#i should write a pt 2 to this

[ghastlybirdie]

Soulmate Paradox

(eventual) Ghost x Soap (maybe x reader?) wc: 2.9k warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort, character death, mentions of death, depictions of pain/anxiety/bodily harm (pls dm me if i should add more warnings)

You’ve heard of the soulmate paradox before, nearly every time any sort of hopeless romantic conversation came around it was brought up, the idea only ever taken as a myth or fear baiting to young souls. You certainly never took it seriously. The idea was beyond the laws of nature and logic, even the idea of bound soulmates were nearly laughed at by the younger generations if not for every well documented case of soulmates.

Ancient Grecians spoke about love in humans being formed by a body with two heads, four arms, and four legs; a shared form of true love to have with another, a perfect union. Until the Gods became irate with the power of humans and their seemingly limitless love, and tore the humans apart, tearing them in two.

It broke the humans, unable to live for long without their other half, their life essence draining slowly out of their wounds the longer they stayed apart, soon enough ceasing to eat or leave a single space and dying from a broken heart.

Throughout the eons humans were able to find their soulmates, an invisible red line- a lifeline almost- that lead to their soulmate, love finally finding a way to thrive in the despair. Many say that humans evolved to feel the emotions of their soulmate, feeling their sadness, their happiness, their pain. The pain was the strongest feeling, seeing as true elation, true happiness, couldn’t be felt until you were finally joined with your other, the pain a constant reminder of your emptiness.

Though there was a phenomenon that formed throughout the lifetimes of humans, one that was rare but indeed true to some and a myth to many. The phenomenon was named the Soulmate Paradox.

It is said that if one drifts too far from their soulmate, to far to feel their heartbeat in their chest, too far to feel their emotions, even too far to feel the greatest pains, and you will become- untethered.

You will feel immense emptiness, at least for a while, a hole where your bloodline once sat, and you will no longer feel. Not a thing. No sadness, yet no happiness. No pain, yet no relief. It was no longer a balance of life. It was grounded, a still object. A lone island sitting in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle. Lost and alone.

You used to not believe it, not for a long time. Until you were rushed to A&E for severe stomach pain. They thought it was appendicitis judging from the patterns but when all exams came back normal you were bewildered to be told suddenly, “Perhaps you are… close to your tether? Could your other be close?”

No, that was an insane idea. Grossly unlikely and wildly inane to even suggest, especially even after the horrific bouts of pain you’ve had in your one hospital stay alone. You refused to believe it. Until it happened again. And again. And again.

The pain were all on different levels but they came unexpectedly. Some were months apart while some happened in quick successions. At some point, you stopped going to A&E and dealt the pain. Most times it was only a nagging feeling, a twinge of a cramp or soreness, but it wasn’t entirely uncommon to feel like you’ve been shot in the thigh or shoulder every so often. It wasn’t pleasant.

Which is why you ran away. You walked from your place of living, your job, your entire lifestyle, all in the name to be free of the nagging, aching pain that you felt so frequently.

At first it was unbearable. It felt like a weight sat on your chest when you crossed over into another country. Like the string that connected to your heart was pulled at it’s maximum tension, threatening to yank itself from your body with a howling force of agony.

But soon enough, with gradual ease, the pain lessened and lessened over time. What was once an elephant sitting on your shoulders turned to sore muscled turned to a gentle breeze on your skin turned to nothing.

Yeah, you felt hollow now, like a strong gust of wind could knock you over; like you were missing something important in your life. But you weren’t in pain anymore. You weren’t suffering anymore. You no longer wept from the hour long sessions of misery when it felt like your lungs were filled with dirt or your nose was clogged with gunpowder. No, you felt none of that anymore. You could sacrifice the taste of your favorite meals or the warm feeling of the sun, if it meant living life no longer suffering for someone else’s rash decisions. Someone who you didn’t even know. That you’ll never know. And that was fine by you.

Though, there were nights where you wondered where this mystery person was. What could be causing all this pain, ones that left you on the floor in tears. Were they also feeling the same? Did they feel when you bumped your toe too hard on the corner of the couch? Did they feel that time where you sliced your palm open trying to cut an avocado? Did they feel the pain when you got your wisdom teeth removed? Perhaps they hated you as much as you hated them, despite never meeting. You wondered if they thought about your existence as much as you thought about theirs as you lay in your lonely room, cold in a bed far too big for you.

Even after all this time being away from home, having left it all behind, despite wanting to leave, you couldn’t close your ears to all the talk of love. You couldn’t cover your eyes to all the pairings of people looking to each other longingly, holding their half as close to their body as their limbs would allow, melting into each other into a perfect hum of peace and resolved longing. It made your hollowness ever the more laborious.

Even though you felt no pain there was a dull pang of want- need- sounding in the back of your mind. It left your heart beat a little less proudly, left your breath a little more shallow. It left you just a little more empty. And with each passing day, it became more and more difficult to ignore. At first it was easy to, then it wasn’t. And then it was downright torturous.

Perhaps you made a rash decision. Maybe you shouldn’t have left. Was all the pain that you endured truly as bad as being left as less of a person as you were now. Your new home wasn’t warm, it was bitter and void of personality. Even your food was just enough to feed the cells that functioned your body, your sense of taste long deprived of anything good. Not even seasonal candles could make up for the loss of color in your life, leaving you in some bleak dystopian hole that you called your apartment.

It was agonizing. It was… Painful. Far worse than what you endured before. At least then, the world was full of thought and wonder. Now it was just… Grey.

So you decide to go back. It couldn’t hurt. Not like it did now. All the silly little jokes of myths and soulmates were nothing more than immature ramblings of your younger self, blind to the world and the joy that a soulmate could bring. To think that you were so close to your soulmate as to even feel what they felt, all the way down to their sore muscles and aching bones. You miss it, even from the previous pain, you missed it so so much. It made you feel foolish. You were so close and your fear of whatever this soulmate- your other half- was made you flee. And now your life was a colorless book full of dust and yellowed with forgotten age.

