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niccolites · 6 months ago

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i don't wanna break the heart of any other man (but you)

johnny (soap) mactavish x fem!reader, brother's best friend au. cw dub-con

read on ao3 here, originally based off of the very talented @ceilidho 's ask here

It starts with a ribbon in your hair, neat and pink, ripped out by Johnny’s hand. He laughs in your face, all gummy smile at the age of eight, grinning as you cry and try to get it back.

You are seven-years-old, and you don’t know why your brother hangs out with this bully. Even worse, the inaction. Your perfect big brother, reduced to a faceless bystander.

Lungs catch and then stutter, devastation as you learn and relearn the same lesson until it sticks. A boy can treat you how he wants, as long as he minds his ps and qs about it.

The world around you is defined in the short-term - the sky is blue, your mary-janes have a scuff on them that your mother is worried people are going to notice, and you hate Johnny Mactavish.

He becomes friends with your brother and steals him away from you. Best friends once, you and your brother. Now you've been replaced by some snotty little boy who is constantly yanking on your pigtails. In your own living room, your brother is silent when you run from the room crying.

He's your bully, a twist in your stomach when no one seems to understand this. You sit on the back step, hiccuping tears as you listen to Johnny and your brother have fun in the living room. Only Johnny seems to notice your tears when you come back in and sit, sullen, in the corner. His gaze is a living thing that crawls over you, something alive that shudders like a second skin over yours.

The defining story of your childhood is told like this, after the fact: Johnny keeps picking on you, one day he steals your ribbon and you cry. He keeps the ribbon to this day. Cue the hand on the heart and the coos from the audience. A hit every time, an instant classic.

(One part of the story that is always missed out when this is told and retold again and again is how you actually swing at him. The last time you’re on an even playing field because he unwillingly takes it on the chin.)

Respective parents swoop in, fussing and pulling the two of you apart. Injustice doled out swiftly as Johnny clings to that ribbon, as no one takes it off of him.

“Oh, honey, boys do that when they like you,” your mum coos at you. It's a pathetic attempt to comfort you, leaving you confused more than anything. Here is the sharp reality, your perfect hair undone and mussed. Here is the crack that distorts the image, smoothing over the edges and makes it more palatable.

Johnny catches this, mouth agape as he takes it in. There’s a red mark on his chin from your hand, blue eyes wide and watery.

You wonder if Johnny remembers this. You can see the exact moment that this registers with him, as if he had never considered the ‘why’ of what he was doing to you. And here was the reason, delivered to him from the woman who always gives him an extra cookie when he comes over to play. A click, the universe has righted itself. Something slotting into place according to some higher power. Path set, direction coordinated. Your ribbon clenched in his fist. Meaning applied, after the fact.

It matters to you, you suppose. A politically incorrect statement that alters the start of your life, for all intents and purposes. Here is the centre of it, tattered ribbon and throbbing knuckles, and a lie that is swallowed and turned into truth. Johnny probably doesn’t care. The centre of his entire infatuation does not matter as much as the gulf of the rest of it. Who cares about him snapping your training bra, what matters is the image of his fingers as they wriggle under the strap, the warmth of skin before the snap of plastic. Johnny’s vision of you seems to be half-eclipsed by what he does to you.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but Johnny is a lesson that the bitterness is quickly forgotten once the pill hits the bottom of your stomach. Well, then there’s just the acceptance of how things are meant to be, right?

What starts off as the play fighting of a rough child in puppy love becomes the earnest approaches of a lovesick teenager. Supposedly.

Before, maybe someone would have eventually stepped in. Maybe there is a finite number of times that a girl can come home crying after having her hair pulled before someone does start to get concerned. Maybe you were a few hundred short when puberty hits and Johnny makes a sharp pivot.

Gone are the shoves, Johnny sticking his foot out to trip you up. Pulling your hair and dashing away, as if unable to stand being near you. His attention is an ugly thing that sits between you. Even he doesn't seem equipped to handle it, breath always coming a little bit too sharp when he steals your teddy, eyes on your reaction even as he tries to dart away.

Now, Johnny is always near. He doesn’t shove anymore, just stands, always too close. You start wearing a training bra and he is a bit too focused about it. Asks you how it feels, gaze hot on your face, like he wants you to say something hot. (You know it doesn’t matter what you say, he’ll likely think that anyway). Petty at the age of 13, you spit into his drink to try and gross him out and he downs it like he had been waiting for it.

Years are not defined by time passing, but rather Johnny and his relationship to you. Years pass with the deterioration of the two of you, scratches in the wall to track the history of how bad everything spirals out of control.

You’re thirteen, and Johnny is pinging your bra strap. He's fourteen, and now he's a few inches taller which he starts using to his advantage, leaning over you when you try to get by him.

You're fourteen, and Johnny is telling you that he jerked off to the thought of you last night before smiling at your mother while you scoff in disgust. He's fifteen, and deciding he wants to start heavy-lifting, wanting to get in shape for you.

You're fifteen, and Johnny is begging you to come swimming with them, hands smoothing over your hips while you try to shove him off. He's sixteen, and he’s holding an enlistment pamphlet and asking how much you would miss him if he went.

You’re sixteen, and Johnny is yanking up your jumper and his breath comes out as a wheeze when he sees the light blue cups that he is convinced match his eyes. He’s seventeen, and trying to get you to drink with him, pupils blown as he tilts the bottle to your mouth and some of it spills over your bottom lip.

You’re seventeen, and Johnny is shoving his hand down the front of your panties, won’t you let him see his favourite girl before he leaves? You don’t know if he’s even really referring to you anymore. He’s eighteen, and he’s almost gone. The weight on your shoulders is heavier, the way it must be before it’s lifted. Almost out, the crack of light in a tomb, mouth watering for it.

He’s trying to be gentle with you, he explains, nights before he leaves. Your nipples are raw under your shirt from where he had yanked your shirt up and ducked down to bite them with a groan. You scowl.

Sitting in your room, your family downstairs. He had asked for a moment with you, for the third time that day and your mother had been charmed. She had been blubbering since she found out that he enlisted, back bowing as you seem to lift higher with each hour that passes.

He needs to make you understand what is going on between the two of you. Needs to make it clear to you before he goes. “We’re meant to be,” he says, patient, even as his hands flex, smoothing over your knees. A creak of bone against muscle, seconds away from wrenching your thighs open and taking what he believes he is owed.

It seems like some kind of stupid honour code. You’re too wriggly. He can have his pound of flesh but he wants the full slab. Maybe he thinks he has to earn it, wants you to spread your legs and let him in.

