Everyone: What's Your Goal In Life?

"Weapons hot, vaqueros."

Pedro Pascal and Jon Favreau tell the story of Pedro injuring himself on the set of The Mandalorian (walking out of the makeup trailer).

Say You'll Haunt Me | Simon Ghost Riley x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: Can I request “I thought I’d fucking lost you for good for a moment” with Ghost please? Thanks

summary: he's gone, he's gone for good... or at least, that's what everyone tells you.

tws: swearing, smoking, graphic depictions and descriptions of severe injuries, blood, death

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

All of the lights were off, they had been all day as you no longer had the energy to do much anymore; the lights were off, all the doors were locked, and aside from the quiet television playing old reruns of some stupid adult animation that you didn't even look at, all was silent within the house.

The bedsheets smelled like fresh washing powder, and the blanket was still warm from the tumble dryer; the curtains had not been opened in weeks, and did well to keep the light from the street lamps out properly.

Old clothes were packed into boxes, ready to go into the attic where they would stay; they didn't smell like the bedsheets. Dishes were still piled in the sink, ready to be washed after hours of supposedly soaking; the bins were nearly full, had been for days, and were almost ready to be taken out.

But none of that really mattered, there were bigger things on your mind; sleeping alone should have come naturally, you did it often enough before you had met the love of your life, but it never really did.

Late and long nights were more than regular. The king sized bed just never seemed the same without your lover there.

You sniffled, putting the phone down as you ignored the texts from your friends; you knew that they were only trying to be kind, to help you along, but you couldn't bear the thought of speaking to anyone.

Gaz called two, three times a day. Soap called, texted, sent you voice messages. Laswell texted throughout the day. Price did his best. You didn't want to speak to them, you couldn't.

You sighed, frowning as you dragged yourself to the kitchen; you made yourself a cup of coffee, justifying it by knowing that you wouldn't sleep anyway. You lit a cigarette, knowing it might help. It was better than nothing, at least.

It was better than spending another night in a house that just wasn't a home anymore, a house that was just an open, gaping, sore wound.

It started to feel different, though, you felt like you were being watched when you turned your back; you tensed up, swallowing thickly as your heart began to thud in your chest. You could have sworn that you locked the doors, you were sure of it.

But still, something was there with you, and when you heard the harsh and heavy footsteps, you could hardly move; you just about managed to back yourself against the counter, holding onto it tightly as you listened closely.

They were getting closer, and closer, and closer until-

"Don't turn the lights on."

You knew that voice, and relaxed when you realised, even daring to smile as you laughed softly, shaking your head. "Simon, you dick! You scared me."

"Sorry…" he was just a shadow when he stepped forward, entering from the hallway as he held his hands up. "Just… don't turn the lights on."

You nodded, taking a swig from your coffee as you hummed. "What happened? They told me… Price said you'd been… y'know."

Ghost's shadowy figure shrugged, and he sighed heavily. "Doesn't matter."

You figured that he probably just didn't want to talk about it, so you shrugged as you finished your cigarette and dared to sit up on the counter. "Well, I'm glad you're home. I thought I'd fucking lost you for good for a moment."

He nodded, but didn't make his usual move to stand between your legs like he usually did when he first came home. "I missed you. I'm sorry I never said goodbye."

You furrowed your brows, tilting your head to the side. "But… you did - at, at the airport."

He shook his head. "No, I mean… forget it."

You were worried, pouting as you frowned and cleared your throat. "Simon, what's going on?"

He swallowed audibly, but when he spoke, his voice was starting to sound more and more like radio static; crackled and buzzing, broken and bumbling. "Don't worry, I just… I only came to say that I'm sorry."

"Simon," you whispered. "Please, talk to me."

He couldn't stop you when you reached for the light, and nor could he stop you when you gasped and shuddered as you looked at him; half of his jaw was missing, the exposed flesh burnt and dripping with blood and pus. His stomach had a clear hole through it, exposing his bottom two ribs and how they were cracked, how his entrails had been split and were dripping all over the floors. His eyes were white and had thick yellowish crust growing over the lids.

You trembled, taking a step back. "Si- Simon?"

"I told you not to turn the lights on," he wheezed.

You shook your head, looking at how the muscle and fat of his left arm was exposed and weeping. "Simon?"

"You shouldn't have turned the light on," he was becoming more and more unintelligible. "I have something to tell you, one last time."

You were speechless, bottom lip trembling as everything started to become a multi-coloured blur; something warm and wet was on your cheeks, but his static laced, buzzing voice was all that you could hear.

