#he’s not great but I think he’s better than he was then in regard to his addiction

[diminuel]

Since I’m still down the Rocks rabbit hole and pondering this AU some more (I'm boring and just calling it Time Travelling Rocks AU for now) I think the path of angst for any time traveling AU would go like this:

Either little Pebble (I'm just going to use this as a name for now because it's cute! Technically, unless I change my mind, Crocodile's name is Keres) gets taken off Hachinosu and Rocks has been chasing for leads, leaving a trail of destruction for days/ weeks that finally leads to God Valley once he hears the broadcast. Or if the kid was on Rocks’ ship it’s also possible they lost sight of her on God Valley because a D. Clan child is not going to just sit around and hide. There has probably already been tension between Pebble’s parents regarding whether it was appropriate to bring a child on high stake raids and if it maybe wasn’t better to drop her off on Sphynx instead where a child can grow up safe and sheltered (but alone and ultimately defenseless if it turns out Sphynx isn’t safe after all).

It's possible that Rocks believes that Pebble has been killed which starts him on an even worse spiral of destruction, with no holds barred. And there’s a real danger that killing a lot of the present World Nobles would rain destruction down on the seas below, enough that Roger and Garp know that they have to stop him even if that means killing him and protecting Celestials in the process. Yes, it’s tragic that Rocks’ child is among the casualties but they can’t let Rocks trigger a "great cleansing". (Rocks would of course think that those are empty words coming from Garp, who knows that innocent children are experiencing unspeakable suffering and die at the hands of World Nobles every day. Who knows and does nothing about it. Who knows of the wanted poster that had been put out for Rocks’ innocent child and does nothing.)

Rocks, who has no devil fruit power but uses magic (or ancient civilization technology that looks like magic), knows that if he gets killed, a last resort/ emergency spell will be triggered. He doesn’t know what exactly it does but he doesn’t care.

But maybe as he lays dying he sees his child run past. Wearing different clothes, hiding her identity, having everyone fooled that she died, even her own parents. Such a smart child. And in true D. clan fashion Rocks can die with a laugh.

And then the magic is triggered and Rocks gasps awake and instantly swallows salt water. Disoriented, with wounds carried over from the battle, it takes him a while to get to land. He learns where he is and, shockingly, when he is. 36 years thrown into the future, on an island called Dawn.

If I go with a 36 years jump then that would put him shortly before Luffy’s departure, so he would be the only Monkey kid still on Dawn. In a serious AU I would go with that for sure. So that Rocks might only return to the world stage in/ around Marineford as well, having spent the time before acclimatizing to this time (and being babysat by Garp to make sure he’s not taking the first opportunity to return to his King of the World/ World Destroying ways.)

Maybe he’d meet Luffy in Impel Down because Rocks also had the brilliant idea to break into the prison to get Ace and Crocodile out, just that he’s a lot more stealthy than Luffy. But once Luffy’s made such a commotion then all bets are off for him too. It’s a fun family trip! :DD (Crocodile doesn’t think it’s fun at all. And he’s not looking forward to seeing his parents' reunion in Marineford of all places where the stakes are just too high for relationship drama...! And from the way Rocks is talking about Whitebeard there is definitely going to be relationship drama and Rocks might just kill the old man and the doing the World Governments job for them.)

I think while the Marine would still claim victory because they think Ace died (he gets better), Whitebeard does survive.

(In a sillier AU where everything is changed anyway the time jump could be earlier.)

[vakariansyndrome]

Veremos

This fic is for @vorchagirl as part of the ‘Dellamorte Villa’ server’s first Valentine’s Day exchange.

Summary: Lucanis is sick, and Rook is eager to take care of him. Cooking is his love language, so she will try. Surely an easy feat, no? (Rated M for suggestive language and some stuff.) Whole fic under the cut, but can also be found on AO3, here. Words to know: Es solo sopa: it’s only soup Veremos: We’ll see Esto es venganza: This is revenge Perfecto: perfect

~O~

“You’ve a fever.”

Rook presses the back of her hand to Lucanis’ forehead. He doesn’t move, doesn’t swat her away, which is how she knows she’s right. His skin is too warm, a clammy pallor dulling his usually vibrant umber tone.

He lets out a controlled exhale through his nose. “I’m fine.”

“Sure,” she snorts. “And I’m the Empress of Orlais.”

He arches an eyebrow, decidedly teasing. “I would say you lack the accent.”

“Lucanis.” She levels him with a look. “You’re sick. You need rest. That means I’m staying here, and Harding will manage things with the team.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

A pause. His eyes take an awkwardly long perusal over her face, and she resists the urge to avert her gaze. 

Whatever he finds in her eyes, however, makes him sigh, and he leans his head back against the wall. “Fine.”

“Good.” She stands, already rolling up her sleeves. “I’ll make you something to eat.”

His lips press together into a thin line.

Naturally, she catches it. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, now.” Her eyes narrow.

A beat. Then, slowly, “Just wondering how many ways you’ll attempt to poison me before this is over.”

She scoffs. “Es solo sopa, Lucanis.”

His lips twitch. “Veremos.”

~

An hour later, Rook sets a steaming ceramic bowl down beside him. “Eat.”

Lucanis regards it like a man observing a trap. Carefully, he cradles it in his hands. He lifts the spoon, takes a careful sip.

And stops.

Great, she thinks, her stomach sinking. “Well?” She watches him, arms crossed.

His tongue swipes along his teeth as he nods slowly. His expression betrays nothing, but she sees it—the slight shift of his jaw, the reluctant swallow.

Finally, he lets out a controlled breath. “Bold choice, seasoning it with regret.”

“It’s salt,” she says, incredulous.

“Ah.” He nods again. “I see now. You mean to preserve me for future torture.”

“It’s not that bad.” She squints at him, knowing it is probably worse than bad.

He hums, lifting the spoon again. Takes another sip, lazily, considering, as if weighing how much he values his life.

Then he looks at her, gaze raking over her features before settling on her lips.

“You’ve got that little crease between your eyebrows.” He says instead.

“What?” She cocks her head.

“Right there.” He taps his own forehead. “The one you get when you’re trying very hard not to pout.”

Her lips press together tightly. “I am not pouting,” she mutters.

“Mmm.” Another sip. Another slow swallow. “Not yet.”

Her fingers twitch. She’s tempted to grab the bowl back, but he keeps drinking, unhurried, gaze never leaving hers.

When he finishes, he sets the empty bowl aside with careful precision. Then, meeting her eyes, voice dry as ever,

“Thank you, Rook. That was… filling.”

She groans, turning on her heel. “Next one will be better.”

The smooth lilt of his voice follows her as she stalks away.

“Veremos.”

~

Rook refuses to be defeated by soup. Sandwiches, though—those are foolproof. No boiling water. No excessive seasoning. Just bread, filling, done.

She even makes coffee to go with it. A peace offering. Or maybe a distraction.

Lucanis watches her as she sets the plate and cup down beside him on the cot. His brows lift slightly. “You’re confident about this one.”

“It’s a sandwich,” she says, sitting on the floor beside him. “I’d have to be trying to mess it up.”

With a hum, he picks it up. He takes a bite and stops.

His chewing slows. Rook sees it—the tiny furrow of his brow, the way his throat works around the swallow like it’s an effort. She waits, biting her lip.

Finally, he sets the sandwich down and picks up the coffee instead. Takes a long, slow sip.

She narrows her eyes. “That bad?”

He sighs, setting the cup down. “No, no. I was simply reflecting on how precious life is.”

Her jaw clenches. “It’s just a sandwich, Lucanis.”

“Mm. Is it?” He casts a wary glance at the, clearly, offensive food. “Seems more like an experience.”

What? “Explain.”

He hums again. “You see, at first, I thought I tasted a jam of sorts. But then…no, no, something else. A surprise element.” His brow lifts curiously. “What is it?”

She hesitates, worried. He hates it. “A thin spread of honey.”

“Ah.” He nods, leaning back. “My tongue wasn’t sure if it should be afraid or intrigued.”

“Intrigued is good,” she says, smiling despite herself.

He picks up the sandwich again, inspecting it. “Is it?”

Her smile is now edged with a glare.

He grins—just a little. And then, still holding her gaze, he takes another bite.

She watches, lips parting slightly as he chews; shivering when he makes a soft sound, low in his throat.

“Mm,” he says, swallowing. “Unexpected.”

Her cheeks warm with pride, though she refuses to revel in it. “So you do like it.”

He takes another sip of coffee, warm, chocolate eyes taking her in over the rim. “It’s growing on me.”

Pursing her lips, she snickers. “Liar.”

“Possibly.” His voice is low, and so, so smooth. “But I am enjoying your effort.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Next one will be better.”

His lips curve against the cup. “Veremos, no?”

