#( MODERN THREADS / early twenties ! )

[wangxianficrecs]

Threads of Love by OnlyMeAndMyBones

Threads of Love

by OnlyMeAndMyBones (@galexibrain)

M, WIP, 61k, Wangxian

Summary: Thirteen years ago, Lan Zhan came to Germany to study classical music and found his first true friend. Ten years ago he returned to Shanghai, heartbroken after a horrifying accident left Wei Ying with life-changing injuries and destroyed their friendship and budding romance. Today, he comes back to Germany - to teach, not to study. But when he and Wei Ying meet again by sheer chance, he realizes he has much to learn after all. (The main story is complete with chapter eight - additional oneshots may be added in the future) Kay's comments: This story is such a delight, because I love modern AUs but I'm so tired of modern AUs set in America. Instead, this story is set in Germany! It's also just a very lovely story that I really enjoyed a lot. There's many parallels to canon and Lexi wrote that the Golden Core transfer inspired this story, since the loss of a Golden Core can be seen as a disability. Wangxian here meet again after ten years apart, both struggling with different things and I really liked how they reconnected and Lan Wangji's POV was just a huge treat. Also a story for fans of Yunmeng Siblings love. Main story is complete, but marked as incomplete. Excerpt: The door opens. “Sorry for the delay I hope you didn’t wait too-” They stare at each other in shock, Lan Zhan and the man at the door. He has long hair, tied back with a crimson red scrunchie. He is wearing dark blue pants and a matching shirt with a stethoscope hanging around his neck. Lan Zhan still knows this face like his own. It has lost something of its adolescent softness over the past ten years but it retained a youthful glow, making the man look more like in his twenties than his early thirties. Doctor Vay is the first one to regain his speech. “Hello, Lan Zhan,” he whispers in Mandarin, looking down at the file lying in his lap and humming with distracted amusement. “Heh. Shawn Lan. I should have known.” Then, he comes in and closes the door behind him. Lan Zhan’s voice has left him. Suddenly he seems to have forgotten each of the languages he knows. His tongue is glued to his teeth and he knows he looks like a fool, standing there with his lips parted.

pov lan wangji, modern setting, modern no powers, disability, disabled character, disabled wei wuxian, angst with a happy ending, flashbacks, ableism, racism, medical procedures, lan wangji/wei wuxian get a happy ending, sharing a bed, doctor wei wuxian, musician lan wangji, teacher lan wangji, yunmeng siblings feels, good sibling jiang cheng, minor or backgroudn relationships, qin su/lan xichen, blood and injury

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[heyitsme1040]

HI! I absolutely loved your fic with Steve finding reader's mudic player in his hoodie. I was wondering if you could do a similar idea with Bucky?

Hi anon! I really appreciate your request. I made it just really soft and happy. Hope you Enjoy!

It Feels Like Flying [b.b]

summary : (request) Reader forgets her music player in Bucky's hoodie. Bucky finds it when he's at the gym, and discovers a playlist focused on him. He brings it up to reader and they talk while listening to the playlist.

pairings : Bucky Barnes/Reader

warnings : None. Just a straight comfort fic.

word count : 1,550

AO3 (x)

a/n : I appreciate the request! Feel free to request more, it helps me get out of my slump of not posting unless the fic seems perfect.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the light filtering its way through the blinds, then you feel the arm around your waist. You can’t help but smile at the feeling of Bucky’s fingers ghosting over your skin, the feather light touch trailing goosebumps over your skin. Rolling over, you’re greeted by Bucky’s eyes staring at you lovingly. 

“G'morning,” you sleepily murmur while tucking your face into his neck with a kiss.

“Mornin’ sweets,” Bucky kisses your temple.

“What time is it?”

“Just before six.”

“That’s too early for a Saturday,” you groan at the ungodly hour making Bucky chuckle.

“You can go back to sleep sweetheart. I was planning on heading to the gym for a bit, I can wake you up when I get back.”

You nod at the offer and press a kiss to his neck once again. Bucky gently untangles himself from you and tucks you in on his side of the bed. You bury your face into his pillow while relishing the warmth he left behind. Kissing your forehead, Bucky grabs his gym bag and walks toward the living room. He smoothly ties his trainers before grabbing his hoodie off the couch where you’d left it. Moving silently, Bucky closes the door behind him before walking to the compound’s gym. 

He feels his shoulders relax while wrapping his hands. He remembers more of his life before the war, and is grateful that not much has changed in boxing equipment. Making sure his hand wraps are secured, he pulls the hoodie over himself. He feels a slim square shift in the pocket and grins at the thought of you leaving your music player in the most random areas. He pulls the small object from the confines of the hoodie and unwinds the earbuds. Threading them through the hoodie, he put them in and presses play. Not paying too much attention to what’s playing, he begins settling into a rhythm at the reinforced punching bag. He settles into a pattern of landing his hits while shuffling around the bag and focusing on his breathing. Time feels as though it’s standing still but also flying past him as he lets his mind wander.

The world is still so different to what he remembers. All the technology in the compound’s gym is overwhelming. He doesn’t understand why treadmills and stair masters exist. These aren’t revolutionary exercises, they did the same thing and more back in the war. He, Sam, and Steve never used most of the equipment in the facility. He wanted to keep some things the way he remembers them to be. He was grateful for many of the modern wonders of the twenty-first century, however some things weren’t improved by it. Like punching a bag filled with sand to clear your mind. 

It doesn’t matter how well his feet are planted, once he actually listens to what music you’d left off on, Bucky completely misses his next hit and feels the bag slam into him. The reassuring chorus of “We’ll Meet Again” is what really knocks the air out of him and leaves him reeling. It wasn’t the version he remembered, having Frank Sinatra’s timber instead of Vera Lynn’s breathy words wrapping around his head and settling into his chest. He felt warmth at the thought of you playing this song while wrapped in his hoodie. He hung his head and took deep breaths trying to steady himself again. He tries to continue the rhythm he'd fallen out of, but it was to no avail.

Walking back to his locker he begins unwrapping his hand as the song finishes. As he closes his locker the beginning notes of “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” begin to come through the earbuds. Bucky smiles softly at the song, remembering how often it had played on the radio before he'd been drafted. Shaking his head in loving disbelief, he finally pulled your music player back out and looked at your playlist. It was filled with songs he knew by heart that he regularly played, others he remembers telling you about in passing, and others he had missed out on. As his eyes scan over the songs, they catch on the name of the playlist being “Buckshot” and roll at the dumb nickname you’d given him after a few missions together. 

The elevator doors open and Bucky steps in, "Jarvis, take me to my living quarters."

As Jarvis sets the elevator, Bucky finally feels the shock wearing off that you have a playlist of songs named after him. He wants to know everything about the playlist. Why these songs, how often do you play it, when did you make it? The elevator slows and soon the doors open to the floor of your shared apartment. 

Bucky swiftly opens the door and toes off his shoes. Not having been working out long enough to get sweaty, he doesn't bother to shower before going to the bedroom. He nimbly climbs in bed next to you and unplugs the headphones from your music player. He turns to volume to a quiet level and faces you. Taking in your peaceful form as you sleep, Bucky cups your cheek. He starts to sing along in a murmur to the music, and eventually your eyes start to flutter open. 

"Hi," you breathe with a smile. "When'd you get back?" 

"Not long ago. You looked so peaceful I didn't want to wake you yet." Bucky rests his forehead against yours. "How'd you sleep?"

"Okay, I missed your cuddles. How was the gym?"

"It was great," he kisses your nose with a giddy expression. "I found your music player in my hoodie." 

You let out a surprised squeak and cover your face with your hands. 

"It took me a few minutes to realize what music was playing," he continued. "But once I did I was surprised."

"I'm sorry," you mumbled from behind your hands. " I know it's probably weird."

"Don't be, doll. I liked discovering you have a playlist about me. It's sweet. Made me feel special knowing you had something that reminded you of me like that," he slowly peeled your hands from your face to reveal your blush.

"Of course I want something to remind me of you when you're gone!"

Bucky just leans down and kisses you sweetly. It isn't until you feel your head start to swim that you're forced to break away from his kiss. You trace his lips with your index finger, chests bumping together as you share each other's breaths, and hear the opening notes of "Dream Sweet in Sea Major" coming from near your head.

"You don't know this one," you breathe against his lips. "It made me think of something you would have listened to. Both sweetly wishful while being a kind of aching longing." 

Bucky feels his heart swell even more from your explanation of why you put the song in the playlist. He doesn't recognize it but it feels eerily familiar. He listens carefully, thinking about how the song really did resemble some songs he'd shown you but definitely more modern. 

"'Believe me, darling. The stars were made for falling,'" you quietly sang to him. "'Like melting obelisks as tall as another realm.'"

Bucky closes his eyes and lets your quiet singing wash over him. He'd never understand how he got lucky enough to meet you, let alone date you. After every horrible thing he'd been forced to do, he had resigned himself to a life of being alone with the exception of Steve. But you'd always been so accepting of him, reminding him he didn't want to do those things. That wasn't him. He'd never understood how you could be so accepting of him, and choose to love him as openly and sweetly as you do. He couldn't help the grateful feeling that arose every time he thought about your compassionate heart.

"'You look quite divine tonight. Here among these vibrant lights. Pure delights surround us as we sail,'" you continue as you trace his features slowly.

You take care tracing down the slope of his nose. Ghosting over the delicate skin beneath his eyes. Following the arch of his eyebrow, trailing along his cheekbone down to his jaw. Grazing his cupid's bow. Completely entranced by the tranquility that has graced his relaxed form. It wasn't often he let go of the weight surrounding his mind.

"What did I do to deserve you?" He wondered aloud, gently grabbing your wrist. His eyes met yours as he swept his thumb along the inside of your wrist.

"You were you. Simple as that, Bucky," you admitted.

As the song faded into the next, you shared with Bucky why you'd added this one to the playlist. And that's how the two of you spent the rest of the morning. Singing to each other and sharing your thoughts about the songs that played. Revealing your thoughts to each other. Adding songs as Bucky recommends them and as you show him new ones.

Author's Note : Reblogs are appreciated, likes are welcome, and if you want to read more of my fics then maybe follow.

©heyitsme1040 If you find this post on any platform under a username different than heyitsme1040 it is not their work.

[historiavn]

ASSORTED HEADCANONS: Ophelia Chronsturn

She began playing the violin when she was three years old, and the piano when she was seven years old.

Although she was reluctant to begin learning the piano, her father insisted — knowing that ultimately, it would be a major asset if Ophelia ever shifted to Regency England.

It is difficult for Ophelia to sit still for extended periods of time. When she is restless, she will either fidget in her chair or, if possible, pace around the room.

Her favorite Shakespeare plays are Macbeth and Much Ado About Nothing.

Any skills that Ophelia picks up while time traveling or multiuniverse traveling will be retained when she is in the waking world. The curse will also sometimes provide her with a certain skill if it enables her to witness a particular historical event, such as new languages or etiquette. However, sometimes the curse will also “throw her to the wolves” and not give her any prior skills at all.

Her favorite historical fashion is the Mid-Victorian Era (1860’s-1880’s), though the fashion of the 1940’s comes as a close second.

Per plotting with @audaciiae, Ophelia is the only living direct descendant of Julius Caesar (yes, that Caesar)

She’s also directly descended from the philosopher Socrates on her father’s side of the family. In fact, it is the Socratic branch of the family that is responsible for the Chronsturn Curse. Socrates’ lineage was cursed shortly before his execution by a witch who was angry at the role that he had played in “corrupting the youth” of Athens.

Sometimes, if Ophelia draws a sketch of some sort of clothing, it will appear in her wardrobe during one of her Chronsturn Curse shifts.

