Evidence that Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish is not what he seems-Lt. SR:

Soap smells like rain, it took a while to put it together because it's not Soap himself that emits the odor, it just follows him. It's less potent inside and when it's sunny outdoors but if you concentrate it's always there.

He has never been observed touching a gun or grenades without gloves. Almost every other explosive he handles with no regard for his own safety gloves.

HE EATS WEIRD SHIT. While he doesn't eat much of the food on offer from the cafe, he does eat consistently when outdoors, usually plants or flowers. Things he has eaten: dandelions(edible), garlic(edible), thistle(edible but he ate it with the thorns), foxglove(toxic, showed no adverse reaction), Several unidentified flowers and berries, grass(technically edible?) Etc.

Will sometimes refuse to enter a place before abruptly going in. The data is not consistent between different buildings or locations. Further research is required.

Sharp teeth.

Groups things in nonsensical ways. He will only fill a magazine with bullets that total a multiple of 7 or 3. The same for what weights he uses in the gym. When drawing or eating he sorts by 4s. He traded his room to get #13 (right next door, coincidence?).

Cameras will not focus on him, whether photo or video he is never in focus regardless of distance or conditions.

He has never once been in medical for more than half an hour, usually much less. Even though his hands have light burns on them almost constantly.

Dogs hate him. He seems ambivalent towards them and he's never been bit that Ive seen. Cats adore him as do birds.

John MacTavish does not blush. Not for lack of trying even when genuinely flustered or hot, his skin does not flush.

Ghost sets down the small notebook with a minute sound of frustration. The evidence is all there but looking at it, what does it really say? Other than that he's an obsessive creep. A series of quirks and coincidences compiled by a paranoid son of a bitch into a fucking stalker journal. But still, Simon can't help but feel like he's right and he'd be dead a million times over if he simply disregarded his intuition. Even if it is something batshit insane.

At this point however it seems that it'll drive him mad far before it yields any answers. After scouring what little resources were comprehensible on the internet he'd started growing out his hair, intent on tying it in knots to prevent charms. Leaving him with a problem he'd not encountered since he'd first donned the mask: unruly curls and balaclavas don't mix well at all. He'd also kept a piece of stale bread in his pocket for days as he'd read it was a repellent to- and he can't even believe he's considering it-fairies. It backfired, if anything Johnny had been more attached to him and even more touchy than usual. He'd left a small deli cup full of coffee creamer outside his door overnight and found it neatly placed upside down where he'd left it with not a drop left. Ghost chalked that up to some wise guy playing a joke or an exceptionally dextrous cat and firmly shut the door on any other possibilities in his mind. His next test had been a gift of clothing mixed with complements, he'd read that both were likely to drive away any Other. It hadn't been a very extravagant gift, a new pair of gloves and a gruff "well done Johnny" but at the time it had seemed to be the final nail in the coffin as Soap had gone white as a sheet(he can do that but he can't blush???) and scurried off. A quiet dread had filled his stomach the whole day until Soap turned up at dinner, a little quieter than usual but wearing his new gloves and eating more than usual(a scoop and a half of mashed potatoes with 4 packets of butter and 2 packets of sour cream as well as a cookie. The main course of spaghetti and meatballs went untouched though Gaz snapped it up before it could truly go to waste). Though when Ghost returned to his room late that night after trudging through hours of paperwork he found a pile of tiny, aromatic, pink flowers on the floor in front of his door and on top of them a shiny metal comb. Simon's tired brain hardly stopped to think of any of the dire warnings he'd found on forum posts and folklore sites alike, crouching and tenderly retrieving the piece from its bed of flora, careful not to crush any of the tiny blooms. Well... With all the knots in his hair-purposeful and otherwise-he's going to need a sturdy comb anyway.

More possessed doll au!

Each time a bat is ready to take on a new form, they must pay a visit to the tea party. Should they be accepted, through whatever strange reasons the dolls use, they will find another figure seated at the table, dressed in full tea party doll regalia. It is up to them to modify the doll within the limits imposed, and learn its form to achieve its full potential. The Robin doll, so far, is the only one to return to the table despite being moved to a display case, and truly makes the mysterious sidekick timeless.

Despite its obviously supernatural origins, the bats have found very, very little can effect the dolls outside of physical force. They do not use wires and electricity to move or think - they cannot be hacked. They are not, to their knowledge, superseding other minds - they cannot be exorcised. They use no magics to fight crime - they cannot be traced. They have no blood to be identified, no teeth pattern to compare, no fingerprints or retina to give them away. Gas cannot affect them, hypnosis requires a brain, pain cannot override them. For all intents and purposes, the dolls are perfect for fighting crime.

