#going to read my fanfic in a crowded library

[wildechild3]

Some character memes to celebrate my fanfic being finished! I’ll have it posted on AO3 later today after I’m finished with my classes. For now though, enjoy my rambling bullshit lol.

I’ll put some explanations below the keep reading so no one gets a wall of text on their dash.

Maurice:

OH MY BOY. MY DARLING BOY. I am him and he is me. Every time I read the book or watch the movie, I see so much of myself in him (excluding the misogyny). Hence why I cannot treat him with any gentleness nor care. I have to dissect him and see what’s going on in there, because maybe if I can understand him, I can understand myself a bit better too. We should also both go to therapy. That should definitely happen.

(Headcanon: he is autisitc. That’s it that’s the headcanon. I will not be taking any criticism but if you want an explanation just lemme know.

EDIT: I am kicking myself in the face for forgetting this. I also headcanon Maurice as a househusband if/when they can afford it. He just gives off that vibe and I love that for him.)

Alec:

HOLY FUCK DID FORSTER PUT COCAINE IN THIS MAN WHEN HE MADE THIS CHARACTER???? He is my favorite character and my current king blorbo. I want nothing more than a small version of this little lad to carry around in my pocket. I adore him. He’s perfect. Desperately looking for a woman like him in the real world to wifey. I’m in love. I am an Alec Scudder stan first, a lesbian second, and a person third. Maurice has an A+, lesbian approved, shiny gold star, taste in men. The fact that Alec calls himself ‘rough and ugly’ makes me want to sob because he’s NOT. He’s literally a sweetheart and the goodest cutest boy around.

(Headcanons: 100% a wife/husband-guy. Literally loves his spouse more than anything and finds any form of ‘i hate my spouse’ joke stupid. Is definitely a mama’s boy. Also, he likes poetry about nature (Walt Whitman especially) and wants to visit the US some day. He is a total nature nerd and had he had the resources, I swear this man would’ve been a naturalist or something of the like.)

Kitty:

Look. I know there’s barely any information about her in the book and movie. But what if I told you I was in love with her? She stands up to Maurice when he’s being a world-class asshole, and isn’t afraid to chew his ass out in the epilogue for leaving the family (although he was justified in doing so). Something something passionate smart women something something incredibly attractive. Also, because there isn’t a whole lot stated about her in canon, I can go insane and project :)

(Headcanon: the hottest femme lesbian you’ll find in 1910s england ;) )

Clive:

TikTok come get ya mans. Look, I’ll be dead honest I don’t like Clive, but I don’t like the complete villainization of him either. He made a choice many queer men had to make during that time period. I will NEVER dislike Clive because he ended the relationship with Maurice. He was trying to keep himself safe and out of prison.

I WILL HOWEVER hate him for HOW he went about his relationship with Maurice. Throughout the book/movie he dismisses Maurice’s feelings (including when Maurice was expressing suicidal ideation). He treats Maurice as someone who will always be there when he needs him, but does not reciprocate this for Maurice, going so far as to leave Maurice at his estate alone for days at a time like some sort of pet. He isn’t as bothered by the end of their relationship, because for him it was never really THE end. He never expected Maurice to find someone else.

Clive couldn’t love Maurice in the way he needed to be loved, Alec could.

(Headcanon: Clive was incredibly bitter and upset once he realized that Maurice had left for good with Alec. He wouldn’t learn about Alec and Maurice still being together after all these years until Chapman mentions that Ada told him that Kitty (long game of telephone going on here I know) saw Maurice with some man. He’d put two and two together really quick and would probably have another breakdown. Idk. He seems like the type to get pushed over by a strong gust of wind so I wouldn’t put it past him to breakdown over his first love still living happily with someone else, when it could’ve been him.)

[jobean12-blog]

Can't Help Falling

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female!princess!reader

Word Count: 1,748

Summary: The more time you spend with the General, the more you fall in love.

Author's Note: I love (and hate for them) the idea that they have to be sneaky all the time and the library is a place of escape for them both so I thought having something a little extra naughty but also sweet would work. The poem I used in this story can be found HERE. You can read more about Catallus if you like. The library I'm referencing is the Ulpian Library and you can find info on it HERE and HERE. I'm pretty sure my timelines are all wonky but we can just pretend it all works out bc yay fanfic! 😁

Warnings: it's soft and sweet, semi public sex, fingering, oral (male rec), a lovely poem and a pretty library.

Marcus Acacius Masterlist

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

With silent footsteps you hurry across the stones, passing the Colosseum as it towers above you and blots out the brightest rays of the setting sun. The streets of the city are still very much alive with crowds but as you get nearer to the Forum of Trajan their voices start to fade and the warm breeze carries only the sounds of singing birds.

The Ulpia library is the same as you remember with long columns lining the courtyard and natural light filtering through every open space. There are people walking slowly along the walkways, books in hand and completely oblivious to your presence.

Even now, though you’ve spent such time together and watched him train and fight, it still feels like the breath rushes out of you when you see him. He stands taller than everyone around him, and as his dark eyes scan the courtyard, you take the time to enjoy him.

His tunic drapes across his broad shoulders, showing off his arms and legs and the ornamental stripes show off his status as General. He wears nothing on his head today and his curls blow freely in the breeze, giving him a slightly more relaxed look that makes you smile.

He turns and finds you then, standing and staring until you drop your chin under the intensity of his gaze. When you look up again, he smiles and discreetly crooks a finger at you, beckoning.

As you draw closer, he whispers, “you were staring Princess.”

“And you were not?” you shoot back, enjoying how his eyes sparkle with mischief.