So you decide to go back. Back home. Back close enough to where you can feel your heart pang again with an ache that was familiar and missed. You wanted to feel the tether revive on your heart again.

You wanted to feel your soulmate. Despite it all, you wanted it. Now, more than ever, you needed it. You need them, whoever they may be. Perhaps that’s why soulmates are so strong, why they call it a lifeline. Your life and the world around you depends on it, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t avoid it.

You gather and pack your belongings, you eat the last of your flavorless food, and you go. You go back to your life where you can taste food, see colored lights, feel warmth again. And you hope, with need filling your heart for the first time in… forever, that you will finally… finally meet your soulmate.

Your other.

Your love of your life.

Ghost woke up in a violent, cold sweat. His body shaking so harshly, so fiercely that the other soldiers in the safehouse thought he went into a seizure, turning him over to his side with great resistance of the masked lieutenant.

He sputtered gibberish as chills and fire racked through his body simultaneously, his tongue mashed between his teeth and throat closing when air wouldn’t fill into his lungs. From the outside it did look like a seizure, it acted like one, but to Ghost it felt like something just tore out of his chest, a gouging hole where his heart should be. It was like a pain he’s never felt before. It was new, it was unfamiliar, and it was terrifying.

He’s felt pain before. A bullet would in the leg or shoulder, a million bruises left on his body, a lifetime worth of scars to share to no one. But this? It was ungodly, otherworldly. And it terrified him when the feeling reach a crescendo, one that he thought he’d die from, until it was just… Nothing.

Ghost felt an unimaginable pain that one could never never forget. And now he simply felt nothing.

He chose his call sign for the fear he could strike in a person. For the life he lived and crawled out of. But now, now more than ever, it truly felt like one. Like a ghost. And it gave him fear.

He blinked there on the floor of the safehouse, staring at a concrete ceiling for what seems like forever. And he blinked again, this time much longer, until he was staring at the ceiling panels of some white room, the scents around him sterile and clean yet stuffy.

The medbay.

Instinctively, like the answers would be there, Ghost reached for his chest, hand landing over his heart, fingers feeling the telemetry electrode stickers stuck across his chest. Feeling for where the hole would be. The one he knew was there.

His thoughts were interrupted when chatter filled the room, two nurses coming in with conversation shared between them. Ghost picked up very little, focused on trying to solve the confusion he held inside as he tried to solve the puzzle.

He hasn’t felt a ping of wanting or need for so long, the distant feeling of a tether having long gone slack. His sense of taste and feelings were never quite the same since then, but MREs were hardly edible let alone tasteful, and he knew every groove of his gun to know where to place his hands the moment he held it, the lack of fine tune feelings were hardly a concern of his. So the slack left in his heart- in his soul- was nothing more than the left over of his humane soul.

And now it’s come back to finally give back on all the lost time. But this felt different. This felt… final.

He was left untethered. And now there was a leak in his very being, slowly draining him. The pain he felt was nothing more than the last attempt to keep even a weak connection to his other. But it was no use. They were gone and he was left alone, his open wound now bleeding with no tourniquet, left to fester and writhe into nothing.

He thought it was foolish, amusing the rumors and legends of soulmates, of your other half. But as he rested in the medbay bed, staring at the sterile ceiling, he couldn’t ignore the cold feeling filling into the marrow of his bones, flowing into his bloodstream, a wave of nothingness filling into every crack and crevice of his body and soul.

Ghost has felt nothing before. Just earlier that day he felt very little in his mind and heart. But this was far different. This felt like being detached from a space shuttle and left to drift in space, spinning in a limitless direction, never knowing when your oxygen would deplete and the vacuum of space punctured through your suit and froze your skin and boiled your blood. Drifting. Waiting. A demise surely imminent.

Ghost was never afraid of nothing before, how could you be when you never knew what nothing truly was. It was unfathomable. Unobtainable.

Yet here he was, in the unfathomable and unobtainable. Never knowing how he truly got here.

Never knowing that the nurses that soon tended to him held the simple answer, one that would never be connected back to him and his other. His soulmate.

You died. Over the Atlantic ocean, almost on your way home. Almost there to where you belonged. Until an engine failure on the plane turned dire, plummeting you and every passenger on board to your death.

You wished you could tell someone. Anyone. What happened to you; where you were going, why… to who. But now you stand in some misty haze, trying to find a break in the fog of confusion, trying to find footing in the void filled sea encasing your thoughts.

It’d take you a while. You didn’t understand where you were, no less who you were looking at. A rugged man was all you could see in the haze, body illuminated by dingy yellow lights, black makeup shrouding his eyes being the only features you could make out.

You’ve never seen a person like this in your entire life, especially not someone so large and rough, but by the way your eyes watered but never cried, and your rythumless heart aching painfully, you helplessly reached out to the man before you, mind endlessly racing to try and finally piece together that he was the one you were seeking for such a bittersweet, short time. The torn and frayed tethered attached to either of you evidence of your once connection, now lost… Forever.

You died and now you stand stuck by some force to the person you sought after, even for the short time that you did, your hand phasing through his person whenever you tried to reach for him. A ghost to hover and haunt, still stuck to your soulmate but never reaching.

You never believed in the Soulmate Paradox, there were no evidence of it ever being a thing, but some swore it was true.

That it was true that when one soulmate is too far, too far away to feel their other, and dies, the living soulmate will continue to live though only in body. The living other will slowly start to wither and fade, their spirit slowly dying as they cannot live without their other half- their soulmate.

