#(also I'm from the usa so i kept this in the tags as it's only tangentally related)

[uncle-fruity]

Is there anything more exhausting than someone trying to explain the political benefits of ignoring or outright rejecting the trans community?

what if we all killed ourselves

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

There is 58 years between the first plane flight, and a human going to space.

Technological advancements happen very quickly, so yeah that argument is mute. Even if you believe Santos Dumant was the first person to do it, that's still 63 years between his flight and a human going to space.

Also I'm not sure in which universe is democracy a widely American concept.

Even before Ancient Greece in the Vajjika Republic in 6th century bce India is widely considered to be the first example of a democratic Republic.

Also democracy is literally only in Republic City, which didn't have real democracy until the end of Book 1, and the earth kingdom who was suffering under a bad case of fascism. And Queen Hou-Ting, what ever godamm name was, sucked dick and was a terrible ruler.

The water tribes kept their chiefs, they just get to vote on it. The northern water tribe chiefdom is hereditary. The fire nation kept their firelord

Korra did not spread democracy everywhere, unlike where you claim they forced it.

Poor earth kingdom citizens, they must miss being a selfish queen who never did anything to help them, and let theives go wild, and then the facist dictator, who put people into concentration camps.

In HISTORY leaps in technology have happened fast. In a STORY you need to be careful not to make the whole thing feel like it's set in a different universe - and when we go from rudimentary industrialization, some of which is openly treated as a PROBLEM by the original's shows narrative because nature's worth and it's key role in keeping balance are a central theme in several episodes, all the way to Ford 1s everywhere, big ass factories that would obviously cause a lot of polution, lightningbending going from rare to something common that is used to give everyone electricity, all because the writers wanted to change the aesthetic from Meiji Era Japan to Prohibition Era New York, I'm gonna say that shit went a bit too far.

I didn't say americans invented democracy, I'm saying it's very common for american writers to push their own way of life as the only correct one, because there's literally over a century of the government spreading propaganda about "The american dream" and "the american way of life" to EVERYONE, including people in the USA, where the writers were raised - which is why the city that is supposed to represent the all four nations suddenly goes from "Very obviously east asian" to "Very obviously USA stuff that was never present in the old show." The character of Korra isn't running around saying "The US is inherently better", but the show very much is by making the symbol of balance and harmony so PAINFULLY american.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying Bryke or anyone involved in the making of Korra was actively trying to make propaganda, they were just influenced by it and repeated some of it without even realizing it - and so did you with the bizarre leap in logic of "If you criticize the way americans, knowingly and unknowingly, tend to push their way of life as the default/superior one in stories, that means you think the fascist villain had a point/is not that bad"

If you like Korra as a show, including the whole concept of Republic City, that's fine. It's none of my business. But as someone who literally had to study American propaganda pieces and the long lasting influence it had in media, there is NOTHING you or anyone can say to me that will convince me that is not a reflex of propaganda that breaks the world-building that had been very coherent and consistent in the previous show. Either deal with that, or block the tags/my blog.

[flawedamythyst]

Fandom Deep Cuts

Tagged by @drgrlfriend : okay apropos of this post —

tag a writer if you’d like them to share a never-before-seen playlist/moodboard/bit of background lore from one of their fics!

So, I'm going to be talking about Cluster Got Your Back, Bro, which is my Sense8 Avenger's AU. I'll ramble about it for a bit, and then I've got a scene that got cut.

So, when I look back the thing that frustrates me most about this fic is the failure to live up to the diversity of Sense8 itself. Everyone is white, I managed 2 women out of 8, and despite Bruce being in India and Bucky starting out in Afghanistan, everyone is from the USA/Europe/Australia. Given the state of the MCU at the time I wrote it (which was pre-Black Panther or I would definitely have dropped Bruce for T'Challa) I don't know that I could have done much better but it still bugs me. I tried to get a bit more global by making Tony Italian and dumping Thor in Australia rather than Norway, which might have felt more obvious but would have meant I had 3 Americans, 4 Europeans and Bruce, hanging out in India but clearly not Indian. Not that Australia isn't another Western country, but at least it spread out the dots on the map a bit.

And I did really enjoy writing Australian!Thor. He was so much more fun than Norwegian!Thor would have been, imho.

The hardest part of writing it was the timezones. I had a tab open on Time Zone Converter the whole time I was writing it, and kept having to move scenes around so it wasn't weird that various people were awake at the same time. Thank God for Thor's dawn surfing habit and Tony's erratic sleep patterns, but the hardest one was definitely Bruce. He was just never awake when the others are.

He's also the only one who didn't get his own plotline and yes, that is a bit related, but also, I was juggling a lot already and I didn't have anything for him to do. I hinted at him being on the run or whatever, but I never gave him any real backstory. I think it would have all been too much. So, bless him, he's just the guy who sleeps through the plot, occasionally meditates and is only useful when someone gets injured.

Originally, there was going to be an extra epilogue bit set a couple of years later, to show everyone settled into the lives they ended up with, which is what the snippet below the cut is. I accidentally introduced an antagonist though, and it suddenly started feeling like a sequel with a whole new plot arc, so I cut it. I kinda meant to go back at some point, but that never happened (if it had, possibly Bruce would have got some plot of his very own. Possibly not.)

It's a bit long and stops mid-scene, as a warning.

Clint actually really loved being a Stark Industries bodyguard. It meant he got to wear sunglasses and loom behind Tony, looking menacing - which was easy, given their respective heights. He got to carry a weapon everywhere with him which, okay, so it wasn’t his bow, but a gun was okay too, and got him less weird looks, and mostly his job was just watching people, which was easy as shit.

Mostly, though, he liked that it meant he got to work with Bucky.

“All clear here,” said Bucky through the comms that Tony had insisted on buying them, even though they could speak to each other’s minds. Clint glanced over the crowd of assembling reporters to where Bucky was standing by the door, looking hot as hell in his fancy suit as he glared around at the crowd.

“Here too,” said Clint, tearing his eyes away to glance around from his vantage point on the stage. “Tony, are you ready?”

Tony was in the back room, flicking through notecards that Clint knew he’d ignore as soon as he came out in front of the crowd. “Sure, yeah,” he said distractedly. “Hey, is the guy from The New Yorker here?”

Clint had no idea what he looked like, so he just scanned over the crowd as Tony appeared beside him, following his gaze.

“Aha! There he is,” said Tony, pointing at an old guy in the second row. “He wrote an article when I moved to New York about how Stark Industries was overextending itself. I’m going to make him eat his words.”

“Not literally, please,” said Steve. He wasn’t at the press conference, because despite Tony's best wheedling, he’d declined every single job offer from Stark Industries and stayed working for the NYPD. Clint thought he was nuts, because the benefits he and Bucky got were insane. The dental alone was worth turning up every day to hang around with one of his closest friends and his boyfriend, while looking hot in a suit.

And Clint did look hot. Bucky had made sure that he knew that.

“Sure, sure,” said Tony. “All the words eating will be hypothetical.” He straightened his tie, then took a step closer to the door. “Okay, I’m ready. Wish me luck, guys.”

Everyone who was currently awake wished him luck, glancing in on the press conference from wherever they were. Thor was in board shorts, clutching his surfboard as he ran down to meet the first wave of the day, Wanda was curled up on a sofa reading a briefing document and drinking a glass of wine in preparation for the next day’s political mindgames in the Sokovian parliament. Natasha didn’t let them see where she was, which was pretty much standard these days, now she was rising through the ranks of SHIELD.

Bruce was asleep. Tony had tried to persuade him that he needed to stay up for the conference, for moral support, but Bruce had just rolled his eyes and started his usual evening meditation.

Steve was on patrol with Sam, but Clint could see him sitting in an unoccupied chair in the front row, waiting for Tony’s big announcement.

Tony strolled out as if onto a runway, waving both hands at the crowd. “Hey guys!” he said. “Good to see you again. Well, most of you.” He sent the guy from The New Yorker a pointed look. “Now, I know most of you are hoping this is going to be about some awesome new Stark Industries product, because everything we create is incredible, but this is actually going to be even more fun than that.” 

His hand went into the pocket his notecards were in for a moment, but when he took it out, it was empty.

This was going to be fun.

“Okay, so it’s probably pretty clear now that I’ll be living in New York semi-permanently for a bit,” said Tony. “Not that I don’t love Roma, of course not, the weather is so much better, not to mention the coffee, although the tourists are about the same. Just, New York has a couple of things in it that I’m enjoying having easy access to.” He gave Steve a wink that made Steve roll his eyes, and then disappear to go back to his patrol.

Tony just turned his grin on the rest of the crowd, unfazed. “Which means I need to start acting like a good neighbour, right? I don’t want to be one of those asshole-type billionaires who don’t pay taxes and pretend a couple of thousand to charity is a big deal. Not that I’m talking about anyone in particular of course, except, wait, yes I totally am, and of course I’m going to name and shame them. Page four of your briefing pack has a full list of billionaires who aren’t pulling their weight when it comes to helping out the rest of the community.”

Clint wondered who had signed off on the briefing pack, and how long it would take Pepper to fire them.

“So, in addition to paying all my taxes like a good boy -my returns are available on request from the PR department- I figure it’s time to get into the philanthropy business properly. So, I’m announcing that I’m setting up the Maria Stark Charitable Foundation, who will be starting off with a fund of a couple of billion, to be divided between projects in New York, for my neighbours, and throughout the world because let’s face it, this is a global community now, we’re all each other’s neighbours.”

Clint scanned over the crowd again, trying to pretend he couldn’t see Bucky rolling his eyes at that one. There was a movement near the back and he zoned in on it, then froze dead.

Trick was standing there, staring straight at him with a malicious smirk on his face.

The cluster were now so close to each other that he didn’t need to say anything, didn’t even need to think it. Just the sudden change in his emotions was enough to make Bucky, Steve, Thor, Natasha and Wanda appear next to him while Bruce startled awake in Mumbai.

“What is it?” asked Bucky.

“That’s Trick,” said Clint, stepping out of his body so he could point.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “Right,” he said, and disappeared.

“What the hell is he doing here?” asked Wanda. Clint didn’t have any answers. As far as he was concerned, Trick had disappeared into the night and was never coming back.

Bucky stalked over to Trick and put a heavy hand on his shoulder, doing the sexy badboy glower that usually made Clint melt, but was just making him feel reassured now. It didn’t matter what Trick wanted, he had a kickass boyfriend and the rest of the cluster on his side.

Trick tried to throw Bucky off, but he just tightened his grip and marched him off. Clint wondered if it was possible to love the guy any more than he did right now.

“So, enough about me,” said Tony, wrapping up the speech that he’d somehow managed to continue with despite the drama. “And I know I don’t usually say that, but I figure there’s only so much of the glory I can take right now. Let me introduce you to the person who’ll actually be running the show.”

He was finishing up a lot quicker than he’d been intending to, which Clint had a feeling was because of him, but he was more than okay with that. Tony handed over the podium, gave one last wave, then glanced at Clint and headed backstage.

Clint followed him, and the minute they were out of sight of the crowd, Tony put an arm on his shoulder. “You okay?”

Clint nodded. “Just really want to know what the fuck he thinks he’s doing here.”

“Let’s find out,” said Tony.

Bucky had Trick in the security room, handcuffed to a chair with another security guard outside while Bucky stood against the wall with his arms crossed and just glared at him. In the time it took Clint and Tony to walk down there, Trick went from trying to play the whole thing off as a mistake to trying to threaten him with a lawsuit. Bucky didn’t so much as twitch.

“How are we going to play this?” asked Steve, walking around Trick. “You know I’m not actually going to let you hurt him, right?”

“No hurting,” said Clint. “I’m just going to ask a couple of questions.”

“If I don’t like his answers, there may be some hurting,” said Bucky. Steve just sighed.

