#weeping ..

[bring-onthe-rain]

[glowvuscorax]

a big merry "fuck you" to Johnny Sims and everyone else at Rusty Quill who inflicted knowledge of "Mr. Blobby" on the non-British public!!!!!!

WHY

[revvethasmythh]

kai: i grab archibald and throw him through the window

padmund: MY FROG!

archibald: *fucking dies*

[localtwstmigrainehaver]

MY SHAYLAAAAAAAAAA

[intotheelliwoods]

The last 2AL update has finally arrived after a 2 year run! It has 3 parts, if you would like to read in order, start here! <- <-

2 Arms Left Masterpost <- If you would like to read from the start of the comic

[iizuumi]

narumi acts like teasing reno is part of his job

[acrosstobear]

LANDO NORRIS attends the FIA Prize Giving over the years 🧡

[getvalentined]

"Nice shot!" "Score!"

[ no audio ]

[starqueensthings]

THERES SO MUCH TO TALK ABOUT, BUT ITS ALL SUPERSEDED BY HIS RETURN TO MY LIFE

[ksjanes]

“Individual cultures and ideologies have their appropriate uses but none of them erase or replace the universal experiences, like love and weeping and laughter, common to all human beings.” ― Aberjhani

[junjomonstah]

DUDE IM GONNA CRY

One of my best friends got the crew of Aqua Teen Hunger Force to sign my art I'm HONORED FOREVER UGH IM OVERJOYED 😭❤️✨️

[kim-tey]

jesus wept

[banditblvd]

GHHHHHRR….GHGHHHOSTNKNIFIRE……..GHHHRGHOOOSTNKMIFE…

[intotheelliwoods]

Literally, how did Sprout get from there to here

[tactical-jellyfish]

Breakup day drabble! (Part one: Johnny)

I missed Valentines day, I know. I planned to feed you guys but I ended up sleeping fourteen hours almost consecutively. Sorry gang, my bad.

This is gonna be a longer drabble, split into parts for each Tf141 member (and others, if requested and I can write for them), and one final poly breakup (separate from the others, obvi). I haven't fed y'all and I feel like an absent father lmao

Warnings!: Big sad. Yelling (it is VERY regretted), terrible boyfriends (all four of them are fumbling the bag like CRAZZYY)

Also I wrote this tired as fuck, so if I made any oopsies here, absolutely correct me <3

You've got no issue with a little fire in a partner. In fact, it's something you've come to seek out as you grew up.

It's only logical, isn't it? You need someone who can keep up, someone who's not going to be holding you back from getting orders out of the way.

Work hard, play harder.

Of course, you liked Johnny for many more reasons than just that one.

He was an absolute sap at just the right state of drowsiness, he drew you like you were a downright deity, he... he really fucking cared.

You didn't regret making it official, getting to know damn well that Scot was yours when the day was over and it was time to sleep.

That being said, every relationship has its rocky patches, and you've got the feeling you're about to be in the middle of an ugly one.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You don't regret making the call. Not even a little bit.

This mission wouldn't have made time if you hadn't buckled down and pointedly ignored both Johns in your headset calling you a moron in a strained whisper from cover.

The objective was secured. There were a good chunk less terrorists in the world because you put them down. A little gash in your side, but that's no issue, so you'd deem it successful.

Unfortunately, Johnny doesn't seem to think the same way. You can feel the roiling, stirred-up and not calming back down like usual.

You let him stew on the flight back to base, quietly bandaging your own wound with a small antiseptic wipe Gaz had wordlessly put into your hand when he first saw you trotting up.

Price is tired, but he's not as upset as he used to get over this sort of stunt from you. It's a fatherly sort of exhaustion, you're half-sure at some point he said that you're giving him gray hairs.

You earned three days' work cleaning the bathrooms for snorting, but no more. You would have earned many more days if you asked if he was finally going soft, even if he was.

Still, after a few hours, Johnny doesn't seem to have cooled down. He's pointedly silent, fuming in his little corner.

It takes a special sort of bitchiness to make Ghost look like a put-together, social man. You've long accepted that your man is a little bit of a child on occasion.

So, as any reasonable partner would, you leave it alone. Let Johnny sort though these feelings, because you know he doesn't want to hear it from you right now. If he wanted to talk, he could ask.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well, lo and behold, it only took five hours.

The knocks on your door are familiar. A three-beat rap-tap-tapping. Firmer than usual.

