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sailor-aviator · 5 months

Text

The Beginning

Stranger Like Me: Prologue

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: From a young age, the animal kingdom had fascinated you, and maybe that's why you chose to pursue that passion. You quickly became a force within the field, becoming the leading expert on ape social structures, which is how you found yourself on an expedition into the African jungles searching for a troop of gorillas. What you weren't expecting, however, was to run into the local wild man on one of your excursions... (Tarzan!AU)

Trigger Warnings: Talk of loneliness, Inaccurate scientific descriptions and terminology, Flirty Jake, Allusions to loss of parents, Talk of reintigrating someone into society...I think that's it.

Word Count: 1,263

A/N: Here it is! I hope y'all don't mind me making you wait too long! This blog is 18+ ONLY! As always, reblogs and comments are welcomed and encouraged!! Find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator where all of my stories and drabbles are posted! If you would like to be added to the Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw tag list, please click the link below!

Series Masterlist || Moodboard 1 || Moodboard 2 || Moodboard 3 || Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Tag List

You had a running theory that there were two types of people in this world: plant people and animal people. You? You were most definitely an animal person. Growing up, you visited the zoo frequently, the employees practically knowing you by name. You did your best to memorize as many facts as you could about the different animals in each exhibit, knowing from an early age that you wanted to work with animals for the rest of your life.

You’d spend hours at the primate exhibits, watching the way the different apes and monkeys interact with each other, and you wished you could fast forward to the moment where you got to study it day in and day out.

So, you worked hard, graduating high school with honors before moving on to study zoology in undergrad, and then skipping straight to your doctorate program after that. It had been a long, grueling road that left little time for much else, but it was your passion, and once you had been greeted with the title of “doctor,” you knew it had all been worth it.

That didn’t stop your bouts of loneliness though. While your friends all went out to party, you were usually found with your nose buried in a book. And it wasn’t like you wanted to go out partying, but it still hurt when your friends stopped asking.

And then there was Jake Seresin, your handsome best friend of several years who knew he looked good and never failed to own it. The two of you had met in the early days of undergrad, having been partnered up in a biology lab, and you had hit it off immediately. Jake wasn’t interested in primates, his focus turned towards botany of all things, but he loved to tease you about your love of great apes.

“A cute girl like you studying monkeys?” He had chuckled with a shake of his head, mossy green eyes glimmering with mischief. “You must have had a wild fascination with Boots the monkey, huh?”

“First of all, peabrain,” you scowled at him, fighting back the smile that threatened to take over your face as his jaw dropped, “I study apes, not monkeys. Second of all, my fascination with Boots is none of your business.”

“Whatever you say, Boots.”

And the nickname had stuck. It followed you through undergrad and all the way through to your now budding career as one of the leading researchers in gorilla social structures. Which is also how you found yourself invited to the North Island Research Camp in the Republic of the Congo.

The camp wasn’t some grand research center, but it was well respected amongst the scientific community for gathering the most up-to-date research and hands-on experiences between researchers and local fauna. The camp was run by Dr. Pete Mitchell and Dr. Tom Kazansky, both legends within the field and rarely opening up their camp to other researchers. You had been thrilled to receive the invitation, and even more thrilled when you found out that Jake had also received an invitation to the camp to continue his research on tropical plants.

The two of you had made plans to fly out of San Diego at the same time, even choosing to stay at his place the night before your flight.

“The early bird gets the worm, Boots!” He chirped, loading up the trunk of the Uber with your luggage. How he was so cheerful at three in the morning was beyond you.

The flight to your destination was uneventful, choosing to catch up on some of your reading as well as sleep for the majority of the flight. The two of you were greeted by a bespectacled man once you departed the plane, his demeanor relaxed but his face shy as he helped you with your bags.

“I’m Bob,” he said, loading the back of his jeep with your belongings. “I’m helping out Pete and Tom with their research. The other researcher is already at the camp. He got here about a month ago.”

“Who is it?” You asked him, hopping into the front seat of the car as Jake clambered into the back.

“Javy Machado,” Bob answered, already making his way through the city and towards the jungle. “He’s doing research into termite colonies.”

“Javy’s gonna be there?” Jake asked, leaning forward with a grin. You rolled your eyes at him. Javy and Jake almost went as far back as you two did, having first met in a chemistry course their junior year of college. While you and Jake had gone to the same university for your doctorate programs, Javy had ventured elsewhere, making a name for himself within the world of entomology. The two together was almost insufferable.

“You two better behave,” you groused, settling into your seat with a glare in his direction.

“Boots,” he gasped, placing a hand over his heart in faux hurt, “I am absolutely shocked that you think we would be anything other than complete professionals.”

“Don’t give me that crap,” you snapped, turning to face Bob who glanced at you two wearily. “Those two are going to be a nightmare, I’m just warning you now.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” he chuckled.

The three of you settled into a comfortable conversation as Bob continued to drive towards the camp, the jungle becoming denser the longer he went. Soon, the sun was hidden behind the canopy, and you got the sense that you were truly in the wild.

“Are you sure about this, Mav,” Ice hummed, hands clasped firmly in front of him as he eyed his fellow researcher. Mav spared him a smile, running a hand through his hair as he sat on the bench opposite his companion.

“He’s been on his own for decades, Ice,” Mav grimaced, glancing into the trees. “He deserves to know companionship beyond just us.”

“He has Bob and Javy.”

“He deserves more than just four other people in his life,” he amended, rolling his eyes. “We’re lucky we found him when we did, otherwise I’m not sure he would have survived on his own. Besides, Nick and Carole wouldn’t have wanted this for him. They would have wanted him to see the world, to meet other people.”

Ice hummed at that. Of course, Maverick had a point. They couldn’t keep the boy isolated for forever. He was already butting heads more and more with the troop leader and spending more nights in the observation tower as a result. It also wasn’t like Ice wanted to keep him isolated for selfish reasons. No, quite the opposite in fact. The kid had spent most of his life right there in the jungle, never having contact with another human being until the two men had opened up the research camp once more ten years before.

And that’s what had Ice so apprehensive. The boy had little to no experience with humans, and what he did have was from the time spent with the two older men who weren’t exactly the greatest of company at the best of times. How would he react to a camp full of people his own age? Would it be too much for him?

“Bradley is smart, Ice,” Mav continued, knocking his knuckles against the table. “He’s already been asking questions about the people in the movies and photos he sees. He wants to know about the outside world. Let’s let him have that chance.”

Ice didn’t answer. Instead, he sighed, leaning back in his chair. This would be good for Bradley. It had to be.

Tag List: @goldenseresinretriever @fanficfandomlove @seresinsbrat @hopip99 @lemmons1998 @yuckosworld @moon42flight @kmc1989 @rhettsluvr @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog @deliriousfangirl61 @nouis-bum @topherwrites @crybaby-21 @linkpk88 @number-0-iz @princessofglitterland @agentorange9595 @pittbull-enthusiast @krispybearbouquet @els-marvelvsp @jupitercomet @maximus890 @eloquentdreamer @seresinslady @piceous21 @wh1skey0n1ce @uniquedreamlandcheesecake @the-house-of-rose-and-ember @smileybouquet @jessicab1991

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265 notes · View notes

wangxianficfinder · 6 months

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In the mood for...

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1. Hi. Thank you for the last itmf, the recommendations made me cry. Again thanks to the hard work of the mods.

Right now for itmf I'm looking for fanfics where Wei Wuxian says "fuck it" to the cultivation world and everyone think "Good riddance" just to end up regretting. Extra points if LWJ goes with him or call out everyone. Similar to "The Line Between Good and Evil" by Dandelion_sama ( Really good fic) @anime-trash-parody

you've heard that melody before by Stratisphyre (M, 65k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, POV Multiple, Multiple Canon Character Deaths, Depictions of depression, Light Dom/sub, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Dynamics) maybe? people don't say "good riddance" b/c he cast some sort of blanket amnesia spell, but they SURE DO REGRET IT

wide enough and wild by impossibletruths (E, 64k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Getting Together, Canonical Accidental Baby Acquisition, Families of Choice, References to Depression, Happy Ending, I Swear To God I’m Giving Them A Happy Ending, Overzealous Use Of Imagery, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Well Except WN But He Was Already Dead So, Fix-It of Sorts) he does go back

The Line Between Good and Evil by Dandelion_sama (G, 34k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, What-If, Rebirth, Time Travel, kind of Mass Reborn, reverse uno, Canon-Typical Violence, WIP)

The Best I Can by Zephyr (ZephyrAndTheSilverfish) (T, 26k, LJY & WWX, wangxian, WWX talking to his donkey, Canon Divergence, Light Angst, Drama, Recovery, Coming of Age, Secret Identity Fail, Friendship, Rogue Cultivator LWJ, Road Trips, POV Multiple, Happy Ending)

focal, filler, and line by bosbie (T, 26k, wangxian, canon divergence, flower shop au, fluff, hurt/comfort, pining, falling in love, WWX is not recognized in Dafan mountain, slice of life, WIP)

🔒 My Reason To Live by HeloSoph (Not rated, 3k, LSZ & WWX, Post-First Siege of the Burial Mound, Child LSZ, He's actually a Wei..., Suicidal Thoughts, Not Cultivation world friendly, Not JC friendly, not NMJ friendly, not LQR friendly, not JGS friendly, YLLZ WWX, WWX Deserves Better, And this time... he knows this..., A-Yuan is the best boy, Parent-Child Relationship, Parent WWX, BAMF WWX, wwx and a-yuan leave the BM..., WWX Leaves The Cultivation World, and they set on a journey to find a new home...)

And They Have Escaped The Weight of Darkness by cosmicmilktea (T, 10k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Memory Loss, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Screw the Cultivation world tbh, The Lan precepts deserves better, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, domestic life, Social justice boyfriends wangxian, Happy Ending)

Home isn’t Where the Heart is. by Hauntcats (Not Rated, 7k, WangXian)

( 🔒 but I'm not in charge of sorrow (so please don't ask me when) by Tavina (M, 75k, NHS & NMJ, NHS & OCs, LXC & NHS, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Passive Suicidal Ideation, Found Family, Unconventional Families, Families of Choice, Post-Canon, Post-Guānyīn Temple Scene, What’s a Reconciliation Anyway?, Internalized Acephobia, Depression, Mental Health Issues, An Absolute Boatload of Nie OCs, Background characters and relationships, Intergenerational Trauma, the Horrific Persistence of Memory, NHNS Needs a Hug, NMJ is dead even when he's alive, JGY is also dead but like you get the impression he used to be alive, Sometimes 'just walk out' IS the answer, Non-Chronological, lots of people are dead in this fic and this fic is about why it's not okay) If you’d like another character doing the same thing, ie fucking off and leaving the cultivator world )

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2. Helloooo, can I have for the next ITMF some fics with something like ghost WWX? I know there's a tag but I've seen some fics where the authors don't tag them with that, and some where he's not actually a ghost (more like a memory or apparition?) that shows up randomly in the cultivation world. Both work for me (just no JC bashing please!). Thank you! @jiangclaritybell

🧡 Ghosts Shouldn’t by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 15k, WangXian, Grief/Mourning, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)

asymptotic by chinxe (T, 26k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Pining, for 20+ years as per the course with lwj)

🔒 The Time Traveler's Soul by mondengel (Not rated, 2k, wangxian, time travel, podfic by flamingwell)

🔒 scatter and sunder by silversshadow (T, 15k, XuanLi, WangXian, Temporary Character Death, Canon Divergence)

Teatime with the Dead by Winxhelina (T, 6k, wangxian, Ghost WWX, Love Confessions, Kisses, Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst,bGhost City)

one good thing by Yuu_chi (T, 26k, WangXian, Modern AU, Ghost WWX, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, I swear there really is a happy ending, And an alarming amount of rabbits, [Podfic] One Good Thing by jellyfishfire)

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Are there any fics which feel like this?

Or where wwx feels like this?

Thankyou very much

Also all these arts are by Ibuki Satsuki @constellationdks

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4. Hi! I’m looking for fics where wwx cries in the middle of the night and lwj comforts him and vise versa maybe they woke the other up bc they were sobbing. Wangxian hugs and having emotional intimacy each other. Thank you!

hunters seeking solid ground by Attila (E, 23k, WangXian, Canon Compliant, discussion of canon character death, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, bed sharing, Getting Together, Yearning, Literal Sleeping Together, Really Excessive Amounts of Hurt/Comfort) here's a GREAT fic that's all about that

hold me close by gentil-minou (Flyingsuits) (E, 13k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Porn with Feelings, Emotional Sex, Grief, Mental Health Issues, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Character Study, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Anal Sex) If I may plug my own fic, there's a scene where lwj wakes from a nightmare and cries and wwx comforts him

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5. inmf lwj whump. the heavier, the better. happy ending appreciated, but not necessary. Physical whump is nice, but ain't picky. Thank you for the hard work! @jawla-mukhi

Stained With Blood and Tears by FaramirsBlessing (G, 63k, wangxian, LXC/JC, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst w Happy Ending, Hurt LWJ, Doctors & Physicians, Chinese medicine, Medical Procedures, Major Character Injury, Injury Recovery, Pet Names, People cry, Bedside Vigils, nobody dies tho, Sad WWX, Night Hunts, Post-Canon, JC is a good brother, Poisoning, Forehead Kisses, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, WWX loves his husband's hair okay, Cuddling & Snuggling, Delirium, mix of novel and series, so much hand holding, Chaste Kisses, resentful energy, the juniors ship all the adults, they are the humor in this tbh, PTSD, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian)

New Perspective Series by mrcformoso (T, 35k, WangXian, Angst, Hopeful Ending, Fatherhood, Regrets, Flashbacks, POV LWJ, LWJ-centric, Canonical Character Death - WWX, Pining LWJ, LWJ Has Feelings Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī Needs a Hug, Character Development, Dead WWX, Introspection, LWJ is Bad at Feelings, Character Study, Regretful, LWJ Breaking Toxic Cycles, Canon Compliant, LWJ in Seclusion, Post-LWJ in Seclusion, Child LSZ)

a buried and burning flame by otherhippo (hippopotamus) (T, 17k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kinda dark?, Angst with a Happy Ending, does it count as bedsharing if theres...no bed, Imprisonment, Hurt/Comfort)

Across the street to another life by danegen (M, 99k, WangXian, Modern AU, unleashed au, Family Fluff, Set in America, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Addiction, Crime, Amnesia, Ableist Language, another fridged mother, POV Alternating, past wwx/ofc, past wwx/omc, Medium parent YZY, A-Yuan is wwx's biological son, Musicians, Happy Ending)

🔒the map of days by everythingispoetry (M, 20k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Permanent Injury, Recovery, Disability, Parenthood, Character Study, Thirteen Years of WWX's Death)

Alter by Solmae (E, 162k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Drama & Romance, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, Rape/Non-con Elements, Gang Rape, Forced Prostitution, PTSD, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, Explicit Sexual Content, Sexual Slavery, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Torture) LWJ is kept as a sex slave by the Wen sect

hold me close by gentil-minou (Flyingsuits) (E, 13k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Porn with Feelings, Emotional Sex, Grief, Mental Health Issues, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Character Study, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Anal Sex) LWJ struggles with WWX's death, even after WWX's return

Lan Yuan's War by BurningTea (G, 196k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Angst, Sick LWJ, Hurt/comfort, Eventual Happy Ending)

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6. itmf fic where wwx cheats on lwj

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7. itmf fics about granny wen! any fics about granny wen being a bamf, or being the (grand)parental all of our favs desperately need. looking for feel good fics. some angst is okay, but a happy ending is a must. ty all!

Lay my body down by tawaen (M, 48k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Eventual WangXian, No Golden Core Transfer, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Canon-Typical Violence, Not Jiāng Chéng Friendly) Not sure if this counts as it's not really about Granny Wen, but she does become sect leader of the Wen Remnants in this & mingles with other sect leaders at a discussion conference

Granny Knows Best by The_Snarkivist (T, 5k, OYZZ/WN, JL/LSZ, Getting Together, Fluff, Accidental Elderly Acquisition, More OYZZ content in 2022 agenda, WN Centric, Let WN Be Happy Agenda, Happy Ending, fast burn, Granny does know best, POV WN, Post-Canon)

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8. hii how are you? I'm in the mood for a fic where either wwx or lwj go incoherent (sexually maybe) and the other takes care of them.

thank u sm for ur work and time!! @mercurygirlwt28

To Know, To Be Known Series by cqlorphan (E, 38k, WangXian, PWP, Bottom LWJ, Top WWX, Cock Warming, Multiple Orgasms, Marathon Sex, Under-negotiated Kink, Porn with Feelings, Aftercare, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, sex tears, gratuitous use of names, Begging, this is actually...really soft, Kink Discovery, Post-Canon, Switch WangXian, Cock rings, Rimming, Edging) Lwj definitely goes incoherent a few times!

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9. Please recommend some wangxian mafia au/ dark wangji modern au fics . Moreover Mafia wangji is so hott🥵 @itzweiwuxian

🔒🧡 Rule Number One: Never get attached. by KizuKatana (E, 130k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O, Criminal underworld AU, Fluff and angst, Crime boss LWJ, Rouge criminal genius WWX, Explicit Sex)

to give a snapdragon by suton (T, 1k, WangXian, Modern AU, Mob, Dark LWJ, Minor ZhuiYi, Ambiguous/Open Ending) Short but sweet!

luminous by azuresummer (E, 50k, WIP, WangXian, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominant LWJ, Submissive WWX, Modern AU, Merpeople, A/B/O Dynamics, Dark LXC, Dark LWJ, Possessive LWJ, Protective LWJ, Crime Boss LWJ, Omega WWX, Siren WWX, Merperson WWX, Hurt WWX, WWX Whump, Precious WWX, Spoiled WWX, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Nesting, Scenting, Power Imbalance, Obsession, Kidnapping, Organized Crime, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Excessive Amounts of Tenderness, Pining LWJ, Dark WangXian)

We do have a Mafia / Cop / Detective / Thief comp if you haven't checked it out yet ^^

how to be a heartbreaker by sweetlolixo (E, 105k, WangXian, Modern AU, Sugar Daddy LWJ, Sugar Baby WWX, Dark WWX, Dark LWJ, Pining LWJ, Possessive LWJ, Crossdressing WWX, Seductress WWX, Eventual Happy Ending, Dirty Talking LWJ, They Do Fall In Love and there’s Fluff, Dark!Wangxian, Power Couple, Off the Charts Sexual Tension, Size Kink, Daddy Kink, degradation kink) lwj darker in the 2nd part of this, this one is real good too. 2nd part has ambiguous ending.

