Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
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EXPECTATIONS
YOU ARE THE REASON
macklin celebrini has autism
Claire Keane
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KIROKAZE
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noise dept.
occasionally subtle
h
cherry valley forever
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Not today Justin
TMBGareOK. The Official They Might Be Giants tumblr
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@rosesandtheuniverse
I'm reading seasons and I'm on chapter 2. I kid you not the line "Now shove yer fat arse over before I spontaneously combust under that fuckin’ laser in the sky." made me laugh so hard
I had a lot of fun writing Soap's increasing hatred for the sun 😆 personally quite fond of "that devil-possessed cosmic aberration"
Thank you for reading the fic <33
(I miss writing so much, I really hope I can lock in and publish a new ghoap fic this year 🥺)
I’ve had tumblr for 4 years but some of you bitches have had it for a decade. It’s time to seek penance
wait I’m curious now . Reblog this with how long u’ve been on tumblr for. Dating back to ur oldest blog ever !!!
Here will tell you when you joined, if you don't remember exactly anymore.
Only day you can rb this
It is!! The Month!!! Of PRIDE!!!!
Happy Pride Month little pocket friends 🏳️🌈🫶🏼🌹
regularly scheduled reminder that I hate AI, I don't consent to any of my art being used for AI whether that's for chatbots or generative AI, I've never used ChatGPT or Claude or Gemini or Grok or whatever the fuck in my life and never will and I do think that makes me a better person than people who do. also if you're a "fan" of mine and willingly use AI, I think you're actively making the choice to hand over all brain function to companies owned by billionaires who hate you and humanity, which makes you pathetic and embarrassing.
Fuck ai btw
Amen!
The Vulcan version of “thanks I hate it”
star trek heritage post (August 17th, 2018)
Neil Ellice in “Soap’s Battle Royale Checklist“ x ENDING
It's been 15 years since one of the best scenes of Doctor Who 😭😭
[tardis whoosh]
"ahh :/"
[tardis whoosh]
"ahh :D"
I can’t decide if it’s funnier if the Doctor just did a really shitty parking job, or the TARDIS did it on purpose as a practical joke.
heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I
Actually genuinenly enjoying my customer service job sometimes
Customer (calling from Ireland): “Yes hello, I would like to -”
Sheep in the background: *gentle baa*
Customer: “Uh, sorry, what I want to do is -”
Sheep: *slightly more insistent baa*
Customer: “No, not now! -cough- Excuse me. I have a reservation and -”
Sheep: *VERY LOUD ACCUSATORY BAA*
Customer: “Arnulf! Please be quiet, I am on the phone! … Sorry, I sincerely apologize on behalf of Arnulf.”
me: “I love and forgive him.”
Customer: “Don’t, he doesn’t deserve it. Anyway, I’m calling about -”
Arnulf: *small, very self-satisfied baa*
I still love this lol
It’s ruining my notes dude :’D
Simon had finally gotten to sink into the hot bath that he'd been looking forward to all day.
The water was hot enough to loosen the tight band of muscle in his shoulders, steam curling slowly from the water. He’d tilted his head back, eyes closed, letting the quiet settle.
The bathroom door creaked open.
Simon cracked one eye.
Johnny stood there, entirely too casual, and the hem of his shirt drenched in water.
“Evenin’, Si,” he said lightly, stepping into the room and closing the door quietly.
Simon watched him through half-lidded eyes. “What d’you want?”
“Nothin’.” Johnny lowered himself to sit against the outside of the tub, back pressed to the porcelain and arms folded over his knees. “Can a man no’ spend time wi’ his husband?”
Simon hummed, unconvinced, but didn't shoo him off.
Johnny began talking. Absolute nonsense really, just that Johnny way of filling the space. Something about a bloke down the street who couldn’t reverse park. A retelling of Kyle burning toast earlier. A tangent about whether penguins had knees.
Simon listened in silence, letting Johnny's voice wrap around him like steam.
Two minutes later, the door opened again. Quieter this time.
Kyle slipped in like a cat, quiet and smooth. He glanced at Simon, then at Johnny, then, without a word, sat down at side of the tub, shoulder brushing Johnny’s.
Simon slowly raised an eyebrow at him.
Kyle blinked. “What?”
Simon stared at both of them.
It was almost… sweet.
They’d been out most of the day, running separate errands. Maybe they’d missed him. Maybe this was their version of hovering. Two overgrown strays unwilling to leave him alone for twenty minutes.
