#my idiot son
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Made more of these
#it#it movie#it (2017)#henry bowers#patrick hockstetter#belch huggins#reginald huggins#reggie huggins#vic criss#victor criss#text post#bowers gang#eddie speaks#my evil son#my idiot son#my gay son#my good son
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Idk about you, but if I were one of the marauders I would have teased James Potter endlessly about being a stag. You know that son of a bitch hoped it would be a lion or some shit and I, for one, wouldnât have let him pretend he was okay with antlers sprouting out of his head for the first couple of months
James probably was bragging as they practiced, âguys, I bet Iâll be a lion orâlike a jaguar. Real bad ass, you know?â
And then fucking deer antlers appeared
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This is affectionate.
#oc#carsaadi#art#my art#madness combat#doodle#combat#madness#taika#madcom#madcom oc#madness combat oc#madness combat project nexus#madness combat project nexus oc#madness project nexus#madness project nexus oc#my idiot son
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Leo has been my favorite for literal decades no matter the iteration. But after writing like 90k words in Raph's POV, I've realized that Mutant Mayhem Raph is my BOY.
Look at this smug asshole. How could he be anything other than my son???
#my idiot son#tmnt#mutant mayhem#tmnt mutant mayhem#tmnt mm#teenage mutant ninja turtles#tmnt fandom#tmnt raph#tmnt raphael
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weird looking bread
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i love that bobbyâs first reaction when buck fell was to roll his eyes lmao
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Been a while since I posted my beloved idiot son, Ernie. So, here you go:





He grew up a lot. And also low-key got uglier
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"BACK. OFF" But it progressively gets more pathetic with each panel
Give it two more chapters, Zhi gonna have him barking on command smh
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Who (if anyone) is Aled going to romance? Have you decided yet or are you waiting to see if he clicks with anyone?
I made him to romance Emmrich because I found the idea of Emmrich falling for a dashing heroic dumbass VERY funny. Also you can play it as Rook saying âNecromancy? Ew grossâ and you get special brat tamer dialogue hehehe.
But Iâm going to see which of the guys he has chemistry with. And Iâll probably try them all!
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It's To Late
Photos taken minuets before disaster
Peri was trying to warn their home planet that Frieza was going to betray them and destroy their planet.
Trying to do more full works with backgrounds and stuff. This is also a spiritual successor to the first art I ever did of them back in college! (under the cut)

This is the original art this was inspired by!
#my art#art#oc#oc art#my ocs#dragon ball#dragon ball oc#dbz oc#xenoverse 2 oc#my idiot son#Peri is my idiot son
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I've had this fluff on my face all day and won't let anyone remove it

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That's right, the quality got worse (I'm going to commit crimes)
#it#it movie#it 2017#it 2019#clown movie#patrick hockstetter#henry bowers#vic criss#victor criss#belch huggins#reginald huggins#eddie speaks#my evil son#my idiot son#my gay son#my good son
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BLOOD||HUNGER
[PREV PART] [AO3]
So many projects, so little time... anyway, here's chapter 11, "The Battle-Sick"
Page 3 of the âBlooede StarvatfĆre-dÄdeâ, parable ?:
I was a wonderful thing, shaped for fighting, Loyal to my masters, I slayed living warriors, Friends and foes, I was a weapon of war. I shall never be avenged, shall I fall in battle, As I am cursed, in the eyes of kin and enemies, To be not a man, but a monster. I am starved, of blood and flesh, Alone I roam this land, a damned Beast.
Soap can feel Ghostâs gaze burning at his nape, questions left unanswered in the silent space between them.
In the span of a few hours, Soap saw someone else come out of Ghostâs actions. A man, buried years ago in dry earth, dead in all ways but physically. The man Captain Price mourned, the man he aspired to be.
The man that saved those children wasnât the infamous Ghost.Â
Soap brushes a shaky hand over his mouth, the metallic taste of blood still sticking to his teeth. Heâs running out of adrenaline, he knows, and the wheezing of his breath seems to be only getting louder in the empty alleyways.
