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cerise-on-top · 3 months

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Hiii! Have a great day!

How about Ghost, Valeria, and Price with a close friend who is a professional boxer? Imagine asking them to practice/train with you n stuff

Unrelated, what's your favorite color?

Hello! Thank you! I hope you have a great day as well! My favorite color would be either a nice purple or a nice pink! I just really love both colors, so it's hard for me to choose!

Price, Ghost and Valeria with a Boxer!Friend

Price: He’s not a boxer per se himself, but he can bust out a few moves if he needs to. He’s had his own boxing matches with the enemy from time to time, so he can definitely pack a very mean punch if he wanted to. Thinks it’s very cool that you’re a professional boxer and definitely supports you however he can. As he knows plenty of people, he can probably arrange a friendly match between you and someone he knows so you can get some practice in with all kinds of people. However, you’re more than welcome to ask him for some sparring as well, he’ll laugh but won’t turn you down. But beware, he won’t go down easily either. He’s a captain, he has his pride and wants you to know that he’s not just some goon you can pick off and defeat just like that. And he will give it his all. He’s fairly bulky and, due to his profession, can take quite a lot. Might fake mock you from time to time, asking you if that’s really all that you’ve got. Doesn’t hold back in the slightest, the fact that you’re his good friend doesn’t matter too much to him at that moment. While he sort of does hope that you’ll win, he won’t make it easy for you. Price has very quick reflexes and could dodge you somewhat easily, but you will be able to get a good hit or two in as well. Very proud of you when you do beat him, regardless of whether you’re able to do so on your first try or if it took you several times. After every match with him he’ll take you out for a drink, one that is on him, and gives you pointers on how he thinks you could do better. He just really wants you to thrive and do well as a boxer so you can rise almost effortlessly. He knows it’s hard, but he’s with you all the way and will support you however he can.

Ghost: He used to box for fun when he was a bit younger. It definitely wasn’t too long ago, so he still knows how to box somewhat well. Ghost is a bit stronger than Price physically, so taking a punch from him would definitely hurt, but that’s just him showing you that he loves and appreciates you: By not holding back in the slightest. He can take a lot, so I’m wishing you good luck as you train with him, it’s definitely not easy taking him down. You can train with him just about whenever he has the time, though, he really doesn’t mind. In fact, he quite likes it when you ask him to train with you, it makes him feel as though he’s a trusted friend of yours. He may not be as quick as Price, but his reflexes are still cat-like. Sometimes, he has to spar like that with Soap still, so he still knows what he’s doing since the sergeant is very persistent in matters like those. Ghost is quick, focused and his punches are very calculated, he can take down and defeat just about anyone crossing his path. Besides, you’re a professional, surely you won’t go down so easily when it comes to someone who shouldn’t be on your level, right? Gives you pointers as well during your matches. He means well, but he also just wants to piss you off and break your concentration like that a bit. However, a fight with him is entirely fair. Ghost knows the rules and knows them well, so he won’t do anything out of the ordinary. Besides, he’ll check up on you after the match, regardless of who won out of the two of you. You are a good friend of his, you should be doing well at all times, Ghost can take care of himself too, after all. Like Price, he’ll take you out for a drink or two afterwards. However, if he’s not on deployment, he’ll try to go to some of your matches as well, when he can. He’d love to see you in action against a proper opponent.

Valeria: She’s probably tried to hire you since you’re very good at what you do, but you said no every time, so she gave up eventually. While she will still hint at wanting you to work for her, she can understand why you’d say no, your job is much more honest than hers, after all. Valeria has a certain appreciation for your boxing, thinking it to be rather cool. You can defend yourself in close combat, if it comes down to it, so she really doesn’t have to worry about you as much as other people. Like Price, she knows plenty of people. In fact, if you want to go up against some celebrities, she could probably pull some strings and have something arranged. It’s amusing to her, watching two people beat each other up in the name of sports. Will watch your matches as well when she can, you are her dear friend, after all. You can ask her, too, to fight you, and she likely won’t say no to that. If she has the time, that is, and is in the right mood for it as well. She doesn’t have nearly as much experience boxing as Ghost or Price do, but she can hold her own if it comes down to it. While she may not be as powerful as the other two, she will turn a match of regular boxing into kickboxing. She knows she shouldn’t, but as soon as it looks like you’re about to win she’ll do whatever she can to turn the tides. Her kicks are very powerful, so it’s not like she doesn’t know what she’s doing either. You need to nag a lot at her for the both of you to have a proper match without kicking on her behalf. If you’re having a regular match then it’s not that unlikely for her to just lose. She doesn’t have a lot of experience in the field of boxing since she prefers ranged weapons over melee. She’ll sulk a bit if you do beat her, but won’t hold it against you. If anything, she might challenge you out of her own will again just so she can beat you at some point. Such a thing is important to her.

#cod #cod x reader #john price #john price x reader #price x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #valeria garza #valeria garza x reader #my mother used to be a kickboxer when she was young but I never got into any of those things myself #my mother also used to be really good at skiiing as a child. she won medals and trophies. we don't have those anymore though #on another note my cod document is now over 120k words long with 272 pages #that's just incredible to me I never would have imagined I'd ever write this much for a silly lil fandom #not too long ago I hit 100k words I remember that. it's just really unbelievable to me. I never would have thought I'd get back into writin #at least not to this extent. but it's still somewhat fun. writing I mean. even if it also can be super exhausting #anyway those are my two posts for the day I'm gonna go back to playing Stardew now

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zellk · 2 months

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Forgot to share here.... old doodles of when I finally came around to finding a design I like for Qalaari's mom !!

#it's so fucking funny to me that i inadvertently gave her a variant of the “mom about to die” haircut because... well...#surprise... she did die when Qalaa was young (12) :'^)#Qalaa (now between 20 and 22) still hasn't gotten over it #her mom had really weak health and really shouldn't have had a child but she made her choice #it turned out to be not the best one for her health LMAO #who wouldve thunk #but hey she wanted it and i'm pretty sure she doesn't regret it #but well... Qalaa does feel like she was a participant in her mom's death #(the other participant being her biological father who ran away before she was born and shattered aamira's heart)#ANYWAYS #i love qalaa's messed up familly #it's like a regular messed up story where actually no one (and everyone) is to blame (except Qalaa lmao she asked for NOTHING)#Aaamira gave so so much love to her child ;;;;;; this built the unbreakable core of Qalaa's kindness #aamira #aamira croquelune #aamira molandine #croquelune #still thinking about making that potentiel small DnD 'lore addon' of Qalaa's village that you can take and plug in your very own campaign #as long as you have 'far from civilization' woods or mountains you can put them in there #a village that welcomes the 'monsters' and the cast out #(like aamira)#look at me rambling in the tags lmao i just love qalaari (& her background) so much #last thing tho : you have to understand that Aamira is small and very slight and Qalaari was a HUGE baby and is a really big girl overall

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ride-a-dromedary · 5 months

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Halsin and Wyll deserve their babies ever after ending.

