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ohbo-ohno · 7 months

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for ypur 1k game can i get a "lady of the house" + ghoap💋

1k game here - no more please!

you said lady so im assuming you meant ghoap x reader <3

2.5k of a kinda historical au ft. flirty stablehand johnny x kinda shy reader x very horny simon (cw for oral sex in a public place, though there's no audience except a few horses)

Your husband's staff seems to have no concept of propriety.

No, no, that's not fair to most of the servants. Your husband's stablehand has no concept of propriety.

You'd complain to Simon, but he's hardly around to find most days. While the two of you share a bedchamber, that's nearly the only time you see him. You're lucky to even share a meal with the man, these days. The housekeeper tells you he's holed up in his office more often than not, and that feels like a clear sign that he would rather not be bothered. You two aren't particularly close, so you're more than content to find other ways of amusing yourself.

You've spent most of your time since moving into the manor with your mare, a gift from husband on your wedding night. She's a lovely beast and you've found great joys on long rides with her, despite the persistent ache in your thighs recently.

But that stablehand... Johnny's too handsome for his own good and he knows it, more than willing to flirt with you even though his own master has a claim, and too skilled for you to really ignore.

You hate that you've become so endeared to him, but it's impossible to ignore his flirtatious remarks. You've been a bit starved for affection since your marriage, and Johnny really isn't bad company by any means.

In fact, as much as you know you shouldn't, you can't help but feel a bit excited as you venture down to the stables to go on your daily ride.

You're halfway there when you're joined by someone new, a large figure suddenly walking shoulder to shoulder with you. He nearly makes you jump out of you skin, but you calm a bit at the sight of your elusive husband.

"Oh!" You gasp, pressing a hand over your chest. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

He inclines his head a bit, wrapping one hand around your elbow as you continue to walk. "My apologies. I thought I might join you on your ride today."

You're not sure how he knew where you'd be, but you take the new company in stride. "I'd enjoy that."

You're silent for the rest of the walk, not entirely comfortable in this veritable stranger's presence quite yet. Your spouse is an intimidating man, and you've hardly spent any time with him, so there's very little comfort to be found in his presence. What little time you have spent together has been in the bedroom and well... if you think of that for too long you'll go red in the face.

"Ah, the lady of the house!" Johnny calls as you enter the stables, stepping away from your mare. "You're late, my lady."

You giggle a bit at his tease. "My apologies, Johnny, I didn't realize you were on a schedule."

His smile grows and he leans against the gate to one of the stalls. "I simply have certain expectations of you, my lady - you're quite the creature of habit."

"You two have gotten close, then?" Your husband asks, and you're swiftly reminded of his presence. Your face flames at how easily you'd shown your friendship with Johnny off in front of a man you're meant to marry.

"I'm sorry," you demure, glancing up at Simon and feeling relief when you find him looking merely curious, not angry. "Johnny's- Mr. MacTavish has been helping me learn to take care of the mare you gifted me, and we've... developed a bit of a friendship in our afternoons spent together."

Simon hums, nodding to himself as his eyes flick between you and the stablehand. The only sign that Johnny is even the slightest bit fazed is the way he straightens up from where he was leaning, back straight and shoulders rolled back.

"No disrespect meant, sir," he apologizes. "Your wife is a lovely creature, I couldn't resist getting to know her a bit better."

"Yes, she is quite enchanting," Simon says quietly, guiding you a bit closer to Johnny. "You're unmarried, aren't you Johnny?"

He nods, and the two of you share a slightly confused look.

"And do you have any prospects?"

Johnny clears his throat, a tinge of red lighting up his cheeks. "No, sir."

Simon hums again, his thumb stroking over the crook of your elbow.

"Have you been taking care of my wife in my absence, Johnny?"

Now he really does blush, and you feel the same heat race through your own face.

"Only..." he clears his throat again, shifting his weight. "Only in ways entirely appropriate, sir, I promise."

"Oh, I don't doubt that. You're a good worker, a good boy, I can tell."

