Let Me Just Say. You Look Fabulous In All Of Them.

feat. Jinx and her pretty pink eyes (part 5/?)

YASSSS

The lightning was a paid actor.

I sent this to my sister and she was like "congratulations on finally channeling Thranduil as an alternative personality"

This is amazing.

This is the cutest thing I’ll see today. 

This is why the Razorcrest was so beat up. Poor dad spent all his credits on his son.

Din: *Sigh*

Here ya go people who need this

Enjoy

If there was a way to run SUPER MEGA AD BLOCKER on this website I fucking would

Ah yes. Females. The reason I still have a (slight) will to live.

Just remember. There is no such thing as a fake geek girl. There are only fake geek boys. Science fiction was invented by a woman.

Squishy sand makes brain go brrrrrr

Drop & Squish Collection by sand.tagious

Angst angst angst (GhostSoap)

The touchdown back onto base after the death of Hassan was a breath of absolute fresh air to Soap’s aching chest. He was in pain, but was insanely happy that he’d survived the shit show that was the task to detonate that missile, fight armoured guards with nothing but glass and a box cutter, and directing Ghost to kill Hassan while Soap hung off a damn skyscraper. He was alive. And he was happy about it.

If he weren’t concussed from a hit in the head, hurt from a fall from elevators, being shot, being beaten and jumping through windows, he’d be practically bouncing off the plane. Instead, he followed Price out of the plane and took as deep a breath he could before the stabbing pain returned to his ribs. He would need to go to the infirmary, but eh, that could wait. What he really wanted was to talk to Ghost. He wanted to perhaps plan a time for them to chat after he was out of the infirmary.

He turned to Ghost with a big smile on his face, looking up to the blank eyes that were looking off into the distance.

“Hey Ghost~! Wasn’t that great?? We all did so well!”

Ghost didn’t respond. He looked down at Soap, who would’ve been a miserable sight. Cut, bruised, a gash on his forehead with blood down his face and neck that had dried, shot, burnt. Beaten in general. Foolishly, he kept talking.

“I can’t believe we succeeded on such an impossible mission, it sure is exhilarating!”

“The only reason you’re alive is because of me.”

“… What?”

“You heard me.” Ghost started advancing on Soap, who backed off, sensing anger. Every step that Soap took back, the taller man stepped forward.

“Your stupidness meant that you got shot, and you had to traverse a city alone to get to me. Why did that take you a fucking hour, Soap?? I was there within fifteen minutes! You nearly died!”

Soap shrunk in his skin. “Woah woah- where is this coming from…?”

Ghost paid no attention. “You seem to think you’re a human fucking pin cushion! You’ve been shot how many times in the past 48 hours?? Graves, Hassan, Shadows?? And all through that you don’t shut up! You’re only quiet when I want you to talk to me!”

“I followed yer orders…”

“I had to save your life twice!”

“… ‘m sorry… I thought we were friends… what about all the joking-“

“I work alone, Johnny. That way I don’t have to save people and I don’t have to be saved.”

The last sentence was spoken with such a blank tone that it almost scared Soap more than the shouting. Everyone was looking at them. Everyone was looking at Soap. Recruits too, hearing that he had to be saved multiple times, that he’d been hurt so many times over. He looked down, furrowing his eyebrows in an effort not to cry. His chest was tight, and all the pain he’d felt before was tripled. He always struggled with the feeling that he didn’t belong, but he thought Ghost actually liked him as a person. Now, he was ashamed, embarrassed, and burdened by a freight train’s weight worth of impostor syndrome.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, but shook it off and barged past Price; the owner of said hand. On his way to the infirmary, probably in Ghost’s field of vision but he hoped not, he began sobbing. His hands, bloodstained and cut, soaked up the tears and smeared oil and blood and grease all over his face. He was pathetic. He didn’t belong. He was stupid to think he made a friend, especially in someone who wore a fucking skull on his face.

(There will be more parts)

Or, in some cases, all of the above

one does not simply become a queer fan of tolkien without fixating on aragorn/legolas, samwise/frodo, gimli/legolas, or thorin/bilbo… it is folly.