#i hope no one hates it

[jossambird]

RONNIE RONNIE RONNIE ARE YOU GONNA POST WHAT I THINK YOU'RE GONNA POST?!?!?!?

OH MY FUCKING GOD

HEHE 👀 COMING TO A BLOG NEAR YOU!

Will probably be in the next coming days, since I have a medical exam tomorrow and have to stay overnight at the hosp, but after that?

Hold onto your panties/boxers/underwear because 😎😎😎

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

Finishing--The Fiction Part

“Fuck.” Dr. Tyler Bagby hung his head after making momentary eye contact his colleague, Dr. Aza Wekeza. She was the finest nephrologist Ty and his wife knew, and they had requested her specifically to examine Amy’s dad. Dr. Wekeza didn’t have to verbalize what the test results said; Ty could read the bad news he expected on her face.

“I’m sorry, Ty. I...I don’t know what else to say...” She swallowed hard and stared at the tablet in her hands again, wishing the numbers would magically change. She’d run the test twice, hoping for a faulty set of results the first time. It was never easy giving a patient or their family a projected poor outcome, but it was even harder to deliver to a fellow physician about a family member of theirs. “I wish I had something different to tell you. I know you already suspected that...otherwise why would you have even brought him in to…” She sighed heavily. “I know Amy’s gonna take it hard. Probably harder than Mr. Evers will himself. You want me to page her?”

“No. Fuck. I’m gonna head to the gallery. Her surgery should be winding down and...fuck. What time’s his appointment this afternoon again?” Ty closed his eyes, pushed his glasses to the top of his head, and ran his open hands roughly over his entire face a few times. He took a deep breath to steel himself for Amy. He had a maximum of an hour before she entirely fell apart in front of him. Just as he foresaw ‘kidney failure’ for his father-in-law four weeks ago, when Alan had begun feeling run down enough for it to be noticeable to people other than Jessica, Ty couldn’t see a different, more positive outcome for Amy’s reaction to that confirmation, either.

“It’s at three. Is...everyone coming?”

“Not everyone, but obviously Mom. And us and Amy's brothers. Maybe Matt's wife, but Wes’s wife is working today. No grandkids. They’re all away at school, and Tommy and Shep live...I mean...fuck. I’m sorry, Aza. I keep saying ‘fuck,’” he apologized.

“I get it. I hear a lotta fucks. It’s...I’m sorry, Ty.”

“I’m on your end of this shit all the time. I’m sorry too. It sucks on both ends.”

“I’m here. I know the Evers are gonna be alright and all. But I’m here. I’m just saying for you, Ty. I’m here. OK? Don’t try to hold all of it for Amy and your kids. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself. That’s a family you can count on. Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ty thought back to when his grandfather passed, and when his brother-in-law did, so young, and that crushing Alzheimer’s diagnosis for his uncle. The Evers were all there for him, surprisingly, at least to Ty, especially his father-in-law. Alan sounded then a lot like Aza sounded talking him down now. ‘Don’t catastrophize this now. Doesn’t mean your mom’s gonna get it too; or your sister; or you. Definitely doesn’t mean you’re a failure because you couldn’t stop it by yourself in time for no one else to get it. You are an undeniable success. Just means...you know...shit happens. It’s not all on you, Kid.’ Alan had been the father Ty needed in his life; filled that void not long after he met Amy that his grandfather had essentially left for him in middle school when his mind had gone. “I know it’s not all on me to get through...all of it. But it’s all me when she comes outta surgery. I can do it. I just...fuck, I really hate seeing her cry, especially when I can’t fix it. And I don’t like being the heavy in a medical argument either, and Ames is...probably smarter than me, but when it comes to people she loves, she’s...blinded by irrational optimism.” Then Ty thought about his mother-in-law. Jessie thought she and Amy were radically different people, but they were dead alike in that regard. Usually, Ty looked on that trait with charm and infatuation, but when things like this happened, it could make hard times harder on them; his wife and her mother. He knew Amy would immediately go to some rose colored dream world where her dad would get better and maybe younger and live forever once she heard any harsh reality.

