Game Changer & Make Some Noise
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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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@alltherestofthefandoms
He spoke so much vengeful vitriol tearing away at her genuine care and goodwill. Yet, none of it mattered for she saw the truth he hid beneath his skin that was left unsaid.
.
.
.
Had this idea after watching episode 8 and finally finished it. Honestly, think this would make a good print and now I want it on my wall 👀 lol
Timelapse
Closeups
Robin, Eddie and Dustin all try to convince Steve to win Nancy back up until one day when they're hanging out at Steve's and Robin asks, "So what actually happened between the two of you anyway?"
Cut to half an hour later where all three of them are looking at him wide eyed and Dustin speaks up.
"So ignore our advice. That was a bad call. Jesus Steve, she was gonna shoot you in the face and you still dated her after that?"
"That part I understand actually," Eddie says. Robin nods in agreement. "But yeah no, Henderson is right. Do not take our advice."
"I love both of you but the two of you together sounds like a disaster," Robin comments. "I don't know if I'm equipped for that level of drama."
Steve huffs out a laugh and says, "Robin, you live for drama."
Then he adds. "But don't worry, I wasn't planning on getting back with her anyway. I love her too much as a friend and she's noticed I can't stop staring at Eddie's mouth any time he talks so that ship has sailed."
"Oh thank god," Robin says as the other two let out a breath of relief.
Then, like the worlds slowest computer switching on, Eddie's face turns confused. Steve grins to himself and gets up to go to the kitchen.
"Wait, he can't stop staring at Eddie's mouth? But I'm Eddie." He looks at Robin and Dustin for answers. "I am Eddie. Right?"
"That you are," says Robin.
"Why are my two closest friends complete idiots?" Dustin grumbles.
"But like, are you guys sure there isn't another Eddie or-"
"Oh my God!"
"Go after him already!"
Soap: helping Ghost stretch, sitting behind him
Price: “…Should I knock?”
Soap: “WE’RE TRAINING.”
Ghost: “WE’RE NOT WHETHER YOU THINK WE ARE.”
Price: “Looks intimate.”
Soap: “IT’S NOT.”
Price: “Use protection.”
Ghost & Soap: “SIR!”
Eddie was asleep in his bed but was woken up by scratching on his window. He braves up and circles around back to see…
Two drugged and beaten sailors trying to break into his house.
Eddie kinda just watches them for a minute before he asks, “What are you doing?”
“Shhh,” Robin whispers and then giggles. “We’re breaking in.”
“Why??
“Don’t have a key,” Steve say, doing a piss poor job of trying to slide the window up. “Go away. It’s my house. I can do what I want.”
“Yeah “ Robin nods. “He can do what he wants. He lives here.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Eddie says, baffled. “I live here. This is my house.”
They both pause.
It looks like they just now realized that they are in the trailer park and that Eddie’s humble little abode isn’t the castle Steve grew up in so.
“But there’s a window,” Steve says confused. “I have a window.”
“Lots of houses have windows!”
“Huh,” Steve says, rubbing the only part of his face not bruised or bloody. “I think we took a wrong turn.”
Robin looks from Steve to Eddie and smiles, “Oops?”
They try to leave which - “No! No, absolutely not. You’re coming inside. Let’s go. What the hell even happened to you?”
“Russians,” Steve says at the same time Robin says, “Flesh monster.”
So, you know what?
“I don’t want to know.”
promises promises... something something they're in love bc they're loyal. idk nobody look at me this is just thoughts I had... Idk idk this is kinda poorly done imo...
cw: canon typical violence
It had been late, the night before deployment. Rain drizzling against the tin of the hangar and the the sound of a lighter flicking open and closed.
“If it ever comes to it,” Price said, almost casually, “don’t wait for me.”
Nikolai had smiled then, half amused. “You make it sound like I have a choice.”
“Promise me.” Price met his eyes, drawing another long inhale from the cigar.
And Nikolai, damn him, had promised in a smokey kiss.
And now it seemed the world was ending in gunfire.
Bullets cut the air. The evac zone burned. The helicopter shuddered under Nikolai’s hands, rotors screaming as he fought to keep her steady.
Through the haze, Soap and Ghost ran, half dragging Gaz between them, Gaz’s arm slick with blood. Nikolai watched as they broke cover.
They hoisted themselves into the helicopter, Ghost slamming the door with a metallic thud.
Nikolai twisted in his seat. “Where is John?!”
Ghost’s mask was streaked with blood. His voice shouted over the headset, “He’s buying us time.”