And so the deceased soulmate will live as a guardian, a protector of their other half’s soul. It won’t stop the slow demise of their other’s soul, but it will slow it down. Just enough for the guardian to find another, another soul to fill in the gap, and make the living soulmate whole again, and in turn finally rest in peace.

But if a guardian did not fulfill their duty? If they did not find another to fill the hole left of their living soulmate? It was greatly assumed that the living soulmate will die from a broken heart, unable to fill the hole or find a new tether. And the guardian? The one who failed their bonded love? Their soul would be gone, no longer connected to their beloved other, no longer held down by the sheer will of love. And they will be unable to have a promised afterlife with their soulmate, lost to time, to the ethos, to the void. Forever and evermore.

You didn’t know when that would happen, when your clock will run out for you- for your other- but judging by the long time spent away from your soulmate and the poor condition of your lifeline tethers even while you were alive- neither of you had much time left.

Even though you knew so little of this man, who rested with a solemn expression permanently on his face, you couldn’t bear to think leaving this man- your soulmate- to such a fate. You tried so hard to reach him and was stopped by the cruel hands of fate, unable to do nothing more than stare at his form. But here you were now, next to him, and while your circumstances were changed, the need in your heart, in your soul, was the same.

To be with your soulmate, in some way. In any way. That much, in your heart of hearts, was direly true.

a/n: Im sorry, I rushed the end, but i was like a demon being exorcised writing this omg i thought about it in the shower and shared it in the cod server and now here it is

[futuristichedge]

[amourtoken]

https://www.tumblr.com/amourtoken/765592243257180160/couldnt-get-this-thought-out-of-my-mind-last-night

GOOD GOD I NEED HIM.

GAHHHg i wish I wrote that a bit better and less rambley but yeah I don't think I'll ever stop thinking abt it actually

Especially if this "one time thing" becomes a frequent occurence.

God forbid you're left alone with Quinn cause then he's finding some surface to split you on his cock on, groaning something along the lines of "bet my brother can't fuck you this good, can he?"

You have to come up with more elaborate excuses especially since Luke's already caught on to your little affair but Jack is clueless. You feel bad but at the same time you're getting what you need without bugging your boyfriend and diverting his attention from practice or his hobbies so...this is a good thing, right?

you can't help but think it is when Quinn has a calloused hand pressed to your throat while he's fucking you raw. He really makes a point to get under your skin during all of this, during your first encounter it wasn't this bad but now he wants you to think about all the little flaws in your relationship while he's balls deep buried inside you. Jack's treating you wrong? Remember Quinn's always gonna let you vent to him and cry on him even if you're on his lap during all of it.

Quinn really started to get bold leaving hickeys and bite marks all over your body. You keep having to cover it all up as bruises "from work" although Jack's only noticed the most visible of the collection that litters your skin. It really does fill Quinn with this gross sense of pride but he can't help it, every time you end up in his bed you leave in a better mood so he's doing you a service and enjoying himself. He's really started getting mouthy too.

"Who's pussy is this? Say it- fuck- say my name. Wanna hear you beg for me, please-"

"Awe baby, your little boyfriend not treating you right, huh? You should just come to me full time."

"God you're tight- he's missing the fuck out."

Quinn loves his brother but he knows he's not the best partner and as an older brother it's his job to teach him how to be better right? It'd be a shame if all those privated videos Quinn has of you taking backshots or dripping his cum down your thighs ended up in Jack's possession.

[astrobei]

happy birthday @andiwriteordie !! love you to the ends of the earth and back <3 here’s a ficlet for a fun little idea we were talking about: au where bob never dies and mike gets a part time job at the radio shack

Mike takes a deep breath, clutching tighter at the piece of paper in his hand. It’s a windy fall afternoon, and it would really suck if after all this– scrounging up a barebones résumé, sitting through one hundred and one interview questions with Nancy over the phone, gritting his teeth and listening to his dad give him the go-getter talk– said résumé blew away in the breeze and ruined all his chances at a halfway decent job before he even walked through the door.

It’s only a part-time position anyway, and Mike’s never really been one for nerves in situations like this– public speaking, parent-teacher conferences, so on. But this feels different, somehow. He glances up at the bright red letters above his head, large and cartoonish against the beige of the storefront, and exhales. Radio Shack. 

It’s just computers. He can do this. He knows computers. Kind of. He also knows–

The bell above the door jingles slightly as he walks in, and at first glance, the store looks empty. It makes sense– it’s three o’clock on a Wednesday, and anyone who isn’t at work is definitely too young to be perusing a Radio Shack in their downtime.

“Can I help you?”

Mike spins around. There’s a guy maybe his dad’s age in the corner, wearing a uniform vest and a wholly unimpressed look on his face. Mike straightens up and tries his hardest to not look like an overly suspicious teenager who’s up to no good, but the man’s expression does not change. 

“Um,” he says, “I’m looking for Bob Newby? If he’s here?”

The man– Daryl, Mike thinks, squinting at the name tag– frowns. “Bob’s in the back. Any reason you’re asking for him?”

“I’m here about the Help Wanted sign? Um. My friend’s mom is friends with him and said you guys were looking for a– well, I’m only sixteen so I can’t work here, like, nine to five, but– yeah,” he finishes, a bit lamely, and Daryl raises his eyebrows.

“Hm.”

“So,” Mike tries again. “If he’s around…”

If his dad could see him now, he’d probably have a heart attack at how Mike is being exactly the opposite of assertive and confident and all of that bull. “Yeah, I’ll go grab him,” Daryl sighs, then gives Mike a contemplative look. “You know anything about radios?”

“I know some,” Mike huffs, because he wasn’t the president of AV Club for nothing, okay, and he wouldn’t even be applying here if he didn’t. Who does this guy think he is?

“Sure,” Daryl says, then disappears into the back room.

