#ill probably post this to ao3 soon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

feralghxuls · 2 years

Note

50 for the top songs playlist, any character!

hiiii thank you for sending this!! unfortunately, it is angst >:3

the song was Fake by I Prevail, and these are the lines that inspired this:

Dew storms out of yet another rehearsal, after snapping yet another set of strings. The strings for the Hagström just aren't as durable as his bass's had been. Particularly not under the extreme temperatures his fingers creep up to without his noticing. Barely a wisp of smoke and a few notes going flat as the strings heat and stretch, that's all the warning he gets before one more hard strum snaps them all in one go.

Dew remembers snarling and shaking his hand out against the sting of six strings whipping all their tension into his skin; he remembers flinging the guitar somewhere, hearing something crash and a hot feeling of satisfaction; he remembers someone calling his name; he remembers raising a bleeding middle finger.

He doesn't remember how he got here, to the roof beside the bell tower. He never used to go for heights like this, when he'd been a water ghoul. But after the transformation ritual, when emotions boil over, he just has this urge to go up and up and up. As high as he can get. Usually he ends up in a tree in the woods, which at first had been extremely disorienting. Coming out of a blurry haze of fury and finding himself swaying in the uppermost branches of a tree had been, to put it lightly, fucking terrifying. But at least the wood was good for sinking his claws into for a good grip, and if he scorched a few branches the clergy didn't dock it from his pay.

Read the rest under the cut or on Ao3!

Here on the roof, though, the shingles are slick under his toes, and his claws scrape uselessly for purchase; he'd lost his shoes somewhere between the rehearsal room and here, which is a thought that makes his blood boil because it's just one more fucking thing.

He can't control his stupid element, he can't control his emotions, and the fucking clergy expects him to play nice with the Cardinal and all these new ghouls who seem intent on befriending him and he can't for the life of him fathom why. And then there's Aether, constantly trying to defend him and pick up his messes and Dew never asked him to do that and it just makes him feel worse, that someone else feels the need to apologize for him.

And there's that stupid fucking water ghoul–

Rain's scent floods his senses a split second before he hears the scrape of a shoe on roof tiles. Dew snaps his teeth in Rain's direction and scrambles back, away, feeling a few shingles kick loose but he can't be bothered to care. He hasn't cooled off enough yet and the last ghoul he wants to see is Rain.

When Dew is calm, he understands that Rain is only a pawn. He was summoned to the Ghost project just the same as everyone else, just following instructions; it's not Rain's fault that Dew's element was changed.

Dew is not fucking calm.

Rain can tell. He hangs back by the window, sitting on the ledge with one foot on the roof and the other still inside, head tilted slightly. Watching. Dew snarls louder. Rain lifts a hand, shows Dew's shoes dangling from his fingers. He tosses them across the roof at him, and Dew instinctually darts forward to catch them as they bounce and clatter across the slanted surface of the roof, knowing deep in his bones that it will feel like a horrible punch to the gut if he has to watch one of those shoes tumble over the edge of the roof.

Both shoes safely in hand, Dew skitters back several feet, crouched with his weight on his heels and the shoes cradled against his chest. He glares ferociously at Rain, who's got both feet on the roof now, still sitting in the windowsill. Dew doesn't ask before he slams into Rain's thoughts, demanding, What the fuck do you want?

Rain doesn't even blink. He just looks at Dew, and that stupid head tilt is infuriating. Wanted to check on you, he says finally.

Dew scoffs, huffing a puff of steam from his nose and baring his teeth at rain, ears pinned. I didn't ask you to do that, he snaps, tail lashing behind him. Rain's own tail hangs down from the window ledge, relaxed except for a slow, thoughtful flick of the end of it.

No, he muses, standing and taking a step towards Dew. I wanted to.

Dew doesn't move. He refuses to give any more ground. Rain has a way of getting under his skin, even when he's riled up like this, of digging his claws into the cracks of his soul, but instead of breaking him open, he just…sits. And waits for Dew to put himself back together, and then Rain melts away. It's fucking infuriating.

Do you like what you see? Dew snarls, unable to stand the silence or the way Rain is looking at him, his stupid face all calm and quiet. He hates that it's a little contagious. Are you having fun watching me fucking lose it?

No, Rain says again, brows drawing together. There's a very slight edge of distaste to his voice this time he says the word, and again he takes a step forward. And this time he keeps talking. I don't like when you're like this.

Then go. Go back to the pit, for all I care. Dew's voice is still harsh, but it's losing its edge. Despite his stubbornness, his insistence on staying in his black mood, Rain is rubbing off on him.

No. The word is firm this time, accompanying another step. I'm helping you. I know you don't like it, but someone has to. And Aether–

Aether /what./ Dew snarls, cutting him off, furious and rising to his feet. Watch your fucking mouth, or I will crack your horns and send you back myself.

Rain just blinks at him, tail flicking mildly. Aether is exhausting himself.

Anger flares, then fades into sickening guilt that drops Dew's stomach into his toes, and then he doesn't know how to handle that so it boils right back into rage and he stalks across the roof towards Rain. I didn't ask him to do that either. That's not my fucking problem, and I'm sick of both of you, of your self-righteous shit. Neither of you really give a shit, do you? Just trying to keep the shitty peace. Fuck that fake shit.

By now, Dew is level with Rain, jabbing a claw into his chest as he rages at him, teeth bared and snarling and Rain just…absorbs it. Unbothered. Just like he always is.

Yes, Dewdrop. Keeping the peace. That's all it is, Rain says, and an awful feeling spreads through Dew. Yes, he'd been saying hateful things, but a confirmation that they're true makes his lips part in shock and he actually takes a step back, ears relaxing slightly from pinned flat to a more hurt angle. And then Rain's tone sinks in, and he realizes there was sarcasm there, and bitter spite rises and he jerks forward, right back into Rain's space. Rain speaks before he can, though: Of course we care about you. If it was simply about keeping the peace, we would find a new fire ghoul. You're pack, Dew. I shouldn't have to tell you that we care.

Dew doesn't know what to do with that. It feels like the entire range of emotions he's capable of feeling are whirling through him at break-neck speed, and he's frozen, staring at Rain. Dew watches him tip his head two degrees to the side, dark eyes watching him, observing. He always knows just the right moment to go in for the kill, and he does it so swiftly that Dew doesn't have time to defend himself, and suddenly he finds himself bundled up in Rain's arms wound tightly around him. He goes stiff for a second, but he's weak to the way Rain holds him, with surprising strength in those arms, compressing him with enough force that he comes undone every time. He melts, all his emotions seeping out of him and leaving him trembling in Rain's arms, his face pressed into the crook of his neck. He hates this. He needs it. He doesn't understand it.

Rain seems to, though, and he always somehow knows the exact moment he needs to ease up and let Dew stand on his own before he gets restless and the whole process has to start over. Rain steps back, eyes on Dew, who feels impossibly raw, but he nods at Rain and averts his gaze. It's as close as he can stand to expressing gratitude, to telling Rain he's no longer on the brink of completely losing his shit. So Rain gives him this secret little smile and turns to head back across the roof, trusting that Dew will follow him.

And he does.

#dorito.txt #dorito writes #dorito fics #dorito answers #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #raindrop #ill uhhh probably throw this on ao3 later but here you go anon!#(i hurt my own feelings w this)#if anyone follows my stuff on ao3 too this would fit in sometime relatively soon after the most recent fic i posted

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bunnyreaper · 9 months

Text

𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖘 𝔞 𝔰𝔬𝔞𝔭 𝔪𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝖕𝖙 1 — 𝖕𝖙 2 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 wc - 5.7k warnings - 18+/nsfw, dom sub dynamic, eventual romance/smut, medium burn? notes - first part of my owner!soap x pet!reader, woohoo! i already regret writing something centered around texting and calling lmao, crying!! the formatting is killing me!! anyway, also on ao3! and if you wanna send a request, pls do! ♥

Lonely girl looking for owner.

Posting on this subreddit again was probably a mistake—but a deep-down part of you clings to the hope that this time will be the time you find someone, the time you get to go home to him.

At least this time, you'll be better at spotting the signs right off the bat—if only you can take off the rose-tinted glasses long enough to take note.

Your inbox is flooded with the usual kinds of messages—unsolicited pictures, low-effort one-sentence wonders, and so-called doms jumping straight to the part where they call you a nasty whore with no actual consideration for the person you are.

You're just about to give up, delete the post, and ignore all chat requests when a message arrives in your inbox.

From: squeakycleanscot

Subject: Lonely guy looking for girl

Hi,

Saw your post and knew I had to message. You sound like everything I'm looking for and more.

I'm a little younger than the age you put on your post, but I think I fit your other requirements. I'm 27, Scottish (yes, with the accent), and in the army, I hope that's a turn-on rather than a turn-off.

