#it's my go to comfort series

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

ngl but aesthetically speaking

Lucanis is giving Xanatos

Like.

a little bit.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The girls are back (from the grave)

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[pidgeoryx]

take it easy!

[opens-up-4-nobody]

I LOOOOOOOVE TASKMASTER :-D

[almondpiglet]

practicing stuff with rei n seris steampink outfits

[benevolenterrancy]

the final tribulation

[ramblingsfromthytruly]

oh jason grace they could never make me hate you

[lyxchen]

Okay so I've heard this said a bunch of times and I'm gonna admit I thought like that too for a while but no, Gi-hun did not win the games because he was lucky. A lot of people think that's how he won because he never killed anybody but that's really not the point. Gi-hun won the games because a) he's smart and is able to look at things from a different angle, b) because he is a good and kind person who also believes in others and c) because of the goodness and care get got back from other people.

In the first game he survived because Ali saved him and that wasn't luck, that was Ali being a good person and helping somebody not get killed. Ali could've not caught him, let him die, he didn't even know Gi-hun at all at that point and he put himself in more danger too by having to hold on to a person while standing completely still but he still saved Gi-hun because Ali is a good person.

In the Dalgona game he quite literally Was Not Lucky. He decided to go with the umbrella which is the worst shape to pick and he probably would have died if he hadn't looked at the game in a different way and decided to change his strategy. Gi-hun is smart. He is also optimistic and so he tried something new and found a different way to beat that game.

In the third game he survived because he was smart and kind enough to listen to Il-nam. The other people in their group dismissed him as just an old man speaking but Gi-hun didn't and that way they had a good strategy to beat the other team. The same goes for him listening to Sang-woo's idea of running three steps and then stopping, which ultimately was what saved them. His group also chose him as their leader (who, as Il-nam said, needs to not seem weak or loose hope because then the whole team is doomed). His team trusted in him and his optimism and they were right to do so.

In the marbles game he won because he was once again kind and decided to team up with Il-nam and also because in the end Il-nam decided to "sacrifice himself" for Gi-hun because he showed him kindness before. Yes Il-nam didn't actually die but he also knew that Gi-hun had cheated and still let him continue on to the next game, probably because Gi-hun had been good and kind and caring towards him before, even though he really didn't have to be. Gi-hun also didn't know this but by teaming up with Il-nam he inadvertently ensured that Il-nam had a lot more fun in the games than he would have had, had everybody just ignored to "old, fragile man". Gi-hun was good to Il-nam throughout all the games and it ended up saving him in the marbles game.

In the fifth game it's only some small moments as Gi-hun isn't really involved in the game because he's the last number but still it wasn't just luck. First of all he was kind enough to give the number 1 to the player that asked him for it. Yes, that number was bad but he didn't know that and had he been selfish enough to say no to that other player he wouldn't have survived. Being the last to play in any game can end up being bad for you, still he decided to give up the number he picked because the other player asked him to. Secondly he also survived that game because Sae-byeok was kind enough to remind him of which glass tile to step on after he had forgotten which one it was. It's only small but she didn't have to tell him and still she did. Sae-byeok btw is also good to him because before that he was good to her and protected her (even though he was angry at her at first) and that way he was able to gain her trust.

Lastly he won the Squid Game because Gi-hun was kind to Sang-woo and because Sang-woo deep down was still a good person. There were probably many reasons as to why Sang-woo decided to kill himself in the end but part of it, I'm sure, was also because Gi-hun was a good friend to him. I mean Gi-hun was even willing to give up all the money and go back home with nothing gained if it meant that Sang-woo didn't have to die and would be able to come home with him. Gi-hun deserved that win and that money and in the end Sang-woo knew that. He also knew that Gi-hun would make sure to take care of Sang-woo's mother and that he wouldn't just take all the money for himself because Sang-woo knew that Gi-hun is a good person. (Gi-hun technically also won the Squid Game because he was good at it which is also him being smart)

