#brain rebooting

[juniemunie]

[Abandoned by the Lightners, his heart became cracked with hatred.]

Hitting a lil' too close to home?

[stark-lord]

DEAD BOY DETECTIVES (2024)

1.05 - The Case of the Two Dead Dragons

Or,

Edwin. I saw that.

[batshaped]

stay out of women's business

[audiart]

Keepsakes!! 💜🩵🩷

[kithtaehyung]

sorry i’ve been needing multiple moments and it’s been 20 minutes

[galactic-glamour-girl-posts]

Animaniacs Reboot Post-Credits Scene (REAL...kinda)

From the Animaniacs Vinyl (full picture under the break).

From @faithkossina's Twitter:

[waterghostype]

shit postings

[saliosis]

everyone is redrawing shit so hello world

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

he's got you 👍

[starlightvld]

Bait & Switch, pt. 1

Part 2 >>

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, implied soapghost, angst with a happy ending Part 1 cw: mentions of torture, blood, violence, MWIII spoilers

---

Soap turns hazy, unfocused eyes toward the screen and watches the man with his face run down the tunnels under the English Channel. The man shoots at Konni soldiers, ferocity and desperation painted over every twitch of his brows and silent shout from his lips. 

It all seems so real.

But it can't be. It's not.

He watches Price and the man with his face cut through the enemy. Watches them attempt to disarm the bomb.

Watches Marakov approach.

Their bodies jerk in succession as Makarov's bullets rip through them both. They hit the ground, and sympathetic pain throbs through Soap's shoulder. 

He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. Not his wound. Not him. Just a man with his face bleeding onto dirty concrete on the other side of a black and white screen.

Makarov goes after Price. The man with Soap's face rises up to stab Makarov and–

Makarov blows a hole through the man's head.

It's surreal to watch his own face go blank. To watch the life drain from wide eyes within seconds. To see the others barely pause. Only standing beside the body for a few moments before continuing on because they have a fucking job to do. No time to pause and mourn the perpetual FNG.

Except for Ghost.

Soap's vision darkens on his right side, and he blinks away the sweat or blood – could be either or both but he's too numb to care – as Ghost falls to his knees beside the body of the man with Soap's face. The CCTV cameras are too shitty to see his eyes as he gazes down at the body leaking blood across the floor, but Soap hopes.

Hopes there's real emotion there. Hopes even more that Ghost finally sees it – finally sees that the dead man whose chest he's so tenderly pressing with his hand isn't his *Johnny.*

This time the watery blur appears in both eyes, and he doesn't bother to blink it away. Because he's seen all this before, and it never changes.

The door behind him opens, but he keeps his focus on the screen. He watches his former teammates leave the body behind in their desperation to follow Makarov.

But they won't find him. Soap knows because he recognizes the footsteps behind him as easily as he once recognized Ghost's.

Ghost, who made his gait purposefully distinct to alert Soap to his presence before slipping into Soap's bed late at night and who murmured soft words in his ear, words no one would ever believe the hardened man would say out loud. But he did. He said them to Soap as he took him apart piece by piece like he would a favorite gun, slow and deliberate, before putting him back together with love and care.

A hand slides into his long, filthy hair. Soap braces for the pain, and Makarov doesn't disappoint as he yanks Soap's head back.

"Enjoying the show?"

Soap doesn't respond. He never does, though it enrages Makarov.

On the screen, soldiers fill the tunnel, taking up the space won back by the 141. They set up a perimeter around the bomb.

The dead man remains sprawled on the ground, lifeless and forgotten.

"Look how they just left you behind. Left you to be picked up and brought here to wallow in misery."

A surge of anger burns through him—

But.

No. That's not right. Soap was never in that tunnel.

He's been in this cold, dark room since the mission in Siberia, taken down by a bullet and dragged away before he could radio for help. He has no idea how long he's been here, but he's endured every kind of torture: electrocution, waterboarding, frostbite, knives, pliers, hot pokers, and more. His body is a canvas of scars and burns

Through it all, he held on to his faith with ragged, broken fingers, with bloody teeth sunk into the promise of hope, that his team would find him. That *Ghost* would find him, rescue him from this hell, and wreak havoc on their enemies.

Until Makarov showed him why no one had come for him. Why no one will ever come for him.

A knife flashes in front of his eyes, fluorescent light reflecting off silver. Soap's voice grates through the air like steel against steel.

"Who was he?"

Makarov lets go of his hair, leaving behind a dull throb of residual pain, and rounds the chair Soap is tied to, hands on his hips and a sadistic glint in his eye.

"Him? Oh, just someone who got confused about his role in this lovely little play. Perhaps the serum was a bit too effective at turning him into you, disgusting loyalty and all, hmmm?"

Serum.

Memories resurface slowly. He's had this conversation with Makarov before. A sliver of panic bleeds into his numbness.

Christ have mercy. He's fucking losing it. How long before he stops remembering? How long before he becomes a shell of himself?

Maybe it doesn't matter. After all, no one is coming for him.

When Soap doesn't say anything more, Makarov's glee sours into a frown. The blade flashes in front of his blurred vision once more before pressing against his neck.

"I admit I thought you would be easier to break. You seemed so obedient in Verdansk. You could've ended me, but instead you followed orders like a good little soldier. And here you are."

The knife digs in, but pain is a familiar friend he's learned to ignore. When Soap doesn't react, Makarov sighs.

"I suppose if you won't break on your own, it's time to get experimental."

