#wip rose librarians

[transmasc-wizard]

i've been rereading my mostly-finished draft 1 of rose librarians and uh. BPD charles library 100% confirmed no question

#charlie #nicola.txt #wip rose librarians

[madamecaos]

The Howling

AU Werewolf Mafia: F|Reader x AU Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

Synopsis: You move to a new town and the people there are just... strange.

Warning: 18+ Mature in next chapters, Lil Gore, Mate-Trope, Alpha-Omega trope, Angst, Overall Violence and Dark Themes

A/N: This is me, avoiding my other WIPs so I can pantsy-through another story that I'm not sure how to plot. Well, I couldn’t decide between Werewolves or Mafia AU, so here’s both.

It was known.

The first night of a full moon after Winter Solstice, every citizen of the little town had to bar their doors, stay inside and hope that sunrise received them unscathed. Otherwise, the victims of little Arcadea wouldn’t come to save you from the mauling beasts. Everyone knew you weren’t meant to go outside.

If only you had known that beasts also lurked in the daylight.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

You were new in town. The aftermath of a bad relationship and a great offer of a remote position gave you freedom enough to move to a new place. As long as you had Wi-Fi, you could work. When the opportunity arose in a niche little town, away from the city and surrounded by a sea of woodland, you took it. Anything to place miles and miles between you and your psychotic ex was a great offer.

A ride an hour away from the city was an improvement. Anything was.

But despite the cute little cafes and the upcoming Christmas festivities, the town didn’t receive you with open arms. The locals weren’t gracious to newcomers, so you did everything possible to not intrude.

That’s why you found yourself hiding in the little library, staking claim of your little corner with a watered-down coffee between your hands. It was lukewarm, but enough to stave away the chilling breeze coming from the open doors. Aside from the fact that this was the only place with decent Wi-Fi, it was comfortable and quiet.

Kate, the local librarian, could be heard chatting away as the truck backed up near the entrance. Tuesday meant that new books were coming in. And Tuesday meant that the delivery guy would burst your quiet bubble any second now.

You hadn’t been here a full month and you already felt like you knew too much about him.

Soap was chatty and had a smile too wide that didn’t match your grumpiness. And what kind of name was Soap?

Without looking up, you heard his footsteps. You imagined that he skipped your way, going by the obnoxious clatter of his keys and whatever else he had in his pockets.

Maybe you needed more caffeine to be nicer, you thought as your temples pulsed with an upcoming headache. It was something inexplicable, but whenever Soap came near your instincts went haywire. The urge to be defensive and argumentative rose within you like a second nature.

“New Lass,” he called you, almost cheering. You rolled your eyes at the nickname he donned you with as you refused to give him your name. It seemed that you acting wary of men made him think he had to try and get on your good side, the tough way, by being annoyingly too cheery. To add to your annoyance, your reactions only incited him more.

“Got ya’ more books. Want to see the new batch?” He asked too loudly with excitement, and you winced. “Oh, my bad. Inside voice.” He half-apologized, shrugging with a smile still plastered on his annoying features.

You were just… annoyed.

You took in his outfit. His usual black overall was replaced by dark jeans and a light jacket. Even his mohawk was not covered by the usual beanie, which prompted you to ask him something finally. “Going on a vacation?”

His clothing was not meant for the blistering cold outside.

“Wow,” Soap placed a hand over his heart dramatically. “Oh, New Lass. I thought you were mute.”

“Selective,” you answered shortly, then looked down to pretend to write an email. You hoped he took the hint but going by the lack of screeching chair at his usual loud departure, he was still sitting in front of you.

His shoulders shook in silent laughter, and you questioned him with merely a risen eyebrow. “You would get along with my boss. You two would be a party.”

At your frown, he explained, “Silent and grumpy.”

“Soap!” Someone called from the entrance, allowing you peace as he walked away with a wave. What an odd man.

“See ya, New Lass.” Without turning back, he answered just as gruffly to the person that had demanded his attention, an attitude he had never directed at you despite your unwelcoming brashness. You couldn’t hear the rest, them being too far away.

Peace and quiet drove away the turmoil that usually came along with Soap’s presence, but your temples still pulsed with a surging headache.

“20 years less and I would,” Kate sighed as she closed the door with a click, looking through the glass doors as the truck drove away. Finally, warmth permeated the library again.

“Would what?” You asked and Kate looked at you like you were dense. Well, you kind of were.

“I don’t go for the young ones, but maybe Soap can be an exception,” As realization dawned at what she implied, Kate held in her amusement behind her titivating grin.

“Aren’t you married?”

“Like that has to do anything with it,” Kate rolled her eyes playfully and you ignored the uncomfortable thought of loyalty being so casually dismissed. Again, another reaction you had to thank your ex.  “And you? No man back home that calls you lass?”

The wiggle in her eyebrows brought you a little out of your dark cloud. “No, no man for me.”

You went back to your screen, ignoring the understanding look from Kate.

“Ah, we all came to Arcadea to escape from something,” she said, salvaging what little conversation you had with her. You weren’t exactly social, and amongst the locals, she was the most welcoming one. But that all made sense when she mentioned she was a foreigner as well, married her husband and was brought to the little town where she founded her dream little bookshop.

That might explain the why and how the place stood afloat, seeing as you were the only customer you had seen inside. What you didn’t have a theory for was the mysterious merchandise of books she received weekly, and yet the contents of the library hadn’t changed once.

Soap looked nice and approachable, but the gruffness, tattoos and bulking arms convinced you that it was not smart to ask. The curling instinct you had adopted from the big city told you he was not merely a delivery boy. But it was none of your business, or so you repeated to yourself every time something odd happened in little Arcadea.

And it was a lot.

“You ok there, love?” Kate asked as you stared ahead, lost in thought.

“I think I’m clocking out early,” You stretched in your chair, closing the laptop. “This migraine calls for a long nap.”

“All right, hope you feel better!” Kate called out as you made your way to the exit. Until she left you with a parting advice.

“Oh, and y/n” She started, the lack of endearment calling for your attention. You turned, expecting the common cheery demeanor one can expect from Kate. Instead, the hardened glance made you freeze. The grim expression seamlessly bleeding away the woman you had been getting to know these past few weeks. This was a stranger standing in front of you. “Don’t go out tonight.”

Without any chance of asking for an explanation, the happy demeanor returned, and Kate left you gaping at the entrance as she hummed away to the back of the store.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

She surely had meant ‘go out’ as ‘hang out’, right? You weren’t exactly friendly with the locals yet, only a few.  Kate was paranoid and you were starving. And it was Tuesday. Nothing happened on Tuesdays.

After sleeping away the headache for what felt like days, you woke up parched and ready to eat a whole three course meal. The migraine had ceased enough for you to see without flinching at every little light, but you knew that if you didn’t eat soon, it would worsen. So still in pijamas, with fuzzy boots and a big hoodie to complete the look, you went out into the cold with your phone, cash and your keys.

The diner across the block closed late, at least late enough for you to eat. And if it fit the mood, you might aim for a milkshake, you thought as you headed into the center of the town.

As you walked, you hugged yourself to stave away the breeze weaving through the trees. The woodland was so close to the town you could hear the leaves moving, its hushing billowing out through the deserted streets.

The cold painted your breath in huffs, your distance to the diner decreasing. But as you kept your pace, you couldn’t help but recognize the unusual solace of the roads. They were devoid of life, vendors already settled down for the night. 

Your footsteps on gravel were the only sounds disrupting the silence, but even without any more sounds, the eerie feeling of someone staring at you made you walk faster.

Nothing could’ve told you someone was staring at you but your intuition, your paranoia getting the best of you. You snapped your head back, hoping that your fear was only induced by the darkness. The weathered headlamps were enough to let you confirm that you were wrong. No one was there, no shadows followed you. With nothing to show for, you kept walking, pace hurrying nonetheless.

The bell on the door charmed at your entrance. It was quiet, oddly so. You were often received by the boisterous waitress that covered the nightshift. She made the best lattes and made you laugh, getting you away from your shy nature.

All worn booths were empty as you sat in your preferred corner, read the menu that you’ve read a thousand times before, and looked around. It was odd that you hadn’t seen nor heard the waitress yet.

The restaurant looked empty, abandoned even. So with courage, you stood up and sat at the bar, ringing the bell for service. Right now, you would do anything for crumbs.

“Hi, dear,” the waitress whose name tag read as Darla, gave you a hurried smile. “I’m sorry, but we’re closing early today.”

“Please,” Yes, you resorted to begging. “I’m starving. Just the usual.”

“I-“ she stuttered. “The kitchen is already closed. The cook clocked out early.”

At the last word, the entrance bell chimed behind you, making you turn curiously. You felt the breeze, you heard the bell and you heard the door closing… but there was no one there. All tables were as empty when you arrived.

You turned back to face the waitress. The question in your lips stopped mid track at her expression. Her dark complexion had gone white, eyes wide eyed and petrified.

“Make the girl a plate.”

A low rumbling voice said from behind you, and you saw fear bleed into Darla’s expression.

You looked back immediately to your right, your gaze clashing with broad shoulders first, biceps bulging beneath a tight fitted black shirt. It seemed as if his height went on and on as your head tilted upwards, taking in the broadness of the looming man dressed as walking death.

Dark eyes beneath a skull mask perilously studied you. His stare unflinching, unmoving, as your heart made its way to your throat with fear… and something else. Something odd and uncanny made the hairs on the back of your neck rise. The sensation of someone chasing you confused you. You were sitting still, and he hadn’t made himself an obvious threat, despite the oddity of his mask in the middle of a local dinner.  Your mind spun at the lack of sense, your heart wildly beating, pinned beneath his stare. While petrified on the stool, your body slowly but surely felt heat rise, perspiration building along your temples as if you had already ran a mile.

That damned migraine came back tenfold, and you still sat there, looking up like a deer in headlights, eyes threatening to scrunch at the buzzing lights. If you were to look away first, he would take it as you submitting to whatever fear was taking ahold of you. You kept silent, holding in your gasps of air. 

What is this? Who was he?

Somehow, he had walked behind you so silently and so fast, you hadn’t seen him enter. He had crossed half the diner in seconds, landing at the opposite side of you. Something you wanted to believe was impossible, but here he was.