~

Lucanis looks marginally better. The fever has lessened, and though the vibrancy of his skin is still lacking, there’s more focus behind his eyes. Enough to mean he’ll be even more insufferable if this meal goes wrong.

She doesn’t let that deter her, however.

Rook sets the bowl and mug down beside him as usual, this time kneeling at his side on the floor. “Eat first,” she says, nudging the soup towards him. “Then the coffee. Trust me.”

He chuckles, and it warms her. “Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

With a delicate arch of an eyebrow, he smirks, clearly amused, yet says nothing.  He takes up the spoon and gives the broth an experimental sip.

There is no missing the moment it hits.

His expression doesn’t change, not at first. But then, gradually, his mouth opens a hair, and she watches the way he breathes, how his grip tightens ever so slightly around the spoon.

“Ah,” he says, voice dipping lower than usual. “I see. Esto es venganza.”

Rook laughs, heartily and full of cheer. “What for?” Barely recovering.

“For my remarks on everything else. Clearly.” He breathes out, and for the first time in days, he looks rightfully awake.

“Good, isn’t it?” she muses.

His tongue pokes against the inside of his cheek. “It’s something.”

“Clears the sinuses,” she offers, biting back a grin.

“And my will to live,” he murmurs. But he keeps eating, as he always does.

She isn’t sure if he does it solely for her benefit, or if he takes some sort of pleasure in being cared for. By her.

Rook studies his mouth, the way his lips part and seal around the spoon, the way he swallows. Her stomach swoops low; a traitorous warmth pools in her core. She turns, abruptly, picking up the cup of coffee.

“Here,” she says, offering it to him. “This will help.”

Lucanis takes it from her hands, fingers brushing hers. Calloused. Warm. He lifts the mug and takes a deep inhale. And then, he pauses.

Rook watches his reaction closely. The way his brow furrows—not in displeasure, but in consideration. The steam curls around his face, the scent of honey and lavender lingering, scintillating and sweet between them.

“You did this on purpose,” he murmurs.

She leans on her elbow on the cot, resting her chin in her palm. “What gave it away?”

“The smell.” He drinks, closing his eyes for a brief moment, savoring.

A heady satisfaction hums through her. “Good?”

His lashes lift, and for once, she finds herself under the full weight of his gaze. “Perfecto.”

Something about the way he says it makes her thighs clench. She swallows, fingers drumming against the edge of the creaking cot. “I do have some gifts.”

His thumb traces absently along the handle of the cup. “You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?”

She turns, angling her hips to get a better look at him. Her heart races. “Which part?”

For a glorious second, his eyes dart to her mouth.

“Say it, Lucanis.” She is acutely aware of how breathy she sounds, but can’t summon the will to care in this moment.

The knot in his throat bobs as he takes another indulgent sip. To her chagrin, he doesn’t answer.

A rarity engulfs the stretch between them, stifling. He keeps drinking, slower now, more careful. And something in his demeanor shifts.

His gaze lowers to the wispy steam, his expression stunted and difficult to read.

She feels it immediately, though. Her smirk falters. The moment is gone, and she wonders what in the Maker’s ass she did wrong.

Heaving an annoyed sigh, she rises to her feet. “Next one will be better,” she mumbles.

Silence simmers, and this time, there is no parting word from him.

~

Rook keeps this one simple. No risks. No excessive seasoning. Just warmth, something steady.

Lucanis doesn’t comment when she sets the bowl down, just picks up the spoon and eats. His fever has broken, and he looks better. Less like he’s barely holding himself together, more like the man she knows.

She watches him, the nerves easing in her chest as he eats without hesitation. His brow furrows slightly with each bite, like he’s concentrating, but not in a bad way. Like he’s pleased.

She hones in on the little things she usually keeps herself from studying—the way his lips press together as he chews, the faint scar at the corner of his mouth, the dark, errant hairs along his jaw. He needs a trim. She could offer.

Rook wants to offer.

When he sets the bowl aside, he leans back against the wall, stretching his legs out. He sighs, slow and deep, eyes closed.

She licks her lips. “Your kit. Where is it?”

He cracks an eye open. “Under.”

She kneels, grabbing the small leather satchel, then settles beside him, comb in hand. She glances at him. “Do you trust me?”

A thick dark eyebrow lifts. “I’ve already survived your cooking.”

“Fair,” she mutters with a faint smile, bringing the comb through his beard, slow, careful.

His breath hitches. Not much, just a slight pause, a subtle tension that wasn’t there before. She keeps going, fingers threading through the coarse strands, keeping her touch light.

He swallows. There it is; the way his throat bobs, the way his lips part just slightly before pressing together again.

She shouldn’t be this close. Or maybe she should.

His scent is warm, bergamot and leather and a citrusy, dark Antivan roast. Her attention is enraptured by his mouth, the way his brow knits ever so slightly. The knot in his throat twitches again.

Lucanis is quiet. Not stiff, not pulling away—just still.

She lifts her gaze and meets his eyes. A dark need is mirrored there, heavy, waiting.

Her breath hitches when his fingers curl around her wrist. And the air shifts, thins out in a dizzying wisp of a shared, labored breath. She feels the gentle press of his thumb against her erratic pulse. 

She isn’t sure what takes over her, only that she’s wanted this for so long, and now, for the first time, she can see it in him. The restraint. The fight.

So, she kisses him. Softly. Ghosting her lips over his, warm and real and right.

His shuddering breath makes her shiver, and she lingers, savoring him. Until sense slams into her. What is she doing?

Rook pulls back, heart hammering, thundering deafeningly in her ears. “Lucanis, forgive me, I…”

The words die at the look on his face. She’s shaking, yet he doesn’t let go.

His grip on her wrist squeezes, tensing along with the sharp intake of breath he takes, and before she can move, before she can think, he pulls her back in.

She gasps as he shifts, presses her down, the cot creaking beneath them. Hovering over her, he braces a hand beside her head as he gazes down at her. There is an eddy of desire in his eyes that she wants to be sucked into, straight into its depths until she forgets her own name.

She barely has time to breathe before he goes in for the kill.

All manner of softness and hesitancy are abandoned at the press of his lips, of his tongue slipping into the wet heat of her mouth. He is devouring her, ravenous as he takes his fill. Greedy hands slide up her thigh, squeezing, groping as he groans, grinding himself against her.

The sharp tug of his teeth on her lip, the taste of him on her tongue, his heat enveloping her. She is lost to him, and the only anchor is his touch, rough and gentle in the same breath. Teasing, yet eager to sate an otherwise insatiable thirst.

The way their tongues dance along one another is frantic, needy. Frayed and strained by weeks and months. Her body arches against him, arms wrapped tight around him. Her hands are everywhere, nails raking over his back, tangling in the strands of his hair, cupping his face.

A familiar hunger courses through her, warm and delicious and, oh, how she aches to have him; here, now.

They pull back, panting, their chests heaving, pressed tightly together. Tips of their noses are nearly brushing and eyes locked.

Rook can see herself in the depths of his rich, brown eyes, feel his warmth seeping into her skin, thrumming through her. The rhythm of her heartbeat echoing in the fluttering pulse of her core.

Neither moves for several moments, silent.

Then, Lucanis leans in. What she expects is his kiss, not the filth that leaves his mouth.

“Do you know what I want to do to you right now, Rook? Do you know how much I ache to be inside you, feel you writhing on my cock?” His hips buck, grinding her against the straining length of his arousal. He presses his lips to her neck, sucking and nipping at her feverish skin.

She whimpers, her head lolling to the side as her nails dig into the nape of his neck.

He continues, and she is trapped in a wanton haze of lust that pulls her under without mercy. 

“I want to hear what sounds you’ll make when I tear you apart, piece by piece, over and over again.” 

“Shit,” she answers, reveling in the feel of his lips dragging across her jaw. His grip on her hips is claiming as he drives her closer, undulating encouragingly over her.

Hungrily, his hands slide under her tunic. They are like brands upon her skin, blazing and smoldering, sending ripples of scorching heat straight to the ache between her thighs.

He presses a lingering, heated kiss against her jaw.

Her hips are rolling desperately now, seeking more friction. Lucanis obliges her, his own rocking against her, rewarding her with breathless growls in her ear. She bites her lip, struggling not to moan.

Thrilling, she vaguely recognizes. It is like the moment a fledgling takes first flight, that a Crow makes their first kill, and knows true freedom. It’s that fucking good.

Rook has waited, so very patient, and now, at last, Lucanis is finally hers. And she will have him. Maker’s breath, she is going to fucking ruin this man.

By the time he finally pulls back, it’s at the sound of the dining hall door opening and Taash’s dry, booming voice. Rook is breathless, stunned, her mind spinning—the heat between her thighs incredibly wet.

