#repost because my blog was shadowbanned for some reason

[a-heartshaped-object]

pizza tower art dump

[manicrouge]

Champagne Problems

[ᴊᴏʜɴ ᴍᴀᴄᴛᴀᴠɪꜱʜ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

[ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ]: 07/02/24

[ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ]: Reminiscing about the past always leaves a bitter taste in Johnny's mouth. Especially when those memories include you.

[ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ]: 5,814

[ᴛᴡ]: hurt and absolutely ZERO COMFORT!!! Mentions/ implications of alcoholism, angst, implied family issues, suggestive content.

[ᴀ/ɴ]: Pain, suffering and agony. You are welcome.

THIS IS A REPOST !! I've had few issues with shadowbans and have moved accounts a few times (tumblr thought I was a bot). Also I would like to have all my work in one place rather than spread across other blogs to avoid confusion !!

ENJOY !!

Please do not post my work to any other platforms, thank you.

He finds it difficult to stomach as he looks out of the window on a train. 

The return from deployment is always bittersweet. In particular, knowing he can return back to his hometown for a short while before having to eventually go back to the base.

But, all of that disappears as he’s sitting on the train, looking out the window as rain bats against it. His eyes can hardly make anything out, it’s far too dark for his eyes to make it much further than the outline of a mountain in the distance. His arms aching and he’s unsure how long he’s been looking out of it. He’s quite sure the sleeve of his jacket is completely soaked from the condensation dripping down the window, pooling on the window sill his elbow is resting on. Still, nothing changes his position, not even the shifts of the cart as it storms along the tracks. 

In his chest, he feels his heart murmur at the thought of getting closer to home.

It’s been a while. 

The silence on the train is unnerving as he turns his eyes away from the window for a moment. Across the aisle from him, there’s another traveller. His head is pressed firmly against the back of the chair as quiet snores escape his open mouth. As he focuses on him, he notes a glistening trail on his chin and grimaces, turning his eyes away from the man, directing his gaze back to the window.

Trains during the night-time are always strange, he was familiar with them when he first joined the army. Travelling to and from always seemed worse during the day, so, he'd opted to stay at the base for an extra day, leaving in the dead of night to catch the last train available home. There was no reason to leave during the day because at night, he knew he could sleep away all the worries, arriving home well rested. 

But then something changed.

After another op, he returned to his schedule of sitting on the train at night, looking down at the sketchbook resting against the table in front of him. Holding a pencil in his hand, he busied himself with a sketch of a familiar face. There were the remains of a mistake engraved into the paper, odd rolls of the rubber sitting on the bend of his notepad as he readied the eraser in his hand in preparation for another.

His tired eyes were heavy as he observed the features of the man on the page, a small grin forming on his face as he thought about the reaction from the man when he saw him again. He’d probably only nod his head at his attempts of drawing him, noting that the details of his mask were a little janky, but that wouldn’t matter; the eyes were perfect. But Johnny knew he would still lie to him because being sincere was not one of his lieutenants specialities. 

‘Do you mind if I sit here?’ 

Setting the pencil down, he raised his head to see you standing in front of him. You smiled at him with a small glass in your hand, holding the seat opposite to him to keep yourself steady. ‘It’s just cause there’s no one else here and my phone died,’ you explained, ‘I won’t make a peep, I promise,’ you added. 

With a short nod, he motions towards the chair opposite to him, moving the pencil tin above his notepad so you had some space to place down your belongings. ‘Aye,’ he says, ‘be my guest, bonnie.’ 

So, you took a seat, placing your backpack on the chair beside you, setting your glass down. He observed the colour of the liquid, the colours faint as the bubbles raise from the bottom of the small glass, dispersing at the top. He recalled how odd he thought it was when he had first seen the funny little drink on the table, only knowing the train-line to serve water and the occasional cup of tea.

‘Champagne,’ you answered, following his eyes to the glass, ‘thought I’d treat myself.' 

‘What’s the special occasion?’ he asked with a raised eyebrow, picking his pencil back up, resuming his portrait of the moody lieutenant. The train creaked at the cart turned slightly, and he caught your hand steading the drink. ‘Ye get a promotion?’ 

Looking at you again, he noted how you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip. Your eyes fell to the aisle and your chest rose as you took a deep breath. There was something about your apprehension that troubled him, the way your flushed cheeks paled left him wounded for a short while before he realised that he had no clue why he was thinking in such a manner.

It was her eyes, he reminisces while keeping his eyes trained on the window beyond the cart.

It's a bitter pill to swallow, the memories of you still wrapping around his mind as a kids train set does a families Christmas tree during the holidays. Looping round and round and round until it's put into a box. The season in his mind has lasted longer than the measly length of the month of December, spanning years (it seemed). It's torture, yet, despite it being so cruel, he dreads the arrival of the day where he finally has the courage to box you up and shove you to the back of his mind because that would be when he could begin to forget you.

Even after all the years that have passed, he finds his mouth moves as he recalls your response to his question when you had sat opposite to him on the train.

‘Moving out, actually.'

It was just as well everything happened for you on that day, you moved out the day he got the train home. Had anything been different, neither of you would have crossed paths and while agonising, he looks at the stars in the nights sky with an air of gratitude.

You admitted after a while, your eyes falling back onto him as you heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Been stuck in a shitty situation for a while, been sitting around waiting for a chance to get out of it and tonight just so happens to be the night that everything fell back into place.’

Your words haunted him during the night, appearing like a phantom in his dreams, calling out to him. The glint of gratitude in his eyes wavers.

Your words are soft as you spoke and he likened the look you gave him to one of the valleys he had witnessed when he had taken the day train home after his first deployment. A valley with a river right below it in the midst of shrubbery and trees. The water was blue, he could see it when he looked at her. The reflection of the sun reflecting off of the surface, mirroring the rocky trails of the mountains. The sight of such had left him breathless, just as you did when you took a deep breath, reaching out for her glass, bringing it to you mouth. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be telling a stranger my problems,’ you mumbled. 

‘It’s nae an issue, lass,’ he responded, ‘happy to hear y’ got outta whatever was making ye so miserable,’ he confessed, ‘and Scotland, eh? Pretty place if y’ ask me,’ he said with a short laugh. You laughed with him before taking another sip from your drink.

He watched as you did so, noting the glint in her eyes as you moved your eyes away from him to his notebook. Pulling the glass away from your mouth, you placed it down with a hum, swallowing the last of the drink in your mouth, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. It's a charming sight, clumsy and amusing.

‘You’re good at drawing,’ you noted, pointing at the drawing, ‘is he a character of yours?’ you asked, motioning to the drawing of the man with the skull face. A short chuckle passed his lips as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. 

‘Guess ye could call him that,’ he said, 'someone I know, actually ,' he confessed.

Your brows furrowed, wrinkles forming on your forehead as your eyes grew wide. Your hand ghosted the glass, wetting your fingers with the condensation dripping down the outside as you looked at him with glossy eyes. Fingerprints marked the glass as you forced your hand away.

'I'm so so sorry- I didn't mean it as an insult it's just-'

'Keep the heid, lass,' laughed the man.

You stared at him.

'Relax,' he said, noting the confusion on your face. Your tensed muscles softened as your picked up the glass off of the table, taking a big gulp, finishing the last of the contents in it. He frowns when he notices you shaking. You thought you had done so much wrong with a single observation. 'you weren't to know.'

'Does he really wear that mask?' you whispered as though Simon was right behind you, and had he been, Johnny could say with his heart that he wouldn't have been surprised; the damn man appeared out of nowhere all the time.

'Yeah,' he said.

'Is it part of his job?'

Your intrigue was adorable.

'No, he just prefers to hide his face,' he explained, 'suppose it makes work easier,' he said, nodding to himself. Despite his time knowing Simon, he never did know why he covered his face. Of course, it kept the human version of the man from the man who committed countless atrocities in the name of justice, yet, the point you brought up left him thinking for a short moment.

'You work together?' you asked, 'what do you do for work?'

'Part of the military,' he told you frankly, 'he's my lieutenant,' he added, although, he didn't care to tell you much more as he looked at the you with a furrowed brow, not wanting to leave you with enough time to respond to his confession, 'what about you, lass?'

'I write,' you said, 'I got a remote position at a publishing company, that's whats given me the money to move out.'

'I enjoy writin' from time to time,' he responded, 'not that good at it though, prefer drawing,' he uttered.

You were though, he didn't even bothers to think of your response because, truthfully, your humbleness in terms of your own talent was wounding to his own love for writing. As he would with advertisements, inwardly, he skips by all the small talk in his mind. It's cruel the way the mind works; memory was a burden to hold, yet as entertaining as a late night TV show which was to only be watched in secrecy.

'What's your name?' you asked, picking up another cup of champagne. He watched as you did so, lifting his own cup that you had gotten for him when you had excused yourself to the bathroom.

He kept his distaste of the beverage to himself, besides, it was free.

'Johnny,' he answered, ' and y'urself, bonnie?'

You answer accordingly, stating your name with a smile. Repeating your name, he finds it rolls off his tongue well and the longer he observes you, the more a conclusion dawned upon him.

'Suits ye well,' he complimented with a wink.

Rubbing his face with his hand, his breath fogs against the window of the train and he turns his head away, absentmindedly wiping down the window with the sleeve of his puffer jacket. In the meantime, he busies himself looking at the empty seat opposite to him.

In the blink of an eye, you're there, sitting across from him.

'When do you get off?' he asked.

'Last stop,' you answered, 'staying at a hotel for a few days before my place is ready... was eager to leave,' you said. As soon as the words passed your lips, he felt compelled to be a gentleman. That, alongside taking into account the trouble that could have occurred if you did walk to the hotel alone, besides, the least he could have done for you buying him a drink and keeping him company was help you find you way to your hotel.

'We can share a cab if ye want,' he offered, 'put my mind at ease, wanna make sure you get there safe, besides, far too cold for ye to be walkin', bonnie,' he said, biting the inside of his mouth as he awaited your refusal, only, you nodded your head and smiled.

'I'd appreciate that, Johnny.'

His memories blur for a while after that, and his cheeks flushed red as he recalls how you looked at him before you got out of the cab. Glancing at the same hand that paid the fare only far enough to go to your hotel he curses as he watches the memory of him getting out of the taxi to chase after you.

You waited for him at the entrance in hope he'd have a change of heart, and he recalls how delighted you were when he walked through the door and caught you standing there, waiting for him.

Truthfully, he knew he was in deep shit when he felt the way you wrapped around him, the way you called his name, and how pretty you looked underneath him. Even after years, it was difficult to escape the thought of your first night together. Perhaps it was the entire being strangers thing that made the sex much more enthralling than any other one night stand he had had, or maybe it was just you.

Shoulda never let her have me number, he thought to himself.

It was difficult to deny that there were only ever terrible times. Resentment bubbles and it turns the fondest of moments to the worse; there was something there for him to miss when he thinks fondly of you. Fondness makes forgetting a hell of a lot harder, at least it does for him, anyway.

He hardly even thinks about Graves anymore and he resents him.

He resents you too.

But whenever he thinks of you, he thinks of your laughter. And then the guilt seeps in and he curses himself for ever thinking so lowly of you in the first place. How fucking dare he do something so terrible. You deserve it, though, for all the shit you put him through: the bruised heart thats still bandaged up, the sleepless nights as he waited for you to come home, the drunken phone calls he would get while on an op.

All of it.

Then there was everything else: the moments you shared together, the sound of your laughter which would seemingly travel down the halls of your apartment and wake him whenever you spent the night together, the sight of you in his shirt while cooking breakfast in the morning and your excitement when you finally persuaded him to dance with you.

The last one was particularly difficult to forget. His fondness will never let him let it go, he's convinced.

In the depths of the night, you danced together. He acknowledged the look on your face as he held you in your arms, the laughter as he spun you around in a circle, pulling you away just for you to end right back in his arms. He'd never let you wonder too far, scared that if he lost grip of your hand, you would have disappeared forever.

It became a routine and he recalls all the times he had held you in his arms while dancing to a song by Sinatra or Aretha Franklin and all the times he saw you smile. All of those happy moments moulded into one, while only a few stuck out.

During that night in particular, he couldn't look away from your eyes.

Whenever he looked at you, he was started by the glint of colours in your eyes, reflective of the colourful lights you had decorated your Christmas tree with. Rather, instead of decorating the tree, the lights in your eyes worked well in decorating the brambles you called eyelashes as you looked up at him. Every time you blinked, he found the same glossy sheen he had seen that night on the train. Every blink seemed to edge you closer to tears, as though your eyelashes were antagonising your poor eyes constantly.

Then he smelt the liquor on you breath and was reminded of the underlining truth of everything.

You were always emotional whenever you had something to drink. It couldn't have been helped, it was simply who you were, and he was going to resent you for something you couldn't have helped.

'Yer oot yer face,' he mumbled, speaking softly to you as you swayed with one another to the low hum of music from your vinyl player. Neither of you noticed how the song skipped, far too busy with one another to notice such a flaw.

'English, MacTavish,' you answered, your tone gruff as you recalled the story he had told you about the man with the skull mask and the city soaked in blood. He chuckled, pulling you closer, resting his head against your shoulder, looking at you. You turned your head to the side to look at him too.

'You're drunk,' he said quietly.

'I only had a glass,' you answered abruptly. You tensed in his arms when you responded to him and he felt his head sink further down until it sat, burning in the acid of his stomach. 'I had it while I was making dinner; the sauce had some of it in,' you explained, turning in his arms so your chests were pressed against each others. placing your hand against his face. You looked worried in that moment, observing his features. 'You're not mad at me, are you?'

Placing his hand over yours, he sighed, 'nae, bonnie, just don't want ye to hurt y'urself,' he explained, pulling your hand from off of his face, planting a kiss atop of it, moving his other hand from the small of your back to hold your waist. 'Love you too much for ye to do that,' he said, letting go of your hand to place his fingers beneath your chin, forcing your head up so you were looking at him. 'Y'know that.'

'I do,' you weakly answered.

The only bastard 'I do' he ever got from your lips. It was laughable really as he looks back on that night, how the pair of you had been so close in your home, dancing together as though you were an elderly couple celebrating your 40th wedding anniversary together.

