#intentional typo

[jackinique]

Thank you, pork bots, for pushing me past my 900 follower mark

[sleep-safe]

Comments and reblogs have more info!

A reminder that sell-buy dates or best-used-by dates are not the same as expiration dates.

I love that a food bank is providing this info as they are experts in stretching food budgets and knowledgable in shelf-stable food items

[boochanz]

this is soooo bad for me… 💔 #Brocken

[kirby-the-gorb]

[tealeavesandtrash]

Wolfstar Micro Fic - @wolfstarmicrofic prompt: Dogwalker - 421 words

[unknown number] Hi. Sorry to bother you, Pete gave me your number. I’m looking for a dog walker, he said you might know someone?  Thanks, Remus

hi remus i’ll ask around, what are the dates? sirius

This Thursday? Hopefully for 2 weeks but I’m having an op so might change I know it’s short notice but everything fell through and I'm running out ideas

sorry, just talking to pete  i’ll do it

You will? 

yeah  i work round the corner, i can take him out at lunch

Thank you so much you're a lifesaver

no probs

————

Thanks for today I think Padfoot likes you

good bc I like him too also no offence, when pete said knee replacement i was expecting a grandpa

None taken  And no offence, when Pete said dog groomer, I wasn’t expecting so much leather and tattoos

no offence taken ;)

————

[attached photo] stick maybe coming home with us

————

[attached photo] You've knackered him out

————

I have phsyio this morning Key is in flowerpot if I'm not back 

no worries

————

how was it?

An hour of them teaching me how to bend my knee Like I haven’t been doing that my whole life??

well… you werent doing a great job of it if they had to replace it

Hilarious.

————

[attached photo] He’s waiting for you He knows your late

sorry padfoot :(( tell him ill be 5 mins x

————

okay so slight incident

What happened??

[attached photo] big fan of muddy puddles

Oh jesus

ill take him back to work and clean him up

You really don't have to  I can bath him

no offence ive seen you hobbling about you cant  wrangle him into a bath and kneel down to wash him 

I can handle it You’ve done enough already

its fine i had a cancellation won’t be a full pamper but youll have a squeaky clean pup back at 2

————

I dont think Padfoot's ever smelt so good

thats the blueberry pawfume 

The what

pawfume dog perfume blueberry scented

didn't know that was a thing 

next opening  i have hes getting the spa treatment

————

PT's cleared me for low-impact exercise  Aka get off my arse and start walking more

Oh congrats! I mean I’ll miss padfoot But glad ur healing good :)

Well You can still come with? Padfoot really likes you And I like talking to you

I like talking to you too

Or I coud take you out to dinner? As a thank you for everything I couldn't have coped without you

It’s a date x

[lesliemeyers]

she can be your angle... or yuor devil

[lost-in-fandoms]

This is me, trying to preemptively soothe myself for whatever will be said about Daniel in this incoming race week. This got longer than I was expecting, it's about 3.5k, so it's on ao3 too if you prefer to read it there.

Daniel wakes up to the feeling of Max sliding in bed behind him. He smells like Daniel's body wash and his skin is still warm and damp when he tucks himself close against Daniel's back, knees slotting in behind his.

Still too asleep to find a way to work his voice for a proper hello, all Daniel manages is a sleepy sigh, but Max doesn't seem to want to break the silence either, squeezing the arm he sneaked around Daniel's waist in his own quiet greeting, smushing his face against the sweaty back of Daniel's neck.

The room is still fully dark, a combination of the blackout curtains and the fact that it's still not even dawn, so Daniel is happy to let the sound of Max's breathing pull him back under, until he realises two things.

First, Max is still curled up close behind him, sweat already condensing between them, not rolling away like he usually does, complaining about Daniel's mound of blankets, which piles up especially high when Max isn't there.

And second, Max is supposed to be in England.

Suddenly much more awake, he opens his eyes again, trying to make his sluggish limbs coordinate to allow him to turn around, but Max squeezes him harder, keeping him in place, shaking his head slightly, nose dragging against Daniel's skin.

"Hey," Daniel mumbles, raspy and heavy with sleepy. Max doesn't answer.

"Max," he tries again, feeling more and more awake, as confusion and worry start to mix in his stomach.

Max, stubborn in this like in everything else, doesn't budge. His steady breath is damp on Daniel's nape.

