#simon dominic icon

[hiphopnopsd]

[littlelunababi]

Should I post some of my kpop fics as well?

[webwoodz]

kid milli icons. 💽

[confused-bi-queer]

THE SPANISH TRANSLATION IS MUCH MORE ROMANTIC.

I'm going to CRY.

Remember the iconic "And I'm hopelessly in love with him"? FUCK THAT. Spanish Edition gives us:

"Y yo estoy completa y desesperadamente enamorado de él".

HOLY FUCKING SHIT, BAZ.

Jesus Christ.

There are so many things about this THAT MAKE ME LOSE MY MIND.

First of all... The usage of the "yo". JESUS. In Spanish we don't used "yo" AT ALL. It's not a thing because t's something that's already inside the verbs we use. SO, while the translation could have gone from "I'm in love with him" to "estoy enamorado de él", the translation goes HARDER by putting the subject of the phrase there. It's stating it's Baz. The phrase is not an accident, it's reinforcing that Baz is saying that with all his intentions.

Then, he's not only in love with him, he's utterly and desperately in love with him. Fuck me. His feelings aren't just hopeless, they're intense and all consuming and the boy is YEARNING.

Being hopeless in Spanish means having no hope, it's "desesperanzado", it's when something you wanted doesn't work out and you lose hope, but "desesperadamente"????? It's being desperate. It's something extreme and it's being dominated by a feeling. Baz is desperately in love with him. The intentions behind that single word is so strong. And it's of Simon.

Baz's phrasing is so strong. Wow.

Because also, when he says:

"Blue eyes. Bronze curls."

ALSO FORGET THAT.

In Spanish, he says:

"A esos ojos azules. A esos rizos de bronce".

He's referring to THOSE blue eyes, to THOSE curls of bronze. There's no doubt of who he's talking about because he previously described them to you but also because he's explicitly telling you he's talking about THIS Simon.

Baz, you romantic fool in Spanish, you're killing me.

[i-smoke-chapstick]

Can I just have a small bit of headcanons or a Drabble on your pick of multi Gotham boys and their hands? Like I dunno if this is weird or not but kinda like just a dive down on what their hands feel like, who’s are soft and who’s are rough, who has vein hands, who has calloused hands. Just that kind of stuff please?🙏🤭🥺 (reason being of a specific hand edit I saw on tiktok 💀, also don’t feel obligated to do this if you don’t wanna. I completely understand.)

'FLESH, [hand! hcs]

-GOTHAM!VILLAINS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Oswald Cobblepot, Victor Zsasz, Jonathan Crane

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; gotham villains and how they use their hands on reader ;)

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!villains x female reader. Not pure porn but smut. Suggestive. Might be the most vanilla thing i've written? but I love this request so much and I AM A SLUT for these men. Canon typical violence for Victor, Oswald getting a little rough ;)

𝛰𝑆𝑊𝐴𝐿𝐷 𝐶𝛰𝐵𝐵𝐿𝐸𝑃𝛰𝑇

♫ “This is just my way of unleashing the feelings deep inside of me.” Flesh by Simon Curtis

I know what you're thinking.

Oswald's hands? Out of every Gotham man I could've chosen???

YES. YES OSWALD'S HANDS. Have you seen this mans HANDS? Whether they are on a knife, or in those red gloves, or if he's leaning forward on them? All predatory like...

Not to mention...the VEINS. In almost every scene I've seen of this man? His hands are VEINY. Skinny bird man is not living up to that penguin stereotype, especially not in the earlier seasons.

God- just the way he stirs the wine glass or glass of brandy. Yeah. He's thinking and wishing it was your thighs he was holding, staring into the golden swirls.

The man has some issues with being nervous during sex, but when he lets loose he lets LOOSE. And he becomes feral, desperate, grinding and PAWING for every part of you he can kiss and hold and worship.

C'mon. We see the way he grips that cane of his. The way he holds the custom made knife. The way he gets his knuckles all bloody from hitting Fish or doing his own dirty work in season 1.

Also...going back to those red gloves of his. Could you imagine? Him making you grind yourself into the palm of his hand, watching you, mesmerized at the feeling of skin on leather.

He just wants to watch you writhe from pleasure. His little true love all needy for him and his hands. Gah.

He's so flustered, by the way, if you tell him you like his hands. He's sputtering, and asking why, but that little cheeky (and villainous mastermind) part of him is making a note to use them even more.

"You-," He says with a bit of an unbelieving smile, brows furrowed, voice wavering before his face turns to a look of complete shock, "You want me to what?"

Don't get him wrong, he's listening intently to your wishes, he just looks like he's seen a ghost at your vulgarity. He's not used to being wanted.

𝑉𝐼𝐶𝑇𝛰𝑅 𝑍𝑆𝐴𝑆𝑍

♫ “You can dominate the game 'cause I'm tough / This spark of black that I seem to love.” Flesh by Simon Curtis

This man might have the most iconic hands out of EVERYONE on this list.

I mean, c'mon now. When you think of leather-clad knuckle-less gloves, who do you think of?

The man, the myth, the legend himself. Victor Zsasz has the hands of a working man and he likes to use them.

These are the same hands he carries his guns in, the same trigger finger that will pump inside you while you mewl around him.

In all seriousness, though, he LOVES his hands too. They are his favorite part of his body. Without his hands, what would he be able to do? He's skilled with them. Pleasuring you with them is no different.

They are slightly calloused from the sharp edges of the guns he holds, but he's learned to use his gloves to protect them. Regardless, the old scars and marks from when he was just a boy playing with a tec-9 still remain.

Also, he canonically wears rings when we first see him in the show. Yeah, he's using that to his advantage.

You'll feel the cold metal as he drags a finger along your spine, watching you shiver. He'll do that lazy side-smirk, breathing heavily as he watches you arch up into him just from a touch.

Don't tell him you love his hands. Please, for the sake of the zsaszettes having to suffer a total EGO trip. He's taking it in stride.

But if you do happen to mention it...he's bragging about it.

Every time he gets complimented on a nice shot, he's bring you up.

I can imagine him holding someone hostage, whether its Jim or someone else. He notices them staring at the gun in his hand, full of fear, and he'll look flattered.

"Oh? Are you staring at my hands? Sorry, I'm taken." He's mentioning, off-hand, to the rando he's kidnapped. It doesn't matter if the hostage is a full on 50 year old man. "My girlfriend says she loves my hands. Y'know, life's work, and all that."

𝐽𝛰𝑁𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑁 𝐶𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐸

♫ “This is not the way into my heart, into my head. / Into my brain, into none of the above.” Flesh by Simon Curtis

Okay, maybe i’m just a monster fucker, but HEAR ME OUT!!

Uncut nails behind those talons of his on his costume. On or off.

Sometimes, he’ll be fully clothed, drawing scratch-marks into your skin, lowly humming in pleasure. That little spark of fear in your eyes when he draaaaaags down just right makes him go crazy.

He can’t help it. You’re his armeggedon, his muse, his savior all in one. The remedy to his madness…and you get all worked up from just a touch. It strokes his ego, like Victor, but he’s quieter about it.

Dirt beneath his fingernails, callouses and blisters from working with those damned poisons. He’s suffered a chemical burn or two, and you’ll see the small circle scars on his knuckles.

You’re like his personal test subject. He likes to study you- watch your expressions when he glides his nails down your skin, almost touching you- but not quite.

Surprisingly a tease when he finds out. He’s nonchalant. He won’t let you see the sheer arousal simmering beneath the surface.

But boy, it’s there. His heavy breathing. It affects him just as much as it effects you. The chill down your back, the shivers left in his wake. He takes his time edging playing with you.

You might need to ask him to cut them lowkey because they can be kinda painful when he’s fingering you. Or…if you’re into that little sting of pain while his tongue massages your clit through his mask.

He doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s filthy.

“There you go, little mouse. You like it, don’t you?” He pauses, in thought, while you grind for friction like a cat in heat against his finger tips. “I wonder…where I should sink my claws into you next?”

That damned deep voice of his…the subtle curl of his fingers inside you. Before you know it, he’s pumping in and out, trying to elicit the most vulgar reactions from you. He can’t help it. For a man who prides himself on control…he looses it all when he’s with you.

[thealternateuniverse]

The Chaotic & Charismatic Brothers – Marriage Edition 💍🔥

Jaebom – The Reluctant Groom Turned Power Couple King

👑 "It's just business. We'll be divorced in a year." — Famous last words. 💼 The heir must marry, so daddy sets him up with a business partner's daughter. She hates him. 😌 Plays the role of the patient, doting fiancé to make his life easier. If she wants something? He just gets it. Less tantrums that way. ❤️ Unexpected plot twist: She falls for him. 👩‍❤️‍👨 Plot twist part two: They actually get married. The world’s most iconic power couple—rich, famous, and effortlessly stylish. 🔥 Business headlines: "The Perfect Pair: A Love Story or a Merger?"

Mark – The Master of Uno Reverse Card

🤢 Hates the entire concept of arranged marriage. 👊 Told his father if he was forced into one, he’d disown himself. Meant it. 💍 But then Jaebom actually went through with an arranged marriage. Mark, officially paranoid, escapes overseas. ✈️ The escape plan fails when daddy announces publicly that Mark is next. �� Comes home married—with a 3-month-old baby. His dad almost collapses. 👀 Turns out his “business” overseas was just him living his best life with his longtime girlfriend, who he secretly married a year ago. 🎤 "Surprise, I’ve been married. Also, meet your grandson."

