#and johnny knows that

[foreverandeveralone863]

All the best competitive players in the MK community rank Kenshi as the most broken fighter in the game yet some fans on tiktok be like “he needs help drinking water sometimes” be fucking for real

[mischievous-thunder]

It's him, Johnny. Logan himself is the source. He tried to get out of the Void that way and failed.

[bluegiragi]

i drew johnny "soap" mactavish as phreak (the original design) from overwatch.

bonus (just for fun):

[catwouthats]

Wade: *giggling over the fact Logan uses pet names for him*

Logan: Holy shit, I need to find out this guy’s name. I can’t keep calling him Bub….

[sugaredquillink]

your neighbor johnny is an avid reader…

soap request for @ceilidho <3

and a little bonus

[crestapex]

Price: What kind of girl do you prefer?

Ghost: My wife.

Price: Now what kind of girl do you prefer?

Soap: Ghost’s wife.

[allthegothihopgirls]

when the batboys get broken bones or other things that can't be fixed in the batcave, and have to go to an actual hospital, they make up the most outlandish sounding excuses for their injuries:

dick (with a broken leg): "well you see, i was actually trying to jump over a river on a pair of rollerskates"

jason (with broken ribs): "i was volunteering at the zoo... feeding the alligators. i fell backwards with the meat in my hands, and one pounced on me. funny how much damage they can do."

tim (with the worst concussion man has ever seen): "oh that? i was walking outside.. and my brothers were playing basketball on the top floor of the house, and one of them accidentally threw the ball out the window, and it landed on my head"

(bruce hears that one and has to reconsider whether or not the version of the story tim told him (getting hit by condiment king's mustard launcher) was the truth or not)

damian (with fingers twisted in every direction): "i play the piano... very violently"

[wombywoo]

the series is finally complete--Johnny yapping across the seasons 🌞🍂❄️🌷

[disgustingtwitches]

Bad habits that would irk 141

Price- I call people "dude," "man," or the worst one, "bro." It comes so naturally to me that I say it to everyone, and he hates that. He's a captain, a sir, an authority figure. He'd be stern about it,

"I'm not a 'bro'. Watch your mouth before I remind you who I am."

Gaz- I eat the cartilage and marrow out of chicken bones... I was just raised that way. I was told it was good for me and I shouldn't waste any part of the animal. Please don't judge me╥﹏╥ He wouldn't say anything about it, but it would definitely be an ick for him, LMAO. I'd be able to tell because of his face though, the expressive man he is.

Ghost- When I complain without wanting a solution to my problems. Sometimes I just wanna get things off my chest, and God bless him for trying to resolve my issues. But when I say I just wanna complain, he just thinks, "Why bring it up if you don't want me to help you?"

Soap- I leave laundry piles in my room; they are clean; I just don't like putting them away... He's not exactly a clean freak, he just sees everything through,

"C'mon Bonnie, ye'r almost done wi' it. Juist gotta put it away."

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

this is entirely @tame-the-lion-writes fault for giving me brain worms lol

it really does start with kyle-- he's the bird, he can scope out the area the 141 are staying for the time being. what he doesn't expect is you, the pretty thing fixing up one of the cabins near them. he starts to hang around, becomes noticed by you (especially when he leaves you trinkets on the porch). johnny is next, he follows kyle to see where he goes when he disappears for hours. johnny plunges in faster than kyle. he's rumbling through drawers and sleeping in your blankets not too far along while kyle perches on your desk chair. you're receptive but hesitant. should wild animals be this friendly?

it gets more concerning when there's a bear rolling around in your front yard. he pushes your mailbox down--then back up once he realizes it's down. he sticks his head through your kitchen window and demands toast. price wants in, the best way for that is being as harmless as possible. so letting gaz perch on him and soap sleep on him (grumpily). eventually he's rewarded with head pats and cuddles in the living room (thankful for the wide door).

simon is much more reluctant. you can see him lurking, following you from afar, but he only ever gets close if you're in need of help. one time another big dog snarled at you and he attacked it. another time he led you away from a burrow of snakes. you see him with the fox, who plays with his tail and nimbles his haunches, but that's about it. he'll sleep on the porch when the other three are inside. you leave him scraps and let him be distant for awhile. it's a trust exercise to get him to be near you, so when he eventually comes to lay at the door to your room and allows soft touches to his ears, you take the win.

they're surprisingly helpful. ghost will bring you your shoes and gaz retrieves earrings. soap picks out blouses while price decides how cohesive the outfit is. they're good at online shopping and johnny will hide in your bag when you go to pick it up. they like to "find" money for you so you don't feel as bad dressing up more. gaz learns to braid with his beak while simon lays his head on your thigh.

they've managed to explain their nicknames of "gaz" (fridge letters), soap (lots of soap bars with teeth marks), "ghost" (a bed sheet and the way he acts), and "price" (money, lots of it, with help from the fridge letters).

they're not sure how to broach the "shifter" topic, so they don't for the time being. they take care of you in the ways they can, you bandage their paws and offer forehead kisses.

