This blog is generally SFW but I'll tag any TW. I won't hesitate to block com/pro shippers. Self-shipping is fine as I'm one. I'm 25 & female. I love to write and have many wips. I respond quickly, so feel free to chat!
You can call me Tumble or Raccoon, whichever you fancy really. I am an author and artist, specifically focused on Undertale. Feel free to look around!
This is an OC x Canon blog with a focus on Self-shipping. I don't support proshippers. You aren't welcome here if you ship minors of any age, especially with adults. I don't support pedophilia, and I believe minors should be protected from interacting with that sort of foul garbage. I also don't support any kind of incest, and yes, that includes fontcest. Also, I personally find both Sanscest and Papscest icky so please don't request that.
Check out my AO3 for my bigger projects.
My Writing Masterlist is here if you want to see everything I have written so far!
My Headcanon Masterlist is here if you want to feel something about my boys!
My Skellies can be found here if you're curious about them!
Also, here is a reference sheet for my Tumblr Sona if anyone cares.
Haven't really felt like writing much these days, but I started up a new Skyrim file last week and absolutely fell in love with a custom follower I downloaded. So here's a little drabble that's been in my head for over a day...
Featuring: Enora Cold-Heart (my OC), Val Serano, and briefly, Kaiden and Redcap
~~~
"So, who were you? You know, before all this?"
Enora Cold-Heart glanced up from her tome at the pirate captain lounging against the trunk of a fallen tree. He fiddled with a tankard absently, swirling around the last dredges of ale, but his green eyes remained fixed on her.
"No one special," she hummed, shifting into a more comfortable position and returning to her studies.
The Nord scoffed. "Yeah right, no one special."
Enora could practically hear him roll his eyes and let out a quiet sigh through her nose, realizing she wouldn't be getting any more reading done tonight.
"I mean, other than our stoic compatriot..."
Kaiden raised an eyebrow at the moniker but otherwise remained posted against a boulder by the edge of their camp. Occasionally fire light reflected off of his steel chest plate, making the tiger etchings look especially fearsome in the dark.
"...you've been traveling with a-"
"His name is Redcap," Enora interjected, fixing the pirate with a warning look as she closed her book.
The creature in question had been in the middle of carving some new throwing spears, although he glanced up at the mention of his chosen name. Making a quiet grunt, he briefly exposed his canines in a simile of a grin before returning to the task.
"I swear I was going to say riekling."
"Val..."
"What? That's what he is, right?" The pirate did his best to look innocent, even raising his hands in a placating attempt.
Enora clicked her tongue. "Yeah, and he's also my friend, so be nice."
"Sorry." Val fell quiet for a moment. "But you have to admit it's unusual..."
Letting out a heavy sigh, Enora tossed another log on the campfire, sending a burst of sparks up into the night sky. It seemed like her newest friend wasn't willing to leave well enough alone.
"I rescued Redcap from an old hag outside of Riverwood," she started to say.
"Witch." The riekling drew out the word in a low growl under his breath. "Glad. She's. Dead."
"Yeah, she deserved it." Enora sighed at the memory of the poor creature begging to be freed when she snuck into the hag's basement. "And who knows what the Thalmor would've done if we hadn't gotten to Kaiden when we did."
The dark-haired warrior said nothing, although he clenched his fists at the mention of the now dead Aldmeri agents.
"Then there's you," Enora continued, icy-blue eyes returning to the pirate. "I first heard of the infamous Captain Serano while following up on a bounty outside of Whiterun but didn't think he was anything more than bandit riffraff at the time."
"Hey!"
She grinned, finding his annoyance rather amusing. "Everyone said he was a ruthless cutthroat and just as likely to stab me in the back if he didn't double cross me first." Expecting to be interrupted again, she paused, although Val made no such effort. "But then I found you left for dead on a speck of rock out in the Sea of Ghosts."
"Not my finest moment..." he admitted.
Enora shook her head. "Still not sure if it was worth the effort of tracking you down honestly."
"How original." Val crossed his arms over his chest, ale forgotten for the time being. "Sounds like you have a bleeding heart," he remarked.
Kaiden let out a sudden bark of laughter, although he tried to disguise it with a cough.
"Might as well turn me in then," Enora huffed. "But really, I'm a nobody compared to you." She poked at the fire with a stick in an effort to push the burning logs closer together. "I'm not even sure who my parents were, nevermind if they're still alive somewhere."
The pirate's expression softened. "That's...not uncommon."
"No, I suppose not." Enora shrugged, giving up and tossing the branch into the flames. "I wonder about them sometimes, but at this point I've decided it's better to move forward than to dwell on the past."