Jackson – The Forever Rich Uncle

💃 Hates arranged marriage with every fiber of his being. 💌 Too busy attending exclusive parties and dating around to care. ✈️ When his dad sets him up on a blind date? He disappears for a year. 🍾 Will settle down when he decides to, not when daddy demands it. 👶 Rich uncle mode activated: Spoils all his nieces and nephews. 📢 "My only commitment is to looking good and having fun."

Jinyoung – The Lawyer Who Stays Three Steps Ahead

📑 Too busy drafting prenups and handling corporate lawsuits to think about love. 💔 "If one of you gets divorced, at least make it easy for me." 🕵️ Accidentally ends up with the perfect partner—someone in his field, just as sharp as him. 💡 Outmaneuvers his father by introducing his actual girlfriend before the matchmaking circus begins. 👶 Ends up being the responsible, doting husband and the unofficial babysitter for his brothers’ kids.

Youngjae – The Tech Nerd Who Pulled The Ultimate Baddie

💻 Quietly hacking his way through life until—BAM!—he lands the heiress of Samsung. 🔥 They bond over their shared love for tech and probably build a cybersecurity empire together. 💔 Almost breaks up with her because of an arranged marriage setup—until they realize they were arranged to marry each other. 💒 Wedding goals: A high-tech, futuristic cyber-themed extravaganza.

Bambam – The Diva, The Icon, The Untouchable Bachelor

🚨 Allergic to marriage. Screams it from the rooftops. 📸 Loves the drama surrounding his brothers' love lives but refuses to be part of it. 🎭 Outsmarts his dad by pulling publicity stunts before any matchmaking rumors start. 🤣 Gets roasted by his brothers for being chronically single. 💔 Last serious relationship? Middle school. She ghosted him. The trauma still lingers.

Yugyeom – The Lost-Love Trope in Real Life

💔 Constantly in dating rumors—half the time, he’s never even met the person. 😍 Fell in love at first sight in college, but the girl vanished. 🔍 Finds her again years later. This time? He won’t let her disappear. 🔥 She turns out to be Simon Dominic’s little sister. 👶 Surprise: They already have a son, who is older than Mark’s kid. 🥺 Begs his father and Simon D for permission to marry her because "I am NOT losing her again."

[lesb0]

I'm always trying to stay on the cutting edge of every permutation of our constantly evolving visual culture but the elusiveness of every new form makes it difficult for me, even as one of the youngest possible millennials. in fashion, my freshman students are all wearing 2000s or "y2k" fashion: baggy grungy or baby phat hiphop, with an elevated touch of modesty, good color theory, and a stark awareness of bodily proportion. in memes, legendary 00s icon, lisa frank. its embarrassing to follow influencers with over 10 mil, now, as if it breaks the parasocial connection.

someone asked yesterday if tiktok is now the premier vehicle of visual culture. I open tiktok. on one side, a zoomed in interview with the mother of a shooting victim. but the other side is a compilation of slime videos, a woman cutting soap, life hacks, and chinese "smart" product placements. you can hear and see both. this bizarre genre, I can only recognize as content. on social media, content is technically anything you can doomscroll, the action of spending over 2 hours on a social media feed, a for you page, a timeline, a dashboard to tumblr addicts.

I'm watching cable TV with a girl I'm seeing. the ads are remarkably only geared towards boomers and older gen x. but, so is the 'content', bad action movies made for cable and reruns of 80s/90s TV shows, but the exact same show marathoned in hours long successions.

to be an effective art historian, I have to take things from this ever-shifting visual culture and translate it into the equally fickle and amorphous art world... so what does 'content' look like for museum shows? my first 100+ object loan show was in part by a colleague, a younger curator at BAMPFA. a massive exhibition of all female nonbinary artists, from the 60s PoMo feminists to the self obsessed identity displayers of today. I absolutely LOVED it. I had no problem enthusiastically flitting from object to object, frontwards and in reverse twice, to spend special time with all my favorites. a fave professor stopped me. I hadn't even recognized him in the excitement. he looked bewildered, but laughed about how giddy I was. he didn't write any criticism on the show. my boss at the time, our museum director, told me she thought it was "such a big mess". my favorite lesbian professor clutched onto her wife with an anxious look. my lesbian artist friend had panic attack and put his headphones on in a dark corner. on the other hand, the younger undergrad girls from berkeley looked elated and delighted, flitting around and oohing and aahing at my same pace. I learned one of them was an engineering student named erin who needed a feminist pickup from the disouragement in her male dominated field.

so how has the 'content' show, or the art world reception to them, changed in the past 4 years? well for one, it seems like major flagship institutions are dropping the mononym altogether. as the french impressionists take over the east coast, none of shows feature one painter as a sole focus, but curators use juxtapositions to keep people interested. in MoMAs, monoynym shows are reserved for major retrospectives or figuratively and literally, monolith artists like simone leigh. the older art historians are hesitant to adapt to these changes. one of my favorite shows this summer, over 300 very different collection pieces packed onto the floor and across the hall, wasn't enjoyed by any of the critics I know. My dates all hated it. except one, a hot ADHD butch who had a tiktok doomscrolling addiction.

what does this mean for the future of how shows are displayed.... how do museums let go of the traditional princely standard: 3.5 inch hangings with a 25 degree downwards tilt? is it better or worse to compromise museums into messy 17th century curiosity cabinets?

[brainddeadd]

What Other Athletes Think of Y/N

Lewis Hamilton (F1 - Seven-Time World Champion & Style Icon):

"She’s got that killer mindset—fearless, determined, and she plays with heart. And I respect anyone who brings their own style to their sport. She’s making waves, and I love to see it."

Connor McDavid (NHL - Edmonton Oilers Superstar & Speed Demon):

"She’s got great hockey sense. You can tell she sees the game differently, which is rare. If she keeps developing, she’s going to be a real problem for defenders."

Serena Williams (Tennis - GOAT, No Explanation Needed):

"It takes more than talent to break barriers—it takes resilience. She’s proving that she belongs, and that’s powerful."

Patrick Mahomes (NFL - Kansas City Chiefs Quarterback):

"She’s young, but she’s got that competitive fire. You can tell she’s putting in the work, and that’s what separates the good from the great."

Caitlin Clark (WNBA - Scoring Machine & Basketball Phenom):

"It’s always exciting to see women making an impact in traditionally male-dominated spaces. She’s showing up, proving herself, and that’s inspiring."

Tom Brady (NFL Legend & Unofficial Hockey Dad):

"Winning is about consistency. If she keeps pushing herself, she’s going to build something special in this league."

Simone Biles (Gymnastics - The Definition of Excellence):

"What she’s doing takes courage. People will doubt her, but if she keeps believing in herself, there’s no limit to what she can accomplish."

Max Verstappen (F1 - Dominant Force & Relentless Competitor):

"She’s got that competitive edge. She wants to win, and you can see it in the way she plays. That’s what makes champions."

Kylian Mbappé (Soccer - Speedster & Global Star):

"She plays with confidence, and that’s key. Athletes who embrace the pressure are the ones who rise to the top."

[cheriebourbon]

【 ＣＡＧＥ　ＯＦ　ＤＥＡＴＨ 】

ghost x soap — 6.5k

tags:: simon has a not-so-secret job, ghoap!, smut, bickering&tension, tf141 somewhat included, motorcyclist au.

cw:: drinking&under the influence, friendly teasing, use of cigarettes, praise&kisses, making out, tiny bit of begging, both worked up so it’s just explosive, blowjob, handjob, choking, wet&messy, overstimulation, several orgasms, anal, missionary, simon is more dominant, pet names, crying but not from pain, loose lips, simon forgets his strength and gets a bit rough, leaves his mask on for a good portion, but when taken off he is depicted as having blond hair, brown eyes, and scars all over.

notes::

hihi cherries o’ mine, I hope you’ll enjoy this fic just as much as I do. like.. gnaw on your fingernails and giggle in your bed kind of enjoyment. no such thing as crazy here, just silliness. anyways, all of my headers and icons are from pinterest:33

stay hydrated, stay healthy, much love from cerise<33

synopsis::

in which, simon riley, reveals his side job as an amusement performer for the cage of death to the tf141, and johnny mactavish, bets that if he stood in it with him driving around he won’t get scared one bit.

OR

in which, johnny mactavish, harbours a secret from simon riley, his close mate, and has to swallow back the overwhelming emotions.

The autumn breeze swept through the dimly lit pub—a place Task Force 141 had come to call their own. Nestled in a quiet corner of the city, it was a hole-in-the-wall kind of joint, just rough enough to feel like home. No prying eyes, no eavesdropping from outsiders. Just a place to talk shop without anyone batting an eye.

The drinks weren’t the finest, but they did the job. And that was all that mattered after a long mission. As usual, laughter echoed off the walls—loud, raucous, and contagious. Soap’s voice stood out, cutting through the din like a blade, his laugh punctuated by the occasional crackle. It was impossible not to join in once he started. Red faces, tears, the tang of alcohol in the air—it was all part of the ritual.

“Johnny, go on then,” Ghost chuckled, the sound deep and gravelly, still echoing with the remnants of his laughter. The corners of his mouth curled up in a teasing grin as he leaned against the weathered wooden counter, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“Let’s hear you say something in that nonsense you call language.” The atmosphere was light, charged with the playful banter between friends, and Ghost was enjoying the moment.

