#stink posting

[clownery-atits-finest]

sorry I haven't been posting!

Here's a picture of my cat

[buggybuggs]

mature-d bc im talking about myself, but i read a post about how HRT effects sweat smell and all that, but something funny is that once I (afab) moved in with my gf (amab), our smell has just like.. gotten the same? and i dont mean like "oh she doesnt smell like her we smell like us", no i mean my sweat is suddenly smelling like hers and its so interesting to me? kinda gender affirming? gender affirming stink?? idk i think its funny, what is goin on here

[maeonline]

hitchhiking around for fun this week so im gonna have to just accept being stinky for a while

[captainkirkk]

At least once a month I remember that Ozai ruled for ~3 years. That's shorter than one presidential term. That's nothing. In comparison Zuko - who suffered so much cruelty and was made to feel worthless under Ozai - ruled for ALMOST 70 YEARS. That's more than 22 times the length of Ozai's rule - and he will go down in history as one of the most influential and well loved Fire Lords of all time

[bathtubinkitchen-moved]

Hello everyone, so Google is being a big shit an will start deleting accounts that have been inactive for two years.

Okay..Now listen to me, you need to make a HUGE fucking stink about this, start archiving as much legacy youtube content/google docs whatever, and most importantly- SPREAD THA FUCKIN' WORD!!! Literally a decades worth of old content will be gone because of this stupid thing, this is basically like burning down the library of alexandria. ARCHIVE NOW!

Edit: AN UPDATE since i keep on seeing this one rbed a lot without it..Youtube videos are safe!

Another Edit: Turned off reblogs bcs people aren't rbing the one WITH the update and it started to annoy me sorry.

Another another edit: Reblogs are back on though please reblog this post with the update/edit...

[afterthelambs]

When Joker and Akechi get into a lovers quarrel post-canon, Akechi buys coffee from some chainstore and drinks it in front of him to be petty. So now Joker is suffering because his boyfriend is drinking someone else's coffee, and Akechi is suffering because it tastes like shit

[keii]

no sense of personal space

[dapper-lil-arts]

Can you IMAGINE the terminal levels of girlsmell lmao This old meme lmao

[trashingfish]

[astawionbwehehe]

[😠] astarion disapproves

[mostmagical]

I really love the detail of garrus always being that one step behind shepard... and not in the literal "got your back" sense (though of course I love that too), but in the figurative "just short of crossing the finish line" sense. like ME1: when you meet garrus, he's already been on this saren case, he's just been unable to get anyone to take it seriously. in walks shepard, and shepard is able to do all these things garrus couldn't quite do: becomes spectre, is taken (somewhat) seriously, goes on galaxy-wide chase to take down saren. wins. garrus has always been trying to do "right" in a way that makes sense, and here's this human that just already knows how and DOES IT.

then ME2, garrus is still on this quest to do right. he manages to put together a team, but ultimately, this enterprise is a failure too. he just can't quite make it. but that's when shepard arrives, picks garrus up, and in one day defeats the gang leaders that garrus has been after for MONTHS. also important to note without getting into the whole religious symbolism of it: his team is 11 people, with garrus himself being the 12th. by the end of ME2, shepard successfully accomplishes their goal with a team of 12 total. 12 followers. 12 disciples. I'm not getting into it. but. just look at those numbers. you know what I'm trying to say.

by ME3, garrus DOES make it over this finish line. he DOES get his promotion and people respecting him. but it sucks. after years of striving to get to the finish line, to cross that mountain, he gets there and it's so much pressure. but the wonderful thing is, now instead of being a step behind, he's shoulder-to-shoulder with shepard, which allows for the open communication and support that the two of them get to have because he GETS IT. he was watching the whole time from behind. he's seen all the highs, and the lows, and now in the low low, he knows what it's LIKE. it's like this wonderful full circle moment where he's able to support the person he's looked up to for so long.

[toorvu]

Inspired by @wenomsnake ‘s fic snake and friends

[nappingpaperclip]

y’all we r not beating exorsexism and misogyny by calling every transmasc that pisses u off a ‘theyfab.’ Idc if they are annoying or have dumbass opinions, literally using someone’s agab as an insult is wrong and treating transmascs as annoying little afabs is deeply misogynistic and transphobic. What happened to just calling people fucking idiots

[bevioletskies]

kongthap & atom + favorite moments (in no particular order)

“When you like Khao-pan, how do you feel? I've been told that when we like someone, it triggers serotonin, giving us butterflies in the stomach.”