For a moment, Daniel considers the pros and cons of trying to have this conversation now, trying to turn around and make Max answer his questions, but finally he decides this can probably wait for the morning. If this isn't a dream, Max will probably still be there, and it will be easier to figure out what happened between this morning, when Max had facetimed him on his way to the factory, and now, Max tense and too warm in his bed.

So he lets it go, intertwining his fingers with Max's and sighing again, feeling Max's acknowledgment of his momentary retreat in the way his muscles finally uncoil, relaxing against him.

Silence falls again in the room, only broken up by the whirring of Daniel's white noise machine and the buzzing of far away traffic, LA's neverending lullaby, but neither of them falls asleep for a long time.

The next time Daniel wakes up the room is still dark, in that unique way it gets when it's light outside and his blackout curtains are doing their job, and his bed is empty. For a second he wonders if it had just been a dream, a weirdly realistic fantasy conjured from the aching spot in his heart that is missing Max all the time. But he can smell Max's scent on his skin, even hidden underneath his own body wash, and the sheets beside him are still just barely warm.

And when he reaches the kitchen, still rubbing sleep from his eyes and tugging on a hoodie he had picked up from the floor, Max is sitting on a stool, very much not a dream.

"Morning," Daniel greets him, trying to figure out if asking what are you doing here right away is going to get him an answer or an annoyed Max.

He doesn't get the chance to try though, because Max only smiles at him, bright even if pinched at the corners, before pointing at his phone and at the earbuds in his ears.

Almost done he mouths. He pulls a face, exaggerated and ridiculous, but so paper thin Daniel can still perfectly see the annoyance behind it.

Daniel nods, joining him at the counter, sitting on the stool next to him and smiling as Max scoots closer, intertwining their ankles.

He wishes he had grabbed his own phone from the nightstand to keep himself busy, or maybe to order food, since he's not sure on what's in the fridge, but he's feeling too lazy to get back up, so he resorts to laying his head down on the countertop and look up at Max's face.

His mouth is in a hard line as he nods along to whatever they're telling him, distractedly running a hand along his unshaven jaw. He looks tired, and annoyed, and beautiful, and Daniel missed him so much it feels like even sitting like this, close and touching, is not enough to soothe the gnawing pit in his chest.

Max rolls his eyes, then looks down at Daniel and smiles again, reaching over to brush a hand through his hair, the motion smooth and practiced, the same he uses when petting his cats. Daniel fights hard to not close his eyes.

"Yes, change my schedule, email it to me, whatever. I have to go."

Daniel frowns at the snappiness of Max's tone, watches as his expression grows even stormier at whatever he's been told. Something tells him Max was not exactly free to come here.

"Yes, fine. Bye."

If Max had a flip phone, Daniel is pretty sure he would have just snapped it closed. As it is though, he just swipes his finger on the screen and drops his earbuds on the counter, pressing his hands against his eyes with a sigh.

"I'm going to throw out a wild guess, and say you're not a happy bunny this morning," Daniel says, hoping to ease some of the tension from Max's shoulders.

He partially succeeds, as Max does drop his hands, rolling his eyes at him, before laying his head down on the counter too, so that they're staring at each other from the same point of view.

"I am happy to be here," Max says, slow and precise, the way he gets when he's trying to correctly convey his feelings, "but the team is not."

Daniel hums, bumping their knees together. He doesn't really care if the team is happy or not, but he knows being at the receiving end of a scolding like the one Max must have just gotten is not fun.

"They're not very happy with me lately," Max adds a bit ruefully, closing his eyes. His cheek is smushed against the marble, making the bags under his eye disappear a little, the other one much darker in comparison.

"Flew away from many sponsor events then?" Daniel asks, again trying make Max smile. This time it works only halfway, a corner of Max's mouth ticking up, the other kept in place by his cheek and the counter.

"Just a couple. They..." Max stops, a hand coming up to tug at his ear, fiddle with his hair. Daniel wants to grab his fingers, press his mouth against Max's forehead and learn each one of his thoughts like that.

Instead, he has to speak. Boring.

"Why are you here, Maxy?" he asks, because he can't not. He wonders if he should add that he is happy that Max is there, hopes that he doesn't have to, that Max would know anyway.

"I missed you."

Simple, easy, deadly.

Daniel feels his heart do a weird stuttering skip, lungs squeezing, trying to accommodate the surge of love suddenly flooding his chest.

"I missed you too," he chokes out, giving up on resisting the urge and leaning forward, bumping his nose against Max's, their knees knocking together, looking for a kiss.