Clint paused outside the room to take a breath, and Tony slapped a hand to his shoulder again. “Hey, any time you want, just say the word and I’ll throw the full weight of an outraged billionaire at him,” said Tony. 

Clint snorted and shook his head. “Nah, let’s do this the old-fashioned, carnie way.”

“Oh god, please don’t kneecap him,” muttered Steve.

Clint ignored him as he opened the door and went inside.

“...can’t treat me like this,” Trick was saying. “I’ve done nothing wr-” He shut up when he saw Clint, then glanced over his shoulder at Tony and raised an eyebrow.

“You really are playing with the big boys now, huh?” said Trick. “Look, I-”

“Shut up,” said Clint. “What are you doing here?”

Trick shrugged as well as he could in the handcuffs. “Hey, a guy can’t drop in to see an old friend?"

“We’ve never been friends,” said Clint.

Trick faked a heartbroken look, and Clint just rolled his eyes, glancing at Bucky, who was still glowering. “Maybe we should just kneecap him,” he said, mostly to hear Steve’s protest.

“Oh, come on,” said Trick. “It’s not that bad. I’m just here to talk to you.” His eyes flicked to Bucky, then across to Tony. “In private,” he added.

“Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of them,” said Clint.

Trick’s eyes raised. “Seriously? You want all your dirty secrets out in the open?”

“He wants to blackmail you,” said Natasha.

The idea of Bucky and Tony not knowing everything there was to know about Clint was ridiculous. Clint grinned at Trick, feeling the vicious edge to it. “Nothing secret about it,” he said. “Sorry if you were hoping to have any kind of leverage.”

Trick snarled at him. “Fuck you, Barton,” he said. “Maybe I’ll tell all the press out there that Tony Stark is hiring a guy with a murder conviction, then.”

“He’s not,” said Tony, leaning back against the wall. “Tony Stark is hiring the very best guy for the job, and his past, which may involve some criminal charges, none of which are actually murder, isn’t Tony Stark’s business.”

“Tony Stark is talking about himself in the third person,” noted Wanda, and earned herself a glare.

“Fuck,” muttered Trick, and glared at Clint. “Didn’t think you’d be the type to let some rich dude fuck you in exchange for being pampered, Barton.”

Bucky suddenly moved at that, making Trick as he uncrossed his arms and stepped forward. “Say that again,” he said. “Go on. I dare you.”

Trick stared at him, not nearly scared enough. “Okay, so apparently it’s not just Stark you’re getting on your knees for. I wouldn’t have thought a billionaire was big on sharing.”

Tony let out a long sigh, “Okay, two things. First of all, were you not listening to my speech out there at all? Sharing is exactly what I’m about. And secondly, I don’t know why you think Clint would need to sleep with someone for them to think he’s worth employing and being friends with. He’s incredibly talented, you know.”

Clint felt his ears blush red at the compliment, but he did his best to keep glaring at Trick.

“We need to scare him badly enough to never come back,” said Natasha. She crouched down to stare at Trick. “You should leave Bucky alone with him.”

[teconkaals]

Walking With A Ghost Chapter 3

Back in the UK, Soap invites Ghost to dinner at his house.

AO3 Chapter link: Chapter 3 - Back Home

Fanfic Masterlist: Here

Next Chapter: Chapter 4 - Home

Previous Chapter: Chapter 2 - One More Heartbeat

Wordcount: 8063

Rating: Mature

Tags of the fanfic (some of them): hurt/comfort, taking care of each other, blood and violence, happy ending, non explicit sex

A/N: A bit long, but it's all fluff I swear

I don’t give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform (I’m publishing on my Ao3 account both English and Spanish).

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY - TF 141BACK HOME CHICAGO, USA NOVEMBER 4, 2022, 04:15

A buzz woke him up.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to drive away the sleepiness, and looked around him, trying to place himself. No, this certainly wasn't his room. He turned a little to the left when he felt something on his waist and saw Soap hugging him, his forehead resting on his back. Ghost looked at him for a few seconds before moving carefully so as not to wake him. He pulled the blanket gently over them, and Soap stirred in his sleep. He hugged him a little more and Simon couldn't contain a half smile, feeling how his heart warmed.

The hum was heard again somewhere on the floor, insistent, and he frowned as he recognized it as the vibration of a mobile. Simon had a feeling it was his and he moved quickly to find it. He always kept it in silent mode and the only calls he got were from work, so there was a good chance it was Price. Ghost found his pants, rummaged in its pockets, and pulled out the little device. He rolled onto his back, carefully placing Soap on his chest, and opened the phone, confirming his suspicions.

He took a deep breath before answering.

“What's up?” He asked in a lower tone of voice than usual.

“Finally, I've been trying to reach you,” Price replied. Ghost didn't miss the slight relief in his voice. “I went looking for you, but you didn't answer. And I’ve also called you. Five times, where have you been?”

“We're on break.”

“That's right.”

“Then why so much insistence?”

The Captain was silent and Ghost continued speaking.

“You wouldn't be worried about me, would you?” he growled.

“Maybe a bit restless. A lot has happened in these last few hours.”

Ghost looked at Soap as he noticed him move again and lowered his voice a bit more as he spoke.

“Too many. Do you want to talk about a specific one?”

Price snorted.

“I hardly hear you. You know that phones have a microphone you put near your mouth, right?”

Ghost looked at the ceiling for a moment.

“Get to the point, Captain.”

Price chuckled softly.

“It's nothing important,” he replied. “I thought you might like a drink. You know, for old times sake.”

Simon cocked his head and took a deep breath.

“I'll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

“Don't worry.” Price said and Ghost sensed that smile that downplayed the matter. “We'll have a chance for that later.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he chuckled. “Try to rest, we'll leave early tomorrow morning.”

He hung up the phone and closed it. He wasn't surprised that Makarov's name had stirred up the Captain's past. In fact, he too would have been in the same situation if he hadn't been busy with… other things. Makarov was a bad guy, one he didn't expect to meet again. On the other hand, perhaps he could take advantage of it to collect a series of debts.

“You've stayed.”

He turned to Soap upon hearing his sleepy voice. He'd moved his head a little to see him and, although he was smiling, Ghost couldn't help but feel a pang of pain in his chest.

“I can go if…”

“No!” John hastened to answer. “No, it's okay. I'm just… I'm surprised. I thought you'd leave after… well, you know.”

Sure.

It was logical that he thought that of the cold and distant guy who, once the physical need is satisfied, leaves because nothing ties him there. And the truth is that he wasn’t wrong; on the few occasions he'd slept with other people, he'd walked out without saying a word. With Soap though, it was different because there were feelings involved. Emotions he hadn't felt in many, many years, and that had kept him from leaving the room in silence.

He sighed.

“I'll leave when you ask me to,” he growled.

John made up a huge smile and chuckled. He rested his cheek on his chest and frowned a little at his hand.

“What've you got there?”

“My cellphone.”

John lifted his head slightly and moved to take it.

“Your cellphone?” He took a good look at it before laughing. “This thing is older than me. Why do you have a grandpa's phone?”

Ghost took it from his hands and let it fall to the ground. The device made a thud as it landed on the clothing, and Soap laughed, settling himself against it.

“Don't sulk,” he told him, smiling, “I'm asking because I'm interested.”

Simon looked at him and snorted.

“It's for calling. I don't need more.”

“To call,” he repeated.

“You don't call or what?” Ghost growled.

John laughed again.

“No. Well, sometimes," he added, seeing his mate look at him. “My grandma, for example. She doesn't quite understand how messaging apps work, so I've to call her,” he cocked his head. “You don't text with your family?”

Simon looked away and stared at the ceiling. He was silent for a few long seconds before speaking.

“I’ve no family.”

Soap sat up like a spring.

“Fuck… I… I'm sorry, Simon. I didn't know that…”

“Calm down,” he cut him off.

Soap was silent, looking at him carefully.

“You don't…have anyone?”

Ghost looked at him and growled a curse at the tone of sorrow in his words.

“Save your pity, Johnny.”

“It's not pity,” he snapped back. “It's… how to explain…” He ran a hand through his hair and huffed after a few seconds. “Okay, fine, you're right: It's pity, but it's how I've been raised. I've always had my family there, and we're a lot,” he added with a cherished smile, “so I'm a little sorry when people grow up without it. It's… that kind of pity. I didn't mean to offend you, Simon. I'm sorry.”

Ghost glanced at him and nodded. He understood what he meant and, if he made an effort to empathize, it was logical that he would have that reaction. He was distracted when he noticed Soap climb on top of him to get to the edge of the bed. The Scotsman leaned out and reached out to rummage through the clothing.

“Where the hell is it?”

“What the fuck are you doing, Johnny?”

“Aha, found it!” He answered triumphantly, getting up again and showing him the cellphone that Ghost had dropped. “No matter what, you'll always be my friend,” John continued. He sat on the bed and typed on the device. A Bruce Springsteen song blared from somewhere on the floor, cutting off abruptly after a few seconds. “You can call me whenever you want. You can even give Price my number in case… something happens to you,” he handed back the phone. “You'll never be alone again, Simon.”

Ghost picked up the phone without saying anything, completely shocked by Soap's words. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, realizing that he couldn't make a sound. John looked at him with understanding and lay down next to him, putting an arm around his neck and pulling him gently. Simon let go and rested his forehead in the crook of his neck. He felt his chest split open at having all those emotions at once. He, who always thought of himself as a person who didn’t deserve to be loved, a kind of killing machine, was receiving love from a person whom he considered good. Someone who did seem to care about him beyond camaraderie. After so many years suffering abuse from his father, having been betrayed several times, having lost everything that was important to him; after having put on a shell to not let a single emotion pass…

Simon broke down.

And Soap hugged him tight as he began to tremble, kissing him on the hair. John moved a little to cover them with the blanket and gently caressed his back, offering him his silent support, and Ghost, far from feeling vulnerable, felt protected. Like he'd found a safe haven. And noticing him brought on a sudden wave of exhaustion as he released the tension that had accumulated over years. Pretending that he was strong, that he wasn't affected by anything and that he was fine alone, was exhausting.

He took a deep breath and felt Soap move a little.

“You better?” He asked.

Ghost nodded wordlessly. He was so comfortable in his arms that he didn't want to break away.

“I'm glad,” John whispered into his ear and kissed his cheek.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door and they both jumped. Gaz's voice sounded on the other end.

“Hey, Soap! You there?”

John sighed.

“I'd better open it before he kicks in,” he whispered and Ghost moved a little to let him go.

Soap quickly dressed and hurried to open the door. Although the bed was invisible from the hallway, Simon shifted his position just in case, casting a quick glance at the floor to see if there was anything to indicate he was there.

“Hey” Soap greeted him with a jovial voice. “What’s up?”

“Haven't seen you all day, man. Still sleeping off your hangover?” Gaz asked with a laugh.

Soap chuckled.

“I think I drank too many beers.”

“And also whiskey. Did you have company?” He added he mischievously.

Ghost tensed for a moment, relaxing when John laughed.

“I wish! I was so drunk that I didn't see that I had already drawn a glass.”

Gaz laughed with him.

“You're a basket case, man” he took a deep breath. “Price sent me to remind you that the plane leaves first thing tomorrow. Try not to fall asleep.”

“I'll set seven alarms” Soap assured him and his partner laughed again.

He said goodbye to Gaz and closed the door, stepping into Ghost's field of vision. He glanced at him and smiled.

“Go home, huh?” Soap commented casually.

“Don't want to?” Simon asked.

“Of course I do” John chuckled softly and sat down on the bed, close to him. “It's weird after being away so long. And it's funny because it's only been a handful of days, but it feels like months,” he added, quietly. “It'll be a rest to sleep at home and go back to the routine.”

Ghost nodded wordlessly and Soap looked at him.

“What're you gonna do when we get back?”