Think I'll live that long?

Probably not.

Had anyone from 141 been there to witness how he fell to pieces with you in his arms, they very well would have laughed until they were blue in the face. And the longer he looks out the window out on the Scottish countryside, he concludes he too would laugh at that man dancing with you for being such a smitten fool.

'Good,' he hummed, pressing a kiss against your lips. The were chapped, dry, but he didn't care. Instead, he deepened the kiss as the pair of you stumbled backwards, muffled laughter escaping you as you loosely wrapped your arms around his neck while he kept the pair of you from falling.

Moments of happiness seemed so common in the beginning.

The night trains shifted to day trains again.

He'd hit the ground running after returning from an op, only showering because he didn't want you to smell the remnants of war which stained him and his skin. Nothing kept him from seeing you, not even his distaste for the day train.

All of it meant that he could get home sooner; he recalled the sinking feeling in his chest whenever the trains were delayed by a measly twenty minutes. Love made him a different man, he realised, a man who enjoyed the day train and the man who loathed the night train.

'I thought you weren't going to be home for another couple of days,' you said, opening the door to see Johnny standing there with a bag on his arm. Dropping it, he pulled you into a tight hug, resting his hand against the back of your head as he swayed you from side to side. 'Did you get the day train for me?' you asked.

Pulling away, he caught sight of the smile creeping onto you face as he nodded his head slowly, 'didn't wanna wait longer than I had to,' he answered, 'saw a photo of ye in me wallet an' knew I needed to be here with you sooner,' he added, pressing a kiss onto your lips as your cheeks flushed red.

'You have a picture of me in your wallet?' you quietly asked when he pulled away for you. He smiled.

'Of course I do, bonnie,' he responded as though such was an obvious fact, 'need to see that face of yours every day, ye like medicine to me.'

'Really?'

'Aye, lass.'

Everything moved so quickly and it wasn't long before you were well acquainted with his mam.

Meeting his mother was the confirmation he needed to say that he wanted to marry you. No one else in the world mattered when he saw how you and his sisters bonded, and while sitting alone on the train, he clenched a his fist at the emptiness of the palm of his hand while imagining the light weight of the ring his mother had placed in the palm of his hand while he stood in the kitchen helping her prepare the Christmas dinner. It had been over two years since the pair of you had started dating when she did so, working well to convince him that the timing meant that something else in the universe had willed it to happen.

'Mam?' he asked, looking down at the ring in his hand.

The band was quaint, golden as an green gem stared him in the eyes as he squinted, holding it up to the yellow light of the kitchen. The elderly woman in front of him chuckled, patting his shoulder as she walked past him to open the oven.

'Well, she's the one, ain't she?' she said, speaking into the heat of the oven as she grabbed the tray of duck-fat potatoes with a stained tea towel.

'Ye think?'

'Gonnae no’ dae that!' exclaimed his mother.

'Don't do what?' he scoffed.

'Act surprised,' she scolded, 'it's in ye eyes, son,' she chuckled. 'Yer nana told me to give ye the ring when I thought ye'd found the right one,' she confessed, 'and with your father gone, 'ave got no reason to wear it, but she has,' she uttered, looking from out of the kitchen into the living room.

His eyes followed hers and he watched as you sat with his youngest sister. The pair of you chatted away, though his stomach twisted at the sight of you holding a glass in your hand.

'She's a good girl, Johnny.'

'Aye, mam, I know.'

'So, marry her.'

With his mam's words echoing in his mind, the memories always came to the one that caused all the air in his lungs to escape.

Nothing wants to stay whenever he thinks of that, and he's sure if he was wounded, all his blood would leave him in a second in order to stay out of the cycle in his head that always brings him back to this one thought.

He supposes, in hindsight, it was terribly foolish what he had done. His ignorance to pressing issues was immature and irresponsible, only, they were easy to ignore when he had his mothers ring in his pocket. But he noticed, years down the line, how you had dropped his hand when the pair of you had been dancing, all to go and get another drink because the glass in your hand was running dry.

The party was one you both had planned, only, you had done so to celebrate a win himself and the boys had had during their time away, and he had invited everyone with the intent of proposing to the love of his life.

In the moment, he had been so crushed. He recalls how his mouth was dry, the dull ache in his cut knee as he awkwardly remained kneeled as you stood and stared. The speech he had prepared disappeared when you turned your back on him and rushed away, leaving his ego bleeding as everyone looked at him in horror.

'I just... I don't know why you would do it,' you mumbled when you heard him walk through the door into the kitchen away from the guests.

He was silent as he looked at you, traces of a storm in his eyes as he fought off the urge to cry. His chest hurt as he looked at you with a glass in your hand, and he couldn't do anything but stand there and watch as you drank from it. 'I told you, Johnny, I fucking warned you and-'

'I thought ye would've had a change of heart, love-'

'Well I haven't!' you angrily snapped, slamming your glass down onto the counter, glaring at him. 'What, did you think just because I'd have a ring on my finger all of our fuckin' issues are going to disappear? You're a smart man, Johnny, stop trying to play the role of the fool. It doesn't suit you and it never will.'

You were just as embarrassed as he was. He curses himself while sitting on the train, thinking back to your flushed cheeks and teary eyes. It wasn't only because of the booze that time, it was because of him too.

'I- I'm trying, John, can't you see that?' you croaked, 'I'm trying but I can't be everything you want. I don't wanna get married... at least not yet.'

'Ye don't love me,' he blurted.

You snapped your head up, furrowing your brows as you looked at him with wide eyes. 'Is that serious what you think?' you shakily asked, disbelief etched into your features. 'So what? You think all the fuckin' nights I've spent worried that you're not gonna come home when you're away working were for-'

'All the fuckin' nights you spent with a bottle in your hand too, eh?' he quickly cut you off, retorting in a manner that had left you breathless, draining all the colour out of your face. 'Don't pull that card on me, bonnie, don't you fuckin' dare do it 'cause I worry more about you and your drinkin' habit than I do my own life when I'm out on the field- tell me how you think that's fair!'

You stared at him, your eyes drifting to the empty glass abandoned on the counter. It was unfair for him to pull that card, he was aware enough in the moment to understand it, but he was so utterly devastated that he chose to stand his ground. An apology wouldn't have mean anything even if he had said it.

'If ye loved me... you'd stop goin' to the bottle every time ye have an issue,' he bleakly said, 'but am not even sure if you would pick me over the drink anymore, bonnie.'

'How would me saying yes to you fix any of that?'

He stayed silent.

Reflection allows him to find that he only ever proposed out of love. He was aware of your issues, noting it was never always smooth sailing from either of you, but he supposes he just wanted to have proof that at least once, you would pick him rather than the liquor.

But he was stupid for ever thinking you were more than your champagne problems.

'Getting married would only complicate things between us, John. You know that,' you said after a while of silence, 'and clearly, we don't listen to each other... I'm sorry I embarrassed you today, and I'm sorry I keep causing you to worry- I'm sorry for being such a burden to you but you don't make it easy for me,' you uttered, rubbing your face with your hands, wiping away the tears that fell down your scarlet cheeks.

There was nothing else for him to say to you, and he's ashamed at the very fact that, in the moment you needed him the most, he walked out of that room and left you there crying, alone.

As the train turns on the tracks again, he ponders what would have been different if he had stayed there with you, only, he finds his mind drifting to the words on a page which confirms exactly why he was thinking.

He was only prolonging the inevitable.

As he turns to the final page in his notebook, he finds it difficult to breath as he retrieves the piece of paper he had pushed to the back of it, unfolding it. Pressing his hand against it, he leaves it to sit on top of the page marked with splashes of the drink you had spilled, unable to find the strength as he stares down at the words scrawled on the page.

A crude reminder of what became of his engagement.

'Johnny,

In time, I hope you'll forget about all my problems and find someone who you deserve. I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused and I'm sorry for not being ready for you.

Give your mums ring to someone who deserves it and put the special ladies picture in your wallet instead of mine. For the sake of yourself and me.

I love you, Johnny, nearly too much, and while you will see my absence as cruel, know I see it as necessary and that's the issue; we never have seen eye to eye on a lot of things.

We're not ready for each other, I know you think it but you're too scared to say it, so I'll bite the bullet and say it for you. We're not ready for each other, Johnny.

Love shouldn't be a tug-of-war, and I grow tired for you watching as you always try and pull me to you. Besides, I heard your mother after you left the room, she said I was fucked in the head for not agreeing to your proposal and it leaves me wondering what type of person you've made your family believe I am.

I'm sorry I couldn't be everything you wanted, but know that everything I'm doing: leaving, writing this letter, not saying goodbye to you in person, is for you. You always said you hated goodbyes; they were the hardest part of your career, and I can't promise that I wouldn't run back into your arms the second you'd open your mouth and beg me not to go.

But I'm prolonging the inevitable by staying with you.

I'm making you miserable with my problems and that is not what I want you to do. You have a life, and you had a life before we met on that train.

All I ever did was make you worry and I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want you to worry about me, I just want you to move on and love and be loved. I'm going to work on myself and I'm going to get better because I know that that is what you want, and in truth, it's what I want too.

I love you and I fear I always will, but I can't have you, and I'm punishing you and myself by staying here.'

He turns his head away from the letter, looking back to the window at the small dots through the foggy water as he utters the last part of the letter under his breath. 'One day, we may meet again, perhaps the stars will align and you'll see me on a nighttime train back to your home town. And maybe then, I'll be ready.'

A breathy laugh escapes him, repeating 'And maybe then, I'll be ready.'

How appalling it would be when you realised that you leaving only resulted in the reversal of roles. At least, he likes to think he would have the strength to refuse you if he's to ever see you again.

When he turns away from the window, relieving himself of the pain of remembering all that has gone wrong in his life, he takes the letter from off of his notepad, folding it along the worn edges, pushing it back in a small slip at the back of the notepad.

Shrugging off his jacket, he put it on the seat beside him with a hard sigh, turning his attention back to the notepad in front of him. The nights long and his journey proceeds to drag his feet and he's unsure if he even wants to be back home or if he should have just stayed in the base until Price needed him next. But it's Christmas and he couldn't have left his family because of his own sorrow about something that happened years ago.

He just misses you more in the holidays, but he supposes that's okay as long as he doesn't let the phantom you left him with ruin everything. So, he picks up the pencil and pursues what he was doing the night you two met, only this time, there's a ghost sitting opposite to him, not the living thing that greeted him many moons ago.

His ignorance to the world around him keeps him from hearing the footsteps storming up the aisle after the train stops at a station. Even when the voice of a woman announcing the last stop enters his ears, he doesn't lift his head. All the noise culminates into a twisting storm, similar to how he imagines the billowing smoke exuding from a chimney on a winter night swirls in the wind. It's deplorable and he grunts as he attempts to chase the flurry of emotions away.

His efforts result in even more tension at the front of his mind as he looks into the eyes of the drawing he's sketching, realising just whose eyes he had depicted in the midst of his worry. Even after all the time has passed, he's impressed by the fact that he still remembers your features so well.

Always so difficult to forget, he supposes his contemplation proves such.

Then he hears it.

The very thing that works to break him free.

A quaint shaky breath.

A shadow covers his bulky frame, light peering from either side of the mass standing on the aisle holding onto the seat opposite him. Lifting his head, his lungs rattle in his chest as he realises the eyes he had been sketching in his notepad are right before him in human form, staring right back at him.

'Johnny?'

[gold-rhine]

Sub! Thoma x Dom! Gn Reader

Warnings: nsfw, minors please get out, edging, praise kink, service play, slight degradation, chastity cage, overstim, vibrator, oral (reader receiving), ruined orgasms. Fluff. Yes, I said fluff, and I mean it.

Wordcount: 4k

A\N: Repost bc my previous blog got shadowbanned. as always, filth is under the cut, don’t worry. If you’re a worldbuilding purist and vibrator bothers you, pretend it’s from Fountaine. If they already have cameras, they can manage vibrators.

Thoma is just great. He would almost be too sweet if he didn’t have another side as a problem-solving fixer or didn’t have a spine.

And he does have a spine, unarguably, he threw a spear at the face of his country’s god during her one-hit kill boob-nuke move. So when he submits to you, you know he’s doing it by choice and not because he’s a pushover, which makes it even better.

Like Diluc, he's a dedicated pyro workaholic who will not take care of his own needs or pleasure unless he’s literally forced to, but unlike Mond’s Batman, Thoma is not on 27 layers of dissociation and is actually aware of what he wants.

It’s not that he couldn’t be smth more ambitious than a housekeeper, it’s that the combination of mild OCD and people-pleasing motivation make both housekeeping and being a fixer a very rewarding occupations for him, and why be ashamed of something that makes you happy.

Thoma’s natural impulse when he sees something wrong or out of order is to fix it, and the scale doesn’t really matter - from spilled coffee, to trade deal disputes, to tyrannical government decree. And because of his indifference to the scale, he doesn’t turn this world-bettering into a grand mission or an isolating burden of responsibility, unlike SOME people, and therefore manages to have one of the healthiest mentalities out of all genshin workaholics.

His biggest turn-on is bringing pleasure to the partner and he will always put others' satisfaction above his own, which is why he can top if that’s the best way to please his lover, but his ideal role is a service sub.

with proper encouragement, he’ll be very open and needy, but also bashful enough to be fun to tease when you want to. Literally best of both worlds.

You might not appreciate Thoma or not find him interesting compared to other, loudly flashy characters, everyone has a right to have no taste.

He might be ready for almost anything to please you after you’ve already made him yours, but he has his quiet dignity. He will not be advertising if you don’t notice first.

He’s a bite of a fresh green apple, warm from being left in the summer sun, a tangible pleasure to sink your teeth in, with just enough tanginess to offset the sweetness. A breathy laugh, ruffled sunset-gold hair, agile body, always in motion, green-grass bright eyes, a late spring on the cusp of turning to summer, warm and sunny, but not yet stifling hot. Golden time, all yours to claim, but very easy to miss if inattentive.

Has a praise kink, obviously, but whatever he does for you, he will never ask for the compliments himself. He can be easily persuaded to beg, but not for praise - he needs to be complimented not because he asked you to, but because he’s earned it.

