#but i love her and i love them so like

[kanos]

TOUCH for maxine??

would absolutely die for you ci.

short and absolutely no proofreading we die like men. if it sucks it suck idc no more <3

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There was no denying that they were pinned down and escape was farther from their reach than they hoped. Maxine knew that Ghost would go down fighting as hard as he could, but for her- this was too much. Her brain was in overdrive and the noise, the accelerated racing of her heart, the feel of the gun in her hands- it was overstimulating to say the least. If her soul could leave her body, she was sure it happened just now. 

“Sinclair, gun up!” Ghost urged, shooting her a look she couldn’t quite read. 

Maxine takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, mustering up everything in her to push up on the barrier and aim and fire. She counts for every shot she makes as if it grounded her, taking her mind off of how close she was to losing herself. Even if she couldn’t do it for herself, there was no use in putting the Lieutenant in harm's way for her mistakes.

Despite their rocky relationship and the unsureness of his feelings towards her and her own feelings towards him, she had grown attached to the man. After everything and how far they had gotten, she would never forgive herself if something happened to him here and now. 

“Nice shot.” He praises. A steady hand aims without fail and a focused eye through his scope watches as their targets go down. “Movement to the left, watch yourself.” 

It’s hard to respond as she scans the left and she frowns when she sees nothing. However, she keeps her gun up and a tense finger on the trigger as she does another sweep. “L.T, I don’t see anything.” 

Ghost takes down an enemy in the window of the building across from them and he quickly looks towards the left, grunting as he lowers his weapon. “We can’t stay here, we need to move.” 

Maxine nods, but before they can budge, gunshots startle both of them and she’s falling forward, gasping like all the air has been knocked from her. Ghost raises his pistol and takes out the offending shooter in one shot while his other arm pulls her closer to him. He drags her back further and around another barrier while he looks out for other surprise visitors. She grips onto his arm weakly, head spinning at the pain shooting through her back.

“You alright?” Ghost questions quickly, glancing down at her. His gaze moves to her arm and then back to her face. “Maxine, answer me.” The use of her name sounded softer than others who have said it before and her mind lingers on that for a moment. A gloved hand touches her cheek and she flinches, but he doesn’t pull away. Dark eyes stare down at her intensely and she feels heat flush her cheeks, pain melting away and suddenly she understands tunnel vision. She can’t look away.

“It hit my vest. I’m okay.” She manages to get the words out, but her throat feels tight and dry. 

Ghost shakes his head and his hand moves down to her arm, just below her shoulder. “And here. Looks like just a graze, though. Lucky to be alive, Sinclair.” 

A part of her wishes he’d say her name again- she liked how it sounded coming from him- but she doesn’t have time to ponder it when he pulls her to her feet. She grits her teeth, holding onto him like her life depended on him, stumbling to find her footing. No matter how many times she’s been shot, she’ll never get used to the pain, bruising, and internal trauma it causes. 

“Backup is on the way to extract us. Try to avoid getting shot again.” He jokes in a rough manner and she frowns at that. “Soap, do you copy?” 

“Copy, L.T. Almost there.” 

“Good. Need a medic on standby.” 

There’s a delay in the response. “Copy that.”

“I’m the medic.” Maxine mutters, following him out and into the warzone again. “I can take care of this myself.” 

Ghost looks back at her for a moment, eyes trailing her figure. “Don’t argue, Sinclair.” 

“Yes, sir.” She sighs, avoiding his gaze now. 

It wasn’t long before they made it out and met up with Soap, who stood with the rest of the team, anxiously waiting. She can see him visibly relax at the sight of the two of them. It takes three of them to get her to actually let the medic do their job, but she finally calmed down and removed her vest. 

It was awkward with Ghost standing there, watching them as if he needed to make sure she wouldn’t run away. The medic bandaged the cut on her arm and lifted her shirt to reveal what damage had been done to her back. She winces at the tenderness and she knows there’s an ugly bruise darkening below her shoulder blade. Another push has her putting her head against the table, breathing heavily. 

“Might be a cracked rib. Hard to tell.” The medic states, lowering her shirt.

Ghost nods and the medic leaves the two of them alone. She hasn’t lifted her head up just yet and she doesn’t know if she wants to. One look at the Lieutenant and she’s sure he’s going to tell her to stay back. No- she’s almost certain that’s what he will say. 

“Ghost, it’s fine.” She whispers, feeling drained now that the adrenaline has faded. “I’m fine.” 

Maxine raises her head and glances over at him, only vaguely surprised he was still there. He was watching her like a hawk, unmoving and once again, something unreadable in his eyes. “Rest a few days. I don’t want you in the field.”  

Anger surges in her as she stands, although maybe too fast, but she manages to stand her ground. “Sir, you can’t do this.” 

Ghost steps forward until he’s only a few inches away and lowers his voice. “Rest, Maxi.” Oh, she could just float away. “You’re no good to me if you’re injured or dead.” 