Fat chance. You tell him as much, delighting for a moment at the way that dopey smile drops off his face. You imagine punching him now, wonder if you could break his nose this time, you think you have enough anger built up to really manage it.

Before you get a chance to really think it over, he grabs you, hands hard on your hips. Yanking your leggings down, and you think that you were wrong, if you didn’t bring over the full cow he was just going to and wrangle that fucker himself.

Minutes later and he’s puffing hot breath into the crook of your neck, the head of his cock between the gusset of your underwear and your pussy. He had gripped your hand and guided it around his dick, up and down. You would stop, but his hand is manacled around your wrist, palm hot against the pulse of your veins. Two layers of skin between your respective flesh, nothing really.

He whines when pre-cum aids the way, huffs a laugh when he nudges against your clit and you tremble. Barely any slick between your folds but he hones in on it like he does with everything to do with you. Dips the head of his cock further down to catch it, forehead thumping against your shoulder to watch as his cock shines with the slightest bit of your juices.

Here is the body’s natural reaction to stimulation. And here is Johnny taking the explanation that he has been waiting for.

“A knew it,” he mutters, feverish as his hips stutter, your hand tightening for a second as he nudges against your clit again. “Knew you were wantin’ it, lovey. But you had tae act like a right cow, eh?” He chuckles, dark before he yanks your chin up (you had been staring as well, you realise with a flush of shame), slants his mouth over yours.

He’s still angry, thumb digging into the soft flesh beneath your skin as he drags his tongue over yours, sucking it into his mouth until you hiccup.

He’s big like this, eighteen, and the puppy fat had shrank off years ago. Shoulders hunches to reach you, hand cradling your jaw in place, almost ear to ear.

He pulls back and you loll forward, pressure that had been holding you in place suddenly gone. You reel with it, almost falling forward before he nudges you back again. He huffs, a mean thing into your temple, hand sliding to the back of your neck. “Ye wantin’ it?” he asks. You wonder if he actually wants an answer, know that he already has his confirmation between your thighs.

His hand squeezes your wrist, and you clumsily twist your palm when you reach the top of his shaft, morbidly curious. He told you how he liked to jerk off two New Years ago, did it how he thought you would do it for him. Prophesied.

His shoulders shake, moaning wantonly as if you aren’t in your bedroom with your parents watching TV just downstairs. “Fuck,” he hisses, eyes on how your hand barely covers half of his cock as you stroke him. His hand thumps into the wall beside your shoulder, other hand flexing with his thumb on your wrist bone.

“Ah, fuck, dae that again,” he huffs until you do, again and again until he whines, head back into the crook of your neck as he drools into the collar of your shirt.

Both his hands are on your arse now, squeezing and kneading as he humps like a misbehaved dog into your hand. “I know you didnae mean it,” he mutters, pulling the spit soaked collar of your shirt down to kiss and lick and bite your collarbone. “You were jus’ missin’ me already, eh? A know, lovey, a know, there we are, just havtae show you the way sometimes, my poor wee angel, a forgive ye, a dae, a swear.”

He grips the backs of your thighs and squeezes when he comes, pushing until the head of his cocks kicks up near the entrance of your cunt, whining and shuddering through it. He pants as he comes back down, cock jerking idly in your now loose grasp, red hot against where you are now wet. Probably, mostly with Johnny’s cum.

He gives a heaving sigh, pushes his palms against the wall to look down at you. He likes what he sees - spit slick mouth, red neck, bare pussy with his cum staining you and your underwear.

“A willnae be gone long,” he says, as if you had been mid conversation. “A will come back f’ you, angel,” he promises, gaze hot on the crux of your legs.

You stare up at him, hand still loose around his shaft before you let go. A curdled desire settles in your stomach. Always for Johnny, and always half ruined at inception because it’s for Johnny.

Hours later and he’s gone. You sit at the breakfast table, your mother fussing in her upset about him being gone. Your brother is quiet as always, gives you a strange look. Johnny’s cum is dried out in your favourite pair of panties upstairs. You bite into a piece of toast, feel each crumb as it digs into your gums and dirties you.

It gets worse again after he officially enlists in the army. Before Johnny is the cute teenager that trails after your every move, intent and so so sweet.

Now he is Johnny, the childhood sweetheart. Before both of your parents had viewed you as scorning a poor lovesick puppy. Now you are a couple, constantly bickering about something or other. You insist that he is not your boyfriend, and are met with rolled eyes and knowing looks.

Johnny’s mother confesses that half of his calls to her are asking for you. You briefly consider moving to another country.

He sends pictures of his cock while he is away, the head red and you hate that you know how hot it would be to the touch. You reply and tell him to cut it off and he tells you that you’re the one.

Your mum doesn’t understand when you complain so heavily about him. Every complaint is met with a rebuttal, as if Johnny’s hand is at the back of everyone’s throat, puppeting everything that they say.

He’s too touchy. Because he loves you sweetheart, my god, I wish someone would want me that much.

He’s too close. God forbid someone enjoy your company.

Don’t you think he’s a little bit strange? He’s in the army, you dick, don’t you think you could be just a little bit nicer about it?

You feel half insane, the only one protesting the way that he treats you, the way he has always treated you. The capacity for cruelty has just shifted. Johnny has always worked within the parameters that were available to him. Sure, he can’t get away with yanking on your pigtails anymore, but biting a bit too hard at your neck has the same result. Tears in your eyes, and everyone tells you that this is how Johnny shows you he likes you.

After his first deployment, he gets so close to fucking you that you get spooked. Eighteen now, and suddenly ten years younger, Johnny taking something that doesn’t belong to him. You let him fuck up the length of your cunt, let him lick his cum off of you. He keeps his head between your thighs, eats you out like a man starved until you shake, tears in the corners of your eyes. Shame again, at how sloppy he is, spit and slick and cum everywhere. He likes it, likes how shameful you get about it. Laps that up too, tongue buried in you like he wants to get to the back of your throat. He always wants more of you than you think you have to begin with.

He lies back, barely sated but will at least lie still now and pulls you over to drape over his chest. He’s getting bigger, you think. Maybe he’s taking parts of you, squirreling them away in himself, until you don’t know you unless you find it in him.

You curve one hand over his barrel chest, barely any give in the muscle. He hums, a booming noise beneath your ear. “Tha’s all it took,” he murmurs, hand smoothing over your head like you’re a cat. “A bit ae missin’ me and yer as sweet as a kitten.”

You’re too tired to give a snarky response, though you briefly wonder if you can get away with pinching his side a bit too hard in retribution.

You know he’s going to be even more pent up the next time he gets back, that he’s going to think he’s owed your virginity. You refuse to give him another reason to tie the two of you together indefinitely. You think he’ll propose if he does, he has already been messaging you about it, asking when the two of you were finally going to walk down that aisle that he’s been building around you for years.