Simon took a deep breath, thoughtful. The truth is that he hadn't given it much thought because he assumed that he’d do what he always did: inventory the weapons, clean them, review the reports, train and read a book at night. Maybe he'd have a drink at Amelia's pub.

“I don't know,” he finally answered.

“We can go somewhere,” he suggested. “If you want,” he added, outlining a smile.”

He looked at him carefully. Although Soap kept his usual smiling, Simon could see past him and see that he was hesitating. Apparently, Soap didn't seem to be sure where they were. Well, neither did he, so they were both equally lost. What was clear to him was that he wanted to follow the new path that was opening up before him.

One corner of his mouth turned up.

“Sure.”

John's smile widened and his face seemed to light up. And also the room. A kind of superpower that never ceased to amaze Ghost. He let his heart warm a little before taking a deep breath and sitting up on the bed.

“I should go,” he commented, rubbing his eyes. “I need a shower and something to eat.”

“I thought you might want to shower with me.”

He looked up. Soap was smiling shamelessly, one eyebrow raised, and Simon would have kissed him if it hadn't been for the words his mate had said.

Showering together.

This was something Simon had never done with anyone. Not even in the army. He'd always managed to shower alone, away from the prying eyes of his partners. It was a very personal moment for him because the water relaxed him, relieving stress, apathy and anger. He’d never considered that there was a chance to share that with another person, not even Soap. And he didn't know if he was ready for it.

John's smirk faded and the mischievous look turned into a worried one.

“Simon?”

Ghost swallowed and looked down.

“I've… never done it.”

“You kidding!” Soap exclaimed, stunned. Ghost looked at him and John's expression softened. He sighed before speaking. “The last thing I want is to pressure you, so take your time, okay?”

Simon shook his head, surprised to realize that he wanted to try; see how the experience was and how it ended.

“I want to, it's just that…”

He sighed, leaving the sentence in the air, not knowing very well how to formulate it. Luckily for him, Soap seemed to understand what he was trying to say.

“Don't worry,” he replied kindly. “Let's try, okay? Set the pace, and if you get overwhelmed, let me know so I can give you space.”

Ghost nodded, and after Soap removed his clothes, he led him into the bathroom. Although the shower was a standard size, it was a bit small for two such large men. They managed to keep from falling, and when the water began to run hot, Soap moved so that Ghost was under the tap. The effect was immediate, and Simon felt him relax. He let out a soft sigh and lifted his head, closing his eyes to keep out the water. Seconds later, he remembered that he was accompanied and opened his eyes.

The Scotsman was looking at him carefully and lovingly and Simon's heart skipped a beat.

“All good?” He asked. Ghost nodded. “Can I?” He added, holding up a hand with the sponge.

He stared at him for a few long seconds before nodding again. Soap placed a hand on his shoulder, a gentle touch, and gestured for him to turn around. Simon complied and turned away from him, taking a deep breath as he felt the soft pressure of the sponge against his skin. John took it easy, indicating when he needed to change position or raise his arms, and Ghost grew more comfortable. He also understood why people liked to shower in company. Perhaps it was because Soap was the person with whom he was sharing that first time, but he perceived it as something intimate; something that reinforced the trust he had in his partner.

No, mate no. Friend, he corrected himself.

“Okay, only part left.”

He looked at Soap, pushing thoughts of him away. GH frowned a bit, not understanding, and Soap smiled.

“The war paint you're wearing on your face,” he clarified. “Sure you've left some on my bed, but there's still some left on your face. And between the tears and the water, you look like a raccoon about to commit a crime.”

“What's wrong with that?”

John didn't answer, but he laughed. He reached out a hand out of the shower and reached for a towel, dampening it, motioning for him to close his eyes. Ghost obeyed and crouched down a bit so he could reach better. Soap washed his face with the same gentleness that he had applied to the rest of his body and Ghost found himself wanting to do that again.

“That's it.”

Simon glanced at him and Soap smiled, cocking his head to get a better look. He raised a hand and placed it on his cheek, carefully, like someone caressing a wounded animal to tell it he won't hurt it. Ghost closed his eyes and leaned his face into John's hand.

“Your turn,” he whispered, taking the sponge from his hand.

Soap laughed and switched places. Simon repeated the same movements Soap had done on him, slow and gentle, and found that it relaxed him, too. Feeling how John's skin crawled at his touch gave him a small sense of triumph. Being responsible for such a positive reaction was something new, something he wasn't used to.

Something he was beginning to enjoy.

He had always considered his hands to be another weapon, a tool to take lives. And suddenly he felt stupid for forgetting that he could also use them for something less violent. Yes, he was aware that they had a more than pleasant use during sex, but that... that was something else. Feeling John's soft skin under his fingers, feeling him relax, hearing him sigh and even groan in low pleasure. Ghost could get used to it, he could do it every day without getting tired.

And then you'll lose it because everything good you've ever had has been brutally taken from you.

He unfocused her gaze and stopped his hand almost without realizing it. That intrusive thought had caught him off guard and blocked him without being able to put up any kind of resistance.

“Hey, everything okay, big guy?” He asked softly.

Ghost nodded, still distracted.

“You can leave if you want. Don't feel forced, okay?”

Simon half processed the words and nodded again, silently, as he left the shower. He dried himself and dressed, sitting up in bed and trying to clear his mind. It didn't take long for Soap to come out of the bathroom. He crouched in front of him, a towel tied around his waist and his arms resting on his thighs. Ghost didn't miss that he hadn't touched him.

“I think you've gotten a little overwhelmed there,” he commented. “Sorry, maybe it was a bit soon.”

“No,” Ghost managed to reply, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “It…was good.”

“So?”

Simon shook his head and took a deep breath. He met John's eyes and stood up. Soap immediately followed suit.

I'd better go.”

Ghost moved across the room to retrieve his jacket and frowned when he couldn't find his balaclava.

“Here.”

He turned to Soap. He had his hand outstretched toward him, holding the garment.

“You're going to need it to get back,” he added with a half smile.

Simon reached over to grab it and pulled it over his head. He said goodbye to Soap and left the room. He put his jacket on and pulled the hood up before moving. He walked through the corridors of the hotel and used the stairs instead of the elevators so as not to meet anyone, although, due to the silence that reigned in the building, he was sure that there were hardly any people passing through the corridors. Simon took a deep breath and took out the card to open the door to his room when he heard footsteps in the corridor.

He snapped around, alert, but relaxed when he saw who it was.

“Price.”

The Captain looked him over and raised an eyebrow. Ghost didn't miss that he was trying to hide a half smile.

“I see you've been out for the night, Lieutenant,” he commented casually. Simon was silent, unmoving, and Price let out the smile he was trying to hide. “That, or you’re gone Scotch.”

Ghost looked down at his left arm and saw the St. Andrew's Cross there. He closed his eyes for a second and forced himself to breathe deeply. How had he been so stupid as to take Soap's jacket instead of his?

Damn him and his habit of wearing clothes several sizes too big.

“Don't worry,” Price continued to speak gently; in fact, he thought he heard a paternalistic tone in his voice. “I know you pretty well, and considering what you’re been through, I'll be glad of anything that adds a bit of color to your life."

Ghost felt his heart sink a little. Yes, too many emotions.

“Have you come just for that?” He replied, unable to answer anything else.

“Something like that,” he fished in one of his pockets and pulled out a small USB stick that he offered him. “Take a look at it when you can.”

Simon picked up the small item and pocketed it without saying anything. Price patted him on the shoulder and headed down the hall. Ghost looked at him for a few seconds and walked into his room. He made sure everything was locked up tight and pulled the drive back out. He looked at it for a few seconds and looked for his laptop. He should eat something, and he knew it, but he knew that whatever was on that little hard drive was important.

And confidential.

He plugged the device into his computer and scanned the contents. He clenched his jaw and took out his cell phone. He kept his gaze on the first number in the call log as Soap had saved his phone as “Johnny” and added two emojis next to it: a fist and a bar of soap. He added it to the speed dial before calling Price.

“When is this from?” He grunted as the other picked up.

“A week,” replied Price; he heard him breathe and knew he had just taken a drag on one of his cigars. “The CIA sent it to me a few hours ago.”

Ghost squeezed the phone a little.

“Where?”

“Never mind. They've already checked the place and it's not there,” Price paused a little to take another drag. “They've taken everything there was, and as far as I can tell, it's not good.”

“Weapons?” Ghost guessed.

“And the bad ones,” Price sighed. “I've spoken to Laswell. His team has a lead and we're going to follow it.”

Ghost knew that even though he spoke in the plural, this mission bore his name. And he wasn't surprised. The Captain knew that not sending him would be a mistake.

“When?”

“The day after tomorrow. I'll give you the details then.”

“Copy.”

He hung up without saying anything else, keeping his eyes on the laptop screen. It showed a person much larger than himself, head covered and holding an assault rifle, issuing orders. It didn't take Ghost much to recognize him. To recognize the bastard that had screwed up his life ten years ago and the one he had left for dead. He slammed away a series of memories that tried to break through and he cursed, slamming the laptop lid shut. His jaw clenched, and he forced himself to take a deep breath.

“You won't run away again,” he growled and pocketed the USB stick.

Simon got up, left the room, and walked out of the hotel. He needed to be alone for a while with his thoughts, away from his companions. He walked for several hours until he couldn't keep ignoring the rumbling of his stomach, so he stopped at a fast food restaurant and returned to the hotel. That information had brought out a series of memories that he didn't feel like managing and that, moreover, was forcing him to go back to healing old wounds that still hurt.

Ghost put the food on the table and opened the beer can. He uncovered his head and took a drink, plopping back into the chair with a huff. He ate in silence, trying to keep his mind blank, and took out a glass where he emptied what was left of the can. He dropped the flash drive in and watched the bubbles surround the device. Simon pulled it out and plunged one of his knives into it to break it open. He'd buy another for Price.

He picked up the remains of dinner, threw everything in the trash, and lay down on the bed, sighing. Streetlights streamed in through the window, and Ghost watched the flashes of passing vehicles. He turned in bed, and for a moment, he missed John's presence. He found himself feeling a small twinge of guilt that he hadn't told him anything all afternoon. He took a deep breath and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Should he call him? Write him a message?

What the hell is done in these cases?

His phone vibrated once and he jerked back in startle. He reached over to the nightstand for it and opened it to see that he had received a text. Simon felt his chest warm when he saw it was Soap's.

>Hey, I hope I didn't push you too hard today. Try to rest.

He kept his eyes on the message, reading it several times until the screen went black on its own. He took a deep breath and hit the answer button.

>All good. Rest up Johnny.

He hit send and put the phone down on the table. He was surprised that Soap thought he had pushed him when he had, in fact, been very careful with him, letting him set the pace. Apart from his mother, no one had been that considerate of him. That didn't surprise him either. Since that night, so many years ago, he had become inaccessible to people. And his mask, coupled with his bulk and height, didn't help. He knew the impression he gave, that of the hard and cold type that you did not want to make angry; that of a person who wouldn't blink an eye when taking a life. A killing machine. And no one wants someone like that around.

Except Soap.

For some reason he couldn't understand, he seemed to enjoy his company. He always had. From the first minute they'd met, John had greeted him with a huge smile on his lips and, most of the time, with a soft punch on the shoulder. At first that bothered him. And his attitude too. Always smiling, always cheerful, always positive. However, after a few months, he began to tolerate it and time passed until he finally found himself in his bed. With him. Two poles just as opposite as day and night. Simon was broken in many places, patched haphazardly to keep going, and using the darkness as an ally instead of drowning in it. By contrast, John was light. The spitting image of a person who had had a normal life, without great losses and full of people who loved him.

Someone who wanted to live and eat the world.

And he, selfish, drank every drop of light that that smile gave off. Until then, always from a distance and without getting too close for fear of rejection, pain and betrayal. People like John (charismatic and laughing) could have anyone around and the thought that it was just a simple crush flitted through his mind.

