#I need to see more epic OCs

[blitzy-blitzwing]

Evangeline was so cool to draw!!! 🤩🤩

Commission for mooch||18+ on twitter.

[coconut530]

ATLA TDP MÅNESKIN NEVERMORE TODAY IS SERVINGGGGGGGG

[hiddenbeks]

may i interest u in. snazzy new oc page

[our-transmasculine-experience]

Y’know ,I really need more trans guy rep that’s like, bitter old men. I have an OC who’s trans, a supervillain, and a horrible dad. he has top surgery and c-section scars and walks around with a “get off my lawn” attitude. (His son is also trans, and secretly works as a hero, and they got a mortal enemies type thing going on. Very epic)

I wish there were more transmasc characters and that i didn’t need to scrape through the landfills or create my own stuff to find cool trans shit.

I guess I’ll resort to creating and looking through the wonderful transmasc creators on the internet, cuz i love y’all! it’s just sad rarely ever seeing it in the mainstream.

-🌻

yes. more transmasc representation. religious transmascs. poc transmascs. fat transmascs. not just cookie cutter stereotypes, but real people.

if anyone has any recommendations PLEASE let me know in the notes (not in my ask box)

[dilatorywriting]

Congratulations on 4K!!!! Here's to many more who discover and fall in love with your incredible prose 🍻

I'd like to request:

86. “We could be an epic novel of forbidden lovers, like Romeo and Juliet without the ending.”

With Prince Stefan (surprise, surprise) if the mood strikes you lmao

Thank you so much for sharing your work with us, and for doing this little event!! Can't wait to see what you've cooked up next weekend 👀

Gender Neutral Reader x Prince Stefan (Twst OC) Word Count: 1.1k

Prompt 86: "We could be an epic novel of forbidden lovers, like Romeo and Juliet without the ending."

[EVENT MASTERLIST]

You’d always joked that Stefan was basically like some fairytale prince come to life. The sweetness that never seemed forced, the genuine kindness and care with which he treated all things. His regal bearing, the fact that he rode a grand, impressive stallion with ease, and—who could forget?—the literal crimson cape hanging over his shoulders like a king of old. The face thing helped too. All sculpted planes of rugged handsome that made you feel like you’d wandered out of a garbage can in a back alleyway in comparison.

But somehow, even then, you hadn’t expected him to be an actual, factual prince. Which was honestly really fucking stupid, all things considered. Seeing as half of your friends at Night Raven had royalty in their blood in some way or other. ‘Prince’ and ‘Lord’ were nearly as common as ‘Mister’ over there. And certainly Royal Sword Academy was meant to be doomed by the same logic as its rival.

“So you’ll be ruling a kingdom someday?” you asked. “Like, crown, and scepter, and ‘my word is law, peasants’ ruling?”

“I guess,” Stefan shrugged, brown bangs flopping shaggily over his eyes. “Though I like to think I won’t be that bad,” he added on a huff that was nearly a pout.

You waved him off. “Sure, sure. You’ll be the one person in history completely untouched by the temptations and corruption of power. But like, an actual prince?”

Another huff, though this one sounded far more amused. The brunette leaned forward to try and snare an arm around your waist and pull you back against his chest. You’d been sitting cuddled up beneath a lovely willow tree, reading in the afternoon sun, when the revelation had hit. And the poor guy looked like he’d sacrifice life and limb to slip back into that cozy silence. But no way were you letting this drop. You wriggled away like a particularly determined worm and settled opposite him criss-cross-applesauce. Hands on your knees and stars in your eyes.

“Do you get access to the dungeons? And cool stuff like that?”

He snorted a laugh into his palm.

“Why do you want to know about the dungeons?”

You shrugged. But honestly, most of your friends at NRC were probably headed for the gulags or worse. It’d be nice to know you had someone on the inside, whenever you inevitably needed to break one of them out. (Floyd was looking like a strong bet. Though he could probably manage to slither out of any jailcell he found himself in all on his own)

“It’d be fun, s’all.”

“Fun,” he chuckled, shaking his head in bemusement. “Alright. But yes. I do have access to all the records of imprisonment and things like that. Not that I go down to those places if I can help it.”

“Of course, of course,” you nodded, filing that information away into the back of your brain for a later date. “Can you declare war? Like, whenever you want?”

Another laugh.

“Wars and dungeons?” he asked, and narrowed his hazel eyes in faux suspicion. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure,” he hummed, and ducked forward to try and snatch you up again. You rolled onto your back outright and through the grass—coming to a stop at the roots of the grand tree.

“And what about the rest of the royal stuff?” you continued. “Surely you must be engaged then, right? To another prince or princess out there?”

The pleasant gleam in his eyes dimmed, and you watched his gaze dart away. Heavy and uncomfortable. Which—

Oh.

He… he totally was, wasn’t he?

Something twisted in your gut—sour and sharp. And you regretted ever asking in the first place. Because of course someone as wonderful as Stefan was meant for someone else. And always had been. The dalliance with a little mortal from another world was just that—something fun, and easy, and destined to end by the summer. You swallowed past the building lump in your throat and decided that maybe this hadn’t been a great topic to push after all. You looked back up, ready to crawl back into his lap and ever so tactfully immediately change the subject, when Stefan met your low gaze with fire in his eyes. He reached out and clasped your hands tightly in his.

“I’m going to marry who I want,” he declared, firm, and loud enough it had your ears ringing. He gentled the volume a bit before continuing. “That stuff’s all ancient protocol, anyways. Time to move on, y’know? Modernize.”

“Modernize,” you parroted, feeling a bit thrown by his sudden ferocity.

“And if my father gets upset…” he mumbled, brow pinching in the middle. “Well, we can just run away then. Live in a cottage in the forest. Or, well, something like that.”

“We?” you gaped. Because holy hell. It was one thing for there maybe to be some subtle implications thrown around. But that wasn’t—that was pretty—ah—

“We,” he smiled, warm as mulled wine. And at your wide-eyed, overwhelmed expression, he eased that grin back into something lighter. More teasing. “What do you think? We could be like the forbidden lovers in all those stories!” he crooned, waving his arm through the air like he was at the start of telling some grand tale in a tavern. “An epic novel of our own creation! Like Romeo and Juliet!”

That jolted you out of whatever ‘ohmygod, ohmygod’ spiral had taken over your brain. “Really? Romeo and Juliet?”

“Well,” he grinned, sheepish. “Without the ending, I hope.”

“There are so many better love stories without the suicide pact!” you complained. “Pride and Prejudice. Midsummer’s Night Dream. The Princess Bride. Fucking, Scott Pilgrim even—”

“Okay, okay!” he laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “I get it! No more literary metaphors from me.”

Stefan leaned back against the tree, looking loose limbed and comfortable. And this time, when he opened his arms to you with a little eyebrow waggle, you sighed and curled up tight into the little, personal nook he was offering.

“But it does have it’s appeal, doesn’t it?” he mumbled into your hair. Sounding a bit far away. “Just running away together. No more responsibilities, no expectations…” he trailed off, eyelids drooping. “It’d be nice.”

You sat in silence for a moment, letting the sun play across your laps and his fingers twine through yours. And then—

“Anastasia.”

“Hmm?” he mused, lifting his head from your shoulder.

“We can be like Anastasia,” you said, fighting the heat rising along your cheeks and towards the tips of your ears. But you were pretty sure he could feel it, with how close he was tucked up against your side. “Not a perfect ending, but a perfect beginning,” you quoted, feeling a bit silly.

But Stefan just smiled against your shoulder with a contented little sigh.

“A perfect beginning, huh?” he repeated, sounding far, far too warm. “That sounds about right.”

.

.

[mirkodoesstuff]

Hot take: I think there should be more non-object AND non-joke characters, that would be important for either their OCs lore, their show lore etc., because who wouldn't love to have an OC, who's, for example, a cat that is actually important and isn't there to just make a joke about how they're not an object or just do nothing and get eliminated/get hated.

Like, seriously, why are you all afraid of making interesting non-object characters, that aren't joke characters? Of course I have nothing against non-object joke characters, because I love Yellow Face from BFDI series and also I really like David and Dora, but MAN things could be way cooler if there were more non-object non-joke characters, who were for example guards over objects, or even were a co-host, or heck, had lots of knowledge over objects.

Just imagine the scenerio, where a bunch of objects need help and, instead of going to the host of the competition/their other friends - they decide to go to, for example, a cat to ask for an advice for help and the cat actually helps, instead of being there for humour. Or even better - a group of objects have to save the world from something and they're deciding to get help from a dragon, who helps them get rid of the danger!

Just imagine it... Imagine it how epic those things would become if we got to see more important non-object non-joke characters!

GET CRAZY WITH YOUR OBJECT SHOW OCS! DON'T CARE ABOUT WHAT WOULD OTHER PEOPLE THINK! DO WHAT YOU WANNA DO!

[laylajeffany]

hello, me again.