When I'm not deployed, I like cosy nights in, preferably with my love by my side. Don't mind a night at the pub either, especially if there's a Celtic match on, not that anywhere near here shows them.

I'm looking for something longer term like you mentioned (would love to collar my girl one day, which is probably ironic considering I'm a wee bit scared of dogs.)

Happy to send a picture if you'd like :)

Hope to hear from you soon,

Johnny.

You reread the message, turning his words over in your mind.

Something about his message has your attention—it at least suggests he has a brain in his head and a heart capable of empathy, and that maybe he's serious.

You begin typing your reply instantly, your fingers moving so fast you have to type and retype so many parts to rid the message of all of the overexcited mistakes.

hi johnny,

scottish?! is it bad im already imagining how your dirty talk will sound?

it's funny, i always wanted to join the army growing up, but it never worked out. maybe it's for the best as now i'm not immune to enjoying a hot man in uniform... which I'm assuming you are ;)

cosy nights in are my favourite too! I'm a bit of a homebody and love being snuggled up more than anything. i have to let you know in advance that you have some stiff competition in the form of my giant teddy bear, barnaby.

i'm looking for something longer term too, or at least not a one night kind of thing—a collar one day would be the dream <;3

if you send a picture, ill send one back, nothing sexy just yet though, if that's okay?

have you met up with someone off here before? just curious about your experiences!

y/n

As soon as the message is sent, the overthinking kicks in—was that too much? Is he going to think you're weird?

You shuffle in bed, turning over between the sheets and trying to flick through other apps as you wait for a reply—otherwise, you'd just be staring at the notifications bar waiting for that silly little robot face to pop up.

Johnny doesn't leave you waiting long, only a few minutes passing from your last message.

Maybe you'll find out sooner rather than later just how my dirty talk sounds ;)

I tried to sneak in before I was old enough, but they caught on. Served since I was 18 though, you'll have a lot of stories ready from me if you're ever willing to listen. Not sure if the uniform is anything like you're thinking though, in my unit it's mostly just t-shirts, tac vests and trousers.

I'll prepare my best snuggling arms for if we ever meet. You should inform Barnaby now about his replacement, mind.

Can't not send a sexy photo though, sorry lass, all my pictures are. I'm sure you understand, lol

Haven't met anyone, had a few conversations but nothing worth pursuing, and had kind of given up until I saw your post.

His message is the perfect mix of sexy, sweet, and sincere—and if that is the essence of the man, you know he's everything you're looking for.

You try not to think too hard about a hot Scottish accent calling you all your favourite names or telling you exactly what to do, or even those stories he has to tell, as the idea is all too exciting.

Reading his message, you instinctively reach out to pat Barnaby when you see he may end up replaced—hopefully the poor bear will understand when he has to vacate the bed for this sexy soldier man.

looking forward to it. can I start putting in requests now for bedtime stories too?

i still wanna see, maybe in your sexy-not-sexy pic?

barnaby will be devastated by the news, and you may have to give him hugs too (but not for too long, or i'll get lonely!!!)

same here, about things not going anywhere... or people turning out to be a bit scary, so you're not allowed to let me down, okay?

Maybe the last part of the message was too much, but your heart is already soaring with unbridled hope—along with that hope comes doubt too.

Each second waiting for a reply drags, and you take to re-reading his messages and clicking on his profile to investigate.

It's largely empty of posts, but there are tons of comments across different communities—including his aforementioned football team, r/Scotland, and eyebleach.

Clearly, he's a softie at heart.

When his next message comes through, it's an Imgur link with a short message.

Here we go, a few months old though now. Don't have anything more recent from work :)

You take a moment or two to steady yourself before you tap the link. While you definitely feel like you and Johnny have already started to click, if he's not your type then it probably won't go anywhere...

It's a situation you've been in before—great conversation, similar interests but no physical attraction, and back then you didn't have the heart to break it off straight away.

You tap the link and are greeted by a full-body shot of a tall, well-built man in tactical clothes. His hair is a neatly trimmed mohawk, and while his face isn't crystal clear, he's clearly fucking handsome. His biceps bulge from the gray tee stretched over his torso, his large hands are covered with gloves and grasping a gun.

Your eyes trail to his long legs, thick thighs encased in camo and strapped with various holsters. All in all, the picture is perfect. You find yourself zooming in desperately to get a better look at his face, the handsome jaw lined with stubble that you can already imagine between your legs. The whole image and every new detail has you squirming in your bed, and cheekily wishing to save the image to your phone.

holyfwucj

holy fuck

Like what you see?

i need a hug from you urgently.

now i feel shy...

It had crossed your mind ever so slightly that Johnny may be out of your league, or that he simply may not be attracted to someone like you, which would be a complete shame. Now you've set eyes on him, you want him even more—want to kneel at those feet and stare up at his hulking figure while he tugs on a leash around your neck.

Hopefully, just like you, he'll be smitten from the first glance.

Scrolling through your camera roll, you decide you don't exactly love any recent photos of yourself. The ones at your last work event have you looking far too corporate, and the only image from your last night out was taking in a bathroom mirror in the local Wetherspoons—neither of which is ideal.

You crawl out from the warmth of your sheets, kneeling on the end of the bed and posing as you point your camera in the mirror that sits across the room and captures you perfectly. Before you start snapping, you adjust your top to make sure too much isn't on display, even though it's strappy and cropped, and definitely a little bit more on the tantalising side as far as your pyjamas go.

Hopefully, Johnny likes the pose and the outfit... and you. You can see your smiling face just to the side of your phone as you press to capture the picture—and when you return to your inbox to send the picture link, a message is waiting for you.

I already know you're gorgeous. Don't leave me hanging, bonnie.

okay. this is me now, all ready for bed!!

Holy fuck yourself.

And I'm assuming that's Barnaby in the background.

If he notices the pose, he doesn't comment on it, instead delighting your heart by commenting on Barnaby instead.

sure is! he's ready for snuggles and sleep.

Can you do me a favour?

That message makes your heart skip because usually when something like that is asked, it's followed with a request for nudes or something sexual—and while that is a large part of something like this, you crave the connection first, crave someone actually sticking around and getting to know you.

depends on what it is!

Tell Barnaby to keep looking after you until I get there, yeah?

does that mean you're coming for me?

One day, if we're both lucky.

seems promising so far, Johnny.

Get some sleep, yeah? Maybe tomorrow night I'll give you a bell.

The idea of this conversation ending is heart-wrenching, but at least sleep will bring you closer to that possible phone call. Hearing his voice, now that will be even more incredible.

how do you expect me to sleep after telling me that? so mean!

Patience, bonnie. Be good for me?

You clench, your thighs squeezing together as arousal rushes through you. It's like he knows exactly how far to go, what buttons to press, what you're looking for.

It's the right kind of commanding, toeing the line perfectly between flirtatious and in charge. A lot of guys you've talked to have rushed it made commands too early, and sent you running. Johnny's words, be good for me? You can't help but want to behave.

okay, but I see how this is going to be :(

Bet you look so fucking good with a pout ;)

now you're just being a cruel tease, Johnny...

Sorry, I'll stop. Sleep, yeah, for me?

cuddling up to barnaby now.

You decide to attach another picture, your eyes screwed shut and cheeks squished as you wrap yourself around the bear and cuddle up under the sheets.

talk tomorrow?

Of course, bonnie, sweet dreams <;3

You lock your phone, your eyes feeling relieved as they adjust to the darkness.

For a brief moment, you just clutch your phone to your chest and recall the picture Johnny had sent, how much you'd love to be wrapped up in his arms tonight.

He's the only thing on your mind as you drift off to sleep.

-//-

Your dreams are tumultuous, starting off with a nightmare of being chased and chased until your legs give out, only for you to find salvation and safety in a stranger's arms—one who seemed vaguely familiar.

The first thing you do when you wake is roll over to check your phone, elation overtaking you when you see a notification from Johnny already waiting there—already he's blessing you with a good morning message.

Good morning, sweet girl.

Attached under the picture is another image link, and clicking on it brings up an absolutely gorgeous picture of Johnny, lazing in bed. There's just enough light in the room for you to see the brightness of his eyes that you couldn't see before—his mohawk is mussed, and his smile is easy, drawing you in.

He's even more handsome in this up close photo, you can only imagine what he looks like in person, right before you.

morning Johnny <3 how did you sleep?

Like a baby. Yourself?

not the best, but I swear you were in my dream.

Sorry to hear that, but oh already? What did I do?

I mean, it was a bulky guy with a mohawk but he didn't have your name, I think it was meant to be you though.

You recall the safety you felt in the arms of the strange figure, it was serene, and everything you hope to feel when you find the one—hopefully that's Johnny.

My dreams were shite, you didn't show up.

i'll try harder to be there tonight!!

Promise?

promise.

