#stick or switch

[turtleblogatlast]

I’ve remembered that colors exist

[biblically-accurate-dca]

painting test with a limited color palette

here's the sun equivalent!

[tiffanyachings]

i got so possessed by this silly meme that i taught myself how to draw which honestly tells you all you need to know about me

[gigizetz]

omg I'm doing some research of Tiresias' myths and all versions of how he became blind are the funniest things I've ever read

my favorite is the one where Hera and Zeus were arguing about which gender had more pleasure during sex (as you do), Hera being fully convinced that men was the answer. They asked Tiresias and he said women had the most pleasure, and Hera (in an act of pettiness I think?) made him blind

[rocketbirdie]

ahem. gay

[panevanbuckley]

when the hyperfixation kicks in like crazy and you end up reading far too many fics in a matter of days

[itsdefinitely]

coug h

[petit-papillion]

Alex Jacques commentated Charles's win brilliantly. 👏

Monaco Grand Prix | 26 May 2024

🎥 FM1_3316

[kuroko-no-cuties]

How Kuroko and Akashi would react to their girlfriend calling them a short king 👑

AKASHI…

Would completely freeze at his desk. He’d slowly turn his thankfully monochromatic maroon gaze towards you before uttering a slightly amused/offended…

“Pardon me?”

You struggle to hold in a snicker as you reiterate your previous sentence. “I said, ‘Don’t overwork yourself My Short King. You should take a break.’”

His eyebrow twitches and you’re not entirely sure what that means. Even though Bokushi isn’t in command any longer, normal Akashi can still be rather unpredictable when he wants to be. That’s why you’re pretty dumbfounded once your normally composed and calm Akashi let’s out a loud “PFFT!” and presses a fist to his mouth to fight the growing smile on his lips.

“You’re rather remarkable darling…I’m…not quite sure how to respond to that…” to which you bat your eyelashes and reply, “Well how about by taking a break an spending some time with your darling?”

He snickers once more (wow twice in one setting, what a giggly boy he is today) and stands up from his desk to take you by the hand.

“So be it then.”

Now, Akashi Seijuro is…Akashi Seijuro. He’s not gonna let some little crack his girlfriend made about his height get to him. He will, however, make a conscious decision to straighten his back and hold his head high around you, just to make it clear who is actually the short one in this relationship.

KUROKO…

Would look at you confused but immediately see that you’re trying to tease him and just pretend he didn’t hear you.

You poke his cheek and snicker, “Oi, I know you heard me Tetsu.”~

“…”

“Come on, My Short King, answer the question. Where do you wanna go to ea-“

“Would you mind not calling me that. Please.”

He replies in his usual soft tone as he keeps his gaze focused on the novel in his hands. You bite you lip as you attempt (and fail) at holding in a snort. You can’t really tell if he’s just refusing to play along with your little game or if he’s genuinely upset that you made a crack about his height. You mull over whether you want to take it easy in him or not. You decide to end the short jokes, but concluded that one last little teasing nudge wouldn’t hurt. You throw your arms around him and kiss his temple. “Aww sorry Tetsu-kun. I didn’t mean to make my little blueberry angy~” you coo in a baby voice while nuzzling his cheek.

Kuroko bristled from underneath your arms. If there was one thing that ruffled his feathers, it was being treated like a child. He experienced more than a fair share of embarrassment at getting demeaning head pats from Murasakibara that one time at the street game. And let’s not even talk about how “Dad” picked him up like a toddler in front of his whole team. So yeah…jokes about his stature aren’t exactly his favorite things. He knows you’re just messing with him and trying to have some fun so he decided not to take it too seriously- however that doesn’t mean he’s gonna let you off the hook Scott free.

He closes his book and slowly stands from his desk and you mistakenly take it as a sign to continue on to the topic of food.

“Ah great! So where do you wanna go? I was think about this cute new cafe that ju- kya!”

And just like that the phantom sixth man has you pinned against the wall. His hands in either side of your head. He leans in, slowly to emphasize the height advantage he actually has on you, while biting back a smile at the flustered look on your face.

“Sorry, but who exactly is the short one in this relationship?” He whispers, his baby blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Uhh…I…”

You’re at a lost for words. Did your invisible simple vanilla, blue boy Tetsu seriously just kabedon you? And size you up? Who is this kid?

After seeing you’re dumbfounded expression, Kuroko takes it that you’ve learned your lesson. He lets out a soft snort as he gently reaches for your hand and pulls you along out the door.