#BG3 Musing #Halsin #Wyll Ravengard #wyllsin #(i'm sorry for clogging the tag forgive me)#someday i'll figure out a different tag #listen i promise i'll stop eventually i'm just really hung up on the moon rn #wyll: i've always thought about having a child of my own #halsin: *nine wagonfuls of orphans in tow* alright bet #(laezel does too thank you secret epilogue ilu)#what if they had a little half elf they adopted together and think about #how she would light up and reach for wyll every time he came home #how halsin would lean against the door frame and watch them together and just be...so so full of love he doesn't know what to do #how he still thinks time to time that wyll will regret coming with him and tossing aside his options when he's still so young #but then he sees the two of them and hopes in his heart of hearts that he genuinely wants to be there #and will stay for at least a little while longer #though he'd never ask him to - never expect him to

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thebroccolination · 4 months

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With how many queer series have been cancelled (now including OFMD), it's a miracle to me every day that Young Royals was able to get the three seasons they planned for. I can't wait to see how they conclude this beautiful, beautifully written story

#young royals #young royals season 3 #wilmon #i'm so happy #it's such a precarious time for queer media in the west #it really feels like a miracle that they got the green light for a complete story #i'm still bitter about first kill

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cuubism · 1 year

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A little headcannon that has been stewing in my head for a while and has absolutely no proof from the cannon

Death has wings right? What if Dream used to have wings too but when his kingdom got invaded for the first time(that story he tells in the Overture) the invaders cut his wings off. That's the part of the reason why he crafted his helm and why's he so dependent on it. They took his wings so he took their skull and a spine, an eye for an eye kind of situation. Also, that's when Dream first started employing a raven. He still has scars on his shoulder blades that follow him to any form he takes. He's ashamed of them, sees them as a sign of weakness, a reminder of his failure and his flaws and goes to great lengths to cover them up. That's about it, but I'd love to hear what you think of it^-^

(Plus: Hob gently running his hands over the scars, showing Dream his own ones and reassuring him that there's nothing broken, or wrong with him)

NO BUT THIS IS SO ANGSTY I LOVE IT. i love suffering

i feel like a permanent injury like that would have to be done to dream's core essence, such as it is, rather than his 'physical form' - i don't know if dream's physical form in the waking world or other realms can even be hurt like that. it would have to be like, something that deeply wounds the dreaming, or the concept of dreaming, or just like the deepest core of dream as an 'entity' rather than it being a physical wound. (this is leading me on a mental tangent about injuries to large groups of dreamers also injuring dream, like, extinction events and such, but that's for another time).

you managed to rope me into it, congrats XD

content warning for blood, gore, violence, Things Done That Can't Be Undone, etc.

There is not much, in his long life and memory, that Dream is able to forget. Thoughts do not drift into irrelevancy, into the past, the way they do for humans. He is able to hold much, all at once, in the cavern of his mind, eons of all that has happened hovering close enough to touch. It is a heavy weight more often than it is an aid.

But he forgets, sometimes, with Hob.

With Hob, the rare points of their contact stand out as singularly bright stars in the nebula of Dream's existence. All else within him fades. When Hob takes his hand Dream feels clear as a desert sky, when Hob kisses him for the first time, Dream is floating free in a great salt lake, hanging weightless.

He forgets.

It's only after, bodies pressed together with pleasing heat and sweat-tackiness, Hob tracing patterns over his back, that Dream begins to remember again.

"Dream..." Hob's fingers stutter over his shoulder blades. His voice catches with the hesitance he has often displayed with Dream since their reunion. I think you're here for friendship. Dream feels the echoes.

He kisses Hob's throat, tastes the salt tang of his skin, hides his face away there. The weight of embodiment returning. "Ask your question," he says. "I swear not to part from you now."

"Is this from...?" Hob's fingertips dance up the raised arcs of scar tissue over his back. Pain sparkles in the wake of his touch like the sharpness of a hand-drawn tattoo in the permanence of its inking. As humans imagine it. Dream is not truly physical and could not bear such a mark. Except for this.

"No," he tells Hob. Blame for many of Dream's recent ordeals can be laid at Roderick Burgess's feet, but not this one. "Much older than that."

"Oh." Hob keeps tracing the scar over Dream's right shoulder blade. The touch aches deep in Dream's being where those wounds originate, but he does not tell Hob to stop. Even like this, Hob's hands bring him back, and back, and keep him here.

Hob is waiting, leaving an opening for him to elaborate. Dream is not yet sure whether he wishes to.

"It is not a pretty story," he says.

Hob strokes through his hair. Dream keeps his head tucked under his chin and so feels each word as it's spoken. "Neither of us is a pretty story, darling. Tell it if you want to."

Dream has not spoken of this in many years. There are those in the Dreaming who have served him for millennia whom he has not told. He has taken lovers, had them see the scars during their lovemaking, and still not relayed the story.

"When I was young," he begins, "and still coming into my power, the Dreaming was invaded. My borders were not as strong, then. My realm, less populated. Ancient beings, older than I was at the time, hungered for my realm. Sought its power for their own."

"Older than dreams?" Hob asks.

"In their universe, there were no dreams," Dream tells him. "Perhaps it is what drew them to me."

"Alright. Wow." Hob sounds thoughtful. He rubs Dream's back, between his shoulder blades where it doesn't hurt. "Go on, love."

"I fought them. But the collective unconscious of this universe was young and undeveloped, as was I; I had not mastered all elements of my domain. I fought, but inelegantly, and struggled to counter dreamless beings when all my power was in the unconscious. They were wholly anchored in the present; I, in the space between seconds; we were poorly suited as combatants."

"What did you do?" Hob asks, quiet. He can sense, Dream thinks, the direction this is going, that Dream would not be so hesitant to tell the story of scars born of victory.

"I did not know," Dream admits, equally quiet, still shamed by it, his own failure, and its branching repercussions, "what to do. And the Eldest God, he who had first rent open the walls of my realm, pounced on my uncertainty, captured me, held me--"

The memory, never forgotten, always just within reach should he turn towards it, rises again -- the silk-smooth black sand on the shores of the Dreaming, crushed into his cheek; the warm waters lapping at his mouth, nose, eyes, drowning him; the impossible weight on his spine of the impossible dreamless creature holding him down, arms wrenched behind his back, the feral animal growl that had escaped him, the equally animal panic beating under his ribcage, the fragile spun dreamstuff of him held in the sharptoothed maw of cold reality, his wings--

"Dream?"

Dream comes back to himself. Comes back to Hob. The overwarm flannel sheets. The soft press of Hob's body. He's tapping something on Hob's arm, and hadn't realized he was doing it. It's the rhythm of an old song from before the time of men, the electrical beats passed along root chains from tree to tree to tree, all the way across the great forests that now exist only in scarce patches on the earth.