He was the first to break eye contact, allowing air into your lungs. All the odd warming sensations stopped at his departure. Without a glance back, he entered the kitchen then pivoted to the exit door, Darla moving away to give him a wide berth of space.

“New cook?” You joked timidly, trying to break the tension of the now fretting waitress. Metal spoons and pans clattered as she filled a foam container with whatever she could find. Her hands shook.

“Go,” Darla whispered with a pointed look, handing you a bag with whatever lukewarm food. At your hesitation to leave her alone, she pushed it to your chest, then motioned you to the door. 

“I can pay-“

Darla side stepped the counter, hands on your shoulders pivoting you to the exit.

“It’s on the house. Now, don’t do anything stupid and stay inside.”

With that, the door clicked hurriedly behind you, not allowing you to turn and ask the million questions you had for her.

You were at odds with yourself as you stared at your dark reflection on the glass door. 

On one hand, you wanted peace. It was the main reason you came to this town for, and asking the right or wrong questions often led you into more problems. But on the other hand, a huge man with a skull mask with an in-defensive woman didn’t bode well. And the panic in her eyes made you repeat the interaction over and over again. 

Darla shut off the lights as she went back to the kitchen, leaving you standing at the closed entrance of the now dark restaurant.

You debated if it was worth it calling the police, or if that fell under the list of what Darla deemed as something stupid.

Holding the bag to yourself as you walked back to your apartment in a hurry, you ignored Darla’s warnings. You’d rather bet on the ‘stupid’ but safe option and put in an anonymous tip. The receiver sounded bored, nonchalant even, not caring that a woman was alone in her job with a strange man. The interaction didn’t go as planned, especially when the person you spoke with treated you as if you were insane and not something to believe. The conversation turned oddly quiet when they asked you to describe the man, the mention of a ‘skull mask’ twisting their questions into more personal ones.

Who are you? What’s your name? What’s your place of residence?

 You hung up.

You did what you could, right? At least Darla’s danger won’t fully fall into your consciousness, you tried to convince yourself.

But the interaction interrupted whatever you thought of doing that night. You couldn’t concentrate. There was something off-putting that insisted that you had to go back there, but you were astute enough to know that it wasn’t a safe route. As an outlet, you called the restaurant several times, hoping that the internet’s spotty phone number was a true one. No answer. Maybe… just maybe if you saw if Darla was ok, you could rest. Then after assuring her safety, you would be relaxed enough to go back to your own business and hide in your apartment once again. After scarfing down the lukewarm food and pacing over the options, you did something else Darla had mentioned, something she had warned against.

With keys between your knuckles and pepper spray in your pocket, you went back outside. You just wanted to see that Darla wasn’t hurt. One glance and you were out.

This was the moment in horror movies when one would demean the main character for doing something so obviously stupid, you thought as you shivered with adrenaline and uncertainty.

The streets were just as empty as the restaurant, a full moon at its peak providing most light.  The pavement was so dark its reflection bathed the street in white.

As you neared, you slowed your pace and approached cautiously.  You shook the doors by the handles, but they were already locked. That much you already knew… but you’ve seen the odd man going out the other exit.

Cautiously, you tiptoed to the right corner and came around, peeking into the darkness to scope the back of the establishment. This is surely the way you’ll die, you thought with a tight grip of your keys as you rounded the wall. And at the turn, you clashed into something warm, so warm that the hands grasping you back to a wide chest could be felt through all your layers of clothing.

It was almost as if he had materialized from the shadows. Even with whatever minor moonlight shone through, it was not dark enough for you to be completely blind. You should’ve seen him coming.

You pushed the person back with all your strength, but they did nothing but chuckle, still too near for your comfort. At the sound and the familiarity of the creeping sensation crawling up your neck, you relaxed a little.

“Oh lass, I didn’t think it was like that,” Soap goaded, holding you close. “Only one word today and you’re already throwing yourself at me.”

“Get off me,” you shook your arms as you looked around him, behind him. At least, tried to, but he annoyingly planted himself in your line of sight, prohibiting you from searching for another sign of life.

“Hey, attention on me, yeah?” Soap stood closer, presence prompting you back to his attention.

“What are you doing here?” You questioned him, gaze still looking around you. “Where’s Darla?”

“Whose Darla?” Soap mused as he walked forward, forcing you to take steps back. “And I could ask the same.”

“I’m hungry,” you answered quickly, knowing that would be the first excuse you would use if the waitress asked for your intentions by disobeying her warning.

“Something told me you ate,” Soap said as he pointed with a look the red stain on your hoodie. He leaned closer and inhaled. You leaned back and ignored the odd gesture. “Pasta, to be exact.”

“Well, I’m still hungry.”

Seconds passed, and gloom dimmed his grin.

“Ah,” Soap sighed, disappointed. “So you’re the one that called the police.”

You froze, fear chilling the back of your neck. How did he know that? Nervous sweat and an accelerating heart with wide eyes took over you. Annoying Soap wasn’t acting like a child prying for your attention anymore. The seriousness and the slow tilt of his head made him seem as a complete stranger, much like Kate had been.

Had she known the danger of the delivery boy? Was she in on whatever was going on?  

“Oh? Did the police come by?” You asked, thinking that it would be best not to admit anything. “Why would they need to come here?”

Soap’s lips tilted, and not in the amusement you’d been accustomed to. At your struggle to swallow, his sight slowly landed on your throat. His gaze leisurely angled up to your eyes, moonlight catching oddly on his irises.

“Hm,” he took his index finger to his chin, musing into the air mockingly. “What to do with you now.”

He looked down on you, as if he was holding a secret you didn’t know. Deliberating… In a sudden flash, he was beside you, arm around your shoulders back pushing you forward. His proximity jolted you, your temples resurging the headache from earlier.

“Come, It’s time you to meet the boys,” He offered, not leaving you another option.

“What boys? I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m leaving now.” You tried to turn back, but the both of you had already walked to the back where you supposed the dumpsters were.

“This is not a good idea, so I’m leav-“ You tried to say again, but it was too late.

“Look what I found,” Soap said loudly. As you rounded the corner, you blinked at the dim light, the backlight providing enough for you to make out three silhouettes and… maybe a dog in the back? They all looked big, all broad as Soap, but Soap lacked what they had in height.  

The same man that had interrupted you earlier stood the furthest, his imposing shadow drawing perturbing darkness over the bricked wall, swallowing whatever light the moon provided. You could make out his form through the darkness. He was unfazed, unmoving, unlike his counterparts.

His untiring glare pinned you in place again, imposing itself in front of the prowling dusk-like silhouette bleeding away at the corner of your eye.

“What have you done?” One of the other men questioned with despair, genuinely worried at your presence petrified beside Soap. With a hand movement, the motion-sensor light activated, bathing the strangers with a harsh truth, immediately providing you with the information you were lacking. Now you understood Darla’s fear, its sight leaving you breathless.

The man in the skull mask was accompanied by other two, all just as bulky and threatening. The man perturbed at your presence was dressed in casual black just as Soap, the other one dressed in a police uniform. The golden badge caught in the light as the man stood taller, preparing for action, as if to chase you when you imminently ran away.

But your gaze couldn’t really focus on anything else except the dead body laying between them, all men surrounding the corpse. A pool of blood gushed from the cook’s torn neck, a chunk of it missing. You didn’t really know him… had known him.

He had been rude and standoffish, much like the rest of the citizens of the little town, but you really hadn’t seen any action that prompted for death, and a bloody one at that. But again, not knowing much about anyone had led you to this moment, prying for the safety of a stranger.

And now someone was dead, and you might be next. They all stared at you, at your rising panic.

“I didn’t think you would kill him so quickly,” Soap said nonchalantly, and your heart pounded itself into your throat, crawling upwards through your ribcage, preventing you from screaming. He voiced it so casually, as if this was his norm. “And besides, she’s the one that ratted us out.” 

You felt the burn of Soap’s gaze on your profile, his arm around your arm confining. Suffocating.

“Brave for someone so little.”

The one in the police uniform stepped forward slowly, stern look at odds with the amusement in his voice. He might have seemed the oldest with the light mutton chop-beard, or at least the leader, going by the respect in Soap’s expression. As he got nearer, you felt Soap stand straighter. If he was someone Soap respected, he was someone you were to fear. That much you knew.

Their accents were not much like your own.

Your eyes jumped frantically from the body to him, the Sheriff badge pinned to his uniform catching in the light again, giving away his job position. Even with the threat imminently approaching, you also watched around him. The other stranger and the skull mask staring back at you were not forgotten. Too many threats you had to watch out for, you thought as you searched for an exit, for a way to drive away the attention from you.

“Don’t touch me,” You furiously shook Soap’s arm, ducking away, the lack of warmth reminding you of how actually cold it was. Your hurried breaths came out in puffing mist, truly showing them how scared you were. The fingers tightly curled around your keys were wait, fully prepared to drive jam your only weapon into someone’s throat, even if it did nothing but distract. You were determined to die fighting.

As if knowing your intentions, your eyes returned to the man you had briefly met before at his amused huff, the black of his skull mask camouflaging with the darkness behind him. It was almost like you couldn’t help but stare back at death.

Despite being the one standing the farthest away, too still for him to seem preoccupied at your actions, you knew subconsciously he was the biggest threat of them all.

“Hm, pup has teeth,” the Sheriff mused as he frowned, annoyance in his face aimed at Soap.

“And the other one is a yapper,” the one with the skull camouflage retorted, comment aimed at Soap too, his voice again sounding like a grumble in your ears, as if was too low of a sound for you to register.

Instinctively you minutely winced, adrenaline making your pulse jump.

The Sherrif’s ever studying gaze caught the movement, frown turning menacing. “That seems like a problem.”

You waited for him to pounce, to cut your throat as they had done to the one that cooked the best burgers in town. Or at least, for him to command you to start digging your own grave.

Seconds went by and the breeze picked up momentarily. Only the lulling shush of the billowing leaves was heard. You shivered as it hit the back of your neck, flying some of your loose baby hairs to your cheeks.

You wanted to think you were delirious. No matter how subtle the rise of his shoulders, you could tell when he inhaled. As did the others, simultaneously.

The threatening nature of the leader flattened to a blank expression, but his eyes, unmoving from your features, were as intense as your ongoing rising panic. You understood immediate violence, already bracing for whatever they had planned from the moment you saw them. What you didn’t understand was the realization dawning on the other two at the back, nor the proud stance in Soap.

