#not on ao3 yet

[rinniiart]

I'd burn the world for you

Catra likes that Despara would destroy the world for her. It's romantic. Despara doesn't need anyone, but she wants Catra, and Catra likes that.

[contentment-of-cats]

A pre-Thyrondi nibble

See below the line.

"I am so proud of all of you." Captain Faro looked proud, Ilyana thought. Back straight, shoulders back, chin up. "The 96th showed the rest of these pretty boy captains how it's done, but the Chimaera's crew led the way. We nailed it, boys and girls."

Ilyana had to admit that Commodore Thrawn's tactics had worked - again - and Faro ran the ball hard. Still, it was hard to swallow that Captain Faro wasn't the one in command. When Ilyana was a shiny ensign, Faro picked her, Agral, Yve, and Lomar for the bridge of the Chimaera. Faro had her loyalty first. Faro gave everyone the praise they deserved and the critique they needed. Then grinned even wider.

"Orders from the top. Shore leave rotations to Coruscant for the winners of the Ascension Day War Games." And didn't everyone go bonkers at that. Even though she'd been at Royal Imperial, she stuck to campus, traveling with her cohort, and keeping as low a profile as a future bridge nerd could manage. Ilyana resisted the urge to pull out her datapad and look for pay grade friendly places. "Now, we need to talk about Coruscant and where you can and can't, should and shouldn't go."

They got the whole Mom-Talk. Including a rather graphic presentation about using prophy and how deep the shit one could be in if they returned with an STD. 

"There's been insurgent activity even in the Central District. Now, mainwatch goes down first, check in, be back in five days. Miss the shuttle and I personally cycle you out an airlock."

Ilyana ducked out after that. She'd be taking her boards for senior lieutenant, leaving very little time to party hard. Part of them had already been completed aboard the Chimaera - practical and exam - but not her oral defense of her work on the need for a more diverse weapons profile. With the Seppies (called Alliance to Restore the Republic) moving to smaller ships, the heavy, slower firing turbolasers were not enough. They were great against capital ships, heavy freighters, or anything big, armored, and slow, The InCom Corporation ships showing up were small and zippy, needing the faster response and firing time of your basic quad turbolaser. 

The shuttle down was packed, and Ilyana ended up wedged into a jumpseat before being disgorged onto the landing platform and processed through the Shore Authority. Her rental vehicle was waiting, and… well… she got what she paid for. It had very sincere inspection stickers, but she still popped the hood and ran basic pre-starts, much to the discomfiture of the clerk. Ilyana decided that since she had someone by the balls, a degree of twisting was in order and ended up with a Stellar F-131 instead of a poky old Skipper Basic Skycar. Much more oomph, much more room, and no empty bottles of prophy spray under the seat along with underwear of unknown origin.

Fancy undies, too. Pink lacy ones.

The BOQ was packed, but offered free parking and firstmeal. After an investigation of nearby restaurants, Ilyana loaded up a tray at a buffet advertising 'real meat' and went back to her cubicle-room. If the meat was real, it tasted a lot like her boots might if she gave them a good stewing. Ilyana checked her citations and then fell easily into her focus mode, rousing only at the insistent chirp of her commlink.

"Yana? If I study any more, I am going to jump out the window." Agral, he of the ever-growling stomach and reddest hair in the galaxy. "I know you went to a rent-a-wreck. Come pick up your study buddy and we'll get something to eat. I buy if you fly."

"Deal, but it has to be real food." 

"I'm the native son, Sparky. How about some real, juicy grilled meat for my little carnivore?"

"If it's not real meat, do I get to use you for target practice?" In truth, she was already getting her boots on. 'Meet me in the lobby in three minutes."

"It'll take that long for the turbolift to get here. See you downstairs."

The junior officers' hostel had admittedly seen better days - at least two centuries ago. Jashin did beat her there, and was suitably impressed with their conveyance. He had a list of grills, and yes they were going to sit down and eat like civilized people. It was as they passed the senior officers' hostel that Ilyana spotted some familiar faces on the pickup platform - a glance at Agral confirming it. Vanto, Hammerly, Lomar, Faro, and the Blue Face of Doom. 

Okay. Fine. She respected Thrawn, Hammerly and Vanto. Faro was her captain from day one. Odo Lomar came from the same year at Royal as both her and Agral. There was no way that they were going to get a cab with an alien with them, never mind that said alien was a hero and flag officer in the Imperial Navy.