God, he's so fucking sweet. It's hard to imagine he's into all the things you mentioned in your initial post, at least right now. But you're all too familiar with how appearances can be deceiving—you wonder what else your sweet Scot is into.

You peel back the covers and head out into the kitchen, flicking the kettle on mindlessly as you keep your eyes fixated on the screen—not wanting to be even a minute late to answering Johnny's texts, even though it seems there's a natural lull in the conversation.

You return your focus to making your tea, and your thoughts don't drift from Johnny for even a moment, as you ponder ways to keep the conversation going. Admittedly, you have a million and one questions you want, but you don't want to come across too... eager? clingy? Like some serial killer fiending for information?

It's crazy the way your heart yearns for him so soon—and it's crazy the way that you wish he feels the same as you do. You wonder how his day is going, and if he's staring at your phone waiting for your message.

With tea brewed, you set it on the coffee table and flop onto the plush couch, rushing to open the app when a new notification pops up.

What's your plan for the day?

lazy day, binge-watching... texting you? wbu?

I have to work for a bit, but I'll message you when I can.

On a weekend? That's horrible, but I imagine they run a tight ship over there.

You rush to follow up your message with something else.

will you still be able to call tonight?

Aye, give me your number, I'll save it!

You send off your number and don't hear anything from Johnny for a good few hours. You pass the time watching one of your favourite shows, and trying to resist the urge to go scroll down Johnny's profile once more.

The next time a message pops up, it's well past lunch.

Cute profile pic on whatsapp.

Johnny has clearly added your number to his contacts and spied your picture on the app. You blush thinking of him seeing you in that costume—especially after he knows what you're into.

it was Halloween, I swear!!

You make an adorable little kitten, lass.

imagination running wild now? ;)

Aye, but I'm a gent.

hopefully not always...

Oh, you'll see. Talk to you tonight, kitty.

talk to you then <;3

Now you're just itching, waiting for the hours to crawl by for Johnny's workday to end, so you can talk to him again, so you can finally hear his voice.

What will it sound like saying your name? Whispering sweet nothings in your ears?

The hours pass slowly until a different notification lights up your phone as you cuddle into your sheets.

Hey, it's Johnny! Just got home.

You scramble to click on the pop-up, spying his own profile picture in the corner—tapping on it to view it closer.

It's the Johnny you recognise, smiling wide with his arm slung around another man. He looks so ridiculously happy, probably due to the pint in his other hand. The more you look at him, the more you can't believe you're talking to this man, that he wants to talk to you.

You quickly add him to your contacts, putting a heart next to his name, before you return to the chat and begin to type.

i'm not the only one with a cute pfp!!

Three sheets to the wind in that picture, actually.

i can tell <3

Ready to call?

whenever you're ready!

The image of him floods your screen, the screen pulsing as it waits for you to accept. Your fingers tremble as you press the button, and you fall silent as you press the phone to your ear, nerves gripping at your throat.

"Hi, bonnie." His voice drifts from the phone speaker, sweet like honey and warm like sunshine, with that gorgeous accent too.

"Hi." You squeak out, silently cursing at yourself for being so nervous and seemingly unable to speak.

A melodic laugh follows your words, amused but not cruel or mocking. "Are you nervous?" His voice is soothing, his concern and sweet nature evident.

You cradle your burning cheek, feeling the way your blush spreads across your smiling face. "Just a little, can you blame me?"

He's laughing again, and you hear a shuffling noise that suggests he's getting comfortable. "Don't be, I'll look after yer, I promise."

Fuck. You could get used to hearing that. "I really like your voice." You admit, whispering into the phone with a ridiculous grin on your face.

"I like yours too, you sound so sweet."

You drop your voice lower, giggling mischievously. "Only sometimes."

"That's what I like ta hear." The way Johnny's voice dips as he says that has your insides fluttering, but you can only assume he's returning the favour. His tone returns to its usual charming tone as he asks, "How was your lazy day?"

"Well, I kind of spent a fair bit of it distracted, thinking about this important call I was going to have tonight..."

"Oh aye, I should get off the phone so you can wait then."

"Funny. How was yours? What do you even do day to day, anyway?" You ask, voice brimming with curiosity—there are so many things you want to ask, but you imagine his job can be secretive.

"Lots of training, and sometimes paperwork, which is right shite."

"Not when you don't have someone under the desk keeping you company." You laugh, taking the chance to flirt. If you were into Johnny after reading his messages, actually hearing his voice is only making your attraction soar.

A quiet fuck can be heard, as the man on the end of the phone heaves out a breath. "I'll have ta look into getting you clearance if you keep talking like that, lass."

"Glad to be of service, what can I say?" You find yourself in a giggle fit at your own silliness, a mix of nerves and joy at enjoying yourself so much.

"God, I love yer laugh." The deep sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten.

The drug that is Johnny is already so intoxicating.

"I'm so glad you can't see me blushing."

"I'm no'." He sounds so indignant about that. "But I could listen to that laugh all day, really."

If only he could see you pout too. "Now you're just trying to make me blush more."

He chuckles, his voice dropping dangerously flirtatious again. "Maybe I am, nothing you can do about it."

"Now I'm pouting."

"Better not pout in front of me, lass." His suggestive tone makes you shiver.

"Oh, why's that?" You ask, playing coy.

"'Cause I'll just have to start kissing ya, might even nibble on those soft little lips."

You suppress a delighted squeak, already so flustered at even the idea of a kiss. "I'm not hearing a downside."

"No?"

"Nope."

"Might not be gentle with you, though."

"Good thing that I like it rough." The words are out of you before you can reconsider, but they have exactly the effect you intend as you hear Johnny inhale sharply.

"Ach, you and yer wicked mouth."

"You have no idea..."

He lets out a rough exhale, his voice turning gravelly and deep. "Fuck, bonnie."

"Hey, I'm only repaying the favour, I've been squirming desperately pretty much since I picked up the phone."

He whistles approvingly, his voice now teasing and playfully menacing. "Just you wait til I'm really in ya head."

"You're already making good progress." You admit.

"Oh aye?"

You hum contentedly, eyes flickering shut for a moment. "I'll be imagining your voice as I fall asleep tonight."

"I'll just have ta send yer voice notes to drift off to, so I can end up in your dreams again." You can almost hear the smirk in his voice.

"Already spoiling me, too."

Fuck, how is it this man seems to know exactly what to say? Everything that comes out of his mouth takes root in your brain and sends your thoughts running wild—it's like he's already in your head, or as if someone made him in a lab.

"I'll spoil ya every day, if you're ever mine."

You groan in frustration, unbelieving that a stranger can be so seemingly perfect. "How are you even single, Johnny?"

"I could ask you the same. Taking everything in me to not ask for an address right now, if I'm being honest." He huffs a laugh.

While the idea is thrilling, you know you should have at least some sense of preservation, and shouldn't blurt out your postcode for this strange man you barely know. "I'm worth the wait, I swear." You whisper your promise.

"I'm sure yer are. But to answer your question, my work keeps me busy a lot, and this lifestyle isn't for everyone." There's a hint of vulnerability to his voice, and you sense such a fact is a sore point in his personal life.

In the fantasy of all of this, you suppose the reality of the situation isn't something you'd stopped to consider. Life for a man in the military was surely so different from a regular 9-5. "I'm guessing that you're away a lot?"

"Aye, sometimes for just a few days, sometimes for months, all depends." His admission is soft, as if you can hear in his tone that he's waiting for you to bolt.

If that's the big 'catch' when it comes to Johnny, you can breathe a sigh of relief. "Yeah, I guess you need someone strong and loyal to hold on and wait for you."

There's a tense silence, something lingering in the air.

"Hard to come by, I've found."

The thought makes your stomach twist in the worst possible way. Johnny, at least on the surface, seems so worthy of love.

You chance the question that's on the tip of your tongue, hoping Johnny doesn't mind your reckless curiosity. "Have... you been cheated on?"

"More than once, gets less surprising over the years." He finishes with a sad laugh, as you can tell he tries to infuse humour into the whole thing.

"That's... horrible."

Being sent away from your home to face gunfire and warfare, all to keep the people back home safe... only to be betrayed by the people back home who love you, who are supposed to wait for you. It's a gut-wrenching thought, and your heart aches for the man.

"A few of the lads here have a similar story."

"So the army, not for the faint of heart, and dating an army man, not for the faint of heart." You sigh, though you don't feel put off by the thought.

"Exactly. That you then? Faint of heart?"

"No. I mean, inside I'm clingy as hell, and I'd miss you like crazy every day until you got back..." Your emotions overtake you, as you imagine a future where you'd have to kiss the man goodbye for maybe months at a time. "But I get the feeling that what we could have would be worth the wait. Hypothetically of course."

At that, Johnny laughs, and his light tone returns. "Don't want to get too far ahead of ourselves, aye."

You don't want to get ahead of yourself, you know you shouldn't, but the way you and Johnny have clicked is unlike anything you've felt before. "But... I have a good feeling."