In threads where Ophelia is in her early twenties, she is a member of Gen Z. She’ll be prone to utilizing modern slang terms and referencing trends during interactions, with no regard for whether this might be “cringe” or strange for the given universe. The older that she is, the less likely that this becomes.

Ophelia has spent an extraordinary amount of time attempting to find loopholes in the curse’s laws — particularly the caveat that she is not allowed to speak of her bizarre origins. The loopholes that she has found include the ability to discuss the curse in writing and the ability to allude to her origins through vague statements that indicate she knows more than she is allowed to share. The sole criteria is that she is forbidden from speaking the word “curse” out loud.

When Ophelia attended Georgetown University, she was active in the theatre department as one of her numerous extracurriculars. She would often act in musicals and plays, and even was the student director of several Shakespeare productions.

Swordsmanship is another strange hobby that Ophelia has picked up as a result of the Chronsturn Curse; she learnt to wield a sword while still a teenager, and was on the fencing team at Georgetown.

She is a gifted equestrian, and began riding horses at her father’s insistence when she was five years old.

Ophelia swears like a sailor in numerous languages, no matter the time period or universe she’s shifting to.

In her Percy Jackson universe, she is the daughter of the titan Cronus, and Cronus bestowed multiuniversal travel abilities upon Socrates’ lineage not as a curse, but as a blessing. However, this knowledge has long since been lost, leading to the widespread belief that their reality shifting is a curse. Ophelia is the first demigod child that Cronus has fathered in centuries, if not ever.

She is force sensitive in her Star Wars universe, and has a strong affinity for the dark side of the force.

[rockislandadultreads]

Read-Alike Friday: Killers of the Flower Moon by David Grann

Killers of the Flower Moon by David Grann

In the 1920s, the richest people per capita in the world were members of the Osage Indian Nation in Oklahoma. After oil was discovered beneath their land, the Osage rode in chauffeured automobiles, built mansions, and sent their children to study in Europe.

Then, one by one, they began to be killed off. One Osage woman, Mollie Burkhart, watched as her family was murdered. Her older sister was shot. Her mother was then slowly poisoned. And it was just the beginning, as more Osage began to die under mysterious circumstances.

In this last remnant of the Wild West—where oilmen like J. P. Getty made their fortunes and where desperadoes such as Al Spencer, “the Phantom Terror,” roamed – virtually anyone who dared to investigate the killings were themselves murdered. As the death toll surpassed more than twenty-four Osage, the newly created F.B.I. took up the case, in what became one of the organization’s first major homicide investigations. But the bureau was then notoriously corrupt and initially bungled the case. Eventually the young director, J. Edgar Hoover, turned to a former Texas Ranger named Tom White to try to unravel the mystery. White put together an undercover team, including one of the only Native American agents in the bureau. They infiltrated the region, struggling to adopt the latest modern techniques of detection. Together with the Osage they began to expose one of the most sinister conspiracies in American history.

Covered with Night by Nicole Eustace

The Pulitzer Prize-winning history that transforms a single event in 1722 into an unparalleled portrait of early America.

In the winter of 1722, on the eve of a major conference between the Five Nations of the Haudenosaunee (also known as the Iroquois) and Anglo-American colonists, a pair of colonial fur traders brutally assaulted a Seneca hunter near Conestoga, Pennsylvania. Though virtually forgotten today, the crime ignited a contest between Native American forms of justice―rooted in community, forgiveness, and reparations―and the colonial ideology of harsh reprisal that called for the accused killers to be executed if found guilty.

In Covered with Night, historian Nicole Eustace reconstructs the attack and its aftermath, introducing a group of unforgettable individuals―from the slain man’s resilient widow to an Indigenous diplomat known as “Captain Civility” to the scheming governor of Pennsylvania―as she narrates a remarkable series of criminal investigations and cross-cultural negotiations. Taking its title from a Haudenosaunee metaphor for mourning, Covered with Night ultimately urges us to consider Indigenous approaches to grief and condolence, rupture and repair, as we seek new avenues of justice in our own era.

Return to Uluru by Mark McKenna

A killing. A hidden history. A story that goes to the heart of the nation.

When Mark McKenna set out to write a history of the centre of Australia, he had no idea what he would discover. One event in 1934 – the shooting at Uluru of Aboriginal man Yokununna by white policeman Bill McKinnon, and subsequent Commonwealth inquiry – stood out as a mirror of racial politics in the Northern Territory at the time.

But then, through speaking with the families of both killer and victim, McKenna unearthed new evidence that transformed the historical record and the meaning of the event for today. As he explains, ‘Every thread of the story connected to the present in surprising ways.’ In a sequence of powerful revelations, McKenna explores what truth-telling and reconciliation look like in practice.

Return to Uluru brings a cold case to life. It speaks directly to the Black Lives Matter movement, but is completely Australian. Recalling Chloe Hooper’s The Tall Man, it is superbly written, moving, and full of astonishing, unexpected twists. Ultimately it is a story of recognition and return, which goes to the very heart of the country. At the centre of it all is Uluru, the sacred site where paths fatefully converged.

Yellow Bird by Sierra Crane Murdoch

When Lissa Yellow Bird was released from prison in 2009, she found her home, the Fort Berthold Indian Reservation in North Dakota, transformed by the Bakken oil boom. In her absence, the landscape had been altered beyond recognition, her tribal government swayed by corporate interests, and her community burdened by a surge in violence and addiction. Three years later, when Lissa learned that a young white oil worker, Kristopher "KC" Clarke, had disappeared from his reservation worksite, she became particularly concerned. No one knew where Clarke had gone, and few people were actively looking for him.

Yellow Bird traces Lissa's steps as she obsessively hunts for clues to Clarke's disappearance. She navigates two worlds - that of her own tribe, changed by its newfound wealth, and that of the non-Native oilmen, down on their luck, who have come to find work on the heels of the economic recession. Her pursuit of Clarke is also a pursuit of redemption, as Lissa atones for her own crimes and reckons with generations of trauma.

[belugamenace]

One Piece - Excerpt from Fic in Progress - Zoro/Sanji

Where Sanji was once a promising figure skater, and Zoro is the guy who moves next door.

rating - explicit

tags - angst, hurt/comfort, modern au, ableist language from character, internalized ableism, injury, chronic pain, violence, miscommunication, pining, from something awkward to lovers, past child abuse, happy ending, slow burn, tags to be added

—

Sanji tried to act like his back didn’t bother him- that it was just an inconvenient injury now passed, long gone- like his ice skates and the bitter bite of winter. But sometimes his lower back ached after sitting or standing for too long, or his spine felt like it was on fire and woke him up in the middle of the night, or his muscles would tense or spasm at any time without reason, and he had to convince himself it was nothing. “I just slept wrong.” He would tell himself. “I just pulled a muscle.”

Almost a year ago, Sanji had an accident on the ice. Sanji, pro figure skater, silver medalist for his country in last year’s World Figure Skating Championship, the man projected to be a top contender for gold next year, if he really tried.

Now, he wasn’t even an option. Too much had happened. It was too chaotic, too difficult to process. He couldn’t even go on the ice anymore, not professionally, not physically, and especially not emotionally. He could never go back out there, and it broke him. It wasn’t even his fault.

He caught a glimpse of the scar in the mirror. The long scar that tore down his back in a jagged line, from the nape of his neck to his pelvis like a bolt of ugly lightning to a tree.

He could act like he didn’t see it, but then he would get in the shower. He would lather soap on his back, and the tips of his fingers would brush over the rough tissue, so different from the rest of him, and he couldn’t forget, not then. Sometimes, when his mind wandered, he would push on the scar wherever he could. His nerves would spark with pain, but he gritted his teeth and bore it- it was nothing like the pain he experienced that day. And because the pain then was so much worse, he could at least take this much now.

Eventually he would relent, giving up against the pressure of his own hand. The way the pain fizzled up and fired through all of the nerves in his back made his whole body jerk forward, made him sick. And once again, for another day, he would be weak. A coward. A baby. A fool for thinking he could ignore his life changing injury. An idiot for thinking he would ever go back to how he used to be.

He did it again. The mind wandering. He gripped the bathroom countertop, waiting for the sharp bursts of pain to subside. Eventually, the stabbing, prickling sensations dampened into a dull ache, not as intense but not quite gone.

He stood straight (or as straight as his spine would allow), threaded his fingers through his blonde hair, hopped in the shower, and didn’t so much as get clean as he used the shower in the morning to wake up. He sighed into the cold water that hit his face and then frowned as it made his bones ache. He felt like an old man, and he was only 22. He spun the shower nozzle until the water began letting off steam.

When he got out, he simply put back on the pajamas he was wearing. He hardly moved around anywhere anyways. Not like he was sweating. He paused and looked at himself in the mirror.

Dark circles enveloped his under eyes. He didn’t think his eyes looked blue anymore- or maybe they were, just darker, like a shadowy gray storm-cloud before the sun truly sets. Could eye color change in your early twenties? Or did he just hold himself different, the light no longer catching on his irises like they used to? He thought his cheeks looked hollow, and he brought a hand up to inspect his face. His fingers touched a scruffy beard and mustache. When was the last time he shaved? He shrugged.

Everything was fine.

Zeff was in the kitchen, chopping onions unfazed. Sanji thought he didn’t have tear ducts. He’d never seen the man cry- not for sadness and definitely not for onions. Not even when he almost died. He had just been really angry then- not at him, but at the situation. Zeff didn’t like things he couldn’t control.

Sanji slid past the older man and reached for the cupboard.

“Breakfast soon.” Zeff grunted, not looking up from his knife. He was mincing garlic now.

“Okay.” Sanji nodded, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and placing it under their coffee machine. He popped a pod into the top, pushed the lever down and pressed the drip button. The machine whirred to life and a glorious stream of liquid goodness descended into the mug. It stopped the whirring and the dripping and shut off automatically, signaling for Sanji to pick up his reward. Zeff scoffed.

“What?” Sanji sipped at his coffee, choosing to bite. Zeff was annoyed at something. It was probably stupid- like how he would get mad over how Sanji chose to cut potatoes. He walked past Zeff and to the kitchen table. He leaned slightly to put the mug down.

“You used to be proud to grind your own coffee grounds. Now you’re just lazy and okay with drinking that crap in a pod.”

Sanji felt indignant, a heat rumbling in his chest. He felt… frantic… defensive, like he should retort back to protect his dignity.

He used to grind his own coffee, physically, with a stupid little hand-wound coffee grinder that his hands could no longer grasp onto.

“Grinding my own coffee is a little harder now, considering,” He gestured to his own body. “I’m a fucking cripple.”

Zeff stopped his knife and looked at Sanji, eyes squinting. He stood there, just standing and staring for a little bit. “You need to go out more. You look like shit.”

Sanji rolled his eyes and turned back to his coffee. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” He didn’t want to go out. He didn’t want to go out and be pitied or fawned over. His hands got clammy at the thought of someone recognizing him. He didn’t think he could stand it if someone talked to him about figure skating, or worse, that day.

It happened once, when he went to a park 8 weeks after his surgery, and was sitting at a park bench while Zeff walked to get him a warm cup of tea. A woman walked up and stood over him, asking him if he was the Sanji Vinsmoke. He could barely lift his head to look at her. Shame washed over his skin. “Y-yes.” He had stuttered out. Instantly, her eyes got darker, not with malice or anger but with pity. Sanji hated it. “I’m so sorry about what happened to you.” She had said. “It’s such a shame they let that man get so close to you.”