Simon snorted and lay face down on the bed, his face buried in the pillow.

He was too tired to think about it all. He needed sleep, so he took all those thoughts, and feelings, and stuffed them into a drawer, shut it tight, and put it in the corner of his mind. He would deal with them another time.

When he boarded the plane, most of his companions were already seated. Ghost suppressed a sigh and looked around for a free spot, if possible, away from everyone. A smile caught his eye and he knew it was Soap. He nodded at him, and Ghost moved closer to him. The Scotsman removed a backpack from the seat next to him and waved at it, inviting him to sit down. Simon complied without saying anything, placing his backpack between his legs and leaning back against his back. Although the rest of the team sat close to them, their seats were relatively far away from the people. For a moment this surprised him; however, it was clear to him that he hadn't forgotten that he didn't like people.

Heat filled his chest again. He was completely convinced that John barely remembered what happened in the bar, too much alcohol; that's why he was surprised to see that he hadn't forgotten that he didn't like people.

“I have your jacket,Lt.” Soap whispered.

He cocked her head slightly at him when he spoke.

“And I yours, sergeant,” he replied. “You'll give it to me another time.”

John didn't answer, just smiled a little more and nodded. He settled into the seat and leaned his head against it, closing his eyes. Ghost looked at it for a few seconds before putting on the headphones, took out the eBook and turned it on. They had almost eight hours of flight ahead of them, so he hoped to finish the book. He felt a small pang of apathy as he remembered that as much as he liked paper books, he didn't have any. Actually, he had few things because he always traveled light and all his belongings fit in a sports bag. He often told himself that someday he might have a house with a room full of books. Unfortunately, he knew he wouldn't live for it.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, pushing those thoughts away, and settled back in her seat.

When they had been in the air for a couple of hours, Simon noticed something over his shoulder. He looked up from the book to see that Soap had stirred in his sleep, resting his head on it. Ghost slumped down a bit in the seat to give him comfort and looked around him to rest his eyes. Some of his companions looked at them in surprise and Ghost gave them a look full of anger and threat. As he expected, they looked away and sat down without saying anything. Usually, he didn't care what people thought, but he didn't like being stared at. And that situation had repeated itself on more than one occasion, especially when they returned from a mission.

Soap had the enviable ability to fall asleep anywhere, so he usually dozed off on the way back. He almost always ended up resting on his shoulder, like at that very moment, and Ghost used to move so that he was more comfortable. Needless to say, in a helicopter full of soldiers, this didn’t go unnoticed and soon there were rumors. He didn't care, however, he waited to see if John was bothered before taking action. When he saw that he didn't seem to mind being talked about, he forgot about it.

His partner growled and Ghost turned to him. Soap was frowning slightly, his body tense. Simon didn't need any more information to know that he was having a nightmare. He sighed and moved a hand to rest on John's thigh, pressing down a little.

“Easy,” he murmured to him in a barely audible tone.

Soap took a deep breath and his posture relaxed. Ghost kept his hand there throughout the flight, intending to accompany him in his dreams. It must have worked because his friend didn't move again and he slept for eight hours. He woke him as they were about to land and Soap yawned and stretched. He glanced down at Ghost's hand on his thigh and smiled sleepily.

“Have you slept at all?” he whispered, rubbing his eyes.

“No.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, half surprised and horrified. “Nothing?”

Ghost shook his head and showed her the eBook.

“I've been reading.”

“Reading,” Soap repeated, still in astonishment. “For eight hours.”

“It's a good book.”

John opened his mouth to reply, but seemed to think better of it and sighed. He composed a half smile and shook his head.

“Don't ever change,” he told him, patting him on the arm.

The corner of Ghost's mouth turned up without his being able to help it. They got up, picked up their luggage and got off the plane. They walked the track in silence, and when they reached the limit, they stopped. Simon turned to say goodbye to Soap when Soap spoke before him.

“Do you have plans for today?”

Ghost blinked.

“No.”

John made up a huge smile.

“I invite you to dinner. At my house,” he added quickly. “I have the impression that you don't like restaurants.”

Ghost looked at him for a few long seconds, evaluating his proposal. The truth is that, knowing that he was going to leave in less than twenty-four hours, he wanted a little company.

“Sure. What time?”

“Seven?” John guessed and Simon nodded. “Great. I'll send you the address later. Try to get some rest, okay?”

He punched him lightly in the shoulder and stalked away. Ghost stood there, motionless as he watched him go. He barely moved when he sensed someone standing next to him.

“Spying on other people's conversations?” he asked.

Price burst out laughing.

“Soap is a good boy,” he replied, crossing his arms. “I'm glad you finally decided to take the plunge.”

“Do you mean him or me?”

“Both of you,” Price looked at him and smiled kindly. “I think, this time, you are the last one to notice everything.”

Ghost looked away and stared ahead.

“What time is the meeting?”

Price fell silent, and Simon knew he was debating whether to press about Soap or go along with it.

“At six.”

Ghost's phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out to read a message from Soap with his home address. He put it back and turned to Price when he slapped him on the back.

“Have fun tonight,” he said before walking away from him.

Simon turned and walked across the base to the barracks. He went into his room, took a pair of headphones and an mp3 player from his backpack and dropped the bag on the floor. He lay down on the bed and turned the music up a bit before taking a deep breath.

I think, this time, you are the last one to notice everything.

He clicked his tongue. Price had to be wrong, no one in his right mind would be attracted to someone like… him. At least, that's what a part of his mind said; the other was dedicated to throwing at him the memories of the night he had spent with Soap. Kisses, caresses, words and names whispered between moans that made him shiver when he remembered them. Simon closed his eyes, tired of dealing with his mind. Why couldn't he accept it? Why did it insist on trying to screw him over? To plunge him into the deepest of miseries?

“Dammit.”

He turned up the music a little more and tried to make his mind go blank. When he got it, he fell asleep almost without realizing it.

It was ten to seven when he woke up. He muttered a curse and shot up. He took a quick shower, changed his clothes, and headed out of his room toward the parking lot. He plugged Soap's address into the GPS and left the base for Hereford. He stopped at a supermarket to pick up a bottle of whiskey because, according to what he understood, if you were invited to dinner, or to eat, you had to bring something. He thought about getting wine, but he didn't know if Soap would like it either, so he played it safe. When he reached his destination, it was seven thirty.

“I thought you wouldn't come,” Soap greeted as he opened the door and invited him inside.

“I fell asleep,” Ghost growled.

He laughed and closed the door.

“That's what you get from reading during the flight.”

Ghost didn't reply, just followed him into another room that turned out to be the kitchen. The place was permeated with the smell of food and, to his surprise, it smelled quite good. He put the bottle of whiskey on the table, took off his jacket, and sat down in one of the chairs. With a sigh, he tugged on his mask and ran a hand through his still-damp hair, trying to comb it out.

“Have you brought whiskey?”

Simon looked up. Soap was looking at the bottle with a smirk.

“I didn't know what to bring,” he admitted. “I’m…  I'm not good at this stuff.”

Soap put the bottle down on the table and walked over to him. He placed a hand on his cheek and leaned down to kiss him on the lips.

“You're doing great.”

Ghost nodded and John grinned. He pulled out a couple of glasses, poured ice into them, and opened the bottle of whiskey. He handed one to Simon and raised his own. They clinked glasses gently and both drank.

Suddenly, something jumped on the table and Ghost jerked up, reaching for the knife from his back. He took a deep breath as soon as he checked what it was and looked at Soap.

“I didn't know you had a cat.”

“You're allergic?” he asked, concerned.

“No,” he replied, reaching out a hand to the animal. It sniffed him before rubbing against his hand, purring. “What’s its name?”

“Biscuit.”

“Sorry?”

“Its name’s Biscuit,” Soap chuckled. “Don't judge me, my niece put it on.”

Ghost's gaze blurred upon hearing this and he couldn't help but remember Joseph. The echo of his voice, and his laughter, echoed through his mind, and pain gripped his chest as he felt the emptiness of losing him.

“Simon?”

He blinked and focused on Soap.

“All good?” He added, looking at him with concern.

“Yeah. A bad memory.”

John pulled out a chair and sat near him. He gestured for him to follow suit, and Ghost complied. Biscuit hopped off the table onto Simons’s lap and snuggled into it. He stroked its back absently.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Soap asked.

Ghost didn't answer. He kept his gaze on the cat as he watched his fingers sink into the animal's dense fur.

“It'll spoil dinner.”

“It won’t.

He looked at him and could see that he was serious. He could tell him. Price trusted Soap and Simon trusted Price. And as scared as he was, as suspicious as he was, it would be a test of confidence John would have to pass.

He sighed.

“I've remembered my nephew,” he finally replied.

He knew that Soap remembered that he had no family and he could see how he added two plus two. John placed a hand on his arm.

“Sorry,” he muttered. Ghost nodded. “What… what happened to him?”

Simon focused back on the cat.

“He was killed, just like the rest.”

Silence fell on them like a heavy slab of concrete. Ghost was aware that this was the last thing Soap was going to hear, so he gave him a few seconds to absorb it.

“A former mission partner killed them. He was following orders from a Mexican narco,” he added.

“Have they been found?”

“I took care of that myself.”

John pressed lightly on his arm, and Ghost glanced there.

“It's classified information,” he said rather harshly. “Only Price knows.”

“I won't tell anyone, Simon,” Soap assured him. “I already told you: I'm not going to hurt you.”

Ghost nodded and looked curiously at Soap when he saw him move. When he held him close, he closed his eyes and rested his head on his shoulder. They stayed like that for a few minutes until Simon's stomach protested.

“I'm sure you haven't eaten anything all day,” John snorted mockingly. “Let's go have dinner and then watch a movie, shall we?”

He nodded and went to get up to help him when Soap put a hand on his shoulder.

“Stay. You’re the guest and you’ve a cat on your lap. Your mission is to stay there.”

Simon smiled and complied, watching as John placed plates on the table. They dined quietly, talking about everything and nothing, and Ghost slowly relaxed. He hadn't realized that he was tense until that moment. Like sharing the shower, he’d never dined with another person like that. And it was clear to him that Soap was aware of it by the care with which he was. It was a very subtle thing that someone else might have missed, but not him. Not when he'd learned to read people's body language to know how to react.

“Did you like dinner?” Soap asked.

“I'm surprised it didn't get burned.”

John burst out laughing.

“I like to cook, I admit it. Especially for others. It's not much fun to cook for yourself, so I always end up making myself anything.”

“It's logical.”

“Do you like cooking?”

“No. But I'm good at baking.”

Soap looked at him, surprised, and smiled.

“Makes sense.”

“Really?”

“Sure,” he replied, getting up as soon as the coffee pot started to make a noise. “I've seen you assemble and disassemble the weapons to clean them and I know you're a very meticulous person. In confectionery you’ve to measure the ingredients very well so it doesn't end up as a disaster. That's why I never make desserts," he added with a laugh.

“I'll bring one next time.”

John's face lit up when he heard it.

“That would be great,” he agreed. He paused to get a couple of mugs from a cupboard. “Sounds like Biscuit liked you. He doesn't usually get along with strangers.”

Ghost looked at the cat, still curled up in his lap, and stroked it gently.

“For some reason, animals usually like me.”

“People judge, they don't,” John commented. He had both coffee cups in his hands. “It’s logical that they know how to see beyond appearances.”

“Like you?”

Soap chuckled.

“Possibly,” he cocked his head. “Let's go to the living room?”

Ghost nodded and scooped Cookie into his arms, following his friend out of the kitchen. Although Soap's living room was not very large, Simon found it cozy. He had a couple of sofas placed in front of the TV, with a small table in the middle, and an armchair next to one of the windows, the largest. Several bookshelves lined the walls, mostly filled with books and comics, as well as a few games. Over the television were a handful of framed illustrations of various sizes. Art was never his strong suit, however he did know enough to realize they were good.