There’s a minute of silence, where Mike studies the display up at the front of the store, listening to the faint sound of U2 playing from the store’s speakers, and then there’s the soft creaking of a door opening. 

“Hey!” someone calls, and Mike turns around.

He hasn’t seen Bob in a few years– not since he and Mrs. Byers broke it off– but they’re very obviously on good terms. According to Will, anyway. He looks mostly the same as he did back then, maybe a little more gray in his hair, but the same cheery smile. He’s got on the same uniform vest as Daryl, a nametag. Maybe a couple more lines by his eyes.

“Hi,” Mike starts, a bit uncertainly. “It’s me. Um. Mike Wheeler. Will’s friend. Will is– well, you know Will,” he finishes, all very fast and with none of the professional decorum that his dad and Nancy both pleaded with him to have. 

Bob just laughs. “I do. And of course I remember you, Mike,” he says, then gestures Mike over to the desk at the front of the store, near the register. “I heard you're here about the job?”

“Um, yes.” Mike looks down at the sheet of paper in his hand, a bit wrinkled from how tight he’d been gripping it outside, and frowns. Mike Wheeler, it reads up at the top, and not much else, because he’s sixteen, and AV Club probably counts as some sort of leadership thing, but– “Will told me that his, um. His mom said that I should– you know.”

“Okay,” Bob says simply. Then, not even glancing at Mike’s pathetic excuse for a résumé, “How soon can you start?”

Mike blinks. “Um. Technically tomorrow, I think,” he starts, “but don’t you need to, like, interview me? Or something?”

At this, Bob looks up and smiles gently. “Mike. You knew BASIC at thirteen. You’re a great kid, so the job’s yours if you want it.”

“Oh. Oh! Well, yeah, I’d love to– yeah!”

“Great! You have school until– two-thirty? Three?”

“Two.”

“I’ll see you here at three tomorrow,” Bob smiles. “We can get you oriented with things, start your training. Bread and butter, so it won’t be too exciting, I’m afraid, but–”

“No!” Mike interrupts, feeling a sudden rush of relief. “No, that’s okay, I’ll be here. Um. Thanks, Bob.”

For some reason, Bob’s smile softens. “Excited to have you here, Mike. I’m glad you came by.”

—

So Mike has a job now. Which is– you know,  nice, but it’s still a job, so it’s not like Mike would come in on a Saturday when he didn’t have to, or choose to be here instead of, like, hanging out with his friends or something. But as far as high school employment goes, Mike figures he probably got a pretty good deal out of it, compared to the poor souls from his history class working at the McDonald’s down the street. Here, there’s no grease and there are no fryer burns, and there’s no embarrassing uniform or visor hat. It’s just one blessedly simple vest and a name tag that says Mike, because the idea of people coming in and calling him Michael made him want to throw something.

Plus, it’s fun. Maybe Mike is a little biased, because he’s him, but it’s fun. It really is. Four hours a day, three days a week, Mike is surrounded by gadgets and gizmos and exactly the sort of stuff that would have made twelve-year-old him burst into happy tears. He can picture it now, if he’d gotten his hands on one of these radios back in middle school– he would have been really annoying about it, maybe, but it would’ve been awesome.

So it’s fun. He’s having a good time, and he’s also getting paid, which is a nice little bonus, and it’s a few extra hours each week that he doesn’t have to be in the house, which is an extra little bonus, so that’s cool.

“Check out these headphones,” Bob whispers to him on an especially slow Thursday afternoon. It’s late November, and Mike’s been working here maybe a month, maybe a little more. The store is quiet and he’s just clocked in when Bob rushes over with a plastic-sealed box and an ecstatic grin on his face.

Mike shrugs his backpack off and drops it onto the floor behind the register before leaning in. “Whoa. Those are headphones? They look so–”

Well, the first word that popped into his head was fancy, but that’s maybe not the most professional word to be using here. Whatever.

“New releases in stock tomorrow,” Bob announces, “just in time for Christmas sales. Now look,” he continues, peeling the box open, “this one’s for the display, but I thought you might want to check it out before I locked it up.”

“Please,” Mike grins, already bouncing back on his heels in excitement. The headphones are more sleek than the ones he has right now, a birthday gift from a few years ago, already battered from overuse. They’re all shiny black metal, the cushions around the ears softer and larger than his own. He looks over at Bob, who’s wrestling with the display stand. “Can I touch?”

“You break it, you buy it,” Bob calls back, and Mike laughs.

“Deal.” He lifts it up with one hand. They’re heavy, solid, cool. Mike has never wanted something more in his entire life. “Whoa.”

“Cool, right?”

“So do I, like, get a pair for free, or…”

“Nice try,” Bob laughs, adjusting the hinges on the display stand. “You get your regular paychecks and your employee discount, but that’s all I can swing you, I’m afraid.”

Mike blinks. “I get an employee discount?”

“Hm, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Could’ve roped you into paying full price.”

“Stop,” Mike says, a smile breaking out over his face. “I get an employee discount? Seriously?”

Bob lifts the headphones up and out of his hands, setting them down carefully on the stand. “You seriously didn’t know? Of course you do, Mike, every employee gets a discount.”

“I didn’t think that counted for fancy stuff,” Mike admits. “I thought that only counted on, like, remote batteries and stuff like that.”

“You get fifteen off the whole store,” Bob tells him. “So, you know, if you wanted to get yourself a Christmas present–”

Mike does. Mike really, really wants to get himself a Christmas present. “Hey, so what are your overtime policies for minors again?”

“Nice try. I’m going to finish setting this up, but I think someone’s coming in,” Bob announces, flashing Mike a you got this smile before slinking away into the back room.

“Anything for the headphones,” Mike says under his breath, then looks over to the door. “Hi, welcome to Radio Shack, how can I– oh. It’s just you.”

