(More thoughts and drafting! Some weird formatting I know but it was all one block in my notes)
Emma is doing just fine. Average. It’s really not so bad.
She’s just been dealing with a lot of change. And with too many things not changing.
Which is… an odd thing to struggle with.
Because she likes hange. Daunting challenges. The unpredictable. Doing new things every day and never being scared of them. And she likes independence.
She had thought so, at least.
After the show, she had been hit in the face with just how… isolated she was. She had only had two friends before the first season, but she had left them behind. Her mother wasn’t doing the best, and she didn’t have any nearby family.
She found herself laying in her bed in the middle of the day most of the time, scrolling through her contacts and old conversations.
Or scrolling through her comments on TikTok.
A few weeks ago, she had tried some stunt involving a motorcycle and an inflatable pool. She probably wouldn’t have messed it up if her hands weren’t trembling.
(She had forgot to check the breaks, and wasn’t sure if they were working.)
(They were.)
The blood dripping down her face and the gash in her lip didn’t sting as much as it did watching the video.
She looked ridiculous, and she probably always did. It was better when she had someone else to do it with. Maybe she was losing her touch.
She didn’t post the video.
She turned back to dancing instead, which did feel less embarassing, despite the constant mocking feedback. Sure, the jokes were “funny”, but she didn’t care about any of it. She didn’t feel the rush, she wasn’t planning every day, and she wasn’t known or loved for anything.
Except for what she lost.
And, the show, to an extent.
-Ugh, she misses the show. She shouldn’t, but as stupid as it sounds, she missed doing crazy things and talking to people. Having a chance of winning. Beating everyone. Being cheered on. It wasn’t always great, but at least it was something. She misses doing something.
And she really misses Bowie. She missed Bowie, but she knows better than anyone that she can’t go back to that. They just- have better things to do now. He probably does.
He’s got Raj- which is great! And she’s happy for him! She’s happy for everyone. For Wayne, however he’s doing, for Julia, despite everything.
And Caleb. For having Priya.
Emma is jealous that Bowie gets to have someone.
Emma is jealous that everyone else gets to have someone.
Emma is jealous that, unlike everyone else, winning the show probably wouldn’t have made her any happier.
She isn’t sure what would.
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What about helping Ghost wash his hair? Like him being so vulnerable to let you see him like that, ha hang on my chest hurts thinking about it
Soft Moments: Ghost Edition (GN!Reader)
ghost masterlist
my fourth installment of the soft moments miniseries!! this might be the last one, or i might do one more for one of the girls <3 and ghost is blonde in this because i’ll die on the hill of reboot!ghost w/ brown eyes + blonde hair, and 09!ghost w/ blue eyes and brown hair!!!
consider supporting me on ko-fi? trying to pay for college, no pressure!!
[WARNINGS: Slight allusion to angst, 100% fluff!]
Simon had a hard time being, well.. Simon. Off of the field, when he’s on leave, he struggles deeply with the change in routine. He struggles with the vulnerability, and you would think when he’s on the field, he would have a hard time putting up the Ghost persona—he doesn’t, because it’s become his second skin. It took him a very long time for him to be comfortable without his mask for long periods of time. He pushed Simon down inside of him a lot, for a very long time—Simon and Ghost were the same, but with you? Simon has come back to him. Obviously, Simon and Ghost are the same person, but his military mentality slips away from him just long enough to show Simon, disregarding his engrained military habits. So, when Simon has you sitting on the edge of the tub, his tired eyes looking back at you, face bare—you realize how much trust he has in you. You have the shower nozzle in your hand, spraying warm water, testing the temperature with your hand.
“Tilt your head back.” You murmur, and he quietly complies. He tilts his head far back for you, and he closes his eyes. It’s funny to see such a big, muscular man sitting in a tub with his knees to his chest, but you love the sight. How relaxed his shoulders are, how he trusts you enough to close his eyes without the mask on—you gently spray the water through his short, blonde hair, the warmth of the water traveling down his scalp and traveling down his back before dripping down into the tub. He lets out a muffled, quiet groan as you let the water run down his scalp, and you cup your other hand to avoid any stray water droplets from going into his eyes. You shut the water off, allowing the shower nozzle to hang beside his head. “I’m grabbing the shampoo, alright?” You say softly as to not to disturb the peace that has settled across you two. He nods, and Simon does not open his eyes. He appreciates you verbalizing your actions—he’s done a lot with trying to trust you with his eyes closed, and you being so willing to verbalize what you’re doing means a lot to him, even if he doesn’t know how to say him.