“I would do all the extreme measures if...” Aza fruitlessly began.

“I know you would. But even if it was plausible and practical and...hell, sane at all to do any of it, you know he wouldn't let you go there. Not now. Not where he’s at now. Ames knows that too. But she’ll still say...and I’ll still have to contradict her out loud because...fuck.”

“One more fuck for the road. I’m sorry, Ty.”

“One more ‘I’m Sorry Ty’ for the road. See you at three with Amy and Mom and Dad and all. Thank you, Aza. Truly.”

“Wish you were thanking me for...not this.”

“Me too. But thank you for this. Anyway.”

***

“Hey, Cowboy,” Amy brazenly flirted when she saw her husband down the surgery wing hallway. She adored how much he still adored her, still often waiting for her to exit the scrub out room after almost thirty years together; more than twenty of them married. His face didn’t lift and his eyes didn’t light up with that sexy, commanding fire the way they usually did when she teased him with that facetious term of endearment. “Oh no,” she murmured with panic, registering that Ty must have met with Dr. Wekeza that morning about her dad before his upcoming afternoon appointment. Her dad’s kidneys must really be failing. “We’ll get him on a list,” she recklessly spouted. “He can start dialysis and then...”

“Ames. Dad’s 88 years old. And even if he wasn’t, and UNOS would put him on a list...”

“I’LL give him a kidney...”

“Ames. C’mon. If he was 38, he wouldn’t let YOU do it. Or Matt or Wes or any of the kids or Mom or Min or Grace or even me. He’s not going to take a dialysis spot or a transplant from anybody. He’s...you know your dad better than I do, and I know he wouldn’t take a spot from somebody else, even if he wasn’t 88. Just for a second, look at this medically like he’s not your dad.” Amy crumpled into his arms, sobbing at her sharp confrontation with unpalatable truth. “I know.” He held her tightly; held her up on her feet, but cried with her.

They’d been to so many funerals for their ‘elders’ in the past six years: both of Matt’s in-laws, whom Amy still referred to as Uncle Josh and Aunt Ang; friends of the family since Amy’s childhood, Mr. and Mrs. Richardson, Mr. Herzog, whom she still counted as uncles and an aunt as well. All but the one decidedly youngest set of her actual, biological uncles and aunts. Ty’s uncle was still alive but not lucid at all anymore. His brother-in-law had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and passed away before his forty-fifth birthday and his sister and nieces were crushed. He was grateful to still have his mother, and Amy’s; that his father-in-law had lived this long. In Amy’s dad’s darker moments over the past few years losing a lot of loved ones, he’d shared that he probably should have been dead back in 2004, but somehow he’d so fortunately been given a life better than the one he dreamed of having when he was a kid, and now he’d outlived all of his younger brothers and his best friend. ‘Life without them’s pretty hard sometimes, but I can do it. I don’t wanna see what it would be like to live without my wife or my kids,’ he’d say, sentimental but still very stern, as though he was making a request to Ty that Ty had the ability to grant; as though he was asking Ty to bring him a Cherry Coke from the basement refrigerator. Ty had begun to think Something Out There listened to his father-in-law’s prayers and answered them, even if he couldn’t. At least kidney failure was a relatively peaceful way to go. He’d never have to live without his wife or kids. And he’d never forget anybody.

Alan Evers had survived so much trauma; war, life threatening injury, dozens of surgeries including the hip replacement seven years ago, a lifelong level of some disability, on top of the grief and emotional pain life inflicts on everyone, and he handled all of it with seemingly effortless strength and grace. Ty almost understood why Amy was a bit delusional about her father’s indestructibility.

***

“Mr. Evers, Ty and Amy asked me to look over your records and tests and you know we ran those couple over again as a check on your GP’s conclusions, and...” Dr. Wekeza began. Alan interrupted her; not to be rude, but to spare her the difficulty of finishing the sentence. He had always been either blessed or cursed with advanced self-awareness.