You go to a pub the next time he leaves, ignore his messages to call because he misses you so much. Sit at the counter until some sleazy guy who looks double your age saunters up and offers to buy you a drink. You shouldn’t, it is so dangerous. You barely have to cut your eyes towards him before he’s taking this as forwardness. Offers to take you home and immediately starts pawing at you in his truck.

You let him bend you over, the clink of a belt and its all over. You rock with each thrust, hating yourself for catching sight of the man’s hand on yours and knowing that Johnny’s is bigger.

You bring a hand down to rub along your clit, but the first whine that leaves your mouth brings the entire show to a close and you stand up, furious. The man wheezes in the seat as you barely say goodbye, wrenching your panties up and storming home.

Johnny’s been calling you, must be on whatever type of break he gets wherever he is, and you answer after the third missed call. Low timber floods your ear and warms your bones.

He’s so excited he caught you, been missing you so much, baby. Thinking about you all the time, he got in trouble for not being able to focus. Asks if you’ve been taking care of his pretty girl for him?

You let him yap in your ear the whole way home, wanting desperately for your vibrator. “You missin’ me too, baby?” Johnny huffs in your ear. You hum, absentmindedly in response. He’s on it, scenting blood.”Aye? Tell me, how much, eh? You been petting yourself thinking of me?”

You’re home, Johnny still trying to goad you on over the phone, the connection is bad but he seems to overcome it. Hulking, even over a wire to get to you. Maybe you could get him to talk through getting yourself off. It’s disgusting, but maybe you could give yourself a pass this one time. He’s allowed to do whatever he wants, where are your allowances? Johnny gets to hop back and forth over the line of propriety, you’re allowed one slip up before you return to your factory settings.

Your vibrator, hidden in the back of your bedside table, gone. You know it was him, know he binned it. Know he probably didn’t want anything getting you off except him.

You stare at the empty space in the back of your drawer, cold water down your spine that douses any flames of arousal you think you have ever felt and maybe will ever feel again. Anger is back, and so beautifully familiar. Johnny is still droning on, something about letting him see a picture of how much you’re missing him.

“I fucked someone else,” you say, voice gritty.

The line goes quiet. Small buzzes that make up the distance between the two of you, the call dropping and reconnecting. Universe bringing you back together again.

“That’s not fucking funny,” Johnny says, voice low in a way that you don’t think that you’ve heard before.

“Good thing I’m not joking,” you snap back. You feel frightened, eyes darting to the window as if he is about to start running in your direction, all the way across the globe. You wouldn’t put it past him. But never let it be said that you wouldn’t put your hand to the snapping teeth of a rabid dog.

He’s silent, breath heaving before the line goes dead.

You drop your phone to the floor and stand in the quiet of your room. A bird chirps in the distance, life reinstating itself even in the absence of Johnny. You crawl into bed and refuse to get off tonight. A competition where you are the only participant and the only loser too. Fitting.

You don’t see Johnny for months after that. Which makes sense, because he is across the globe. But the silence feels eerie, the way you imagine it might be for him. The thunder of a gun and the shutter after. Silence ringing, not due to quiet but because of the absence of sound.

He doesn’t message you at all during this period. Clearly he says something to his mother, because she gives you a frown at church that Sunday. “You must’ve done something,” your mum hisses at you, embarrassed that the story of childhood sweethearts that she gave birth to has become a story of a surly woman who cannot appreciate the man who loves her as he risks his life for his country.

You don’t bother replying. There’s no point, really. Everything has been set in motion and everyone had climbed on board. You were the one that derailed the track and upset everything.

You refuse to admit that you miss Johnny. That your phone buzzes and there is a moment where you think it could be him. For months, it isn’t. You feel like you’re floating out in orbit and your lifeline has gone silent on you. Drifting, the cold slowly creeping in, nothing around to propel yourself off of. Gain some momentum, do something.

You sit and wait for Johnny’s judgement day.

He gets back on a Friday, and he doesn’t come to see you. You know he’s back, because you can hear your brother on the phone to him, asking if he got back alright. You skulk around the corner, waiting for any mention of your name. If there is any, you don’t hear it.

You sit in your room, uncertain. The thing that you hadn’t considered is that while you had been complaining about how you and Johnny had been set up in the direction that you were going in, you hadn’t thought about what you would do if you weren’t doing this. You have derailed the train now, but you don’t remember when you got on, or how to get back there.

You mull this over, legs tucked to the side as you lean into the large bear on your bed. Won for you, by Johnny of course, at some fair when you were kids. Maybe you could leave. Nothing as drastic as another country, but another town maybe, escape the suffocation that comes with being here and everyone knowing you as Johnny’s girl.

Daydreaming, imagining yourself in a place where no one knows who you are, you are startled out of your thoughts when your window slams open. Soap hoists himself up and into your room, with an ease you imagine he must not have had before.

You blink at him as he stands next to your open window, gaze hot on you without saying a word. You shuffle a little, uncertain, refusing to speak first. You feel bizarrely guilty, as if you have done something wrong. Even though you know you haven’t. Just because a man decides he is owed your virginity, doesn’t mean you’re in the wrong for not giving it to him.

Still, you swallow an apology on the back of your tongue and it tastes like ash.

Johnny quietly reaches over and slams your window shut, making you jump.

“Y’know, a went around town and tried to figure out who ye cheated on me wae,” he says, at last, face darker than you have ever seen it. His hair is slightly grown out along the sides, mohawk less stark like this. Hair like he had when he was ten, almost.

“I didn’t cheat on you -” You try to interject, remembering your indignation more than anything.

Johnny lunges for you, hand hot around your ankle as he yanks you down the bed. “Who fuckin’ was it, huh? Y’ know, ave been tryin’ so hard wae you, thinkin’ that you’ve been missin’ me just as much as a have you, but instead you’ve been tryin’ tae hurt me, whorin yourself fae anyone -”

You reel your arm back to punch him in the face, and he catches your wrist just before you can make contact with his jaw. “I didn’t fucking whore myself out, I’m sorry that you’re fucking delusional -”

A hand in the length of your hair and he wrenches your head back, slamming his mouth against yours. It’s sore, all teeth as you both hiss and spit at each other. It feels like an even playing field again, even though you feel swallowed up in his bulk. His hand leaves your hair and grips you everywhere he can, like everything belongs to him already.

You feel white hot, letting him lick across the back of your teeth like he doesn’t want any part of you untouched by him. You hold onto his shoulders, letting him pull you all over, leans back and hooks a finger over your jaw. Pulls your mouth open. You realise what he’s going to do a moment before he does it, spit landing on your tongue. Instinctive to swallow it.