He trips over nothing, barely catching himself on the cold wall, when strong arms pull him up.
âCoffee shop, on our three. Hold on just a little longer.â Ghost murmurs, hand coming under his shoulders to support his weight.
Soap goes to answer, finding his voice weak and scratchy, âaye.â
Ghostâs breath on his neck is somewhat soothing, in a way Soap shouldnât find from a man like him.
The coffee shop has seen better days, to say the least. The stairs to the first floor have collapsed, and the ground floor is completely trashed. Quite like everywhere else in the city, Soap bitterly thinks to himself.
Ghost lets him down on the only chair that seems stable in the shop, and turns to clear it of hostiles. Soap gets up to follow him, but his vision darkens the moment he tries to get on his feet, and he falls back with a huff.
It wouldâve made him angry, to be left so useless, butâŠ
Simon has been left paralyzed, defenceless, shoved a knife to his palm and bared his scarred throat, and still trusted him. Never looked at him with any less thanâŠ
Than what? What is that emotion, in Simonâs eyes, when he looks at Soap? He blinks away the dark tendrils encroaching on his vision, brows furrowed as he tries to keep a semblance of a train of thought.
Ghost returns before he can veer it back on track. âPlease tell me you found somethinâ teh drink.â Soap groans.
âAffirmative, got us a tea.â Ghost spreads the supplies he gathered from around the shop on the table next to Soap, teabags among the bottles of water and scrap fabric.
Soap sneers, âawaâ anâ bile yer heid, weâre in a fuckinâ coffee shop and ye pull out tea, fuckinâ Brits-â
His list of expletives is cut by rough coughing, and Soap has to spit out the excess mucus on the floor. Ghost crouches down, and gently cups his cheek. Soapâs eyes snap to his. Whatever emotion is swirling in those dark brown eyes, he still canât name, but it makes his heart twist.
Ghost tilts his head up, brushing fingers over the probably bruised skin of his neck, âhave any trouble breathing?â
Soapâs breath catches, not from any physical wound, âno. Jusâ... throat pain. Ah didnât lose consciousness.â cold hands soothe over his bruises, making him involuntarily sigh.
Ghost nods, âtea will help with that.â
âFuck off.â
He chuckles as he pulls back his hands, Soap almost chasing them. Fatigue is starting to take its toll on him, and his head feels like it weighs more than a LTV right about now. A tap to his cheek makes him open his eyes (when did he close them?), âcanât sleep yet, Sergeant. Gonna clean your face.â
Thatâs the only warning he gets before a wet towel brushes over his mouth, sweeping over flaking, dried blood. âSurprised the wee ones werenât afraid oâ either of us. One skull-faced bastard, the other looks like a damn vampire.â
Silent laughter shakes Ghostâs shoulders, âthose kids were tough ones, swear they were about to fight me when we first met.â
âTougher than they need teh be, at their age.â
Ghostâs movements become somber.
Soap catches one of the many questions floating through his tired mind, âwhyâd you save âem?â
The towel is thrown to the side, replaced by a dry one, â...I wanted to.â Ghost simply answers.
It doesnât satisfy him, âthat why ye worked with the Hunter?â
Ghostâs hands freeze for a short moment, before continuing to softly clean Soapâs neck. His words werenât said with anger, but the harshness of them remained all the same. It leaves a bitter note in Soapâs mouth.
At what point did seeing Ghost get hurt by his words stop bringing any sort of satisfaction?
âI worked with the Hunter because⊠I worked with anyone. No questions asked, no job too dirty for me. Not that it was ever about money.â
Ghost lowers his hands, resting them in his own lap. His eyes drift downwards, lost in the past, âI did what I did because I didnât know anything else. Survival meant fighting, and it didnât matter who.â
Ghost rises to his feet, taking a cup off the nearby shelf and setting about to make the tea, âas long as there was blood on my hands that wasnât mine, I knew I was alive.â
Soap opens his mouth, cruel words at the tip of his tongue, but he falters when Ghostâs really hit him.