"I do too, already dreading putting down the phone."

"I'm not planning on it anytime soon, even if I have to be up early tomorrow."

"So do I, alarms set for 4."

You do not envy his lifestyle one bit.

"That's awful! I'm gonna be so cranky tomorrow, I might have to use my lunch break for a nap." You admit, preemptively yawning into your hand.

"You one of those perpetually sleepy girls?"

You nod, even though he can't see it. "The sleepiest."

"Barnaby is a lucky bear, getting to cuddle up to you so much."

You burst out laughing at the hint of envy in his words. "Are you... jealous?"

"For now, but soon the tables will turn." He faked an evil laugh, that only makes you giggle harder.

"Oh, you think you can give better snuggles than him?"

"Oh, I know I can, bonnie. The bear can't wrap his arms around yer, can't whisper sweet things in your ear..." His voice dips back into that seductive, teasing tone. "... Can't trail his hands down to that pretty little pussy."

Once more, you flush with desire, every nerve alight as Johnny's words wash over you—although it seems like almost everything he says has your body reacting. "You have an interesting way of cuddling, Johnny."

"Didnae say I was actually gonna do anything once my hands got down there."

"Well, I wouldn't be opposed."

"When you're in my arms, you wouldn't have a choice, lass." The dark, dominant voice makes you shiver, makes your submissive instincts awaken.

"Oh yeah?"

He hums slowly. "Once you're mine, you leave the choices to me. Johnny knows best, yeah?"

"Johnny knows best." You whisper breathlessly, the words coming out automatically, like they just feel right.

"Steamin' Jesus, can already tell yer gonna be the death of me."

"Can't have that, your family won't get your death in service payout!" You laugh awkwardly, before a sense of guilt rears its head. "Sorry, grim joke."

"I don't mind. You should hear some of the ones my Lt. comes out with, he's a right sick bastard." He chuckles.

"Never want to make light of it and hurt you, though."

"Telling jokes makes it easier hen, you'll be wishing me dead in no time at all."

You gasp, shocked by the prospect. "I'd never!"

"Not even when I deny you from touching yourself for my entire deployment? Months of nothing at all?" The sick grin is evident in his voice.

"You wouldn't, that's so mean. You're too sweet for that."

"Aye, for now, but don't you like a little bit of meanness, if yer into men like me..." The edge to his voice and the truth to your words has you trembling.

"Maybe..." You singsong in response, not wanting to give away just how much you liked the idea of his mean side.

"Bonnie..." He tuts disapprovingly. "Don't play coy."

You shudder out a breath as you squeeze your thighs together for relief. "I just don't want you to bully me too much right now, I'm already soaked."

"Is that right?" He seems delightfully surprised by such a revelation.

"Mhmm."

"I'm fucking rock hard if it helps, think I have been since last night..." You hear him shuffle, and you try not to imagine what's happening on the other end of the line, or how he looks lying in bed with said hardness.

When he groans hungrily down the line, you feel yourself quake once more. "The sight of you on your fucking knees... Christ alive."

You can't help but giggle at your unintended teasing. "It wasn't on purpose, I thought it was cute more than anything."

"Adorable and naughty, could cum just looking at it." He huffs.

"You're just flattering me, besides, I could say the same about your picture."

Every part of you flushes thinking of the first photo he sent, all muscle and alpha male—it's like he was the physical embodiment of dominance, and just looking at him makes you want to kneel.

"You like the military get up?"

"Love it, more than I probably should."

"Oh aye, bet you'd love for me to order you around?" His words are playful, but underpinned with a hint of promise. "All in due time, eh?"

"All in due time. What's your rank, anyway?"

"Sergeant."

"Wait..." You take a deep breath as you consider your question. "Can I ask for your last name or is it too soon?"

"Mactavish."

Johnny Mactavish—you should remember to give that a quick Google search later.

"Sergeant Mactavish." You test the name on your tongue, trying to imagine him at work, following and giving orders.

"Sounds too good when you say it, bonnie." He laughs.

"Thank you, sergeant." Your affectation of the word is entirely intentional, as you attempt to rile him up with the use of his title.

The throaty groan that leaves him is addictive.

"What else do you like to be called?"

"Depends on what you want to call me really, but I like... sir."

"I like it too, will have to remember that for the future, and just torture you with sergeant in the meantime." You can't help but giggle as you flirt.

"Oh don't worry, am keeping score." He growls playfully. "Wait til I get ma hands on you, bonnie."

"You're keeping score?" You gasp, a heady mix of fear and arousal coursing through you almost urges you to be even more of a teasing brat.

"Aye, spanking arm at the ready."

"My pouting lips are ready."

"Won't be the only thing you use them lips for."

Fuck fuck fuck. Not that you hadn't thought about it already, hadn't already let your mind drift to what his cock might look like—whether it matches the size of the man—now you're definitely thinking about it. Fixated on it, craving it.

Some cards are best kept close to your chest so early on, so you change tack and go a different direction with his flirtation. "Yeah, with you in the room, I'd probably be smiling a whole lot."

The two of you continue to chat, you asking what you can about his work as he asks about yours, and you fill him in on the boring world you live in, which seems especially boring in comparison to taking down cartels and traveling the world.

The conversation never stops being easy, the flirtation and innuendo always right there at the tip of your tongues as you tease each other relentlessly—giving as good as you get. All night, you're practically grinding against your duvet as you get lost in Johnny's dulcet tones, and you find yourself just letting him speak for the sake of getting to hear more of his voice.

As Johnny is about to ask you more about your background, you're overcome with a harsh yawn that you desperately try to stifle. Your eyes have been shut for the last hour at least, but with the command Johnny has over your nervous system right now, it's been easy to stay awake.

"Tired, bonnie?" He asks, voice laced with sweet concern.

"Yeah..." Your voice falls quiet, as the thought of ending the call makes your throat constrict. "But I don't wanna stop talking."

"Me either, but av got bad news."

You know what's coming, and you know it isn't remotely anywhere near the end of the world, despite what your heart is telling you right now. "Go on."

"I have to go." Even he sounds sad about such an outcome.

"It's not even that late?" The clock reads 2 am.

"Gotta get a wee bit of sleep before I hit the gym, and then get off ta work. Don't you have work too?"

"Work from home tomorrow, so it's not too bad. Not fair though, I wanna keep talking." You admit quietly. It's too much too soon, but you're overwhelmed, the tide of your emotions crashing over the edges.

"Tell yer what. Next time we call, we can try leaving it on while we sleep."

Your heart flips, as you almost whimper at how cute the gesture is. "Are you trying to make me fall in love with you?"

"Obviously." There's that gorgeous laugh again. "Is it working?"

"Just a little, but that might be the lack of sleep talking, I might be going slightly insane."

Johnny sighs, and it's clear he's battling to keep a handle on his self-control. "Rest, bonnie, I won't be able to work knowing you're not sleepin'"

You sigh too, accepting your fate. "Okay, just for you."

"Just want what's best for you, you need your sleep."

Your head spins at how utterly sincere he sounds—the care in his voice after such a short amount of time serves to drive you even deeper into this infatuation. "Already?"

"Can't turn it off, am just protective by nature, bonnie. If you were my girl, you'd have a bedtime."

And that makes your cunt clench and your heart soar. "Johnny..." You whine.

"Yeah?"

You hesitate to say what you want to say next, but everything within you is calling out for him, desperate to be in his arms. "Don't make me wait too long to meet you, please."

His laughter is sweet, conveying a sense of understanding more than anything. "I'll try ma best, supposed to be off on Friday."

"5 whole days."

"Sure you don't wanna wait a bit longer?"

You shake your head, mumbling a sound to convey your feelings. "Feels right, don't know how to describe it... do you feel it too?"

Johnny takes a deep breath, his voice shaking slightly as he speaks. "I do, lass."

"Good." You couldn't even attempt to fight the idiotic grin on your face, or how warm you feel inside and out. "I'll get some sleep, talk soon."

"Goodnight, bonnie. Sweet dreams."

You wait for Johnny to end the call, not wanting to push the button yourself and have his presence fade away. When your screen dims, you resist the urge to text him more, opting instead to put your phone on charge and roll over to Barnaby—wishing it was Johnny instead.

#john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #call of duty fanfiction #call of duty x reader #call of duty fanfic #soap mw2 #this is a crime against literature i swear #also a crime against graphic design #crimes all round???#anyway posting and pretending this doesnt exist so the self loathing goes away xox #aaaaaaaaaaah #collars and cages

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clementinegreye · 3 months

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clementinegreye's masterlist and navigation station:

REQUESTS: OPEN!

you can make requests or simply come chat to me; here

💌 hotd:

🪩 aemond targaryen

adoration and resentment (coming soon - currently on Ao3 and going through a re-write!)