Val didn't ask any more questions after that, suddenly finding the northern lights above them much more interesting. He had only been traveling alongside his fellow Nord for a few weeks at best since he figured he would soon grow bored following her around all day. Unfortunately for him, the opposite seemed to come true. Enora had appeared somewhat naive when they first met, although Val soon realized she had a somewhat flexible sense of morality. She never hesitated to help those in need, even when they certainly couldn't pay for her services, but she had a keen nose for when someone was trying to swindle her and gladly rendered justice as she saw fit. It was a true puzzle for the pirate captain.
Perhaps in time he would figure out what about the woman had captured his attention so thoroughly.
Meet Harvey Jackson and Sony Samson, two of my soldier OCs that I have interchangeable with COD MW or stand alone OCs. They're Marines in the U.S Marine Corps, Harvey is a Gunnery Sergeant (E-7), and Sony is a Staff Sargeant (E-6). They meet in boot camp and after a while grew a very close friendship (they're almost sisters), and they work in a team of marines call Alpha Team with their Captain, Amanda Reeves, and Major, Helena Lennon. Their friendship is very special to me.
Dude! That is sick! I love their designs and the idea is so cool!
CW: Implied/Referenced Torture
Summary: MW3 Fix-it, Long Fic, OC x Canon, Strangers to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff & Angst, Soap has an accent, Military Inaccuracies, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Word Count: 5.3k
Also available on AO3!
Vireo was tired of staring at the colour grey all day. She sat with her back pressed against the cinder blocks where two walls converged, right knee tucked against her chest while her left lay outstretched on the floor. Barely more than a foot away, a ratty mattress taunted her with the promise of marginally more comfort than cold concrete, but she remained still, nestled into the corner as best as she was able. Somewhere beyond the bars, water dripped from a leaky pipe and the florescent lights never stopped emitting the high-pitched buzzing that made her want to rip out her matted locks. Her throat felt dry, to the point that merely swallowing hurt, and her stomach rumbled every few seconds even as she tried her best to ignore the hunger pangs. The stench of rusted metal and mildew permeated her lungs with every inhale, but it was somewhat preferable to the other smells in this place. No matter where she turned, everything was as dull and uninteresting as it had been a thousand times before.
Then, two distinct sets of boots stomped down the hall, causing her heart to leap into her throat. Why were they both coming? Only one of them ever brought her meal around, and since they hadn't today, she wondered if this was it.
They must have finally decided to get rid of her.
Then, her ears picked up on a different sound, like something being dragged across the floor. As the guards drew closer, she noted their laboured breathing, as if whatever they were carrying was cumbersome or heavy. She kept her gaze firmly lowered in a futile attempt to appear invisible as they reached her cell. Even as her jagged fingernails threatened to draw blood with how desperately she clenched her fists, she could feel the panic roiling in her gut. It seemed that hunger was the least of her worries now. She heard their keys jingle together as they searched for the correct one, but when it took longer than normal, she couldn't help chancing a peek to see why.
That was when Vireo saw him. Flanked by the two guards she hated the most, Leonid and Georgy, was a tall stocky man. His body was slumped, having to be supported by the guards to remain upright, and his head drooped so that she couldn't see much of his face.
The first thing she noticed about the man was his hairstyle. He had an actual mohawk. It wasn't the longest she had seen and the brunette strands were rather mussed, but it looked well kept for the most part. Secondly, he had several nasty looking bruises developing over his jaw. He was tanned, like he spent a lot of time working outside, but despite his darker skin tone the red splotches stood out clearly. Third, he had on camouflage pants and not the fake kind - they were actual military issued, likely part of a uniform too. From what she could see, this man didn't have any gear or patches signifying his home country on him, but the guards would have confiscated anything like that.
Despite her curiosity, Vireo dropped her head again. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself, but she couldn't help wondering about this man. Who was he? Why was he here? Would they keep him for a while or was this just a temporary thing? A selfish part of her hoped it would be long enough to learn the answers, and could anyone blame her? She had been alone for so long, confined to this cell with nothing to do but wait, and now she had a chance at companionship.
With a clatter, the door to the cell next to her was opened, and the guards heaved the man inside. Leonid muttered a curse in Russian, followed by a possibly derogatory remark directed at the new prisoner by Georgy before the two locked up the cell again.
Only once their footsteps faded away did Vireo raise her head, holding her breath as she strained to listen for any other sounds before crawling to the front of her own cell. The man seemed to be breathing, but he didn't move no matter how long she waited. Perhaps he was unconscious, although there was no real way for her to check without calling out to him. Maybe she would wait until he woke up before attempting to make conversation.
As the hours passed with no sign of the guards, Vireo found herself staring at the wall above the mattress. She had a tradition of adding a tally mark whenever they brought food since it served as the only real indication of time passing, but now she couldn't decide if she should scratch another line into the brick or not. Surely it had been long enough for a day to have gone by, right? She considered it for a moment longer before deciding that the arrival of the stranger at least warranted being recorded.