“Just me?” Will gasps in mock affront, winding his way through shelves of spare parts and batteries until he’s standing in front of Mike, across the register. “Rude.”

“You know what I mean.” Mike rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling anyway. “You’re taking up all the time I could be using to woo customers and break big on my next paycheck.”

“Why the sudden interest in the paycheck?” Will inquires, swinging his backpack onto the floor so it’s bumping against Mike’s. “You never cared about that before.”

“Excuse you! I am a working man,” Mike says, even as he bumps bodily into one shelf with his hip, sending the radios on display rattling. “Shit– oh no, wait–”

“Very professional,” Will laughs, then he perches atop the chair behind the register and pulls out his physics textbook.

“Shut up,” Mike mutters, looking over the dials to make sure that everything is still plugged in and good to go. “You– get out of my chair, you don’t even work here!”

“Mike?” comes a voice from the back room, and then Bob’s poking his head back out with a small frown. “What was– oh, hi Will!”

“Hi Bob,” Will says with a cursory smile and wave. It’s polite, but a little bit awkward just like every time Will comes to visit Mike at work. Mike figures there’s no way around that awkwardness, because it’s probably a law of the universe that it’s going to be kind of awkward to see your ex-girlfriend’s son, who you saw in a mind-controlled fugue state before he released a bunch of monsters through an interdimensional portal and almost killed you.

But because Bob is Bob, and doesn’t have a resentful bone in his body, he seems to like Will just fine.

Everybody likes Will. Mike thinks it would be hard not to. In a completely unbiased way, of course.

“How are your classes going?” Bob asks, just like he does every time Will comes by.

“They’re okay,” Will replies, just like he always does whenever Bob asks. Mike bites his lip to hold back laughter, because every time they have this exchange, all he can think about is the time Will told him about Bob’s Dracula costume with the fake teeth and couldn’t finish describing it without bursting into laughter. Mike hadn’t thought the Dracula costume was too funny– more predictable and boring than anything, if you asked him– but he did like watching Will laugh like that, all red-faced and giggling until he teared up.

“Physics is really kicking my ass this year,” Will is saying, holding up the textbook he’s already started to splay open on the counter.

Mike raises an eyebrow. Their exchange usually doesn’t get this far. “Oh, I loved physics,” Bob says, a bit absentmindedly, as he brings out the display stand again, now complete with a fully decked-out set of headphones. “It was one of my favorite subjects in high school.”

“Lucky,” Will mutters, squinting down at the pages. “I hate it.”

“It’s not so bad,” Mike says without thinking, tinkering with one of the dials that had gotten messed up when he knocked the radio over. “It’s just math.”

“Yeah, and I don’t like math either,” Will laughs, “in case you forgot.”

“I think if I told you two I also liked math, then you’d shove me into a locker or something,” Bob remarks with a laugh. “Is that– do kids still do that? Shove each other into lockers?”

“Sometimes,” Mike and Will say simultaneously, then they glance at each other and immediately look away before they start laughing again.

“Sometimes,” Mike says, as Will stares resolutely down at his textbook again and bites back a grin. “We both got shoved into lockers so– I’d say yeah, kind of.”

He waits for– okay, he isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, but it feels like it should be pity, maybe, or a frown, or some generic adult response like Hey! That’s not cool! Bob doesn’t do any of those things, though. He pulls a face and says, “I know the feeling.”

“What– you?” Bob is an adult, which seems so far removed from petty teenage social hierarchies and hallway fistfights that it’s kind of funny, but also–

“Mike, I was the founder of AV Club. The founder. Meaning that I was such a big loser that I came up with a club that no one had even thought of before.”

“Hey!” Mike protests. “I was president of AV Club!”

Bob just smiles. “Don’t you have a job to be doing, Mike?”

—

So yeah. He’s got a job, and it’s nice, and it’s fun, and only part of the reason it’s nice and fun is because Will Byers comes to hang out with him after school while waiting for Joyce to finish up her shift at Melvald’s across the plaza.

Really, that’s only part of it! 

“I can’t believe thirteen-year-old me thought I’d be cool in high school,” Mike laughs one day. Cool is maybe a stretch, because he’s sure he knew, even then, that cool was something that would always be a little out of his reach. “I thought I’d grow out of my ham radio phase at least.”

“I did too,” Bob says thoughtfully, digging around for a new set of batteries. “And now I’m the general manager of a Radio Shack. I’d say I’m doing alright.”

“Maybe GM of a Radio Shack is in my future too,” Mike ponders aloud. It’s a thought he’s had before, of course, but not like this, exactly. In his mind, his future is daunting, claustrophobic in its proximity. His father’s wheedling about business school, law school– something, anything that could put food on the table. 

The thought terrifies him to his core in a way he can’t really place. Ted Wheeler hadn’t been like Mike in school– pushed over on the playground, tripped, threatened to jump off a cliff or see his best friend hurt in front of his eyes. He hadn’t been Steve Harrington either. Mostly, his father had been nobody. A nobody who married the most popular girl in her grade, a nobody who comes home to a family he barely knows, a nobody who works a job he doesn’t like and pretends like that’s something Mike should want too.

He doesn’t want that. Of course he doesn’t want that. But he’s not sure what the options are, for people like him. The nerdy guys, the losers, the ones sporting scabbed chins and broken arms all throughout middle school, the Bob Newbys of Hawkins, Indiana. The–

He chances a glance over to the corner. Will is sitting at a table there instead of up at the register for a change, because he’s got actual homework to do and Mike’s got a job to be slaving away at. He studies Will’s frown as he stares down his umpteenth physics problem of the day, the way he chews lightly on the eraser of his pencil.

People like him, Mike thinks, the nerds and the losers and the–

“Whoa,” Bob chuckles, and Mike glances back down to see that he’s been trying to screw in the back of the battery pack in way past the allotted tightness. “Someone’s a little distracted.”