So where, Bruce thinks, lying awake in bed one night after patrol, do they come from? Alfred knows nothing, neither of them found anything in the archives or library. His father grew up on the estate - surely he'd explored the caves himself at some point? The doll had been right at the well entrance - had he simply never entered that way?

After the first time meeting their doll, they do not need to touch it to transfer their consciousness again. It's a breeze through an open window, ever so slight, in the back of their minds, and one simple twist can send them spiralling into their other body.

But when Robin became Nightwing, and the child sized body was retired, it was placed in a sturdy glass display case. Jason was already making noises about joining them on the streets, but a transition had never been attempted. They assumed a third doll would become the new Robin, and the first would simply become inert.

That was not the case.

When Jason - against Bruce's decision to wait a few more months - decided to make the walk to the doll house, and deeper still to the tea party cave, he found, waiting, an untouched child sized doll. The light from his torch cast across its Victorian style waistcoat, the plumped breeches and buckled leather booties, all in the bright and bold colours of his predecessor. It sat at the right hand of the empty throne, porcelain tea cup in hand, as though left by a rich little girl called away just a moment ago to supper.

The doll had been sorted in a locked case. Glass. In full view of the main area of the batcave. With cameras. It should not have been able to be taken away without several people noticing. He had taken a different route to try and sneak past Bruce, but...

It was not the first time a doll had moved. It would not be the last.

@puppetmaster13u

@dehydratedmockingbird

🌟 first star pete 🌟

q20 going great i see 🤪🤪🤪

Same energies

@taylorswift @taylornation

Roddacember Day 9: Symbols and Signs. Or, my thoughts and headcanons on piercings in different Deltoran cultures:

del: it's very common to see people with pierced ears or noses, given that del is a diverse city full of sailors and trade and people from all over. but while nearly every career sailor from anywhere in the world has some kind of piercing, the popularity of piercings in del cannot be chalked up simply to the impact of sailors and trade. many del tribesmembers wear ear piercings proudly because adin himself had his ears pierced during his time with the mere, and earlobe piercings came to be seen as a celebration of del pride and deltoran unification. it later became part of the Rule that the monarch and their immediate family also have one set of earlobe piercings to emulate the first king.

ralads: while it is not unheard of for ralads to wear ear or nose piercings, it is far more common for their clothes to be pierced. sashes, purses, capes, pockets, shirts and tunics will often be pierced with decorative hoops and jeweled studs to accent their embroidery and show off the riches or skill of the wearer.

broome: citizens of broome never wore jewelry during dragon times, especially not women, but as dragon populations waned, non-metallic jewelry (made from bone, shell, wood, etc) became more fashionable. after the total disappearance of the dragons, piercings and jewelry made of gold and other precious metals exploded in popularity and you’d be hard-pressed to find any broome resident without at least one piercing.

opal territory: ear piercings may have been somewhat common centuries ago, but fell entirely out of fashion after the hira rat plague began. because of sanitary taboos, hirans (and noradz residents) never wear piercings. among opal residents outside of hira and noradz, especially those in the more rural areas near the lapis border, occasional ear or nose piercings may be seen due to cultural exchange with the mere, but they hold no significant meaning to those of the opal tribe.

the mere: in the mere if you don't have piercings you're literally cursed lmaooooo. everyone has some combination of ear, nose, or facial piercings, and non-standard piercings like tongue, belly button, and nipple piercings are extremely common as well. piercings may be worn simply for aesthetic reasons, but it is far more common for each piercing and piece of jewelry to have a deep symbolic meaning to it’s wearer. as with mere charm culture, there is a deep history of fortunetelling and superstition within mere piercing culture. many mere will consult a piercing expert or soothsayer to determine what piercing placement, metal, and charm combination will bring them the best fortune. after the unification of the tribes, it became popular for many mere to wear an array of 7 piercings on one (or both) of their ears.

dread gnomes: dread gnomes may sometimes wear piercings, but they do not deal in metallurgy and do not wear piercings for fashion. spikes of wood or bone in the ears or nose are worn to as markers of membership to certain clans or families.

torans: torans do not wear piercings.

jalis: while tattoos are standard jalis practice, piercings among the jalis are uncommon because they are such easy targets to tear out in a brawl. however, it is extremely common for the very old who have grown past their fighting years to wear ear piercings as a rite of passage into elderhood. if you do happen to see a young jalis with piercings, they are either someone very foolhardy and stupid, or perhaps a tenna birdsong storyteller who is not likely to see combat.

most underrated character development arc is higgins going from not believing in jinxes to refusing to move so he doesn’t jinx the team

Transcribing the AI MASH scene

Hawkeye: Where are they? My shorts!

