it takes far too long for soap to realise ghost won’t touch him anymore
he doesn’t avoid him, which he considers no small a miracle given how he usually treats his emotions, and he’s too busy being thankful to notice. thankful he didn’t run from him, thankful his simon has returned to him, no matter how changed he is from the man he knew. ghost doesn’t shy away from his touch so long as he knows it’s coming and he spends long nights just tracing the scars on his newly bared face; following half-remembered tracks and memorising new ones
but ghost never reaches back. he’ll press into his hands like a starved man, melt beneath the smallest of touches but he never initiates. and now, his regular touches have disappeared; no longer does he clap him on the back after a job well done, doesn’t cheekily nudge him after making a recruit shit themself just by giving them a look and soap hadn’t realised how much he’s come to rely on them until they stopped. how much he’s grown to care for ghost the way he used to care for simon
he can’t confront him about it; ghost’s fight or flight always firmly tuned to flight when it came to matters about himself. soap would’ve if it meant fight; if ghost would just put his hands on him again, he’d take his violence with the passion of a lover, wear the marks he left behind with grateful pride. but he remembers the look on ghost’s face when he’d ripped his balaclava off, when he’d stripped his barrier and his protection and spat, “i ruined you the moment i touched you!”
so soap waits. he waits for ghost to crawl into his bunk, to take off his mask and surrender himself to his touch; a touch that seems to burn as much as it freed. and instead of taking his face in his hands and worshiping it the way he has every other night ghost’s come to him, soap takes his gloved hand in his own
ghost flinches, the preemptive bliss fading from his eyes as reluctant fear takes its place. soap brings it up so it hovers between them and already feels him edge backwards. he doesn’t let it stop him and gently tugs his fingers free of the glove one at a time until his hand is bare to him; visibly shaking in the dark. soap brings it towards his face, holding firm when ghost tries to yank it back and presses into it; his breath hitching as he finally gets the touch he’s missed for years
“stop, john,” ghost whispers and it hurts to hear the pain in his voice; closer to begging for the soft touch to end than he’s ever been under torture
“no,” he refuses, pressing a kiss to the centre of his palm
his eyes shine in the dark, arm twitching as he fights himself; pulling back against his grip and leaning into him in turn. (how can he stand to put his mouth on him; can’t he taste it? the dirt and decay that lives under his skin? the maggots that swim in the slow beat of his blood; the rot he’s been trying so hard not to spread to him but he’s weak.) “you don’t know how broken i am. i’ll ruin you, john.”
soap kisses him again; thick, phantom blood coating his lips. “i’m not letting you slip through my fingers again,” he promises, swallowing it down. “i’ve missed you too much to be afraid of getting cut, simon.”
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·°Orange Cowboy~°·
Idk i just find it so funny ;w;
Like big spookie angry boi talking with a thick southern accent AAA
anyhow i've got some other small doodles down there :3
Sadly I've now drawn much lately ;w;
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story time!
i have this super vivid memory of when i was a wee lass on the cusp of my adolescence. i was holding this tiny little doll in my hands, rotating her and absorbing all the little details, picturing myself sculpting or designing such a toy myself. she had short blonde hair, whose texture i can still recall under my fingertips. i noted her clothing, simple enough; she sported attire fit for summer, i recall the shirt being light pink with ruffles and a flower detail, plain green shorts, and white socks with pink shoes. i remember seeing the color of the base plastic peaking under the chipped factory paint, aged from years of play
i no longer have this doll, (i donated it during a move) but i kept recalling the memory, especially as i began to get into customizing fashion dolls, thanks to the copious amounts of hours spent binging doll customizing youtube and instagram. i thought since i no longer have the doll, i would try to design a fashion doll based on her design, then using the power of the internet! i would find a picture of the doll on google to compare
so a little while back i made some sketches, the idea being i create a fashion doll type character based on the original doll from my memory, and then compare her to the original doll. and after that i would do one final design that did the same concept but instead of being based off my memory, i would just base it on the original doll
so here’s how that went
sketches
1st design
as for the original doll itself, i was really excited when was able to find her even though i couldn’t remember the toy line name. these are considered vintage toys, (she’s from late 90s early 00s) so i had no online official catalog i could search, however google is a god of data so i prayed to it and i found the toy line!! growing up me and my siblings called the toys “family people” but i knew that wasn’t the actual title, turns out, they’re called “loving family” by fisherprice
anyway this is her, this is the doll!
i hadn’t been 100% confident that i remembered her correctly, but i was nearly dead on in the initial sketches. it’s a simple design so probably not that impressive, but memory is fickle, and i know that i have certainly thought i knew what a bicycle looked like, only to go try to draw one from memory and it looked like trash
that said, today i finished my final design ✨ i have no fucking idea what the youths are wearing these days so maybe they would find it cringe, but it appeals to my inner child, so, this is for you, little emma 💖
final design
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Ethel Cain's songs remind me of Supernatural so much rn
case in point:
"it was a highway to nowhere, and we rode it // cold car with no gas and we chose it"
"our kids will grow up with half as much // trying to build something out of dust // finding out too late what they need"
- God's Country
"Jesus can always reject his father // but he cannot escape his mother's blood // he'll scream and try to wash it off of his fingers // but he'll never escape what he's made up of"
- Family Tree (Intro)
"i'm just a child, but i'm not above violence // my mama raised me better than that"
"and daddy said, shoot first, then run and don't look back"
"and baby, Hell don't scare me, i've been times before"
- Family Tree
and Thoroughfare is totally about two hunters chasing monsters through the country and slowly falling in love <3
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