Gifts for Fluorezopone
List of Gifts
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By Fate and By Fortune by Mish_chan for Fluorezopone
Fandoms: Call of Duty (Video Games)
15 Dec 2024
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Summary
Johnny is an Omega with a muted scent, newly on the throne after his father passed away. People think he is either an Alpha with a muted scent or a Beta. His councilors invite a bunch of Omegas to come and be introduced so that Johnny can hopefully find a mate.
How will Johnny navigate this? Perhaps an Alpha will be in the crowd that he will like, and who will like him in return.
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Bonded Pair: Do Not Separate by HigherMagic for Fluorezopone
Fandoms: Call of Duty (Video Games)
26 Nov 2024
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Summary
He’s never built a nest before, a fact that has never been more painfully obvious. He doesn’t know what to look for with the branches, doesn’t know if it’s the climate or the type of tree that makes them so tasty to bugs, doesn’t know how to get rid of the mildewy scent. Doesn’t have any practice reinforcing the bottom, or even knowing if the place he’s chosen is worth a damn as a roosting spot.
More than once he’s thought about tearing the whole thing apart and starting from scratch, but each time he tries his instincts fight him and he finds himself close to frustrated tears, knowing that, even if he did, he would just make the same mistakes again. He doesn’t have the instincts or the practice, his mother never taught him to make nests, she didn’t even have one for him to learn from growing up.
Combined with the constant low-grade itch and discomfort from his wings, similarly wet and heavy from the rain and also clumping with feathers and oil and wax that he hasn’t managed to groom out, since he’s been so busy, he’s about two snapping twigs away from giving up entirely.
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Summary
*New Chapter!*
Heading to the front office he’s really starting to feel the loss of his morning coffee. He’s so tired he almost misses the clumps of mud and dirt that are starting to cover the pathway. But there’s no way he could miss a whole plot dug up. Right next to the brand new bulbs he planted yesterday a whole plot is disturbed, grass, topsoil, down to the rocky soil that lies deep under.
“I swear to Christ if those boys dug up the wrong plot-” he starts, but it dies in his chest. The actual plot isn’t very far from where he stands. He can see it from there, and he can see it neatly refilled with the green tarp covering it, waiting to be reseeded with grass. That cold discomfort sets into his stomach again, and all his reassurances melt away. Something else dug this plot up.
The headstone is old, unreadable and crooked as it sits at the maw of the hole. It’s dug sloppy and uneven, like it wasn’t even done with a tool. Like it was done with nothing more than bare hands.
John is a humble graveyard keeper. Happy, if not a bit bored. Then a grave is disturbed, a stranger appears at his house, and everything changes.