Soap shot Ghost a sideways glance, then slapped his arm with the back of his hand. “Gibberish? Awa’ an’ bile yer heid, L.T. Ye’ve got a better chance of me understanding yer orders than yer precious ‘Queen’s English.’” His thick Scottish accent cracked through, sending another round of laughter rippling through the table.

It was a running joke. Soap’s party trick—his native slang. It was like a secret language to them, a humor only a few could appreciate. But it always had the same effect: pure chaos. The whole group was in stitches, faces flushed and voices hoarse.

Price let out a sharp snort into his glass, the sound echoing slightly in the dimly lit room. He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Alright, that’s quite enough out of you, Soap,” he said, his tone a mix of exasperation and camaraderie.

“If you keep it up, you’re going to give us all a damned bloody heart attack.” His eyes glinted with amusement as he glanced around at the others, who were stifling their laughter at Soap's antics.

Soap leaned back in his chair, a devilish grin spreading across his face as a mischievous gleam danced in his bright blue eyes. “Suit yourself, Cap’n,” he retorted, his tone full of playful defiance. “I was just gettin' my abs in shape from all that laughter we’ve had tonight.” He flexed his arms exaggeratedly as if showcasing a rock-hard physique.

Gaz, sitting across from him, let out a loud snort, shaking his head as he rolled his shoulders in a mock display of confidence. “Rock-hard abs, huh? Don't let the rest of us find out, or we’ll be stuck doing crunches all night!” His teasing retort was accompanied by a dramatic eye roll, making it clear he wasn’t taking the banter too seriously.

Meanwhile, Price, ever the composed leader, arched an eyebrow in amusement, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smirk. He took a deliberate sip from his cold beer, savoring the bitter taste, before quipping back with a playful edge, “You don't already have them, Garrick?” His tone was filled with jest, the light atmosphere making the jibe all the more enjoyable.

Gaz's face instantly paled at the implication, his eyes widening in exaggerated horror as he waved his hands in a frantic gesture. “Not what I meant, sir! Not what I meant at all!” he stammered, feeling the effects of the drinks kick in and the warmth of embarrassment creeping up his neck, turning the moment into a lighthearted spectacle that drew laughter from the rest of the group.

Price leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly under his weight, and gave Gaz a skeptical look that conveyed his disbelief. “Too bad. Might be worth another round of training, eh?” he said, a hint of challenge in his voice.

Before Gaz could muster a response, the atmosphere of the pub shifted dramatically. A deep, resonant roar pierced through the usual din of chatter and clinking glasses. A Harley-Davidson, its powerful engine reverberating like thunder, pulled up outside the establishment. Price’s expression instantly hardened; he froze in place for a moment as the familiar sound washed over him, memories flooding back like a tidal wave.

“Reminds me of the old days,” he murmured, his voice barely loud enough to break through the muted sounds of the bustling pub. His gaze was distant and contemplative, lost in a time long past.

Gaz, puzzled by the sudden shift in Price's demeanor, leaned in slightly. “Pardon, sir?” he asked, eager to understand what was going through his superior's mind.

Price blinked, as if emerging from a trance, and refocused his gaze on Gaz. “I used to own a Harley,” he explained more clearly this time, a tinge of nostalgia coloring his tone. “Sold it when I signed on for this gig. Some things you have to trade for a cause.” The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken sacrifice and the weight of choices made in pursuit of duty.

The table fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that comes from shared experiences and unspoken camaraderie. The flickering light overhead cast shadows across the faces of the men gathered, emphasizing the moment. Ghost’s interest was suddenly piqued; he leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low, steady murmur, almost conspiratorial. “Really? You had a bike, Cap’n?”

Soap turned in his seat, his posture shifting with newfound curiosity. “A Harley, aye? I always thought you looked like the type,” he remarked with a cheeky grin. “What happened to it? Got rid of it for a lady perhaps?”

Price shrugged, a hint of nonchalance on his face, but his eyes betrayed a deeper story. “Had to let it go. Part of the job, you know how it is. You give up a lot for this life,” he let out, his tone devoid of bitterness—just a calm acceptance of the sacrifices he’d made over the years.

Ghost hummed thoughtfully, his gaze glinting with mischief beneath his mask. He leaned back slightly, allowing the air to thicken with anticipation before continuing. “I might have a side gig if you’re interested,” he said. “Involves a bike. You could always come watch.”

Price’s eyebrow shot up, intrigued. “A side gig, eh? What sort of job are we talking about here?” His tone carried both suspicion and interest, a mix that hinted at the unpredictability of their lives.

Ghost leaned in closer, the tension in the air palpable as he let the moment hang before finally dropping his words like a stone in water. “Cages of death,” he stated simply, his voice low, but the weight of it was unmistakable.

The phrase landed at the table like a hammer strike, sending ripples through the group. Soap’s grin widened, his excitement morphing into uncontainable enthusiasm. He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing slightly in the dim room.

“Cages of death, hm?” he echoed, laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Sounds like a bloody laugh. Do you reckon I could stand in there with you, Ghost? Not a tremble in me.” His voice dripped with cocky confidence, betraying a thrill-seeker’s spirit.

Ghost’s lips curled beneath his balaclava, the gesture barely reaching his eyes but still a hint of amusement. “Bet, huh? We’ll see, Johnny,” he replied, the challenge evident in his tone. “Why don’t you come down tonight and show me what you’ve got?”

Price and Gaz exchanged a look that spoke volumes; an entire conversation passed between them without a word. “Those two are something else,” Price muttered under his breath, a mix of amusement and exasperation dancing in the corners of his lips.

Gaz shook his head, a grin creeping onto his face. “This should be interesting…” he remarked. The banter seemed to hang in the air, a promise of reckless adventure just waiting to ignite.

Soap’s eyes flickered over the screen of his phone, the message from a contact named “Simon, my L.T.💀” clear as day. The address to some rundown amusement joint, the same one he was standing outside of. He typed out a quick reply: “Where are you?”

Seconds later, the response came in: “Didn’t I just send you my location?”

Soap’s fingers hovered over the keys before he shot back, “Very funny, L.T. But I’m serious.”

The reply was instant: “I am too.”

Soap grinned, his thumb typing: “Simon.”

A pause. Then the phone pinged again: “If you’re at the entrance, follow the path in front, take a right by the food truck. There’s a spinning globe. I’m nearby.”

Soap raised an eyebrow. “Very vague.”

“You wanted my location. Work for it.”

Soap snorted. “How kind of you.”

“I know. See you soon, Johnny.”

He rolled his eyes with a hint of a smirk, muttering under his breath, “That muppet.” He clicked the side button of his phone, shutting it off before shoving it into his jacket pocket.

His boots crunched against the gravel as he walked, the cold evening air biting at his skin. He was glad he wore a jacket, even if it hung a bit loose at the waist. It was more comfortable that way. Didn’t mind the extra space—he wasn’t a man who skipped meals, after all. A good steak? No chance he’d pass it up. He chuckled to himself. Maybe Simon would be so generous. Or maybe not. That man had a way of keeping him on edge.

The food truck wasn’t hard to spot. Soap’s

eyes shifted from the truck to his phone. “Following the trail of clues you left me.”

The response was quick: “Good on you. We’ve got a Sherlock Holmes.”

Soap smirked, typing back: “Not that smart, L.T.”

“Oh? Says who?”

“Me.”

“Well, I second that. You don’t have to be Sherlock to be smart.”

“You’re just trying to get on my good side.”

“Am I not already?”

“No.”

“I’ll have to fix that then, won’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Hurry up. Can’t fix it if you’re not here.”

“Aye, L.T. See you.”

Soap tucked his phone away and jogged towards the spinning globe. He stood there for a moment, scanning the area, but saw no sign of Ghost. He was about to send another message when—THWACK—a hand slapped down on his shoulder.

The move nearly earned a quick jab to the ribs, but Soap froze, recognizing the skull balaclava before he could react.

“Damn,” Ghost muttered under his breath, “so much for seeing me.” His voice rumbled from behind the mask, “Thought you were clever. You think I’m gonna just stand in front of the globe like some tourist attraction?”

Soap’s brows furrowed as he took in the sight of his best mate. “That’s not the point, though.”

Ghost was the same as always—tall, broad-shouldered, and completely unreadable. He wore his signature skull helmet, the black balaclava covering the rest of his face. His brown eyes were focused, piercing as ever, but his posture was relaxed.

His jacket was a black-and-white Marlboro racing leather, the brand he liked to rep. The fit was tight on his frame, highlighting the muscles in his arms, but it wasn’t the jacket that caught Soap’s eye. His gaze wandered down, past the belt and black cargo pants—perfectly tailored to hug the hard lines of his legs—right down to the boots. Black, simple, but worn in just right.

A soft click of Ghost’s skull gloves snapped Soap out of his wandering thoughts, his gaze shooting back up to meet the man’s eyes. “Eyes up here, Johnny,” Ghost’s voice rumbled, tinged with a dry humor that Soap recognized all too well. There was a flush creeping up to his ears under the mask, but it didn’t matter. Ghost didn’t let that kind of thing slide.

“Sorry, L.T.” Soap said, rubbing the back of his neck as he felt the biting cold air wrap around him, amplifying his sense of vulnerability. His voice emerged rough and gravelly, a reflection of the chill that seeped into his bones.

