#clearin out drafts

[into-the-feniverse]

The kiddos all grown up (jk they're still teens and therefore itty babies, but look at how CUTE they are)

[theglidingbat]

Okay we need to talk because-

Listen Bruce is canonically a large ass guy, and then there is THIS MONSTER HEIGHT OF A MOTHER FUCKER-

This poor tall ass bro went through so much and all I can wonder is about how truly big it is-

I mean what.

Anyways how fucking tall is Harvey really cause I've seen him he a giant of a man...how strong do y'all think two face is-

.....and not to mention the fact that Harvey is clearly JACKED. Why the fuck would a DA need THIS much muscle who he tryna impress-

AND HOW EASILY HE'S ABLE TO MANHANDLE BRUCE??

FYI- just- ignoring personal headcanons for a second, Bruce is 6'2 and probably around 210lbs in canon and Harvey dent over here is carrying him around like a pack of fucking grapes.

I need to know where the fuck this man got the time, do him and Bruce hit the gym together so Bruce is able to keep his cover and helps him gain all that- or did Harvey just decided one day during college that he needed to be strong and buff cause it's Gotham.

Was it Harvey's idea? Or was it two face's idea, or did they both agree like "yeah we can't get our ass kicked 'round here"

[or is it because they needed to be able to defend himself and finally stand up to their shitty abusive dad, to make sure they could never feel weak in the presence of his old man-]

Anyways Bruce probably has a list in which he's ranked all his rogues in physical strength and Harvey dent would definitely make it top five easily imo.

[levil0vesyou]

Fuck it. Celibacy poll.

Bonus: put your orientation (along with your answer) in the tags!

[hatsbuckets]

John Price who has claustrophobia.

Everyone knows that Ghost doesn't necessarily like the tunnels and tight spaces on ops. He gets a little more rigid and pays more attention. With his past and his stature, all things considered, no one blames the Lieutenant when he gets a bit nippy in the cramped spaces.

But Price? He is fighting his way to the surface.

He keeps his fear locked down hard, focusing on the mission, his men, the weight of a weapon in his hands, but each soldier catches the way his eyes watch the ceiling like it might collapse, or the too tight walls that threaten to squeeze the air from his lungs.

...

The tunnel smells like mold and gun oil. Old concrete, old war. Somewhere up ahead, water drips slow and steady, the sound too rhythmic to be comforting. Gaz shifts his grip on his rifle, listening to the team’s footfalls.

He’s behind the Captain, same as usual. Soap is behind, covering their rear. Ghost is up front, cutting through the dark, though Gaz can see the tension in his shoulders. Ghost never liked tight spaces. Makes sense, considering everything.

But Price?

Price walks like nothing gets to him. Like he belongs in places like this, in shadows thick with dust and the weight of earth above. He’s all straight spine and low voice, gun raised, eyes scanning.

Still, Gaz notices it. The way Price keeps glancing up, like he’s waiting for the ceiling to crack and fall in. Like every groan of shifting stone is a whisper only he hears. He doesn’t say anything—of course not—but Gaz sees the grip on his weapon, how his fingers flex, then still. Sees the barely-there shift in his breathing when the walls close in tighter.

They stop at a bend to regroup. Ghost signs something ahead—two tangos. Nothing big. Gaz watches the Captain’s hand as he signs back. Steady. Clear. But his knuckles are white. His jaw’s tight.

Gaz steps up beside him, lowering his voice.

“You alright, sir?”

Price doesn’t look at him. Just mutters, “Fine.” Quick and flat, like a door slamming shut.

Gaz doesn’t move right away. He lingers, just enough for Price to glance his way. Those blues are too sharp, too alert, like he’s bracing for something that hasn’t come yet.

Then Price turns away, presses on like nothing’s wrong.

...

Later, when they’re topside and the tunnel’s just a bad memory clinging to their boots, Price lights a cigar with hands that no longer shake. Gaz watches him from across the battered rooftop, both of them catching their breath in the golden hour haze.

Ghost sidles up, gives the Captain a once-over.

“You good?”

Price doesn’t answer right away, just stares out at the horizon.

“We’re all still breathing, aren’t we?”

Gaz nods to himself. Not much else to say.

But he tucks the moment away. Adds it to the growing file in his head labeled "Things You Don’t Say Out Loud."

...

It’s hours later when Gaz goes to him. After the transport, the packing up, the meeting with Kate...

The sun’s dipped low, casting long shadows through the broken frame of the old safehouse. Most of the team is down for the count, sprawled or tending gear. Ghost sits near the door, head back against the wall, mask still on but eyes half-lidded. Soap's head is resting in the bigger man's lap, asleep, apparently. He nods when Gaz passes, like he knows exactly where he’s going.

Price is out back.

Not far, just at the edge of the scrub behind the building, half-shielded by an old stone wall. There’s a cigarette burning between his fingers, mostly forgotten. He’s staring out into the dark, listening to the wind shift through the grass. The stars are trying to push through the haze.