I finished Chaos for the Fly yesterday and I’m still recovering. It was absolutely incredible. I already know watching season 2 of Wednesday will be weird because I’ll be expecting to see all your amazing OCs.

In the sequel, are we going to see more of Wednesday exploring her mimic abilities?

Thank you again for writing such an incredible story!

Thank you so much :3 It is the first time I’ve managed to finish a million word plus story, and I’m so glad I posted this one, otherwise I would have probably stopped writing back in about September of last year and it would have been one of my many abandoned, epic-length WIPs in my Cloud. I’m pretty proud of this story. I learned so much about myself writing (and finishing) it; I’ll forever be grateful I spent a year pouring all of my free time into a silly little fanfic project for what I got out of it.

If you loved OC Dr. Holly Gallor, check out Lovely Thorns for the love story of her and Larissa. There’s an update to that one coming this week! I also have a prompted Emiliana one-shot that will be here coming in the next week as well. 

SPOILERS and a TINY sneak peak for the Chaos sequel, Karma in Glorious Splendor, below the cut ;)

Spoilers: We will absolutely be exploring Wednesday’s Mimic abilities in the sequel. In fact, it’s a point of contention. Within the first 10k or so of Chapter 1 we see they’re not always as simple (or consequence-free) as simply copying someone else’s power as she might’ve thought and anticipated in the first installment. We’re going to dive into more of the Raven lore as well. 

There will also be a more heavy focus on the ‘homespun magic.’ Writing parts of the Frump family history made me fall in love with the idea of witchcraft again - reclaiming what’s been appropriated and sold to a mass market and making it all about intentions and what has meaning to the user…it’s certainly gotten me more in touch with my own sense of spirituality over the last year and I’ve appreciated it. I intend on having at least the same amount of time with Morticia as I did in Chaos. She doesn’t always understand what Wednesday’s experiencing, but just like Wednesday learned about intentions - it’s what you make of something that can change the outcome.

I think just by the nature of how Wednesday is growing, the Wenclair pairing will absolutely be more of a focal point in the sequel. Enid was critical to her journey, but she had to learn a lot of skills and history from others to be on the ride at all. Moving forward, she gets to pick her own path a little bit more, and with roadblocks in every single direction - she will be turning to Enid for what to do about it, rather than so many of the adults around her. 

There will still be heavy themes of Wednesday’s idea of justice differing from what the reality of living in a system and the real world. An era of reconstruction is that - it doesn’t happen overnight, and we’re going to have to see Wednesday mature to make it through the slow-moving wheel of bureaucracy (even in the Outcast world). That ‘gift of time’ that she received for her birthday at the end is as much a curse as it is a blessing.

Her relationship with Larissa Weems has also changed so much. It isn’t the driving force behind any of Wednesday’s motivations in the sequel, and it’s going to take her remembering what they went through to keep stability between them.

As for OCs, Josie/Dr. Zypher will for sure have more of a backseat role in Karma - but Emiliana is going to be going through it, in terms of her Raven abilities and other struggles, even by the first 30k of chapter one that I’ve written so far. I have no intention of creating any more aside from any who are needed for the Werewolf Council.

Speaking of, we’ll be seeing tremendous growth from Enid through Wednesday’s POV as she faces her future and makes peace with her past. So much so, that it might just be a point of angst and contention for the girls as it seems like she’s moving so much farther ahead of Wednesday, who feels traps by a myriad of forces against her will. 

Does this sound enticing? I hope so ;) I’ve enjoyed getting back into it - I’ve got very strict rules about when I’m allowed to work on writing it and I’ve been following them very well as not to let this one take over my life.

SNEAK PEAK (1,300 words) Featuring Morticia, Wednesday in the ether - bumping into Goody Addams Morticia obviously sensed that Wednesday was stewing in thoughts that day as she suggested, “A detaching meditation, to help you focus more on the present and less up here.” She tapped her own head and Wednesday scowled but didn’t disagree. “The midsummer solstice is just a few days away – so I am grateful you are dwelling on things that require extensive thought. However, it is possible the earth isn’t quite balanced enough and ready for you to explore them so deeply without the shift in the cosmos that the season will bring.”

Not sure entirely how much she subscribed to that, Wednesday also recognized that it wasn’t safe to spend so much time in her head, and agreed to a unique meditation with her mother. Morticia tried not to look too eager as she brought Wednesday out to the back porch closest to her study; the evening sun still had plenty of time to bathe her in the brightness that her nature tried to defy.

Morticia tucked a black string of beads over Wednesday’s shoulders, and she lifted a sunflower charm at the middle to examine it. “Holly says that Larissa is like a Sunflower.”

That made her mother give a knowing smile. “Tall, radiant, and always looking towards the sun, the light. I suppose that’s an accurate simile. Sunflowers are an old symbol for our solstice, as you know – though the perennials here won’t be in bloom for us until late July. Still, as we recognize the light of the season, I believe the symbol is appropriate.” She tucked herself beside Wednesday, her hands in her lap, her shoulders back – posture always immaculate. Wednesday tried to mimic her, shaking her head as she even thought about that word. “You spoke a powerful piece during supper, darling. But I know that’s not all that is on your mind. Would you like to release it, before you attempt to clear it?”

Wednesday moved the sunflower around on the string of beads, refusing to let out the heave of a sigh that threatened her. She really didn’t want to discuss physical intimacy with her mother on the back porch of their family home on a warm night in June…or, really – ever, if she could avoid it. There had surely been a few necessary conversations that had been had after her traumatic visions that past year regarding the topic, but that was a little bit different. She knew that Morticia would do her best not to gross her out with personal anecdotes – she’d gotten so much better at figuring out how to talk to her daughter…

“No,” She finally decided, seeing just the faintest twinge of disappointment in her mother’s still-gentle, mostly understanding smile. “I’m grateful you recognize what I need. I’m simply not ready to vocalize it. But – if I want to enjoy the next few days and try not to give into melancholy after the inevitable loss of time with Enid, I do need to let these thoughts go.” She let out the breath, finally, squaring her shoulders a little more to match the Dove beside her. “Teach me how?”

Morticia reached into a prepared basket, pulling out a small bundle of wildflowers. She placed three, five-sided thimbleweed plants in front of her, explaining, “Thimbleweeds are long since said to ward off negative energy. You are going to follow your usual light seeking breath work. Just before you slip into formal meditation to enter the ether, you are going to pluck each petal, and release your thoughts as you do so – three times. After you achieve peace in the ether, bring me your petals. We will steep them overnight, and then pour that negative energy down the drain in the morning.”

Wednesday wanted to merely accept what she’d said – but her always looming desire to be ornery won out as she corrected, “Sure, but – thimbleweed plants don’t have petals, they’re technically sepals.”

At that, her mother let out a throaty laugh that ended with a half a groan and a kiss to the top of Wednesday’s head as she stood up, squeezing her shoulders in a hug. “Release yourself of the burden of overthinking, my darling girl.”

Agreeing, Wednesday began her usual sequence of deep breathing, her eyes closed, doing nothing but counting, holding in air and letting it go. It was nearly ten minutes before she was almost at the point of visualizing her light and entering the ether. With enough pluck, mentally and physically, she tugged each of the sepals off the thimbleweeds, letting them fall into her lap as she thought to herself: release the hesitation of physical intimacy, release the fear of Enid being alone, release the sensation of inadequacy. 

Repeating it as directed, Wednesday disassembled the final plant before picturing a sunflower, searching out the sun, finding herself tumbling pleasantly into a field full of them. 

She stood up, feeling small as she wove through rows, trying to discern meaning from being there – why the universe brought her to such a place alone –

Except as she turned a corner, Wednesday crossed her arms, recognizing she wasn’t alone. 

“I didn’t anticipate running into you outside of Jericho, particularly, in the light end of the ether,” She spoke with a little bit more cockiness than probably necessary. 

Goody Addams looked her up and down with a bit of the same attitude. “I might not have much concept of time here, but even I feel a pull when it is nearly a solstice in your realm.” She ran her fingers over a fuzzy stem. “You shall soon be welcoming back the darkening days after the longest time of sun.”

Giving a dumb nod, Wednesday stared hard, wanting to be combative. She hadn’t sensed Goody in Jericho after putting up her monument, and certainly hadn’t tried seeking her out. It was their first interaction since she’d released the remnants of Quinton’s evil into the nether. Taking her in, she noticed. “You still have the Beanie Baby,” She said with the faintest twitch of her lips up, as Caw the blackbird stuck out of Goody’s apron pocket.

Her ancestor lifted it out, holding it in both hands, like it was as precious and fragile as a newborn baby. “I confess, this seemingly innocuous tchotchke has become meaningful to me,” She said in a confession that Wednesday didn’t anticipate. “I have not been able to access a place like this in what I assume to be hundreds of years. Yet, since our last interaction, since you gave me this children’s toy of comfort – I have found myself able to once again visualize places that have been long cutoff from my former psyche.”