Max tastes like orange juice, Daniel probably tastes like sleep, and it's awkward because of the uncomfortable position. It's the best thing Daniel has done this whole week.

"They briefed me," Max murmurs, lips still brushing together, sounding like it pains him to speak. A part of Daniel wants to go back to kissing, but he can feel they are now getting to the real reason why Max is there, and doesn't want to stop it.

Not that he doesn't believe Max missed him, Max never lies, never says something sweet if he doesn't mean it, but he knows there must be another reason why he looks like this, instead of just happy to be with Daniel. And even if some part of him knows this will probably not be an easy conversation, he also suspects it's one they need to have.

"On what to say about you."

Daniel jerks back a little before he can really think about it, the words stinging sharply.

He knows it makes sense. He knows he now basically is an ongoing PR disaster for the team, and a part of him enjoys it, but the reminder of it still hurts. And it hurts to think about Max, sitting somewhere across the world, getting told what to say when asked about him.

Max's eyes are open again now, but his expression is carefully blank, just studying whatever Daniel's face is doing, and Daniel suddenly hates it all, pain and rage swelling once again inside him.

He's been doing well, trying his best not to think about it. He's been keeping himself busy, keeping himself with people, refusing to let the feelings dwell and drag him under, but it's unavoidable with Max right there, talking about it.

And something must show on his face, because he sees something flicker under Max's blank expression, and then he's moving back too, out of the space where they were still sharing air, taking his head off the counter with a wince.

For a second, Daniel thinks about staying where he is, neck starting to twinge painfully, and letting Max say whatever he's going to say, probably some kind of apology, then an excuse, and then letting him leave. He thinks about letting Max think that for Daniel it is worse to have him here, painful reminder of everything he's not going to get anymore, than have him gone, aching pit of absence in his stomach. Thinks about where all of that would lead.

He straightens too.

His wince is probably identical to Max's, his neck aching and sore from the awkward position, and he knows that normally it would make Max smile, it would make them both crack a joke about it. But now Max is too busy trying to hide what he's feeling, wanting to calibrate it on whatever Daniel is feeling, to joke about old age or something, and Daniel hates it.

He grabs Max's arm, pretending he doesn't see Max's barely there flinch, pretending it doesn't send a new wave of hurt through him, and leads him out of the kitchen, to the couch. Max follows him quietly, trustingly, not even asking where they're going, what is happening. Daniel hates it.

He lays down on the couch, tugging Max on top of him. A part of him wishes they had done this last night, when they were close and aided by the dark, but he knows that, as much as he doesn't like it, this is probably better. He doesn't want to have this conversation more than once if possible, so it's better this way, something they'll both remember clearly.

Max is still tense on top of him, careful, but he relaxes a little as Daniel winds his arms around his waist, tugging him closer, the familiar weight of him on top of him comforting.

It's only when they're properly settled that he lets out a breath, and he forces himself to face this head on.

"What did they tell you to say?"

He's proud of how steady and neutral his voice sounds, the swirling mess of emotions inside him nowhere to be found.

For a long moment, Max doesn't answer. His hair is barely brushing against Daniel's chin, and he can feel where Max's chest is expanding as he breathes, pressing against him.

"I am not going to do it," Max finally says, voice quiet but sure. "I told them, I am not."

Daniel hums, not even tempted to doubt him.

"What did they say?" he asks again, wanting to know, wanting Max to tell him.

"That you knew." Ouch. "That you were not performing." Ouch. "That this was the best choice for the team, and I am excited to see what Liam can do." Ouch.

He's not surprised Max wouldn't say any of this, he's more surprised the PR team would even try to make him say this, but it still hurts to know that this is how they are going to spin the story.

"Excited, uh?" is all he manages to say, slightly choked.

Max pushes himself up on one elbow, struggling against Daniel's hold on his waist, to glare up at him, eyes steely and fierce and red rimmed.

"I am not going to do it," he repeats, forceful and sincere. "They are wrong and they are stupid, and I am not going to sit and lie and..."

He breaks off, pursing his lips and pressing them firmly together, eyes shiny. Daniel loves him so much it hurts.

"I know I can't tell the truth," Max says slowly with a grimace, voice breaking under all the feelings he's trying to keep at bay, "but I am not going to lie."

Daniel wants to kiss him again. He wants to tug him close and kiss him and get lost in each other and in love until everything outside the door doesn't matter anymore. He wants to push all this away until it isn't hurting either of them.

Instead, he gently pushes Max down on his chest again, one hand on his neck and one on the small of his back, and breathes.

