#but i actually like all the songs!!

[infernal-lamb]

Searching your eyes for the saint is an act of futility

something that's just been on my mind recently!

[abilai]

Fastest Wei Wuxian for his BIRTHDAYYYYYY

[disabled-femme]

labor psa: a scab is somebody who does struck work. a scab may be a union member or not—usually not, in many industries. if you are doing work that would ordinarily be done by a person on strike, you are a scab, even if you yourself are not part of a union whose members are striking

for example, an influencer who starts doing promo work for struck companies that would ordinarily be done by actors: that is a scab

regular person going to see a movie: not a scab

annoyed addition: customer going to coffee shop whose baristas are on strike to get a coffee made by a scab: not scabbing, but crossing the picket line

[puppyeared]

littlest furth shop

@laikascomet

[dudethatsmyundeaduncle]

Had this Headcannon that when Multi-Lingual Dick and Jason get drunk they start singing Ballads in Spanish. Yeah some classical shit like Vicente Fernandez but also the most wild Selena you've ever heard.

[neon-ufo]

Song for September: Alive by Týr

~~~ The portrait in the background is a leftover from a scrapped June monthly, I had a feeling it would come in handy! Not sure what to say about this one except that this is probably in my top 3 favourite pieces that i made this year. Also I keep giving Lubi swords lmao

[fantasykiri5]

Fabian Seacaster, Maximum Legend that you are

[dramiserable]

I saw Miku at the village festival the other week trust me

[hinamie]

もう一回、もう一回

[annqer]

Penacony welcomes you!! Only now for the low low price of your soul, you too can spend your life in the land of dreams!!

[starflungwaddledee]

a light shines through a cloud of colour fumes and i can feel the warmth of the sun

Gravity, let me go ♫⋆｡♪ destroyer - of monsters and men

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚★⋆｡˚ ┊ ┊ ⋆ ┊ ★⋆ ┊ ◦ kirbytober 2024 #01 ★⋆ dream // revenge // song

[breakbleheavens]

THAT'S SO TRUE Live at Radio City Music Hall The Secret of Us Tour — New York City, New York (Night 1) | October 10, 2024

[taxinealkaloids]

kill your darling, it's just that easy!

[sentientstump]

nice music

[starbuck]

john darnielle will say “no you don’t understand guys, this line was SO bad, it’s literally the worst thing ever i couldn’t even release the song because it was so awful and i couldn’t fix it,” and then the line will be “I've got a Kenmore single-room window unit air conditioner.”

[s0fter-sin]

the 141 recovering brainwashed!soap but he’s just a shell of his former self; never speaking, never moving without orders. he never even blinks; just stares straight ahead with his unnatural green eyes.

empty.

but ghost can't accept that.

price and gaz can't stand watching ghost torture himself day after day; visiting soap in his cell for hours at a time, trying anything he can think of to bring back his sergeant.

he shows him pictures of the 141 but soap thinks he's being given targets and moves to eliminate them before ghost stops him. he brings him his journal, tries to trigger his innermost thoughts and feelings he never shared with any of them, but after he reads it, soap summarises it like he's giving a mission briefing. impersonal.

cold.

it's late when ghost finally calls it; low and defeated after another long day of being stared at with eyes that don't see him. he isn't thinking when he pulls his mask off and harshly scrubs over his face, grinding his palm into his eye.

"don't worry, johnny; we're still fixin' each other's problems," he promises, little more than a whisper as he tries to summon the energy to leave johnny behind. again.

he pushes himself to his feet, his hand on the door handle when-

"what's my problem?"

ghost freezes, something like grief - something achingly closer to hope - chilling him. he slowly turns and though soap is still starring ahead, there's a faint light in his altered green eyes.

"the mask," he forces out. "take it off."

he knows there's no way to remove the mask - the muzzle - from his sergeant's face. it's too high-tech, even for them; the biometric scanner too advanced for any bypass they know of.

it's just another way he's failed him; bringing him home still bound in their enemy's chains.

soap- jolts; a sharp, almost painful looking flinch jerking his body.

"show my face?" and his voice has changed; no longer the monotone delivery that's haunted ghost's every waking moment.

it's smaller. uncertain. recollection of a memory half-destroyed.

"yes, johnny," he breathes.

soap moves unprompted for the first time since they found him; running his finger along the edge of the muzzle where his skin bulges from the pressure, half-visible scars hidden beneath the harsh metal.

"ugly," he murmurs.

ghost immediately shakes his head, almost stumbling back to the table; haphazardly throwing his mask on it. "quite the opposite," he insists.

it doesn't matter if he has no lower jaw left at all; johnny could never be ugly in his eyes.

agonisingly slowly, soap's eyes shift to the mask. he takes in the balaclava and hard shell skull like for all the times he's looked at it since his rescue, he never truly saw it. his lids fall in less of a blink and more stage curtains closing; slow, heavy, requiring effort and no small amount of strength to open once more

"good... to see you again..." he trails off, his hand shifting up to the top of his shaved head; nails digging unforgivingly into his scalp

"simon," ghost finishes for him; that horrid grieving hope tearing at his heart

soap's fingers flex and a drop of blood trails down his forehead, over the ridge of his nose to catch on the muzzle. "s-simon..."

his nails dig deeper, the drop falling to the table just to be followed by more and ghost aches to stop him but he's terrified to interrupt him. terrified to lose him now when he's so close to something.

soap's bloodied nails scratch down the crown of his head, following the line of his stolen mohawk until they come to rest on the back of the muzzle and ghost's heart drops.

they can’t get it off.

they can't get it off and he doesn't know how to explain that to soap; doesn't know if he can stomach watching soap pull at the monstrosity holding him captive, the inevitable bloodbath as the edges cut into his skin.

"show my face," soap repeats.

"johnny..." ghost begins weakly, reaching out to him but he doesn't know how, doesn't know if he even should-

the muzzle clatters onto the table.

the biometrics they couldn't bypass, the fingerprint they needed that they were so sure belonged to makarov.

it belonged to soap.

how cruel to torture him with freedom he didn't understand he could take; didn't even understand he could want.

just the kind of sick game makarov loves.

ghost doesn't know what's louder; his heart pounding in his ears or the long, uninhibited breath soap takes.

his eyes fall shut as he leans his head back with it, the blood still dripping down his face as he straightens through his exhale. his lower jaw is a mess of scars where he fought against the previous iterations of the muzzle, the corners of his lips cut through and cracked.

but the green in his eyes is duller; that light sparking brighter as blue struggles to break through the glow.

ghost's never seen anything so beautiful.

"good to see you again, johnny."