Dream shifts ever closer to Hob's body, slips a knee between Hob's thighs to tangle them, bare skin to bare skin, limb to limb, root to root.

"I had wings, then," he says.

--his wings, flapping frantically in the face of the thing that pinned him, feathers catching and tearing on jagged armor, held to the ground the way a creature of flight was never meant to be--

"Oh," breathes Hob. He touches the long scar over Dream's shoulder blade again and pauses there. The pain catches the story to Dream again like a hook and holds it there as he continues bleeding it dry.

"The Eldest God dug his claws into me and tore the wings from my body." Dream's voice doesn't shake but he does not manage more than a whisper. "I am not a physical creature, Hob, understand this, I cannot be so easily harmed, it was not a physical form that was damaged, rather, the Old Gods came from stone and earth and it was stone they harnessed as their claws, ancient stone to carve into my being and tear out my wings from the essence of me, root and stem, flesh and bone, air and feather and starlight."

All of this comes out in a continuous rush, and Hob kisses the side of his head, says, "Breathe."

He can still feel, if he but thinks back, the tearing of the claws. A cold so bright it felt like burning. His face ground into the sand to muffle his scream, the howling whiteout of pain overtaking all other noise, the crack of his shoulder joint as it was broken. Star stuff spilling out over the sand - Dream hadn't even known he could bleed until then. Hands that should never have touched in the first place releasing him. Collapsing, disarmed, to the ground. Every limb on fire, the ones that were left.

"Dream."

He lost himself, and found himself again some time later curled in the shallows of the Dreaming sea, seeking shelter from the cold in the warm waters. Face half submerged, breathing as much salt water as air. Blood still spooling around him like leftover paint whirling in a water glass.

"Dream."

Even in those warm waters, he was shivering. Dream doesn't think he's ever been quite warm since; that cold latched itself in him somewhere and never left.

Hob's voice, now, against his ear. He's curled himself around Dream while Dream wasn't paying attention, Dream's back to the warm protection of Hob's chest. "You don't have to finish if you don't want to."

Dream will not leave a story unfinished, not even one such as this. "When I had regained my strength enough to fight back," he continues, "I was... not in control. I knew only survival. If the Old Gods had wished me to understand their world, they succeeded. I abandoned my powers and fought with my hands and my claws and my teeth, and I tore the Eldest God's skull and spine from his body. Both of us would be maimed, I thought; if he would have my dreams then I would have for my own the backbone upon which he held his earth. I listened to him scream. I watched each rib pry up from his chest and snap, my hands slick with his blood, his with mine, and felt nothing but the raw satiation of a wolf setting upon meat. I have told you, Hob." He takes his first breath in a while and feels it rattle, hollow, around his ribcage. "It is not a pretty story."

"No." Hob's hand finds Dream's against his middle, tangles their fingers, holds him. His breath is shaky in Dream's hair, words more so. "No, darling, it's not. I'm sorry."

They rewrote the story of the Dreaming, Dream recalls saying to Destiny, after. Before he had come to know, truly, what Destiny was. Kneeling in his garden, blood still draping his raw back like a shroud, Dream had sought meaning, answers, reason. Foolish, in retrospect, to even consider asking for succor.

Destiny had said that the Dreaming had seeped too far into the Waking world. That what had happened was a necessary rebalancing.

Had Dream not been forbidden from physical violence against his siblings, he would have bitten off one of Destiny's hands with his own sharp teeth and asked if he felt more balanced then.

"Now you know what vicious creature you lie with, Hob Gadling," Dream says. The words are heavy in his throat, but he can't find it in himself to slip from Hob's hold. Now you know the jagged turn at the beginning of my story.

He wonders, sometimes, what the Dreaming might have been like had it continued on the other branch of Destiny's forking path. What he might have been like. There is so much space between a winged creature and a once-winged creature. The entire sky.

"I know." Hob bites at the back of Dream's neck, light but sharp, then kisses that same spot. The nip of pain is unexpectedly soothing. Hob too knows what it is to bite and claw and writhe and maul. “I know. I’ve known your darkness, honey. Don’t you worry.”

“They fled me,” Dream tells him. “The Old Gods. After. I did not understand why at the time.” He had stood, bloodied, shaking, over their Eldest one, bones grasped in his hands, and watched them disappear. These beings that could still have shredded the Dreaming and swallowed it, but chose to run. “Now, I imagine it is like the way men will flee from an animal that is so much smaller than them but has gone rabid. The wrongness. The danger of irreparable madness. They saw me ruined and wished not to catch it, saw the Dreaming—”

This wound has dulled over time and become but a throbbing ache at the base of his skull, a reminder of something missing. But it never disappears.

“The Dreaming, changed, from what they had wanted.”

Dream’s back has never been quite right, since. His anatomy is meant for two sets of joints, not one. But it is only a fitting marker of the permanent damage done that day.

“Changed?” says Hob, so gentle now, lips brushing his skin.

“There was once more,” Dream says. “The collective unconscious was once more… collective.”

“Wait. D’you mean…?”

“Yes. There was more interconnection between minds when I was young. There were not human minds in the sense that you would know them, not yet. But there was communication, and knowing, back then.”

Vestiges of it still linger. In the vast underground networks of the trees, the paired spins of distant atoms. The matched steps of lovers finding perfect synchronicity in a dance. But—

“That was sundered with my wings.”

The cold that had washed over Dream when that realization hit had been worse than the pain of losing the wings in the first place. How he had failed the dreamers under his care. Let things fracture and tear and separate when they were meant to be together.

Hob sighs against the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry, Dream.”

“I am sorry,” Dream says. “It should never have happened.”

“No, it shouldn’t,” Hob agrees, and it’s sweet pain sliding between Dream’s ribs, for Hob to press his fingertips to the rawness of him and say, yes, failure, failure, I see it now.

But Hob kisses the point of his shoulder, the ever-tense muscles of his upper back, the hard curve of his scapula and the calcified line of another almost-joint, lost to time. His lips find the uneven scar tissue and press there, which is its own sweet pain, but sliding towards sweet, a sharp bite to kissed lips.

“It shouldn’t,” Hob whispers, and the words vibrate to the core of him. Hob does not see his failure, will not; Dream had forgotten Hob’s charity towards him, how he will see the blood on Dream’s hands and wipe it away instead of asking how it got there. Dream’s failures have stolen something from him he does not even know to miss, and still.

Now Dream does wish for Hob’s hands slipping under his ribs. Hob would find the aching wretched thing within him that had been loosed that day and hold it in his palms, wash the blood from it with careful strokes. Would that Hob could have held him then, submerged him deep in the waters of the Dreaming sea until the dark and the warmth and the strong hold of his arms had soothed the flayed and violated creature that Dream had become back to sanity. Before the gnashing rageful part of him had turned predator and fully grown its claws.