“I suppose that’s encouraging,” Wednesday chided. “I told you it was not as silly as you wanted to think it was. Being comforted by someone or something we love is a very powerful magic. I am sorry that opportunity was taken away from you.”

Goody lifted her shoulders, stroking the yellow-orange beak of the bird. “If I was allowed to give into light without hiding it in the dark, you would not be here, Wednesday Addams.”

“I guess that’s something I share with my mentor, then,” Wednesday muttered, thinking about Imogen and Josie for a moment. She shook her head. “I recognize the privileges I have. But that doesn’t mean my life is easy simply because I’m not at risk of being burned at a literal stake every time I leave the house. Believe me, there are plenty of modern problems we face that I have yet to find solutions for.”

Goody tucked Caw to her chest with one hand, the other resuming the journey of feeling the different sunflower stems. “Yet – that was not what troubled you to bring you here.” Wednesday glared, wondering how she knew that. “Your face may be blank, but I can read you easily. You are troubled by personal demons, not societal ones.”

[quillofspirit]

2023 fic recs

If there's one thing to know about me, is that I love to read! and I love to share the good fics, so I figured I would put them all on one list💚

pssst! it's my first time doing anything like this, so if you have recommendations for the format, please do leave them in the comments or drop me a message! thanks xx

Key 🍬 fluff 🧯 spicy 🌡️ smut ⛈️ angst 🌪️ all

For people I have tagged, please let me know if there is anything you’d like me to add or remove — like a link to another account. It’ll be my pleasure☺️

Lord of the Rings (and related)

⛈️🧯Fuck the Forbidden pt. 1 by @entishramblings

Boromir x mermaidfem!oc Teens and Up but read the warnings carefully 9,500 words

Now I want mermaids in everything. why aren’t there mermaids in everything? The descriptions are so well done, everything is so vividly easy to visualize, oh I just loved it.

I am so hyped for pt 2!!

🍬⛈️ Healing Touch by @ass-deep-in-demons

Boromir x fem!oc Teens and Up 4,350 words

My film studies degree was very happy about the descriptions of movement in this one - it’s a little specific but hear me out. It’s much easier to see the actors playing the scene when it’s described this well! THAT ENDING, I have to say I joined Legolas, and I don’t have excuses.

I cannot wait to read the rest of the adventures of Joanna!

🍬 I Might Need to Kiss You by @fizzyxcustard

Thorin Oakenshield x fem!reader 400 words

I was squealing, this is so sweet. like the perfect little pick me up when you need a reminder, and Thorin is nothing if not a good king to his subjects 😇

🍬 Sweet Conversations by @glassgulls

Haldir x fem!reader Teens and Up 5,360 words

did I almost break my mouse when I clicked on this? noooo

Would I do it again? approximately 5 times since ☺️

Who doesn’t love sneaking around and kissing pretty elves, especially when they propose the idea so nicely… Just read it, you’re welcome

⛈️🧯Transformed by @sotwk

Thranduil’s son OC x fem!reader Teens and Up 2,400 words

There are at least two werewolves! When I tell you I read it three nights in a row, just to truly catch all the little things that made me go absolutely feral this so lovely to read. Yes, there’s gore (only a little bit) and there’s angst, but there’s also dialogue that would be made into gifs were it a movie.

Pirates of the Caribbeans

🌪️Catch the Wind by eriathiel (@esta-elavaris)

James Norrington x fem!oc Explicit 418,000 words

101 chapters of epic, pirates, and sweetness. The definition of you will suffer and you will like it. I finished this in like two days, because I couldn’t put it down, like a child on Halloween night going through their whole bag of candy.

⛈️🍬 Fallen Through Time by eriathiel (@esta-elavaris)

Catch the Wind AU Mature Ongoing; 34,000 words

12 Chapters so far, but it’s probably going to make me want to read everything about Theodora again. I am very normal about this character. 😌

Other fandoms

🌡️One of Those days by @capricornafterdark

Jason Todd x fem!reader Explicit 750 words

Sometimes you need to be taken care of, and sometimes its easier to take care of others.

🍬Patience by @velvetcloxds

Charlie Swan x fem!reader Just straight cuteness 600 words

A cute yet serious conversation with Charlie

🌡️That Takes Trust Darlin by @capricornafterdark

Jason Todd x transmasc!reader Explicit 1,950 words

It takes a lot of trust to tell a person about your desires, and even more when you spend your time catching villains.

🌪️ What Happens After You? by StrengthBeforeWeakness

Ominis Gaunt x fem!oc Mature 219,000 words

A badass Ravenclaw, sweet sweet Garreth, and dark!Sebastian. I am tempted to say it’s almost a Hogwarts Legacy AU because the lore in this fic is so incredible, it feels new again.

These are my headers and dividers, please do not use them.

[ratguy-nico]

Geneuary prompt Crush / Birthday

This as a matter of fact was the firts Geneuary piece I drew, why? Cause... it was the first prompt that come to mind. yeah Im not that deep. At least not at thinking.

Scene from the movie Sixteen Candles, why? cause for me this movie combine perfectly the Crush prompt with the b-day prompt.

-ejem ejem- Starring in this piece not only my Genie Wieny Beanie but also co-starring as the romantic interest -dum duru dum- ALEXIS!!! oc, child of the awesome @golden--doodler also known as the person to whom we owe Geneuary @goldendoodlerlockerlove -fuegos artificiales, epic solo de guitarra, explosiones piu-piu piu-

fvk forget to mention draw Alexis heavily inspired in @drawthething commision with golden were they drew Alexis so kudos to them too. (love your drawings)

(more about the drawing down here)

... Yeah...

The thing is! As I said before this is a scene from the movie Sixteen Candles starring Molly Ringwald most known for The Breakfast Club movie that actually have an episode of Bob's Burgers dedicated to it. do you see the connection?

So yeah, don't remember if is actually mentioned but I'm totally sure Gene is a big Molly Ringwald fan, is just his type of girl icon.

The movie in itself is a movie that carries a lot of good memories for me. My mom loves to show me movies from her childhood and teen years.

I remember watching this movie with my mom we both laughing of all the craziest shit that this movie had, commenting how different movies were back then and crushing over Molly Ringwald.

And then just a couple of days ago as a way to find the inspiration again I decided to watch it again with my lil sis who almost cry in the end scene (not the romantic one, the one with the girl and her dad)

And we catch sight of a lesbian! Hunting lesbians in older movies since 2024

The thing is even though I love this movie I have to say is from the 80's, wich mean hella racist toward asian people, very misogynist, and it have boobs (that is not a real problem but since people on twit is trying to banned sex I added it) so yeah, watch carefully. But totally recommended.

There's a scene I would also draw with Tina and Bob from this movie.

Second fun fact. Even though this was the first drawing I made I didn't made the romantic interest until this wednesday.

Originally I though Alex, but I wasn't 100% convinced cause at that point I was heart broken at the realization they were probably discarding his character (note: I don't know if they are discarding the character) (read as a Mort situation) So yeah.

Then I though DAH! Courtney, but I don't ship them as a couple so that didn't seem quite right.

Then talking with Golden I got really fond of their OC Alexis and though, why not? I believed in signs.

The universe talk and I have to listen. The fact that Golden decided to tell me about their character right when I was starting to draw this piece was all I needed to know.

Also I though of just letting that spot blank and maybe made a dynamic were people put whoever they wanted with Gene. Which for me could been hella funny. But I don't think anyone would actually want to do that so yeah.

[somethingclevermahogony]

WIP Announcement (and re-re introduction)

Hello everybody! I've been busy for a while and I haven't been able to respond to a lot of the tag games and asks that I've recieved, but now finally I am done (for now) and I can get back to responding to y'all and posting about my WIP!

(Left) My MC'S Narul and Ninma courtesy of @faeporcelain and (right) Narul courtesy of @veggiebr0th !

For those of you who haven't seen me before, Hello! You can call me C. I am currently working on a series of fantasy novels, The Testaments of the Green Sea. The story follows the journey of the giant Narul and the princess Ninma as they travel the lands of Kishetal. Along the way they encounter spirits, monsters, demons, magic, war, gods, pirates, and slavers.

The setting and story is based around the mythologies and cultures of the Bronze age, no knights here sorry to say.

Genre: Epic Fantasy

Themes and Tropes (Or more accurately a random assortment of words vaguely related to the plot): Found Family, immortality, loss, love, war, power, memory, magic, insanity, political shenanigans, The passage of time, growing up, queerness in the ancient world, violence, spirits, fantasy outside of medieval europe

I finished the second draft of the first book (and started book 2) and I thought that I was happy with it, but lately I've been thinking more about a lot of the characters that I've included and the stories that I want to tell and I have realized that even with 208,000 words, I wasn't able to fully capture everything that I wanted to. And so I have decided to give myself more work and to split my first book into three separate books which will let me give all of the characters and stories the attention they need without overcrowding.