Retrieving the small sliver of brick she kept hidden in the mattress, she made a new line next to the previous set of tallies, although this one was longer than any of the others to make it stand out more. As she stepped back to survey her handiwork, she couldn't help frowning at the sheer number of tally marks carved into the cinder blocks. Rather than the traditional grouping of five tallies, she had chosen to cluster them in sets of seven to signify when a week had passed. If she was honest with herself she never expected to have lasted this long, but what had started out as a rough calendar soon spanned the majority of one wall and spilled over to the next.
Curiosity compelled her to count them for the first time in a while, mostly to know what day her new neighbour arrived, but as she finished her eyes began to water. There were two hundred and four weeks staring back at her. Granted, that was only what she had been able to record, but if her mental math wasn't wrong, that added up to almost four years - give or take a couple weeks. Closing her eyes, she focused on taking deep breaths until she felt more composed again. Crying wouldn't do her any good at this point.
How much longer must she wait?
With a heavy heart, she crawled onto the mattress, intent on trying to get some sleep. She laid down on her stomach, folding her arms above her head in an effort to block out the light and for some semblance of protection. Sleep never came easy - not with how much sound carried through this place - but even if it did, she rarely slept more than a few hours at a time. Sometimes she tried counting the cracks in the floor or how often the leaky pipe dripped, but eventually unconsciousness would claim her weary body.
· · ─────── · »—» ⟨ 🪶 ⟩ «—« · ─────── · ·
The day began with a ruckus. Both guards returned to the man next door, and Vireo was quite rudely awoken by traded insults between the parties. She couldn't really understand the Russians beyond a word or two, but the stranger responded in English, albeit with an accent that she struggled to place. There was a bit of a scuffle before all three left the cell and she was alone again.
With nothing to do but wait some more, Vireo rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Would they bring him back? She sighed even as her eyes wandered over the cracks in the concrete, briefly noting a new one had formed at some point although her mind continued to wander. When she eventually sat up she had to swipe her hair away from her eyes, which led her to try taming the scraggly black strands with her fingers, but without a brush this proved to be a fruitless endeavour and she soon gave up. There didn't seem to be much point in fussing over her appearance anyways, not when the only people around were the guards. Well, there was that new guy now, but she didn't think she would be seeing much of him.
The moment she tried to stand up, her left knee protested the action and she had to take a moment to massage the joint before the pain began to subside somewhat. It seemed like today was going to be a rough one. However, she couldn't stand the thought of staying still all day, so she spent some time stretching in an effort to relieve the soreness. After a couple minutes she felt able to walk a little but kept one hand braced against the wall in case she fell.
For the next couple hours she occupied herself with occasionally pacing around the small space and staring at the walls when she got tired. Her mind felt like it was racing with questions, such as who the person they tossed in the cell was or why he was even here in the first place. What she did know was that his voice sounded rough, possibly from poor sleep or injury, and the accent wasn't one she could remember encountering before. It definitely sounded European, possibly of Celtic origin? If only she had familiarized herself with more cultures before ending up in this box.
When the guards returned, they shoved the stranger into the neighbouring cell with little care as to whether his skull collided with the concrete floor or not. Vireo heard him mutter a curse, although it was immediately followed by the sickening impact of a boot hitting flesh and a pained groan before the guards took their leave. Once it was safe, Vireo shuffled to the bars and for a moment she wondered what to say, what the first words uttered in years to a man not leering over her should be.
"Probably not the wisest to insult a guy's mother when he's still within arm's reach," she murmured, cringing at the scratchy tone of her voice after remaining silent for so long.
At first there was no response, and she began to wonder if the stranger had even heard her at all. Then, a shifting sound as he drew closer to the bars, possibly mimicking her own position.
"Aye, but I dinnae have a better weapon at the moment."
Suppressing a small smile, Vireo shook her head despite knowing the man couldn't see it. "Not sure if you're incredibly brave…or just foolish."
A pause. "Bit o' both probably."
She couldn't help the small huff of amusement that left her chest. Despite having barely exchanged more than a few words, she already found herself liking this strange man. Maybe it was his straightforward manner of speech, or maybe it was just the sheer relief to converse with a kindred soul after so long.
"You got a name, lassie?" the man asked, voice somehow softer than before.
Chewing at her already battered thumbnail, she debated how to answer. She could be truthful, but she didn't know if this man was worth trusting yet. "I go by Vireo."
"A call sign?"
"I suppose you could call it that," she hummed. "What about you? Got a name, or should I just keep thinking of you as the stranger next door?"
"I'm called Soap."
"Soap?" Vireo pressed her hand to her lips, as if it were possible to suppress her amusement at the frankly absurd moniker. "No offense, but that doesn't seem like the best name to have in a prison."