"Do it," Agral sighed.

Ilyana stopped, threw it into reverse gear, and to utterly unnecessary screaming from Jashin, maneuvered back to the platform. "Relax, there's nobody coming."

The group on the platform stared, then stared harder as Ilyana keyed off the forcefield. "Good evening, sirs." Then she grinned at Vanto's shiny new insignia. "Go Commander Vanto! Congrats, sir."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. That was… some kind of driving right there."  

"We were on the way to go eat when we saw you. Can we give you a lift somewhere, or you could join us." Jashin's elbow hit her ribs. "Ow. We're going for real meat, though."

Thrawn and Vanto both lit up. 

"That sounds like a good idea," Faro said, "But it's going to be a tight fit." 

"Everyone will be in everyone's laps," was Thrawn's protest. 

"Well, Seven Swords is the closest grill, and their last seating is at twenty-two, sirs." Jashin scrolled his datapad. "How about it, Sparky? Can you get us there?"

"The shortest distance between two points is a firing solution," Ilyana replied. 

~

Yissa held on for dear life. It was like being in a full-immersion Grand Theft: Coruscant. Pyro seemed to operate on aiming and firing herself in the direction she wished to go. Thrawn was calm as ever, Faro visibly popped a couple of grey hairs, but she, Vanto, and Lomar all seemed fairly certain of being a juicy splotch on the side of a building somewhere. They pulled up at the grill in plenty of time and then were charged an astonishing amount for parking - at least they were until Thrawn got out of the aircar and the extortionate bastards realized they had a flag-rank officer on their doorstep. 

The smell of food made Yissa's belly rumble and that got her a little smile from Pyro. 

The overt hostility had eased, but the woman still held herself, Vanto, Marinith, and Thrawn at arm's length. That smile was actually pretty. Yissa had tried dropping a few hints, as Pyro was unpartnered and really kind of cute. The hints hadn't been ignored, it was as if Pyro simply didn't pick them up. Officers came from all over the Empire, so it could be cultural, or perhaps Pyro was simply unsocialized - because when it came to nerd ranking, Pyro was a very high-grade nerd.

The grill was possibly a little above her pay grade, but nobody ever went broke serving on an ISD and Yissa had plenty of margin for an extravagant dinner. They were led through the main salon to a plusher, quieter area with more senior officer uniforms in evidence. Yeah, definitely not a pitcher-and-platter establishment. Then again, Agral was from a wealthier merchant family - in the same league as Vanto's - and likely considered this affordable. He said he was treating Pyro because Pyro had the aircar and agreed to drive. 

Seating went in order of rank, with everyone to the right of their chairs and sitting only when the commodore and captain were seated. The menu's extravagance was astounding and a carnivore's delight. Ilyana ordered modest meal, only to have Agral override and chivvy her into an inch thick red-meat ribeye plus a baked and stuffed starchroot. Yissa went for surf-and-turf as did Agral, Lomar, and Faro. Vanto went for meat, with a side of meat, plus extra meat. Thrawn ordered the equivalent of a small roast nerf. 

Then he had the brass to preemptively pay the bill - and quell a minor mutiny. One captain at the table behind them murmured that it was the first time he'd ever seen junior officers object to a free feed. 

 "This establishment is closer to my pay grade than yours." Which was true, what with Yissa's dinner being a week's worth of credits. 

Oh, and worth every last one based on the appetizers alone.

In Yissa's opinion, a good restaurant was a quiet one. The food should be enough to ensure silence. Table chatter was limited to individual plans. Art for Thrawn and presumably for Vanto. Meeting with old friends for Faro. Yissa planned to discreetly party her doors off, but Lomar was being trapped with family visits and fending off a betrothal. To everyone's surprise, both Pyrondi and Agral were defending their theses before their promotion boards.   

"What are your theses?" Thrawn was on the scent. 

"The possibility of communication within the hyperlanes, including tracking other vessels," Agral replied.

That was in Yissa's wheelhouse, as well as Lomar's. To date, the only communications in hyperspace were visual. If you could see another ship, a version of tap code would be the limit of communication. Not even sensors worked past the outer hull when in hyperspace, not even to verify that the othership you could see was actually there. Agral referred to travel within the 'probability bubble' - apparently traveling in a hyperlane meant entering a bubble that moved between one set of coordinates and another. There was also some dispute as to the nature of the hyperlanes themselves - constructed or naturally occurring? 