He lowered his gaze, looking at the woman’s shoes, shiny little kitten heels which sunk in the dead winter grass. He looked at his shoes, which were stupid and ugly but Zeff said that they were good for his back. Something about extra support in the soles or some shit. He missed his dress shoes.

Sanji got lost in the ground, his ugly shoes and the dirt, until he noticed the woman was no longer there. Her shoes were replaced with a grumbling Zeff. “Some people have no manners.” He grunted as he sat down. He handed Sanji his tea. Sanji looked up and around. The woman was gone. He looked to Zeff, who got himself a coffee and was sipping at it with a look of disdain dripping from his face.

Sanji took his coffee and walked to the living room and sat down, uninterested in the conversation. He didn’t want to go out.

“I’m serious!” Zeff called from around the corner. “You need sun and exercise. Just sitting all day isn’t good for you, even if you think you’re healed as much as can be.”

“Zeff, I’m really not in the mood to have this conversation.” Sanji closed his eyes and held his coffee close.

“How about this,” Zeff said. Sanji heard the click of the stove being turned off and Zeff’s footsteps from around the corner. “Come with me later to the new neighbor’s house.”

Sanji opened his eyes and looked at the old man, confused. “Why?”

“Because you’re sad and lonely and need to meet people. I think he’s a firefighter or some shit.”

Sanji leaned back and closed his eyes again. No way was he going out today.

—

well, here’s an excerpt from a fic i’m working on for zoro and sanji! it’s not up on ao3 yet, but it will be soon :) i hope people like it

[helloitsbees]

I love your Lawrence pov fics, are there any more you haven't posted?

a few actually! they're a bit too short to post on ao3, but I can put them here!

Lawrence POV of their first meeting:

“Happy holidays,” a voice just in front of him said, a lull in the store’s noise carrying the timbre of his voice effortlessly over to him, and Lawrence lifted his head.

He noticed his smile first– a sardonic tilt of his lips that didn’t quite reach his hazel eyes. The man’s hair was a charming mop of deep brown locks, nearly black under the fluorescent lights, slightly mussed beneath the Santa hat he wore. As he turned to greet another customer, Lawrence’s breath caught at the sight of his profile. He was young, perhaps in his early twenties, and so lovely that Lawrence found himself leaning forward instinctively, catching himself on his cane.

And then the man was looking at him, those pretty lips parted as if in surprise. Lawrence felt his heart clench nonsensically in his chest as he steadily held his gaze.

“Uh, sir?” a customer said, approaching the counter. “What time do you close today?”

The man looked away, and Lawrence turned, heart pounding, with every intention of leaving.

Something stopped him. He didn’t know what– if he were the sort of man who believed in such nonsense, he’d say it was fate, or some impulse of his soul, some inexorable pull from deep inside him guiding him towards the boy. Perhaps it was just the simple desire to see him smile again. Either way, Lawrence walked toward him.

The man’s eyes were focussed on the counter as he approached him, his eyelashes thick against the slight bags under his eyes. Lawrence smiled. 

“Excuse me,” he said, softly.

He looked at him with a start, and a blush spread over his face, quicker than wildfire. “Good morning.” His voice was pitchy, a bit higher than Lawrence had been expecting. He straightened as if pulled by an invisible string, and Lawrence rested his hand on the counter, steadying himself. 

“Hi. I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

“Yeah,” he said, his jaw working over the word as if he were promising the world to Lawrence. “Anything.”

Lawrence POV of meeting Vikki, right before he and Adam go to New Jersey together:

She was pretty, Lawrence supposed– pretty in the way he’d never quite found appealing, the modern sort of attractive that consisted of trying so hard to seem effortless that it looped back around to artifice. Her handshake was firm, at least, and she gave him a genuine enough smile. “Hi.” Her voice was a touch husky. Behind her, Adam shifted from foot to foot, clearly nervous. Lawrence met his gaze, for just a moment, and the man’s eyes visibly softened with that now-familiar look of trusting hope.

Lawrence turned back to Vikki, smiling the same way he would to reassure a nervous patient. "Thank you for sparing Adam for the day. It's such a nice afternoon, I thought I'd take him to see a bit of the country near my place."

She didn’t respond to that; he didn’t blame her. Lawrence wouldn’t be surprised if she wouldn’t let Adam go at all– he hardly knew the man, after all, and one could never be too cautious these days–

"Do you want to come?” Adam said suddenly, and it took all of Lawrence’s self-restraint not to allow his brows to shoot up into his hairline. He was about to open his mouth and make some obvious excuse, some reason for Vikki not to be able to join them, when, thankfully, she shook her head, curls bouncing around her face.

"Nah, I've got too much to do. Christmas shopping and all. I’ll see you tonight?"

Adam’s stance relaxed a little. "Yeah," he said, adjusting his grip on the camera he held loosely in his right hand. “Definitely.”

And then Vikki was kissing him, hands threading into Adam’s hair. Lawrence’s throat tightened as Adam’s hand crept up to rest at her waist, holding her close. A surge of absurd, childish jealousy flooded through him, and Lawrence looked down at the empty passenger seat beside him, pretending to clear it of debris. Anything to not see the loosening of Adam’s brows, the soft blush on his cheeks as he was kissed. 

They parted with a high, satisfied hum from Vikki, and she met Lawrence’s eyes with a smile that seemed almost triumphant. “Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice as light as anything. “Have fun, guys.”

aaaaaaaand Lawrence POV of the hotel room in DC:

“Whenever you’re ready, I’d love to take you on a tour. On your own time, of course.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adam nod. “Yeah. Sure. Uh, hold that thought.” He bent down, undoing the laces of his worn-out boots and stepping carefully out of them before launching himself onto the bed. Lawrence couldn’t help the startled laugh that erupted from him, but it quickly died away as he heard Adam let out an absolutely pornographic sigh. Throat suddenly bone-dry, he was helpless to do anything but watch as the younger man shimmied deep into the down comforter, his shirt riding up to show the curve of his lower back.

Adam rolled over to face the ceiling, that heartbreakingly sweet smile of his shining broadly over his face, and Lawrence tightened his hold on his cane to a death grip as his eyes traced helplessly down his torso to the dusting of fine dark hair that disappeared into the low waistband of his jeans.

Christ, Adam was going to be the death of him.

As if sensing the panicked spiral he was sending Lawrence down, he moved to prop himself up lazily on his elbows. Lawrence hastily spun around before their eyes met, his pulse thundering in his ears, and steadied himself against the window with a slow breath out.

“Is your foot okay?” Adam asked, concerned. “You look a little–”

“I’m fine. Sorry.” It was all he could do to sound even remotely casual. “It’s just…” Lawrence cast around for an excuse; Adam was too perceptive of his moods to disregard the absolute state he’d sent him into. “Being back in D.C. after so many years, it’s– I’m happy we came here.”

[anlian-aishang]

Kinktober Day 6: Facesitting & Femdom

Word count: 1300

Tags: levi x reader, smut, modern AU, food mention, facesitting, smothering, breathplay, impact play, humiliation, degradation, sub!levi, femdom!reader

While writing this, i listened to

Neither of you cared.

If his face was painted white with your cream. If his bangs were stuck together in sweat. If your cunt covered his mouth and your thighs sandwiched his neck. If he could not breathe, could not think.

Neither of you cared.

And that was what you told him. Humiliation rained down, your degradation deep enough to drown him. Threading your fingers in his hair, you tugged his locks aside and exposed his ear, just for you to hiss inside. “You seem to be giving out a bit, Levi.” Twirling your grip, you gave a couple yanks, reprimanding, “Barely been five minutes.”

Actually, it was nearing twenty, but Levi raised no objection. Despite your chastise, he pushed himself on with the reassuring thought: time flies when you’re having fun. To underestimate the time so severely, you must have been savoring this sex that much more. It was obvious - painfully obvious - to him, the evidence of your enjoyment. The insufferable heat where your folds met his face. The sweet taste that dripped down them and onto his tongue turned numb. Acute sparks seized your figure, sporadic, but in rhythm with your rocks. Your voice remained level - reinforcing your dominance but feigning composure. 

Your adrenaline-filled search of pleasure had brought you here: slamming him to the mattress, sitting on his face, and fucking Levi Ackerman raw. In the morning, your hips would hurt, but for now, hormones hid every ounce of pain. Beneath you, however, Levi was not unscathed. Veins protruded. Bruises brewed. Still, he reverted to his reasoning, that this was just what you had earned, had deserved.

This past month had not been kind to you, though you had somehow managed to remain kind to others. Always a smile on your face. Cordial greetings and polite goodbyes. While work piled up, you never dropped down. Going in early, leaving late, hardly a ten-minute lunch break between. Throughout this trying project, you had everyone else fooled, everyone but him. Of course, he noticed - and silently, thanklessly, ironed your garments, made dinner, washed dishes, played the perfect house husband. It saved you from stress at home, but did not salvage you completely. Fresh flowers on your bedside table, before-bed cuddles, long talks and restful nights, nothing seemed to fix it. 

You were frustrated with overwork. He was frustrated with his inability to help. For Ackerman, unable would be the last word associated with him, but in the face of your adversity and after many failed attempts at rectifying it, it was the feeling he felt most. Even he had to admit that his last resort sounded crazy, but his red-blooded rage and ringing in his ears tuned him out to it.

Coming home today, you were not welcomed with a bouquet or a freshly baked cake. Nothing frilly. Nothing cushy. But instead, the slam of Levi’s palm over your shoulder and against the front door. 

“Listen to me, and listen to me good.” His mint breath was chill against your skin, nearly as cold as his tone. “You’re going to fuck my face until you forget all about this stupid project - until you can’t speak,” Levi pushed himself forward, his lips just barely to yours, “got that?”

Normally, a shiver would have seized your figure. Embarrassment would have spread like wildfire. You would stutter and giggle, W-Where is this coming from? But looking into his steel eyes and solid gaze, the sentiment was shared and sound: you’ve had a tough time, take it out on me.

Even Levi had to admit that you then caught him off-guard. After all, it was one of the many things that made you so special to him: throwing off his instincts, a feat he had never found in anyone else. Tonight, it was the 180 you pulled: grabbing his wrists, twirling out from under them, and pinning them above his head. Nails scratched his palm as you pushed your hold upward, intertwining your fingers with his. “What a nice offer, can I make you a deal?”

A slight twitch of his lip, one only you would pick up. Your eyes sparkled, words darkened, “I’m going to fuck your face, until you remember who you belong to - and until you’re screaming for her.”

At your offer, his length pushed hard against his waistband, needy despite knowing that it was not a priority tonight. “Deal.”

Half an hour later, it was indeed you who was on the brink of orgasm, Levi on the brink of tears. Still, he would contest: his bliss may have beaten out yours. 

The satisfied roll in your shoulders as your arms worked to leverage that perfect angle, he felt your hands knot and knead at the back of his undercut. Buried in your sex, in your scent, the neat-freak prayed for your traces to stay. Low moans and sultry sighs, Levi’s ears sang red, mind yearning to remember this vocal track forever. 

Maintaining your grind, you peeked over your shoulder, just to see. Unattended, unhelped, was his length - all but obvious beneath that thick denim and tight belt. In the sliver of moonlight, the dark stain at his tip was glaring. Calloused hands on your thighs began to seize, nails into your soft made crescents of their own. Past the crunch of cotton comforter and the smacks of your skin on his, you heard a familiar pattern of breaths, felt a familiar buck of his hips.

Smiling. Snarling. “Are you gonna cum in your pants, Levi?”

Half his face covered, he managed to wink past a squint. At the sight of his struggle, a weakening of your own. Finally, you felt your thighs start to quiver, your knees start to buckle. 