They stare at each for what she recognizes is less than a second, but feels like an eternity she embraces unabashedly.

Then she chuckles, warmly, bewildered but pleasantly so, fingers still tangled in his silken hair.

Lucanis smirks, a sheepish hint veiling the roguish gleam in his eyes as his breath brushes over her lips. “I take it, you approve?”

A warm snicker leaves her, and she graces him with a grin. “Veremos.”

----

Thanks for reading! <3

[cbsghostsmetasandtrevor]

CBS Ghosts S4E11 Live Reaction

So this one is called: Thorapy 2: Abandonment something...

I'm already questioning why this didn't happen in S2...

OOOh Bela's back!

She got fired????

Irritable??? LOL. Bela - "Ghost thing?"

Normal level? LOL Isaac!

Love Bela's faces are awesome!

Sam - not the same - I agree.

Did you quit therapy??

LOL Alberta??? No living friends...

Is this a setup for Bela to get hired?

OMG Alberta calls it.

They really are pushing Bela is a screwup. :(

Pete called it!

Heist gone wrong?

Uhhhhh, this is NOT the same thing...

OMG. This is a really interesting thing with the therapy.

YOU WANT HER TO GO TO NORWAY. She can't afford that, Thor!

Awww, Sam needs serious help.

And Sass is in Jay's dream again.

Oh Sass, yes you do. This is is fun!

OOOH SEND PETE!!! Little Pete OMG. That's too funny.

LOL Thor blaming Pete.

The Hammer???? Damn Pete.

The Village ran out of Cod?? OH NO.

Hey there's Trevor! :). I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to make up a reason he wasn't in the episode.

LOL they're bored of her.

Aw, he's so believing of her. <3

LOL the shrimp thing is exciting! AWWW he's being cute.

Our lives are so boring!

He made an down to the minute plan....

How would you send Pete the pop up ad! How COULD SHE DO THAT???

AWWWWWW he tried to help and made it worse!

Jay!!! Bad, Jay! lack of trust. I am beginning to understand why Bela just doesn't give a damn.

"Don't love that I am the face of it."

Yes, you guys all are.

Anyone without a pulse??? WOW Pete.

OMG IS PETE GOING TO DISAPPEAR???

Are we going to find out what happens???? I'm curious.

"Voice Haunting Thor!"

Wouldn't he have started reappearing once he entering the bounds??? Not when he entered the door??

they miscounted??? It was a mistake???

Great Monster??? OMG :(

At least it wasn't malicious???

Aww Bela. "He still thinks about me?"

"He's not that handsome."

OMG "I'm lying he's beautiful!" (I am so writing a fic where he overhears this).

AWWWW they're so cute! We get to keep Bela!

"These two dingbats."

I think it's better than what happened to Trevor.

Yes, Thor, let it go. <3

Wasn't it 3 sessions??? there were 2 in the first Thorapy.

Awwwww Thor/Pete hugging. and Flower trying to be the threesome.

"Please report back regarding the Hammer" - OMG HETTY.

OMG this time it's all of them!

OMG This same session for all of them is hilarious.

Poor Sam!

Overall, could always use more Trevor, but I LOVED it. It's nice to see that Bela wanted to do well and for Jay to realize that he should believe in her!

thanks!

[ihopesocomic]

Greetings from Russia!👋🏼🇷🇺 Yes, even the readers of your wonderful comic are here:) I got to know "I hope so" after your review of "My Pride," which, despite all the flaws, still appeals to me in some ways. Even though I'm just a cisgender heterosexual girl, I understand your disappointment. Starting with the queer couple, where Hover started laughing at disability and the name Nothing, even before the review, I was uncomfortable with this moment, not realizing how bad everything was there (especially when you pointed out the actions of Tribblofdoom). That scene in the rain, showing gaslighting and the downright shitty attitude Hover was supposed to have towards her girlfriend. She never really supported Nothing or tried to protect her. And Nothing itself is written as an eternally sad disabled person who gets punched by everyone he can and cannot. Really pessimistic for a project that advertised an LGBT and disability-friendly show. Even without all that, the show is really poorly written. Characters develop without development or become assholes simply because. And they also try to justify some of them (Quickmane scolding Nothing when she left the cubs alone or the redemption of Powerstrike). Basically, my bisexual ADHD friend and I agree with you. Basically, like you, we like to talk and joke about similar topics and think through our plots. And I like your comic, it's much better than this animated series. The characters are very cute, Hope is a wonderful main character. Despite her disability, she still remains optimistic and purposeful even when the whole family has turned away from her. And Storm is a real brutal and supportive girl. Hover could only dream:) But as an inspiration for my hairstyle and appearance, she's good🤌🏼. I also wonder how the fate of Vicious, stuck in a terrible relationship with Jasper, will unfold. I really feel sorry for her, because she's stuck in a terrible relationship with Jasper, but as a mother she's terrible, no comment. But I really liked how you show the psychological pressure and abuse in the family. The consequences of the death of Quiet and Clever are shown, or how Careful leaves the Golden Grove with the cubs. It's just great✨ And also, in principle, I wonder how everything will end up in the end. I want to see more Diamond and Bright. Interesting characters🌚 We'll be waiting, of course😌 Besides the comic, I try to study your answers to other viewers' questions, it's really fascinating. I've learned a lot from you, and I've repeated some of it. In my project about the werecat clan (yes, the influence of the CW😺 was not enough here either), I want to touch on several characters as representatives of LGBT and with disabilities. It turned out that I'm interested in this topic, and I want to see how I can handle it. Although the main character remains a cisget, but she has a boyfriend, a bisexual werewolf cat, for example:) So yes, it was not a question, but rather a long review and a desire to share it with you, dear authors of "I hope so". Thanks for attention. All the best to you☺️👉🏼👈🏼

Thank you very much for your kind words regarding our comic, we truly appreciate it. <33

As for what you have to say about your own content: honestly, just write whatever you're most comfortable with. If you want to write something with a cishet main, you go ahead and do that. The only time it becomes an issue if you do what Tribble did and you shoehorn in a gay relationship at the last minute because your fans began to ship your two main same-sex characters together and you try and sell the hastily written mess as 'LGBT+ friendly' content.

With proper research and care (i.e. listening to the folks you wish to represent), it is very easy to avoid this dilemma and being aware of the issues and wishing to avoid repeating them is a good start. Literally not giving a shit and wanting to use any sort of minority group to plug your content is going to end about as well as you'd expect.

There are certainly things you can cover with one half of your couple being bisexual. Bisexual erasure due to bi individuals dating a member of the opposite sex is certainly a major issue in LGBT+ spaces and a neat topic to cover if this is what you're going for with your main couple.

Either way, best of luck to you and thank you for reading our comic. c: - RJ

[kashilascorner]

Oh ok. I get now why a lot of people didn't vibe with the ending.

All and all: excellent manga, overall very good final act, too rushed final 2-3 chapters but weak and honestly mediocre epilogue, which makes the high of the ending kind of leave a bitter taste. I think Noda had a good steed and suddenly he had to finish and had to rush all. So the ending in the sense of the final arc was good but the ending proper (final couple chapters) + epilogue......... Not so much

[benevolenterrancy]

hi! I recently came across your tgcf fics, and I wanted to say you’re a phenomenal creator. the recovery series fic and the gloves fic and just all of them. thank you for your content and great attention to detail.

do you have any thoughts/hcs on FXMQ and Xie Lian you’d be willing to share? within the original story or the universes of your fics!

Thank you so much, I'm glad you're enjoying them! (ﾉ*^▽^*)ﾉ.｡:*☆

hmm, random thoughts about the FXMQ... a silly headcanon: Feng Xin has very much been hoisted by his own petard by heckling Mu Qing! That is to say, he'll harass Mu Qing relentlessly about something stupid only to be confronted with a similar situation and realise that there's absolutely NO way he can act in anyway similar to Mu Qing or he'll never hear the end of it.

(For example, he has tolerated some truly atrocious divine statues in the past because he's heckled Mu Qing so much about how picky he is with his divine statues that there's no WAY he can say ANYTHING without seeing that smug bastard's face in his head so he just has to bite his tongue and tolerate some unspeakably ugly statues.)

Mu Qing doesn't generally suffer from similar overthinking (he'll just prepare to kick FX's ass if he dares to say anything about it) except for things more directly related to himself. I think he genuinely finds sewing/embroidery/etc rather relaxing work but he'd rather die than have anyone ever see him do it because he's made such a big deal about not doing that sort of "servant" work anymore.