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10. Hello! I'd like to make a request for the next fic finder- it's not necessarily itmf, more like "does it exist?" Crossover with tgcf, but focusing on a Guzi and A-Yuan friendship? I've only ever seen 2 artworks (both from the same artist). And I've tried searching, but no luck, does anyone else know if such a story exists? Or is too niche a request? Thank you ❤ @theladypeartree

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11. Hello! I'm in the mood of a fic where Wwx feels hurt/insecure about Lwj not burning paper money to him while he was dead. @annebaneriddle

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12. Hi! For ITMF, could you recommend me a fic where WWX collect children and become their father figure/mentor? I want MXY is one of those children if you can but other is fine too. I prefer if its not modern AU, except if it was modern with cultivation/magic. Thank you! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

❤️ Seen and not heard by eatmyass (E, 51k, wangxian, case fic, no sunshot, kid fic, dadxian, strangers to lovers, found family, LWJ pov, pining, fake/pretend relationship, first time, falling in love)

Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste (T, 36k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Adoption, Family Fluff, Kid fic, Family drama, Fluff, [PODFIC] Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste by lunatique)

🔒and having a marvelous time by varnes (E, 108k, WangXian, Yúnmèng Siblings, Sound of Music AU, (i know!!! i know. stay with me on this.), Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Family Feels, spies to lovers???, Protective Siblings, Sometimes You Just Want Your Dads To Admit They're Your Dads, Angst with a Happy Ending)

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13. I'm looking for niche au fics! The more obscure the better: I've previously encountered figure skating, amish, cave diving, and surgeon aus. No WIPS please :) @mostergreentea

Into the Depths by elytchaeke (T, 47k, WangXian, Modern AU, Cave Diving, Slow Burn, not that slow, Speluncaphobia, Claustrophobia, Descriptions of Corpses, Drowning, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Sharing Body Heat, The Inherent Eroticism of Wordless Communication, Corpse Handling) cave diving fic that op is talking about

The Amish AU by bufflehead, goofs_n_gaffs (T, 13k, WangXian, XuanLi, Modern AU, but they're amish, Crack, Not taken seriously, Slurpee Acquisition, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Cloud Recesses Shenanigan, rated h for hector, pitchforks, References to Shakespeare, Cultural Appropriation, of the amish, Fishing, Buggies, Violence Against Chickens, Bad Cooking, Goose Metaphors, First Kiss, Party Host JW) amish fic that op is talking about

Always Be Closing by betts (E, 32k, WangXian, QingXian, Modern AU, America, Office, Kid Fic, Drunken Kissing, Semi-Public Sex, Sexting, Divorce, Falling In Love, Bank Robbery, Secret Relationship, Co-workers) commercial lending au

🧡 Faire thee well by Scrippio (T, 77k, WangXian , ChengQing, XuanLi, 3Zun, Modern AU, Renaissance Faire, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Slow Burn)

[Podcast] New Year, New Pod! jellyfishfire, kisahawklin (G, 2.5-3 hrs, Modern AU, Streaming, MP3, Cold Read, Trailers, Recommendations) @kisahawklin and @jellyfishfire did a great podcast recommending various fic and podfic where MDZS cast have unusual (for them) occupations. I bet a bunch of these would scratch your itch!

there is no limited dimensions by Stratisphyre (M, 122k, WangXian, NieLan, MianQing, WN/Other(s), Star Trek Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Assumed Character Death, Minor Character Death Tags on Each Chapter, references to non-con, references to canonical slavery, (The Orion Syndicate is just really bad okay?), bizarre space mpreg, Implied Future Pairings, Implied NHS/Others, POV Multiple, Accidental Child Acquisition, Found Family, Implied Future 3zun, Genius WWX) Star Trek AU (you don't need any familiarity with star trek to read)

Waiting for Spring Series by thievinghippo (E, 225k, WangXian, Modern AU, Sports, Baseball, Switch WangXian, mentions of past emotional abuse, slight angst, Happy Ending, Pining, Masturbation)

Creatures of Emotion by thievinghippo (E, 33k, WangXian, Modern AU, Rimming, Phone Sex, Blow Jobs, Office Sex)

light a lantern (and guide me home) by xuanxuanwo (ostentatiouslyrealistic) (T, 63k, WangXian, Moth WWX, Witch LWJ, Tea, Plants, Mountains, Loneliness, Curses, Curse Breaking, Melancholy, Friendship, Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Thunderstorms, Fluff and Angst, Minor Character Death, Memories) mothxian/witchji!

Wei Wuxian Makes a Wish series by natcat5 (M, 119k, wangxian, major character death, underage, madoka magica au, modern w/ magic, time travel, high school au, body horror, self-harm, angst w/ bittersweet ending, time loop, mental instability, suicidal thoughts) incredible madoka magical au

🧡🔒 Night of the Living History (an edutainment special!) by Aerlalaith (T, 51k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Workplace Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Museums, living history, Some Plot, Slice of Life, Injury, a minor haunting) living cultivation history museum au

🧡 A Knight in Shining Armor by thievinghippo (G, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, Single Parent WWX, Fluff, Meet-Cute)

Falling to the Rhythm by Selenay (E, 128k, WangXian, Modern: No Powers, Dance, Strictly Come Dancing Fusion, Ballroom Dancing, Dancer!WWX, Violinist LWJ, Pining While Dancing, Oblivious WWX, Gratuitous Costume Descriptions, Gratuitous dancing descriptions, Slow Burn, [Podfic] Falling to the Rhythm by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona))

Covered in Bees by ScarlettStorm (T, 8k, WangXian,Modern AU, Beekeeping AU, Meet-Cute, Comedy, Fluff, Bees)

🔒some things go forward by everythingispoetry (T, 73k, WangXian, Modern AU, Hospitals, Teenage Drama, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending)

Wei Wuxian’s Home for Lost Creatures by Stratisphyre (G, 22k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Fusion, Fluff, Single Dad LWJ, Near Drowning, injured animals, First Meetings, Falling In Love)

as if you were a mythical thing by daltoneering (M, 17k, WangXian, Historical, Science Fiction, Magical Realism, Steampunk, Getting Together, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, WWX Master of Clocks)

🧡 Yiling Salon: Hair, Nails and Piercing by TriviasFolly (T, 22k, WangXian, Modern AU, hairstylist AU, WWX owns a salon, Hairstylist WWX, 5+1 Things, Fluff, Experimental Style)

C’est toi pour moi by eatmyass (T, 49k, WangXian, Jab We Met AU, Modern AU, Strangers to Lovers, travelling, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Fluff, Slow Burn, Pining, POV LWJ, Endgame WangXian, All Is Not As It Seems, No cheating whatsoever!, Paris: the city of hate)

🧡 don’t threaten me with a good time by livinginaworldofnoise (G, 60k, WangXian, Modern AU, Great British bake off AU, Script format, Fluff and Crack, Reality TV, Social media)

Welcome to the Great Gusu Bake Off! series by BlackWiresOnHerHead (G, 59k, Modern, College/University AU, The Great British Bake Off AU, Humor)

💖 Pentimento. by orange_crushed (E, 73k, wangxian, modern, college/university au, art conservation, museums, pining, not actually unrequited love, angst w/ happy ending, misunderstandings, smut, major character injury, hospitalization, hurt/comfort, past incarceration, forgery)

always on my mind series by sami (E, 41k, wangxian, LWJ/Others, LWJ & JYL, Modern, references to past LWJ/others, references to past WWX/WQ, Family, Sexual Tension set in the early 90s, Grief, Erratic Gay Superstar Musician LWJ, life is what happens in the in between, Fluff, Children, Pregnancy, not mpreg, Parenthood, Music Videos, LWJ's Gremlin Tendencies, WWX's Gremlin Tendencies, Drag, Daytime Television, Bitches Get Things Done, fictional daytime talk shows, Q&A, Slice of Life, Awards shows, any resemblance between OCs and real people living or dead are coincidental I swear, Communication, and how LWJ is bad at it, LWJ's weirdly wholesome kink inclinations, LWJ's aggressively artistic musical career, References to Major Character Death, Celebrity stuff, Superstar musican LWJ)

🧡 I Don't Want to Debut! by countingcr0ws (G, 56k, wangxian, Modern, Reality Show, Idols, Celebrity, Social Media, Epistolary, Romance, Fluff, Footnotes, Kissing, Poetry, Podfic Available)

You're Home, I'm Home by Pip (Moirail) (E, 8k, WangXian, Modern AU, Ice Skating, Olympics, Falling In Love, Anal Sex, Rimming, Unsafe Sex, Creampie, Ice skater LWJ, Hockey player WWX)

down by the water by astrolesbian (E, 60k, WangXian, Slow Burn, Modern AU, Friends to Lovers, Surfer LWJ, Surfer WWX, Loneliness, complicated family relationships, mention of drowning, but no actual drowning is described, fluff and smut and angst, Reconciliation)

~*~

14. itmf fics set during the cloud recesses study arc, with wwx and lwj exploring their sexualities with each other... basically having sex which is underage, but wholeheartedly consensual and wholesome. just the vibes being them excited cause they really like each other but its their first times, so they want to be careful. bottom!lwj preferred, or with neither topping or bottoming.

~*~

15. itmf lwj being held hostage or used as blackmail

the field meets the wood by astronicht (T, 7k, WangXian, BAMF WWX, slight whump, Ritualistic Self Harm, Canon Era, Tang Dynasty style, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, salt economics, Post-Canon, [Podfic] the field meets the wood by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona), [podfic] the field meets the wood by jellyfishfire)

~*~

16. Hey, here after a long time. Hope you guys are doing well.

ITMF everyone simping over Wei WuXian. Something like Touch That Body, (It's Not Mine) @tinyfoxpeach

~*~

17. heyy there thanks for your hard work! do you have any fic recs on wangixan post canon married life that's basically fluff? or any fics that wwx is injured or sick and lwj gets worried, protective and looks after him? thanks in advance! :) @aquiver-heart

small mercies by mellowflicker (E, 11k, WangXian, Post-Canon Fix-It, as in wwx doesn't walk away but stays to take care of his zhanzhan, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Getting Together, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Switching)

the lives of birds by bleuett (E, 15k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, Gardens & Gardening, Fluff and Humor, Family Feels, Established Relationship, Anal Sex, Rimming, Blow Jobs)

As You Like It by cosmicmilktea (T, 8k, WangXian, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Tea, Finding out preferences, Childhood Memories, Yunmeng trio feels, child rearing, Post-Canon, Very Very Light Angst, Fluff) Such lovely married wangxian. Wwx researching and helping lwj learn what is to his taste (literally, as in tea and food)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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may0tuna · 8 months

Text

I hate you more! Part 3

Pairing: Rodrick Heffley x fem!reader

Word count: 737

Warnings: angst

Summary: Reader sabotages Rodrick’s chances with Heather. A classic enemies to lovers!

Author's note: I'm trying to be more consistent in writing, and I'm trying to "plan out" the chapters more? As you may have noticed (or not), I have also updated my masterlist for better reading experience I guess haha I have also started to be more detailed as I can when posting fanfics including warnings and proper tagging lol I'm still new to all of this but yeah :) This chapter's a bit short but I just wanted to get this out so I can start "planning" the next few chapters? lol yeah

Tags: @tomhockstetter7-111 @vihtoriacorrea @sleepyb1txh

Part 1, Part 2

"How do you read this again?" You asked Rodrick while pointing at the word "Sweaty" that's spelled out on a dog bowl.

"Uhh duh, it's sweetie!" Rodrick said confidently.

This is the second day of your tutoring session with Rodrick, and a day before your big test. You had arrived at the Heffleys a bit early so you decided to hang out with Greg and Rowley in the living room when Greg told you about how Rodrick pronounces "Sweetie." You decided to put it to the test when Rodrick came in through the front doors, and you held up the dog bowl and asked him what it says.

You, Greg, and Rowley failed miserably at trying to hide your laughter. It was too much that even Rodrick got embarassed. What's worse is that he doesn't know why you guys were laughing. He taunted Greg, and you decided to step in.

"Alright, come on, Rodrick, time to study," as you pull him by the waistband on his shirt.

"Don't tell me what to do," Rodrick snapped at you as he eyed you pulling him by his shirt.

"Oh? I think in this case, I can," you snapped back at him.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, because if you don't," you paused for a while and smirked at him. "Oh Mrs. Heffleyyyy," you said in an almost sing-song voice.

"Fine fine, you're a snitch!" Rodrick sighed in defeat as he headed upstairs into his room.

"She's awesome!" Greg told Rowley but you didn't hear it because you were already walking up the stairs with Rodrick.

When you arrived at Rodrick's room, it was still as messy as the first time you had set foot in there.

"Geez, would it kill you to clean up in here?"

"Why clean my own room when my mom will do it for me when she gets tired of calling me out on not cleaning my room?" Rodrick said as if he had figured out all the answers to the world. You just rolled your eyes.

"Let's just get this over with."

"What's the rush?" He asked.

"None of your business," you replied. The truth is that you're planning to sneak out later because you heard that there was this party where college students go to at the far-end of town. You always thought that you were too mature for your age so you casually enjoy hanging out with older people. Truth is, you always thought people can see right through your "too cool to be here" attitude and you're worried that people would hate you for it. Maybe Rodrick was right when he said you were only pretending in order to fit in. Did he just figure out your whole double life, the one you tried oh so hard to hide?

The good news is that no one can really tell how old you were when at events like college parties, and you still have your own set of fake IDs from when you were dating your ex. Rodrick didn't ask anymore questions but you can tell that he was curious about it.

"Anyway, let me be frank, you suck at spelling and your grammar is shitty. If I am getting this $100 a week, you need to really mean it."

"Why should I? You're the one getting paid, and if I recall correctly, you lied to me!"

"About what?"

"About Heather!"

"Please, you never had a chance with her!"

Rodrick became silent. His expression pained. You apologized and decided to reach your hand out to him, with the intention of giving him a light tap on the shoulder, but he dismissed it.

"Yeah okay," Rodrick's voice was low and soft. "Whatever," he said after some pause.

He was sitting on the bed and you were facing him, books and notes sprawled out in front of you two. Recently, you've noticed that there's this gnawing feeling whenever you see this side of him, like you want to take care of him. Then again, there is that other side that makes you want to punch him in the face.

"Rodrick," you said softly.

"What?" You detected a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"What if I split the $100? You get $40, I get $60, as long as you take this seriously. And if you take this seriously, we can end today's session a bit early," that last one was for your own benefit.

"Deal."

masterlist

#diary of a wimpy kid #rodrick rules #rodrick heffley #rodrick heffley fanfic #rodrick heffley fluff #rodrick heffley x you #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick heffley x y/n #rodrick heffley x fem!reader #devon bostick #i hate you more

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deepdreamnights · 2 months

Text

The Age Old Debate: Fire Good, or Fire Bad?

This was originally going to be part of this thread, but the points were distinct enough and my thoughts rambly enough that I split it into two posts.

From the recent PalWorld thread:

We gotta handle that last tag in two parts.

Part 1 "the devs admitted to using AI art to make the pals"

First off, that isn't true near as I can tell. I can't find anything of the PalWorld Devs admitting they used AI for PalWorld designs. Palworld had demo footage with Pals in it 2 years ago on June 6 with their announcement trailer, which means they would have had to have started dev much earlier than that.

This is what AI art from June of 2022 looked like:

On the left, Hieronymus Bosch's Pokemon, on the right, Charmander on Gumby.

I did a much deeper breakdown of the "used AI" accusation here. It does not hold water.

Now, I could change my mind on this point if there were linked evidence to the creators of Palworld saying this. But there isn't.

Because the accusation is repeated in a tag, there's no way to include supporting information, or even to easily directly ask the accuser for it. Many people are going to see it, internalize it, and then repeat it uncritically, and that's how rumors and witchhunts start.

Because I've seen a lot of accusations about PalWorld stealing fakemon, and I'm yet to see a smoking gun. There's barely smoke.

Gonna hit the second point in that tag, but while we're on the theme of spreading misinfo:

Part 2 of the Tag: Using AI to Brainstorm is "Bad"

This is also an assertion that would require support, and I believe it to be wholly incorrect.

Plagiarism happens at publication. Not at inception, not inspiration, not even at the production level. The only measure of whether something is or is not "stolen art" is whether what comes out at the end replicates, with insufficient transformation, an existing, fixed expression. Art theft is about what comes out, not about what goes in.

For more about how this works with AI art, I suggest checking out the Electronic Frontier Foundation's statement on the issue. They're the ones looking out for your online civil rights, and I agree with their position on this.

The argument that AI art is theft because it is trained on public-facing material on the internet just doesn't fly. Those are all fixed published works subject to inspiration, study, and transformative recreation under fair use. The utilization of mechanical apparatus does not change that principle.

And fair use that requires permission isn't fair use. That's a license.

Moreover, altering the process to put infringement at inspiration/input or allowing the copyrighting of styles would be the end of art as we know it.

There's no coincidence that the main legal push against AI art on copyright grounds is backed by Adobe and Disney. Adobe is already using AI art as a pretext to lobby congress to let them copyright styles, and Disney owns enough material on its own to produce a dataset that would let them do all the AI they'd ever need to, entirely with material they "own." And they're DOING THAT.

The genie is out of the bottle, they (Disney, Adobe, Warner Bros, Universal) have it, and it can't be taken away from them. They just don't want anyone else using AI to compete with them.

Palworld didn't use AI to conceive of its critters. If it had, they'd have probably been less derivative.

(three random AI fakemon I prompted up as examples of just that)

Both traditional and AI-assisted art can plagerize or be original, its entirely based upon how the techniques are used.

Moreover, you can infringe entirely accidentally without realizing, but you can also fail at copying enough that it becomes a new protected work.