“And my GP was right. Kidneys are busted. That’s why I’m slowing down so much lately. And it won’t get better; only worse,” he said, doing a decent job of paraphrasing the medical jargon she’d prepared to say. And she was grateful he didn’t wait for her to say it.

“Yes, Sir,” Aza said. Amy and Grace both sniffed back wet inhales. Ty and Matt hugged their wives. Ty cried too. Matt closed his eyes, forcing some acceptance that his dad would be gone sooner rather than later, and they’d have to get through yet another funeral. He was heartbroken, of course, but also knew this is what his dad wanted. Alan had made it clear for years that he wanted to go first; prayed to go first. Matt understood him. He gathered Grace closer to him; as close as he could get her, and took a long drag of the air they shared. ‘I hope I go first too. I don’t wanna live without her. I’m not even sure if I can...’ It was probably the most selfish thought of Matt’s life. He opened his eyes and looked around the room, dutifully and nearly involuntarily checking on everyone else. Wes somberly nodded, looking toward the ground to process what had been said. Wes wouldn’t question anything; he seemed to understand how short life was virtually since he was born. His wife, Min, had studied grief extensively, and basically did this for a living, with kids. Not that they wouldn’t be sad; they obviously were all already beginning to grieve, but Matt knew his brother and sister would be alright in their own families, losing their dad. He knew Grace and his own sons would make it too. It was so much grief back to back the past few years, but they all had each other. They’d get through it. His dad actually had taught them all that. Matt was most concerned about his mother. He was taken aback to see how composed she remained.

Alan took Jessica’s hand in his and looked at her. She reached up to stroke his face with her free fingers and smiled. He returned her grin; the grandiose one she’d fallen in love with nearly sixty years before. “How much time do you think I have left, Doc?” he asked Aza.

“Could be as long as six months,” she said.

“Really. Be straight with us. Everybody here can take it,” he insisted.

“Probably three; at least two good ones. Could be good right up to...” Aza sighed, choking up a bit herself and not wanting to say ‘the end.’

“That’s good to hear,” Alan said, sincerely. “How’s my wife?” he asked Jessica, who’d sat silently for the past twenty minutes in the private doctor’s meeting her children had arranged.

“G2G, Captain.”

“That’s even better to hear. Dr. Wekeza, thank you. For taking the time to...for my family. Thank you. I hope you understand that I’m a bit eager to leave here though. I got two to maybe six months to...”

“Yes, Sir. I wish I had something better to...”

“It’s not bad,” Alan broke into another sentence she didn’t really want to finish. “It’s not. It’s life. Life’s good.” He stood with the cane he’d begun using a little more than a year ago. Jessica stood with him, holding onto his left shoulder, and they shuffled out of the office to the elevator doors ahead of their children. “I love you,” he murmured into Jessica’s ear.

“I love you more,” she said, her eyes tearing up, but she still wasn’t crying.

“That’s impossible.”

***

“Sweets?” Alan wheezed.

“Yes Sir?” Jessica answered, scooting her chair closer to Alan’s side of the fold out bed in their den. They’d been living on the first floor of their home for the past three and a half months, because life was too short to go up the stairs.

“It’s probably pretty soon. A day or two maybe,” he informed her, lowly, but without strain that time. The first three months after his diagnosis confirmation, Alan had done well. Sometimes Amy and Jessica and even a couple of times, Wes, thought he was improving. Min and Ty reminded them that people often rallied at the end of their lives. He’d even demanded to walk with the Herzogs in Rosie’s Buddy Walk (Alan still called her Little Rosie even though she was nearing thirty years old). ‘For Sam,’ he said. No one was willing to press an argument with him about it. He’d spent most of the past week struggling to get up out of bed to go to the bathroom, though. He was just so tired.

“Jo just asked her girlfriend to marry her a few weeks ago and Shep and Audrey’s baby is only another month away,” Jessie said, nearly pleading for him to hang on just that much longer. They’d been to a hundred weddings together it seemed, and Tommy and his wife had already made them great-grandparents twice, but Jessie still wanted more. She’d always wanted more with Alan. More time; more closeness; more knowledge; more love; more laughter; more. No matter how much she got; she could never seem to get enough.