And I have finally come up with titles! The series overall is called The Testaments of the Green Sea and the three new books are as follows:

The Giant and The Princess

The Pirate and The Poet

The Hammer and the Spear

Some things you can expect in the next few days:

An absolute deluge of tag game responses and ask answers, I have a lot of catching up to do ( @illarian-rambling , @mk-writes-stuff , @elizaellwrites , @elsie-writes , @willtheweaver , @phoenixradiant , @agirlandherquill , @the-ellia-west , and anyone else that I might have missed)

I will finally be posting the intro to my OC, Zatar (I'm including a drawing of him down below), and will be posting a poll or two about other characters that y'all want to be introduced to you.

I might do a poll about a poll, to see what sort of thing y'all would be interested in seeing

I will be posting a recipe for a cheesecake recipe from my world, this is a way to celebrate 200 followers (thank y'all so much btw!)

I'm excited to show y'all some new things about my WIP and to introduce you all to my OCs and world! Also, I don't think I've ever actually made an official taglist. If y'all are interested in being in a taglist for this project, send me a message or comment on this post!

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Hello, Mr. Monster (Six. Somnolence)

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Masterlist

Chapter warnings: trauma, A/N: This is literally half of what I planned on for this chapter. Soooo. Yeah. One of the teasers for this chapter applies to chapter seven, lol. But the wait will be worth it! Thank all of you who've stuck around. <3 You are all dears and deserve big cups of tea and cuddles. Dream’s creations brought him stories.

6: Somnolence

They groveled before his throne by the dozen, sharing tales of the child Aisling – in need, protected by his arcana as she moved through the mortal plane, jetsam in the wake of a better life she should’ve lived. Hundreds more, many of them nightmares, told epics of the woman Aisling – tearing their anchors from the dreams of innocent mortals, protecting the most fragile dreams from harsh reality in quiet corners of the world where fantasy still thrived.

His creations brought these stories to trade for forgiveness the subject of their tales had already secured. Only a few shared their memories because they cared for her. They wanted their lord to see her as they’d found her, and how could the Prince of Stories not love a timely hero in a grand tale?

Some told him what they thought he needed to know. Facts about the mortal with his name and power etched in her soul.

He had his own story, one of a cage and a strange woman with true sight and curious magic. A woman who looked too hard at all the wrong things and freed him without promise or threat.

When he first saw her from his prison, when his restraints shattered and he could see properly for the first time in over a century, hope and loss nearly consumed him. He’d been aware of the place in his essence where a mark might grow before Earth gathered into a planet. Every time he fell in love, he waited for the name to appear. Trapped in his glass prison, cut off from anything that made him more than a fragile facsimile of a human shape, he hadn’t felt anything fill the empty space. He lacked the awareness.

How had he imagined meeting a soulmate? Not like that. Not as that – a nameless monster in a cage. She fled the moment she found him, and he imagined he could see Nada’s footprints in the sand as his true soulmate’s steps echoed over stone.

Perhaps it was for the best. The quaint hell of Burgess’s basement was no place for introductions, and he brought all his bereaved fury to bear in his escape. Even as he found his freedom, he found yet another treasure the magus and his son had stolen from him.

She had been hurt. Badly. And he had not been there. If Alexander Burgess hadn’t already earned his punishment, seeing the crude letters cut into Aisling Hunt’s heart over her own mark clinched his doom.

When she finally slept, he showed himself as everything he was not upon their first meeting. Her clever eyes, blinded by fear and expectation, did not see him. Did not know him.

Though he ached to be with her since the moment he truly saw her, though he yearned to repay her for ending his captivity, a hundred years of helplessness festered like a dark canker in the depths of his passion.

When she did not recognize him in that first dream, he did not rush to correct her ignorance. He welcomed it, and with her oblivious naivety, he took control. In the second dream, it was even intentional. So long as she did not know him, he was… safe. So was she. Or he liked to believe so. Safe from fear and confusion at the clear weft of their wyrds knotting them together through actions she believed entirely her own.

But now she knew him.

She’d seen his face, and the budding trust he’d savored as she came apart under his hands and tongue shattered like the finest glass. He imagined it like shards coursing through her blood. He’d seen as much in her eyes as she looked up from the hand of her captors, brought in silken chains to her monster, the entity she’d readily freed from Fawney Rig. Her growing faith, possibly even affection, cut her from the inside out, glittering in her eyes as she fought against the pain his face brought her.

Once again, he was shown to her as a monster, as a frightful king who might accept such a gift from the unseelie court. His lip curled at the thought.

He could not bear it. Though the two parts of him stood at war – the lover and the wounded king – neither exalted in her fear. Deep within, the mark cut him, too. Soothing her pain when she fell into his hands in their first dream together was far from selfless.

He wanted to chart her, like a star-filled sky, or an endless ocean reflecting those stars. He could sense the elements in her, the base reality of every living thing bound up in her tattered mortality. Wildfires and oceans. Sweeping winds and green fields.

And beyond that? She’d done more with the powers the fae cursed her with than he would’ve thought to ask. A touch of eternity beyond anything human tangled so deep in her soul he could never take it back, not without killing her.

He wanted to do terrible things. To pluck out her heart and wear it in a locket, sundering her from the waking world forever. To wrap her up in splendid charms and spells to make her forget anything she might miss outside the bounds of the Dreaming. To pull her deeper and deeper into himself until they were truly one, until she became a part of every aspect, even if it would destroy her. His desire ached to maul her in some way, to sate his hunger and leave a mark even mortal eyes could see.

At the same time, he’d gladly hand his nightmares the broken remains of any other – mortal, god, or angel – who threatened so much as the ease of her smile.

He yearned for her entirely, and he was not all light.

She felt so right in his grasp when he caught her up in the throne room. safe at last in the circle of his arms. But he was not free to hold her. He required her permission, her clear consent, a reciprocal yearning in word and deed, and until he had that, he must prove himself. He could not fail her again.

And so Lord Morpheus, dread King of Nightmares and ruler of the Dreaming slouched low in his seat, watching Aisling Hunt breathe, at rest in the perfect silence of oblivion as he waited at her side.

He hadn’t brought her to the rooms he began crafting as he rebuilt his kingdom from ruins. The bed was no less grand, the space fit for a goddess, but it was a thoughtless grandeur. Perhaps it was selfish, but he did not want her fear to spoil the joy he’d hoped she’d find… in her home. He did not want her first memories there to echo with terror and doubt.

“My lord?”

Lucienne hesitated in the doorway, hands clasped behind her back and brow furrowed with care. Though he wanted to close the doors and keep these quiet moments entirely for his own, his librarian had been the one to remind him of his soulmate’s fragility, and although she often provided insights he did not like, they were all the more invaluable for his distaste.

“I do not know what to do.” He looked from his love to his librarian, nearly as lost as he’d been when he first returned from his imprisonment, sitting below a throne governing nothing but broken glass and crumbled stone. Then he’d had a course to follow, a realm to repair, even if he hadn’t known where to begin. “There is no quest to fulfill. No correction to make. She is not even mine to repair, even where I am at fault.”

His former raven watched, shifting in place, but never taking her eyes from her master and the mortal he would love.

“Perhaps…” She paused, and Morpheus looked to her searchingly, grasping for hope in the wake of this latest failure. Taking it permission, she continued delicately, handling her ruler like the delicate pages of the library’s oldest tomes. “Perhaps a king is not what she needs at this time.”

He already knew that, but he could not accept it.

“Is my name not carved on her heart?”

“Morpheus, my lord.” Lucienne offered the correction like a balm to a blistered wound. “Not Dream of the Endless. You assume you know what her reaction will be when she wakes, but how can you predict someone you barely know? She knows even less of you, and I’m sure she has plenty of assumptions.”

He bristled. He already knew her, as he knew all dreamers. The facts of her life flowed through the Dreaming, but he only understood them as a mortal would know printed words on a page. They’d shared precious little time. Three dreams.

Would she ever trust him like that again, or had he lost her entirely in his carelessness?

He didn’t wish to agree with his librarian’s suggestion, but he had no ideas of his own, and he would not fail his little hero once again. Could not.

“What do you suggest, then?”

Drawing herself up, Lucienne unclasped her hands and folded them anew in the front, clearly itching for a book or ledger to occupy herself. “I don’t know her any better than you do, sire, but there are some who do. Why not… invite them to share their insights?”

Morpheus closed his eyes, calling to mind the many subjects who flocked to offer pieces of Aisling’s story. Most clasped nothing but small gems, scattered fragments of a grander jewel. But the ones she called friend, that walked the Waking world beside her…

He opened his eyes and looked through the Dreaming, reaching to the shores of Nightmare, where a beast with pretty manners turned at his call.

“Fine Gentleman. I summon you. Come to me.”

The nightmare followed his order, appearing in the room at the foot of Aisling’s bed as the shape of the realm bent to accommodate Dream’s will. Despite his decades in the Waking world, the nightmare had taken up his old duties admirably, and Dream expected Fin, as so many called him, would return the loyalty Aisling had shown him. She risked her freedom to safeguard the nightmare’s path home, after all.