Also likes degradation at the same time. In the hangout event he was like “Nooo, traveler, don’t stop these authorative men from openly disparaging me, I don’t mind. Despite the fact that I have more than enough influence as both Ritou fixer and closest confidant of the Kamisato clan siblings to put an end to it myself. It just doesn’t bother me haha.”

Yeah okay, sure, whatever you say, babe.

Has a highkey oral fixation. Not only the balls-eating idle animation. But also completely unprompted, out of nowhere basically railroaded his friends into doing a weird “game” where you have to guess the unknown weird foods just by taste and texture. Brought the weirdest foods and tasted them the most for no reason until he’s literally got sick. Like, you didn’t have to go this hard, king, your friends were just sitting there confused anyway, it wasn’t even a competition.

Later brings up said event as a fun time that he’d like to repeat

Yeah okay, SURE, whatever you say, babe.

Someone please fuck this man on the mouth with a variety of differently shaped and textured dildoes to satisfy his need for interesting mouthfeels and save him from another indigestion.

Thoma’s biggest insecurity is belonging. Caught between two heritages, disconnected from Mondstadt, but always seen as an outsider in Inazuma. He found his place in the Yashiro commission, and he threw himself fully into his work for this sense of belonging, but secretly and, as he thinks, selfishly, Thoma yearns for someone to want him just for himself, not for his skills. And not just to want him, to claim him, own him fully, without stipulations, to reward or punish him as you see fit, but to know that he’s completely, undoubtedly, unquestionably yours.

His enjoyment of chastity cage stems from both of his main preferences, first, it’s a constant, tangible proof of belonging to you, more permanent than any mark on the skin could be. Second, it appeals to his cheeky part that enjoys the thrill of having a hidden side, like  “oh, you think that i’m just a humble housekeeper, but I’m actually a resourceful influential fixer, but you’ll never know that :3”

He’s not clingy, but he blooms when given attention, like a sunflower quietly turning to the sun. He cherishes anything - from the smile and quick peck on the cheek, to slap on the ass or you dragging him into a broom closet and fucking him against the wall while he bites his handguard to stifle moans. The anticipation that you might ask for anything from him at any moment sparks deep in his belly like a small flickering candleflame.

Like any pyro, he loves a challenge, but because Thoma is like the farthest you can get from a brat, he doesn’t like challenging you, but enjoys endurance or patience tests, and the more he has to work for it, the sweeter the reward will feel.

If he’s only left one room to clean, you can order him to do it with a remotely controlled bullet vibrator in his ass and enjoy the show of him struggling to keep his composure and finish the job.

At first he tries really hard to pretend it’s not affecting him at all and go on as usual, but you notice his hitched, and then quickened breath, tensed body, his movements are stifled in comparison to his usual easy fluidity, he’s stealing quick glances at you from the half lowered eyelashes.

As it gets worse, you can see him breathing through the mouth, swallowing harshly, his hips twitching, so you ramp up the vibrator’s setting and he almost doubles over the table he was wiping, gasping from surprise. For some time, he struggles to get a hold of himself, his thighs shaking, fists clenching on the table’s surface, but then manages to get back to cleaning, his hands a little trembling, but still careful and melticiuos and you turn the intensity down. You don’t want this game to end too quickly.

Of course, you can cheat and tease him directly, starting from fleeting caresses, to stealing kisses and getting in his way and groping. He’s left with his clothing ruffled, shirt riding up from when you slid your hands under it, pants half-undone by you and hanging on hipbones. He blushes, but doesn’t fix his clothes, because you made a point of leaving them like that, and the way you watch him with obvious desire riles him up just as much as the bullet pulsing inside of him. It takes all of his willpower to not go to you, collapse at your feet and beg to touch him, fuck him, let him finish.

Finally, there’s only one bookshelf left to dust, and at this point Thoma is no longer even trying to keep up the pretenses, he’s squirming, letting out shaky gasps, lightheaded from mix of desire and ache in his aroused cock, cage feeling more and more painfully tight. He’s steeling himself, taking deep breaths, because by the archons, he’s not going to let some dusty wood planks get the best of him.  

He’s so focused on his goal that he doesn’t notice how you approach him, until you hug him from behind, so he shudders, letting out a surprised gasp, and you chuckle.

“So, how is it going, baby?” you ask with an innocent tone, but your mouth is pressed to his ear, and you feel him shiver from your warm breath.

“Great,” he manages to start out with an upbeat tone and a smile, but then you start kissing his neck and sliding your hands under his shirt, and his voice gets wobbly. “I’m… ah, I’m… so close…” you find his nipples and they harden immediately under your touch, forcing a shaky, needy moan out of him before he can continue, “Almost done… just…mmmhm… just a bookshelf…” you twist his nipples and buck your hips against his ass, and he arches in your arms, “Oh, fuck, please!”

He’s too fucking delicious, so you turn him over and press him against the wall, claiming his mouth. He’s such a good kisser, even half out of breath and out of mind like this.

“No, I can’t let you fuck the bookshelf, babe,” you tease, smiling. “That would just be a mess.”

He starts rolling his eyes at your joke, but ends up with his throat arched, your lips trailing kisses under his jaw.

“Wait, I didn’t finish…”

You smirk and pull his pants down to the thighs in one abrupt motion. “Oh, you’re definitely going to finish.”

He blushes, but meets your eyes anxiously. “You mean, like that?..”

“Yeah, with your pretty cock still caged, darling.”

He blushes even more brightly and swallows hard, but doesn’t argue, doesn’t complain, doesn’t ask you to take it off, despite how uncomfortably tight it feels, despite knowing that coming like that won’t bring him pleasure or even relief, just frustration. It’s been a few days, and he wants to finally be allowed a real orgasm so badly, but he follows your order like a good, obedient boy that he is.

He lets the last dregs of his control go, because that’s how you want to see him, submits to your caresses, and the world drowns in a delirious, needy haze of desire. He hears his own filthy, shuddering moans without realizing it’s him making them, basks in how you rake your eyes over him in hunger, exposed, writhing against the wall under you, blushing cheeks and parted lips, shirt pulled up to the collarbones and pants pulled down to the thighs.

It’s worth the sweet, maddening torture of his aching dick and overstimmed, abused prostate for how you claim him, your hands and lips all over his body, your tongue sliding inside his mouth, it’s overwhelmingly too much and desperately not enough. He isn’t sure how much time has passed, every moment feels like stretched out, agonizing eternity, until he can’t take it anymore.

He comes with a half-choked moan, his legs going weak, and slides down against the wall, panting. You kneel down next to him, kiss his face and whisper praises as he’s trying to catch his breath, and reach between his legs to take the bullet out.

But instead of switching it off, you press it against his cock, sending a violent jolt through his entire body.  He gasps, his bright green eyes going wide in disbelief.

“Shhh, baby, I just need you to cum one more time for me,” you tell him, kissing his cheekbones tenderly. His cage has an opening that leaves part of the cockhead exposed, it’s swollen, red and throbbing against the bullet.  

“No, please, I can’t,” he gasps for air with an open mouth like he’s drowning, presses his back against the wall in an instinctive urge to get away.

“Of course you can, baby,” you catch his chin, forcing him to look at you. “You are mine, aren't you?”

“Yes,” you can feel his throat moving under your fingers when he swallows.

“And your cock is my favorite pretty plaything. So I need you to come for me again like my good little whore.”

“It hurts,” he moans weakly and shuts his eyes, blushing brilliantly, his gasps turn into quiet whimpers. His body is twitching, nails scraping helplessly on the floor, but he still hasn’t said the safeword, so you keep the bullet pressed to his throbbing cock.

“I know, baby,” you press a gentle kiss to the corner of his parted lips. “But I want to have you whole. I want to take everything you have, sunflower, and I know you can still give me more.”

His arm springs up abruptly and for a second you think he’ll try to push you away, but instead he finds your free hand and intertwines his fingers with yours.  

“Yes,” he whimpers shakily and looks up at you, his eyes bright and glittering green from tears. “Oh, please, please…”

He looks incredible like this, luminous in combination of filthy hunger and naked tenderness, an exposed, helpless mess, writhing on his knees, trying to spread legs that are caught in half-undone pants on his thighs

his cheeks glowing bright red, he’s keening and begging, without even knowing what he begs you for, with wet parted lips, chest raising in heavy feverish breathing, cum from his first orgasm still staining his cage and stomach, the swollen, pulsing tip is leaking under your finger when you thumb his slit with the same hand that holds the bullet against it.

Сompletely undone, unraveled, tortured and trembling, but nonetheless, he’s clutching at your hand, reaching, leaning into you with desperate need.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, baby,” you squeeze his hand, press yourself against him as he whines, and you can tell he’s close by how the muscles of his abs tighten, his thighs tense. “Show me how good you can be.”

He comes with a choked, broken sound, half-moan, half-sob. You hold him as he’s shaking, pepper his face with kisses, whisper praises as he’s trying to catch his breath.

“Good boy. You are such a delight to have, my little treasure.” His body is full of raw-nerved, unreleased tension, but your words add a maddeningly sweet undercurrent, shiver that runs down his spine, makes the torturous frustration worth it if you’ve enjoyed him. “You’ve been so good for me, I’ll even let you choose your reward. If you want, I will take off your cage and make you cum until you lose your voice from screaming.”

His breath hitches, eyes light up in hungry anticipation, but you continue.

“Or, I’ll let you serve me. I’ll fuck your pretty mouth.”

“Let me serve you,” he answers without hesitation and you smile, because you always knew what he'd choose.

Few minutes later, he’s kneeling at your feet, already naked except for the handcuffs and the cage, the longer strands of his molten gold hair falling freely over the sculpted shoulders. He’s quiet, but he’s looking up at you in restrained anticipation.

“Are you sure, baby? You can still change your mind.”

“Yeah,” he says without hesitation, nuzzling at your knee. “I’m sure.”

“I might not let you out today at all.”

“I know,” he kisses your knee, rubs his cheek against it pleadingly, looking you in the eye. “Please… Use me.”

You smile, let him start slowly, trail a line of kisses up your thigh until he presses his mouth to your sex. It’s not the first time you use his mouth, so he knows what you like, eager lips and searching tongue. He looks up at you, watching for all signs of pleasure: heavy breath, narrowed eyes, bitten lip. You slide your hand into his hair, stroke it softly and he hums in appreciation. When your hips buck against his face, you can feel his moan reverberating against your flesh.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, and you forcibly pull him closer, fuck his mouth as he goes slack, his eyelashes flutter, warm and willing for you to take.

You slow down a little bit, just enough to hear him make a tiny choked noise, caught deep in his throat, see him look up at you from under half-lowered lashes with glistening, dizzyingly grateful green eyes.

When you finish, it’d be enough for him to cum if he wasn’t caged still, so when you let him go, he slumps against your leg, breathing heavily through his bruised mouth, his ragged breaths hot against your skin.

“Thank you,” he whispers, blush on his cheeks heating up against your knee, just barely loud enough for you to catch it.

You take him to the bed, throw him on his back, and he lies sprawled helplessly in front of you, delirious from the constrained pleasure, watching you with bated breath.

“You’ve been very good, my treasure,” you whisper, looming over him, move the unruly bangs, no longer held by a headband, from his forehead. His hair is too bright and saturated for a blonde, not dark and red enough for ginger, another duality caught in between, gold and tangerines, amber and buttercups, sunflower petals in the light of the late sunset.

“So even though you refused your reward, I’ll give you a chance to cum. If you can win a little game,” you smile, open his cage and slide it off. It goes slowly, with an effort, too tight around his swollen dick, and he shudders, sighs deeply when he’s finally free.

You press your palm against his cock and kiss the corner of his lips. “I’m afraid you’ll have to work for it, baby.”

He throws a glance at you, blushing, unsure. Is that all you’ll ask from him, to debase himself to show how much he wants it? That seems too easy for how far gone he is in his desires, but he doesn’t question you. He catches your mouth in an eager, sloppy kiss, thrusts his hips up, rubbing his cock against your hand.

You let his dick slide a few times against your palm, drink lovely, sweet moans from his lips, and then move your hand up, out of his reach. You chuckle as you watch him thrust helplessly into the air, groaning in frustration.

You only touch him again after he settles down, let him build up the rhythm, his thrusts turning quick and frantic as he’s getting closer to release. When you smirk and caress his cheekbones, he tenses, your grin is so teasing he expects a catch.

He waits for you to move your hand away again, but instead you lean down and sweetly tell him: “Slower.”

This catches him off guard, his eyes and mouth going wide in surprise and dismay. He has to brace himself forcefully to obey against his natural instincts. He grips at the bedsheets, but manages to slow himself down to half the speed.

You watch him struggle with a smile, his chest rising in heavy panting, parted lips, fingers clutching at the sheets, involuntary arch building in his spine as he focuses all his willpower on controlling his hips. You kiss a line down the exposed column of his throat, feel him shudder and his cock twitch against your palm, he almost bucks erratically, but catches himself at the last moment.

“Good boy,” you whisper, raking your fingers through his tangled hair. He meets your eyes, pleading, at once desperate and hopeful for release.

Instead, you tell him “Stop moving.”

He lets out a loud groan that breaks into a shaky whimper as he forces himself to pin his hips down to the bed. He throws his head back and arches his back, squeezing his eyes shut, his dick twitching against your palm and his knuckles whiten from how hard he’s clenching his fists. You run your hand up the length of his painfully hard, throbbing cock, provoking a moan, gently thumb at the slit of his swollen, leaking tip.

“Fuck, please, I’m so close, please…” he gasps for air with an open mouth, writhing under you as you kiss his jaw, slide your other hand over his body in tantalizing caresses, feel his muscles clench under your touch. You’re not so cruel to count this against him, because he does manage to keep himself from thrusting into your teasing hand as you slowly, maddeningly slowly stroke his cock, pearly string of precum dripping on his stomach.

“Very good, sunflower,” you whisper in his ear, feel his eyelashes flutter as he’s struggling to look at you. He’s so tense he’s shaking, sweat pooling on his temples and a trembling slope of his collarbones. You kiss his parted lips, cover his clenched hand with your own. “You’ve been such a delightful, beautiful plaything today. Come for me, you’ve earned it, baby.”