But the Sheriff raised his hands in a placating manner and took a few steps back, submissive, expression now beseeching you to not fear him. The shift in attitude had you gripping your keys between your knuckles harder, thinking it was another tactic to lower your inhibitions.

“Impossible,” the unmasked one at the back whispered, eyes wide in disbelief.

“She’s had a headache for days now,” Soap added the much unnecessary comment. You glared, realizing that he had been observing you too closely, Kate probably spying for him. She was the only one that knew about the headaches.

“Grumpier each time I come near,” Soap added, almost tenderly. At your glare, he grinned. “See?”

“What? Can you shut up?” You sneered, taking more steps back, them allowing it. Almost feeling violated at the fact that you never had any privacy, anger interlaced itself with your never-ending fear. Your shifting mood wouldn’t now stab Soap in fear, but in rage at his grating voice.

“Easy there.”

The one with the mask hummed at the bite in your tone. That rumbling sound again drove your gaze to his like a moth to flame. It was sorely a reminder of your precarious situation, a gravely dangerous one.

You have been here before, trapped with a man that wanted to hurt you, you thought. You thought you escaped from that, that Arcadea was your way out. But as Soap stood near, you realized it was lie, and you might never come back alive this time. Four men and one woman didn’t bode well for other reasons too; you weren’t a stranger to the sins against your flesh either.

“You should smell her,” Soap finally said, humming with pride, not understanding how unsettling it was for you to hear. The creepiness in the comment made you forget about your anger momentarily, your eyes catching the lifeless ones of the cook. Slowly, your gaze drifted upwards, until it landed on now luminescent eyes behind a mask, moonlight reflecting oddly. Even through it, you noticed the harsh frown aimed at you. It spelled danger, and that was enough for you to bolt.

“Soap!”

You pivoted and ran, but just as quickly, you stopped and skidded on pavement. The adrenaline didn’t allow you to feel the shock of you landing on your behind, your hands taking the brunt of the impact as you stared upwards wide-eyed.

There was nowhere to go, and there was no way you could run away from it.

A hulking figure bled from the shadows, rising at its hunches. Snarling teeth, each one the size of your forearm, salivated in a snarling smile. A wolf the size of a two-story house stood amidst the night, hiding the high full moon behind it, taking the sight of your exits with him.

A hand caught you by the back of the hoodie as you crawled back, pulling you up.

“Breathe, lass,” Soap instructed in what he thought was a comforting way, but his grasp along the sight of the nearing beast turned your stomach. “You’re ok.”

“No, Soap!”

Before he could heed his boss’s warnings, Soap’s hand grasped the back of your neck gently. It was the first time he made skin to skin contact, and what a mistake that was.

 Electricity cursed through you painfully and you screeched. It started from the top of your neck then down to your lower back, blinding agony crawling like a shiver down your spine. You fell to your knees, bone clacking with the floor loudly.

“You NEVER touch a dormant, much less her!” The Sheriff ran to your aid, hands hovering yet not daring to touch your shivering form. Something was strangling you from the back, your fingers clawing your throat and the nape of your neck where Soap touched you as you gasped for air.

The daring Sherriff finally grasped your wrists over your sweater, avoiding skin,  preventing you from hurting yourself.

“Breathe through it, love,” he encouraged, hiding away the panic in his voice.

Soap jumped away from you at your scream, looking at his hand blamed for assaulting you.

“What do we do?” The one that mentioned the odd impossibility of your existence also stood near, worried gaze aimed at your hunching form. “We’ve never met an Omega before.”

Perspiration seeped through your clothing, shivers racking all over your body. You now laid down completely, hugging your bruised knees to your chest in fetal position.

A sudden current of unexplained emotions surged through the odd sensations of your body. Almost like not knowing how to pick, your emotions jumped from blinding rage, and oh so suddenly, back to despair then again to happiness. Sobs of overwhelming consciousness were pulled from you against your will. Your hands were freed, allowing you to clutch your head.

“Make it stop,” you begged repetitively through your crying, migraine increasing by the second.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Soap repeated again and again, apologies increasing at your wails.

You covered your ears at his voice, clenching your eyes shut.

“Hush” the gruff man sporting the mask said from the back. “No Beta should speak now.”

They made way as he neared, steps carefully calculated.

Unlike Soap’s voice, the lower rumbling coming from the looming shadow didn’t feel like screeching. His voice almost lulled you from the up and coming anguish caving away in your chest.

“What’s happening to me?” You managed to choke out, your voice feeling like nails trying to crawl up your trachea.

“It will pass soon,” he said, dark eyes intensely focusing on your own. He didn’t kneel beside the others, standing away, hiding your sight from the pacing beast behind his back, almost sensing how uncomfortable it made you. Even through the neutral tone and mask, you noticed how agitated he was at your state. The why and the how of the reason you knew that was lost on you.

“Stop that, you’re making her nervous,” the Sheriff spoke at the beast’s growl, but with a huff, it followed instructions and laid down slowly, as if not to disturb you.

After one last upsurge of overwhelming emotions, it slowly lulled down to a passive wave that you had to fight through. It was almost as if it had drained you, physically and emotionally. You could only stare in a haze at the military boots kneeling beside you.

Minutes followed in silence, allowing you reprieve from your heightened senses as your tears didn’t cease.

“How are you feeling, pup?” The Sherriff asked lowly, scared of disturbing you from your sudden peace. You tried to breathe out an answer, but nothing came out. You laid down there, limp, and exhausted, and yet it was not enough to stave away the need for comfort.

This wasn’t you, but you couldn’t fight the honing focus of your sight. And through your breathing, a scent snapped you up into action, like a string pulling you forward. The men hovering over you leaned back as you raised your head slowly but desperately. It was a need for… you weren’t sure for what.

Without aiming to, your self-preservation was lost amidst the confusion, making you forget all these months where you forced yourself into isolation, away from people and their touch.

You looked around, as if searching for something. The men stared at you bewildered as it called to you, sounding like a faraway howl deafening your usual self. It moved you against your will, it’s rebounding echo merging into a chorus of ravenous animals demanding your presence. The image of snarling teeth right behind your neck snapped into your mind.

Without control of your movements, you clumsily rose to your hands and knees, palms scraping the pavement as you crawled forward. The men shielding you made way, confused at your desperate state. Your gaze roved around, until landing exactly on what you were instinctually searching for, on whom you were called to.

He wasn’t far away, standing close to the comrades kneeling beside you. As you neared slowly, you saw the eyes behind the mask minutely widen.

“Ghost?” the Sheriff asked slowly, given his frozen state at your crumbling form reaching for his ankles. It was almost as if you couldn’t wait to get to him, your hands not knowing if to push you forward or reach for him.

You finally got to the stoic man, grasping his pants by his ankles, pleading at his towering indifference. You pulled and pulled, and a whine was pulled from you when he didn’t move.

Finally, you dared to look up, eyes clashing with amber irises in an intensity that matched the onslaught of sensations you were forced to breathe through earlier. It wasn’t animosity that found you, but shock and confusion, and maybe awe. From your view from the floor, it was almost humbling that a man that size was just as confused as you.

Your eyes watered at the sight of his unmoving form, reaching closer and upwards with the intention to climb him.

“Simon.” Someone sternly called his name, snapping him from whatever had made him freeze in panic like a novice. He slowly but surely kneeled, your hands refusing to let go of his clothes. Just as desperately, when he reached your height, your arms tried to close around him, pressing your body to him in a tight hug, but his torso was too big for you to touch your fingertips at his back.

The cold of the pavement, along with the smell of blood, had left you shivering. Almost too cold to be natural, until a big, tattooed hand gently, tentatively, placed itself at the nape of your neck.

Your lashes fluttered at the warm sensation, shoulders sagging in releaf, allowing you to breathe normally.

The others looked up, surprised at the kind gesture given by their most ruthless killer, or so you assumed going by the blood you had seen stuck at the soles of his boots.

Without waiting for instructions, that hand traveled slowly down your arm then to your side as if not to spook you. Just as carefully, an arm locked itself behind your knees, bringing you to his chest. The screeching need of him to hold you lulled, allowing exhaustion to melt you against him.

“Ghost?” Soap whispered, looking over you with trepidation at the consequences of him using his voice. “What are you doing?”

Your head felt heavy, forehead resting in the space beneath his jaw and his neck. Even through the baclava you could smell him, musk and something akin to sandalwood easing you to rest. The warmth surrounding you might have emanated from the hard chest you were pressed against or the trunk for arms now holding you to him, you weren’t sure what made you feel suddenly so secure. The only thing you were sure about right now was how tired you felt.

The masked man that had terrified you in the beginning dignified Soap’s question with merely a grunt for an answer, his quiet steps lulling you to a deep sleep.  

From far away, the howling now didn’t sound so menacing, nor so loud, easing into your subconsciousness as if it were completely natural, for his warmth had quieted whatever unexplained horrors had taken over you.

A/N: Hoped you likes it! I'm open to suggestions on what should happen next 𓏗𓏗

#cod x reader #cod fanfic #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #cod smut #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #au fanfiction #werewolf #mafia au

[dduane]

WIP Wednesday: "Why The Wren is Queen of Birds"

From the upcoming Tales of the Five #3: The Librarian: a fairy tale* of southern Arlen.

***

In the south of our land, in the mountain-wall’s shadow near Dhiil, they tell this tale of the ancient days after the Great Dark was downthrown and destroyed at last.

In that time the Goddess first began to send humankind royal rulers to mediate between the folk of those first realms and the land on which they depended for their lives. And in those days the birds of the world came together in a great parliament and decided they too should have a King or Queen. "For we’re a far older people than the humans are," said some among the birds, "and far more numerous and varied in our kinds. So by rights we ought to have a ruler over us such as the Mistress of the World has given these new young creatures, to show forth our age in the world and our importance in it."

And no sooner had this been agreed than the birds began to squabble over who should be their new King or Queen.

"It should be the strongest of birds," said the great mountain vulture. "It should be the most beautiful of birds," said the rainbow-feathered lyretail. "It should be the bird that sings best, the sweetest-voiced," said the melodious nightingale. "It should be the sharpest-eyed of birds," said the passager-falcon.