A stunned silence perhaps, then, "Well I dinnae choose it. 's no' how call signs work…" He shuffled around a bit before continuing. "They have to be given, an' most aren't flattering. Cannae say I've heard one like yers before though."
"Well then, I suppose mine's not a proper call sign since I came up with it myself." Vireo lightly drummed her fingers against the rusty bars. "It's a type of small bird known for preferring tall trees or dense shrubbery."
"Ah, I see. Donnae worry yer pretty heid over it. Yer secret's safe wi' me."
"All this talk of call signs, are you military or something?" she asked, lowering her tone to a whisper.
"Something like that…" he responded in kind. "Since ye had to ask, I'm guessing ye're not?"
Vireo snorted. "Oh definitely not!" Licking her cracked lips, she added in a more tempered manner, "Nah, I was a pilot."
"Really? Wings or rotors?"
"Chopper."
Soap gave an impressed hum. "Did ye work wi' a company? Like, I dunno, an airline?"
"I considered it, but that wasn't what I wanted to do." There was a beat of silence before she realized that he wished for her to explain. "Maybe this sounds lame, but I like helping people. Where I'm from there's a lot of remote communities, and most of the time it's easier to get a helo in to transport supplies rather than trying to risk the roads, if there are any at all that is."
"No' lame in the slightest, lassie. Ye make it sound right noble."
Vireo felt her cheeks grow warm and made a noise of clearing her throat in an attempt to disguise her embarrassment. "I…wouldn't necessarily call it noble. There was a need, and I had the ability to fill it, provided they had the means to pay anyways."
"Still. I'd wager you've made a difference for a lot o' folks out there."
"Yeah." She nodded to herself. "I'm proud of what I accomplished."
· · ─────── · »—» ⟨ 🪶 ⟩ «—« · ─────── · ·
Vireo's eyes roamed the ceiling, mentally tracing each crack for the nth time. The guards had taken her neighbour away again in the morning and only recently returned him. She didn't need to ask to know what had been happening in the hours he was absent, but she still couldn't help wondering whether they had developed new torture techniques or were using the same ones.
"They'll grow bored eventually," she murmured to the wall. "I think it was a month before they realized I didn't know anything worthwhile? I've kind of just been waiting around ever since."
"Doubt I'll have that luxury, lassie."
Vireo chewed at her lower lip before sighing. "Sorry, you probably don't want to think about current events."
A quiet grunt was her only indication that Soap agreed. After a few moments, he shifted from his place on the other side of the wall. "What are ye waiting for?" he asked in a low voice.
"I..." She hesitated for a second to answer. "I guess just for everything to end?"
The man exhaled slowly. "How... How long have ye been here?"
"Too long." Vireo huffed and shook her head, briefly glancing at the wall of tally marks. "Nearly four years actually..."
"Bloody hell…" A slight rustle like he ran a hand through his hair. "No wonder ye're so jaded."
A frankly unattractive snort forced its way from her chest before she could stop it. "I would've used the word apathetic."
"Why are ye here anyways?"
Rather than answer, Vireo chuckled, biting her lower lip to suppress a smile. "Man, you're really bad at prison etiquette. Didn't you know? Everyone here's innocent."
"My bad, lassie. But can ye blame a guy for assuming ye had plenty of…experience?" His normally deep baritone took on a lighter, more playful note, leaving her scrambling for a response.
Never had Vireo ever been grateful that she was separated from others by the grey walls. While it prevented her from reading Soap's facial expressions to determine what his intentions were, it also meant he couldn't see the way her cheeks flushed red. Was she that starved for human interaction that the slightest hint of an innuendo had her this flustered? She mentally slapped herself for even considering that he meant it like that. For all she knew, he was just messing with her.
"Nah, just used to watch a lot of movies," she answered, doing her best to play it cool. "Really it's more that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Ah ken."
Staring at the ceiling, Vireo couldn't help but frown. While she usually could understand what her neighbour meant despite his accent, this time she wasn't entirely sure. Clearing her throat awkwardly, she asked, "Sorry, but where on earth are you from? I've been wracking my brain ever since yesterday, but I can't figure it out…"
A sudden burst of laughter caused her to startle and accidentally thump her head against the wall. Rubbing her scalp, she shot an irritated look at the bricks, as if she could shut him up with her mind.
"What? It's no' obvious?"
"Well I don't want to offend you by guessing wrong!" she spluttered.
Soap snickered. "Ah, ye cannae get under my skin so easily!" In a quieter voice, he added, "…Jus' so long as ye donnae say Irish."
Vireo's silence seemed to speak louder than any words she could've mustered, and a small thump suggested her neighbour had let his head knock back against the brick wall as well.
"Och, an' here I thought we had something going, lassie," he grumbled, although his tone held no real bite.