You're not entirely sure what's going on. The tone of voice Simon has adopted is near salacious, a tone you recognize from the few times the two of you have preformed your marital duties together. The tone sets your heart racing, a slightly uncomfortable awareness settling over you.

"Thank- thank you, sir."

"Do you know how to properly take care of a woman?"

"Simon, I'm not sure-" you try to interrupt, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation seemed to be heading.

"Hush, darling, I'm only asking the boy a question. Well, Johnny?"

Poor Johnny's face is as red as a tomato, and you'd tease him if you weren't sure you looked the same.

"Well, sir, I've... I've never had a woman of my own to take care of, but I try my best."

"Oh I'm sure you do."

Simon's contemplative look is a little concerning, so you tug on his hand just a bit. "I'd like to ride today, Simon, if you're ready?"

"In a moment," he dismisses, giving you a soft pat on the shoulder with his free hand. "Would you like to learn how to take care of a woman, Johnny?"

"Simon," you hiss, sure that he's not implying what you think he is.

He looks down at you with an innocent if slightly confused face. "What, darling? The boy needs to learn at some point."

"Not-" you clear your throat, glancing at a very confused looking Johnny from the corner of your eye. "Simon, not here."

"Oh, come off it," he scoffs, a soft smile tilting up his lips. "Is that truly your only complaint? The location? My dear, no one will see us this far out but the trees and the horses. Well," he glances over to the stablehand. "And our Johnny, of course."

"I'm sure he's familiar with how to... take care of a woman."

"I'm not," Johnny blurts, then clamps his lips shut tightly together. His blush spreads down to his neck, and you worry the poor thing might just explode.

"See? So, Johnny, would you like to learn how to care for a woman? I'm sure my lovely wife would be more than happy to introduce you to the pleasures."

Your blush doesn't calm, but looking at Johnny... the idea isn't entirely off-putting.

Johnny's about as handsome as a man can be, and if Simon has no compunctions to sharing a bit of your pleasure... well, you've always been a bit of a glutton.

Johnny seems about as unbothered by the idea as you are.

"Really, sir? You'd let me... you'd let her teach me?"

Simon laughs a little, stepping closer to Johnny and turning you so you're shoulder to shoulder with him. "Oh, I'll be doing the teaching, boy. She's just out practice doll, yes?"

That makes your breath hitch, the idea of being just a thing between the two handsome men a bit more pleasing than it should be.

"Now," Simon says, gripping you suddenly by the waist and lifting without warning. He sets you onto a wooden table, then spreads your legs. "Women's clothing can be quite annoying to work around, but the end result is more than worth it. Hold your skirts for us, love, thattagirl."

You're silent as you take the layers of clothing from your husband, afraid that if you speak you'll simply burst into flames. Exposing yourself to a man like this is difficult enough in the dark of your bedchamber, it feels near impossible in front of Johnny and in broad daylight.

But you can feel the way your center grows slick, so you obey your husband.

"Now, Johnny, kneel here, in front of me."

Johnny nearly scrambles to where Simon gestures, almost throwing himself to his knees in front of you. He's left between your thighs and Simon's legs, your husband almost stradling his back.

Simon laughs a bit. "Eager, are we?"

"Yes- yes, sir." Johnny pants a bit, staring up at you from the floor. He can't seem to decide whether he'd like to look at your undergarments or your face, eyes flicking between the two.

"Good lad," Simon brushes a hand over the back of Johnny's head, palming it. "Now, you'll have to take off her undergarments before anything else."

You shift a little in your spot as Johnny reaches up tentatively, eyebrows slightly furrowed. His hands brush over your bottom half for several long seconds, and you start to shift a little more, near whining.

"Hurry now, Johnny, you'll drive the poor thing mad."

He adopts an almost determined expression, and a moment later you hear a rip and feel a breeze against your most sensitive parts.

"Johnny!" You scold, leaning far enough forward to glare down at the man.

He flinches a little, sinking away. "I'm sorry, my lady. I didn't know how else to get them off!"

"You never destroy a woman's clothing like that! You're not off to a very good start so far."

You regret the words a bit when Johnny's face drops, his lip poking out in a slight pout.

