First 10 Lines Of FF Leggo!

Bait & Switch, pt. 1

Part 2 >>

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, implied soapghost, hopeful ending cw: torture, angst, MWIII spoilers

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Soap turns hazy, unfocused eyes toward the screen and watches the man with his face run down the tunnels under the English Channel. The man shoots at Konni soldiers, ferocity and desperation painted over every twitch of his brows and silent shout from his lips. 

It all seems so real.

But it can't be. It's not.

He watches Price and the man with his face cut through the enemy. Watches them attempt to disarm the bomb.

Watches Marakov approach.

Their bodies jerk in succession as Makarov's bullets rip through them both. They hit the ground, and sympathetic pain throbs through Soap's shoulder. 

He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. Not his wound. Not him. Just a man with his face bleeding onto dirty concrete on the other side of a black and white screen.

Makarov goes after Price. The man with Soap's face rises up to stab Makarov and–

Makarov blows a hole through the man's head.

It's surreal to watch his own face go blank. To watch the life drain from wide eyes within seconds. To see the others barely pause. Only standing beside the body for a few moments before continuing on because they have a fucking job to do. No time to pause and mourn the perpetual FNG.

Except for Ghost.

Soap's vision darkens on his right side, and he blinks away the sweat or blood – could be either or both but he's too numb to care – as Ghost falls to his knees beside the body of the man with Soap's face. The CCTV cameras are too shitty to see his eyes as he gazes down at the body leaking blood across the floor, but Soap hopes.

Hopes there's real emotion there. Hopes even more that Ghost finally sees it – finally sees that the dead man whose chest he's so tenderly pressing with his hand isn't his *Johnny.*

This time the watery blur appears in both eyes, and he doesn't bother to blink it away. Because he's seen all this before, and it never changes.

The door behind him opens, but he keeps his focus on the screen. He watches his former teammates leave the body behind in their desperation to follow Makarov.

But they won't find him. Soap knows because he recognizes the footsteps behind him as easily as he once recognized Ghost's.

Ghost, who made his gait purposefully distinct to alert Soap to his presence before slipping into Soap's bed late at night and who murmured soft words in his ear, words no one would ever believe the hardened man would say out loud. But he did. He said them to Soap as he took him apart piece by piece like he would a favorite gun, slow and deliberate, before putting him back together with love and care.

A hand slides into his long, filthy hair. Soap braces for the pain, and Makarov doesn't disappoint as he yanks Soap's head back.

"Enjoying the show?"

Soap doesn't respond. He never does, though it enrages Makarov.

On the screen, soldiers fill the tunnel, taking up the space won back by the 141. They set up a perimeter around the bomb.

The dead man remains sprawled on the ground, lifeless and forgotten.

"Look how they just left you behind. Left you to be picked up and brought here to wallow in misery."

A surge of anger burns through him—

But.

No. That's not right. Soap was never in that tunnel.

He's been in this cold, dark room since the mission in Siberia, taken down by a bullet and dragged away before he could radio for help. He has no idea how long he's been here, but he's endured every kind of torture: electrocution, waterboarding, frostbite, knives, pliers, hot pokers, and more. His body is a canvas of scars and burns

Through it all, he held on to his faith with ragged, broken fingers, with bloody teeth sunk into the promise of hope, that his team would find him. That *Ghost* would find him, rescue him from this hell, and wreak havoc on their enemies.

Until Makarov showed him why no one had come for him. Why no one will ever come for him.

A knife flashes in front of his eyes, fluorescent light reflecting off silver. Soap's voice grates through the air like steel against steel.

"Who was he?"

Makarov lets go of his hair, leaving behind a dull throb of residual pain, and rounds the chair Soap is tied to, hands on his hips and a sadistic glint in his eye.

"Him? Oh, just someone who got confused about his role in this lovely little play. Perhaps the serum was a bit too effective at turning him into you, disgusting loyalty and all, hmmm?"

Serum.

Memories resurface slowly. He's had this conversation with Makarov before. A sliver of panic bleeds into his numbness.

Christ have mercy. He's fucking losing it. How long before he stops remembering? How long before he becomes a shell of himself?

Maybe it doesn't matter. After all, no one is coming for him.

When Soap doesn't say anything more, Makarov's glee sours into a frown. The blade flashes in front of his blurred vision once more before pressing against his neck.

"I admit I thought you would be easier to break. You seemed so obedient in Verdansk. You could've ended me, but instead you followed orders like a good little soldier. And here you are."