“Jo’s wedding is probably a year out. We knew that wasn’t gonna be reachable. Little Jalen and Angelica won’t remember me anyway, and I don’t think I’m gonna make it to see Shep and Audrey’s baby, Sweets. I can feel that it’s soon. I...I can’t get you sixty,” he said, truly saddened for the first time at his looming mortality. He didn’t want to fail her. She’d told him she wanted sixty...she wanted seventy...

“F-fifty-s-seven and a few months is c-close enough,” she consoled him. She began to quietly cry. “Y-you did take me to bed upstairs again, though. F-for almost six years,” she half-heartedly teased, remembering the rest of her list addendum.

“You know I don’t wanna go, right? I never wanna go. I never have wanted to leave you. I never wanted to walk away from you for one step.” She nodded, tears now streaking down her sunken cheeks.

“Are you h-hurting?” she sniffled. The worst pain Jessie ever felt in her life was watching and knowing that Alan hurt.

“No. I don’t hurt when you’re next to me; when I look at you.”

“Do y-you want me to call Matty and Gracie t-to g-go to the h-hospital?” Their oldest had relocated back to the area when Grace's parents, Jessica's best friend and his wife, began struggling with their health a couple of years ago. Their first grandchild now lived with his wife and children in the house in Louisville.

“Not today. Maybe we’ll go tomorrow. It won’t be today. I promise. Just soon. I don’t wanna be apart from you today. Hospitals always separate us a bit, even when we're there for good things. Can I hold you, Jess?”

“Of course you can, Captain.” She was crying her hardest now, but she gingerly crawled into bed next to him and snuggled into his chest. He curled his arm around her and kissed her forehead. She gasped another stifled sob and asked, “Will you sing to me? P-please?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He cleared his throat and softly sang her some James Taylor.

Oh, the sun is surely sinking down But the moon is slowly rising So this old world must still be spinning round And I still love you

So close your eyes You can close your eyes, it's alright I don't know no love songs I can't sing the blues anymore Oh but I can sing this song You can sing this song when I'm gone

It won't be long before another day We gonna have a good time And no one's gonna take that time away You can stay as long as you like

Only close your eyes You can close your eyes It's alright Oh, I don't know no love songs I can't sing the blues anymore Sure but I can sing this song Yes and you can sing this song when I'm gone

They both did close their eyes, and they both thought or dreamed or drifted off into another place where they relived when they first met…

***

“Can I get you some more water or a Coke or…?” Jessica asked as the last out of the baseball game replayed on her apartment television. She stood to make a nervous and tentative move toward her kitchenette and Alan looked up at her from her arm chair and smiled.

“I’m good. I actually...I mean it’s almost four in the morning. We’ve...we’ve both been up for two straight days here at this point...” he reluctantly answered, edging toward a parting he felt was necessary but definitely was undesired.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry. I kept you...here...and now it’s...you’ve gotta be exhausted and...” she stammered, staring down at her feet in abject terror at how horribly she’d definitively messed up the best first date of her life. It was no contest; not only was it basically the only good date she’d ever been on; it was amazing; he was amazing; and now she’d usurped his entire Saturday into Sunday morning.

“Hey. I coulda left any time I wanted to. I just didn’t want to. But we both do need to actually sleep soon. That’s a bona fide torture technique; sleep deprivation. So I’m gonna go and hope you get some sleep. You gotta be tired now. Right?” She sheepishly shrugged, and he chuckled, utterly charmed. She blushed and smiled at him again.

“I guess I’m...I mean you’re right. I should sleep a while before work tomorrow and everything.” He stood and took steps toward the door but didn’t open it yet. “I had a really good time. With you,” she spouted, sounding almost as if she’d begin to cry from pent up new emotion. She was full of nerves and embarrassed she'd said it, but felt like she'd burst if she didn't say it. She needed him to hear it; know it. She was so afraid this would be it; it so often was an ending right after the beginning of connection for her.