[godihatethiswebsite]

18+

Oh to spend a day in the crisp autumn highlands, wrapped up in MacTavish plaid, hands kept warm with a small thermos full of mulled wine, watching a wild and carefree Johnny—all boyish smiles and face flushed from the cold—skipping rocks over the loch looking handsomely rugged in full Scottish kilt and a chunky knit sweater.

And if later on he lays you out on the blanket and keeps the chill away with his brawny weight draped over top and his hot breath panting babbled praise in your ear then who's around to judge a lad for keeping his bonnie hen warm the old fashioned way?

Masterlist

[sgt-tombstone]

Call signs weren’t supposed to be flattering. More often than not, they were the direct result of some embarrassing fuck-up that trailed a soldier for the rest of their life. They were voted on by the first platoon that a soldier joined, usually within the first few months, and they then spent the next few months cringing every time they heard it. Simon’s first platoon had seen a recruit land the call sign “Seagull” after a drunken dare to nick a fry from their captain’s tray in the mess hall, and he had personally bestowed the call sign “Dash” upon a soldier who had somehow managed to clip himself in the leg with his own bullet. Dumb Ass Shot Himself…

The embarrassment wore off, though. When one was stuck with a name for the rest of their lives, they learned to live with it sooner rather than later. The associated stories either got buried deep or drunkenly flaunted; the stupider the better. The funny ones became a point of pride and the truly humiliating ones eventually settled into something sort of like mundanity. Amusing tales became nothing more than yet another name, a stitched moniker, an email signature. The point was: by the time they made it to the special forces, and especially once they were assigned to a task force, no one gave a shit about their call signs anymore.

Whenever Soap heard his call sign, whenever anyone asked after its origins, he laughed it off, citing his ability to clean house or, more flirtatiously, his ability to clean up after himself, but he always internally cringed.

No one ever noticed. No one except for Ghost.

He never said anything, never asked about it, which Johnny was thankful for, but he was infinitely more thankful that Ghost took every opportunity to call him literally anything else. Sergeant, at first, then Johnny. MacTavish, if he was mad; any other combination of insults if he wasn't, because they both knew he never really meant them. Sunshine, sometimes, in the mornings when Soap stumbled out of bed in whatever safe house they were staying in, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. Scottish Bastard, or Our Johnny, or Pyromaniac, or Lad. Rarely Soap.

It was in his file, Johnny knew, the file that Ghost had read cover to cover, too paranoid to blindly trust Price's judgment with a new team member. Evidently, he hadn't made the connection between the incident report nestled in the sheaves of paper and Johnny's embarrassment. More likely, he just didn't care. Johnny wasn't sure which option he preferred.

Johnny had always had an issue with authority, and joining the military had done nothing to quell his rebellious streak; he was still a teenager, fresh out of basic, barely legal, the first time it happened. His sergeant had been giving him eyes for the entire two months since he'd joined, and Johnny'd be lying if he said he hadn't pushed himself just a little harder in response to the attention. The night of graduation found Johnny in the sergeant's bed, taking everything he was given and begging for more.

He hadn't seen that sergeant again after that, but it had more to do with Johnny's SAS training than anything else, and it started a bad habit. Nearly every unit he joined, he eventually ended up in his superior's bed. It was all consensual, and Johnny would be willing to attest to it if need be, but he never got caught, and he moved from unit to unit so often that it never really mattered.

Until it did.

Two years out of basic, about halfway through his SAS training, he got caught. Rather, they got caught. They were in the showers, his lieutenant pressing him against the tile wall, when their captain had walked in. The implications were clear, especially with Johnny on the receiving end, and the lieutenant had gotten discharged, despite Johnny's protestations. It had been his idea, but it still looked like an abuse of power. Word had flown around the base, and Johnny had gotten stuck with the call sign Soap as a terrible joke; "don't drop the soap" was uttered nearly every time he entered a room, and he ended up being the youngest to pass selection largely to get away from the teasing.

Once he joined the SAS, he never saw anyone involved in the incident ever again. The incident report went in his file, but it got buried among the accolades, the outstanding test results, the exceptional service record. No one except his superior officers had the clearance to read his file, which was for the best; their knowledge of his bad habit kept him from indulging, and he hadn't looked at another superior officer the same way since.

Until Ghost. Who called him Johnny, not Soap. Who tolerated and even encouraged his flirting. Who knew every detail of his file but never pushed for more.

Whenever Johnny got too close to a line, Ghost would switch back to Soap, just once, just enough to nudge him back a step, but he was never cruel. It was a slap on the wrist, not a sharp reprimand, and Johnny had learned enough about Ghost's tone and eyes to see the switch for what it was: a gentle warning, a clearly expressed boundary.

And then one of their missions went to shit, and Johnny ended up in the hospital for months, and Ghost stopped calling him Soap altogether. In the aftermath, Johnny danced closer and closer, always expecting his cautionary call sign to fall from Ghost's lips, but it never did. On and off the field, Ghost simply watched Johnny get closer, stopped holding him at arm's length. He started welcoming his flirting, started actively encouraging him, started reciprocating.

The first time they fell into bed together, something panicked fluttered in Johnny's chest. He'd been here before; he'd gotten a lieutenant wrongfully dishonorably discharged before, for nothing more than the very act that he and Ghost had been dancing around for years. The moment before their lips met, he backpedaled sharply, only to be caught by the rigid warmth of Ghost's arms.