(He actually really enjoyed stitching Ruoye back together because it gave him the perfect excuse -- he's returning a favour!! and Xie Lian is hopeless!! of course he had to!! -- and he secretly considered using white thread to embroider some invisible little designs just because he doesn't quite want to stop... only he knew he'd get caught if he messed with Xie Lian's spiritual device like that and gave up the idea)

[basu-shokikita]

i wonder so much about the relationship skwisgaar and magnus had in earlyklok days. like both having huge egos but magnus was still the rhythm guitarist. he was the rhythm guitarist to someone way younger than him. there's no way he could've taken that lightly.

i wonder if he got really bossy with skwisgaar and tried to correct him to show him he was still above him or something. i wonder if he had a passive aggressive attitude towards skwisgaar. i wonder if he tried to convince the rest of the band that HE should be the lead guitarist instead and that skwisgaar wasn't all that. i wonder if he tried to make skwisgaar look bad on purpose.

skwisgaar is the first one in 'some time ago' to oppose to the idea of having a new rhythm guitarist so that relationship can't have been good, like. the first thing skwisgaar thought when it was over was that there shouldn't be any more 'like magnus'. because i don't think it was just about skwisgaar's superiority complex, i think magnus was an unsavory experience for him and he was eager not to repeat it ever again. he didn't want to give anybody the chance to become That Guy

[yourlocalmissingtexture]

Edgy longing/lovelorn poem from three years ago (Nov. 10, 2020) ayeeee

The Fool

What nerve you have!

To long after he

That drinks the joy of a thousand poppies

While you offer but your heart,

A joy in which he must open not his veins,

But his mind to understand.

[isaacathom]

on naielle odelia, florian de kasimir, and the idea of sacrifice

naielle is a celestial warlock. she's a backliner, a combination support and damage.

florian is a man at arms, a soldier, armed with sword and shield. a front liner, a tank, a consistent damage dealer.

being in the front lines means risk is always present. and florian considers it his duty, his obligation, to remain. he considers the idea of fleeing first to be a violation of his job.

he is deeply afraid. he always is. but he has to be the first and final line of defence.

when he was killed, time froze, and he saw the state of his friends, battered and near death. he saw the monster that stood before them.

he had once taken great umbrage with a man who had made an ill-thought out deal with the devil.

and when push came to shove, and the devil held out his hand, florian took it. because if he didnt, his friends would die. it wouldve been a waste.

naielle's devil hangs over her head, a sword of damocles. you are a healer, aren't you? the front line will fall without you. you must run in, and you must help them.

her devil is not her patron. her devil is herself.

florian is constantly aware of the danger he is in, and considers himself illsuited to all of it, and simultaneously suited to nothing else. all he can be is a sharp object pointed at a villain. when mauled near death, watching the party's witcher fall, he ordered the retreat, and unable to stand still tried to protect the party doctor's spirit.

naielle forgets her own risk. she sees the threat posed to someone else, the blood that issues forth, and she sees the solution held in her hands. she would be a failure not to administer it. withholding the cure from the dying would go against everything she tries to believe and hold herself to. she does not balance it with the idea that her premature death might leave things worse. its the now, now, now.

she'll defend the man defending her, even if he says she shouldnt.

when the mission came down to it, and the devil's plans laid bare, florian considered it his moral duty to lay down his life. he could not stomach to kill the woman who had brought him here, to betray her so utterly. but for the party priest, he paused. because to give up himself, to act as Emelia's final defence, he would doom the priest. The two would either die at the traitors hands, or by a devil collecting on unkept promises.

he couldnt sacrifice himself to doom another, to doom a man in service to a woman he hadn't met and owed no alleigance too. florian could not demand that of him, and thus could not give of it himself, much as he wanted to.

he was forced to live, and to see her die, and to know he'd failed.

naielle hasn't reached that crux yet. the mountains peak lies high above, and many descending tracks offer solutions from this vantage, though they may lead simply to deep ravines.

for her to give herself to her patron, to play the numbers game, she would save many. she would damn herself, damn her sister, damn her twin brother, her wife, her mother, her father. all the people she's met and known, ill and well, would be hurt. depending on the relationship, on the timing, she might even kill them.

but naielle would play the numbers game. its an easy game at that scale - a world, or an elf? she'd like both. but maybe her goal, to do good, necessitates giving up the opportunity to see that good done, and only to know it was.

after his betrayal, he heads north. he has loose ends to attend to. peoples lives to try and fix. a war to join. he expected to die in that war, as he expected to die in that manor, as he did in that forest, as he thought the griffin might, like the previous war had thought to.

he doesnt die. the war spits him out, like it had before.

and he stands on a rural farm, holding out tools for the farmer reparing the fence, and he wonders:

why did he always try to throw it away?

[gay-dorito-dust]

Controversial younger s/o things

Slight mentions of like one nsfw thing, especially for Stanley, it’s not much but still I thought I should say.

Ford worries that he’s far too old for you, but yet is unable to keep his distance from you when you spent every waking moment at the shack with Soos, Wendy, Dipper and Mabel.

He feels like a perv whenever he lets his gaze linger a little too long on you for it to be platonic, yet he could never bring himself to look away as you had him bewitched mind, body and soul for all he knew and he didn’t mind it, even if it did mean he lost sleep dreaming about you being his youthful spouse who often stole his turtlenecks just to get his attention.

He thinks you could be better off with someone your own age, and yet despite believing this, Ford can’t help but harbour this mentality that he could treat you far, far better then anyone your own age. He’d worship the ground you walk on, treat you with respect, dignity and trust.

You’d probably be brought down to the lab quite often per his request. Ford claims he needs your opinion on something but the moment your down there, you’re making out with your back pressed against his workbench as his hands remained above your waist; maybe teasingly trailing to your thighs but still he’s a respective gentleman towards you forever and always.

There the moments you gladly wait all day for moments like these as you got to feel just how badly Ford wanted you in more ways then one ;)

You make out in his bed too but that’s only if you couldn’t make it to the lab, so Ford makes sure to lock the door when you do, for privacy and such.

There’s multiple entries about you and Ford’s conflicted feelings towards you followed with sketches of you looking the most beautiful he’s ever seen you. Seeing you be great and supportive with dipper and Mabel defiantly awakens something in him that he later puts down in the journal.

Will loose it if he ever saw you in his turtleneck, he’s not gods strongest soldier in their regards as he’s more then happy to get on his knees for you right then and there. You in his turtleneck is his secrete fantasy and to see it become reality is enough for this man to believe that there is a heaven.

Stanley feels that you deserve better then him

the girdle stays off! You don’t give a fuck, the girdle stays off and you will fucking hide it from him, much to his dismay but you love his tummy so, so so much!

Heated make outs in el Diablo while on road trips just the two of you at night.

Spoils you rotten however he could in meaningful ways, kinda feels sad that he can’t do more for you like you deserved but you didn’t care as you pepper his face with kisses and reassurance that he’s more then enough for you.

Probs gets jealous of you talking to other older men that has deeper pockets, but is smug as fuck the moment you came back to him with wads of their money in your hands as he pulls you in close by the waist and kisses you firmly on the lips saying, ‘that’s my girl/boy/ spouse.’

You will get love bites from him for making him jealous but also for making him so proud of his gorgeous/handsome/ beautiful spouse. You wear them with pride as you know no one else can elicit the same feeling as Stan did and he’d show off his own love bites with pride as he’s shameless and wants to show that he’s more then taken.

Does get moments of insecurity about your age gap but with a few words of reassurances, kisses and caresses to his body and he’s more than back to being confident of your relationship.

Stan wants you to sit on his lap all of the time, no excuses you’re on his lap and he gets the prettiest view of his unbearably cute spouse as his large hand rubs your thighs, getting progressively closer as to where you needed him most. ;)