“Me too. A really good time. I’d...I’d like to take you out again. Soon. Would that...I mean...would you like that?”

“Yeah!” she gasped with obvious excitement. He smirked and shook his head at her, flustered a bit by her frankness and sincerity. He’d fallen for her clarity already. He loved that he didn’t have to guess.

“I’ll give you a call. Soon, but not...I mean...I really hope you get some sleep today.”

“Yeah, you too. I didn’t think we'd...I mean I didn't intend to...it didn’t feel like we were up for so long. I’m sorry again for...”

“Don’t be sorry. It didn’t feel like two days to me either. I wanted to watch the whole game replay with you and...I’ll talk to you...see you again soon. Goodbye, Jessie.” He swallowed hard after his last sentence, the words sticking in his throat and creating an uncomfortable catch in his chest. He didn’t like the feel or the sound of ‘goodbye’ before saying her name. He turned the knob and said, “Make sure to lock up now; be safe.”

“I will. Goodbye, Alan,” she said, barely above a whisper. ‘Please don’t let this be a permanent goodbye,’ she thought. She swallowed hard herself as she locked the door after him. She flattened her hand against the door and gently leaned her forehead to it, inwardly chastising herself for so desperately wanting him to stay. She’d essentially known him for two days, which she knew would worry everyone else who cared about her except for maybe Sam and Tina. She did want him to stay...badly...it was an aching ‘want’ for him to stay...but she knew the right thing was for him to go; it was her letting him go. The thoughts she’d had at the end of every other first date of her life began playing on a maddening loop in her mind, but eventually changed to irregular hope. ‘He didn’t kiss me. He didn’t even try. Ugh, I’m gonna get ‘friends.’ With this man. Who’s just...awesome. I already love him. It’s not dumb optimistic hope this time, because I feel it more after he left than I did before I saw him. I love him. I know...I KNOW. Just like Josh said I would. I totally thought he was full of it for years, but now I DO know. I love this man. He can’t give me ‘just friends.’ This can’t be the same. Not this time. He’s different. Maybe he’s the one Kurtis and Heather have been promising was around for so long. Maybe. Maybe this time. Please, this time. I love him...’

He hung his head momentarily in her hallway, passively wishing he could be a man who didn’t care about doing the right thing. He wanted to stay. He even got an impression that she wanted him to stay, but he was afraid. He’d rushed in before, and it never worked out, and now, he had the added concern of how she’d really react if he touched her. He hadn’t touched her at all except for that handshake, and even that was like being struck by lightning for him. It was jarring, but also contained such bone-deep pleasure and satisfaction, he could already feel the potential for addiction, and she wasn’t a woman he could or should binge, even if the extra insecurity about his arm didn’t exist. He hated the almost literal weight he felt on his shoulders, leaving her, even after all the time they’d spent together, even after all the other women he’d seen and confidently walked away from in his casual, restless past. But then he smiled to himself, closing his eyes in a slow, dreamy blink, when he heard those locks turn and engage, not even a full step away from her closed door. ‘She’s the one. I love her. That must be what this is. I love her. That’s why it’s so hard to leave. It’s never been hard to leave before, but damn it’s almost impossible to leave her. She locked up though. The second the door closed. Like I said. She’s... It’s everything I have not to turn around and knock on that door again right now. I can’t wait to see her again. I wonder if she’d go out on a Monday night...’

[raccoongrippers]

Underlying the anger, though, Soap recognizes pain. A deep, swelling pain that lingers just behind his eyes. His fingers tremble around the familiar pendant, the memories that flood into his frail mind a silent reminder of what was. Of who he was forced to leave behind, courtesy of Roba and his ruthless men.

"Answer me, Soap! Where did you get it!?" He demanded again. Soap just looked into his eyes a long moment, taking mental note of how he used his call sign instead of Johnny. He missed the familiar Johnny that would fall from his lips in the normal times.

"Tommy. Tommy gave it to me." He saw no point in lying to the man. He's been locked up for ages, unable to converse, unable to release the pains and the sufferings of being kept here in this awful place. "You remember Tommy, right?"