"You told them that?" he asks.

Max's nod drags the fabric of his hoodie against his skin, bunching it up.

"I said, I will be polite and I will say nice things about Liam, and about Yuki and Checo, but I will not say that shit about you. I am not fixing this for them."

Daniel wonders what the Daniel of 10 years ago would have said, if he got told that in 10 years time Max would still be by his side, fiercely on his side.

"Thank you, Maxy," is all he can say, his feelings to messy and big to try and put them into words without spilling them all over the room, making clean up a bitch he doesn't want to deal with today.

Max nods again once, rough and too quick, dislodging the hand Daniel still has on his neck.

"They were not happy," he says, squirming a little until Daniel puts his hand back. "They told me there will be consequences," he snaps, slightly derisive, "so I told them I can do consequences too, and left."

Well, that explains the scolding.

"You left?" Daniel asks, not disbelieving, but still incredulous somehow.

"I didn't want to be there anymore," Max says, as if that explains it all. It probably does, for him.

For Daniel, it's yet another confirmation of which side Max is on. Not that he needed one more, but it's still nice to have. Nice to know that even in something like this, something this big and catastrophic, Max will choose him, over and over. The flood of love is back, and this time Daniel has to tip his head back and breathe, trying not to let it out through his eyes.

"How angry are they?" he asks, when he feels like his voice isn't tangled up in a knot in his throat anymore.

Max shrugs awkwardly, trapped between Daniel's body and Daniel's hands.

"Angry."

It makes Daniel snort despite himself, the sound slightly wet.

"Can't have everything their way, I guess."

He can imagine it, Max storming out of a meeting room, leaving behind a mix of perplexed and angry people, knowing they can't really punish him in any meaningful way that isn't making him do more sponsor events. It's a very satisfying thought.

And then Max takes a breath, pushes himself up on an elbow again, and decides to shift Daniel's world once again.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asks. Then, probably because he sees Daniel starting to frown, he adds "not here. The team."

It knocks the breath straight out of Daniel's lungs.

He blinks, unable to process what Max has just said.

"You...what?" he stutters, shifting back a little, trying to look at Max's face better without straining his neck.

He's almost expecting Max to laugh, to take it back, to crack a joke. But Max is deadly serious, the same unshakeable firmness Daniel knows from years of debriefs and arguments on his face.

"I want to win," Max says, not taking his eyes away from Daniel's. "I want to race, and I want to win, for a little while longer. But I don't like what they have been doing, what they did to you. I don't like what the team has become. I don't like what the sport is becoming. So if you want me to leave, if it would help that I leave too, I will leave at the end of the year."

Daniel can't breathe. There's loyalty, and there's Max being loyal, and then there's this. He doesn't know what to do with any of this.

"You can't...I can't ask you to leave." His voice sounds distant to his own ears, so overwhelmed it doesn't even feel his.

"If you want me to, if it would make you hurt knowing I am still racing with them, if it would make you angry, or hate me..."

"I am not going to hate you," Daniel interrupts. He doesn't know many things right know, but he knows that. He's suddenly torn between wanting to tug Max close again and wanting to keep looking at him while they talk about this, and settles on bringing his hand up to Max's cheek, relishing in the way he immediately leans into it.

"I don't want you to stop racing because of me," he says, another thing he's sure of.

"I would, if you asked," Max tells him, easy and steady, as if it's not monumental. Max Verstappen, willing to stop racing, for him.

"I won't."

Max nods, then breaks eye contact, suddenly looking shakier, unsure.

"You can't..." he takes a breath, bottom lip jutting out. Daniel's heart is beating too fast in his chest. "You can't hate me for it. I asked, and you said no, you can't hate me for it, now."

Daniel gives in, pressing Max to his chest again, bending his head to press his lips against his hair.

"I won't," he promises, voice swollen and heavy. "I won't hate you, Max. I won't even be angry at you, not for this. It was never on you."

Something that Daniel hadn't even noticed seems to uncoil between Max's shoulders and he slumps against Daniel's chest with a shuddering sigh, arms coming around Daniel's waist to hold him tighter.

Daniel wonders for how long Max had been carrying the weight of this misplaced guilt, of this fear. Wonders how he hadn't seen it before.

"If you want to leave for you," he carefully says, giving himself time to properly word what he wants to say, thinking about retirement jokes, and about much more serious retirement conversations, "you are free to leave. I will not be angry about that either."

Max shivers as he nods.