💌 criminal minds:

🍋 aaron hotchner

the sweetest sin of all || 3.4k

the sweetest sin of all (part 2) || 2.6k

who'd have thought aaron hotchner was a man so consumed by longing (lightly inspiredin the midst of investigating a serial killer who chooses victims based on the seven deadly sins, aaron hotchner finds himself entangled in more than just the case (inspired by hozier's new song 'too sweet'):

🌷spencer reid

safer dreams || 2.3k

it's not easy to keep someone safe in your nightmares, something Spencer knows all too well.

false god || 1.2k

it's never a good idea to reminisce about a relationship, especially one that ended with betrayal left you with a permanent scar

some stuff about me and my writing below the line:

about me: hi! my name’s soph, im 23 and an aquarius.

some quick fire facts about me; i’m a cat person, i have a chronic illness, get anxious a lot and my favourite show is criminal minds (in case you couldn’t tell), im trying to get back into reading this year, i have an abnormal amount of jellycats (yes the soft toys) and i love fruit (all fruit)! 🍋‍🟩🍓🍒🍊

i’ve been writing since i was 15 and i’ve been posting my work for a few years now, albeit under different blogs and i post some of my stories on Ao3, which i’ll link below.

writing/requests notes and guidelines:

i currently only write for criminal minds and hotd. i’m happy to write angst, fluff, hurt/comfort etc. just be specific in the ask what you’d like and i can try accommodate it!

i use she/her pronouns and therefore feel comfortable writing from that perspective (or gender neutral.m). i’m hesitant to write male!reader as i don’t want to inaccurately portray something i have no experience with.

as a guideline i definitely won’t write anything containing rape, incest or child abuse, non-consensual sex or anything including minors or those underage. i am also hesitant to write abusive situations.

i’ve never written smut but if the topic came up i guess i could give it a go. i would just have to be comfortable with the context and the setting. if you’re request it and i don’t write it, i’m probably not comfortable with it. 🌷☁️🐚

my requests are OPEN and right now and i’ll write for any criminal minds/hotd character (i’ll give anything a try once lol) if you want to request something or even just come have a chat and get to know me better my inbox is always open!

i always appreciate feedback and comments, likes and reblog also! but if you just fancy reading something go ahead, there’s no pressure on this blog to interact, it’s always appreciated but i know how i sometimes interact with things on tumblr so i understand. 🌟

note: i do not support AI or using AI to write, i’ve been practicing writing for many years and i think it’s a shame to use it and it feels like it undervalues the hard work people put in to writing. while AI might be a useful tool for some things my writing does NOT include it and my writing is my own. (i do use grammarly to check my spelling because i can be a silly goose and miss things because i edit all my fics myself but that’s it). my works are only posted here on this blog and on Ao3, if you see them somewhere else please let me know. 🩷

you can also find my work here on Ao3:

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds masterlist #masterlist #soph writes #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds writer #hotd #aemond targaryen

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zukotheartist · 8 months

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My last post on this (tho ill keep reblogging others' posts) but a few days ago I actually wanted to complain about this and then never did so ill do it now.

I unfollowed Noah a few weeks ago? On insta. And completly forgot that he also has tiktok and that i followed him there so one of his newer videos popped up on my page and it was smth like Eleven dancing in Fortnite and i checked the comments, hoping to see some palestenian flags🇵🇸 or anyone calling him out, but it was FILLED with support for him and "youre back baby🥺" "noah online era again!" "omg ily! Pls say hi to me🥺" and then i opened his full acc and noticed that That recent video was also more viewed and liked than some of his previous videos... all he had to do for so many people to switch up was... post a stupid fucking tiktok about Stranger Things... and just like that he was being idolised again, all it took...

Fucking pathetic and sad.

Love Will Byers all u want (he'll probably always be one of my alltime favourite characters too) but do not hide behind that to support Noah or Brett or Levy or whatever. Theyre awful human beings and they dont care about anyone but themselves. You can love the character and hate the actor. Fanarts and ao3 are free, you dont need to support ST. Pirate the show, make your own merch, only interact with free fanmade content. There's no need to show support for official Stranger Things stuff. Actually, take it a step further and boycott what the bds movement is asking to boycott!

These are the main ones!

But the people, on their own, also started these specific boycotts! (Starbucks too! I was obsessed with pumpkin spice latte but im never stepping foot inside a Starbucks again).

Again, the MAIN TARGETS are the ones inside the first box. The second and third box are about putting PRESSURE on them (ofc we cant boycott google but we Can put pressure) and the last box is the "the people started it on their own without the bds asking" boycotts! Disney and Starbucks (although both missing from the 4th box) are actually part of the "people started/led" boycotts too!

There are also people out there sharing FREE books (online) about Palestine! It's easy to look up but I can send you some if you don't find anything, I'm reading one myself.

There are also essays made by others that summarise specific books!

(Apparently this one also has a voiceover? Not sure bc I still havent checked it out but I saw Multiple people reccomend it and will hopefully get to it soon!)

Last thing: depending on where you live (im not from the US, nor live there, and that's the main genocide supporter) you can also call your representatives, send emails (you can find premade speeches) and go to protests! And most of all, you can share the videos from Palestine! By journalists such as Motaz, Bisam and Plestia.

#noah schnapp #byler #stranger things #st #will byers #al's post

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minibeth · 6 months

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soon you’ll get better (but it’s chronic) part 1

fandom: percy jackson

characters: Nico, Percy, Annabeth

about: Nico has a sudden onset of a chronic illness and struggles to get a diagnosis

summary: Nico faints in the dining pavilion

word count: 632

notes: post TLO, eventual solangelo

ao3 link: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/

Nico di Angelo knows that something is wrong with him.

Why won’t anyone listen?

Nico was used to feeling fatigued. Shadow traveling would leave him exhausted, and usually, he would sleep for a day or two, and wake up feeling right as rain. Until one day, when he got out of bed and felt his heart start racing. Okay. He was okay. He was probably just drained from using shadow travel to run an errand for Chiron the other day. Nico started to get ready to walk over to the dining pavilion and meet Annabeth, who had left a note for when he got back asking to talk to him. He walked across his cabin to the ornate dresser that held his clothes. However, after a few steps he stumbled, feeling his vision blur for a moment. That’s strange. Nico never continued to feel woozy after he’d slept and replenished his strength.

Nico sorted through his drawers before reaching down to pick up the hoodie he’d worn the previous day off the floor. When he stood up again, his head swam. He could hear his heart thumping loudly in his ear. Geez, I get it, you can slow down now. Nico slumped to the floor and felt his wrist at his pulse point. He wasn’t exactly a child of Apollo, but Nico was pretty sure that his heart wasn’t supposed to beat that fast. Nico grabbed a half-empty water bottle from his nightstand, drinking the remaining water in two large gulps. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his hoodie and stood up slowly, steadying himself before walking out of the cabin. I’ll take a nap after breakfast. I just have to make it through breakfast.

When he got to the dining pavilion, Nico noticed Percy waving at him from a table, where Annabeth sat next to him. Nico slid onto the bench across from them, noticing that the couple had already filled their plates.

“So, Nico, I was thinking that you could help me with some renovation ideas I have for Cabin 13. Could you come by after we eat and give some blueprints the go-ahead?” Annabeth glanced at him as she methodically buttered her toast.

Nico blinked in surprise, then quickly worked to keep his face from showing any disappointment. “Uh, yeah, I can do that.” There goes my nap. Nico loved her, but Annabeth had a talent for making 5 minutes turn into 5 hours when she was talking about her designs.

Percy groaned in faux irritation. “She’s been working on those blueprints for forever.” He took a bite of his blueberry muffin and shook his head. “I’m losing my girlfriend to your open floor plan.”

Annabeth punched his arm. “That’s not true, Seaweed Brain! Are we or are we not having a movie night tonight? And don’t talk with your mouth full in front of my client! It’s very rude.” She winked at Nico, who gave a weak smile. “You’d better hurry if you want some food. I saw Travis and Connor heading over there, and they looked like they had something up their sleeves. Literally.”

Nico never had a large appetite, especially after shadow traveling, so he just willed his goblet to fill with chocolate milk and held it up to show Annabeth. “I think I’m okay with this. I’m probably too late to avoid bugs in my eggs, anyway.” Annabeth’s brow furrowed slightly, but she didn’t say anything.

Nico drank his milk and waited for Annabeth to finish, so they could walk together to Cabin 6. When she and Percy got up, he swung his legs over the bench and stood up quickly. That was a mistake. Nico lost his footing and stumbled, gripping tightly onto the picnic table for support. His heart was pounding again, faster now. Is this what a heart attack feels like? His airway wasn’t obstructed, but he could hear himself gasping for breath. Nico felt like he was having an out-of-body experience, watching himself struggle to stay upright. As if on cue, his legs buckled, and he fell back, falling into someone. Nico struggled to keep his eyes open as he heard voices talking over each other, but was unable to distinguish what was being said. He could feel his eyelids fluttering as his head lolled back. Someone started shaking him and saying something, but Nico ignored it as his consciousness quickly faded. One little nap wouldn’t hurt. And he was so…so…tired.