Tommy. Ghost hadn't spoken to him in ages, but he still remembered the lad. The wonderful memories from their years of youth, the pain they'd endured together, the despair from their horrid father, if you could even call him such a thing. Tommy, his poor younger brother, the one he needed to protect, who was now trying to protect him. He always knew the younger man was intelligent.

Ghost softened ever so slightly, giving way to Simon. Only for the ones he cares for will he let himself through. He dropped the pendant, hitting the cement floor with a heavy clink. It dropped open, revealing the memoria inside. A picture of Tommy and Simon, younger of course, sat together with huge smiles, Simon's arm around his younger brother, holding him close. A wonderful memory, it seems.

"Si'. Price is comin' to get us out o' here, a'ight? I promise. Tommy knew somethin' was up. Ye can thank the bugger when we get back to safety, aye?" Johnny broke through his thoughts, gracing a gentle hand over one of Simon's trembling ones, wrapping his fingers around cold, calloused ones.

All Simon can do is nod. He's at a loss for words. He's been through so much these past few months, he can't find it in himself to put up any more of a fight than he already has. He drops like a fly, curling up against Johnny. It's unlike him, but the Scot isn't complaining. He's just glad the man didn't wring his throat.

Despite the situation, it's almost..peaceful. Almost.

They still need to get out.

And get out they did. There was plenty of bloodshed, a few casualties and a ton of hard work, but they did it with the help of the rest of the team. Before leaving the cell, though, Soap- Johnny had tucked the pendant into Simon's breast pocket, so he can quite literally keep it at heart. Simon was too beaten to complain.

He'd go on to make a full recovery from his numerous injuries. He went to go see his mother and brother first, ensuring they were both perfectly okay and to reassure them both that we was alive.

Then he went back to the team. Price kept him for the first few days of extended recovery, talking with him slow and ensuring he got all the care he desperately needed, despite his protests. He took good care of him. Then he went off to Gaz, who made him good food and ensured he rested enough. Much like Price, only a little more leaneant and joking with him. He watched movies with him. Then came Soap. Soap was more gentle, more...tentative. He was afraid he'd crossed a line in the cell at Roba's compound in bringing Simon the pendant, even if it got him out in the end. He couldn't risk breaking Simon's trust.

Simon didn't think that way, though. Although he mostly kept quiet, he had reason to. He was too caught up in admiring Johnny being careful and gentle with him that he'd forgotten to speak most of the time. He just wanted to embrace the man, his Scot. His everything. He was too busy admiring how Johnny and Price and Gaz And Tommy had gone through thick and thin, had fought tooth and nail just to drag him out of a literal pit. And Johnny had sacrificed himself just to get through to Simon. Not Ghost, but Simon. He was a keeper for sure.

After a lengthy silence between him and Simon, Johnny spoke his mind. "I'm sorry, Si', I didnae mean ta hurt yer feelin's or anythin', ah just-" he was cut off.

"Johnny, shut up."

He paused, choking on a breath of silent fear. "..What?"

"I told you to shut up. You're being too hard on yourself."

"I'm sorry?"

"Why won't you just shut up and kiss me?"

The room fell silent. Johnny's heart rate picked up, and he couldn't think straight any longer. Why had the British bastard waited so damn long for this? Why now? He didn't complain, though, and he did.

Simon sat up on the sofa slightly, and Johnny stared down at him, contemplating if his lieutenant was serious or not. If he was just pulling his leg. That thought evaporated when Simon pulled the Scot onto his lap, uncaring of his current, healing injuries, and stole his lips in a soft, longing kiss. It lasted a while, before Johnny pulled away a moment to speak, slightly breathless.

"You're still healin', ye dumb bastard," he muttered, eliciting an eye roll from Simon below him. He spoke in response. "I don't care."

And they stayed that way a while, comfortably in the other's embrace. Price and Gaz walked in a few hours later to drop of trays of food, finding Simon comfortably crushing Johnny beneath him, both contentedly asleep against one another.