[melonlthawne]

speedster babies left unattended. aka ANOTHER instagram reel redraw.

[starlightvld]

Up in Smoke

(Also on AO3)

The first time Ghost rips the cigarette from Soap's mouth, drops it on the ground, and stomps on it as he passes by, Soap is too stunned to say anything for a full ten seconds. They've only been working together consistently for a couple of missions, and even as his superior officer, the audacity of the action floors him.

By the time his brain restarts, Ghost is long gone.

--

The second time Ghost steals Soap's cigarette, he bursts out in a string of Scottish curses and tackles Ghost from behind before the wanker can drop it on the ground. An impromptu sparring match ensues, fists and curses flying. 

Afterward, he doesn't feel much like a cigarette anymore — not with the split lip, anyway. Besides, the buzzing under his skin that usually drives him to smoke is just... gone.

Price catches wind of the incident, of course, and calls them into his office a few hours later. By that time Soap has calmed down enough to be... maybe not okay with it, but at least able to see the humor. 

"What's this about you muppets scuffling by the smoking area?"

"Just a little sparring to blow off steam," Soap says.

"Ghost?"

"Nothin' to worry about, Captain."

"No? I've got one soldier who looks like he just got back from a bar fight, and the other..." He squints at Ghost. "He get a hit in on you, too?"

"Yeah," Ghost replies in that deadpan tone of his. "Coupla black eyes."

It's a joke. 

Ghost is telling a joke. And it's objectively not funny. It's not. But Soap bursts into hysterical laughter all the same. 

The corners of Ghost's blacked-out eyes crinkle. 

Price rubs his temples before dropping his hand on his desk. Soap presses his lips together to contain his laughter.

"Sparring happens in the gym. I'm sure you know the place. It's where we have things like mats and gloves. I catch you two bare-knuckle fighting again, and you will regret it."

And it's enough to sober Soap up. He avoids Ghost as he ducks away to catch dinner.

--

The third time... well, no. He supposes that's really the fourth time. 

Because the actual third time, Soap had come back from a shit mission where everything went wrong. Intel was faulty, exfil was delayed, and people under his command died. It didn't happen as often in SAS as it had in the regulars — the soldiers here were well-trained and hard to kill — but that made it all the worse. 

When Ghost tried to pluck the cigarette from his mouth, Soap growled. 

"Back the fuck up, Lt. Or Price is gonna be disappointed in both of us."

Ghost paused, and their eyes met. Slowly, Ghost lowered his hand. 

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Fuck no."

"Thank God."

Soap didn't have it in him to even huff a laugh. He took a long drag and blew the smoke away from Ghost as a peace offering.

To his surprise, Ghost didn't leave. He spun around and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. They stood there together, utterly silent, as Soap let the heat and sting in his lungs soothe the beast inside that wanted to rip the world apart.

When he was done, though, he was surprised to find he didn't want another. Usually after shit missions, he'd stand there and smoke half a pack before his hands would stop shaking.

He finally met Ghost's eyes. The man quirked a barely visible brow.

"S'pose we should take it to the mats this time?"

Ghost pushed off the building and started walking. Soap followed like a lost child looking for a way home. 

--

The fourth time is in Chicago. His hands are shaking not from losing soldiers but from almost losing his own life. The cigarette trembles in his grip as he stands outside the bar, the biting wind turning his fingers and probably his lips blue. He lifts it to his mouth, inhaling deep—

And then it's gone.

The whine that bubbles up from his gut and bursts from his throat is nothing short of humiliating. But God. God. He needs it.

"Not now. Please, Ghost."

"Why?"

Ghost hasn't thrown the cigarette down. Yet. He cocks his head to the side and gives Soap a long look. Soap can only tremble from the cold and a need that goes deeper than a simple hit of nicotine.

"I just... I need it."

The cigarette drops to the ground, but Soap doesn't have time to lament the loss before that same hand is curling around Soap's neck and pulling him into a fucking massive chest. The other arm comes around Soap's shoulders and...