“Sorry, I decided to get you back but maybe I went a little too far. Anyway, let’s go to that cute cafe you mentioned, Shorty.”

….no seriously….who IS this kid?!

[the-broken-pen]

“You’re going to blow out your arms,” the villain observed. They watched as the hero merely grit their teeth, shoving themself through another pull-up. It looked painful, and if the sweat slicking the hero’s brow was any indication, it was.

They waited for the hero to let themself drop from the bar and accept the villain was stronger. But they didn’t.

Three more pull-ups, and the villain stepped in.

“Hero,” they said slowly. “You’re about to tear the ligaments in your arms. You need to stop.”

The hero blew out a shuddering breath. Struggled for purchase, fighting gravity—and let themself drop.

The hero’s hands were bleeding, calluses torn open by the bar. The hero didn’t seem bothered when their own hands shook so much that their blood began to splatter on the gym floor.

For a moment, the villain could only stare at them.

Shit.

They didn’t know how to handle this. They knew the hero was dedicated. They knew the hero was strong, and perpetually trying to be stronger, but they hadn’t thought…

They hadn’t thought the hero would be so willing to tear apart their own body for success.

It was supposed to be fun, the villain thought. They felt a little sick as the hero pressed their palms together to soothe the bleeding, an action that was practiced and familiar. As if they had done this before.

The hero reached for something in their bag, smearing blood on the side, and pulled out a roll of blue electrical tape. The villain didn’t understand why, until the hero tore a strip off and made to wrap their hands with it.

The hero would be the death of them.

They crouched in front of the hero, plucking the electrical tape out of their hands.

“What are you doing with this?”

The hero blinked at the villain like they were the strange one in this situation.

“Wrapping my hands?”

The villain hissed in a breath.

“With electrical tape?”

The hero flushed slightly, looking down at their bloody hands. They looked close to tears.

“It…sticks to skin, really well. And it doesn’t move, either, when you move your hands or wherever else, even if you’re fighting. Plus, blood doesn’t make it come off, at least, not for a while.”

The villain blinked at them.”

“Blood doesn’t make it come off,” the villain repeated, processing. The hero nodded, reaching for the electrical tape. The villain settled it out of reach.

“Not if you wrap it right.”

Dimly, the villain realized that meant the hero had done this enough times to have it down to a science.

“And you couldn’t use a bandaid?” The villain asked incredulously. The hero shrugged a shoulder, then winced at the motion.

Yeah, the hero had absolutely blown out their arms.

“Bandaids move—“

The villain hushed them.

“Be quiet for a second.”

The hero, wisely, went quiet.

The villain rubbed a hand over their face, then studied the hero for a moment. They took one of the hero’s hands into their own, studying the damage.

“Why did you do this to yourself,” the villain murmured.

“What do you mean, why,” the hero snapped. “It’s my job.”

“Your job is to save people,” the villain corrected. “Not destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying myself—“

“You are.”

“Shut up—“

“Hero.”

“I need to be better,” the hero snapped. Their voice rang out across the gym, echoing into the rafters, and they both froze. After a moment, the hero spoke again, voice soft. “I need to be better.”

They said it like they needed the villain to understand. The villain wondered who they were really saying it to—the villain, or themself.

“Better than who?”

“Everyone.” It was hushed, like a secret.

The villain watched them, waiting.

The hero took a shaky breath

“My whole thing is being the best. I have always been the best. That’s the only reason I matter. If I’m not strong enough, then I am nothing, so I need. to be. better.”

The hero had started crying, very quietly, like they were afraid to take up too much space.

The villain was not equipped to handle gifted kid burnout.

“There’s more to you than just being a good athlete,” the villain said hesitantly, and the hero shook their head.

“No. There isn’t.”

“Hero.”

“Can you give me back my electrical tape?” They hiccuped to contain a sob.

“No,” the villain said firmly, and then the hero really was sobbing.

“You don’t understand—“

The villain didn’t. Not really. They had never been the kind of talented that the hero was.

They wondered now if maybe that was a blessing.

“I don’t,” the villain agreed. “But I do understand that you’ve saved half the city, and you give everything you have to give, and you always do your best.”

“But I-“

“No.” The villain stopped them. “You are doing your best.” They tipped the hero’s chin up until they met the villain’s eyes. “And it is enough.”