So in conclusion and I hope y'all haven't stopped reading yet: Gi-hun didn't win the games because he was lucky. He didn't just sit around doing nothing and won anyways. He won because he was smart but even more importantly he won because of the kindness and goodness that exists in humans and that is especially present in him. He won because he had empathy, because people trusted him, because he got back from them what he gave to them first. He never killed anyone and we can clearly see that he Could Never kill anyone in those games but that's not his weakness. Just because he didn't let himself get corrupted and turned into what the games wanted him to turn into doesn't mean he won because of luck. Him not playing by those subtle, hidden rules that are made to force him to be bad, to not care about others and to give up his kindness actually means he was better than the games. He won because he didn't let them turn him into a monster. They tried really hard and they failed and that's how he won!! But also on top of that he also won because he isn't the only good person in this show. He also won because other people helped him, were kind to him and gave a shit about him. Each and every person that helped Gi-hun didn't have to do that. They all could have not helped him, Ali could have not caught him, Sae-byeok could have not told him which one was the correct glass tile, hell, she could have Lied to him about it and the only difference it would have made for the other players would have been them being one more dead person closer to winning all that money. But that's really not how humans are and act which is why all these people helped Gi-hun, helped each other in small or big ways and in the end his own kindness and the kindness that exists in other people is what lead to Gi-hun winning. That's not luck. That humans being good

[hatsbuckets]

Let Me Sleep | Soap

Pairings: Sorta Poly141, can be read whichever way. WC: ~1700 Warnings: Canon-typical violence. Chemical/drug exposure. Loss of consciousness. Brief confusion/delirium. Hallucinations and Soap guilt. Inaccurate medical stuff. Hurt with maybe 0.5 comfort. Soap gets eepy and happy then absolutely sad, then eepy :( dw Ghost likes him alive. Short Vers: Soap gets drugged with something that makes him all delirious. Ghost is keeping him awake as they drive. Soap sees ghosts. He just wants to eep in his bf's arm. Gaz Version!!! peep i'm too lazy to edit pics this time womp womp bless gifmakers

The hallway reeked of burnt plastic and cordite. Broken lights flickered overhead, casting long, stuttering shadows down the empty corridors.

It should’ve been over.

Soap pressed a hand to the wall, steadying himself as the world pitched sideways. His heart stuttered. His boots scraped the concrete wrong, too heavy and too loud. He'd let his rifle hang loose at his side.

“Ghost,” he mumbled, voice thick and strange in his own ears. “D’you ever think about clouds?”

Ghost’s head snapped around, rifle coming up for just a moment, then easing.

Soap laughed, low and dazed. “Like, really think about ‘em?”

He grinned wide, lopsided. His eyes were glassy.

Ghost didn’t answer. He moved fast, closing the distance, hand grabbing Soap’s vest just as his knees buckled. Soap sagged into him with a soft huff, all the fight draining out of his frame.

Christ. He was burning up. Heat rolling off him like steam.

Ghost locked a gloved hand behind Soap’s neck, tilting his face up into the flickering light. His skin was flushed red, sweat beading at his hairline, pupils blown wide.

“Fuck,” Ghost muttered under his breath. “Johnny, what happened?”

Soap blinked at him, slow and heavy-lidded. A lazy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“‘M fine,” he slurred. “Feels nice. Warm.”

Ghost shook him once, sharp. “Focus.”

Soap just laughed again, giddy and distant.

Price’s voice cracked through the comms, low and urgent. “Ghost. Report.”

“Soap’s hit with something,” Ghost bit out. “Unknown chem. Bad.”

There was a pause, long enough for Soap to sway again and Ghost to shove him up. 

“We’re moving. Now.” Price’s voice was backed by gunfire rattling in the distance. Too close.

Ghost hauled Soap upright. He stumbled, tried to push away half-heartedly.

“C’mon, mate,” Soap whined. “Just a minute. Just wanna sit down…”

“No chance,” Ghost growled, slinging one of Soap’s arms over his shoulder. “Move your feet.”

They staggered through the ruined halls, Ghost half-carrying him when Soap’s legs refused to cooperate. His head kept dropping against Ghost’s shoulder, eyes fluttering like he was seconds from slipping under.

Price was already forcing open a side door, eyes sweeping the alley.

They moved forward along the cracked asphalt lot toward two rusting civilian trucks abandoned near a crumbling fence line.

Gunfire barked again, closer this time. Shouts. Boots pounding.

They were out of time.

“Ghost! Truck. Now.” Price barked, already sprinting for the closest vehicle.

Ghost didn’t waste breath answering. He dragged Soap with him, shoved open the battered rear door, and all but threw him inside.

Soap slumped sideways instantly, eyes slipping closed.

Ghost slapped his cheek hard enough to sting. “Stay awake!”

Soap whined, batting weakly at his hand like a drunk fighting off a moth. “Quit it… jus’ a nap, mate…”

The engine roared to life under Price’s hands. Tires screeched as he tore out of the lot, bullets sparking against the rear fender.

Ghost climbed into the back beside Soap, one arm locked around his chest to hold him upright.

