We haven’t touched on Cowboy!Ghost’s, well, ghosts before, and I literally couldn’t get this out of my head last night. I’m going to treat this like actual fic, I feel so fancy...
Warnings:
Hurt/Comfort, Graphic depictions of animal death, PTSD, Ghost going through it
Pairing:
Ghost x OC (Goose) [can be read as x reader]
Summary:
Early days of Ghost and Goose’s relationship. Ghost has always prided himself on his ability to handle any situation, no matter how bleak. So why does he find himself so ill equipped to handle something as small as a couple chickens death?
A coyote got into the henhouse last night.
You can hear its yips and snarls, the aggressive barks of your cattle dog as it darts at the chicken wire, the starling lack of clucking. You whistle for the dog, and it races to go check on the other animals. The last thing you need is for the coyote to get into it with Mav when you pull its sorry ass from the chicken pen. You yawn, trying to hold onto the hope that at least some of your ladies got somewhere safe before the carnage started. You’ll stop by the tractor supply later and grab some chicks to bolster your flock again.
You stop. Watching Ghost stand frozen in front of the pen, shoulders tight, barely breathing. His eyes a million miles away.
The pen is littered with half shredded chickens. Feather and muscle strewn about. The wild frenzy of a half starved predator laid out in front of you. The loose organs and scent of death turns your stomach, you can’t imagine what it does to a fresh soldier. Ghost’s finger twitches, beating a rapid tattoo against his thigh, his gun is still neatly holstered. You suppose that’s for the best, or maybe a signal of the worst.
You think about your first fourth of July after your Daddy’s second tour. The way he’d disappeared into the house like a ghost. The way your momma handed you off to your granny and followed after him. How your granny had told you: sometimes you see something so bad it never leaves you.
"Go wait in the house," you tell him as soft as you can, pulling at his arm to try and pull his attention. Ghost nods mutely, eyes still glued to the blood soaked earth and torn limp bodies. "Go on," you press a little more firmly, you lead him away from the henhouse, out of sight of it, "I'll be in shortly."
Ghost follows your direction, ears ringing, head stuffed with cotton. Everything feels far away and yet so brightly present. He can smell gunpowder and burnt flesh, can feel the wet warmth of blood on his clothes where he knows there isn't any. Can hear the shouting. He pushes the front door to the house open and holds the brass handle tight in his fingers for a long moment, just standing, waiting. As if he'll hear the pang of gunfire over the infinitely patient silence.
He goes to the kitchen and puts the kettle on. Stares at the black iron as it sits on the burner and waits for the yip of the coyote, the last gunshot. It doesn’t come. You take his hand in the silence and turn the burner off. Lead him to the table and sit him heavily in one of the wooden chairs. Ghost keeps his eyes forward, his shoulders rigid. He waits. He doesn't know what he's waiting for. For the memories to stop.
His hat is removed, set carefully on the table. A warm cloth touches his face, wiping gently at the crease in his forehead, at the stern set of his brow. Your fingers reach for the edge of his mask and he grabs your wrist, eyes finally darting to yours in a panic. He can't. It's too much, too hard. He can't.
Somehow you seem to understand, fingers sliding instead to cup his jaw, to rub your thumb against his cheek over the soft cotton. The washcloth wipes his brow again, still warm and soothing.
"You're safe," you murmur, "Safe and sound right here with me. And Daddy.” You tack Price on, as if you might not be enough to convince him. As if it isn’t your touch that’s bringing him back, your eyes that hold his with such kind patience it makes his heart hurt. “We won't let anything hurt you."
Ghost doesn’t say anything, can’t make his lips move or conjure a thought as to what he might say. If there is anything to say. Is there anything to say?
You tip his head forward, press the lightly damp cloth against the back of his neck. He lets his hand drop from your wrist as you move your hand from his cheek to scratch your fingers through his hair. Gentle, calming touches. Never asking more from him than his comfort.
He settles his hands on your hips, and for a moment he can pretend you’re his.
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I've been watching Hazbin Hotel in prime. Just watched episode 5 and I gotta ask
Why, oh, WHY DON'T I SEE MORE PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT "MORE THAN ANYTHING" WHEN TALKING ABOUT THE HAZBIN HOTEL MUSIC???
Like I get it, the song before it "Hell's Greatest Dad" Is a bop reminiscent of other music from the era its parodying. I loved it.
BUT why are you only putting clips of that song when this MASTERPIECE comes a few minutes after
I honestly don't even know where to begin with this song. The visuals are beautiful, especially when we get moments like this where you can just see the absolute LOVE this man has for her daughter is so sweet and Heartwarming I just-
The voices are fenomenal but what else can you expect from the broadway talents of Erika Henningsen and Jeremy Jordan.
There is also the whole Symbolism with passing the baton to the next generation and stuff. I- I can't even get into the specifics right now Im too emotional.
But above all else THE LYRICS
ESPECIALLY THAT LAST ONE
"I'M GRATEFUL YOU ARE MY DAUGHTER/FATHER MORE THAN ANYTHING"
DO YOU WANT ME TO CRY?? CAUSE I AM. I AM BAWLING MY EYES OUT RIGHT NOW.
It's just so fucking beautiful man. Probably the best song I will hear all year. Obviously my favorite from Hazbin.
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all i wanna say is: Shuri as black panther is just something else....
Her beautiful curls tied back, golden makeup covering her eyelids and lashes standing long and beautiful, her revenge era making her glow with confidence, determination and strength and lots of pain and sadness 💀
She didn't hesitate at any moment in that final battle, moves grace and feline, but also brute and fast, claws sharp and shinning, giving her all and discharging all her pain and anger in that fight with Namor. She was terrifyingly beautiful, the baddest little meow meow i could go on about her for eternity i–
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