"Before I go," he hissed. "I loved you."

You wanted to scream at him, to demand an explanation for what was going on, to beg and plead for him to just tell you what the fuck had happened and why he looked like that, but by the time that you had wiped your eyes and nose, he was gone; all that was left, on the countertop next to where he had been standing, was his identification discs.

When you held them, they felt hot and nearly burned your hands; they were dented, the shape clearly that of a bullet, and your heart sank. Price had told you that they couldn't find Ghost's discs, but now you had them in your hands, and you understood what had happened, why Ghost had come back but hadn't stayed.

"Simon," you whispered, swallowing thickly. "Please haunt me again."

Hello dear!

Sorry for bothering you, but it's important to remind you to turn off your asks for a few days! Bad things are going to happen on Tumblr soon...

Don t know anything about this but BETTER BE SAFE EVERYBODY!!!!!!

I effing love platonic fics 😭🥹

Legacy

I have to do everything myself. /nm

ship: Captain Price x filo!141!reader

summary: running away from your birth family and then using a new name to enlist in the military came back to haunt you… of course it does.

a/n: I awakened my daddy issues and create a little something for the platonic dad Price lovers of the fandom.

tags: sfw. angst comfort. platonic dad Price. reader is a member of 141. post-mw2 (2022). Price calls reader “kid” but they are an adult (Price is just a dad). John Price being a good dad because look at him he’s literally dad shaped, Filipino words, Price speaking Filipino

Keep reading

I loved the opportunity to make him as human and as accessible as possible which is strange to say because it’s impossible to get to him because he’s covered in armor from head to toe. 

And yet the idea is that he is relatable, we are all kinda covered in our own armor and terrified of taking that armor off and that’s the thing that crosses him over into a character that we all really wanna follow.

Pedro Pascal about the Mandalorian

this is so in character for them i’m crying

Back from the dead I was operated on from my chest (got infection how shameful of me) and just got recovered for at least 2 months lol. Sorry if I ghosted y'all (if any of you are still active and might have stumbled upon this post).

Gonna start writing fanfiction again and will soon share some fanarts.

I'm on the cod fixation era and will definitely have more content on my side blog.

Hiiii I'm AiCeeArts [I•see(or sea)•arts] you can call me Ai,Cee, or whatever.

My main blog is actually eicee.

I've created this side blog for compilation of my writings and especially my artworks. Hopefully it won't be as or more chaotic with my main blog lol.

Recently graduated as an arts student (miracle that I've passed) but due to medical reasons after graduation I was inactive for months.

Looking forward to whatever is to come!

Someone reblogged my post about racists intentionally leaving Gaz out of 141 content and they said “It's not that people are racist, it just that most, not all, but most people just aren't attracted to Gaz and won't include him...”.

How dense can you be?

You don’t have to be attracted to Kyle. Everyone has their preferences, but to write 141 content, specify that the content is for 141 as a whole, leave out Kyle and/or replace him, is FUCKING RACIST. No one writes for 141 and swaps out any other member; it’s always Gaz.

Please don’t reblog my posts with stupid comments like that. You’ll be blocked, just like the person who made this asinine comment.

It goes without saying, but 141 includes Kyle “Gaz” Garrick. If you’re gonna exclude him, your content shouldn’t say it’s about the 141. Period.

“After a while of being holed up in the darkness of your own making, you become numb to everything that happens around you. Good news are only good as long as it takes you to realise that they pave the way to more bad news. A smile only stays as long as it takes a frown to catch up. Even when a little burst of kindness comes your way, you think you can’t possibly be deserving of it. That there must have been a mistake, some kind of wrongness, a bend in time and space. You might be afraid: this darkness is what you know. You have learned your way around it. You know how to navigate it with your eyes closed, with your feelings on hold. You think that things don’t last, that they never do, and that this is the way of things. You claw at your skin because you are desperate to let the light in, but the cracks in your body are filled up with bitterness, impenetrable. Or so you think. You think that it is impossible to escape from this prison - whether it was you or someone else who put up the bars. You might feel like you can’t move on, that you can never leave the darkness behind you. But please think back: there probably was a situation you could see no way out of three months ago, or ten months ago, or two years ago. But you found a way out. You always did. You chose to break out of your prison, to be open enough to let the light in. You chose to get up in the morning. You chose to let go. You chose to move on. You chose the way past the hurt, past the memories, past the fear of falling back into old patterns. You chose to step into the light. And you can do it again.”

— step into the light / n.j.