"I don't know if I want to," he mumbles, half lost in Daniel's hoodie. His hair is soft against Daniel's lips.

"You don't have to decide right now," Daniel tells him, suddenly and strongly grateful they're having this conversation like this, and not through a phone. Or worse, not having it at all. "I am not going to be your WAG, but I am not going to be angry either."

There's many things Daniel has to work through, to figure out. The past few weeks have been hard, some days spent in bed, too sad and angry and betrayed to feel like getting up, others spent doing things, feeling like all of this is just the start o something better. He is still confused, and a bit lost, but this he knows. Max he knows.

"I love you," he says, because it's the easiest way he has to promise forever without saying it, the word too big for a moment like this.

"I love you too," Max says, easy and unwavering, as if he wasn't shaking in Daniel's arms a few moments ago, as if the words are a steady enough pillar to sustain the weight of the crumbling word around them.

And maybe they are. Maybe they are.

The conversation isn't over, he knows it. What Max has said is too big to just let it go like this, especially if he really is considering retirement. And he wants to know when Max has to go back, what the team has told him, what his punishment for leaving like this will be. But for now, Daniel presses his lips again Max's hair again and breathes out, feeling like they have pushed past something, undone a particularly nasty knot.

And for everything else they have time.

[buttered-milky]

Russingon being an incestuous couple is so fucking interesting to me for what it represents narratively. (Yes, I know they are not canonically a couple. No, I do not care, because I do believe the coding is on purpose. Even if it’s accidental, it’s still there.)

If you don’t have a lot of experience with incest in other fiction (for example: the staple gothic horror), incest usually represents deviance. That’s just what it says on the tin: diverting from norms. Usually in a bad way. Deviance can be narratively treated as bad or wrong, and there is plenty of deviance from our meta societal norms with these two, but I digress. I don’t want to talk about that today.

I want to talk about subversion, and the deviance that is sometimes good, actually, and the message that sometimes you must break norms to do good.

[PS guys if you read all this and want to add your thoughts please do! This is kind of half-baked and I’d love to see more opinions because I’ve not seen anyone talk about this much.]

They are so fucking fascinating, because they are deviant! They are! Their entire relationship is baffling politically because of the Finwëan house feuds. More importantly, they have individual deviances that this relationship is telling you to pick up on.

.

Maedhros is a Kinslayer. Maedhros is also arguably the most heroic one of his siblings.

.

No, we can’t burn the ships. How the fuck are we gonna get Fingon over here?

No, I have to go parley with Morgoth.

I have to abdicate the crown because I’m becoming something I don’t want to be.

No, I have to put myself in front of everyone else. I have to hold Himring so the rest of Beleriand doesn’t get nuked.

I have to summon everyone for the Nirnaeth.

.

And then after Fingon dies in the Nirnaeth, Maedhros (as we all know) goes fully off the rails—which is to say, he becomes fully Fëanorian. He goes back to the norm for his family.

There are more Kinslayings. He tries once to save two twin children, and that’s it. He gives up. There is no more hope. Maglor is responsible for taking in the next set. Maglor also wants to beg the Valar for forgiveness, and maybe Maedhros would’ve seen the sense in that once, but instead he becomes the second coming of his father and dies burning, clutching onto his Oath.

The deviance from Fëanorian standards was the only thing keeping him from becoming a monster for all that time.

.

Fingon is also (very likely) a Kinslayer. He’s also the family extrovert and hope incarnate.

Unlike Aredhel and Turgon, he does not seclude himself for his own protection. He does the opposite.

.

No, we can’t just stay here in Aman. We need to protect the other half of our people??

No, we actually have to get Maedhros. Fine, I’ll do it myself then. I’ll reach out to the gods while I’m at it, since none of you will.

Of course we’re going to join every battle. Of course we’re going to help hold down Beleriand.

If I have to face evil alone I suppose I will, then.

.

And he dies when he’s alone against those Balrogs. Fingon is also like his father in many ways—but in some ways he is not. He is brighter, sometimes. He is hope incarnate in the worst of places.

.

I’m far from the first person to acknowledge that what Maedhros and Fingon have going on is a very strong message to never give up hope. But like—not just that. What kills me is that, you know, the hope and the heroism and the goodness is the deviance.

They like each other while most of the Noldor are off getting doomed or fighting with their relatives. You get to those little bits where it mentions Maedhros and Fingon still keeping up their friendship and you kind of have to think “damn, at least some people still genuinely love each other in the midst of all this horror.” It’s sweet. And yet it’s deviant.