He comes undone immediately, with a desperate, strangled scream that he’s too unraveled to feel ashamed about. You pump his cock, let him ride out the pleasure he’s been waiting so long for, forcefully held control finally lost completely and his mind going completely blank, watch him thrashing under you until his screams turn to whimpers and he grasps at you and pulls you close.

Later in the shower he has no strength left, so you start cleaning him up yourself, and he tries protesting, but you gently pin him to the wall.

“Can I take care of my own little treasure, hm?” you ask him teasingly, and he laughs with both embarrassment and gratitude, melts under your touch.

You feel quite tired yourself, looking forward to finally getting to bed and falling asleep entangled in his warmth. But when you walk into the room, he slips out of your arms and starts tearing off sheets from the bed with amount of energy that he frankly should not be able to produce in this state.

“Babe. What are you doing? Cum didn’t even get on the sheets, it’s fine.”

“I’m not going to sleep on sweat-covered bedsheets,” he throws an affronted look over his shoulder as he’s pulling a new sheet over the frame. “I wasn’t raised in a barn.”

You sigh and watch him silently, until he grabs a pillow.

“Thoma. Thoma, what did the pillows do to you? We haven’t even touched them.”

“It’s going to bother me if the sheets are fresh and pillowcases aren’t. *And* if they don’t match.”

“I’m starting to think I’m taking the handcuffs off you too early,” you say sourly, and he chuckles, blushing faintly.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m almost done. Just a minute.”

He is done pretty quickly, but then you catch him eyeing the heap of bedsheets on the floor.

“Baby, if you try to start laundry right now, I will have to knock you unconscious for your own good.”

“I was just going to put it into a basket…”

“NO.”

He laughs airily, lets you drag him into bed, falling down next to you.

“But you have to admit, sleeping on clean linen is so much better.”

It is pretty great, it’s fresh and cool, and smells faintly of lavender.

“It’s nice,” you concede, pulling him close.

Thoma gives absolutely the best hugs and cuddles, firm, but not restrictive, like all pyro, he emanates warmth even when he’s not using his vision, but from him, it’s a lenient sunlight, not the aggressive heat of fire. Amber-hued protective bubble where nightmares seem stupid and everything is going to be alright, a feeling normally only achievable by months of therapy, being covered in puppies or copious amounts of drugs.

“But you are still crazy. I’m going to fuck you over the counter in the morning instead of the bed, so you don’t change the sheets *again.*”

He makes a content little noise, something between a chuckle and a purr.

“And what would you like to have for breakfast? Other than me, of course.”

“I don’t really care. Other than you, of course. Surprise me, sunflower.”

[angelicglib]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Champagne Problems ˚୨୧⋆｡˚⋆

[ᴊᴏʜɴ ᴍᴀᴄᴛᴀᴠɪꜱʜ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

[ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ]: 27/12/23

[ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ]: Reminiscing about the past always leaves a bitter taste in Johnny's mouth. Especially when those memories include you.

[ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ]: 5,814

[ᴛᴡ]: hurt and absolutely ZERO COMFORT!!! Mentions/ implications of alcoholism, angst, implied family issues, suggestive content.

[ᴀ/ɴ]: Pain, suffering and agony. You are welcome.

THIS IS A REPOST !! I've had few issues with shadowbans and have moved accounts a few times (tumblr thought I was a bot) so, if you would like more stories from me, my new blog is @manicrouge !!

ENJOY !!

Please do not post my work to any other platforms, thank you.

────────── ⋆⋅🚂⋅⋆ ──────────

He finds it difficult to stomach as he looks out of the window on a train. 

The return from deployment is always bittersweet. In particular, knowing he can return back to his hometown for a short while before having to eventually go back to the base.

But, all of that disappears as he’s sitting on the train, looking out the window as rain bats against it. His eyes can hardly make anything out, it’s far too dark for his eyes to make it much further than the outline of a mountain in the distance. His arms aching and he’s unsure how long he’s been looking out of it. He’s quite sure the sleeve of his jacket is completely soaked from the condensation dripping down the window, pooling on the window sill his elbow is resting on. Still, nothing changes his position, not even the shifts of the cart as it storms along the tracks. 

In his chest, he feels his heart murmur at the thought of getting closer to home.

It’s been a while. 

The silence on the train is unnerving as he turns his eyes away from the window for a moment. Across the aisle from him, there’s another traveller. His head is pressed firmly against the back of the chair as quiet snores escape his open mouth. As he focuses on him, he notes a glistening trail on his chin and grimaces, turning his eyes away from the man, directing his gaze back to the window.

Trains during the night-time are always strange, he was familiar with them when he first joined the army. Travelling to and from always seemed worse during the day, so, he'd opted to stay at the base for an extra day, leaving in the dead of night to catch the last train available home. There was no reason to leave during the day because at night, he knew he could sleep away all the worries, arriving home well rested. 

But then something changed.

After another op, he returned to his schedule of sitting on the train at night, looking down at the sketchbook resting against the table in front of him. Holding a pencil in his hand, he busied himself with a sketch of a familiar face. There were the remains of a mistake engraved into the paper, odd rolls of the rubber sitting on the bend of his notepad as he readied the eraser in his hand in preparation for another.

His tired eyes were heavy as he observed the features of the man on the page, a small grin forming on his face as he thought about the reaction from the man when he saw him again. He’d probably only nod his head at his attempts of drawing him, noting that the details of his mask were a little janky, but that wouldn’t matter; the eyes were perfect. But Johnny knew he would still lie to him because being sincere was not one of his lieutenants specialities. 

‘Do you mind if I sit here?’ 

Setting the pencil down, he raised his head to see you standing in front of him. You smiled at him with a small glass in your hand, holding the seat opposite to him to keep yourself steady. ‘It’s just cause there’s no one else here and my phone died,’ you explained, ‘I won’t make a peep, I promise,’ you added. 

With a short nod, he motions towards the chair opposite to him, moving the pencil tin above his notepad so you had some space to place down your belongings. ‘Aye,’ he says, ‘be my guest, bonnie.’ 

So, you took a seat, placing your backpack on the chair beside you, setting your glass down. He observed the colour of the liquid, the colours faint as the bubbles raise from the bottom of the small glass, dispersing at the top. He recalled how odd he thought it was when he had first seen the funny little drink on the table, only knowing the train-line to serve water and the occasional cup of tea.

‘Champagne,’ you answered, following his eyes to the glass, ‘thought I’d treat myself.' 

‘What’s the special occasion?’ he asked with a raised eyebrow, picking his pencil back up, resuming his portrait of the moody lieutenant. The train creaked at the cart turned slightly, and he caught your hand steading the drink. ‘Ye get a promotion?’ 

Looking at you again, he noted how you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip. Your eyes fell to the aisle and your chest rose as you took a deep breath. There was something about your apprehension that troubled him, the way your flushed cheeks paled left him wounded for a short while before he realised that he had no clue why he was thinking in such a manner.

It was her eyes, he reminisces while keeping his eyes trained on the window beyond the cart.

It's a bitter pill to swallow, the memories of you still wrapping around his mind as a kids train set does a families Christmas tree during the holidays. Looping round and round and round until it's put into a box. The season in his mind has lasted longer than the measly length of the month of December, spanning years (it seemed). It's torture, yet, despite it being so cruel, he dreads the arrival of the day where he finally has the courage to box you up and shove you to the back of his mind because that would be when he could begin to forget you.

Even after all the years that have passed, he finds his mouth moves as he recalls your response to his question when you had sat opposite to him on the train.

‘Moving out, actually.'

It was just as well everything happened for you on that day, you moved out the day he got the train home. Had anything been different, neither of you would have crossed paths and while agonising, he looks at the stars in the nights sky with an air of gratitude.

You admitted after a while, your eyes falling back onto him as you heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Been stuck in a shitty situation for a while, been sitting around waiting for a chance to get out of it and tonight just so happens to be the night that everything fell back into place.’

Your words haunted him during the night, appearing like a phantom in his dreams, calling out to him. The glint of gratitude in his eyes wavers.

Your words are soft as you spoke and he likened the look you gave him to one of the valleys he had witnessed when he had taken the day train home after his first deployment. A valley with a river right below it in the midst of shrubbery and trees. The water was blue, he could see it when he looked at her. The reflection of the sun reflecting off of the surface, mirroring the rocky trails of the mountains. The sight of such had left him breathless, just as you did when you took a deep breath, reaching out for her glass, bringing it to you mouth. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be telling a stranger my problems,’ you mumbled. 

‘It’s nae an issue, lass,’ he responded, ‘happy to hear y’ got outta whatever was making ye so miserable,’ he confessed, ‘and Scotland, eh? Pretty place if y’ ask me,’ he said with a short laugh. You laughed with him before taking another sip from your drink.

He watched as you did so, noting the glint in her eyes as you moved your eyes away from him to his notebook. Pulling the glass away from your mouth, you placed it down with a hum, swallowing the last of the drink in your mouth, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. It's a charming sight, clumsy and amusing.

‘You’re good at drawing,’ you noted, pointing at the drawing, ‘is he a character of yours?’ you asked, motioning to the drawing of the man with the skull face. A short chuckle passed his lips as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. 

‘Guess ye could call him that,’ he said, 'someone I know, actually ,' he confessed.

Your brows furrowed, wrinkles forming on your forehead as your eyes grew wide. Your hand ghosted the glass, wetting your fingers with the condensation dripping down the outside as you looked at him with glossy eyes. Fingerprints marked the glass as you forced your hand away.

'I'm so so sorry- I didn't mean it as an insult it's just-'

'Keep the heid, lass,' laughed the man.

You stared at him.

'Relax,' he said, noting the confusion on your face. Your tensed muscles softened as your picked up the glass off of the table, taking a big gulp, finishing the last of the contents in it. He frowns when he notices you shaking. You thought you had done so much wrong with a single observation. 'you weren't to know.'

'Does he really wear that mask?' you whispered as though Simon was right behind you, and had he been, Johnny could say with his heart that he wouldn't have been surprised; the damn man appeared out of nowhere all the time.

'Yeah,' he said.

'Is it part of his job?'

Your intrigue was adorable.

'No, he just prefers to hide his face,' he explained, 'suppose it makes work easier,' he said, nodding to himself. Despite his time knowing Simon, he never did know why he covered his face. Of course, it kept the human version of the man from the man who committed countless atrocities in the name of justice, yet, the point you brought up left him thinking for a short moment.

'You work together?' you asked, 'what do you do for work?'

'Part of the military,' he told you frankly, 'he's my lieutenant,' he added, although, he didn't care to tell you much more as he looked at the you with a furrowed brow, not wanting to leave you with enough time to respond to his confession, 'what about you, lass?'

'I write,' you said, 'I got a remote position at a publishing company, that's whats given me the money to move out.'

'I enjoy writin' from time to time,' he responded, 'not that good at it though, prefer drawing,' he uttered.

You were though, he didn't even bothers to think of your response because, truthfully, your humbleness in terms of your own talent was wounding to his own love for writing. As he would with advertisements, inwardly, he skips by all the small talk in his mind. It's cruel the way the mind works; memory was a burden to hold, yet as entertaining as a late night TV show which was to only be watched in secrecy.

'What's your name?' you asked, picking up another cup of champagne. He watched as you did so, lifting his own cup that you had gotten for him when you had excused yourself to the bathroom.

He kept his distaste of the beverage to himself, besides, it was free.

'Johnny,' he answered, ' and y'urself, bonnie?'

You answer accordingly, stating your name with a smile. Repeating your name, he finds it rolls off his tongue well and the longer he observes you, the more a conclusion dawned upon him.

'Suits ye well,' he complimented with a wink.

Rubbing his face with his hand, his breath fogs against the window of the train and he turns his head away, absentmindedly wiping down the window with the sleeve of his puffer jacket. In the meantime, he busies himself looking at the empty seat opposite to him.

In the blink of an eye, you're there, sitting across from him.

'When do you get off?' he asked.

'Last stop,' you answered, 'staying at a hotel for a few days before my place is ready... was eager to leave,' you said. As soon as the words passed your lips, he felt compelled to be a gentleman. That, alongside taking into account the trouble that could have occurred if you did walk to the hotel alone, besides, the least he could have done for you buying him a drink and keeping him company was help you find you way to your hotel.

'We can share a cab if ye want,' he offered, 'put my mind at ease, wanna make sure you get there safe, besides, far too cold for ye to be walkin', bonnie,' he said, biting the inside of his mouth as he awaited your refusal, only, you nodded your head and smiled.

'I'd appreciate that, Johnny.'

His memories blur for a while after that, and his cheeks flushed red as he recalls how you looked at him before you got out of the cab. Glancing at the same hand that paid the fare only far enough to go to your hotel he curses as he watches the memory of him getting out of the taxi to chase after you.

You waited for him at the entrance in hope he'd have a change of heart, and he recalls how delighted you were when he walked through the door and caught you standing there, waiting for him.

Truthfully, he knew he was in deep shit when he felt the way you wrapped around him, the way you called his name, and how pretty you looked underneath him. Even after years, it was difficult to escape the thought of your first night together. Perhaps it was the entire being strangers thing that made the sex much more enthralling than any other one night stand he had had, or maybe it was just you.

Shoulda never let her have me number, he thought to himself.

It was difficult to deny that there were only ever terrible times. Resentment bubbles and it turns the fondest of moments to the worse; there was something there for him to miss when he thinks fondly of you. Fondness makes forgetting a hell of a lot harder, at least it does for him, anyway.

He hardly even thinks about Graves anymore and he resents him.

He resents you too.

But whenever he thinks of you, he thinks of your laughter. And then the guilt seeps in and he curses himself for ever thinking so lowly of you in the first place. How fucking dare he do something so terrible. You deserve it, though, for all the shit you put him through: the bruised heart thats still bandaged up, the sleepless nights as he waited for you to come home, the drunken phone calls he would get while on an op.

All of it.

Then there was everything else: the moments you shared together, the sound of your laughter which would seemingly travel down the halls of your apartment and wake him whenever you spent the night together, the sight of you in his shirt while cooking breakfast in the morning and your excitement when you finally persuaded him to dance with you.

The last one was particularly difficult to forget. His fondness will never let him let it go, he's convinced.