Because he knows that feeling.
That hunger for violence, that need to feel bones break under his hands, a yearning stronger than anything for fresh blood. It is not a want, it is not something they take pleasure in. Itâs simply the only way to feel alive. For Soap, it may be only for the Hunter and their soldiers.Â
But when youâre constantly trying to survive, wonât the whole world start to look like an enemy?
âWhy didnât you stay with the civilians?â Ghost shakes him from his reverie.
The answer is stupidly simple. âI told ye weâre doing this together.â Soap stares deeply into Ghostâs widening eyes, âand I meant it.â
âButâŠâ Ghost sighs, âwe donât have a way to find the Hunter.â
He hands Soap a cup, the aromatic tea somewhat pleasant for once. It is cold, but it does help the scratchiness in his throat as it goes down.
âAye⊠Weâll-â a yawn cuts off Soapâs sentence, âweâll need teh catch another fecker, maybeâŠâ
Ghostâs eyes narrow at him, âwhat you need to do is sleep, Sergeant. You canât even stand on your feet, can you?â
Soap scoffs, ââcourse Ah can, ye weapon.â he thumped the mug down on the table, and held on it for dear life as he tried to rise from the chair.
Ghost caught him no more than 2 seconds later, when Soapâs face was about to have a very personal meeting with the dirty floor.
âOf course you can, huh?â Ghost goads.
Soap drops heavily back down, âwheesht.â
âSpeak English.â he can fucking hear the smirk on Ghostâs lips.
Soap drops his head, finally giving in to the need to just crumple, âmeans shut yer pussâŠâ
A hand on his hair surprises him, but Soap doesnât dare move as fingers card through the tangles. It feels really nice⊠almost putting him to sleep.
Ghostâs voice is soft when he orders him, âcâmon, Iâm sure we can find you a better spot for a nap than on a stool.â
He doesnât really answer, far too knackered to be coherent. Soap feels the hand recede, and footsteps echo farther and farther away from him. A few minutes later, Ghost returns to urge him up, âset up some blankets and pillows behind the counter.â
Soap appreciates the attempt to keep him in the know, but at this point heâd let Ghost lead him over a cliff, and he wonât complain one bit.
The makeshift bed reminds Soap of the shitty pillow forts he would build with his sister back when they were kids, and the blurry memories make him suppress a laugh. With the way Ghost is staring at him, Soap thinks the giggles make him all the more concerned.
And what a concept that is. Ghost, concerned over his well-being.
Ghost lets him down carefully, wrapping him with moth-eaten blankets. Compared to the last âbedâ Soap slept in, this is as good as a five-star hotel.
He can barely keep his eyes open, but Soap, as aware as he is in his compromised status, canât let his guard down when Ghost turns to walk away. He manages to catch the sleeve of the giant man, and dark eyes turn to stare at him.
âYer⊠yer not gonna leave me, right?â he mumbles.
Ghost stops, âjust gonna go keep watch by the window. Not leaving.â
Sleep claws on Soapâs eyelids, and it takes far too much willpower to keep them open, âstay âhere Ah can see ye⊠Donâ run off nowâŠ..â
The last thing he hears before he goes unconscious is, ânever, Johnny.â
Gentle fingers card through his hair.
âJohnny.â
John groans, unwilling to open his eyes and start the day.
âWake up, love.â
ââS too early for that shite, let me sleep.â he burrows deeper into his pillow, enveloped in warmth and safety.
His pillow starts, very rudely, shaking with laughter, âfine, you lazy bastard.â
That voice⊠sounds familiar. Familiar in the way a knifeâs weight is in Johnâs hand, in the way blood spills over his wounds, like the buzz of adrenaline in a fire fight.
Yet John feels⊠safe.
Gentle fingers card through his tangled hair. Why would it be tangled? Isnât he at home?