BJ: Your what?

Hawkeye: My shorts! The ones I wear every time I have important surgery- I, I know you took them!

BJ: I wouldn’t be caught dead in your underwear.

Hawkeye: They’re not just underwear, they’re comfortable and I like wearing them, and they’re missing!

BJ: Ooohhhh you mean your lucky shorts.

Hawkeye: They’re not lucky, I don’t believe in that nonsense!

BJ: Mhm, like the time you insisted on wearing a pair of socks for a week because you won a game of poker in them?

Hawkeye: I am not superstitious, those are just my normal, everyday shorts!

BJ: Riiight! just like the time you made everyone walk backward around the OR to ward off bad luck.

Hawkeye. that was a joke! I can’t believe you’re taking that seriously, I am not superstitious. and those are just my normal, everyday shorts. I wear them because they inspire me, and they remind me of my grandmother!

BJ [laughing]: Your grandmother wore your lucky shorts?

Hawkeye: They remind me of my grandmother because she used to call them her little secret weapon... I’m still not sure what that means. BJ! Stealing someone’s underwear is a serious offense, under the uniform code of military justice!

BJ: Oh, reaaally. The uniform code of military justice protects the possession of underwear?

Hawkeye: Yes, and for good reason! Private property is a fundamental right in our democracy, and that includes undergarments!

BJ: I had no idea it was so important for our nations defence.

Hawkeye: it’s not just about defence! It’s about dignity and the right to personal property! If we don’t respect the sanctity of undergarments, what do we have left?!

BJ: I respect that Hawkeye. And I promise I won’t go digging in anybody’s underwear drawer... without a warrant.

-

[deleted scenes: they remind me of my grandmother, because she once bet on a horse that turned out to be a cow, and still managed to make a profit

they remind me of my grandmother, because she once bet on a horse wearing nothing but a pair of men’s briefs]

but he's not superstitious

Thinking about Rana introducing Groda to other people bc she has to be forced to socialize eventually. And like, Groda meeting Sunny eventually and immediately clocking that he's missing an arm and trying to subtly tug on Rana's shirt almost instantly while being very clearly panicked but still trying to hide it. And Rana eventually pulls her aside like "What?? what is it?" "You didn't tell me he was missing an arm!!" "...Why would that matter?" <- understandably getting the wrong impression from this "Because I've seen it before." "Oh."

And that was the day that Rana learned Sunny's arm was ripped off by Groda's Warden at the worst possible timing.

Fae!Soap Superstitious Bastard! Ghost: Gifts

(Just a heads up this got way more intense than I meant it to but that’s kind of the Fae for you.)

TW: mentions of torture, human remains

Soap is a collector, though not of any one thing that Ghost can discern. He’s seen the man pick up anything from an abandoned rolex to a nondescript piece of broken glass. It doesn’t seem to be about size, it’s not shape and definitely not value; Ghost had thought he’d pinned it down as things that caught the light a certain way but was swiftly proven wrong when Soap went on a spree of collecting pebbles and sticks. He’d glared sullenly at the first jagged gray rock when Soap had picked it up before swiftly changing the subject when he was noticed. There was no apparent rhyme or reason to any of it… well not quite. There was one singular pattern that stood out in his mind, a single thread that held firm no matter how much he rearranged or plucked at it.

 Anything that Ghost gave him, Johnny kept. 

The first had been a bit of pretty blue ribbon that was a close enough approximation to Soap’s eyes. It’d snagged on a bramble bordering the clearing where Ghost had set up for overwatch. Without even thinking he’d snagged it on his way to RV down the hill, offering it to Johnny in the armored car taking them back to base. Soap hadn’t said a thing. It was then that Ghost realized maybe giving your subordinate a piece of trash you’d found in a bush perhaps wasn’t the most well adjusted way to express affection. He’d been about to play it off with a quip, beginning to retract his fingers ever so slightly, when Johnny snatched it lightning quick from the palm of his hand, holding it close to his chest for a moment before stuffing it into his chest pocket next to his journal. Soap had given him a small strangled “Thank you” as they sat the rest of the ride in an awkward but warm silence. Johnny disappeared almost immediately after they got back to base but Ghost could see light in the space under his door so he wasn’t too worried that he’d done permanent damage to their relationship.