[moonsnqil]

aftg au where neil/nathaniel died in baltimore and andrew knows he's dead, he didnt stop fighting until he had autopsy reports and a closed casket in front of him. andrew knows he died that night but a week later, a week spent rotting and shoving everyone away, he sees neil. blue eyes clear as water, his hair still glows in the sun, when andrew reaches out he knows none of this is real. neil josten is dead, matt has an empty dorm and someone is already adding nathaniel wesninski to a true crime podcast. he knows none of this is real but it's easier to accept a hallucination than it is to accept that he failed, that another person has been snatched away from him. so andrew goes to practice and sometimes he misses balls because neil is on the court aiming left but aaron shot right. he goes to edens and can feel neil's weight behind him as he carries the drink tray back to their table. he watches nicky play games on the xbox and he hears all of neil's commentary. when he's alone, he talks to neil. andrew had always been great at being silent but never with neil. and he knows none of this is real but it's easier to confide in neil now that he's so intimately familiar with his absence. they trade truths and secrets and neil tells him about oklahoma and andrew knows they never talked about oklahoma and he's just remembering a conversation he heard on disney channel when he was eleven. he lights two cigarettes and sees neil smoke it but doesn't dwell on how quickly the flame dies out. he only mentions it once, to bee. when he says "i keep seeing neil" and bee says she understands, people leave traces of themselves all around us, he never brings it up again. it's not like she's wrong on that front either. neil's locker still has an unwashed jersey inside, the phone charger he never used is still shoved somewhere underneath the passenger seat of the maserati, all the clothes andrew bought him are still in a drawer. matt doesn't spend a lot of time in his room anymore. when andrew says "i hate you" and he truly means it, neil says "i know" and his cheeks dimple. andrew knows this isn't normal, nothing about this is okay, his mental stability is a far cry from being good but he thinks maybe having neil beside him, haunting him like this, is better than a reality where andrew is alone. so they follow each other around like ducklings and wymack looks at him like he's a ticking time bomb because in no world does neil josten die and andrew simply moves on. andrew's nightmares have shifted from being seven and begging to watching neil fight for life on a grimy basement floor but it's okay because when he wakes up he gets to hold neils hand and it's a little cold but the divots between his knuckles feel the same as before so he can blame it on the weather. andrew watches neil's banner go up next to seth's on the court and andrew almost wants to laugh because seth is dead but neil is right here, neil is talking about being court, but no that's not right either. neil is dead, andrew knows this. but then how could neil be dead when he's still buying andrew ice cream and pushing all his buttons? they sit a little too close to the edge of the roof nowadays and neil tells him that they could fall but they might not die because it's only four stories so really it's no guarantee. neil tells andrew he has to be careful because what about aaron, what about kevin, his deals and his promises. he keeps his promises, it's what he's good at. he's pretty sure kevin knows something is wrong but is trying to pretend like it's not. they're the same in that regard, really. andrew knows neil is dead, abby's files label him as deceased, but he thinks he likes being haunted. if it means neil is still there, still planning a future and running his mouth, andrew thinks he could convince himself baltimore never happened. maybe neil was never something tangible to begin with.

[traveler-at-heart]

Hot and Cold

Summary: Natasha's playing with fire when a new resident joins the Compound.

A/N: Queen of Angst @esposadejoyhuerta asked for the fluffiest, sweetest, tooth rotting story ever and I was happy to deliver, even after they changed their request to inclue jealousy BECAUSE no one can stop me. Love ya, baby!

Another day, another mission. Since last week’s mess, it seems like Fury’s been finding ways to torture the team.

Yes, at the end they were able to retrieve the drive with the data of over twenty enhanced individuals. But so did HYDRA. And now the Avengers are on a race against time to locate them before the Russians do.

Natasha walks to Fury’s office, not excited at the prospect of risking her life to recruit people who didn’t really want to be found.

“Yes?” she says as soon as Fury turns around. He hands over a very heavy binder. “Is this their criminal record?”

Great, a weirdo with a troubled past. Natasha might not make it out alive.

“No, that’s their academic stuff. She’s a scientist. Crazy smart” Fury explains. “Have you heard of Bio-Thermokinesis?”

“No, not really”

“The ability to manipulate the body temperature of oneself and/or others” he recites, having learned the concept just now.

“That doesn’t sound so bad” Natasha says, closing the folder. It’s certainly better than the last few people she had to chase down.

“Yeah, until she induces a heat stroke or hypothermia” Fury scoffs. “We’ve been failing at recruiting these people. It would be nice to have a win. Plus, she could work in the lab with Banner and Stark”

“I don’t think Nerd Club is worth one’s freedom” Natasha mutters, skimming through the file.

“Well, either way, this mission doesn’t requires strenght. It requires charm. You up for it or should I send Hill?”

As Natasha gets to the picture of the target, she looks up.

“I’ll handle it”

—

As usual, you’re carrying more than you can possibly handle. Books, your laptop, a sandwich from the cafeteria, and correspondence from the main office.

By the time you manage to open the door to your office, half of the things in your arms are dangerously close to scattering across the hardwood floor.

“Oh, shit” you mutter when your keys drop.

“Need a hand?” a voice says and you jump back, the rest of your stuff flying across the room. 

“Uh… can I help you?” you say, because the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen is perched up on your desk, legs crossed and a playful smirk across her striking features.

“Are you Doctor Y/L/N?”

“Yes. How did you…? I’m pretty sure the door was locked” 

Is she a thief? You have absolutely nothing of value, at least not for a conventional burglar. You run every possibility in your mind and then you land on your second least favorite one.

Natasha notices the room getting warmer, probably because of how flustered you got. The file seems accurate regarding your power.

“AC broke down?” she asks innocently, undoing the top button of her shirt.

“Uh… I… I’ll open the window” you say, pushing it and leaning against the window pain. You consider jumping down to escape, but it’s a considerable height. You take a breath, deciding to face the matter head on. “So, which agency sent you?”

“Ever heard of S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Yes, that was my first guess” you admit with a sad smile. “What can I do for you, Agent…?”

“Call me Natasha” she says, hopping off the desk. “I’m afraid I am the bearer of bad news… and a generous offer”

“Mmm” you nod, fixing your glasses. 

“A tactical team was sent to stop the purchase of confidential information for 30 enhanced individuals. We were able to obtain it… and so did HYDRA”

“Listen” you raise your hand, taking off your glasses and pinching the bridge of your nose. “I get it. HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. know about me. The thing is, my power isn’t something you can leverage in a fight. I doubt they’ll be very interested in me”

“I think you’re wrong. And it’s not just your ability. Your expertise in science and your genetic makeup can be used to experiment”

“So, is that what S.H.I.E.L.D. wants to do with me?” you sigh, looking out the window. You’re enjoying the view, vaguely aware that life as you know it is over.

“We want to offer you shelter at the Avengers Compound. 24 hour security, top facilities and technology. You can continue your research” Natasha says, trying to make it sound like a great deal.

It brings her back to that time Fury told her it was either work for the US government or end up in the Raft.

Your offer is slightly better, but a golden prison is still a prison.

“Are there any questions I can answer before you make a decision?” she offers with a kinder tone.

“Yeah. Do I even have a choice?”

—

Academic life is all you’ve ever known. Grants were the perfect way to do your research without having to look for a benefactor and expose yourself. You could learn things about your DNA, your abilities, while doing other stuff without anyone noticing.

Now, you wake up and there’s nothing that drives you. You live with people who have exceptional skills, physical prowess, and military training. Their world is avenging, your world is scientific papers and books.

Sure, their lab is nice, but most of the times you end up leaving early, completely unmotivated and feeling empty. 

Natasha watches from afar, and although this isn’t her doing, she feels responsible. She tries to include you in activities she understands, like training, but you’re very obviously not the athletic kind.

Banner is, as usual, isolating himself and Tony speaks nerd, but is barely around unless a mission requires his presence. 

It isn’t until one day that Peter shows up to the Compound that Natasha gets an idea.

“Hi, Miss Romanoff. Is Mister Stark around?” he asks in that shy tone he always uses when he’s around Natasha.

“Nope, not to my knowledge. Do you need anything?” 

“FRIDAY told me to meet him here. He must have forgotten. I guess I better get back to my Biochem project”

Wait a minute.

He’s a nerd.

“Stay” she says, looking him up and down. Peter reminds her of a puppy when he stops completely, as if he learned a new command. “Wait for Tony at the lab. I’ll try to find him”

“You’re sure? I’m not allowed inside by myself” he hesitates, following Natasha.

“Yeah, it’s fine” she types in the access code, and of course, there you are, spinning in your chair.

As soon as you hear the door opening, you stop your movements, almost falling off.

Natasha finds your blush adorable.

“Hey, Y/N. This is Peter. He’ll be around waiting for Tony”

“Oh, hey. Ok, I was just leaving. I’m kinda stuck either way”

“Ordinary Differential Equations?” Peter says as soon as he gets his eyes on your board.

“Yes. Very impressive” you nod. “This is focused on genetic network. I’m trying to determine inborn errors of metabolism”

“Oh, you know? There’s a brilliant Doctor who’s working on that, maybe her paper would be great for you. She’s Y/N Y/L/N”

“Yeah, that’s me” you say, tapping your chin and examining the board. “What is your ability? If you have any? Maybe I can use a different set of data”

“Yes! I would love to, what do you need from me?” Peter says, a little starstruck at finding out you’re one of the most prestigious researchers in the world. 

“For now, a blood sample” you wink at him, adjusting your glasses.

Natasha sits in the back of the lab as you and Peter work together, and you explain every concept to him. This is the first time since you arrived that you don’t look so miserable.

The Russian takes it as a small win when you join her in the common area for dinner.

--

Since Peter found out about your abilities and your permanent stay at the Compound, you’ve been advising him on his project and college applications. Which is a really nice distraction, but it also makes you miss your own college days.

So, even if you’re in a better mood, it’s still hard to socialize with the team.

One day, you enter the lab to find Rogers, Wilson and Barnes looking at a screen, while Natasha types.

