#e ; back in time

[heartorbit]

find another role, carry on the show

[sssnakeparty]

a day in the life #unemployed

[jaybirdscoffee]

helen doing the distortion laugh reawakened something within me

[spaceinvadeeer]

sigh. guess fucking what.

[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."

[ikeasharksss]

hey im curious

feel free to rb & explain your answer in the tags!

[deviouz]

thinking about teasing choso until he’s damn near tears…

he’ll get all flustered when you go down on him, especially when it’s one of the first few times and you’re looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes. choso’s got his lip pulled between his teeth, eyes half lidded and breathing already getting ragged even if you haven’t gotten to the fun part yet.

he’s not one to demand much, especially when you’re sat oh-so-prettily on your knees before him, but the desperate little pleas just can’t stop flowing out as you plant kiss after kiss onto his aching cock. the cherry-red blush he’s wearing slowly makes its way to the tips of his ears and fades into a soft pink near his chest, legs twitching as he fights the urge to force his cock down your throat for some type of relief.

your favorite part has to be when choso inevitably starts begging for more. your fingertips are ghosting across his thighs when he starts tearing up, eyebrows scrunched together as he watches your lipstick prints stake their claim along his shaft. when you dare to look up, lips curved into an innocent pout while choso shakes from the need of it all.

“please? oh fuck, baby, please? i need- need more.”

as you plant an innocent kiss to his sensitive, flushed-pink tip, you giggle as a glob of precum begins to bead its way down; you can’t fight the urge to swipe your tongue through it.

“that’s just too bad, isn’t it, cho?”

[beaulesbian]

After my son left it behind, Derek towed it in, thinking it was probably beyond repair. But then he opened up the hood and he pulled off all the duck tape Stiles had stuck on it. And he managed to fix it. That Jeep, no matter what’s been done to it, it just keeps running. He could never figure out why it wouldn’t break down and stay down.

And I don’t think he ever realized that that’s exactly the way we saw him. I have never seen anyone take that kind of punishment that Derek Hale took, and kept taking, in order to protect the people he loved.

[faceeeeee]

I’m finally getting up to schedule w/ commissions and stuff so yknow what that meanssss

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 273

You know what? We need more Good parents Fentons. 

And you know what else? Technically, Jack helped Danny defeat Pariah via the use of the Ecto-Skeleton. And like, that’s his son, his baby boy. Sure Danny is and has always been a mommy’s boy, but it doesn’t change that fact. They’re both already feeling horrible about the fact they could have hurt him, they could have hurt their son- they have hurt their son, killed him with their inaction and never again. 

So when these oversized jello-eyeballs try to insist that their baby, their precious baby boy, take a crown? Become a king when he’s not even out of highschool, when he doesn’t want it? No. Hell no! That is his Danny-o, his baby boy who was terrified of his own parents! 

Which is how Jack, despite technically still being alive even if so-very ecto-contaminated, became the Ghost King. 

And for some reason there’s several ghosts rather happy about this- oh, these are his Danny-O’s ghost-parents? Not-ghost parents seeing as some of them have never been anything but a realm denizen? That’s really fascinating- y’know what, want some fudge and we can exchange childcare- Maddie dear come over and meet our co-parents apparently!  

Now it’s not all easy, but they’re trying their best, and that’s all that can be asked. 

…

Which is perhaps why it’s so exasperating- or as Maddie would put it, downright infuriating- that it is now, almost an entire year and a half later that the Heroes finally arrive to investigate. Well, at least he has plenty of fudge since it’s almost time for the council meeting. 

[expelliarmus]

[rooolt]

I’ll never be over how they just dropped titanic baby Lincoln on us and simply moved on to never bring it up again. Mentally I am still there

[tomatoart]

excited to see Static Dress live this year :3

[hesztia16]

Promt:

Bruce kept trackers in the people he loved. Ever since Dick was a young boy prone to get kidnapped. Some with consent, some… not so much. But it was a crime he was willing to commit, if only for the way it calmed his nerves when he looked at the little dots on his screen.

Alfred, in the kitchen, working tirelessly on lunch.

Tim, in Drake Manor (much to his annoyance, but he was working on that one), probably enjoying the weekend before school.

Dick, in Bludhaven (again, much to his annoyance) spending his day off with some friends in a coffee shop.

Barbara, in the library, helping visitors.

And the one little dot that always pained him to look at, but couldn’t bring himself to disarm, right above-

Where is it?

There.

Why in all Hell’s name was his son’s body in the hospital instead of the cemetery?

[helmip]

need a band-aid for that..? 🩹🧠🩹

[guerrillla]

am I a living being, or just a machine.