We're well into moral panic territory with AI in general, and there's more than a touch of it around Palworld, largely because people aren't suspicious enough of information that confirms their worldview.

I used the quoted set of tags as the prompt for the top of the post, all the AI images in this post are unmodified and were not extensively guided, and thus do not meet the minimal expression threshold and should be considered in the public domain.

#palworld #palworld discourse #AI discourse #AI art #fair use #public domain #creativity #copyright #plagiarism #what is art?#midjourney #bing image creator

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rottmntsimp · 3 months

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Hello how are you? I hope you're doing good.

If i can request Casey jr x female!human!reader? Platonic, fluff hc.

About reader - who isn't related to turtles or April, you can say they met at school - is begin a sweet person and understanding, when she met CJ she didn't push him to open up and waited for him to be comfortable, she knows a lot about cooking so she's making a lot for Casey and whatever he wants.

Personal chef

Pairing[s]: Casey Jr + Reader A/N: Part 2/2 of the B'Day double upload!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!~

Casey

💖 - Ok, let's say it's about a few months, maybe a year post-movie. Casey's settling into this new life, and is still currently adjusting to his new lifestyle!

💖 - Oh boy. Lowkey, I would expect this kid to be really excited about going to school.

💖 - Meeting kids his age, learning, being out in the public and not having his life in constant danger? Sign him up!

💖 - He's not...the brightest per say, but he's willing to learn! He never had time for a proper education in the apocalypse, and will probably require some heavy tutoring.

💖 - That's where you come in!

💖 - After April's mother so kindly offered to be the one to enroll him, she made sure to include the fact that he may be a bit behind and would probably require some extra classes.

💖 - First day, he was in the principal's office during lunch, waiting for his supposed tutoring buddy. With how he'd seen kids walk in late to class all day, he sort of expected you to walk in late, but to his surprise you were right on time!

💖 - Walking in, you introduced yourself to him, smiling sweetly, a stark contrast from the behavior he's seen in the hallways. Of course he's still on guard, but it's nice to see a green flag every now and again, right?

💖 - Since Casey doesn't really have a "normal" place, and won't open up on where he lives, you guys decide to have your tutoring sessions at your place!

💖 - Imagine his surprise when after each and every session, without fail, you send him off with a treat or two.

💖 - He'll probably put it aside once he gets to the lair, afraid that it might be poisoned or drugged or whatnot, but after seeing Mikey and Leo munch away at them, he starts to warm up to you.

💖 - Before you know it, he might even bring a snack or two himself [either having Mikey bake them, or just buying something off of a street vendor]

💖 - You guys sit next to each other at lunch!!

💖 - If you eat alone during lunch, pray that you're fine with him tagging along, because once he's hooked, he's hooked.

💖 - And if you have any friends, don't feel shy to introduce him to them, he may not open up to them easily, but he's still kind!

💖 - I hope you like to bring snacks to school, because my guy will be hungry during class [What?! I'm not projecting onto him lmao /sarc]

💖 - If you guys get to a point in your friendship where he's really comfortable with you [most likely after years of knowing you], he might introduce you to the others!!

💖 - Speaking of the others, you know for a fact he's ranted about your cooking to Mikey before. Hell, he'll probably act as a little messenger boy while you two swap recipes-

💖 - He loves that you're so patient, and might even feel a little guilty for not opening up that much, but it'll all be worth it, because trust me, you guys are going to be attached to the hip at one point.

💖 - If he ever sees you getting picked on at school, he will sock the person hurting you in the jaw.

💖 - He might be a little over protective, almost like an overbearing father or older brother, but give the kid a break, he survived an apocalypse!

💖 - On the topic of the apocalypse, he might not tell you about the whole time travel thing until years later.

💖 - He half expects you to burst out laughing and call him a madman.

💖 - To say he was surprised when you just sat there, looking so...genuine.

💖 - He couldn't help but warm up inside as you hooked onto every word he said. Listening as he spoke of his sensei and his mother with such genuine interest it made him feel as though he'd lucked out. As though he'd won the friendship lottery.

💖 - At this point you guys have no secrets whatsoever, to the point where you two share passwords for random stuff. Spotify, Gmail, hell even your phones.

💖 - Teach him how to cook, oh please-

💖 - His taste buds were ruined after surviving off of rats for years.

💖 - If you and Mikey ever meet, please band together and show Casey the joys of working in the kitchen.

💖 - He may not be good on his first try [or possibly ever] but you'd be lying if you said it wasn't fun having him around.

💖 - Make sure to introduce him to different cuisines as well!

💖 - Chinese, Mexican, Indian, everything!

💖 - I am a firm believer that Casey will not hate anything till he has tried or seen it at least once.

💖 - Expect him to be a bit sentimental about things.

💖 - Maybe on your friend-aversary, he bakes you a batch of the first treat you made him.

💖 - Or maybe on your birthday he takes you out to the first place you guys hung out!

💖 - And yes, this guy will be your taste tester for everything.

💖 - Although he may not understand the concept of "good food," teach him and he'll learn! Explain to him how to recognize if there's too much salt or too less seasoning, and before you know it-

💖 - ✨Refined taste palette✨ /j

💖 - But yeah, overall, I feel that your friendship would help him grow more as a person. And as soon as he recognizes that, he'll make sure to shower you with appreciation <3

Taglist:

@lemme-be-cringe-damnit @sleepytime-fics @ray-of-midnight-storm @hamthepan @charismakat @flapajacker

#rottmnt x reader #rottmnt casey junior x reader #casey junior x reader #rise casey jr #CJ #casey junior #rottmnt casey #tmnt x reader #tmnt 2018 x reader #rise casey x reader #simps fics

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elvensemi · 4 months

Text

I'm Publishing Serial Webnovels

Hi guys! I'm @elvensemi, and some of you might know me from writing Dragon Age fanfic Keeping Secrets, or from writing weird gargoyle porn with @unpretty, or from that time I accidentally told a popular blog I write dragon porn on my main blog @solitarelee, or maybe from that one fanfic where the knight with a crossdressing kink fails at slaying a dragon so hard he gets seduced!

I've graduated college, and you know what that means! Student loans Free time! And so I'm finally pursuing my long term dream and publishing serial webnovels. The short version is: ebooks, I'm publishing ebooks via Patreon to see if it works because I don't want to deal with Amazon and marketplaces. Chuck Tingle does it, kind of!

I am writing such things as!

The Problem with Faeries An urban fantasy series for fans of Holly Black, featuring faeries and a librarian who has been cursed by a witch to turn into a tiny dog at night.

Everything at Once A coming of age fantasy novel set in a post-post-apocalyptic world full of many monsters and very few humans, with a nonbinary (genderfluid) protagonist and a rotating cast of gods and monsters.

The Demon Isles An adult romance series set in the same world as Everything at Once, this one's for the monsterf*ckers. Step into the shoes of an escaped slave who's been stranded in Fantasy Australia But All The Dangerous Things Can Be Seduced.

A Place Among the Stars An adult sci-fi political space opera that is also technically just solidly omegaverse sm*t plus space dragons. That's right, one of my friends dared me to write omegaverse and I overdid it and now they're aliens! All for you my friend.

Novelizations of works that previously existed only as RPs, such as Sanctuary and The Kingdom of Aeris.

AND SO MUCH MORE.

For $5 you get access to SFW material, and for $10 you get access to that and the things that are not SFW. You can view a full summary of the serials I'm working on at tinyurl.com/SemiSerials , or click the read more.

The Demon Isles (NSFW, Second Person)

Oceanside is a world full of elves and gods, monsters and magic. You, however, a human with no magic, no martial training, and a fear of... most things. Stranded on an unfamiliar island full of monsters, you must learn to harness humanity’s true power in order to survive. The issue with that is, as far as anyone can tell, humanity’s true powers are friendship and fuckability.

The Demon Isles is a erotic, second-person monsterfucking romp through the dangerous Demon Isles. The second person character is referred to by gender neutral terminology and they/them pronouns, physical appearance left ambiguous. Sex scenes have two versions with different sets of genitalia for the main character. Tags and content warnings are available for each chapter.

The Problem with Faeries (SFW, Third Person)

The problem with faeries is that we love them. We know all the sharp and cruel ways they twist us apart and we love them with a helpless, hopeless foolishness that never fades until it destroys us.

Bree is a human living in Valesport, a small town on the east coast of the United States that functions as a secret haven for the supernatural. As a cursed human, it’s one of the safer places for her... at least, safe from other humans. Everything else Valesport has to offer remains a threat. She’s already had her run-ins with werewolves, vampires, and whatever the hell Jean Cernunnos is... so, in retrospect, she was probably due to get into trouble with the Fae.

A fan favorite finally finding a venue of publication, The Problem with Faeries is a SFW urban fantasy with a side of romance perfect for fans of Holly Black. It is third person and follows the point of view of the protagonist, Bridget “Bree” Corey, as she finds herself tangled up trying to navigate faerie drama and her own personal feelings, neither of which she is particularly equipped to handle.

Everything at Once (SFW, First Person)

Babs wants everything the world has to offer... everything except what it’s actually prepared to hand over. As the eldest child of the ruling noble family--or what passes for it--of the only human village remaining old and large enough to still have a ruling noble family, even if just in name, Babs’s whole life has been laid out in front of them since the moment they were born. And they want none of it. However, after a bold escape from the village they knew all their life, they find themselves adrift in an unfriendly world of monsters and magic that seems much larger and much less friendly than they had hoped.

Everything at Once is a SFW fantasy novel set all over the world of Oceanside as our determined protagonist, Babs, attempts to explore all there is to explore and experience all there is to experience (it is possible they have not thought this through). Babs is a non-binary, gender fluid illusionist referred to varyingly by he, she, and they pronouns based on presentation. The story is a first person mixed POV exploring a wide range of characters and topics, but always staying focused on the many transformations of the main character as they learn what it is they want... and what it is to want.

Future Projects: Projects that are in development but do not have a set release date yet.

A Place Among the Stars [Working Title] (NSFW)

A Place Among the Stars is a NSFW erotic political space opera featuring Omegaverse style aliens and also space dragons, amongst other alien races. It features two protagonists: an exiled and excommunicated Saint who once led a cult that threatened the peace and stability of his homeworld, and a mid level government official presiding over the walled ghetto where the Ab’ed keep all foreign visitors and immigrants to their planet. They quickly find themselves entangled: politically, as the Saint once again threatens the stability of the world around him--in more ways than one--and sexually, as the tension between the two reaches a fever pitch.

Sanctuary (NSFW, Third Person)

Most people would consider Ren unlucky. After all, she’s been homeless since she was a child, has no living family she knows of, and she was recently kidnapped by sex traffickers and ripped away from the city she had been living in for years. But as far as Ren is concerned, she’s the epitome of good luck: not only has she survived all the things life has thrown at her, but she’s escaped said sex traffickers and even found shelter in an abandoned, boarded up cathedral. The fact that the cathedral, undisturbed for a century or more, is home to a guardian whose only experience with the world is violently murdering intruders, well... once again, whether that’s good or bad luck is based purely on interpretation.

Sanctuary is a NSFW urban fantasy erotic romance featuring a cis female protagonist and a male (as these things go) gargoyle love interest, as well as a mix of other romantic interests (primarily M/F with some F/F or NB/F thrown in). Tags and content warnings are available for each chapter. This fan-favorite returns in serialized, ebook form for easy reading. Follow Ren’s journey anew from mixed perspectives as she explores the streets of Valesport and finds something she’s never had before; a place to call home.

#writers on tumblr #writeblr #webnovel #writing #authors of tumblr #fiction #web series #web serial

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 1 year

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Dark Necessities [Part 1]

Jake Lockley X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals

Masterlist • ao3 • want to be tagged?

Summary: “I can’t do this anymore Jake... I can’t…” ‘Kill any more people’ is what you want to say, what you should say. But he’d know you were lying. “I can’t do this so frequently.”

Before he left Egypt, Jake destroyed all the remaining ushabti’s – setting all the previously imprisoned god’s free. That was the main reason he felt so responsible for what happened to you.

A/N: Look, I'm so sorry, I have been writing this for ages and I just have to post it. (Part 2 will feature Steven and Marc.) I've just gone and made up my own lore here with some of the gods.

Warnings: hahaha, oh no, typos, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, mentions of murder, mentions of eating people, reader can't speak Spanish, please let me know if I have missed a warning

Word Count: 5230

Taglist: @pleasurebuttonwrites @jake-g-lockley @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @welcometostayingawake @mbakubabe @solobagginses

( @romanarose & @melodygatesauthor I've tagged you both too, because I thought you might like, I hope you don't mind!)

__________________________________________

You hit the door with the side of your fist, four hard knocks.

There was still blood under your fingernails, a few faded out red streaks along your hands where the puddle water hadn’t been enough to wash it away.

You knew he was in. Could feel it. That pull beneath your breastbone, that sense that another avatar was near.

The buzz of hunger played at the back of your mind, drawn out and dull. It was a constant thing, like a live wire of electricity. At least it was quieter for now.

There was movement on the opposite side of the door, a pause before a lock clicked and opened.

Jake stared at you for a moment before you spoke, his expression betraying nothing.

“I need to speak with your god.” You said, your voice was low, gravely. The taste of iron coated your tongue.

He opened the door a fraction wider and motioned you inside.

You stepped in as he quickly shut and locked it behind you.

It wasn��t exactly the place you had pictured for him. Open plan, littered with books, it seemed more like the home of a scholar. Though, it wasn’t as if you knew much about Jake’s personal life. In fact you knew nothing outside of his role as the fist of Khonshu.

The light of the fish tank caught your attention and you walked towards it slowly, like a predator trying to show they were no danger. Two goldfish swam in the water. It was peaceful to look at them, easy to ignore the sensation of Jake watching your every movement.

“What are you doing here?” His tone was short, gruff, bordering on anger. You didn’t care.

“I already told you I need to speak with your god.” You spoke blankly, doing your best to suck out any emotion and failing.

“That’s not what I mean.” He walked closer to you, his reflection growing in the glass of the tank as you continued to stare at the fish.

You were a distraction that thundered too hard in the back of his mind. “You didn’t message first. Anyone could be here.”

His turn of phrase caught you off guard a little, but you let it slide. “You’re the one that gave me your address.”

He breathed out through his nose; a short sound you knew would be accompanied by him clenching his jaw, tightening his hands into fists before relaxing.

“I told you, you need to message me. You don’t know where I could be-”

“I could feel you here.”

Jake paused, about to press further when something caught his eye. He had been too frustrated at first to properly look at you, to pay his usual attention to every small detail. There was a sheen of sweat coating you skin, beads of it collected at the hollow of your throat. The urge to reach out, to touch you, to run his tongue along your jaw was too strong.

He clenched his teeth together and pushed the thought away. “There’s blood on your neck.”

You ran your hand over your skin as you turned to face him. Tiredness ate into your bones, it made them weak, like they could crumble at any moment.

“I need to speak to him, Jake.”

“You can’t-”

“Jake-”

“Tomorrow. He won’t be here until tomorrow.”

You frowned. “I thought he was always with you?”

He shrugged, preferring to look at your ear instead of your searching eyes. The way you gazed up at him, he wouldn’t- he couldn’t- he would get lost. “We have a different set of rules.”

“Can’t you summon him?”

“Our deal allows us both to have time away from each other, except for dire situations.” Not a complete truth, not a complete lie.

You nod, close your eyes for a moment and swallow down a breath, missing the way Jake watches your lips.

“It happened again?”

“... Yes.”

“Do you want a drink?”

“No.”

He gives you a short nod, “take a seat,” and motions to the sofa.

You slump down while Jake makes himself a coffee. The cushions are soft and welcoming, it would be so easy to close your eyes. To give yourself over to rest. Even if it was only for a little while.

Jake sits opposite you and you try to sit up straighter.

“What did you do with the body?”

You stare blankly at him; his words don’t really register for a moment. “There wasn’t any left.”

He nods again. Expression uninterested and calm. But you could tell the difference, the slightly bob of his throat, the smallest spike of his heartbeat. Fear, you think, disgust. And it makes you sick.

“I can’t do this anymore Jake... I can’t…” ‘Kill any more people’ is what you want to say, what you should say. But he’d know you were lying. “I can’t do this so frequently.”

A small sad smile pulls his lip upwards ever so slightly. If you had been the avatar for anyone else he would have just told you to ‘give it up’, relinquish your role.

But Set had never been one to share those rules.

It had been Jake who had released him, released all the bound gods under Khonshus direction. It had been an easy thing with most of the other free gods searching for avatars to replace the ones that Harrow had butchered.

He felt responsible for you. He was responsible for you.

“Set still doesn’t talk to you?”

You shook your head. “No matter what I try.”

“Before tonight... when was the last time you… ate?”

“Yesterday.”

“And before that?”

“Three days ago.”

There’s a bleakness to your tone that hurts, a resignation that’s nearly taken over.

“You can speak with Khonshu when it’s light,” he stood quickly, with that panther like grace you had come to admire. He left his coffee, untouched, on the floor by his chair and strode behind you, coming back a moment later holding spare clothes and a towel. “Go clean yourself up properly.”

His hands linger on yours as he passes them over, but he doesn’t meet your gaze. You don’t argue.

He directs you towards the bathroom and you shower quickly, the water turns a pale pink before it runs clear.

You spend a little too long just holding on to the clothes he gave you. Dark, clean, soft material. Pyjamas. He didn’t seem the sort to wear- the image of Jake in bed, naked, barely covered by a thin sheet sprang into your mind.

You screwed up your eyes as your cheeks burned, these weren’t the thoughts to be having right now.

The pyjamas smelt undeniably of him. The scent heavy, but comforting as you put them on, like you were surrounded in his presence.

The condensation on the mirror hid your face. A small mercy. You didn’t want to see yourself. See how you had changed under Set’s influence.

It didn’t used to be so bad, so strong.

You first met the god at night, still reeling over your sister’s death. He didn’t so much as speak but implant thoughts, sensations, feeding your rage and thirst for revenge. I’ll show you who cut her, who ripped her from this world. I’ll make you strong. I’ll help you devour them. Do. We. Have. A. Deal?

It had been two men that had taken her life. You had found them easily with Set’s eyes and ripped them apart easily with his hands. Their blood and flesh had slid down your throat so sweetly, sating that hunger in your soul. His hunger.