Nikolai’s stomach turned to stone. He looked back toward the smoke and caught a glimpse of Price crouched behind a broken wall, firing one-handed, blood dark on his sleeve. Always last out. Always holding the line.
“Get us in the air!” Ghost barked. Soap shouted something, trying to claw the door open, but Ghost pinned him back. “That’s an order from Price. Nik, go!"
Nik watched for a split-second more. Long enough to see Price take a hit.
Square in his chest.
Price jerked backward, still firing, then disappeared under the surge of enemy silhouettes.
“No!” Soap cried.
Nikolai’s throat burned. “Damn it—” He slammed the throttle forward.
The helicopter tore free of the ground, climbing hard. The wind howled through the cabin, drowning out Soap's shouting. Down below, the field vanished, fire shrinking to embers.
Nik could hear them shouting at each other in his headset as they patched Gaz. But he couldn't quite catch the words over his own shock. So just flew, hands shaking as his vision blurred.
Like an idiot, he had promised, because John Price would never forgive him if one of the boys didn’t make it home alive.
Oh hey! Here's a continuation to this. I wrote them as two seperate pieces but thought they fit quiet well. There will be a next part... eventually
cw: feral price. canon-typical violence/gore. (he bites a thumb off). blood and description of blood but really an excuse to write hot feral man.
They’d hit him twice before even asking what they wanted just to prove they could.
The first blow split his lip; the second tore his brow open. Blood crawled down his face in slow rivulets, catching in his beard, soaking the hairs until they gleamed wetly in the flickering light. It slicked the corner of his mouth, laced his teeth when he smiled.
They had stripped his tac gear and torn his shirt away earlier, leaving his torso bare to the damp chill of concrete and the rising bruise spreading across his ribs. The chest plate had taken the bullet, but the impact still thrummed beneath the skin, an ugly, pulsing ache that made every breath feel thin. He could feel it each time he inhaled too deeply: the bruised cartilage grinding, ribs shifting like misaligned drawers.
They’d chained him to a steel chair bolted to the floor. His wrists were raw where the cuffs bit into him, skin flayed in crescent moons where he’d tested the restraints until the metal chewed through the flesh.
His knuckles were swollen, fingers stiff, breath rasping as he dragged air through blood clogging the back of his throat.
The concrete beneath him was slick where blood had pooled, nose, brow, mouth, and maybe the graze along his arm; he could no longer tell what belonged where. The room smelled of iron and mildew, the light above him stuttering.
He spat when one of the men crouched in front of him. The arc of red caught the man’s cheek. Laughter followed—four… no, five of them, shapes moving in and out of the faltering light. Hard to track with the ringing in his head, the ache in his chest, the sluggish drag of his pulse.
“Mean bastard, isn’t he?” one muttered.
Price let his head hang, chin grazing his sternum, his shoulders pulled tight by the cuffs behind him. Footsteps approached. Fingers slid into his beard and wrenched his jaw upward, forcing his gaze to meet the man’s.
“It really is you,” the captor breathed. “Fuck.”
Price blinked slowly, as though struggling to focus. His vision trembled with the light. Then he lunged.
Instinct and old muscle memory overriding the sting of his ribs. He jerked his head and his teeth sank into flesh and he bit down until he felt bone give. The scream that followed was raw. Blood sprayed across Price's face and the wall in a scatter of dark droplets.
Price spat. Something small and pale hit the floor with a soft, wet tap, a thumb.
The others froze just long enough...
Price twisted hard, a guttural sound tearing from him as he dislocated his thumb and slipped one cuff. Pain flared up his arm but he moved. His arm came free and he swung, knuckles slamming into a jaw.
Movement erupted around him, ahouts and boots scraping concrete, the thud of bodies colliding. Someone crashed into him, and he went down with them, dragging two men under as he hit the floor.
His ribs lit up, someone kicked him again, square in the bruise, and the world narrowed to white heat.
He snarled and bit another arm, fabric tearing under his teeth before he tasted copper again.
He wasn’t a captain. Not a man. Just a wounded animal trying to chew its way out of a cage.
It took four of them to pin him. Even then, every muscle in him trembled with the effort to keep fighting, chest heaving, breath sawing wetly through his nose. His beard was streaked with blood, his mouth stained red, one eye starting to swell shut.
They wrestled him back onto the chair. More rope this time. A rag forced between his teeth, yanked tight at the back of his head. His breaths came harsh through his nose, each one shallow to avoid dragging on his ribs. Still, he lifted his gaze, scanning each face with the quiet promise of more violence.