Gritting your teeth, determined not to go down first, “You are fucking pathetic.”

Close contact allowed you to make out his cries, even as he was muffled by your middle, “You’re right. You’re right…!” Beneath you, a series of harsh thrusts, powerful enough to lift both of you off the blankets. 

I’m nothing.

He’s nothing.

His devotion. His selflessness. His unwavering and all-consuming desire to please you. The thought alone was enough to make your head spin, but with the physical touch he provided - it was enough to pull you over. His tongue thrust inside your cunt, as if you were the last drink on earth. Nose a persistent rub against your clit, never once letting up, only accelerating. His grip on you strengthened: instead of pushing you away to get a gasp of air, he pulled you further onto him. 

It made your ego soar, far beyond any stupid promotion or raise ever could. To Levi, more essential than air, more important than life itself, was that you cum all over his face, that was precisely what he told you.

Come with me, princess. “Just let yourself feel good.”

All that talk about delayed gratification, tonight, you were finally convinced. A straight month of solid work and no reprieve - for the moment that you climaxed, you believed it was all worth it. From head to toe, your stress melted away. A warm blanket over your body. A liquid amber in your bloodstream. All that had pent-up over the past few weeks poured out through your center - Levi drank it up and swallowed it down for you. 

Pounding heartbeat began to slow, coming back down to earth again. You rolled your head back and sighed, “That was… better than…” I could have ever imagined, than I thought I was capable of. 

But in the middle of your sentence, you were cut off by Levi’s intent stare. He looked at you - surprised. With the back of his hand, Levi wiped his mouth. Between spurts of panting, light coughs, throat clears, he asked, “So… you can still speak?”

A post-coital high to your voice, breathless in one syllable, “Yeah.”

Levi reached a hand to your waist. Trembling fingers pulled you closer as his words lassoed you back in, “Then get back up here.”

// Kinktober Year 3 Masterlist //

[thewritersplace]

Writeblr Intro

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Hello, all!

My name is Kendra, and this is my writeblr introduction. It's a bit simple stylistically, but that's how I am. Now, onto the intro!

I'm currently twenty-seven, use she/her pronouns, and am an asexual, demiromantic, biromantic cisgender woman (may as well cover all the bases, right?). I was born and raised in Northern California, spent my undergraduate years in Oregon, and then returned to NorCal, where I still reside.

I have an MA in History, a BA in Religious Studies, and a double minor in History and Psychology.

I've been on this website for over a decade (via my main blog), and have been writing in general for almost fifteen years. I started out with original works, then discovered fanfiction, and worked solely on that for over a decade, before slowly venturing back into original works again. Nowadays, I write both concurrently, though I admittedly do still find fanfiction easier, and my original works often take a backseat to my fics. Yet, somehow, I've ended up with a (current) total of six WIPs — all of which I will introduce you to today.

It's been a long time since I've shared my original works with such a large audience, so I have some natural apprehension, but ultimately I'm looking forward to doing it again.

Now, without further ado, I present my WIPs!

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The Road To Eternity Is Paved With Blood (drafting)

Dracula's Daughter (outlining) (prequel/sequel to Road To Eternity)

The Wrath Of The Vampire Queen (outlining + drafting)

For The Love Of A Goddess (outlining)

The Other Side Of Paradise (outlining)

Red Thread Of Fate: Love In The Modern World (outlining + drafting)

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The Road To Eternity Is Paved With Blood is a Dracula retelling of sorts that was inspired largely by Hellsing, with other snippets of inspiration taken from Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992) and Dracula Untold (2014). The story begins in the 1880s, and extends at the very least to the early 1900s. It follows the life and times of Rose Rowan, a beautiful noblewoman, and her relationship with her husband, Vlad Draculea (former Voivode of Wallachia, and member of the House of Drăculești), as they navigate eternity and a life of vampirism together. Her twin brother, Judas, is also featured prominently — as are his experiences with vampirism, which contrasts some with his sister's. Of course, as with every good Gothic novel, there is darkness to be found within this tale. Abraham Van Helsing and his ilk have made it their mission to bring about the end of Vlad Draculea, and anyone connected to him. The challenge in this quest, however, lies in said connections that Vlad has — namely Rose, who will stop at nothing to protect him from the infamous vampire hunter. She will have her fairytale ending, even if it has to be achieved through darker means. For while the road to hell may be paved with good intentions, the road to eternity is paved with blood.

🌹🌹🌹

Dracula's Daughter is a sequel/prequel to the above story, and focuses on Beáta, the daughter of Vlad from one of his late wives. She is also a vampire, and has been living for centuries, though largely on her own. She has lived many lives, and is a worldly young woman, though at the beginning of our story she has come home to Wallachia to see her father again after his most recent remarriage, and to meet his new wife. While she ultimately becomes fond of her new step-mother, she also has to contend with the sinister plotting of some of her father's immortal brides — namely The Queen — who would like nothing more than to rid Vlad of his new wife. Thinking herself as perhaps the only one who can bring peace and stability to the family, Beáta wrestles with who she should side with, or if she should side with anyone at all. There is more to her new step-mother than meets the eye, however, and Beáta soon finds that perhaps she is not as alone in this fight as she thought. In fact, for the first time in centuries, she has someone on her side who will fight with sharp claws and bloodied teeth to make sure such a conflict will never come to pass again.

🌹🌹🌹

The Wrath Of The Vampire Queen is a story somewhat inspired by Dracula Untold (2014), as well as the life and times of Vlad the Impaler. The tale begins in the mid-1400s, where Vlad Draculea and his wife, Senka Slavkov (born Deirdre Delacroix) are navigating the wars and politics of his reign. It then extends well into several of the following centuries, where Senka is still searching for her husband centuries after his disappearance (which occurs some years after his historically recorded death). Her brother, Didier Delacroix (who adopted the name 'Renatus' upon arriving in Wallachia), a dhampir, accompanies her in her search, as they are the only family each has left, and his connections with the Church and various religious organizations consistently prove vital to their search. Senka believes she knows exactly who took her husband — Hungarian and Turkish enemies from his mortal life, now vampires themselves. Didier, however, is not so certain, as some things don't add up. Still, they both believe that Vlad is out there somewhere, and will continue their search until they find him — be it alive or truly dead. If it is the latter, then there will be no saving his former captors from the wrath of Senka Slavkov, the vicious and vindictive Vampire Queen.

🌹🌹🌹

For The Love Of A Goddess is a story set in the present day, and follows two young women — Megara and Zarina — as they navigate their lives as best they can. These two women are the best of friends, and share in many things — including being chosen by two goddesses to be their mortal partners in this iteration of their immortal lives. Megara, a historian and religious studies scholar, caught the eye of Athena, who admired her intellect just as much as her beauty. Zarina, a librarian with a previous background in psychology, attracts the attention of Aphrodite, who finds her beauty to be dazzling, and the depth of her kindness and compassion to be a rare thing in such an egocentric world. While very happy with their respective partners, Megara and Zarina find that being with immortals comes with a variety of challenges — and not just the more obvious ones. Athena and Aphrodite are just two of an endless list of deities who are trying to survive in a growing atheist world, and if they lose this fight, they may very well disappear for good. Not wanting such a thing to occur, all four women come together to try and create a plan to prevent this disappearance from happening — though they face difficulties in the form of other various deities not wanting to band together to save each other from extinction. After all, immortals are just as egocentric as the mortals they so often think of themselves as better than, and much more difficult to persuade. Thus, the four women must not only enact a plan to prevent the extinction of various deities, but also contend with the fact that they may be the only ones in this fight. With time very much not on their side, this group of mortals and immortals must figure out a way to ensure that they do not lose this existential battle, and keep the existence of so many deities alive.

🌹🌹🌹

The Other Side Of Paradise is a retelling of Genesis in some ways, with the focus being on Lilith and Eve, rather than Adam and Eve. It begins in the Garden of Eden, with Eve pondering the idea of a world outside of the garden, and curiosity about her husband's alleged first wife, who had fled Eden long before Eve's creation. Eventually, Eve dared to venture to the edge of the garden, and it was there she saw Lilith. The two spoke over the wall, and met every day thereafter, eventually becoming friends. Lilith tried to get Eve to leave both Eden and Adam, but Eve was just the slightest bit apprehensive. Eventually, after tasting the forbidden fruit from the tree, Eve was expelled from the garden, and Lilith was there to greet her upon her exit. Eve, who was excited by the prospect of seeing the world, happily took Lilith's offered arm, and went off with her. The two spent many eons together, though not always in the same physical forms, as souls eventually begin to outlast bodies. In the present day, their souls have come to reside in the bodies of two young women who have never met, but are destined to find each other — as that is what souls do.

🌹🌹🌹

Red Thread Of Fate: Love In The Modern World is a story about two young women, Shu Nazhi and Zhou Xue Li, who live in similar yet vastly different worlds. Shu Nazhi is a businesswoman who runs her family's company with the help of her older brother, Hou Zhu Zhi, and younger sister, Shu Nuan. Zhou Xue Li is a model, actress, and singer, who is down on her luck when it comes to love. The two are introduced by a mutual friend (Nazhi's foster sister of sorts, and Xue Li's close friend) under the guise of Nazhi being Xue Li's new bodyguard, and become close over the course of Nazhi's assignment. After Nazhi finds herself falling for Xue Li, she turns in her letter of resignation, and then promptly asks Xue Li out upon the latter's acceptance of said letter. Xue Li, already secretly head-over-heels in love, happily accepts, and the two spend the day doing various activities throughout the city. The relationship, blissful as it is, also comes with the complications of things like paparazzi, work commitments, as well as their differing personalities and lifestyles. As the two women navigate these challenges, they begin to wonder about what it would have been like to love each other in a different time, and if they ever did — for they know that the red thread of fate works in mysterious ways, and that some souls are always destined to find each other.

(Disclaimer: Zhou Xue Li was created by/belongs to @bwaldorf, who was kind enough to allow me to use her in my story)

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Tagging @bwaldorf, @veneritia, @helioselene,

@moariin, @socialmediasocrates, @lasbrumas

(Please ask to be added or removed from the taglist)

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[stormsongroleplays]

Seeking Literate Partners

Hi, you can call me Storm! I'm 30 and the mom of a loud and demanding cat ❤️

I’m a multiple paragraphs/novella style writer. I love to write detailed descriptions and delve into a character’s head/emotions as well as surroundings. I compare it to writing a novel together. Not every reply has to be novella length, however. If there are action or dialogue heavy scenes, I tend to do a shorter back and forth to keep the momentum going. 

I only do MxF (with me writing the female role). I don’t double, but I’m more than happy to write side characters of either gender to help move the story along. I only want female authors writing male characters as I’m uncomfortable with male authors. (Nonbinary pals are an exception).

I'm really hoping to find a friendship, someone who can add to our story, and most importantly, someone who wants a long-term connection. It's difficult for me to write with someone if I don't feel that genuine bond. It's also important to me to have a high level of activity, with at least one reply a day. 

If you suddenly stop replying ic and ooc, I'll drop the story after 2 attempts of gauging interest spaced a week apart. But feel free to message me if you want to pick the story back up again, even months later. 

Searching For: 

20+ partners only 

An excellent grasp of grammar, punctuation, spelling, and capitalization. (Literate to advanced writers only, please. I'm not looking for newbies)

Plot before smut. While mature themes will be in my writing, there needs to be chemistry between our characters. I normally do a 60/40 plot to smut ratio and my characters tend to be subs/switches depending on the circumstances 

 An older male character (early forties to mid-late fifties). I love the gruff and tough men with dark pasts who secretly have a soft heart. I also love grumpy, hypermasculine men being intimidated by sweet but fiery women. My characters are mid-late twenties to early-mid thirties so the age gap is legal. 

