhere All Around the World" is the message and a mission they are successfully pursuing. They have explored genres such as EDM, Rap, Rock, Pop, Lyrical, Grime, and many more niche styles. Their goal is to make music that can reach people of all tastes. Stray Kids' music has covered love, loss, depression, alienation, angst, anger, self-acceptance, and happiness. They work overtime to cover every emotion they have experienced and give their fans a vessel to experience that with them.

I discovered Stray Kids when I needed them most. I had just moved across the country for the first time after 19 years in Chicago, Illinois. There was an emptiness inside me, triggered by so much change in such a short time. Their message and music spoke to me and gave me a safe space to escape my new reality. The connection transcended language. My first listen through their discography left me feeling deeply seen and comforted. "Silent Cry" quickly became my favorite song. I had found a group that longed to connect with their fans and show their appreciation for them. The first few lyrics are sung with pain, "넌 그저 그렇게 아무렇지 않게 넌 웃고 있는데 들리는 네 말에 You always say "I'm okay" 하지만 다 보여 너의 마음속 외로이 흐느끼는 너" (Stray Kids, 2021). Without any understanding of the language, I felt moved by their tone. For description purposes, the translation of these lines is "You, *pretending to be unaffected, just like that* (You) are smiling, but I can hear it in your words. You always say I'm okay, but I can see everything. How your heart sobs when you're alone" (Garza, 2021).

The message is that the members are there to listen to their supporter's silent cry. Even without the translation, I perceived that from the emotions it evoked. Something I adore about the group is if they make a statement like that, it will always be truthful. They have numerous opportunities to connect with fans, including fan meetings and a community posting forum. As an international fan, I have been lucky enough to correspond on multiple occasions with the band members on the community forum. They truthfully listen to their fans and respect them fervently.

Stray Kids changed my life in so many ways. I made some of my closest friends at university through our mutual love for their music. One best friend I made on the day of ticketing for their tour date in Fort Worth. In anticipation of their tour, newfound friends and I shopped for outfits together and even learned choreography for the jumbotrons. The spontaneity of the concert brought us together like magnets. When the tour date finally arrived on March 27th, 2023, we prepared for a grand time. The feeling, however, was incredibly bittersweet. The culmination of our friendship thus far, everything had led us to that very moment.

If I had thought that Stray Kids' music was moving and filled with life before attending their concert, hearing them live blew me away. The live band, the member's incredible vocals, and the mind-boggling choreography they somehow manage to pull off while singing. It was life-altering. Looking back on the videos I captured, I relive the night whenever I need a pick-me-up. Hearing everyone's voices come together and create an electric atmosphere. I felt so at home at their concert with my closest friends.

Another way my life has altered for the better is through my new presence on social media. After beginning what is now an egregiously large collection of albums, inclusions, and other memorabilia, I decided to open an Instagram account. The account would be an outlet for me to meet goals for my collection, make clever reels, unbox my newest purchases, and even make long-distance friends as far as Australia. I never imagined it would grow to over 13 thousand followers in a few months, yet it did. As a Communication major at university, having a successful social media account has been incredibly rewarding. My social media management skills have grown so much, and I have created a plethora of content for my job portfolio.

I have grown in many ways since stepping outside my musical comfort zone. It got me thinking about how there is genuine science behind our retention of music, no matter the language. I found myself the most fascinated in a study done by Rachel Elaine in 2017 on the deaf community. While there are varying levels of deafness, some more severe than others, most deaf people enjoy listening to music. Several sections of our brains allow us to enjoy music for many reasons that are not the lyrics themselves. The Sensory Cortex aids us in feeling the vibrations of music. The entire stadium shook with the rhythms that were created at the Stray Kids concert I attended. The Nucleus Accumbens, Amygdala, and Cerebellum also allow us to attach emotion and memories to our favorite songs. According to Medium.com, "People who are deaf can have this same sort of emotional connection to music. It would just be recognized from the bass notes or beat of the song rather than the (usually) higher pitched melody" (Elaine, 2017). Lastly, the Auditory Complex can take account of the messages created through the listening experience of music. The deaf community can compensate for this process by utilizing sign language and interpreters. My favorite band member, Hyunjin, learned to sign a few phrases to thank the interpreters at his shows and the deaf fans in attendance. He also recently donated roughly $74,300 to The Snail of Love, an organization that supports those with hearing impairments, "by providing artificial cochlear implant surgeries and hearing aids, aiding in their social integration, as well as enhancing public awareness and educational initiatives" (Lim, 2024). It is another reason I feel that they care for their supporters no matter what barriers may exist between them.

The mechanisms we have wired in our brains prove that music is a universal language. It transcends all barriers and connects us in ways nearly impossible to replicate through any other medium. As Marshall McLuhan famously declared, "The medium is the message" (McLuhan, 1964). In the case of Stray Kids and their music, the medium transcends auditory stimulation. Stray Kids music becomes its own vessel for shared experiences, emotions, and universal understanding. By exploring diverse genres, writing heartfelt lyrics, and creating captivating performances, they are speaking to a global audience. Like many of the greats who have come before them, they are reaching a millions of lost souls who are searching for meaning in a world where it is hard to find. My experience exploring foreign music has opened my heart to a world brimming with culture. I would have never immersed myself in so many things seen as "other" in my little bubble had I not ventured into my current music taste. Every day is a new opportunity to understand life from a different perspective. Just as we all bleed the same, the emotions expressed through music are heard deep within ourselves.

Works Cited:

Bell, C. (2019). Stray Kids are back and bolder than ever with celebratory new single “MIROH.” MTV. https://www.mtv.com/news/2xdvoz/stray-kids-miroh-music-video

Elaine, R. (2017, October 23). How deaf people experience music. Medium. https://medium.com/@rachelelainemonica/how-deaf-people-experience-music-a313c3fa4bfd

Garza, J. (2021). Genius English translations – stray kids - silent cry (English translation). Genius. https://genius.com/Genius-english-translations-stray-kids-silent-cry-english-translation-lyrics

Götting, M. C. (2021, January 8). Listening to foreign music in the U.S. 2018. Statista. https://www.statista.com/statistics/803372/listening-to-foreign-lyrics/

Lim, M. (2024). Stray kids’ hyunjin makes heartfelt donation of 100 million won to support the hearing impaired. Soompi. https://www.soompi.com/article/1653097wpp/stray-kids-hyunjin-makes-heartfelt-donation-of-100-million-won-to-support-the-hearing-impaired

McLuhan, M., & Gordon, W. T. (1964). Understanding media: The extensions of man. Gingko Press.

Stray Kids. [@realstraykids]. (2024). Following [Instagram profile]. Instagram. from https://www.instagram.com/realstraykids

Stray Kids. (2021). Silent Cry [Song]. On Noeasy. Republic Records.

0 notes