Simon laughs, shifting to rub a hand over your bared knee. "Let up on him, darling, he's inexperienced. Besides, it's rather easy to make up for a few ripped seams."

You glare lightly at Simon, just to make sure he knows you're unamused, then lean back to relax against the wall. "Well, then you'd better get started."

Johnny looks up at Simon, neck craning back. "How...?"

Another rough chuckle from your husband, and he shoves Johnny forward by the back of the head until his face is buried between your thighs.

"Oh!" You yelp.

"With your mouth, Johnny. Trust me, it's far easier to learn to use your tongue like this than it is to learn how a lady likes her apologies."

You shoot an unimpressed look up to Simon, but it quickly melts off your face when you feel Johnny's lips and nose press to your center. He doesn't really do anything, just sort of stays there.

You shift again, try to press forward.

"Lick her, Johnny," Simon explains, putting a bit more pressure on the back of the stablehand's head. A moment later, there's a tentative brush across your folds.

You jolt a bit at the first tough, then relax into the second. Johnny's clumsy but confident, and you spread your legs a bit wider so he can fully explore you.

"Lift your skirts a bit further, love, I can't see," Simon instructs, leaning over so he's hovering directly above Johnny. You obey, and your husband hums as the view.

"Do you see the little bud at the top there, Johnny? Focus in on that, it's what gives women pleasure."

Johnny's evidently a quick study, as he focuses his attentions onto your clitoris as soon as the instructions are out of Simon's mouth. "Oh!" You gasp, back shooting up from the wall.

It takes him several long minutes to figure out what keeps you moaning in pleasure rather than whining in frustration, but once he does he keeps his tongue stroking in just the right way to make you go boneless.

"Attaboy, there you go," Ghost praises, stroking over the stripe of hair on Johnny's head. "Hear her moanin'? That means you're making' her feel good, so keep going."

He's a good listener, Johnny, and you're nearly brought to a peak with just his tongue alone.

"Add a finger now," Simon says.

Johnny pulls back just far enough for you to see his confusion. "A finger, sir?"

Simon huffs out a laugh, reaching down to grab Johnny's right wrist and pull it to your bared core. "Yes, Johnny, a finger. You put one or two into her hole to stretch her out enough to take you. Now, you won't be fucking my wife today, but the stretch will still feel good for her."

The way he talks about you like you're not even there combined with the sudden slow stretch of Johnny's fingers has you moaning. If you were even slightly more aware of anything but the two men in front of you, you'd worry about being heard. As it is, the attention returning to your clit keeps you suitably distracted.

Simon scoffs in front of you, tugging Johnny's hair a bit in reprimand. "You have to move the finger, boy, you can't just set it in there and do nothing. C'mon, push it in and out a bit."

"Yes, sir," Johnny pants, glancing up at you past all the skirts. "Sorry, my lady."

"That's- that's alright," you excuse, trying to keep your voice steady. Judging by the smirk on your husband's face, you're not particularly successful.

You let yourself float off in the pleasure for a bit, smiling gently at the cautious movements of Johnny's finger - he almost seems scared to hurt you, and you can't help but be endeared to the stablehand all over again.

"Look at that," Simon sighs, his hand moving further up on your thigh. "Hear how wet she is? Means she's ready for another finger. Go on, Johnny. Stretch her out some more."

The two fingers are enough to get you off - all that attention focused right on your clit and just enough of a stretch for you to feel. You come with quiet moans, shifting your hips forward into Johnny's lips as much as you can.

He doesn't slow or change his motions at all, and you ride the orgasm to completion happily. After, though, you can't help but whine at the overstiumlation.

"Alright, pull off now, Johnny. You hear those noises? Those mean she doesn't feel good anymore."

Johnny almost jerks away from you, glancing up at you with wide eyes. "I'm sorry, my lady," he quickly apologizes, rising up on his knees to get closer as you drop your skirts. "I didn't meant to hurt you."

You smile softly at him, reaching down to cup his cheek. "You didn't, Johnny, it's alright. Just a bit too much."

He nods as he leans into your hold, and the three of you rest in silence for a few moments.

