You guys are commenting on the fics you read right? You’re at least leaving kudos on the Astarion smut and the pairs that have less than 20 fics for them too? You’re bookmarking stories you really like that are still being updated and ones that haven’t been touched in over a year right?
You know that even the smallest interactions are like cocaine to fic writers right? You understand how important a string of emoji hearts left behind on chapter at three am is right?? Right????
You’re treating AO3 like a community and not a content factory….right?
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might delete ,, its been fucking ages since ive touched an art program so . it didnt come out as good and im not proud of how the face turned out so wonky 😭
its a quick messy doodle of a buffed out mark w a longer hairstyle <3 begging the showrunners 2 give him these side bangs .. please !! my baby would look so good w them. u could interpret this as an older ver of him,, tho hes still got that baby face
without the shine .. hehe .. he looks better like this .
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I'm sure a million people have already written about this and better than I ever could, but there are so many hypocritical moments in the hunger games that stick with me. the way the capital citizens gasp and are furious at the flag being torn down, but not at the dead children directly under it. the way they riot after peeta says "if it weren't for the baby" as if they don't watch children slaughter each other every year. the list could go on.
those moments are something I think of daily, just given the current political climate in america. suzanne collins really took a mirror right to our society and nailed it. makes me insane to think about it too much
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can you imagine meeting ghost off-duty. no mask—just a regular man, in a bar close to where you’ve just moved. the two of you begin talking, don’t swap anything about the other, no work talk, just one weekend—one night, really. all nail scratching, teeth digging down into his shoulder to stop your new neighbours complaining. then he leaves, enjoys one mug of tea before his boots are on and he kisses your cheek goodbye.
you don’t think about him.
not outside of the ache he’s left between your legs and the marks that’ll take time to heal. you stuff it into a basket in your mind as you begin packing your bag, heading to the place where you’ll be meeting a new team—become the latest recruit to something more off the record, than on.
you’re sized up, and you size them up back. don’t linger on the pair of eyes behind a balaclava that digs into you with more venom than gratitude. you exchange no words outside of the necessary, completely keeping yourself to yourself where you can—not wanting to miss out on this, an opportunity not handed so often.
so it isn’t until you’re back from the desert, removing sand from wherever it has tried to find a home, that you see your Lt hovering in the doorway. sliding the fabric up, exposing a pair of lips that make you frown, before he speaks.
and his tone isn’t gruff, isn’t as low or as formal as you’ve heard through the radio. if anything, it’s reminiscent of a voice from weeks ago, one buried into your ear, one burned and soldered to your skin as you took and you took and you took.
you get confirmation it’s him when he makes a comment, one that makes you ice cold and full of fire all at once. before now, you’d never thought that “nice work out there” would have the same effect on you as “you can take it”.
sorry, not sorry to @ghostaholics who I woke up with this thought hahahah.
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