This was dinner chit-chat she could get behind.     

Pyro was surprisingly keen on hyperspace theory, but her thesis was naturally about weaponry - and one surprisingly critical about overreliance on heavier, slower turbolaser batteries over a more diverse weapons array. Yissa could all but see other officers bending ears at the resulting debate between the outspoken lieutenant and her commanding officers. Faro was firmly on Pyro's side, having been through the Clone Wars and all the droid armaments, Thrawn put forth his favor of better TIE fighters, but allowed that a more diverse weapons array served the offensive and  capabilities of the ship. And from there Pyro dove into a variety of weapons that could - should - be deployed before a very determined throat-clearing from the next table.    

Oh. Shit.

Admiral Motti. The smarmiest of smarmy bastards about to smarm, and three other members of the High Command that she recognized from newsholo shows. And Andres Sienar who looked far too interested in Pyro for Yissa's comfort.

"My own argument, Admiral Motti, coming out of the mouth of a baby lieutenant."

"Full disclosure, sirs. I worked at the Sienar Armaments and Fleet Systems main industrial  facility on Corulag for four years," Pyrondi stated. "I was in the Imperial Youth Corps at the time."  

And the conversation - Pyrondi could not be said to argue with her superior officers while defending her position - was off and running from there. Motti was definitely a 'bigger is better' guy, but Pyro was an active, serving weapons officer, and one who had helped to take first place in the games. It was hard to argue against the winners. If Pyro stood her ground like this for her boards, then Senior Lieutenant rank was hers.

The night did not end after caf, pastries, and arguments, and a bit of Yissa was meanly glad that the ranking wankers had to wait for transport while Pyrondi went to the valet and got her rent-a-wreck back. There was a minor dustup over driving. None of them were drinking with dinner, but Thrawn moved to preempt the driver's station. Pyro claimed it was against protocol for a flag rank officer to chauffeur his subordinates. When the dust settled, Vanto was driving as Thrawn's aide, and would give the vehicle back at the admiralty accommodation. 

Vanto grew up flying cargo donks and freighters. Yissa almost wished for Pyrondi to be back in the driver's position. He flew like a pirate. Even Thrawn took a white-knuckle grip on his seat. At least nobody yarked their dinner. Yissa and Lomar went back to their rooms while Thrawn, Vanto, and Faro went to the rarefied heights of the Admiralty Tower. 

Back in her room, she changed into sleepwear and flicked on the holonet, looking for some new series to buy. Holonet was sketchy and inconsistent, so the crews of the Seventh always brought back entertainment to while away off-duty hours. At some point she dozed off, awaking to the sound of an urgent voice-

"-the junior officers' hostel is being evacuated as we speak, with close to two thousand naval personnel from ensigns to senior lieutenants being evacuated for unknow- There's blaster fire on one- no, two of the floors facing the street. It's unknown if it's due to insurgents and-"

Yissa pulled her trousers on over her shorts as her comlink chipred. 

"I know. I saw. I'm on my way there." She told Lomar. "Tell Mom and Dad."  

~

Ilyana hated bugs. Even some of the insectoid sentient species gave her the whim-whams. Right now she was in her worst nightmare. Duct mites. Why did it have to be ducked mites? Blind, six legged, a ghastly grey-white, and carnivorous, they were from the deep lower levels of Coruscant, and now they were flooding out of ventilation ducts all over the hostel. 

Mite was not a statement on their size, either. 

She and the officers on her floor were shooting them, making their way to the emergency drop tube that would land them safely on the platform below. Dimly, from an open door with a half-eaten body jamming it open she heard-

"We are told that this is a hazmat situation, not an infestation of vermin. The sources were in error and likely suffering delusions from too many exotic intoxicants."

Oh. FUCK her. Junior officers were painted with the same sprayer as academy students. The only thing saving someone's ass was the fact that duct mites would burn to death rather than go outside. Temperature fluctuations killed them as handily as a blaster. And just before she and agral hit the drop tube, that's what Ilyana did, hooking her fingers under the headplate and jumping after her buddy. There was a keen pang of leaving her duffel behind, but her datapads were both secure in her undershirt.

~

The hologenic chaos that the networks were expecting did not materialize. These were naval officers, not a bunch of pampered civvies. Faro began to muster her officers from the moment her feet hit the platform.

"Chimaera officers, to me!"            