Footsteps approach and you grow quiet, feigning interest in the architecture around you. A man passes by and greets the General before his eyes fall on you.

You’re recognizable even under your cloaked disguise so you quickly turn away and play shy.

It seems to appease the man and he walks off with his book.

“I have not visited this place in too long,” you tell Marcus.

With a quick look around, he gently presses his palm to your lower back and leads you deeper into the library.

“I figured as much,” he answers.

When you enter the main library room the smell of parchment and dust assaults your senses, and you breathe in deeply.

Marcus smiles and takes your hand, leading you to one of the niches where hidden inside there is a bookcase lined with scrolls and books. He plucks one from the collection and continues walking, tucking you both behind one of the floor to ceiling columns.

The bookcases press in on you from both sides and the tight quarters force you closer to him.

“Have you read any poetry by Catallus?” he asks.

“Not much,” you admit.

Anticipation spreads along your tingling skin when his lips meet the shell of your ear and he whispers, “not much…or not any?”

When you meet his eyes, he has his answer.

“He’s most known for his words on romance and love…”

You reach for the book, but he keeps it from you, his smile growing as confusion takes over your expression.

“We are going to read it here.”

“Here. But Marcus…”

“And you are going to read it to me.”

You swallow heavily, but when his palm flattens against your cheek and his warmth spreads along your skin you breathe him in and lean into his touch.

“I would have you laid out on my bed reading each and every night but given our circumstances, this will have to do.”

“Just reading General?”

His jaw clenches and his fingers press into your skin before he drags your mouth up to his. The book is smashed between you when he hauls you closer and kisses you with such urgency it steals your breath.

“One night very soon you will be mine and I will have you not out in the open with the fear of being caught but in safety where I can hear every sound of pleasure that I draw from these beautiful lips.”

The calloused pad of his thumb runs along your lower lip and his eyes wander over your features.

“Stunning,” he whispers.

Your breathing is heavy, and you grab his wrist, steadying yourself.

“Marcus,” you purr. “I fear I no longer care who hears or sees, I need you. Each night is torture.”

Because of the tall niches of bookcases surrounding you, you’re invisible from across the room, but if anyone were to walk down from the other side of the library, you would be exposed.

He bends to kiss you, starting with the corner of your mouth and humming at the contact.

“You know I could never allow that. I despise even the idea of any other man laying eyes on you.”

He turns you to face the rows of scrolls and reaches around you to open the book, stopping at a specific passage, and then moves your hand to hold it open. His finger points to the title: “Come Live With Me and Be My Love.”

“Read,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear.

You tongue wets your lips before you start:

“Come live with me, Lesbia, and be my love, And ignore the wagging tongues Of wilted crones and toothless geezers..”

His large hands ran up beneath your tunic, over your hips and across your stomach.

“You are so soft,” he murmurs into your neck.

Your words stutter and he stops his ministrations.

“Princess,” he orders.

You continue, willing your voice to stay steady.

“Suns rise and set, rise and set again, But we, when our brief light is blacked, Must sleep forever, and then forever.”

One of his hands smooths down your side and between your thighs. He teases the wetness he finds there, hissing out a curse when you spread your legs wider for him.

You try to focus on the words in front of you, blinking down at the book.

“Focus,” he whispers.

“So kiss me, Sweet, and kiss me plenty: First a thousand, then a hundred kisses; Then catch your breath and kiss me more: Another thousand, another hundred…”

His lips meet your neck, and at first he presses them softly against your skin then more firmly at your pulse point where he feels the hammering of your heart.

Without any warning he slips a finger inside you and starts to pump it slowly in and out. You groan, needing more and pushing onto his hand.

“Quiet,” he reminds you.

His drags his finger out and teases your clit with small and focused circles.

“Keep reading Princess.”

“I cannot,” you whimper as your hips roll. “I just…Marcus, please!”

“You can,” he says simply and pushes two fingers inside you. “Or we can stop.”

You begin reading again in a tight, stuttering cadence that drives him crazy.

“Still thousands yet till we've lost all count And must begin again, keeping Envious others guessing the sum Of how many kisses much we love.”

You string the words together and although they’re filled with a soft tenderness it does nothing to quell the heavy feeling of lust that rushes through you.

“Touch yourself,” he demands.

“Marcus,” you gasp and the book slips from your fingers.

With shaky trepidation you reach down between your legs and rub his hand brushing against yours as he pushes his fingers in and out of you.

Your legs shake and you squeeze around his fingers, your cry of pleasure muffled when his free hand covers your mouth.

When your muscles stop trembling, he keeps his fingers buried inside you and stifles his moan with his mouth pressed to your neck.

The library is now completely silent, and you realize you have no idea how loud you had been. Did you whisper each word you read? You were so completely lost in him you had no idea.

He pulls his fingers free, releasing a quiet grunt, and turns you to face him.

His lips meet yours in a desperate kiss and when you reach down to take him in your hand he sucks in a breath.

“Princess?” he asks, his eyes dark.

“It is my turn to touch you. Please Marcus.”

As if your name on his lips is his undoing, he releases you and places his palms flat on the bookshelves in front of him.

You drop to your knees, and he trembles.

“Remember, you must be quiet,” you warn with a mischievous grin.

He sucks his teeth when your hand circles around him and gently glides along his hardness. He waits, fingers digging into the wooden shelves and chest heaving, until you wrap your mouth around the tip of him.

Whatever string of words leave his lips are unknown to you and when the first taste of him hits your tongue you moan and take him deeper.

He keeps his eyes locked on you, imprinting the image onto his brain. His hips begin to rock, and he slowly pushes himself deeper, clearing trying to restrain himself.