“Whoever encrypted this is slightly smarter than me. Only slightly” 

They look away as you drag a chair to focus on your own stuff, a cup of coffee in your hand and a cookie in your mouth.

“Hi…” you wave at them, feeling intimidated as usual.

“Hey, weather girl” Sam winks at you. 

Natasha rolls her eyes and elbows him.

“Ignore him, Y/N”

You can tell she’s getting frustrated, so you inch closer, looking at the code over her shoulder. Placing your hand on her elbow, you silently ask for permission to take over.

The redhead eyes you curiously, but stops typing and moves the keyboard your way. It takes you twenty seconds to hack into the files.

“How…?”

“I used to hack into databases to make sure my name wasn’t on any watchlist” you explain casually. Natasha laughs at that. “Anyway, there you go”

“Thanks, Y/N. You’re my hero” Natasha says, smiling up at you. Her tone makes you blush and you nod, going back to your desk.

“Nice work. We could use your help if you’re free some other time” Steve says as they leave the lab.

“Of course, Capitan” 

—

An intruder changes your mind about training. The threat is handled swiftly and you don’t even have time to hide before F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirms the suspect has been taken into custody

But you don’t even know how to begin to defend yourself, so you come back to Natasha, asking if her offer still stands.

Needless to say, the spy is more than happy to train you. Not just because it means you’re comfortable asking for things, but because Natasha can teach you something that will help you protect yourself.

You start with two sessions per week, which later turns to four, until you’re comfortable with training almost daily.

The rest of the team joins from time to time, giving you advice and helping you when Natasha’s away on missions.

After a few weeks, Natasha notices how your resistance is better and you’re building some muscle.

Only as a professional observation. It’s not like she finds you attractive, with that nerdy charm and toned arms.

One day, as you’re leaving the gym, she checks her bag, cursing when she notices she forgot a change of clothes. 

“Wanna borrow one of my hoodies?” you offer, handing over your NYU sweatshirt.

“You sure?” Natasha hesitates.

“Yeah, I got tons of these. From all the places I’ve done work or research” 

“I’ll give it back” she promises, taking it.

That turns out to be a lie.

A few days later, when you’re folding your laundry, F.R.I.D.A.Y. requests that you join Tony and Banner in the lab. Leaving the basket in the living room, you think nothing of it, nor do you notice that a couple of your sweatshirts are gone.

It all comes to light a week later, when Natasha comes back from a grueling mission. The only thing that will make her feel better is staying in her room while wearing your UCLA hoodie.

She totally forgets about her attire when she answers the door.

“Huh, so that’s where it was” you tilt your head, smiling.

“I…”

“I’m watching a movie, care to join me? It’s one of your favorites” 

“Ok” she nods, surprised that you’re not mad about the stolen sweatshirt. 

Natasha enters your room, appreciating the combination of books, notes and the board with equations. After you apologize for the mess, you offer a place to sit in your bed.

“It looks good on you” you compliment the redhead. Natasha smiles, trying to be nonchalant about it.

“Thank you” 

It becomes a habit, to steal your hoodies.

“Objectively speaking, you don’t actually need them as you can regulate your temperature” Natasha comments one day, digging through your closet. To her shock, she finds a sweatshirt with a sorority logo on it.

“Not mine. A girl I hooked up with in college” you explain.

Natasha rolls her eyes, throwing the garment as far away as possible while pulling a face. You laugh at her reaction.

“Don’t be jealous, Natty. You’re my favorite” you promise, unaware of the effect your words had on her.

“And yet you never let me wear the Harvard one”

“That was my first” you shrug your shoulders.

“First college or first hook up?” Natasha taunts and you laugh.

“A nerd never kisses and tell. Actually, a nerd rarely kisses anyone to being with” you try to joke, pulling out the Harvard sweatshirt from your closet to put it on.

Natasha eyes it, and you catch her intentions a little too late. She inches forward and you stretch your arm back, trying to place the hoodie out of reach.

“Nu-uh” you shake your head, laughing as she keeps trying to steal it. “Natasha, there are like ten other hoodies you  could take!” 

“I want this one!” she insists, jumping. Her body crashes against yours, and you both stumble, falling in your bed. Limbs are tangled and her laugh tickles your ear as she struggles to lift herself up. After a moment, Natasha smiles, looking at your lips. “Gotcha”

You don’t even know what to say, her intense stare making you feel warm -both literally and figuratively - and your heart beats faster when it seems like she’ll lean forward and kiss you.

“Agent Romanoff, there’s an urgent call for you” FRIDAY interrupts the moment. 

Natasha sighs, standing up and looking at you. 

“Catch you later?”

“Yeah” you nod, trying to hide your disappointment.

—

Natasha was gone for a week, and returned with a very bad injury. You heard the news as Steve and Tony were arguing in the kitchen, blaming each other as usual.

“Where…? Is she ok…?” you try to interrupt them, but they’re in the middle of a screaming match.

“Come with me” Maria says, taking you to a whole different wing of the Compound. Since you’ve never been on missions, you didn’t know about the Medbay.

Natasha’s lying in a hospital bed, asleep.

“She’s ok. A guy threw a knife at her, but it was only a superficial stab wound. Doctor said she’ll be discharged tomorrow” Maria eases your nerves. 

Of course, for her it’s easy to say it’s no big deal. Agents are shot, blown up, killed in the field. A little scratch is nothing, especially for Natasha. But you take a deep breath, leaving the Medbay in a rush.

As you lock yourself in the Avenger’s Lab, you make F.R.I.D.A.Y. a simple request.

“Show me the mission’s footage”

—

Natasha’s had worst, truly. But still, her head is throbbing when she wakes up. The doctor discharges her with the instruction to rest for a week. No training either.

The Russian notices a bag with clothes on the chair next to her bed. She finds your Harvard sweatshirt, which puts a tiny smile on her face.

You are nowhere to be found in the Compound when she returns, so she goes to her room to take another nap, the painkillers making her sleepy.

By the time Natasha wakes up to get something to eat, F.R.I.D.A.Y. requests her presence in the lab.

“What is it?” she says, surprised to find you working on a tablet. It looks like you haven’t slept in the last 24 hours, five or six cups of coffee around the various tables in the lab.

“I created a new technology for your suit” you jump right to it. “It has motion sensors that are triggered by incoming threats. That way, if someone tries to sneak up on you, you can either get an alert or program a defense mechanism that can be shot from any part of the suit” 

Natasha takes the tablet, running the simulation. She’s impressed with the level of detail you’ve placed on this and on such short time. She’s about to thank you, but you’re already asleep in the couch of the lab, clearly exhausted from all the work you’ve done.

The sight of your sleeping form makes Natasha’s heart flutter.

—

Movie night is the one tradition you’ve always been on board with. Coincidentally, it’s Natasha’s least favorite. Depending on her mood, she’ll join everyone on the living room, or talk you into watching something else in your room or hers.

Tonight, she stops by once the movie has already started. As usual, you’re on the couch in the far back of the room, your glasses reflecting the screen as you eat some popcorn.

“Hey” Natasha leans over the back of the couch and whispers against your ear, making you jump. Your eyes follow her as she jumps over to plop down next to you.

“You’re not supposed to be doing that with a hole on your side, Natasha” you reprimand. 

“It’s fine” she lies, grabbing some popcorn.

As the movie keeps going, the woman inches closer to you. At first you think she’s settling in her seat, but then her hand spreads on the back of the couch, dangerously close to your neck.

It’s fine. You can handle it.

Nope, you absolutely can’t. Not when you feel Natasha’s nimble fingers playing with the hairs on the back of your neck, her digits alternating between caressing the skin and scratching your scalp.

“You’re hot” she whispers at some point and you turn to look at her, dazed.

“Huh?”

“You feel hot” she clarifies a second later, her eyes looking at your lips. “Is everything ok? Those powers of yours are acting up”

“I’m fine” you nod, looking back at the screen. Aware that you are in fact increasing the temperature in the room, you take a breath and close your eyes, before anyone else notices.

You’re almost back to normal when Natasha stretches and lies across your lap, her left hand squeezing your thigh as the other one begins to trace patterns in your skin.

All while she's wearing your Harvard sweatshirt.

Your only thought is to take it off, along with the rest of her clothes and kiss every inch of her body.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., is the thermostat broken…?” Tony finally snaps, annoyed at the sudden changes in temperature. “Never mind” 

Everyone follows his eyes as he looks to the back of the room, where Natasha is playing dumb while riling you up.

“Can you two find a room to turn into a sauna and spare the rest of us?” Tony says, which makes your eyes widen, and the room practically turns into a freezer. “Great, now we’re all turning into popsicles. Cap, you’re familiar with the feeling, right?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Tony” Natasha finally stands up, showing you some mercy. “Come on, detka” 

“Uh, ok” you say, your voice barely a whisper as you allow the woman to drag you back to her room.