“Okay, what do you want to watch?” John asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He turned to him and sat down next to him, placing the cat back on his lap.

“Anything is fine.”

“No, no. You choose. I want to know what movies you like.”

Simon looked away.

“You'll laugh.”

“I promise not to. I don't judge, remember?”

Ghost sighed.

“Pride & Prejudice.”

“What?” asked Soap, surprised. He smiled. “The 2005 movie?”

“It relaxes me,” he murmured, noticing him to blush. “It’s a balanced rhythm and the soundtrack by Dario Marianelli is brilliant.”

“I admit I didn't think you were the type of person who likes romantic movies.”

Simon was silent as Soap got up and turned on a small computer on the counter. He pulled out a wireless keyboard and mouse and sat down next to him again.

“I like movies, in general,” he replied at the end.

“Me too, but I admit I have preferences. Like fantasy and sci fi.”

“We can see one of those genres.”

“No, no; Pride & Prejudice is fine. I haven't seen it in a while.”

Ghost glanced at him.

“Have you seen it more than once?”

Soap laughed.

“Of course I do. Keira Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen have amazing chemistry. The scene where he helps her into the carriage? One of my favorites.”

Simon smiled helplessly, stunned. No turning up the corner of the mouth, no half-smiles. No. A full smile. And John widened his as soon as he saw it.

“Now who's surprised?” He added in a mocking tone.

Ghost laughed, and Soap with him. He turned on the television and searched for the movie. Saying nothing, he took Biscuit off Simon's lap to rest his head on and placed the cat on his chest. Ghost looked at him, surprised, and placed a hand on John's abdomen. He covered it with his at once and moved his head to look at him.

“You should laugh more,” he commented in a lower tone, a fond smile on his lips. “Suits you good.”

Soap’s smile widened when he saw him blush and gave his hand a gentle squeeze, turning his attention back to the movie. Absently, Ghost tangled his fingers in John's hair, trying to take in his words as he stroked him. The heat that he’d been feeling for a few days filled his chest again. He felt very lucky to have those moments of peace, those moments of affection and intimacy with another person. They were a breath of fresh air to everything he’d suffered and the truth is that he did not want to live without it.

The thought that he would lose everything reared its head and he inadvertently tensed. Soap began to caress the back of his hand, gently, and Simon knew he hadn't missed the change in his mood. Again, he was grateful that John was there with him. That he had insisted so much to make a place for himself in his life. And Simon certainly wouldn't regret that. Not after everything he was feeling.

It was almost twelve when the movie ended and they both got up, stretching their muscles after sitting for so long. Ghost looked at the clock and sighed.

“I have a guest room, if you want to stay,” Soap offered.

Simon looked at him and felt something tighten in his heart. It must have shown in his face because John reached over and stroked his arm, running his fingers over the tattoo that continued past his shirt.

“Trust me: I'm trying really hard not to drag you into bed,” he murmured, looking at the patterns that covered his skin, “but above all else, I don't want you to feel pressured.”

“Not with this,” Ghost whispered, moving a hand to place it under Soap's chin. He looked at him. “I sleep better with you.”

A smile lit up John's face and, incidentally, Simon's chest. He hesitated before leaning in to kiss him. Soap clung to him a bit before pulling away. He took his hand and led him into the bedroom. Once in bed, Soap leaned his back against Ghost’s chest and he hugged him. He thought about telling him that, in a few hours, he’d have to leave on a mission and that he wouldn't know when he would return, nor how dangerous it would be. However, he didn't know how to bring it up, and by the time he wanted to know it, Soap was asleep. He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to match his breathing to his until he fell asleep.

As his phone vibrated, Simon was thankful John was a sound sleeper. Moving carefully so as not to wake him, he tucked him in and got into the shower. He dressed quietly and left the room in search of a pen and paper. He found nothing in the kitchen or living room, so he opened the door to one of the rooms, stopping as soon as he entered.

It was a study.

Three of the four walls were lined with bookshelves and cabinets, filled with drawing supplies and reference books. There was a work table just below a large window, with jars full of pencils, brushes, markers and the like; as well as some notebooks and papers on top. Simon walked over to the desk and took a look, recognizing the same style as the paintings in the living room. He opened a notebook on the table and was surprised to see that it was full of sketches. Drawings of people, landscapes and things.

Still in his astonishment, he turned a little towards the door.

In that instant he understood what Soap did when he took out a small notebook during missions. He had never tried to read it because he always thought it was some kind of diary, however, now it was clear to him that it wasn't.

He smiled helplessly and picked up a small piece of paper from the table. He wrote a note with a pencil that he hoped wasn't too expensive and walked out, closing the door carefully. He left the paper propped on the bedside lamp and turned to Soap, who was still sleeping. He saw Biscuit lying on the bed and stroked her head gently.

“Take care of him for me,” he whispered.

The cat purred a little louder and Simon leaned down to kiss John on the forehead. He put on his balaclava, picked up his jacket, and left the house.

[radmista]

The thought process the people like the second to last rb have is so pathetic imo. This is how you know someone explicitly only reads fanfiction online, especially with the comment about how there should be trigger/content warnings and saying what topics will be in there. First off, books have this, it's called the summary on the back. I know that poster probably meant something akin to AO3 tags like "|Charater Death|, |uncomfortable situations|, |parents not being perfect ideal parents and being flawed people|, |mean classmates|" type shit. Which is just ridiculous. The point of books like these are to grow your mind, to expand your world view and thinking, to expose you to as many different perspectives and points of view. To portray suffering, sadness, hardship, death, betrayal, etc in safe controlled environments. It's not child endangerment or abuse to make children sad reading a sad book. You cannot raise children in a bubble away from life's unpleasantness because you don't have a reading level beyond 5th grade and only want easily digestible material.

Children sometimes need to be exposed to content that they would not pursue on their own, nor would ever learn about without required reading. The level of anti-intellectualism being spouted here is unbelievable. This whole "protect kids from the harshness of the world" is why some kids never learn about the Hollocaust or the horrific things done to minorities in the USA. I never would have learned about the Japanese camps during WWII if I hadn't been required to read 'Farewell to Manzenar'. This was an incredibly sad book to read. It weighed on me, and it was depressing. It took me forever to finish reading it because I kept having to stop. But it made me think. It literally revealed to me a side of history I had no idea about in 6th grade and gave me the perspective of a Japanese-American girl growing up in a time rampant with hatred and racism against her family. When else would I have gotten that as young as I did. Required reading also helps prepare kids for what they may be learning later in the curriculum, which was actually why it was required reading at my school, our history classes touched on this later in the year.

I'm actually really surprised people are upset about Bridge to Terabithia. Yeah, one of the main characters dies. It's not like she is killed explicitly in the book with full descriptions or killed in a horrifically graphic and violent way. No, she died in a way that was a complete accident, "offscreen" so to speak, she fell and hit her head by the river and either that killed her or she drowned. (I can see how for some kids that may be more upsetting than something outlandish and graphic since it is such a regular everyday way to die.)

The boy in the book feels rage, guilt, grief, denial, and sorrow. He goes through all the emotions a reader would also go through if they were also particularly attached to Leslie. And that's part of the beauty of reading. That's also why this book is still recommended to kids or on their school reading lists: because it's on their level. It's target audience is 4th-5th grade readers, its not anything higher level than what a child that age can digest and understand. And when it delivers something emotionally painful, we are there with the boy and his emotions and with him learn a little about life and how it goes on.

Maybe I'm a stoic reader, but Leslie's death didn't wrack me with sadness. I was shocked, as I'm sure was the intention, that she died. We are delivered the news in the same way the boy is, after having a good day with his teacher and being blindsided with the death of his best friend. We are there with him in his surprise and confusion, his denial- that his parents are being cruel and lying to him. We're there with him when he runs to the river he and Leslie crossed over every day after school only to find the rope broken just like his parents said. The book quite literally does not leave kids high and dry without emotional follow through or resolution. Her death isn't the shocking twist ending that now a kid had to sit with like a stone in their stomach, forever wondering what happens. There are still chapters after she dies that you are with the boy as he tries to return to school and his normal life without her. As I recall, she dies 3/4 of the way into the book.

As I recall, he learns how to honor her memory and the things she and him created. He grows and adapts, and we, the readers, learn and grow with him. We see him form new relationships. We see the goodness in humanity as he deals with this tragedy early in his life. We leave him when he is able to go back to the place Leslie and he played, where he's built something new and treasured in memory of her. BtT leaves off on a hopeful note, I'd even say a cheerful one even if it's bittersweet. The book shows kids a life experience they hopefully won't have that young, but introduces them to tragedy and love and loss and how this boy dealt with it. Books allow us to see and live experiences we may never have, they allow us to expand our mind. These are critically important things for kids to do when their minds are still young. Books like these are how you can properly prepare your kids for life. Sheltering them from feeling sadness and negative emotions does not help them at all, and will just leave them stunted emotionally and intellectually.

[twiceasfrustrating]

I'm sorry if I already requested this of you I honestly have the memory of a walnut. But can I request headcannons of the boys + dia who find out MC has an emotionally abusive husband? Like fluff with some murder maybe?

thank you

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!

Characters: Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Leviathan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Beelzebub (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Diavolo (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)

Additional Tags: abusive relationship mentioned, some are a bit murdery, I don't know how to write fluff for such a situation but I tried

A/N: If you are in an abusive situation in the USA and need to speak to someone, please call 1-800-799-7233. If you cannot call, you can also text “START” to 88788. If it is safe for you, you can also go to the website directly. Abuse takes many forms, but it is always about control.

Feel free to add the numbers/contact for other countries if you have them.

Lucifer

He got upset at MC once and they flinched when he yelled and they started apologizing like there was no tomorrow. That was how he found out something was wrong. They wouldn’t say anything, but he could tell that something was deeply wrong. Perhaps he had never noticed before the formation of their pact how MC shuddered around him whenever he got upset, but now he did.

He is very careful not to yell again and when he does he is quick to lower his voice the second MC shows distress, reassuring them that he is not angry at them and would not harm them. It sounds almost hollow after how he acted when they originally met, but he means it.

There was one time MC dropped a dish on the floor while cooking and it broke, spilling hot food everywhere. They started picking up the pieces in a hurry, not even paying attention to how the hot shards burned and cut up their hands.

Lucifer was quick to pick them up off the ground and tend to the fresh injuries, all while they kept apologizing and saying that they would clean it up as soon as they could and saying they would make something else. Lucifer forbade them from doing either and cleaned the mess himself. He did that a lot. Took care of their ‘mistakes’ and cared for them. They would almost believe he wasn't the same terrifying man they had first met.

It takes a long time for MC to get used to their new relationship with Lucifer and once they do they are far more comfortable and less skittish.

He is not pressuring the story out of them. He can wait, as difficult as it is, for them to open up. However, he is no fool. He knows who is to blame, and that man should be very afraid should Lucifer and he ever meet.

Mammon

MC always spoke so well of their husband when they first met the brothers. Mammon was actually jealous and wished MC would talk about him that way. They would always say how kind their husband was and how he loved them and how he wanted the best for them. It sounded like some kind of cheesy romance novel.

Things started to get weird though when he and MC started to get even closer. He would invite them out, only to hear “I don’t think my husband would like that” or “I shouldn’t be alone with you”. It was weird the first time, but it quickly became a pattern. A very worrying pattern. Mammon knew abuse when he saw it. He was the family butt monkey and a witch punching bag, after all.

The difference is that he’s a fallen angel that is used to such treatment and, as a demon, the things done to him do very little in the long run. Humans are far more fragile though; their minds, bodies, and hearts. And then Mammon started to hate MC’s husband with a passion that could not be matched.