I'm not looking for age play. It's a romance between two consenting adults who each act exactly their age, and they just happen to be different ages. 

Enthusiasm to chat about our character and ship, how to crush them and then gushing over fluffy moments. I love crying over characters and what the heck they’re doing. I want my heart ripped from my chest from angst, then feeling like it’s going to burst from overwhelming cuteness. I want us to love these characters and the world we create. I want to make pinterest boards, spotify playlists, graphics, and toss headcanons back and forth until late at night. 

Have an idea for a scene? Found a picture that inspired you? Send it to me! Be invested when it comes to plotting/worldbuilding. There’s nothing worse than receiving one sentence in reply to two paragraphs of ideas, or having a doormat partner who says “sure” to whatever I ask. Building ideas one on top of the other, watching them snowball into amazing plot threads brings me joy. But having to pull plot ideas like I’m pulling teeth makes me think you’re not interested, and I will lose interest in return.

Interests: 

Modern fantasy, monsters, sci-fi, omegaverse, southern gothic/midwest gothic (i’m a sucker for that southern/texas drawl), horror, height/size difference, cheating/affair, enemies to lovers, slow burn romance, spooky small towns, post apocalyptic/dystopia, crime/mysteries, emotionally charged/dark and gritty, bodyguard x assignment, forced proximity, opposites attract, fated mates, anti heroes/morally gray characters, traumatic pasts, grumpy x sunshine, one bed, men who simp over their women, touch her / him and die, and more.

I have lots of original plot ideas in mind as well!

Fandoms (OCs ONLY) 

Star Wars, Stranger Things, Mercy Thompson Series, True Blood, The Last of Us, Hunger Games, Fallout (TV Show)

I write only on discord using servers with organized channels. Like this post or add me on discord (magicofrain) if you’re interested. The most effective way to grab my genuine interest is by messaging me as if we've been friends for years. Please let me know which interests you liked from my ad.

[impossiblescissorspeachpaper]

Demons of Night Past [I]

A Halloween treat! 🎃👻

A demon!Elain x detective!Azriel two-part story. Modern fantasy AU.

Summary: Detective Azriel Corleone has been investigating the gruesome murders terrorizing the city of Velaris for three weeks now. He’s got zero leads and a mountain of pressure pushing the Velaris Police Department to solve the murders, and quick.

When he discovers a mysterious artifact at one of the crime scenes, he’s convinced it holds a clue that can help the investigation. But things take an unexpected turn, plunging him into an implausible fantasy world, far from anything his mundane life has ever known.

Artwork by @/artofelaineho on IG

Elain x Azriel. Modern AU. 3.5k words

Detective Azriel Corleone ran a rough hand through his hair, the black strands artlessly tousled. Having been roused from sleep at two-thirty in the morning, in conjunction with the numerous times he’d already threaded his fingers through the inky locks in aggravation, his mop of thick hair stood dishevelled in every direction.

Padding his way carefully through the crime scene, cautious not to step on any crimson patches of sticky blood or nearby debris, his keen gaze scanned his surroundings with meticulous scrutiny.

Hazel eyes examined the back alley vigilantly, attempting to capture every detail in the darkness of the early morning. The sky was still pitch black, but the full moon above cast a silvery light over the world, as the wavering streetlamp ahead emitted a weedy glow over the scene before him. The gritty brick walls, the dubious puddles across the damp cement ground, the piled bags of garbage along either side of the alley… and the prone body left dumped in those grim surroundings in the wake of the rampaging murderer that had been terrorizing Velaris now for three weeks.

Three murders, in just as many weeks. And no leads. The media was having a field day with the story. The perceived incompetence of the Velaris PD was making headlines daily due to the particularly gruesome nature of the crime scenes and the subsequent incredulity of the public that the murders so far remained unsolved.

Despite the grisly scenery each slain victim had found themselves in, detectives had not yet been able to gather any clues to lead them to an arrest. No DNA left behind or beneath victims’ fingernails, no weapons, no footprints or stray hairs or particles from foreign clothing. It was as if the assassin had appeared out of thin air, slain their victim swiftly and expertly, then disappeared once again without a trace.

Azriel had groggily answered his phone twenty-five minutes earlier, the gruff voice of his commanding officer barking the address of the site of the latest killing down the line; only a few short blocks from his sad little apartment on the west side of Velaris.

After a few choice colourful expletives, Azriel had pushed his feet through the discarded pants crumpled by the side of his bed and grabbed his jacket before hastily making the short trip to the dingy alley on his motorbike.

Thoughts of the murders engrossed his mind his entire ride there, as they had been since the killings started, trying in vain to uncover the missing piece of the puzzle. That taunting mystery remained hanging just out of reach, dangling mockingly outside the breadth of their fingertips, only serving to baffle and embarrass the Velaris Police Department. Not to mention the wide-spread terror that was flowing across the city, its residents now living in fear, dubiously appraising neighbours and strangers alike.

The task force had painstakingly considered the crimes from every angle they could. The victims themselves didn’t even have any known connections. Other than they had all found themselves in downtown Velaris when they met their demise, and that they all had convictions of various heinous crimes on their files. Domestic abuse, sexual assault, aggravated assault. It made Azriel feel just a tad less guilty they hadn’t caught the perpetrator yet. It was as if some masked vigilante had taken it upon themselves to rid the city of all the vermin, the worst of the abusers and monstruous criminals, the scummiest of citizens.

Still, Azriel couldn’t figure it out. And he needed to. His livelihood depended on it. A life lost was a life lost, and it was his sworn duty to protect this city.

Turning his focus toward the ground at the victims’ feet, he swept his eyes up the cooling corpse. Hazel eyes settled on the male’s face and surprise coloured Azriel’s features; he recognised this one. A pretentious, insufferable man from Spring.

Azriel had arrested him just last month against claims of domestic abuse. He couldn’t recall his name, but he remembered the smug look on his face as his frightened looking wife had meekly rescinded her accusations. He’d given the woman his direct number, imploring her to call if she ever needed help, and made sure she received the appropriate anonymous counselling and support from the department.

Sighing, Azriel got to work, pulling out his notepad. As a result of being the first detective on the scene after the call from his commanding officer, Azriel had the unfortunate honour of examining the victims mangled body.

The male lay bloodied and bruised, emerald eyes wide with terror and mouth agape as if in a scream. It was as if he had been slashed across the chest with a blade whilst the air had been strangled from his lungs simultaneously. The veins in his neck bulged and ran darker than normal, leaving ominous looking navy tracks across parts of his cold skin. Deep ruby stains bloomed across his chest although his clothing remained intact. His grimy white t-shirt was soaked with his own blood, and his ruddy blonde hair caked with it.

Trailing his gaze over the body and making notes in his pad, a shimmer caught Azriel’s attention. Partially covered by the cold fingers of the victims’ right hand, was something that Azriel hadn’t immediately noticed.

Pulling a pair of black latex gloves from his pocket, he crouched beside the body, pulling them over his rough scarred fingers. Poking around in the pooled dirt and blood, his fingers fished out a fine gold chain. Carefully tugging it out from beneath the corpse, a small charm revealed itself on what appeared to be the end of a necklace, the amulet barely the size of his thumb nail.

The charm was made of glass, and somehow, despite the blood and dirt that caked the alleyway, it remained unblemished, as if it repelled all and any substance that would stain it. Holding the necklace up to the light, Azriel noted the glass charm had a small, intricate, onyx rose embedded into one side. The obsidian of the rose seemed to gobble up the dim light, setting the delicate petals gleaming as the moonlight delicately caressed its edges. The charm slowly spun, rotating in his hand as it dangled from the fine gold chain, when strange lettering on the reverse side was gradually revealed:

Venisti ad me

Azriel’s brow furrowed as he looked at the words gleaming in miniscule gold lettering, intuition telling him that the strange phrase on the charm could very well be the breakthrough the VPD had been looking for. Reading the engraving over once, twice, he wracked his brain, pondering what language it could be and how he could set about finding out. It was like nothing he had ever seen before.

“Venisti ad me…” Azriel murmured into the silent darkness of night, his breath puffing out before him like a fog. The chill autumn weather of October had finally grasped Velaris in its hold, preparing for the inevitable turn of seasons as winter approached.

An icy wind swept through the alley, ruffling Azriel’s hair and whipping at his leather jacket. But despite it being early in the morning hours before dawn, despite it inching ever closer to winter, the temperature had dropped uncharacteristically low just in the last few moments. The streetlamp ahead flickered and died, plunging the alleyway in almost complete darkness for several moments before shining unsteadily once more.

Azriel’s skin erupted in goosebumps beneath his leather jacket and his breath continued billowing clouds of mist as his exhales grew heavier against the suddenly arctic air. The unnerving feeling that he was being watched expeditiously crept across his mind, causing the hair at the nape of his neck to stand on end.

Whipping his head back to glance behind him from his crouched position, he was only met with an empty lane, distant sirens alerting him to the knowledge that his squad were on their way. He almost sagged with relief, reminding himself not to be so paranoid.

Turning back toward the corpse, his sigh of relief caught in his throat as hazel eyes snagged on a figure that hadn’t been there a moment before.

He startled, stumbling to his full height briskly, habitually reaching for the gun holstered at his side.

A supple-bodied woman had appeared in the alleyway up ahead, her face obscured by the shadows that seemed to swarm and darken around her. But despite the swirling shadows, he could just make out the silhouette of her taller than average stature, her hourglass figure, and eyes that seemed to gleam like embers in the darkness. He thought he noticed those glowing eyes flashing to his gun before landing on his face once more. His fingers curled around the grip in response.

“That won’t be necessary,” her melodic voice rang out in the stillness of the night like a bell, “I don’t intend to hurt you.”

Her voice was raspy and yet sweet, soothing and exhilarating all at once. It slithered along his bones and allayed his soul. Yet, his head told him not to act a fool, it reminded him that innocent, albeit alluring women, did not just appear upon gruesome crime scenes without some macabre reason.

Ever the careful detective, his head won out. He didn’t lower his hand from his weapon. “Come out of the shadows, leave your hands where I can see them.”

He heard a breathy laugh, light and tinkling but with an edge of sharpness that spoke of secret ferocity. The woman edged forwards, stepping out of the darkness and into the light, and Azriel was rendered utterly speechless.

His breath had caught in his chest, for she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. But could he call her a woman? She looked… other worldly.

Surely, she didn’t belong in this world. For whatever reason, that thought crept upon his mind and refused to subside. Something about her was peculiar, unnerving, yet all the while enthralling. He couldn’t tear his eyes off her if he tried.

He’d never seen anyone like her. Her glossy golden-brown hair hung down to her waist, floating about her as if a phantom wind danced and affectionately caressed its silky lengths. As if the air itself couldn’t resist the temptation of touching her, giving her luxurious mane a life of its own. She wore a black figure-hugging dress, the silk appearing almost fluid as it mellifluously wrapped around her sinful curves, leaving her arms and décolletage bare. She should have been shivering in this cold, but she didn’t seem phased in the slightest by the harsh chill. On the contrary, her pale, golden skin seemed to glow— beautifully stark against the midnight hue of her gown— not a single blemish or scar marring the expanse of exposed alabaster skin. She looked too perfect, as if carved of marble, designed by man. Her eyes were large, wide and all-seeing, like a doe, the soft chocolate of her irises swirling ominously within a ring of depthless ebony. Even her hands were beautiful, if such a thing were possible. Her palms were held out before her and he noticed her red tipped nails crowning her long, elegant fingers. A solitary ring adorned the third finger on her left hand, the lustrous cobalt gemstone glinting in the dim alleyway.