A long time the quarrel went on, but no decision could be reached. Finally a hedge-sparrow said, "The owl is said to be wise, and has not spoken. Let us ask the owl." And that seemed a good enough idea that the birds went straight to the great crested owl, who sat in a tree hard by where the parliament had been taking place, dozing the day away.

The birds woke the owl and said, "Wise one, how shall we choose what bird among us shall be our Queen or King?"

And the owl looked south and north, and west and east, and over its own shoulder, seeking the answer. Finally it said, "The deepest truth of being a bird is that one flies. Therefore let the Monarch of Birds be the one who flies the highest."

And this advice seemed good to all the birds gathered there in parliament. So it was agreed and then sung and cried far and wide for every bird to hear, both great and small; from the great dragon-eagle to the tiny wren.

The wren in her holly-bush, when she heard this news, smiled to herself. "There are more truths to being a bird than flight," she said, "and more kinds of wisdom than are owned by owls. I have an idea which bird may yet fly highest!"

So the day came when all the birds of the world assembled, and all flew to see which one might fly the highest. Up and up they went in great waves of flight, so that the sky grew dark with them, and in their dwellings humans looked up in alarm, saying "What devilry is the Shadow planning now?" For the Dark was only a few lives of mankind gone, and humans’ fear of Its malice was greater than their wisdom.

However, the birds cared nothing for the fears of human beings, and only strove to see who would rise highest. The birds of field and hedge dropped away first, and then the birds of the treetops and the tall forests. A while longer the birds of the upper sky rose up together, the hawks and eagles and the mightiest seabirds. But one by one they all fell back and could fly no more through air that was too thin and cold for them; and at last the only one who remained was the greatest of eagles, a Darthene dragon-eagle, grey-pinioned and golden-eyed with a spiky crown of feathers.**

And that dragon-eagle beat his way up and up until it seemed the blue of the sky was starting to go darker and the horizon might to a keen eye be starting to show the shadow of a curve, and even for a bird who was so often neighbor to the great heights, breathing had become hard. And looking around and seeing no other bird had kept pace, the dragon-eagle cried out in triumph and folded his wings to fall back toward the world and his waiting kingship. But as his wings folded down, a tiny grey shape started up from between them and flew, and kept flying upwards. It was the wren, who had hidden herself among the dragon-eagle’s feathers, and now flew higher than he—a tall tree’s worth of higher; two trees’ worth; five.

The dragon-eagle was nigh spent, and could not follow her. He let himself fall back to earth until he knew there would be enough air under his wings for them to bite into. Then he made his way swiftly to the place that had been set aside for the crowning of the ruler of birds. But not too far behind him came the wren, falling as fast as he into the upper airs, and finally to the grove and glade where the representatives of the bird-parliament awaited the winner.

Great was their confusion when the wren came down to perch on a tree-branch in the center of the glade and cry, "I am your ruler, for I flew the highest!" And down in his turn came the dragon-eagle, full of wrath, though he kept his dignity about him. "She flew higher than I," he said. "That much is true. But I flew all the way on my own wings from a treetop perch right up into the great heights where the sky grows dark and the air grows thin. And all that long way the wren hid amidst the down of my back, so that I carried both myself and her all that way. The feat of the highest flight is therefore far more mine than hers, and I am your king by right!"

And hearing these two claims, the birds in parliament began to squabble and argue the merits of each side, until the whole place sounded like a great noisy rookery at sunset. Yet they could find neither answer nor decision; so at last they turned to the Goddess.

As always, where many call upon Her together, there She is, whether She be seen or no. And here, since there was need, swiftly She was seen. To them She looked of course like a bird, mighty and radiant: and all bowed in awe before Her. But the awe lasted only a short while, and in little time the birds began to quarrel before Her over the issue they had begged Her to resolve.

Quite soon, "Peace, my dears, have pity! You’ll deafen me with your noise," the Goddess said, when the commotion had swollen to the point where even a deity might not hear Herself think. "Set out your case, now, so that I may judge."

So they laid it all out before Her, glossing nothing over and leaving nothing out. Then all waited in breathless stillness for Her verdict.

Due consideration She gave their issue; and then spoke and said, "The agreement you all made was that the bird who flew highest should be set as ruler above you. No one said that the bird who flew highest must also fly all the way."

"But that should have been understood!" the dragon-eagle cried in his wrath.

"It may often seem after the fact that many things should have been understood from the start," the Goddess said. "But that is not how it goes. When a game is to be rightly played, all the rules must be agreed first. When the game is begun, and won, it must be judged by what rules were decided before it began: not ones thought of after it’s done." And She looked sorrowful. "I was first to learn that rule. Now, it seems, comes your turn."

And She rose up in Her majesty before them and said, "By the rules of the contest you set for yourselves, the Wren is now your ruler." And as the Wren bowed down before Her, the Goddess reached out a pinion and with one primary-feather brushed the top of the wren’s head, which to this day bears the little gold mark She put there—the sign of its new-made royalty, and the Kingdoms’ first crown.

“Here then behold your Queen,’ said the Goddess to the parliament assembled. And some birds bowed to their new-made ruler, and some did not, grumbling among themselves and glaring at the Wren—as they dared not glare at the Goddess, preferring to think of Her as blameless, and as one who had been befooled, even as the Shadow had befooled Her when the world first began.

And soon enough the Wren began to issue commands to her subjects, telling the ravens, "Your harsh voices were better not lifted in song," and saying to the nightingales, "Your voices are fair but you should be still after dark so that others can sleep," and to the sparrowhawks, "You must cease your preying on small birds and confine yourselves to rats and conies and other such vermin." In short, she put forth many edicts that either seemed to favor her own tribe of birds, or were made to show that she by her fledgling royalty might command what she liked whether there was much sense in it or not.

It was not long before the birds began to chafe at this. And one day the Wren saw a carrion-crow swoop down on a pond, where it snapped up a duckling and swallowed it whole; and the Wren became wroth and cried out, "I pronounce you cast out from among your kind for devouring the living instead of the dead!" And no sooner had the scaldcrow gobbled the duckling down than he stared at the Wren on the willow-branch where she sat, and cawed, "Pronounce what you like, cheating little hedge-peeper; you have no power to make me pay you any mind!"

“I am your Queen, made so by the Goddess, and you must obey me!" the Wren shouted in a fury. But the carrion-crow laughed at her and said, "The only thing I need obey is my stomach, which says you will make a good end to my nunch!" And he flew at the Wren, so that only hardly did she escape from him by diving into a hole in a nearby hedge-bank.

Soon word got about that the Wren had no power to enforce her decrees, and that they only had force when the will of those she commanded allowed it. And quickly she found herself being mocked or ignored, and sometimes attacked and pursued by other birds who hated her and tried to kill her. Some of these said "What fools thought a ruler over us would be a good idea? Let’s have no more of this nonsense, but be free!", and others, "Once this monarch is gone, who knows, the next one may be better."

In no long time the Wren wearied of this strife. At last she took her grievance to the Goddess. "Great Mistress and Queen of the World," the Wren cried to Her, "the birds will not acknowledge me to be their ruler! They hate me because I was cleverer than they."

“It is a hard thing to learn," said the Goddess, “that sometimes cleverness is not enough… or too much.” And She looked sorrowful. “I grieve that you have had to learn it so.”

“All this could be put right,” said the Wren, “if only You would simply give me the power to make them do what I command.”

“That would be a change to the agreement that, unchanged, made you Queen in the first place,” the Goddess said. “My sorrow that your change cannot be made so after the fact any more than the Dragon-eagle’s could be. You’ve built yourself this nest, dear one. Now you must lodge in it and hatch out what chicks you can.” And She vanished away.

And so it is that the Wren is yet held to be Queen of Birds, for though she was never deposed, no other bird was afterward ever found wise (or foolish) enough to hold the office, not even the owl. The only court the Wren Queen holds is hidden away in holes and hedges, to avoid her enemies’ sight, and there she raises her chicks on worms and bugs in a nest no bigger than a child’s goblet. Her only state is the flash of gold on her crest, and in all other ways she goes as quietly as she may—in all ways the smallest and plainest of all birds. Whether she ever came to understand that royalty rightly exercised needs far more than mere cleverness, and needs the heart at as much as the mind, if not more, no one can say. For in this making of the world, even the Goddess who made all things has no power to make even the smallest creature wise against its will. In Her next making, may all things run more smoothly!

So they tell the tale in the high South; and in the low North, where folly resides, who knows what tale they tell? But now this one is done.

*Using the class-name here as the closest match to this kind of story in the Kingdoms, which lacks beings corresponding to fairies.

**On our Earth, Harpia harpyja, the harpy eagle.

#WIP Wednesday #Middle Kingdoms meta #Tales of the Five Book 3: The Librarian

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 23

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: You know this man don't quit.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The movie ends but Andy doesn’t wake up. You daintily touch his shoulder again, gripping firmly as you try to shake him awake. Your legs are starting to tingle. You move your feet, trying to wake up your muscles. He’s snoring louder than before.

You squeak out his name. The panic clusters in your chest, your heart starting to race as your ribs ache. You’re trapped! You hate that feeling. The sort of claustrophobia you get on the bus or in most public spaces. Your body is so hot that your skin itches.

“Please, Andy,” you beg as you push on his shoulder, only managing to rock him, “please, wake up.”

You sit back as he doesn’t respond. Not the way you need him to. He doesn’t stir, doesn’t stop snoring. He only nestles into you closer, his hand slipping under your leg.

You let your head drop against the cushion. The credit music plays as you wallow in your predicament. You’ll just have to wait. He’ll get up eventually. The way he’s slumped over can’t be comfortable.

You deflate and drag your hand off his shoulder. You close your eyes, knowing you’re stuck there until he wakes. You can’t sleep like that. So you’ll sit and try not to combust.

The longer the wait, the slower time feels. You find yourself staring at the ceiling, then the wall, then the idle menu of the television. You can’t quite reach the remote so you sit there as the title cards for various new releases fade across the screen. 

You’re so so tired but you can’t sleep like that. You put your hand on Andy’s shoulder again, feeling the muscle under your hand, the rise and fall as he takes slow breaths. You keep from trying to rouse him again. You feel too bad to do that. If he’s that tired, you’ll let him sleep.

Your head gets foggy as the screen times out and goes black on its own, the back light still glowing. You hear the wax bubble in the candle as the wick burns itself out and you sink into the cushions further. You let your eyes close again, lingering in your incapacitation but unable to succumb to it.