Eventually Simon tugs you off of the table, pulling both you and Johnny into his arms for a half-hug. It's nice - your husband isn't too much of a fan of physical contact, so you relish in it when you can.

Johnny coughs a bit with a blush when you all three finally seperate. "So... when's my next lesson?"

You smirk as you loop arms with Simon, both of you sharing an amused glance.

"Come to our chambers anytime, Johnny," you offer, patting him on the chest before stepping away. "I'm sure my husband wouldn't mind giving a longer demonstration on how to fully pleasure a woman."

You leave a red-faced Johnny in the stables with tented pants, both you and Simon chuckling to yourselves as you head back to the manor.

#first draft: you and your new husband johnny move into a house that turns out to be haunted. good news is the ghost seems to like you both #< aka pervy simon and very confused soap & reader #which is a cooler (more creative) idea than this but feels like it could be like 5k #and im trying to get better at writing shorter things lol #bo writes #ghoap x reader #1k celebration #i am so fucking sleepy #also sorry for the kinda wishy washy characterization here i wrote this across a 12 hour period between writing other things

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mondsphere · 1 month

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Luo Binghe: Original Drafts Edition! Who and why?

“[…] in fact, in his original outline, Bing-gē hadn’t even had a romance plotline; he had been doomed to fade away, alone and unaging forever.” — The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System, Vol. 4 (Mo Xiang Tong Xiu)

The drafts version of Binghe! Not Bing-gē, nor Bing-mei, but a secret, third thing! (I’m partial to Bing-xióng (兄) myself, just for thematic cohesion. Bing-mei remains as he is: Shizun’s special glass-heart maiden.)

So! Who is this elusive, mythical Binghe we never got the chance to meet? What is he? How do I get to pick this one’s brains?

Why is he haunting me! What does he want! So much to think about.

Listen: I love my trash sons, both the racoon and wet dog variations, but I am curious about this handsome demon lord who did not bed thousands, and did not steal his shizun to lovingly coax him into a loving and respectful marriage. Alas, Airplane-bro, as is custom, has left me hanging.

The solitary quote above has been floating around my brainspace for months. Intermittently, I would look up at the sky and sigh a big sad dog sigh, and think of this lonely demon-man emperor who seems to be both perfectly representative of No-Shizunitis Suffering Binghe, and on the exact opposite end of the line. I have spent many a night trying to rearrange the blocks of both SVSSS and PIDW like a sad toddler with no plan but plenty of amorphous longing.

Thus, Bing-xiong. My beloved new toy.

We know he is left alone and unaging. This means that:

He does not marry even once. (Sorry, Other Bing Variants. This one came broken.)

He is not defeated, killed, or left to suffer his not-father’s fate of sulking under a mountain.

From 1) we can assume two more things! Xin Mo either gets fixed/doesn’t influence this Binghe the same way, or: Xin Mo is completely written off à la Airplane Retconning, making Binghe potentially even more individually powerful than his younger counterparts.

(Or he just. Takes people’s cultivation ad-infinitum. Interesting thought, but too straight-forward for my tastes. Airplane’s thoughts? Unknowable.)

From 2) we can also assume Binghe cannot die, is under the influence of the Protagonist Halo unto infinity, and will only be put out of his misery once the heat death of the universe deems it a worthwhile endeavour. Either that or the story ends, but. It tickles a miserable part of my brain pink to think Binghe will not be let off even then.

Anyway. Bing-xiong, of course, has the same source material to work off of. Up until the Abyss, and including it, the plotline should be if not the same, adjacent enough to be indistinguishable.

However. This means:

Bing-xiong never got coerced into sex by Qin Wanyue, thus not starting him on the path of sex-dependency/addiction, avoiding Bing-gē’s fate by virtue of the Butterfly Effect. (Read this post because it explains Bing-ge's whole thing better than a lot of things I've seen.)

Again, Xin Mo implications.