He’d done a number on them. That much was clear.
The one who had jammed the gag in stood over him, breathing hard through his own pain. “Captain? More like a fucking animal.”
Price’s eyes lifted, and somehow, he managed a smile.
He laughed through the gag, short and sharp, until the laugh broke into a cough. With no place for the sound to go, he gagged on it and forced himself to breathe slowly, fighting the instinct to drag in too much air at once.
They filed out eventually, limping and cursing, leaving him alone in the cell. The light overhead flickered and hummed. His ribs throbbed with each breath, sweat cooling on his bare skin, blood drying in his beard.
He let his eyes slip shut for just a moment. Let his head lean forward as more blood dripped from his nose.
For now, he had won.
Daddy! Price and Punishments.
Price will definitely dole out a spanking when need be. If the boys fall out of line, get too rowdy, speak out of turn, or just damn near give him a heart attack. (Soap is most guilty of that last one)
Anytime Price sees Soap unloading new kit, he’s already counting down the minutes until the Scot is bent over his knee and getting the tears rubbed from his eyes. He’d nearly blown himself up getting overly eager on the demo field, nearly giving Price a heart attack.
Soap🧼: I’m s-sorry Sir! I won’t let it h-happen again Cap! Please…
Price🚬: Just a few more lad, until I know you’re gonna go back out there a good boy. You can take it…
His ass was reddened with slap marks and Price eventually took pity on the lad, knowing he didn’t mean to scare anybody. Still, a good spanking seemed to keep Soap in line for a while. He always checks Soap over after, as he will downplay any pain following a scene or punishment. Price isn’t blind though. Discipline or not, he’s always prepared with water, warm blankets, washcloths, something to eat, and some heat and ice packs for aftercare. They are still his babies after all…
Gaz has a habit of mouthing off, and he knows it’s gonna get him a lash or two, he can remember the feel of the leather belt as it whipped across his ass and made him whimper.
Still, that doesn’t stop him from continuing to open his loud mouth.
Gaz🧢: There’s plenty we can do…
As he turns his head, he’s met by the looming shadow of his Captain, who glares with the telling look…
We’ll be ‘talking’ about this later…
Gaz submits himself to a corner to sulk. He knows he’s just fucked up big time; daring to raise his voice at Kate in front of Price.
He knew by now what ‘talking later’ meant; getting marked up across his ass until he was physically shaking across Prices lap. The actual talking part was pretty one ended, with Gaz sputtering out weak profanities of pain and pleasure while belt marks were left smacked across soft, smooth skin. Price kept silent, only speaking up to tell the lad to shift or give him silent praise. He definitely had a sweet spot for the Sergeant and knew the effect some subtle praise had on his behaviour and work ethic.
Ghost typically needed the least discipline, never really straying far from the tight leash Price kept him on. But that didn’t mean he didn’t tug at the chains every now and again.
It was supposed to be a simple interrogation; a series of questions, some intimidation when needed, and eventually the intel they came for. But the lad tied up in the chair was getting mouthy, stalling, and Ghost was losing his patience.
What if the man was waiting for help?
What if there were others?
What if they’re coming right now and he’s stalling for time?
The questions running ablaze in Ghosts mind only drove him to the edge, and subsequently, he drove the edge of his knife blade through the man’s finger, severing it and making a bloody mess of his hand. Price couldn’t even be surprised, just disappointed as he mentally prepared to ‘discipline’ his lieutenant. He never listened to Ghosts ideas for a harsher or longer punishment, knowing he’s probably more upset with himself than Price could ever be. He won’t stand to hurt Ghost just for the sake of the lads own guilt. He plans it out with him, it’s typically 10-20 hard slaps, promises made, and aftercare received.
Price🚬: No Simon, I’m not gonna do that to you love… We’re gonna do 10 like last time, can you do that for me?
Ghost👻: Yes Sir…
Price🚬: Ok Son, on all fours for daddy.
He holds Ghosts hand through it, knowing any slip up could have him spiralling, turning the walls of Prices office into those of his childhood home or the coffin in Mexico. For this reason, he checks in on Simon the most.
Price🚬: Two more Simon, what’s your color?
Ghost👻: G-gr-green…
Price🚬: Simon…
Ghost👻: -Y-yellow D-daddy…
Price🚬: Ok, good boy, we can stop after just one, can you handle that love?