Azriel’s heart ratcheted in his chest, a reaction he wasn’t sure whether to contribute to fear, or amorous curiosity toward the woman before him.

As if hearing his treacherous heart, the woman smiled, her lips curling to reveal white teeth, larger and brighter than he had anticipated.

“Ma’am, were you the civilian who called in the tip?” Azriel inquired, his hand still on his holster but otherwise rendered frozen in place. He was certain the murderer wouldn’t be stupid enough to return to the scene of the crime.

The woman angled her head, her hair shifting over a slim shoulder with the movement as she beheld him, carefully scrutinising him.

“I believe you summoned me,” the woman replied with a lupine smile, her red lips lifting higher at a corner, a single perfect dark brow arching in question. Another slow step toward him bathed her further in the iridescent glow of the moon, the black silk dress shifting with her movement to reveal a long, slender, creamy thigh. The split in her dress came up almost indecently high, grazing her hip, and the movement revealed a knife strapped to her leg, the hilt so dark it seemed to gobble up the light. Strange etchings along the handle glinted as the moonlight bounced off it with her gait, snagging Azriel’s attention.

Azriel observed her suspiciously, determined to remain calm and pacifying until he had back-up arrive on the scene. He reached a scarred hand out toward her placatingly, palm facing her in a gesture of composed control, intending to halt her advances. “This is a crime scene; you cannot be here—”

Just then, the woman hissed, her nostrils flaring and elongated canines flashing. Her head snapped toward the end of the alley, the movement so animalistic in contrast to the fluid grace she had exuded so far that Azriel was caught off guard, and a moment later he heard what must have triggered her. Faint, thudding footsteps; his squad must have arrived.

Darting her gaze back to him, he could have sworn the woman’s eyes flashed the darkest shade of onyx before she strode the few remaining paces over to him— faster than his sight could follow, faster than should have been possible. Standing suddenly before him, she didn’t hesitate before she grasped his forearm tightly in her hold as shadows swarmed her like plumes of smoke, engulfing them both into unending darkness.

Azriel’s entire world went black.

A shout left his lips as the sensation of being hurtled through space engulfed his senses. All the while, the strong clasp of the strange woman’s fingers on his arm remained, digging into his jacket as if he were being gripped by stone. Before he could fathom what was happening to him, what direction he was being thrown in, the scene changed again. His feet once again landing on solid ground.

Stumbling and glancing around in disbelief, he found himself in a gloomy, filthy, dilapidated house. The room appeared to once have been very grand but had since fallen into disrepair. The windows were murky with grime and the parquet floors covered in a thick layer of dust. The heavy curtains were tattered and hanging off the rods haphazardly. A broken sconce that hung on a yellowing wall was feebly illuminating the room in a watery light, and the full moon peeking through the shattered window seemed much too large, much too white, to be real. Glancing out at the scenery beyond the window, he couldn’t help but think he’d never seen the night sky so…alive.

But possibly the most unnerving thing, sprawled across the entire expanse of the walls, ceiling, and what he was sure was the remainder of the decrepit manor beyond, were gnarled, thick, tangled vines. And although one would expect to find vines within a house of this state simply twisted with thorns and baron branches, these, astonishingly, bore a riot of roses. Midnight black, ruby-red edged roses. Thousands of them. They seemed to explode from every direction and filled his senses with their perniciously sweet aroma.

Azriel scuttered back, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. Pulling away from the woman, he wrenched his arm out of her strong grasp, a look of utter panic plastered across his face.

“Where are we? What is this?”

His mind reeled. How had they appeared in this room? Had he been drugged? Had he fallen, hit his head, and was now having a fever dream whilst in a coma? He didn’t think his imagination was this creative.

He couldn’t be sure, but the bite of the cool steel of his gun felt stark against his skin, and the howling wind from the broken window set his teeth to near chattering. This was it. All signs pointed to you’ve finally lost your fucking mind, Az.

The woman angled her head in that unnerving way that she did, her once again chocolate brown eyes trailing across his face, as if searching for something. Looking for the answer to a question he hadn’t spoken.

“You do not remember me,” she murmured bleakly. It wasn’t a question. Her voice had turned cold, her eyes falling flat.

“Remember you? I do not know you. Where are we?” he almost shrieked.

Azriel was trained to keep his cool in times of duress, keep his wits about him to ensure his own survival and the survival of those around him. But in the current states of events, he was downright struggling to keep his breathing from reaching levels of hyperventilation and his voice from hitching like a teenager.

He closed his eyes. Deep breath. Another.

So soft, as if the words were not intended for him to hear, he heard a murmured, “I thought you had finally come for me.”

His eyes flew open at her words. She was making no sense. This entire situation made absolutely zero sense. This woman had to be an escaped mental patient. Or perhaps he was the one having a mental episode.

Azriel ignored her statement, not knowing how to answer anyway.

“Where am I? Where have you brought me?” he demanded again.

The woman appeared to consider him for a moment, her peculiar eyes searching his face, the halo of black around her irises glinting in the dim light.

“This is Rosehall, w— I lived here for a while.” She gestured to the room around her with a small wave of her hand, but her gaze remained imprinted on him. On his face, her eyes boring into his. She didn’t blink nearly as often as normal. She was so strange.

He had never heard of anywhere called Rosehall. This had to be a hoax.

“Who are you?”

The woman’s shoulders seemed to sag imperceptibly, her brown eyes hardening in resolve before the hollow obsidian flashed within her bright irises again before turning back.

“My name is Elain.”

Elain. Something small, unanswered, tugged at the edge of his subconscious. He promptly ignored it.

“You cannot… remove a police officer from the scene of a crime, it is an offence to cause harm—”

“I already told you, I do not intend to cause you harm.” She looked at him so openly, so unabashedly, he almost believed her.

“I have a murder to solve, I don’t have time for these ridiculous pranks,” he was truly dubious now, his anger beginning to rise.

Azriel wasn’t sure how this woman had pulled it off, but he had no time to play games. He knew the youth of Velaris took Halloween very seriously, and October was always rife with elaborate hoaxes and games and spectacles. A waste of his damn time, that’s what this was. Either that, or he really had fallen and hit his head. Hard. He avoided thinking on it too closely.

“I’ve been looking for you,” the woman breathed. Elain. Her eyes shone with something like hurt, longing. She was really sticking to this extravagant charade then.

His patience was waning, she was speaking in riddles and wasting his damn time. “I’m leaving. Now,” Azriel deadpanned, deciding she wasn’t a threat after all and turned on a heel to make his way out of wherever they were.

He heard her sigh deeply, as if she truly was sorry for his rejection of the situation. Whatever this situation was.

“If that is what you wish, Azriel.”

He whirled back around at the sound of his name on her lips, his gaze flickering across her beautiful face, hazel eyes wild. But before he could ponder further on how this strange woman knew his name, his world once again, turned black.

~

Azriel awoke in the morning with a groan, the watery autumn sun streaming in from behind his blinds. His head thumped angrily at him, murky memories of last night swimming into his subconsciousness in drips and drabs. Rubbing his temples, a futile attempt to alleviate the pounding in his head, Azriel pushed himself up on an elbow.

What the fuck kind of dream was that? Beautiful demon-women, sudden relocations to dilapidated manors, summonings? Had he even been called to a crime scene last night? He really was fucking lonely if he was dreaming of strange, beautiful woman whisking him away in the night.

Fuck his life was sad. He had to get a pet, or something.

Blindly reaching for the Advil he kept on his nightstand, his fingers brushed against something unfamiliar. He curled his fingers back as something poisonous had lurched out and bit him.

Azriel froze, his eyes snapping open. Twisting his gaze toward his bedside, he reached his fingers incredulously toward the single black rose with ruby-red edges that lay there. Moving slowly, as if the rose were a figment of his imagination, as if it would disappear in a puff of smoke, his fingers once again grazed the satin edges of the blooming petals.

Lifting the rose gingerly between a forefinger and a thumb, his eyes all but bulged from their sockets at what he beheld. Snagged around the sharp thorns of the stem was an unremarkable gold chain, a small glass charm hanging from its length, the obsidian of the petals of the black rose within glinting in the morning light.

*******

tagging: @offtorivendell @fawnandshadows​ @the-laughing-bubble​ @swankii-art-teacher​ @pagemasters​ @tswaney17​ @sakurakittypeach​ @thefangirlofhp​ @wingedblooms​

A/N: As mentioned, this will be a two part story (I think). It’s something I discussed with a few friends about writing a while ago, however have only just found the inspiration to do so. Thank you to those special people that helped me hash this out. You probably don’t remember doing so as it was forever ago, but this wouldn’t be seeing the light of day without you all. You all know who you are ♥️

It’s not my best work and I don’t really know how I feel about it but I just couldn’t agonize over it any longer. I would love to hear any thoughts and comments about this so far! It’s probably the first thing I’ve ever written that I’ve somewhat planned in it’s entirety before publication. I’m usually a fuck-around-til-something-works kinda gal 🙂 T xx

[rp-partnerfinder]

Hi, you can call me Storm! I'm 30 and the mom of a loud and demanding cat ❤️

I’m a multiple paragraphs/novella style writer. I love to write detailed descriptions and delve into a character’s head/emotions as well as surroundings. I compare it to writing a novel together. Not every reply has to be novella length, however. If there are action or dialogue heavy scenes, I tend to do a shorter back and forth to keep the momentum going. 

I only do MxF (with me writing the female role). I don’t double, but I’m more than happy to write side characters of either gender to help move the story along. I only want female authors writing male characters as I’m uncomfortable with cis male authors. (Nonbinary pals are an exception).

I'm really hoping to find a friendship, someone who can add to our story, and most importantly, someone who wants a long-term connection. It's difficult for me to write with someone if I don't feel that genuine bond. It's also important to me to have a high level of activity, with at least one reply a day. 

If you suddenly stop replying ic and ooc, I'll drop the story after 2 attempts of gauging interest spaced a week apart. But feel free to message me if you want to pick the story back up again, even months later. 

Searching For: 

20+ partners only 

An excellent grasp of grammar, punctuation, spelling, and capitalization. (Literate to advanced writers only, please. I'm not looking for newbies)

Plot before smut. While mature themes will be in my writing, there needs to be chemistry between our characters. I normally do a 60/40 plot to smut ratio and my characters tend to be subs/switches depending on the circumstances 

 An older male character (early forties to mid-late fifties). I love the gruff and tough men with dark pasts who secretly have a soft heart. I also love grumpy, hypermasculine men being intimidated by sweet but fiery women. My characters are mid-late twenties to early-mid thirties so the age gap is legal. 

I'm not looking for age play. It's a romance between two consenting adults who each act exactly their age, and they just happen to be different ages. 

Enthusiasm to chat about our character and ship, how to crush them and then gushing over fluffy moments. I love crying over characters and what the heck they’re doing. I want my heart ripped from my chest from angst, then feeling like it’s going to burst from overwhelming cuteness. I want us to love these characters and the world we create. I want to make pinterest boards, spotify playlists, graphics, and toss headcanons back and forth until late at night. 

Have an idea for a scene? Found a picture that inspired you? Send it to me! Be invested when it comes to plotting/worldbuilding. There’s nothing worse than receiving one sentence in reply to two paragraphs of ideas, or having a doormat partner who says “sure” to whatever I ask. Building ideas one on top of the other, watching them snowball into amazing plot threads brings me joy. But having to pull plot ideas like I’m pulling teeth makes me think you’re not interested, and I will lose interest in return.