Gaz is quiet when he gets there, just steps up beside him, close enough to be counted.

Price doesn’t look at him.

They stand like that for a while, the silence between them easy and heavy all at once. And then—when Gaz lets his eyes drift from the horizon to the way Price’s other hand is clenched—he reaches out, calm and sure.

His fingers wrap around Price’s.

It’s not much, just a rough grip. But Price doesn’t pull away.

For a minute, he lets it happen.

Lets someone see him. Not as the Captain, or the man who never flinches, or the one who leads without hesitation. But as John, who sometimes has to fight to breathe when the walls close in and the dirt above feels too heavy.

Gaz doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t speak. Because what is there to say? He knows he can’t pull Price out of those tunnels, can’t erase the memory of every mission where the air felt too thin.

But he can be here. Right now. Standing in the open, under a sky wide enough to breathe in.

Eventually, Price pulls his hand back. Stubs out the cigarette that burned down to the filter. He doesn’t thank Gaz. Doesn’t need to either.

Just mutters, “we're movin' early tomorrow. Get some rest.”

And Gaz nods. “Aye, Captain.”

He walks back inside a little steadier. And Price watches him go, still breathing slow, still here above ground.

[ilovejoll]

I neverposted this

[brain-in-a-skin-suit]

when i was younger i did Not understand why people would make such a fuss about the distinction between woman vs girl and man vs boy, and eventually i concluded they must be four distinct genders and honestly i was cookin

[saotharlann]

baldurs gates gordan ramsey i miss u

[automatonwithautonomy]

i start a lot of posts with "i love" because im so filled with love and joy and whimsy and awesomeness also

[zaachknight]

zach torments the boys by using his very alarmingly accurate mickey mouse impression

like oh, Angel's finally doing the dishes he was told to do three days ago? a deranged mickey mouse is behind him, taunting him.

poor, unsuspecting jon is just quietly reading his book in peace? well, that's just too bad because mickey mouse is there behind him about to scare the shit out of him.

ruben is just peacefully sleeping in, enjoying his dreams? well, mickey mouse is about to wake him with maniacal laughter.

[spiderbitesandvampirevenom]

recently ive started asking my friends "ok am i cooking or am i cooked" when i say an opinion and besides just being a funny way of asking whether im being an ass or not its a great reminder to be mindful of what i say lol

[thekatbirdscrolls]

Your Good Friend, huh...

[xdeviantpunk]

Me, a member of the Sherlock fandom, realising I'm going to have to put up with the Sherlock fandom again.

This has been in my drafts for almost a DECADE 😭😭😭 Be free, captured post, be free.

me, a senior tumblr blogger, realizing i’m going to have to put up with the sherlock fandom again

[hatsbuckets]

Headcanons instead of school/work in no particular order

Soap:

Loves to look at himself in reflections, shop windows, water, screen surfaces, etc. Not in a gawking way, but in a "hey look that's me" way. Like a dog just acknowledging itself: a little tail wag, smile, move on with day. (I do this shit dammit)

Hates lotion. Doesn't like the way it makes his hands "sticky." But will indulge if it means rubbing lotion on someone else ;)

Ghost:

Likes learning about conspiracies and conspiracy theories, doesn't "believe" them or propagate them, but he's knowledgeable (because it's either absolutely not true or it's absolutely true.) His favorites are the conspiracies surrounding Princess Diana's death and the "cover up of Bigfoot." (His least favorites are flat earth and "climate change is a hoax")

He knows how to sew

Will let his s/o help sew his extra masks (eventually)

Price:

Can cook reallllyyyyy good actually.

Has the full ability to "puppy eyes," but uses it extremely selectively. (The last time he used those damn eyes was on Nik a whole year ago.)

Gives the best hugs. Those fully wrapped, bury you deep kind.

Forehead kisses.

(I just want him to hug me. Me am tired)

Gaz:

Smells like toothpaste and something like candy but it's not. It's warm in a way. A welcoming smell that is just so grounding and soft.

Wears boxers with duckies on them because someone bought them for him and he loves them. :)

Can knit !

[dogin8]

corpo from my emails

[brain-in-a-skin-suit]

got called emo by a group of high schoolers today

[theclam-beforethestorm]

[Image ID: 3: image of people playing in a ball pit in the middle of an empty room with concrete floors, and a bouncy castle in the background. 4: snippet of interview reading: “I was very lucky. I was very lucky that I was 17. Yeah, I was very lucky that my name was not on anything. I am very lucky that I am a nobody. The problem is I still do feel like I destroyed fandom space. Even if it was kind of cringy and a bit problematic. I feel like I ruined it for everybody. I mean, I feel like maybe I should have gotten some sort of punishment. (Following text is bolded) I think this will be very clear to anyone who reads this interview: You were a kid who came up with an idea for a Tumblr convention. And then the adults that worked with you didn’t know what they were doing.” End ID.]