After that his eyes just seemed to catch on things that he assumed Johnny would like. He couldn’t help it. Little glass marbles, a river stone with an interesting marking, a large brown feather; Somehow it all made its way into the hands of his Sergeant. Usually with a gruff “Here”, barely waiting for Johnny to hold out his hands before he dropped his small offering into his gloved palms. Soap has also gotten over whatever his episode of silence had been, responding with a blinding smile and enthusiastic gratitude and a happy quip. (“Thanks Lt!” a piece of antler, Montana “Y’ shouldn’t have!” an old toy car, Finland “Find this on sale?” a scrap of pink fabric, Brazil “Ghost you’re spoiling me.” green river stone, India etc.(no he didn’t catalog all of them that would be creepy. He only wrote down his favorites.))

The next time Ghost thinks he’s permanently damaged their relationship and scared Soap off for good comes after an operation sweeping out an AQ base in Afghanistan. 

It’s stuffy and dark, the blistering heat of the day beginning to fade into the bitter chill of the night. The compound has long since been abandoned by all but the stubbornest of rats, slowly being reclaimed by the wild desert it carved its blackness into. They roll into the courtyard through the open front gate, the outer walls have seen multiple breacher charges and calling them walls at this point is more out of respect than any dedication to accuracy. The whole place has already been swept by drone and Laswell has had satellite eyes on it for months confirming just how fucking dead it is. They’re here for information, the drone identified documents left behind as well as at least two hard drives. 

The 141 has split off, each clearing their own section and radioing in at even intervals, they’ve learned the hard way that it’s better to be safe than sorry. Beyond extra caution, the whole place has an eerie, black aura that drags forth memories of scorpion stings and dull knives biting at his flesh. Assisting in his nightmarish stroll down memory lane, Ghost is assigned the lower levels of the compound. Each room is another scene from a past he tries to forget, filled with rusted over implements of pain and brown stains no one cared to clean. 

Something in the last room makes him pause. 

A small barred window allows light from a waning moon to pool into the room, catching on something on the table. Small, most no bigger than his fingernail, a collection of about five objects sits in a tray on the corner of the table. Brilliant white patches shine in stark opposition to the bed of rust brown they lay on. 

Teeth. Human teeth.

His mind is acting on autopilot when grabs them and stuffs them in a pocket, so similar but so different to his first experience with the ribbon months ago. He finishes his sweep of the room, conveying his findings back on comms (“Seems like we’re late for the party.” “If only you didn’t take so long to get ready.”-Soap “Shut the fuck up the both of you I just saw a rat the size of a terrier.”-Gaz “I’ve got the hard drives if any of you fuckers remember why we’re here.”-Price), and turns back to rendezvous, his mind now firmly on finding his comrades and getting the hell out.

As they start readying themselves to duck into the humvees they arrived in, Ghost’s muscle memory kicks in to complete his self assigned mission objective. He turns to where Soap stands almost expectantly at his side. It’s not every mission that he has something he’s decided is a worthy offering but it has become more often than not. Mind already halfway back to base, a gloved hand chases down each tooth where they’ve burrowed themselves in the pocket of his tac vest, collecting them and dropping them in Soap’s proffered hand with a grunt. His brain turns back on when the bloody bones hit his Sergeant’s glove, panicking because what the fuck did he just do? What kind of fucking sociopath gives his friend(more?) human fucking teeth as a souvenir. Much less human fucking teeth that were pulled forcibly out of some poor bastard’s skull during a bygone torture session. 

His hand is trembling. 

Ghost forces himself to look down and meet Soap’s assuredly outraged and disgusted gaze. 

Only he doesn’t.

Johnny is staring down at the teeth in his palm with a look of fucking reverence. His pupils are dilated beyond just the darkness surrounding them and Ghost’s detail oriented eyes catch the slight flare of his nostrils on every inhale. Soap slowly tilts his head up to meet Ghost’s eyes and a gasp lives and dies in his throat.

“Oh Simon, you treat me so well.” His voice is gravelly and thrumming with an emotion that Ghost doesn’t know the name of. But, god if this is the look he gets after bringing Johnny desiccated human remains?

He’ll rip the teeth out of some unworthy son of a bitch himself.

WHY ARE WE PULLING FROM THE DECK OF MANY THINGS PLS

i would like to say that modern day sam has a patrick bateman-esque daily routine and one small deviation from that routine can, will, and has, caused actual casualties

dropping something super late tonight 👀 once again sorry for the delay, my friends decided to show up at a ridiculous hour last night while I was editing to make bracelets for the eras movie lmao

happy friday the 13th 🧡

save me ovi goal.... ovi goal.... ovi goal save me....

i was poking around to see if i could find enough fancasts to do a graphic of Indigenous Stark fancasts and i found a great Sansa and Jon but struggled to find anyone else which is kinda funny to me lol. but look at them!!

his name is Asivak Koostachin and her name is Riit (or Rita Claire Mike-Murphy) and they're perfect!!