You roll your tongue and use your hand, pumping and sucking as much of him as you can until he’s groaning a warning above you, the rhythm of his hips stuttering and slowing as he spills down your throat.

When you release him it’s with reluctance and only because he gently takes your arm and drags you up his body. He stares at you and your swollen lips then kisses you hard enough to have your back hitting the bookshelf behind with a thud.

He instantly slides his hand along the curve of your spine in a soothing manner, the only apology he can manage without breaking away.

“You are spectacular,” he breathes against your lips. “I would keep you here with me forever.”   

“But I must go,” you say quietly. “My father will surely know of my absence should I stay any longer.”

He nods and reverently brushes his thumb across your cheek before stepping slowly back.

You’re nearing the exit of the library when he reaches for your hand and pulls you into a darkened alcove.

“Just one more,” he murmurs, right before he brings his lips to yours.

It’s soft and sweet and he lingers, not wanting to be the one to pull away.

“A thousand kisses will never be enough,” he whispers against your lips.

You swallow and meet his eyes again, sweeping your fingers through his messy curls.

He presses his hand over yours as you cradle his cheek then brings your knuckles to his lips.

“Until next time, Princess.”

@hiddles-rose @blackwidownat2814 @tripletstephaniescp

[weirdkpopgirl]

Drunk Kisses | Mark Imagine #8

Title: Drunk Kisses

Genre: College AU, friends to lovers

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, drinking, making out

Word Count: ~2.6k

Author's Note: I am very sorry for how long it's been since I've last posted something. Lately, I've just been very uninspired to the point that I think my career of writing fanfic is coming to an end. Anyhow, I hope you guys enjoy this. I'm sorry if it's not that good. Thank you for reading ^ ^

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Anyone who knew you even a little was well aware that you were not a party person. You were the type of college student who attended all your classes, got all your homework done before the due date, and spent your weekends stowed away in a library or your dorm room. 

In your world, going to college parties was strictly off-limits. Frankly, you’ve done a good job of avoiding them your entire freshman year. A few of your friends insisted that you were missing out on fun. But the idea of loud music, sweaty crowds, and the smell of spilled beer didn’t sound like much fun to you.

But that all changed your sophomore year when your roommate, Jooyoung, finally convinced you to come to a homecoming party. She knew how much you hated any sort of social event, and respected your wishes. Now that you were in your second year, she was a little less forgiving.

“Come on, (Y/n). It’s just one party. You can’t just spend all your time in our dorm!” Jooyoung whined, half-dressed in her outfit for the night.

Glancing up from your laptop, you sighed. “You know I hate parties.”

Unfazed by your weak excuse, Jooyoung rummaged through her closet in search of something for you to wear. She didn’t even bother to look through yours, knowing you didn’t own anything remotely party-appropriate.

“You’re coming, and you’re going to look cute,” Jooyoung insisted. “Just give it a chance! You might even have fun for once.”

You opened your mouth to argue that you had plenty of fun without frat parties being involved. But before you could say anything, Jooyoung tossed a sleek black dress on your bed. It was a simple yet elegant dress, with thin straps and a figure-hugging silhouette. 

 “Here put this on. Trust me, you’ll look amazing,” she urged, flashing you a grin. 

Amazing wasn’t the word you’d choose when you reluctantly got up from your desk and changed into the dress. But before you could back out, Jooyoung was dragging you out of the dorms. As soon as you stepped outside with her, you regretted agreeing. You could already hear the sound of thumping music from blocks away, causing your stomach to knot as you approached the house.

It was even worse than you imagined once you got inside. The air smelled like alcohol and sweat, the bass from the music rattled your ribs, and people were packed together tightly, shouting over the noise.

Jooyoung’s eyes widened when she recognized someone she knew in the crowd. “I’ll be back!” she yelled over the music.

“Wait—” you began to protest, but she had already vanished into the sea of people.

Swallowing hard, you weaved through the crowd to follow after her. Just as you were about to give up hope, you felt a tap on the shoulder. Turning around, you were met with a familiar face. Lee Donghyuck. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t the party type,” the boy teased, clearly surprised to see you in this type of setting.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, feeling a bit self-conscious. “I’m not. Jooyoung made me come.”

“Hm, I see,” Donghyuck nodded with a smirk. “Want a drink?”

You eyed the plastic red cup he offered, raising an eyebrow. “You know I’m not twenty-one yet, right?”

“Yeah, like that’s ever stopped anyone from drinking underage,” he chuckled.

Wanting to stick with your rules, you shook your head. “I’m not drinking, Donghyuck.”

“Why not? You scared?” Donghyuck cocked his head, knowing exactly how to push your buttons.

Your stomach twisted, more out of pride than anything else— because you weren’t scared. You just didn’t want to end up like the sloppy drunk partygoers who got absolutely wasted. But Donghyuck’s taunting words and the smirk at you struck a nerve, and something inside you snapped.

With a determined expression, you snatched the cup out of his hand. “I’m not scared,” you said, before downing the drink in one go. 

The burn of the alcohol burned your throat immediately, causing you to pull away in a grimace. Donghyuck’s eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting you to go through with it.

“That’s the spirit!” he laughed, slinging an arm around you. “Come on, let’s get you another shot.”

One shot turned into two, then three. You weren’t sure when you lost count, but the edges of the room soon started to blur, and the music didn’t sound so painfully loud anymore. Your body felt light, and everything seemed warmer. Fuzzier. You stumbled through the crowd in search of Jooyoung but instead bumped into someone else.