You hadn’t needed to feed again for six months. The urge boiling up and spilling over.

He preferred those who had taken lives, they tasted better, smelled sweeter. Your instincts pulled you closer to them, Set’s instincts, moving you like a puppet as the form overtook you, as you gave into the urge to feed.

Six months became three, then one, then less and less and less until the feeling never left. Only dulled briefly after the latest kill.

Jake was speaking on the phone as you exited the bathroom, quick sentences in Spanish.

You sat back on the sofa, sinking down. Your wet hair cooled your feverish skin. You were always hot now, burning a few degrees higher than normal. Save when you were starving, if you were trying to resist Set’s need to eat. Then everything would cool, your skin would numb and vision would dull to a point.

Jake’s voice was soothing, rhythmical, despite the fact that you couldn’t understand a word he was saying. It was nice to be around someone else, someone who knew what was going on.

The sound of Jake’s footsteps made you jolt awake. The spiking sensation of falling. You didn’t remember when you drifted off to sleep.

He held out a hand, like someone who was trying to calm a wild animal. But his eyes were kind. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“You must be tired.”

You almost laugh, “yeah,” and look down at your hands, the traces of blood long gone. You weren’t sure if you could deal with the intensity of his gaze. The scrutiny.

“You can stay here tonight,” he paused, meaning to say something else but only added, “I’m not going to turf you out.”

“I,” stupid emotion overcame you, tears threatened to spill down your cheeks. “Thank you.” Viscously, like you were trying to scrub them clean, you rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hand.

Jake paused, clenching and unclenching his jaw before he finally sat down next to you. A careful and controlled movement.

“I’ve just been speaking to a contact.” He waits for you to look back at him, to make sure you hear the full weight of his words. “We’ll figure something out. Even if Khonshu can’t help. I’m not going to abandon you. You have my word.”

You nod again, it seemed easier than speaking.

He didn’t have the skills for this. This wasn’t what he was meant to deal with. He wasn’t built for kind words and reassuring glances. But that’s all he wanted to do. To kiss away those tears that lingered in the corner of your eyes, to make you fall apart in ecstasy instead of despair.

“Thank you,” you whispered again, not knowing what else to say.

He’s so close.

Your gaze flits between the day-old stubble on the sharp line of his jaw, the way in which he bites ever so slightly on his plump bottom lip.

It’s too much. It’s all too much. Like he is waiting for you to say your next line, play your next move, when you have nothing. Lost for thoughts other than him, like his presence is the only air in the room, overwhelming and all encompassing.

The dull buzz of hunger throbs in the base of your skull, the electricity of it sparking out across your spine like a whip.

Jake touches your hand, the barest grace of his cool fingers along your feverish skin. The softest thing that breaks a crack into your chest.

He opens his mouth, teeth realising his lip, and begins to say your name. The first syllable forming in such a hushed and reverent tone, like the sweetest music – beautiful and you can’t bear it.

You can’t let him say it, not like that, not like this, not – you lean closer in a rush, shutting him up in the only way you can think of and press your lips to his, swallowing down the sound of your name.

He stills, surprised, as a hush falls over the room.

That snap of hunger bites in deeper and you come back to yourself. Embarrassment and guilt flood your mind and you instinctively pull back, apologises already beginning to form on your tongue.

But you don’t get far. Jake’s hand slides against your cheek, his fingers sinking into your hair and curling around the nap of your neck, gently stopping you from pulling away.

His kisses are so soft it’s almost painful, careful and languid as if you are some fragile thing that could break instead of the monster you are.

His tongue ghosts over your bottom lip just before he drinks down a particularly needy moan that escapes your lips. A sound that would in any other circumstances bring embarrassment, but you are too far gone to care. Already drunk and burning from the taste of him.

You tangle one hand in his hair, so soft, the other in his shirt, trying to bring him closer and deepen the kiss, accepting his tongue as he slips it past your lips.

He licks into your mouth and you must taste like blood, like death. But he only groans in pleasure when your tongue strokes his, moans when you scrap your nails along his scalp. He’s water hitting the desert sand, being drunk down greedily into its depths.

You let him push you back down against the settee, let him hook his hand behind your knee and move your legs apart so that he can settle in-between them.

He grinds down against you, giving you both the friction you crave.

“Fuck.” He hisses, the sound coming out needy and desperate as he breaks the kiss.

You hunger for the taste of him, the need of him is so sharp it is at the point of pain and while Jake is momentarily distracted you lick a stripe up his neck to his jaw.

He lets out a beautiful sound and you kiss your way back down the path you just made as he bucks into you. His fingers tighten and a shudder of a hiss escapes his lips when you pass over his pulse point.

You pause briefly to glance at his face, his eyes closed and brow furrowed so wonderfully. The light from the lamps gives him a halo, a soft glow, making him look like some angelic work of art.

As his eyes begin to open you latch back onto his neck, sucking at that sweet spot to drag more of those wonderful sounds from him. Music you could never grow tired of.

Languidly, you scrape the edges of your teeth over his skin, soothing it quickly afterwards with your tongue, and repeat as a dark bruise begins to form. The purple of it spreads like ink in water.

He bucks his hips unthinkingly, his length rubbing deliciously against your clit and your growl against him, once again scratching your nails along his scalp.

Jake shivers, letting out a shaky string of Spanish under his breath that sends a spike of heat straight to your core.

Your thighs clench around his waist instinctively, the hunger is there, Set’s hunger. You can feel it in the back of your head, running along your spine. You want Jake. You need him. You are going to devour him.

But not in the way you have feasted on so many others, you want his moans, his sighs, only his pleasure.

You kiss his neck again, nipping at the flesh just under his jaw as he grinds against you, already achingly hard. His hand is holding your hip so tightly, his knuckles white, the grip so strong it would surely leave bruises on any other lover.

Then suddenly Jake pulls away, sitting up quickly onto his knees. You let him go, resisting the urge to cling onto him, to keep his chest against yours.

This is it. Spell broken.

But his eyes don’t leave yours, his lips are slightly swollen, dusted a darker shade of pink from your bites and kisses. He’s breathing heavily, his pupils blown wide, and if he notices the faint sheen of red in your eyes, Set’s sheen, he doesn’t say anything.

“Can I,” he licks his plump bottom lip that is already shiny from your spit, biting it momentarily between his teeth.

You’d never known Jake to be hesitant with his words, or actions for that matter. But you can see it now. The smallest twitch of a tendon in his neck, an uncertain furrow to his brow. You wait for him to continue.

“Can I take you to bed?” He speaks quietly; sure of his words but uncertain of your reaction. Trepidation on his tongue.

You can’t stop the grin that spreads itself across your face, the first true smile you have given in what feels like an age.

You rush to sit up, kissing him quickly before whispering in his ear, “you can take me to bed Jake Lockley.”

There is the smallest tremor, a shiver that runs through him at your words, and you take particular pleasure in that.

He places butterfly kisses against your neck, your shoulder, breathing in deeply as he inhales your scent mixed with the smell of his shower gel. His fingers skim the bottom edge of your- his top, lightly tracing the line of exposed skin. The touch is teasing, never quite daring to dip under the material and something inside you snaps.

You grab hold of his shirt, unbuttoning it just enough so that you can pull the offending thing over his head without ripping it into pieces.

You’re a little rough, but Jake doesn’t seem to mind as you run your hands along his chest. Repositioning yourself on top of him, your knees caging in his thighs.

He wines at the loss of your lips, reaching up to pull your mouth back to his and sighing against you when he finally gets his wish.

You try to fight the giddiness, the joy that threatens to boil over and leave you lightheaded. It doesn’t seem right after so many months of pain and self hatred. After what you’ve done. But try as you might, you just can’t help yourself and quickly decide to bask in his light for as long as he wants to give it.

He bucks up against you as you grind down on him, his hand warm on the small of your back as he pushes you further, encouraging you to roll your hips.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth as you drag your cunt over a particularly sensitive spot. You nip at his lips and do it again, watching him intently as he screws his face up in pleasure. Oh god, you could do this all night.

“You like that?” You tease, rubbing yourself over him again.

He nods furiously, eyes closed, mouth tightly shut, like he doesn’t trust his own voice.

“Good.” You whisper as you drag your clit back down the clothed length of him, the sensation sending sparks along your spine. You can feel your wetness soaking into your borrowing pyjama bottoms.

Jake lets out a particularly needy groan and grabs a hold of the back of your head to press his lips to yours. Greedily, you force your tongue into his mouth and he accepts it without hesitation, moaning happily.

His free hand snakes up under your top to cup your bare left breast, pinching and rolling your hardened nipple between his fingers.

It’s your turn to hiss out a muffled, “fuck.”

You could cum like this, you realise. The way he’s touching you, the way you’re moving against him, the taste of him and those sounds he’s making, it’s all too much, it’s all too good.

Jake pulls at your top, bunching up the fabric in his hands and you break away from him quickly to let him pull the offending thing over your head. He throws it somewhere behind the settee as you quickly go back to rocking against him and sucking bruises into his neck.

“Can I- mierda-” he cuts himself off with a low groan as he thrusts up against you. “Please...”

You slow, but don’t completely stop your hips and pull away from him slightly to give him room to speak.

He looks wrecked, his hair a mess from your constant pulling, his skin flushed. He gazes up at you with hazy eyes and his voice is thick when he finally can form a coherent thought. “Can I taste you?”

His words send heat straight to your core. The cool air of the flat on your feverish skin is the only thing stopping you from combusting into flames. You swallow and nod quickly, this time not trusting your own voice.

You shuffle back a little to pull off your pyjama bottoms and Jake moves with you, sitting up slightly as if he can’t bear more than a few seconds without your touch. He pulls impatiently on the left leg when it gets caught around your ankle, finally freeing you, and you can’t help but let out a small laugh.

Jake grins up at you, peppering light kisses to your chest before wrapping his arms firmly around your hips and laying back down, pulling you with him.

“Shit!” The sudden movement surprises you, but you’re laughing again as you grab hold of the settee to steady yourself and not to fall completely on top of him.

He bites the skin below your belly button before kissing it and wiggles himself down so that his neck is on the armrest. His pyjama bottoms are still caught around your right leg.

Jake doesn’t give you a moment to enjoy the view before he brushes his thumb against your clit, running it up and down through your soaking folds. You bite back a sharp moan. You’re so wet you could probably take all of him right then and there without a problem.

He lets out a groan and a deep rumble of Spanish before teasing your entrance with his fore and middle fingers. Not quite dipping in, but just enough to coat them with your slick before he shoves them into his mouth and moans loudly, his eyes screwed up as his tongue works to taste every last trace of you.

You clench around nothing, barely having a moment to commit the scene before you to memory before he’s pulling you up and against his face in one swift motion.

His mouth feels like heaven as he licks up through your folds and swirls around your clit. The movements soft and languid, like the first kisses he gave you.

Instinctively you buck your hips, trying to grid down on his mouth and chase that toe curling sensation, but his arms hold you firm, barely letting you move and only allowing the gentlest rock.

“Jake,” you wine and your voice doesn’t sound like your own, too desperate and ruined.

He just hums as he continues to softly lap at you, kitten licks that are driving you insane.

You run your hand through his hair, lightly pulling on his curls to try to ground yourself but that just causes a rumble of a groan to reverberate through his chest and lips, to vibrate against you.

“Oh shit, Jake,” it’s too much, it’s all too much and not enough. You’re water breaking at a cliff's edge.

Suddenly he’s pulling you closer, his hands squeezing your thighs. No longer teasing as he presses your pussy fully against his face, moving you up and down to grind harshly against his mouth until your thoughts catch up with his intentions and you remember how to move.

You ride his face desperately, biting the inside of your mouth to retain some resemblance of control. All thoughts are blank from your mind, the only focus is the sensation of Jake’s mouth against you, the creaking sounds of the settee.

You’re so close. And Jake feels it, the tightening of your thighs and abdominal muscles. He scrapes his teeth against your clit, so similar to how you marked his neck before, then sucks on it hard and you are lost.

You cum violently against his face, pulling fiercely on his hair – a sensation that cracks out like whip to his neglected cock and he moans blissfully against you. You buck twice before Jake’s arms take over in an effort to keep you upright.

He licks into you, desperate to get every last drop of your release, but too soon for his liking you are calling his name and moving back from him. He shifts so that you can sit back a little, his hands resting on your waist.

You breathe heavily.

“You okay?” He asks with a smile, the lower half of his face shining in the lamplight.

You nod. “Just give me a minute.”

“That good?” He cocks an eyebrow at you and you laugh, swatting his arm.

“I’ll murder you.”

“I’ll die happy.” The soft look in his eyes catches you off guard, that crack in your heart widens. You can’t deal with that right now.

Hurriedly you lean down to kiss him but stop just before your lips meet his. He frowns up at you for a second before you rub your hand over his mouth and chin, wiping away your release.

“Hey!” He chuckles, trying to grab hold of your hand to stop you. “That’s mine.”

You seize his wrist before he can stop you, leaning your weight against his other arm at the same time.

“Is it?” You pull a face at him, struggling to stay serious and bumping your nose against his.

“Yes,” he breathes, “I earned it.” He lifts his head up quickly to kiss you before you can pull away, not that you would have even if you could.

He sighs into the kiss, his eyes fluttering closed before yours. It’s then that you realise he seems to be happiest when part of him is connected to you.

You rock back against him again, the material rub of his jeans reminding you that he is still partially clothed. You’d have to remedy that.

As you move back on your knees to unbuckle his belt Jake moves with you, sitting up quickly so that he can continue to kiss you. Sneaking his tongue into your mouth and soothing a deep down ache in your heart.

His right hand runs up and down your back while his left undoes his belt and jeans.

You’re so caught up in the feel of his lips against yours, how he sighs and moves against you that you don’t notice as he gently coaxes you up. How he pulls at your hip, until you feel the brush of denim as he pushes his jeans and underwear down to his thighs.

You rock back, gliding over his cock with your folds and covering it with your wetness.

Jake gasps into your mouth, both of his hands flying to your waist as he encourages you to repeat the action. The task of completely removing his jeans momentarily forgotten.

He’s so warm, the slide of his velvety soft skin sends sparks of pleasure up your spine that eradicate almost every other thought.

“Fuck,” Jake pushes you back and forth over his length, the muscles in his arms twitching under your hands. “I need to be inside of you, I-”

You raise yourself up quickly, fuelled with such a burning need that the movement is almost automatic. You take hold of his cock before lining it up with your entrance and slowly easing yourself down onto him.

Jake clutches you tightly, you can feel the tension in his muscles as he fights the urge to ram into you.

A little choked sob escapes your throat the moment he’s fully sheathed in you; the tip of his cock pressing so deep at this angle that you can see stars.

“You okay?” His voice is strained, but controlled, as his hands come to rest on either side of your face. There’s a level of concern in his eyes that seeps into your chest.

You nod furiously, so caught up in the feeling of him inside you that you nearly forget how to speak. “I’m good,” you shift your hips a little, rocking back and forth ever so slightly to adjust to the stretch of him. “You feel so good.”

His cock twitches as you speak and your walls clench around him instinctively as Jake groans as he buries his face into your chest. Littering you breasts with kisses as he slides his hands down your spine to rest at your lower back.

His hold is light, reverent. But guiding, as he encourages you to move how you want to. How you need to.

You lift your hips and slowly sink back down onto him and Jake can’t help but rising up to meet you, watching you intently as you gasp and throw your head back, how you screw your face up in pleasure.

Your mind is empty, your brain overcome with the feel of him and your body takes over. You lift up again, bouncing hard on his cock as he thrusts up to meet your every movement.

The creak of the settee and the slap of skin against skin are drowned out by both of your moans. Heat is quickly coiling in your stomach as you hurtle towards another orgasm; you grip hold of Jake’s shoulders and push forward, changing the angle slightly.

Jake swears, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, before shoving his thumb in his mouth to wet it and then pressing it to your clit.

You cry out at the touch as he circles your bundle of nerves perfectly in time with the slide of his cock. Your thigh muscles are burning with the force of your thrusts, but you are too far gone to care, to even truly feel it as the pleasure rises higher and higher.

“Amor, fuck,” Jake’s voice is low, strained, as if he’s trying to hold onto any last part of his self control. “I’m going to-”

His words push you over the edge, your moan cutting off his words as your orgasm blinds you, seizes every muscle into bliss.

Jake thrusts up into your tight heat once before he groans and comes, holding you close as he emptied himself into you.

Your heartbeat echoes in your ears as you come back to yourself and loosen your grip on Jake’s shoulders. As you shift slightly, material brushes against your skin and you can’t help but laugh as you look down to see his jeans just above his knees. “You’re still wearing your trousers.”

Jake stares at you blankly for a moment, thoughts fucked completely out before he registers the meaning of your words and grins. He nestles into your neck. “Sorry.”

That makes you laugh again. “Why are you sorry?” You move, running your hands through his soft hair so that you can look him in the eyes. “Weren’t you uncomfortable?”

He shrugs, grinning. “I didn’t notice. I was a little preoccupied.”

You snort. “Were you?”

He nods and leans up to kiss you again. It’s soft and sweet. Gentle as he dips his tongue between your lips. There’s a rush of heat downwards and you can feel him start to grow hard again.

Jake nuzzles his nose against your cheek, and there’s something about the movement, the openness of the gesture that makes you cling tighter to him.

“I should be sorry,” his voice is low in your ear. “We never did get to the bed. But,” he raises his eyebrows suggestively as he moves back ever so slightly. “The night is young.”

#jake lockley x f!reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockley #female reader #fem reader #moon knight #moon knight x f!reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #moon knight mcu #fanfic #my writing #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters #x reader

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grey-gazania · 4 months

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End of Year Fic Recs

Tagged by @sallysavestheday and @polutrope

I tag everyone tagged here and anyone else who hasn't done this yet!

Recommend up to 5 series or multi-chapter fics from 2023 that everyone should read (multi-year WIPs count, if the last update was in 2023).

Recommend up to 5 single chapter fics/one-shots (long or short) from 2023 that everyone should read.

Recommend up to 5 fics NOT from 2023 that everyone should read (oldies but goodies).

Recommend up to 5 of your own fics (completed or WIP) from 2023 that everyone should read.