In the depths of the night, you danced together. He acknowledged the look on your face as he held you in your arms, the laughter as he spun you around in a circle, pulling you away just for you to end right back in his arms. He'd never let you wonder too far, scared that if he lost grip of your hand, you would have disappeared forever.

It became a routine and he recalls all the times he had held you in his arms while dancing to a song by Sinatra or Aretha Franklin and all the times he saw you smile. All of those happy moments moulded into one, while only a few stuck out.

During that night in particular, he couldn't look away from your eyes.

Whenever he looked at you, he was started by the glint of colours in your eyes, reflective of the colourful lights you had decorated your Christmas tree with. Rather, instead of decorating the tree, the lights in your eyes worked well in decorating the brambles you called eyelashes as you looked up at him. Every time you blinked, he found the same glossy sheen he had seen that night on the train. Every blink seemed to edge you closer to tears, as though your eyelashes were antagonising your poor eyes constantly.

Then he smelt the liquor on you breath and was reminded of the underlining truth of everything.

You were always emotional whenever you had something to drink. It couldn't have been helped, it was simply who you were, and he was going to resent you for something you couldn't have helped.

'Yer oot yer face,' he mumbled, speaking softly to you as you swayed with one another to the low hum of music from your vinyl player. Neither of you noticed how the song skipped, far too busy with one another to notice such a flaw.

'English, MacTavish,' you answered, your tone gruff as you recalled the story he had told you about the man with the skull mask and the city soaked in blood. He chuckled, pulling you closer, resting his head against your shoulder, looking at you. You turned your head to the side to look at him too.

'You're drunk,' he said quietly.

'I only had a glass,' you answered abruptly. You tensed in his arms when you responded to him and he felt his head sink further down until it sat, burning in the acid of his stomach. 'I had it while I was making dinner; the sauce had some of it in,' you explained, turning in his arms so your chests were pressed against each others. placing your hand against his face. You looked worried in that moment, observing his features. 'You're not mad at me, are you?'

Placing his hand over yours, he sighed, 'nae, bonnie, just don't want ye to hurt y'urself,' he explained, pulling your hand from off of his face, planting a kiss atop of it, moving his other hand from the small of your back to hold your waist. 'Love you too much for ye to do that,' he said, letting go of your hand to place his fingers beneath your chin, forcing your head up so you were looking at him. 'Y'know that.'

'I do,' you weakly answered.

The only bastard 'I do' he ever got from your lips. It was laughable really as he looks back on that night, how the pair of you had been so close in your home, dancing together as though you were an elderly couple celebrating your 40th wedding anniversary together.

Think I'll live that long?

Probably not.

Had anyone from 141 been there to witness how he fell to pieces with you in his arms, they very well would have laughed until they were blue in the face. And the longer he looks out the window out on the Scottish countryside, he concludes he too would laugh at that man dancing with you for being such a smitten fool.

'Good,' he hummed, pressing a kiss against your lips. The were chapped, dry, but he didn't care. Instead, he deepened the kiss as the pair of you stumbled backwards, muffled laughter escaping you as you loosely wrapped your arms around his neck while he kept the pair of you from falling.

Moments of happiness seemed so common in the beginning.

The night trains shifted to day trains again.

He'd hit the ground running after returning from an op, only showering because he didn't want you to smell the remnants of war which stained him and his skin. Nothing kept him from seeing you, not even his distaste for the day train.

All of it meant that he could get home sooner; he recalled the sinking feeling in his chest whenever the trains were delayed by a measly twenty minutes. Love made him a different man, he realised, a man who enjoyed the day train and the man who loathed the night train.

'I thought you weren't going to be home for another couple of days,' you said, opening the door to see Johnny standing there with a bag on his arm. Dropping it, he pulled you into a tight hug, resting his hand against the back of your head as he swayed you from side to side. 'Did you get the day train for me?' you asked.

Pulling away, he caught sight of the smile creeping onto you face as he nodded his head slowly, 'didn't wanna wait longer than I had to,' he answered, 'saw a photo of ye in me wallet an' knew I needed to be here with you sooner,' he added, pressing a kiss onto your lips as your cheeks flushed red.

'You have a picture of me in your wallet?' you quietly asked when he pulled away for you. He smiled.

'Of course I do, bonnie,' he responded as though such was an obvious fact, 'need to see that face of yours every day, ye like medicine to me.'

'Really?'

'Aye, lass.'

Everything moved so quickly and it wasn't long before you were well acquainted with his mam.

Meeting his mother was the confirmation he needed to say that he wanted to marry you. No one else in the world mattered when he saw how you and his sisters bonded, and while sitting alone on the train, he clenched a his fist at the emptiness of the palm of his hand while imagining the light weight of the ring his mother had placed in the palm of his hand while he stood in the kitchen helping her prepare the Christmas dinner. It had been over two years since the pair of you had started dating when she did so, working well to convince him that the timing meant that something else in the universe had willed it to happen.

'Mam?' he asked, looking down at the ring in his hand.

The band was quaint, golden as an green gem stared him in the eyes as he squinted, holding it up to the yellow light of the kitchen. The elderly woman in front of him chuckled, patting his shoulder as she walked past him to open the oven.

'Well, she's the one, ain't she?' she said, speaking into the heat of the oven as she grabbed the tray of duck-fat potatoes with a stained tea towel.

'Ye think?'

'Gonnae no’ dae that!' exclaimed his mother.

'Don't do what?' he scoffed.

'Act surprised,' she scolded, 'it's in ye eyes, son,' she chuckled. 'Yer nana told me to give ye the ring when I thought ye'd found the right one,' she confessed, 'and with your father gone, 'ave got no reason to wear it, but she has,' she uttered, looking from out of the kitchen into the living room.

His eyes followed hers and he watched as you sat with his youngest sister. The pair of you chatted away, though his stomach twisted at the sight of you holding a glass in your hand.

'She's a good girl, Johnny.'

'Aye, mam, I know.'

'So, marry her.'

With his mam's words echoing in his mind, the memories always came to the one that caused all the air in his lungs to escape.

Nothing wants to stay whenever he thinks of that, and he's sure if he was wounded, all his blood would leave him in a second in order to stay out of the cycle in his head that always brings him back to this one thought.

He supposes, in hindsight, it was terribly foolish what he had done. His ignorance to pressing issues was immature and irresponsible, only, they were easy to ignore when he had his mothers ring in his pocket. But he noticed, years down the line, how you had dropped his hand when the pair of you had been dancing, all to go and get another drink because the glass in your hand was running dry.

The party was one you both had planned, only, you had done so to celebrate a win himself and the boys had had during their time away, and he had invited everyone with the intent of proposing to the love of his life.

In the moment, he had been so crushed. He recalls how his mouth was dry, the dull ache in his cut knee as he awkwardly remained kneeled as you stood and stared. The speech he had prepared disappeared when you turned your back on him and rushed away, leaving his ego bleeding as everyone looked at him in horror.

'I just... I don't know why you would do it,' you mumbled when you heard him walk through the door into the kitchen away from the guests.

He was silent as he looked at you, traces of a storm in his eyes as he fought off the urge to cry. His chest hurt as he looked at you with a glass in your hand, and he couldn't do anything but stand there and watch as you drank from it. 'I told you, Johnny, I fucking warned you and-'

'I thought ye would've had a change of heart, love-'

'Well I haven't!' you angrily snapped, slamming your glass down onto the counter, glaring at him. 'What, did you think just because I'd have a ring on my finger all of our fuckin' issues are going to disappear? You're a smart man, Johnny, stop trying to play the role of the fool. It doesn't suit you and it never will.'

You were just as embarrassed as he was. He curses himself while sitting on the train, thinking back to your flushed cheeks and teary eyes. It wasn't only because of the booze that time, it was because of him too.

'I- I'm trying, John, can't you see that?' you croaked, 'I'm trying but I can't be everything you want. I don't wanna get married... at least not yet.'

'Ye don't love me,' he blurted.

You snapped your head up, furrowing your brows as you looked at him with wide eyes. 'Is that serious what you think?' you shakily asked, disbelief etched into your features. 'So what? You think all the fuckin' nights I've spent worried that you're not gonna come home when you're away working were for-'

'All the fuckin' nights you spent with a bottle in your hand too, eh?' he quickly cut you off, retorting in a manner that had left you breathless, draining all the colour out of your face. 'Don't pull that card on me, bonnie, don't you fuckin' dare do it 'cause I worry more about you and your drinkin' habit than I do my own life when I'm out on the field- tell me how you think that's fair!'

You stared at him, your eyes drifting to the empty glass abandoned on the counter. It was unfair for him to pull that card, he was aware enough in the moment to understand it, but he was so utterly devastated that he chose to stand his ground. An apology wouldn't have mean anything even if he had said it.

'If ye loved me... you'd stop goin' to the bottle every time ye have an issue,' he bleakly said, 'but am not even sure if you would pick me over the drink anymore, bonnie.'

'How would me saying yes to you fix any of that?'

He stayed silent.

Reflection allows him to find that he only ever proposed out of love. He was aware of your issues, noting it was never always smooth sailing from either of you, but he supposes he just wanted to have proof that at least once, you would pick him rather than the liquor.

But he was stupid for ever thinking you were more than your champagne problems.

'Getting married would only complicate things between us, John. You know that,' you said after a while of silence, 'and clearly, we don't listen to each other... I'm sorry I embarrassed you today, and I'm sorry I keep causing you to worry- I'm sorry for being such a burden to you but you don't make it easy for me,' you uttered, rubbing your face with your hands, wiping away the tears that fell down your scarlet cheeks.

There was nothing else for him to say to you, and he's ashamed at the very fact that, in the moment you needed him the most, he walked out of that room and left you there crying, alone.

As the train turns on the tracks again, he ponders what would have been different if he had stayed there with you, only, he finds his mind drifting to the words on a page which confirms exactly why he was thinking.

He was only prolonging the inevitable.

As he turns to the final page in his notebook, he finds it difficult to breath as he retrieves the piece of paper he had pushed to the back of it, unfolding it. Pressing his hand against it, he leaves it to sit on top of the page marked with splashes of the drink you had spilled, unable to find the strength as he stares down at the words scrawled on the page.

A crude reminder of what became of his engagement.

'Johnny,

In time, I hope you'll forget about all my problems and find someone who you deserve. I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused and I'm sorry for not being ready for you.

Give your mums ring to someone who deserves it and put the special ladies picture in your wallet instead of mine. For the sake of yourself and me.

I love you, Johnny, nearly too much, and while you will see my absence as cruel, know I see it as necessary and that's the issue; we never have seen eye to eye on a lot of things.

We're not ready for each other, I know you think it but you're too scared to say it, so I'll bite the bullet and say it for you. We're not ready for each other, Johnny.

Love shouldn't be a tug-of-war, and I grow tired for you watching as you always try and pull me to you. Besides, I heard your mother after you left the room, she said I was fucked in the head for not agreeing to your proposal and it leaves me wondering what type of person you've made your family believe I am.

I'm sorry I couldn't be everything you wanted, but know that everything I'm doing: leaving, writing this letter, not saying goodbye to you in person, is for you. You always said you hated goodbyes; they were the hardest part of your career, and I can't promise that I wouldn't run back into your arms the second you'd open your mouth and beg me not to go.

But I'm prolonging the inevitable by staying with you.

I'm making you miserable with my problems and that is not what I want you to do. You have a life, and you had a life before we met on that train.

All I ever did was make you worry and I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want you to worry about me, I just want you to move on and love and be loved. I'm going to work on myself and I'm going to get better because I know that that is what you want, and in truth, it's what I want too.

I love you and I fear I always will, but I can't have you, and I'm punishing you and myself by staying here.'

He turns his head away from the letter, looking back to the window at the small dots through the foggy water as he utters the last part of the letter under his breath. 'One day, we may meet again, perhaps the stars will align and you'll see me on a nighttime train back to your home town. And maybe then, I'll be ready.'

A breathy laugh escapes him, repeating 'And maybe then, I'll be ready.'

How appalling it would be when you realised that you leaving only resulted in the reversal of roles. At least, he likes to think he would have the strength to refuse you if he's to ever see you again.

When he turns away from the window, relieving himself of the pain of remembering all that has gone wrong in his life, he takes the letter from off of his notepad, folding it along the worn edges, pushing it back in a small slip at the back of the notepad.

Shrugging off his jacket, he put it on the seat beside him with a hard sigh, turning his attention back to the notepad in front of him. The nights long and his journey proceeds to drag his feet and he's unsure if he even wants to be back home or if he should have just stayed in the base until Price needed him next. But it's Christmas and he couldn't have left his family because of his own sorrow about something that happened years ago.

He just misses you more in the holidays, but he supposes that's okay as long as he doesn't let the phantom you left him with ruin everything. So, he picks up the pencil and pursues what he was doing the night you two met, only this time, there's a ghost sitting opposite to him, not the living thing that greeted him many moons ago.

His ignorance to the world around him keeps him from hearing the footsteps storming up the aisle after the train stops at a station. Even when the voice of a woman announcing the last stop enters his ears, he doesn't lift his head. All the noise culminates into a twisting storm, similar to how he imagines the billowing smoke exuding from a chimney on a winter night swirls in the wind. It's deplorable and he grunts as he attempts to chase the flurry of emotions away.

His efforts result in even more tension at the front of his mind as he looks into the eyes of the drawing he's sketching, realising just whose eyes he had depicted in the midst of his worry. Even after all the time has passed, he's impressed by the fact that he still remembers your features so well.

Always so difficult to forget, he supposes his contemplation proves such.

Then he hears it.

The very thing that works to break him free.

A quaint shaky breath.

A shadow covers his bulky frame, light peering from either side of the mass standing on the aisle holding onto the seat opposite him. Lifting his head, his lungs rattle in his chest as he realises the eyes he had been sketching in his notepad are right before him in human form, staring right back at him.

'Johnny?'

────────── ⋆⋅🚂⋅⋆ ──────────

[totallynotzzombiecat]

Seems like tumblr got me shadowbanned for some unknown for me reason. My posts just not appearing for people and me in tag-wide search and tl.