As soon as the door is shut, she pushes you against it.

“So, tell me” she says with a playful smile. “How hot do you think it will get here?”

You can only shake your head, speechless. Natasha smiles, kissing you softly. All thoughts leave your head, opening your mouth to give her access. You’ll do anything she asks, anything at all.

“I see” she smiles when the room gets hot. “Good thing we won’t have our clothes on” 

It’s the best sex of your life.

So much so, the fire alarm goes off in the entire Compound.

“Fucking worth it” you sigh as you’re both naked in bed, the water from the sprinklers evaporating from all the heat in the room.

[recycledraccoon]

Minor thoughts on Oisin and how he seems primed to fuck over Adaine specifically. The flustered ping-pong balls that were a plan all along. The quoting her own words on the previous Elven Oracle back at her in regards to the storm.

I mean...imagine you're a skinny little dragonborn wizard, in a class with a cute elven girl. You don't talk to her, but one of your adventuring party members is pissing thinking that party is getting preferential treatment, so you KNOW about her. You watch from the corner of your eye or from a spot on the back of the class whenever she's actually there. Partway through the year she goes to jail, and when she comes back she and her adventuring party save the world from a dragon. (A dragon of whom your Grandmother had been fond. ((Also, coincidentally, the Vice Principal.))) One of them created a god.

(Your entire party is being groomed into rage by two of your teachers.)

You're in her class again. She is the Elven Oracle, already an accomplished adventurer. She and her friends are popular. She's very pretty. She does not know your name. She does not know who you are, just a skinny dragonborn a few seats back.

You go on your Sophomores Year Spring Break Adventure and don't bother to think about her party at all.

(You and your party are going to kill a god. Your teacher is going to ascend to godhood in their place and you and your party will have Made That Happen. You are angry and determined with each final blow you deal.)

You return from Spring Break angry and with a sore chest.

You find out the elven girl's party has resurrected a dead god and the live streamed the entire fight. They must think they're so much better than you and your party. You'll show them.

(Your friend refuses to change her faith. She cancels the paperwork. The rest of you kill her, confident she will make the right choice and join you again as a proper Champion for your new god. You help kill her. She does not get back up. You hide the body and none of you can say anything. You're so so angry.)

The world descended into darkness and you can do nothing. The sun finally breaks across the sky again right before Junior year. You and your party have made plans and are on the cusp of greatness. You've gained muscles to spare and ink on your scales in carefully selected runes, no longer just a skinny little dragonborn.

(You have a new cleric. He's not your friend. He's a haystack hick from that cult-church from Freshman year, and he's here because the god you're going to kill needs a Champion and he fits the bill, nothing more.)

The first day of school the plan starts to be put in motion. Immediately that party of kids is interfering, in your way. It rackles. You push on anyway, seething inside even as you act the part of being reasonable.

You go to a party at the houses of one of her friends. You've been practicing making spell runes on the inside of ping-pong balls. You're ready.

The pretty Elven girl in your class finally looks at you. She approaches you, gives you a drink, and chills it in your hand. She has to ask your name. You have shared certain wizarding classes with her since Freshman year, tho she was barely there. You have to tell her that.

You chat. She clearly gets flustered, calls you great, and flees back into the house. Your friend teases you for others to overhear. It's a convenient excuse to use your geometry and apply physics to miss every single shot and lay your trap. The drink isn't so perfectly chilled in your hand anymore.

(You talk to her. Play nice. She isn't smooth, but she smiled at you and maybe a part of you is vindictive in seeing her flustered. It's a shame she turned down the diamonds, as dragon madness would have been so poetic. You steal her summons to steal something from the house. She didn't know your name. Didn't remember you. You feel justified. Your anger burns cold like frostbite, like static in the air. You purposely don't wonder if that first miss was intentional or genuine.)

You see each other in class sometimes.

You plot and kill monsters the woods. You will win the battle. You will win the war.

Your parties have a standoff in the cafeteria. You play your part to diffuse the situation, your teacher has been harping on your friends to stop antagonizing the other party. You feel her mind touch yours gentle probing of intentions, her friends all around her as you lock eyes.

(The devil's honey your group gets from that bee girl all goes to your teacher. He is preparing himself to ascend to godhood, and he needs it for his prayers.)

She is searching for your intentions and feelings. You tell her only 'Sorry'. She believes you. You are not entirely sure why. She and her party will hopefully die during their Last Stand exam, and have no way to revive themselves in time, be trapped there until after elections.

Maybe she just wasn't perceptive enough to see the deception.

(You hate her and all her friends. You have had no devil's honey. She believes you. Briefly, you wonder if it was a lie at all.)

They catch you. They know. Your team goes to ground and waits out the remaining days 'til elections and the culmination of everything you've been working for.

It rains at the party, and you have no more masks. You are angry. She must never have been that good of an Oracle at all, and you take joy in mocking her with her own words from long ago.

She's nothing more than an elven girl in your class who was full of herself to remember your name.

(There is nothing left now to stop you from being as openly angry as you like.)

[wombywoo]

do you have any ghostsoap favorite fics, perhaps?

boy do I....

I should preface this by saying that I'm pretty...particular with what types of fics I enjoy reading (I only like certain character interpretations/tropes/writing styles, etc) so bear with me...

These are all mostly canon-compliant, non-AUs, ones that I regard highly~

Seasons--by StinglessWasp: This is pretty much my go-to fic rec for anyone into CoD and ghostsoap in general. It showcases everything I love about these characters, in a setting that feels as authentic to the games as possible, while also exploring the depth and sincerity hidden under the surface. So well-written and paced--the dialogue and military references all contribute to that 'feels like a mission out of the game' experience. Plus, I just love this interpretation of our boys--the humor, the inner struggles, the intimacy--Wasp 100% *gets* these characters and it's a joy to read <3

Except You, You Can Stay--by Iravaid: While this one isn't *technically* ghostsoap until the last chapter, in my opinion, it's required reading for anyone who gives a shit about Simon Riley. This is *the* character study--an intimate dissection of Ghost's past that seems so realistic and grounded, you forget how ludicrous those comics really are. Ira takes such care in treating these heavy topics with delicacy and effectiveness. Each chapter has you going 'oh wow, this is even better than the last', but as a whole--it's a stunning, fleshed-out glimpse into Simon as the character he was always meant to be. And the final chapter which eases you into his relationship with Johnny is so authentic and sweet, it just makes perfect sense that they should be together, and that this poor poor man deserves some goddamn love <3

bleeding in the house of god--by revolvermonkcelot: This is a really great 'missing scene' fic, a perfect opportunity to explore the in-between moments that the game so carelessly chooses to gloss over. I can't praise Monk's writing enough--it's slick and crisp and very tasty; the imagery just jumps off the page and you can practically feel the sweat. Plus, the dialogue exchanges between our two boys are so well-timed and in-character--love all the slang and British references~ This whole fic reads like an addition to their mission flirting, and I'm all for it! You can truly tell this author has such deep understanding and experience with this franchise (winkwinkwink, this is a joke) Read it--it's good!

The Dead are all Living--by Kabbal: This fic blew me away when I first read it. It's such a unique take on the retirement trope, I just adore this interpretation of Simon as an aging recluse while he builds his home. I tend to lean towards more subtle, grounded characterizations of Mr Riley, and this really fits the bill. All of these glimpses and fragments into his post-military life contribute to an overarching love story; the scenes with Johnny are so poignant, it's like you're pining alongside them both. I love how not-perfect they are; flawed and difficult and real. There are some moments and lines that just....struck something in me so deeply. I'm sure I'll still be thinking about it for a long long time <3

Portrait of Taction--by a_platypus: Another Simon-centric fic that I absolutely love. The character voice in this is off the charts, I can hear him so vividly in all of his inner dialogue and stunted attempts at conversation. Simon is so endearingly dense in this fic, you're just waiting for him to finally get his act together, but the clumsy, oblivious steps he takes in his relationship with Soap are truly a treat to read. I love this version of Johnny too--confident and considerate, but still hopelessly crushing on his superior. It's comedic, well-written, and the paragraphs describing Soap's journal give some of the best insights into his character I've seen <3

come on, haunt me--by flyby2: This was a really good long fic that I took my time savoring. What could have been a typical 'on leave' fic instead took time to develop a unique spin on the backstories as well as throwing our boys into some wholesome encounters. Both Soap and Ghost felt very true to character, and I appreciate the exploration of PTSD and the subsequent struggles that come along with...all that. There was a really nice balance in having their romance spread across the chapters, and I can promise a very sweet, happy conclusion <3

in the mess of it all--by flowersferns: A lovely one-shot that exhibits some of my favorite aspects of these two characters. I'm a sucker for 'one of them is hurt, the other is freaking out, they are both idiots in love, etc'. There are some really great dialogue and character moments in this, plus the overall prose hits hard. Love this take on their romance--the mutual trust, the familiarity of their bond. And just the general theme of impermanence--the inevitability of what this relationship means for them--two soldiers, willing and ready to sacrifice their lives at a moment's notice, still clinging to each other because...god...that's all they have---big fan of this :'D <3