Ghost just stands there, holding him. And Soap can't help melting into the warmth and solidity of the man who saved his life just hours ago. He dares to curl in deeper. To raise his hands and clutch at Ghost's jacket. To let a few, silent tears escape his tight control.

Finally, his muscles relax. Ghost must feel it, because he turns and leads Soap back toward the bar.

"Why do ye even care?" Soap mumbles from his spot tucked into Ghost's side.

"Because those things'll kill ya."

Soap supposes the "I like you alive" is implied at this point.

--

Soap loses count after Chicago. He gets stretches of days when Ghost is on a solo op or out with one of the other operators when he can smoke in peace. So he does.

At first.

He's been hooked since he was a rebellious teen trying to make his mark on the world. He's tried to quit multiple times, but it never seems to stick. The first bad mission or adrenaline-filled near miss and he's back at whatever smoking spot he can find, puffing away.

He finds himself trying to cut back, though, even when Ghost is away.

Any time Ghost is on base, all bets are off. In addition to darting by and making a grab for it or sneaking up behind him and flicking it out of his hands, Ghost has gotten more creative. Sometimes Soap will pull out a cigarette only to find he's "lost" his lighter. Sometimes the cigarettes themselves go missing — he clutches his chest and mourns all that wasted money whenever a whole pack disappears. 

He supposes it's all just going up in smoke anyway, though.

He should be angry. But in truth, it's almost a relief to hand over the reins to Ghost. To let the man help him by annoying the shit out of him until he wants to give up on it entirely.

Which is definitely the point. Ghost has made that perfectly clear.

So, whenever he gets the urge to calm his racing thoughts or overactive mind with a cigarette, he finds Ghost and annoys him instead. They talk, or spar, or simply sit in silence together, doing their own thing. Ghost doesn't often touch him — their moment in Chicago is still the closest Soap's ever gotten to the elusive Ghost — but he also doesn't push Soap away when he slumps into Ghost's side after a hard day or leans over his back when he's sitting at the table in the 141's common area on base.

The urge doesn't go away, of course. And sometimes, when things get really bad, Ghost will just sit or stand with him like he did the third time. Still, he finds himself smoking less and hanging out with Ghost more.

--

The last time Ghost steals a cigarette from Soap, he simply stands beside Soap and holds out his hand. Soap immediately knows something has gone terribly wrong. Still, he's too invested in the game now to not hand the cigarette over.

He nearly keels over when Ghost pulls up his mask and takes a long, hard drag. Soap watches in fascination as his cheeks hollow, his neck muscles strain, his lips curve around the paper. It's erotic in a way he really shouldn't be thinking about in regards to his emotionally unavailable superior officer, but the knowledge hasn't stopped him yet. Since that day in Chicago — probably before if he's honest — he's only ever wanted to be closer.

Ghost coughs a little and hands the cigarette back.

"Fuck. Just as disgusting as I remember."

"Ye used to smoke, then?"

"Before I joined up, yeah. Hated it, though."

"The smell? Or—"

"Everything. The taste, the smell, the heat..." Ghost trails off, his hand rubbing over his bicep in a strangely specific way. He shakes his head and looks back at Soap. "Not your problem, Johnny. Forget about it."

Soap's hand is darting out, fingers curling into Ghost's jacket, before he's properly thought through the action. Ghost pauses before turning back. They stare in silence for a moment until—

Soap stubs out the half-burned cigarette and drops the butt in the trash. He licks his lips. Glances up at Ghost. The mask is still sitting on his nose, and Soap stares at his lips for longer than he should before pulling the pack out of his pocket and throwing it in the trash, too.

"Cannae have ye thinking I stink, can I?"

"Too late."

But Ghost's throat bobs with a hard swallow. Soap wets his lips, takes a step closer, and uncurls his fingers to slide his hand up Ghost's chest until his fingertips are resting on Ghost's shirt collar.

"I dinnae think it is."

Ghost turns and walks away. Soap closes his eyes and drops his hand, internally cursing his impulsive behavior. The scuffing of boots walking away from him is like nails on a chalk board.

Until they stop, and a gruff voice calls out, "You comin'?"

A slow smile slides across Soap's mouth. "No' yet."

A huff — exasperation? laughter? a bit of both? — before, "Better get movin' then."

And Soap has never been more glad to follow an order.