Ghost👻: I think 9 is enough to have learned not to sever fingers…
Price🚬: Hah! Good lad…
He finishes up with a final, rippling slap that leaves Ghost whimpering. Price will always gather the boys in his arms after a spanking, giving God tier aftercare and reminding them they are still loved, still needed, always family…
~~~
It’s 3:00am and I can’t sleep so here’s a sleep deprived draft I finally finished…
I've been feeling... Yeah
Connection 🩸 (part 1)
🎵 'cause the power you're supplying, it's electrifying! 🎵
it's now been 3 years since i drew this one so i wanted to redraw it :)
wallpaper ver. + more art on patreon
I love this trio to pieces ❤️💙💜
Shh, they are sleeping
ghost with a stutter is consuming me
his father tried to beat it out of him and the army took care of what was left; now it only shows up when he's emotionally charged
soap making a risky decision in the field, going against ghost's orders because he doesn't have time to explain himself before it'll be too late, and it nearly gets him killed
he's standing at attention, ready for ghost to read him the riot act, and he does; screaming at him for his recklessness, his stupidity, dressing him down in a way he hasn’t in years
but then his rampage slows down
he starts stumbling over his words, like he can't get them out fast enough before another's stepping on its heels, and soap frowns, equal parts confused and worried. he's never heard ghost like this before, not even when he's been swaying with blood loss
"for f-fuck’s sake, johnny, don't y-y-you know how t-to fuckin’ th-th-think!" ghost rages, spinning back on him where he's been pacing
and it takes a single look at soap's concerned face for him to register that in his fearful anger, his voice's been skipping
been failing
he grits his teeth so hard they ache, his jaw popping, and turns his back on soap before he can make an even bigger fool of himself
"d-d-dis- dism- d-" he shakes his head with a hateful growl, his fingers digging into his palms. "fuck off!"
ghost stalks away, his cowardly tail tucked between his legs, and feels soap's lost eyes on his back the whole way
“Tony did not love Peter that much, they are just mentor-protégés type of relationship.”
Yeah exactly, he did not love Peter that much so he carries a photo of Peter everywhere he goes.
So he was worried sick whenever Peter is in risk until he uncontrollably shake his hands.
So he left EDITH for Peter trusting him with everything he had.
So he remembered Peter loves Starwars and its references the most.
So he designed many suits for Peter in his AI system in case one day he is not there for Peter.
So he rather to go on titan all by himself than bringing Peter and risking his life.
So he shedded his first ever tear on screen when Peter turned into dust.
So he hugged Peter, the only non-blood related person he hugged on screen.
So he decided to sacrifice everything in his life, including his family and HIS OWN LIFE just to see Peter one more time.
hc / fic idea: jack still has his old cloak, he just doesnt wear it in the movies bc it’d gotten ripped back during the blizzard of ’68 and he’d been too busy to fix it since then (listen, when you’re immortal ~40 years can seem like theyre like 5, ok?)
he mentions it once offhandedly to bunny, who immediately feels guilty bc it was ripped by him, and in the same second gets a wonderful, terrible idea: so he asks where jack keeps it.
“in this old snow cave i use to sleep in during the summers,” jack replies, then asks, slightlh confused, “why d’you wanna know?”
“no reason,” lies aster.
(the cloak’s fixed, with ice and snowflake patterns stitched painstakingly to the centuries-old close up the holes, and if aster’d also maybe, slightly magically reinforced the old thing the same way he’d done all of his old clothes from the golden age of old, from before the pooka massacre… well. the old thing clearly meant a lot to the blighter, for the sentimental value it had and newly-regained memories it represented even if nothing else. he was just doing a close mate of his a kindhearted favour, that’s all; nothing special to it, no sir.)
(jack finds it the morning after aster leaves it on top of his always-frozen lake, in a neat, green, somehow egg-patterned (“really not tryin’ to be subtle here, huh, cottontail?”) box with a white bow in top. he runs to the warren as soon as he’s put the snowflake-patterned thing on and tackles aster in the biggest bear hug he’s capable of giving the pooka.
aster kindly chooses to ignore the slight wetpatch the frostbite leaves in his fur, during said bear hug. guess that cloak’d meant more to the winter sprite then he’d first thought, after all.)
tee bee h ive been a hijack fan since the beginning of time ive just been too shy to draw & post them but new year new yaoi
im still getting used to drawing them bcs my brain is wired so weird for years i thought if i drew them and didnt portray them exactly how i wanted id kms but yk what hell yeah. hell yeah. also pls talk to me abt them ill pee with joy
I couldn't draw the frosty cheeks without giving Jack something to blush about xD