I remember my posts have gathered plenty of interactions before but now they barely scraping 10 likes, 60 likes maximum for the posts that exploded otherwise on other platforms (like Baldur's Gate 3 fanarts).

Like, it's so discouraging to use tumblr now and to share my works with people here when no one can see it. Gosh I'm so tired...

I've experienced a huge bot influx in my follower count somewhere at the start of 2023 and the fact is that you can't get them unfollow you. My activity died since then. I also tried to promote my patreon as a blog with more content and thoughts as it was a platform that I was comfortable with and a friendly place to battle my social media anxiety. But maybe algorithms and bot influx got me screwed

And now this blog's activity is plain dead and stale and I have no joy to post here anymore because all of it

I'm so fed up with the social media bullshit, the bot influx, fighting to please the algorithms, and new apps trying to replace where you have to figure out how to AGAIN battle algorithms and build AGAIN your follower count. As is already the abundance of social media is REALLY draining, and it's really hard to focus while you have to repost every piece everywhere

I'm just a little artist trying to survive that wants to have everything and my audience in one place to share my little scribbles ;;

Already filed the complain to tumblr support. I'll promise to reblog my artworks when I'll get a respond and things will get fixed (hope they'll do)

Sorry for the rant. Gotta finally blow out some steam

[yandere-yearnings]

I have no idea if it’s just me but my posts gets shadow banned out of nowhere and I can’t find it in the tag?? I think hmm, maybe I violated a tumble guideline? NOPE, a 🍇 post is left on latest by someone and I can’t find my own post which was posted after, LIKE HUUH??

I’m sorry Dar, I just had to vent because I’m honestly so done with the tunblr algorithm

i can totally get the frustration nonnie, tumblr is an absolute ass abt these things😩💔 absolutely don't apologise!! i say this a lot, but idm if ppl need to vent and choose to do so here bc i want this to be a safe space for as many ppl as it can be🥰 that being said, i will share a few reasons i think this could be happening;

depending on how new your blog is, sometimes it takes a while to pop up in the tags — i'd say about 2-3 days, and you have to kinda do what tumblr deems 'human' activity like reblog and like posts?? obviously, if you've had your blog for a while, then that isn't really an explanation tho🤧 sometimes it also just takes a couple of minutes,, or hours🙄 ik of some content creators on here who just delete the og and repost it if their works don't appear within a set time frame (which is valid bc they've worked hard on their stuff and deserve the visibility)

your posts won't show up in tags if your actual blog has been shadowbanned (which i don't think is the case bc i got your ask which i believe wouldn't be possible if that were true), but it'd probably still be good to check if your ability to message others here isnt impacted. tumblr shadowbans over really stupid stuff so😔

i honestly really hate the tumblr algorithm myself when it comes to showing up in tags, i literally don't even check bc ik it'll just frustrate me. unfortunately, if you're trying to grow your blog, then it's kinda important to be able to have that reach and in that sense i think reblogs do a lot to get posts circulating as they should be.

whatever the issue is, i hope things work out for you nonnie🥺🩷 it's really annoying when all you want is your hard work to be able to have that chance of recognition, so i understand. you're gonna be able to do it, so keep at it, okay? you got this😌💕

[ahaura]

i'm sure someone's already made this post but for anyone seriously new (or returning) to tumblr here are some cool tips and tricks for having a decent experience

download xkit rewritten (i think it's on github, iirc it's the most up to date xkit that makes tumblr easier to use so you can avoid ads, use quick reblogs, etc)

make sure to go to your dashboard settings and toggle off the features you don't want to see. best part about tumblr is that if you don't follow people you won't see their posts. tumblr has tried to get around this by adding "in your orbit" and "for you" dashboards but lots of people don't use these.

TURN OFF TUMBLR LIVE. it is not safe to use, even less so than social media sites typically are. you'll have to hit the snooze button on it once a week which is annoying but if you don't like it send a message to support to let them know. your can and should utilize contacting support for bugs and errors and issues. be warned that it's hit and miss tho

if you want to use a custom theme on your desktop, you'll have to contact support and ask permission to use javascript. they'll provide instructions on what you need to do to get approved

use the filter option for content you don't want to see. xkit has an option to entirely hide filtered posts on the dash rather than just showing a post with the hidden tag on it

you don't HAVE to use tags but it's strongly recommended for organizational and practical use. if you make content like art or gifs it's the best way you're going to get other people who don't follow you to see it

REBLOG, NOT REPOST! whether it's art, gifsets, scans, or something else it is standard etiquette and common courtesy to REBLOG instead of REPOST. you will get more of the content you like if you reblog instead of steal things from other people. reblogging posts is a vital part of your tumblr ecosystem. you don't have to reblog every post you see but if you take a look at blogs that aren't transplants from twitter you'll know what i mean

there are almost always bot waves on this site and you can usually tell by their empty blog and/or default blog layout. i STRONGLY RECOMMEND personalizing your blog (at least choose your title and icon) and reblog some stuff so people don't think you're a bot and block you.

if you use the blaze feature you will be blocked and ignored at best and harassed in the replies at worst. give tumblr money at your own risk

tumblr's post limit is 250 per day but the queue allows for 1000 posts and drafts to my knowledge are unlimited. utilizing the drafts and queue features is a good way to help run your blog

you can make sideblogs but if staff finds out you're hoarding urls you will be shadowbanned.

most importantly: be normal in your interactions with others. block people who annoy you or you simply don't want to see. this isn't twitter and the only reason this site is remotely usable is because it isn't a copy of tiktok, twitter, or instagram

good luck

[faterpresources]

Anonymous:

Do you have any advice on how to start an rp blog? I feel like there's so much to do and so many specific things, it looks intimidating, but I really want to get into it (and your blog seems like a safe space to ask as a baby in the matter)

Hi! Thanks you for asking and for trusting. I do admit that rping on tumblr can look daunting and there is a series of things that are considered “etiquette” that might not be obvious for newcomers. And the only way to learn is to ask, right? As I’m not sure if you would like something more specific or a step-by-step, I’m going to go through the whole process.

note: this is a repost from an ask in a more reblog-friendly format

1.       Setting up the blog

You might want to make a new e-mail account for each blog you want. I recommend making a gmail/google account, so you may be able to use other services and associate them with your blog. I’ll go into more details in a minute.

Some people would rather have a personal blog and then making the RP blog as a side-blog. Or a “hub” blog and many side-blogs so they have everything centralized. The downside is that you can’t follow people with side-blogs, only the main – and some rpers are a little suspicious of personal blogs, so if you intend to go this route it might be a good idea to state somewhere in your blog that you have a RP blog.

Tip : It isn’t said too often, but I recommend saving your blog’s e-mail and password somewhere, maybe a flashdrive or even google drive. This way, if something happens you will be able to retrieve your account.

When picking the URL, for a very long time tumblr had problems tagging URLs with a hyphen ( - ). I’m not sure if it has been fixed or if there are still some issues, so I recommend only using letters and maybe numbers. Other than that, pick anything that sounds nice to you!

Themes are nice, but not entirely necessary. Not everybody has photoshop skills and all that. Some people do have commissioned themes, but if you want to try your hand at it my first stop is usually @theme-hunter  or @sheathemes . They reblog many themes from many creators, so there are always many options that might suit your needs.  Some creators offer very newcomer-friendly themes that you can configure a lot of things without much hassle but some might require basic HTML knowledge – a few creators have guides on how to properly set up their themes and are willing to and answer questions, so don’t be afraid to contact them! You can also send me an ask, I’m not a specialist but I can certainly help walk you through the basics.

Tip: @glenthemes have very good themes and a basic installation guide here.

When fiddling with the options, try to pick colors that have nice contrast and are easy to read. If you are bad at picking colors or have problems in finding the code for them, I recommend trying this link. There is also this one that auto-generate palettes.

Tip : If you mess with your theme, remember there is the Theme Recovery.

Tip: If you use Chrome or Firefox you can set up different profiles and associate each with a different blog, so you don’t need to log out from any of your accounts.

There are two pages that I recommend having: one is an about your muse. If they are an OC, it is always a good idea to have at least some information out there to make things easier. If they are from a canon source, not everybody is familiar with the material so it might be a good idea to state. For example, if you are going to roleplay as Altria/Arturia, it is a good idea to have a “RP blog for Saber (Altria Pendragon) from FGO/FSN “ somewhere visible. The other page that is a good idea having is a rules/guidelines page. This one can be a little intimidating, but it is usually a way to communicate important things. For example: are you comfortable writing violence? Do you have any personal triggers? There is something you absolutely won’t write? There are things you may figure out along the way and it is absolutely ok to fine-tune this session every now and then. Some people also credit source for their icons and graphics in general in their rule/guideline page.

If you are using the tumblr default themes, when you create a new page you can turn on the option to show a link to the page. If you are using a custom theme, most of the time you will have to link it manually.

Oh, and if you are planning to do a multimuse, it might be a good idea to list which muses you have. The same goes for a hub blog; list the muses and link to the pages.

Icons aren’t necessary but are considered commonplace. You can find some icons I’ve done here but there are plenty of other sources. If you want to do your own icons, keep in mind to don’t make them too big, as a courtesy to your mutuals.

Tip: Anything larger than 300 pixels will be stretched to fit the post. As of today ( 4/29/2021 ) the posts are currently 540 pixels wide. This can be useful as making banners for your blog.

Tumblr allow users to “pin” posts. This mean that they will always visible if you access your blog, even on dash/mobile. You can use this to set up a post with basic links for mobile users or something else. For example, if you are out on vacations and won’t be able to do replies, you can pin a hiatus notice and then remove the pin once you are back.

2.       Introducing yourself

Time to officially join the fun! (insert a “Hi, Zuko here” joke) Don’t worry if you don’t have a fancy promo graphic or anything, most people make their initial introduction with a simple post.

(as you can see, I’m not very good at saying ‘hi’)

Try to introduce yourself in a few lines, but make sure to state which muse you RP as. Some people also like adding their pen name/alias and establishing a brand. Follow as many people as you want that reblogged or liked your post, and tumblr is going to start recommending other blogs that are related to the tags you use normally or have any relation to the people you follow. You can put as many tags as you want, but tumblr will disregard more than 6 tags in their system. Try tags like “<fandom> rp” and “<fandom> roleplay” along with the media, such as “movie” “video game”, “anime” and so on.

It might also be a good idea to follow a few RP memes blogs. They often have options to break the ice, like one-liners that your mutual can send you.

Tip: Don’t forget to turn on the asks and the anon

3.       Practical advice

Alright, now that you have a few mutuals, it is time to get to some general tips:

Tumblr can be a little “iffy”, and a great quality of life extension for RPers and navigation in general is installing the New Xkit extension. They offer a number of options to enhance your tumblr experience, but the ones I consider essential are the “editable reblogs”, “quick tags” and “blacklist”. Get it for Chrome or Firefox.

As a rule of thumb I recommend writing your RPs using Google Docs before posting or replying. By doing this you can do some spell check and if your browser crashes for any reason you can easily recover your work. You can also use Word, Open Office, or any text editor you feel like.

Because I’m a bit of a perfectionist, I also have Grammarly ( Chrome / Firefox ) installed for an extra layer of spell/grammar check. There is a subscription option, but the free one works perfectly fine.

To make things easier to locate, always tag the URL of your RP partner when doing a reply. There are other useful things you can tag, such as open starters, memes, and such.

Risking being obvious here, but when you are not interacting as your character it might be a good idea to tag as “ooc” or “out of character”.

Some people like making google docs with basic info and other useful stuff for easier access on mobile. It is a recent trend, it might be easier to edit as opposed to going through tumblr page editor and dealing with the HTML.  You can find some templates here and here.

Tumblr’s activity can be unreliable, so don’t be afraid of contacting your partner to see if they have gotten your reply after a few weeks. However, some people also enjoy using the RP Thread Tracker in order to be on top of things. It might be a good idea to check it out.

Because of Tumblr shadowbanning and shenanigans, it isn’t unusual for people to have NSFW sideblogs (sometimes referred as ‘sin blogs’). If you want to write smut, it might be a good idea to consider making one.

Some people don’t like replying to asks, as Tumblr won’t let you remove the initial ask. It has become common to see people making new posts to reply to asks.  This is a simple example:

As you can see, I used the mention to have the RP partner notified then I copied and pasted their question on my post and used the quote to indicate it. You can also have fancy graphics, like a line to separate the contents, just do whatever you feel like with the formatting or keep it simple.

To make sure your partner got the answer, I recommend copying the link to the post and pasting on the ask and then replying it privately.  An example sent to my rp blog:

4.       Basic Etiquette

Ok, this is a little subjective most of the time but here are a few things that are considered universal courtesy.

Never reblog someone else’s headcanons. If you enjoy it, maybe it should politely contact the author and ask if it is ok to write something based on their original idea but you should never downright copy or lift something from another creator. It is considered rude, or even theft in some cases.

Don’t reblog threads you are not involved with. It is ok to leave a like, but never reblog. This is because Tumblr can mess up the notifications and disrupt the flow of the RP.

Don’t copy other people’s graphics. It is very rude and sometimes they commission (aka: paid) for it.

Trim your posts. What does that mean? Every time you reblog with a reply, the post tends to get longer and longer, and it can cluster your and your mutuals’ dashes. This is why the New X-Kit’s “editable reblogs” is an almost must-have tool. If for some reason you can’t install X-Kit (if you are on mobile for example), then remove the previous post or ask your partner to trim for you.

Never take control of your RP partner’s muse. This is called “godmodding” and it is heavily frowned upon. It is ok to control your muse and the possible NPCs that you inserted, but never seize someone else’s character. Likewise, it can also be very upsetting if you use what people call “meta-gaming”, applying knowledge that your muse shouldn’t know about the other. For example, let’s say your RP partner’s muse is a vampire, but they have never disclosed that information to your muse, who also doesn’t have an excuse to know that (for example, being a vampire hunter) so it can be quite jarring sometimes. When in doubt, contact your partner.

This should go without saying, but RPing sexual themes with users under the age of 18 are illegal. It doesn’t matter if the age of consent in your location is lower, once you join Tumblr you are abiding by their user guidelines and the law of the state they are located in. If you are an adult, don’t engage minors with these topics, maybe a fade to black would be a better option. If you are a minor, don’t insist or you might cause a lot of legal problems for others.