Perhaps there is succor to be found, after all. How quickly Hob Gadling has become it.

“I wish that I could have…” Hob sighs. It sounds mournful, longing. “I don’t even know. Helped you. Held you. Futile, I know.”

“I would not have you feel badly. It is long past and cannot be undone,” Dream says, as if Hob’s words don’t mean more to him than he could possibly know.

“Nothing can, sweetheart,” Hob says. His hair brushes Dream’s shoulders. It is terribly soft now, in this day and age. Dream suspects it was not always so. Human lives have rarely been soft on their bodies. He appreciates the softness of Hob’s body now, and how it cradles him. Dream himself has long been unchangeably hard-edged. “But I would still help you.”

“Sweetheart,” Dream repeats. Dream might have been sweet, once, at the end of a different story. “You would call me this, at the end of this tale?”

Hob turns him so they are facing each other once more. A tear has gathered in the corner of his eye, and slips down to wet his pillowcase as Dream watches. Tears for Dream. Warm salt water. He smiles at Dream anyway.

“You’re my sweetheart. My dear one. You think I would think anything about this other than sadness for you?”

“Dear one,” Dream echoes. “Always good to me, my Hob.”

“‘Course.” Hob squeezes his hand. Hands that too have known violence, but soft for Dream, always. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?”

“Only what you have already done,” Dream says. “Be a cavern where I can shelter from the cold.”

Hob kisses him, hot and lingering, and pulls the blankets up over their heads.

#thanks for sending this anon i'm extremely obsessed with it now #thinking about young dream still new to the world building the dreaming for the first time and learning his powers and still full #of softness and wonder and getting ripped to shreds for it #and now i am Screaming #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling #my writing #ask #anonymous #tw gore #tw blood #fuck i did this while i'm supposed to be working so i should really get back to that now. adios

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tcfactory · 6 months

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Please consider: Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu role-swap

[LiuJiu, 2300 words]

After the fire, Shen Jiu doesn't sit around, he's aiming straight for Cang Qiong. Wu Yanzi tempts him, but if he is to ever find out what happened to Qi-ge then he can't play around with rogue cultivators, so he ditches the man before Wu Yanzi could take him as a disciple.

He arrives to the sect at a year when they are not doing the disciple selection - the women at the Warm Red Pavilion say it's because the Sect Leader is busy monitoring his cursed head disciple and if the Sect Leader doesn't take part then the rest of the sect has to wait too - but he's tipped off that Bai Zhan is always open to those who are determined enough to climb the mountain and demand admittance.

So that's exactly what he does. The Peak Lord sets him against one of his junior disciples and tells him there are no rules, if he can beat them he's in. It's a test he's not supposed to win, to see his determination and his reaction to failure, as a malnourished slave boy should be no match to someone in good health who has two years of training under his belt. But Shen Jiu doesn't know this, he has come too far to give up now and unlike the scrappy, but well-fed farmer's son he's set up against, he fights dirty.

He sets the basis of his future nickname - The Rabid Wolf of Bai Zhan - that day when he claws the boy's eye out and forces him to yield. His rise among the disciples is almost as meteoric as Yue Qi's and people are on the lookout for when the upstart slave boy will plummet back to the earth, but he never does. When the year is up and the sect is abuzz that Lingxi caves are finally opening again because they are letting the cursed disciple out, he's there in the front row among the curious onlookers and throws himself in his Qi-ge's arms as soon as the other boy steps foot into the light again.

Shen Qingqiu grows up tall and willowy and unpredictable, an unconventional physical cultivator that bends with the wind, but never breaks. With Yue Qingyuan's support as an unshakeable mountain behind his back, he is untouchable. He never bothers to hide what he is, not his scars or his sharp edges or the slave brand burned into the meat of his shoulder, often bared to the world by his choice of outfit; he stands as testament that even the lowest wretches can claw their way up to stand among giants.

Liu Mingqu yields to his rich family and allows himself to be enrolled into Qing Jing. He is not as suited for spiritual cultivation and he has no head for arts, but he is still a prodigy and a really hard working one at that. He learns all there is to learn for a scholar and doesn't rest until he perfects them all - music, calligraphy, painting, poetry - and even if he's ever uninspired about pursuing them, the Peerless Beauty of Qing Jing is a competent teacher who stands head and shoulders over his peers. He masters his temper and his manners and takes to hiding his face behind a fan or sometimes a veil like his sister to discourage people from staring at him.

Their roles may be different, but their nature remains the same. Shen Jiu has always been more clever than he was strong and nothing changed about that now that he's essentially a spiritual cultivator playing at star athlete. He plants a bamboo forest on his mountain - for meditation and ambush practice, he says, but everyone knows he just needed a bubble of calm for himself in the endless war zone of Bai Zhan - and mercilessly beats any disciple who dares to damage the forest. In the serene calm of his little house he hoards books and maps and all the culture he can get his calloused hands on, always thirsty to know more, an endless pit his Qi-ge happily pours obscure knowledge into. He uses the standing feud between Bai Zhan and Qing Jing to spy on them, learn their cultivation methods by sight and listen to the senior disciples do ad hoc concerts, so he can practice music in the brothel or under a silencing array just behind his house.

It's during one of these trips when he discovers Liu Qingge behind the Qing Jing Peak Lord's manor, restlessly shuffling through the steps of a formal dance. Liu Qingge yearns to move, he yearns for the exertion of his wild youth, but there are only so many acceptable options for a scholar and as a cultivator he can't channel his restlessness into hunting or horse riding. That leaves dancing, but Liu Qingge is not a creative person. He sticks to the dances he half-remembers learning as a rich young master and maybe asks his sister for some more, but that's where his resourcefulness runs out on this venture.

Shen Qingqiu watches him go through the steps of the same dozen dances, swap to a few rounds of sword forms - perfectly executed and ethereal, an immortal beauty that earthbound Shen Qingqiu will never be able to replicate - and then swap back to the dances, increasingly frustrated and restless.

"If Peak Lord Qingge wants to learn some better dances, this shidi can introduce you to someone." Liu Qingge startles and almost turns him into a pincushion with a barrage of bamboo leaves.

"What do you want?!" They are secure in their respective positions, but they still don't like each other.

"Peace, shixiong. I'm just looking out for the sect. How would it reflect on me if I let my fellow Peak Lord work himself into a qi deviation and didn't step in?" Shen Qingqiu shrugs and smiles with an easy, predatory grace that makes Liu Qingge wish he had fangs to match the Wolf of Bai Zhan, but there's no malice in the offer. "Come now, shixiong. There's nobody else here. We don't need to do this stupid game of social posturing. Tell you what, as a sign of my goodwill I'm going to teach you a meditation technique to calm your qi after exercise, free of charge."