He moans wantonly at the sight, a sound that flushes you in embarrassment. For god’s sake, you’re in your mother’s house. He’s licking into your mouth, spit everywhere and making you feel sticky.

His hand slides between your thighs and you feel the moment that he finds out how wet you are, his hips stuttering a quick grind against your hip. “Jus’ for me, huh?” he asks, feverishly hot. He pulls back as he yanks your shorts off, panties dragged along with. Groans at the sight of you, wet and swollen between your legs. “Eh? Is this what ye did wae that fuckin’ boy?”

Your thighs shake, hands trying to catch his wrist as he slides two fingers into you, thumb mean against your clit. “What?” you croak, blinking up at him.

“Whatever loser you took home with you,” Johnny asks, hawk-like focus on your face. Strange for him, when your pussy is on show. “You take him back here and did ye let him dae this tae y’? Ye think aboot me when he brought his small dick oot?”

You don’t respond and he pinches your clit until you squeak, trying to buck away from him.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he coos suddenly, eyes no longer on your face but between your legs. “My pretty girl, you just need someone to show you, right?”

He fingers you, thumb intent on your clit until you start to shake, voice getting higher, Then he stops, fingers slipping out of you (when did it become three?), with a wet noise that if you were more in your mind, you would flush about.

You start to whine, and he flips you over onto your front, hikes your ass in the air and coos of the sight of your cunt throbbing at the injustice of it all. “A know, angel, A know. A want to give ye what yer wantin, but a don’t know if you deserve it,” he hums. Fucking liar, if the clink of his belt is anything to go by, then the hot stroke of his cock between your sticky folds that has you arching your back like a cat in heat. He’s trying to be teasing, but his voice shakes, restraint held together by a thin chain and he is a big man.

He holds you still with a hand on your hip, the heat of it sinking into your skin. You can hear him beating off, using your slick to aide the way as he stares at your holes. You feel like you want to cry, sitting on display for him to get off on. You do, but it also makes you feel piping hot all over. There’s a sickness in him and he’s been dosing you up on it for years. Viral disease, his spit in your mouth until it clogs the back of your throat and finally takes root in your bloodstream.

“Was thinking about this so much,” he murmurs, as if caught up in a dream. “Wanted tae be the one to make y’ a woman - “

“It was bad,” you manage, throat dry, gaze on the opposite wall. The slick noise behind you stops and you can only hear the sound of his breathing. His scrutiny of you on the back of your skull pulling you down. You don’t know why you’re saying this. There is a cliff edge and you want to say you stepped off of it with your next words, but you’re already freefalling, and you’re hoping for the crash into him rather than the cold dirt. “I didn’t know him, I didn’t get off, and I thought about you and how good that you would have made me - “

Half a sentence in and he sinks in, cock splitting you open. He groans, loud and shameful as you whine, thigh kicking until he stills it, pushing down to get further into you, It may as well have been your first time, it takes a few shallow thrusts and Johnny reaching down to rub at your clit to ease the way before he manages to get balls deep into you.

“Oh fuck,” you wheeze, full. At capacity. You can’t think beyond the stretch of yourself around Johnny, air knocked out as he pushes more weight onto you.

“Fuck, this fuckin’ cunt,” he groans. Hands smooth over your arse, spreading your cheeks to better view what he’s doing to you. “Knew ye would be so good, dreamed ae this - ah - you just wanted tae deny yerself. Don’t worry, angel, I’ll give ye what ye need.”

Then it starts, the pulling out just bottom out again, fast and hard and any air you manage to suck in is immediately shot out.

Your head lolls to the side, you think you might be drooling onto your sheets, but can barely find it in you to care. His balls slap against your swollen clit, so loud and yet you cannot remember why you should care about that beyond getting him to keep doing that. You realise that your muttering please, over and over again, not even aware of it.

He shifts to the side, and suddenly his thrusts are deliberate, and you tense up even more. No pause, no grinding out, you come and he keeps going, grunts as you tighten up and spasm, sobbing into your sheets.

It’s like a point is being hammered into you. You suspect if you hadn’t admitted that you didn’t come with the other guy, then Johnny wouldn’t have given a shit. But this is purposeful, a lesson being taught until only the whites of your eyes are showing. It always did so many times for you to take a telling, Johnny coos in your ear. Thank god he’s here, he’s got you.

He comes with a groan, mouth hot against the back of your neck as he mouths at your nape, teeth a little bit too sharp for your liking. Damning, feeling his cum in you. No part of you, untouched.

You want to say it gets worse from this point again. You think that it has actually just always been the same level of awful, the scale has just broadened.

Johnny tells everyone that you’re engaged after you let him cum in you again. There’s not even an engagement ring. Spitting in anger at your future being decided for you again, Johnny interprets this as you being upset he didn’t take you ring shopping. Drags you to the bathroom and fucks you on the sink with your ankles over his shoulders.

It’s relentless. There is a hairline fracture along the tender tissue of your brain and Johnny has pried it open to fit himself, crawled in and made himself at home.

He tells you that you were made for him. That he had came first, that he had wished for you and you were delivered to him. Guides your hand to his ribcage, tells you there is one missing. “Would give that an’ mare,” he vows, hands swallowing up the arch of your torso, a perfect ring made with the circle of his hands.

He’ll probably marry you the next time he’s back. He can barely be held back from it just now, that leash he places in your hand even if he yanks so hard that the control is all just for show. Just another link between the two of you, his neck yanked back to you up at you.

He sleeps in your childhood bed, muscular arm a band around your waist. There’s a version of you in the corner. She’s still weeping and now only you know. A tear against Johnny’s shoulder and he shuffles closer, tucking you under his chin. “Ave got ye, angel,” he slurs, half-asleep.

You feel restricted, unable to move. And it soothes you to sleep.

(Johnny begs you to suck him off just before he leaves for his next deployment. His come tastes bitter as you swallow. Go figure.)

#johnny mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #cod x reader #nic writes #johnny mactavish #cw dub con #definitely could have been more catholic. an improvement for next time haah #let me know ur thoughts !

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umdbooklab · 1 year ago

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letterpress dashboard simulator

🖌️ slapdash-setter Follow

you can just do a shitty lockup. no one cares. be who you want to be

🗜️ century-oldstyle-stan Follow

ummmm no you can't???? your type will fucking wiggle

🖌️ slapdash-setter Follow

fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you

24 notes

🗜️ century-oldstyle-stan Follow

people will just defend the worst printing practices known to man on this website

3 notes

✒️ lines-and-linocut Follow

I spend sixty hours on designing a fucking poster and I get a million comments about how $30 is too much to charge for it. how about you try it

340 notes

🗝️ key-to-the-quoin Follow

people on here really forget that Gutenberg was a fucking hack. he didn't invent shit

#type invented in china and/or korea #so was paper #presses were using in wine and cider making #people just love their white guy blorbos

23.1k notes

🏫 sacramentohistorymuseum Follow

We're going to print a bike for national bike day!

198.3k notes

🗄️ mind-your-ps-and-qs Follow

anyone know where I could get a historical press for cheap? under $50?

🗝️ key-to-the-quoin Follow

UNDER $50??? are you kidding? you'll be lucky to get one for under $200

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🪧 linoscribes Follow

kissing my metal type on the mouth

🗜️ century-oldstyle-stan Follow

it's made of lead. are you insane

🪧 linoscribes Follow

getting lead poisoning because I love my type so much

🗄️ mind-your-ps-and-qs Follow

it's actually probably not lead! and if it does contain lead it's stabilized in the alloy! you can totally kiss your type :D

🗜️ century-oldstyle-stan Follow

or maybe. consider. don't

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#dashboard simulator #fake post #fake posts #letterpress #tumblr dashboard #sacramento history museum ilsym #booklab op #typography #printing press #unreality

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smile-files · 6 days ago

Note

Oh Henry knower the knower of things Henry lend me your wosdom: is there any significance in the bottom button of his jacket being undone

my wOsdom. my wosdom you say. sorry lol

hmmm i haven't thought about it too much actually! but i think something interesting about henry's adult design in general is how he's just a bit disheveled... like his hair's no longer symmetrical, and here's his bottom button undone...

at least during the mg's reign of terror, henry's always busy, always in a rush - and that seems to hold true just generally speaking. maybe he's a bit mussed up because of that, because he's too rushed to keep himself perfectly preened. and indeed, unlike when he was a teenager, when he was just performing banal tasks for mr ascot, now everything he's doing has a touch of desperation to it. he Has to keep the city safe, he Has to keep it prosperous, he Has to stop the mg, he Has to find randall. so he'd be a bit more "frenzied", i suppose, then he would've been before, and thus would have less time and less focus to making sure his hair is parted symmetrically and his buttons are all, well, buttoned. he does fail to mind some of his Ps and Qs as an adult in general, doesn't he? he lets his grudges and personal motivations get in the way of the politeness he'd been instilled with on several occasions...

thank you!! this is something i hadn't really given much thought to before, but it's actually good information in seeing how henry progressed from adolescence to adulthood :D

edit: apparently having the bottom button unbuttoned is a fashion thing people do, so it might just be that, or it might be this, or it might be both? question mark?? haha. anyway thank you thyme

#melonposting #ask #professor layton #henry ledore #<- maintagging!!! sure!!!!!#i think this all makes sense. i don't think i'm going crazy

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augustnugs · 1 month ago

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Rate Your OC Tag Game

Thanks for tagging me @rooks-dagger, I love to talk about my lil guy <3

Blue Aldwir

- Compassion: 8/10. They've got a soft heart and are always offering a helping hand, even to folks who might turn around and stab them in the back. But they do know when to draw the line.

- Bitterness: 3/10. Seen some shit in life but they try their best to remain optimistic. That being said...

- Happiness: 4/10. *slaps roof* this bad boy can fit so much sadness in him it's not even funny. Melancholy is their middle name

- Politeness: 8/10. Minds their Ps and Qs and always tries to be respectful...at least to those who've earned their respect.

- Chivalry: 9/10. Dreams of being the knight in shining armour. They sometimes fall short, but that's all part of their charm

- Pride: 3/10. A humble little dude, he knows his strengths and will take pride in a job well done, but will more often than not deflect any attempts at praise.

- Honesty: 6/10. Honesty is not their best quality, but sometimes you need to stretch the truth to get the job done.

- Bravery: 10/10. They're gonna do it. And they're probably gonna do it scared.

- Recklessness: 10/10. Blue might occasionally act without fully forming a plan or considering the consequences of their actions. Hindsight is 20/20 and there are times when they get the time to reflect they usually reach the conclusion of "what the fuck was i thinking?" but does this lead to any real change on their part? Unfortunately for their loved ones, no :)

- Ambition: 1/10. Ya know those old floppy dogs that look like a puddle of wrinkles when they lay down? That's Blue.

- Loyalty: 10/10. He's got your back come hell or high water.

- Love: 10/10. He's got so much love to give it makes him look stupid. The softest of hearts.

- Sense of Family: 2/10. Poor guy doesn't remember his own family and has been alone for so long he wouldn't know family if it hit him upside the head. Definitely has a moment of realization at the dinner table with the rest of the lighthouse gang, Probably cries about it too like the tough guy he is.

- Attractiveness: 10/10. Regulation grade hottie (i am not biased)

- Agility: 7/10. Zippy lil fella. They're always darting around on the battlefield, can't hit what you can't catch B)

- Sex Drive: 10/10. Horny.

#my specialest little guy i love them so much <3 #a rook named blue #oc tag game #datv

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empressdede · 1 year ago

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Me, U & Jealousy - Chapter 3

Previous chapter

This story is written in both present and past. Italics is the past and regular font is written in the present.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"So, you’ll be able to go?" Jada asked, excitement seeping through her voice.

Sorai rolled her eyes. She was kind of regretting the terms and conditions that came with her going to this party. Especially since Sefa kept trying to tease her about her ‘schoolgirl crush’ as he would call it.

“Yeah. I can go but Joseph’s going to be there.” She explained and Jada’s excitement dimmed just a bit.

“How do you know he’s going to be there?” She asked and Sorai let out a sigh.

“He heard us talking a couple days ago about me wanting to sleepover at yours. I’ve been trying to get him to change for the past three days but he’s not budging.”

“Well…. At least he’s not as bad as his older brothers. Like, that could be way worse. Plus, if he goes that means Monica will be there and Monica is going to distract him for majority of the night.”

Sorai rolled her eyes again. Monica. She couldn’t fuckin’ stand her. But Jada was right, if Monica was there, Joseph would keep his attention on his girlfriend instead of her.

“You’re right; She’ll probably do what she does best and open her legs and keep him preoccupied for majority of the night.” Sorai agreed with a nod of her head but that caused Jada to burst out laughing.

“Girl, no way you just called Joseph’s girlfriend a hoe.”

“Only thing that ever comes out of her damn mouth is ‘He beat my shit up. Girl, when I tell you he sat me down and tore my shit up. Who knew Joseph could eat pussy like that.‘

Sorai mocked in a high pitched tone to mimic the girl she didn’t like, letting out a huff of annoyance when she was done. “I wish she would shut the fuck up sometimes, don’t nobody wanna hear that.”

“Sounds like someone’s jealous.” A teasing voice came from behind her. Sorai let out a sigh before she turned around to face the person. Joseph.

There he was with a smirk on his face as he stared at her. She wanted to smack it off of his face.

“Jealous of what?”

“All the experience she gets to have, that you’re dying to gain yourself.” He easily replied.

“Joseph don’t do that. Cause who knows, maybe Cameron will finally put the moves on her -“ Jada started but Sorai slapped her shoulder to shut her up.

But it was too late, the playfulness got wiped off his face as he stared at both girls.

“If I find out that he puts his hands on you, it’s over for the both of you.” Joseph stated, warning tone in his voice.

“Joseph, you can’t keep te-“

“I can.” He interrupted, the glare in his eyes showing he wasn’t playing with her. “The twins don’t got no plans as far as I know, so Cameron better be on his Ps and Qs if he knows what’s good for ‘em.” And with that he walked away.

She turned to glare at Jada. She knew how much those boys were overprotective over her, and here she go pushing that imagine in his head.

He was already skeptical about letting her go is and she didn’t need another to give him another reason to change his mind.

“Don’t worry about it sis. You know Joseph is the only one who takes it easier on you. He won’t ruin this night for you, he just wants you to be careful.” Jade assured and all Sorai could do is hope she was right.

————————

Joseph had convinced his older brother to let him borrow his car to go out, and since he had already promised to pick Sorai up at Jada’s house that’s exactly what he did.

The two girls sat in the backseat of Joshua’s car doing last minute check ups on each other’s outfits that was all planned by Jada. She wanted to make sure that Sorai looked good tonight. She knows how much her best friend liked Cameron and she was going to make sure this was a good night for her…even with Joseph tagging along with them.

The ride to Aaliyah’s house wasn’t eventful; in fact Sorai kinda wished she rode with anybody else because no matter Joseph promised her, Monica always seemed to be stuck to his side at every event.

“Babe we’ll be able to enjoy ourselves right? I don’t feel like watching kids tonight.” Monica pouted and Sorai rolled her eyes.

She hated being around her, but she had to play nice tonight. Especially if she wanted Joseph to take it easy on Cameron.

“Don’t worry babe, you’ll still be able to enjoy yourself.”

Jada’s eyes locked with Sorai’s and they both fought to keep a straight face. Sorai decided to keep her comments to herself because she wanted to be on Joseph’s good side tonight.

She really wanted to get away and be with Cameron tonight.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Aye man, I can’t believe you’re here. Its been forever. How you been?” Josh asked once Sorai got settled in a little corner as far as she could be away from these guys.

She shrugged at the question, “Graduated College and I’ve been dabbling in journalism for a couple years now. The only reason why I’m here is cause of Jada.”

Jon nods his head at her, “Yeah, we don’t really see her much since she’s with the NXT roster majority of the time, helping out with talent creation. Any time we ask her about you, she act like she too busy to talk."

"I’m sure if it was that important to you, you would’ve found a way to reach out." Sorai stated simply with a shrug. At that, all the boys smacked their teeth.

"That’s not true, we’ve tried to reach out but it was never successful. We only knew how you been through our parents." Jonathan states.

"And even then, you blocked us… or me anyway - so it made reaching out to you that much harder." Sefa finally speaks up. The sound of his voice made Sorai inwardly roll her eyes. Damn, hearing him irritated her the most.

"I changed my number like a month after you guys left, but it’s okay. I know how much you guys wanted this, especially since the beginning years of college. Following in your dad’s footsteps must mean so much to you guys. Plus, being a superstar means you’re busy so I understand. I’m happy for you guys." Sorai spoke from the heart, even though their departure hurt her, she was happy they were getting to live out their dreams.

Joe sat on the opposite side of the room of Sorai and was analyzing her body language. Something was off with her, he’s noticed it the first time in the hallway with Kayla. He was getting the feeling that not hearing from them probably hurt her feelings. "We appreciate that Rai, thank you. Just remember, if you need anything you can let us know and we gotchu’ you know that right?"

She nodded at him; "Thank you Joe. So…. What’s it like running the locker room?"

"Nah, let’s get into something else." Jonathan stated, walking towards her. "Earlier, when we said you didn’t have time for heartbreak and you said it was a lil too late for that… you let some bum break yo heart?" He asked, tilting his head at her. How ironic, one of the people who helped break her heart was asking who was responsible for the damage.

Sorai let out a tired sigh, she didn’t want to get into this, especially right now. "Guys, we haven’t seen each other in five years. A lot has happened within that time."

"We know that, but that doesn’t mean we don’t care. A couple years may have gone by but that doesn’t change anything, you still our lil sis, and I hope you know that a couple years didn’t mean you stopped being our family." Josh spoke up this time.

Sorai’s heart felt heavy at the statement because at a point and time she really called these boys her family. Her brothers. Damn, she remembers when she didn’t like calling them that, she loathed it. But now, her heart crumbles at the memories. Fuck she missed them - just when she thought she was over the situation. Being around them did nothing to stop the hurt she still feels even five years later.

"Rai?" Joshua questioned after a pregnant pause took over the room. Sorai’s head snapped up to face Josh, but her eyes scanned the room quickly. All of them were staring at her with concern. "You okay?" Josh tries again.

Sorai hopped out of her seat, sending her most convincing smile towards the group. "Perfect. And I still care too so hopefully during my time here we could rebuild that relationship." She states.

Rebuild?

But before any of the guys could reply, Sorai continues. "I actually have to get going. Maybe we can catch up when we have some free time okay?"

Without giving them a chance to respond, she bolted out of the locker room. The boys looked around at each other in confusion. Each and every one of them having one thought running through their minds: what the hell just happened?

Sorai couldn’t do it, all these years and she thought she had healed from this but seeing them… seeing him made her realize that she’s not over what happened.

Back in the locker room, he wanted to know exactly what happened to Sorai since they’ve left. Did she meet someone who took her time, is that why she didn’t reach out? Did this person hurt her to the point where she was embarrassed and didn’t want to bring it up to them, to him in specific.

He needed to find Jada because something happened to Sorai and he was hell bent on figuring out what it was.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

How we feeling, be honest? 😭😭 The next chapter is where everything falls into place 😭 I hope I’ve done a good job otherwise. Btw Idk if I made it Known but I made the twins 2-3 years older than Sefa instead of a whole 8 soo the story could make sense😂😂

Tagging the lovelies: @southerngirl41 @reci1996 @skyesthebomb @christinabae @leighla3 @whatdoeseverybodywant @harmshake @yana3sworld @angiedawn02 @theninthwonder

#empressdede #empresswriting #wwe #black reader #sefa fatu x oc #sefa fatu x black reader #solo sikoa x black reader #solo sikoa x oc #solo sikoa #sefa fatu #MEYOUANDJEALOUSY

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flowerbetweenfangs · 1 year ago

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Caged

(This is a longer one and will be put under read more. CW: There is slavery, but the reader is looking to free/dismantle the system in their own way)

You came across the caged people in the middle of the day. There were no code words or secret passages to get to the displays. It was like any other booth at the bazaar.

Most of the cages were filled with beastmen. Unlike the creatures who roamed the forest, they would walk on two legs. Some could even speak.

Lionmen, Tigerladies, Avian Sapiens, "Not Deer", Chimera, and even a few Phoenixes all stared at you as you walked. Some grabbed the bars and strained their faces to look at you. A small flicker of danced across your eyes. Maybe a spark of hope that they would be freed.

"How long has this been going on?" You asked your companion.

"What do you mean?"

"The slaves?"

"Ah. Well, my dear blue blood..." Their voice trailed off as they stared at the cages. "Surely you heard about the market for this? They're not slaves..." They wiggled their fingers, brows furrowed as they attempted to come up with an explanation. "Merely.... Indentured servants."

"Why not put an offer up on the boards in town?" You raised a skeptical brow and ventured closer to the cages.

A walking stick slapped your chest. The impact smarted. Wincing, you stepped away to rub the sore spot.

"You shouldn't question this so much." Your companion hissed next to your ear.

"How much are the contracts?" You asked. There wasn't much left in your purse, but surely you could at least free one.

"Sorry?"

"We offer a wide variety of specimens and creatures." A well dressed figure stepped out from behind one of the cages. He ran a walking stick of his own across the bars, causing many who had come forward to retreat and whimper.

"We've broken them in ahead of time," His smile made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. "So they should already be obedient."

"Broken in?" Your brows raised more. So they had beaten or tortured these creatures into compliance?

"Don't worry, little Blue Blood." The man bowed. "We would not want a client to be harmed by the merchandise. If one does harm you or run away, we will send in our own parties to capture and return them, and give you a new one."

Your companion must have seen your scheming expression. The waling stick slammed down on the top of your foot and a quick throat clear was all the warning they could offer while being discreet.

Your eyes went to the Lionman again. They'd shorn his mane. Nicks and a few notches in his ear and surrounding fur showed how gentle they'd been. Dried blood and dirt clung to his body.

Your stomach churned at the fetid stench and sight. The sign declaring his price seemed insultingly low for another life. But considering how much the sellers had damaged the "merchandise", perhaps that was why.

You put down the coins.

The merchant slid over papers. The sloppily applied seal at the bottom hinted at their legitimacy, or lack thereof. Clenching your jaw, your eyes flicked to the top of the page. The spot next to "Name" was blank.

"He's your property, so you get to call him what you want."

"I'll... Think about it."

***

When you arrived home, the newcomer's nose wrinkled, sniffing his new environment.

Setting the papers down, you waved over one of the notaries, who came over with blank pieces of papers and writing tools. While you could read and write, the palace preferred the people they paid to be the ones who crossed the Ts and dotted the Is, along with minding the Ps and Qs.

"What is your name?" You asked the creature once your companion left to the servants' quarters. Laughter and cheers erupted shortly after.

The sudden noise had the Lionman's eyes wide, what little fur he had standing on end.

"They're always off by the seventeenth mark." You explained.

His eyes remained focused on the door. A chalice fell over as his thrashing tail struck it. As red wine sloshed across the table, the notary screeched, trying to save the paper.

Fabric tore and in a golden blur, the Lionman's fist slammed down on the table in front of you.

A filthy rag was clutched in his hand. And he was wearing less clothing than before.

"Forgive me." His hand trembled as he attempted to wipe up he rest of the wine.

"It's okay." You tried to keep your tone gentle as your heart became a battering ram against your chest. He'd moved so fast. Tore off his clothes, just to keep some wine off yours.

"And what is the name of my savior?" You tried again, now that you had his attention.

"I... Do not have one."

You inhaled sharply. Perhaps releasing him back into the wild wasn't the best option, just yet.

"Well... I paid a gold piece for you. You have golden fur. And you clearly are showing you will be worth every piece." You looked to the notary.

"What's another word for gold?"

"Well, an old word for gold piece was "Aureus."" The notary explained as they spread the papers across the tables.

You turned back to the Lionman.

"Is that acceptable?"

He dropped to one knee, arm across his abdomen.

"Of course, Master."

#monster love #monster lover #monster romance #monster x human #monster boyfriend #monster fucker #monsterfucker #lionman #lion man #cw slavery

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dogwithapog · 11 months ago

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every q/picard interaction

#star trek #star trek tng #picard #jean luc picard #q star trek #qcard #mind your ps and qs

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johnschneiderblog · 8 months ago

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Mea Culpa

In a recent email, a regular reader of this blog named Robin scolded me for an unacceptable numbers of typographical errors in recent posts.

“I have put this off for as long as I could,” Robin wrote,“ but I finally have to say how disappointed I am with all the typos … You even misspelled ‘Lord Huron’ a couple days ago!”

My first reaction? A defensive crouch, naturally. Then I dared to check the validity of the claim. I found “Lod Huron.” My heart drooped. Then, scanning other recent blogs, I found another typo. I couldn’t bring myself to look any further.

Robin added: “It seems that running the blog through spell check would be something you automatically do. Anyway, I'm sorry to be so critical, I just found it odd given your writing background.”

What can I say …? Robin is 100 percent right and I can only thank him/her for caring enough about the written word to take the time to point out this embarrassing trend.

There is no excuse for sloppy writing and I’ll try to do better at minding my Ps and Qs.

#John Schneider #typos #blog #scolding from a reader #embarrassing

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seagull-energy · 2 years ago

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BUCKLE UP, FOLKS, IT'S TIME FOR SOME BIG THOUGHTS ABOUT SEPTEMBER 29THS NEWSLETTER ENTRY! (this took so long omg, I got very busy) VERY long post incoming.

First of all, the entire barrow scene is INCREDIBLY creepy, but I want to highlight this bit in particular:

'What in the name of wonder?' began Merry, feeling the golden circlet that had slipped over one eye. Then he stopped, and a shadow came over his face, and he closed his eyes. 'Of course, I remember!' he said. 'The men of Carn Dûm came on us at night, and we were worsted. Ah! the spear in my heart!' He clutched at his breast. 'No! No!' he said, opening his eyes. 'What am I saying? I have been dreaming. Where did you get to, Frodo?'

Hey, what's happening here??? Is Merry being possessed by the unhoused spirit of a man of Arnor?? This is another one of those things that is just dropped in, never explained, and then moved past and it's REALLY SCARY.

Then, does this line remind anyone else of Macbeth? Specifically the scene where he sees the line of Banquo's descendants. Like, compare these two texts:

The hobbits did not understand his words, but as he spoke they had a vision as it were of a great expanse of years behind them, like a vast shadowy plain over which there strode shapes of Men, tall and grim with bright swords, and last came one with a star on his brow.

A show of eight kings, the eighth king with a glass in his hand, and Banquo last. MACBETH Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo. Down! Thy crown does sear mine eyeballs. And thy hair, Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first. A third is like the former. [...] A fourth? Start, eyes! What, will the line stretch out to th’ crack of doom? Another yet? A seventh? I’ll see no more. And yet the eighth appears who bears a glass Which shows me many more, and some I see That twofold balls and treble scepters carry.

Obviously it's not a one-to-one comparison, but the Vibes are similar. (The use of the phrase 'crack of doom' in the Macbeth passage is also interesting, although I think that's probably a coincidence rather than anything else) LotR obviously has other well-known Macbeth connections, but this is one I only just noticed. (I really hope this comes off as similar to someone else and I'm not just coming up with nonsense)

As soon as his back was turned, a dark figure climbed quickly in over the gate and melted into the shadows of the village street.

I LOVE THIS MOMENT because reading it for the first time, anyone's first assumption is that this is going to be a Black Rider, but (spoilers) IT'S NOT! What a brilliant little subversion!

Frodo, Pippin, and Sam decided to join the company. Merry said it would be too stuffy. 'I shall sit here quietly by the fire for a bit, and perhaps go out later for a sniff of the air. Mind your Ps and Qs, and don't forget that you are supposed to be escaping in secret, and are still on the high-road and not very far from the Shire!'

If only they'd listened to Merry... I feel like Merry's practicality and good sense gets overlooked a lot. In these early chapters his status as 'most well traveled of the group' really comes across

Suddenly Frodo noticed that a strange-looking weather-beaten man, sitting in the shadows near the wall, was also listening intently to the hobbit-talk. He had a tall tankard in front of him, and was smoking a long-stemmed pipe curiously carved. His legs were stretched out before him, showing high boots of supple leather that fitted him well, but had seen much wear and were now caked with mud. A travel-stained cloak of heavy dark-green cloth was drawn close about him, and in spite of the heat of the room he wore a hood that overshadowed his face; but the gleam of his eyes could be seen as he watched the hobbits.

Words cannot express how much I love this description (and Strider's introduction as a whole)

There is an inn, a merry old inn beneath an old grey hill, And there they brew a beer so brown That the Man in the Moon himself came down one night to drink his fill. [...]

*The Cat and the Moon from the LotR musical starts blasting in my head*

And now... the Aragorn list... (my thoughts are in list format because otherwise I will just be pasting large chunks of the entry here, and I've already done enough of that)

what was he doing behind the hedge on the Road???

"I slipped over the gate just behind them." and there's the payoff to that spooky moment earlier!!! It goes from 'oooh a Black Rider might have followed them' to 'nope, it was actually just this dude who wants to help them' to 'OH SHIT THE BLACK RIDERS WERE ALREADY HERE' a little later. Good stuff :D

"a secret that concerned me and my friends" I'm curious which friends he means here. Probably the Dunedain, maybe the sons of Elrond as well? Anyway, it's a fun little note

Okay now I need to break the list format because WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT ARAGORN'S RELATIONSHIP WITH THE RIDERS

'[...] They will come on you in the wild, in some dark place where there is no help. Do you wish them to find you? They are terrible!' The hobbits looked at him, and saw with surprise that his face was drawn as if with pain, and his hands clenched the arms of his chair. The room was very quiet and still, and the light seemed to have grown dim. For a while he sat with unseeing eyes as if walking in distant memory or listening to sounds in the Night far away.

So uh, Aragorn doesn't just know OF the Riders, he knows the Riders. He's obviously speaking from experience here, and iirc this is never expanded upon. What happened between them? And when did it happen?

'[...]I am afraid my only answer to you, Sam Gamgee, is this. If I had killed the real Strider, I could kill you. And I should have killed you already without so much talk. If I was after the Ring, I could have it – NOW!' He stood up, and seemed suddenly to grow taller. In his eyes gleamed a light, keen and commanding. Throwing back his cloak, he laid his hand on the hilt of a sword that had hung concealed by his side. They did not dare to move. Sam sat wide-mouthed staring at him dumbly. 'But I am the real Strider, fortunately,' he said, looking down at them with his face softened by a sudden smile. 'I am Aragorn son of Arathorn; and if by life or death I can save you, I will.'

Chills. I love him. So much. Also, SURPRISE! It's art time!!

[ID: A digital drawing of Aragorn from Lord of the Rings. He has pale skin and shoulder length dark brown hair. He is wearing a brown quilted vest, brown trousers, a cream shirt with puffy sleeves, and a dark green cloak. He is looking slightly down and to his left (image right). His left hand is resting on his chest and his right hand is resting on a sword belted at his waist. The drawing has dark, blue-gray lighting and the background is a rough blue-gray rectangle. /end id]

Andddd now for one more thought: there is no mention of him having a second sword, which implies that his ONLY WEAPON in these DANGEROUS TIMES is just the shards of Narsil. Unhinged behavior, I love that for him

Moving on from Aragorn now! (although I will have many more things to say about him later)

'[the Black Rider] seemed to make off up the Road, eastward,' continued Merry. 'I tried to follow. Of course, it vanished almost at once; but I went round the corner and on as far as the last house on the Road.'

MERRY. WTF. Okay so this is 1) extremely brave and 2) not actually a terrible idea in theory. Trying to find out where the Rider was going and what it was doing would be smart, IF IT WASN'T ONE OF THE ENEMY'S MOST DANGEROUS SERVANTS THAT SHOULD BE AVOIDED AT ALL COSTS

[Merry said] "I could hardly help myself. I seemed to be drawn somehow."

FORESHADOWING????? Actually looking at both this and the thing with the wights that I talked about at the beginning of this ramble, merry actually has a pretty strong link with the wraiths from the beginning, which is INTERESTING!

Okay I think that's everything I wanted to say. I'm so sad this took me so long to write because now there's been a whole WEEK of entries that I haven't talked about or done art for :((( Weathertop at least will probably get some love at some point, but rn my art brain is telling me to draw the entire cast of the musical so we'll see how I balance things :)

#lotr #lotr newsletter #seagull.thoughts #seagull.art

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