Other captains and commanders were arriving and bulling through the district security forces to round up their juniors, Thrawn's bellow alternated with hers, While Hammerly, Lomar, and Vanto played herders, getting everyone in one place. 

"Any sign of Agral or Pyrondi?" Karyn asked a pale ensign who's knees were shaking. 

"No, ma'am. They were up on floor 2314, I was down on 1609." 

"Drop tube coming down!"

"Is everyone out?"

"No, by headcount there's more than a thousand missing. Granted, some might still be out making bad adult decisions-"

"What was the cause of the evacuation?" Thrawn asked.

The evacked officers answer was duct mites, but the ISB supervisor's reason was hazmat, causing a mass hallucination of duct mites. One did not call 'bullshit' on an ISB supervisor and expect to have a career left afterward, or indeed, much lifetime left.  The droptube slowed, then let a cluster of junior lieutenants onto the platform. Karyn sprinted away as soon as she saw Agral's copper-bright hair. 

"Agral, is Pyrondi with- Don't get snippy, Pyrondi, you're an inch taller than Captain Piett, we could lose you under a table somewhere and what in the name of bright stars-" A duct mite, still smoking hanging by the headplate in her left hand. "Throw that away right this minute, it's disgusting!"

"It's evidence, ma'am. If this place is so lax in maintenance practices, then everyone needs to know it." Pyro argued back. The woman could take orders, but Karyn sensed a sticking point. "I'm not going to let some prissy bitch in a four-figure frock shit-talk my fellow officers. Some of them were dinner for these things."       

The ISB supervisor was speaking with the aforementioned prissy bitch, assuring her and the other press fleas that it was all some nebulous 'gas' - possibly introduced by insurgents - that caused hallucinations in the junior officers billeted there. And Karyn felt a certainty settle into her bones as she turned to Pyrondi only to see her combat face on, a firing solution already in place and her arm swinging. In slow motion, she watched the duct mite arc gracefully over the heads of the people in front of them and fly into camera range.          

Oh, as usual, shit. 

Several things happened at once. One of them was the insect splatting all over the ISB's white tunic and the reporter's expensive dress - why would you cover a potential disaster in heels and a party dress? The next one was a blue hand grabbing Pyro and yanking her backwards into the crowd. Another was Hammerly and Lomar moving at high speed to corral Agrall, who was getting ready to launch himself at the supervisor, and Vanto taking her arm and murmuring, "This way, ma'am." in that soft drawl just as all hell broke loose. 

Ilyana Pyrondi was a quiet, obedient, loyal and highly intelligent bridge nerd, but when her chaos came out, it did so on the crest of an explosive temper. 

[tadfools]

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 a chapter at three am is right?? Right????

You’re treating AO3 like a community and not a content factory….right?

[immawraffle]

Trying to work a bit more on my Mass Effect: Andromeda and FFXIV fics lately.

[stervrucht]

How I feel after finally finishing that long-ass chapter...

[paintedcrows]

Some Fords! (and Martin K Blackwood is also there)

[s0fter-sin]

thinking about the way ghost doesn't hesitate to start killing shadows when graves betrays them but soap only takes one hostage

you can almost hear the voice in his head telling him it doesn't have to be this way; they can still talk it out

"i'm calling shepherd"

his first instinct when confronted with betrayal is to play it by the books: to go up the chain. that goes against everything we've seen him do. he bucks authority at every chance except for the one time he's confronted with the barrels of his allies' guns

he wants a peaceful resolution; for the first time we've ever seen, he doesn't want violence to be the answer. there has to be another fix, a solution that doesn't end with him killing the same men he's been working with; his friends

nothing's happened yet

it doesn't have to go this way

but ghost has been betrayed before. he knows the way this ends; either with him six feet under or his enemy

he doesn't hesitate

it's only when they knock alejandro out that soap shoots; when they spill the first blood and cross a line they can never come back from

only when ghost orders him to run and he has to cover his retreat

and somewhere along the line, between civilians’ screams and taunting voices, between his shaking breath and ghost steady in his ear, that naivety is stripped away; his trust turned to teeth that he uses to sink into throats of men he'd have given his life for

"be careful who you trust, sergeant; people you know can hurt you the most"

he's learned the price of trust

just like ghost did

but unlike ghost, he has someone to guide him through the aftermath

"good advice, It"

[thelyinggrapevine]

The Marauders & Regulus out in town, enjoying the day...