He rolled his eyes fondly and let his head tip back again. Poor little bastards. He thought for a moment about maybe inviting them in. The tub was big enough, that's why they'd bought it. Maybe this—
“JOHN DUNCAN MACTAVISH.”
The roar hit the flat like artillery shells.
Simon’s eyes shot open. And immediately landed on a very frozen, very guilty looking Johnny.
Kyle’s mouth pressed into a line, very carefully not looking at anyone.
“MacTavish,” Price called again, voice calm now in a way that was significantly more dangerous, “why is the kitchen soaked in water?"
Johnny winced, spoke only loud enough for Simon and Kyle to hear. “In ma defence—"
Simon's gaze narrowed.
"I was fixin’ it.”
“With what,” Kyle muttered, “a spoon?”
“I’ve fixed taps before!”
There was the sound of something metallic clattering in the kitchen.
“Sergeant MacTavish,” Price said, “I highly suggest you present yourself in the next five seconds.”
Johnny whipped his head toward Simon. “Please.”
Simon blinked slowly at him.
“I didnae mean tae flood the cupboard,” Johnny whispered urgently. “It just—it escalated.”
Simon exhaled through his nose.
Then, as flat as he could manage to hide the smile forming on his lips, “John Duncan MacTavish, I highly suggest you find a better hiding spot.”
Kyle was shifting away now, ready to leave Johnny to enter the lion's den alone.
“Traitor,” Johnny hissed.
“I told you to wait for help,” Kyle replied.
Johnny scrambled to his feet just as heavy footsteps approached down the hall.
Simon sank deeper into the bath again, closing his eyes. Not his problem, at least not yet anyway. It was good for Soap to get a scared shitless of the old man every once in a while.
The bathroom door handle turned. Then opened slowly.
Simon didn’t even look up as he said, “Captain. If you’re planning to drown him, at least let me finish my soak first.”
There was a pause, Simon didn't bother hiding his smile now.
“…I’m going to need a mop,” Price muttered.
Johnny squeaked, “It’s no’ that bad!”
Then Kyle, “It’s that bad.”
You guys know the big sigh that dogs do? That's also a Ghost sigh. And when Ghost does it whoever's nearby will give him a soft head pet and he will close his eyes and take a nap right there.
A Vulcan named Stork works at the Terran adoption agency. Parents always request that he be the one to deliver their child to them.
It’s years before anyone explains it to him.
People keep gifting him robes with long white birds on them.
The fun thing is he would understand why people were getting him outfits with storks on them. That’s a word, it’s his name, straightforward. All the humans get him the same gag gift, but like, they’re putting effort in at least. This is a genuinely nice outfit. Stork will be a walking zero-effort pun sometimes, rather than waste a perfectly fine robe.
It’s fine. This is a readily comprehensible human illogic. Exactly the kind of thing he expected from moving to Earth.
Six years in he finds out about the stork bringing babies.
Stork has a good long meditation session about this myth, his name, his job, the outfits, the whole shebang (or whatever Vulcan concept is the equivalent).
And he decides he’s honored by it, in a humanly illogical way.
The humans are asking him to do what is after all his job, and specifically requesting him for the joy his name brings them on top of an already agreeable and satisfying task. He has no objection to engendering positive emotions in others. Harm hastens the heat-death of the universe, Surak teaches, so happiness must logically slow it down.
Plus, Vulcans of his generation love puns. There were two decades of punning competitions in colleges across the planet. So when he realizes that he is a walking zero-effort pun, and that the humans also love the pun, he is all for it. He is the Joe Cool of the entire Vulcan population in his city.
And via this pun, the humans are including him in a cherished and traditional myth, by casting him as the literal bringer of life and the expander of families.
There’s no downside. Stork wears his robes, pins, keychains, and other bird-related tchotchkes with genuine pride.
YES IT’S BACK ON MY DASH AT LAST
For real though working together with some human social workers, a Vulcan would be an excellent caretaker for children in an adoption center.
Child has a meltdown? Imagine Stork, perfectly calm and unbothered, approaching the kid and saying “You appear quite upset, Eliza. If you would please allow me to relocate you to the ‘bean-bag-chair,’ we can discuss the source of your distress.”
A Vulcan educated in medicine and child psychology would be endlessly patient with a kid with behavioral issues. Stork wouldn’t get or upset or frustrated. After all, these are children with medical and psychological conditions. It would be illogical to blame the child or to not treat them with the appropriate care.