Alternate Universe Shenanigans make an appearance. (Shen Jiu’s fever and death was actually meant to happen, Bing-ge just got very, very unlucky and his Universe’s Yue Qingyuan very, very lucky. For a few years. Either that or there is a Shen Yuan for every Binghe! Again: sorry, Bing-ge. You need to find your own. Middle child issues…)

Once the drafts/original outline got lost, all bets are off and now the characters become real people, without narrative influence. This also has the very fucked up implication that Bing-ge is actually a result of exclusively external forces and would have never gone down that path if not forced onto it by Airplane’s unwitting hands. I do and do not love this version. Very Mo Ran-esque, if looked at from afar and squinting.

Other options I’m either too not-high to think, or too high to put together. (Cold medicine is insane?)

I am fascinated by this… Schrödinger’s Binghe. A jaded, lonely emperor left in the ashes of his world, gazing upon his own history and finding fucking nothing and no one. Metaphorically and, like, practically, if I’m understanding Airplane’s musings correctly. Isolated, cursed by his own blood in a completely new and fucked up way!

I need Airplane to speak with me for like, half an hour. This is paramount to my mental health, I’m losing my braincells by the hour.

What happened to this impervious, cocky, badass demon bastard lord to become so alone? How did it happen? Why did it not happen to the other two, or at least Bing-ge, who has had every horrible and shitty thing possible and impossible piled onto his head? What the fuck is up with Xin Mo? Why isn’t it eating away at Big Bro Luo? Or, worse: why is it eating away at him in such a way that instead of turning into a violent yet charismatic, horror-creature of a man, it turns him into the existential terror-fate I’ve contemplated and abhorred since I was seven?

Tianlang-jun as the final boss. Discovering Huan Hua Palace Master’s crimes, deceit and… stuff. Perhaps even uncovering Shen Jiu’s backstory.

Ooh! Worse! Or better? What if he finds out everything, after having followed Bing-gē’s path, and simply… gives up? A grown up Bing-ge, minus the marriage and surrogate-lover part(s).

(More unlikely than other options, but still there, I guess.)

Fucking insane of MXTX to do this to me, personally and specifically.

I can only speculate forever, I guess! Left… alone and pondering forever.

So. Not a Bing-ge, and not a Bing-mei. A Bing-xiong, if you will.

#svsss #luo binghe #svsss meta #if you like. want it to be #the fact that this is the first post on this blog is upsetting but also completely in-line with who i've become as a person #i'm sure someone else said it better than me asp #this is all to say i'm trying to plan a longfic with drafts!binghe as my one and only 2024 project #and it is eating away at me #because i understand and also NOT #the concept itself is so ????#its insane that one single line of text from mxtx from almost a decade ago can do this to a person #lbh #lbx #hey why would i say this to me

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earwig5 · 11 months

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it's wesker wednesday

#resident evil #albert wesker #chris redfield #jill valentine #william birkin #this is my first foray with krita #who knew actual art software #would be better than a blueprint drafting program

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simmyfrobby · 11 months

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― Voting as Fire Extinguisher, Kyle Tran Myhre

Hockey Poetry Post 48/?

(Photo credit: Dave Sandford, Chase Agnello-Dean, link, Chris Sweda, Debora Robinson, Bill Smith, Jeff Haynes, Chase Agnello-Dean, Jeff Vinnick, link)

#this poem has been rotting away in my drafts since the day after the lottery #and I haven't wanted to post it because #idk. obvious reasons I guess.#but then the NHL draft brought it all back so now I guess I WILL post it and just trust u guys to understand Nuance #NHL be better challenge #this one looks a little different than most of the other poems but also there's certain names and faces I dont really want on my blog #and also I hate the logo so ...#ok sorry about the weird tags im still not sure about this is all #hockey poetry posts #connor bedard #nhl draft 2023 #might delete this first thing tomorrow morning if I change my mind. who's to say.#chicago blackhawks #< for blacklist

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royalarmyofoz · 2 months

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some clone high character studies<3

#yeah some are better than others they're all first draft doodles #i fucked up on poor van gogh and had to patch him up but it's weirdly fitting so #clone high

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jupiter-suggestion · 2 years

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some things are better without polish. there's something bland about perfection, about something so smooth that nothing sticks to it. i like to feel the rough edges and know that it was made with human hands, informed by human thoughts. some things of higher quality have less heart. there is beauty in unrefinement.