Try to tag anything triggering. Violence, gore, NSFW. Both Tumblr and the New Xkit have options to block keywords.

When picking PSDs or graphics for your blog, you should avoid templates that change the color of the skin of POCs muses and try to pick the right race/ethnicity of the muse you are going to RP as. I won’t go through a lot of details, as it is a rather lengthy subject in an already lengthy conversation but keep this in the back of your mind.

Some RPers don’t like when you reblog memes from them without sending anything. Try to always reblog from a source or to interact with the person you are reblogging from, it can be rather disheartening to be seen as a meme source rather than a RP blog. This isn’t a rule and some people don’t mind, but it is always a good idea to try to do this.

This might be more of a pet peeve of mine than proper etiquette, but it is ok to use small font. What is not ok is use small font + underscript. Some people have disabilities that might make it harder for them to read it, so it might be a good idea to refrain from using it. Maybe if you feel like doing something fancier every now and then, but I wouldn’t recommend making this a habit.

Mun and Muse are different entities. Remember that it isn’t because a muse does something (especially a villain one) that the mun condones something. Never assume anything about the mun, when in doubt talk to them.

Be mindful of your partners and treat them the way you would like to be treated.

As a rule of thumb, always talk to your RP partner. It is only fun as long both of you are enjoying it.

5.       Closing Words

This got longer than I expected.

Despite all of that, don’t be too worried about not being very good at first. I assure you that you will get better with time, so don’t be afraid of experimenting as long you feel comfortable. And don’t be afraid of saying “no” if something bothers you.

My inbox is always open to questions and ideas, so feel free to contact me anytime!

I would also ask my followers: there is advice I missed/overlooked? Anything you would like someone have told you when you first started? Add your thoughts so I can update this.

Happy RPing!

[ktheist]

hello! saw your post about your fic not showing in tags and it took you three tries before it showed. Was there something you did differently for it to start showing? Asking as a fellow writer. Had same issues before and I gave up I just stopped writing 😭. I noticed even if I post on my sideblog, just to test, it won't show. I'm figuring there must be content that's appearing as spam that's why it's getting blocked

miss gurl it took me too many tries to count but it happened to me 3 times on 3 different fics 😭 my earlier statement must’ve been confusing or i might’ve phrased it wrong, sorry.

but i’m sorry tumblr is being a big nasty turd to you (and possibly many other writers we don’t know of because well, tumblr decides not to show these writers’ content in tags).

there could be a lot of factors but i’ll try to explain what i remember since i forget things too fast (take it w a grain of salt though bc we don’t know why or what made our posts not show up in tags).

the fics that didn’t show up:

1. this fic and its sequel never showed up in tags no matter how many times i repost. probably tried like 5 times for the first part. changed the title but also didn’t work so i gave up. didn’t even bother reposting for the second part because i was too tired to be stressed out but yeah i gave up and decided to just pin it instead (i recently took it down bc it’s been there too long lol)

2. this fic showed up only in certain tags. forgot how many times i tried with this one but i know it’s less than 5 times. after the latest repost, i asked some lovely people if they could check out some tags and see if they could see the fic too. they all said they could see it in certain tags but not all the tags that were tagged in the fic (i’m sorry i can’t english) ):

this is when i found out that i saw what they saw and tumblr’s “theres a bajilion content being released every minute, just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean others don’t!” is a lie. but it did pretty well (surprisingly).

tl;dr if you can’t see it, others probably can’t see it too

3. the fic we’re talking about rn. i tried like 5 times minimum and what really did it for me was:

i posted without the title and without the pic.

after posting, i checked the tags and see it showed up for some

then, i added the title and pic

why i thought it didn’t show up:

all of the fics that didn’t show up had mature theme in them so i always thought that was the reason. i’m not sure if yours was mature or not but for mine, it’s still sus because we have mature themed fics everywhere and those show up in tags. and tumblr may have banned p*rn but nor written erotica.

but you mentioned that it could be because our fics are treated as spam which could also be it but at the same time... what’s the difference between our fics and the rest that showed up in tags?

on the sideblog:

i have a burner sideblog that i made to post little fics too and surprisingly, all the posts showed up in tags. but when i posted the jimin fic there, it didn’t show up in tags.

so i’m assuming tumblr picked up on the contents / distinct characteristics of the fic eg. title, pic, certain words used on it and decide to shadowban it regardless of which blog it’s posted from. 

but we never really know for sure /: 

it’s demotivating when this happens and i’m sorry tumblr made you stop writing altogether but i wish you the best in your writing endeavor even if you’re not writing now. i always believe sometimes we need to take a break maybe for a month, maybe for a year but we’ll eventually pick up that wip / idea we were thinking about and start writing again. i truly hope the same goes for you and that if you’re not writing right now, you will in the future. and if you are writing but not posting on tumblr or any other platform, i hope you find happiness in building your own world through writing <3

[nacchi-nacchi-nacchi]

About This Blog

Hi, I’m Nacchi. I write questionable fanfiction and, occasionally, make awful music—I especially like using UTAU.

On this blog, I’ve been slowly reposting stories (and maybe songs, eventually) that were apparently not showing up in tags when initially posted on my writing circle’s blog because we hadn’t liked enough posts. I don’t really understand why blogs on this site would be shadowbanned until they had spammed engagements or how this could possibly select for legitimate bloggers, but I suppose I’ll just consider it a form of penance for the grave sins of “participating in memes“ and “having a tumblr.”

I’ve taken this as an opportunity to clean up my old stories a bit. I don’t want to change them to the extent that they’re unrecognizable, though there are a lot of things I would do completely differently if I were for some reason writing them today, but I never bothered to edit most of what I’ve posted. Most of my older stuff was written in single sessions over sleepless weeknights, so it wasn’t uncommon for me to entirely forget whatever point I was trying to make halfway through paragraphs.

As such, the stories I’ve posted here are the selection and form of my writing I’d most like to be read. I do sometimes retroactively apply my revisions to posts on my writing circle’s other sites, but there are a lot of them and I really have no idea what state each story is in on each site (which, typing it out, seems really bad, but whatever).

Also, update, I hated my old color scheme but now it’s cool. As of now both of the blogs I’ve put together reference unpublished stories, but don’t worry: Miku soon. Miku soon.

– ♥, Nacchi

[dawn-moths]

im back/update time!

•hello everyone! i have returned from my (much needed) hiatus and have come with some quick updates i thought i’d let you all know about…

•i have an AO3 now!

for whatever reason, whether i’m shadowbanned or not, my posts and blog have not been showing up and this has put a little bit of a damper on my motivation to write and post fics. first and foremost, i write for myself, but i’d be lying if i said that seeing the fics i post getting likes, reblogs, comments, etc, isn’t validation that I like to see.

while i will continue posting all my works on tumblr (and my drabbles will probably be exclusive to my tumblr) i have also posted/will start posting my fics on my AO3 in addition.

if my work is seen posted anywhere outside of this tumblr or my AO3, then it has been reposted and i’d be grateful if people informed me of it if that happens.

•i started playing genshin impact!

while i was on hiatus, a friend of mine convinced me to download and start playing genshin (she’s been really into it for a while and thank god i had her to teach me because man is there a lot going on in the beginning) and i’ve really been enjoying it.

the reason i bring this up, in case you couldn’t guess, is because i will be writing fics pertaining to certain characters in the future (especially kaeya, he’s my favorite so far ☺️)

•and that’s kind of it!

thank you to anyone who’s read/liked my work and hopefully i can get back into the swing of writing again soon (especially finishing up part 5 of ctsav, i know it’s been taking forever just please bear with me!)

that’s all for now! see you soon!

[gold-rhine]

Xiao x Gn! Reader

Warnings: not safe for work, but this one turned out much softer than usual. Sub\dom!reader undertones are still kinda there, but give it a try even if you’re not into this dynamic. First time, handjob, anal sex, mentions of voeyrism (kinda? briefly through the dream), I’m gonna say “cock”, but it stands for strap too, it’s just awkward to keep specifying. 

Wordcount: 4,3k

A\N: Repost bc my previous blog got shadowbanned. I was not sure if I knew what to do for Xiao, but then I remembered that one of his themes is dreamwalking and that’s legit my JAM. It turned out less smutty and more of a psychosexual character study, but I’m still quite fond of it. It’s pretty cheesy, but you know what, Xiao deserves a break. There will be some filth under the cut still. Shoutout to “Nothing to no one” by Gin Wigmore and Placebo’s “Protege Moi” for carrying me through this one.

Xiao is curt and intense to the point of coming off as rude, but never more harsh to anyone but himself. Longing for connection, but consciously denying it himself time after time, severity done like a mask to hide the broken, bleeding bones of gentleness, no time for “trifling human matters”, but enough to return a stolen doll to a little girl. Who the fuck do you think you’re fooling, babe.

And it’s not like he doesn’t know what he wants, oh no, he does, he just won’t admit it even under torture

Friendship lvl3: “Desire? Ha. Do not judge adepti by your mortal ideals. I have no desire.”

Friendship lvl5: “Hiding? I'm hiding nothing. I just won't speak of desire to others. Do mortals not have a rule about spoken wishes never coming true? Hm? What do you mean that's not the same?”

So you admit it, you just fucking lied at lvl3 when you said you “have no desire”?? You just gonna casually go from “Foolish mortal, I have no desires unlike you” to “Of course, I have desires, I want them so badly I won’t even speak them out loud for the fear of jinxing them.” yeah, no, that checks out, SURE.

In Xiao’s world, you don’t communicate what you want, you bottle that shit up and hide it deep inside, and you don’t even admit this bottle exists, let alone tell anyone what’s inside. You don’t believe these wishes will ever come true and you don’t think you deserve it, but because deep down you know you are a weak, corrupted creature, you still hope against all hopes and despise yourself for this foolishness. 

Speaking of which, Xiao collects reasons for self-hatred like it’s his ascension material.

Like, “My only worth is as a weapon, so normal people should not interact with me because I only bring corruption and I am good for nothing outside of bloodshed”

This prickly pride of being a skillful weapon is a double-edged sword of discarding himself as being useless for anything but battle.

Like you have their little training course interaction with Ganyu during her story quest, which btw she receives positively and is grateful for his help, and Xiao’s line about it is:

“You believe a Yaksha who knows nothing more than how to massacre countless souls and emerge unscathed is a suitable mentor for such an individual?”

… babe, can you chill for like, three seconds? You made a defense mini game with like 20 slimes for her, it’s not gonna turn a cocogoat into a cold-blooded killer,

And this dismissal of self-worth outside of combat ties in nicely with bottling up a volatile mix of yearning, loneliness, frustration, despair and innate sensitivity that couldn’t be dulled down even by centuries of self-hatred and pain, and only letting it all out in an incandescent rage in battle, which leads to

“I only feel alive when fighting, which means I’m a monster who only thrives on bloodlust,” despite like, refusing himself all positive stimuli 

“Thriving on bloodlust” somehow not contradicted by the fact that he yearns for beauty and hates this miserable existence so much that he’s legit jumping at the first opportunity to go out in the blaze of glory if it even has a chance to be helpful to other people, and could only be stopped by his dad's Zhongli’s intervention and all off his new friend group going “we’re would be really sad if you died”

Then he’s like “ok i’ll keep on living i guess :\”

(i’m still so salty that they didn’t let Itto talk at all, his story quest speech about sacrifice being an easy and cowardly way out to discard responsibility that doesn’t fix root problems fits Xiao’s situation SO WELL argh) 

Yeah no, all other yakshas talked about wanting peace and his own namecard describes dreaming of peace and donning the mask to dance instead of killing, but yakshas are inherently bloodthirsty species, so there’s no hope for him, that checks out, sure.  

So to summarize, despite how direct Xiao seems at first glance, interacting with him is actually a complex navigation between things he says out loud that he knows are not true, things he says that he can’t admit to himself are not true due to self-loathing, and just general tsundere bullshit. You’ll need a LOT of patience.

Like, does he want to be accepted and loved? Desperately. Will he accept someone trying to do so straightforwardly? Absolutely the fuck not. 

If you try to straight up compliment him, he’d be like “L+ratio+you foolish mortal + You think a killer who devoured countless souls can be cute? + you have bad taste actually + that's disrespectful to the ways of the adepti”

Echoing being unable to voice his desires, Xiao can only accept warmth in indirect, stolen moments, half-glances, throwaway remarks, because connection feels too fragile to be named directly. And remember, spoken wishes never come true

The rituals are *very* intricate

You’re not just walking on eggshells around him, the eggshells are aggressively throwing themselves under your feet and biting at your ankle to make you crush them, so he can be like “see? I don’t deserve love anyway, i was right to hate myself”  

like one comedy article said, “It’s good if a man is skittish and terrified of affection, like a beautiful horse that appears on the edge of a frozen lake one day and you have to tame it by bringing it a handful of food every day until it slowly comes to learn your scent (but with sex)”

That’s Xiao in a nutshell, but you’re bringing seeds to a bird-feeder and the bird has chronic pain and is scared to hurt you

Here’s the thing though. You’ll know he’s yours when he starts showing interest in your perspective on everyday things. He’s curious by nature, but never lets himself wonder, unless he’s sure beyond the doubt that his participation is wanted. 

“Xiao: I have no intention of getting close to the lives of mortals.

 Xiao: But I know that you often enter and leave the city, walking amidst the crowd.

 Xiao: The stories of these times, or their joys... If I don't experience such things myself, it'll be hard to understand your thoughts.

So... you're doing this for me?

 Xiao: Yes, to understand you.

 Xiao: I had a feeling that it would be difficult, but after having such thoughts, I can't simply sit back and do nothing.”

He’s inquisitive and quick thinking, but very socially awkward and prone to hiding his true desires. So even before asking you to include him, he starts scouting your dreams.

It’s nothing invasive like devouring dreams or dragging projections into the real world. Just catching brief, fleeting glimpses,carefully pressed against the soap bubble of your dream. Even in short flashes, it helps to see things from your point of view.