Even if the a little one was having a bad day or was just overtired, Stork wouldn’t get angry. He might even be a calming presence. Any new kids acting out would learn real quick that they’d have better luck trying to arm-wrestle a Klingon than get a rise out of Stork.
Not only that, Vulcans live much longer than humans. Imagine Stork looking virtually unchanged as decades pass. Kids he’d helped years ago would turn up fully grown, maybe there to adopt their own kids, and run into Stork, looking almost exactly as they remember him.
And he’d probably remember them too. “Welcome back, Eliza.”
“…Harm hastens the heat-death of the universe, Surak teaches, so logically happiness must slow it down…”
Will reblog every time it crosses my dash 🖖🏾
star trek heritage post (November 14th, 2020)
Periodic reminder that the compiled tag I use on AO3 is “Stork The Vulcan (fanon)” and so far there are 6 fics featuring him:
Heed The Stork
There’s Always A Chance and
Not Logical by MarlinSpirkHall (hi)
What Stork Brings by AfterIWake @mousedetective
One (1) Daily Shoulder Pat by Android_And_Ale @android-and-ale
Just This Once, Everybody Lives by @alternatefuturesao3
Various iterations of this thread ^ have also been bookmarked under the tag for future reference 🖖
THERE’S FICS!!!!!
AO3 appreciation post!! reblog if you love archive of our own
just thought abt Simon getting badly hurt or smth and is fighting for his life in the med tent, half delirious with discomfort and wrought with fever. He can’t settle, he’s not with it and can’t relax
Until they bring the space projector in
He slowly slumps into relaxation as Johnny asks questions that he knows Simon really likes about space to keep him talking and focused, because Simon is scared, and it makes everyone sick
🪣
part 1. part 2. part 3. part 4
I am so attached to this idea of Simon as you can tell.
It’s bad. Simon twists on the cot, half-lucid and burning up, breath coming sharp and uneven. He won’t let them touch him for long. Won’t settle. Every time hands come near his chest or shoulder he jerks, snarls something incoherent. He's already hyperextended one of their thumbs trying to break it. Even like this he could over power them.
They've tried sedating him. He tears free each time.
Johnny’s sick with it. Watching Simon fight ghosts only he can see, watching him hurt and not understand why. Kyle’s quieter, but his eyes flick to the pack at his feet, decision made in a heartbeat.
He reaches in, pulls out, and plugs the projector into the wall as quietly as he can manage..
The ceiling blooms.
Stars soft, slow, drifting constellations bleeding into one another. A wash of deep blue rolls across the tiles, gentle enough not to startle. Simon’s thrashing slows almost immediately. His breath stutters, then catches.
Johnny leans in close, voice low and steady.
“Si,” he murmurs. “Hey. D’you remember which constellation’s easiest to spot in winter skies?”
Simon’s eyes flutter. He groans, but it’s less pain now, more confusion or slight irritation at being made to think.
“…Orion,” he rasps, barely audible.
“That’s right,” Johnny says softly, relief threading through his chest. “Good. What about his belt, how many stars?”
“Three,” Simon whispers. His grip tightens weakly on the sheet. “Straight line. Alnitak. Alnilam. Mintaka.”
"Aye. And why's it useful?"
Simon groans as the medic presses an IV into his arm. "Points downward towards Sirius, brightest star. Useful for—fuck—navigation."
Johnny smiles at the curse. "Aye. That's it."
Kyle slides closer next to Johnny. He doesn’t speak at first, just grabs Simon's hand gently.
“Which sea creature’s got the slowest heartbeat?” he asks quietly.
Simon frowns, thinking hard through the fever. “…Greenland shark,” he breathes. “Lives… centuries.”
“That’s my guy,” Kyle murmurs.
The doctors exchange a look. The tension in the room eases. Hands move more confidently now. IV placed. Wound finally cleaned. Sutures started without Simon fighting them like a cornered animal.
One of the medics leans close to Kyle as they work.
“Thank you. You did us a favor. He wouldn’t have let us do any of this otherwise.”
Kyle just nods, eyes never leaving Simon.
By the time it’s over, only stars drift over Simon's head, no more hands, no more masked faces. His breathing evens out, exhaustion finally overtaking fear.
Johnny’s hand is wrapped around Simon’s, thumb brushing slow circles over his knuckles. Kyle’s hand rests warm and steady at Simon’s wrist, feeling the pulse calm beneath his fingers.