Soap sighed contentedly. Tucked his head against Ghost’s shoulder.

Very softly, he murmured, “Comfiest cloud I ever did see…”

Ghost squeezed his eyes shut for half a second. Exhaled through his teeth. “Focus Johnny.”

The truck jolted hard over a curb, tires screaming against cracked pavement. Price didn’t bother staying subtle, he floored it, weaving between half-collapsed barriers and shattered road signs like a man with no intention of stopping for anything.

Soap groaned at the motion, rolling against Ghost in the back seat like a sack of bricks.

Ghost grunted, catching him before he could slide right off the bench.

“Sit up, Johnny,” Ghost barked, giving him a shake. “Stay with us.”

Soap whined low in his throat, hands fumbling blindly. He found Ghost’s plate carrier, gripped it with both fists, and tucked himself against Ghost’s side like a clingy, overgrown kid.

“Gonna nap right here, yeah?” he slurred, voice thick and sticky-sweet.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Ghost hauled him upright again. “No napping. You’re on watch.”

Soap’s head lolled back, hitting Ghost’s shoulder with a soft thump. His mouth tugged into a crooked little smile.

“M’watchin’,” he mumbled. “Watchin’ you breathe. ‘S nice.”

Ghost shot a look at the rearview mirror. Price caught it. His jaw tightened, hands flexing around the steering wheel.

The truck fishtailed around a corner. Soap barely reacted—just clung harder, legs tangling with Ghost’s. His forehead pressed into Ghost’s chest, breath hot and uneven through the fabric.

Ghost kept him upright by sheer force. One arm locked around his shoulders, the other gripping his wrist to keep his hands from going slack.

“You hear me?” Ghost muttered, keeping his voice steady. “Need you to stay alive.”

Soap giggled. Actually fucking giggled.

“Not dead. Sleepin’.”

“You don’t wake up from this kind of sleep, Soap.”

Another jolt in the road sent them bouncing. Ghost tightened his hold. Soap whimpered quietly but didn’t fight, he didn’t try to pull away, didn’t even lift his head.

Price’s voice crackled through the cab, tight and clipped. “Fifteen minutes out. Then safehouse.”

Ghost nodded once, even though Price couldn’t see him.

Fifteen minutes. They just had to keep him awake fifteen more minutes.

“Where’s Kyle?” Soap slurred.

“At the safehouse.”

“Mmm,” Soap hummed. “Miss ‘im.”

Soap shifted, murmuring something into Ghost’s chest. Words too soft to catch. His hands fisted tighter into the front of Ghost’s gear, like he knew, on some rattled level, that letting go would mean falling.

Ghost looked down, held on tighter

“Stay with me, Johnny,” he said again, voice quieter this time.

Soap didn’t answer, but his fingers twitched into the smallest thumbs up.

…

The world blurred outside the windows, black smears of old city. None of it seemed to matter anymore.

Soap’s head stayed tucked against Ghost’s chest, his breathing shallow and uneven. His body slumped heavier by the minute, like gravity was winning a slow, inevitable war.

Ghost tapped his cheek again… gloves pulled off, softer now, just a nudge, a little reminder. He’d pulled off Soap’s head gear, got him at least settled comfortably sitting up against him.

“C’mon, Johnny. Stay with me.”

Soap mumbled something, too slurred to catch, and shifted, head tilting just enough to look across the cab.

At the empty seat beside him.

His face lit up, sudden and bright.

“There you are,” he whispered.

Ghost stiffened and followed his gaze to the empty space behind Price.

“Though’ we lost ya,” Soap murmured, voice hitching into a soft, wet laugh. “Knew you’d find your way back. Always said you would, didn’t you?”

Ghost’s stomach twisted.

Soap reached out, fingers grasping at empty air. His hand dropped limp again after a second, settling on Ghost’s thigh.

“You came back,” he breathed, so quietly it may have been a prayer.

Ghost didn’t say anything. He just pulled Soap in closer, wrapping an arm fully around his shoulders like he could hold him together through sheer force.

The truck bumped over something, a curb, maybe, and Soap whimpered at the jolt. His fingers clutched tighter, nails scraping weakly against the fabric of Ghost’s pants.

“It’s my fault,” Soap said, voice cracking wide open.

Ghost blinked down at him. “What?”

Soap’s eyes stayed locked on the empty seat, glassy and distant.

“I didn’t cover ‘im right. Shoulda—shoulda seen it. Shoulda been faster. He was just a kid. Younger than Gaz...” His throat worked around the words, like they hurt coming out.