He brings out a syringe and holds it up as if considering his next action. The liquid inside glows a sickly yellow green, and Soap's stomach churns at the thought of what new pain this torture it might bring. Because he knows Makarov's pause is just for show. There is no escape.

The gleeful grin returns as he jabs the needle into Soap's neck in the same spot he'd just cut him open. The liquid is brutally cold as it enters his blood stream, his muscles seizing from the rapid temperature change.

WIthin seconds, Soap's world tilts sideways. His eyes blur yet again. He blinks and blinks, but the room goes softer with every passing second. His muscles relax, and he slumps forward in his chair, the bonds securing his wrists behind him cutting into his skin, though he can't feel it anymore.

Makarov sounds like he's underwater when he speaks. "Good. Let us begin."

Blackness takes him.

---

When Soap wakes, he's no longer in a dark, cold room. Through the broken out window of his full helmet, he sees strange buildings rising up into a swath of blue sky. Giddiness that borders on panic wells up in his chest.

He's outside. He made it outside. Did he escape? He doesn't remember.

His gaze falls, and the world stops.

He's surrounded by rivers of blood, knife in hand. His heart pounds like he's dying.

And on the ground lies a Ghost, splayed out like a sacrifice, bloodied and beaten and looking up at Soap like he's seen God.

"Johnny?"

Part 2 >>

[booksandpaperss]

yes byler coming out to the party during the apocalypse n all but what about byler living together during and even after college and Dustin and Lucas are so used to them being attached at the hip that they genuinely don’t think anything of it, el knows courtesy of Will but doesn’t tell anyone and Max figured it out but thinks it’s hilarious that Dustin and Lucas have absolutely no idea, so one day when they’re all around age 30 Mike and Will announce that they’re engaged and Dustin n Lucas fall out of their chairs

[artificial-angels]

warners art guhh (I THINK MY ART BLOCK IS GOING AWAY YAYYYYYY)

oh and pinky

[bellaxgiornata]

It's been a bit since I've posted one of these (or have even been hearing the guys), but Matt decided to show up unannounced this morning in that fake apartment filled with fictional characters that exists solely in my head in a way that couldn't be ignored. And he wasn't alone...

(My brain is rebooting as I try to get those two Tuna-Tober fics edited to post hopefully soon. Thank y'all for being patient. I'm still behind on answering messages--thank you constant illnesses and the holidays. Promise I'm not ignoring any of y'all).

[Matt striding into the room in his black suit]

Jax (smirking as he leans back on the couch, spreading his legs while throwing an arm over the backrest): Showing up in pajamas this time? Think that's gonna suddenly get her attention? You look ridiculous.

Matt (huffing an amused breath): Think I know her better than you do, buddy.

Jax (cocking his head to the side and arching a brow in challenge): That why it's just been me here for weeks? 'Cause she hasn't written a damn thing for you in a while. So now you gonna throw a fit about that?

[Frank shoves the front door open, stepping inside followed by Michael. Both men immediately glare at Jax comfortably resting on the couch, one of his shoes now perched on the coffee table. Frank’s eyes zero in on the shoe before he makes his way over, kicking it off with a booted foot.]

Frank (growling): She don't like shoes on the furniture, asshole. Stop fuckin' the place up.

Michael (speaking to Matt but glaring at Jax): This the bastard ya said been stayin' here while we were gone? Looks like a right prick.

Jax (expression darkening as he leans forward on the couch): Seems to me none of you fuckers were comforting enough over the past few weeks.

Frank (jaw tightening): Better watch your goddamn mouth, blondie.

Michael (glancing at Matt as he stalks his way to the couch beside Frank): The hell are ya wearin'? What happened to the red suit?

Matt (smirking and unphased): I'm doing something here, just trust me.

Frank (still focused on Jax): What makes you think you're so damn comforting? The fuck you know about the stress of raisin' kids?

Bella (rubbing my forehead as I make my way into the room): Would you all just quiet down? I've got a migraine that's been a persistent pain in my ass for over two and a half months and the yelling isn't helping. Also, Jax has two kids, Frank.

Michael (quirking a brow at me at the information): Ya really got a type there, don't ya, love?

Bella: Okay, ha ha, morally gray men are my weakness. Especially if they're dads. Now can y'all play nice while my brain tries to boot back up? It's been months since I've written or edited anything and the arguing isn't helping. So just, like, get comfortable with each other right now, alright?

Jax (smug as he puts a foot back up on the coffee table): Oh, I'm getting real nice and cozy, darlin'.

[Frank grunts and kicks his foot off the coffee table again.]

Frank: Watch it before I get curious to see how flammable your hair is.

Michael (resting a hand on Frank’s shoulder and shaking his head): Not helpin' things, Frank. Just ignore him.

Bella: Great. So just...play nice for a bit. Okay?

[All of them give each other unsteady looks, clearly knowing that's not about to happen.]

Bella (glancing over at Matt): And you just...stay in that.

Matt (a satisfied smirk curling up his lips): Sure thing, sweetheart.

[lazylittledragon]

love is stored in the characters you made 4 years ago and can’t let go of

[windydrawallday]

WHAT?! Is the anniversary of Bionicle?

And here I am, without much to share visually AAAAAA BUT HEY! I decided to compile my fav bunch of art I did during those years of the Reboot/G2 that made me rediscover such a cool franchise (and the last artworks are two of the most modern ones).

Plus, I can really say that without these art experimentations, I wouldn't have developed so many of my modern rendering techniques!

So, cheers to it and everyone that keeps enjoying it and/or found a muse in it like I did x)

This brand too has the privilege of being my true first robot hell bahaha

[scaredysap]

fandom experience sometimes be like