Fin knelt, bowing to his king, but his eyes flicked to the bed, and Dream dismissed his respects. “Rise. You have leave to speak. There are answers I would have of you.”

The nightmare didn’t need to be told twice. Back on his feet, he gingerly touched the edge of the blue coverlet, and asked, “It’s true? The unseelie, they – Is she alright?”

“In body, yes.” Lucienne approached the far side of the bed, closing a semicircle around the sleeping mortal who’d caused so much concern. “But she had an attack of some kind, and none of us are sure what to expect when she wakes. Perhaps you have some experience with similar episodes?”

“I do.” The nightmare kept his attention on Lucienne and his hand a few inches from Aisling’s feet. History and affection bound them closer than oaths and debts. Rot green ghosted through Dream’s thoughts, and he wrestled the specter away as the nightmare explained. “She hasn’t had one in a long time, but she used to have panic attacks when she was younger. Bad ones.”

“And how did she treat them?” Morpheus demanded his creation’s attention. It would do the nightmare well to remember whose soulmate he’d been called to aid. It would do him well to remember his king.

Nothing of the beast faced the King of Dreams, only the gentleman, and though he kept his head down, his gaze fixed on Morpheus with iron determination.

“My lord, I have a suggestion you won’t like.”

There was much in the past hours Morpheus had not liked. He’d cut his throat to ease her thirst if need be or burn every star in the Dreaming’s sky to keep her warm. Sitting up in his chair, he prepared himself to bleed.

“What is it? What does she need of me?”

The nightmare didn’t hesitate. Didn’t flinch.

“Your distance, sire.”

Morpheus recalled the scene in the great hall. His destined soulmate. Alone, collapsing on his throne room floor, shaking and afraid. He wouldn’t have it.

“I will not leave her. She will not be alone.”

Her friend, the nightmare, shook his head. “She wouldn’t be alone. Any of us she knows could stay and mind her, but…”

Ah. Morpheus sat back in his seat, expression cooling as he realized they had only just reached the part of the suggestion he would not like.

“Speak.”

The nightmare took a deep breath, set his shoulders, and forged ahead like a soldier facing down a dragon.

“She was never afraid of you because you were powerful. She lived in fear that you’d take her choice.”

He gave his king a moment to consider the revelation, though even in his brief acquaintance, Morpheus had learned that much. But it was only a reminder, and he spooled out deeper knowledge like a bandage he could pull his friend together with.

“When she wakes up,” he said, “she’ll need to feel in control. Even in the Waking she took space for herself – to find the truth, redraw the borders around what she’d chosen and what she’d been told to choose. The greatest gifts you can give her are time and space.”

Drawing his hand back, letting his fingers drag over the covers, the nightmare bowed. Morpheus read more than respect in his creation’s bent spine. This was the obeisance of a supplicant, one begging for grace rather than offering fealty.

“She’s resilient, but give her a chance to find her feet before you ask her to be brave again.”

Dream of the Endless did not smile down on his creation. The nightmare had been right. He did not like this plan at all, but he had asked, and the nightmare spoke truly. As a true friend.

Loathe as he was to banish himself, he would abide by the counsel of one who knew his soulmate well in the hope that he, too, may someday be allowed to know her.

“Very well.” He rose, and the chair crumbled to sand. “You and those of your choosing will serve as companions, guides, aides. The One Beneath will guard her.”

The nightmare took his orders and departed to gather his fellows. Lucienne waited for her lord, offering him silent company and support as he pulled himself from his little hero’s side.

He craved her faith. Her willing trust and all that would follow. It seemed, however, that he must first give her his own.

“When she is ready, she will come to me.”

.O.O.O.

She roused from the dreamless ocean to meet a crush of memories.

The fae delivered her. Morpheus took her. And now she woke in a bed she didn’t recognize.

He’d watched as the fae threatened to strip her of her own mind. And he’d – he’d always been –

She ripped the sheets back and fought her way off the plush mattress. Not awake enough to land on her feet, she fell to all fours, and the impact jarred her knees, sparked little agonies up her wrists. She dropped flat, belly-down beside the impossibly soft sheets and a blanket that looked like rolling waves caught the threads. She looked at the wonderous bedding with dull eyes. Then closed them, so she wouldn’t have to.

Everything here was his. Even… even she was. Now. Maybe.

She hated every beautiful thing in the room, but she hated herself more.

It was her fault. She let herself believe she was safe, and she paid in flesh and scars.

How many years of her life would she voluntarily trade to the fae to erase the past… however long they kept her, from the moment she passed through the mirror til now? And how long was that? Did she sleep for a few hours? Days? Had the Waking world seen a hundred years as her monster bundled her up in his castle?

Her breath caught like a sleeve on a doorknob, sudden and jarring.

It hadn’t really happened.

It had.

He’d promised her he wouldn’t steal her away or exploit what she offered. He helped with her pain and brought her pleasure, and she’d –

A cold hand with scabby skin and broken nails wrapped around her fingers.

She didn’t need to open her eyes to recognize Jeff.

She rubbed her thumb along an exposed tendon to assure him she was alive, and he squeezed back to prove he was listening, that he had her, that he would stay. That everything was alright and nothing truly terrible had happened as she slept.

That all was still as she remembered.

Despite what she’d seen.

Maybe it meant something that her monster let her oldest friend comfort her instead of demanding the burden of care himself.

But if the first promises had been lies, and his excuses for the mask must’ve been, then she couldn’t trust any peace offerings, either.

The nightmare held her hand, but he couldn’t ground her. She refused to settle in her skin. She knew what would happen when she did. Whole people wore skin – filled with pain, and regret, and longing. Nothing hurt more than that.

She’d been here before. Not on this floor, in this plane, within her monster’s domain. But a floor, and in the end, polished marble or scratchy, threadbare carpet, it didn’t matter once she landed. A floor was a floor. She became hollow enough to forget she was alive, bleeding from a war no one else could see or save her from.

She had to get up. Had to move. Had to save herself. No one else could, not even Jeff, or Fin, or Gault, or

– Morpheus.

The floor had warmed under her cheek, proof of a beating heart she didn’t want to feel, and she turned to press the other side of her face to a new, cooler patch of marble. Maybe the stone floor could leach enough heat to freeze her mind. Numb it. So she could forget.

Forget his face. His expression when she broke the seal in the basement of Fawney Rig and the way he looked down from his throne as the pansy swung above her eyes.

Forget his careful, beautiful hands, and how it felt to dissolve with him between the stars.

Forget the smell of earth. The feel of claws. Of spider silk… The dress. She was still wearing the damn dress.

Inspiration couldn’t lift her from the floor, but fear and disgust launched her upright as she sank her fingernails into the delicate lace and pulled.

The left sleeve tore from her shoulder like tissue paper. Just as it was meant to. A pretty thing for her soulmate to rip off her body. Titillating scraps of fabric that wouldn’t impede a lover. That offered even less protection than she’d thought.

She froze again. Her breath caught on a lump in her throat as visions of another destiny crept like a snake through her thoughts. One where the graceful fingers she was coming to adore destroyed the dress. Where she’d lost herself entirely. Where her monster became everything she feared.

She blinked furiously. Her wet eyelashes stuck together. The air in her lungs turned thick with agony she wouldn’t voice, and the elegant room turned to a blur as she crashed to her knees, clutching her arms close to keep from shaking apart. To protect herself. To hide the body the fae tortured into gleaming perfection for a monster’s pleasure.

She wanted the dress off.

She couldn’t stomach the thought of baring any more skin.

She couldn’t think beyond the tearing pain in her chest.

This is what came of leaving the floor and becoming a person again.

Hands cut through the fog, urgently curling around her shoulders. She jerked back, shouting wordless protest, and a voice reached out to find her where the hands could not reach.

“Aisling, you’re safe. We’re here. Can you hear me?” The voice plucked on memories. Dust and sunshine and green stains on her skin from cheap jewelry stewing in sweat.

“Gwen?” She only realized she’d asked when she heard her own voice. It didn’t feel right. Nothing felt right.

“Yes.” A smile behind hands offered in support, palms up, begging to be accepted. “It’s just me and Jeff. Can I – Are you…” The dream looked her like she was holding a knife to her lover’s throat. “Can you tell me what you need?”

No. She really couldn’t. It wasn’t safe, and she didn’t know.

But the fucking dress…

She pulled at the fabric. Carefully. Trying to express herself as words failed to coalesce.

“I want it off. I feel…”

She felt like she needed to scrape her skin off all over again, but even in her confusion, she knew Gwen wouldn’t help that far.

But Gwen knew her, and Gwen knew how to listen, even when dreamers struggled to speak. “I’ll draw a bath and find you something to wear.”

Aisling knelt where she’d landed and swallowed down rising bile. Even she forgot, on her better days, how physically painful fear could be. Jeff took her ankle, so she knew she wasn’t alone as Gwen swept out of sight to do as she’d promised. Her most loyal nightmare.

She didn’t mean to scare him.