They left them in a comfortable silence and left the food on the coffee table beside them.

Everything was alright again.

barely-baked idea but i thought someone may be Interested. so, a take on that “where did you get this?” sort of moment with ghoap, but in the context of ghost’s backstory

-

when ghost’s family receives the news of his death, it’s devastating. after he’d done so much to piece them all back together again and carve out the rot of their father, simon doesn’t get to reap the rewards of what he sowed.

except, tommy doesn’t believe it. doesn’t believe his brother was killed in mexico. he’s so adamant, in fact, that he does some digging into simon’s old army contacts, the ones simon once said he could actually trust, and comes across a john price. and, subsequently, a john “soap” mactavish. tommy manages to convince price that simon’s still alive, though it doesn’t take much work since price has also been suspicious.

fast forward, there’s a plan to have soap captured by roba, just long enough to not be suspicious, just long enough to verify simon’s status and tell him of a plan of escape, an operation to destroy the cartel. tommy gives him something, maybe an old locket necklace of their mother’s, as reinforcement to reassure simon that soap can be trusted.

only, simon finds the necklace before soap pulls it out himself to explain. and he gets angry, and lashes out at soap, who doesn’t understand why until he’s trying to relieve a heavy pressure from his throat and the necklace is thrust into his face, simon growling the first words soap’s heard him mutter since his time in captivity: where did you get this?

-

anyway that’s as far as i got because like i said. barely-baked. i am open to anyone taking this and running with it as per usual lol

[ruushes]

companions re-classed part 3 - shadowheart 🌌🌚🌝

*shadowdancer isn't a 5e rogue subclass, it's a 3.5e rogue-based prestige class, but it suits her so well and when i played 3.5e as a kid i thought it was the coolest thing ever lol so i wanted to use it

karlach 🔥 wyll ⚔️

[hinamie]

I don't want to regret the way I lived

[isagaiia]

you are the wolf

[deep-space-lines]

IT'S FINALLY FUCKING DONE. I'M FINALLY FREE

UNTIL FRAUD COMES OUT

Tumblr shrinks it down pretty bad so please. please. I am begging you. look at the full sized image and zoom in. This art piece made my friends worried for my mental health I need someone to witness the amount of detail and effort I put into this

also the original sketch under the cut bc I think comparing them is really funny

[lotus-pear]

ace detective more like ace DEFECTIVE

[iwantmochisoup]

so, salt shared a 'salt brush set' with me, have some i liked while playing around with them :3c

[mfshipbracket]

[inkskinned]

one of the things that's the most fucking frustrating for me about arguing with climate change deniers is the sheer fucking scope of how much it matters. sweating in my father's car, thinking about how it's the "hottest summer so far," every summer. and there's this deep, roiling rage that comes over me, every time.

the stakes are wrong, is the thing. that's part of what makes it not an actual debate: the other side isn't coming to the table with anything to fucking lose.

like okay. i am obviously pro gun control. but there is a basic human part of me that can understand and empathize with someone who says, "i'm worried that would lead to the law-abiding citizens being punished while criminals now essentially have a superpower." i don't agree, but i can tell the stakes for them are also very high.

but let's say the science is wrong and i'm wrong and the visible reality is wrong and every climate disaster refugee is wrong. let's say you're right, humans aren't causing it or it's not happening or whatever else. let's just say that, for fun.

so we spend hundreds of millions of dollars making the earth cleaner, and then it turns out we didn't need to do that. oops! we cleaned the earth. our children grow up with skies full of more butterflies and bees. lawns are taken over with rich local biodiversity. we don't cry over our electric bills anymore. and, if you're staunchly capitalist and i need to speak ROI with you - we've created so many jobs in developing sectors and we have exciting new investment opportunities.

i am reminded of kodak, and how they did not make "the switch" to digital photography; how within 20 years kodak was no longer a household brand. do we, as a nation, feel comfortable watching as the world makes "the switch" while we ride the laurels of oil? this boggles me. i have heard so much propaganda about how america cannot "fall behind" other countries, but in this crucial sector - the one that could actually influence our own monopolies - suddenly we turn the other cheek. but maybe you're right! maybe it will collapse like just another silicone valley dream. but isn't that the crux of capitalism? that some economies will peter out eventually?