Almost everything with Shen Qingqiu is a transaction, so Liu Qingge knows better than to pass up the chance to get something from his shidi for free - and the meditation does help settle his roiling qi.

"What do you want in return, then?" It's almost terrifying how intensely Shen Qingqiu's eyes light up.

"That trick with the leaves - teach me how to do it."

Liu Qingge doesn't bother to point out that it's a spiritual technique. It's an unspoken secret that they would be better suited to each other's cultivation styles than that of their own peaks. Shen Qingqiu has a storm of razor sharp leaves dancing in the air before Liu Qingge is even done explaining.

He almost regrets agreeing when Shen Qingqiu takes him down to the brothel, but the women his shidi introduces him to are truly masters of dance - they were stars of an imperial dance troupe before their owner was executed for offending the Emperor and they were sold to the brothel. They take him to the back and teach him dances he could never have imagined, dances that make his heart soar and his blood rush hot in his veins, while Shen Qingqiu lightly dozes among the women in the main reception area, his very presence frightening all but the most unruly patrons into behaving.

Liu Qingge is an honest man and he knows, deep down, that he got much more out of this exchange than his shidi. He’s on the lookout to see how he could repay him, but Shen Qingqiu seems to want for nothing. What he can’t get on his own Yue Qingyuan gifts to him, doting relentlessly on his sharp-edged little brother. So when he hears that Shen Qingqiu is to set out to assist in a night hunt against a particularly dangerous demonic beast that made its way over the to the far shore of the sea, he hops to the opportunity to compile a scroll of all the unspoken rules and etiquette of the island, as well as a short history on the ninja clan that asked for their aid. It’s all information that Shen Qingqiu has no way of learning otherwise, but should ease his time on the hunt.

When he can’t find Shen Qingqiu at the bamboo house he goes looking for him and that’s when he finds the silencing array, that’s when he sees his shidi sitting with his guqin in a clearing, composing music. Liu Qingge’s mouth goes dry, his heart skips a beat - his shidi is like a vision from the heavens and for the first time since he started this scholarly lifestyle, Liu Qingge wants to paint. He wants to etch this scene in his heart and condense it into a poem.

He slinks away before his shidi can notice him and leaves the scroll in the bamboo house. In the three years Shen Qingqiu is gone, hunting that elusive monster that decimates one village after another, he becomes a man possessed - or more accurately, a tender hearted young maiden yearning for her first love. He paints picture after picture, sometimes of a wolf stalking among the bamboo, sometimes of Qingqiu with his guqin as the scene lives in his memory. Rarely he paints his shidi stretched out on a couch in the brothel, languid with feigned sleep and one eye opened a crack as he vigilantly watches over his sisters - he gifts one of those to the brothel, much to the ladies’ delight. He starts writing poetry, yearning, horrible poetry his sister mocks relentlessly, but slowly he finds his words and his latest attempts are almost good. He is the first to hound Zhangmen-shixiong for news on Shen shidi and learns every word of every letter by heart, no matter how short or impersonal the progress reports are.

Liu Qingge knows that his martial siblings are not blind to his obsession - he has caught Shang shidi muttering “bro, really?!” under his breath more than once. He’s not familiar with the expression, but he can understand the sentiment. Yue Qingyuan watches him with patient exasperation, but he knows that the man doesn’t disapprove from the mild comment about how Shen Jiu will need a new ceremonial robe for his return celebration because his old one is ten years out of fashion.

Embroidery is, technically, within the skill set of the Qing Jing Peak Lord. He hounds An Ding until someone supplies him with Shen Qingqiu’s measurements and the finest materials he can bully Shang shidi into acquiring - “That’s the same stuff demon royalty wears, try not to waste it, my contact had to go through the royal seamstress of the northern kingdom to get it in that color.” - and sets to work. Bai Zhan’s color is steel blue, but that never fit his shidi, so he picks greens instead to match his striking green eyes. He creates a design that accentuates the deceptive slimness of Qingqiu, then embroiders the robes with bamboo patterns and a wolf on the hunt and when they are done he crafts a matching fan - Shen shidi hides from nothing and nobody, but Liu Qingge thinks he might enjoy being a little mysterious.

He is daydreaming about his shidi during the next Peak Lord meeting when the Sect Leader breaks the news: the beast has finally been slain and Shen Qingqiu will be on the next ship back home. Liu Qingge stays barely long enough to not be impolite at the end of the meeting before he rushes off to finish the last touches on the robes. He wants to leave it all set out for his shidi in the bamboo house.

In his haste he misses the look Shang Qinghua and Yue Qingyuan exchange behind his back.

“So, about those arrangements we made…”

“Yes, please. Let’s get Xiao Jiu home before Liu-shidi pines himself into a qi deviation.”

“Yeah, he’s down bad isn’t he?”

“Are you certain your prince doesn’t mind? If you are in any danger, shidi…”

“No! It’s fine, I’m fine, he already agreed to it! In fact, my Xuebao likes your brother so much I’m almost a little jealous.”

“Really now?”

“Zhangmen-shixiong, please stop looking like you are plotting murder. It’s not like that. As the Mobei prince, he really doesn’t have a lot of friends. Of course he misses A-Jiu.”

“If you say so, shidi.”

Liu Qingge is all jitters when he walks down the path to the bamboo house. He can’t understand why because Shen Qingiu won’t be back for months, but he still feels like a maiden on her way to ask out her love on the first date.

He almost drops the package with the robes when he opens the door and finds Shen Qingqiu standing there in the sunlit room. His shidi is too solid, too real to be an apparition, his clothes worn from travel, his heavy pack still unpacked by the table. He stands with a letter in one hand - Qingge recognizes his sister’s wobbly, childish handwriting - and with Qingge’s notebook in which he wrote all his stumbling, horrible poetry in the other and Liu Qingge wishes nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Are those my new robes?” Shen Qingqiu asks, as if they have only met this morning, as if that was a reasonable thing to ask when Qingge’s heart is about to explode from nerves. He can only mutely nod at his shidi. “You know shixiong, I can see that you have put enormous effort into courting me. I would have loved it if it happened when I was here to experience it.”

Shen Qingqiu sets the notebook and the letter down and stalks up to Liu Qingge, his eyes sharp with an emotion he can’t interpret, but it makes Liu Qingge want to bare his throat to his teeth and be devoured.

“So, Liu-shixiong. Are you going to help me try on my new robes?”