"In my defense, I don't know a lot of European folks. Besides, I doubt you could do any better…"
"Aye, if I say American you'll get yer knickers in a twist, won't ye?" He chuckled softly before adding, "Because it's more nuanced than that, right? Ye could be from the Midwest or even New England for all I ken."
"Okay, now you're just pulling my leg," Vireo grumbled. "You probably don't even know what most American accents sound like."
"Naw, but ye got me curious now."
"Tell me about you, and I'll do the same?"
"Fair enough." He shifted his body, possibly in a vain attempt to get more comfortable. "I'm from Scotland, born an' raised."
"I should've known," she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Now that you've told me, it's so obvious…"
Quiet chuckles petered through the bricks. "Ah, donnae feel bad, lassie. I'm used to being ragged on about my blethering."
"Okay, so long as you don't feel bad about calling me American."
He made a small noise of confusion.
Vireo bit her lip in an attempt to conceal her amusement. "I'm Canadian, Soap."
"Ah… Do eejits muck it up a lot?" he rumbled.
"More than you'd expect."
"Ah ken, Ah ken."
· · ─────── · °∘.•｡˙∘🧼∘˙｡•.∘° · ─────── · ·
All Johnny could do was lean against the brick wall and focus on breathing. Today marked three days since he had been captured, which wasn't that long in the grand scheme of things, but the whole ordeal was already having adverse affects on him. He had gone through training for interrogation resistance, and this wasn't even the first time he'd been tortured, but no mock scenario could compare to the real thing. Still, no matter what they did, how much they threatened, he remained determined not to let anything slip about his team or their mission.
He hadn't meant to get captured in the first place. Thinking back to the disastrous events of the op, he knew he shouldn't have taken so many risks - should've listened when Price ordered everyone to retreat - but there were civilians in danger. If he had pushed harder, defused the bomb faster, been more aware of his surroundings, then he wouldn't be locked in this concrete box. It had been his fault and now he was paying for it.
The guilt and regret weighed heavily on his mind. He had never been one for religion, despite how much it broke his poor old gran's heart, but now he was beginning to wonder if there had been a point to all those long-winded services after all. As it stood, he didn't think he would be getting out of here by his own strength. His body was only growing weaker by the day, and it felt like a permanent haze lingered in the forefront of his mind no matter how much he tried to rest. While he knew his team was most likely tearing the country apart in an effort to find him, a small voice in the back of his skull doubted they would make it in time, if they were even coming at all that is.
Would serve you right for being so thick in the head...
It had been the same song and dance ever since he joined up. Too impulsive. Too headstrong. Not enough sense. He had heard these things all his life, believed them at times too, but he never stopped trying to prove himself. For years, his commanding officers had written him off as just "the new guy" and underestimated his abilities. Price had seemed different, but Johnny knew he had been responsible for keeping the older man up at night many times over with his antics. Perhaps his second chances had run out, and Command would decide a rescue wasn't worth it, forcing the team to move on without him.
A soft scrapping sound from the hallway jolted him back to the present.
"Soap." It was the woman on the other side of the wall. "Here..."
Johnny barely managed to drag himself to the rusty bars, but his heart sank when he peeked out. In the gap between his and the neighbouring cell was a plastic tray with a little bowl of what looked to be more broth than soup and piece of stale bread.
"Lassie-"
"They haven't been feeding you," Vireo interrupted. "Take it; you need to keep your wits about you."
It was true. If not for being waterboarded, he hadn't so much as eaten or drank in days. While he had been able to ignore the hunger, dehydration would become a problem quickly, and he needed to maintain as much mental clarity as possible if he was to survive. Still, this could barely be considered a meal. If he accepted, then she would be going without, and he hated the thought of making her suffer.
"I cannae do that..."
The woman huffed and probably rolled her eyes at his protest. "Yes, you can. Clearly they don't expect you to last long and..." She fell quiet for a moment. "...and I don't want you to die," she finished in a soft whisper.
When he still hesitated to accept, she clicked her tongue. "Don't worry about me; I'll be fine. Just take it before one of the guards comes by and catches us."
Seeing as Vireo wasn't going to take no for an answer, Johnny gave in, even as a small part of him screamed that this might be a trick. The woman could easily have been planted next door in an effort to either manipulate or potentially drug him.
When he finished eating, Johnny slid the tray back towards Vireo's cell, although he lingered by the bars for a moment as she reached through to retrieve the dishes. He only saw her right hand and part of her forearm, but it was enough. Beyond the layers of dirt and grime, he noticed the way her bones protruded through her fair skin and how painfully short her fingernails were, as if she had a habit of biting them. All at once he felt his heart shatter into pieces. How could he think she was an enemy agent while clearly being in such a poor state? The more he thought about what she must have been through to end up like that, the more his blood boiled and threatened to bubble over. If, no, when he got out of here, he would make these sorry wastes of space regret ever laying a hand on her.
Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm down, he let his head fall back against the cinder blocks. "Thanks Vireo," he murmured.
"Nah, it's the least I can do."
He frowned to himself. "Why do you call yourself that?"
When the Canadian didn't answer immediately, Johnny began to wonder if he overstepped.
"I like birds," she finally said. "They're almost always around, even when you're out in the middle of nowhere. I used to bring binocs along on jobs and do some birdwatching when I was waiting for clients."
Something about her response seemed too innocuous. It almost sounded rehearsed, although he detected a tinge of sincerity as well. Evidently there was more to it, but she didn't want to elaborate further. He also got the sense that she didn't want him to keep pressing, so he elected to follow the conversation instead.
"That sounds peaceful," he hummed. "I like to do a bit o' that myself actually."
"Yeah?"
"Gotta pass the time somehow during stakeouts."
Vireo let out a huff that didn't quite sound like a laugh. "Have you ever seen a moose?"
Furrowing his brows, Johnny shook his head. "Cannae say I have, unless ye're counting pictures? Plenty o' smaller beasties though."
"I've spotted a couple during various jobs. They're surprisingly huge. Like, the semi-truck of animals huge." This time the Canadian chuckled to herself before continuing. "Trust me, you don't want to meet one in the middle of the woods at night."
"I'll take yer word fo' it, lassie."
· · ─────── · »—» ⟨ 🪶 ⟩ «—« · ─────── · ·
On the fourth day they brought Soap back much later than before. Vireo had been laying down for the night, barely asleep when the clatter of a cell door jerked her back from the precipice. The guards were never gentle in their treatment of her neighbour, but tonight their frustration was evident. The Scot's continued presence in this rotten place meant he had yet to crack under the torture, and while he was clearly brave, everyone had their limits. He would eventually break like she had.
Vireo waited until they were alone before creeping up to the bars. "Soap?" she called in as loud a whisper as she could muster.
He didn't respond for several long seconds. While she could hear him breathing, it sounded much more ragged than before, as if just inhaling oxygen had become agonizing. Could he have been knocked unconscious again?
"Soap!" she hissed. "Can you hear me?"
A low groan reached her ears, followed by the sound of shuffling as he dragged himself up to the bars to be closer.
"Don't… Don't try to push yourself." Vireo swallowed around the lump in her throat, feeling the familiar sensation of helplessness threatening to wash over her. "You don't have to talk either. I'm here…"
They both sat there for a few minutes, separated by crumbling bricks and rusted iron. If only she could comfort him, tend to his wounds, find the words to say... Staring at the bars that had been her cage for so long, she realized there was possibly one thing she could do. Shimmying onto her stomach, she stretched an arm through the bars, reaching as far as she could towards the Scot.
"Soap," she murmured, lightly slapping the concrete floor in an attempt to get his attention.
A slight rustling sound reached her ears before Vireo's breath caught in her throat as warmth graced her palm. Despite being the one to initiate the gesture, she felt her face flush with a different kind of heat and quickly curled her digits around Soap's hand in an attempt to distract herself.
The Scottish man's skin felt almost feverish in comparison to the concrete floor beneath her fragile form. Deep down she hoped he was just the type to run hot rather than this being a sign of infection. Other than the temperature difference, she was immediately struck by the size of his hand compared to her own. She wasn't a short woman, but she had lost much of her muscle mass over the last few years and now she couldn't help feeling rather small indeed.
Vireo wasn't sure what kind of soldier Soap was or if he had any hobbies he liked to do, but the callouses on his palm seemed to suggest he did a lot with his hands. Maybe he liked to keep busy - always fiddling with objects or taking things apart only to reassemble them again - or perhaps he did a lot of outdoor work and moving heavy objects around. Either way, it only endeared him to her more. Despite being guarded, he seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve, and it made bantering with him the best thing that had happened in a long time.
"I wish I could do more than this," Vireo whispered.
Soap gave her hand a weak squeeze. "Ye've already done so much. Just…knowing ye're here helps me keep going."
"I'm here. I'll be here as long as you need me to be."
For the next few minutes, Vireo just focused on holding his hand, mindlessly running her thumb over his knuckles. It felt nice, and made her wish they could have met under better circumstances. Maybe they would've shaken hands first, having met during a job, or maybe Soap might have offered to help her up if she had accidentally tripped when he was nearby. Or maybe he would have taken her hands in his to keep them warm on a chilly evening. As her thoughts began to stray towards the fantastical, Vireo quickly tried to push them away. There was no way he would've given her a second look if they had met on the outside. Why should he settle for her baggage when he was probably spoiled for choice in regards to good-looking women? No, it was best not to get her hopes up, especially since she couldn't do anything to improve her current state.
"Tell me about yerself, lassie. Something ye haven't yet," Soap mumbled, temporarily pulling the Canadian out of the storm in her head.