This was difficult!

Multi-Chapter/Series

We Will Make This Place Our Home by @leucisticpuffin, which is my new comfort fic and has A+ kidnap fam characterization.

Gloom, Doom and Maedhros by @hhimring, which I've been dipping in and out of since approximately 2011 and which never ceases to impress me.

Elegy for Numenor by @elfscribe. Not the kind of story I generally get into, but Scribe's OCs are vividly drawn and have captured my heart.

Maglor is an Eldritch Horror by @thescrapwitch. Who doesn't love a touch of horror in their fanfiction? Part 11 (Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark) is a particular favorite.

The Importance of Peer Review by @sallysavestheday, a series of Finrod-centric comic stories that never fails to make me howl with laughter.

One-shots

Tender Morsels by @sallysavestheday, which depicts a delicious and unsettling yet tender moment between my OTP among OTPs, Fingon/Maedhros.

As the Hare Flees Before the Wolf by @emyn-arnens. The author's note says "Rest in pieces, Eöl," and that is a sentiment I will always endorse. This also includes some wonderfully perilous Celegorm characterization.

Ilimbë by @thelordofgifs. This is everything I ever wanted out of a Fëanor/Nerdanel courtship story, and the characterization is utter perfection.

A Damnable Spot by @imakemywings. Kidnap fam with an extra helping of creepy! I think Elwing deserves to haunt Maglor a little bit. As a treat.

And a bonus two-for-one, because they're by two different authors but they go together: Desperation and Defeat by @elentarial and Maiar Hate This Simple Trick by @zealouswerewolfcollector. I'm a big fan of both humor and Celebrimbor/Narvi, so these both absolutely delighted me.

Oldies

Home from the War by @hhimring. Himring wrote this as a gift for me back in 2020, and it remains my favorite Círdan character study of all time.

Ain Melir Den Urui by Thranduil Oropherion Redux/Randy_O (whom I don't believe is on Tumblr). This Last Alliance themed send-up of Some Like It Hot dates back to 2011, and it's one of my go-to fics for when I'm feeling blue and need a good belly laugh.

Touch of a Vanished Hand by @elfscribe, from 2010. I love Scribe's character study of a younger, more hot-headed Elrond meeting his brother's descendants in the aftermath of the sinking of Numenor.

Winter's Drums by @lucifers-cuvette, from 2014. I absolutely adore Pandë's take on Sauron and Celebrimbor's relationship, and this deeply unsettling but evocative ficlet is one I've returned to many times.

Trinity, also by @lucifers-cuvette, which is from 2007, pre-dating my entry into the Silmarillion fandom. It was the first of Pandë's stories that I read and was my introduction to her amazing Pandë-verse.

Mine

Ill News, a Second Age kidnap fam aftermath fic that I initially posted as a one-shot in 2022. But an enthusiastic commenter inspired me to expand on it, so I added a second chapter in 2023. There's at least one more chapter to come, assuming I ever overcome my current case of writer's block.

Loyalty: A Tale in Three Voices, which is the WIPmost likely to kill me one day. I have a deep and abiding affection for the House of Ulfang, and this is the result of that.

And They Looked Up and Saw a Star, my ongoing early-days kidnap fam WIP. I'm enjoying exploring the relationships between both sets of brothers.

Maps, my Thangordim rescue Fingon/Maedhros WIP with a heavy serving of Caranthir. I'll readily admit that this fic has been an exercise in pantsing all the way and that I have no idea where I'm going with it, but the journey has been fun!

I made several updates to Woman King this year, which is my fem!Gil-galad WIP (sometimes affectionately referred to as the Girl-galad WIP, because I love stupid puns). This is by far my least popular series but it is also my favorite to write, because like all writers I have tropes that I love, and Rule 63 is one of them. Tolkien's works are an undeniable sausage fest and we need more ladies.

#dash games #fic recs

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ooeygooeyghoul · 8 months

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Introductions

Hi, hello, nice to meet you. I'm Quaid, and this is the tumblr I have recycled into posting content about my lizard man. This will primarily be a FFXIV blog, as it's my current obsession, wherein I will post rambles, pictures, my art, and maybe a few other things, idk. I'll try to keep it organized with the tags, but the system is a WIP.

I've only got my main man here at the moment, but maybe I'll make some more heroes in the future! Might update this a few times, too...

Other socials - Twitter | Insta

ENDWALKED! - NOT A SPOILER-FREE ZONE!

Shiun Kazumasa - Primal | Behemoth

Warrior of Light - Main

B A S I C S | |

Primary Jobs | Warrior, Gunbreaker & Dark Knight

Guardian | Rhalgr, The Destroyer

Nameday | 18th Sun of the 3rd Astral Moon (May 18th)

Age | 25 years [ARR] - 30 years [EW/DT]

Height | 230cm / 8ft 6in

Homeland | Doma, Yanxia

Occupation | Scion, Sellsword, Blacksmith

Sexuality | bisexual, leaning toward men

Strengths | duty-driven, good at anything that requires physical strength, protective, unbreakable will

Weaknesses | Quick-tempered, stubborn as a mule, emotionally constipated, never asks for help, hides his hurts

Tags | #primordial flame: shiun kazumasa (main), #thaniun (wolship), #forgiven fury (Lightwarden AU), #wandering swordsmith: vulcan (ancient counterpart)

P E R S O N A L I T Y | |

An Au Ra whose face is always scowling or smirking, never anything in between. Shiun is brash, rude, and loud - fueled by constant rage. He acts almost purely on instinct and impulse, which causes his friends no small amount of stress. Don't be fooled by his prickly attitude, he's a true hero with a heart of gold. Devoted to saving and serving as many people as he can to the point of being self-sacrificing. Good luck prying any of his deep emotions out of him, he'd really prefer that those stay hidden.

B A C K S T O R Y | |

Shiun grew up in Doma during the Garlean occupation, so his early life was full of troubles. His parents were quiet artisans that submitted, which afforded them a fairly upper-class lifestyle. But Shiun was different in a way they didn't like. He got into fights with other kids, ignored his schoolwork, and was angry at the injustices he saw all around him. His family did everything they could to extinguish the fire in his heart, but he wouldn't be put down any further. After a chance encounter with a resistance fighter, he fought back against a Garlean soldier that had been harassing people in his village. The Empire didn't take kindly to that, and his family suffered for it. He barely escaped and was forced into exile at the young age of 9. Eventually, he made his way to the Azim Steppe and was taken in by a kind family in the Malaguld Xaela tribe. Scarred by his failed attempt at resistance and the pain it caused, he kept his head down and stewed in his anger for years. That is, until a voice called him to a distant land...

R E L A T I O N S H I P S | |

Alphinaud & Alisaie | practically siblings

Shiun is fiercely protective of the twins. He sees a lot of his younger self in them and has taken on a brotherly role with them. He hates that they've been thrust into this world at such a young age, and tries to urge them to just be kids every once in a while.

Thancred | lover

At first, Shiun couldn't stand Thancred. His overconfident playboy persona really got on Shiun's nerves, so he went out of his way to piss off Thancred, too. After rescuing him from Lahabrea, he stopped being so antagonistic. Over the course of the Dragonsong war, Shiun's feelings towards Thancred began to change, which REALLY freaked him out. So much so, that he pretty much ignored Thancred's existence throughout Stormblood while he considered things. He figured it out pretty quick once the Scions started getting yoinked to another realm. More on this later...

Y'shtola | voice of reason

Shiun appreciates Y'shtola's sharp wit and sharper tongue. She sees right through his bullshit and is often scolding him for his reluctance to rely on others. They get into banter contests a lot, which he rarely ever wins.

Urianger | jock & nerd

When they first met, Shiun couldn't understand a word Urianger was saying, but he learned to communicate with him over the course of their adventures. He's got a good friendship going with Urianger, where he patiently explains complex things to Shiun five times and Shiun helps him get better at socializing.

Tataru | ride or die

Shiun would die for Tataru. She continues to baffle him with her limitless talent towards anything other than combat, and he'll do pretty much anything she asks him to. To be honest, her ability to sniff out the truth and love of gossip frightens him a little bit.

Estinien | friendly rivalry

Despite being an axe-user, Shiun's skill with the lance is nothing to sneeze at. The two talk through their sparring more than they do with their words. Shiun was happy when Estinien decided to stop skulking about and join the Scions, but he still gives him shit about it.

G'raha | brotherly friends

When he found out just how much G'raha idolized him, Shiun was flabbergasted. He certainly wasn't used to that amount of admiration, and he found it difficult to deal with at first. But the hesitation faded away as G'raha accompanied him on more and more outings. Now Shiun thinks of him as a brother and irreplaceable friend, determined to make him into a hero too.

T R I V I A & E X T R A S | |

Favorite non-chocobo mount is the SDS Fenrir.

Favorite minion is gaelikitten named Potato.

Has a major sweet tooth he tries to hide from others.

Is really really bad at cooking. Don't taste what he makes for your own safety.

Actually really does like to fight (don't tell Zenos).

I tend to draw him pretty off model lol.

#ffxiv #ff14 #au ra #ffxiv oc #final fantasy xiv #primordial flame: shiun kazumasa #ffxiv wol #blog intro #wol profile #I'll probably edit this a billion times #anyway here he is #pinned post

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shadesofdeviant · 4 months

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SO...I thought I'd actually do WIP Wednesday for the first time in a LONG time. And I thought I'd share a bit of my current WIP, my Good Omens x Doctor Who Crossover because I'm super excited about it. I was gonna post a bit smaller than this but I couldn't work out a good place to crop it. I'm enjoying this so much. And I hope everyone else does too. Most of it is beneath a cut cause I'm posting a fair chunk haha.

Tagging those who I know are interested in this: @lauranthalasah and @celestialcrowley I would tag my usual WIP Wednesday buddies but I don't think any of them are Good Omens or Doctor Who fans. 😂 😂 😂

"Doctor?!" Crowley yelled as he staggered down another endless corridor, cursing softly as the floorboards rippled and rolled beneath him like a shoreline lapping against the sand, the rising crests of the wood giggling like naughty children as they tried to trip him before they ran away up the hallway. As he raised his hands to catch himself against the walls with the heels of his palms, the gold embossed skulls in the centre of the damask pattern wallpaper started to scream in agony, the noise a cacophonous crescendo that built and built until he managed to find his footing and snatched his hands back. “Donna?!” He tried again as he idly tugged at a random door as he passed by. Yet just like the immeasurable number of doors that had gone before it, once again this door failed to bend to Crowley’s will and remained firmly locked in place.

The air inside the toy store was permeated with the sour decay of age, cloying, damp and irritating at the back of the throat. Whatever magic this strange toymaking entity wielded was wild and hostile as it pressed in around him, settling over his shoulders like a weighted blanket, growing heavier and heavier the longer he walked, stiffening his legs and arms until he was wading through the atmosphere, a band of pressure tight around his chest almost like a child was holding him like a doll as it walked him across their imagination, the threat of being crushed beneath their sticky fingers tingling at the back of his mind. From somewhere beyond the endless corridor, a sharp, terrified scream erupted into the air and Crowley lurched forward on instinct, racing down the corridor towards what he assumed was Donna being attacked. Or at least, he tried to. If he thought the weight of the magic around him was heavy before, now as he tried to come to the rescue of some poor soul, Crowley found himself being weighed down even more, his knees threatening to buckle beneath the strain, feet scraping across the floor as he tried to lift them for each step. Eyes blazing gold and fully snake-like as he pushed back against the magic surrounding him, Crowley snarled and thrashed as he moved, power crackling beneath his skin as the anger burned within him. “Fuck this.” Crowley hissed as he reached the next locked door, barely able to lift his arm to try the handle from the compression enveloping him right down to his true form. “I’ve had enough of this shit.” Gathering what strength, he could, Crowley snarled as he pulled up sharply on his demonic power and snapped his fingers, gritting his teeth as electricity coursed down his arm and sparked from his fingertips as it battled with the toymaker’s magic. His power coiled and weaved snake-like around that of this foreign entity, lashing out viper-quick and sinking its venomous fangs into the stream of power to try and force it into submission until the door in front of him started to creak open. “Nein nein nein!” The sudden voice at his ear was loud enough to rattle his eardrum and rather unceremoniously shattered Crowley’s concentration, his power falling away into glittering wisps and dissipating into the air uselessly and taking what was left of his strength with it. “Naughty demon, not playink by ze rulez.” The Toymaker snarled as he suddenly loomed up over Crowley’s head, the sharp contours of his face darkening as his entire frame seethed and pulsed enraged. “Crowley!” Hearing his name, Crowley turned his head and frowned as he spotted the Doctor and Donna running towards him, those once familiar chocolate brown eyes wide in fear as the Time Lord tried to reach them even as the corridor continued to expand beneath their feet. “Very vell. Haff it ge-your way.” The Toymaker sighed, before his hands suddenly slammed into Crowley’s chest, pushing him backwards with one sharp shove causing him to go crashing through the now cracked-open doorway. For one extended moment, Crowley seemed to hover in the air, the area where his stomach should be, dropping as he fell backwards in slow motion before time seemed to remember to move and Crowley slammed into the floor in the new room with a broken grunt of pain. The Doctor’s hand reaching out towards him uselessly from seemingly miles away was the last thing he saw before the door slammed shut and the room plunged him into darkness.

#Rinwrites #WIP Wednesday #Doctor Who #Dr Who #14th Doctor #Fourteenth Doctor #Good Omens #Crowley #Donna Noble #This will probably be edited more before its ready for posting....#and I also need to post a LOT of the earlier chapters before we reach this point haha

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mike----wazowski · 2 months

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i completely forgot i had something for sunday six last week lmao but i'll just post it today @four-white-trees @overdevelopedglasses @skysquid22 @passthroughtime @woundedheartwithin i've also seen @jichanxo being tagged in others so i thought i might add- hope that's ok!! 🫡🫡

this has been sitting in my drafts for ages and is a really old snippet. rikiya content was the first writing i did for yakuza 😔✊️

***

"Riona, what are you doing out here? I asked you to get me your dirty laundry."

Kiryu's scolding seemed to go over Riona's head. She had her hands on her hips, and was striking a pose. "I'm practising my runway walk, Uncle Kaz. I'll need it for when I'm a supermodel!"

Kiryu sighed. "A supermodel."

"Yeah!"

"I thought you wanted to be a fashion designer?"

"Changed my mind!"

"Right. Well, maybe practice being a supermodel after you've given me your laundry," Kiryu said, with as much patience as a father-of-nine could muster. "You won't get on the runway with dirty clothes, will you?"

"What's this about bein' a supermodel?" A bright voice rang out. Haruka beamed as Rikiya approached the gates of Morning Glory, Mikio in tow. The moment they heard him (Rikiya could be heard from Downtown Ryukyu), the other kids emerged from the house, and Taichi came running to wrestle him, as was his signature greeting.

"Riona's practising her walk for the runway," Haruka chirped, as Rikiya was almost knocked off his feet. "She wants to be a catwalk model one day."

"Ohh, right, of course- Riona's our little fashionista!" Trying (and failing) to fend Taichi off, Rikiya called, "Let's see that walk, then, Riona!"

"Okay!"

Kiryu cleared his throat as Riona readied herself. "What about your laundry?"

Riona paid him no heed, starting up her attempt at a runway walk. She looked rather like a wobbly duckling taking its first steps, but Rikiya and Mikio cheered with the enthusiasm of a stadium crowd.

"Wow! You're gonna be at all the big shows!" Mikio said, and Rikiya yelped in agreement, unable to say more with Taichi trying to drag him down.

"Thanks! I keep asking Uncle Kaz to get me a pair of heels so I can practice properly, but he always says no," Riona said.

"Aniki- just doesn't- understand the lifestyle," Rikiya wheezed. Fortunately for him, Taichi had now switched targets to Mikio. "He's an unfashionable old man, y'know?"

"She's too young to wear heels," Kiryu intoned. "Plus, you're pretty far from the supermodel lifestyle yourself, Rikiya."

"Whaaa-" Rikiya let out a theatrical gasp, wheeling around to face Haruka. "Haruka-chan, did ya hear what he just said?"

"I did," Haruka giggled.

"Am I wrong?" Kiryu asked, voice dust-dry. "Anyway, we've had our fun- laundry now, Riona, and if you two are here you can help me with the-"

"Nope, nope, nope. I ain't lettin' this stand!" Rikiya interrupted, pushing his chest out. "I'm gonna show you how I strut my stuff, Aniki!"

"... what."

"I'm gonna do a runway walk that makes you go gaga!"

Taichi finally let up on his assault, dropping off of Mikio's back. "Isn't that for girls, Uncle Rikiya?"

"Don't say that like it's a bad thing!" Ayako scolded him.

"Both girls and guys both do modelling," Mikio told him. "I dunno if Rikiya fits the part, though. You gotta be good looking to be a model."

"Hey, go to hell!" Rikiya protested. "I'll show ya both what I can do!"

Though Kiryu looked like he wanted to protest, the prospect of seeing Rikiya make a fool of himself was enticing. And now Rikiya had his audience, he probably would go ignored anyway.

"Gotta have a good starting point..." Rikiya jogged over to the gates of Morning Glory. "You watch this!"

"Oh, I'm watching," Kiryu sighed.

Rikiya took long, flying strides, head angled so he was gazing dramatically into the distance. He wiggled his hips in a way that shouldn't have been anatomically possible. The kids shrieked with laughter, and Kiryu shook his head in disbelief.

"I'm gonna show you my passion... I'm gonna show you my fire..." He seemed to be going above and beyond a regular catwalk, adding off-key singing to the mix.

"Are you a model or an idol?" Kiryu asked.

"Both, aniki! I'm a triple threat! Singin', dancin', and killin' with good looks!" He turned to the kids. "Wanna join in?"

Izumi and Riona jumped at the chance, running to join him on his little stage. It took a moment of bravery, but Mitsuo followed. Never one to be upstaged, Taichi jumped in next, and soon all of them but Haruka were following Rikiya's makeshift choreography.

"I guess I'm never getting that laundry," Kiryu sighed, but he was smiling so openly Haruka couldn't take him seriously. "Not feeling like a supermodel, Haruka? Or dancer- whatever he thinks he's doing."