Peter: Guys, where's Regulus? I don't see him anywhere.

Sirius: Eh, he'll make his way back eventually - he's like a cat in that regard.

Remus: I got this, no worries. *Deep breath* SIRIUS BLACK IS A SHIT BROTHER!

*Silence*

Sirius: Mooney, that's not gonna work, we're barely on speaking terms right now.

Remus: I have a back-up plan; JAMES POTTER IS WEIRD AND NOBODY LIKES HIM!

Regulus, getting closer the more he yells: HOW ABOUT YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP, PIECE OF SHIT?

Sirius: See, Mooney, I told you he wouldn't answer to mine.

Regulus, suddenly there now: No, I answered to yours, I was just too far away. Also, Remus? I will hit you if you say shit like that again about either of them, joke or not. I'm the only one who can talk shit about my brother, I don't care if you guys are dating. *crosses arms over chest*

Sirius, tearing up: Reg... OW-

Regulus, trying to hide his blush: Shut the fuck up.

James, leaning on Peter: Did you hear that, Pete?? He defended me!! That has to mean something, right?? Do you think he likes me? Oh, I hope so!!

Peter, rubbing in-between his eyes: James, he was literally sitting in your lap last night and letting you play with his hair. Not even Barty's allowed to do that anymore.

James, clueless: Yeah?

Peter: I do not get paid enough for this.

[ao3-crack]

(x)

[fablegate]

"I don't think AO3 knows about about second kudos."

[horsechestnut]

There are so many Dick, Bruce, or Tim kills the Joker fics on AO3, meanwhile Barbara was the one talking about how The Joker should be the exception to the No Kill Rule years before Red Hood Jason even existed.

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 2; ghoap x reader) part 1

-

The hard part is admitting to himself that he doesn’t know how to function on leave without Ghost’s voice in his ear.

Johnny’s two days into his annual leave when that stray thought crosses his brain. Out with chums even, packed into the booth of an old pub in his hometown, the leather well-worn and a match on the telly that he half watches while one of his mates goes up to the bar to order another round for them. In between his third and fourth pint of lukewarm mild, he thinks something like, wonder what Simon’s up to.

The thought comes and then keeps coming. Keeps cropping up when he least expects. At the pub (wonder what Simon’s up to), in line at the grocery store (wonder how Ghost takes his steak), drowsily puttering around the kitchen while making breakfast (no way he wears the mask at home), listening to some guy in front of him hack up a lung at the dry cleaner (Lt’d do his fuckin’ head in if he was here), and even in the shower with his head tipped back, rinsing out the suds (wonder if he’s got a girl tucked away at home). 

Is it so unusual? Johnny can’t remember a time in his life when someone lived in his head night and day, but Ghost’s presence feels like an extension of his own these days. He’s cycled through girlfriends without a care in the world, without contemplating their existence for half as long, but they never cradled his life like a small bird in the palm of their hands and returned it safe and sound, did they?

Still, he feels it like a knot in his chest. Dreams about Ghost even; wakes up hot and hard, and scrubs his hand down the side of his face when he sits up in bed. Phantom memories of a body heavier than his weighing him down (just the duvet) and a thick hand curling around his dick (his own hand wrapped around his shaft, rubbing one out in his sleep). 

He shakes it off, but it follows him out into the real world. Looking at the door of a coffee shop and thinking absentmindedly, Ghost would have to duck under that. 

Johnny puts it out of his mind. As much as he’s able to, that is. Chalks it up to some kind of hero worship. He’s worked with superior officers before—plenty of times, hundreds of times—but there are few men of Ghost’s calibre, both in skillset and mystique. Not to mention the sheer size of the guy. And what is Johnny if not a moth to a flame?

Better not to ruminate. He casts the memory of seeing Ghost’s dick in the showers after their last mission (monstrous thing, uncut, pubes darker than the hair on his head, more than a mouthful—it’d give him lockjaw) out of his head. Doesn’t think about it. Laughs at a mate’s joke at the pub when he didn’t catch a word of it to mask the way he perked up at the sight of a wide-shoulder man until he turned around, giving Johnny a proper look at his face.

He’s not ready to think about it. Might never be able to really look at why he eats it up, why he struts around with his chin cocked just a bit higher than usual because he knows everyone else is watching him with equal parts envy and curiosity for being Ghost’s favourite. 

Then, one day, he meets a girl.