The hours skew by and you see the night roll into morning through the window. It’s beautiful despite the pounding in your temples. Your body aches and your head thrums. Andy sleeps on, his breath lending a soothing rhythm to the silence.

The sky lightens gradually through the pane, deep navy fading to swathes of violet and rose, finally revealing a bright blue. You feel Andy shift as a groan escapes his lips. He drags his hand out from under your leg and you tense. He rubs his nose before pushing his fingers back through his hair.

“Dove,” his voice creaks dryly, “I’m sorry–” he coughs hoarsely, “I must’ve–” He grips the edge of the cushion and tries to push himself up, only to keel over again. He grunts and reaches back to grasp his lower back, “shit– sorry, I… I think I hurt my back.”

“What?” You murmur with a tinge of panic, “you’re hurt?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he plants his hand flat and snarls as he forces himself up, falling back limp against the couch, “I pulled a muscle… sleeping like that–” he blows out as he tries to sit up, only to cry out, “I… you could’ve woke me up–”

“I… tried,” you utter, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t–”

“Hmm,” he rubs his neck and winces, “yeah, I’m a heavy sleeper…” he lets his hand trail down the front of his shirt, “you… you sat here all night?”

You look at him. You don’t want to make him feel any worse than he already does. You don’t mention that you couldn’t move him and leaving wasn’t a choice. Not as the pain needles between his brows, stitching a line between them.

“Can I… help?” You offer.

You slide forward, your own muscles racked from the tense hours of your confinement. Still, you can move through the slight burning in your thighs and the tightness in your back. You stand carefully, stretching your arms high above you. Andy watches you, his head resting against the couch.

“I don’t know,” he puffs as he puts a hand behind him, “maybe… some ice?”

“Oh, alright,” you step back on your heel, “I can do that.”

You go into the kitchen and open the freezer. You shiver as you lean in, searching for an ice pack or maybe a tray. You find an ice bag and grab it along with a dish cloth and bring it back to Andy. You find him leaning against the armrest, his face contorted in agony.

“Sweetie,” he huffs, “help me.”

You don’t know what to do except what he tells you. You didn’t expect this but you suppose this happens as you get older. You’ve woken up with a crick in your neck and it’s never pleasant. 

You put the ice bag on his stomach and lift his legs up onto the end of the couch. You put a pillow behind him and help him reposition himself before you put the ice beneath his shoulder. He closes his eyes and groans again.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “I never wanted you to see me like this.”

“What?” You stand back, wringing your hands as he folds an arm over his chest. “Does this happen a lot?’

“Once in a while… usually stress…” he admits and tries to turn his head, only to yelp and stop. “Dove, please, I don’t want you to see this.”

Stress? Does he mean you stress him out?

“But… you need help,” you cross your arms, “and I’m the only one here so…”

He frowns. You aren’t sure what to do but you feel awful just letting him suffer, even if he’s embarrassed. He doesn’t need to be. Besides, he saw you at your worst and he didn’t just abandon you. You owe him this.

You reach over him and pull down the throw blanket from the back of the couch. You spread it over him as he opens his eyes. You sense him watch you as you stand straight and chew your lip.

“You… you don’t have to take care of me,” he rasps.

“You need me to,” you shrug and look around, “um… should I… should I make coffee or… something?”

“That would be so nice, honey,” he says softly, “thank you.”

“Yeah,” you back away and turn on your heel, “of course.”

You go into the kitchen and rub your eyes. You’re so tired. You could fall over right there but you can’t. You’re not helpless anymore, but he is. Maybe you need this, to learn how to be the strong one.

🕊️

Andy doesn’t seem to get any better. The ice pack melts and you put it back in the freezer. You’re worried. He’s too big for you to move and you can’t drive.

“Um, Andy,” you enter the living room as he stares dully at the television. The tension hasn’t left his cheek, “should I… call someone? Or an ambulance?”

He laughs but not for long as he grunts and once more braces his back. He shakes his head and tries to roll out the pain. He only grimaces and wriggles as he tries to get comfortable.

“No, it’s fine. It’ll go away, I just need… rest,” he collapses against the pillows, “honey, I got some pills. Up in the medicine cabinet. Muscle relaxers, they can help.”

“Oh, uh, okay?”

“Will you go get them for me?” He asks, resting his hand on his chest, “they’ll be with a white tube with a blue logo. Can you get that too?”

“Sure, I can do that,” you affirm, repeating the statement like a mantra, “I can do it.”

You scurry around the couch and hurry up the stairs. Your worry has chased away your own fatigue and the soreness in your muscles has receded to a tolerable ache. You go to the bathroom and ignore your reflection as you pop open the medicine cabinet.

You turn several bottles and find the muscle relaxers. You pause and look over as a red flash beams in the corner of your eye. The shower speaker flickers. Maybe the battery is low? You don’t think about it as you grab the pill bottle and the tube close to it.

You swing shut the door and leave the bathroom. You catch yourself against the banister as you descend the stairs, nearly tripping as a yawn forces its way from your throat. The bottle rattles as you enter the living room.

“I’ll get you some water,” you say as you put down the handful on the coffee table, "one second.”

You go to the kitchen and fill a glass from the fridge filter. You return and offer Andy the glass and the bottle of pills. He thanks you as you turn to look at the coffee table. The tray is still there with the candy and half-finished bottles of soda.

“I’ll clean this up.”

You lift it and take it with you to the kitchen. You take your time clearing it off. You transfer the candy into containers and baggies, sealing them up and put the chips in a ziploc to keep them from getting stale. You hear Andy moaning and grumbling.

You enter the living room again. He holds the tube, staring at it as he turns it in his hands. His eyes flick up and back down. He teethes his lip, a nervous slant to his mouth.

“Dove, I… can I ask you a favour?” He says, so quietly you can barely hear him.

“Um, yeah, of course,” you step out of the doorway.

“I… I can’t reach,” he raises the tube, “it’s supposed to help but I can’t… can’t put it on myself.”

You blink. Oh. Oh. Does that mean you have to touch him? You can’t help but let your eyes round. 

“I understand if you don’t want to, once the pills kick in, they should knock me out long enough to forget the pain,” his shoulders slouch, “yeah, forget it.”

He tosses the tube back on the table, letting out a high-pitched noise. You feel a twinge in your chest. You don’t like seeing people in pain. You remember when Amber broke her wrist and cried every night.. That was so long ago but you can still hear her whimpers.

“I can do it,” you wisp as you come forward and take the tube.

Your hands shake as Andy watches you. His gaze weighs heavy as you feel every move you make is scrutinized. You raise your head and look at him.

“Help me sit up,” he reaches to you with one arm.

You near and bend, letting him wrap his arm around your shoulders and neck. You use all your might to pull him up, feeling him quake with the effort. He sits up and you slowly retreat. You focus on popping open the cap.

“My shirt…” he croaks.

You peek up at him and make a face. Oh. Oh, that makes sense.

You put the cream on the armrest and step forward. He leans in as you do and you help him roll up the bottom of his sweatshirt. You angle the fabric over his head as he struggles to get his arms higher than that. As you guide the shirt down his arms, you realise he has nothing underneath. You don’t know why you thought he might have an undershirt.

“Ugh, thank you so much,” he whines, tweaking your pity once more.

“It’s fine,” you murmur.

You glance at him and sway, unsure of how to do this. You realise you have to get behind him as he leans away from the pillows. You sit on the edge of the cushion as you retrieve the tube and squirt out some of the cream into your palm.

You stop and stare at his back. His shoulders are broad and straight, muscles bound beneath his skin, moles speckled here and there. You hover your hand, unsure what to do next.

“Just under my left shoulder, up along the blade,” he directs, pausing as you stare dumbly, “please, honey, it hurts.”

You make yourself touch him. You press your hand to his back and push it along the line of his shoulder blade. He groans and bends forward. You retract your hand.

“Sorry! Did it hurt?”

“No, no, keep going,” he insists sharply, “please.”

“But… I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s gonna hurt but it’ll make me feel better,” he says, “please, sweetie, don’t you want me to feel better?”

You nod even though he can’t see it. You touch him again, his warmth adding to that of the cream as you spread it over his skin. Your breath catches as you hear something, a hum, a purr. You can feel the rumble in his as work at rubbing the lotion until it absorbs.

“That’s good, honey,” he says, “so good.”

You put the cap on the tube and stand. You look at your hand, the smell of the cream is strong enough to make your eyes water. Andy falls back, not bothering to put his shirt back on. 

“I’ll wash this off,” you show your palm.

He doesn’t answer as he closes his eyes. You leave him and wash off the lotion, drying your hand thoroughly, though the scent of the cream clings. Back in the living room, you find Andy as you left him.

You don’t know if you should do anything else. You peer over at the broad archway that leads into the hallway. He needs sleep, right?

“Thank you, honey,” he startles you, “for looking after me.”

“Er, your welcome,” you say, “I… should I…”

“Will you sit with me?” He plants his elbow and grunts as he strains to move himself onto his side, patting the space before him, “please.”

“Oh, uh…” you hesitate.

“I don’t want to be alone,” he says, “please, dove.”

Another pluck deep in your chest. It’s your fault. You let him sleep all night like that. You weren’t strong enough, not loud enough. Once more your fear kept you from doing the right thing. 

“Sure,” you shuffle forward and turn, awkwardly lowering yourself in front of his stomach.

He drops his arm to drape in front of you, resting in your lap as he nestles into the cushions. His other hand brushes your side and stays there. He squeezes you against him, pulling you snug.

You stare at the television, watching as a man works on refinishing a counter with laminate. You can do nothing else as you sit frozen in his embrace. Encased in ice despite the blaze of heat rising from him.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #library au #don't speak #defending jacob

[sci-fi-disney-prince]

Garrett Hedlund Character Masterlist WIP

In honor of March Madness, I created this master list of Garrett Hedlund character fanfics and may update it even after March. This may not be mobile/tablet-friendly.

Note: This may not have all of the stories posted on Tumblr and/or elsewhere since I am only one person and could only find as much as I can and unfortunately get distracted by Garrett along the way. Also, these do not belong to me. These stories belong to these lovely fanfic writers credited below and to the people behind the original source material. Do keep in mind that many of these fanfics are targeted for 18 years of age and older, so reader discretion is advised.