Interests: 

Modern fantasy, monsters, sci-fi, omegaverse, southern gothic/midwest gothic (i’m a sucker for that southern/texas drawl), horror, height/size difference, cheating/affair, enemies to lovers, slow burn romance, spooky small towns, post apocalyptic/dystopia, crime/mysteries, emotionally charged/dark and gritty, bodyguard x assignment, forced proximity, opposites attract, fated mates, anti heroes/morally gray characters, traumatic pasts, grumpy x sunshine, one bed, men who simp over their women, touch her / him and die, and more.

I have lots of original plot ideas in mind as well!

Fandoms (OCs ONLY) 

Star Wars, Stranger Things, Mercy Thompson Series, True Blood, The Last of Us, Hunger Games, Fallout (TV Show)

I write only on discord using servers with organized channels. Like this post or add me on discord (magicofrain) if you’re interested. The most effective way to grab my genuine interest is by messaging me with a detailed reply. Please let me know which interests you liked from my ad.

.

[roleplayfinder]

Hi, you can call me Storm! I'm 30 and the mom of a loud and demanding cat ❤️

I’m a multiple paragraphs/novella style writer. I love to write detailed descriptions and delve into a character’s head/emotions as well as surroundings. I compare it to writing a novel together. Not every reply has to be novella length, however. If there are action or dialogue heavy scenes, I tend to do a shorter back and forth to keep the momentum going. 

I only do MxF (with me writing the female role). I don’t double, but I’m more than happy to write side characters of either gender to help move the story along. I only want female authors writing male characters as I’m uncomfortable with cis male authors. (Nonbinary pals are an exception).

I'm really hoping to find a friendship, someone who can add to our story, and most importantly, someone who wants a long-term connection. It's difficult for me to write with someone if I don't feel that genuine bond. It's also important to me to have a high level of activity, with at least one reply a day. 

If you suddenly stop replying ic and ooc, I'll drop the story after 2 attempts of gauging interest spaced a week apart. But feel free to message me if you want to pick the story back up again, even months later. 

Searching For: 

20+ partners only 

An excellent grasp of grammar, punctuation, spelling, and capitalization. (Literate to advanced writers only, please. I'm not looking for newbies)

Plot before smut. While mature themes will be in my writing, there needs to be chemistry between our characters. I normally do a 60/40 plot to smut ratio and my characters tend to be subs/switches depending on the circumstances 

 An older male character (early forties to mid-late fifties). I love the gruff and tough men with dark pasts who secretly have a soft heart. I also love grumpy, hypermasculine men being intimidated by sweet but fiery women. My characters are mid-late twenties to early-mid thirties so the age gap is legal. 

I'm not looking for age play. It's a romance between two consenting adults who each act exactly their age, and they just happen to be different ages. 

Enthusiasm to chat about our character and ship, how to crush them and then gushing over fluffy moments. I love crying over characters and what the heck they’re doing. I want my heart ripped from my chest from angst, then feeling like it’s going to burst from overwhelming cuteness. I want us to love these characters and the world we create. I want to make pinterest boards, spotify playlists, graphics, and toss headcanons back and forth until late at night. 

Have an idea for a scene? Found a picture that inspired you? Send it to me! Be invested when it comes to plotting/worldbuilding. There’s nothing worse than receiving one sentence in reply to two paragraphs of ideas, or having a doormat partner who says “sure” to whatever I ask. Building ideas one on top of the other, watching them snowball into amazing plot threads brings me joy. But having to pull plot ideas like I’m pulling teeth makes me think you’re not interested, and I will lose interest in return.

Interests: 

Modern fantasy, monsters, sci-fi, omegaverse, southern gothic/midwest gothic (i’m a sucker for that southern/texas drawl), horror, height/size difference, cheating/affair, enemies to lovers, slow burn romance, spooky small towns, post apocalyptic/dystopia, crime/mysteries, emotionally charged/dark and gritty, bodyguard x assignment, forced proximity, opposites attract, fated mates, anti heroes/morally gray characters, traumatic pasts, grumpy x sunshine, one bed, men who simp over their women, touch her / him and die, and more.

I have lots of original plot ideas in mind as well!

Fandoms (OCs ONLY) 

Star Wars, Stranger Things, Mercy Thompson Series, True Blood, The Last of Us, Hunger Games, Fallout (TV Show)

I write only on discord using servers with organized channels. Like this post or add me on discord (magicofrain) if you’re interested. The most effective way to grab my genuine interest is by messaging me with a detailed reply. Please let me know which interests you liked from my ad.

.

[rphunter]

Hi, you can call me Storm! I'm 30 and the mom of a loud and demanding cat ❤️

I’m a multiple paragraphs/novella style writer. I love to write detailed descriptions and delve into a character’s head/emotions as well as surroundings. I compare it to writing a novel together. Not every reply has to be novella length, however. If there are action or dialogue heavy scenes, I tend to do a shorter back and forth to keep the momentum going. 

I only do MxF (with me writing the female role). I don’t double, but I’m more than happy to write side characters of either gender to help move the story along. I only want female authors writing male characters as I’m uncomfortable with cis male authors. (Nonbinary pals are an exception).

I'm really hoping to find a friendship, someone who can add to our story, and most importantly, someone who wants a long-term connection. It's difficult for me to write with someone if I don't feel that genuine bond. It's also important to me to have a high level of activity, with at least one reply a day. 

If you suddenly stop replying ic and ooc, I'll drop the story after 2 attempts of gauging interest spaced a week apart. But feel free to message me if you want to pick the story back up again, even months later. 

Searching For: 

20+ partners only 

An excellent grasp of grammar, punctuation, spelling, and capitalization. (Literate to advanced writers only, please. I'm not looking for newbies)

Plot before smut. While mature themes will be in my writing, there needs to be chemistry between our characters. I normally do a 60/40 plot to smut ratio and my characters tend to be subs/switches depending on the circumstances 

 An older male character (early forties to mid-late fifties). I love the gruff and tough men with dark pasts who secretly have a soft heart. I also love grumpy, hypermasculine men being intimidated by sweet but fiery women. My characters are mid-late twenties to early-mid thirties so the age gap is legal. 

I'm not looking for age play. It's a romance between two consenting adults who each act exactly their age, and they just happen to be different ages. 

Enthusiasm to chat about our character and ship, how to crush them and then gushing over fluffy moments. I love crying over characters and what the heck they’re doing. I want my heart ripped from my chest from angst, then feeling like it’s going to burst from overwhelming cuteness. I want us to love these characters and the world we create. I want to make pinterest boards, spotify playlists, graphics, and toss headcanons back and forth until late at night. 

Have an idea for a scene? Found a picture that inspired you? Send it to me! Be invested when it comes to plotting/worldbuilding. There’s nothing worse than receiving one sentence in reply to two paragraphs of ideas, or having a doormat partner who says “sure” to whatever I ask. Building ideas one on top of the other, watching them snowball into amazing plot threads brings me joy. But having to pull plot ideas like I’m pulling teeth makes me think you’re not interested, and I will lose interest in return.

Interests: 

Modern fantasy, monsters, sci-fi, omegaverse, southern gothic/midwest gothic (i’m a sucker for that southern/texas drawl), horror, height/size difference, cheating/affair, enemies to lovers, slow burn romance, spooky small towns, post apocalyptic/dystopia, crime/mysteries, emotionally charged/dark and gritty, bodyguard x assignment, forced proximity, opposites attract, fated mates, anti heroes/morally gray characters, traumatic pasts, grumpy x sunshine, one bed, men who simp over their women, touch her / him and die, and more.

I have lots of original plot ideas in mind as well!

Fandoms (OCs ONLY) 

Star Wars, Stranger Things, Mercy Thompson Series, True Blood, The Last of Us, Hunger Games, Fallout (TV Show)

I write only on discord using servers with organized channels. Like this post or add me on discord (magicofrain) if you’re interested. The most effective way to grab my genuine interest is by messaging me with a detailed reply. Please let me know which interests you liked from my ad.

.

[guiltswept]

( ella purnell. demi woman. she/they. ) - let me introduce you to a staff member of the eversley family, maribel sawyer, who is here at the eversley estate working as a housekeeper in the east wing. they are twenty-seven and are known as the demure around the estate because they are altruistic, overwrought, and furtive. when you get to know them, you think about a fox escaping the hounds in dark-branched woods, jaw bloodied and stained with what is not its own; the wandering, stand-still eyes in a hallway lined with portraits—all staring, all watching, all knowing—but you can only wonder why they’d choose to work for the eversley family. this character is penned by: ( james, 25, est, they/them. )

content warning for... disordered eating, anxiety, dysfunctional family dynamics throughout.

profile.

full name — maribel ottoline sawyer.

nickname(s) — mari; little mouse, mouse ( rare ).

place of birth — duluth, minnesota, us.

date of birth & age — june 4th, 1997. twenty7.

gender / pronouns — demi woman, she/they.

sexuality — bisexual.

occupation — housekeeper. investigative journalist.

astrology — gemini sun / gemini moon / gemini rising.

labels — the demure ( others considered: the fragile butterfly / the sheep / the chameleon / the bibliophile / the quiescent / the ingenue / the obsequious ).

residence — eversley estate; staff quarters ( previous residence: south london ).

traits — altruistic, benignant, solicitous, overwrought, mousy, acquiescent, malleable, amenable, vulnerable, guileful, furtive, underhanded, conspiratorial, shrewd, observant.

interests — mary janes and patterned tights; oversized sweaters and earth - toned patterns. handwritten letters, the smell of fresh ink; typewriters. vinyl records and players; the smell of an antique shop. perfecting the handwriting of others. non - fiction, and classic novels. staying organized. sweeping her hair into a ponytail at all times. riddles, mysteries; solving problems, but never her own. computer science; hacking into databases. keeping a near - nonexistent internet presence. doing what she thinks is right - hoping that what she's doing is right. pressing flowers. encryptions.

aversions — reminders of her family. feeling like someone is constantly on her heels. creaky floorboards. tripping over herself ( happens far too often ). eye contact. drinking too much. saying no. being caught in her own web of lies. cold tea. egomaniacs ( unfortunately surrounded by them ). others thinking she's incapable, a pushover, etc. knowing for a fact that she is, in deed, a pushover. modern homes. anything that'll cost her too much money; spending money. the sight of blood. swearing ( at least in front of others ). failure.

most played — duvet by bôa.

notable features — a prominent jaw and bush baby eyes beneath an olive complexion; blunt bangs that are undoubtedly done without help, expression hopelessly doll - like.

general disposition — a restlessness that threads through the veins; always looking over a shoulder, never able to sit still.

character study — willow rosenberg ( buffy the vampire slayer ) & lexie grey ( grey's anatomy ) & nancy drew ( nancy drew ) & marta cabrera ( knives out ).

background & events.

the sawyers were never anything extraordinary: a militant air force patriarch and a stay at home matriarch with a history of at - home workout videos, straight to vcr. maribel was born between a broadway star and a football prodigy; with little room to shine for herself. it was a strict upbringing; early curfew, chores before all else, no outings on weekends and sunday family dinners, perfect grades. maribel still thinks of her mother's keto - friendly green bean casserole with terror akin to meeting a bear in a fistfight.

despite being one of three, it was a quiet, lonely childhood for maribel. they moved often, from military base to military base, from country to country; maribel's friends never kept in touch, and at some point she had stopped trying. her siblings always stood out, always had somewhere to turn to whether it were theater or sports. but she kept her nose in a book; took a knack to solving puzzles, to putting together pieces. crosswords to riddles, to magic tricks and whodunnits. she couldn't turn to her parents - as far as they were concerned, it was maribel who didn't try hard enough.