“Yes, sir.” Her voice is almost too quiet, but she knows that he heard.

[squidflavoredsoup]

mama n her babies

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The math just adds up!

[kensatou]

i'll let phie-san say it:

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF nightmare foxy is a huge fan of Roxanne Wolf,,

[bastardlybonkers]

i feel like not enough ppl are factoring in the cultural clash between laios and shuro and the many micro agressions shuro faced while being in their group. literally the name 'shuro' in itself is one

his name is toshiro 😭 lets also not forget that he has his own communication issues, in the opposite way that laios does- thats literally a factor in their argument, that his envy for laios's ability to express himself sincerely manifested as part of his distaste for him.

ig all this to say like, was their fight heart wrenching, especially when reading laios as autistic? absolutely. anybody whos ever been in laios's position knows how much it hurts to realize someone you thought was your friend doesnt actually like having you around, especially when they didnt tell you and you had no way of knowing due to not understanding their cues. but im begging yall to step back and see the nuance of this situation cause im gonna be real a lot of you are kinda just brushing over it acting like everything is toshiros fault and that hes a terrible person when in reality hes an average guy who really, really clashed with laios and it led to a very long misunderstanding due to their supremely opposite methods of communication. even laios and toshiro, after letting everything out in their fight, were able to come to an understanding and start a foundation for an actual friendship built on better communication

ok yknow what Edit: i shouldve made it even more explicit at the end of this post, i hadnt thought i would need to since i started the post with this, but i think a few too many people are missing my point so i just wanna clarify. i shouldnt have said 'really clashed' and left it at that because yeah they did, but it wasnt just their opposite methods of communication, it is also very much that toshiro was experiencing microaggressions via laios. it may have been unintentional on laios's part, but it still happened and wore him down, made it harder for him to communicate on top of both the more subtle social cues that he was raised with and his own communication difficulties. i also want to say that the fandom reaction to toshiro and the complete ignorance of this point is also racist tbh or at the very least ignorant. i understand that the anime did not cover this panel, and neither did the manga, as this was an omake, but im gonna be real with you guys. there are enough context clues within the story to clue you into this. if you didnt pick up on it thats ok, but i think this is a good lesson in picking up subtext in the stories that youre watching and/or reading. kui shouldnt have to explicitly say 'by the way laios was racist to toshiro' for this point to be understood, and at the very least, when the author portrays a character in a sympathetic light (as kui clearly does) it should make you question Why they are doing so and what makes them sympathetic, rather than youre immediate and only reaction to be 'well i hated what this guy did/said so i hate them and they suck'. idk exactly how to finish this, just. idk. question your biases and gut reactions to things you see in media and stories, and think about whether or not theres subtext that youre missing.

[nouverx]

*proceeds to drink the whole bottle*

Yeah Alastor you're gonna be loved and appreciated wether you want it or not :)

[akanemnon]

I don't like this place. It's turning everyone edgy and sad.

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[puppyeared]

renaissance dogys

characters belong to @canisalbus

[theoldkyokodied]

The Allegiance of the Ascended Vampire and the New God of Magic

[watchingwisteria]

listen there really was just something about how in the book, snow’s 3-page descent from hesitant lover boy to deluded mfer happens entirely in his mind. lucy gray gives him no indication whatsoever that she suspects him, that she’s going to leave or betray him. he’s just sitting quietly in the cabin waiting for her to return when that seed of calculated suspicion, which he has needed to survive the capitol, takes a hold of him and chokes the life out of any goodness left inside him. it really drives home your terror as a reader that “oh my god did he kill her? did she escape? what happened to her? why would he even think that?” in a way that when the movie had to adjust for visualization it lost some of that holy shit this guy has lost it emphasis.

[lazylittledragon]

and what if they got married. what then

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

HOT, SINGLE, UNSTUDIED SPONGES. 3000 NAUTICAL MILES AWAY. Come sail the distance and read Tiger Tiger!

[cyborgrhodey]

regina spektor is a violent zionist, but i don't think it's constructive or honest at all for people to be like "well her art was always bad anyway." some terrible people have made great art. This idea that artists with unsavory morals can't make good art (1) only feeds into some people's mindset that if they dislike something, that MUST mean there is something ideologically wrong with it, and (2) some people then take longer to realize the true colors of their favorite artists because... good artists can't be ethically bad right?? and so they hang on to their faves and pretend they are so righteous and defend their every move when sometimes. sometimes you just gotta accept that your favorite art was made by somebody you don't agree with, and you have to identify how much you are willing to support someone like that and what lines you have that can't be crossed

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[swordmaid]

back to the shadows 🌑

inspired by the storm by pierre auguste cot, shri’iia and astarion running away from the sun bc he’s a vampire and she has sunlight sensitivity.

please zoom in to see the details! 🥹🫶