Tagged: @the-blind-assassin-12 (the person behind March Fic Madness 2024)

Key: ❤️‍🔥 = Smut(ty)/Explicit 🍬 = Fluff ❤️‍🩹 = Angst

Updated as of March 25, 2024

Special Events

@/triplefrontier-anniversary (A fanfic and art event to celebrate Triple Frontier's 5th anniversary which is run by @romanarose and @for-a-longlongtime that goes from March 1st-March 14th. Take out the slash to go to their page)

Masterlists

Mitch Keller x F!OC Waitress Oneshot Masterlist by @marmie-noir [Content warning: violence, sex, and 18+ content] ❤️‍🔥

TriFRambles’ Masterlist by @triframbles

Delta Landscaping Mainlist by @rhoorl ❤️‍🔥

Benny Miller Masterlist by @dameronscopilot [some 🍬, some ❤️‍🔥]

Garrett Hedlund Masterlist by @dameronscopilot 🍬❤️‍🔥❤️‍🩹

Benjamin "Benny" Miller Masterlist by @musings-of-a-rose [Some Fluff, Some Angst, Some Smut, some all of the above]

FishBen Rec List by @thirstworldproblemss [Some fluff, some angst, some smut, some all of the above]

phoenixhalliwell Masterlist by @phoenixhalliwell [includes Triple Frontier guys x Gender Neutral!reader]

more TBA

Individual Stories

Triple Frontier

"Every Kiss Begins With A Mistletoe" by @kittyofalltrades [Santi and Benny x Reader] ❤️‍🔥

"Not So Silent Night" by @kittyofalltrades [Benny x Reader]❤️‍🔥

"Office Party Love" by @kittyofalltrades [Benny x Reader] 🍬

Sleepy Benny by @pilothusband [Benny x Reader] 🍬

"I’m gonna keep you in love with me for a while" by @pilothusband [Benny x Reader] ❤️‍🔥

"An Unexpected Discovery" by @pilothusband [Benny x Reader]❤️‍🔥

"Benny's Favorite Librarian" by @kittyofalltrades [Benny x Reader]❤️‍🔥

"Before I Go" by @cowboystokes (deactivated) [Benny x Black!Reader (Co-Parents)]

"Drunk Poetry" by @violentdelightsandviolentends [Benny x female reader - Content warning: cursing and alcohol mention] 🍬

"I see my shot" by @writefightandflightclub [Benny x female reader - Content warnings: alcohol, mildly steamy making-out, swearing, “unrequited” feelings and implied possible public sex acts (fade to black).] ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🔥

"I've loved you three summers now, honey, I want them all." by @bullet-prooflove [Benny x Reader]

"Disinhibition" by @busycryin [Benny x Reader - Content warning: Injury, bad words, mentions of sex] 🍬

"Slow Motion" by @miss-beep-beep [Benny x Viet!OFC - Content Warning - some cursing and kisses] 🍬❤️‍🩹

more TBA

Four Brothers

"Hopper saves a boy’s pieces, Joyce puts him back together" by @imeanwhynotbruv (Jack Mercer Stranger Things AU/crossover - TW: abuse)

"Number" by @jackmercerenthuiast (Jack Mercer x Reader - Content warning: Mentions of drugs, alcohol, suggestive language, and gang violence)

more TBA

Tron: Legacy

"Masks" by @ivorydragoness44 [Sam Flynn x Reader] ❤️‍🩹

"iii. morning kisses. waking up next to your significant other and pulling them up and capturing their lips to yours." by @solar-siren [Sam Flynn x Tron] 🍬

more TBA

Tulsa King

more TBA

More from other movies/shows/projects soon

#benny miller #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #jack mercer #four brothers #garrett hedlund #tron: legacy #sam flynn #tulsa king #mitch keller #four brothers fanfic #Tulsa king fanfic #marchficmadness24

[verfound]

WIP Wednesday: 03.20.2024

The full scene from last Sunday 😇

Marinette had a soulmate.

Luka stared at the dark pink words on his arm, swallowing thickly as the words rattled around in his head.  It didn’t matter if she didn’t know them.  She had still found them, at least once, and they were out there, somewhere, waiting to find their fairy again.  She’d met them years ago.

…Luka didn’t even remember the last time he’d been in the city.  He had been what?  Three, four when they’d left?  Definitely not long enough to find his soulmate, and he’d only had his words for a few months now besides.

Still.

He had hoped…

That day had been so crazy.  It was only a few weeks into the school year, but there had been a delay and their flight had gotten in late.  The mayor’s daughter was supposed to show them around the school, but even though Chloé Bourgeois always seemed to be sniffing around for social clout apparently Jagged Stone’s kids had nothing on the model son of Gabriel Agreste, some big wig fashion somebody.  She had ditched them the moment she had spotted the model’s golden hair glinting in the sun, and Juleka and him had been left to figure out the bustling campus of Françoise Dupont themselves.

Which was fine.  They were used to being ditched.  Fending for themselves.  That’s what happened when your dad tended to be too famous to bother with you.

But just because Chloé hadn’t been interested in the Rock Giant’s kids didn’t mean others – nearly everyone else – wasn’t.  There had been so many people that day, and it had all been a little overwhelming.  They had been swarmed, because even though Penny had always done her best to keep them out of the spotlight everyone knew Jagged Stone’s kids.  Penny was good, but there was only so much even someone as good as Penny could do.

He’d lost track of how many people had spoken to him that day, vying for introductions and trying to suck up in the hopes of meeting his famous dad.  When they’d finally gotten home and he’d shrugged off his hoodie, he’d been shocked to find the words glimmering on his arm.

Thank you.

They were so…so…generic.  There was nothing special or unique about them, and they could have come from anyone.  There was nothing about them that made any one person stand out, even if one person that day had stood out.

The cute 5ème girl, the one he would later learn was friends with his sister’s soulmate, from the library.  He’d been waiting for the librarian at the desk when he’d seen her struggling to reach something on a top shelf, and he had gone to help.

“Here, let me help,” he’d said, laying a hand on her shoulder as he’d reached above them to snatch the book she’d wanted.

“Th-th-thank you,” she’d squeaked, staring up at him with impossibly blue eyes and the prettiest blush he’d ever seen dusting her cheeks.

He had hoped…he had really hoped…but he hadn’t said anything about fairies, so there was no way the thank you burned into his arm could be hers.  His first words had been an offer of assistance, not a greeting.

And now he knew she already had a soulmate.

Someone she had met long before he’d ever come into the picture.

…he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed.  Marinette was an amazing girl with a beautiful song.  He hadn’t been able to get her song – to get her – out of his head since that first day, and even if she was sometimes shy and anxious around him, they had struck up an easy friendship – one that had quickly turned into an easy crush, at least for him.

But Marinette, like Rose, was a romantic.  She firmly believed in all that soulmate stuff, and why shouldn’t she?  She’d had her words for years.

He was happy for her.  He was.

He tugged his hoodie back on, not really wanting to see those taunting pink words anymore.  Either way, their very existence let him know that his soulmate was somewhere in Paris.  At his new school.

…he just…was it so wrong, wishing that that someone was Marinette?

#wip wednesday #miraculous ladybug #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #wip fic #all these signs #soulmate au #hey I said it's endgame I never said it'd be an easy ride getting there 😝

[bobfloydsbabe]

WIP TAG GAME

thank you for the tag @bobgasm, @attapullman, and @auroralightsthesky ✨

rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

post-party cuteness | fanboy x oc

mickey goes for coffee | fanboy x oc

bob tells j+b | eccentric professor bob x oc

penthouse smut | mob boss bob x oc

the holiday truce | eccentric professor bob x oc

rose blush | eccentric professor bob x oc

hands to myself | mob boss bob x oc

hospital confrontation | rhett abbott x oc

rhett's in love | rhett abbott x oc

linger chapter three | rhett abbott x oc

talking body | jake seresin x oc

the aftermath | mob boss bob x oc

the lost pages (librarian!bob blurbs) | librarian!bob x oc

no pressure tags: @blue-aconite, @withahappyrefrain, @ereardon, @joaquinwhorres, @laracrofted, @sio-ina-bottle, @sebsxphia, @bradshawsbitch, @bradshawsbaby,@mothdruid, @lewmagoo, @rhettabbotts, @teacupsandtopgun, and anyone else who wants to do it!

#tag game #wip tag game #the biggest shock is fanboy being at the top of this list #bob floyd #mickey fanboy garcia #robert bob floyd #jake hangman seresin #rhett abbott #jake seresin #mickey garcia #tgm fic #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fic

[the-dreaming-library]

I'm a big fan of the Morpheus fic's. Do you know any fun once?

Hi anon!

Did you mean fics which focus on Dream/Morpheus? I can absolutely recommend you some of those!

Here are some fics which focus on Dream/Morpheus as a character, through POV, introspection, or character study.

Passing the Time by Anonymous Words: 3311

Dream was mind-numbingly bored while trapped inside the fishbowl. He quickly found something to do.

Or, how he came to be known as the ‘Devil’ in Burgess’s basement.

T Rating, no pairing.

The Heart Of Dream by AshWinterGray

It has been pointed out to Lord Morpheus, King of Dreams and Nightmares, that he may be... terrible... at communicating when it came to mortals. Several times, actually. Having friends apparently means they like to point out your every little flaw.

One such case of his sheer idiocy, it appeared, would be his handling of Rose Walker and Lyta Hall. Something he seeks to rectify.

Somehow his efforts meant he now found himself with family that actually cared for him and was willing to make themselves a constant presence in his life.

How strange...

T Rating, No pairing

A Dark Familiar Stranger by PH03N1X_360 Words: 4 268

It’s a wonder how strangled a man can feel if he cannot breathe, but he cannot die.

In which the lack of air in the cage causes Dream to hallucinate and Hob breaks his Stranger out of the Burgess Mansion.

T Rating, Hob/Dream

Stubborn, Prideful, Dear by Two_Hundred_Percent_Trash Words: 27 945

First, Lucienne was Dream’s raven.

Then, she became his librarian.

Through it all, she was always by his side.

It was always the two of them, together.

A queerplatonic interpretation/relationship study of Morpheus and Lucienne’s relationship.