but let's say you're right, and i'm wrong, and we stopped fracking for no good reason. that they re-seed quarries. that we tear down unused corporate-owned buildings or at least repurpose them for communities. that we make an effort, and that effort doesn't really help. what happens then? what are the stakes. what have we lost, and what have we gained?

sometimes we take our cars through a car wash and then later, it rains. "oh," we laugh to ourselves. we gripe about it over coffee with our coworkers. what a shame! but we are also aware: the car is cleaner. is that what you are worried about? that you'll make the effort but things will resolve naturally? that it will just be "a waste"?

and what i'm right. what if we're already seeing people lose their houses and their lives. what if it is happening everywhere, not just in coastal towns or equatorial countries you don't care about. what if i'm right and you're wrong but you're yelling and rich and powerful. so we ignore all of the bellwethers and all of the indicators and all of the sirens. what if we say - well, if it happens, it's fate.

nevermind. you wouldn't even wear a mask, anyway. i know what happens when you see disaster. you think the disaster will flinch if you just shout louder. that you can toss enough lives into the storm for the storm to recognize your sacrifice and balk. you argue because it feels good to stand up against "the liberals" even when the situation should not be political. you are busy crying for jesus with a bullhorn while i am trying to usher people into a shelter. you've already locked the doors, even on the church.

the stakes are skewed. you think this is some intellectual "debate" to win, some funny banter. you fuel up your huge unmuddied truck and say suck it to every citizen of that shitbird state california. serves them right for voting blue!

and the rest of us are terrified of the entire fucking environment collapsing.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The indescribable tension between an overworked and underpaid smut writer, and his biggest fan hater.

(for @frummpets)

[tzarrz]

i listen to fog lake too much

[itsmuffiiee]

Woah.. hey everyone!! Sorry for disappearing for a bit.. good news! I have a colored version of sun I plan on posting later this month! but for now please enjoy these doodles of the sillies! Been having a rough time and thinking about them always makes me feel better!!

“Sun- Shut up” is my personal favorite of the doodles doodle.. ‹𝟹

[shinynewmemories]

Listen to me Suzanne Collins did not have to give Katniss and Peeta a history before the games. She did NOT have to do that. She could have just had their story begin when Peeta's name was called. She could have had them be total strangers until the moment of the reaping.

Like: "And the boy tribute is... Peeta Mellark!" Katniss: Who's that? Or she could have made them vaguely familiar with each other! Peeta's name is called and Katniss just thinks, Oh, I know that name! He's in my class, actually. Poor boy... Anyway!

Either way, SC could have written the rest of the story exactly the same! I think many authors would have done that! Because if Peeta's purpose in the book was to be Gale's competition, to be one of the 3 corners of a love triangle, THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN THE WAY TO DO IT!! But that's NOT how she did it because that's NOT what Peeta is.

And what is he? To Katniss, Peeta's someone who saved her and her family and received nothing in return except a beating. Peeta's someone she has had her eye on but has never worked up the courage to talk to. Peeta's someone she associates with kindness and hope. And all this before the start of the events of the book! Just because WE, the READERS, met Gale before Peeta and immediately felt a connection with him does NOT mean that was Katniss's experience! And that's what SC is trying to tell us!

To dismiss Katniss and Peeta's past as unimportant or inconsequential compared to whatever Katniss and Gale have in the present is to fundamentally misunderstand Katniss as a character and, as a result, condemn oneself to never fully understand the choices she makes in the future.

Suzanne Collins wrote it that way on purpose because she had something to say. And no one will ever be able to convince me that something wasn't "It was always going to be Peeta".

[yangjeongin]

HYUNJIN BIRTHDAY COUNTDOWN (2024): bonus sets – ↘ D-1 | HYUNJIN AS PANTONE COLORS