“Sorry!” Mike puts the screwdriver down. “Sorry, sorry, I was just– thinking.”

“Must have been something interesting to get you all spaced out like that,” Bob points out, raising an eyebrow. “What’s on your mind?”

Mike glances up again. Will is looking at him already, this time, a bit inquisitively, and Mike feels his face turn ever-so-slightly warm at being caught. Will smiles, raises a teasing hand like hey.

“Oh, nothing,” Mike says, but it comes out distracted, a bit faint. Bob follows his gaze, and Will looks away immediately, out the window. “Just– eyes got tired. You know.”

Bob does not look convinced. “Right.” He pauses, then turns the radio onto its side. “You think you can handle it from here?”

Mike stares. “What, me? Fix this? On my own?”

“It’s ham radio, Mike,” Bob says, giving him a light pat on the shoulder. “You know ham radio like the back of your hand.”

“I– yeah, I guess,” he says, picking the screwdriver back up. It’s an old model that someone brought in for repair that morning. Bob had waited until Mike got there so they could take it apart together.

Bob watches him for a couple of minutes. It’s another slow day, no general-managerial duties to be attended to. Mike focuses all his attention on the plastic and wiring in front of him– sets the disassembled pieces down in a careful row, studies them. He can hear the store’s fan running overhead, the soft rustling of Will’s pages turning from the corner of the room. The wire– he can’t figure out where this wire connects to. Mike lets out a frustrated huff. 

“Nothing,” Bob scoffs. “Amateur radio and you’re still distracted. What’s up?”

“I just,” Mike starts, sighing. “Nothing. It’s dumb.”

General Manager of a Radio Shack. Mike likes it here. He does, seriously, it’s fun and it’s nerdy and it’s the sort of thing that he’d never be able to tell people he really enjoyed without getting so much shit for it. It’s a job made for guys like him and Bob–

But that’s the thing, right– is that guys like him and Bob make do. They end up happy out of coincidence, they don’t end up in love, they need people to need them and yet they never do. No one ever needs them. Not like they might need someone else, instead.

They get love and then they lose love and then they become the General Manager of a Radio Shack and maybe things will turn out alright, and maybe not. 

“Do you ever wish things worked out differently?” Mike blurts out, and then his eyes go wide. “I mean– shit, that’s totally unprofessional– shit, I probably shouldn’t swear while I’m on the clock– I mean–”

But Bob is laughing. “It’s okay,” he says, grinning. “I hear worse stuff from our customers on the daily.”

“Right,” Mike says, probably beet-red. It would suck if this was what he got fired for. “I just meant–”

“I know what you meant,” Bob reassures him, then leans over his shoulder. “And this part should go over here, by the way. They look really similar, so I don’t blame you.”

“Right,” Mike says.

He waits.

“And–” Bob takes in a soft breath. “Sometimes things don’t turn out the way you expect. Doesn’t mean that it’s bad.”

“Right,” Mike says again, vaguely embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean– right.”

One second goes by. Two. Mike twirls the screwdriver around between his fingers and looks back at Will, who’s got his face scrunched up in some complicated, twisted expression that makes Mike want to laugh, and simultaneously want to reach over and smooth out the creases from between his eyebrows. Bob watches him with one raised eyebrow.

“You know,” he starts, and Mike’s gaze snaps back to him. “You remind me of myself, Mike.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Mike snorts. The nerdy guys, the AV guys, the almost-had-it-but-didn’t guys.

Bob shakes his head, chuckling. “I mean, you’re a smart kid. You really are. Not many kids your age would be this excited about taking apart a radio, or– or new headphones, or programming languages.”

The nerdy guys, Mike thinks again, and suppresses a laugh. “It must be an AV thing,” he says instead.

“Sure,” Bob nods. “But if you told me– younger me, AV Club me– about you, he would’ve thought you were the coolest guy in the world.

“I– what? Really?”

“Yes, really! Look, Mike, you’re a smart kid, but you’re also– you’re stubborn and you’re creative, and you don’t take crap from anyone. You fought monsters. And you won. I didn’t have that when I was younger, and I think if I did– maybe if I did, then things would’ve turned out differently for me. God knows I could have used some of that determination. God knows I should’ve stuck to my guns more.”

Mike knows he’s stubborn, but he’s never considered that to be a good thing. It’s always been a point of frustration for people he knows– refusing to cut his hair shorter, refusing to apply to business school, refusing to do shit he doesn’t want to do. He’s never heard it referred to as something to be admired. “I guess I’m a little stubborn,” he relents, in a moment of frankly hilarious irony. “Maybe just a little.”

Bob grins at him. “There you go! I admire you for that. It’s not easy to know what you want.”

“I don’t,” Mike laughs in disbelief. “I don’t know what I want.”

“But when you do, you don’t give up,” Bob presses. “You dig your heels in and you get it, one way or another. And that’s why we’re not so similar after all.”

Mike doesn’t say anything. Guys like him and Bob– they are similar, despite all this bull about him being brave and cool and– whatever else. Guys like him– they’re the AV guys, the losers, the somebodies but in a bad way, the somebodies that nobody wants.

I admire you for that.

“Let me tell you something else,” Bob says, dropping his voice into a whisper and leaning in closer. “Joyce? Mrs. Byers? She said Jim– Chief Hopper– offered to pick Will up from school so he wouldn’t have to wait or bike home.”

“Um,” Mike says, a little lost. “Okay?”

“But Will waits for her anyway,” Bob says. “Only he doesn’t wait there, at Melvald’s. He walks across the plaza to hang out with you. And the days you’re not here, Joyce says he goes straight home after school.”

“Oh.” Mike blinks. He feels like he’s on the verge of something, here, something close. Something important. “I– okay.”