Ghost knew. Ghost knew his past, knew his record, knew what he'd been walking into. Ghost didn't care.

Price knew. Price knew his past, knew his penchant for gravitating towards authority, and still had placed him within Ghost's grasp time and time again. Price didn't care.

And Gaz... well, Gaz was Johnny's biggest enabler. Gaz didn't care.

So he let himself take the final step, the leap of faith, and landed safely in Ghost's hold, in Ghost's bed, and in Ghost's life. Loved, satisfied, and most importantly, protected. Safe.

And if he started wearing his call sign like a badge of honor for the first time in his life... well, he was sleeping with a superior officer, and he wasn't ashamed of it anymore. Whenever Ghost looked at him, reverent, bordering on worshipful, Soap couldn't find it within himself to feel a single ounce of embarrassment over his name.

[bluegiragi]

chasing tail.

early access + nsfw on patreon

[its-kinda-snowy]

Well-well-well, look what the cat dragged in

[kittyfrisk9]

IdeaDpxDc- The petition

Note: Sorry, I don't know English, so please use a translator. I apologize if you don't get the idea.

Nightwing receives a very strange request from a child. Dead On Main (implied)

---

It happened on the rooftop of some building, when Nightwing was taken by surprise by the strange request from his brother's boyfriend's younger brother.

"Are you part of the Bats, huh?" the kid asked, crossing his arms and staring intently.

"Yeah," Nightwing replied, smiling with a slight nod. "How can I help you?"

"I need your help. Investigate my brother's boyfriend," he said, frowning.

"What?" Nightwing responded, raising an eyebrow, visibly surprised.

"I'm usually very good at stalking people," he continued, pacing back and forth, "but this guy, Jason, he's really suspicious. He's hiding something, I know it. I tried to follow him to find out what he's hiding, but he caught me!" He stopped and looked at the other with frustration. "He's done it ten times already. No one's caught me that many times! Well, except Danny the idiot, but he doesn't count," he added, waving a hand as if it were a trivial detail. "Danny's too stupid to suspect anything," he said, looking worriedly at the ground. "I can see it in his eyes, love has blinded him." He looked up, with a serious expression. "What if his boyfriend turns out to be a trafficker and wants to steal his organs? Or gets him into drugs? Or is some kind of criminal mastermind?" He sighed, crossing his arms again. "I've noticed his questionable behaviors. I don't trust that guy."

"I see. You're worried about your older brother, you're a sweet kid," Nightwing commented with a smile as he leaned against the edge of the building, looking out over the illuminated city.

"I'm not a kid and I'm not worried! I'm an adult, I'm older than you!" the boy retorted indignantly, crossing his arms.

Nightwing raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh, how old are you?"

"... 30," the young man murmured, avoiding eye contact.

Nightwing chuckled. "You look 12."

The boy frowned, clearly annoyed. "I'm not here to talk about my age. Are you going to do the job or not?" He took a step forward, his tone impatient.

Nightwing raised his hands in surrender. "Haha, okay, okay. What makes you think your brother, Danny, is in danger?" Straightening up, he looked at the young man more seriously, ready to listen.

"He met him on a dating app. That's not weird, but when he introduced me, the guy was huge. Big, and Danny's a twig," the young man started, looking at Nightwing seriously. "I know he's 19, but genetics decided to abandon him." He mocked the boy.

Nightwing raised an eyebrow, curious but still confused. "And that's suspicious because...?"

The boy raised a hand to stop him. "Wait, let me finish." He approached the rooftop's edge, looking out at the city. "The guy not only is huge but also knows how to fight. I threw eggs at him and he dodged every single one. And he beat me in a fight!"

"Pff, you threw eggs at him?" Nightwing asked with a raised eyebrow, trying not to laugh at the idea of seeing Jason covered in eggs. The young man gave him a annoyed look. "Okay, okay, don't get mad. What else do you have to tell me?"

The boy continued firmly: "He also knows how to use weapons. Danny and that guy went to a shooting range for one of their dates. I followed them, and that guy was as good as Danny! Not only that," the boy added, turning to look directly at Nightwing. "I saw him threaten someone once, and he seems to have contacts with Red Hood. No normal person has contacts with a crime lord." Warning, emphasizing the danger it implied.

"Yeah, that says a lot," Nightwing agreed, while in his mind he wondered why Jason had taken Danny to a shooting range. There were better places for a date. "I understand, I'll look into it. What's your name, kid?" He asked, more for appearances' sake.

"Dante Nightingale," he replied. "I'll wait for you here on Thursday at the same time for the report," he ordered. This attitude reminded him so much of Damian; maybe he should introduce them.

"Alright, boss," Nightwing joked, then jumped to another building. Tonight he'd have a lot of material to tease Jason with; his brother-in-law didn't trust him. Haha.

---

Note: Sorry, I don't know English, so please use a translator. I apologize if you don't get the idea.

[emmster]

Thinking about how Simon checks for a pulse and then he doesn’t feel Johnny’s pulse