Simon sleeps, real sleep.
They don’t move, not for a long time.
And when Price comes to the room later to check on them and sees the glow leaking out beneath the canvas, hears the low murmur of voices and then the quiet, he doesn’t interrupt.
He just stands there a moment longer than necessary, then walks away, knowing Simon is safe.
headcanon that Ghost is a closeted nerd
Price notices small things first, like how Ghost, a man of little direct eye contact, looks intently at someone professional talking about how space travel would look like in a feasible manner. or how Ghost would grunt out the names of constellations to an overeager Johnny, engaging in (while brief) small talk about them. Or how when a corny space movie is playing in mess Ghost grumbles something about it ‘not being accurate’ and stalks out of mess silently. or even correcting Price on referring to one of the space shuttles by the wrong name ‘that 1988 flight was Discovery, not Columbia.’
Price makes a subtle note to make a detour to some sort of space museum and pick up so many trinkets for Simon. also just?? the 141 all taking notice and trying in a clumsy but loving way to get Simon out of his shell?? i’m crying, even while being the most dangerous operative in the country, deep down he’s still a shy closed off kid at school
🪣
ashjxvedved wait this is so precious 🥺🥺🥺 how about dad takes his kids they all go on a little museum trip?
it took me a minute but I'm hooked on this idea now and I'm crying and there's a part two
Price clocks it before anyone else does. Of course he does.
But it’s never obvious things. Never Simon saying anything too loud. It’s the way his head tilts, just barely, when someone on the telly starts talking about orbital mechanics and historical launches.
The way his eyes, usually restless, scanning for exits, go still when a documentary narrator explains how long it takes light to travel from the sun or how otters hold hands to keep from floating away.
How he corrects Soap once, quietly, when Johnny calls a shuttle by the wrong name, like the fact has been sitting in him for years with nowhere to go.
So when they’re home with a rare, blessed weekday free, Price doesn’t say why they’re changing plans, just makes sure they all know. “Museum. 1100. Civies.”
Johnny agrees, so long as he gets to see the dinosaurs. Kyle offers to drive if they need it. And Simon simply doesn’t object.
Price picks a natural history museum. It’s quieter midweek. A few school groups, some retirees. Simon stays half a step behind Price at first, habit ingrained deep as bone, while Johnny and Kyle lead the way. They pass through the dinosaurs. Let Johnny and Kyle take "very important" photos. But as they reach the space wing, something in him… loosens.
There’s a suspended model of the solar system, planets hung in careful scale, lights dimmed and the ceiling covered in specks of little light of distant stars.
Simon stops dead, and they all make their way around him. Price notices, and halts the group with a casual hand.
“Take your time,” he says gently.
Simon slowly steps closer, head tilted up at the planets strung above him.
A curator approaches, young, enthusiastic, and clearly thrilled to have someone actually listening. Simon nods when the young man starts explaining light and scale, space travel and the math behind gravity assists, how astronauts compensate for bone density loss. Simon Riley stands there, six-foot-something of one of the deadliest men in the world, arms loose at his sides, and listens with absolute, devastating attention.
He asks one question. Just one, clarifying bit.
The curator lights up.
Johnny and Kyle exchange a glance, smiling and shaking their heads with affection.
They drift next into an exhibit on deep-sea life. There are jellyfish suspended in glowing tanks, slow and ethereal, pulsing in the light like living stars. Simon lingers again. The movements are hypnotic. No sharp edges. No sudden noise. Just float and drift and light.
Price watches him the way you watch a skittish animal finally stop bracing to bolt.
Later, there’s a section on erosion, water carving stone over centuries. Kyle reads placards aloud in a quiet voice. Johnny makes one joke, to which Simon huffs and rolls his eyes.
By the time they circle back to the space wing, Price has quietly bought a few things from the gift shop. A small mission patch replica. A keychain shaped like a lunar module. (Johnny helped pick that one.) And a book dense, technical, unapologetically nerdy.
He hands the bag to Simon outside.
“Figured you might like it.”
Simon freezes. Just for a second. “…Yeah. Thanks.”
He tucks the bag under his arm.
And for a fleeting moment, so brief Price almost thinks he imagined it, Simon looks less like the most dangerous operative in the country, and more like a quiet kid who finally got to linger at an exhibit without being told to hurry up.
Price doesn’t say a word.
He just makes a mental note to find a planetarium next time.
🌌🪼🌌🪼