Johnny’s not winning an award any time soon for world’s best son, but he knows a thing or two. The first thing being chocolates and the second being flowers. His sisters handle the rest; they fuss about the party, get a gift certificate to the spa, send out the invites—all that fun stuff. He’s sent off for the bare essentials. Practically kicked out of the house by his oldest sister—nearly brains himself on the asphalt and tugs his windbreaker on when it’s thrown out the door after him a second later, grumbling about being the errand boy.

He picks up a box of chocolates from the corner shop (not fancy enough, his sisters will probably bitch, but that’s a problem for later) before heading down the road to the florist. There’s a bench out front stacked with tin flower vases, the only spot of colour on a dreary spring morning. He spends a couple minutes chatting with the cashier and flirting a bit halfheartedly (he thinks maybe it’ll be worth it if it gets him a discount, even five percent off) until the florist comes out from the back. 

“Jesus, who gave ye the right?” Johnny breathes, horse blinders on, vision narrowing on the object of desire coming out of the back in a linen apron and simple t-shirt underneath, scissors poking out of the front pocket. 

“The right?” she repeats back, blinking.

“To leave the house lookin’ so fuckin’ gorgeous. Glad I wasn’t driving when I passed you by—woulda been in a twenty car pile up.”

She’s not impressed in the slightest. It’s thrilling. By that point, the cashier is long forgotten. Probably not the best impression he’s ever made, but he’s made worse ones. It’s not every day he comes across an angel. Hard to be polite in front of a real life miracle. 

He wears her down over the week though, showing up each day for a new bouquet. His mam’s never liked him more, so at least there’s that. His sisters side-eye him whenever he ducks out of the house to head down the road to the florist’s, but even they know better than to bring it up and risk pissing off their mam. He interrogates her about flowers and her job, makes his presence unavoidable, a week long siege that ends with Johnny taking her out to dinner and then letting her take him to bed. 

He wakes up nestled in her cozy apartment above the flower shop, stretching out and making himself right at home. When she trades in her linen apron for a terry cloth robe and stands expectantly by the door, Johnny just grins. Shows all of his teeth. 

“Are ye just gonna use me and kick me out?” he pouts. Folds his hands behind his head and digs a foot into the sheets, trying to sink into the mattress. Little king in his castle. 

“You know, you don’t have to pussyfoot around with me. Weren’t you just trying to get laid?” she asks, brow arched. The disbelief thick in her voice makes it clear what she thinks of him. 

“No’ just some playboy, hen,” he scoffs. “I have feelings too.”

Her other eyebrow lifts. He’s tickled pink.

He plays the part well, he supposes. Lounges in bed and eats grapes all morning while she stares at him from the kitchen like he might dissipate at any moment. He’s used to leaving a false impression, like a lake that someone builds their house next to until years go by and someone says I think this was once a meteor. 

When she comes back to bed around mid morning, Johnny wastes no time pulling her up onto the bed until she plants her cunt over his mouth and sinks down onto his waiting tongue. 

Candy sweet pussy, he thinks blissfully, then says it out loud because he can never keep his mouth shut. It must tickle because she yelps and nearly pulls away from his face altogether, but he wrenches her back down, fingers digging into her ass cheeks a bit too forcefully. He’ll pay for that later. 

In the aftermath, when she collapses beside him in bed and rests her head on his chest while he plays with her hair, he itches in his skin to message Ghost. It perplexes him. They never text, he and Ghost; they don’t call, they don’t write, they don’t email. For all intents and purposes, their relationship ends at the perimeter around base, dissolves to nothing. It’s not Ghost’s fault he trickles into Johnny’s dreams sometimes. 

A week goes by. Calm the mind. He thinks of Ghost and his fingers tremble and the phone stays silent and he lets the thought go. Steady. Breathe in and out. His caryatid girl slips in and out of his sheets, hesitant always like he might leave. Johnny doesn’t know if she wants him to, wants to feel vindicated in her assumption, but of all her wants, that ranks the lowest in his mind. 

He spirals deeper into it, infatuated. She’s sweet but snippy, candy sweet with a sour kick—everything he’s ever wanted in a girl. Ever unimpressed, watching him with a small, hidden smile, amused despite herself. 

Johnny wonders if this is the universe waving its hand in front of his face. Yoohoo, missing something?

He looks pointedly away. 