"Come on, Haruka-chan! Gotta show your oji-san what's what!" Rikiya called. "I'll have your heart inside of my hand-"

"'Cause I am the queen, oh queen of the passion!" Haruka jumped in, and Kiryu let out a genuine laugh, loud and strong.

It was just like Rikiya to turn a quiet night into one where everyone danced.

So of all the things wrong with his body- the bullet wounds, the blood, the empty eyes- the stillness was the worst part.

#sunday six #my writing #...sorry about that ending #rikiya shimabukuro #kiryu kazuma

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softkiseu · 10 months

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to all mi moots / nabis, co carats ! 💎✨

let's play a mb reblog game. what's this game about? i ll give a certain idol group and the number of members will also be the amount of the participants who can join.

for more info ▼

muse : seventeen

topic : 𝟏𝟕 ❜ 𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𖧷𝐢𝐧𝐠

— boyfriend material. scenario that possible fits of the member pics. it will be amazing and your advantage if you'll have way different vibe from the other entries.

sequence : by age. oldest to youngest.

# of participants : 12, I'll be the 13th.

how to play : i 'll start the game with the first member depends on the sequence. then the person who pick or assigned to the second member will reblog my post with that mb they made. the other players will follow until we completed all the 13 members without breaking the chain.

the tags :

#17 dear darling

#navi's chain game

#seventeen

#the topic of your mb

exp : #summer vacay with s.coups

make sure to put this four tags first, second, third and fourth before adding moodboard aesthetics.

who can join : my moots or even nabis (followers) who can possible make their entry within 24 hrs. so make sure you'll remember that you willingly join this game and check everyday if its your turn. no worries, as a host of the game, I'll tag or alert you if it's your time.

time limit : 24hrs since the mb ahead of you been posted. this strickly a rule so we don't hold the chain for so long. if a user failed to drop their work, they will automatically be out of the game and be replaced by any moot who didn't able to have a chance to join, a new 24 hrs will be up again.

advice : so make sure you can able to make a mb within the time or a tip, start your mb even tho it's still not your turn yet.

drop in the comment section who member you want to choose. first comment first served.

muse user

scoups hrjyoon (softkiseu)

jeonghan diorpop (koosuvi)

joshua k-yujin

jun yeritos

hoshi interstellarz

wonwoo

woozi

dk wiotas

mingyu y-ves

the8 h-ao

seungkwan

vernon starmio

dino chwelotte

(i ll update this list when the comment start to pour in)

the game will start once all the members are taken and i dropped scoups mbs ( make sure to check my account @hrjyoon , the starting mb will be posted there and again i ll tag all the participants in the comment sec ) the possible period of the game, 13 days depends if everyone manage to follow the rule.

it's a game so there's a

WINNER!

winner by votes : yes we will put all the mbs in voting. except mine.

winner by navi : i ll choose a winner.

REWARD

two (2) winners

a customization mb ( muse by your choice )

set of icon and gif ( muse by your choice )

a shout out!

100 reblog ( your choice of ur own post )

a follow if i still didn't have a chance to follow yet.

the winner will be announce after the chain is finish and the vote from our dearest friends ended.

lastly, hope my lovely moots and nabis can participate. if not, there will be more future chain game. ps. please don't flop 🙏🏻✨ i just want to have fun with my precious community.

#17 dear darling #navi's chain game #seventeen #reservation close #game started

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stubblesandwich · 6 months

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Return To Me - Chapter 4

A/N: It was requested I post this here, as well, so here ya go! (Sorry if I double tagged anyone.) I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thank you endlessly to anyone still following this story. You have all my love.

Summary: Emma Swan is dying. Her last remaining hope is a heart-transplant, and those aren't easy to come by. But, as luck would have it, fate finds her worthy, and on a stormy autumn night, Emma is given a second chance at life.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Boston hospital, Killian Jones has been devastated by the sudden loss of his wife.

Inspired by the 2000 film of the same title with Minnie Driver and David Duchovny. Find on A03 here

++++++

Chapter Four - Don't Get Around Much Anymore

Three Weeks Post-Op

Emma had been called a cynic plenty of times in her life. As it turned out, being pushed through the foster system for a decade and a half hadn’t exactly turned her into a beaming optimist. Like most cynics, she claimed she was actually a realist. She planned for the worst, because things tended to not work out that great for her, and hoped for the best. Sometimes she was pleasantly surprised.

But in the litany of potential outcomes Emma had been preparing herself for, a new heart had never actually made the list. It was akin to winning the lottery, in her mind. Life had not been particularly kind to her. Yet, she had always taken her blows in stride, and she never took handouts. And the prospect of finally making it to the top of the transplant list at the age of twenty-six, after almost a decade of waiting, felt like a handout from life.

Emma Swan had never been one to sit around waiting for handouts.

There were other things she had prepared herself for. Increasing the handful of pills she took each day to keep her body from failing on her any faster. Moving from her full time job and supporting herself completely on her own to working part time, then very part time, to not at all. Getting on a government disability program. Each new punch to the gut from life she took in stride, as best she could.

And through it all, righting her each and every time she stumbled, were David and Mary Margaret. They were some of the best, most genuine and caring people ever to be placed on planet earth. She didn't deserve them—there was a small, cruel voice in the back of her head that affirmed this for her every day. But they just kept showing up for her, and they wouldn’t leave, and they wouldn’t let her quit.

As it turned out, after the first week, getting a whole new vital organ sewn into her chest wasn’t as bad as she had thought it would be. By the third week, the pain was starting to subside, transitioning into a residual soreness, and her biggest struggle currently was not clawing at her incision every time it itched. When the skin itself didn’t feel like an odd mixture of both tight and numb, it felt ablaze with itchiness. It was all she could do not to scratch at it. (Every time she did, Mary Margaret would bark at her to stop it, or David would throw a random item in her direction. Most recently, it had been a box of tissues that had narrowly missed her head, and he threatened to get an extendable fly swatter to swat her with, as needed.)

For the first time in her life, Emma was well and truly doted upon. She had family members who inarguably refused to leave her side. That is, of course, until Mary Margaret was forcibly removed by way of her impending school year start.

She’d had almost a month left of her summer break when Emma had had her operation, and she had been able to push almost all of her classroom prep off until the very last minute. David helped her ready her room when he could, but Emma knew her friend was fraying at the seams from trying to do so much in such a short span of time. Mary Margaret had a handful of vacation days, but she hoarded them like a dragon for true emergencies, and worried constantly that if her students started off the school year with a substitute teacher, they would just end up watching movies all day instead of actually learning something.

This was their last weekend before the new school year started and Mary Margaret went back to working full days. Emma was lounging on the couch, dozing, lidded eyes half focused on the episode of Friends quietly playing on the living room TV. She and Mary Margaret had just finished putting together twenty-five “Welcome back!” folders for her incoming students, as well as a second set for their parents.

“Why couldn't they have been ready for you to have the surgery during the start of summer?” Mary Margaret lamented, as she plopped her last folder down on the pile. “I would have had three months off to be here with you!”

David glanced over at them from the pile of pans he was washing at the kitchen sink and gave his wife an odd look. “You do realize you're wishing the woman whose heart Emma has now had died earlier in the year instead of later, right?”

Mary Margaret looked aghast. “No! Of course I don’t wish that. I didn't... I just meant...”

David raised his eyebrows at her, but by now he was smiling gently at his wife. Mary Margaret huffed. A slightly awkward silence settled between the three of them. The fact that another person was dead and Emma was still alive because of it was something they all knew but typically left unsaid. David had said it out loud, and now the strangeness of that fact settled over them all heavily.

“I wonder what she was like,” Emma murmured from her spot on the couch, puncturing the silence. “They couldn't tell me much. Well, couldn't or wouldn't, not sure which. All they said was that she was older than me, but not by too much, and in great health. Obviously we had to have the same blood type. But they couldn't tell me how she died, just that it didn't affect her heart.”

“Probably head trauma,” David said sagely. Emma winced at the thought, but he was likely right. He had seen enough as an officer to know. Especially working night shifts, when the majority of car accidents took place in the area.

“That sounds awful,” Mary Margaret said quietly.

“I'd never say I was glad someone else died,” David said after a while. “But I'm glad Emma's still with us.” The fact that these things were one in the same went unsaid. Mary Margaret reached over and squeezed Emma’s arm in gentle agreement with her husband. Emma glanced over at her and offered her sister-in-law a small smile, trying to convey to her without having to say it aloud that it was okay.

But in truth, Emma was uncomfortable. It just made her feel so strange, knowing that for every happy moment she now got to have here with her family, someone out there was living new moments, making new memories, without their own loved one to share them with. Someone out there was grieving a tremendous loss—had lost a daughter, a sister, a mother, a wife. The woman whose heart Emma now had could have been any one of those things, or all of them at once. She was presumably loved, adored, missed dearly. And Emma just didn’t know what to do with that information, how to carry these feelings with grace and proper gratitude. Often they \manifested in the form of guilt. David and Mary Margaret were quick to talk her out of that whenever it came up. That woman’s death meant something, they assured her. Part of her lives on, and part of her saved a life. That has to mean something to her family, right?

They were right, Emma knew. David saw so much meaningless death in his line of work that she inherently believed him when he told her that it was a gift, her being able to use someone else’s heart. (She didn’t have the courage to ask him how he would feel about any of Mary Margaret’s vital organs going to someone else, if she died.) It was a guilt she carried nonetheless, and she carried it poorly. It was an awkward shape, this guilt, and heavy, and she didn’t know how to carry it well. It all too often made her fumble.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” she said Mary Margaret looked over at her sharply, instantly suspicious that Emma was still feeling off from the previous conversation, but Emma was quick to wave away her worry. “I’m fine,” she assured her. “Really. I just feel grimy, and I don’t want to taint the epicness of Last Dinner with my stink.” This was their last evening—Last Dinner—before Mary Margaret returned to work full time, and they were marking the occasion with David’s mother’s famous lasagna recipe, a favorite from David and Emma’s semi-shared childhood (and coincidentally the only meal David really knew how to make, but that was beside the point).

“I second the vote for a shower,” David said, raising his hand in mock vote.

“You would,” Emma said with a roll of her eyes that David didn’t even need to see to know was there. Mary Margaret started to rise with her, as if about to help her to her feet. “Relax, woman,” Emma said, putting her hand on her friend’s shoulder gently to stop her. “I’ve got it. I’m not a complete invalid.”

“Jury’s still out,” came David’s response.

Emma looked at Mary Margaret, half expecting her to admonish her husband, but Mary Margaret just stared up at her with poorly veiled anxiety. “I’m not!” Emma said. “Guys, it’s been almost a month.”

“Three weeks,” Mary Margaret corrected. “Since you got a new heart. Not since you got your tonsils removed.”

“Okay,” Emma said, stretching out her back a bit as she stood there, chasing a kink out between her shoulder blades. “Sure, it was a big surgery.” David scoffed from his place by the sink, and Emma shot him a warning look. “But the doctors even said I have to try to do more on my own. I think it’s safe to say that includes showering.” There was no argument from David on that one. Mary Margaret, on the other hand, looked unconvinced.

“What if you slip and fall?”

“I’ll be sure to have my Life Alert button handy,” Emma retorted wryly. “Seriously, guys, it’s okay. I can handle showering.” Before they could argue any further, Emma slipped away, locking herself in the bathroom.

“Let me know if you need any help, okay?” Mary Margaret called through the door in a singsong voice only a few moments later. Emma swore she heard the doorknob jiggle, like her friend was testing to see if it was locked or not. It was, thankfully. Emma was already halfway undressed, and the last thing she needed was for her brother to get an accidental peep show because his wife thought Emma had already gotten stuck behind the toilet and died or something. “Emma?”

Oh, my God, Emma mouthed to herself. “Thanks,” she called out. “I will!” That seemed to appease Mary Margaret. But the faint squeak of the bar stool at the kitchen island assured Emma she hadn't gone far. It was endearing, how much they worried about her. At least, that's what she told herself in the moments like this, when it was almost impossible to find even just two seconds of privacy. Sometimes, she really did feel like she was a little kid again. Only now, she was re-living a much different version of her childhood. A sweeter, kinder version wherein people actually wanted to take care of her and didn't think of her as a monumental burden.

The tub's faucet squeaked shrilly as she turned on the water. When she’d first gotten home a week ago, just that motion, gripping the handle and giving the antique metal a yank, had left her arm feeling like a limp noodle. She was doing much better now, but she still felt pathetically weak and exceptionally out of shape. At one point, long ago, she had been fairly strong. A thin child, but always scrappy. Now she was a pale waif, muscles atrophied over the years as she'd gotten sicker. She vowed to herself that was going to change. Despite how frail she was, at the same time, she legitimately felt like she could take on the world now, with this new heart. She could finally breathe, take a breath fully in and out, without feeling lightheaded. That alone was a miracle.

Gingerly, she lifted her tank top up over her head. Her scar, where a surgeon had cut into muscle and bone and forcibly ripped open her sternum, stood out, an angry red slash against alabaster skin. For the first few weeks, it had been concealed by gauze. By this point, it was still tender, but her doctor encouraged her to air it out often. She even had some skin mobility exercises she was supposed to be doing daily, to help the layers of tissue beneath the scar not permanently adhere to one another. The scar itself stretched from the top of her chest, dropping down in between her breasts, all the way past her sternum bone. It was a thick, gnarled thing, aesthetically ugly; but she found herself overwhelmingly grateful for it the longer she looked at it. As ugly as it was, this scar meant she was going to live to see her next birthday.

Washing herself was still a slow, cautious process, but much easier than it had been when she’d first gotten out of the hospital. She took the time now to do her full, luxury, self care princess shower routine, something she hadn’t had the strength to do in months. The venting system in the loft's tiny bathroom was terrible, and by the time she stepped out of the shower, steam cloaked the room like a fog. The sheer dampness of the air made her cough when she inhaled. Emma didn't care; she felt amazing. It was easy to underestimate how much better a good shower could make a person feel. She felt human again, instead of the fresh-from-the-hospital, invalid goblin she’d been feeling like for the past few weeks. Humming to herself, she dried off, turbaned her wet hair, and started to dress.

David had the water running at the sink, and the apartment’s ancient radiator had kicked on next to the bathroom; when Emma finally opened the bathroom door, her brother and sister-in-law didn’t hear the faint creak of the old wood on its hinge as it started to open.

“But you love your classroom.” David was saying in a low voice. It was clear he was trying to be fairly quiet, but this felt like intruding in on a conversation that had been going on for several minutes. Possibly the whole time she’d been in the shower.

Emma didn't hear Mary Margaret sigh, but she could tell by the tone of her voice that her words had come on the end of one. “Of course I do,” she said, “And I really do miss my kids. But Emma needs me here. I can't just leave her! She just got a new heart, David. A heart. It's not like she had her wisdom teeth removed and just needs a day or two to get back on her feet.”

The aforementioned heart skipped a beat in Emma's chest. A familiar, sinking feeling of guilt settled low and heavy in Emma's stomach.

“But she will get back on her feet,” David said gently. “You know she will. She just needs time.”

“Exactly! And she needs me here to help her until she does.”

“No, she doesn't.”

“David—”

“Mary Margaret,” David interrupted lovingly. “She's going to be okay. Better than okay. This is the day we've all been waiting for, don't forget. She's getting a second chance at life here.” Unexpected tears welled in Emma's eyes at that. “And Emma knows that,” David continued. “You and I both know she's going to be chomping at the bit to get back out there. It's going to be hard enough keeping her here the six weeks it'll take for her to heal. She's not going to need our help half as much as you think she will.”

Mary Margaret started to respond, but Emma couldn't take it anymore. She took the bathroom's old doorknob in her hand and gave it a good rattle, like she had just started to open it, and the door creaked loudly as she pushed it fully open. David and Mary Margaret grew hush until Mary Margaret piped up with, "Oh, hi Emma!" a little too brightly. David noticeably busied himself with cutting the garlic bread he’d pulled out of the oven moments before. The guilt at having eavesdropped coiled in Emma's chest like a snake ready to spring, and she swallowed around the lump that had grown in her throat. “Hey,” she said, trying her best to sound normal.

“Everything go okay?” Mary Margaret asked. “No dizziness?”

“I didn’t hear the Life Alert alarm go off,” David said dryly, shooting his sister a wink.

“I feel amazing,” Emma said earnestly. “Seriously.” She sidled up to her brother and successfully bumped him out of the way, taking over the cutting of the garlic bread despite his weak protestations.

“Oh, good,” Mary Margaret breathed, and the relief was evident in her voice. She shared a glance with David, which Emma pointedly ignored, and moved to grab the stack of dishes waiting on the island so she could start setting the table.

“I was thinking,” Emma went on, “Maybe I could come help you set up your classroom later today. If you think you need the help. Or I could just come keep you company, get a change of scenery.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” David said, as he watched his wife’s expression.

“That would be great, honestly,” Mary Margaret said, but was quick to add, “As long as you’re feeling up to it.”

“I mean, as long as you don’t have me lugging around twenty-pound carts of Crayons or something,” Emma laughed, “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Do fourth graders still use crayons?” David asked, as he popped open the oven one final time and withdrew the lasagna. The cheese on top was browning and bubbling and a minute away from burnt, just the way his mother had always cooked it, and the whole thing looked wonderful.

“Not really,” Mary Margaret said with a shrug. “But it doesn’t matter. I have a big, handsome deputy to do all my heavy lifting for me.” She batted her eyes at her husband a few times, who grinned back at her.

“All right, lovebirds,” Emma said, as she clicked the salad tongs at them a few times in playful warning. “Let’s eat. I’ve got my appetite back and I’m actually starving.”

“Jeez,” David said, “You’d think she’d gotten a new stomach with the heart. She’s gonna eat us out of house and home now.”

Table set, food out, they took their respective seats. David uncorked a bottle of red wine he’d been saving for a special occasion, which Emma was definitely not allowed to have, but she told Mary Margaret to enjoy it for her.

As Mary Margaret spooned squares of lasagna onto everyone’s plate, Emma took a moment to try to find the right words to say to convey how she was feeling to these people who would seemingly do anything in the world for her. But what she wanted most is for them to get back to living their lives, too. They had put off so much for her sake, and she was more grateful than she knew how to say. But it was time to move on now, to heal, for all of them.