#svsss #liu qingge #shen jiu #shen qingqiu #liujiu #tc writes #I'm tempted to draw something for this ngl #not putting this under readmore bc there was no good spot to cut it and it doesn't feel that long...#LQG going 0 to 100 in love like the nerd he is #Bai Zhan SQQ takes a more direct approach to protecting the sect #so of course he found out about Moshang #and beat Mobei's ass when they were still teens for treating hamster-shidi too rough so he got promoted to best friend status #that's just enough context for airplane to remember what he wrote about violent demon bonding #and clean up that no humans don't find physical violence directed at them sexy #mobei is a security risk to the sect but a calculated one #no other sect has a way to go to japan and back in five minutes so he can live for now #they are still pretty young here btw #Mingyuan is just old enough to write #she's old enough to bully her big brother for being a really bad poet though #tough crowd

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jimmyspades · 17 days

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New (!) old photo of Jimmy!! Meeting Liza Minnelli at Studio 54 in New York, December 1977. He was just 17 years old here!

#cutie!! babyfat cheeks #this is like two weeks after he was photographed with JFK Jr. at tavern on the green so I'm guessing he was here with John too #there aren't many photos from this night but the young kennedys were alwayssss partying there #james spader #*#1970s #it's so funny how... exactly the same he is #hard to tell from just one photo but the way he holds himself. so still and calm. the casual cigarette #like she's meeting HIM 😭#he doesn't really lean into people. until he does...

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uncanny-tranny · 9 months

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I'm still thinking about how ashamed I was (and am) with being open about my pain because I am so young. It's so hard to feel worthy of having your pain taken seriously when the people around you insist that young bodies are always in pristine, untouched condition and that you must earn your pain through aging. Never is it considered that young people aren't lying or being a hypochondriac for expressing their pain.

Young people can be in life-altering pain. Young people can have debilitating pain. It doesn't matter what age it happens because pain doesn't discriminate. Complaining about pain and doing things to prevent needless pain aren't something you have to "earn" through aging.

If you want young people to be in less or lesser pain, then encourage them to do whatever they can to minimize it. Don't downplay what they're experiencing. Not everything is a lie, not every experience that is different than yours is exaggeration or deceit.

#disability #ableism #ableism tw #this is one of the big reasons i was ashamed of admitting when i am in pain #and it's one of the reasons i was ashamed to address the pain i have #and i'm angry about that actually! nobody should fear being labeled as essentially having munchausen syndrome because...#...'young people NEVER have pain or disabilities and you're a liar!'#i really do want to start addressing my pain because i know it's not normal but holy shit batman it can suck sometimes #i honestly like talking to my dad about this because he also has a lot of pain (moreso than i do now) but he actually TRIES to listen...#putting this in the disability tag but i still don't feel right about labeling my own pain as such...#...but i know so many people with disabling pain who would relate...#...maybe it's internalized ableism on my part or maybe i just want to be respectful of people with worse pain #this is me really just reflecting on m the fact that i haven't ever had an amazing body in a lot of ways (though i am lucky still)#i'm still thinking about having an emergency cane to help me get up when my pain is bad but idk if it's worth the investment #so if anybody reading this has suggestions (esp. for those with back pain)... please hook me up i will platonically love you forever

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dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram · 1 month

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do you have any advice about boycotting? I have been trying to follow bds but people online are always calling for boycotts and saying people are supporting genocide for bot boycotting xyz and Im having a lot of anxiety about it. Obviously feelings arent more important than not supporting a genocide etc

There's a bit of discussion of boycotts at the moment, so it seemed like a good time to finally respond. I do have advice - very simple and strong advice. The point of a boycott isn't individual moral purity, it's using collective power.

The starting point for building collective power has to be people resisting oppression. Just like a strike can only be called by the workers, a legitimate boycott can only be called by those who are resisting oppression.

For the last 20 years, a coalition that crosses Palestinian society has called for Boycott, Disinvestment and Sanctions. I follow what they say - I don't give a shit about what people online are saying. They are very clear about their strategy - and the important of strategic boycotts. There are some global targets, and then other targets are organised locally - the link above includes information about how to find out what the local calls are.

I believe there is a strong moral and political imperative to observe BDS. I hope that the clear direction and the short list will help with your anxiety.

I think it's really important to understand that there's a principle here - it's not just about BDS. When offering solidarity, you start with what organised groups resisting oppression have asked for. Don't listen, or get stressed out about what random strangers have said.

******

There is, I think, another point, which is just as important. People who are going around making up targets are actively harming the Palestinian Liberation struggle. There are two messages I hope people get from this post - the first is that the starting point of meaningful solidarity is what people collectively resisting oppression are asking for. The second is that the sort of mouthing off online that is stressing you out is actively doing harm - and anyone who wants to do meaningful political work - has to stop pretending that indulging in self-righteous and reactionary social media posting has anything to do with meaningful political work.

There are two reasons that people who make up things they think other people should do actively does harm. One is that it undermines the ability to build power by substituting an individual's voice, for the collective voice of people resisting oppression. Substituting individualism for collectivism is guaranteed to weaken movements

The second is the behaviour you describe is coming from the more reactive parts of our psyche. Politics is about building power through coalitions. When people try and prove they're right and other people are wrong they are letting the anxiety processes of our brains take control - and substituting our most reactionary selves for meaningful political organising - then they're actively getting in the way of building power.

The fact that you're feeling anxious isn't an accident - it's a direct result of other people's choices to act from the reactionary and anxiety part of their pscyhe. If one person is acting from their own anxiety - it absolutely does promote anxiety in others. Good political work comes from building power and coalitions - which involves strengthening relationships - none of which are done best from a position of anxiety (you'll probably be anxious at times, when doing political work - that's really normal. But that's different from anxiety being at the centre of the political work).

I think one of the biggest problems of social media's impact on our ability to organise - is that it's very easy for people who are reacting entirely individualistically, from the reactionary parts of their psyche, guided by their anxiety, to persuade themselves that they're doing collective organising - when they're actually doing the opposite.

I'm sorry you're feeling really anxious. I think it would really help to turn around what you think you're doing. You frame this as not supporting genocide - but that's probably not an option. The political and economic system you are living in supports genocide, and if you imagine you can opt out of that you're setting yourself up to fail. If instead of trying to do the impossible - you focus on acting in solidarity with people collectively resisting their oppression - then it should both be less stressful and more effective. The requests are clear and simple - and you can and should do them.

#Stan culture is driven by anxiety #And that's why it's a really bad mix with politics #My other thought comes from the latest episode of 'If I Speak'#From Novara media #'I think you guys might be thinking about yourselves too much'#is very strong advice #If possibly not in a useful form #(any response which takes it as a criticism - such as 'you're right I'm thinking too much about myself #I should be thinking more about the Palestinians' is very much someone still thinking about themselves #I did strongly disagree with Moya Lothian Mclean's definition of authentic #It seemed very young and a bit exhausting

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jtl-fics · 1 year

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Fluent Freshman - Part 24

“What do you MEAN Smithy is in the hospital with a stab wound to his stomach?!” Nicky’s own voice is agony for his hangover but honestly, how the fuck else was he supposed to respond when he had asked Andrew where FF was and gotten that as a response.

