That Idiot we Adore

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✦ Writer Status Tori (Astoria) • 20s • She/Her Writes to escape reality. Proud 2000s rom-com enthusiast. 🍅🍅🍅 My heart never really left 2008. Some days I'm here posting nonstop. Other days I disappear for weeks or even months. But I always find my way back, and I do my best to reply whenever I can. This blog is my little corner of the internet. A library filled with comfort characters, fictional crushes, and stories that live rent-free in my head.

✦ Content Feel-good fanfics ✨ (occasional angst) Not explicit , safe for minors

✦ Base of Operations Tumblr • Quotev

✦ Will NOT Write incest • step-relations • smut • NSFW age gap • teacher/student dynamics

✦ Requests Ask Box: OPEN Anon: ENABLED

stay a while, read a little…

MAIN MASTERLIST

Ever since the reboot came out in 2022, I've wanted to create an OC of my own. Unfortunately, I never really gave myself the chance to learn how to draw or make fan art. Visual art was never where my hands naturally belonged. Editing, however, always was..it's the language I know best, and, fittingly, the field I eventually found myself working in.

So while I could never draw the woman I had in mind, I could always picture who would bring her to life if she ever stepped off the page.

This little blog has always been my quiet corner of the internet, so I thought I'd finally leave a piece of her here.

And Graves...

I still remember the fandom days around 2015, when everyone seemed to have an OC and a fancast to match. Eventually people started saying fancasts weren't "original" enough, but I never really saw them that way. They were simply another way of telling a story making a character feel tangible before a single line of dialogue was ever written. It was part of the magic. The Marauders fandom, especially, thrived because of that shared imagination. Everyone had their own version tucked away somewhere, lovingly written, quietly cherished.

I suppose this is mine.

There aren't many fanfics or even many fans for Phillip Graves, but I couldn't help wondering... what if there was another story worth telling?

Meet Isla Chambers.

A former Canadian JTF-2 operative, Isla had every intention of retiring from the life she'd spent years surviving. But before she could disappear into something resembling peace, Kate Laswell called in an old debt. Years ago, Laswell had saved Isla's life; now she asked for one final favor. Work under her ledger Just for a little while. That favor places Isla within Shadow Company, where every mission blurs the line between duty and loyalty, and where crossing paths with Phillip Graves changes more than either of them expects.

The rest of her story... perhaps I'll tell it one chapter at a time.

here's the version without the "masterlist" text. i honestly really love how this lineup turned out. ♡

feel free to use them however you'd like! if you do, i'd love to see them in action, so don't forget to tag me. :)

version with the word MASTERLIST

i haven't written anything here in forever... maybe i even ceased to exist for a while. 😭

i'm still not much of a writer, so instead of pretending i know what i'm doing, i spent some time cleaning up my masterlist instead.

also! here's a little lineup of banner GIFs in case anyone wants to use them. i even made versions without the "masterlist" text, so you can use them however you'd like.

VERSION WITHOUT "MASTERLIST"

hope they come in handy.

Should have added Konig and the others....

They say you can't be a real fanfic writer unless your Notes app is overflowing with unfinished drafts you'll swear you'll get back to "one day."

They say you aren't a real fanfic writer until you've stayed up far past midnight, your eyes burning, telling yourself, "Just one more paragraph," because the scene is finally coming together.

They say you can't be a fanfic writer until you've stopped halfway through a chapter because suddenly... you don't know which character belongs in the story anymore.

They say, "Write for yourself." And somewhere along the way, you forget who you were writing for in the first place.

Fanfiction is free. Always has been.

Yet somehow, a handful of negative comments can drown out a hundred kind ones. You start questioning every sentence. Every idea. You tell yourself, "It doesn't matter anyway," when deep down... it mattered more than you wanted to admit.

For some of us, writing wasn't just a hobby.

It was how we breathed.

Somehow I've collected mutuals I've never actually spoken to. Maybe we've never exchanged a single message. Still, in my head, I know them by their usernames like old friends I've been quietly cheering on from across the dashboard.

You may never know it, but every kudos, every heart, every comment, every reblog, every quiet read at two in the morning reminded someone to keep going.

Because whether you're a fanfic writer or a fanfic reader, somewhere along the way, a story made you smile. It made you laugh. It made you cry. It made you grieve. It made you fall in love with characters that never knew your name.

Maybe that's why we keep coming back.

Because a small part of every one of us has felt lonely before.

And somehow, through words on a screen, complete strangers remind us that we're not alone. Maybe that's the beautiful, crazy thing about fanfiction.

It lets us feel.

And if you're not a big-name writer...

If your stories never go viral...

If the number of hearts still gets to you sometimes...45 not the dream 2k you wished.

You're still a writer.

Always were.

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: John Soap MacTavish 𝙭 Reader

But The whole Task Force is there

Su𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: Kyle asked you to Do the Cup Song for them

𝙶e𝚗𝚛𝚎: Wholesome

𝚆o𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 2k

A/n: I did the cup song earlier for nostalgia purposes, after I saw a clip from Pitch Perfect. And thought hey! What if Kyle asked Reader....and I was so excited to write this down after so long I haven't written anything ..since a friend passed away. so... here's to you in dog heaven.

~THE CUP SONG~

The fire had burned down to a lazy glow, soft shades of orange and gold flickering through the camp, the kind that made everything feel warmer than it really was. The five of you sat there quietly, letting the silence settle over tired shoulders and aching bones.