Ghost, standing nearby, simply shook his head, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he caught Soap’s sheepish expression. “Can’t blame a man for looking,” he replied, an amused glint in his eyes as he took in their surroundings.

Soap couldn’t help but crack a grin, though he decided against voicing any witty retort. They weren’t here for lighthearted banter about appearances or attire; their focus was on a more pressing matter at hand.

Ghost leaned back slightly, the atmosphere around him shifting as if the very air was responding to his commanding presence. “Enough ogling,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. “We’ve got work to do. Let’s see if you’re not scared.”

Soap raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk playing on his lips as he fixed his gaze on him. “Scared? Me?” he replied, stepping forward deliberately, the grin still lingering on his face like a challenge. “You’re the one hiding behind that skull mask, L.T.”

“Let’s find out, then,” Ghost announced, the atmosphere crackled with tension as he turned to face Soap, his spirited gaze fixated on him. The challenge was clear, hanging heavily in the air like a storm cloud ready to burst. With a mix of trepidation and determination in his eyes, Soap felt the weight of the moment.

He stood before the cage, a massive iron beast that loomed like a dark sentinel, a grim reminder of the danger awaiting inside. It wasn’t just a cage; it was a challenge. A test of everything he was. Time to face it. Time to prove himself. What happened next could make him—or break him.

The roar of the crowd hit him like a wave, electric and deafening. Soap took a steadying breath and stepped forward, walking into the cage. The steel walls pressed in on him, but he didn’t flinch. He stood tall in the center, a soldier ready for battle. Behind him, Ghost moved with his usual predatory grace, closing the door to the cage with a sharp metallic clang. Then he stalked toward his bike—already waiting inside, courtesy of the crew. The hum of the engine was a promise, a warning.

Ghost paused just behind him. His voice came low, almost a murmur, but sharp enough to cut through the noise. “You can still walk away, Johnny. Last chance.”

Soap didn’t even flinch. He shook his head, a grin curling at the edges of his lips. “Go on, L.T. Give me your worst.”

Ghost’s dark eyes softened for a fraction of a second, a glint of something like respect in them. “Always knew you were a fearless bastard.” The words were heavy with meaning, but before Soap could reply, Ghost swung a leg over his bike, settling in and adjusting his gloves with practiced precision. The rubber creaked as he tightened his grip, revving the engine until it roared to life.

Flames erupted from the outside of the cage, bursting into the air like a signal. The show had begun.

Ghost shot forward, the motorcycle tearing through the confined space with a savage grace. The way he maneuvered—sharp, calculated, precise—was hypnotic. He swerved around the cage like a predator circling its prey, the bike growling as it sliced through the air. With each pass, he edged closer, closing the distance by inches, then feet.

Soap felt it—the pressure of Ghost’s presence as he sped by. Those brown eyes, burning with intensity, locked onto him, gleaming with a raw, unfiltered passion. Ghost wasn’t just in his element; he thrived in it. The way he moved, the rush of adrenaline, the danger—it was in his blood, and Soap couldn’t deny it, even if he tried. It was magnetic. Mesmerizing.

And something inside Soap… stirred.

Then, without warning, Ghost signaled for him to raise his arms. Soap hesitated for a split second—confused, but obedient. He lifted his arms, the movement instinctive.

And that was when it hit him.

As Ghost circled closer, the tip of his gloved fingers brushed across Soap’s stomach. A fleeting touch, but it was enough to set off a ripple through his body. Soap’s breath hitched, eyes widening slightly in surprise. The contact was deliberate. A slow, almost teasing gesture.

Ghost didn’t let up. The next pass, he brushed across Soap’s chest. The heat from Ghost’s body was palpable now, the bike roaring beneath him as the distance between them grew even smaller. Soap’s pulse quickened. The crowd’s cheers grew louder, but all he could hear now was the hum of the engine and the quickening rhythm of his own heart.

Ghost’s gloves skimmed the lines of Soap’s belt next, grazing the skin just below his ribs, a trail of veins. The touch was lighter now, but it was charged—every movement deliberate, each touch inching closer to something Soap couldn’t quite put his finger on. His face flushed, and for the first time in a long while, he felt that familiar, unwelcome knot of embarrassment.

The crowd seemed to sense it, the air crackling with their energy. They loved it. The tension, the showmanship, the raw, unspoken dynamic between the two men.

It felt like the world had tilted, spinning just for them. Each brush of Ghost’s bike, each loop he made around Soap, left him breathless. Soap lost himself in the rhythm of it, his thoughts drifting far away—toward something he couldn’t quite grasp. What did all this mean? Was it just adrenaline? Was it just a game to Ghost, or was it something more? They’d never been just friends, had they? Soap’s pulse quickened, but he couldn’t make sense of it. The fleeting touch, the proximity—it was too much.

It was only when a pair of warm, gentle hands carefully grasped his wrists and slowly lowered his outstretched arms that he felt a sudden jolt of awareness wash over him, pulling him swiftly back to the present moment. The sensation of touch, both familiar and grounding, broke through the haze of his thoughts, jolting him from whatever world he had briefly inhabited.

“Thought I lost you there for a second,” Ghost said, his voice low and smooth, laced with that familiar, warm chuckle that made everything seem a bit lighter. He stood beside Soap, having dismounted from his bike, the powerful rumble of the engine now a distant echo in the background, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves and the subtle sounds of the world around them.

Soap blinked, momentarily disoriented, as he processed the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded. “You did,” he replied, his voice coming out steadier than he felt. His arms dropped to his sides, the tension slowly easing from his muscles.

It felt almost instinctual as he began to walk away from the confines of the cage, the metal bars behind them feeling both oppressive and distant. Ghost matched his pace, a reassuring presence by his side.

“Yeah? What was going on up there?” Ghost’s voice was casual, but there was something beneath the question, a hint of concern. His eyes searched Soap’s face as if waiting for an answer.

Soap hesitated, hands slipping into his pockets to give him a moment’s reprieve. “Us,” the word almost slipped out before he could stop it.

Ghost’s brow arched, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. “Us? What about us?” He unstrapped his gloves, the rip of the velcro punctuating his curiosity, as he tugged them off with a hint of impatience.

Soap turned toward him, a breath of air in his lungs. “Nothing,” he shrugged, trying to shake off the weight of the thought like it was just some passing fancy he could dismiss. “Just a stupid thought.”

Ghost didn’t buy it. The way Soap’s eyes flickered, like he was holding something back—Ghost wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easy. “Johnny,” his voice dropped an octave, a warning tone sliding in beneath the surface. “Speak to me. What’s on your mind?”

Soap hesitated the weight of Ghost’s stare pressing against him. He nodded toward the path ahead, taking the first step. “I will,” he promised, voice a little quieter. “But we need to talk somewhere more private.”

Ghost raised an eyebrow, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face at Soap's unexpected invitation. “Your place?” he asked, a hint of skepticism lacing his tone, but the curiosity in his eyes betrayed his interest.

Soap nodded emphatically, “Yeah,” he replied, his voice steady and confident. As he spoke, he casually brushed his fingers along the fabric of his jacket, a subtle gesture that misrepresented his eagerness to talk. With a purposeful stride, he turned on his heel and headed toward his truck, the sound of gravel crunching beneath his boots echoing in the quiet air.

Ghost fell into step behind him without a second thought. He’d been dropped off earlier anyway. No real reason to stick around at the station now. And besides, Soap was bothered by something, and Ghost was determined to figure out what it was. No more running from whatever this was between them.

When they rolled up to Soap’s flat, a heavy silence filled the truck. Soap killed the engine with a sharp twist of the key, but the tension still lingered between them. He grabbed his gear and hopped out, his face flushed, eyes distant—like he was wrestling with something that had been eating at him for a while now. Ghost knew that look too well.

With a heavy sense of tension hanging in the air, the two figures stepped into Soap's dimly lit apartment, their footsteps muted against the floor. Soap carefully turned the key in the lock, ensuring there was no trace of sound as the door clicked shut behind them. Ghost lingered near the entrance, his posture tense and alert, scanning the room for any signs of movement or danger. The atmosphere was thick with an unspoken urgency, and every small creak of the floor seemed amplified in the stillness that enveloped them.

He waited, watching Soap’s back as the man stood there, lost in his thoughts. Eventually, Soap turned to him, expression softening into something Ghost didn’t expect—vulnerable. It made his chest tighten. Soap’s voice came out quiet, almost unsure. “I just… can’t, Simon.”

Ghost’s gut tightened, a knot forming in his throat. He stepped forward, voice low but steady, trying to pull Soap back into the moment. “Can’t what, Johnny?” His gaze locked on the blue of Soap’s eyes—deep, familiar, a shade of the ocean that felt like home.

Soap ran a hand through his Mohawk, messing it up like he wasn’t even aware. He looked away for a second as if the words were harder to say than a bullet wound. Then, he exhaled sharply, finally forcing it out. “I love you.”

The words hung between them like a grenade on a hairpin, and Ghost was frozen. He hadn’t expected that—hell, didn’t want to expect it. Soap looked embarrassed, and vulnerable, like he’d just dropped a piece of his soul on the concrete.

Ghost couldn’t breathe for a second. He swallowed thickly, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Johnny—you don’t want to say that. I’m not… I’m not a good man. You’re better than that.” His words were low, heavy with something Ghost didn’t quite know how to handle. His mind screamed at him to pull away, to shut this down before things got too real, too messy. But his chest, his heart, was screaming a different story.