“(Y/n)?” The sound of his voice instantly made your heart stop for a second. 

It was Mark Lee, a junior you knew from InterVarsity. He was someone you’ve admired from afar for quite some time now. The kind of guy everyone liked, always smiling and joking around with his friends. You’ve been crushing on Mark since last year when you saw him perform on the worship team. But you hadn’t dared to pursue anything beyond friendship.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said approaching you, his words slightly slurred.

He hadn't had too much to drink, having come as the designated driver for his friends. But it was tough to resist joining in with all the pressure around him.

“I didn’t expect to be here either,” you replied with a giggle, feeling more at ease than usual.

Mark’s expression shifted to slight concern as he noticed your flushed cheeks. “Are you…?”

“Donghyuck may have given me a few drinks,” you explained, swaying slightly on your feet.

At the mention of your mischievous friend’s name, Mark let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head.

“Of course he did,” he muttered under his breath. “Come on, let’s go outside.”

He grabbed your hand gently, and the contact sent a jolt through you. With his guidance, the two of you pushed through the crowd together, stepping out onto the porch. The cool air outside felt wonderful compared to the stuffy house you were just in. You smiled, closing your eyes and leaning against the railing.

“You okay?” Mark asked, a hint of concern in his voice as he contemplated whether he should get you some water.

You opened your eyes to look at him, suddenly feeling bolder. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that you two were alone in a quiet space. You’ve never been this close to him before. But now that you were, you could see all the features of his that you admired. His dark messy hair, the way his lips curled into a soft smile, the way his eyes glinted under the dim porch light.

“You have really pretty eyes, you know that?” you blurted without thinking.

He blinked, taken aback by your compliment. “Uh…thanks?”

“No, like they’re so pretty,” you continued, stepping closer to brush your fingers over his cheek. “I could get lost in them.”

His eyes widened at your touch, but he didn’t take your hand away. “Is that so?” he asked, a slow smile spreading across his face.

By now, you heart was pounding erratically in your chest. But before your brain could override your desires, your hands found their way to his shoulders and pulled him down toward you. Mark was frozen when your lips met his, as even the tipsy version of him hadn’t anticipated this boldness from you. But once he processed that you were kissing him, a switch went off in his brain and something shifted.

Mark’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as the passion seeped into the kiss. His lips were warm and firm against yours, and the taste of alcohol lingered between you. Your fingers quickly became tangled in his hair, and you pressed yourself against him, feeling the heat of his body through his shirt. Mark groaned softly into your mouth, his hands sliding up your back, one hand cupping the back of your neck as he tilted his head to kiss you more deeply.

Your lips moved like a dance, slow and rhythmic, but growing faster with each passing second. At some point, you felt the soft brush of his tongue against your lower lip, and you opened your mouth for him. The kiss was intoxicating, and the most exhilarating sensation you had ever experienced. You could feel his breath mixing with yours, your lips only parting for brief seconds before crashing back together, more urgently each time.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” Mark whispered against your mouth when the two of you finally pulled away for good. 

Your hand remained on his neck as you gazed into his eyes. Even in your drunken state, you could see the intensity in them. “Me too,” you said softly, resting your forehead against his.

The rest of the night was a complete blur to you. You woke up in bed the next morning with a splitting headache, and the sunlight streaming through the window shades only made it worse. As someone who had never had a hangover before, you had never felt so miserable.

Groaning, you lay back in bed and tried to recall what happened last night. You vaguely remembered the party, and Jooyoung running off, then Donghyuck pouring shots for you. Your stomach twisted at the thought. Why did I let him talk me into drinking?

Rolling over, you grabbed your phone from your nightstand, trying to ignore the fact that it felt like someone was pounding your head with a hammer. The screen instantly lit up with a few notifications, mostly emails. But one in particular made your heart stop.

Mark: Hey, how are you feeling? You okay?

Your breath hitched as you read the text over and over again to make sure you weren’t dreaming. Slowly, the memories from last night began flooding back, and a rush of panic accompanied them.

“Oh my gosh,” you muttered under your breath.

The two of you kissed last night. It wasn’t just one kiss either. It was so many times that it was almost neverending. Clasping a hand over your mouth in mortification, the realization hit you. You made out with Mark Lee, the guy you’ve barely been able to hold a conversation without stuttering since the day you’ve met him. This couldn’t be real.

You sat up quickly, causing your head to throb even more. Knowing you couldn’t just leave Mark hanging, you typed a response with wobbly fingers.

You: I think I’m okay, thanks. You?

As you were mentally kicking yourself over and over, your phone buzzed again. Sighing to yourself, you picked up the device again to see what he said.

Mark: I’m good, don’t worry. Want to grab some coffee?

         I can bring you some aspirin if you need it :)

A small laugh escaped you at his kind offer, as you replied with a simple “Sure.” Even though a part of you was nervous, you knew that you needed to talk to him. Nibbling on your lower lip, you anxiously waited for him to reply. Your heart jumped when he responded so fast.

Mark: Great! Meet me outside in 10?

With a sigh, you got up from bed. Your gaze flickered to the empty bed across from you— Jooyoung wasn’t there. You wondered if she came home at all last night. But knowing her, she couldn’t have gotten into too much trouble.

Pulling yourself together, you washed up in the bathroom across the hall. Once you returned to your room, you slipped on some jeans and the first sweater you could find. Anxiety churned in your stomach as you walked outside.

Mark was already waiting outside your residence hall, his hands shoved his pockets as his shoes tapped rhythmically against the pavement. His face lit up with a smile when he spotted you, somehow making you even more nervous. He greeted you with a soft wave which you returned with a small smile.

