OH MY GOD WHY??

HUNTER WHYYY DIDNT YOU PLAY THE DAMN IDOL?

BOOM STAARSS EVERYWHERE!!

@goodomensonprime @neil-gaiman

gideon nav the butch you are <3

i know its a scientific fact, but this is absolutely criminal.

i should not be taking astronomy what am i doing

(book: Guideposts to the Stars by Leslie C Peltier)

Am I the only one who almost cried when we discovered that Rosemary designed the damn things?

Like imagine being the chief designer in your beloved husband's project because he loves the characters so much and then you die and you get stuffed inside your creation

i am of the firm belief that neither ghost or gaz cared very much for soap when he first joined the 141

gaz had never met him before, all he knew was the guy was just a little bit of a prick. he was incredibly talented, gaz would give him that, and he’d never been outwardly rude to anyone that gaz had heard of, but oftentimes his confidence bled into something just short of arrogance, soap always seemed to be the one ranting and raving about his achievements when everyone else spoke of their mistakes. in layman’s terms: he was full of himself in a way that would surely get him killed.

ghost; however, had met him before. they’d worked together some three times before price recruited soap. ghost knew of his skill, knew that sunny disposition got quieter at night when soap thought he was alone, knew soap would thrive with them; but god, if ghost could shove his thumbs into those all-seeing, all-knowing crystal eyes he’d do so in a heartbeat. he hated the way they seemed to burn straight through the heavy material of his mask, how they could look into his own eyes and hold infinite knowledge of his broken psyche by the time they flick to some other uninteresting member of his former squadron. it was horror, to be understood so wholly.

but then gaz got hurt, four days of medically induced coma hurt, and when he jerked awake at, if the clock on the shitty hospital tv was to be believed, 2 in the morning there was soap. he looked disheveled: hair a tangled mess, dark circles only worsened by the shadows of the mostly unlit room, and covered in scattered butterfly sutures. his head was leaned on his bicep, slumped over the lowered tray connected to gaz’s bed.

under his head were the blood and tear stained pages of his open journal, a gorgeous portrait of gaz sketched onto the yellowed sheets with sleep deprived rantings in the margins on how soap could have saved him if he’d just been quicker. gaz slips it out from under him, only feeling a tiny bit like an ass for flipping through the leather bound soul of his comrade, but soap had stolen his favorite shirt so it stood to reason he should take something back. the entire 141 is scribbled on in the pages, buried between bomb schematics and scenic landscapes and soap’s scrawled insecurities. something shifts as he soaks in the words, months of feeling like an outsider and desperate tries to be as good as his teammates.

it’s different, gaz thinks as he flips back to his own face, being in the mind of john mactavish.

but then ghost is walking past price’s office and soap bursts out, pushing past him with flushed cheeks and hurried apologies, practically sprinting in the direction of his shared room. ghost, loathe to admit it, was worried, afraid that the first real human connection aside from garrick he’d had in years was going to ripped from him before he’d even started putting time into it. he didn’t want to lose something good, not again, so he follows him, rushes to catch him before he slams the door in ghost’s face.

soap’s shoving clothes into his duffle when ghost slips inside his room, noticeably holding back tears as he rambles to himself. for a minute ghost is stuck, unused to such blatantly shown emotion, but then he takes a step, sets a gentle hand on soap’s shoulder and asks what’s going on, heart thudding against his ribcage.

“my ma..” soap croakes, and heavy sobs break up whatever else he was going to say. he doesn’t have to, ghost knows, probably better than anyone else.he does the first thing that comes to mind: he drags soap into his chest, wraps his whole body around him like he can protect soap from the hurt. the sergeant doesn’t deserve to feel that hollowness in his chest. soap crashes into him like a wave to the shore, balling his hands into ghost’s hoodie and hiding his face in ghost’s collarbones. ghost had never been one for physical closeness, but there was something different about being in johnny’s arms.

there was an obvious difference in their demeanor toward him in the weeks to come, but neither really cared about how it happened, just that it did, and now they can seek each other’s warm, pink tinted gaze when soap makes a fool of himself.

CAN WE PLEAAAASE TALK ABOUT THIS

Say what you wanna say about Kelsier but that man knew how to love and he loved with a raw fucking passion.

For years he was led to believe that Mare had mercilessly betrayed him before she died and yet he still insanely loved and missed her — something that he stated as a simple fact and not as a guilty confession.

Kelsier and Mare had 0 page-time together, but they still managed to snatch my fucking heart and push my expectations through the roof precisely because of how Kelsier talked about her! Is there anyone who does it like him? Hell nah!

richard siken / chainsaw man

robin really had to take a double take (sort of) im..

*holds very tenderly*

HELLO NEW CHARLES HAIRCUT??? THANK YOU MAMA LECLERC

"In the crooks of your body, I find my religion."

Please love me. Please love me. Please love me. I'll do anything. I feel like I don't exist if you aren't looking at me. But when you see me, I know, I know I'm real. But driving through this dark without you...haha...it makes me feel like I'm nothing. Please, someone find me.

A monologue from "Billy's fantasy girl" who is supposed to be EXACTLY LIKE HIM. Vecna's in his mind so this is BASICALLY HOW HE THINKS.

my fucking god ...