“I was supposed to watch him. I promised him.” He spat the words through gritted teeth.

Ghost felt a sharp, ugly punch in his chest.

Price glanced into the mirror again, met Ghost’s for a brief, sharp moment, but said nothing. His hands stayed tight on the wheel.

Soap shuddered against Ghost’s side. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled over, sliding down his flushed cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Over and over. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Ghost tucked his chin down, resting it lightly against the top of Soap’s head. He didn’t tell him it wasn’t his fault, Soap wouldn’t have heard him anyway.

All he could do was hold on, keep him breathing.

“Come on, Johnny, we’ve got ya.” Ghost said, voice low and steady against the ragged sound of the tires on the broken road. “I’m right here.”

Soap whimpered again, small and broken, and clung tighter.

…

The truck screeched to a halt outside a battered safehouse on the edge of the city. Half the windows were boarded, but it was clear, Price had made sure of that.

Ghost moved. He shoved the door open, yanking Soap with him.

Soap barely stirred. His head lolled against Ghost’s shoulder, breath shallow and warm against his collarbone. His legs dragged uselessly across the gravel.

“I’ve got ya, Johnny,” Ghost muttered, more to himself than anything. He swept him up fully, one arm under his knees, the other around his back. Soap’s body was a furnace, heat seeping through Ghost’s clothes like fire.

Soap mumbled something against his chest. Words lost.

Inside, the house smelled like dust. Gaz was already there, moving fast, clearing space, tossing a battered mattress down on the floor near the fireplace. His eyes widened when he saw them.

“Jesus,” Gaz breathed. “What happened?”

“Drug or chemicals,” Price answered shortly, right behind Ghost. “Unknown. Med team’s en route.”

Gaz nodded, jaw tight, but his hands were steady. He dropped to his knees by the mattress, spreading out blankets and water bottles in quick, efficient motions.

Soap stirred again when they crossed the threshold.

His head lifted weakly. His hazy gaze found Gaz, and a lopsided, drunken smile pulled at his mouth.

“Kyle,” he slurred, voice soft and fond like a secret. “Knew you’d beat us ‘ere…”

Gaz’s throat worked around a response he couldn’t give. He just reached out, steadying Soap’s shoulder as Ghost knelt down.

Ghost tried to ease him onto the mattress. Tried.

Soap clutched his jacket in both fists, sudden and desperate, like a drowning man grabbing for a rope.

“Stay,” Soap breathed, voice cracking. “Please… just—stay.”

Ghost froze and for a heartbeat, he thought about lying. Thought about telling him he'd just be a second. Thought about pulling away.

He couldn’t do it.

Ghost shifted, lowering Soap gently onto the mattress without breaking his grip. Soap’s fingers stayed tangled in the heavy fabric of his jacket sleeve, the other hooked around his vest, even as his body sagged.

Ghost sat down beside him and stayed close. He stayed close enough that Soap could feel the weight of him, close enough that if Soap’s hands loosened, they would still brush against him. Practically keeping Soap in his lap.

Price moved around the room, barking orders into his radio. Gaz crouched nearby, wiping Soap’s face down with a damp cloth, checking his pulse every few seconds.

Ghost didn’t move or say a word. He just stayed.

Soap’s breathing hitched once, a broken little sound, and then finally evened out, slow, shallow, but steady.

The medic would be there soon. They’d done what they could.

Ghost reached down and covered Soap’s hand with his own, squeezing once.

“You’re alright, Johnny,” he murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. “Not going anywhere.”

…

The medic burst through the door less than two minutes later, gear clattering, voice sharp and professional as he rattled. Gaz answered him in quick, clipped replies. Price kept his rifle slung across his chest, standing guard by the door, jaw tight.

Ghost didn’t move.

He stayed when the medic knelt by Soap’s side. He stayed when a gloved hands brushed his shoulder, murmuring, "We’ll take it from here, mate."

Soap’s fingers twitched, clinging tighter, so Ghost stayed.

The medic didn’t mind, he worked quickly, checking vitals, running a line, administering something to counter the chemical still eating through Soap’s system. He mumbled his frustration about not knowing what, but made his greatest, educated guess based on what Gaz had told him. Soap barely reacted. He mumbled a few broken words under his breath, names, maybe, more apologies. Ghost couldn't catch them all.

Finally, the medic pulled back, nodding.

“He’s stable,” he said. “Out of the woods. Should sleep it off now.”

Ghost exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Soap’s fingers relaxed at last, still tangled in the heavy folds of Ghost’s jacket.