He cared less about making that bastard pay and more about taking care of MC. Such treatment can ruin a person, especially good people like MC. He would do anything to show them that they deserved better than that man, whatever that eventually meant.

Leviathan

He and MC have a little too much in common for his taste. It is actually almost disgusting how little self-worth they seem to have, but he can also see how that was trained into them.

They play down their worth a lot: “It’s nothing”, “It could be better”, “I failed again”, etc. They never say anything positive about themself. They are really good at picking out their flaws, but almost incapable of pointing out their merits.

It goes against everything Levi believes in, but he has to start praising them since they won’t praise themself. He likes hanging out with them, the stuff they make is nice, they are a really quick learner. It feels weird to praise someone, but it’s nice to see MC start to feel a little better about all the things they do.

Although, he also has the mild thought of showing MC’s husband that there are more terrifying things in the world than the horrors a human is capable of. After all, Levi has seen the monsters that dwell in the deep; he is one of those monsters and there is a reason humans fear the darkest depths.

Satan

There are some wonderful upsides to being the avatar of wrath. Normally, Satan wouldn't be so crass as to give into them, but sometimes humanity is just so vile that he can't help himself.

One of those upsides is a mind filled to the brim with the instinctual desire to rip and tear anything he can get his hands on to pieces. It's an instinct he fights off constantly with his centuries of training and self-discovery, but just this once he doesn't mind becoming the beast he was born as.

MC's husband squeals like a stuck pig throughout the entire night, only the winds, spiders, and Satan being able to hear and appreciate the sound. And appreciate it he does, until the screaming stops and his hands are drenched with blood.

He really needs to get himself cleaned off before he sees MC again, otherwise they will be terrified. He needs to look his best when they come running to him worried about their missing husband. It’s sad how much they worry about him despite everything.

Asmodeus

MC was always so calm and docile when he wanted to spend time with them. He didn’t really get it at first but it was easier to dress them up and take them out, so he didn’t question it. At least, not until someone (read: Solomon) not so subtly pointed out that it is unusual for someone to be so passive, almost to the point of being doll-like.

Asmo didn’t believe it at first. How could anyone treat someone as sweet as MC so cruelly, especially someone that is supposed to love them? But from that day onward, his eyes were opened up and he started to notice things.

The way they didn’t put forth their own opinions and let him take the lead on everything, how they stuck close to him when they both went out, the subtle way their fingers reached out then drew back when they liked something.

“Do you like it?” He would ask and their response was “do you?”

It was so difficult to get them to start putting their own wants and desires above what they thought he’d like. When they showed interest in something, he would fawn all over it. If they liked something, he liked it too. He would buy them things they even glanced casually at, told them they were worthwhile and lovely, anything that other man would never say to them.

He tore them down so completely, but Asmo would work tirelessly to build them back up.

Beelzebub

He is the softest man in the world, and sometimes MC just lets things slip out. He’s very easy to open up to and they don’t think about what they say. He was the first person that they opened up to about what was happening to them.

Suffice it to say, Beel was shocked when they mentioned how terrified they were for the exchange program to end. Despite everything that they had been through over the past year, they didn’t want to go back.

Beel had only felt so powerless one other time in his life. He couldn’t go with them to protect them and they couldn’t stay in the Devildom forever to stay safe. It was painfully cruel just how much he couldn’t help them.

All he could do was hold them and listen to them get everything off of their chest, dreading the day that the exchange program would end.

MC has to hurry up and learn how to summon him, because he wants to keep them safe from that awful situation. He would never allow another person it the world to hurt them again.

Belphegor

Belphie likes exactly one human in the three realms and every other one is none of his concern. Or, they wouldn’t be his concern if it weren’t for the fact that the one human he cared about was the victim of this particular instance.

He’s not like some of his other brothers. He doesn’t do comfort and he isn’t the best at torture, prefering to get everything over with quickly so he doesn’t have to expend all the extra energy. But, for such a special occasion, he is more than willing to put in the effort.

Humans really do create their own worst fears. Their minds run a mile a minute and they have the strangest way of finding how their own terrors can overpower what little defenses they have.

He may not be able to touch MC’s husband, but he can certainly return every slight against his favorite human. Long, sleepless nights wracked with unending horrors that only that man can truly appreciate.

All the while, he will gladly hold MC when their own nightmares overtake them, trying to put their mind at ease for just this moment. How he wished that his powers could control the waking world as well as their dreams...

Diavolo

“Don’t go back.” It was the first time Diavolo had brought up the idea. It was one he had been considering for a long time, knowing that it was extreme given that MC was a human and had to live in the human realm. However, he couldn’t live with himself knowing the kind of life MC would return to once they left.

The shouting, the insults, discarding everything MC liked because their husband doesn’t care for it… Diavolo would never feel right knowing he sent someone dear to him back there.

He had the means to help them get literally anywhere but back to that man. Diavolo could help set them free from that life, even if they didn’t want to stay in the Devildom. He knew MC would have the support of everyone they had met.

All they had to do was say yes and he would move the Devildom itself to get them out of there.

[allislaughter]

A tag game on my fallout blog got me thinking about it again, but one time I got this really terrible comment on one of my fics that I want to talk about (Early content warning: the comment mentions rape (mind rape specifically), alcoholism, and the political climate of 2020)

So in 2013 I was in the Star Trek TOS fandom and a huge Spock/McCoy shipper and I had started a fic that I never finished and never posted any of the chapters of. But in 2020 I realized that I could still put the unfinished fic on AO3 as an archive of work I had done and still felt proud of, and I made sure to be upfront about it saying how it's an abandoned work in the tags and that I'm wasn't planning on finishing it in the author's notes.

I also mentioned in the author's notes that I'd say when I posted the last of the chapters I had finished (which I didn't say at the time but was 7 total). This is important because on the first chapter, before I had posted anything else, I received this anonymous comment:

[Image Text: Anon left the following comment on Warped Reflections:

It's too bad you last steam on this and abandoned it and maybe the TOS/AOS fandom and Spock/McCoy pairing. It was an interesting beginning that won't get much feedback because of its abandoment. The take on Mirrorverse is similar to our current dystopia in the USA vs the rest of the world in 2020. Soft!Sentimental!Mirror McCoy is one of my favorite tropes and seeing him survive it and thrive with Protective Mirror Spock would have been theurapeutic. It'd be interesting too. Even though Mirror Spock wasn't nearly as vicious as say Mirror Kirk or Mirror Sulu, he's still a mind rapist, one that can also use it to perform other real torture and obliterate memory of it with a few suggestions during the meld rape. McCoy is tender hearted enough to stay drunk 24/7 to torture if commanded and does both Perhaps you feel it's too late to inspire you or you're never inspired by perspectives such as that? If so, too bad.

/End Image Text]

At first I was excited to see a long comment on a fic I kept hidden for so long.

Then I read how entitled and presumptive it was and how the commenter was pretty much trying to tell me what kind of fic to write without even knowing what I had already written for this fic.

Which was pretty much the opposite of the gross things they were insisting I write.

Because at the time, I really wanted to explore the Mirror Spock and McCoy thing without making it the same as almost every other fic where Mirror Spock was performing, as the commented said, mind rape and that what if instead McCoy had let Mirror Spock in willingly and was dazed and quiet after for unrelated reasons that would be explored in the fic. This info isn't made apparent until later in the fic which the commenter wouldn't have known and also had no reason to insist I do it their way, especially on a fic I said I wasn't planning on finishing.

On top of that, the comment about how the fic wouldn't get much feedback was just totally unnecessary and rude? Like I wasn't posting the fic expecting feedback, I was posting it because I wanted to share, but they took it upon themselves to insult the fic and say it wouldn't get any notice because it was abandoned? As if that would get me to finish the fic after all?

Like the overall entitlement trying to guilt me into writing more or trying to convince me to write pretty much every other mirror fic that was being written when I wrote mine (in 2013!) and the overall accusatory tone was just a terrible thing to see in my inbox. Like, this was something I could have chosen not to share at all, and no one would ever have gotten to see it, but I chose to take this thing I wrote for free and for fun and share what I had of it only to receive a terrible response. I deleted the comment and turned on comment moderation to avoid this from happening a second time which is not something I should have had to do.

Moral of the story is: DON'T write comments like this on people's fics. It's rude, unnecessary, and definitely will not encourage the writer to produce more writing for that fic if not that entire ship/fandom.

[mychemicalficrecs]

Hi so I've read 2 my chem sports AUs recently (All We Need Is Daylight by Helena_Hathaway and Getting the Gold by frankiesin) and I loved them surprisingly a lot because My Chemical Romance and various sports are not something you'd expect go together. I'm wondering if you know of any other sports AUs?

Hi Nonny!

There's a few Sports AUs I know and if you don't mind High School Sports AUs, there's quite a few of those as well!

Sports AUs

All We Need is Daylight by Helena_Hathaway, Frank/Gerard, 240k [WIP], Explicit. Frank is thrust all too suddenly into a new life, one where he's not warmly welcomed. He's the best goddamn hockey player he knows, though, and he's not going to let anyone take that away from him. Or at least, not until his world comes tumbling down.

Getting the Gold by frankiesin, Mikey/Pete, 9k, General Audiences. It's Mikey's first time as an Olympic coach, and he's navigating the new role pretty well until he meets the men's swim coach. Pete's gorgeous, funny, and entertaining as hell, but Mikey's pretty sure he's already got a boyfriend. Also featuring Mikey and Lindsey being Super Bros, and way too many baby athletes in need of supervision.

you wanna get it for free by akamine_chan, Ray/Mikey, 2k, Explicit. Ray's a wrestler, you see...

Pages In Your Passport by inlovewithnight, Mikey/Pete, 15k, Explicit. Pete pursued soccer instead of music. He has a good long run in the game. Then in 2010, he meets this guy in a band.

The Circuit by stoplightglow, Frank/Gerard, 24k, Teen And Up Audiences. In the world of competitive motorcycle racing, nothing is more prestigious than the Grand Circuit Tour. Americans everywhere gather to watch as the twelve best racers in the nation compete for the title of Circuit Champion and $100,000. Gerard Way is no stranger to the race. When he was a teenager, his name was practically legend - but after disappearing without explanation six years ago, he's become little more than a relic of the past. Now, at age twenty-six, Gerard is back on the Circuit with something to prove. It's Frank Iero's first year on the tour, but he's more than ready. No one has seen a kid blast through the ranks so fast since Gerard Way first appeared on the scene a decade ago. With a cocky attitude and the whole country swooning over him, nothing can slow him down. The stakes have never been so high. Welcome to the Fourteenth Annual Grand Circuit Tour.

Down And Dirty by dear_monday, Frank/Gerard, 3k, Explicit. Gerard's own beloved cherry-red Harley has pedigree in fucking spades, sure, but she's seen better days, and she just doesn't have the power to outrun Iero and that revolting custom paint job. The matching helmet painted to look like a jack-o-lantern is just too much. An AU wherein the boys are dirty bikers, inspired by the recently-released photos from the Japanese Rolling Stone shoot.

shut up and drive by Trojie, uglowian, Patrick/Mikey/Pete, 139k, Teen And Up Audiences. Pete Wentz is the grid girl, Andy Hurley loves him (not like that), and Jared Leto is the bad guy. A.K.A.: the bandom The Fast and the Furious AU that literally no one asked for.

Another Cog In The Murder Machine by ace_writez, Ray/Mikey, 3k [WIP], General Audiences. Mikey's life is set. He's going to get a basketball scholarship for university and then play in the big leagues. All he has to do is get team captain his last year of high school. But he runs into some competition when another good player also tries out. Suddenly he's not so sure he's going to make it. Ray is also trying for a scholarship. As the star quarterback of Belleville High for three years, he's gunning for a fourth. When a situation at home suddenly drags him down, and a certain boy at school catches his eye, he finds himself at a crossroads. Two boys. Two sports. One school, and one story.