Lapsus--by Lisbetadair: Another really great one-shot and 'missing scene' fic. The authenticity in the writing is spot-on--it's like you can feel Soap's pain right off the bat. I love how smoothly the banter flows between the two, and the attention to detail and references all help lend to that 'hardened military man' exterior. Ghost smelling like flowers because of a face wipe is such a delightful addition, plus the scene where Soap is, ah, donald-ducking it in just a t-shirt with his jewels out is such a funny mental image, I still think of it fondly from time to time. It's funny, it's surprisingly cute, it's very in-character. Stick around for some awkward but adorable cuddles <3

I'm sure I have more to recommend, but these are the ones I can personally endorse for now~

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I wanna see what’s Ace’s family’s reaction when they found out Ace is dating reader Heheheh

I decided to have only Ace's brother present, since Mr. and Mrs. Trappola have yet to receive strong characterization.

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

The Trappola brothers sat across from one another upon red velvet chairs, and you, between them. They were both intently focused on building a house of playing cards—a task that Ace had warned took “serious patience, coordination, and a gentle touch.” (You had rolled your eyes and responded, “Great. You let me know when you’ve found someone that has all that.”)

Ace carefully laid a Two of Spades down, formed a triangle with a Three of Clubs and a Four of Diamonds. His hand slowly retreated, and the triangle stayed. He expelled a sigh, directed away from the cards so as to not disturb them.

You would have clapped for him, but Ace had discouraged you before the game had even started. So instead, you tapped your index and middle fingers together. Still giving applause, but not nearly enough to rattle the house of cards.

“Your move.”

“Huh, you’ve gotten better at this,” his brother mused. He toyed with an Ace of Hearts, expertly twirling it between dexterous fingers. “Too bad. I was really looking forward to smoking you in front of your new friend.”

“In your dreams,” Ace sneered, passing you a glance. “The last thing I’d want is to look uncool in front of my partner.”

His brother drew himself up in his seat. The card in his hand, stilling. “Your partner? Since when were you two a thing?”

“Oh, you know… since a while ago,” Ace casually replied. “And honestly, I can’t really blame’m. Who wouldn’t fall for my dashing good looks and roguish charm? I’m a catch!”

His brother regarded you with an almost pitying look. “It’s not too late to change your mind,” he advised.

You burst into laughter. "I think I'm good. Ace is an idiot, but he's at least my idiot."

He raised an eyebrow. "So you've got a sense of humor. You'll need that if you're going to put up with Ace all of the time. Congrats, you passed the first test."

"Whaddya mean 'put up with' me?!" Ace protested, puffing up his cheeks. A pout--adorable, you think.

"I mean it exactly how I said it. It's practically a full-time job dealing with you," his brother replied cheekily. "You gotta prepare people for it, or else they won't know what they've signed up for."

"Oh, come on! You're making me sound way worse than I actually am."

"This, coming from the guy who ghosted his ex?" He smirked, and you could see the family resemblance in it. The slight narrowing of the eyes, the way his mouth angled. "I dunno, I was half expecting you to stay single forever after that royal screw-up, lil' bro. You're lucky you found someone willing to take you~"

Pink exploded onto Ace's cheeks. "H-Hey...!" he hissed, leaning toward his brother. "Did you seriously have to bring that up?! Have a little more tact, will ya?!"

The older Trappola grinned. "Gotcha."

You realized why.

Ace's sudden movement had sent a slight breeze against the card house. It wobbled from top to bottom--then the structure collapsed in on itself, the cards all folding into one another. Within seconds, the house was a pile on the coffee table.

Ace fell to his knees with a pathetic wail, scrambling to salvage his hard work. His brother looked on, chuckling. A card, still in his hand.

"I didn't place mine yet," he declared triumphantly, "and since you made the house fall, it's technically my win!"

"Y-You sneaky...! You taunted me on purpose!!"

"Yeah, and it worked like a charm." He flicked Ace on the forehead. "You were too busy trying to flex in front of your S/O. It was easy to take advantage of that. You always were a cocky, predictable brat."

"Grrrrr..!!"

"Ace, it's fine," you soothed him, a hand on his arm. "You did your best. It doesn't change how I feel about you."

"Tch, there you go being all sappy again... You're so lame sometimes," Ace grumbled--but he covered your hand with his. A small gesture, but a reassuring one.

"Hahah, look at you two lovebirds," his brother teased, wagging a finger at you. Then he reached out and roughly ruffled Ace's hair, despite his complaints and attempts to swat him away. "Happy for you though, lil' bro! You gotta tell me how this love story started--"

[quarterlifekitty]

cooking was mentioned but I kind of wonder how the cod men would react to reader bringing them cookies/some sort of pastry they know they like. Ive also had the idea of price getting turned on watching reader knead bread dough stuck in my head for some reason.. or ghost coming home to the smell of freshly baked pie (or something similarly wholesome) with blood still caked under his nails.... wrapping those large hands around my waist while i'm making the crust.. ughhh..sorry just- housewife reader who bakes treats and takes care of and dotes on a big military man and gets fucked senseless in return is so stuck in my head.

So I’m going to use this opportunity to speak gratuitously about Ghost’s relationship to food. Others have spoken of it at length before, but hopefully I will be able to add something new!

So we all know that Ghost did not have a happy childhood. He did not grow up in a secure home. He did not grow up with means. He was not nurtured, nor was he nourished. He enlisted at the first opportunity, and I think he nearly cried from being able to eat three, full meals a day that weren’t even that bad.

The next section of his life is a bit better in regards to eating, but not great. He knows where his next meal is coming from, and he doesn’t have to worry about there being enough to eat. He’s a grown man with a paycheck, he can buy food if he likes. But we all know the cafeteria food and MREs are demoralizing. They’re edible, but nothing more than that.

The first time he has leave, has to stare at the walls of his own empty studio and live for himself with the means to go grocery shopping as much as he likes— he’s at a total loss. No one ever taught him what he should be eating. No one ever showed him how to wash mushrooms. How to cut against the grain of a cut of beef. How to separate an egg yolk from the white. How to reduce a sauce. How to make sure scrambled eggs don’t overcook by taking the pan off of the heat.

So he starts very small. Eats like a college student. Lots of microwave shit. Works up to cooking himself some eggs. Almost moans at how good they are when it’s freshly cooked, on toast, and there’s no eggshell in it, and no one is yelling at him while he eats, he doesn’t have to hurry and get moving— it’s a really beautiful feeling he’s never gotten.

And maybe he had a neighbor at this time. Some older woman who noticed that the apartment that sat dormant most of the year had an occupant. One that still looked like a kid. Wore fatigues. Clearly didn’t have a family to go home to, if he was hanging around here on his shore time.

So she starts feeding him. Giving him a portion of what she makes for her own family. Casserole, cakes, stroganoff— anything. And Ghost will never forget that. The unparalleled joy of being given food from someone’s own home. Something they made. Something good. The food always tastes better when it isn’t mass produced. It always tastes better fresh. And it always tastes better when it was made by someone who cares.

The trajectory of his life and career don’t afford him much time. He spends most of his leave time cooking. Experimenting with recipes and learning. But that’s still such a small minority of his life.

When you, the fresh face in the 141 start bringing in food regularly, Gaz jokes that you’re buttering them up— trying to get in their good graces. You’re warned that Ghost is a hard won man. The truth is that no one has really tried home made lemon bars on him before. And they work like a charm.

Maybe a year or two later, you’ve gone on leave for maternity. You’re moved in together. It’s his first deployment without you working at his side. His first time coming home, and actually having someone to come home to.

And the house is alive. He can smell the currant and blueberry pie in the oven. You’re playing music in the kitchen. The house is so warm. There’s an unfolded blanket on the couch. The couch has a spaghetti stain on one of the arm rests.

And you. In loose pants and an even looser shirt with your bump visible. There’s blood under his nails. He smells like sweat and hot old dirt. But here you are, making the perfect nest for him. Not minding when he lays his head on your shoulder, embracing you from behind while you idly check the sauce simmering on the stove.

So are you getting fucked tonight? Baby, you’re getting fucked while that pie is on the cooling rack. You are getting railed after dinner and then you’re getting railed after dessert. And then you’re getting pounded in the shower and then he’s taking you in your fucking bed. And if you weren’t pregnant before, you definitely would be now.