“I know it can suck, having such a huge surgery,” Emma started, pausing to clear her throat. “But this is different.” She glanced up at Mary Margaret, who was watching her closely. “I mean, a month ago, I was dying. I never told you guys this, but it just felt like the end. I was working on drafting a will.”

“Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret said quietly.

“That’s so morbid,” David said.

“I know it’s stupid.” Emma toyed with the end of her napkin as she stared down at her plate. “I don’t really have anything to will to anyone. I was just going to leave anything I had to you guys.” She cleared her traitorous throat again and took a moment to blink back some tears. She needn’t have bothered; when she glanced up at her family, they were both openly tearing up as they looked at her. “Okay, stop,” she said, pointing her fork at them, “Or I’m going to lose it. Absolutely no crying in baseball.”

“Got it,” Mary Margaret said, her voice watery and absolutely unconvincing.

“Just… Thank you,” Emma said, when she finally got her voice back under control. “I don’t want to think about where I’d be without you both. From the bottom of both my hearts,” she said, with a wry little smile she couldn’t keep at bay, “Thank you.”

David chuckled, wiping at his eyes, and Mary Margaret continued to stare at her, smiling and barely holding back the floodgates. “We love you, sis,” David said, and a moment later he raised his wineglass. “To Emma’s new lease on life.” Mary Margaret’s wine glass followed, and Emma clinked her water glass with theirs.

“And Mary Margaret’s new school year,” Emma added.

“Hear, hear,” Mary Margaret agreed. “I’ll take prayers, good vibes, anything you’ve got.”

“You’re going to do great,” David assured her, as he put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer to kiss her cheek. “Those kids are lucky to have you.”

Dinner was splendid, and the company even better. It was the first full meal Emma was able to enjoy without feeling nauseated, which was a win in her book. She literally couldn’t think of the last time that had happened. Mary Margaret did indeed have Emma’s wine, and was perhaps a little tipsy when they later ventured out to put some finishing touches on her classroom, which just made it all the more enjoyable for Emma and David.

And as Emma settled into bed that night, for the first time in a long time, she felt well and truly good. She felt full, warm, strong, and loved. And she knew, felt sure in her bones, that this was the start of one of the best years of her life.

+++++

The funeral went as well as a funeral could--especially considering there was no actual body to bury. Milah had set it up long beforehand that all salvageable organs were to be donated to the nearest hospital at the time of her death, then the rest of her body donated to science. This made planning her funeral and memorial service a unique affair, as there was no body for a wake, no urn of ashes received. That he would receive later, whenever the hospital saw fit. So Killian honored his wife's memory the best way he could.

Everyone who had ever known her in the past few years since she and Killian had moved Stateside was crammed into a small funeral home to celebrate her life and speak well of her. Her parents were long dead, but he had managed to get his hands on some childhood photos from her aunt who still lived across the pond; a small smattering of her extended relatives had sent cards to pay their respects. But the room was filled primarily with her coworkers and friends she’d made in the few years they’d lived in Boston.

Milah had been a truly gifted photographer, both in her work and personal life, evidence of which sat neatly framed and displayed on nearly every available inch of table space in the room. All the best photos Milah had ever taken through her work had been printed and framed and displayed, tucked neatly between bouquets of flowers. One table was so long, it took up the entire back wall.

Killian had almost, almost, completely lost the last tenuous grip he had on his sanity when the wrong flowers had come in that morning. He had distinctly ordered stargazer lilies, his wife’s favorite flower, for the table arrangements. Instead, what had been delivered to him were a rainbow assortment of Gerber daisies, of all things, which he viewed on this particular day as nothing short of an abomination. As it turned out, there had been a mistake with the delivery trucks, and his order had been sent to a birthday party instead. It probably should have embarrassed him, how angry a simple mix up of flowers had made him. But as he had very little pride left, he was literally seeing red, until Robin showed up beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and gently steered him out the side door and outside for some fresh air. Will took over, his general belligerence a helpful and actually useful tool that day, and tried to get the flowers sorted out with minimal shouting.

As Killian stood now, gazing down at the myriad of perfect photos his wife had taken over the course of her career, he belatedly realized he had been the star of many of them, unbeknownst to him. His wife had apparently been a ninja behind her viewfinder when he wasn’t paying attention. It should have made him feel awkward, being the focal point of so many of her photographs; the last thing he wanted now was attention. And yet, he couldn’t help but smile at most of them. One of him leaning over the railing of a dock, for instance, staring pensively out at sea, squinting slightly in the light of the sun. Another of him from behind, a shadowed figure standing on the beach with his toes buried in the sand and his hands in the pockets of his shorts, staring out at the red slashed sky of an oncoming storm. He was the blurred, black clad figure in the background or at the helm in several photographs of the ships he and his brother had helped restore.

It was visible, tangible proof of how much she had loved him, how often her camera found itself pointed in his direction, focused on him. And God, if that didn’t make him miss her all the more. His heart was an open wound, and he was never going to be able to staunch the flow from it. Day by day, he felt like he was bleeding out, until soon there would be nothing left of him.

One photo, his favorite, and one that was already framed in his home, stood out prominently. His and his brother, Liam, in front of their first real score for the ship restoration foundation, a beautiful, towering piece of history in the form of a stunning antique merchant vessel. Liam’s arm was thrown over Killian’s shoulders, his face alight with absolute joy (and possibly the buzz from the beers they’d had over lunch). They were both squinting, laughing like fools at having finally pulled it off. Towering behind them, not to be overshadowed, was the ship, herself: the Jewel of the Realm. Milah had been sent by a local paper to get photos of the ship, and her new owners, as a focal point for a story on local maritime history.

Killian felt fortunate he remembered that day so well. It had felt like the best day of his entire life, at the time. Seeing his brother so elated, after everything they had endured together, had been enough to send Killian to the moon. It felt like things were finally, finally going their way. He had taken to Milah instantly, and spent the hour regaling her with the history of the ship. A merchant ship, originally, but thought to have been used for piracy at one point. He leaned heavily into the implications of the latter fact, as he felt—rightly so—that it added intrigue, and Milah had been enamored with the Jewel. He'd joked that day about renaming it the Jolly Roger, much to his brother's chagrin. She’d had other work to get to that day, so she hadn’t stayed long, but she’d given him her business card, which he still carried in his wallet. Liam had been killed shortly after, on one of his last missions with the Royal Navy before his scheduled retirement. Everything had changed, then. But Killian had always felt especially lucky that it had been Milah that day who had come to take their photo. For one short hour, she had been able to meet his brother, before Killian had lost him forever. The stars had aligned, and for one short span of time, the man who had meant the most to him and the woman who would come to mean everything to him had met, briefly. It wasn’t much, in the grand scheme of things, but to Killian, it had to be enough.

And then there were the glorious photos of the rest of the ships he had brought on through the years. He had always marveled at Milah’s skill behind a camera, her ability to find just the right angle, at just the precise time of day, to truly capture the essence of the ships he restored. Through her eyes, even the in-progress pictures never made them look like pieces of floating shit, which some of them very much were at the start of the process. She managed to make them look like hidden treasure, just waiting to be uncovered. Pieces of history waiting to be lovingly restored to their former glory. That’s what he’d felt like, with her. She’d been the one to see past his flaws after the death of his brother, to see something worth loving in him, something worth restoring.

And now what was he, without her?

The frequent looks of sympathy that came his way over the course of the memorial service were one of the worst parts of the day. Each and every concerned glance that flit in Killian's direction was threaded not only with heavy condolences, but something much worse: pity. And he knew he was a pitiable sight, indeed. He was dressed well enough, in a deep black suit Milah had bought for him after his business had another big break. But, his arm with the broken collarbone was still in a sling and had no hand at the end of it. Dark circles cradled his eyes, which seemed to be permanently bloodshot these days. He had given up almost entirely on sleep.

Sleeping felt impossible, an insurmountable task despite its simplicity; the bed was too big, too cold, and too empty when he was the only one in it. He tried—really tried. Each night, he made a valiant attempt to sleep in his own bed. He'd toss, turn, and generally do a lot of staring up at his ceiling. Eventually, he resorted to Netflix. But his “recently watched” list was full of her favorite shows, episodes half finished, series just begun. It was a terrible distraction.

The first week after he arrived home from the hospital, his recliner chair in the living room had been the only place he could comfortably fall asleep with his arm in a sling. It was a lumpy, unsightly thing he had inherited from his brother (it was this reason and this reason alone his wife had allowed him to keep it.) Milah had called it his old man chair. These days, he’d often fall asleep in the chair, wake up with a start an hour later, and make his way to the couch, where he’d try to fall back asleep, but would mostly lie awake, staring into the dark, letting his mind off its leash and letting it wander to dangerous places.

Often these thoughts centered on what he would do if he could track down the driver who had hit them head on, then fled the scene. What he would do when he found him or her varied. Sometimes, he pictured lighting him on fire. The next moment, he'd revel in the thought of running him through with a knife, watching him slowly bleed out on the floor. Or he’d take his hand from him, too. Such thoughts kept him company and carried him through until morning.

Now, with the lack of sleep and the general dissociation he felt, he often didn’t feel cemented in reality. When he looked around the room, taking in the funeral parlor, it felt like this was happening to someone else, and he was merely observing. It didn’t help that he was surrounded by a sea of people who didn't know what to say to him. The moment never came that he was spared the awkward indignity of a conversation with someone who had little else to say other than I'm sorry.

She was a lovely person.

(Each time, he bristled at the use of the past tense.)

She'll be missed.

Pity had overtaken the room, lingering like a dense fog. Everywhere he turned, his friends, her friends, co-workers, even a handful of people he had never seen before in his life, were all wearing the same expression on their faces. It transcended simple pity. It was next-level pity, flashing from their eyes and those slight down-turned corners of their mouths like a brightly-lit billboard in the night that read "YOUR LIFE DEPRESSES ME."

He couldn't blame them. He pitied himself, too, when he wasn't numb, pulled down so deep into his own despair he could no longer think straight.

At least the food was decent—or so he had been overhearing. One quick glance over at Will Scarlet in the back of the room, face stuffed with h'orderves, told him the funeral parlor's appetizers couldn't have been terrible. If there had ever been a time he appreciated his friends more, he couldn't think of it. Of all the people who had shown up to the service, Locks and Scarlet were the only two who didn't make him want to scream. Or run. Or throw a punch. All of it, all at once.

Will and Robin sat apart from the rest, in a pair of wingback armchairs in the corner of the room. Killian hadn't had a chance to speak to either of them, apart from initial hellos and quick hugs when they'd first arrived, and of course the ordeal with the flowers, but somehow, he knew without even asking they intended to stay for the entire affair, likely planning to take him out for a drink when this was all over.

What else do you do for your best friend after his wife's funeral?

All in all, it wasn’t a very hopeful affair, and too often bordered on bleak. Killian had no words in honor of Milah he wanted to share with a roomful of people who didn’t know her very well, and he didn’t trust himself to speak without breaking down. So, people ate, drank, and made a reserved and somber form of merry. They swapped stories back and forth, each offering up little pieces of the woman they had known.

Milah's parents had died years ago, and she had no siblings, so the room was occupied primarily by people she had thought of as friends. That was a nice thought, and in the coming weeks, Killian would be touched by the food, flowers, and cards that continued to arrive on his doorstep in memory of his wife.

But here, in this moment, he couldn't bring himself to find hope in anything.

+++++++

One Year Later

Was a house truly haunted if you didn’t mind the ghost?

It felt like a haunting for months after Milah’s funeral, this limbo state he found himself in, where he couldn’t bring his heart or his brain to fully comprehend that she was gone. They traded shifts in misunderstanding, his heart and brain. There were days where, logically, he understood his wife was dead. And yet, his heart still leaped at the sound of a car door shutting outside, or an imagined creak in the floorboards that sounded like her coming around the corner in the hall. Other days, his heartache was so profound, he could barely muster the strength to get out of bed. All too often, he’d forget, and for a few blissful minutes, reach for his phone to call her and ask her a question. Those were beautiful moments, the forgetting. But the remembering that followed took his breath away.

Then there were the things around the home he couldn’t bring himself to toss. Notes she’d left on the fridge, a grocery list on the table. Leftovers from her favorite meal at their favorite restaurant he couldn’t bring himself to throw away until they were fouling up the whole kitchen. Her phone was recovered from the accident and eventually made its way to him, via the detectives working the hit and run case. He went through her email drafts, texts, anything he could get his hands on that held pieces of Milah. He'd saved every voicemail she'd ever left him, had them memorized, and he'd play them when he missed her most, poking the bruise in his heart over and over until it numbed and didn't hurt so much. It all felt relatively harmless, like doing this to himself couldn’t possibly be a bad thing.

Until he found himself practically sobbing the floor of the shower one morning over a soggy clump of her hair he’d pulled from the drain.

He just couldn’t seem to pull himself together.

How do you bring yourself to purposefully excavate traces of someone from your life, after they’re gone, until it was like they weren’t even there at all, the life you shared existing only in snapshots and memories? How exactly does one get to that place, force yourself to loosen your grip on all you have left of the person you love, the person you’d give anything to see one last time? Killian couldn’t fathom it. He couldn’t picture himself ever ridding himself completely of Milah’s memory.

But he could stop leaving land mines for himself.

He’d always run a tight ship at home, in terms of cleanliness. He had never had much, by way of possessions, and wasn’t sentimental about keeping things. Now he found himself debating whether or not he should keep a note in the bathroom his wife had scrawled out for herself to remind herself to order new contacts. These were the silly, useless things he stared at for minutes on end, debating what to do with. This little scrap of her pretty handwriting he recognized and loved. The thought of it winding up in a landfill somewhere made him ill.

Eventually, he gathered these random scraps and pieces of her he’d found (except the clump of hair from the drain—that one did make it into the waste bin, thankfully) and gently shepherded them into a large Ziploc bag, which he kept in a box on her side of the closet.

Robin and Will called often, texted even more often, and even dropped by now and again. They offered their help constantly, gladly would have helped with menial tasks like this (like throwing away scraps of paper Milah might have touched, God, he was a mess), but he turned them away each time. He just wanted to shut the world out, encase himself in a tomb of his own grief.

He hadn’t even been able to see her, to say goodbye to her, because he hadn’t been bloody conscious for it. He had no memory of Robin telling him of her death; in the week following the accident, he left a slew of traumatized nurses in his wake as people had to tell him again and again for what felt like the first time that his wife was gone.

Milah, bless her ever-loving soul, had signed herself up to be an organ donor. Of course she had. On some level, he knew this. It was marked on her driver’s license, and it was surely something they had talked about at one point. But now he resented it, resented the whole idea of it. He resented anything that didn’t allow him to see his wife one last time. One doctor had had the absolute audacity to tell Killian that he didn’t want to see his wife, anyway; the damage from the accident had been too great, the brunt of which had gone to her head, and that it was a miracle her heart was still beating enough to allow for any organ transplants. Killian, for his part, had an entirely different definition of the word “miracle”.

So he waited to receive her ashes, held a funeral without her body. But he certainly didn’t wait patiently.

He wonders sometimes what she would think of what he's become. No doubt there would be times she'd laugh at how ridiculous he was being, debating on keeping an old, wet clump of her hair like some kind of serial killer, and the subsequent guilt he felt at throwing it away, this gross little piece of her DNA.

And yet, he reminds himself that there is, oddly, more of her DNA out there somewhere. Somewhere, out in the world, a select few of her vital organs are in new bodies, presumably thriving and keeping their hosts alive and well. Presumably, there are people out there who will be forever grateful for these pieces of his wife. Actual, living pieces of her. Killian has no idea how to feel about that, truly. There will come a day, when he is able to pull himself out of this darkness that perpetually feels more crushingly inescapable by the day, that he is able to see the true and abundant beauty in it. Milah, gone, but literal parts of her living on, providing life-giving support to someone else’s body and soul. That's the true miracle, really, and something he’d know she would be proud of.

For now, in the depths of his despair, he feels annoyed, indifferent at best. Her benevolent medical and scientific donation was, for many long months, the thing standing between him and a proper burial for his wife, the thing that stood in the way of closure and him being able to say goodbye to her properly. This is the thing his mind latched onto, chooses as a target for his blame.

Closure arrives on his doorstep one afternoon, boxed and bubble wrapped, in the form of an unassuming black urn. When he finally received her ashes, half a year after her death, he knew what he would do with them, knew immediately what she would want him to do with them. But he can’t yet bring himself to say goodbye, and the urn sat above their fireplace for months. This is the moment it hits him, truly, that she is gone. This is what it takes for it to finally sink in. He spends a long time building up the courage, brick by brick, to do what he needs to do. And as what would be her 37th birthday approaches on a warm July day, he finally gathered the strength to lay his wife to rest and honor her the way she deserved.

What he doesn’t appreciate about the day, however, is the weather, which turns out to be an absolutely perfect New England summer day, which Killian very much resented.

It was almost like it was mocking him. Jabbing a bright, sunshiny finger right into his face and laughing at his grief, which still, even almost a year after the death of his wife, was still a wound that had left him hollowed. When his brother had died, suddenly and with too much life left unlived, he'd felt like the ground itself had been pulled out from under him, and he'd been left in free fall. Now, with Milah gone, it felt as if his heart had been ripped right out of his chest and crushed in front of him.

How did people live like this?

If he were truly honest with himself, Killian wasn't certain what he was doing each day could actually be called living. He was alive, sure. Most days, the only thing that kept that from being true was the unknown lurking behind the veil of death. He had his own theories, his own hopes, for what awaited in a possible afterlife, but of course, no one really knows for sure until their time comes. He couldn't be sure what would happen to him, whether or not he'd see Milah, if he died tomorrow. Hell would be dying and not being reunited with her. And that was a hell whose existence he was not quite ready to test.

The closest thing he had to his wife now was resting in his lap, ashes encased in ceramic. He had taken a small, private sailboat out to sea, sailed until there was no one else in sight, trying to find a good spot to release her ashes to the ocean she had loved so much. It had been close to two hours, now; he knew he was putting off the inevitable. If he didn’t do it now, he feared, with good reason, that he never would.