"Not sure there's much to tell…but I'll try." Vireo took a deep breath to give herself a moment to think. "I was raised in a small town in Northern Alberta but travelled around the Territories a lot. Um, I also started getting my pilot's license as soon as I could, studying for the exams when I was supposed to be writing school reports instead."
"You wanted to fly that much?"
"Yes, I loved flying, still do, but it was more because of my dad."
"Aye, then ye wanted to impress him?"
"Well yeah, but I admired him too. Some of my earliest memories are of the supply trips he would make every year to isolated communities in the province. He was very passionate about helping others, even before himself at times, and I suppose I wanted to follow in his footsteps."
"He sounds like a good man."
Vireo nodded out of habit. "Yeah… He's probably worried sick about me if I'm being honest." Blinking rapidly to banish the tears before they could form, she took a shaky breath. "But, you probably don't want to hear about my sob story. Have you ever been to Canada?"
"Maybe twice? No' for sightseeing though," Soap responded. As if sensing the Canadian woman's mood shift, his fingers brushed against her palm in an attempt to be comforting.
"Considering much of the country is undeveloped forests and plains, there's not a whole ton to see unless you focus on the southern parts." Vireo hummed thoughtfully before adding, "I always liked the forests much more than the cities, just the solitude and being alone with only the wildlife for company was comforting for me."
"You would probably like Scotland too. Used to spend hours exploring the countryside wi' my cousins as a wee lad."
Vireo made a sound of agreement. "If I ever get out of here, I'll make sure to book a flight."
"Well I'd be happy to show ye around sometime...if ye wanted me too."
For a moment Vireo couldn't be sure if Soap meant for her to hear with how softly he had spoken. She felt her face grow hot all over again at the thought of spending time together in his home country. While she couldn't imagine ever getting to that point, it caused her to smile the most genuine smile she had in years.
~~~
Hey! This is my first attempt at a CoD fic, so if you liked it, I would massively appreciate reblogs as it helps a lot. Your support means the world to me! Thanks for reading this far if you did.
Taglist: @kathrynwilmot @graythereaper0428 because you previously expressed interest in seeing more (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)
I don't want to keep the fic I've been working on to myself anymore. I'm scared that posting the chapters I've already written might be a bad idea, but I really really want to share the thing that has consumed me for the past six months.
So, yeah, if you've never seen me around before, hi! My name's Tumble and I'm working on a Call of Duty fic. The pairing is my OC Aderyn "Vireo" Cotes x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, and besides the romance, it's primarily a fix-it fic because the third game did not happen. (Fight me that ending was bogus.)
The plot touches on some darker themes that I haven't tackled before in my previous works, namely assault and various types of trauma, so if that doesn't sound like your cup of tea I totally get it. However, it is also a slow burn strangers to lovers with themes of healing and finding people to call your own. I plan to focus more on the emotional impacts of decisions rather than writing a power fantasy (although there will be action scenes as well). This is my first foray into CoD and also the first third person fic I've written in years, but I think it's turning out really good right now!
So, if you're interested, let me know. The chapters are between 4,000 - 5,000 words long on average and take a while to write as a result, so I don't have a posting schedule in mind yet.
Not my usual content but I haven't had the motivation to write Undertale stuff lately. So if you were ever wondering what I've been up to, well, this would be the answer. Thought I'd boost this post in case anyone would be interested in checking it out?
Shout out to showers. Oh, and car rides. I can't count how many times I've been struck with random inspiration for my writing while doing these things.
So the fic I'm working on lately features an OC who I would describe as a mess. She's bitter, cynical, stubborn, and easily angered. While she knows it's not healthy to feel this way all of the time and tries to work through her emotions, I planned on writing her rage as a key plot point, both for better and for worse. It's honestly kind of fun thinking about how I can write a character who's been deeply wronged and refuses to give up.
Alright because @vittoriaxcx and @graythereaper0428 asked, I decided to post a little teaser from the OC x canon CoD fic I've been working on. This is a new scene I recently added to the first chapter while reworking it since I wanted to establish Soap's character better.
All Johnny could do was lean against the brick wall and focus on breathing. Today marked three days since he had been captured, which wasn't that long in the grand scheme of things, but the whole ordeal was already having adverse affects on him. He had gone through training for interrogation resistance, and this wasn't even the first time he'd been tortured, but no mock scenario could compare to the real thing. Still, no matter what they did, how much they threatened, he remained determined not to let anything slip about his team or their mission.
He hadn't meant to get captured in the first place. Thinking back to the disastrous events of the op, he knew he shouldn't have taken so many risks - should've listened when Price ordered everyone to retreat - but there were civilians in danger. If he had pushed harder, defused the bomb faster, been more aware of his surroundings, then he wouldn't be locked in this concrete box. It had been his fault and now he was paying for it.