The bell over the front door jingles sharply, and Mike jumps, startled. “I– uh, the radio–”

“This piece goes right there,” Bob points out, then claps him on the shoulder again. “You work on that, and I’ll get this guy. And– Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re a smart kid. Brave. Stubborn. Don’t forget that. Sometimes things don’t go the way you expect,” Bob says, a twinkle in his eye. “But sometimes that’s a good thing.”

[wttcsms]

also !! i just wanted to thank anyone who has stuck around my blog despite the amount of diff fandom fixations ive gone through lol. it honestly means so much to me that some of yall will read fics for characters you don’t even know about just because it’s written by me. i’ve been struggling to work on any of the concepts ive posted purely bc i want to know which characters you want to see them written for & the engagement on posts discussing ideas i have determines whether the draft will ever see the light of day (get posted). im being sappy bc ive been wanting to write more for hq and bllk again & i know that that’s not what a lot of you want, but thank you for sticking around this long 🤍

[whattraintracks]

30. Wrestling - TMNT 1990s

"You are unique among your brothers, for you choose to face this enemy alone. But as you face it, do not forget them, and do not forget me. I am here, my son."

Splinter breathes deeply, allowing the flow of air to guide the outside world to the forefront of his awareness. Stale subterranean scent, cushioned armchair beneath him, dim candlelight, footsteps. Someone has drawn him out of meditation. Perhaps his sons are home earlier than expected.

"You may enter, Raphael," he offers to the hovering shadow. The turtle creeps inside, halting but a moment before bowing deeply.

He smiles warmly, "Have you and your brothers returned?"

"The guys are still out." Raphael's shoulders hunch; from what emotion, he cannot tell. "I, I didn't go with them."

The scattered candles flicker. A great darkness seems to cross Raphael, and he glimpses someone very much unlike his passionate son. Someone exhausted, worn down, nearing the brink of collapse.

Raphael's voice brittles, "Can I stay with you?"

Splinter's not sure what is more alarming, that Raphael has declined an opportunity to go to the surface—with his brothers, no less—or this weariness so evident in him.

"What troubles you?" He implores.

Raphael shakes his head mutely.

He insists, trying to keep his disquiet at bay, "I cannot help you if you do not tell me what is wrong."

A coarse whisper, "It's nothing."

"This is not nothing," he creaks to his feet, "You must—"

"Dad."

The sudden plea stills them both.

"Master Splinter." His heart wrenches at the self-conscious amendment. It is not one he needs to make. Not about this. Not ever.

"Please, can I just," Raphael cuts himself off, breathing shallowly. Another flicker of candlelight and Splinter catches the sheen of tears in his eyes.

"Oh," he breathes. What a fool he is. His son has come seeking comfort and company, not interrogation.

"Yes. Yes, come." He beckons, reseating himself. "Sit with me."

Raphael shuffles deeper into the train car, kneeling stiffly. Splinter clucks softly, reaching for his arm to pull him against the chair. He curls forward without resistance, breath hitching.

"My son," he says, soothing with hands and words. "I am sorry. You may always come to me. You need not tell me what is on your mind to do so."

He is unsurprised but nevertheless heartbroken as Raphael releases a heavy sob, giving in to whatever weight he has been carrying. Tears prick in his own eyes at the openly hurting sound. He internally chides the parts of himself that demand answers over acceptance with open arms. Wrapping them now around as much of Raphael as he can, he mourns with his son so clearly wrestling with a great burden. He sends a prayer of gratitude to his Master Yoshi for guiding Raphael to him when that weight grew too large to bear alone.

Much time passes before the rest of his sons return. Long after Raphael cries himself past exhaustion into sleep. At some point, concerned at the angle of his son's neck, Splinter maneuvers out of his chair to rest them more comfortably on the floor. His ears prick at a whisper of movement. Ah, three movements.

Michelangelo peers into the train car, his brothers close behind. "Oh," he blinks, "he really did stay here."

Protectiveness flares within Splinter. "We should not begrudge Raphael's need for comfort or rest," he reproves.

Michelangelo's eyes widen in dismay, "Of course not!"

Donatello shakes his head, "No, we're not— We don't think Raph—" His eyes dart as they do when he's searching for the most precise explanation. "We're just worried about him."

"He's been having a rough week," Leonardo murmurs.

Oh, his sweet sons. He should not have been so quick to assume they meant anything uncharitable when they are but concerned brothers. As with Raphael, he wishes they had come sooner instead of struggling and worrying alone. He can be grateful they are here now.

"Tell me," he invites, resting a muffling hand on Raphael's tympanum.

They glance between themselves as they kneel, silently urging one another to speak first. He is careful to display only calm patience despite his inner turmoil.

Michelangelo finally bursts, "He's not eating." The other two look at him, befuddled.

"Okay, he's not, not eating," he revises, "but he didn't even finish a whole pizza at April's on Monday!"

Splinter trusts this is a remarkable incident, given their identically serious nods.

"I think he's having nightmares," Donatello contributes. "At the very least, he's not sleeping well. I keep finding him awake at odd hours, and sometimes he's pretty freaked."

Splinter huffs fondly. "Should I ask what you are doing awake at 'odd hours', Donatello?" The turtle shrugs cheekily.

He ponders these insights, soothing Raphael as he twitches. Do dreams haunt him now, even surrounded by loved ones?

"Leonardo?" he prompts, drawing his final son from deep thought.

Leonardo begins slowly as if unsure, "He's been more focused during training." As they all have. With their many hardships, each of his sons has increased their dedication to learning ninja, whether they realise it or not.

He listens keenly as Leonardo continues, "But when we're out, he hesitates. I've never seen so much slip past his defense."

He hums, "You are concerned he is a danger to himself and your brothers?"

"Never," Leonardo swears.

He tilts his head, not unkindly.