#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #nico di angelo #will solace #percy jackson #annabeth chase #chronic illness #pots #pjo fanfic #solangelo #hurt/comfort

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tiredgoodomensfan · 1 month

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HI IT'S ME!!!!! I'M SO HAPPY YOU LOVE MY FALSETTOS HCS SO I JUST WANTED TO ASK IF YOU HAD ANY :33

Also, using this to ask if you have an AO3??

HALLOOOO :3333

I DO HAVE SM FALSETTOS HCS BUT ILL NARROW IT DOWN TO MY FAVS!

The only sport Marvin can bear is football (or soccer for americans), he says its because its "european" so its "dignified" but its rlly just cuz he used to have the biggest crush on his old football (i refuse to call it soccer AMERICANS RAHHH) coach

Trina just always has about a million hair ties and bobby pins on her/in her purse

(After they get married Mendel finds himself also always having them on his person, in his pockets/bag ect)

When Marvin and Trina got married Marvin wore a purple tie, Trinas least favourite colour is purple, he did not know this

When Jason was born Marvin fainted HASHAH

Mendel is very weirdly versed in like flowers and their meanings. like my guy knows EVERY. SINGLE. MEANING.

Whizzer is actually really smart, just like not in the ways that Act 1 Marvin would deem important. Like he wouldve probably done a course in astronomy in uni but he couldnt afford it big sigh (i read a fic where whizzer was an astronomer once and i was like REALLL)

(These are like set in modern day/post-canon):

Charlotte insists that every bambi lesbian couple is exactly like her and cordelia. like it could literally be a theatre kid and a punk and shed be like "oh my god look! us!!"

Marvin dies exactly 2 months after Whizzer does

Jason places a black King piece on Marvins grave because i love pain apparently

Trinas and Mendel painted their bedroom like a light blue colour (?? idk where this one came from)

Charlotte had to talk jason out of naming his first son Marvin or Whizzer becuase "i love you kid and that's sweet, but i dont want your kid to be bullied all his life"

YIPPEEEEEE!!!

Also yes i dooo have AO3!! I havent posted anything in a hile cuz of my exams but TRUST as soon as theyre over (in like a month) i will be posting like DAILY, my tag is: PaleBlueEyes102 :DD

#falsettos #falsettos hcs

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tamaruaart · 6 months

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Hi :)

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Questions:

About me:

I mostly go by Rua or Tam but I also go by a lot of other nicknames! (Tamarua, Tamari, Tama, Tamachi, Ruma, Tammy, etc.) I'm a digital & traditional artist and I mostly draw my OCs or characters I like. I'm in A LOT of fandoms (LMK, JTTW, JJK, Greek Myth, Hamilton...). This blog respects and supports the LGBTQ+ community :> (WHERE ALL MY ACE BUDDIES AT??). My preferred pronouns are She/her but I don't mind if you refer to me as a they/them or he/him. I'd say I don't usually get mad, and my humor is very... Uh, what's the word? Questionable? Yea, very questionable- I speak English and Croatian!

What art program do I use?:

I use Clip Studio Paint and Ibis Paint, in Ibis I mostly use the default brushes and in Clip studio I use the defaults as well as Artemus pencil pack and Artemus chalk pack (both of the packs are free btw)

Where else can you find me?:

I'm on Twitter (@TamaRuaArt), Pixiv (@Tamachi), Reddit (@TamaRuaArt "Tam & Rua✩") and tiktok! (@tamaruaart "Tam✩") (but I don't post anywhere else soo)

What are the rules for my blog?:

-No offensive/hurtful comments on certain groups of people or a certain person

-No nsfw topics

-No politics

-Please keep your comments relative to the post

-Please no heavy-religion based topics

-No racism

-No sexism (idc if towards men, women or ANY gender for that matter)

-No homophobia or transphobia (nor hate to any other sexuality)

What do I mostly use this blog for?:

Well, I mostly use it to talk about my jttw/lmk OC Zhaoyan (or just Zhao). Zhao is an enchantress who was brought along the journey as a healer for Tripitaka. Basically, she has the power to heal any wound, illness, disease etc.

Where can I find out more about your oc?:

For now my tumblr blog is the only place. I do 100% plan to write an AO3 fanfic regards her one day (because she honestly has so much lore that isn't even jttw/lmk related). But not any time soon, I'm very busy with school and I still have to work her whole character out before I start writing. When I do publish the story I'll announce it here :D

What sort of art do I do?:

I mostly do character art of my OCs or fandoms I'm in. Sometimes I do creature designs and plants too! (I suck ass at animals though >:'( )

Is this blog R18?:

Not really, I do swear quite a bit and I do bring up a bit more serious topics from time to time. But besides that I don't deal with any nsfw things and I don't really talk about any drama going on in the world rn. At the end of the day this is just a silly little blog for me to talk about my interests :)

Do I do suggestions/requests?:

Yeah? Just don't expect a masterpiece. I'll probably draw your suggestion as long as it's a character, also just a heads up but if I don't feel like it I can always decline. (you can suggest someone threw my in-box)

Do I do coms?:

wewooweoweewowweee

yes

My Playlists:

Zhaoyan but as a ✨Playlist✨:

AUs:

The Vengeance AU:

Fandoms I'm interested in and generally some things I enjoy:

Greek Mythology, Lego Monkie Kid, Renaissance Art, Art Nouveau, Hades/Hades II, The Art of John Williams Waterhouse, The Odyssey and The Iliad, The Prince of Egypt, Wolfwalkers, Disney's Mulan, Hamilton, Paris: The Musical, Epic: The Musical...

If any of these things sound right up your alley, feel free to stay!

An introduction to my characters and some extra thingies:

Free chibi OC commission (closed):

And that's basically all you need to know about me

ba-bye 👋

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tracingpatternswrites · 7 months

Text

I'm so excited to finally start sharing my Nano project with you. Today I hit 50k so I thought I would celebrate by posting the first chapter. I hope that you'll want to tag along on this ride. The story will be updated weekly.

The Patchwork of Us | Wolfstar | E

Title: The Patchwork of Us Pairing: Sirius/Remus Rating: E Summary: Remus had never wanted to be a father, and when Tonks told him she was pregnant he walked away. Sirius didn't have a child of his own, but he considered Teddy to be his son in all but blood and when Tonks fell ill, he never hesitated to open his home to them to help her with the boy. When Tonks passes away, Remus is faced with a choice: step up and be a father or stay out of Teddy’s life.

However, reappearing in Teddy's life is not easy. Sirius has trouble forgiving Remus for walking out on Teddy, and Remus thinks Sirius is a stuck-up, posh, know-it-all who believes he is better than everyone else. Now they’re supposed to co-parent a child while also navigating their own complicated feelings about the situation, and each other.

Read the whole thing on AO3.

A little teaser below the cut:

Remus turned his collar up against the wind as he stepped out of the station and onto Church Road. Arriving at Richmond Station always made him a bit disoriented, there were always too many people bustling around and he had to push his way through the crowd and towards the opposite entrance to where everyone else was going.

There was a vicious wind today, a damp sort of coldness in the air and heavy grey skies as if it could start raining any moment (which it probably could, this was London in October after all). It was early, too early, and Remus shivered as he set off at a brisk pace, clutching a once-hot cup of coffee in his hand. He fiddled around against the wind a little before he managed to light a cigarette, his nerves settling slightly at the first drag.

He walked the now-familiar route towards his destination, a nervous sort of flutter in his chest. He wondered how long those nerves were going to be there for, if he would ever just get used to this. It didn’t feel like he ever would.

Too soon he turned onto the right street, unable not to pull a face at the sight of the giant houses lining the streets as he flicked away his cigarette butt. He felt misplaced in his too-thin jacket and cheap clothes. Not that anything he wore was ever dirty or torn, but in this neighbourhood he was simply wrong .

Everything about him was wrong; the fact that his boots were worn down, his coat second-hand, the scarf around his neck hand-knitted, his hair too long and not in a stylish way but more a haven’t-been-to-the-barber-in-a-while way. His limp was wrong. At least it was a good day and he had chosen to leave his cane at home, despite the walk, just because he hated how awkward people got around him when he used it.

He made his way up the driveway to the correct house, his fingers brushing over the giant door knocker in the shape of a dog, which looked more like a wolf, before he used it to knock.

It took unusually long before the door swung open, and to Remus' surprise he found himself standing face to face with none other than Sirius Black. Usually, the other man kept out of the way in the mornings, but apparently not this time.