The guilt and regret weighed heavily on his mind. He had never been one for religion, despite how much it broke his poor old Gran's heart, but now he was beginning to wonder if there had been a point to all those long-winded services after all. As it stood, he didn't think he would be getting out of here by his own strength. His body was only growing weaker by the day, and it felt like a permanent haze lingered in the forefront of his mind no matter how much he tried to rest. While he knew his team was most likely tearing the country apart in an effort to find him, a small voice in the back of his skull doubted they would make it in time, if they were even coming at all that is.
Would serve you right for being so thick in the head...
It had been the same song and dance ever since he joined up. Too impulsive. Too headstrong. Not enough sense. He had heard these things all his life, believed them at times too, but he never stopped trying to prove himself. For years, his commanding officers had written him off as just "the new guy" and underestimated his abilities. Price had seemed different, but Johnny knew he was responsible for keeping the older man up at night many times over with his antics. Perhaps his second chances had run out, and Command would decide a rescue wasn't worth it, forcing the team to move on without him.
A soft scrapping sound from the hallway jolted him back to the present.
"Soap." It was the woman on the other side of the wall. "Here..."
Johnny barely managed to drag himself to the rusty bars, but his heart sank when he peeked out. In the gap between his and the neighboring cell was a plastic tray with a little bowl of what looked to be more broth than soup and piece of stale bread.
"Lassie-"
"They haven't been feeding you," Vireo interrupted. "Take it; you need to keep your wits about you."
It was true. If not for being waterboarded, he hadn't so much as eaten or drank in days. While he had been able to ignore the hunger, dehydration would become a problem quickly, and he needed to maintain as much mental clarity as possible if he was to survive. Still, this could barely be considered a meal. If he accepted, then she would be going without, and he hated the thought of making her suffer.
"I cannae do that..."
The woman huffed and probably rolled her eyes at his continued attempts to protest. "Yes, you can. Clearly they don't expect you to last long and..." She fell quiet for a moment. "...and I don't want you to die," she finished in a soft whisper.
When he still hesitated to accept, she clicked her tongue. "Don't worry about me; I'll be fine. Just take it before one of the guards comes by and catches us."
Seeing as Vireo wasn't going to take no for an answer, Johnny gave in, even as a small part of him screamed that this might be a trick. The woman could easily have been planted next door in an effort to either manipulate or potentially drug him, but he tried to push the thought from his mind.
When he finished eating, Johnny slid the tray back towards Vireo's cell, although he lingered by the bars for a moment as she reached through to retrieve the dishes. He only saw her right hand and part of her forearm, but it was enough. Beyond the layers of dirt and grime, he noticed the way her bones protruded through her fair skin and how painfully short her fingernails were, as if she had a habit of biting them. All at once he felt his heart shatter into pieces. How could he think she was an enemy agent while clearly being in such a poor state? The more he thought about what she must have been through to end up like that, the more his blood boiled and threatened to bubble over. If, no, when he got out of here, he would make these sorry wastes of space regret ever laying a hand on her.
Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm down, he let his head fall back against the cinder blocks. "Thanks Vireo," he murmured.
"Nah, it's the least I can do."
He frowned to himself. "Why do you call yourself that?"
When the Canadian didn't answer immediately, Johnny began to wonder if he overstepped.
"I like birds," she finally said. "They're almost always around, even when you're out in the middle of nowhere. I used to bring binocs along on jobs and do some birdwatching when I was waiting for clients."
Something about her response seemed too innocuous. It almost sounded rehearsed, although he detected a tinge of sincerity as well. Evidently there was more to it, but she didn't want to elaborate further. He also got the sense that she didn't want him to keep pressing, so he elected to follow the conversation instead.
"That sounds peaceful," he hummed. "I like to do a bit o' that myself actually."
"Yeah?"
"Gotta pass the time somehow during stakeouts."
Vireo let out a huff that didn't quite sound like a laugh. "Have you ever seen a moose?"
Furrowing his brows, Johnny shook his head. "Cannae say I have, unless ye're counting pictures? Plenty o' smaller beasties though."
"I've spotted a couple during various jobs. They're surprisingly huge. Like, the semi-truck of animals huge." This time the Canadian chuckled to herself before continuing. "Trust me, you don't want to meet one in the middle of the woods at night."
Mm, it's late here but I'm reading fics and there's a fuzzy feeling in my chest. Remember folks, no matter how rough life gets you always have your fictional favs to get you through! They would love and protect you no matter what.
Serious talk but I fear I'm losing interest in the Undertale fandom as a whole. I still like the characters for the most part and love what I've created for them. I don't know though. I just feel tired whenever I see related posts cross my feed lately. I'm scared that I'm already in the process of dropping everything again and letting down people I care about.