T Rating, Dream/Lucienne

In Death's Waiting Room by Darjeelinh Words: 5040

Comic Spoilers, Major Character Death

In Death’s waiting room sat her brother.

or, after the Wake, Dream is stuck in purgatory. He had to confront his regrets before he could move on.

G Rating, Multiple Canon Pairings, Dream/Hob

Another Word For Ache by Pellaaearien Words: 86 461 (WIP)

Sexual Content

Isn't hunger just another word for ache? - Emma Rebholz

When Dream escapes his cage, he is starving in more ways than one. Weak and wanting, he goes in search of what will satisfy him.

Rated T, Dream/Hob, Past Canon Pairings

#ask #The Sandman #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless #Morpheus #lucienne #hob gadling #fic recs #the dreaming library #the sandman netflix

[t-lane-writes]

WIP Snippet Game

I was tagged by @echo-bleu a while ago... and today I finally wrote something I'm pleased with. ;)

The Specters, fragment of Scene #16

“Which yearbooks do you want to see?” she asked in a tone that suggested the less the better.  “Oh, I don’t know.” Emma tried to act nonchalant, but she was terrible at this. “How about from the year five-hundred-thirty-five until five-hundred-forty? Forty-one maybe?”  Head Librarian Jalmari gave her a long look. “Six or, maybe, seven years?” she spelled it out in a way that could be interpreted as disbelieving, or mocking. Either way worked. “Wouldn’t two be enough? Thirty-seven and thirty-eight? Also known as the Apocalypse years?”  Emma gaped at the woman unsure how to respond. She scratched behind her ear and looked for help with Anaher, like she suddenly wasn’t sure.  She didn’t want to find Neve’s mother. In this moment it became painfully clear that Emma Lee used Neve as an excuse to get to those yearbooks, without revealing exactly what she wanted to look at. The years of the Apocalypse, of course. Or the Undine Crisis, as it was called outside of Undine.  “Actually.” Neve spoke, against her better judgment trying to salvage Emma’s ruse. “Thirty-six, seven and eight might be enough. Now that you mentioned it, that would explain a lot. My mother must have died during the Apocalypse, that makes so much sense. And my records--” she spread her hands, “this is why they were lost. But yes, I was born either during the Apocalypse or shortly before it, so, if we could look at thirty-six too, that would be wonderful. Do you think you can help me?”  Madam Jalmari stared at Neve like she got struck by a lightning for a few seconds of awkward silence. Neve could swear she saw in the woman’s eyes fear and disgust. The unpleasant sensation rose in her insides like a bile and with it the desire to run. She was this close to backing away and bolting out of this room, if the librarian kept staring like this, but Madam Jalmari shook herself out of her daze.  “I will be right back,” she announced and left.  The others didn’t seem to notice Jalmari’s look. Anaher moved his hands, but Neve only understood one word, “want”. Emma replied in sign as well, “tell, see”. Neve pushed her discomfort out of her thoughts and elbowed Nersan. She was trying to learn the hand speak, but it was slow-going. When Anaher signed to her, he would slow down, made his gestures easier to distinguish from one-another. With Emma or Nersan it was a flow. A dance almost. She needed Nersan to interpret for her.  “Noel asked what Emma is hoping to find, and she said she’d tell him when she finds it,” he explained in a low voice. “They’re bickering, you know.” Both Anaher and Emma gave Nersan disapproving stares, exactly the same, like they had one mind.

Thank you for reading. :)

#wip game #writeblr #my wip #the specters #neve kailash #noel anaher #emma lee #nersan ziya

[evanbi-ckley]

Rules: share something about an idea you have/something that's speaking to you/an au you'd like to see and are considering writing/etc. etc. Basically anything that is tempting you away from your current wips!

I was tagged by @buddiearemydads @swiftiediaz @alyxmastershipper and @honestlydarkprincess ✨💚 I have too many wips I'm currently working on, and these other/new ideas have been very distracting. They will all be written at some point, lol

Tattoo artist Eddie/school librarian Buck AU. Roommates to friends to Eddie giving Buck tattoos to lovers. This is a wip i started awhile ago, and it's been on my mind a lot this week

The Buckley siblings have a talk about love. Maddie knows, but Buck doesn't know she knows

Family barbeque at the Grant-Nash house. That's it. That's the fic

Buck is trans, Hen and Bobby are the only ones who know. Chris has a trans classmate who's being bullied, and he lets the info slip while he's alone with Buck. Buck doesn't react rationally

Chris gets sick at school, and the nurse can't reach Eddie. Buck is the next number on the list

No pressure tagging @spotsandsocks @elvensorceress @shortsighted-owl @singlethread @loveyourownsmiilee @rogerzsteven @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @rose-buddie

#temptation tuesday #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #118 firefam #jules writes

[transmasc-wizard]

Hi I know u like just shared some symbolism from your WIPs but. I saw u said there is More,,,,, and I love symbolism so much so if there's more u would like to share, I'd love to hear it 👀👀

hello there IS more and i am 100% glad to share

rain!! in Rose Librarians!! every time it rains, the relationship between Charlie and Eleanor changes. the first time, Charlie and Eleanor goof off together, instead of being angry and awkward. The second time, Eleanor agrees to work with Charlie to fix the library and stop the monsters, deepening the connection. The third time is the climax of the story, where Charlie and Eleanor agree to help each other truly heal instead of just pretending.

More GFS Foils, bc I love those. Angel is self-preserving and to the point it's maladaptive and hurts them, and Rowan is self-sacrificing and loyal to the point it hurts others. They both are trying to do things "right", but take it way too far.

the books Oliver re-reads can give you some insight into his emotional state! whenever he re-reads his sister's favourite book, you Know he is having unfun brain times, when he re-reads his favourite book he's stressed out, and when he reads his giant textbook about dragons, he's in a rlly good mood. this is consistent across All Five Books because i feel like it

James wearing similar sunglasses to Mack but ironically symbolizes how he's more detached than the rest of them. Mack's sunglasses are directly connected to their emotional & mental state; James' are just... a joke. He refuses to get too deep into anything he feels, and this Will be a point in the VS Sequel i have stewing in my brain (it was supposed to be a standalone,,,)

birds around Hope means godly thoughts are happening, and godly thoughts happening means the abuse metaphor is back ! every time Hope sits and thinks about just how shit their life in the godly realm was, they're surrounded by some type of bird. The most important time this happens, they're near the bird they invented. When they go back to their old home... well. there are birds everywhere >:)

the monster in NT21 is a metaphor for hurting other people to feel better, hence... *gestures to the murder*

The amount of guilt Ace is feeling over being gay will directly relate to the amount of guilt Thalia is feeling over being dead. it's not their fault it's morally neutral and it's something they WILL have to make peace with but they Don't Want To

in DAT, the more cruel and self-centered Nathaniel gets, the less he wears his worker uniform/the more he dresses like the rich capitalists around him.

The Other Ones..... sunlight in a haunted forest is not an invitation of safety. sunlight in a haunted forest represents everything else pretending to be something it is not. that sunlight is unsafe, that man is a monster, Astrophel is not a god but a man and that will catch up to him

on a related note. that one probably didn't make sense but this might: there is very much Icarus symbolism in The Other Ones. Astrophel is oh so curious. Icarus begins to fly. Astrophel feels he can do anything. Icarus gets closer to the sun. Astrophel is trying to be god. Icarus's wax wings are melting. Astrophel forgets he is mortal. Icarus is starting to fall. Astrophel is not sure whether he is man or monster. Icarus has hit the ocean. (Stuff like that, but. yk. drawn out across the book.)

addiction cw: this is a less obvious one i think, but in GFS, for the first 2 books, Corey is addicted to this shitty magic energy drink. (It lets him stay up, and staying up lets him create, and creating lets him stay sane.) in book 3, he's forced away from it. He's also forced away from a lot of other things that are bad for him. But when he gets it back--and those other things, too--he has to struggle with whether or not to use it again. (Does he go back to what's hurt him? He can escape... but now that it's available, does he really want to?)

there is. probably M o r e. but it is getting late and brain is shutting off so that is all :D

#asks #multi!! #my wips #wip the other ones #wip gfs #wip nt21 #wip val saintly #wip rose librarians #wip death and taxes #addiction mention

[cljordan-imperium]

CURRENT WIPS & WHERE TO FIND THEM - Pre Pinned Post Update

The Blorbo and WIP fae have visited me *cries in author* and I have a few new ones. I'll also let you know what is due to post when below.

@theimperiumchronicles

Main WIP...30ish subwips. The Four Horsemen rule Hell and it's chaos. They have war on multiple fronts, are about to get wrapped up in inter-realm diplomacy, and not all of it is started yet. - NEW CHAPTER TOMORROW

Also main blog where I get a lot of asks and occasionally reblog on accident.

@bendingthelaws - An intern for the Illinois State's Attorney for Cook County has been kidnapped and is being returned to him in small pieces. His brother is the attorney on file for the chief suspect. Soon they may be on the same side and need to bend a few laws till they almost break. - NEW CHAPTER TOMORROW

@bombsbodyguardsbroken - Tomb Raider meets Indiana Jones meets The Librarians with some Voodoo and a side of paranormal. - currently neck deep in reworking.