#mine #suggestion #thinking about when the first pass is inexplicably better than the final result. why sometimes we prefer the sketch or the rough draft.#50 #100

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smalltownfae · 10 months

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“But just now an intelligent and I must admit, very attractive young woman had just chosen Lord Golden’s companionship over mine.

‘There’s no accounting for tastes,’ I told Whitecap, who was looking after his departing mistress with an aggrieved air.”

*****

“‘Good. And now we must all try to get what rest we can before tomorrow’s hunt. Good night,Tom.’

‘Good night, Lord Golden, huntswoman Laurel.’

After a moment or two of silence, I realized something. I had been expecting Laurel to leave so that I could secure the door behind her. I had wanted to tell the Fool about the basket and the dead rabbit, but Laurel and Lord Golden were waiting for me to leave. She was studying a tapestry on a wall with an intensity it did not merit, while Lord Golden contentedly contemplated the gleaming fall of Laurel’s hair.

I wondered if I should lock the outer door for them, then decided that would be an oafish act. If lord golden wanted it locked, he would do it. ‘Good night,’ I repeated, trying to sound sleepy and not awkward. I took a candle and went to my own chamber, shutting the connecting door gently behind me. I undressed and got into bed, refusing to let my mind wander beyond that closed door. I felt no envy, I told myself, only the sharper bite of my loneliness in contrast to what they might be sharing.”

*******

“I turned and found the Fool regarding me sleepily. He lay on his side in his bed, his chin propped on his fist. He looked weary, but insufferably pleased about something. The effect made him look years younger.

‘I didn’t expect to see you in your bed this morning,’ I greeted him, and then, ‘How did you get in? I latched that door last night.’

‘Did you? Interesting. But you can scarcely be more surprised to see me in my own bed than I am to see you in yours.’

*****

“Was my friend honestly losing his heart to her? I considered her silent profile as she rode alongside me. He could do far worse. She was healthy and young and a good hunter.”

- Fool’s Errand (Tawny Man #1) by Robin Hobb

Presented with no comment

#rote #fitzloved #fool's errand #tawny man trilogy #laurel #did you notice I am clearing my drafts?#what was this even doing in there still?#this is from the first time I read the books haha #I can't get over fitz and the fool being happy to see that the other wasn't out banging someone else in the night #'there's no accounting for taste' he says as if he trully believes he is better looking than the fool and his mind isn't thinking #how hot lord golden is 24/7 #the scene where fitz is waiting for laurel to leave is so funny ahahahah #meanwhile fool and laurel are just like 'ffff go to bed tom'

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dootznbootz · 3 months

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I literally will think of the stupidest shit and if it makes me giggle, it's "canon" now. It just is. Idk why I keep doing this.

#Odysseus goes full stupid when he first meets Penelope. Helen is a lil “mad scientist” with her potions. Menelaus is a silly sealy boy.#Menelaus and Odysseus have sleepovers where they cry about their families. Odyssseus and Diomedes are toxic exes #Clytemnestra is a horse girl. PENELOPE IS THE WATER WIFE™ WHO DOES WEIRD SHIT!!!#...#Anyways. can I get some suggestions from the homies for something Odysseus is allergic to? Anything except animals.#doesn't have to be something eaten it can just be him touching it. kind of thinking of shrimp as that was something #ancient Greece had. This is literally because the thought of someone being like “You ate/got into ___ again didn't you?!”#*red hives. voice all raspy and fucked up. not gonna die but you know* “...No.”#and that just feels like something Odysseus would do and it's so fucking funny to me #also. what better way to feign madness to dodge a draft than to get sick with fever and then end up insane? >:D #shot by odysseus #Mad rambles #my headcanons

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rainbow-flavoured-skittles · 1 month

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Hey Mom, Dead Mom

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, thanks, Ms.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your grades are barely scraping fifty percent.”

“So?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a difficult journey, really. Cole continued on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Student?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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