The hero froze, eyes darting over the villain’s face. They wondered if anyone had ever said that to the hero, if whatever mentor they had was giving them anything other than orders to be stronger. Be better. Be more.

The villain had some new targets to take care of, it would seem.

For now, though, they had to take care of hero.

“We’re going to go wrap your hands,” they said softly. “And then we’re going to take care of your arms, and you’re going to take a nap.”

The hero nodded, watching them like they were some kind of good, selfless person.

“And if I ever catch you using electrical tape again, so help me, I will put you six feet under.”

That startled a laugh out of the hero, and they let the villain guide them to their feet.

“Fine.”

The villain turned to them. “Okay?”

Are you going to be alright?

The hero seemed to understand.

“Okay,” the hero agreed.

Yes.

And so, it was.

[the-woman-upstairs]

Twisters is so funny because we’re first introduced to the corporate sponsored tornado chasers and they’re just…a boring collection of dudes. Totally bland, with barely a single personality between them. And then in come the Tornado Wranglers: the hottest, gayest collection of exuberant fun-loving weirdos you could possibly imagine. And it’s like…gee I wonder who the good guys are.

[i3utterflyeffect]

to be clear: this is the average selkie growth chart

this is what happened to alan

[starlightvld]

Bait & Switch, pt. 7

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 >>

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, soapghost // CW: angst, Hurt/Comfort, MWIII spoilers

---

Soap flashes in and out of consciousness, his body trembling as he alternates between fever and chills. He's vaguely aware of when they pull into a garage, the already-dark night turning pitch black as the door closes behind them. Ghost gently pulls him from the car and Gaz and Price throw his arms over their shoulders as they half drag, half carry him into what looks to be a safe house kitchen. They lead him through the house and lay him on the softest bed he's felt in years.

He passes out immediately.

When he wakes, it's to the thin light of dawn creeping around the curtains and hushed voices behind him.

"Stop worryin'," Ghost says. "Gaz will be fine."

Soap has his back to the room, but from the closeness of Ghost's voice, he gathers that Ghost is in the bed with him. Price's gruff voice replies from somewhere on the far side of the room.

"He's been gone longer than expected."

"Because we weren't sure exactly when the contact would arrive. And without comms or phones, we're operatin' in the blind. He'll be alright."

Price grumbles. Soap shudders as a chill sweeps through him, and an involuntary whine escapes his lips. It's worth the embarrassment, though, when Ghost's warm body sidles up to curl around his back.

"Alright, Johnny?" Ghost murmurs.

"Cold. And hot. And... fuck. Just want this to be over."

"You and me, both. Gaz is working on getting you more saline bags. We grabbed what we could from the hospital, but you're about to run out."

"Wha' 'bout you?" Soap slurs as the heat of Ghost's body pulls him toward oblivion.

"Right as rain. Go back to sleep, yeah?"

Soap hums and drifts off again. The next time he wakes, it's to the scent of something savory wafting through the air. His stomach growls, and behind him, Ghost huffs a laugh.

"You awake or just gurglin' in your sleep?"

"'M awake," Soap mumbles, turning to face Ghost.

A long tube snakes out from under the covers, and Soap realizes Gaz must have returned with the saline bags while he was sleeping. He must've made a supply run as well.

"Any news?" he asks as he gingerly pushes himself up to lean against the headboard next to Ghost.

"Nothing worth mentionin', we're here until Laswell thinks it's safe enough to move again. She's narrowin' down the possible traitor or traitors, but it's slow work."

Soap just nods as Ghost turns and hands him a bowl of rice and chicken covered in a mild sauce. Another growl from his stomach interrupts the quiet of the room, and Soap gladly tucks into the meal. When he finishes, Ghost takes the bowl and sets it off to the side.

"More?"

"No' right now."

A quiet permeates the space between them, but it's not uncomfortable. Ghost gingerly adjusts himself against the headboard, and then softly, quietly, he moves his hand to rest over Soap's on the mattress. 

The touch shouldn't feel so mind-shattering. He's been sleeping in Ghost's arms for two days now and even kissed him. But something about the way Ghost's warm hand curls around Soap's feels like the most significant thing to happen to him since Makarov stole him away from the 141 and broke him.

The quiet lingers. Soap breathes through the pressure in his head and turns his hand, slotting their fingers together. The world slows to the faint beat of a pulse against his fingers and the rise and fall of Ghost's chest in his peripheral vision.