Soap shook his head, frustrated now, his voice raw with an emotion Ghost didn’t know he could carry. “I don’t care. I love you, Simon. I don’t want anyone else. Not like this. Not after everything we’ve been through.” His words were almost desperate, a plea that hit Ghost square in the chest, and it was the desperation that did it. It unraveled him.

Ghost’s hands twitched, almost of their own accord, before he reached for Soap, pulling him in. “Johnny…” His breath was shaky, his grip tight—more than tight, it felt like he was holding on for dear life. He shook his head in disbelief, eyes flickering with something torn between uncertainty and raw need. “I love you too, dammit.”

The words came out rough, and jagged, but they were true. They had to be. Holding him now, with Soap so close, so real, felt like the only thing that made sense in the chaos of their world. There were no clear answers, no neat little boxes to put this in. But this—this—felt natural, like breathing, like everything they’d fought for, bled for, led them to this.

Suddenly, the importance of his balaclava began to diminish, as the heat from each labored breath intensified against his skin. The suffocating fabric clung to his face, trapping warmth and making it increasingly difficult to breathe comfortably.

After a few gasping moments, he decided he could no longer bear it; he yanked the balaclava off, letting the cool air rush over his flushed complexion. As he caught his breath, he realized the extent of his scars—each one telling a story of its own, mapping a journey filled with trials and tribulations.

Pretty much every possible place a scar could exist on his body seemed to be marked, a testament to battles fought and survived. His hair was a shade of blond, fluffy from the balaclava covering it, mimicking Soap’s haircut somewhat.

Ghost’s nose brushed up to Soap’s, a soft gulp audible as his honey brown met Soap’s deep pretty blue, his lashes fluttering up to his. It made him damn near die of a stroke right then and there. His lips lingered open, scared to just kiss him outright but his teeth gritted, a low “fuck it,” leaving him as his calloused hands grabbed the backside of Soap’s head.

He pulled him in closer, the tender texture making contact with one another as their eyelids shut, trusting one another. Ghost locked his lips to Soap’s, hungrily tasting him like it would be his last time, it was greedy, sloppy. His hands moved closer together, combing through Soap’s Mohawk which earned a gentle moan from the Scot.

Soap’s own hands tugged at Ghost’s jacket, a quiet teasing chuckle parting their kiss as he did so. Not last very long because Soap shut him up by gliding his tongue through to Ghosts, crisscrossing and tangling with Ghosts in a fervor.

Ghost ripped apart the kiss, panting as a saliva trail dripped along Soap’s chin, one of his thumbs running across his face to wipe it away, “Didn’t know you had that in you,” he mumbled.

Soap frowned, his hands tugging once more at Ghost’s jacket, “Take it off,” he pleaded, sounding more whiny than he meant. It was the heat of the moment, and Ghost couldn’t put him at fault.

“Shit, alright..” Ghost hissed, giving himself some space as he unzipped the jacket and tossed it to the floor. A plain grey shirt tucked along his belt and pants, but from Soap’s look alone he threw that off too.

The uneven scars of different types that crossed over muscles and veins earned heavy gazing, “You have a lot..” Soap pointed out, and Ghost narrowed his eyes. Ready to put his clothes back on until Soap’s fingertips grazed over a few, “They look badass on you.”

Realization dawned on him, and the invisible scowl that had etched itself on his face faded away. “Is that a compliment?” Ghost asked his tone a mix of curiosity and caution. He tightened his grip around Soap's wrists, effectively halting his forward motion. The grip was firm yet not aggressive, Ghost’s eyes searched Soap's for clarity, wanting to decipher the meaning behind his words.

Soap's head bobbed rapidly in agreement, his eyes wide with enthusiasm. "Of course, Simon," he replied, his voice filled with enthusiasm and certainty.

Ghost hummed softly to himself, a low sound that filled the quiet room as he released his grip on Soap’s wrists. With a casual grace, he glided over to one of the wooden cabinets lining the wall.

He had planned to ask where he kept his hidden stash of cigarettes, but before he could utter a word, Soap broke the silence, clear and direct. “Top far corner of the third shelf.” With a faint smirk, Ghost nodded, grateful for the quick response, and turned his focus to the shelf that held the promise of smoke and solace.

“You know me too well, Johnny,” Ghost stated with a lopsided smile, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes. He reached into one of the worn cardboard boxes stacked beside him, rummaging through the assortment of items until his fingers brushed against the familiar crinkle of a cigarette pack. Extracting a single cigarette, he brought it to his lips, the paper crinkling softly.

Soap, always quick to lend a hand, fished a small, well-used lighter from his pocket and flicked it open. The soft click of the lid echoed in the momentary silence. Ghost leaned in, the flame dancing just inches away, catching the edge of the cigarette and igniting it with a satisfying sizzle. As he took a slow drag, the smoke curled around him, “‘Want to be good for you, L.T.”

Ghost held the cigarette delicately between his pointer and middle finger, the ember glowing softly in the dim light. As he took a drag, a sudden thought flashed through his mind, compelling him to act. He turned to Johnny with an intense gaze, his voice low but commanding. "On your knees, Johnny. Now."

The unexpected demand sent a jolt through Soap, who instinctively tightened his jaw, a mixture of surprise and defiance flaring in his chest. Yet, despite the rush of emotions swirling within him, he found himself obeying, slowly sinking to his knees. The tension in the air thickened as Ghost watched him with unwavering focus, the smoke curling around them like a ghostly embrace.

“‘You said you wanted to be good for me, so prove it,” Ghost hummed. He took a long drag from his cigarette before he ground the still-lit ember against the cool, worn surface of the countertop closest to him. With a deliberate motion, he turned his full gaze towards Soap, his eyes glinting with amusement.

And Soap did the unthinkable. He slowly unclasped Ghost’s belt, pulling it out of the loops and tossing it to the side. He unzipped and unbuttoned the rest, his hands yanking down Ghost’s pants and boxers. Soap’s jaw fell, drool leaving his lips as he took in the sight of Ghost’s dick.

It was veiny, cut, a decent length that he could probably handle, and had some girth to it. That part had him slightly worried, but he could only imagine the reward for his service.

He moved closer on his knees, his lips coming into contact with the premature leaky tip, and Ghost grunted at the image he was given. One of his hands came to the nape of Soap’s neck, the other cupping his balls, “Careful. Careful, Johnny. Don’t go too fast so soon.”

Soap listened, and once he had his lips around Ghost he went at a slow pace. His tongue lapped over the curvature of his tip, prodding along the side and gently sucking with his lips. The parts that he couldn’t reach quite yet with his mouth were gently grasped by his hands, placing soft pressure as he rubbed the sensitive skin up and down, enough friction to create a sheen of lather.

Soap batted his pretty blue eyes up to him, his tongue gliding in a teasing motion, popping the head of Ghost’s dick in and out. The teasing became too hard for Ghost to resist, he wanted more, the sin of greed returning as he used his hand to force Soap’s head further. A short amount of choking and gagging sounds escaped him, peeking back up to Ghost once more.

“Mean of me, I know. But you can take it. Just let me in,” Ghost sighed, cooing smooth comments to the Scot who felt butterflies flying up his stomach and core.

And with every inch swallowed was a gentle thrust of his hips, getting Soap nice and slowly prepared for more with each second. Soap’s hands trembled along the base, and that sudden teary-eyed look made his dick throb, he knew it was a nasty thing to get off on, but it couldn’t be helped.

Soap stroked his dick and bobbed his head at a more moderate pace, that rapid warmth of an orgasm shooting through him as white strings spurted out and into Soap’s mouth, “Fuck, fuck… take it Johnny,” Ghost exasperated, rocking his hips with more meaningful thrusts. Coming down from a high that came so easily when Soap started picking it up.

Soap’s mouth didn’t leave until he collected every last drop, milking it out of Ghost and swallowing it down. He opened up his jaw to show what a good job he did, and Ghost pressed a kiss to his forehead, “Good boy, such a good boy.”

The outline of Soap’s ears flushed a deep shade of crimson, evidence of his dirty thoughts. Ghost approached, extending a hand to help Soap rise from the ground. Once Soap was on his feet, Ghost gently cupped his cheeks in his strong hands, tilting Soap’s face upward to meet his steady gaze. “Now, I’ll take care of you, yeah?” he questioned, his voice low and reassuring, ensuring that Soap felt the warmth of his sincerity and support.

Soap nodded eagerly, “Aye, please do,” a look of gratitude in his eyes as he felt Simon's comforting touch. The gentle pressure of Simon's hand against his back was a welcome relief, slowly easing the remnants of the choking and gagging fit that had overwhelmed him moments before. As Simon rubbed soothing circles, Soap could sense the prickling tears that had threatened to spill over in his moment of distress.

As they entered the bedroom, Ghost gestured for Soap to settle onto the bed, the quilted comforter inviting against the backdrop of the evening’s dim light.

Soap plopped down, his clothing quickly shedding to form a haphazard pile beside him. Each piece seemed to carry the remnants of the day, crumpled and slightly worn, with the fabric softly rustling as they fell.

Ghost couldn’t help but admire Soap’s unruly Mohawk, which stood defiantly in all directions as if it had its own life. Despite—or perhaps because of—the chaos, there was something undeniably appealing about it. The way it reflected Soap's carefree spirit brought a playful smile to Ghost's lips.