Her chest ached with an old burn, and she knew she couldn’t turn to the same cure that soothed it last time.

Gwen returned swiftly, before Aisling even had time to miss her, offering her soft hands again for her friend to accept.

She still couldn’t stand the idea. Jeff was different. Jeff needed the comfort as much as she did, and there was no mistaking his hand for anyone else’s.

She found her feet on her own, still hugging herself, eyes on the floor. Her stomach ached. Her skin crawled under the sticky lace. As she followed Gwen into a side chamber, she couldn’t help noticing the view outside the great, arched windows. A whole world stretched beyond the glass – worlds upon worlds, even.

Her ordeal wasn’t over.

She couldn’t just jump in her van and leave the Dreaming. Boundless as the fears and fantasies of every living thing, aware of her presence as its monarch, it would hold her until he gave her permission to leave. As she walked through her – ostensibly – private rooms, she might as well be sitting in her monster’s palm again.

Gwen showed her to a sunken tub behind a screen, an indoor pond that scented the air with clouds of lavender. An indistinct set of clothes sat on a low table beside a stack of towels, and a small collection of soaps and bottles stood within reach of the water.

Gwen wrung her hands, fighting to smile. “Would you like help? I can wait outside if you prefer.”

“I’ll be fine on my own. Thanks.” Getting the dress off would end in a fit. Big, ugly tears and hacking sobs. She just knew it. She couldn’t stomach someone sitting beside her, trying to comfort her as she came to terms with everything the fae had done.

She had to wash this new skin alone. She needed to mourn. She needed to figure out which way to swim before she drowned in aimless grief, and worrying what she looked like or how she made a loved one feel would only pull her deeper. Fortunately, Gwen understood.

Her friend left. She stood alone in the opulent ensuite, pulling apart what was meant to be her dreaded wedding gown, trembling as she tried shielding herself from eyes that simply weren’t there.

She took her bleeding heart into the bath, and the warm water tried to swallow her pain. Washing and scrubbing until she couldn’t feel the faeries’ touch under her raw flesh brought a little relief, but missed her scars. The little marks on her fingers from careless accidents in the kitchen, places she cut for spell work, and a hundred incidental bumps and nicks. It looked alien now. Too smooth. Perfect in a way even a birth-bruised baby’s wasn’t. Her true sight detected residual magic that wouldn’t fade in her lifetime from the unicorn’s horn. It made her beautiful. The kind of beauty she could use as a weapon if she wanted. If she was dealing with a lesser creature than an Endless.

When her cuticles bled, she gave up trying to erase the potion’s effects.

And she cried.

She cried so much she was surprised the water level didn’t rise. The bath stayed hot and fresh as she tried flaying herself, and she wondered if had some secret healing power. Hardly shocking, all things considered, but she wished it was plain water she could turn pink with her human blood.  

She stayed too long, cleaning her hair, her face, the spaces between her toes. Her intention worked the scrubbing into a ritual. Not all the magic would leave, but she banished the traces of her captors’ essence. She peeled away their staring eyes and casual violence.

She was her own self, and she would make it so.

At last, cleansed in body if not in mind, she climbed out and began the process of becoming a whole person again, with feelings and all. Feelings, and legs, and wet hair.

The towels were so soft she nearly cried again, but she felt ridiculous enough to sniffle down her hysterics and start getting dressed. Gwen had brought something like elegant loungewear. Better than any sweatpants or old t-shirt, they draped around her without clinging or threatening to fall off. Comfortable. Woven from some fabric she’d never touched before but maybe dreamed of, like the plush toy she slept with as a child and the silky ripple of a stream over her fingers. A shawl waited at the bottom of the stack, and she pulled the extra shield around her shoulders like armor. Everything fit. Nothing pinched, or chafed. It couldn’t be the most attractive ensemble, but it felt like a promise. Reassurance stitched into the loose fit that covered her so well.

It wasn’t for display. She wasn’t for display. It was consideration. Patience. A tender embrace offered from a safe distance.

And she was beginning to doubt Gwen had chosen these clothes at all.

She shivered, pulling the shawl tight across her chest, and returned to the bedroom. Gwen rose, uncertain but ready for anything. Aisling waved her down.

“I still… I’m going on a walk.” The world beyond the windows was all Dream’s, but she needed an open sky and a breeze on her face. The screaming child in the back of her head wailed the polished marble felt like raw slate and the close air smelled like soil and mildew. It didn’t, but she wanted to break the association before it took root.

Twisting her hands again, Gwen nodded, and Aisling didn’t wait for someone to tell her she wasn’t allowed, or that she really needed to stop and put on shoes, or that she should act like a delicate lady and keep to the garden. Better to ask forgiveness than permission.

So many of her friends told her stories about the Dreaming. She wanted to love it.

She would outrun her fear, literally if she had to.

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: stalwart sun, wily moon

Anthony J. Crowley is a world-class art thief with a complicated past who, until now, had been pretty content with going through life as part of a prolific black market art trafficking ring. He enjoyed the thrill and danger of the hunt, especially if it meant he got to travel the world, play with state-of-the-art technology, and make enough money to afford anything he could ever want. That is, until a simple logistical hiccup leads him straight into the path of one Aziraphale Fell, former Head Conservator of the British Museum turned antique repair shop owner. Suddenly, there's a space in Crowley's life that only Aziraphale seems to fill, but his clandestine life of crime paired with Aziraphale's industry connections and indomitable penchant for good seems like a relationship doomed to fail. Little do they both know, the strands of friendship, morality, and deception in their shared circles of the London art world are interwoven in even more complex ways than either of them could have expected...

Length: 369,866 words

AO3 Rating: Mature

Best for: Safe in Public, Slow Burn, Human AU

Triggers: Past Abuse, Violence

Read it here, fic by dustnhalos

Note: this is a locked work you must be logged into AO3 to view

*Minor Spoilers* This one was recommended to me by @aq-uatic! I had just posted about Fakes and Forgeries, which is another art thief AU, so they sent this one over for me to read! This story is a powerhouse! Not only does it boast a very engaging plot, but it is also well-researched and well-planned! A true epic.

The length of this story is both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, I loved the rich details and care put into the descriptions of artworks and settings, making it very easy to immerse myself in the world. I was also grateful that the climax of the story unfolded slowly, without rushing through towards the end. Having details gradually presented made the payoffs even greater. On the other hand, sometimes it became a little too wordy for its own good, crossing a line where it started to feel like a Wikipedia page. Additionally, it wasn't the right time and place for me when I tried reading it in shorter increments during breaks between working and cleaning. I was getting frustrated by the slow plot progression in those 20-30 minute spans. Once I committed to only reading this in larger blocks of time, I had a lot more fun with it! (ironic note to make on an extremely wordy rec post eh?)

I particularly loved the characterizations in this one. I found all of the side characters to be excellently written and, more importantly, welcome. There was never a moment when I felt annoyed by the appearance of a side character. The relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley is integral, but their plot line isn't the only one worth reading. Canon characters are conveniently rewritten into their new places, but don't just feel like names attached to OCs. Deep down, they remain the characters we know, just with new backstories. Warlock was a particular favorite of mine. Speaking of OCs, they're great here! I was very intrigued by the new characters, and their histories to our characters. Crowley's backstory was heartbreaking, and I loved the mystery of putting all the pieces together.

One small note I'll make about Aziraphale and Crowley: my favorite detail of their relationship in this story was their passion for fashion. It's refreshing to see Aziraphale described as fashionable rather than merely 'old-fashioned'. He possesses his own sense of style and takes great pride in it, which was very much appreciated. The fact that they can keep up with each other in style, knowledge, and culture, was so enjoyable.

Safe in public, but keep in mind what I said about pacing. Maybe shorter blocks work for you, but for me I really needed those longer sessions with this. It's also written as ace friendly! The mature tag is for violence/themes there is no sexual content here. Oh and this features amazing artwork as well!! I actually recognized many of the pieces included and had no idea they were tied to this story! I really enjoyed this story, and I'm constantly impressed with the stories you guys come up with.

Read it here, fic by dustnhalos

[girlymatsu]

if no one asked u this yet, how would erina and blythe interact?? i was just thinking about blythe i miss her... HOW WOULD ERINA AND EUNIE INTERACT???

HI MAE AHEJEJFK I don’t think the erinanistas know about my other ocs so no one ask yet, but I introduce them a little bit :)

BLYTHE my mean girl, she is so cold hearted evil young woman like a Young CEO… I think she always starts off nice and sassy but pretty charismatic.. so erina would like her and admire her girlboss ness… similar to totoko-chan she doesn’t mind that blythe is blunt and has piercing words… Erina would not want to get on her bad side so she is a suck up and tries to not make her upset ( Even though blythe is younger than erina)

Though Blythe already doesn’t care for nice suck up girls she just takes advantage of her being nice. Blythe hates moe blobs she doesn’t find anything but herself cute LOL

Blythe probably drags Erina around when she needs an underling… maybe even dresses erina up so she matches herself like ok coquette prep girlies time!