Day Seven: Half Dressed - Frerard by LeatherlipsIero, Frank/Gerard, 3k, Mature. Frank reached out his hand for the stranger to shake, "I'm Frank, let me buy you a drink as an apology?" He smiled again when the stranger grabbed his strong and callused hand with his own soft one. "Thank you, but it's my fault, honestly." The strange and pretty man tried to explain but Frank didn't care. "I insist." He said and sent the beautiful stranger a half smirk with half-lidded bedroom eyes, which had the poor boy blushing in seconds. Score.

Olympians by krissykane, Frank/Gerard, 3k, General Audiences. Frank is a shooter who has (somehow) made it to his second Olympic games. There he joins the crowd at a fencing event and sees a certain Team USA fencer for the first time.

Take One For The Team (Excuse Me If I'm Rude) by frenchpirate (Whiskey_n_speed), Mikey/Pete, 25k, Explicit. “So, your coach,” Gabe started, change of subject, thank god. “Yeah, what about him?” Mikey asked and glanced over at Pete who was heading towards the coach locker rooms, dragging a net of footballs after him. “You never told me he was hot. I’m pretty sure that’s withholding indispensable information. I should’ve signed up for the soccer team.” He said halfway jokingly, and William scoffed and rolled his eyes. “What, he’s not-“ “He so is. He’s like totally – small and handy,” He made a smooth explanatory hand-motion. “I want to fit him in my pocket.” * (Or; twenty eight scenes about skipping school, douchebag friends, post-college parties and way too much soccer)

Boxer!Fic by iamdali, Frank/Gerard, 47k, Explicit, General Audiences. After med school, Gerard had this idea of what life would be like. The idea now probably seems more than ridiculous, but still it’s what he clung to in order to drag himself through those gruelling morning hours after an all nighter of studying or writing some preposterously long paper on some disease or medical break through or why whatever part of the human body does whatever it does, and what happens when it doesn’t.

It's Not A Side Effect Of The Triple Axel (I'm Thinking It Must Be Love) by mizubyte (b_dsaint), Mikey/Pete, 10k, Teen And Up Audiences. If not for Alicia, Mikey never would have stepped on to the ice, let alone become a figure skater. Now, over 15 years later, Vancouver is Mikey's last chance for Olympic Gold. If he doesn't get distracted by snowboarder Pete Wentz, that is.

If The Skates Don't Fit by halfeatenmoon, Lindsey/Gerard, 12k, Teen And Up Audiences. Lyn-Z thought her rollerderby team might have a chance of winning some games this year, until she discovered that the new girl she'd recruited to the team was actually a man named Gerard. With a week to go until the first match against their long-time rivals, the Cobras, Lyn-Z and her teammates instead steal one of the Cobras' players - Maja, who has been feeling underappreciated since her side was joined by a new star. Maja's a great player, but it's a challange to learn to skate with a new teammate with only a week to go, especially when she still has some unresolved issues with her old captain.

Split lips hurt by toxic_fox, Frank/Gerard, 769 words, Teen And Up Audiences. Every Thursday, at six o’ clock sharp, frank goes boxing. He loves the adrenaline, the rush he gets from fighting, the blood, the pain. He kind of likes the kind medic as well.

Uppercut by mcrhomo, Frank/Gerard, 3k [WIP], Teen And Up Audiences. Frank is dealing with a lot in his life, including body dysmorphia. When he signs up for a boxing class to lose weight, he meets Gerard, and his whole life is turned several different ways (for better and for worse).

I Believe You're The Enemy (Game On) by imanemostan, Frank/Gerard, 2k, Mature. Constant affairs kept secret by frank and gerard, on different laser tag teams playing against each other. weirdly enough, both their schools have an official laser tag team. How will they ever be able to keep this a secret?

I Just Want You by Bridgetti, Frank/Gerard, 2k, General Audiences. Frank teaches Gerard to skate.

It's All In the Game by happilysurviving (orphan_account), Frank/Gerard, 46k [WIP], Mature. Even jocks have issues. Especially the closeted ones who have friends they have to kick off their football teams. And it gets even worse when they have to kick them off because of a homophobic coach. But of course that's only the beginning as this is Dan Howell and he always has to have larger problems on top of the ones everyone else would believe to be impossible to handle. Having Frank as his best friend certainly doesn't help or the head gossip guru in town as his mother but it could be worse, right? I mean he could be in love with an opposing team's quarterback... Oh wait.

Frerard Football Team AU For Which I Could Not Think of a Title by franks_hands, Frank/Gerard, 5k, Teen And Up Audiences. In the locker room and at practices, Frank was noisy, bordering on obnoxious. He seemed to bounce off the walls sometimes. He didn’t know about personal space.

of cute boys and rollerskates by etselec, Mikey/Pete, 1k, General Audiences. “I’m teaching you how to skate,” Mikey nearly fell as he removed Pete’s arms away from him. He squeezed his hand instead, “so our next date it won’t be as awkward.” “Date?” Pete asked. “Well, we’re holding hands already, aren’t we?” Mikey smiled at him.

Hand in Mine, Into Your Icy Blues by sundrowned, Frank/Gerard, 28k, General Audiences. Gerard is the captain of the hockey team and his overbearing father is the coach. When a new boy named Frank joins the team, Gerard has to decide weather to follow his father's orders to stay away from the boy or choose his own path.

Skating In A Ttutu by runaway_killjoy, Frank/Gerard, 51k, Teens And Up Audiences, Explicit. Frank has to move towns with his mom. He's disheartened to realize that teenagers are judgemental and manipulative no matter where you go. And no one gets judged quite as bad as the ballerina/skater boy who isn't even 5ft. Skater boy AU prompt, Frerard

Powderpuff by Gorgeous Nerd (gorgeousnerd), Frank/Gerard, 2k, Explicit. It isn't like Frank's opposed to powderpuff football. The timing's just kind of bad.

Get Up And Go by inlovewithnight, 6k, Teen And Up Audiences. Mikey Way: Ultramarathon Runner.

[who-is-muses]

[ OKEY. Quick messy unorganized collection of points (partly under the cut for length qvq) ]

I'm using the Justice League: Doom version of Ma'alefa'ak (pictured below) because A) I can't draw well enough to get my design on paper in any coherent way, and B) the artstyle is Gorgeous- but I take so very little from anything animated for any of my DC muses. (The one exception is Bro'Dee.) This might be obvious since I'm fairly confident Ma'al is in the Top 3 in level of obscurity of the muses here, but worth noting.

MORE IMPORTANTLY; like I mentioned in the tags on the original post, fuck the Psycho Killer, Mentally Ill People Evil aspect of canon Ma'alefa'ak. He's absolutely still mentally ill, and still potentially dangerous, and has done awful things he deeply regrets- but those latter two are because of how environmental factors impacted his condition and influenced him for worse. He wasn't born "evil"; he's a monster, but a made monster, and the Hated Son rather than the Joker But Make Him Martian And Less High Energy.

J'onn and Ma'alefa'ak are not identical twins, they look strikingly different even from a human standpoint. Ma'al is nearly half a foot taller than his twin in their natural forms, with a noticeably lighter and paler in skin tone than J'onn's. Twins are extremely rare for Martians, and non-identical twins are naturally impossible. Ma'al's physical differences are due to the fact he's technically a child of H'ronmeer just indirectly (explained more in a different point.)

Ma'alefa'ak was born without psychic abilities and could not shapeshift as easily as others, thus gave up trying to learn to do it at an early age. It was only decades after they were both taken to Earth and months of work that J'onn was able to teach his twin to shapeshift with limited ability, but there is no cure for his lack of telepathy. Ma'al has relatively recently (say, 5ish years ago) developed the ability to absorb fire- which he can expell from his body through means anywhere from releasing ambient heat to a fiery explosion. He has to release absorbed flames eventually, and his powers become harder to control the more he absorbs/longer he holds onto them. (Also toying with the idea of him having a sort of pyromediumship ability but still working on that-)

My version of Martians can't fly, rather levitate themselves with telepathy- meaning Ma'al can't do this on his own.

Ma'alefa'ak isn't fully responsible for H'ronmeer's Curse, though he did unknowingly help create and unleash it and was blamed for it. Still tweaking old me's notes for it, but the basics are that Ma'al was a science-priest of H'ronmeer and used by a small group of White Martians to try and wipe the Green Martians out completely.

J'onn and Ma'alefa'ak were brought to Earth by Dr. Saul Erdel, accidentally pulled together through space and time from the twins' confrontation of each other in the midst of the apocalypse Ma'al helped bring about, winding up somewhere in Colorado USA sometime in the 1940's. Erdel's lab was raided by government forces mere minutes later, J'onn able to shapeshift into one of the lab rats to hide- but Ma'alefa'ak was unable to do the same and was thus captured, sedated, and abducted to Area 51 in Nevada (because every good alien story in mid 19th century USA needs Area 51, I'm sorry I don't make the rules.) J'onn lived with Erdel for just under a year, fascinated by many things but especially the detective radioshows the doctor tuned into almost religiously; Ma'alefa'ak was kept and experimented on for nearly two decades, one of the slim few respites before his break out being the old Western movies he could sometimes watch portions of over the shoulders of one particular guard that seemed to somehow always have one playing when he was supposed to be keeping an eye on Ma'al.

Ma'alefa'ak did not hurt M'yri'ah (J'onn's wife) or any member of their family beyond H'ronmeer's Curse killing them all. He did, however, entertain thoughts and develop fantasies about harming he and J'onn's parents in revenge for what they allowed to be done to him (also elaborated in a later point.) Ma'alefa'ak also partly blamed his twin for the treatment he received both on Mars and Earth, and has tried to kill or otherwise seriously hurt J'onn multiple times, but has since learned J'onn was truly powerless to do anything for his twin in both cases- even searched for him on Earth for years before he got caught up with superheroing, and even then would still occasionally poke around in hope of finding him.

The Martian god H'ronmeer- god of fire thus death and art, among a few other things- influenced the egg of M'yrnn and Sha'sheen J'onzz to develop a second child within it, resulting in Ma'alefa'ak. H'ronmeer gave this child His "blessing" and intended for him to bring about a "new era" for all Martians. Mythology said that a child like this would result in a fiery apocalypse- which was NOT H'ronmeer's goal for Ma'alefa'ak, but the Martians obviously had no way to know this. He and J'onn's parents gave Ma'alefa'ak up at a young age, turning him over to followers of H'ronmeer were he was raised by them in the god's worship and kept apart from the rest of Martian society, isolating him physically on top of his inability to connect to the Great Mind like all other Martians could. His rearers were all extremely strict, and he faced harsh criticism for seemingly every little thing. He ran away more and more as he got older, punished every time- until the followers finally relented and allowed him to go out under supervision. It took exactly five of these excursions for Ma'alefa'ak to manage to slip away from his "caregivers," briefly reuniting with his brother before running away. He managed to live on his own mostly unnoticed in a small city far from his birthplace for almost a decade, before word about a potentially dangerous Martian matching Ma'alefa'ak's appearance reached there by way of Manhunters on his trail. A hated outcast as he was, Ma'alefa'ak didn't think twice about accepting help from a group of White Martians, being folded into their group and ultimately used to engineer and release H'ronmeer's Curse. The White Martians intended for it to only affect Green Martians like Ma'alefa'ak himself, but the Curse spread to all four Martian ethnicities without prejudice; they intended to use Ma'alefa'ak as a scapegoat if they were ever caught, but the Curse killing all of the group left no one but him to blame for it. J'onn was among the Manhunter team looking for Ma'alefa'ak, and was the one to singlehandedly track him down in his "friend's" den surrounded by their burnt bodies days after the outbreak. They got into an argument which turned physical mere seconds before they were both pulled away.

