This post, i can't...
🤦♂️
By this logic Toph and Iroh, THE TWO FAN FAVORITES are not beloved characters because they have less fics than Aang 😭
TOPH AND IROH!!
Wtf this dumbass is talking about?? Ao3 doesn't mean shit and Aang is an extremely beloved and iconic character, not only with the fans but with the general audience 🤦♂️ And YES, Aang's fans are writing metas and making arts, not only on tumblr. You didn't notice it because you are passing all your time in anti Aang tag
Mind you, Aang is only hated by...surprise, surprise, Zutara shippers, like OP. Because you all still can't move on
108 notes
·
View notes
Ephesians 4:29 NIV
Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.
126 notes
·
View notes
i know you're writing blurbs for matt murdock but if you ever have the itch to write for frank castle please know i never stopped thinking about your post on your Punisher + COD references...
( all credits to @mcgregor for this lovely gifset of our boys! )
☠️ — PUNISHER + CALL OF DUTY
a/n. All the pretty boys of COD in one Marvel universe is a thought indeed! This blurb's set in s1 of Punisher, when Frank & Billy first reunite after their radio-call.
"WHERE THE HELL DID RILEY go, eh, Bill?" Frank says, kicking back into his squeaky chair. "Last I saw him, we were workin' at some border, when Keller still had his leg."
The sun’s setting over New York waters, and for a moment, it feels like they're on tour in Afghanistan all over again— dirt and sand in their combat boots, sharing shitty, flat beer at some rickety outpost where they talked shit until dawn.
( Billy’s missed this. His brothers. Frank. )
"Riley? Simon Riley?" he laughs, eyebrows high at the snap of memories suddenly rushing forward. "Shit, haven't heard that Brit’s name in years. The hell was his callsign again?"
"Ghost," they say in unison, snorting into their drinks. That dirty-white skull mask is still imprinted fresh as a daisy across their minds. Frank shakes his head. "Scariest motherfucker I've ever seen.”
( “Don’t think I’ve ever seen his face. D’y’ever wonder, Frankie? I mean, Roach was the only one who did, s’far as I can remember, and he took that shit to the grave, too.”
“Scared Ghost’s got a prettier face than you, Russo? Ah, fuck off I’m kiddin’. Nah, he got it on for a reason. S’long as he can do his job— And he sure as hell fuckin’ can, that’s f’sure.” )
"He’s in a task force. Still S.A.S, Black Ops stuff, CIA redactions, y’know the drill. Price recruited him— think it’s called the 141?” Billy recalls, canting his head.
It’s been a long while since he’d checked on his tea-sipping allies. He ought to meet up with Gaz, soon.
“Last I heard, they headed a mission in London— that one, yeah, the terrorist attack down in the subway— and I heard they lost one of their own. MacTavish.”
“Soap? Ah, fuck.”
Frank had met him through the Captain. A bright-eyed Scotsman sharpshooter who’d leave a lasting mark in just about everybody he came across; either by a bullet or by his sharp wit.
“I contacted Price at the time, offered Anvil’s services on whatever they needed, but he declined,” Billy says, and Frank wonders if the bitterness he caught in his tone was just the alcohol getting to his head.
“Think he’s been put off by PMC’s ever since the whole Shadow Company scandal with Graves and the General.”
“Can’t blame ‘im, Bill. Brothers turnin’ against each other? Worst kind.”
A beat.
Billy Russo blinks back to the horizon, blindsided.
“…Yeah.”
34 notes
·
View notes