I think Blythe gets annoyed by Erina being soo kyaa lovey dovey over some guy, and is even more shocked to find out how much of a loser he is. Her heart goes out to Erina a little bc of this

AND EUNI MY EUNI!!! Eunice is so sweet and not awkward around strangers they would be so friendship right away. Erina loves Eunice bc she’s kind and goofy! Maybe a bit hyper for her but they both are kindred spirits like guys who were in anime club except Eunice embraces cringe happiness

Both have cringefail bfs, but Eunice and Oswald are like o no we’re bestieeesss and erina is like I see Love 👁️_👁️

Also like tldr eunice has a weird deal with being a fucked up being with godlike powers in her story crazy corruption arc character, and I have imagined her vs erina who has an au Demon self Lilith… having a crazy girl battle… epic rap battles of history

Blythe, Eunice, and Erina are my crazy poster girl trio of ocs only the real ones would know my history with my old ocs

Here’s their refs I drew long while agos

[fluffyspuffy]

I’m obligated by law to post about this since it’s (I believe) only the 4th fic to actually make me cry real tears. That honor goes to the second story in the series (and very nearly the third). The first story isn’t super spuffy, but is obligatory reading due to how amazing the relationship between Spike and Dawn is in it.

The prose seemed a little off to me for quite a bit, but that’s probably just my ADHD talking since I did start to get used to it and then I didn’t even notice it eventually. The story was fantastic and made me stick it out despite having to reread paragraphs when I got lost. I think that’s what made it all the more shocking when I just suddenly started crying during an earlier chapter in ‘Blood Kin’. I didn’t see it coming and it hit me hard.

If you like the potentials (and OC potentials!) and if you like Dawn and some wacky vampire shit - this is the fic for you. It’s got some excellent hurt/comfort which is my food of choice. So much hurt/comfort throughout and I just adore it. The Spike characterization was my favorite- some side characters felt OOC on occasion, but was still immensely enjoyable.

It’s also epic! I love epic long fics. Right when I thought I’d read all the big Spuffy ones, here comes this series. Kept me well fed for days. Wild how I’ve been in this fandom for so long and always seem to miss the huge things.

I’d stop at the 4th story, unless you’re a greedy little masochist (like me!) and just need to read all there is no matter how much it will break your heart. This last story would have also been amazing, I can tell. Unfortunately, as the author is no longer with us, there isn’t even a tiny hope that more will come. I’m so glad that she got to leave us with this beautiful story

tl/dr: Read this! It’ll make you feel things. If you like safe and completed fics, stop at part 4.

Here’s a very brief summary of each part:

1: Spike and Dawn friendship rebuilding

2: fun with SITs (slayers in training) and a better season 7

3: vampire politics and relationship drama

4: more vampire politics and spike trying (failing) to hold it together. Fun t-shirt slogans. Stop here if you want an ending.

5: astral projection and heartbreak. ‘This is all there is, there isn't anymore.’ Incomplete, does not end in a good place.

[akariamai]

Romeo & Juliet [Part 1]

Pairing: Jacob Black x OC!Swan

Word Count: 1953

Part 2 Part 3

Sloan Swan detested the assigned reading she was given. It bothers her that the widely accepted portrayal of Shakespeare’s play Romeo and Juliet It was a narrative of blind lust for a stranger rather than an epic love story of two tragic lovers torn apart by their warring families.

“They loved each other.” Bella, her twin sister, argued as she drove them to school. In contrast to Sloan, Bella was enamored with the notion of love and disregarded the glaring red warning signs it left in its wake. Romeo’s lovely, meaningless words blinded her, just like they did so many others.

She criticized, “Romeo was literally ‘in love’ with Juliet’s cousin, Rosaline, and when she didn’t return his feeling, he went looking elsewhere. When he tells his friends about his ‘feelings’ for Juliet, they assume he’s talking about Rosaline.”

“That’s not true.” Her sister shakes her head in disbelief.

Sloan ruffles through her backpack, searching for the school’s copy of the play and flipping through the tagged pages.

“Page 32 to 33. Benvolio says to Romeo, ‘At this same ancient feast of Capulet’s, Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so loves,’ and later in the same page Romeo replies, ‘One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun, Ne’er saw her match since first the world begun.’ Romeo meets Juliet around page 53. Do I need to read more?”

Bella remained quiet as her perception of Romeo and Juliet was uprooted. The heartbreaking reality was silently placed in front of her, bursting a love she had equated her and Edwards to and a raging loathing emerged for her twin sister.

“And not to mention, Romeo only married Juliet to sleep with her. That’s not love.”

Bella gritted her teeth. “What do you know about love?”

“More than you, apparently.” She shot back. It was true she never had a boyfriend, but she was born with logic, and she’d be damned to ignore red flags when she saw them.

“Why do you hate love stories?”

“I don’t hate love stories.” Sloan clarified, “I hate toxic relationships disguised as love stories. There’s a difference.”

Juliet was a naive girl with rose petal shades shielding her from the truth. She was in love with the idea of love and fallen for the first boy to entice her. Her false sense of love drove her to follow him in death. Her end was tragic as she never once felt true love, only the lust of a boy impatient to bed her.

“I pity Juliet. Romeo used her and would’ve abandoned her when a new beauty caught his eye.” She sniffled out a yawn. “He plucked her from the sky and clipped her wings, locking her in a golden cage, and once he got bored of her song, he freed her but left her flightless. That would’ve been the ending of their story if they had lived.”

Bella remained silent, reeling in her fragmented view on Romeo and Juliet’s relationship, her hatred for her sister burning twice as much. The silhouette of the school could not appear fast enough as Bella hurriedly searched for a parking spot.

Her arms trembling as she parked her truck, unable to comprehend Sloan’s point of view on her favorite Shakespeare play, and needed some space to clear her mind. Sloan had zipped her backpack up; infuriating Bella. How can Sloan act as if she hadn’t disrupted her entire world. She slams her door shut as she frantically searches for Edward, her lifeline.

“Wherefore art thou, Bella? Sloan?” Mike calls out as he, Eric, Angela, and Jessica approach the two twins. “You finish the Shakespeare assignment?”

Jessica pitched in, “He means will you finish his assignment?”

“No, I don’t—okay I do.” He admits.

“I can help you with it — but first —” She pulls out her new camera, a birthday gift from her father that she was gifted earlier today. “I need a picture. My mom’s expecting a scrapbook full of memories.”

Angela holds out her own camera and says, “I take ‘em; I don’t pose for ‘em.”

“You do today.” Bella lightly pushed Angela towards the rest of the group as they arranged themselves.

“I can take the picture, Bella,” Sloan says while holding out a hand. “Go stand with your friends.” Bella reluctantly hands it over before awkwardly walking towards them as the group rearrange themselves for Bella to be in the center.

“You’ll photoshop my nose if it looks big, right?” The question was aimed at Bella.

“Don’t worry, I’m in the picture; no one will be looking at you guys.” Eric proclaimed confidently.

Jessica scoffs at his joke as the group decided on their final poses. Angela, incorporating her love for photography, points the camera at Sloan; Mike and Eric joust, and Bella stands in the center of their delightfully carefree selves stiffly. The clicks of the camera shutters as it freezes them in a moment in time and archives it forever.

Sloan lowers the camera before noticing their playful smiles dissipates except for Bella’s. The timid smile she faked grew into a real one as she had obviously spotted Edward, her boyfriend.

Although her friends did not mind the male, they did not appreciate how quickly she discarded them for him. When Bella and Edward started dating, they became placeholders for when he wasn’t around.

“Oh good. Cullen’s here.” Mike noticed the way Edward stared at Bella; it was not out of love but something more nefarious. At first, he chalked it up to jealously. His feelings for Bella were still ever-present, but he genuinely cared for her well-being. He believed, with all that he’s seen, that Edward did not love Bella the way she loves him. It was only a matter of time before he hurt her, and he prayed to be wrong for her sake.

Jessica’s response was even drier. “Yay.” Once upon a time, she had feelings for Edward, but the second he became unavailable, she pushed those feelings aside. Bella was her friend, even if she didn’t act like it most of the time, and she would never stand in the way of her friend’s happiness. However, she had noticed Bella’s co-dependency on Edward, following him around like a lost puppy craving his attention. It wasn’t healthy. Not one bit, but she had no right to say anything.

Sloan, too, did not like the relationship her sister had with Edward. Edward had stripped Bella away from her independent lifestyle. There was never a moment away from Edward. Bella would choose him over everyone, and the realization of this truth stung. She missed the days when the two of them would read together; although both were silent during this time, the conversations that happened afterwards were fun. Those days were gone, now filled with an empty chair and an untouched book, and Sloan having no one to talk to. She never thought she would become familiar with loneliness.

“Check ya, later.” Eric replied, sensing the uncomfortable atmosphere, and lead his friends away.