"Well, yeah, I guess," Leonardo concedes. "But not like that. Raph usually loves fighting." His eyes resonate with confusion and grief and fear. "He doesn't seem to enjoy it much lately. And he's always so tired, Master Splinter. It has to be more than him not sleeping."

"Maybe they're connected," Donatello suggests, "Maybe whatever's going on is affecting his sleep, and improper sleep is exacerbating the symptoms, on and on in a vicious cycle of—"

Michelangelo groans, "We get it, Donnie."

"Shh, quiet," Leonardo hisses.

They shush each other back and forth as Splinter watches Raphael slumber with a heavy heart. Holding up a paw, they fall silent. "You are right, my sons. Raphael is wrestling with something very grave indeed."

He reaches out to them. "My turtles, you have been through so much in your young lives." They lean in, allowing him to rest a hand on them, one by one.

"How do we help him?" Michelangelo asks.

Moved as he always is by Michelangelo's generous spirit, he is loath to admit he has no answer. He is stopped before he can.

"By following Master Splinter's teachings," Leonardo pronounces, looking at him eagerly. "Ultimate mastery comes not of the body but of the mind. Through mindfulness and unity, we draw each other up."

He is humbled to hear his own words in his son's voice. Warm with pride, he inclines his head.

"A break certainly couldn't hurt," Donatello rubs his chin, "A little downtime to focus on rest and healing together."

Michelangelo brightens. "Like family time!"

Donatello and Leonardo share a fond glance. "Yeah, Mikey," Leonardo says, tucking the turtle under his arm, "like family time."

"You guys are the sappiest suckers I've ever known." Splinter chuckles as Leonardo and Michelangelo startle at Raphael's sudden utterance.

Donatello laughs, "Please, you know like seven people."

"Yeah, an' the other three are normal," Raphael grumbles. Yet he unabashedly proves himself equally "sappy" as he shifts to nuzzle Splinter's hand.

Recovering from their shock, Michelangelo exclaims, "Raph!" as Leonardo yelps, "You're awake!?"

Raphael yawns widely, opening one eye briefly to check the room. "Hard to sleep with the lot of you yappin'." He appears, if only for this moment, at ease. It is a gift to see him comfortable and unguarded. More so, Splinter acknowledges, because these things have been absent in him for too long.

"I won't say no to a break," he mumbles. He lifts a hand to swat at Leonardo blindly, "But I refuse to participate in anything called 'family time'."

Leonardo evades the wild arm, a mischievous spark in his eye, "Fine then, we'll call it team building."

Raphael scoffs, "No. That's worse."

And as the four bicker good-naturedly Splinter knows they will find peace, as surely as he knows the love that binds them. However much healing Raphael needs, he will not do it alone. His family would not let him if he tried.

[bepoets]

Married 😉😘🤞

(from your friend toomanygh0sts)

@toomanygh0sts I see what you’re looking for I see you👀

this is definitely not the wip you were trying to get something from for that one you should’ve sent in the word wife but !! married does exist in other ones so!! here you go!!

“Didn’t think you married me for my subtlety, sweetheart,” his hands instantly drawn to the curve of her hips.

this is a smutty little wip currently labeled as its title being just “filthy” because … that’s exactly what it is lmao

[gregmarriage]

trying to get motivation to write again, by doing a new set up (ipad and bluetooth keyboard) i will let you know how it goes <3

[hewwio]

Ist es wirklich so?

[bluastro-yellow]

Harry and Kim are like Annette and Plaisance, like Cuno and Cunoesse, like René/Gaston and Gaston/René, like Steban and Ulixes, like Fuck the World and Pissf%%t, like-

[slytherinshua]

Bro these pics fit so well w the fic i wrote HUEHSHEUDHD VAMPIRE SEUNGWOO MAKES ME FEEL THINGS LIKE IM SAT.

IM GOING CRAZY

[quietwingsinthesky]

prompt: samifer, "my husband"

(i love your drabbles, by the way)

(oh, that's good, because i love writing them. one of the best parts of my day, really. they're not long enough to stress me out, but the exact 100 word limit is challenging enough to make them fun.)

(and uh also i made two again. lmao. to be fair to me, these are very interlocked. interpreting the prompt a little loosely? i hope it suffices.)

A small detail in the whirlwind of Sam's last day on Earth, that before Lucifer takes him from Detroit, he slides the wedding ring off his former vessel's finger.

That turns out not to have been Sam's last day at all, and then Sam's sitting across from Dean, perfectly fine (something's wrong), and there's a ring on his finger, still.

"Where did you get that?" he asks, like he doesn't already know. He wants an answer that doesn't scare him.

Sam shrugs.

Sometimes he presses the metal to his lips. Not a kiss. Like he wants a taste of grief.

~~~

Sam's wall is broken, and Dean knows, whatever his brother claims, that there's molten metal leaking in, cooling on his skin only to entrap him further. The gold band on his left hand is a constant reminder.

Dean takes it off only once, when Sam's asleep in the passenger seat. He tosses it out the window of the Impala.

That night, he wakes up to Sam kneeling in their motel room. Dean stays still, silent.

A gleam of gold in the dark on Sam's folded hands.

"…until death do us part," he's whispering, head tilted up to meet unseen eyes.

[desperatepleasures]

2 lovely enjoyable family phone calls today and I'm fresh outta Talking Juice :( but at least I have plenty of Posting Juice left :)

[steelycunt]

hi so. i have now finished two out of three parts of the son and heir and i made a little playlist to go with it so i thought i’d share it in case anyone is interested :-) it is still under construction + i am still making changes but here it is!! that is all have a nice day!!

[kiestrokes]

There are two kinds of people: myself the aromantic and @chans-room the libra loving bisexual.

[moondal514]

Snippet from pt. 2 of Renee series