…and sometimes, rarely, he catches images of how you see him, so bewilderingly different from what he’s used to, not the corruption-ridden creature with ugly lines of the fanged mask etched onto his face and blood staining his hands, but instead…

Sharp turn of his head when you call out his name, and the sun illuminates him from behind, brilliant halo shining through the messy dark hair, and he can’t even recognize himself in this memory, golden-eyed and gorgeous, so he bundles up this vision, hides it deep inside among other unattainable, undeserved, unspoken wishes. 

It’s self-indulgent, a bit pathetic for the adeptus, but ultimately harmless, like a weakness for the almond tofu. A spark of sweetness to get him through the misery of his everyday life.

Until one night he catches a dream where you’re fucking him.

It throws him off balance so hard, he flees immediately, not just from the dreamspace, but teleporting to an isolated mountain peak.

But the image is seared into his retinas nonetheless.

It’s because he’s offended, he tries to tell himself. How extremely disrespectful. As if an adeptus like himself, who has no interest in the foolishness of mortal desires, would want to be sprawled under you, dizzy with pleasure, held and kissed and caressed, like he’s the most beautiful and wanted thing in the world, like touching him brings joy, like…

He has to teleport again, but it doesn’t help. Horrified, he realizes he’s aroused.

It’s a tough couple of weeks for the both of you.

He’s even more sullen and jumpy than normally, and when you ask him if everything’s okay and if there’s anything you can do to help, he gets a panicked look of a deer in headlights and vanishes.

You decide it’s probably some yaksha angst and it’s better to give him some space

You don’t remember your dream, and even if you did, you wouldn’t think much of it.

He can’t stop thinking about it. It resurfaces, uncalled, in the most inopportune moments, no matter how hard he tries to push it down. The obscene view of himself, arms over the head, parted lips, back arched and legs spread wide with you between them. 

He didn’t stay long enough to catch more, but even this is enough to drive him up the walls, sometimes literally, to make him want something he can’t properly name. He was used to tolerating the constant gnawing pain of the corruption, but this needy ache is maddening, fading and reappearing when least expected to throw him off kilter.

He alternates from watching over your dreams intently to being unable to even glance at them, but on the nights when he does look, there’s nothing similar.

Which is good. It means you were not serious about it, it was just a fluke. Minds of mortals are notoriously fickle, especially in the dream state, and can produce all sorts of ridiculous fantasies and ideas that mean nothing.

Of course it meant nothing, who would seriously see a weapon for eons steeped in blood and corruption as a lover?  What pleasure could you expect from someone whose very nature and purpose is slaughter? It could only lead to disappointment. Repulsion, even. It’d be preposterous to even think about it.

Which is why it’s outrageous that he *is* still thinking about it.

But now it’s been a few weeks and the pulsing want dulled down, lost a terrifying thrill of possibility of being reciprocated, and is almost ready to become another weak, shameful yearning, bottled up and shoved into a dark corner. 

And then his heart jumps into his throat when he sees you dreaming of Wangshu Inn’s balcony drowned in moonlight, and he’s in your arms as you’re sitting by one of tables, he’s straddling your thighs, your mouth and hands wandering over his naked chest and collarbones.

The half-drowsed ember of desire roars back in thrice the force, and feverishly, he thinks of an idea. What if he took place of his own image? Then he could learn what it feels like. He could finally stop wondering what would happen and just get over this maddening sickness. And you won’t even notice the switch. You’ll probably end up unsatisfied because he would not be able to give you the pleasure you expected, but it’s all a fleeting, momentary dream for you anyway, not worthy of remembering in the morning.

He spent centuries hunting dreams, but never tried to become a part of them, so he doesn’t realize a simple truth: a dream cannot be entered without being shared equally.

The first thing that changes in your dream when he becomes a part of it is actually the sky, but you don’t notice it because the responsive, pliant body in your arms suddenly becomes woodenly tense. At the same time, your awareness deepens, dream becoming almost lucid, as you gain control over yourself, but not surroundings. 

What confuses you even more is a barrage of strange emotions coming down at you out of nowhere: anxiety on the verge of panic, fearful anticipation, needy, smoldering fervor of desire. 

You look up at Xiao’s face to see him looking almost severe if not for the heavy blush and refusal to meet your eyes, breath held nervously, and realize in an instant - this is actually him, not the figment of your imagination, it’s his thoughts and emotions you can now glimpse like he usually does with others when dreamwalking.  

And also, that if you even try to acknowledge this, he’ll bolt to the other end of the world, so you don’t say anything.

It’s tempting to claim his mouth, but he’s too petrified, his jaw clenched tightly. Instead, you trail the line of kisses down his throat and feel the sharp pang of his relief at supposedly not being discovered. 

You caress him slowly, carefully, moving tenderly over his arched neck, sharp curves of the collarbones, chest that rises fast and feverishly in shaky breathes, taste nervous flare of his pulse in the deliciously delicate hollow of his throat, until the warm pleasure spreads under his skin, melts frozen rigidness into a different kind of tension, a taut bowstring, drawn tightly, trembling at every touch. 

When you nuzzle at the underside of his jaw, he moves his head abruptly and presses his mouth against yours, tense because he wants this so badly, but doesn’t know what to do with himself, an awkward angle and all teeth. But you take your time, slide your fingers into his hair and tilt his head, kiss his lips until he finally relaxes and opens up. When you slide your tongue against his, he makes the tiniest noise, barely audible tremble caught in his throat.

He was worried about how inexperienced he is, but when he’s too lost in the kiss, desire takes care of this easily. Without realizing, he’s arching in your arms, grinding against your legs. When you slide your hands lower, over his stomach, hips, stroke his thighs, he moans into your mouth and opens his knees wider, thrusts against you, already hard.

You slide your hand into his pants and close your fingers over his cock and he shudders, breaks the kiss, realizing what you are doing, what he was doing, how easily he’s losing control, his wild yellow eyes wide and uncertain.

“It’s okay,” you tell him softly. “Everything is going to be okay. Let me take care of you, baby.”

He catches your affection, shared through the dream, and the narrow vertical slits in his eyes widen, blackness flaring up against gold. With a short, shuddering draw of the breath, he relents, leans into you to nuzzle at your cheek. You can feel his blush heating up against your skin, flutter of the eyelashes. 

You start stroking his cock slowly, holding him with your other arm, whisper sweet reasurings into his ears, understanding how hard it is for him to show vulnerability, even under the supposed disguise. 

His hips start moving again, now in rhythm with your hand, and you quicken the pace. Suddenly, you realize he’s naked except for the gloves, because the dream lets things happen easier, removes inconveniences, requiring nothing but mutual intent. You can’t help but smirk, press a wet kiss to the side of his jaw and twist your hand over the head of his cock. He lets out a stifled gasp, his tip throbs and starts leaking in your palm. He lifts his arms as if to grasp at your shoulders, but stops before he can touch you, lets them drop. 

But you notice that something is wrong with his hands - the gloves are a part of him, darkness etched painfully into his flesh, and instead of the slender fingers you know he actually has, his hands end in ugly sharp claws, covered in splotches of dried blood. Your heart breaks a little when you realize this is how he sees himself, this is what he thinks his touch would feel like. But you cannot argue directly, can’t say that it’s not true without breaking a fragile silence between you, acknowledging that it’s actually him.  

So instead you catch his chin in your free hand. “Hey, look at me.”

He meets your eyes, his own hazy, feverish with need, but he looks at you intensely. “You are so good,” you tell him quietly, holding his gaze even as his eyes widen, your hand over his cock moving faster and faster. “You are so beautiful, baby. I wouldn’t want anyone else in the world here instead of you.” 

He cries out, sharp and surprised, almost pained with helplessness, like a hawk shot in the air midflight, and comes undone. When he unravels in your arms, his old, half-forgotten, buried dreams spill out too. 

So when he falls back, tugging you with him, he lands not on wooden planks of Wangshu Inn’s balcony, but on the soft cover of tangled lush grass. Tall green stalks meet over your head, as if trying to protect, hide a secret from the world.

A strange word from the ancient, dead language surfaces in your mind, a word that meant “sea of wind” - a name of vast grasslands that once covered these plains, endless green waves that rolled under the breeze from horizon to horizon. 

His body is pale under you, dappled in moonlight that manages to get through the hover of softly wavering grass. Flickering light of the fireflies, green and lemony-yellow, doesn’t illuminate anything, but only makes the dark emerald shadows deeper in-between the narrow stalks where they move. But his golden eyes are very bright, still quietly shocked, searching, never leaving your face like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he looks away.  

You smile, lean down to catch his mouth, and he kisses you with abandon, still awkward, but with sweetness that neither you nor him knew he was capable of. The air smells faintly of warm earth, fresh grass and bittersweet Qingxin flowers. The moments stretch for eternity like only dreams allow for, full moon halting in the dark starry skies above. 

He wants more, but he doesn’t know how to ask for it, doesn’t have the words. But in this state of bewildered, warm haziness, drunk of both lust and certainty of your desire, his shame evaporates. He remembers the first dream he saw, the image that haunted him for weeks, and recreates it - arms thrown over head, arched back and spread legs.

Except he looks infinitely better, countless details that the fantasy could not account for, - breathless, tangled in green shadows and silver moonlight, lithe and wiry-muscled, heavy flush of his cheeks contrasted to the eager, glowing gold eyes, arm flexing under tattoo as he clutches at the grass to keep himself still, subtle tremble of his open thighs, hard, pulsing cock, leaking on the tense stomach, already stained with cum.

In the waking world, you’d spend considerable time preparing him, given how inexperienced and sensitive he is. Even without that consideration, another time you’d want to go teasingly slowly, make him writhe on your fingers, plead for mercy.

But right now, in these stolen moonlit moments it feels too ugent, too desperate, and the fever of a dream lets you skip the steps, sweep right into sliding into him. This time he arches under you not for show, silent gasp and widened eyes.

You pause, letting him adjust to the feeling of your cock inside of him, ravish him with kisses in the meanwhile, feel him squirm, overwhelmed and gratified by both sensations and your hunger for him. When he finally bucks his hips against you, you start moving, first carefully, then turning to the hard, firm pace, and it runs through him, echoes in choked grunts and feverish drum of the heart. The dream bends to this steady beat, light of the fireflies pulsing in tact, and somehow he’s both on the grass beneath you and rising up, in the same rhythm, sharp cyclical thrusts upwards.

Suddenly, sky spills all around you, the lights of stars mingling with the fireflies in between the narrow grass stalks, and golden wings of the wind that takes you upward beat in the rhythm of your movement. The sky around you is too vast and sharp, the depth and freedom you’ve never seen before, and you realize this is what it feels like to taste the joy of a creature born to soar.

He’s too lost in the pleasure, looking up at you, the sky opening up for him with every thrust, every lunge. He can’t remember the last time when he took flight just for the joy of it, when he looked up instead of down to track the enemies and come crashing in a flurry of broken spears. All these centuries of being sure he was made for violence, and suddenly it sheds off him like dust, all this time thinking he can only feel alive during battle, and now his body sings so easily, so naturally, and it sings of wind and starlight, not of rage and blood. 

When he reaches the peak of the ascent, time slows down for a weightless, breathless moment, a precipice after which he usually turns flight into a controlled, violent plunge. Instead, with a quiet, helpless moan, he closes his eyes and lets himself fall.

Stars burn under his eyelids, ancient, forgotten constellations flaring up, mixing with the current ones, until it’s impossible to tell them apart, entangled like your bodies in the soft grass that was destroyed centuries ago, a new celestial atlas that exists only for the two of you.

Even as he curls against you after, soft and sweet, you can feel bitter, ashen current staining the dream: he thinks this is the only time he gets to feel happy. And in the moment, it seems absolutely ludicrous to keep the pretense of not knowing that it’s him and let him wallow in his angst.

“Xiao,” you tell him quietly, gently stroking sharp knobs of his spine, “it’s okay. You can be mine. The world is not going to end.”

He freezes for a second, his eyes going wide in panic, and then vanishes abruptly. Dream shatters into a thousand shards, and you wake up with a gasp.

You give him a few days to process and then, on the moonlit Wangshu’s balcony after all the guests have left, you quietly call his name.

He appears on the other side of the balcony, arms crossed, looking sullen and severe, which could look intimidating if you didn’t know him and if not for a little detail.

“You don’t have to stand that far, I can still see that you’re blushing.”

 He scowls. “What do you want?”

“I thought we should talk about what happened.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. It was foolish. For both of us.”

“Talk for yourself.”

“No, it was extremely foolish for you too,” he says with sudden, agitated passion. “You knew what I am, I’ve told you from the start to keep your distance. I’ve never asked you to… I’ve warned you to treat me as a weapon, and…”

“Oh, don’t give me that crap again! I’ve tasted your sky. I know the violence is not your only nature.”

He chokes on his breath, looks away, then says quietly.

“It may not be, but it is the only thing I’m proficient with. So what does it matter what was once my nature? There are many others, more suitable for you to…”

“Well, that’s not for you to decide. You don’t get to tell me who I want. You can only choose for yourself.”

He glances at you very quickly and looks away again with a quiet “Hmph,” but you can tell how torn and unsure of what to do he is.

“Xiao,” you say softly, reaching out to him. “Come here.”

He looks at you for a long moment and then vanishes. You curse under your breath and flop down on a chair in frustration. But then suddenly the air smells sharply of ozone and in a flurry of teal and black, Xiao appears on top of you.

He looks incredibly irritated and refuses to meet your eyes, but he’s straddling you, so you grin and grip his hips. His hand instinctively moves to cover yours, but he stops himself before he can touch you. This time you don’t have to pretend you don’t notice.

You catch his hand and gently pull off the tight-fitting black glove. He finally looks at you, surprised. 

“What are you doing?”

“Hm?” you fake innocence, because two can play the ‘not acknowledging true subtext of the actions’ game. “I don’t know what your plans were when you landed on top of me, but sex generally requires undressing.”

He frowns in confusion, then freezes when you bring his hand to your mouth. His pale fingers are long and bony, and you hold his gaze while pointedly kissing each angular knuckle. It only fully hits him when you turn his hand and press your lips to his scarred palm, then move them down to the tender skin of his wrist.

He doesn’t say anything, but his narrow pupils widen in an instant, and when you kiss him, you can feel his hands slowly, hesitantly sliding over your shoulders.