It’s new, but maybe he’s like every other military man in the world, unable to go with the flow, dissatisfied with seeing where things go. He needs instant gratification, everything now-now-now, the certainty of commitment—he spills blood with everyone he knows, so why would his girl be any different?

Returning back to base is harder this time around. The last day of his leave is an exercise in restraint, tempered only by her smile when he sees her off at the door to her apartment, reluctant to leave. 

“C’mon, promise me you’ll call, hen,” Johnny mumbles into her mouth, catching her answer with a languid swipe of his tongue. His arms press her tight to his chest, digging his hands into her back pockets and giving a good squeeze, relishing in the way she squeaks. “How’m I gonna survive without ye, huh? They’re gonna have to jumpstart my heart after it gives out from missing ye so bad.”

“So dramatic. You have my number,” she says when he finally pulls back enough to let her speak.

“No, please, baby, please—promise me—”

“Oh my god, alright, fine—I’ll call. Now get going already.”

The drive back to base leaves him feeling bedraggled, lost. When he gets in, it’s straight to the barracks, an hour long nap before reporting to Price, dragging his feet the whole way over. Moping, for lack of a better word, until he rounds a corner and nearly collides with someone that stops him with a single hand on his shoulder. 

When he looks up to eyes rimmed in black paint, the world lightens. His shoulders lift. 

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Johnny.”

It takes Johnny awhile to bring her up with Ghost. Something keeps holding him back, choking him when he tries to say it outloud. He blames it on uncertainty (had to be sure she was the one, Lt, ye ken?) but he feels the truth at the core of him. When he does finally muster up the nerve to pass his phone to Ghost where her photo is front and centre, no mistaking his intentions, he waits on tenterhooks for a reaction. 

Only breathes out when Ghost asks to meet her. He can do that. 

“Aye, Lt. Just for you.”

[juniemunie]

Its the kids turn!! ⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

i put way too much effort in this

Don't worry they're still FAR from the conventional nuclear family lmao

PJ is by @/7goodangel

Gradient is by @/askcomboclub

Template by @/unu-nunu-art

Error and Fresh by @/loverofpiggies

Ink by @/comyet

Design notes under!

Design Notes for PJ:

-Error patches up the tears on his scarf! Very nice of him to do.

-All the art materials he has stashed on his belt are for food. He likes to snack on em often.

-Because of Error's..."tolerance" of him, he has more strings that he can use. He's got enough to form legs.

-Fresh gifts him magical ink durable Heely shoes! Instead of shedding footprints all over the place, he can instead heely/skate around and leave behind lines. He's creative on using it during battles. He would never admit it, but he appreciates the gift.

Design Notes for Gradient:

-I based his outfit off ye old web aesthetics like Cyber Grunge,,, I really liked the big pants look on him.

-I placed his scarf on his neck to match with his family, but also to match Template's scarf hehe, a little sign of his influence.

-You can't see it but his laptop bag has a ton of pins and merch of random dated internet references.

-His shoes looking old design Ink's shoes were complete accident but I liked it enough to keep anyway. Maybe Ink gave it to him and he spiced it up!

[saphushia]

workin out some older!everlasting trio designs (technically dcdp as in it's how i imagine them in the crossover setting) and also control freaks doodling bc i fuckin love that episode <3

[whomst-the-hell]

“Tammy Thompson,” says Robin, voice choked.

“But Tammy Thompson is a girl?” says Steve, feeling the full effect of Russian drugs and not seeing what Tammy Thompson has to do with him being rejected right now.

“Steve.”

“Oh.”

So maybe he does see what Tammy Thompson has to do with him getting rejected right now.

Ok.

“Did you OD over there?” fear is audible in Robin’s voice.

He steels himself.

“You know… I was never looking back. At Tammy, I mean.”

“That doesn’t really- Thanks, I guess,” Robin sighs.

“No, I- hm. I wasn’t looking at Tammy because… because Eddie Munson sat in front of me in Ms Click’s class.“

“Steve?” Robin looks confused, but there is a hesitant kind of hope blooming on her face.

“And he always wore those rings, you know? And they’d, like, shine in the light. And he had all those fucking chains so even when he managed to shut the fuck up, he was never quiet and- and- fuck. “

“Steve.” Robin’s eyes are wide, understanding dawning on her face.

They sit, facing one another across a bathroom stall, smelling of blood, sweat and vomit. They aren’t alone anymore.

They never will be again.

[choccy-milky]

just the wedding pic bc i rly like it🥹💖