Sirius somehow didn’t seem out of place in this posh street, even though Remus thought he should with his long hair and tattoos and his motorbike. He didn’t though, Sirius Black looked as if he was born to live on a street like this, in a house like this, and Remus figured he probably was.

“We’re running a bit late,” he grouched, barely even acknowledging Remus with a look before he turned around to make his way further into the house. “You better come in.”

Remus hovered a little awkwardly in the doorway before he did as he was told, pulling the heavy door closed behind him as he followed Sirius inside.

If Remus felt out of place on the street outside, it was nothing compared to how he felt inside Sirius’ house. It was massive, ridiculously large considering it was only two people living there. Remus knew nothing about art or decorating but he had a feeling most of the stuff on the walls, and the furniture, were expensive.

Sirius led him through the initial hallway, further along into the large kitchen at the back of the house. Even though Remus disliked almost everything else about this house, he did love the kitchen. It was light and airy, modern, and the wall facing the back garden was almost completely made out of glass with doors that easily slid open during the summer.

Remus would love to cook in here one day, all the appliances were state of the art and the surfaces shiny and spacious. It was a far cry from his own tiny kitchen in his tiny flat. Remus had picked up cooking a couple of years ago, and he frequently dreamed about moving to something bigger, somewhere he could really test his wings.

“Here,” Sirius said, shoving a mug into Remus’ hands as soon as he entered the kitchen. “You better sit down and wait.”

Continue on AO3.

#the patchwork of us #wolfstar #muggle au #sirius black #remus lupin #teddy lupin #co-parenting wolfstar #enemies to lovers #my writing

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rainbow-flavoured-skittles · 3 months

Text

Hey Mom, Dead Mom

Chapter 2: No more playing daddy’s game, I’ll go insane if things don’t change

I suffered for this chapter. it was fighting me every single step of the way but it’s finally finished. I can rest now. this isn’t as dark as the last chapter but Cole is running away in this, so it’s still not very happy. also I did indeed make a couple of random ocs because how else was I supposed to advance the plot? they’re not returning any time soon. as always, this is cross posted to ao3

Cole got on the plane to MOSPA at exactly eleven in the morning on a Sunday. He traveled alone — Dad was unable to come with him. Other people at the airport gave strange looks to the unaccompanied twelve-year-old, reminding him of the looks he got after Mom died. “Oh, why is that little boy all alone? So strange,” and then they’d go about their day, not giving him a second thought.

The flight attendant in front of him right now was doing just that. “No parents?” She asked, face mildly concerned.

Cole shook his head. “I’m going to visit my grandma, but Dad couldn’t come,” he lied. Cole was good at lying. He’d done it a lot these past few years; you couldn’t take care of yourself the way Cole had without at least some lying.

The attendant gave him a small smile. Maddy, her name tag read. “Well, if you need anything, just call.”

“Okay, thanks, Ms.”

Maddy nodded and continued walking, greeting the other passengers. Cole fidgeted in his seat. The fabric covering it was itchy and the seatbelt was too tight. The man sitting next to him scrolled through his phone, music blaring loudly, and the old lady behind him was snoring. Not even off the ground yet and this flight was already torture. Cole resisted the urge to groan.

It was only a two hour flight, Cole could do this. But he hated planes so much — always had. Not being on the ground made him feel ill, and every bit of turbulence was terrifying. At least he had the window seat, though that didn’t do much to soothe his nerves. Being able to see how high up he was might make Cole feel worse.

The crackling of a speaker interrupted his panicking. The sounds it made were loud and screechy. “Please fasten your seatbelts and put all devices on airplane mode. We will be taking off shortly,” the announcements said.

Finally. Cole dug through his backpack and found his book. Fish in a Tree, the title read. He’d found it at the school book sale but had never gotten around to reading it. Now was his chance.

He’d barely gotten past the first chapter before they took off. Cole actually felt it when they did — it was like getting severed from a part of him. He felt sick, though throwing up wouldn’t achieve anything. It would probably make him feel worse. Cole settled for putting the book down and staring blankly at the seat in front of him instead. He wouldn’t be able to focus on the book, or anything at all, not when his stomach was lurching so badly.

Just two hours, he told himself. Then I can collapse on a bed and sleep. He repeated those words over and over like a mantra.

As it turned out, Cole was not able to immediately sleep once he arrived at MOSPA, because he had to check in. Check in, as if the school was a hotel. Or maybe a prison, which would be much more accurate.

“It’s great that you’re here, Nicholas,” the secretary smiled cheerily as she typed on her computer. “I’m sure you’ll love this school. We’re all one big family.”

Yeah, right. Every time a school said that they didn’t mean anything by it. In fact, it meant there was probably all sorts of bullying that went ignored. “It’s just Cole, not Nicholas. Nobody calls me that,” Cole said. He hated his full name — who agreed to let his grandfather pick it out? ‘Nicholas’ was an old-person name from at least a hundred years ago.

“Okay, then, Cole. I’ve got your dorm number and schedule here,” the secretary printed out a sheet of paper. “Do you need a map of the school?”

Cole shook his head. He had spent some of the flight looking at the floor plans and they were seared into his brain at this point. “I’ll be fine, thank you,” he hurried out before she could offer to have someone show him around. He didn’t want that kind of forced social interaction.

The dormitories were not hard to find, not with the giant sign that pointed to where they were. Cole opened the door, cursing when it was stuck, and shoved everything to the side before closing it again. He didn’t see a roommate anywhere, but it was a weekend, so everyone was probably out. That was good, it meant he had a couple hours alone; he could use the time to unpack and explore the school.

Cole shoved all his clothes into the closet and shoes under the bed. MOSPA had a strict uniform policy, so he wouldn’t be able to wear any casual clothing, nor his combat boots. That was a shame — he really liked those boots. They had served well when he got into fights. And they added another sorely needed three inches to his height, another advantage.

Any books that he’d brought were put onto the desk. Items such as stationery and notebooks were placed in drawers. Miscellaneous trinkets were placed in a box under the bed and his toiletries in another box. Cole pushed the suitcases into the corner. There wasn’t anywhere else to put them, but he’d figure it out later. Right now he wanted to take a nap and not wake up for a month. Screw exploring the school, he could do that tomorrow.

Cole closed the curtains, pulled the covers over his head, and went to sleep.

MOSPA, as Cole found out in the span of a month, was its own special brand of hell. The students there hated Cole for always messing up and acting strange, as if grieving for a loved one was something to make fun of. The teachers hated him for not talking or making eye contact and always zoning out. Everybody seemed to agree that he was the weird kid who should be avoided at all costs. His roommate, a kid named John, disliked him enough that he asked to be put in a different dorm.

“Thanks for messing up again, Brookstone,” one of his classmates sneered. Brant Green, yet another asshole who existed to make Cole miserable. “You ruined the whole performance.”

It hadn’t been Cole’s fault. Another student had purposefully tripped him, causing him to fall and knock over several people. “Yeah, I did. What’s your point?” He tried not to flip off Brant. That would just cause more trouble, trouble he couldn’t risk. The teachers hated him enough already.

“How’d you even get into this school? I thought you needed to have talent to get in,” Brant spat.

“Do I look like I want to be here? I hate this place,” Cole stood up and glared at the taller boy. Brant was a good head taller than him, unfortunately.

Brant didn’t seem to know what to say to that. Perhaps he’d thought Cole was going here willingly, though how he’d come to that conclusion was a mystery. He gave Cole another sneer and walked away.

Cole rolled his eyes and went back to his lunch. For all its faults, at least this school had good food. The chicken salad was pretty tasty.

A large group chattered next to him. One of them gave him the side eye. “That’s the Brookstone kid,” she said, loud enough for Cole to hear. “His dad’s a Royal Blacksmith. Isn’t it weird how he didn’t get any of the family talent?”

Cole scowled and looked down at the table. He stabbed his lunch with more force than was needed.

“Nicholas Brookstone to the office, Nicholas Brookstone to the office,” a speaker sounded. All eyes turned to him. Cole looked down at the floor and wondered if he could just die right there in the cafeteria. It would save everyone a lot of trouble.

A kid coughed from the table in front of him. Awkward, Cole thought. What had he done this time? There wasn’t anything recent he’d done to warrant this.

It took five minutes for the school to realise he wasn’t moving any time soon. They all went back to their conversations, and Cole snuck out the side entrance. He had always been good at going unnoticed.

Cole walked through the halls briskly and knocked on the office door. He was let in by the guidance counsellor, a lady in her forties with platinum blonde hair. “Nicholas, we need to talk about your behaviour,” she said as they sat down.

“I haven’t been in any more fights,” Cole said. It was true.

“Your teachers say that you don’t pay any attention in class and that you’re not following instructions. It has nothing to do with your peers.”

“I’m trying my best, okay?” Cole snapped. Why couldn’t anyone just listen for once? He was trying, he’d been trying for ages.

