#-down to admirals

[pollyna]

Y'know what fuck it icemav having a mansion as house. Let them have these two stories with three bedrooms because one is for them, one is because they have to fake it until the repeal of the DADT (but it's mostly used as home office) and one for baby Bradley. A cozy place they call their own, and that makes them not afraid to be around each other or to be a family because they had such a shitty childhood that they now deserve everything they want, and that's that. A patio and a garden for every single time they try to grow something, where they fail but it's okay because mistakes aren't the end of the world, and they can learn how to fix them together. And a garage that gets bigger after five years of them living there because their neighbours don't need a piece of their share property, and so they buy it, and Mav goes a little crazy because all that space is his now. A house cat that gives everybody a heart attack for day and walking distance from most places where they can go walking that, at some point, Mav has to dust is bike.

[thief-of-eggs]

Damian: *storming into the den* Faaaather, Drake called me a rude word-

Tim: For the hundredth time, I said you were acting like Dick, not acting like a dick!

Jason: *not even glancing up from his book* That’s debatably worse

Dick: *exaggeratedly wounded gasp*

Damian: *pulling a knife* You take that back Todd-

Bruce: *as chaos ensues* …I’m out

[mctwinkdom]

"Oscar's one of the best starters on the grid" 🥹

[thresholdbb]

Admiral Janeway's adding espresso shots to her coffee black now. Icon behavior

[attyrocious]

birthday art trade with the birthday neighbor @mih4nn

[ghostlysoaps]

Inspiration - @ghcstao3

There's something to be said about the way John "Soap" MacTavish, notorious for his fleeting fancy of any given subject when off an op, hasn't been able to get Simon Riley out of his head. Granted, even before "The Incident" his lieutenant occupied his thoughts frequently. But now, oh, not a minute goes by where his attention doesn't stray, where his eyes aren't drawn to Ghost’s hulking figure, and he wishes they'd been stationed literally anywhere else but the monotone grey of autumnal England.

His sketchbook is filled with pages upon pages of studies. Greens and browns and gold – the myriad of colours hazel can be – despite how none of them feel right. Too saturated, too dark, too light. Too much or too little. Then again... it is near impossible to recreate a work of art after a mere fleeting second of studying the original. La Gioconda del Prado wasn't made with a peripheral glance at Da Vinci's subject – so how is Johnny to do the impossible?

-

"Spar with me."

Ghost pauses with his fork mid-way to his mouth. A mouth Johnny would gladly analyze at length, or map with his own one day, if not for the unhealthy obsession he's taken with Ghost's eyes.

One thing at a time.

His irises are shadowed by the tilt of his head and the presence of eyeblack but there is a subtle difference between them. Johnny is fool enough to think he can see it no matter how shit the lighting. Deluded, even, if his long-suffering best friend is to be believed. They're also dark with question, narrowed with thoughts and opinions kept close at heart.

"Alright," Ghost says and pushes the rest of his dinner away, pausing briefly as if to say something before ultimately deciding against it.

Johnny follows him with a pronounced bounce in his step and speeds through stretching and warming up. It'll be a killer tomorrow but that's a problem for future Johnny. Sore muscles are a small price to pay if it means settling a mystery.

They take their places, circling each other lazily. Johnny, ever the impatient one, lunges first and ends up with Ghost's heavy weight straddling the small of his back a couple minutes later. He grinds his teeth and heaves himself back to his feet. Sweat beads at his temples, his neck, trickling down his spine. Alight with purpose, he throws himself back in the fray.

He sways out of Ghost’s reach, blocking and evading, bouncing on the tips of his toes, throwing punches when it's fitting while he awaits the perfect time to strike. They're both grinning. It's plain as day on his own face, more subtle on Ghost's. The way the corners of his eyes crease gives him away, the shift of his plain balaclava as his lips twitch.

Johnny is focused on them like a bloodhound on a scent and when Ghost tosses his head, tilting it up with a roll of his shoulders, the florescent lights catching them just so.

Oh, is all he can think with the truth of him laid plain to see – how Johnny had been right all along. They differ subtly in darkness but when cast in either sunshine sepia or lightbulb white the contrast between them is stark. One is the deep, dark of pine, a forest green with too many hues to accurately count. It compliments the wooden brown of tree-trunk bark, flecks of whiskey-gold therein framed by pale lashes of nearly the same colour.