âCanât sleep yet, Sergeant. Gonna clean your face.â
John frowns, âmy face is clean.â
Hands tilt his face up. Thereâs some sort of tackiness to his skin, he notices. A metallic taste bursts on his tongue.
John opens his eyes.
Dirty blond hair, messy from a mask pulled off non too kindly, rich brown eyes wide in surprise, dark like a graveâs fresh dirt. Scars leave valleys and hills on pale skin.
The features are there, but John canât make sense of them. A strangerâs face, yet it feels so familiar.
Perhaps it is only the emotion carved into it, fear and shock twisting the manâs eyes.
Soap wakes up with a start, grasping tightly at the thin blankets wrapped around him. It takes him a few seconds to shake off the dreamâs warmth, to feel again how cold the coffee shop really is. He takes a cursory look around - Ghost must have left for overwatch while he was sleeping.
He eventually forces himself to get up, encouraged by the fact that his legs stay somewhat steady under his weight.
âGhost?âÂ
Soap walks over to the wider area of the coffee shop, where once there were floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed patrons to bask in the sun while drinking, but now are shattered.
In a dark, hidden corner, that Soap almost dismissed immediately, a huddled shape rested against the wall. Ghostâs dark gear blends near perfectly into the shadows. Soap is sure, if he wasnât looking for the damn man, heâd never find him.
He has to step closer to actually see his eyes through the mask and darkness. Ghost is completely out, so still, he might as well be dead.
Soap huffs. In the entire time theyâve been fighting together, heâs never seen him asleep. The nearest thing to it was the rest in the shed, but even then Soap knew Ghost was constantly ready to strike, if it were needed.
Here, curled into a small ball, hands wrapped around himself, Ghost looks so unnaturally small and harmless.Â
Soap doesnât realize heâs smiling until Ghost shifts, murmuring something under his breath and curling further into himself.Â
He scoffs internally and turns to find something to eat. The fuck is he doing, thinking this giant international criminal is cute. He blames that weird fucking dream he had, as well as a million different other excuses.
Soap repeats the mantra in his head âHeâs not fuckinâ cute, heâs not goddamn endearingâ, as he finds a couple of sandwiches that seem to be edible enough. He collects enough for Ghost as well, for when the bastard wakes up.
Whining from the dark corner makes him freeze.
Soap turns to look at Ghost, his shoulders now taut and shuddering, â...Ghost?â
âN-no⊠I wouldnât⊠Iâm sorryâŠâ Ghost whispers, eyes scrunched shut.
Nightmare. Soap wonders if thatâs what Ghost saw back in the shed. âGhostâ, he calls again, louder, the previous calmness he felt washed away.
Ghostâs hands crease his black jacket, leather gloves cricking in his tight grip, âIâm sorry⊠P-PriceâŠâ
He knows he shouldnât get closer, that night terrors can make the friendliest of soldiers hostile, when shrouded by conjured nightmares and warped memories. But the sight of Ghost in that state makes Soap feel the need to do something, anything to help him.
He chances a hand on Ghostâs shoulder, â...Simon? Wake up, yer safe-â
Muscles bulge as they shoot up at him, Ghost wraps his hand around Soapâs, and in a blink, theyâre on the floor. He pins him down by the neck, heavy breathing and shaking.
It hurts tenfold, to be choked for the second time in a few hours. Soap claws at the massive arms, attempts to lessen their heavy weight on his windpipe. Even in his sleep, Ghost is a force to be reckoned with.
When Soap sees those dark eyes open, searching wildly for hostiles, he thinks that perhaps, in his sleep, Ghost is even more terrifying. Fighting against the worst his mind can think of.
âS-Simon-â Soap manages to whisper.
The hands retreat instantly, and Soap turns to his side, coughing and massaging his wounded neck.
Ghost has crawled backwards until he hit the wall, eyes still wide open, their whites standing out over black painted skin. Soap heaves himself to his knees, moving closer to the shivering man. But Ghost shakes his head.