“Hey, you sure you’re okay?” he asked, noticing you squinting against the sunlight.

You gave him a light nod. “Aside from feeling like someone is pounding a hammer in my head, yeah I’m good.”

He chuckled in response, and a brief silence followed. Swallowing hard, you cleared your throat.

“Um…about last night,” you began, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I-I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to get so drunk, and I don’t usually act like that. I’m sorry if I made things awkward or—”

Mark’s expression softened as he stepped closer, gently placing his hands on your shoulders to steady you, cutting off your rambling. “It’s okay, (Y/n),” he reassured.

You blinked, surprised. “It is?”

He nodded, his gaze locked on yours. “Yeah. I’m not gonna lie, I was surprised to see you at that party, but…I don’t regret anything that happened last night.”

His words made your heart skip a beat. A part of you had worried that Mark only kissed you because of the alcohol, but from the look in his eyes, it didn’t seem like just a hazy memory to him.

“Did you…regret it?” Mark then asked, his eyes searching yours with a hint of uncertainty. He was pretty sure that his feelings for you were mutual. But he wanted to be sure that it wasn’t just the alcohol talking last night.

You hesitated for a moment before answering. “If I’m being honest, no, I don’t regret it. I just wish it didn’t take my getting drunk to finally express how I felt about you.”

Mark’s shoulders relaxed slightly at this, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“I’m so glad to hear that…because I’ve felt the same way for awhile now,” he paused, softening his voice. “I just wasn’t sure if you liked me back.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in. “Wow…I had no idea. I mean, I’ve liked you for so long, but I was always too nervous to say anything.”

You watched his smile grow wider and his eyes brighten up. His expression was a mixture of relief and anticipation.

“Well, now that’s all out of the way,” he said, slowly taking your hand. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

You felt your cheeks flush again, but this time, it wasn’t from embarrassment—it was from the sudden rush of hope that maybe, just maybe, things between you two were finally falling into place.

“I…I’d really like that,” you breathed, your voice trembling with excitement and disbelief.

Mark’s grin grew wider, and he squeezed your hand gently. “Good,” he said, his tone full of warmth and sincerity. Then, with a playful smirk, he added, “So, uh… can I kiss you again?”

Your stomach fluttered. This time, you weren’t drunk. This time, you were fully aware of what she was doing, and the idea of kissing him—sober—made her feel nervous in a different way. But you smiled, stepping closer until you were right in front of him. When you gave him the yes, Mark’s lips were on yours again. 

His lips were warm, and they moved gently against yours, sweet and careful. You felt your heart race as you kissed him back, your hands resting lightly on his chest. His thumb stroked your cheek as your lips pressed together, and this time, you could feel everything—the softness of his lips, the way his breath mingled with yours, the way his heart beat steadily under your palms.

When you finally pulled apart, the both of you were smiling, your foreheads resting against each other like the night before. Although you still weren’t a party person, your dislike for them lessened just a bit now.

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previous masterlist -> current masterlist

[loftec]

weekly tag wednesday thursday 👏

Tagged by @deedala @mmmichyyy and @wehangout thanks pals! <3

Name:  loftec

Location:  Sweden

Age: 3...8? Yes. 38.

You have an unexpected extra day off work or school!  What are you going to do? Pack my breakfast to go and eat it by the ocean after a swim, write at the library, do a bunch of second hand shops on the way home, do some crafting.

What is your favorite way to spend a summer day?  Early ocean swim to avoid the heat and the crowds, and then hang out inside with doors and windows open.

What is your favorite way to spend a winter day? Midday ocean swim lol, hang out at home and hopefully get extra snuggles from the cat (he's not normally very snuggly)

What do you do to unwind at the end of the day?  I like to sand little bits of wood into shapes, very relaxing. But mostly I'm on tumblr and watch youtube.

Do you play any sports?  No.

Other than fanfic, what is your favorite genre to read?  Fantasy and sci-fi mostly, right now I'm reading "Light From Uncommon Stars" by Ryka Aoki and "The Well of Loneliness" by Radclyffe Hall.

What is your comfort movie/tv show?  I would say Community and IT Crowd for comfort tv-shows because I have historically rewatched them a LOT and they are, but the last couple of years I would say I have more comfort YouTube videos. Hbomb's Sherlock video, ContraPoints's various JKR videos, Jenny Nicholson's Spiderquest or Escape from tomorrow is a dumb exercise in misery, or Folding Ideas's video series on 50 shades etc etc. Comfort movies for me are weirdly movies that make me cry, but they make me cry in very different ways so it depends on what type of cry I want. I'll spare you my lists of crying movies lol.

Do you write or draw?  A little bit of both, but writing is the thing I do purely for the fun of it.

What other arts or crafts do you do?  I do printmaking and bookbinding and odd little wooden earrings/pendants I'm still not sure is anything. I also like to 3d sculpt and making miniatures. Oh and I'm crocheting a temperature blanket this year, which I'm terribly behind on at the moment.

Describe your perfect breakfast: This year I've been making a very nice oat porridge with mushrooms, miso and spinach for breakfast on weekdays and I love it, can't imagine anything I'd want more tbh. I make my coffee just the way I like it, and sometimes I boil an egg to put on top the porridge *chef's kiss* I guess some nice juice with that would elevate it even more, and a fresh chocolate glazed donut after? If it's a special occasion?

Tagging anyone who wants to do this! My computer is not happy with me right now so I need to post this before it does something drastic!