And that’s weird, right? Usually deviance is bad. But I think here it’s more neutral. Just presented as: this is not the common option, not the norm. It’s not the common option, but it leads to one of the kinder relationships in the Silm.

The Silm wants you, the reader, to take away that you should have hope and goodness, even when everything around you is hell. Even when it is the hard option. When it becomes hardest to hold up light and help others, that is when it’s needed most.

It will be scary sometimes to be hopeful, and that’s okay. It will be scary to extend yourself. It will be scary to trust and to defend others. That’s okay. Do it fucking scared and keep doing it.

[caramelldraws]

A girl dreaming of marriage and children

[totallyseiso]

Angle deck wins, which means I can't make a My Immortal joke about the vampire vanguard

(ghost deck is lead by a vampire for some reason)

[thedaythatwas]

one of my favorite post-canon komahina tropes has got to be uncannily observant komaeda. he knows which detergent scent hinata prefers to snag from future foundation's monthly supply drops. he knows that hinata prefers pens to pencils, and pens that click open to pens with caps that detach. he knows what time hinata tends to show up for meals, and how hinata takes his coffee (one sugar and a splash of low-fat milk. not black, but not too sweet, either).

(my drabble got out of hand, watch that happen below the cut lol.)

it's not that hinata himself isn't observant... well. alright. he isn't always observant. but he can lock in when he knows he needs to! he wouldn't have survived a killing game otherwise, and he's got some extra help now (when he decides to tap into it).

he just doesn't understand how komaeda keeps it up around the clock. he assumes it must be because his brain never really turns off. and, well. he's half right. komaeda has a hard time letting his guard down. actually, "hard" might win understatement of the century.

but it's more than that. of course, knowing the full truth would demand that hinata acknowledge the way komaeda's eyes trace his movements over breakfast, like he's mapping out a crime scene, or plotting the perfect kill. like hinata's some sort of prey. like he's special.

strip down hope's peak's dubiously ethical upgrades, and hinata's a reserve course student. he knows it. he knows that komaeda knows it, too. the attention he pays him doesn't add up, so he writes it off. he's imagining things.

so, when komaeda walks over to hinata's table to bring him coffee exactly how he likes it, it takes him off guard. he chalks it up to an exhaustingly keen eye, and maybe a bit of luck. komaeda's an anomaly, hinata has always known that. he rolls his eyes as the other slinks into the chair across from his own, props his elbows up on the table.

(he doesn't question why komaeda's bringing him coffee in the first place. komaeda knows better than anyone: hinata's whole "observant" thing... it comes and goes.)

[cocksley-and-catapult]

cocksley is obviously the better one because he has 3 R34 results while catapult has zero, meaning he gets no bitches.

I find this hilarious.

[v-poreons]

I drew these all in one go for art fight I thi k there is something wrong with me

[syoddeye]

gaz and ghost thoughts. after soap’s death. unedited. cw: kidnapping, stalking.

price making gaz keep an eye on ghost after soap’s death. gives him vague instructions to keep him out of trouble, but to let him ‘indulge’.

gaz is there when ghost spots a young, drunk man with blue eyes and a crucifix around his neck. the kid stirs shit up, his mouth writing a check his ass can’t cash.

gaz watches ghost follow the stranger and two other men out of the bar and into the alley for a scrap. he doesn’t step in, doesn’t need to, since ghost lays them out effortlessly.

gaz keeps an eye out for witnesses when ghost lets the stranger approach, who is grinning and glad for the assist.

gaz catching the stranger’s limp body when ghost promptly knocks him out. helps load him into the car. drives them back to ghost and soap’s old place. ignores the babbling, begging, and delirious man when ghost carries him down to the cellar.

gaz, who can’t believe it when he picks up the poor soul’s wallet, only to find his name is ‘john’, too.

and ghost, who isn’t surprised—not when he's followed the kid for weeks after seeing him at the supermarket once. he shaves his new johnny’s hair into a mohawk.

ghost, asking gaz for a knife, because the hair isn’t enough to make john into johnny. needs his scars, too.

gaz, thinking he ought to tell price, but after a long look into the stranger’s blue eyes, he orders a tattoo gun instead.

[ministarfruit]

bappy hirthday gingus bingus!!! wishin you the BEST!!

[snickerdoodlesart]

I historically have terrible motivation for Art Fight, paired with the fact I'm juggling like ten different projects in the background, so please don't expect much from me lol