“Calm down.” Andrew says and he looks tired, looks stressed, and maybe even just…a touch nervous?

Nicky isn’t as good as Neil at reading Andrew Minyard. He doesn’t think anyone will ever be as fluent in the language of Andrew Minyard as Neil Josten but Nicky has picked up some key phrases.

He can see when he’s making a joke that is a step too far. He can see when his cousin wants to kiss Neil but is holding back. He can see when his cousin is stressed.

He can see a guilty curve to Andrew’s spine.

“Andrew, answer me honestly, did you stab my sweet baby freshman?” Nicky asks and he’s not sure if the nausea he feels anymore is from horror or from the sheer number of drinks he had put in his system the night before.

Roland usually cuts him off before he gets this level.

Roland also has a habit of pouring heavier when he’s stressed.

Roland also also tends to make complicated fruity drinks that Nicky likes when he’s stressed.

Andrew’s jaw tenses but it’s Neil who speaks up, “It was an accident. It happened during a fight.” Neil says and Nicky throws his hands up in the air.

“You got into a FIGHT with my sweet baby freshman? Sweet little Smithy? The boy who made brownies that made me feel kinda straight for a dead woman?!” Nicky exclaims and sees Andrew and Neil open their mouths to say something but, “I promised him that if he wanted I’d get him something hard that’d mess his GUTS up but this isn’t what I MEANT.” He lets himself collapse dramatically over the table.

“Nicky, shut up!” Kevin hisses from his spot on the couch.

“When the fuck did Kevin get here?!” Because seriously, how fucked up was Nicky last night that he doesn’t remember Kevin coming on this Columbia trip? Where’d he sit? He couldn’t really remember coming over after Thanksgiving. Had Andrew put Kevin in the trunk? Had Andrew put Nicky in the trunk?

“He came with Wymack.” Neil cut in before Nicky started testing reality. “Wymack is at the hospital since he’s…uh…he’s the…”

“Medical Power of Attorney” Andrew answers.

“Yes! Thank you, the Medical power of attorney for Smith. He needed surgery and Wymack wanted to be nearby in case he had to make any pressing decisions.” Neil explains and yeah that tracks, he knows a little bit about FF’s family and knows that aside from his grandma on his dad’s side the rest can go take a long walk off a short volcano observation platform

“Okay, that explains why Kevin is here….how?! Despite all of the unwarranted advice, Kevin is not a medical professional.” Nicky says before turning to Kevin, “So Kevin, what insane Exy-related reason are you here? Don’t lie and say it’s because you want to sign the get well soon card.” He hisses.

“Fuck you!” Kevin spits, “I need to know how long Smiths is going to be out of commission and what his PT is going to look like. He was supposed to be starting during the spring season.” Kevin growls.

“There it is!” Nicky throws up his hands.

“Nicky, just calm down!” Neil pleads.

“How can I stay calm? Andrew stabbed Smithy! So not only is my favorite freshman in the hospital Andrew’s going to end up back on those god forsaken meds again!” Nicky shouts and buries his face in his hands.

“Smith isn’t going to say that.” Andrew’s voice is calm but Nicky can hear the slight edge.

“Oh yeah?” Nicky asks because he could see FF promising to never mention who stabbed him if Andrew would just spare his life. FF was going to be even MORE of a disaster when it came to his anxiety around Andrew. Nicky wouldn’t be surprised if his friend just straight up dropped out after this. His cousin is safe but he’s absolutely going to lose his friend.

“Because he’s saying Romero Malcolm stabbed him.” Andrew finishes.

Nicky sits up.

“Wait, what?” Nicky asks.

“Last night Romero Malcolm was at Eden’s.” Neil says voice even in a way that lets Nicky know that he’s trying to stay calm, “Smith recognized him, heard he wanted to grab,” Neil swallows thickly, “…grab one of my friends and saw them looking at…” Neil trails off and looks to Andrew who shakes his head, “…around for someone to grab.” Neil seems to decide and Nicky knows when something is being hidden from him but he’s more interested in the story than what Neil is hiding at the moment, “He got Romero’s attention so that he wouldn’t do anything bad in Eden’s and let Roland know to call help. He went out alone into the alley but Romero didn’t follow him.” Neil explains.

“Oh thank god.” Nicky sighs.

“Because he’d alerted Jackson Plank was lying in wait to ambush him.” Neil continues.

“Oh dear god.” Nicky exclaims.

“He uh…” Neil looks to Andrew who shakes his head again, “okay we don’t know exactly HOW Smith managed to do it but he beat Jackson up pretty bad.” Neil explains.

Nicky feels his brain stop working.

He has watched FF trip over his own feet, walk into four different trees, and almost sprain his ankle walking across a flat surface. He knows FF has been watching self-defense videos and had even gotten some pointers from Matt but even Matt had told him his better bet was probably just to yell “WOW WHAT’S THAT OVER THERE?!”, point behind the attacker, and run as fast as humanly possible away from a fight.

Neil is still talking.

Nicky boots back up quickly.

“…a gun. He tackled Romero into Andrew and Andrew’s knife ended up in Smith’s stomach on accident while they were wrestling for the gun. Smith is the one who said he’s going to tell everyone who asks that it was Romero. He even said it to me.” Neil says with an awkward laugh.

“And you believed him.” Andrew says and there’s warmth in his cousin’s eyes as he looks at Neil and teases him.

“And I believed him.” Neil confirms.

“Okay, so you swear to me that you did not INTENTIONALLY stab my BFF?” Nicky asks looking at Andrew seriously.

“BFF, seriously?” Kevin asks.

“Best Freshman Friend.” Nicky answers quickly, “Don’t worry Kevin, you lose out to Matt in all regards for my Best Senior Friend.” He says.

Kevin just flips him off but Nicky turns his attention back to Andrew, “Andrew, I need to hear it.” He says .

“I did not intentionally stab Smith.” Andrew confirms.

Nicky lets the horrified nausea leave him with only his hangover nausea.

“Okay, we can work with that.” Nicky leans back. “Have you heard from that Agent?” he asks looking at Neil.

Neil nods but then looks nervous and shoots a look towards Kevin, “The FBI is sending Browning and a field office agent to talk with us but…Ichirou also contacted me.” He says and Nicky watches as Kevin perks up.

“He did?!” Kevin squawks looking around like he expected the head of the Moriyama family to appear from the shadows.

“He wants to make sure we do our part to keep the Moriyama name out of this. He is going to deal with Romero and Jackson himself.” Neil says looking nervous.

Nicky clenches his eyes shut, “Well you’re not going to mention them right?” he hears Kevin ask.

“Of course not Kevin.” Nicky hears Andrew hiss.

“Good.” Kevin says.

There’s silence in the wake of Neil’s statement.

Nicky takes a deep breath and wishes his head was a little less agonizing. “Why aren’t we at the hospital to see Smithy?” he asks because he has nothing he can do about Ichirou so he may as well put it out of his mind.