A modern day Medusa who stops him dead in his tracks, mesmerised, as Ghost's fist slams into the side of his face with the concentrated power of an eighteen-wheeler barreling into a concrete wall.

-

Ghost's face swims back into view an undetermined amount of time later. Worry etched into the tense way he carries himself. His hands are cupping Johnny’s cheeks, thumbs stroking once under his lower lids before they tilt his head back a fraction. He hovers close, peering into Johnny’s eyes as if they hold the secrets of the universe therein.

"Fuckin' hell Johnny. Anything broken?"

Johnny blinks at him, a dopey smile spreading over his lips like molasses.

Ghost, if anything, looks even more worried.

"Talk to me, Sergeant."

"You've beautiful eyes."

Ghost freezes in place. Gobsmacked, if Johnny were to put an expression to it. He murmurs a string of delightfully innovative curses under his breath, manoeuvring Johnny to sitting upright, and the change in vantage point only makes him a little bit dizzy. The dark spots dancing before his eyes is nothing new, honestly, but they are annoying when they're ruining his view.

"Knocked what little sense you had left right out of your head, huh?" Ghost sounds amused and Soap realises, belatedly, that he might've said all that out loud. "Price'll have a field day with this."

"Take some responsibility an' kiss it better then."

"You're concussed."

"Och aye, an' whose fault is tha'? You and yer bonnie eyes. Could get lost in 'em, y'ken?"

"You're off your head, mate."

"Ahm'nt! An' if you'd jus' stay still for a moment an' lemme look at ye, this wouldn't 'ave been an issue," Johnny grumbles indignantly. Grumbles, because whining is for children and it never works in getting him what he wants anyway. Ghost usually looks at him with the flattest stare imaginable whenever he tries. Horrid man. Johnny kind of wants to kiss him about it.

"Tell you what, Johnny. If you're good–" Ghost slings his arm over his shoulder, kindly ignoring the way his words leave him shivering, "–i'll let you look all you want."

Johnny leans against him when he's levered to his feet, swaying like a branch caught in the wind. "I can be good."

"Mmh. You're gonna listen to the nurses once I drop you off at medical?"

Soap groans and smushes his face deeper into Ghost’s surprisingly comfortable shoulder.

"I'll take that as a yes."

-

Ghost keeps his promises, it is an irrefutable fact, and Johnny can and will take advantage of that with shameless abandon.

Crawling into Ghost's lap with a shit-eating grin, paints and brushes well-within reach, wobbling precarious on his perch until Ghost takes pity and steadies him with scorching hands on his hips feels like a victory despite the dull throbbing in his temple and purpling bruises lapping up the side of his face. There are no protests when he guides Ghost's head this-way-and-that. No complaints are heard even when the warm glow of his bedside lamp shines at his eyes and their kaleidoscope of colours become present again. Ghost keeps his gaze unwavering focused when Johnny's hands rest on his face in a mirror of the day prior – though his eyelids droop down the fraction of an inch. It's intense and intimate and Johnny, no stranger to selfishness when he can get away with it, can't help but be greedy.

"Can you be good for me now, Simon?"

His lieutenant nods as far as Johnny’s hands allow and though him closing his eyes is the opposite of good, Johnny can't fault him when his own slide shut as he brings their faces together for the first time – a new obsession flaring to life in the wake of lips brushing fabric.

[spaceistheplaceart]

once again thinking about @void-dude's static ford. ough.

check this out

[unpersoniverse]

Skén:nen sá:sewh

as promised, here's Precious boy™ getting kissed by Precious wife™ because he deserves all the love in the world :cc

translation: Get home safe

[puppyeared]

boys night

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

a blessing upon vaggie's design choice to have her be the smol gf who just is always in flats. a woman just, NOT in heels

extra height?? she doesn't know her. either she's climbing her tol gf like a tree, or charlie is boosting her up there, or the demon princess of hell is gonna have to bow her head to this fallen angel if she wants some gay Smooches~<3

[invaderlynx]

Do you think Omega ever reminds Rex of himself? Two little blond tagalongs to a squad of older troopers? The age gap wasn’t so drastic between him and his brothers, but it sometimes felt that way, in the shadow of some of the best the command class had to offer. He’d learned quick though, as had she. He hopes she gets the life that all their brothers were never allowed to have. The life he never got.