His body sagged fully into the mattress, breath slow and even now.

Ghost shifted closer. Just enough to lay a steady hand across Soap’s chest, feeling the slow rise and fall.

“You can sleep now, Johnny,” he said, voice low.

Soap gave him a little smile, eyes closed, lips twitching, then relaxing completely.

[firenati0n]

wip wednesday <3 :)

hello :) thank you for all the past tags!

i don't want to share anything from lake house au (posting soon), so here is a snip from a doc i have titled (mostly as a joke) henry wick. which should be explanation enough. don't look at me.

Henry isn’t sure whether to feel comforted or aggrieved at the fact that the interior of the Continental is almost the same as it was five years ago; the opulent and luxurious Art Deco features shroud the building in mystery, concealing the blood in the crevices. The entire structure is frozen in time, from the lavish architecture, to the suited attendants, to the rich jewel and gold tones. As he walks to the front desk, he steadfastly avoids the curious glances from guests lounging in the lobby, no doubt ready to spread the word—the prodigal son returns. Best not to make a fuss.  However, no person on Earth is immune to the easy charm of the concierge. Henry smiles in greeting; pleasantries were considered inefficient. “Sir. You look well,” Percy says from behind the desk, hands clasped in front of him. He gives Henry a once-over behind stylish gold frames that complement his deep plum suit. “Two nights?” Henry flicks a spot of dried blood off his jaw. “If you would be so kind. I may need to extend my stay, depending on how business goes.” “That can be arranged. We’re only at seventy-two percent capacity.” Henry makes a show of looking around, taking in the new furniture and clearly remodeled foundation. No amount of paint can erase the bone-deep pain, though. “You’ve clearly cleaned up around here.” “We gave her a facelift around three years ago, but some things stayed the same.” The slightest raise of an eyebrow, anticipating Henry’s next question— “Same owner?” Percy gives him a knowing smile. “He’s expecting you.”  “Is he now?” Henry slides a gold coin across the marble, and Percy hands him a key with a nod. “Thank you, Percy.” “Room 202. As always, a pleasure having you with us again, Mr. Fox.”

xoxo roop

p.s. just letting you know right off the bat that david is UNHARMED in this fic. arthur, however—

+ open tag and tagging folks back <3

@sherryvalli @cha-melodius @run-for-chamo-miles @porcelainmortal @suseagull5914 @anincompletelist @wordsofhoneydew @caterpills @onthewaytosomewhere @orchidscript @14carrotghoul @alasse9 @thighzp @zwiazdziarka @miharaikko @tailsbeth-writes @kiwiana-writes @stereopticons @getmehighonmagic @clockwrkpendrxgon @sophie1973 @eusuntgratie @rmd-writes @dumbpeachjuice @blueeyedgrlwrites @fairflowered @theprinceandagcd @incalamity @rockyroadkylers @judasofsuburbia @onward--upward @saguaroblossom @anchoredarchangel @myheartalivewrites @seths-rogens @indestructibleheart @everwitch-magiks @clottedcreamfudge @tintagel-or-cockleshells @cricketnationrise @smc-27 @cheesecurdsgravyandfries @leaves-of-laurelin @welcometololaland @ninzied @freneticfloetry @smugvillanelle @shesfromboston

[shalaaex]

Thank you cass, your series has really created such a happy little fandom that I find is not my safe space. You have inspired thousands of artists and if it weren’t for you. A lot of people wouldn’t be where they are now. I’m excited to see what else you make, rise or not. You’re an incredible person and I’m glad I was able to follow along this comic. It truly gave me something to look forward to.

Thank you, cass

‘I’ll be grinding a conclusion animatic…

[mariesbee]

why can't i enjoy things like a normal person? casually, just a few episodes/chapters here and there, then move on with my life. but no, whatever it is, it worms its way into my brain, consumes my thoughts and it slowly drives me insane. i am unable to think about anything else but the Thing of the week, or month, sometimes year(s) if it gets that bad.

[tellmegoodbye]

911 Lone Star: Words of Comfort

Created for @annoyingcloudearthquake's comfort week!

[recclesserenade]

Leave it to a lesbian to neglect her hot as fuck girlfriend (who is mid eating her out mind you) to pine over her emotionally unavailable best friend

[tamsinbeybey-she-no-porcupine]

His proud little "she got me on that one...well played, well played indeed" dad smile

I can't.

[benevolenterrancy]

@pazithigallifreya why would you ask for him :( he doesn't want to be here :( he doesn't want to be singled out :(( he wants to be left alone :(((