The best part about giving someone’s ashes to the sea was that there wouldn’t be one particular spot where her body would be laid to rest. The waves would take the dust of her and spread it for him, from shore to shore, just like they had taken his brother’s ashes. There would be no headstone, but the ocean itself would remind him of her, and he could visit her anytime he liked on a sea that had always brought him a sense of serenity.

Killian Jones had never believed in soul mates until he’d met Milah. And he still didn't quite believe in them, in the traditional sense. He didn't believe in a ready-made mate just waiting for him to find her. No, in his experience, life was far from ever that easy or that simple. But things had changed for him when he'd met his wife. Then, with her love, the broken pieces in him, irrevocably shattered the day his brother had died, shifted together into something that could almost be held together again. With her, he’d felt more whole than he could ever remember feeling in his life.

She had been married at the time, when they’d met. Daydreaming of leaving her terrible husband, dreams which grew in intensity with each passing day. And while she hadn't exactly left him for Killian, she may has well have. Everything had changed for her that day, too.

For while Milah had been his partner, they hadn't met each other and been perfectly content. But they had made each other stronger, in all the ways that counted. Now he believed wholeheartedly that soul mates existed. But they weren't found, ready made and prepackaged. They were made, forged through love and hard work working hand in hand.

These were the things he thought, as the gentle salted breeze ruffled his hair and brought stinging tears to his eyes. As he looked down at the urn that held the last physical piece of the woman he’d loved, would always love, was lost and adrift without.

“I love you, Milah,” he whispered to the wind. The tightness in his throat and jaw wouldn’t let him say more, but he knew he didn’t need to. She’d known how much and how fiercely he’d loved her, and he had to think that wherever she was, she still knew the hold she had on him.

He held the urn against his chest with his prosthetic hand, working to unscrew the top. The breeze calmed at just the right moment, and as he leaned over the side of the ship to release Milah to the sea she'd loved, the dust of her settled gently down into the water.

=========

gonna tag a few folks who I think might care this is up (again, sorry if I already tagged you!) @spartanguard @sunbeamsandmoonrays @caprelloidea @kmomof4 @queen-mabs-revenge @ahsagitarius @galadriel26 @t-tamm-

@lavendersoapsuds @its-imperator-furiosa @midnightswans @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky @withheartfulloflove @captainswan-middlemist @sarahreadsff @princesseslikepirates @winterbaby89 @pirateherokillian @wordslovedreams

@hannah-mic @thecraftyartist @blackwidownat2814 @once-uponacaptain @kylalovesbabeme @swiftmicheles @emmaswanstlk @captainswanslay

@the-tones-of-wallflowers @kday426 @krystalsficpage

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #cs fanfic #cs au #captain swan fanfiction #return to me

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deepspacedukat · 4 months

Text

The Baker's Baker - Part One

So, this is the fic I made the poll about. 75% of you said you were at least open to other David Birney characters depending on the character, so here it is. I honestly have no excuse. David Birney played a hot character in "Murder, She Wrote" and I have caught the brainrot. Spoilers for S10E3 "The Legacy of Borbey House." I know I changed part of the story, but it doesn't stray too far from the original, hence the spoiler warning. I'm not tagging anyone for this fic, because, even though some Letant Enjoyers might like this, I don't think anyone came to my blog for MSW fanfiction lol. To those who choose to give this little brainworm a read, I hope you enjoy.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Lawrence Baker (MSW) x Reader

[A/N: Future chapters will contain smut/smut adjacent content, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Mild rudeness, flirtation, mention of a missing person per the episode plot, vampire rumors, utilizing cupcakes for flirtation, readers owns and works in a bakery, reader has history with Borbey House but that'll be expounded upon in a later chapter.

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Cabot Cove was rife with rumors surrounding the property across the street from my front door. Borbey House had stood empty for a year and a half - some residents wondered if anyone would ever buy the place until a couple of weeks ago. I only caught a glimpse of my new neighbor as I was getting home one night. Dark hair, a darker suit, and the jaunty strut of a man who was utterly confident in himself - whoever he was, the new owner of the Borbey Estate was much flashier than the usual Cabot Cove crowd.

I only saw him once, though, along with a couple of curtain twitches from one of the upper windows. Any other time a person emerged from the house, it was without fail a harsh looking man with a square jaw. He and his employer both seemed rather ominous to anyone who believed in superstition, and the Borbey legacy was rife with those. All those mysterious deaths years ago...it was a wonder that anyone was interested in buying the place when it went on the market.

Legend had it that the original owner, William Borbey, had been a vampire, and given the new owner's tendency to avoid going out in the daylight coupled with how quickly gossip of any sort traveled through Cabot Cove, rumors about his condition spread rather quickly. I couldn't really blame the man for not wanting to immerse himself in the insanity that was a small town like this. I had hoped I'd catch another glimpse of him eventually, but after that first sighting, all I saw was his - was the man with a square jaw a butler or a chauffeur? Both, perhaps?

This morning, however, my luck changed - for better or worse, I couldn't definitively say. It wasn't often that our postman switched mail around, but today I'd opened my mailbox to find a letter addressed to one 'Mr. Lawrence Baker.' Glancing at the address confirmed my suspicions: this belonged across the street.

With barely a moment's thought, I hurried back into my house and dropped off my own mail, scooping up a box of assorted cookies I'd packaged in advance for the bakery in the process. There were plenty more where that came from, so I figured it couldn't hurt to give Cabot Cove's newest resident a warm welcome.

Straightening myself up a bit, I grabbed the misdelivered letter and the box of cookies and walked across the street. Before I even got the chance to knock on the door, however, it was practically flung open. Mr. Baker's butler scowled silently, expectantly down at me with cold, hard eyes.

"Uh, hi! I–"

"Do you have an appointment?" His question was clipped and rough. Was that a German accent? Interesting.

"No, but–"

"Then begone." With that, the door was slammed in my face.

Oh, hell no. Tall and scary that man might be, but I wasn't about to just let someone treat me like that.

I was secretly quite proud of the firm, confident sound of my knuckles rapping on the aged wooden door. Once more, it was thrown open, but before Mr. Scary got the chance to do something more drastic than slamming the door in my face, I held up the letter so he could see the typeface on the envelope.

"This was delivered to me by mistake this morning. I was just coming over here to give it to its proper owner." After a tense moment of silence, the letter was snatched from my hand. "And these are from me. I run the bakery on Main Street and I wanted to officially welcome Mr. Baker to the neighborhood."

Shoving the box into the stunned butler's grasp, I turned on my heel and started back to my house, standing as straight as possible to cling to my remaining dignity. Well, that had been slightly more humiliating than I'd expected. So much for being neighborly–

"Excuse me, miss?" A smooth, sophisticated voice called out from behind me before I was more than a few feet down the front walkway. Looking back, I saw a familiar dark-haired figure stepping around the gruff-mannered butler to stand in the doorway. Red-lensed sunglasses rested atop the bridge of his nose, but it was still undeniably the same man I'd seen that first night. Lawrence Baker, in the flesh. Up close, he looked...well, extremely handsome. "I'm sorry for the rough reception. Peter is used to dealing with less pleasant visitors. I'm afraid most people don't like an outsider invading your peaceful community."

Taking a few small steps toward the door, I gave my elusive new neighbor a tentative smile and attempted to ignore the way his pale blue button-down shirt clung to his figure so perfectly.

"It's alright, but I promise not all of us are quite so prickly. I'm sorry if you've been on the receiving end of any sort of intolerance," I said, and he leaned jauntily on the door frame as a grin stretched his lips. The lines on either side of his mouth spoke of the many smiles he'd worn over the years. "Anyway, I should really let you get back to your day. I just wanted to officially welcome you to the neighborhood. If you need anything, I live just across the street."

"I'll be sure and keep that in mind, Miss...?"

I introduced myself, keeping a respectable distance between myself and the front door. The longer I looked at Mr. Baker, the more I wanted to do something ridiculous, like take up sketching just so I could capture the shape of his lips when he smiled.

"I couldn't help but hear what you said a moment ago. You run the local bakery?"

"Yes, I do. If there's something you'd like that I don't normally offer, I take custom orders." My brain went somewhere it definitely shouldn't have, and I fought to keep myself from blushing.

Instead, though, I had some restraint. Excusing myself, I retreated quickly back to my own home. I took a seat in the kitchen and glanced at the timer I'd set for the cake in the oven. There was still a while until I needed to check it.

I had no idea how long I'd been sitting at my kitchen table lost in thought when a knock sounded at the door, jolting me back to reality. A brief flash of fear zipped through me at the prospect of Mr. Baker or his butler - somehow the name 'Peter' didn't full encompass that man's personality - coming to throw my cookies back in my face and threaten legal action if I ever set foot on their side of the street again.

"Why, you look as pale as a ghost, child!" Seth exclaimed when I opened the door. I'd almost forgotten that he and Jessica were coming over for lunch today. Inviting them in gratefully, I stole a quick glance across the street and was just in time to see a curtain twitch in one of the upper windows of the Borbey House.

There was nothing I could do but close the door as if to block out the storm that was my neighbor's red-tinted gaze.

"Are you alright?" Jessica's hand rested gently on my shoulder, and I gave her a grateful smile.

"Oh, yes! I'm fine. I just had a very odd encounter with the new owner of the Borbey place," I told her as we all made our way into the kitchen. A couple of hours passed, and with lunch consumed and my new cake recipe freshly sampled by the three of us, I'd heard several bits of gossip about Mr. Baker and his butler.

"You say he had red lenses in his glasses?" Seth asked as he cut himself another slice of cake. When I nodded my head, he hummed thoughtfully. "Those have a few uses medicinally, dependin' on the shade. He could be sensitive to light. Until he comes into my office, though, I'm afraid that's all I can say."

With a wry smile, Mrs. Fletcher leaned back in her seat.

"I doubt that will do anything to dispel those ridiculous vampire stories that have been making the rounds, lately." She was right, of course. "Be careful, dear, you might find him knocking on your door one night in search of something more than just cookies."

A laugh bubbled out of me, and I felt suddenly better than I had all morning. Trust Jessica and Seth to know how to lift my spirits.

"I'll be sure to wear a garlic necklace and keep a stake handy," I joked. Allowing my smile to fall in favor of something more serious, I switched topics. "Any news about...?"

Jessica and Seth glanced at each other and shook their heads.

"You'd be one of the first to know. The last tip-off the Sheriff had was a dud. Lady was in her fifties. Definitely not Laurel Perrin," Seth murmured setting his fork down. Had he already eaten his second piece of cake? Mentally, I marked that recipe down as a success. I'd have to make one or two for the bakery this week to see how people reacted to it. "I...I know you were her friend, and I don't mean to sound disheartenin', but the chances of Laurel turnin' up after all this time..."

The doctor laid his hand over mine where it rested on the table, and I looked pointedly down at the wood grain beside my fingers.

"I know, Doc. I just...I can't give up hope. Neither can Dave or Charlie. Not until we know for sure, one way or the other. You can understand that, right?"

"Of course, we can. Closure is a somewhat universal longing, especially for those closely involved in situations like this," Jessica murmured wrapping her arm around my shoulders in a reassuring hug. "Now, why don't you tell us how the new space for the bakery is working out?"

Never had I been more grateful for a change of subject.

Six days later, I was in the middle of serving who I thought would be my last customer of the night when the bell over the bakery door jingled.

"I'll be with you in just a moment," I called over my shoulder as I boxed up a dozen brownies.

"No problem, take your time." I blinked a couple of times as I finished up. I knew that voice. Forcing myself to stay focused on my current task, I served my regular customer and handed him his change.

"Thanks, Jim. Have a safe drive home, okay?"

"'Course, ma'am, and I'll be sure and tell the wife you asked after her," he said tipping his hat as he turned to leave. My heart thudded rapidly in my chest as I turned to the new arrival.

"How can I help you tonight, Mr. Baker?" The man in question was clad in a crisp, black suit that was probably worth more than my entire inventory, but the smile on his face softened his visage into something more personable.

And his eyes! I hadn't been able to see them properly when they were hidden behind his tinted glasses, but they were the clearest blue I'd ever seen.

"Would you prefer the socially acceptable answer, or the truth?"

Oh, color me intrigued! Clasping my hands and resting them on the counter, I narrowed my eyes at him playfully.

"Hm. Let's have the truth first, then the respectable excuse," I murmured, and he stepped up to the counter, tracing his fingertips over the refrigerated cases as he moved closer.

"Alright. I was fascinated by you the moment I saw you walking up the drive. The way you handled Peter's abrupt dismissal made me realize I'd made a mistake in avoiding contact with my neighbors," he said leaning one forearm on counter. "I wanted a chance to see you again...to talk to you longer than just a few seconds, and this seemed like my best bet. In my defense, I had no idea that I'd have such a gorgeous neighbor."

I forced the muscles in my face to remain neutral. No smiling, not yet. I had to be casual. If I let myself smile now, I might explode.

"And the respectable excuse?"

"Ah, that. Well, I heard about the special you were having on cupcake orders and thought I'd come take advantage of the discount," Mr. Baker said with a smile, and I bit my lower lip to stifle a laugh. "What?"

Crooking my finger at him, I coaxed him into leaning close enough to whisper in his ear, trying to add to his anticipation.

"The special is on brownies today, not cupcakes."

A warm, velvety laugh spilled from his lips as leaned back again.

"Oh, damn, there goes my airtight alibi," he mused when his eyes met mine once more. "I guess that blows my chances of you accepting my invitation to dinner..."

I couldn't hide my surprise.

"Dinner?"

"Yes, but I doubt you'd be interested in socializing with a man who can't even get his excuses in order beforehand," he teased. Giving me a shrug and turning to a cloche-covered tray of brightly-iced cupcakes, he pretended to study them as I forced my brain into gear.

"...What day did you have in mind?"

The wide grin he gave me lit up the whole shop.

"How about tomorrow night? From what I understand, your shop is closed on Sundays, isn't it?"

"That's right. Sure, why not? Tomorrow sounds great," I answered lifting the cloche off the cupcake tray. "In the meantime, if we're going to sell that poorly-constructed cupcake excuse, you can't leave here empty-handed."

"Ah, thank you. We wouldn't want the rest of the town to think you were in danger from a reclusive vampire," he muttered with a gleam in his eye as I boxed up an assorted half dozen cupcakes. "How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing at all. These are on the house."

His eyes went wide, and he placed one of his large hands gently on my arm.

"I didn't come here to swindle you out of your merchandise. I don't want you to think I can't afford a few baked goods."

"This has nothing to do with your ability to pay, Mr. Baker. Haven't you ever had someone do something nice for you before, just because they could?"

Something like comprehension flickered across his face.

"Not...in a very long time, no," he said just above a whisper, looking at me as though I'd transformed right before his eyes. Placing one of my hands over his where it still rested on my arm, I spoke just as quietly.

"Then it's about time someone did." A moment's weighted silence passed between us before I got back to the cupcakes, closing the box and sealing it with one of my labels. "There you are. And if you really want to do something to repay me, tell me this: what's your favorite dessert?"

He was silent for a moment while he considered his answer, but ultimately he shook his head.

"I'll have to think that over. It's serious business deciding something like this," Lawrence said with a faux stern expression plastered on his face.

"Oh, naturally. You can tell me over dinner, assuming you've selected by then," I said with an equally stern expression, but when a bright smile broke across Mr. Baker's lips, I cracked and let out a quick laugh.

"I look forward to your charming company tomorrow night, my dear," he said, and without a moment's hesitation, he caught one of my hands in his grasp and brought it to his lips. My heart fluttered in my chest, the traitorous bastard, and before I knew it, Mr. Baker had taken his box of cupcakes and left.

Resisting the urge to squeal or smile so hard that my face broke, I went to the door and flipped the sign from 'Open' to 'Closed.'

When I got home that night and exited my car, I glanced across the street. Instead of the usual twitching curtain, I was just in time to see both Peter and Mr. Baker in the latter's sitting room, nibbling on what were unmistakably a pair of my cupcakes.

If I'd been any happier, I might have floated away like a balloon.

"You're having dinner with the man? But neither you nor anyone else in town knows him very well," Doc Hazlitt protested the next morning as I chatted with him over the phone. He'd called to ask what day that new cake would be added to the bakery's menu so he could give me some extra patronage. Once I assured him it would be a Tuesday addition, he moved on to a rumor he'd heard about Lawrence Baker kissing my hand during business hours and leaving my shop with a box of desserts. I hadn't disabused him of the notion, hence his current state of agitation.

"Doc, I am perfectly capable of handling a simple dinner. I'm not a little girl anymore," I said, and a sigh crackled down the line.

"I know, I know, but I don't want you to get hurt. I was the doc in the ward when you were born, and I've known you all your life. Is it any wonder that I feel a little nervous about you gettin' involved with a man who's only been in Cabot Cove for a handful of weeks?"

"Y'know, that's another thing, Seth," I started as I cradled the phone to my shoulder and slipped a tray of scones into the oven. "People around here act as though every new arrival or outsider is here to pillage the town. Why can't someone move in and be given the benefit of the doubt for once? Mr. Baker is perfectly friendly–"

"–And rich, to boot, meanin' he is used to gettin' exactly what he wants–"

"That's enough, Doctor. You haven't even met the man. You have no right to judge him until you've at least tried to get to know him." I didn't even try to keep the reproachful edge out of my voice. "Please, at least try to be open minded. If not for his sake, then for mine."

"I'd still be grateful if you gave me a call tomorrow morning so that I know you survived the ordeal," he requested, and after a quick agreement, he finally let me go.

Seth was right to an extent. I barely knew him, and Borbey house, despite my personal history, was still surrounded by gruesome stories and the ghosts of its past. It wouldn't hurt to be a little cautious.

Although, a benefit of spending time across the street was that I'd have a chance to change that surly butler's opinion of me. That was something I definitely needed to do, especially if I was going to be acquainted with his employer. Maybe with the right dessert, I could lower his defenses enough to show him I wasn't just a pest to swept out onto the street.

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#deepspacedukat fic #Lawrence Baker x Reader #did i catch brainrot for another side character? yes #do I regret it? no #is anyone but me gonna read this? probably not #I was hoping to have all 4 chapters finished before I posted this but writer's block said no

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