"Luv? You ready to talk about it now?"

You open the door to a sight. Not a great one, mostly because you know it shouldn't make you giggle a little.

A grown-ass man. Not just that, a sergeant, pouting.

"Bayonet."

He must see the way your brows pinch at your callsign being used instead of your name, but Johnny doesn't do a thing to stop himself.

"Are ye feckin' stupid, or jus' having a little craic on the clock?"

"Callsigns stay at work, Johnny. Unless you've got full intentions of this being a professional meeting."

That long-standing agreement was something you really did like. Johnny had agreed to use it a long time ago, and the only lapses (before this one, of course) were simple mistakes, easy to excuse and forgive.

"Och, this is professional alright, what the fuck were ye thinking?!"

His voice is raising, but it brings no fear, just annoyance.

"If I have to remind you, it worked. We wouldn't have made it back to Nik on the clock if I hadn't. No major injuries, either."

Johnny's starting to fume. His brows are knitting together, usually-bright face drawing down into some ugly mixture of anger and something else you don't quite have a word for right now.

"Are ye actually-"

"MacTavish, it fucking worked. I only take risks when I know it's something I can handle, and frankly, if you're upset about me doing my job, then you should handle it the way we agreed to handle it."

Calmly. Slowly working through the issue, training together, anythinig as long as it wasn't a screaming match or a contest. Not this.

"You're a fucking liability is what I'm trying to tell you! Your callsign is Bayonet fer a feckin' reason, you daft cunt!"

You're not sure who made him think he could talk to you like this, but he just. Keeps. Going. It makes your chest heat to a fever, though you keep your face measuredly ice-cold, flat so Johnny can't gleam anything from your expression.

"Ye're a gamble at best, a last resort, ye should'ave stayed off the line an' let someone else handle it! Ye got hurt because you dinnae listen to th' orders!"

Ohhhhh, that's not professional anymore. A slight on your own callsign, when he wasn't even there to see you earn it.

Asshole.

"Watch it, Soap." Is the only warning you can bring yourself to offer, glaring into those baby blue eyes with the vitriol provoked by the man before you.

"Nae, ah'm not gonnae watch it! Ye pull shite like this, an' I have to come o'er an' pretend I wannae patch yer stupid arse back up!"

You've never been in the business of cutting someone off before they can finish their sentences, but you're starting to doubt your ability to be civil.

Soap's refusing to meet you on any agreed-upon grounds, he's not separating your relationship from work and that's a slippery slope.

And you're fucking upset. This anger isn't something you can tamp down, it's the worst kind.

The sort that twists you in the guts and makes your eyes hot. The sort that makes a headache sparkle to life and the small wound in your side throb and ooze into the bandages a little bit more.

The sort that makes you want to scream. But you won't do that. Not to Soap.

"This isn't how we agreed to handle conflicts. Come back when you can sort your feelings enough to keep yourself from screaming."

Icy, you know it is, but Soap grabs the door before you can finish.

"Close this fucking door on me, and I will skin you." The threat rings hollow. Oddly similar to the sound of the plywood door sliding shut.

Soap moves his fingers away just before they gain a set of new joints in all the wrong places.

There's a frustrated growl, and a series of footsteps thumping away, in the direction of the gym.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You slept awfully that night.

The frustrated tears cleared easy, but the anger itself didn't, because really, how dare he. Showing up to your space, calling you a dunce, and breaking the most fundamental rule of your relationship.

Luckily, a small ping pulls you from the continuation of this spiral. A text from one Kyle "Gaz" Garrick.

What did you put up Soap's arse? Just asking.

You snort.

Nothing. Reckon he'd be in a better mood if I had.

The three dots appear, vanish, reappear before you get a response.

He's being a cunt today. Think you should steer clear.

That dampens the mood a bit, but again, it's not too far from your expectation. Johnny had his feelings big, and loud. It was honestly overwhelming sometimes, but you'd learned to handle it over time.

You hated it most when he made issues he had with you a team issue.

Girls' night then? I got that oil for your hair

...I'll bring the bonnets

You smile despite yourself, and rise from bed to get yourself ready for an easy day.

Unfortunately, the next notification is one you miss until you come back to your room, exhausted but satisfied after writing the mission's postmortem.

I'm done wie yer shite

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Most of the "girls' night" Kyle wanted to share with you is making sure you don't cry so hard you pull your stitches.