Back to the 20's - Anna from The Imperium Chronicles visits Rose Solomons (OC of @raincoffeeandfandoms) taking Jasper along with her. What mischief will they get up to? NEW CHAPTER SAT

@magical-mistakes-vm - Mahala Codona returns to her ancestral home after the death of her mother. A series of bad choices crosses her path with that of Master Warlock Vollrath Nachtnebel. A normally closed off male, this interaction begins a new path for him. But mistakes of the past and present will put them both in dangers from hunters, other Covens, and maybe one within Vollrath’s own. Not to mention training a new witch can have some pretty explosive consequences. NEW CHAPTER TOMORROW OR SAT

@devil-in-the-details-ay - What happens when Lucifer assigns his only, and very headstrong, daughter to be the Lord of Death's new personal intern? Chaos. (Not tied to Imperium) NEW CHAPTER POSTED TODAY

@the-andromeda-effect - Caliban Andros was sent to kidnap Riona Kalavati from her kidnappers and assassinate her in a way that still made the look to blame. Her husband, Mircea only made one mistake, he lied to Caliban, and that is something you just don't do. Now Caliban has Riona AND Mircea's money, but which one of them is going to die has changed, as have a few other things. NEW CHAPTER SAT OR SUN - only blog setup

@princess-of-thieves-id - On the eve of her supposed wedding to Prince Diyan Noar of Coaltmor, Princess Inara Renisa of Tribaldi slips the guard of her room, makes it to the closest ship and boards the first vessel preparing to leave port she can. She does not realize she has been tailed by Arik Codras who was sent by the Prince's family to ensure she showed up. He too ends up on the ship. It is not till underway that they discover they have stowed away with pirates. The Captain may not be quite who he seems though and that could add a whole other layer to the issue when discovered. NEW CHAPTER SUN OR MON - only blog has been created

#from the author goddess #my wips #writeblr #writeblr community #my writing #writeblr connect

[clood]

ao3 wrapped [writers edition]

MUAHAHAH time to be super annoying >:3c [copies and pastes the ones i've answered via ask]

1. How many words have you written this year? me: sees this question and immediately whips out the phone calculator this year i wrote 39,118 words! nowhere near as much as the freakish anomaly that was 2022, but still nothing to sneeze at ;) this is also not counting a SECRET WORK that i cannot reveal yet... that puts me at 41,208 heehee

2.How many works did you publish this year?

a nice, even 10!

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

because of the nature of the reverse bang and getting to create a fic for someone else's art, i am very proud of both rose-tinted and play pretend. particularly play pretend, because i think i achieved the princess bride vibe i was going for.

then of course i am so proud of myself for venturing into the one piece world with i'll leave it to you, which i don't consider to be good very at all but it marks the point where i took a little leap and shared something in a new space! growth!

4. What work of yours has the most hits?

only human, no contest. such is the nature of multichapter and big bang works xD

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

i'll leave it to you was so unexpected! with hxh being a relatively quieter fandom, i had no idea i would get as much engagement on a silly little oneshot in the one piece fandom as i did. bizarre.

goes to show that metrics like kudos and comments and hits are all fake and you should just write what makes you happy.

6. Favorite title you used

not so bad (after all) is such a good, classic something (something else) ao3 title xD

7. If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

y'all. i'm being so for real when i tell you i am SHOCKED AND AMAZED at the fact that i did not use one single song lyric this year. what happened.

8. Pairing you wrote the most for this year?

LEOPIKA!!! you can tell i was in a leorio phase this year

9. Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

LEOPIKAAAA!!! see above ;)

10. What work was the quickest to write?

the figurine disaster came so quick because it was so fucking funny in my head xD

11. What work took you the longest to write?

longest because of its length would obvi be only human. longest in terms of the emotional toll it took for me to figure out what the hell i was doing is nearly a tie between not so bad (after all) and play pretend.

12. How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

hmmm only the one that's been sitting in my wips for nearly 3 years now. librarian/florist au i will destroy you.

13. What’s your longest work of the year?

my longest work this year is my hxhbb fic, only human, which sits at 16,724 words.

14. What’s your shortest work of the year?

omg so fun. conversely, my shortest work this year is the figurine disaster, a fic written for the greed island challenge server i help shal and liv run! this one has 1,221 words.

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

please see question 12 orz

16. What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

y'all i am so shit at tagging things on ao3. tie between fluff and missing scene, which only have 2 works each xD

17. Your favorite character to write this year?

LEORIO!!!!! i had so much fun with leorio this year, i'm so glad i found my rhythm with him this year because every fic with him has been so much fun to think about.

18. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

oof i think i butchered melody, tbh. not so bad (after all) was SO HARD to write because i didn't know who the hell melody was deep inside the way i felt i did leorio, so it feels really unbalanced imo. however, i am still proud of that work and i think the one person it was written for enjoyed it, so that's all that matters!

19. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

leozep... more zosan... shuggy... i read this question wrong and therefore will not choose one

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

through sheer force of will in editing, i suppose only human.

through the absolute giddiness of entering a new fandom, i'll leave it to you.

21. How many kudos in total did you get this year?

495. fic with most kudos was full bloom, merokomu fans have good taste

22. Which work has the most comments?

only human, as my only multichapter fic this year

23. Did you do any collaborative works this year?

if reverse bb fics count, then yes: rose-tinted and play pretend. otherwise, not this year!

24. Did you write any gifts this year?

yes!!!!! rose-tinted, play pretend, whisper in the wind, girl stuff, full bloom, and housewarming! 60% of this year's fics were gifted!

25. Did you receive any gifts this year?

YES SOBS. my dear sweet selkie wrote me THREE gifts this year and then some friends in the greed island server came together with gifts!!! for mods!! where Fathomless_Crazy wrote Paint This Paling Town and i wept about it

26. What’s your most common category?

M/M lmao with gen in second place

27. What do you listen to while writing?

i think this year i was a total weirdo and sat in silence. i do have a tunes for typing playlist though with no words to distract me that's just a mix of classical, videogame and anime soundtracks, and some random lofi

28. Favorite work you wrote this year?

maybe rose-tinted? or honestly the figurine disaster was kind of funny. although i did really have fun with i'll leave it to you. GAH.

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

oh christ. after brief reflection, i think the following chunk from my most recent fic and foray into the one piece fandom, i'll leave it to you, wins. the drama!! the angst!!

The reality is, Sanji has no idea what he’s doing, or even if he’s helping Zoro or just making everything worse. His hands, his goddamn fucking hands still tremble, and no amount of nicotine can help him now and—god fucking dammit Zoro is just bleeding through all the bandages Sanji is wrapping around him, staining a silk tiger crimson. So he keeps wrapping. There is nothing left for him to do but use up all the goddamn bandages he has. Sanji isn’t a god-fearing man, but as he works he is praying to whatever gods favor Wano—or don't, given what he’s seen of this desolate country—that he isn’t paralyzing or killing Zoro as he works.

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

probably that i didn't do very much of it this year! i don't know where all the time went... through this it was a pleasant surprise to find that over half of my fics this year were gifts, so that's fun!

PHEW. now i cast the plague upon ye and tag everyone in the world who sees this to do it too :)

#i did it lol #clood speaks #long post #my writing

[thatndginger]

Shapeshifter WIP Factions: The Whitehart Coven

Description: A small coven of witches, the Whitehart coven run a small but well-known apothecary in the city. While most of their stock is regular herbs and simple remedies for common folk, the coven maintains a stock of rare, dangerous and powerful herbs thanks to their relationship with The Pack. Capable of brewing up spells for everything from cures for everyday ailments to curses powerful enough to bring down the powerful and mighty, Whitehart witches are respected throughout the criminal underworld, and looked down upon by the more ‘respectable’, larger covens within the city. One must always be careful seeking out the help of a Whitehart witch, it’s said. Their prices are steep, and the magic they draw upon can be dangerous to the unprepared.

History: The story of the Whitehart coven starts on the coast of Ireland, with Rose MacGinnis and Enora Nolan. Not much is known about the witches from their early days. One day they were a tiny, obscure coven operating in Europe, and the next they were a coven with a growing reputation and the power to back it up. Why they settled in the city is anyone’s guess, but rumor has it that Rose stuck around because of her thing for The Pack’s leader Carlisle Morrish. The strong, friendly connection between the Whitehart coven and The Pack only adds fuel to that rumor.

How to pick them out of a crowd: All members of the coven are European immigrants that come from Celtic regions and speak one (or more) of the Celtic languages - Irish Gaeilge, Scottish Gaelic, Welsh, or Breton. They also tend to be unusually lucky.

Leader: Rose MacGinnis

Notable members: Enora Nolan, Rónan Walsh, Corren Boon

At a Glance

Rose MacGinnis - she/her, early 30's, speaks Irish Gaeilge and Scottish Gaelic, specializes in curses and protective magic

Enora Nolan - she/her, late 20's, speaks Irish Gaeilge and Welsh, specializes in healing and herbal remedies

Rónan Walsh - they/them, mid 20's, speaks Irish Gaeilge, is primarily a researcher and librarian

Corren Boon - he/him, early 30's, speaks Scottish Gaelic, specializes in household charms and illusions

#WIP: Shapeshifter #Shapeshifter Cast Intros

[werewolfsmile]

WIP Wednesday

I've been wanting to do one of these for ages and have finally remembered on a Wednesday! And since my obsession with The English tv show has chewed me up and spat me out, it's only fitting that I post something from that current fic.

Even so, there was something about the message that spoke to her, called to her soul. Cornelia suddenly realised her hands were shaking and she set the telegram down. White Moon reached out to her, his hand hovering nervously over her own as he watched her in concern. "I'm sorry, I don't …" A lump rose in her throat. Either a sob or a laugh or a combination of the two, Cornelia could not tell. She sucked in a deep breath and touched a hand first to the osprey skull pouch, then the locket. "That the one?" White Moon asked. Cornelia could only nod, half afraid she was wrong even as she did so. White Moon picked the telegram up, eyes working to read it again.

I will get this massive chapter finished and posted one day, I swear! Hopefully some day soon! In the mean time, tagging my fellow gremlins @sagiow @combat-librarian @undisclosed-serendipity @fernmusing @divinecomedienne @tough-n-dumb @laiqualaurelote

#the english #the english 2022 #eli whipp #cornelia locke #whipplocke #wip wednesday #fanfic #my writing #no pressure for those i tagged #this is also totally not me procrastinating from my writing #lmao what would give you idea #send help i don't know where to go from here #eli's perspective always starts out hard but then ends up being easier #guess i just need to keep writing #sigh

[alecjmarsh]

Sunday Six

Every Sunday, post six lines from your WIP and tag six friends.

The double doors stood fully open, and snow swirled in with the court, settling on the queen's wild auburn hair like diamonds. She sat astride a jet black horse, her sunrise dress and jewels cascading down its flanks. She was as beautiful as Kynan remembered, so beautiful she blurred around the edges. Her horse's hooves thudded against the flagstones as it crossed the hall.

The hag stood in front of his tower, arms behind his back like he was a soldier at attention. When she drew closer, he sank to his knees.

From my recently finished draft of Rose Window, a monster romance with many violent fairies and one human librarian who is sick of their shit.

Tagging @theputterer @defilerwyrm @ayamaguire @sarahclowder @storytimewithbex @pumpkinleif and anyone else who sees this and wants to share

#I am fully aware it's nearly bedtime on sunday #leave me alone I can't read a clock