It had been a long day. A successful one, surprisingly, compared to the kind of missions you’d expected this operation to become. The Peruvian military had allowed Task Force 141 to use the outer grounds of their camp for the night under one condition...you stayed the night, then leave by dawn.

Honestly, it was a fair deal.

Better to sleep behind fences than deep in the woods with one eye open and a hand near your weapon. Though by now, you were used to sleeping lightly. Used to waking at the smallest sound.

Dinner had been served earlier. Ghost ended up making stew after Kyle and Johnny somehow managed to win ingredients off a group of Peruvian soldiers during a ridiculous card game that turned unnecessarily competitive halfway through.

The low hum of the military base carried through the night, blending with the occasional clink of gear and the scrape of pebbles under Price’s boot whenever he shifted in his seat.

The five of you sat around the fire staring into it.

No one really spoke. Everyone was exhausted, worn thin, simply waiting for the hours to pass until Nik finally arrived for extraction. At this point, you couldn’t hope for anything more than hearing that helicopter sooner rather than later.

And yet, in that little pocket of quiet, it almost felt like the world had paused.

The kind of pause where something important happens, even if nobody says it out loud.

You sat cross-legged on the ground with your notebook resting against your lap, pen scratching softly across the pages while your flashlight balanced in your other hand. Half of it were thoughts and Half were doodles... Nothing important. Just something to fill the silence.

Beside you, Johnny MacTavish was finishing the last of his meal like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted, dragging his spoon lazily through the tin as if he had all the time in the world.

Which, on missions like this, he never did.

Gaz broke the silence first with a quiet sigh, leaning back on his hands as he stared up at the sky like he was chasing a memory. Then he smiled that sweet, easy charm of his that always made it look like the world had finally healed something inside him.

“Oi…” he murmured, glancing toward you. “Can you do that cup thing again, y/n?”

I feel like this would be what Johnny would do.

Hungry Johnny Soap MacTavish x Reader

Johnny had been running on fumes all day briefings, drills, paperwork he hated more than any battlefield. By the time he finally stepped into the common room, the smell of food hit him like a punch.

And there you were.

Sitting at the table with a little white takeout box, chopsticks in hand, happily eating your Chinese lunch.

Johnny slowed his steps, blue eyes locking onto the box like a starving man spotting treasure. His stomach growled loud enough that he cleared his throat and casually leaned his hip against the table beside you.

He dragged a hand through his mohawk and looked down at you with that crooked grin the one that usually meant trouble.

"Aye… that smells suspiciously good, bonnie.

His gaze flicked to the noodles dangling from your chopsticks, then back to your face.

"Tell me that’s not what I think it is… because if it’s sweet and sour chicken, I might actually pass out right here."

He pressed a hand dramatically to his stomach, leaning a little closer.

"Been workin’ all day, haven’t eaten a bloody thing…" he sighed, voice lowering into a teasing murmur.

Johnny nudged your knee lightly with his.

"Now… a kind, beautiful girlfriend of mine wouldn’t let her poor, starvin’ boyfriend suffer right in front of her, would she?"

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he tilted his head.

"Just one bite. Tiny one. I’m a humble man."

He leaned closer, grinning.

"Or do I need to start sweet-talkin’ properly to earn it?"

"Nope, sorry johnny I can't give you my-"

You said taking another scoop. Johnny licked his lips

Johnny raised a brow the moment you said no He straightened slowly, placing a hand over his chest like you’d just wounded him deeply.

“Ye cannae give me your—?” he echoed dramatically, eyes widening before he peeked down at the takeout box again.

He leaned closer, squinting at it like it personally betrayed him.

“Lass… that’s cold.”

Johnny sighed heavily and dragged a chair over, dropping into it beside you like a man accepting his fate.

“So this is how it is, aye?” he muttered. “All day runnin’ drills, savin’ the world, lookin’ handsome… and me own girlfriend leaves me to starve.”

His blue eyes slid back to you, a slow grin forming.

Then he suddenly leaned in, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret.

“Alright… new strategy.”

Johnny pointed at the box with his chin.

“How about a trade?” he said smoothly.

He flashed that shameless flirt smile.

“One bite for a kiss.”

He tapped the table.

“Fair deal, I’d say.”

"Just one bite? You asked making sure.

Johnny blinked when you asked “Just one bite?” He lifted both hands innocently, nodding like the most trustworthy man in the world.

“Aye, cross my heart, bonnie. Just one bite.”

But the moment you leaned in, Johnny’s grin softened. He kissed you back—warm, slow, like he’d missed you all day. One hand cupped your cheek while the other rested casually on the table beside the takeout box.

For a second it actually felt sweet.

Then—

SNATCH.

Johnny grabbed the entire box in one swift motion and bolted from the chair.

Johnny was already halfway down the hall, laughing loudly, noodles dangling from his chopsticks as he ate while running.

“THANKS FOR LUNCH, BONNIE!” he called over his shoulder.

A few soldiers in the room burst out laughing. Johnny jogged backwards for a second, still chewing.

“Worth the kiss!” he teased with a wink before turning and disappearing down the corridor your voice echoed through the corridor.

“JOHNNY!!!! YOU ARSE!!!!”

Johnny had just turned the corner down the hallway, still shoveling noodles into his mouth like a man who hadn’t seen food in days.

Johnny slowed for a second, glancing over his shoulder with a grin that said he absolutely deserved it. He walked backward a few steps, lifting the box like a trophy while chewing.

Then he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled back down the hall—

“I LOVE YOU!!!”