The knife digs in, but pain is a familiar friend he's learned to ignore. When Soap doesn't react, Makarov sighs.

"I suppose if you won't break on your own, it's time to get experimental."

He brings out a syringe and holds it up as if considering his next action. The liquid inside glows a sickly yellow green, and Soap's stomach churns at the thought of what new pain this torture it might bring. Because he knows Makarov's pause is just for show. There is no escape.

The gleeful grin returns as he jabs the needle into Soap's neck in the same spot he'd just cut him open. The liquid is brutally cold as it enters his blood stream, his muscles seizing from the rapid temperature change.

WIthin seconds, Soap's world tilts sideways. His eyes blur yet again. He blinks and blinks, but the room goes softer with every passing second. His muscles relax, and he slumps forward in his chair, the bonds securing his wrists behind him cutting into his skin, though he can't feel it anymore.

Makarov sounds like he's underwater when he speaks. "Good. Let us begin."

Blackness takes him.

---

When Soap wakes, he's no longer in a dark, cold room. Through the broken out window of his full helmet, he sees strange buildings rising up into a swath of blue sky. Giddiness that borders on panic wells up in his chest.

He's outside. He made it outside. Did he escape? He doesn't remember.

His gaze falls, and the world stops.

He's surrounded by rivers of blood, knife in hand. His heart pounds like he's dying.

And on the ground lies a Ghost, splayed out like a sacrifice, bloodied and beaten and looking up at Soap like he's seen God.

"Johnny?"

Part 2 >>

👀?

UH OH! Pokémon TV is shutting down! It would be a shame if some guy on Tumblr shared a link to every season of AniPoke from Indigo Leauge to the last batch of episodes with Ash in it along with some movies, that would be a shame!

Edit: For some reason Netflix is removing the Journeys series…Yknow, *a series that’s an exclusive to its platform in the US*

I don’t wanna act holy-er than thou but uh reblog this even harder than before cause screw Netflix

Duke is unapologetic for everything that comes out of his mouth. In fact, give him a mic, he'll say it louder.

Some way too old for that guy, trying to flirt with Cass: You know, you seem so mature for your age…

Duke, popping out of nowhere: And you're really fucking dumb for yours, man, fix this puddle of desperation on your head first and only then think about trying to fit into society. If even your hair doesn't want to be with you, what are you counting on?

Cass, who really didn't want to ruin her cute dress with blood: 👍🏻

A really annoying paparazzi: Hey, boy, how does it feel to become rich after, well, whatever you were before? Have your, erm, extracurricular activities changed? What's your favourite thing to do now?

Duke, with the straightest face known to mankind: No, it's still your mom. My favourite extracurricular activity, planning to do her more actually, thanks for the question.

Bruce, trying to parent a whole ass teen: So…

Duke: I really shouldn't have told this terrible, rude, insufferable piece of person to go eat shit. I genuinely regret it. I should have told her to go eat shit and die choking, such a missed opportunity, damn, I'm still upset.

Bruce: ...

Bruce, to himself: Why am I even trying?

There are a bunch of compilations on YouTube and Tiktok “Duke Thomas-Wayne has no PR training whatsoever”. Duke personally likes every single one of them.

My shaylaaaa

More dad Bruce comics hehe

It’s the small things I like seeing in this fandom ☺️

good morning

Concept art by Ryan Church, of the Mandalorian, Din Djarin, in the cockpit of the Razor Crest as it is half filled with water from the ocean world of Trask. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 3, The Heiress. Calendar by DateWorks.

What if....

Grogu thought about all the things that he could do using the Force and then he thought about all the things he couldn’t do. He really wished that he could change some of those things. Like right now. This very moment. That should be a thing, right? After all, if you were climbing to higher ground to avoid being given a sea water bath, wouldn’t you wish that there was something you could do about it?

Of course, that’s not how any of it worked. You actually had to practice using the Force. You generally needed a Jedi Master or an experienced Jedi Knight, or even a really knowledgeable padawan to help you even figure out what you should do. You couldn’t just make things up as you went along. Which was a pity. 

Grogu didn’t the blame the Mandalorian. He didn’t blame the Frog Lady either. She needed to get her eggs to Trask, or her line would end. He didn’t want that to happen. It didn’t sound good. It didn’t sound right. It didn’t sound fair. 