Ma'alefa'ak has tried multiple times to go good in the past, finally seeming to be on the right path for good shortly before J'onn was murdered by Libra and Human Flame. Ma'alefa'ak already had a tumultuous at best opinion of humans, but that put him over the line and he began attacking and killing humans without mercy soon after. It wasn't until J'onn himself was brought back as a Black Lantern that Ma'alefa'ak put his grief and differences aside to help Earth's heroes again, and J'onn himself- resurrected by the Life Entity- talked his twin into turning himself in to the Justice League where he could be helped. Only once J'onn swore to make sure he wasn't mistreated did Ma'alefa'ak agree, and kept his word by not trying to escape until an attack on the Watchtower by Brainiac released him and he promptly fled back to Earth. Ma'alefa'ak remained in hiding until about 3 years ago, when he once again turned himself in as a beginning to once again trying to be "good." He lives on the Watchtower now like his twin, given relative freedom to certain parts of the satellite but not allowed off of it unless under extenuating circumstances.

Living on the Watchtower, Ma'alefa'ak has found friends in Guy Gardner, Wally West, Jessica Cruz, Simon Baz, Kara Zor-El, Ted Kord, and Michael John Carter. Unfortunately for much of the rest of the League. J'onn is happy his twin has been able to finally put his differences aside and learn to care for at least some humans, even if he finds some of these choices often irritating.

Finally, the name "Martian Marauder" was Guy's fault. Ma'alefa'ak isn't even part of the League or a superhero, but Guy insisted on him having a super alias anyways and on it being Martian Marauder because it was his idea thus an excellent one. Ma'alefa'ak didn't care enough to argue at the time.

[ SUDDENLY SITS BOLT UPRIGHT IN BED remembered I haven't. Really explained the divergences my Ma'alefa'ak has from canon. Including the Most Important One. Big yikes (and equally sized trigger warning for sexual assault if anyone decides to read up on the canon) ]

[obsidiancorner]

I have a question!!! How long have you been drawing and how long have you been doing digital art? Was it difficult to start with? I'm looking at learning to draw, but I'm not sure if I want to start traditional or if I want to get a tablet. TELL ME!!!

Hey there! Sorry this took me a full day to get to. I wanted to make sure I had time to properly search/attach links and whatnot. Then I had to contend with bath and bedtime for Kiddo. I literally started this post at 7pm... It’s now almost 11. 

I have been drawing in traditional mediums since I was a LITTLE kid. Really little. Before I was in Kindergarten. I broke away from it after I graduated high school but came back to it after I moved to Florida. Chibi Cullen was my first digital piece, though. So... technically since October of 2017. I got my tablet at Christmas 2017 and that is when I REALLY got into it.  

To answer what you should learn on: That’s largely a personal decision and not one I can really help you with outside of giving you some info and some links to help get you started. 

Bare bones basic info:

Traditional is cheaper but you can play and learn without restraint on digital. It’s just that the tablet is going to be a MUCH bigger deposit. To get started in traditional art supplies, you can get away with approximately $20. A tablet is going to run you at least $50, likely more. 

Keep in mind: expensive equipment does not a better artist make. A graphics tablet will not make drawing easier. Sure it has tools to help, like line stabilizers and such... but only practice will truly make you better. 

I expand on this stuff below but first, my opinion. 

My humble opinion: 

If you want to just dabble and see how you get on: go traditional. 

If you absolutely positively KNOW art is a skill you WANT to pursue no matter the degree of difficulty it is for you, that’s when you can begin to entertain the idea of a getting a tablet, but make sure you weigh everything out. 

I don’t want to see anyone shell out that kind of money and have it be used once. I cannot stress enough to make sure you know your heart before sinking in on an expensive piece of equipment like a graphics tablet. 

The rest is under the cut because this is a long post and I don’t want people to hate me. 

Digital 

If money isn’t an issue and you have a decent computer, you can consider going digital. 

 FireAlpaca, Krita, and MediBang are all free to download digital painting software. I, personally, have FireAlpaca and I love it. But I have also been toying around with trying Krita out. However, all of these programs are good enough that I don’t think you’d miss not having PaintTool SAI or Photoshop. 

I will sing the praises of my Huion graphic tablet until my dying day because it will honestly probably last me that long if I don’t upgrade to a more advanced one sometime down the line. 

Seriously. The one I have right now has already been dropped (because I’m clumsy as fuck), thrown (courtesy of a melting down kiddo), peed on and subsequently washed and sanitized (courtesy of an asshole cat), and stepped on (because my guy tripped over the asshole cat and knocked a whole bunch of shit off my desk in the process). The thing still works. They ARE built to last.  

The version I have is the H610 Pro which costs about $80.00. There is some hand/eye coordination that needs to be learned because you will be drawing on the tablet but the image will be on your screen. That can take some time to get acclimated to. 

My H610 is not the cheapest tablet they offer... I know that much but I haven’t really done a deep dive into Huion’s selection. But there are other types of tablets as well. Wacom, Yiynova, Lenovo, Microsoft, Apple, and Samsung all have tablets for artists. 

If you want to talk tablets with monitors that allow you to see what you are drawing where you are actually drawing, you’re gonna be looking at throwing down a hefty chunk of cheddar (a couple hundred at least). For Huion products, that’s the Kamvas series of tablets. 

I have had my tablet for 14 months already and I use it All. The. Time. I tell you that to tell you this: I have not yet replaced the nib on my pen and don’t anticipate having to change the nib for another year at MINIMUM. The tablet comes with four backup nibs. So, at almost daily use, you can easily get a decade worth of art out of the set they give you out the gate.

Traditional

To just do some light sketch stuff while you are getting used to drawing, it’s cheapest to just get some cheap mechanical pencils or drawing pencils and some simple printer paper. If you want a sketchbook, go cheap. 

Once you get into your groove and want to start branching out, by all means, buy more expensive supplies if that suits your fancy. But to just get started on basics: Go. Cheap!!! There is no reason to spend more than $20 (and that’s being exceptionally liberal) at Walmart or the local dollar store.  

I cannot stress enough that to just start out you don’t need pro quality anything. Crayola or RoseArt is what every. single. artist. started on because most of us started in school and just kept going from there. Those companies are still around because they are the building blocks every artist started on (at least in the USA... I don’t know about foreign markets). Guaranteed. 

I still, to this day, use Crayola colored pencils. Two reasons: 1. I’m incredibly cheap and, most importantly, 2. they work just fine. 

Conclusion (at last, amiright?) and Affirmation

I know I sold my Huion tablet pretty hard in the digital section but that’s ONLY because there is more information needed to make an informed decision (like sturdiness, brands, etc.). There is a lot less to discuss for basic supplies to just get started.  

I will suggest traditional more often than I will suggest spending boatloads of cash for a beginner.

The choice between digital and traditional largely boils down to two things:

Cost

Drive / ambition / want / dedication

For the average person/household, cost effectiveness is critical in this economy. Even if you know in your heart of hearts digital art is a skill set you want to achieve, if you can’t afford a tablet, go traditional at first and gradually save up for a tablet. If you aren’t sure you will like drawing enough to sink in AT LEAST $50- and that is a fairly low-balled price tag- go traditional. 

I will only ever recommend a tablet as a starting point to those who know with 100% certainty that drawing/digital painting is a hobby/skill they WANT to pursue. 

I know I cannot tell people what to do because, ultimately, the choice is theirs. All I can offer is my opinion and some words of wisdom and caution. 

I will say this, though:

Art is a skill, just as much as writing, sewing, knitting, and so on. ANYONE can learn this skill. Some advance faster than others due to natural aptitude but anyone can do it. You just have to dedicate time and patience to learning it. 

Every artist started with stick figures. ;)

Remember that. 

Every single one of us started by drawing stick figures. 

That’s not to say that’s where you will begin, but an affirmation that literally EVERYONE, including commissioned artists, starts in the same place. Stick figures in crayon when we were kids. We all evolved from there.   

Do NOT under ANY circumstances beat yourself up if you set out to draw a cat and it looks like Ditto with whiskers. (It’s happened to me. Literally that exact scenario. It’s okay to laugh. I sure did.) This is a Ditto, in case Pokemon isn’t your thing:

Keep at it and you will improve. I promise. Regardless of which way you go. Keep. At. It. and you will improve.

Drawing/painting is a constant evolution, regardless of medium, be it digital or a traditional one. Once you get the basics down, you begin to develop your own style. And even your own style changes as you progress. Look at mine. I’ve drawn two things for you. Hannah and Satinalia Cullen. Both mine but the styles are lightyears apart because I worked and evolved.

Studies in anatomy, color theory, light theory, and the like will be your best friends. Good reference photos will be your best friends. 

And always remember: art is 150% subjective. Look at Picasso and Jackson Pollock. They are nothing like Michelangelo, Da Vinci, or Georgia O’Keefe. All of it is art. 

Abstract, Renaissance, Nuveau, Deco, Modernism, Fauvism, Pointilism, Impressionism and the rest... All art. All very different styles. 

All. Are. Valid. 

All started with stick figures somewhere in their history. You gotta start somewhere but keep at it and you will succeed.

[little0aibou]

Fandom: Marvel

Complete: Yes

Have I read it before? No

How did I find it? Don't remember but I think it was in the bookmarks of another profile

What did I like the most?

There are several things I really loved.

First it was refreshing reading a what happened after Siberia fic that takes into consideration both sides and doesn't dive into Team Cap bashing or Team Cap Not friendly. I enjoy those fics but I also it's unusual for me to find the kind of narrative this fic explores.

Second, it was truly heartbreaking

***SPOILERS***

But not really because it's in the tags?

Reading Tony's dead... that really got me. Most fics I've found are about time travel (If you had this time again by dls, is an amazing example) or Tony getting his shit together and deciding to screw or to not care anymore about Team Cap. So it was really difficult for me to read a history where Tony is dead. At the moment I didn't know Tony was going to brought back and the chapters didn't give any hint (not that I noticed)

I kept circling back to accept the idea that yes, Tony is dead and it was a reminder that no only is he dead on this fic but in canon he died. Also having the characters' perspective about how it feels that loss, well it didn't make it easier but for me felt more real.

Third

I loved that the Sokovia accords were not relegated to something that was to be scrapped or just ignored from the history. Au contraire the fic explores both sides and it presents arguments in both favor and against that were driving me up the wall. I've considered myself a supporter for the Accords, but this is maybe the first time in a long time that one fic got me to think so much about and at moments I felt like I was ping poing between the two sides and that only happened when I first read the comics.

In addition to those wonderful and very nice supported arguments it got me thinking about the real life implications, mostly because of whats happening in the USA and some other countries regarding the #blacklivesmatter movement.

I've always found necessary to be able to understand and explain the difference between illegal and inmoral which we know is a very important distinction. So reading about the accords in this fic made realize quite a few things and it got me thinking about several more

Fourth

I loved the way Steve begins to question himself.

I've seen fics that deal with the fallout between Tony and Steve based on romantic feelings (Steve/Tony, Steve/Bucky, one sided, etc) and it's great and love the drama. But this fic for me was something I was looking for for quite sometime. Steve deals with everything that happened without the romantic aspect. Also he questions himself throughout the fic about his actions and what could he have done different. That's something I really really liked. It was well written and in my opinion supported through facts and in character.

Fifth

Having the issue of minors being addressed in regards to the Sokovia Accords (yes, I'm looking at you Peter) * and the fact that Tony took a minor frigging teenager to a battle without the expressed and very consented permission of his guardian. I live Tony but doing that in the MCU was in my opinion an a*hole move

And finally sixth

I liked how the characters interacted between them because of other reasons not related to Tony's death.

Wow

My idea was to pots a small review. The kind you see on the fic recs but I guess I really had a lot of feelings.

TL,DR: the fic is great and has an easy-going rhythm to read it. Go read it and have some snacks with you. Also don't forget to comment, give kudos and share it :3

Here's the summary: