#johnny my beloved bastard

[bhaalschosenone]

MW3 2023 SPOILER!!

I can't believe Soap is fucking dead and Makarov is still running around.

Lynch that motherfucker--

I got a little dramatic and made him a little cross under a nice bush. Leave me alone, I'm in my feels okay 😭

Rest easy, Johnny 🫶🏻

[writersdrug]

The Good Friend

Chapter 1. A New Hobby

Summary: Johnny regularly checks up on Ghost after he sustained a bullet to the hip on their most recent deployment. It's already too late for him to escape, once he sees what's kept his beloved lieutenant so occupied over the past few days.

Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, kidnapping, implied violence, restraining, psychotic behavior, blood, forced to help in kidnapping, obsessive behavior. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THESE TOPICS. By clicking "Keep Reading" you are consenting to be responsible for the media you consume.

A/N: The people have spoken

Simon on medical leave: a disaster and a headache for the rest of the 141.

There's a daily text along the lines of "Let me know when we get shipped out next." It never mattered how many times Price responded with "You're not joining us for a while. Find a hobby, Simon." He was persistent in coming back to work as soon as possible - shattered hip be damned.

Price had given Soap the job of checking up on the poor brute. "Maybe he misses the usual company." He'd say. "Go see 'im, check in with the muppet."

Soap was a good friend, but there was only so much grumbling he could stomach from Simon. Those "check-ins" would turn into a pity party, with Simon saying "I should be out there, helpin' you lot. Only wastin' away in 'ere. Losin' my head." And it was true - every time Johnny visited, there was an open can of beer on the coffee table, or a glass of whiskey in his hand. The bottle of prescription, opioid pain killers on the kitchen table. Some ill-advised coping mechanism within arm's reach.

It hurt Johnny to see it, it really did. He cared about Simon, missed him, would do anything to get his beloved L.T. back on the team. But he knew the man needed rest and recovery, despite how much it was sending Simon into a spiral. Johnny offered to help clean up his place, but Simon angrily denied the offer. "Don't need a bloody caretaker." He spat.

Just tryin' to be a good friend, Soap wanted to say, but instead he answered with a slam of Simon's front door and a hushed "feckin' bastard."

Johnny was tired of it. When the fuck was this medical leave supposed to end? Apparently, in two weeks ("thank the feckin' lord") -

But, Soap soon discovered, Simon had requested more time off.

Price stated he'd said something about "still not feeling right", which immediately had Soap confused. That old bawbag would've been back in the game the second the bullet was out of his hip, if it wasn't for regulations. It festered in the back of his mind all day: why would Simon do that? What could possibly hold his attention more than the task force? More than Johnny?

There was only one way to find out.

Soap stands in front of Simon's door, knocking loudly against the dark wood. An unexpected visit, which Simon might be frustrated by - but Soap is dying to see what's got his lieutenant so preoccupied. Hopefully, he hasn't fallen into a pit of depression, choosing to drink himself to death, rather than come back to the team.

However, after just a few moments of standing on his porch, Simon answers it rather quickly. And he looks happy. Delighted, even.

"'Bout time, Johnny." Simon says, stepping aside to let him in. "Was wondering if you got lost."

"Was wonderin' if you'd gone crazy." Soap banters back, kicking the door shut behind him. "Cap said ye want more time?"

Simon chuckled quietly, locking the deadbolt behind Soap. He shoves his hands - gloved hands - into his sweatshirt pocket. "Took his advice. Found a hobby."

"Lemme guess: knittin' me a Christmas sweater?"

"You fuckin' wish."

It's good. It makes Soap sigh with relief (internally), seeing Simon in such good spirits. He tosses the pack of blems onto the coffee table and follows Simon into the kitchen. The smell of rubbing alcohol hits him before he sees the counter; bandages, gauze, bloody gauze, hydrogen peroxide, and an open suture kit.

He stops in the doorway to the kitchen, his teeth bared in a wince. "Shite, Ghost- ye reopen tha' bullet wound?" he says, lifting up one of the bloodied pieces of gauze.

"Hm?" Simon turns to face him, then looks at what he's holding. "Oh- nah, I'm fine. Luvie here bumped her head."

Johnny looks up, confused, following Simon's back with his eyes as he makes his way into the dining room - his mind goes blank when he sees the poor, bloodied thing, tied to one of the chairs.

You're staring back at him, hair messed and blood dried against a nasty gash on your forehead. Fabric is stuffed into your mouth, with a strip of duct tape securing it around your head. Your eyes light up with hope as they take Johnny in; you're heaving, poor thing, breaths more like whines as you fight through the delirium of your concussion. Your right ankle is swollen and a nasty shade of purple. Blood all over the chair, your thighs, and now, Johnny finally notices, Simon's hands.

"Dinged 'erself pretty good on my bookcase." Simon says, too calmly, his broad frame standing behind the chair you're strapped into. "Slippery lil' thing, she is."

Simon rips the duct tape off - your voice immediately fills the room, echoing inside Soap's head with your begging and pleading, please please please get me out of here, please help me, he kidnapped me, he's a monster, please-

Johnny has to look away - there's too much noise, too much going on - his eyes trail down the dark hall and into Simon's bedroom. The bookshelf is toppled over, volumes strewn about the floor, a lamp shattered on the ground and casting an eerie angle of light through the room. He hears the sound of his own blood pumping, his chest and throat feel tight, mind racing a million miles a second. Did his LT do this? His Simon?

"Johnny."

He turns back to you. The duct tape is back in place, and now you're weakly thrashing about as much as you can - which really isn't much. Ghost is staring at Soap, one of his hands wrapped around your shoulder, knuckles white with how hard he's gripping you; which is most likely what's making you cry so much.

"Need ya to help stitch 'er up." Simon says, his eyes cold. It's an order. "'Fore she bleeds out on us."

Johnny feels like he's going to vomit. He needs to stop thinking, to stop shaking, and do something. His lieutenant's kidnapped a bloody civilian, for Christ's sake. Why? And what the fuck did he do to her?

"Won't let me touch 'er. Hard to stitch the wound when she's throwin' a fit - damn near stabbed 'er in the eye. I'll hold 'er while you do th' job."

Johnny finally inhales after holding his breath for so long. He stumbles backwards into the kitchen, remembering where the front door is, thinking he should have been in his car and on the phone with the police by now. If he does, though, Simon will be gone forever. Locked up in prison, far away from Soap. How can he save this? How can he save you, and him? "Simon, ye- ye can't be serious, mate-"

"If you walk out tha' fuckin' door I'll kill 'er before you reach it."

That ruffles your feathers. You're whimpering again, screaming against the gag - at him? At Ghost? He freezes where he stands, trying to remember his training. Act first, think later. Do what keeps the most people alive in the moment. That's what Simon had taught him. The same man who was threatening to kill you, ironically, based on what Soap decided to do.

"Get the sutures off the counter." Simon ordered, apparently sensing Soap's inner turmoil. He knows Johnny wouldn't leave you there, not after the threat.

He couldn't.

Soap exhaled heavily through his teeth, forcing his muscles to move. He snatched the suture kit off the counter and stormed back into the living room. He heard Ghost hum in approval as he slapped it down on the table.

"You do it." he said, his voice low and full with grit. "Ye stitch 'er up, I'll help ye take her to the hospital. We come back n' clean up-"

"Shut the fuck up-" Simon growled out to Soap, gripping your chin in his large hand and yanking your head back against his abdomen. "Get to work. Don't let 'er die on me, now."

Die. Die. You had a concussion and a headwound, but you weren't dying - still, he knew that wasn't what Ghost meant. If Soap didn't help, you would die, one way or another. He had to think of this differently, for the time being. He was helping you. He'd take this little by little - first, patch you up. Figure out what the fuck to do with you later; also, how to keep this from ruining Simon's career, because he couldn't leave the task force. Soap wouldn't let that happen.

So, he took the needle and sutures in his hand, and knelt on the floor, between your restrained legs. Ignored the way you screamed and thrashed, only held still by Ghost's meaty paws. Didn't focus on Ghost's satisfied grin. He was doing this to save your life, you'd understand that later. He was doing this to save Simon's career.

Like a good friend.

Next ->

Taglist: @a-sadmilky

Ghost photo credit to @chatskaja

[mousedotjpeg]

cw: explicit smut, johnny being a perv, mentions of reader and price being parental figures but not in a weird way, praise kink, price is mushy gushy but also rough, idek what else to put its just johnny perving on price and wife thats it thats the drabble

Sergeant John "Soap" Mactavish had seen the absolute worst of the world in his years working in the army. Things no human should ever have to witness; scenes so grotesque, heart-wrenching, and downright deplorable that they could only be conjured by hell.

But this? Not even the purest form of bleach would cleanse this from his eyes, nor the sweet freedom of death enough to erase this from his soul. Price, his beloved captain and father figure, and you, the wife of said captain, who just happened to be 141’s sweet little medic, going at it like catholic fucking rabbits in your empty office. All he had wanted was an extra dosage of melatonin following a rough mission, but the scene laid out in front of him would serve to keep him awake and squirming the remainder of the night.

But... the way his superior's hands so gently cupped your cheek and ran through your tousled locks - a direct contrast to his brutal thrusts that bounced you across your consultation table - had his boots glued to the linoleum floor. How long had it been since Soap had indulged in the touch of another? Even longer, the last time he muttered anything along the lines of what filth the captain cooed into your ear.

Shit, it was bad enough seeing the woman he looks up to as practically a mother get defiled by his hypothetical father, so why, why, could he feel himself getting hard in his pants? With bated breath, Johnny ignored the screaming bastard in his mind telling him to run like his ass caught fire and leant ever so slightly more into the doorway, enabling him to hear more of the filth his comrades were indulging in.

His sensitive ears first caught on to the wet 'schmick' of John's hips connecting with yours, then the heavenly sound of your sweet, sweet whimpers and moans. He ignored the moral questions his eavesdropping - no, perving - raised, and reached his hand around to the front of his pants, hand cautiously cupping himself.

"Fuck, honey, takin' it all so fuckin' well f' me," John groaned, panting into your ear.

"Jus' need one more from you, darlin' and I'll give it to you, yeah? Fill you up just like you need, finally get you fuckin' full of my babies." He babbles, clearly close to finishing himself, only holding off to feel the tight squeeze of your warmth milking him for everything he's worth one last time. You only whine out a weak "yes," far too fucked out to give any sophisticated answer, though it's clearly plenty for both your husband and the sneaky voyeur listening in.

Soap bites into his free fist, muffled a choked groan as he reaches into his pants, running along the length of himself to teasingly rub his thumb against his tip. It's easy to imagine himself in his captain's place, losing himself in the ecstasy of your sweet little cunt, all his for the taking. He's embarrassingly sensitive as he begins stroking himself in earnest, wishing for a moment that he could freely fuck his fist outside of the confines of his cargos.

"Fuck!" Johnny stills for a moment following the obscenity John shouts, then quickly gets right back to his rhythm, finding his Captain enjoying every second of your orgasm. Johnny himself bites back a pitiful sob as he imagines how tight your cunt must be in that moment, enough to make a stoney man such as Price break in your arms.

"Shit, shit, shitshitshit, honey, you feel so fuckin' good, baby, such a good little wife f' me, gonna fuckin pump my fuckin' babies into this delectable little cunt a' yours, yeah, baby? How's that sound? I'll have you barefoot 'nd pregnant f' me in no fuckin' time, honey." Price rambles, utterly pussy drunk as he rapidly approaches his high. His thrusts stutter only to press himself as deep as possible into you, which in turn roughly shoves you up the table, then he's grunting low in his throat, pressing his cold nose to your jaw and releasing all of himself into your abused heat.

At the same moment, Johnny's tossing his head back, ruining his own pants with his filth. His teeth nearly draw blood as they press sharply into his fist, though it does nothing to slow or ease Soap's ecstasy as his cock twitches in his grip and spurts out every last drop of cum in his heavy balls. He has half the mind to quiet his breathing, at last letting off his fist, leaning against the wall.

Pulling his hand from his boxers, he wipes it lazily on his cargos, daring one last risky glance into the room that holds his captain and medic, only to find one cheeky John fucking Price staring right back at him.

finally getting back into writing. i have no idea if this even makes any fuckin sense >:'c also i wasnt sure if i should tag it as a soap x reader, since he's not technically with the reader? but i went ahead and did, so just lmk if it shouldnt and ill fix it c:

~ mouse

[frudoo]

Goddess — Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Retired Johnny focuses on his art. His favorite muse? You, of course.

Warnings: Slightly smutty, very suggestive. Plus size reader (female). Body image issues mentioned. Shitty Scottish (PLEASE give me feedback, I wanna get better!!)

I’m not gonna lie y’all—I’m not too proud of this one. The idea was perfect in my head but my fingers did not want to write it </3

MDNI

A shudder escapes your pouty lips with every drag of his vaseline-coated fingers across your soft body. Johnny’s excuse was to tell you that your skin needs to be prepped before he could do anything, but that was ten minutes ago and he’s been massaging your breasts for five, now. Finally, he pulls his hands away after giving your nipples one more flick for good measure. He chuckles at the breathy whine you let out.

     “So eager, bon’. Cannae even handle a bit o’ prep?” The cocky bastard teases, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose before turning around and grabbing the plaster bandages off of his desk. 

     This all started when you made the mistake of telling your beloved husband that you were feeling down. The demons had gotten louder the longer you stared in the mirror, and Johnny had walked in right as the first tear fell down your round cheek. He let you cry in his arms, kissing your forehead and murmuring into your ear about all of his favorite parts of you. Turned your tears of self-loathing into glistening proof of ecstasy with his face buried between your thighs, leaving no room for doubt about just how much he adores you. He told you his idea while you were curled into his side, slick with sweat and pleasantly fucked-out. 

     That’s how you ended up here: sitting on a stool in his workspace, naked and compliant (just how he likes you, he joked). The body cast, of course, was his idea of making you feel better about yourself—at least, that’s what he told you. The truth was that he’s utterly obsessed with you. The ring on your finger and the home you shared wasn’t enough for him. He wanted—needed—to be surrounded by you in any way, shape or form. No matter how many paintings or sketches or statues of you that littered the house, he wasn’t satisfied, always convincing you to sit all pretty for him so he could recreate the most beautiful work of art he could think of. 

     Johnny starts on your breasts, coming as no surprise to you. The plaster strips are cold and tacky against your supple skin, and it makes you grimace. He takes his time molding the pliable medium to fit you perfectly, nimble fingers working restlessly to exact the curve of your perky nipples. He hums while he works, biting his tongue between his teeth in pure concentration, dismissing the whines and annoyed sighs you let out. 

     “Haud yer wheesht, bon’! Willnae take long. Lass loves the attention,” he scolds, but the shit-eating grin on his face makes you huff louder. 

     “I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” you purse your lips, fighting the urge to cross your arms over your torso—his new favorite canvas.

     “Ah jus’ want tae show ye tha’ yer body shuid be in a museum. Ah ken ye’re bonnie, but ye dinnae, so ah’m gunna prove t’ye wha’ a goddess ye’re.” Johnny explains softly, those sparkling blue, oceanic eyes darting up to meet your impatient gaze. 

     Can’t really argue with that, can you? With a final sigh, you reluctantly relax your body, allowing the artist to more accurately place the plaster strips onto your lubricated skin. He rewards your cooperation with a tender kiss to your lips and a warm smile. His calloused hands smooth out the bandages over the soft rolls on your waist and tummy, making sure every single detail of your perfect form is immortalized. If you yourself can’t live forever, he’s determined to make sure people are able to admire you for centuries to come. 

     Once Johnny’s satisfied with the sticky mess he made on your plush body (for once, it’s actually a PG-rated mess), he steps back to admire his handiwork with a pleased hum. His eyes scan over your body in appreciation before he turns and washes his hands, drying them off with a rag. Over the course of the next thirty minutes, he tells you corny jokes to keep you distracted from the discomfort of drying plaster on your skin. Once it’s dry, he tells you to take a deep breath so he can pry off the cast—you’re secretly thankful that he spent so much time putting vaseline all over you because pulling it off was already a task. 

     With a gross pull of your skin and then a soft squelching noise, the artwork is off of your body. Johnny smiles giddily, happy with how perfect and detailed it turned out. He sets it carefully on his desk to let it dry more on the inside. Much to your relief, he allows you off of the stool and guides you into the washroom where he runs you a nice bath. He insists on cleaning your body, gushing about how beautiful and perfect you are for him—and then he fingers you silly as a reward, making sure the bathwater is deliciously murky before draining it. He dries you off with tender hands, pressing doting kisses all over your face just because he can. And once he’s got you in bed, all sleepy and warm, he climbs in beside you and whispers into your ear:

“Gunna make a cast o’ yer gorgeous cunt next, aye?”

[thugbambi]

as i was talking about this a while ago, our cat hater winner: johnny mactavish!

(shower sex and poorly written smut overall, sorry it’s my first time)

“steamin’-” johnny muttered.

he laid his back on the armchair without moving further as your cat sat on his lap, looking up at him as it curled up in a ball.

johnny sighed, he tried to ignore the pet, but its purring was far from calming for him. “yer gonna get yer fur all over me trousers, ye mouser.”

the addressed animal opened his eyes and looked up at the scot, a confused expression on his sweet muzzle. “yeah, i’m talking to ye, ye-”

you walked into the room as you heard your boyfriend talking to himself. “what?”

“ye said this useless ball of fur was a born predator, a hunter, that he hated people…” johnny grumbled. he tried to push the cat off his lap, prying its claws from his pants, but it refused to budge.

you chuckle. “no, i just tell people that so when he purrs at them they feel special.”

“ye…” johnny smiled at the confession, heart warming up at your sweet gesture. “well, i don’t want him purrin’ and rubbin’ against me, next thing i know he’ll be pissing on me.”

“you’re being dramatic, johnny.” you roll your eyes, leaning down to kiss both of your beloveds head. you grimace as some fur sticks to your glossed lips.

“i thought this thing would be a tiger! traitors. the both of ye.”

“stop being dramatic, johnny, it’s a kitty-”

“dramatic?! i-” he started whining again before the cat dug its claws into his thigh. “fuckin’- stop that!”

“baby, i’m going to leave you with the stinky creature, don’t mind him.” you giggle as you walk towards the bathroom. “and i wasn’t talking to you, johnny.”

he rolled his eyes. “ ‘course not. stinky creature….”

he subtly scratched the cat under its chin, listening to its soft purrs. the cat, undeterred, continued to purr loudly, its bushy tail flicking back and forth. johnny looked down at the animal and sighed, a mixture of irritation and resignation visible in his eyes. “so this is my life now, huh?”

he listened to the noise of the shower turning on and kept stroking the cats back as he pretended to still be offended, looking down at the pet with a grimace. “bloody bastard…” he muttered, “doin’ it on purpose.”

after a few minutes he swatted the cat away with a groan and silently made his way towards the bathroom. he quietly turned the knob and entered the steamy room. his eyes were immediately drawn to your figure, hidden by the clouds of steam and shower structure (whether you own a glass shower or one with a curtain).

“mind if i join?” he asked as he already began undressing.

you chuckled. “where’s my baby?”

“the bloody furball is fine.” johnny rolled his eyes, removing his tshirt. “snoozin’ on my armchair. that was all he was after- happy?”

“did you treat him well?”

he gave you a mockingly offended look even if you couldn’t see him, placing his hand on his chest. “are ye implyin’ i’d treat yer precious child poorly? of course i treated the bloody cat fine.”

“then i guess you can join.” you hummed.

johnnys lips curled into a grin as he stepped into the shower. the water was warm, he was about to complain as he always took ice cold showers, but you smiled up at him. the water began cascading over his toned body, he took you in your naked form, wet and inviting. “looks like i’m here jus’ in time.” he grinned.

“yeah, condition my hair for me?” you grinned back as you turned your back to him.

johnny chucked, his teasing demeanour vanishing in an instant, replaced by a look of pure obedience, johnny was nothing if not inexplicably obedient, your have to thank his years in the military for that.

he reached over for your bottle of conditioner, opening it and pouring a generous amount onto his palm. he ran his fingers through your damp hair, massaging the conditioner in. his touch was firm yet gentle, his hands then moving to massage your scalp.

you let out a soft moan. “should’ve been a massager.” you hummed.

“i have a few other talents,” he teased, his hands working on your back and shoulders, “and all of them involve driving ye crazy with jus’ ma fingers.”

you turned around and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him. “i already know about that.” your arms wrapped around his neck, guiding his head lower. his lips immediately met yours, hands roaming over your wet skin, tracing the sweet curves of your body.

johnny backed you up against the wet and humid, cold tiles, his mouth never leaving yours. he wrapped his hands on the back of your thighs, your sign for you to jump up and he guided your thighs to wrap against his waist.

water cascaded over your bodies, slipping into the kiss he refused to break.

“ye look so pretty like this.” he muttered against your lips, aligning himself with your needy entrance, looking for a signal to stop. you bit his bottom lip and sucked on it, his mind cloudy as he pushed in, taking all the breath away from your lungs.

“johnny-” you breathlessly gasped, leaning against him as he bounced you up and down a few times.

“all right, hen?” he asked, burying his face in the crook of your neck to stabilise his breath.

you hummed. “jesus, johnny…”

he couldn’t resist the sound of your moans, his body thrusting into yours once more. he wanted to make it last, to enjoy the warmth of your pussy, where his cock had made its home.

his body moved perfectly in sync with yours, your hiccuped moans and gasps made him twitch inside of you, which only caused you to flutter around him. “hen- ye gotta-”

you bit his lips to shut him up, his arms almost losing their hold onto you. the sharp pain of your canines was a welcome contrast to the pleasure coursing through his body. his rhythm faltered for a second, before his teeth nibbled at the spot just below your ear that made you scream. “yer makin’ it real hard to hold back, bonnie…”

“then don’t-” you muttered as he thrusted into you again, quicker and harder. “johnny- god!”

he picked up the pace, his resolve crumbling under the weight of his desire, his body surging forward to meet yours. the wet sound of your skin slapping his and the water running made his brain buzz, the sound mingling with your ragged breaths and moans. “i could die here…” he muttered.

“johnny,” you croaked, hiccuping on little gasps, “i’m close…”

he felt your words die on your lips as he kissed them again with much more force, your body beginning to shudder.

johnny let out the lowest groan he could manage, almost animalistic rather than human as his breath came out in strained gasps. his body began to tremble as his release started building deep inside of him like a tidal wave. his cerulean blue eyes, deep ponds of seabeds, fell closed, his forehead pressed against yours.

his movements became erratic and unfocused as he rode the last waves of pleasure, his body spasming against yours.

he let out a guttural groan as he felt you clenching down against him one more time, and feeling your release dripping down his length, down to the base, pushed him over the edge. your moan became one with his as your body tensed against his. your lips found his and johnny returned the kiss eagerly, his body still pressed closer to yours. as he broke the kiss, he pulled back slightly, both of your chests rising and falling in shallow and quick breaths.

you looked away from his eyes as he couldn’t stop staring at you, fixing your hair that had stuck to your forehead as you screamed. “johnny!”

“what,” a wicked gleam in his eyes, “not enough already?”

“no, no, no!” you got free from his strong grasp and shut the water. you hopped out and wrapped yourself in a towel that was waiting for you on the sink. “you left the door open!”

his eyes followed your pointing finger to your cat, sitting, curious, by the discarded clothes on the floor.

“seems like our wee furry audience has had its education on human activities.” johnny chuckled, getting out of the shower after you and wrapping a clean white towel around his waist, hanging dangerously low. you eyes scanned him quickly before going back to your cat.

“johnny…” you sighed.

“relax, hen, the pest is okay-”

“you left the door open.” you crossed your arms over your chest and looked up at him.

“yes, yes, i left the door open, it’s a cardinal sin in this house, i ken. but i was a little… occupied.” he shrugged, eyes following the path of the small water drops that ran down your chest, disappearing into the valley of your breasts, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

you rolled your eyes, picking your cat up. “cmere baby…”

johnny followed you into the bedroom as you gently placed the cat on your bed, dropping the towel to the floor as you opened some drawers to fish out some underwear.

the scot leaned against the doorframe and looked at you with a fond smile on his face. “now that’s a view i won’t ever get tired of seeing.” he purred.

you turned your head and shot him a glance. “you gotta stop sneaking on me while im naked.”

johnnys eyes roamed over your body as you slipped into a clean pair of panties and one of his t-shirts. “an’ miss out a view like this? not a chance, hen.”

you rolled your eyes as he took a few steps and stood in front of you, hands finding their place on your waist. “we probably traumatised him…”

johnnys eyes darted to the cat sitting on your bed, attentively your every move. sounding like a worried mother, you kept your preoccupied whining.

“oh i think the little devil will survive a little trauma.” johnny hummed, kissing just below your ear. “ ‘sides, i think we just gave him a lesson on human nature.”

“but what if we just gave him ideas- and he goes fucking every cat in the neighbourhood now?” you whine.

johnnys laughter echoed loudly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “well, we can’t have our wee furball turning into a casanova, can we?” his lips twitched in amusement. “though, i have to admit, he’s got quite the presence. maybe it’s already too late for the neighbourhood cats.”

you slapped his chest lightly, holding back a laughter. “i’m serious-”

he reached to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. he kissed your forehead, then your nose and finally your lips. “alright, alright. we’ll keep an eye on the lad. no more traumatising the cats of the neighbourhood.”

[pinkgrapefloyd]

wip word game

tagged by the amazing @zannolin! tysm!

Rules: you will be given a word. share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word. my word was RUIN.

R (little excerpt from Ruin My Life (anti hero sequel). in this household, R is for Robby <3 have a little snippet of the miyagi fang gang playing never have i ever)

Robby crosses his arms. “I’m not, like, morally opposed to it. Just never happened. Didn’t know I was on trial here.” “You’re not,” Sam interjects. “Let’s move on.” “Hell no!” Demetri protests. “So you and Diaz never made out?” Miguel coughs into his drink next to Robby and honestly, Robby doesn’t blame him. This is just ridiculous.

U (from my spirk WIP. part of a little conversation between kirk and uhura which i really love)

Unfortunately, his mouth didn’t care much for his brain’s command orders. Mutinous bastard. “Dinner was great. So great, in fact, that I… um... tried to have the good old ‘what are we’ conversation with Spock.” Her face softened. She didn’t seem surprised by the monumental implications of such an announcement, and Jim couldn’t decide if he found that insulting or comforting.

I (garashir WIP my beloved... still in the very early stages but it's a ten course menu of miscommunication. fifty percent silly, fifty percent vulnerable. i cannot wait for you to read it)

It’s in his body, and it’s in the implication of his body, and in the air between them. I was trained to break people like you. Maybe it’s unwise to ask me to unearth the kindness I buried in the yard like a dead pet before you were even born. I’m not so sure what’s left of it now. I’m not sure you’d like looking at it.

N (another Ruin My Life snippet because I feel like most of you aren't here for Star Trek lmao. The worlds needs more Sam and Johnny scenes in my opinion!)

“No, I meant… singular they. Like when you…” Sam takes a deep breath. This day is already stressful enough without the prospect of explaining singular they to Johnny Lawrence. “It’s a girl.” Johnny frowns. “Why are you looking at me like that? I got a boyfriend, man. What do you think I’m gonna say, your father and I are super disappointed in you? You can have six girlfriends for all I care. Just don’t come home with that vegan shit.”

my word is STAR and I'm tagging @vimesbootstheory and @blinkasaurus and anyone else who sees this and is looking for a good excuse to share wip sneak peeks! :D

[yeehawkins]

Ricki Tikki MacTavish

Back home for once, Soap brings Ghost over to his flat. A small visitor awaits them

Coming home is an exceptionally rare luxury. And an even more rare occurrence is Simon Riley actually having any time away from the field. Johnny wanted to seize his chance to get to know the other more. Plus, he knows Ghost has nowhere to go, so it was only right to invite him over to his place. Really, it was more of a plead than an invitation, as old habits rarely die with that man. 

As they approach the apartment door, Soap pulls out a monstrosity of keys.

"How many fucking flats do you own?" Ghost states in astonishment.

"Just the one,'' Soap responds.

“Going to be here for ages trying to get into it.” Ghost states, rolling his eyes.

“Have a little faith.” Soap grins, almost magically flipping to the correct key with one cacophony of jingling, shaking it some more in triumph.

A little more jangling of keys, and Soap unlocks the apartment door, gesturing for Ghost to go ahead.

Ghost couldn't help but gawk upon entering. A few stains on the carpet notwithstanding, the place was downright pristine.

After tossing his bags by the door, Soap takes a look at his welcome guest.

"What? Never seen a clean flat before?" Soap teased.

"Well I certainly didn't expect one from you" Ghost retorted.

"Think I got the name by being filthy?"

"Oh I know where you got the name, slippery bastard" Ghost lets out a guffaw then picks up the shorter Scot, scooping him up in a hug. This knocks the air out of Soap a bit, and gets him blushing.

"Easy with the goods!" he laughs.

"That was easy"

Their banter is cut short, as there was someone else in the apartment. Ghost puts down his friend, and turns around. A small, fluffy tabby cat has made its presence known. The cat is quite loud, and continues to meow until Soap leans over to acknowledge her. He immediately melts at the sight of his beloved cat, scooping her up in his arms.

"Ricki! Oooh I've missed the hell out of you! My wee lady hold down the fort alright? Not give Ms. Darcy any trouble, did ya?"

Ghost watches as Soap devolves into a babbling Scottish mess at this cat. He lets out a chuckle, almost endeared at the display. "Didn't tell me you had a missus."

"Ah Ms. Darcy's just my landlord. Takes care of Ricki when I’m gone," says Soap.

"I mean the cat, MacTavish."

Snapping a bit out of his loving stupor, Soap tucks Ricki under his arm like a football. "This here's Ricki. My gran couldn't resist her face, but her allergies certainly could. So I took her in," He pauses to scritch the top of the cat's head with his other hand.

Ghost gives a genuine smile. His eyes go between Soap and Ricki, and raises his eyebrows at the man, clearly asking a question.

“Go ahead. Unlike me, she doesn’t bite.” Soap smirks, now holding Ricki like a baby. 

Ghost almost seems apprehensive to pet the cat, not wanting to spook her. However as he moves his hand towards her, she pushes her face up to his hand, purring loudly. 

“Aww, looks like you’re allowed to stay,” says Soap.

“Didn’t know there’d be a test,” Ghost replies contently, with much of his focus now on the purring cat. “Good to know you’ve got someone looking out for you off the job”

"Aye, really we look out for each other.” Soap beams, using one of his hands to now rub the cat’s belly. “Ricki canny hear a thing. Deaf as all, but fuckin’ loud as all too. Wouldn’t have her any other way”

Ricki takes a gentle swat at Soap's hand, shooting him a look. Ghost retracts his to avoid being included in getting hit.

“Guess the welcome party’s over” Ghost jokes. 

Soap sets Ricki back down on the floor. She goes right back to meowing once on the floor, circling Soaps legs.

“I believe somebody’s hungry,” Soap states. 

Once he has a briefly clear path, he begins walking toward the kitchen, Ricki weaving in and out between each stride. He opens up a cabinet, and looks back over at Ghost.

“Well come have a sit, Simon. You’re allowed inside more than 5 feet, you know.” Soap hollered. 

Truthfully Simon was in a bit of a trance, never much of the social type and perfectly content just watching Johnny and his cat do their thing. Hearing his name definitely snapped him out of it though. He walks over to the large couch in the living room and sits, still watching the other man and the cat in the kitchen. 

Johnny takes out a small bag of cat food, but looks down and notices her bowl is still full. 

“Oh you cheeky shite!” he laughs, looking at the cat staring at him, bending over to scritch her head. She simply yells back. 

“Fine, fine, a treat for my girl,” Johnny happily sighs, putting away the cat food and grabbing a smaller bag. He pours out a few treats into his hand, which prompts her to spring up onto the counter, somehow getting even louder. 

Johnny waggles a finger in front of her like a dad. “Ah ah ah! You know the deal.” He then points downward. 

Simon’s eyes widened. Upon this gesture, Ricki sits down, still looking up at Johnny and yelling of course. Johnny laughs and hands her a treat, placing the rest down on the counter for her, which she happily eats. He then walks over to the couch to join his guest, who is not at all hiding his surprise at what he just saw.

“You trained a cat.” Simon states in shock.

“Yep.” Johnny responds matter-of-factly, leaning back on the couch and kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“And I’m the one outta my mind for drinking bourbon?” Simon laughs.

“Yeeep.” Johnny replies in the exact same tone. The two then catch each other's eyes, and exchange laughs. They both settle even deeper into the couch and let out content sighs, Johnny leaning his head back and shutting his eyes with a smile on his face.

[inactivewattpadauthor]

Johnny Cage x Writer Reader: Basically What The Author Going Through

Warning: Venting. Title is self explanatory ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Your eye twitched as you hear the front door to the studio open and close. Just another noise is needed to distract you. Again! Fucking frustrating.

"Baby, I'm home!" Johnny calls happily for you, grunting as he drops his duffle bag aside, filled with his props or outfits or guns, or wherever the fuck job he came from today.

You didn't call back. Grumbling as you forced yourself to lock in on the page before you. You were about to pull out your hair. Nothing has came to your mind for the past hours... days.... WEEKS!

Only one draft is needed nearly one day a week. So why are you always scarce?

Footsteps thumped to your little office den. "Oh, don't tell me you're still nesting here." Johnny enters and frowns as he was very much told silently.

The death look you gave him just checking up on you.

"Y/n, you're still trying to think of what to write for your paper-"

"You don't get it, you pretty boy bastard!" You hissed.

"Easy, easy." The actor held his hands up in pacifist. "Okay, if it's this bad, why don't you just... step down for a bit. This was an off and on thing for you, right?"

"Okay, yes! It is an on and off hobby for me. But I start caring too much. I don't want to stop, at the same time, I can't keep up. And if I can't keep up, I'll have to redo it all over again."

You pace around the room and speak so fast for him. The concerned blind guy only just follows you with his eyes. Looking at you like the weird hysterical young woman you are.

"It's not like I can force myself to just write ANYTHING. I'm too bougie to be posting dog shit plots. It gets obvious." You add on.

"Okay, are your emails open for your readers? Maybe they can help-"

"𝐍 𝐎."

"Okay, got it." Cage cleared his throat and looked away.

"I already feel pressured since I don't feel that motivated. I don't need more pressure being added onto me like that. I don't miss that feeling."

You stop to breath before furrowing your eyes.

"My emails are always opened to my beloved readers. I like hearing what they have to say and think of my work. But I know the second I decide to take requests, I'm going to be the next Cory."

"Who?" Johnny raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, okay!" You held your face in your  hands and took deep, deep breaths. Finally, you'll stop talking very fast and crazy.

"I... I don't want to stop posting stories. But... without any passion to write... and how I can't think of what to write. I don't think it's possible anymore. I keep telling and telling that I'm running low on pages, that writer's block is itching me, I still force myself to keep up the every six days expectation. And I end up having to post something I feel is crappy or too overused."

You stopped there not knowing what else to say. But it felt some sort of good on your part.

Johnny got to speak. "Look, Y/n. I get what you're saying. And it's okay if you end up slowing down. You'll get back to it whenever your mind is ready. But you can't be too harsh with yourself because that's what makes the fun turn into some nasty prison cell, whatever."

He pats your shoulders reassuringly.

"There's so many other important things you have to do in life. So, who cares if you post a day late. Or two. Or a month. Or maybe even a year and a half. It's your call. Tell all those self expectations to fuck off!" He half jokes and holds a middle finger up with the exclaim.

"Right." You smile.

Wow that feels so much better our chest. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Thank you :') I wish my creativity didn't go down otherwise I would try harder.

It's like the only time I get motivated is if I'm feeling freaky and decide to write about Fujin, and thats an example of overused. Ik some of yall like it, but I try to post different characters.

[lonelyroommp3]

what would be on your enjoltaire 8tracks playlist if you made it today

you know what i didn't realise how effective my recovery from e/r had been until i sat down to make this and actually ended up having to crack open my beloved 2014 iPod That Still Has Flappy Bird On It And All in order to make a decent length playlist bc i just do not listen to enjoltaire songs anymore apparently. all this to say this has about 5 songs that, per your actual prompt, would be on my enjoltaire 8tracks playlist if i made it today and then 15 others that are direct dispatches from the mind of teenage alix. do NOT listen to this for sonic cohesion because trust me you will not be getting any

anyway i set myself one (1) rule for this which was i am not allowed to use any song that i have seen on an enjoltaire fanmix before. this made the entire project even more challenging

and if you're curious to know what the fuck i was thinking here, director's commentary below the cut:

secret diary - autoheart rip enjolras you would have loved listening to this song when you were really pissed off with grantaire

too sweet - hozier loath as i am to include a song that has become this grossly overplayed via tiktok, the very first time i heard this song i thought my god if hozier had released this song 10 years earlier it would have had the enjoltaire 8tracks girlies in a CHOKEHOLD. i can't not include it

i'll come running - brian eno i might be breaking my own rules here because a rando song being on my old ipod from an artist i otherwise barely listen to probably suggests i stole it off an 8tracks fanmix. but whatever it's an enjoltaire fanmix, it's a good song, did anyone else clock it in the background of baby reindeer (i have not finished that show and i am not going to, but anyway, great song)

satanist - boygenius "solomon had a point when he wrote ecclesiastes/if nothing can be known then stupidity is holy" could literally be a line from one of grantaire's drunken rants. welcome back victor hugo

the bird and the worm - owl city this is a teenage alix enjoltaire playlist classic. i won't apologise

stephen - kesha i firmly believe every e/r playlist requires at least one song that doesn't really fit in the details of the lyrics but the vibes are so grantaireish it's got to make it in. do you guys think the ugly girlfriend sneering across the room was epo-*i am shot*

gold rush - taylor swift IT'S THE ONLY TAYLOR SWIFT SONG ON HERE I PROMISE. HEY WHERE ARE YOU GOING. HEY STOP WALKING AWAY AND TELL ME "AT DINNER PARTIES I CALL YOU OUT ON YOUR CONTRARIAN SHIT" ISN'T AN ENJOLTAIRE LYRIC. COME ONNNN

for you and your denial - yellowcard about here is where i just gave up and cracked open the old ipod. i also wanted a clear vibe shift in this playlist and right about here is where i think we move from "mostly lighthearted pining and jabbing at each other's conflicting beliefs" to the "enjolras and grantaire biting each other's heads off" part of the fanmix. anyway i literally bought this entire album in hmv in like 2012 because i stumbled upon this one song on youtube and thought nah mate. this is e/r

make me wanna die - the pretty reckless i honestly have very little to say on this one. just more pissed off vibes

call me when you're sober - evanescence the simple fact of the matter is evanescence defined my teenage years and this will always and forever be an enjoltaire song

for a pessimist, i'm pretty optimistic - paramore i have really vivid memories of being on holiday with my parents in like 2013/14, stuck in rush hour traffic out of rouen, this album blasting in my ears, thinking this song is exactly what enjolras is thinking when grantaire goofs up at the barrière du maine

one big beautiful sound - johnny manchild and the poor bastards it is my near religious belief that every enjoltaire fanmix should have at least one song that sounds like this because i think this is precisely the kind of music that grantaire would actually listen to. actually tbh i think he is also into really really filthy drum and bass but i'm trying to keep this playlist at least slightly sensible

ever - emilie autumn this is such a perfect e/r song that it even talks about painting somebody's portrait. straight out of the fanon playbook, thanks emilie

misty - laufey right around here, or really starting with "ever", we hit the third phase of this playlist, which is "songs to be passed out and suicidal to while all your mates are getting violently killed around you". please note the hand holding foreshadowing. don't ever say i half arse these things

i'm your man - mitski genuinely this one speaks for itself i think. jaw dropped when i heard this one for the first time.

what if - emilie autumn here's where we kind of transition into the fourth portion of the playlist, which is "grantaire wakes the fuck up and goes hey wait no, i think i am going to die for & with this man actually". getting a bit more optimistic and determined but we're still in that wistful acoustic ballad space we've slipped into previously

twin flames - epica this is not from design your universe, epica's previous album, but i just wanted to use this space to say that i would regularly sit on the bus home from school imagining a whole elaborate barricades themed visual album set to design your universe. this bonus track from their next offering was just the icing on the cake. any song with a lyric like "you're all i need/my one belief" was like CRACK to teenage alix i s2g

save yourself, i'll hold them back - my chemical romance 15 year old alix would have figured out time travel to come and kill 27 year old alix in my sleep if i hadn't put a single mcr song on here

bows and arrows - kaiser chiefs i was OBSESSED with this album in 2014 and completely forgot its existence until i resurrected the old ipod. and it's REALLY good. especially this song, which i decided to check the lyrics for on genius bc i vaguely remembered it being an e/r song to me but i also haven't listened to it in like 10 years, and these quotes from ricky wilson absolutely flabbergasted me: "I liked the idea that bows and arrows are pretty useless on their own but when you get them together, they can be quite formidable... What’s wrong with a load of blokes admitting they need each other?"

i, carrion (icarian) - hozier listen, half of the reason i'm including this song is a bit of a joke at the fact that due to my self imposed rules i can't put icarus by bastille on here, but i do kind of like it as a frozen in time slo mo as the bullets hit kind of finale to this whole thing :)

[inktailsaystuff]

Ghost hates Roosters (GhostSoap)

Tw: Swearing, use of Ghost's and Soap's real names, fluff

“Johnny, you feed the hens yet?” Ghost asked as he carried the potato’s into the barn while Soap milked the cows that lived within the barn's red walls. “No, not yet. Is yer turn anyway.” Soap chuckled, blowing Ghost a kiss as he finished milking the last cow. “Ah don’t wanna deal with yer rooste’.” Soap smiled picking up the milk bucket as he patted the cow's backside with one hand. “Yer know that bird hates mah guts M’eudail.” Soap smiled, kissing Ghost's cheek as he walked past. “Hmph. Fine I’ll feed the hens today.” Ghost chuckled as he set down the sack of potatoes, picking up the basket full of the chicken feed. “I’m only doin this because I love you Johnny.” Ghost waved a finger at his husband. “Ah doubt yer would let yer beloved hens starve Simon.” Soap snickered. “Yer love those critters te death.”

“I suppose.” Ghost nodded, as he exited the barn, walking over to the chicken coop where the hens had already gathered. Ghost smiled as the chickens flocked around him, letting out annoyed chirps and squawks of offense at being fed later than usual. “Relax you feathery bastards.” Ghost laughed as the chickens angrily flocked him. Ghost hummed as he sprinkled the chicken feed all over the coop. The hens scattering to go eat their fill. The sounds of annoyed squawking died down as the creatures had their fill. The feathered creatures going back to roaming the coop or sitting in their nests once they had their fill. After making sure the hens were fed, Ghost moved on to the roosters. Quite frankly Ghost didn't quite like the roosters and the roosters didn't like him. However the roosters loved Soap, they were never aggressive with the smaller scottish man, however they would always try to tear out Ghost’s eye sockets. Deciding against entering the rooster house Ghost just threw the chicken feed through the mesh walls. “Feed you insufferable bastards.” However upon spotting Ghost on the other side of the wall a rooster attempted to attack him. “You violent creatures.” Ghost grumbled retreating back to the barn where he found his husband sorting through potatoes. “Alright Johnny, you are feeding the roosters. I hate them and they hate me.” “Simon yer overreactin’ them rooster’s are sweet.” Soap chuckled, “An don say yer hate em. Yer gonna hurt their feelin’s.” “Those bloody cocks don’t have feelings!” Ghost growled sitting down next to Soap, “One of em tried to claw my eyes out.” “Yer over exaggerate so much M'eudail.” Soap chuckled leaning against Ghost. “Der roosters are nice yer just don’t get along with ‘em.” “They don't get along with me.” Ghost scowled as he helped Soap clean the potatoes. “Whatever yer say Mo chridhe.” Soap laughed at the pout on Ghost’s face. “Ah still think yer just bein mean ter der poor roosters, maybe that's why they hate yer.” “Can’t believe you take their side, love.” Ghost huffed, “those things are bloody monsters.” “Maybe that’s why they don’t like yer.” Soap rolled his eyes. “Yer keep callin em monster’s and vermin.” “I’ve never called them vermin. But that’s a good way to describe them.” Ghost replied, glancing at his husband. “Ah m’ just sayin, maybe if yer didn hurt they feelin maybe they'd like yer better.” Soap chuckled. “Maybe they should just stop being pricks.” Ghost growled as he stabbed a potato. Soap laughed at his husband's antics. “Maybe yer should be the bigger person and just befriend the roosters?” Soap suggested with a grin, eagerly waiting for his husband's grumbly response. “I don’t want to be the bigger person.” Ghost hunched over angrily stabbing the potatoes. “…right. An remin me who’s the human in this situation?” Soap asked teasingly. “…me.” “An who has to be the bigger person?” Soap asked again. “…me.” Ghost groaned in annoyance.

[junosartsthetic]

hello hello! i saw your post and i head your call. 😌✨ ima giv u a couple names bc i love me some spicy spice😳 

diego brando

johnny joestar

narciso anasui

weather report

rikiel brando

pick anyone you like, i don't wanna overload you! also CONGRATS ON ALL THE FOLLOWERS! I LOVE YOUR WORK AND YOUR EVENT IS SUPER CUTE! SO GLAD YOU MADE IT THIS FAR!!✨✨✨

Thank you, thank you, thank you, beloved! Thank you for all of your choices, as well! I appreciate it. I decided to write a lil bit about everyone's favorite dinosaur. Enjoy!

Warning(s): general sex-talk and nsfw content, minors do not interact

--

Diego Brando

This man is a selfish, cocky bastard

And that shows in everything he does

Including sex

At least, that’s the case most of the time

There are very rare occasions when he decides it’s all about you for a night

And while you still have the best sex you’ve ever experienced every other time he’s ever fucked you

There's something about those nights

His slow elegance

His teasing

His tongue drawing circles around your clit, teasing at your entrance with an unparalleled cockiness in his eyes 

He’ll have you cumming multiple times before he even gets his dick involved

He’s good at sex

And he damn well knows it

Which is both a blessing and a curse

A blessing because, well, it’s amazing

A curse because he won’t shut up about it

“Honestly, Diego. Go fuck yourself.”

“Why would I do that when I know you’ll be begging for me later.”

“Damn it, Diego. Get out of my sight.” 

[rysko]

stalked ur profile and noticed the fandom fave ask games, Peaky Edition?

OHOHOOHOH YESSS-

This is going to be difficult. Am i allowed more than one character per category??? (also tytyty for the ask muah muah)

(tagging @red-riding-wood because i know you love these)

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most)

Listen, if you've been on this blog for more than five seconds, this will be no surprise. It's Luca, that goddamn fruit bastard<3

The moment he lifted that hat and spoke in his tony-soprano-meets-the-godfather-esque voice I knew I'm going to be obsessed but HOLY SHIT. The brainrot, it's on another level.

And Arthur, oh Arthur...

Most tragic character in the whole show, so full of love, hate, anger, EVERYTHING. He's as entertaining as he is tear-worthy, and theres no scene with him i dislike. Baby...baby boy...

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped)

ARFAAAAAAA-

Again, everything i said above. I want to make him soup and hug him, then maybe hiss at Tommy (selfcare)

AND CURLY

He makes me kick my feet, and his scenes with May make me wish he had more screen time. I need him to give me a tour of Small Heath. I'd die a happy man.

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave)

MY LOVE

MY BELOVED

ABERAMA GOLD

His death made me actually cry (i still don't see it as canon shhh), he was my favourite since he appeared in season 1 and has been my obscure love ever since (still want to write something for him, but i have so much stuff i need to write first)

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week)

Johnny Dogs!!! My dude! My man! My silly little horny guy!

I want a compilation of him. I want to drink some booze with him and for him to tell me shitty life advice that I would NEVER actually implement.

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave)

DOES NOT DESERVE THE SHIT SHE GOT.

Y'all cannot handle nuanced/flawed female characters and it shows. Linda has my heart. I love hypocritical Catholics, we are not the same.

Live, laugh, love Linda <3

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason)

Tommy.

This man. He deserves nothing more. I love him, but i also want to see him suffer. That's Tommy Shelby, i want him covered in his own blood, in a mental breakdown, screaming, crying, throwing up.

Im mentally sane btw.

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell)

We don't like nazis in this house, not only am i sending him to superhell, I'm shooting him first and throwing salt over where the body was. I LOVE his actor to death, but my 1. History obsessed 2. Polish ass has always had a personal vendetta against pre-war western fashos

*spits*

[midnightthelynxbat]

Johnny Cranky my beloved-

Reference for the skrunkly bastard-

Also not sure why, but I ship my PIE team oc with him- just this 6'5 wolf woman with a scrawny 5'4 witch. Love it.

I know one is hard to read, but to explain the mini text in the bottom corner: possibility for Cranky and what's up with him. When escaping his dimension (which was destroyed by a recently blinded and exiled Prince Fang, who spit acid at his face) Cranky and his version of Jimmy Casket merged more than they did before.

They're no longer two conscious entities in one body, but merged into a one entity- which altered Cranky's fur, eyes, and voice (when he speaks, it's two voices at once- making a weird echo). This mostly came from the fact I realized people draw him with one blue eye and one yellow, but realized older designs of Ghost and Jimmy had them with the same colored eyes- blue for Ghost, yellow/amber for Jimmy. Maybe those versions are Cranky? Since different dimension?

[sweetums0kitty]

The House Call

Summary: Jonathan has been not quite himself, which naturally worries Edward and Jervis. Who make it their mission to cheer up their beloved boogeyman

Warnings: None!

Author's note: This is my first time writing character x character! Also, first time writing for Hatter and Scarecrow! Please let me know if they're off! This is a gift for my good pal @a-rose-as-sweet for our Discord server's Valentine's exchange

Jonathan Crane did not enjoy the holidays. Christmas was tiring, all the insipid joy combined with the constant barrage of jolly tunes left the Professor with a splitting headache. One that persisted through the new year and well into February. Muddling into sensory overload that was both alleviated and agitated by the professor’s colleagues in crime

In an effort to stave off what Nygma was tentatively calling “Being a depressed spooky bastard.” With all the flourish of an over caffeinated Wayne Brady combined with the twittering tuts of Tetch as the shorter man scurried around the disheveled cave that was Jonathan’s bedroom. Muttering something that flopped between “New cup, move down!” and the dangers of using test tubes as drinking glasses. Needless to say… Crane was beginning to lose his patience. In an exasperated tone he attempted to look intimidating (Which is quite hard to do when wrapped up in a blanket nest, rocking a crow’s nest of bed head) and hissed “What do you want?”

Edward balked looking dead into the steely gaze of the master of fear and scoffed. “We-“ pulling Jervis over to his side as the blonde was still scuttling about the room. “want to check on you, Johnny,” Edward said with a lopsided smile as he poked Jervis in the back to encourage the Hatter to speak up. “Oh yes! Grabbing Crane’s hand gently “you haven’t been yourself as of late.” Tugging his hand away Jonathan rolled over to the other side of the bed, back firmly turned on his companions. “I thank you for your unneeded concern but I am perfectly fine.” His grumbling was muffled by the wall. Maybe, just maybe if he lay there the two pests would grow bored and leave him be. It was a hope in vain unfortunately! The Scarecrow knew well that there was almost no one in Gotham as stubborn as Edward Nygma.

“Bullshit.” Gripping the spindly shoulder of Crane and pulling it so his gangling form was once more facing the pair. Allowing the Professor ample opportunity to glare at the Riddler. “Leave,” Jonathan growled sitting up from the bed to snatch a vial of fear toxin off his disastrous bedside table. “Or I will make you.” Tension filled the room pushing on the two men. Locked into a battle of chicken, seemingly all hell was ready to break loose until Jervis stepped between the pair and attempted to soothe the situation. “Edward really now! We came here to check in and help Jonathan! Not squabble, now apologize!” Lightly pinching the taller man’s ear. The pinching became harder as the ginger rolled his eyes like a petulant child.

“Ow! Ow! Fine-“ Whining shrilly as Tetch released the ear. “Thank you, Cheshire.” Edward groaned rubbing his ear “I’m sorry… or whatever.” Swiftly dodging the swat to the arm the hatter sent his way. Causing an uncontrollable snort to fly out of Jonathan.

Quickly realizing his mistake as Edward and Jervis plopped on the bed beside and slightly below him. “There’s my dear Jabberwocky.” Gently cradling Jonathan’s boney hand in his. Pressing a soft kiss to the back of his palm. Scoffing but not removing the tender grip Jervis had on his hand Crane tilted his thin neck back and looked up at the dingy ceiling. “Why?” The question was barely a whisper but was deafening to the pair that surrounded him.

“Because-“ Edward pulled himself over to the side of the bed facing the wall and wrapped one arm around the Professor’s middle. “We care about you dummy.” Gently flicking the beaklike nose before planting a gentle kiss on the tip. As Jervis let go of his hand Jonathan felt the urge to protest bubble up, but his worries were quickly quelled as the blonde removed his signature hat and nuzzled himself under Crane’s chin. Laying his hand over Edward’s as they gently held their partner in crime and for the briefest of moments it was as if they were gently squeezing Jonathan back together as well.

[tenseoyong]

I posted 8,661 times in 2022

238 posts created (3%)

8,423 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@trashblog-istrash

@taemmin

@theboytatu

@tytrack

@nctsworld

I tagged 5,034 of my posts in 2022

Only 42% of my posts had no tags

#nct - 1,648 posts

#taeyong - 751 posts

#hotd - 309 posts

#stranger things - 245 posts

#joseph quinn - 242 posts

#yuta - 226 posts

#johnny - 195 posts

#eddie munson - 190 posts

#aemond targaryen - 156 posts

#liz.txt - 132 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#he just irks me that’s it. that’s it. i don’t even have a reason. give me another celeb with the exact same vibe and they don’t bother me

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

A-Z NSFW | e.m

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679 notes - Posted August 7, 2022

#4

Hi can you do Aemond x betrothed reader at the dinner scene he’s jealous of jace and reader dancing?

Aemond would scarcely admit he hadn’t expected to become so quickly enamored by his sweet tongued, kind-eyed, gentle handed betrothal. Honestly speaking, Aemond had assumed his arranged marriage could follow a similar pattern as his parents’ and siblings’—loveless and constant avoidance—he was sure that the lovely Lady that had arrived at court would have little interest in the Scarred Prince beyond the gain of gold and the title of Princess.

Yet, Aemond was surprised to find a less than timid woman, one who did not shy away from his cold gaze, nor did she pity or fear his childhood maiming.

Yes, the Prince had grown rather fond of the unusual Lady. Often Aemond spend hours with her, hidden from prying eyes by the many shelves of books of the Keep’s library.

She listened to him attentively—not just keeping up appearances of a doting and obedient wife-to-be—no, she actually enjoyed Aemond’s company; hanging off his every word as he recounted his daily training, or when he told of the history of dragons, even dared to attempt to teach her a word or two in High Valyrian. In turn, she spun tales of her home, how her brothers bickered as children, and how she feared riding a horse just as one would fear facing a dragon.

Aemond would grow to love his Lady Wife—that much he was sure of—and he had dared to hope that she would return that love ten fold.

She had all but extinguished the dragon’s fire that lived in him.

Yet, the moment his darling nephew, Jacaerys, had stepped forward—folllowing his sweet sister Heleana’s speech of marital neglect—and requested she accompany him in dance, Aemond’s mind filled with vivid images of Jacaerys burned to a crisp, curtesy of Vhagar’s breath.

To see her, in the arms of his bastard nephew as she politely accepted his dance proposal, turned his stomach to stone.

Aemond believes he knew true anger. He’d spent a good portion of his childhood angry—angry at his father, and his nephews, and at his dragon-less status. Though, as violet eyes watched his Lady and Jacaerys is dance, Aemond knew then he’d never truly experienced anger—until this moment.

It burned inside him hotter than dragon’s fire, boiling his blood and scalding his heart.

And as his nephew spun his betrothed about the empty corner of the room, Aemond could bare to witness it no more.

The whole room came to a screeching halt as Aemond slammed his fist into the table as he rose to stand tall, and mockingly held his cup in the air, “I’d like to toast to my nephews—Jace, Luke…Joffrey—each of them handsome, wise, brave…” He paused, turning to stare directly at the hand Jace had placed to the small of his Lady’s back. “And Strong.”

Not to give up the game, Jace didn’t release his partner, only twirling the pair until Jace was between his uncle and his intended before demanding, “I dare you to say that again!”

“Why?” Aemond tsked, rounding the table and taking several calculated steps towards the stationary duo. “T’was only a compliment—I would extend my toast to my beloved betrothed, I shall pray to the Gods that they make our sons as Strong as their cousins.”

The fury was evident enough on young Jace’s face, all while the quiet satisfaction of getting under his skin flooded Aemond’s.

Though, the satisfaction didn’t last nearly as long as he’d hoped—for as soon as Jacaerys fixed Aemond with a mischievous look and devious smile, Jace reestablished his hold on his uncle’s bride-to-be, and taunted, “If only there were such a way to ensure your sons’ strength, perhaps I’ll be of some help, if the Lady wouldn’t mind me—“

All at once, Aemond closed what little space remained between him and the dancing pair, and curled his fingers into his nephew’s neck like a claw, snatching the younger boy up much like a kitten at its scruff, “You’ll remove your hands from my Wife.”

“You misspoke, Uncle.” Jacaerys smirked, ignoring Aemond’s seething rage. “The Lady is not yet your wife, is she? I believe that gives her leave to do as she pleases, while she can.”

“I care not for the beliefs of a bastard,” Aemond’s words dripped with venom. “She is to be my bride—since you are so keen on pretending to be of your status—you should be aware that you are greatly overstepping.”

Jacaerys only cocked an eyebrow—a silent challenge—before his fingers curled into your side and what little room between your bodies had been erased, “Oh? Have I overstepped—“

“You will remove your hand,” Aemond was through playing this game, he did break the eye contact he held with his nephew, yet he could still see the obvious annoyance and displeasure growing on your sweet face. Aemond’s hand fluttered above the dagger strapped at his hip. “Or I shall remove it for you.”

The threat lingered in the air momentarily before, much to anyone’s surprise, the Lady squirmed out of Jacaerys’ hold and took her rightful place at Aemond’s right and placed a gentle on Aemond’s tensed arm.

“My Love,” She all but cooed at the furious dragon she would soon claim as a husband. “Let us not ruin the single night your father has requested with his family—I am unharmed and unbothered—let us not have further bloodshed between kin.”

Aemond won’t not soon let go of his hatred for his bastard nephews, but as his Lady-to-be stood by his side and looked upon him with such care and affection Aemond would afford her this kindness.

He released his blade, and his grip on Jacaerys’ neck—though he paused a moment to admire the half-moon shaped nail marks he’d left in his stead—before collecting his betrothed and whisking them both from the disastrous dinner, desiring nothing more than to be hidden away with his Lady love where they belonged.

Soon after, as the servant folks spread tales of the exciting night—a song would emerge—that of a Lady, who had managed to tame the dragon.

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1,353 notes - Posted November 29, 2022

#3

don’t wake me | e.m

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2,284 notes - Posted August 5, 2022

#2

Aemond loves his little family.

He keeps a watchful eye over his children, making the royal guards seem redundant. Aemond often recalls the ridicule and embarrassment he’d faced as a child—and the resulting accident—and makes it a personal matter to maintain a keen eye over how the children behave towards each other, or how other children in the keep interact with his family.

Rarely does he let his half-sister and his nephews interact with his happy little family.

The Prince is unusually involved in his children’s lives for someone of his station—the responsibility typically laying with that of wet nurses and his lady-wife’s handmaidens—yet Aemond does it anyways.

He personally oversees their studies, and has taken the task upon himself of teaching his children High Valyrian—carefully correcting mispronunciations and gently calming them when their frustrations grow.

Aemond refused to be to his children what his own father was to him—neglectful and uninterested or show obvious favoritism for one over the masses—Aemond made sure all his children felt equally as loved and cherished, in their own ways of course.

His eldest son—Vaemon—was very much the warrior every royal family hoped the first born male would be. Aemond had a little wooden sword crafted and in the small boy’s hand before the child could fully walk.Aemond was often spotted training with the young lad, teaching his heir proper techniques and how to find and use one’s advantages.

A few years behind his first born, came Vaenya. Undoubtedly his scholar in the making. The young girl would rarely be found without a book in her grasp; Aemond would gift her with every newly published book he could get his hands on, though, she greatly favorite those of the world’s history—much like her father—and Aemond would enjoy quiet evenings spent by candlelight, the two of them pouring over ancient texts. Often, Aemond would teasingly correct her posture, “Slouching is unbecoming of a Princess~”

His darling Haelera, who—affectionately named after his sweet sister—had somehow managed to gather the same odd fascination with all things creepy-crawly, still felt her father’s warm love. Though, you could say she was a lover of animals in general, it was much easier to come across bugs of various types than an odd dog or cat in the Red Keep. Aemond listening intently to every little insect fact his darling daughter brought to his attention, and would often return from his Princely duties with a jar containing a random bug much to Haelera’s delight.

And Little Raenar could just barely toddle after his older brother and his father, yet Aemond was insistent on bringing the infant as he and Vaemon trained. Aemond supposed the young babe simply liked the sounds of metal—if the light on his face and the happy giggles that floated through the training yard each time Aemond blocked one of Vaemon’s attacks were anything to go by—but the babe seemed to enjoy the activity, or his brother and sire’s company either way, and Aemond was content with including him even if his little mind wasn’t entirely sure what was happening.

Aemond personally picks each and every dragon egg that would be placed in his children’s cradles. And while, thankfully all eggs did hatch, Aemond did harbor a bit of fear that one of his children would be left to suffer a fate similar to his as a dragonless Targaryen—and vowed he’d not have them ridiculed as he once was, that he’d comfort and adore them regardless.

He relishes in teaching his children to be dragon riders. To see the ease and joy on their faces after a their first ride, to see they have what should have been his—gaining a dragon-bond at birth, and not having to lose a part of themselves in order to gain something by sheer determination—Aemond delights in taking his little clan on family rides.

Aemond would not see his little family crumble and become scattered in the winds as his extended family had been in his youth. He insists upon the family being together during every meal, not that you’d ever begin to think of denying him that—the family being as tight knit as it was—Aemond enjoyed hearing about each member of his family’s daily activities and growing interests.

He would never be more grateful to anyone more than he was to his Lady-Wife for giving him something he’d never truly had before—the gift of family—darling children that loved each other as much as their father loved them.

Aemond Targaryen loves his little family.

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3,148 notes - Posted November 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Give It A Try | e. m

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6,777 notes - Posted August 11, 2022

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Mortal Kombat 11 endings I've seen and what I think about them (spoilers ahead)

Tier list so you know who I have seen the endings for so far (bottom tier is the ones I have not seen yet):

Erron Black: 10/10 became keeper of time, went "fuck this." And dumped the hourglass into the Sea of Blood. Based.

Sonya Blade: 10/10 made her friends and family into gods after slaying what I can only assume was Cthulhu. Boss.

Sub-Zero: 10/10 redeemed his brother and redeemed the Lin Kuei's honor. Joint Grandmasters. Brothers.

Cetrion: 4/10 started to give off abusive vibes. ('If I bring them to their lowest, they'll come crawling back to me' vibes. Like, I know that she's likely once again just misguided here, but holy fuck, Cetrion. Stop it, get some help.) Bad.

Johnny Cage: 10/10 All he changed was making it so Sonya Blade doesn't die and still loves him. Understandable.

Kabal: 9.5/10 Good for him. I don't know how to summarize his ending, but good for him. I think he's not burned, and a dad in his ending. -.5 because I was worried that his ending would be just "I decided to kill everyone". Dad!Kabal/10

Kano: 7/10 he changes his mind, from "I want to have everything I have ever wanted just handed to me" to "... that's fucking boring, I'm going to make it so it's always just out of reach". -3 points because I wanted to kick him in the balls during the first half. Bastard.

Fujin: ∞/10 He's so wholesome???? I love it??? Didn't understand the daily lives of mortals, so he used the hourglass to live many lives and then decided to make world peace. I love this guy. Best ending so far, I almost cried from how wholesome this was. Beloved.

Noob Saibot: 10/10 He went "fuck Kronika" and, at the end of it, he said the quote "now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds". Badass.

Rambo: 15/10 (Since my phone deleted my initial reasoning and I'm Not In The Mood To Rewrite All That, no context.)

Rain: 10/10 His ending might be a bit evil, but his dad definitely deserved it, at least. iffy about everything else he did.