disordered eating mention / anxiety; the criticism was endless; her father thought her soft and impractical, too stuck in her head, and her mother instilled in them the same food insecurities that had haunted her in her childhood like a family heirloom. there was always something she could be doing better; something she wasn't doing right. maribel walked around her home on constant eggshells. as she grew older, her anxiety grew with her.

after years of forging permission slip signatures and teaching herself coding ( they were always fascinated with encryptions, how to create them and how to break them ) - word got out around one of her private schools of her "talents" and she quickly became a tool under the guise of friendship. too meek to say no, maribel always complied with her friends' wishes - from changed grades in the school system, to forged doctor's notes and hacked social medias. when it was all discovered; it was her who took the blame, who wound up expelled.

their parents iced them out after that; if they were cold before, they were freezing then. radio silence in her own home. maribel was homeschooled after the incident, picking up jobs in - between lessons and moving out once they turned eighteen. it was a mutual decision, more or less; it was a rule in their household, and maribel couldn't wait to leave them - as awful as she felt about it. when her father was stationed back to the states, maribel chose to stay in the uk, where she attended university.

maribel pursued journalism, then computer science, then journalism again. picked up three jobs at any given time and worked and worked and worked until she'd overdone it and had to take a prolonged mental health break. this cycle repeated itself three more times before maribel finally graduated, years later, with a degree in journalism and enough computer science classes that she might've well gotten the degree for that too. she was picked up by a semi - big newspaper and begun writing articles under a pseudonym, where they quickly gained interest. despite being on the verge of a constant mental breakdown; maribel's research was always thorough, unbiased yet passionate - like she had ways of getting behind the scenes.

the eversleys caught her attention four years ago. three years ago, she was fired from the newspaper due to her obsession with the family and their supposedly legal business. two years ago, maribel got hired at the estate after months of scrubbing any presence of herself from the internet.

introspection & details.

before her journalist job ( and her current job ); maribel could not keep a job to save her life. she's been a waitress, a receptionist, a bartender, a tutor, a very much unlicensed private eye working "under the table", a phone sex operator, retail. had a half - day stint in construction before they realized she couldn't operate a forklift without almost running someone over. maribel is very good at what she's good at, and very bad at what she's not. there is little to no in between.

knows a handful, maybe two, of languages due to her family moving often. she's stronger in some languages than others.

there's not much use for forgery these days, but maribel isn't beyond it. has a strong moral system, and that's strictly what she thinks is right. will do "bad things" in order to accomplish "good things". if chaotic lawful was a thing, they would be it. scarily proficient with a computer.

terrible, terrible liar when it comes to little white lies, the things that don't hurt. is better at lying when it's long term; they often embellish details of their childhood, to make them seem not as lonely.

maribel has a problem with telling people no; has been called a pushover before, a doormat. is, unfortunately, the type of person to drop everything to help someone if they ask, even if it's unimportant to them. endlessly kind, and has an issue of seeing the good in everyone. makes excuses for others often.

desperately wants kinship, to the point where she will shift parts of her personality and interests to better suit whoever she's talking to. sometimes, maribel isn't sure of who she is outside of what she performs for others. a people pleaser.

comes off as innocent because she rarely swears, smokes, drinks ( though, when she does drink they become a massive flirt; a massive 180 degree shift in their personality ). hates being infantilized because of these facts, but will often give into doing any of them when challenged.

she's a naturally anxious person, just evident in her... existence. constantly fidgeting, shifting; rambles when nervous, which is just about all the time. has been called variants of mousy, for a multitude of reasons. has a bad case of constantly trembling, or shaking. it takes her time to warm up to people, to become used to them.

being hyperaware of her surroundings at all times, and her general insecure nature has allowed her to become decently perceptive. she notices when people are off, when things in general aren't what they seem. her concern is always genuine, but more often than not she's seeking answers.

can be contradicting at times; when it comes to her career, what she came to the estate for - maribel knows what she wants, what her goals are, how she wants to accomplish them and how to go about them. but externally, she just comes off as someone too afraid to speak up for herself, who can't bring herself to say anything negative about anyone.

maribel is so. goddamn clumsy it's a miracle she hasn't been fired from the estate yet. tries her hardest not to break anything, but she's extremely jumpy. is constantly bumping into people, furniture, walls and doors, etc.

lover of vintage, of secondhand, of antiques. mostly likes things she can afford, which isn't a lot. they're good at not spending money on themselves, even though she really wants to. her wardrobe is full of thrifted finds, and she wears a ponytail almost exclusively.

[novella-writers]

Hi, you can call me Storm! I'm 30 and the mom of a loud and demanding cat ❤️

I’m a multiple paragraphs/novella style writer. I love to write detailed descriptions and delve into a character’s head/emotions as well as surroundings. I compare it to writing a novel together. Not every reply has to be novella length, however. If there are action or dialogue heavy scenes, I tend to do a shorter back and forth to keep the momentum going. 

I only do MxF (with me writing the female role). I don’t double, but I’m more than happy to write side characters of either gender to help move the story along. I only want female authors writing male characters as I’m uncomfortable with male authors. (Nonbinary pals are an exception).

I'm really hoping to find a friendship, someone who can add to our story, and most importantly, someone who wants a long-term connection. It's difficult for me to write with someone if I don't feel that genuine bond. It's also important to me to have a high level of activity, with at least one reply a day. 

If you suddenly stop replying ic and ooc, I'll drop the story after 2 attempts of gauging interest spaced a week apart. But feel free to message me if you want to pick the story back up again, even months later. 

Searching For: 

20+ partners only 

An excellent grasp of grammar, punctuation, spelling, and capitalization. (Literate to advanced writers only, please. I'm not looking for newbies)

Plot before smut. While mature themes will be in my writing, there needs to be chemistry between our characters. I normally do a 60/40 plot to smut ratio and my characters tend to be subs/switches depending on the circumstances 

 An older male character (early forties to mid-late fifties). I love the gruff and tough men with dark pasts who secretly have a soft heart. I also love grumpy, hypermasculine men being intimidated by sweet but fiery women. My characters are mid-late twenties to early-mid thirties so the age gap is legal. 

I'm not looking for age play. It's a romance between two consenting adults who each act exactly their age, and they just happen to be different ages. 

Enthusiasm to chat about our character and ship, how to crush them and then gushing over fluffy moments. I love crying over characters and what the heck they’re doing. I want my heart ripped from my chest from angst, then feeling like it’s going to burst from overwhelming cuteness. I want us to love these characters and the world we create. I want to make pinterest boards, spotify playlists, graphics, and toss headcanons back and forth until late at night. 

Have an idea for a scene? Found a picture that inspired you? Send it to me! Be invested when it comes to plotting/worldbuilding. There’s nothing worse than receiving one sentence in reply to two paragraphs of ideas, or having a doormat partner who says “sure” to whatever I ask. Building ideas one on top of the other, watching them snowball into amazing plot threads brings me joy. But having to pull plot ideas like I’m pulling teeth makes me think you’re not interested, and I will lose interest in return.

Interests: 

Modern fantasy, monsters, sci-fi, omegaverse, southern gothic/midwest gothic (i’m a sucker for that southern/texas drawl), horror, height/size difference, cheating/affair, enemies to lovers, slow burn romance, spooky small towns, post apocalyptic/dystopia, crime/mysteries, emotionally charged/dark and gritty, bodyguard x assignment, forced proximity, opposites attract, fated mates, anti heroes/morally gray characters, traumatic pasts, grumpy x sunshine, one bed, men who simp over their women, touch her / him and die, and more.

I have lots of original plot ideas in mind as well!

Fandoms (OCs ONLY) 

Star Wars, Stranger Things, Mercy Thompson Series, True Blood, The Last of Us, Hunger Games, Fallout (TV Show)

I write only on discord using servers with organized channels. Like this post or add me on discord (magicofrain) if you’re interested. The most effective way to grab my genuine interest is by messaging me as if we've been friends for years. Please let me know which interests you liked from my ad.

Like/message if interested!

[damnslippyplanet]

@leupagus requested, and her wish is my command. At least on a Monday morning when I'd rather be thinking about fic than my weekend email backlog. So:

List five of your least-popular fics, as well as when/why you wrote them.

the green place, Word of Honor modern AU, YeXie, 2021

This was a little string of YeXie Week ficlets based on word prompts. Friend Ritualist* and I had been batting around some ideas for a Plant Witch Xie'er fic in the DMs and I thought I'd use YeXie week to play around with the character voices/world a little and see how I liked writing those two. I had a lovely time writing it, but semi-connected short ficlets where the rimming is (just barely) off-screen are a hard sell. Also I left it marked incomplete for a long time thinking I might go back and finish out the week's prompts, so I'm sure it got passed over by the very wise people who don't read WIPs. No regrets, I like knowing Plant Witch Xier'er is out there even if he'll probably never really get written.

*babe, I'm blanking out and can only think of your pro author tumblr name and not your fandom one, if you're seeing this and wanna be linked, drop your fandom url in the comments and I'll link you up

The Desert Dreams of a River, Darkangel Trilogy, Aeriel/Irrylath, Erin/OFC, 2019.

Yuletide fic! With the hit count you expect for a Yuletide genfic based on one of your formative pieces of circa-1982 fiction about a girl trying to reform a vampire while they live on the terraformed moon. Written in a frantic haze just short of deadline, if I recall, as I'd started a different angle on it that didn't quite work. I'm not saying this story was just an excuse to get Erin a wife, but it was sort of that, since the prompt didn't really allow for Erin to wife Aeriel. (But she SHOULD HAVE. Let Aeriel Have A Husband And A Wife.) I loved these books so much. Unfortunately something must be really fucked with the licensing because only the third of the trilogy was available as an ebook at the time and that doesn't seem to have changed? Pick up a hard copy of the first book if you ever see one, though.

every word is nonsense, Only Friends, Ray&Sand, 2023

Another little tidbit of a fic as an exercise in character voice again and also how much I liked how much the show likes their smoking scenes. Look. I'm a person of a certain age who smoked like a chimney as a teenager and into my early twenties, and I can't help the programming that got into my bones about the inherent eroticism of sharing a cigarette. (lolsob, high five to my fellow Thai BL nerds, how are we all doing this week with the one-two- punch of the DFF shotgunning scene and the new 4 minutes teaser? it's fine, i'm fine.) I wrote this thinking that next I would write some RaySand smut and then didn't because the whirl of Thai BL fandom pulled me on to something else, but at some point I want to rewatch this show and may still write it then because it fed my FirstKhao shipper heart so well.

dizzy in your wake, Nirvana in Fire, Changsu/Jingyan, 2020?

I'm not the one who said "what if Mei Changsu were a were-octopus," that was a series of amazing twitter threads by @astronicht. But people just KEPT sending it to me because I am known to think octopus content is very cool and also to be a Mei Changsu Girlie, and eventually a couple of friends shook me until 600 words of ridiculousness came out. What surprises me is not that this one has few kudos, but that it has >10 kudos at all. I would say this is the most niche and silly thing I've written except I've also written MDZS/Jupiter Ascending fusion fic, so let's not pretend I have any dignity left. Written in 2020 but it didn't get posted until later because I don't usually post things this short. At some point I was in one of those "it's an ARCHIVE, we should put ALL THE THINGS THERE" moods and slapped a few NiF ficlets written for the group chat up there.

A Second Dose, Hannibal, Bev/Freddie, 2016

This was the thing where you write an odd little rarepair and it's so much fun you come back and do a sequel you hadn't meant to write. I'd written Bev/Freddie before and then when a Hannibal rarepair fest came around I was like, hey, what if I did that again. Possibly I just wanted to revisit the cat named after Rosalind Franklin that I'd made up for Bev.