#get it together Simon

[tutterypuff]

I'VE BEEN SLEEPING A THOUSAND YEARS, GOT TO OPEN MY EYES TO EVERYTHING

[owlmam]

They all are in existential crisis fr

[bluegiragi]

check in.

early access + nsfw on patreon

[purplewilmon]

Wilhelm and Simon l 3.06

[chromaclopse]

id in alt! toxic yuri?? problematic women???? for me????????

[saucywendeee]

💀❤️💀

[s0fter-sin]

i need ghoap frantically making out against a door finally taking the leap on their feelings. need ghost grinding against soap, expecting to find him just as hard as him, only to feel nothing

and in all his wisdom and experience, he concludes soap was tortured and never told him

he’s trying to think of a delicate way to say he understands, that he’s been through it and it doesn’t change anything about how he feels (and who the fuck touched him so he can hunt them down and rend them limb from limb)

meanwhile trans!soap’s just trying to find the best angle to grind his cunt on ghost’s thigh

just it never even entering ghost’s head bc he’s never known a trans person but he has met plenty of people who’ve been tortured - himself included - so of course that’s his logical leap

soap takes off his shirt and he sees his top surgery scars and ghost asks if he wants him to kill the one who did it and soap just hums like, “actually, man did pretty good, they healed real well,” and ghost’s just teary-eyes with awe at how well he’s coping, “looking on the bright side, that’s my johnny.”

imagine he thinks johnny was fully castrated but sees he’s determined to still have a sex life with him so he buys packers and straps to help him bc hell yeah healing and soap’s just like, “holy shit i’ve never had such a thoughtful partner before, such a sweet man, lt.”

[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.

[yet-another-greek-myth-gay]

Once again sitting here thinking about how, for all the remorse August felt about the video, for how shitty of a person he felt like he was for posting it, for all his efforts (however subpar they were) to try and apologize to Wille about it...Simon never got a fucking apology.

Which makes sense, and shows how, at August's core, he's still an elitist, superior prick, even if he's more cognizant of his flaws and more uncomfortable with them than he's ever been. He could not be bothered to apologize Simon, doesn't even have the thought cross his mind—why? Because Simon's a nobody. Simon has no power. Like, let's be clear, August has fucked up his life irreparably. There is literally no future where the video will not haunt Simon. (I read a great fanfiction I have to find the link for, where Simon says that he was fucked the minute August hit "post," no matter what Wille said or did, and like...yeah.) That shit was all over the news in Sweden. We see, already, people recognizing him out in public. Beyond even just the emotional turmoil that comes with that video existing, we see, through the posting of his address and the rock through the window, that its existence physically endangers Simon. Even if Simon were to leave the country, move somewhere new and try to start over, it would take one google search of his name to uncover that blight on his life.

That's not to say that Simon couldn't process its existence emotionally, or that he won't be able to lead a happy, fulfilling life with the video existing, because he absolutely can and will! It just incenses me that not once in August's journey of feeling this guilt and shame over the video, and reaching some sort of understanding and peace with Wille, does he once consider giving Simon any sort of apology. (The settlement doesn't count, of course.) It makes sense for his character, and Simon probably wouldn't have accepted the apology, and by no means should be expected to, but the fact that he didn't get one still makes me so angry.

[booasaur]

Yellowjackets - 2x06

[ghouljams]

Ghoul if you don’t write Ghost absolutely falling apart ugly crying when he discovers what Gooses scar is about and how he possibly could have never met the love of his life Elmo is gonna SUE

Make. That. Man. Cry!!!

He doesn’t even bother knocking when he opens your door. You clutch your shirt to your chest, glaring over your shoulder at Simon. Rude. He just raises a brow and shuts the door tight behind him.

“Got a minute?” He asks, moving close, and you know you’re not going to tell him no. Not when his hand cups your face and he lets you tug his mask down to kiss him, your shirt forgotten on the floor.

He must’ve just come in. His skin is still warm from the sun where you touch him, and there’s the last taste of tobacco on his tongue. His hand slides over your chest as he kisses you, giving your breast an appreciative squeeze before dragging towards your fly. You make a quiet noise against his lips when it slips over your scar, his touch stilling against the slightly raised edges of it.

Simon's fingers feel over the scar, rough calloused pads dragging along the sensitive delicate skin. The ugly line of it where it cuts across your stomach. He drags his fingers along the whole thing, from your waist to where it stops just below your belly button. You wish you knew what he was thinking. You've had years to grow out of being self conscious, but that didn't mean it didn't still rear its ugly head. Especially when it was a man you- 

Simon probably doesn't even care, his torso is littered with scars. You're sure he doesn't even remember how he got half of them. 

"How'd you get this beauty?" He asks, so quiet you almost don't hear him.

"Sort of a blur," you tell him. He nods like he understands, you think he does.

"Tell me." Simon hums, dropping to his knees and pressing his lips to the top of the scar on your waist. You do your best not to wince, remembering the way the bull's horn had torn into you.