Ghost slowly crawled up to Soap, situating himself in between his legs as he looks at the way Soap’s dick was dribbling milky ropes already, “Hm, haven’t even actually touched you yet,” Ghost gave another tease, only to be met with a punch to his arm.

“Simon,” Soap tugged his lips into a frown, his pretty blue eyes widening in shock as watched Ghost lick and spit on his fingers thoroughly, strands of saliva dripping down his arm as his hand centered itself near Soap’s hole.

His fingertip circled along the opening, carefully slotting in a finger before adding another, “Yeah?” Ghost huffed, his eyes focused on the way Soap clenched from the burning sensation. He gently moved his fingers upright with flicks and circular movements, Soap beginning to slouch into the headboard.

“Don’t want your fingers, I want you,” Soap gritted, completely unconcerned about his disheveled appearance. With a desperate intensity, he reached out, grasping Ghost’s hand and forcefully pulling it away from the distance that separated them. His brow furrowed in frustration, a tight line etched across his forehead as he focused on closing that gap, craving the intimacy that had been just out of reach for far too long.

Ghost paused, but he didn’t argue, he gave himself a few good tugs and lined himself up with Soap’s ass, “Alright.. but don’t blame me, love.” And that burning sensation grew like a fire inside, Ghost’s hands pressed Soap’s hips, leaving crescent markings. Each press deeper had a moan from Soap, it hurt no doubt, but he settled quickly. The feeling of his plushy walls relaxing gave away that he was almost good to start moving.

Ghost peppered a few kisses of encouragement along his shoulders, feeling Soap’s legs tuck up and along his hips was a sign for him to continue. His hands moved up to his sides, he moved forward and had Soap folded into him, his stomach chub pancaking inwards.

Soap sighed and cooed softly, fully speared on Ghost’s dick, and with that as full encouragement Ghost softly and carefully tested the waters. Each click of his hips meeting Soap’s thighs didn’t fall deaf on his ears, he kept him still, and the way his balls slapped against Soap’s ass just right almost made him cum alone.

Ghost maneuvered himself to where his dick could perch upright inside of Soap, and hit all those gooey spots. The milky ring collected at the base of his cock as he gathered himself together and began pounding a bit further into Soap.

“Si’.. Si’” Soap pathetically moaned, his hands gripping the sheets of his bed, throwing his head back, and arching his back to the air. His hips moved around desperately, his blue irises lulling back from the pleasure his body was taking in.

Ghost groaned and grunted, his desires taking over entirely as his nails clawed into Soap’s sides, knuckles turning white. The bed creaked as he began fucking Soap stupid, his core tightening and heating up with the pace. It felt so good, Soap was pulsating at every curved motion, beaded sweat trailing along his forehead.

And Ghost kept stuffing his cock into Soap without giving him a break, it was just addicting, overstimulating in the best kind of ways. The mere sight alone had Ghost in shambles, “Fuckin’ hell,” he rasped, his voice lowering significantly from the overwhelming feelings alone.

He just couldn't stop sinking back to Soap, his cock twitching and his balls full, ready to release everything he had into him when the moment was right. The slick of his precum was hardly noticeable with the arousal fluids drenching his thighs and dick.

“Gonna cum, Si’..” Soap babbled out repeatedly, muffled cries leaving him, the air punched from his lungs as Ghost gave strong and firm final humps, grinding just right into his ass as the two released everything they had. Warmth filling Soap up in ways he couldn’t began to believe, and Ghost’s cum just kept pouring out.

It dripped out in a messy manner when he slowly slid out his cock, the milky strings all over the two and the bed, “Fuck, did so well for me, Johnny,” he praised with utter stardom. If his pupils weren’t originally hearts, fuck by god were they now.

Ghost could only laugh at the sight, he knew the mess he’d have to take care of tomorrow morning, but for now he’d cuddle with his newfound boyfriend.

If this wasn’t love, he didn’t know what was.

[iamthekaijuking]

A bit of a last minute entry for @simon-roy’s refugium contest. I was pretty on the fence on if I should join but I decided why not! And it was a good excuse to try some new brush techniques.

————-

An excerpt from the Altamira Book of Wildlife

An illustration of a male Towering Snappler, so named for the snapping sounds accompanying their feeding. Snapplers are aberrant grapplers that have taken up high browsing niches. The same raptorial appendages of the family are also useful for grabbing and manipulating the branches of foliage, and so they fill a similar niche to many earthen high browsers such as elephants, chalicotheres, therizinosaurs, and sauropods. Towering Snapplers themselves average around 35-40 tons, which is a similar size range to some iconic Jurassic sauropods such as Brontosaurus and Apatosaurus. Snapplers sometimes come into conflict with some Pentapods over resources as they too can sometimes fill similar niches, but these rarely become full confrontations as the photosynthesis and bio-voltaics of Pentapods allows them to go longer between meals.

The raptorial arms manipulate and crush foliage and bark using their claws and grinding teeth that are similar to elephant teeth. Food is then shoved down their powerful beaks to be further processed in a large crop before fermenting in their gut.

Towering Snapplers typically live in herds mostly composed of females and young with a few males, and they communicate using signaling via their tail brush. Males have bright blue dewlaps, and since blue is a very expensive color in nature, brighter blues are a good sign of fitness. During breeding season only one dominant male may get breeding rights, and so males compete with each other. They flash their dewlaps at each other and raise their tail brushes high, and if that doesn’t decide a victor then they may engage in a “parallel march” like deer to gauge the size of their opponent. If either party still doesn’t back down then the last step is physically fighting with their raptorial appendages. This last step rarely happens, but it can escalate to the point of being fatal. Old experienced males are adorned with scars from previous battles. The male illustrated here has only just reached sexual maturity and lacks any scars.

[lonelywretchjervistetch]

The State Birds Initiative: Georgia (#4)

Welcome to the fourth official poll of the State Birds Initiative! Before the poll, though, one thing real quick. My suggestion is that you read the post below before voting in the poll below. That's especially important if you're lacking any context about the birds being presented as the new (or old) State Bird of the Peach State, Georgia. This is to be fully informed as to why these are being presented, and to make your choices appropriately. Lastly, some of these birds, you will notice, may go against some of the rules listed in the introduction post. All is explained after the jump where the explanations are, I promise you that. But with that...OK! Here's the poll!

With that...time to put Georgia on our minds!

Georgia! State of peaches, Coca-Cola, pecans, and civil rights! Home of Ray Charles, Jimmy Carter, Jackie Robinson, and the great Martin Luther King, Jr.! Location of the only whale shark in captivity in the country, the historic Forsyth Park of Savannah, the majestic Stone Mountain, and the first Chick-fil-A! And for our purposes here in the State Bird Initiative, it's also the first state we're looking at with a tropical climate! Well, a humid subtropical climate, actually, but it counts! If you've ever been to Georgia (which I haven't as of yet, but I'm working on that), you probably know that Georgia is a bit sweaty and temperate most of the year, with long humid summers and high water levels.

In terms of the ecology of the state, we're looking at swamps, cedar-dominated, as well as having a decent proportion of pine trees. Actually, to be specific, we're looking at forests of Longleaf Pine (Pinus palustris), an large endangered pine tree species endemic to the southeastern United States. Now, to be clear, this species isn't specific to Georgia, and it's actually the state tree of Alabama. However, now that we've hit the southern USA, we have to address it, as the tree is a symbol of the region. The actual state tree of Georgia is another iconic tree to the southeastern USA, the Southern Live Oak (Quercus virginiana), another big tree evolved to be resistant to forest fires, saltwater, and hurricane-force winds common in the area. Famously, the Southern Live Oak trees of St. Simons Island, Georgia was harvested for the density of their wood, which made them particularly strong against cannonballs. Said wood was used to construct the famous U.S.S. Constitution, AKA "Old Ironsides", which was said to have cannonballs actually bounce off of it throughout the War of 1812. Said ship is still in Boston Harbor to this day, making the 227-year old ship the oldest still floating naval warship in the world! And that's all thanks to the natural environment of Georgia.

What about Georgia's culture? Historically, of course, Georgia is complicated as hell. A former seat of the Civil War and the Confederacy, the state has seen heavy reconstruction in the last century and a half, eventually becoming associated with many civil rights heroes, and currently having a few prominent bastions of the Democratic Party, such as Atlanta. On a contemporary level, the state is famous for its music, its accents, and its food! The state has at least four foods as state symbols - peaches, peanuts, grits, and the Vidalia onion, and has other iconic food and drink like sweet tea, cornbread, peach cobbler, and fried catfish.

As for its people, they're a highly religious bunch on average, known for their hospitality and, according to some accounts online, "polite sarcasm". Y'know, "bless your heart" and all that. Conservative historically with an increasing population of Black Democrats in metropolitan centers, it's a growing state in terms of diversity, and changing rapidly. So...a culturally diverse bird that lives in oak trees? Yeah, that's a target we're gonna hit for sure. I mean, the oak or pine tree part is pretty easy, but the other thing? Well..a songbird would make some sense. I mean, the state is famous for its musicians, ranging from OutKast to Gladys Knight to 2 Chainz to Luke Bryan, and more. So, something that sings is a solid choice. There are a couple of other qualities we can go for, but that's enough for now, I think.

With that, let's move onto the choices. Got some interesting ones this time, but I have...a hunch about this one. We'll see how this goes, but I have a feeling it's gonna go the way of New Jersey's poll, which has been...decisive. But OK, with that...birds after the jump!!!