There is some grumbling.

“Wymack said that he’ll just make us sit in the waiting room without any updates.” Neil says. “We’re picking up Smith’s grandma from the airport and she’s our ticket to getting an actual update beyond ‘not dead yet’ from Wymack.” He adds.

“What, you really can’t get updates without Wymack?” Nicky asks.

Andrew looks at Nicky and Nicky can’t read a single thing his cousin is thinking.

“What’s Smith’s first name Nicky.” Andrew asks.

“Oh God fucking Dammit.” Nicky’s head hurts too bad for this.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings

@blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie @theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lillyndra @themundanemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit @anxietymoss @oddgreyhound @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken @ken22789 @atiredvampire @isoldescorner @not--a--pipedream @azure-wing @bushbees @roonilwazlib-main @crumplelush @foldedaces-paperbirds @thesenseinnonsense @let-tyrants-fear @ketchupandfries @legowerewolf @deadlydodos @but-we-respect-his-craft @cariniqe @zanypersonapricotbiscuit @lesbian-blackbeard @lesbiansupernatural @silvermasquerade @thepeachfuzz @minniemariex @kazoo-the-demjin @gaypomegranate @ji-nk-ies @neilimfinejosten @omgrubelangel @itsyouitsmeorpheuseurydice @percabethotplove @cozyrosykay @foxyatlas

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

#Fluent Freshman AU #I'm almost positive the next chapter will involve Grandma Smith actually #like 90%#Maybe even 95%#Aaron walks out 10 minutes later #Aaron: I feel like someone is stabbing me in the stomach #Nicky: You and Smithy both!#Aaron: ?????????#Neil: I think that it is too soon to make that joke #Andrew: At least give it 24 hours Nicky #Andrew: He might still be in surgery for all we know #Aaron: !!!!!??????#Kevin: I've been researching and it could be 4-6 weeks before Smith can be back on the Court.#Kevin: At least he'll only really miss 2 fall season games and he should be healed up by the time we start the spring season games #Aaron: What the FUCK happened and why is KEVIN here?#Andrew: We're not explaining it again figure it out yourself #GS is in the air right now #She's got a middle seat because it was a last minute booking #But the young man next to her is a real sweetheart #He speaks polish! what a small world #AFTG #AFTG OC #AFTG AU #My Fics #Andreil #Fluent Freshman - Part 24

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prncewilhelm · 11 months

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craaazy that some of you are so determined he stays within the mould when the entire show is chronicling him breaking out of it

#it fills in when he takes the role of crown prince after erik's death #and slowly becomes more rough until it's entirely not in the lines anymore #like season 3's logo #young royals #yr s3 spoilers #spoilers #no one yell at me i'm tagging everything #young royals season 3 spoilers #as someone who has grown up working class w a monarchy that sucks the living daylights out of my country #and has caused so much systemic oppression and created the class system that only widens the wealth gap as time moves on #i'm really exhausted by having to explain that wille being a queer king isn't a progressive thing #and that yah this is a tv show but it presents you an opportunity to #rewire your thinking about real life situations and the actual class system #the people at the top are still oppressive even if they're gay #imperialism is still imperialism even if you let gay people go to war #go read red white and royal blue if you want your gay royal fantasy #this is literally a show about the class system #and how historical systems that are held up by institutions like the monarchy #are a bad thing #and can never be progressive #even if you rainbow wash it

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softesttangerines · 7 months

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As someone who LOVES a good old time travel au, and after seeing amazing fanart of kid!Mihawk i have to let it out!!

I just wanna read a time travel fic where baby Mihawk wakes up and finds himself in the world of adult Mihawk and he's like wtf is going on?

And word goes around that a kid that looks exactly like Hawkeyes and carries the same cross knife as him is roaming around this island and rumors say it's the son he abandoned to fend for himself.

And so, marines and every pirates he ever wronged come after him for revenge and the little guy is just thinking why is everyone trying to get me? While doing his best with his cross dagger to rid of them.

And Shanks, good ol' shanks could have sworn that if his old rival had an 9years old, he would know about it (also he refuses to let the bitter taste in his heart take over unless his own eyes see) so he's skeptical about the whole thing and that's the only thing that gets him to leave his hideout in a reclused ghost island waiting for whatever is his big plan to take place.

News say Red Shanks is on the move after being mia for a few years and everyone got their panties in a twist, what could have raised the emperor from the dead.

He follows from island to island because apparently the young boy knows how to avoid the marines and pirates coming after him.

Till one night, on their stop at some bar on an island that wasn't really on the plan, he sees the boy. Just outside the bar in an alley, where he went to empty his guts from the booze overfilling his body, there stood bloody faced, cross dagger in one hand, a tiny version of his old rival with a bounty hunter's body at his feet.

The boy furrows his eyebrows even more at the new arrival and strikes another pose in case the new guy tries something funny. But Shanks, drunk ass Shanks, who knows his rival by heart is a 100% sure the little guy is in fact his rival for whatever magical reason, there he stands in front of him in the form of an 9years old and Shanks giggles at that -to which the child takes great offense- and just say "hey kid, i'm a friend of your dad's, want me to take you to him?"

#mishanks #Ok so here I'm running with the fandom's theory that rayleigh is mihawk's dad #And after getting all these murder attempts on his person he's just so fckn tired of anyone that approaches him So he's completely on guard #when this red haired dude comes out of nowhere n tells him he knows his dad #Which no one did before all they did was charge at him screaming HAWKEYES YOU'RE GONNA REGRET WHAT YOU DID #And here's the thing #he may be inclined to believe the red haired guy because no one knows his relation to rayleigh #so this guy must really know his dad and he's tired of running all the time he just wants his bed and parents #so cut him some slack when he follows a random one armed red haired pirate #On the other hand the crew is equally creeped out and charmed by the little fella because even young he still installs the chills in them #How can he be as equally as skilled as he is cuuuuute #They try their best not to say it to his face because he threatens to stab them at any given chance but they cant HELP IT #it's Dracule Fucking Mihawk as an 9years old!!!! Ofc he's cute #Shanks cant fucking wait to get his adult Mihawk back to tease the shit out of him about the little version of him lol #When they got him to rayleigh he fckn cried because that's his fckn son znd the last time he saw hus baby that way was more than 30years ag #Mihawk is just confused as fuck why is his dad's grey n have much more wrinklesBut it's still one familiar face so he just sticks to him #The red haired pirate keeps telling him that he should look for him when he gets home but he doesn't understand!!!#He also keeps challenging shanks on a duel once he discovers he's a swordsman and keeps on losing #And truth be told shanks is embarrassed as fuck because it took him his rival being a child for him to win over mihawk #opla #one piece #mihawk #dracule mihawk #red haired shanks #shanks

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