i need ghoap frantically making out against a door finally taking the leap on their feelings. need ghost grinding against soap, expecting to find him just as hard as him, only to feel nothing
and in all his wisdom and experience, he concludes soap was tortured and never told him
he’s trying to think of a delicate way to say he understands, that he’s been through it and it doesn’t change anything about how he feels (and who the fuck touched him so he can hunt them down and rend them limb from limb)
meanwhile trans!soap’s just trying to find the best angle to grind his cunt on ghost’s thigh
just it never even entering ghost’s head bc he’s never known a trans person but he has met plenty of people who’ve been tortured - himself included - so of course that’s his logical leap
soap takes off his shirt and he sees his top surgery scars and ghost asks if he wants him to kill the one who did it and soap just hums like, “actually, man did pretty good, they healed real well,” and ghost’s just teary-eyes with awe at how well he’s coping, “looking on the bright side, that’s my johnny.”
imagine he thinks johnny was fully castrated but sees he’s determined to still have a sex life with him so he buys packers and straps to help him bc hell yeah healing and soap’s just like, “holy shit i’ve never had such a thoughtful partner before, such a sweet man, lt.”
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So I was donating blood and was thinking of an AU where Billy knew he was Captain Marvel, knew how to access his powers but retained nothing of Marvel’s memories. A consequence of the magic is that the human mind can’t comprehend it so Billy transforms and essentially blacks out until he changes back. I can only imagine the sheer frustration of Bill having No Idea what he was up to as Marvel. His street buds think he’s the biggest Cap fanboy because he’s constantly tracking down down info on the heroes fights and missions in a desperate bid to understand.
Marvel himself would be Billy but maybe he too has a hard time connecting to his mortal self’s memories. He knows he’s from Fawcett City, that he struggles and barely scrapes by under difficult circumstances but he really can’t recall any details or information about Bill’s life. He may even forget that his true self is child. Pretty ironic if Cap is voting down introducing child sidekicks to the League.
Freddy is shaking Billy down for info about what the Justice League is like and Bill is red faced from frustrated tears because he knows Nothing. He knows via interviews that the JLA loves Marvel, trusts him and talks to him alot but he doesn’t remember. Superman probably told Marvel his identity but does Bill know? Nope and its incredibly annoying.
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a tiny little ficlet based on this lovely comment from @queer4cryptids on this post! (i accidentally made it angsty, i’m so sorry!! but there’s comfort and gay yearning in there, i swear!)
when the night falls low and settles against the side of the Earth; when the the dark begins to carry a certain weight, he shifts his stance. he lets himself breathe air he doesn't really need into lungs that exist simply by virtue of his inclination to breath.
it's the same pattern Crowley's watched unfold a hundred million times times over—the stretching of a thread until it frays, three women, a set of blades; a wicked inevitability carried in the lines of time-weathered hands.
and still it never changes, never lessens the welling of grief that builds and breaks in his chest, that stagnates and stratifies like layers of sand upon gravel upon so many eons since he first fell from the sky and lost the right to mourn a woman hungry only for bread and a little kindness.
he leans back against a headstone, swallowing down a familiar hollowness. the sparrows have all taken root in the knots of tree trunks. the moon blinks back at him, clouds swaying like an eyelid closing to sleep.
he turns his face away from the light, sucks in breath for which he still has no need. the rough-hewn granite is going to scuff his coat; he knows this with the certainty of having lived in a world full of serrated edges for so many years.
and yet he doesn't care.
Crowley can't find it in him to give a damn because finally, finally he's there. he's there and he's real and tangible and it's been eleven months, two weeks, and four days since he's last felt the warmth of angelic skin so close to his own.
not that he's been keeping count, of course.
and Aziraphale's got that faraway look again. the one pressed into the lines of his face in the aftermath of a flood that tilted against the sky; the same one Crowley saw in the stark daylight of a death warrant unfurled and stamped with the name of the holy Mother herself. it's the same, hollow, teeth-gritted look Crowley himself wore as he stood on a hillside reeking of freshly-cut wood, bearing witness to yet another child of the Almighty thrown to the wolves.
Aziraphale turns, then, and blue eyes meet black lenses meet amber-gold.
"Crowley—" Aziraphale manages, choking it out in a half-whisper, like it hurts—like it scrapes his throat with bits of barbed wire. and, just like that, something in him is breaking and the oak trees are all whispering dangerous things and still, still he can't find a version of this story in which he doesn't lean closer, doesn't press himself forward into air that smells of earl grey tea and old books and something celestial and hallowed and holy underneath it all.
and as though he's drowning—as though the moon doesn't watch them with a flickering gaze and the trees can't hear the brush of skin meeting skin—Aziraphale presses his fingertips to the side of Crowley's wrist.
he moves no further. the air holds still, time seeming to freeze around them. it's intentional, he realizes; it's fire and it's heat and it's utterly fucking terrifying. even now, so far above ground, Crowley can nearly feel the weight of hellish eyes on his back. a shudder runs the length of his body.
and yet. in the atomic space of that hungry, desperate, throat-baring yet, he turns his hand, trembling, to the side. he finds the angel's touch like a bird bearing North—like a compass forever calibrated to a single, fixed point.
"I know—" he rasps. “Angel, I know.” he twines his fingers with Aziraphale's, and it's positively electric. every cell in his tragically, wonderfully human body has turned pure gold, conducted and galvanized and sparking.
a sharp, stilted inhale; a quiet anticipation carved out in the space between their pressed hands (and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss...).
the graveyard is still. the grief is there, still. the grief might always be there. but the sharp edges dull, the welling in his chest grows steady and slow and gentle.
and the world becomes a little less difficult to bear with the two of them holding it up.
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ambrosius showing up less than a minute after nimona and ballister did their confession-recording routine, and bursting into the room in the exact same way that nimona-as-ambrosius did just minutes earlier, heavily implies that if they hadn’t shown up to do that-or had waited even a minute longer to put their plan to action-he would be dead.
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Here's a little headcanon about Cyril because he's my favorite.
I have a headcanon that if someone is looking for Cyril, they probably won’t find him. And it’s not because he is good at hiding, although he is surprisingly good at hiding and being stealthy for a person who is 6 ft 8 in my AU, it’s because he hides in the most unexpected places like trees and cabinets.
Anyway, I also headcanon that the bookshelves in the University are so tall that someone could hide up there and never be found. So of course that's where Cyril goes to escape the chaos of the Tourney. He just sits on top of the bookshelves with his hibiscus tea and his alicornettes and reads his Guildocracy books.
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PLEASE I need a football au Steve like a safety or a corner and he’s super fast and Eddie does sports photography cause it pays the bills ya know? Anyway Steve is covering a receiver and tackles him and they stumble through the sideline and he lands on top of Eddie. And Steve’s like omfg I’m so fucking sorry but he has to get back to the game. And Eddie’s shook up but he’s like omfg that guy was so fucking hot. After the game Steve gets his name and shows up at his apartment and Eddie’s like omg and Steve’s like listen I’m so sorry I want to make sure you’re okay and Eddie’s like yeah the trainers checked me out I’m fine. And then Steve’s like trying not to leave and then he’s like… can I tell you a secret?
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