Brown Thrasher (Toxostoma rufum)

Not gonna lie - this one could be hard to beat, surprisingly. Which is too bad for a number of reasons, but the Brown Thrasher (Toxostoma rufum) isn't really a horrible choice for Georgia's State Bird. It breeds in the state, even though it's found all over the eastern and central USA. It's an iconic bird in sight and sound, which is pretty important for a state that's produced a lot of human singers. I even mentioned up above that a songbird wouldn't be a bad choice, and what better songbird than one who can memorize, mimic, and remix multiple sounds for its own use? Plus, it was chosen by school kids, meaning it was elected by the public. Of course, to be fair, it was also chosen by governor at the time, Eugene Talmadge, a famous white supremacist who enforced segregation in Georgia schools and universities, openly supported Adolf Hitler, and was a genuinely extremely racist PIECE OF SHIT...but I digress? Although, it is extremely ironic that Talmadge ratified the Brown Thrasher as the State Bird of Georgia, so there's that.

OK, Talmadge doesn't really have anything to do with this, I just needed to get some anti-racist anger out for a second there, sorry; dude was a bastard in a lot of ways. But in terms of the Brown Thrasher, it's honestly not a bad choice for Georgia. Thing is...I'm not entirely sure I can say it's the best choice, or even a really good choice, frankly. It's...a choice. It does eat peaches, though, so maybe throw that into the pros pile for the species. Oh, and one more thing: it's defeated an attempt to depose it before. The frankly kinda ridiculous attempt to change the State Bird of Georgia to the Cornish Chicken in 2010 was not received well for the chicken. Georgians liked their Thrasher too much! Also, one of the arguments against the Brown Thrasher that the Flip the Bird movement put forth was that it "has no contribution to the state of Georgia economy". Of all the stupid goddamn arguments...

Northern Bobwhite (Colnius virginianus)

Well, if we're talking about the incumbent State Bird, we should bring up the incumbent State Game Bird as well! Yeah, this'll be a regular thing going forward. Any ornithological state symbols are up for bid and re-election, although this is a slightly different process. If a State Game Bird is elected as State Bird, it will ascend to that post, and a new State Game Bird will be proposed, possibly with a new poll. However, if it is not the chosen State Bird, it'll remain as the State Game Bird. So, really, the Northern Bobwhite gets to stay where it is...for now. This may change as we get overlapping game birds across the USA. And we will, believe me. With that said, let's talk about the Northern Bobwhite (Colinus virginianus).

A member of the New World quails (Odontophoridae) the bobwhite is named after its iconic whistling call, and not a random dude named Robert White. The Northern Bobwhite isn't the only species of bobwhite quail by any means, but it's the only major native representative in the USA. It's a grassland and open forest-loving quail whose range extends from Texas to Massachusetts...kind of. Here's the problem with the bobwhite: its population is rapidly decreasing. In the past 60 years or so, the population's decreased by at least 85% in its native range, which is...A LOT. It's partially for that reason that the species is on my priorities for my Life List, because I've never seen them, and they're rapidly vanishing.

That, alongside the normal ecological concerns and links, and its relatively new status as a threatened species due to land use and forest fires, makes it a good candidate for recognition on its own. But is it a good bird for Georgia? Well, only 4% of its breeding population is found in the state year-round, making the state a poor reservoir for the species. There's also a point that the bobwhite is, surprisingly, an invasive species in some countries, specifically New Zealand and Italy. They're also a common bird in captivity, even though any aviary should have them be the only ground-dwelling bird, since they can be aggressive to competitors. That said, they're not a completely doomed species.

More importantly, though, the fact that Georgia doesn't have a lot of these guys immediately makes them a less-than-ideal candidate for State Bird. State Game Bird, though? That might actually be worse. Remember, this is an endangered species, meaning it may not be a bird we should glorify as a food source. In fact, the Georgia Department of Natural Resources has conservation measures in place to protect bobwhite and their habitat, also seeking to restore it and add new potential habitats for the species. And they aren't eliminating hunting of the species, but are strictly managing and monitoring populations. And there is merit to managed hunting, for the record, but that's a separate conversation to be had. So, not a horrible choice to remain as Game Bird. But who knows? Maybe I'll make a separate poll to ask this question after all. If that's something that interests you, let me know! For now, let's move on.

Bachman's Sparrow (Peuacea aestivalis)

On to the eBird suggestion! And this one is...ooooooooh...yikes. OK, yeah, you may remember my issue with the Saltmarsh Sparrow (Ammospiza caudacutus) as a potential State Bird for New Jersey, mostly revolving around the idea that it wouldn't be easily recognizable by the public, unaffiliated with sparrows and their subtle or major differences. This? This is worse. Once again, don't get me wrong, Bachman's Sparrow (Peuacea aestivalis) would be a dream for me as a birder, as a southern exclusive species and a lifer for me personally. But for the average layman? This is a bird difficult to identify for birders! Not sure the average non-bird person has a chance, to be honest.

But just to be completely comprehensive, why the Bachman's Sparrow? Well, the eBird article quotes the species as having a large breeding population in Georgia. However, to be completely fair, the species mostly breeds in Florida, not Georgia (48% vs. 30%, by recent calculations). That said, the number of Bachman's Sparrows breeding in Georgia isn't a number to sneeze at. As for its ecology, it specializes in pine forests, including those composed of longleaf and loblolly pine, which have Georgia as a major habitat. Oh, and on a historical note (not that this matters too much), John Bachman was an opponent of segregation and racist eugenics beliefs, so a lot better than other historical figures with birds named after them. Granted, that bar is buried seven feet beneath the Earth, but still, it's cleared in this case. So, not the worst set of reasons for Bachman's Sparrow to make the cut.

Savannah Sparrow (Passerculus sandwichensis) Swamp Sparrow (Melospiza georgiana)

Whoa whoa whoa, hold on, hold on. Two more sparrows? What is this, karma? Well, yeah, maybe. Of course, these two are chosen based on their names, as both specimens used in the descriptions for the species were collected in Georgia. But does this truly matter in this case? Neither the Savannah Sparrow (Passerculus sandwichensis), nor the Swamp Sparrow (Melospiza georgiana), breed in Georgia, although both are still found in the state. If I had to argue one over the other personally, it'd be the Swamp Sparrow, both to represent a dominant habitat in the state, and because they're possibly more recognizable...even though they're pretty close to the Song Sparrow (Melospiza melodia) to the untrained eye, I suppose.

Brown-headed Nuthatch (Silla pusilla)

See, here's the real question about the eBird choices. Why choose the Bachman's Sparrow, when the adorably charismatic Brown-headed Nuthatch (Silla pusilla) was right there? The largest breeding population of this bird's global range is in Georgia, with a full 26% of the species depending on Georgia for its propagation. Yeah. This is definitely a Georgia breeder, but since the Bachman's Sparrow is a bit more endangered, has different living conditions, and is a bit more dependent on its Georgia population than the nuthatch here, that's likely why it was given the crown.

And yet...AND YET...in my opinion, this is the better state-dependent representative for Georgia. Sure, less of its breeding population is found in Georgia, but one-quarter of its global population isn't exactly something to sneeze at. And, importantly, this is where the majority of its population is housed, making Georgia more important for the Brown-headed Nuthatch than it is for the Bachman's Sparrow. But is it a better representative outside of that point? Well, it's recognizable, it's not terribly difficult to find, and it's certainly charismatic. I mean, look at that thing, it's cute as hell! Not that the sparrows aren't cute in their way, but the nuthatch? I wanna squeeze that thing, and apparently, they actually sound like rubber duckies. And no, charisma doesn't always mater, and it can be damaging for noncharismatic species conservation. But it can help.

Anything else? Well, using the same logic I have with other birds, it's an important representative of its habitat. The pine forests of the Southeastern USA are, unsurprisingly, in trouble. In fact, longleaf pine forests are kind of a massive deal from a conservation standpoint, and they're in a massive amount of trouble due to development and climate change. Some figures calculate a 95% loss of these forests by 2080, which is...bad, it's real bad, obviously. That kind of potential danger to their habitat, combined with their role within it, makes the nuthatch a good option. And apparently, Birds Georgia agrees with me.

Birds Georgia, for the record, is formerly known as the Georgia chapter of the National Audubon Society. And, while they still have affiliation to the organization, they've separated themselves from the legacy of its namesake. Credit where credit's due! Anyway, why bring them up? Birds Georgia has a number of species they highlight for conservation focus, with the Brown-headed Nuthatch being a major example. Their nestbox program focuses on building more nestboxes for a declining species across the state, and it's very much worked! 450 nest boxes have been installed across the state since 2015, and hopefully that doesn't stop! So, cute potential representative! But that's not the only conservation focus from Birds Georgia.

Chimney Swift (Chaetura pelagica)

From 2019 to 2020, Birds Georgia named the Chimney Swift their Conservation Focus for the year, and began an initiative to have nestboxes put out for the species across the state. Multiple towers were erected throughout the state by multiple conservation initiatives working with Birds Georgia, giving the birds more habitats outside of direct human settlements to breed and thrive in. But, why the Chimney Swift? They're sort of all over the place.