[witchthewriter]

⁺₊‧₊⁺‧₊⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄! ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ ⁺‧⁺‧

I've been on this site for a while now, so I thought I would tell you all who Witch the Writer really is 🧙🏻‍♀️🔮🪄

𝑾𝒉𝒚 𝒅𝒐 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒆?

Writing has always been part of my life. It was the thing that I was good at. Always in the top English class at school - whenever I couldn't get high marks in English; it really tore down my confidence.

But what really generated my love for writing was fanfiction. That's what kept me going in the hardest time of my life. Especially custom made fanfics with a character that I was shipped with.

And I just want to give back to people who may be in that state of mind. Who feel like they can't talk about their interests to other people because they feel awkward or weird (btw you aren't. you're allowed to like what you like. as long as it doesn't hurt you or others.)

𝑯𝒐𝒃𝒃𝒊𝒆𝒔

Reading, writing, collecting rings, journaling, tarot. I'm also collecting as many books as I can because I want to have my own library where people can take whichever book they wish.

I also have hyperfixiations due to my autism; so I'll go in hard when something peaks my interest...

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚

INFJ

Chaotic Good

Gryffindor

Aquarius Sun, Capricorn Moon, Aries Rising, Pisces Venus

I'm a passionate person and have strong opinions. I will always stand up for what I believe in, no matter how scared I feel. That usually ends up with me being labelled, 'the loud-mouthed man-hating feminist'. But I believe in progression and equality, so if that's what I get called, so be it!

To sum myself up:

Intelligent/witty

Easily overwhelmed (the autism)

Very sympathetic/empathetic

Open-minded & Progressive

Love to laugh and make others laugh too

Sensitive and have a very strong sense of intuition

𝑨𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄

I love cottagecore, I'm very witchy but also a little grunge and gothic at the same time.

𝑳𝒊��𝒆𝒔

Learning - especially witchcraft, watching tv, day-dreaming, listening and discovering new music, I love being at home, writing and then taking a reading break. I adore baths and constantly buy items from Lush.

𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒔

(other than the usual injustices of sexism, racism, and homophobia), I strongly dislike spiders and will scream whenever I see one. I don't like close-minded people, or those who make fun of others. I hate passive-aggressiveness, large crowds and loud sudden noises.

𝑳𝒊𝒍 𝒇𝒖𝒏 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒆

Have shaved my head. Asked my stepdad for his clippers and went into the bathroom and ...hacked at my hair. It was very liberating, I think every woman should do it at least once in her lifetime

I adore animals - I have 2 cats and dog!

Bought a tattoo gun from the internet and I tattoo myself. I do the majority of my own piercings as well. I like to learn how to do things like that. I've kinda learned how to do hair and do mine, my mum's and my nunna's.

[nitewrighter]

What I don't get about all the hubbub regarding the Pokemon leaks, is why these people are so upset about it defiling their canon, when all of the stuff that has been revealed is stuff from the cutting room floor? You know, stuff that was not implemented in any game? The stuff they're pitching a fit about is stuff that's explicitly not canon. Typhlosion COULD have fucked, but GameFreak decided they don't, in the end. That should have been the end of he conversation, but it wasn't, unfortunately.

All it's done is show just how many so-called Pokemon fans lack any kind of reading comprehension. Not that it's anything new mind you, but the lack of self-awareness is starting to get well and truly tiresome.

Yeah I'm honestly so over most "bUt tHE cOnCePT ArT!" discourse at this point. I kind of got over it back with all the "Mercy was almost a black man!!!" discourse with Overwatch back in the day. People were so happy to like, immediately get misogynistic as fuck to basically be performative about how much better Mercy would be as a black man, how much better all the Mercy ships would be as M/M, even though, like, we did still have a black male healer with Lúcio, and then we got another black male healer hero with Baptiste, and the "Mercy would be better as a black man!!" crowd paid Baptiste about as much mind as chopped liver. So much of the shock and outrage is so performative like--you're still consuming the media, dude!!

And the same goes for a lot of animated films--like, yeah, the final product of animated films isn't as pretty as the concept art--the point of concept art is piecing together the concept! Of course that's going to go through a meat grinder as animation studios adjust for budget and timeframes and all this other shit!!

I actually wrote about this a little bit when discussing fanfic communities for library school a while back--gimme a sec, let me try and find it in my docs--

Fans write fics influenced, not simply by the text of a media itself, but by cast interviews, concept art, even tweets, videos, or other social media posts by actors, directors, and writers. ... As the internet has made these behind the scenes perspectives widely accessible, the “source material” for fanfic has thus expanded to outside of the canonical text of a media and further into an “auxiliary canon” of its production. ....  The fan fascination with “Behind the scenes” posits a Doylist meta-narrative ripe for speculation. Watching an actor switch between being in character and out of character on a blooper reel or other behind the scenes media lends itself to a certain parasocial intimacy—the viewer has a sense that they are viewing something genuine and organic that represents the “True” person behind the fictional character (McGee, 2005) when in fact that particular clip was far more likely curated out of dozens or hundreds of hours of more tedious takes and bloopers—at the end of the day, they are still viewing  only a fragment of another human in the context of a professional environment. 

...goddamn I had fun writing that paper. But god it was also so influenced by my "Desperately searching for any and all Overwatch lore crumbs" fandom experience.

But like--Yeah, while I'm largely over the frequently performative shock towards stuff that didn't make it to the final product, I do understand production of media as informing fandom experience.

[such-a-barbarian]

Weekly Tag Game!