âDonât-â Ghost says between breaths, âstay back.â
Soap, as he often does, refuses to listen, âwhy?â
Brown eyes flicker down to his neck before returning to his, âIâll hurt you.â
âYe wonât.â Soap stops in front of him, sitting back on his haunches.
Soap can see the tension still wrecking though Ghost, muscles trembling with fatigue and soreness. He chances a hand again, laying it on Ghostâs shoulder. The body under his palm freezes.
He leans in closer, tries to see inside Ghostâs eyes to his thoughts.Â
This close, he can see just how pale his eyelashes are, how there are flecks of black shoot through the rich brown umber of his eyes. Something about them draws Soap in, in a way an oil painting would. How dark Ghostâs eyes are, how his pupils blend with the sclera.
âJohnny-â Ghost whispers, âthe maskâŠâ
Soapâs brows crease, âye want me to take it off?â
âPlease.âÂ
At his begging tone, Soap doesnât hesitate, and slowly slides a hand over the skull, pulling it up and off.
Simon stares up at him, his eye black running down his cheeks, from tears or rain, he's not so sure anymore. At that moment, Soap realizes what emotion lingers in Simonâs eyes wherever he looks at him.
Faith.
Simon⊠has faith in him. More wholly than Soap remembers ever seeing.
Not just in life and death, but with this as well. With his most vulnerable moments. It shines through so clearly now, the serenity over Simonâs features the longer he looks at Soap.
He looksâŠ
âBeautifulâŠâ
Simon frowns in confusion, âwhat?â
Soap presses a thumb to the dark tear tracks, swiping under Simonâs eyes. âYer bonnie. Never⊠noticed before.â
Simon opens his mouth to answer, and it breaks Soap from the trance he was stuck in. He pulls his hand away, as if it was burned, and wrecks his mind for a way to veer the conversation away from his stupid, weird behaviour.
Stupid steaminâ dream, stupid Simon with his stupidly pretty eyes, stupid-
âYe said Priceâs name. When ye wereâŠâ
Simon looks away, lips curving downwards minutely, âdonât remember.â
Soap sighs. Shouldâve expected the deflection-
âHe was⊠my captain. Before.â Simon murmurs, eyes on the broken shards of glass scattered on the floor. âI havenât seen âim in years, not since I became legally dead.â
Soap can imagine. He remembers, even in his brief interactions with the Captain, just how much it was obvious that Simon meant a lot to him. If he knew Simon was Ghost, surely Price would-
âThatâs it.â Simon murmurs, eyes alight with a new fire. Soap raises an eyebrow, and Simon turns to face him fully.
Gone is the softness in his tone when he says, âI know how we can get to the Hunter.âÂ
Ghost stands up, offering a hand for Soap, âwe need to get our hands on a radio.â Ghost leaves him behind as he starts collecting their equipment.
Soap follows him, shoving a still wrapped sandwich in his hands, âwhat are ye planning, Simon?â
Those dark eyes stare at him with newfound conviction, as Ghost pulls the mask back over his head.
âThereâs only one other person who would be able to locate the Hunter in this city.â
Soapâs brows shoot up when he understands.
âCaptain PriceâŠâ
#call of duty modern warfare 2#cod mw2#cod soap#cod ghost#cod price#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#john price#BLOOD||HUNGER#ghostsoap#soapghost#ghoap#call of duty fic#call of duty fanfic#call of duty modern warfare#cod fic#cod fanfic#soap out here dreaming of having a domestic life with ghost#and describing him like 'he has eyes like an old oil painting and the softest of touches'#and hes still like 'i should hate that guy huh'#my idiot son#anyway i think i say it every chapter buttt#next chapter will be very tasty >:D
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Can we talk about the fact that he's holding up a leaf to hide behind?
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He's so photogenic!!!
#llywelyn the little#my idiot son#I call this his derpy face. he makes it when he's getting loved on
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My smug Bastard â„
#gw2#guildwars2#guild wars 2#charr#myArt#valefor#these weird chibi faces are a lot of fun#and so fast to do#did this as a treat#I love him a lot#my idiot son
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