"Was helping the Lucas'," You start, "their bull is tipped now but back then they were all about-" Simon kisses you again, lower down the scar, your breath hitches, "-natural, uh, natural horns. I must've spooked it or something because it-" you let out a pained hum when he presses his lips lower still, tracing the line of the scar with his mouth, "-it caught me with its horn and ripped me clean open." You finish in a rush, Simon freezes.

"It what?" You hate when his voice goes even like that. When you can't hear his breathing anymore.

"Gutted, tore, nearly eviscerated," you give him the words the doctors used, that your dad used when he was upset. Your stomach jumps when Simon kisses it again, clean flesh this time, and presses his forehead against your diaphragm. "If Soap hadn't been there I probably wouldn't have made it," that's what the doctors had told him at least, "you know how long it takes EMS to get anywhere out here," Simon's fingers tighten on your hips, "he kept pressure the whole time, made sure all my guts stayed put." 

You thread your fingers through Simon's hair, scratching and pulling affectionately, "It's funny I don't even remember what we'd gone over to help with, but I remember how blue the sky was while I was laying in the grass waiting."

Simon has gone very quiet. He's completely still, save for his thumbs rubbing small circles against your hips. You're not sure who he's soothing. It happens quickly, his arms wrap around your hips and lift you so fast you have to duck to avoid hitting the ceiling fan. Curling over his head before he drops you on your bed. 

You let out a noise of surprise, opening your arms for him as Simon climbs on top of you and lays down. His head settled against your chest, his arms wrapped tight around your waist, he doesn't say a word and you- you don't either. You let him have his silence. You let him lay on you, listen to the beat of your heart, the way your lungs fill when you take a breath, the rush of blood, the sounds of life. A life he almost missed. 

He's never been more thankful for one Sergeant MacTavish in his life. Never been more thankful for you, and all the little ways life had to go just right for him to meet you. Your fingers scratch the base of his skull, and you’re humming some quiet lilting tune he doesn’t know, but he wants to. He wants to know every thought that goes through your head, every kindness you’ll ever afford him. Every way he could show you he loves you. 

“You cryin’ baby?” You ask him gently, there’s no judgement in your voice, just the question.

“No.” He lies, feeling you hum your acceptance.

“S’okay,” You tell him, “I don’t mind.”

And you don’t. So he does.

Big heaving silent sobs that shake his whole body, fat tears that you brush away with every gentleness. You don’t think Ghost has ever cried, but you think Simon has needed to for a while. And he’s crying for you, over a loss that didn’t happen, over the pain you went through. Over the lonely days waiting for your body to be whole again, and the fact that neither of you will ever be lonely again. Maybe you’ll be hurt, but never lonely. You’ll make sure of it. He’ll make sure of it.

"Johnny burn down the Lucas' house?" Simon asks, looking up from where he'd buried his face in your chest with watery eyes.

"Just their barn," you cup his cheek, wiping away a stray tear with your thumb. Simon gives you a little hiccuping sob around his frown and angry eyebrows.

"Should've killed 'em." It's a little hard to take him seriously when his voice wobbles like that. When his lip trembles and tears start falling again. You shush him, and let him press his face against you again.

[wasteofart]

I'm sure people have said this before but that look on Simon's face when Wille yelled at his parents wasn't worry or hurt or shock. It was plain fear. He saw himself in the future being the one Wille is yelling at, he saw the anger in his eyes and he saw his dad. He saw himself in the same place his mother was in when Micke left them. Especially with what happened with Sara and his dad, he realized people don't change even if they try to. He didn't recognize Wille anymore, the caring person he fell in love with but he saw the angry alcoholic he might become.

[books-books-smolderinglooks]

Beloved, pensive prince.. 💜❤️

[chamomilesteaa]

queer people kissing in movies made before the year 2000, in honor of pride month

the watermelon woman, dir. cheryl dunye (1996) // happy together, dir. wong kar-wai (1997) // morocco, dir. josef von sternberg (1930) // maurice, dir. james ivory (1989) // all over me, dir. alex sichel (1997) // the living end, dir. gregg araki (1992) // queen christina, dir. rouben mamoulian (1933) // edge of seventeen, dir. david moreton (1998) // desert hearts, dir. donna deitch (1985) // but i’m a cheerleader, dir. jamie babbit (1999)

[artsyunderstudy]

“‘Your hair is so pretty,’ I mumble. ‘You’re so pretty.’ [Baz] runs his hand through my hair. A few rosebuds fall onto the mattress, then softly fade away. I think I’m going to kiss him. I think this is what everything’s been building up to.”

True Colours by @im-gettingby

Carry on Countdown | Day Twenty: Flowers

This year I decided I wanted to honor the incredibly talented fic writers of this fandom, so I chose one fic per prompt to do an illustration for. I didn’t double up on authors so that I could do this for as many people as possible. I realized while planning this that there are way too many fics and authors that I love, and even after having picked 30 of what I consider some of my very favorites, I could have easily kept going. Please check the fics out if you haven’t, they all come highly recommended.

@carryon-countdown

[bluegiragi]

black tie event