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A Fairy In Flight ~ 1889 ~  Sir Joseph Noel Paton (Scottish, 1821-1900)

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Ok but victorian Au ghoap with punk ghoap?!?!

Unfortunately you have my EXACT number…

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his looks just add to the appeal 🤤

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sorry he bit you. It’s his coping mechanism

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Soapghost sketches

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I still think that putting a very obvious Devil Went Down to Georgia reference in "exit wound" is the funniest thing I've ever done 😂

Throw then to the country Georgia instead of the state? Put Ghost on a hickery stump?! Have him ask for a bet?!

Dumb genius shit 😂😂

#Exit wound #Soapghost

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Brendan Fraser in George of the Jungle (1997)

BONUS:

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can we like…get rid of the so-called leather and rubber “pride flags” ? it’s honestly ridiculous and offensive to the lgbtq community. those aren’t pride flags. 

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- via ironshearss on TikTok

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“If you have time to watch Netflix you have time for a side hustle” my side hustle is relaxing so that my body and brain can heal from by this nose-to-the-grindstone bullshit. I refuse to feel guilty for being a human with the need to relax sometimes. my side hustle is no.

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"The trannies should be able to piss in whatever toilet they want and change their bodies however they want. Why is it my business if some chick has a dick or a guy has a pie? I'm not a trannie or a fag so I don't care, just give 'em the medicine they need."

"This is an LGBT safe space. Of COURSE I fully support individuals who identify as transgender and their right to self-determination! I just think that transitioning is a very serious choice and should be heavily regulated. And there could be a lot of harm in exposing cis children to such topics, so we should be really careful about when it is appropriate to mention trans issues or have too much trans visibility."

One of the above statements is Problematic and the other is slightly annoying. If we disagree on which is which then working together for a better future is going to get really fucking difficult.

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because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

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i think tumblr urls in the old superwholock fandom style are like those old household appliances that got discontinued because they had asbestos or uranium or whatever in them - maybe you have a beloved cousin or old high school friend who still has a dean-and-loki-in-the-tardis and sure it's not great but what are you gonna do, make them get rid of it? come on, that's katie's url, she's had it forever, it's fine. but if you find someone that has a brand new castieldrinkingteawithsherlock then something dark is afoot. they have regulations against making any more of those. you should be able to cut tumblr users open and count their rings like trees. i bet some of you got horny reading that last sentence

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𝗦𝘁𝗮𝗿 𝗪𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗔𝗨 // Soap & Ghost

A quiet & hiding ghost meets a blazing & confident bounty hunter in a bar. Something sparks.

590 words //

______

The lively music is too much. There's too many people, there's too much going on, it's too loud.

Pressing index and middle fingers to his temple, he pulls his hood a little further over his eyes and mask. The bright lights of the city are always a nightmare.

There's a kerfuffle at the bar and he briefly lifts his gaze. Golden bronze eyes scan the area and he immediately senses a power imbalance in the fight that's evolved.

The Zabrak that's been kicked down isn't afraid - he's 𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 confidence. It's a charade.

Saimon lifts his glass and takes a sip. It doesn't take long before the fight is over, the Ithorian is groaning on the floor.

The Zabrak has disappeared from Saimon's perceptive field and he frowns, until the chair in front of him is pulled back and the man himself sits down.

"Mind if I join ya'?" the man asks and Saimon avoids his eyes.

"I do not want company," he says, lifting his fingers off his glass as he sets it to the table to try and get the Zabrak to leave. Little Force trick that comes in handy.

The Zabrak snorts.

"That will not work on me," comes the reply, and Saimon frowns, looking up at the man's features. The two horns on either side of his forehead frame an unkempt mohawk, which he wipes backwards, carding his fingers through the black, sweaty hair.

"Name's Jorn MacTavik," he adds.

Saimon clutches the glass a little tighter, retreating his face back under the hood covering his face, even in spite of the mask.

"Been looking for ya'," the Zabrak - Jorn - says with a gleeful smile. He's rugged, looks to have seen battle recently. Grease covered fingers.

"I doubt you were," Saimon finds himself answering.

Bright blue eyes meet his in a display of not aggression but incredulity.

"You're hard to find, Ghost, but I am one of the best bounty hunters out there."

Fingers tighten around the glass.

"Captain Prixes is looking for you," Jorn adds, looking nonchalantly to the side as he wipes his mouth.

Saimon frowns under the mask. That's a name he hasn't heard in a 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 time. Not since before-

"What makes you think I'll come with you?" is what he says instead.

Jorn chortles, adjusting the disheveled shirt he's wearing, wiping a bloody knuckle against the fabric.

"Says he remembers the name Ry'leigh and that it should mean something to you too."

Saimon feels his heart stop at the name. He hasn't heard that in years.

Not since he was taken by his family as a child to be trained. Not since he'd realized he was connected to the Force.

He blinks. Sets down the glass.

One of the bar patrons is yelling in Jorn's vague direction now and Saimon recognizes it as a cue to leave.

"I'll wait for you for a quarter of an hour. Good luck," he says, getting up and narrowingly avoiding the fist meant for Jorn as he skips to the side, slinking into the shadows.

It'll be a proper bar brawl now, and he has no interest in participating.

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It takes exactly 17 minutes before Jorn steps out of the bar with a missing tooth but a victorious grin on his face.

What difference did it make that he waited 17 minutes instead of 15?

"Let's go fince Prixes," Jorn exclaims, spitting blood onto the ground.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #my writing