"Don't know what's goin' on in that head of yours," Ghost murmurs, "but I wanted to make sure you know... nowt's changed for me when it comes to you. If you feel different—"

"I don't," Soap interrupts. "Feel different, I mean. If anything, I'm probably gonna be a clingy bastard for a long while."

A pink tongue darts out to wet Ghost's lips. It strikes him then that Ghost isn't wearing a medical mask any more. Soap turns to study Ghost's profile, and Ghost nods, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

"S'alright with me, Johnny. If we're bein' honest, I'd rather not let you out of my sight ever again."

Soap nods and leans over, resting his head on Ghost's shoulder. "Fine by me."

The soft pressure of lips against his shaved head is almost as good as the warmth of their fingers tangled together.

---

It takes a week to wean Soap off Makarov's drugs, but to his frustration, the withdrawal symptoms don't abait much: headaches, chills, irritability, and worst of all, hallucinations. They're mild — just blurs of motion in of the corner of his eyes or vague figures hovering in shadows — but it's enough to be dangerous, especially when they're being actively hunted. Luckily, Ghost is always there to reassure him. Gaz teases them about being attached at the hip, but he can see the underlying concern when Gaz looks at him.

They all look at him like that, though. Like he might disappear on them. It's fine, though, because Soap pretty much feels the same way about them.

He's still waiting to wake up in a pile of his own excrement and find that everything was a dream.

Ghost's wound is also improving day by day, and he's started mild exercises to keep up his strength. Soap joins him when he can, desperate to stay strong. Desperate to be able to fight. 

He can't go back. He won't. 

They have their own room, but in spite of Soap's bravery with their first and only kiss, he decides it's best to let Ghost take the lead any anything further, especially considering Ghost's wound. They curl up together each night, becoming more comfortable invading each others' spaces, but Ghost keeps his hands limited to the non-erogenous zones and his lips confined to soft kisses to Soap's head, forehead, or occasionally the corner of his mouth. Soap reminds himself of Ghost's words — that nothing has changed — and tries to be content.

The days pass slowly, and they're all going a bit stir crazy by the time Laswell wakes them before dawn and tells them to pack up. They obey without a word. The house is already clean — they've been treating it like an op where they could be called away at any moment, and it pays off. Within ten minutes, they've got their personal items packed, the fridge contents packed into a cooler, and as many surfaces as they can reach wiped down for finger prints. It won't stop a detailed search, but it will slow their enemies down if they find the place.

Ghost and Soap move as a unit, piling into the car in their previous positions. Gaz and Price swap out so Price can drive. Laswell continues to be closed lipped about everything from her spot in the passenger seat, and whether it's because she suspects listening devices or just doesn't think they need to know, he can feel the tension rolling off of her as she turns around and hands each of them a gun and several clips.

"I hope we won't run into trouble, but I'm not taking any chances. If we're separated, RV at these coordinates." She rattles off a series of numbers, and Soap repeats them in his head to solidify the information as Laswell continues, "And trust no one but each other. No old friends. No family members. Anyone outside this vehicle is suspect. Understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am," the three echo in unison.

Laswell nods, turns back around, and closes her door. The interior light switches off, leaving nothing but the dim light of the dashboard as a bastion against the darkness.

Soap stares at the soft glint off the barrel of the gun is in his hand.

His palm curls around the grip, finger placed carefully away from the trigger. His heart beats in his ears as the garage door opener grinds into motion, the slow dawning of morning light permeating the space.

The gun in his hand gains shape, hard lines mixed with gentle curves revealed by the growing light. A whisper of reflex, of ground-in instruction, urges him to flips off the safety, curl his finger over the trigger, and eliminate his targets.

He sucks in a hard gasp and shoves the gun at Ghost.

"C-c-c-annae have it. Not yet."

Ghost doesn't even blink as he leans forward and shoves the gun in the waistband of his trousers at the small of his back. "More for me. If somethin' happens, you stick to me like glue, right Johnny?"

Soap feels Gaz's eyes on him, but it's Price whose gaze collides with his in the rearview mirror. "Alright, Soap?"

"Y-yeah. Stick to Ghost."

It takes ten minutes for his hands to stop shaking.

---

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 >>

[isjasz]

[Day 132]

Head in hands

There was also a scar but I could not figure out how to render him for my life so I'm giving up o7 DHSKJEKAJWKWKWLAA

[legacyofthedamneddsaf]

can someone revoke henry’s thesaurus access. we must silence him

[kirby-the-gorb]