I think he’d sometimes see his brothers in hers as well, though he’d try not to. Hunter and Cody, the steadfast leaders. Cody had found Rex, insisted he’d stay, protected him. He’d do anything for him and made sure Rex knew it too. Perhaps he sees a bit of Wolffe in Wrecker. Tough as nails, both of them look frightening, but are a lot softer than they seem once you get to know them. Not to mention the eye. Maybe he sees some Bly in Echo. Often the peacemaker, he also knew when to step back and let his brothers duke it out. His sense of duty was unmatched. In Tech, he’d see Ponds. People always assumed Ponds was the rational one for some odd reason. Sure, he had a good head on his shoulders, but more often than not he’d be leading the pack in whatever dumbassery they were attempting. He’d usually be the one bailing them out of it too. In Crosshair I think he’d see Fox. Blunt, sometimes harsh, and slow to trust, but clever and deeply loyal too—though that loyalty would be what Palpatine and the Empire would use to twist them into something almost unrecognizable.

[aspiringwarriorlibrarian]

The thing is, when you take Rebels and Ahsoka together there is a very clear pattern of Thrawn making perfectly sound military decisions only to have Weird Force Bullshit smash into it, so after getting warped to another galaxy by Space Snow White and his whale friends he decides enough is enough and teams up with the Weirdest Force Bullshit he can find. Like, these women can bring back the dead and have ominous coffins and pull swords out of nowhere. Even Ezra, previous conveyor of Weird Force Bullshit, seems to avoid them. So of course Thrawn thinks he’s finally won the Weird Force Bullshit arms race.

The thing he doesn’t realize is that Weird Force Bullshit is a spectrum, not a ranking system. He hasn’t even gotten to the teleporting fairy wolves or the dead owl goddess or the flashback dimension or whatever Luke is digging up on his Jedi archeology missions. Sorry Thrawn, it’s the GFFA, no one is safe from Weird Force Bullshit.

[sillylittlecharacters]

Honestly, from the little that we know about Petronille's character, an initial rivalry between her and Mirabelle makes so much sense. If you play your cards right, you can craft a dynamic tailor made to play on their insecurities!

For example, Mirabelle has shown a lot of insecurity around her ability to complete basic tasks, like needing to be taught how to cut vegetables with a nursery rhyme presumably in her teens. How might she feel being faced with someone her age able to raise a child alone? And in the case of massive, important, life defining tasks - tasks as large as saving an entire country? Mira might think that someone like Nille probably could've saved Vaugarde alone, without dragging several other people down along with her to aid her in a doomed quest…

And in Nille's case, well, if one was going to have any type of grudge against a group of heroes for taking your younger sibling directly into royalty related danger, it would make sense that most of your ire would be focused on the capital H Hero herself. The Chosen One, handpicked by the crabbing Change God, beloved by all of Vaugarde and most importantly, the perfect replacement for Nille in Bonnie's life. After all, it was Mirabelle who was there for Bonnie when they needed an older sister the most - Nille might be worried that one day Bonnie will weigh their options and decide that Mirabelle is the better choice.

Now, obviously, this is all within the realm of speculation, but I think it's interesting. I know that Mira is sober for religious reasons, but their dynamic has the potential to be a perfect cocktail of insecurities, jealousy and imposter syndrome.

And buddy? I need a drink.

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

you guys ever notice how in his dialogue when he's in bertie's presence, jeeves uses quotations and references constantly, but in his THOUGHTS during "bertie changes his mind," he doesn't use any? this is obviously because he doesn't care if we the audience know he knows shakespeare, but he will languish and die if he doesn't get to dazzle bertie with his wit and knowledge every five seconds

[nico-di-genova]

Thinking about George’s crash and Zhou’s crash at Silverstone. How George, acting on instinct, parked his car forfeited his race, and hardly thought about rushing to help in anyway he could. How he talked about how scared he had felt, and how worried for Zhou he had been. How he found himself in a situation that must have been one of his worst fears and they didn’t red flag the race for him. Despite how much he was asking for one. No. They had him sitting on the track, unable to see the cars coming at him, trapped and frantically looking around waiting for that impact. Its horrifying. It shouldn’t have happened to anyone, and the fact that George showed his true character by immediately placing another drivers safety first, but the sport couldn’t do that for him in return is so upsetting.