If you're from the eastern USA and walked outside in the morning or late afternoon, you've probably heard random chittering high above you, especially if you're in a city or town with chimneys on their buildings. If you look up, you've probably seen silhouettes of these guys flying at high speeds in the sky, mouths open to gather flying insects in the dawn and dusk. These are common birds all over the eastern US, as well as recognizable and easy to find and hear. So, why suggest them for Georgia? Because Georgia is tied with three other states for having the largest proportion of the breeding population for the species, at 6% of the species. Not a high number, but a significant proportion nonetheless. That makes it an intriguing choice for Georgia...and a few other places. So, this is probably not the last time we see this species on the polls.

Red-headed Woodpecker (Melanerpes erythrocephalus)

But hey, if we're going for birds elevated by Birds Georgia, then we should probably highlight their actual mascot: the Red-headed Woodpecker (Melanerpe erythrocephalus). We've already talked about the importance of woodpeckers as keystone species in forested environments, and the Red-headed Woodpecker is definitely an example of that ecological role. In truth, the Pielated Woodpecker (Dryocopus pileatus), which was up for the Pennsylvania poll, actually widens holes made by the Red-headed Woodpecker for its own nest-cavities, meaning a keystone depends on a keystone.

Now, in terms of Georgia's population, the breeding population in the state is definitely not the bulwark for the species (that trophy belongs to Kansas with 11%), but the live oak forests the state is seeking to protect definitely houses the species in significant numbers state-wide. The reason Birds Georgia uses it in their logo is because, in 2014, the species was considered high-risk and on the decline in its range. As of 2022, the species is also suffering its highest region-wide decline in Georgia, tied with a few other states on that front well. Combine these facts with an iconic appearance, and the Red-headed Woodpecker is also a decent choice for State Bird from a conservation standpoint.

OK...one more. And this one's...a stretch.

Red-Shouldered Hawk (Buteo lineatus)

OK, it's not actually a stretch; I just wanted to say that because it's a tall image, and I thought it'd be funny. So, OK! The Red-shouldered Hawk (Buteo lineatus). Now, this is yet another species you can find in various places in the eastern USA, but its second largest breeding population in the country can be found in the Peach State, which is beat out by Florida. Trust me, though, Florida is one of the big three states in the South in terms of breeding bird populations. I try to get a raptor for each state, you'll notice, but why this raptor for Georgia, outside of the breeding population thing?

Well, firstly, there's the association of the species with swamps and woodlands, both of which are prominent Georgia habitats. They've got an extremely varied diet, going for most small prey items in their ranges, even weird ones like roadkill deer, crayfish, and screech owls. And while they're most common in Georgia, they're also most certainly seen in Georgia fairly commonly, especially after their recovery from DDT. But even then...why? Why have a hawk for the state of Georgia at...OK, some of you probably figured it out, I might as well just say it now.

Yup, Georgia's basketball team is the Atlanta Hawks. And yes, OBviously I could've gone for the Atlanta Falcons, but falcons make far less sense to highlight for the state, ironically. There are only three commonly seen species in the state, and none of them have Georgia as a major highlight of their breeding ranges. So, with that in mind, the Hawks seem like the team to highlight, and the best hawk for the state of Georgia is the Red-shouldered Hawk. With that said, is this really the best choice for Georgia's state bird? I mean...that's up to Georgians (and Tumblrites) to decide in the end.

So! An odd post, this one was. Some interesting choices in the end, but is this the most solid roster? Not sure. I have my guess as to the winner for this one, and honestly...it's not a bad choice if I'm right. But with that, it's time to leave it to you - the people! And the next time we have one of these posts, we'll be heading to a region and a state near and dear to me, personally. Time for the Nutmeg State, and the first state with a frequent flyer for a state bird!

See you soon, and happy birding!

Introduction to the State Birds Initiative

1. Delaware - Poll | Results 2. Pennsylvania - Poll | Results 3. New Jersey - Poll | Results 4. Georgia - Poll | Results 5. Connecticut - Poll | Results 6. Massachusetts - Poll | Results

[justinssportscorner]

Matt Gertz at MMFA:

American women covered their country in Olympic glory in Paris on Thursday. Katie Ledecky broke the record for most swimming medals won by a woman when the U.S. team captured silver in the 4x200-meter freestyle, while Simone Biles won gold in her second women’s gymnastics all-around Olympics event and her teammate Suni Lee took the bronze.  But on this side of the Atlantic, the American right was apparently more interested in bemoaning the purported death of women’s sports than cheering on their compatriots. The leading lights of the right-wing media spent Thursday melting down over an Olympics welterweight boxing match between two women from Algeria and Italy as they sought to drum up a ragefest they could use to firm up Donald Trump’s wavering election prospects against Vice President Kamala Harris.

Imane Khelif of Algeria won her Olympics boxing match against Italy’s Angela Carini when Carini forfeited after taking several blows to the face in the fight’s opening seconds (in boxing, for those unfamiliar with the sport, competitors try to hit each other in the head as hard as they can and can win by rendering their opponent unconscious). The U.S. right quickly seized on the match and plugged it into their obsessive anti-trans hysteria, falsely declaring Khelif a man who had beaten up a woman. 

If you want to know more about Khelif — a veteran of international women’s boxing competition who was eliminated in the quarterfinal round of the 2020 Tokyo Olympics and whose passport, from a country where you cannot legally change your gender, identifies her as female — read Paolo Armelli’s story on the controversy for Wired. If you are interested in the history of sports competitions grappling with complex questions about the gender and sex of athletes, my former colleague Parker Molloy wrote nuanced pieces on the subject for Vice News, CJR, and at her Substack. 

What was quite clear on Thursday, however, is that the weirdo right, obsessed with conducting bizarre “transvestigations,” doesn’t care about any of this. They simply want to misgender Khelif, invoke the rage associated with domestic violence by claiming she is a man punching a woman, and channel the resulting outrage and anti-trans hate into their own political gain.

A MAGA media frenzy quickly ensued on X after the match, with Riley Gaines, the right-wing activist who built her career complaining about trans women competing in sports, at the heart of the outburst.  [...]

This sustained freakout is a perfect example of how the right-wing media has become pickled in its own outrage. They simply cannot let themselves — or anyone else — enjoy good things that normal Americans enjoy, like the dominance of U.S. women at the Olympics. Instead, they build their audiences and make their money by constantly trying to find something they can get mad about. Being a right-winger in good standing in recent years has required working oneself into a culture war frenzy over the NFL, Budweiser beer, Disney movies, Beyoncé, and Taylor Swift, among other all-American icons.  [...]

“This is where Kamala Harris's ideas about gender lead: to a grown man pummeling a woman in a boxing match,” vice presidential nominee JD Vance posted to X on Thursday. “This is disgusting, and all of our leaders should condemn it.” His running mate — who a jury found liable for sexual abuse, and who was introduced at the Republican National Convention last month by a man who had been captured on video hitting his wife in the face — chimed in. “I WILL KEEP MEN OUT OF WOMEN’S SPORTS!” Trump posted to Truth Social.

Other Republican politicians, including Texas Gov. Greg Abbott; Reps. Lauren Boebert of Colorado, Anthony D’Esposito of New York, Greg Steube of Florida, and Mike Collins of Georgia; North Carolina gubernatorial nominee Mark Robinson and Senate nominees Hung Cao of Virginia and Kari Lake of Arizona also contributed to the sick debate.  Normal people are too busy cheering for American champions like Ledecky and Biles to spend their time doing chalkboard scrawls explaining how Kamala Harris should be blamed for who Algeria sends to the Olympics. But with Trump’s polling lead slipping away and his campaign apparently trying to reignite by focusing on what appeals to the party’s weirdo wing, we can expect much more of this in the months to come.

The right-wing Weirdo Caucus were big mad over two cisgender women boxers to push an anti-trans narrative, and as usual, the likes of anti-trans extremists such as J.K. Rowling, Riley Gaines, Charlie Kirk, and Clay Travis led the charge of faux outrage against Imane Khelif and Lin Yu-Ting’s participation in women’s boxing under the guise of “defending women’s sports.”

See Also:

Awful Announcing: Predictably, the Olympics are bringing out the worst in us

The Advocate: Attacks on Imane Khelif prove what we've long known: Transphobia hurts cis women, too

Out: The transphobia Imane Khelif is experiencing isn't new—it's part of a disturbing, hateful pattern

[kiki-de-la-petite-flaque]

Simone Simons, vocalist of Epica, and Cristina Scabbia, voice of Lacuna Coil, represent two of the most iconic and powerful figures of the symphonic and gothic metal scene. Both coming from bands that have left a profound mark on the international scene, the two singers not only stand out for their vocal talent, but also for their charismatic presence on stage. Simone Simons, with her lyrical and ethereal voice, helped shape Epica's unique sound, combining elements of classical, death metal and progressive music. His vocal style, which ranges from angelic to more dramatic tones, gave rise to intense and evocative performances, highlighting the complexity of the band's compositions. Simone is also known for her elegant and sophisticated style, which reflects her musical training and artistic influence. Cristina Scabbia, on the other hand, is the undisputed queen of gothic metal, famous for her deep, warm and versatile voice, capable of moving from the sweetest and most melancholy tones to the most aggressive and intense ones. Lacuna Coil, the band he co-founded, has masterfully mixed elements of gothic, alternative and nu-metal, creating a powerful sound accessible to a wide audience. Cristina's charisma on stage, combined with her unmistakable stage presence, has won fans all over the world, making her one of the most respected frontwomen in the world of metal. Both singers are admired not only for their vocal skills, but also for their ability to inspire a new generation of musicians and break down barriers in the world of metal, often dominated by male figures.