Nope. He blamed Emperor Palpatine. If that guy had never been in power, well, the Jedi Temple on Coruscant would still be a Jedi Temple. Grogu would probably be someone’s padawan and Din Djarin would be doing whatever Mandalorians were meant to be doing. Probably bringing guys like Moff Gideon in cold. And he wouldn’t even be called Moff Gideon. Nope. He’d just be Gideon.

Imagine that. Gideon just being this guy who worked with data systems and sees his chance to steal a lot of credits from someone. Probably an orphanage given his general cruelty. The Old Republic figures it out immediately. Gideon is arrested and while he’s out on bail (whatever that is) he skips town. Then Din Djarin picks up a bounty fob for him and the guy is brought in cold. 

This time, no one gives Gideon a chance to run away and he’s locked up, under surveillance, wearing a uniform, the whole bantha. Gideon goes to trial, he’s found guilty because of course he is, he did it, and he’s taken to a place where he can just sit around and contemplate what he did and why it was wrong. 

Huh… so why would anyone steal from an orphanage? It’s not like they had a lot of credits laying around. Was it just because they didn’t know they needed to protect themselves from bad actors or because they didn’t have the funds to do it? Was it just a theft of convenience or was that the orphanage that Gideon had grown up in and this was his way of getting revenge on the people who didn’t love him? 

Uff! Grogu really needed to get a grip. Just because Gideon didn’t have a great childhood, that didn’t mean it was okay for him to be mean to other people. Grogu hadn’t had a perfect childhood by any stretch of the imagination. He was still a happy person. He still helped people when he could. He didn’t have to be mean to anyone. Except stormtroopers. 

Uff. Stormtroopers. Now there was another whole big group of people who wouldn’t have existed if Chancellor Palpatine hadn’t decided that he wanted to be something like Supreme Ruler of Everything He Could See and Everything He’d Been Told About. Those people, mostly humans, would have stayed on their home planets. They would have done the work they had always done. Grogu was pretty certain that none of that work included hitting small green Jedi younglings or trying to hurt their adopted dad, or chasing them all over the known galaxy. 

Nope. Those people would have built roads, protected folks from the local syndicates, and carried on the way the good people did on Chandrila or Alderaan. It’s not that Grogu thought that all of those people were good and law abiding. A bunch of them were probably like Moff Gideon. Creeps with a grudge against civil society. But the Jedi and the Mandalorians would help sort that out. As long as they stopped fighting with each other.

Uff. That was another thing that Grogu wished he could change, but he couldn’t entirely lay that on the former senator of Naboo. Mandalorians and Jedi had been fighting for millennia according to the history lessons he’d tried to stay awake through. It was usually over something like, the Mand’alor wanted to add a new planet to the ever expanding Mandalorian protectorate and the Jedi, often at the request of the planet’s leaders, worked to stop them. 

It drained both groups of precious time and resources and maybe that’s what the Sith affiliated had wanted the whole time. To weaken the two groups that could actually stop them. The groups that had actually stopped them, time after time. Huh. So maybe it was all the Sith’s fault? No Sith, no Emperor Palpatine, no Moff Gideon, no Din Djarin rescuing Grogu from the Nikto gang, because he was still on Coruscant. 

Of course, Din Djarin wouldn’t have been there anyway, because he would still be on Aq Vetina because there wouldn't have been a Separatist  attack and the Mandalorians would never had to rescue him. Hmm. Which meant that he wouldn’t have been the bounty hunter to collect Gideon. Someone else would have done that. But who? Not Boba Fett. He might not even exist. No Sith, no Clone Army because no Separatists.  

What about Fennec? Or Peli? Would Kuiil have ever been on Arvala-7?! 

Dank Farrik! 

Grogu knew you had to be careful about what you wished for. Sometimes you lost things you didn’t even know you needed. 

Duke is unapologetic for everything that comes out of his mouth. In fact, give him a mic, he'll say it louder.

Some way too old for that guy, trying to flirt with Cass: You know, you seem so mature for your age…

Duke, popping out of nowhere: And you're really fucking dumb for yours, man, fix this puddle of desperation on your head first and only then think about trying to fit into society. If even your hair doesn't want to be with you, what are you counting on?

Cass, who really didn't want to ruin her cute dress with blood: 👍🏻

A really annoying paparazzi: Hey, boy, how does it feel to become rich after, well, whatever you were before? Have your, erm, extracurricular activities changed? What's your favourite thing to do now?

Duke, with the straightest face known to mankind: No, it's still your mom. My favourite extracurricular activity, planning to do her more actually, thanks for the question.