I've been MIA on vacation with the family, so I've missed a few of these. But I am now back in the land of ice and snow so figured I hop on this one quick! Thanks to @francesrose3, @juliakayyy and @jrooc for this week's tags and to all the lovelies who tagged me last week in things I didn't respond to. 😝

name: Kell

age: closer to Noel then Cameron

star sign: a non-believing Aries

your first language: English

second language: I can speak a grade 9 Ontario level French, which basically means I can say very useful phrases like "I am a pineapple in a library".

favorite lip product: The Body Shop has a line of Hemp products including a lip balm that I am a big fan of.

the best food dish you can make without a recipe: My hubby is a big fan of the meatballs I make. I also make a pretty mean hidden veggie mac and cheese (the things you learn with toddlers at home...)

If you drink tea, what kind? I have a cup of Tetley orange pekeo every morning.

If you drink coffee, what roast do you usually get? I do not drink coffee

favorite thing to watch on youtube right now: Besides Gallavich scenes on repeat? My top watched channel is the Try Guys. 🤷🏻‍♀️

favorite thing to watch on youtube in 2012: Honestly, probably Buzzfeed. lol

favorite item of clothing right now: My oversized bright pink hoodie from my local independent ice cream shop, with the most adorable ice cream logo on it.

favorite item of clothing in 2012: probably also some type of oversized hoodie

fandom

three movies you recommend: Not really sure if these fit the 'fandom' category but my 3 fav movies of all time: The Princess Bride, Best in Show and The Newsies.

your favorite concert: This is tough, I've seen a lot of great shows! But many moons ago when my hubby and I were first dating Everlast came to a music fest in town. My hubby is a huge fan so we went together and it was a miserable day, pouring rain and cold, but we had SUCH a good time. Cause of the rain it was a pretty small but mighty crowd and Everlast was awesome. It is just such a good memory for me!

have you ever unfollowed someone over a fandom opinion? Nope. This is the only fandom I have ever really participated in and it's been lovely!

have you ever left a fandom because of the fans? Please see above

the best tv show you watched last year: Schimgadoon! Just finishing season 2 now and I am so very sad season 3 wasn't picked up.

do you have a fancasting you just can’t let go of? I will never be over the fact that Arianna Grande was cast as Glinda in the Wicked Movie when they could’ve had Dove Cameron.

a ship you’ve abandoned: I was super into Belle and Shawn from Days of Our Lives back in the day. I read a bunch of fanfic, but never really interacted in the fandom. But once the original actors left the show and I grew out of high school they lost appeal to me.

on a scale of 1-10 how willing are you to share your ao3 history? haha. share with who? on tumblr? probably 10 - nothing would shock any of you. With a random person in my everyday life...probably zero. haha

do you have a fandom tattoo? (do you want one?) I am tattoo free and at this point in my life will mostly remain that way.

what fandom do you wish was bigger? 🤷‍♀️

has a finale ever ruined a show for you? Definitely. The worst for me was How I Met Your Mother. It still makes me so mad.

have you…

swam in an ocean? Many times. Just last week in fact! Thank you, Mexico!

ever been vegan/vegetarian? Nope, we try to do meatless Monday in our house to mix things up but I enjoy meat too much to go full vegetarian.

gone skinny dipping? yup. It is a backcountry camping must!

gone skiing? A ton! It's been a few years since being pregnant/having babies isn't conducive to skiing, but I adore it. It is my favourite winter activity!

been to a convention? nope.

I’ll tag @tanktopgallavich @transmickey @callivich @zutaralesbian @iansw0rld @krysmiss @lupeloto @catluvver118 If you feel like it this week!

[sparkplug02]

Good Omens Theory that I will work into a fanfic one day (S2 Spoilers)

Disclaimer: I just binge-watched the show, and only once, and I have not read the book yet. It's on hold at the library, I promise. I have been in the fandom officially for all of about a week now.

Angel!Crowley (the most popular theory I've heard is that he used to be Raphael) did in fact march up to God and 1) create a suggestion box and 2) immediately fill it with questions. I think this is before Satan/Lucifer fell with the other demons, and God did, in fact, answer Angel!Crowley's questions. All except for one, which was "what's the plan?" God didn't need a plan yet because Lucifer hadn't fallen yet. She was just going off of vibes at that point, and the vibes were, for the time being, good.

Angel!Crowley has lots of questions about the humans, one of my favorites being "are the humans ever going to appreciate my nebulas or are they not going to be smart enough to figure out how to see them with their tiny eyeballs that only see in the visible spectrum?" She assured him that they will, eventually, appreciate his nebulas. Not really the important part. The important part is human nature, because angels already know what is good and right, but how will the humans know? God explains that She and all the angels will teach the humans and they will learn. Smart little things, they will be, She tells him, and we will teach them everything in the Garden of Eden.

Except Lucifer falls. Lucifer wants to corrupt the humans and a lot of the demons get on board with him. Angel!Crowley does not, but he is the one to raise the question (unsurprising at this point) "What's going to happen to the humans?" He's becoming fond of them, after all, and he was going to teach them about the stars. "What if the Lucifer and the demons get to him first? Won't they teach the humans to be evil, not good like we will?"

This is true. Angel!Crowley is exactly right, and it's at this point that God realizes She needs a plan. An Ineffable Plan, to be precise. Angels and demons are going to crowd the Garden of Eden, trying to vie for the attention of the humans to teach them either good or evil. This is not only a problem but a headache. If She doesn't come up with something, the humans will follow the teachings of whoever they hear first, or whoever they have heard most recently. Not good.

"Well, if we're teaching them what is right, won't they know?" Angel!Crowley asks. "Can't they just choose to follow the angels instead of the demons?"

"No," God says, "because they do not know the difference between good and evil. They do not have that knowledge. We were supposed to teach them."