You open the shampoo bottle and you squeeze it into your palm, until you close the bottle with one hand by pressing the lid against your palm and pressing down, the bottle closing with a click. You set it aside, and you rub the shampoo into both of your hands before you lean down and your fingers run through his scalp and his hair, apply slight pressure to scrub. You watch the tension in his eyebrows melt away, and you can’t help but take this chance to admire his face while his eyes are closed. You thoroughly scrub his scalp and his hair, making sure every inch is lathered in soap. “You’re staring again.” Simon rasps without opening his eyes, you smile. You don’t respond with words—you simply lean down and press a quick and soft kiss to his cheekbone, and you swear his upper lip twitches, almost into a smile for a second. “I’m going to wash the shampoo out now, Simon.”
You wash the shampoo out just like you said you would, making sure none is left. You keep the water a comfortable, warm temperature for him. You let him know you’re going to apply the conditioner now, and when you turn back to him, his eyes are open. You pause for a moment as you make eye contact, wondering if you did something to startle him—but he’s staring at you with such a.. soft look. A vulnerable one. He motions for you to continue and you obey, lathering your hands in the conditioner. He hums when your fingers touch his scalp, reaching up and grabbing a wrist of yours, and his thumb strokes the inside skin of your wrist. You smile and nod, because you know he’s thanking you—for washing his hair, for accepting all of him.
You wouldn’t have him any other way.
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Eddie’s on the couch shirtless, and Steve is having a full-on crisis.
Eddie’s bare chest is on full display on Robin and Steve’s couch, and Steve is having a full-blown, how did this not click til now, crisis.
Steve knows he’s staring. Knows he needs to stop staring. Eddie is going on a rant to them, something about society or something metal (he got distracted when Eddie whipped his shirt off), and Steve should really pay attention because he knows Eddie is going to quiz him after.
For someone who hates school so much, Eddie sure likes to test Steve.
Robin comes up behind Steve, slurping her slushy. “Oh no. I know that face. It finally caught up to you, didn’t it?”
Steve breaks his state to give Robin a wide-eyed look. “What—how—I—“ Steve’s shoulders sag; there is no point in hiding from Robin. “How’d you know?”
“Please, babe, I’ve been waiting. Glad to know you actually sped-run this. Was thinking you were going to pull a me and wait til Jenny Rodriguez asks to practice the stage kiss with you before you realized.”
“I have so many questions.”
“Don’t bother; nothing happened except me falling off the stage at rehearsal.”
Steve laughs but then chokes when he glances back at Eddie. “I think my brain just exploded, Robs. What do I do?”
Robin pats his back sympathetically, “There, there. Nothing you can do, bud. Just got to ride the gay thoughts wave.”
Steve makes a distressed noise. Robin rubs circles on his back.
Eddie interrupts their moment (clueless to the evident lesbian bisexual solidarity happening), “So what do you guys think? Should I get the sword here?” Eddie drags his hand slowly down his sternum.
“I need you to take it back.” Steve whips his head torwards Robin.
“Take it back?”
“The crisis, take it back.” Steve all but begs Robin.
“Sorry, there is a no refund policy. You can use it or push it to the side; it’s up to you. But either way, that baby is yours.” Robin uses her straw to emphasize her point.
Eddie tilts his head confused, “Uuuh guys? The tattoo?”
Steve waits a moment before responding. “Good.”
“I’m going to need more than that Stevie.”
“Good. Will look good on you. Anything looks good on you.” Steve has to resist shoving his face into his hands. He can feel the rush of heat up to his cheeks.
Eddie’s face breaks into a brilliant, and a little smug, smile. “Awe, thanks, sweetheart. Glad to know I got the Harrington approval.”
“You don’t need my approval to look good.” Steve was going to throw himself off the roof of their apartment. That didn’t even make any sense.
Eddie snorts, “Okay big boy. Whatever you say.”
It comes off flirtier than Steve thought a sarcastic comment could be. This time instead of responding, Steve just caves into the embarrassment, turns around, and starts lightly thumping his head into the wall.
“Eddie, c’mon, you broke him! Now I’m going to have to reboot him…again.”
Steve doesn’t see his face but doesn’t have to look to know that Eddie’s face is downright giddy. “Sorry.”
Steve doesn’t think he’s very sorry at all.
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