Bruce, trying to parent a whole ass teen: So…

Duke: I really shouldn't have told this terrible, rude, insufferable piece of person to go eat shit. I genuinely regret it. I should have told her to go eat shit and die choking, such a missed opportunity, damn, I'm still upset.

Bruce: ...

Bruce, to himself: Why am I even trying?

There are a bunch of compilations on YouTube and Tiktok “Duke Thomas-Wayne has no PR training whatsoever”. Duke personally likes every single one of them.

YES! YES! MY THOUGHTS EXACTLY! GLAD IM NOT THE ONLY ONE!!!

Duke Thomas looks after Tim Drake

Logically he doesn’t need to. Tim is Red Robin after all. A hero. And just like all heroes, they go through things. But the things Tim has been through?

Let’s just say they hit close to home.

Joker Junior—JJ—is a bit of an open secret in the Wayne household. Nobody talks about it, but everyone knows. Duke, a more recent addition, learns about it when he walks by Tim’s room one night, only to freeze as he catches the muffled sound of laughter. He knows that kind of laughter. It’s practically carved into his brain.

No warning is given before Duke busts into Tim room, expecting the worst. He finds Tim sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest, laughing that terrible laugh.

“Tim!” Duke yells, panic spiking as he runs to his side. Had Joker broken in? Was Tim okay? He takes his shoulders and shakes him. Not again, please not again—

That seemed to be enough to snap Tim out of it, startling him lucid. “Duke?”

“Tim! You alright man? What happened—did Joker—”

Mortification dawns on Tim’s face, the detective immediately putting the pieces together. “Oh fuck. Sorry Duke I must’ve had a laughing fit. Sorry—someone should have warned you. God I’m so sorry.”

“You’re… you’re good? No Joker?” Duke moved away a bit, suddenly embarrassed by his reaction.

“No Joker. Sorry, this happens sometimes. Holdover from… well a bad run in with Joker when I was Robin. It um… was pretty messy.”

The explanation given after is… condensed, Duke suspects. Tim apologizes, knowing Duke’s own history with the joker. Duke tries to insist that’s bull, that he shouldn’t have to apologize for not telling him, but Tim gives a tight smile that says he doesn’t believe that.

Duke doesn’t push it. He’s not Dick, he doesn’t know how to make things like that better. After that night though, their dynamic seems to shift a bit.

Duke knows Tim is older than him, but that doesn’t matter. Whenever something Joker related comes up, Duke immediately volunteers himself to deal with it, no matter if it’s during the day or not. Duke is always happy to give a second pair of eyes to a case,

And secretly, while he likes making Tim (and everyone else) laugh, there’s something relieving when the laughter fades out and it stops. The pained smile on his mother’s face nowhere to be found.

For Tim’s credit, JJ hardly ever makes an appearance. Years on consistent therapy have helped. But healing is not a cure.

It’s after an all-hands-on-deck type mission that it happens. A laughing fit so hard the entire family wasn’t sure what to do. Tim JJ couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

He laughs, stumbling through the manor, a concerned Wayne family following after. He smiles so hard, so painfully, clutching his stomach for air.

He wouldn’t stop, and eventually the hysterics laughter turned to choking as he laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe.

Duke holds him down while Dick runs and grabs a sedative.

Later, Dick would remark how bad it was. The worst he’d seen in years. But the episode ends, and the sedatives wear off, and Tim manages to slip out of the medbay without anyone realizing. Anyone except Duke, who immediately looks for him, and finds him on the roof.

“Hey man.”

“Hey Duke.” Tim responds, voice raspy from overuse.

“Doing alright?”

They talk for a bit. Voices hushed. Duke tries not to joke, knowing there’s been enough laughter for one night.

Eventually, Tim’s worries come out.

“I don’t want to be a pity case. I’m know I’m not delicate, that I’m not going to break. I just…” Tim pauses, “slip sometimes. And sometimes it scares me.”

And Duke turns his head to look out at the city. “You know, Tim, you give me hope.”

Tim lifts his head to give Duke a confused look.

“Hope for my parents. That maybe they might… get better. Even if some of it’s still there. I know I probably won’t ever get to see them normal again, but… it’s nice to have hope.”

ROACH!!! MY BELOVED 🪳🧎‍♀️

i like This guy in particular

The more I look at this art, the more chaotic it gets- 🤧🤧🤧

Turns out I'm still alive