“Then how come your grades are so low? This is one of the top arts schools in Ninjago, Nicholas. We expect better.” The counsellor had a mask of false concern on. Cole kind of wanted to punch it off.

“It’s not Nicholas, it’s Cole. And I am trying,” Cole gritted out.

“Your grades are barely scraping fifty percent.”

“So?”

The counsellor frowned. “If you don’t start doing better, you may get expelled.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Cole said under his breath. Then to the counsellor, “I’m sorry. I’ll do better.” She might be suspicious of the sudden change of pace, but Cole couldn’t care less. He just wanted to get out of the office.

The counsellor nodded and fixed her glasses. “That’s all for today, Nicholas. You can go to class now.”

She didn’t even bother to get his name right. “Thanks,” Cole marched out the door.

Cole stared down at his exam results and wondered if he was dreaming. Forty percent average, the paper said. A fail. He’d managed to do so badly that his average wasn’t even fifty.

Dad’s going to kill me, he thought. Dad expected at least nineties, and this definitely wasn’t it. He’d be grounded until his thirtieth birthday, if he lived that long.

The only subject that had above sixty was visual arts. The teacher for that class was nice — he understood Cole’s struggles and gave him all the time he needed. It wouldn’t make Dad overlook all the other failures, though.

The paper crinkled under his grip. Cole blinked the tears out of his eyes and shoved the paper into his folder. His classmates were conversing all around him, comparing grades and bragging about what they’d gotten. The teacher sat at her desk on the computer. Nobody would notice if he went to the washroom and never returned, hopefully.

Cole got up and walked to the front. “Ms. Jackson, may I please go to the washroom?”

The teacher nodded distractedly and waved her hand. “Yes.”

Cole grabbed his belongings and slipped out the door. He hadn’t taken a hall pass, not when the teacher would notice it missing. She wouldn’t know he was gone, but she would notice the hall pass. The teachers here were strange like that.

He opened the door to his dorm and collapsed on the ground. How was he going to explain his grades to his dad, much less the teachers? He could already hear the lecture. “Your mother would be so disappointed in you, Cole. What happened to all that potential?”

Then again, Dad didn’t pay attention to him. Cole doubted he even remembered that he existed; Dad was too busy partying. Maybe he could burn the report card and pretend it didn’t exist.

Or… Cole’s thoughts drifted to a snide comment Brant had made a few months ago. “Why don’t you just run away? Nobody would miss you — we’d be happy to see you gone.”

Cole had ignored him at the time. It was just another uncreative insult from the stereotypical bully. But it wasn’t exactly a bad idea. As strict as the school was, Cole knew all the weak spots in its system. It was easy to sneak out and never return. And he’d been thinking about leaving and never coming back for ages. This was just the final straw.

“All right, then. Guess Brant gets his wish,” Cole said. No one responded, of course — he was all alone. But talking to himself was a habit. Cole got up and went to the closet, finding the duffel bag he used to use for camping. He blew the dust off and packed anything that seemed useful. A flashlight, multiple sets of clothes, a reusable water bottle, that box of granola bars he’d bought a month ago, all the cash he had.

More food would need to be picked up from the school cafeteria, he decided. And he’d need to find a sleeping bag somehow. But everything else was ready. Cole could leave during the night — he refused to call it running away, he wasn’t running from anything — it was easier that way. This was the best option, he told himself.

Cole snuck out as soon as it was dark. He didn’t need to avoid any roommates, thankfully — anyone who’d been placed with him had moved out. It took a few minutes for him to write a letter to Jay. His best friend didn’t deserve to have him disappearing without warning, though they hadn’t been best friends since before Mom’s death. He put it in the outgoing mail on the way out, sealed with a blue sticker. Jay would know what that meant.

He took the back exit and walked down the road to the bus stop. The city’s streets were dimly lit, people rushing past him to get home. A couple looked at him curiously but didn’t stop him. A drunk man sat down next to him on the bench as they waited. Dogs barked in the distance and a truck drove past. It was peaceful, Cole thought. The most peaceful he’d been in a while.

The bus arrived just after midnight. Cole got on and paid for a ticket to the next town over. He could find a sleeping bag and extra clothes there, and the further away he got the better. He was finally leaving MOSPA and his dad behind, and he wouldn’t be stopped by something as simple as not having basic supplies.

Running away wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. All the books made it seem easy — there was no mention of sleeping in alleys, or trying not to get mugged, or having to do odd jobs to get money. Thank goodness for Ninjago’s lax law enforcement; nobody would have hired a thirteen-year-old if the police were good at their job. Especially a thirteen-year-old who may or may not be on the missing persons list. Cole still wasn’t sure if anyone had noticed him missing.

Cole shouldered his backpack as he walked away from Jamanakai Village. He’d managed to find work at a local restaurant a few weeks prior and had finally saved up enough money to get somewhere else. He wasn’t quite sure where his next destination would be, but for now he planned to go back to the mountain range near Ninjago City. He deserved a break, and climbing was therapeutic. The city having a lot of people to pickpocket was just a bonus.

Jamanakai was isolated, unfortunately. It would be an entire day before Cole could get to a more urban area and find a bus stop. He knew there wasn’t a lot of point in travelling so often, of course, but Cole couldn’t shake the feeling that if he didn’t keep moving, someone would find him and bring him back to MOSPA. He couldn’t let that happen. And it kept his mind off of Mom and Dad. Nope, not thinking of that today, Cole thought. It was a good day and he wasn’t going to ruin it.

“Probably enough money for a ticket to Ninjago City,” Cole muttered. “Then it’s just some hitchhiking.”

Not a difficult journey, really. Cole continued on.

The mountain was tall. And windy. And probably dangerous to climb without proper gear. Cole tried not to think of that as he pulled himself up the next ledge. He’d already had a close calls today, almost fell off before he found a foothold. Cole thanked Wojira that he hadn’t fallen to his death. If he was going to die, he wanted it to at least be dignified.

Only a bit more to the top of the mountain and then he could rest. Cole planned to camp there for the night and then go back down, hopefully without any major injuries. The broken ankle still ached, and it had been months. He hadn’t been able to walk for two weeks the last time, and Cole wasn’t eager to have a repeat.

Huffing and sweaty, Cole reached the top. He climbed over the last few rocks and stopped, feeling pretty proud of himself, when he noticed the man sitting in front of him.

“Hello there,” the man said. He looked ancient, with deep set wrinkles and a long white beard. He took a sip of his drink and smiled.

Okay, that’s creepy, Cole thought. He had thought he was the only one climbing. How had he not noticed this guy?

“Wha— who are you?” The words exited Cole’s mouth without permission. He really should work on his brain-to-mouth filter at some point.

“Maybe that is a question you should ask, but first: why do you climb the mountain?” The old man looked at Cole with something like curiosity. Curiosity about what?

“Because it’s a good way to get exercise?”

“You can tell me the truth, Cole. I don’t judge.”

“How do you know my name? I never introduced myself,” Cole took a step back. Was this man some sort of stalker? Nobody knew where he was. If he got kidnapped, or murdered, no one would be able to find him.

“Because I know you, Cole. I was there when you were born.”

“You know my Dad? Are you going to bring me back to him? Give me another lecture on how I’m a disappointment? I don’t need to hear it,” Cole crossed his arms and prepared to make a run for it. It would be suicidal to jump off the mountain, but he was a fast climber. The old man wouldn’t be able to catch up with him.

“I knew your mother. She was one of my students,” the old man stood and held up his hands in the ‘I surrender’ gesture.

“Student?”

“I taught her to be a hero. Did you think that all the stories she told you were made up?”

Cole hadn’t thought about his mom’s stories in years. She used to tell him about great heroes who could control the very elements themselves, who tamed dragons and fought against evil. He’d loved those stories.

“You’re telling me that all those stories about ninja and dragons were real? Yeah, and I’m a giant purple unicorn,” Cole glared at the old man. This guy had to be crazy, spouting nonsense about real-life superheroes and monsters. Mom had told him those stories for entertainment and bonding, nothing more.

“You are stubborn. Also like your mother, I suppose. I can prove to you that all the old legends are real. You just have to trust me,” the man held out his hand. His face was a mixture of hope and worry and maybe a little bit of fear. Fear of what, Cole didn’t know.

Cole hesitated for a moment. There was nothing left for him back at home, if he still had one, and no one cared if he went missing. The only people he cared about were either dead or better off without him. His life truly couldn’t get any worse, and if this man had known his mom he couldn’t be too bad. Cole took the hand.

#in the very early days of my time in this fandom I saw a headcanon that Cole's full name is Nicholas and it stuck in my head #still not happy with this but it's better than the first draft #bruise childhood friends au #cole ninjago #cole brookstone #ninjago cole #cole hence #ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago fic #ninjago fanfiction #lego ninjago fanfiction #kit's writing #bonus chapter will be coming soon!

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