Bella hadn’t responded, nor did she notice; her attention solely remained on Edward, who approached her figure, his eyes never leaving hers. This was the moment when Sloan decided to leave, her absence going unnoticed by both her twin and the vampire. She preferred to be in her English class going over Romeo and Juliet than forced to watch her sister pine about her boyfriend.

From across the parking lot, someone shouted. “Sloan!” She turned her attention to the person, Jacob Black, her friend from the nearby reservation. His presence brought a smile onto her face as her worries vanished in an instant.

“Jake!” Her excitement could not be contained. It has been a while since the two of them hung out; both busy with school work and other responsibilities. “You grew.” She noticed. His muscles were more refined than the last time she saw him, he was now a head taller than her.

He laughed, “And you didn’t.” Now he can hold the television control over her head like she had done to him in their childhood. Sweet, sweet revenge.

She pouted, “Not my fault I’m bite-sized.” By no means was she short, not was she unusually tall. She was average, yet compared to the massive monster known as Jacob, it would appear so.

His glee was energizing, her thoughts on Edward and Bella fading into the foreground of her mind, acting as a life jacket keeping her from drowning in her thoughts and worries.

“Happy birthday.” He offers her a warm hug before reaching into his pocket, pulling out a small hand-woven bracelet. “It’s not much, I know, but.” He drops it in the palm of her hand, eyeing the marvel embedded in her chestnut eyes. “I hope you like it.”

“I love it!” She exclaimed, “You didn’t have to get me anything.” It was a thoughtful gift—something she’ll treasure forever. She quickly slips it on and makes a silent vow to never take it off. She won’t, however, except when she bathes or swims. She does not want his hard work to be ruined by water.

“I’m glad you like it.” He looks around for the other birthday girl, seeing her in a quiet conversation with her boyfriend. “I’m going to give your sister her gift.”

Sloan nods. Class is going to start soon, and she needed to get to class. “Bye Jacob.”

“Bye.” He rushed towards her sister, yelling her name to get her attention, managing to break up the couple for a few moments.

~~~

Bella quietly dropped off her sister at home before rushing away to her boyfriend’s house. Apparently, his family were throwing her a small party for their family only—the Cullens and the birthday girl—and no one else. Leaving Sloan and her father to celebrate the twins birthday alone.

The two didn’t plan much but it was just right for them. Both Bella and Sloan weren’t the party type, they preferred the quiet hums of their home, a homemade dinner with their father, and a hushed evening filled with television and soft conversation.

Sloan spent the day prepping for their meal, spicy honey garlic chicken with garlic Parmesan fries. It was a favorite she and her father shared. Bella’s absence remained a constant in their conversations. They spent their evening watching her favorite movies: Legally Blonde, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Scream, and Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron.

Charlie loved the days when he and his daughters would sit together and watch TV. Bella would hide under the covers whenever a horror sequence became too much, opting to stay under until the danger passed. Sloan would mindlessly make comments under her breath throughout the movie, only audible to the person sitting next to her. He enjoyed days like this, as they were a small snippet of the past, his daughters reminding him of their younger selves, and now they were all grown up.

Wrapped up in one of her blankets, she laid her head on her father’s shoulders, her eyes drooping. It was late, and Bella still hadn’t arrived. Their birthday was already over and not a single second of the three of them had celebrated as a family. It truly broke her heart.

She didn’t know when, but her father carried her to her bedroom and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead before tucking her in. He was going to miss moments like this. His children are adults now, and soon they will be leaving the nest. He never prepared himself for this day, always believing he had more time with them, but he guessed every parent came to the same realization when the time finally arrived.

Masterlist

[ash-whimsicalfanfic]

Agent Rushmore (CH 6)

Leroy Jethro Gibbs X Fem OC/Reader

Word Count: 1118

Warning: Mild language, violence, gore, guns, fluff, smut, angst, PTSD, graphic scenes…

Prompt: Special Agent Locklyn Rushmore, a highly trained Russian assassin who is skilled in all forms of hand-to-hand combat, weaponry, negotiating and more. When her cover is blown, she is returning back to NCIS headquarters in D.C…

Locklyn Rushmore's POV

My eyes open as sunlight shines through the curtains. I glare at the window, hearing a quiet groan as I'm pulled closer.

I look down, smiling when I see Gibbs' arm around my bare waist. My head was rested on his chest. Our legs were intertwined. My own arms were wrapped around him.

This was the safest and the most relaxed I've ever felt. I feel his fingers rubbing circles on my hip and I knew he was awake. Neither of us said anything. We just stayed in each others hold.

The blankets were hardly over our hips I didn't miss the growing tent in the blankets. I look up at him and he looks at me.

"Need a little help?" I ask.

"And here I thought you'd be sore after last night." He muses.

My cheeks flushed. Last night was the most epic sex I've had in my life. It started out slow when he realized it's been years for me. But, it progressively got faster and rougher. In fact, he has to repair a few spots on the wall where the headboard was hitting against the wall so violently.

I was sore. It was more uncomfortable than anything. I kick the blankets off of us, straddling him and looking down at him. He moves his arms behind his head, a small smirk on his face as he slowly looks over me. I grab his hard length, slowly lowering myself down on him.

I moan softly, feeling myself stretch and he grunts, moving his hands to my hips.

We so easily got lost in each other.

We didn't need words. We just moved. It was like we knew each other for years, when in fact it has only been a matter of days. Yet, we clicked so perfectly. Like a bunch of puzzle pieces.

The both of us seeking comfort in one another from our haunting pasts.

"Jethro!" I moan, coming and he grunts, pulling my hips down roughly as he comes.

I lean forward, breathing heavily and he leaves a kiss on my temple as his arms wrap around me. We stayed like that for a few minutes before we decided to get up. He let me have the shower, telling me he'd make breakfast.

I was relieved and so glad to get cleaned up. I pull the toothbrush out of my bag, brushing my teeth before styling my hair in loose waves. I pull on a white v-neck that hugged my figure perfectly, leaving nothing to hide. The neckline dipped lower than normal and showed quite a bit of my cleavage.

I pull on black dress pants that hugged my legs and my ass before my eyes dance across the different hickeys. I did not have all the makeup needed to hide these. I sigh, pulling on some heels before doing a light thing of makeup. I grab blazer, pulling it on before going downstairs.

He hands me a plate, the both of us sitting it eat in silence. He mumbles that he's going to go get ready. I finished eating, deciding to clean the kitchen up before I go to the living room to grab my sidearm and badge. I sit, staring down at my hands.

"Svetlana, get over here!" Kenzo snaps.

I leave his family, a feeling of nervousness washing over me. I've never felt this way. I've always be calm and collected just how I like it.

He pulls me into his study, closing the door before turning to me with dark eyes. I could see the fire burning in them and I knew I stood no chance.

"Yes?" I whisper.

"I told you to stop talking business. You are a woman. Learn you place." He snaps, smacking me.

I nod, staring at the floor. It was moments like these I wished to no longer be undercover. I desperately craved to return to my normal life, but I knew this case was far from over.

There were days when no one was around that I'd stand in front of a mirror to remind myself that I was Locklyn Rushmore and not Svetlana Yákov. The longer I was undercover, the more my identities mixed.

Both Svetlana and Locklyn have had pasts so cruel and brutal. Not to mention that both identities had a fiery red-head Russian woman.

"You okay?" Gibbs asks quietly.

I look up to notice that he was leaning against the doorframe. He was dressed for work, but I'm going to guess he's been there for a few minutes.

"Yes. Sorry." I say.

"Rule six, never say you're sorry." He says.

"You have a rule for everything, don't you?" I ask.

"Almost. Do you want to...talk about it?" He asks.

"You've gone undercover before, right?" I ask.

"I have, but never as long as you." He says.

"I think that's my issue. I was undercover so long, it was getting to a point it was like...my identities were mixing. There was me...then Svetlana." I say.

"Yeah." He murmurs, urging me on.

"It got to the point I would stand in front of a mirror when I knew I was alone and I'd remind myself that I was Locklyn Rushmore, not Svetlana Yákov. Both my undercover identity and true identity have gone through such tragic lives that I think the lines started to blur. But, there was no one I could talk to—as Locklyn. I was alone and had to be Svetlana. Any information I had, I would leave at drop offs or I would text from my burner. even doing that was risky. And there was no casual conversation. I'd get one little response back. Received." I explain.

"Locklyn...your right. Your not Svetlana. Your Locklyn Rushmore. An NCIS agent with one hell of a track record. You are a phenomenal agent and person." He says.

"A good or bad track record?" I ask quietly.

"Good. You may not have had anyone when you were undercover, but you have an army now and we are all here for you. We weren't there and we don't even know where to begin to understand what you went through. But, we will be here to listen and to help you through this. Being undercover is hard enough. I can't imagine five years. Your a very strong and brave woman, Locklyn." He says.

"Thanks Gibbs...the same goes to you. I know your probably not much of a talking person, especially about feelings...but it does feel good to let it out." I admit and he hums, smiling slightly.

"I'll think about it. Come on. Let's get you back to NCIS." He says and I nod.