"What if they did?" Angel!Crowley asks. "What if they could choose for themselves?"

That was the most important question Angel!Crowley ever asked God.

"I cannot give them knowledge of evil," She says, trying to think. There must be a way to make this work. "Only Lucifer or a fallen angel could do that. I cannot put that burden upon any angel, and whoever gives them the knowledge of good must also give them the knowledge of evil if they are to be able to choose. They must have free will."

She thinks. There must be a solution. There must be a way to enable Her beloved humans somehow.

"What if I do it?"

"Angel, I told you. Only a demon could-"

"What if I Fall on purpose?"

That question very nearly broke Her heart on the spot. Angel!Crowley usually sounded so confident, so curious, so excited about his questions, but not this one. This question was timid, even a little scared, but oh so brave. "What if I Fall and become a demon and give the humans the knowledge of good and evil? What if I give them free will?"

It would work, She realizes. That is perhaps the worst part. It is the only thing that might work. The first part of the Ineffable Plan is in place.

Angel!Crowley writes his last question on a piece of paper along with his angel name: "What if I Fall on purpose? -Angel!Crowley." For his sake, God takes Angel!Crowley's memory as he Falls, and when he lands in Hell, he only knows two things: that he Fell for asking questions, and that he must tempt the humans into eating from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.

He succeeds. In those days, many angels and demons were preparing to teach and tempt Adam and Eve, but Crawley beats them all to it. Upon his successful temptation, God demands that all angels and demons leave the Garden of Eden, and Adam and Eve are cast out. The angels are corralled into Heaven, and the demons sink back into Hell, unable to match the achievement of Crawley the Snake. The humans have free will.

This raises another problem. Now, angels and demons realize that humans can judge for themselves what they want. Now each side wants to be better. Metatron, in particular, is determined to win another Great War, and he immediately begins writing his plans. God ignores him. This isn't about winning, but about the humans. Angel!Crowley understood that better than Metatron ever will.

Still, She worries. If such a war were to ever happen, surely humans will perish in its wake. The first war was terrible and shook the universe. Humans are fragile, breakable creatures. Even with their knowledge, they are much weaker than angels or demons.

God never speaks to Crawley again (or Crowley, as he would later call himself), but She listens. She always listens to his questions, even missing them as the centuries go by. One of the first ones he asks, just after his temptation when he leaves the Garden of Eden, is none other than, "So what's the deal with the angel? The one who gave away the sword?"

She hadn't heard about this yet. Sure enough, when she looks at the Principality she assigned to the Eastern Gate, he is patching up the entrance but doesn't have the flaming sword he was holding mere minutes ago.

"Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate," She says, shining down upon her angel.

"Yes, Lord?"

"Where is the flaming sword I gave you, Aziraphale, to guard the Gate of Eden?"

"Sword? Right. Um... uh..."

An amused smile tugs at the corner of Her mouth.

"Big, sharp, cutty thing. Yes. Uh... Oh, must have, uh-- must have put it down here somewhere. Um..."

God has heard enough, and she is laughing as she hears Aziraphale remarking something about forgetting his own head. This angel has lied to Her, to the Almighty, about giving his sword to humans. Aziraphale, too, understands the purpose of the angels better than the Metatron. How remarkable!

It suddenly dawns on Her that this is the piece she was missing. With the flaming sword, the humans will have power to protect themselves, to resist their own destruction. They will be able to fight war, pestilence, pollution (though hopefully not for a long time), famine, and even death.

Without realizing it, God had found the second piece of the Ineffable Plan.

She keeps the slip of paper, the one with Crowley's most important question on it, though he does not know it, in her pocket. It holds his memory, and She protects it. For over six-thousand years, somehow, a certain sword is never destroyed, never rusts, and has a tendency to suddenly catch fire. It never strays far from London. Metatron has long since stopped listening to Her. The Antichrist is born in Tadfield.

Three children pick up Aziraphale's sword and face down three of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The Antichrist, Adam, in all his humanness, stares down Death. Death leaves. When Lucifer's rage escapes Hell and invades Earth, Aziraphale and Crowley are standing at Adam's side to help him and give him strength. Aziraphale holds his sword again and remains steadfast as Adam rebukes his Father-Who-Is-No-Longer-In-Heaven. Crowley stops time just to tell Adam that he has a choice, that reality will listen to his choice.

The Supreme Archangel that replaced Lucifer, Gabriel, has run off with Beelzebub, Duke of Hell. Aziraphale very nearly starts a war by using his halo to protect a pair of lovely lesbians, and Crowley makes up a law the other demons are too stupid to check. In six-thousand years, they have become so human that they love each other, but Metatron is still insistent upon his Great War. He tears Crowley and Aziraphale apart. First, he threatens to write any angel found helping Gabriel out of the Book of Life, and Crowley fears he will lose his angel. Then he implies that Heaven is talking about blaming the rogue demon for Gabriel and writing him out of the Book of Life, and Aziraphale fears he will lose his demon. Crowley tries desperately to get Aziraphale to run from Heaven, and Aziraphale tries desperately to bring Crowley back. Neither of them succeed. Metatron is determined to bring about the Second Coming.

She keeps Crowley's question in her pocket. She makes sure Aziraphale's sword is still safe, out of the hands of angels and demons and instead in the hands of humans. Not yet, She knows. One day, She will return Crowley's memory. One day, she will explain why She did not get angry at Aziraphale for giving away his sword.

One day, She will explain her Ineffable Plan to the angel and the demon. One day, God will tell Crowley and Aziraphale that they ARE her Ineffable Plan.

But not before they redo that kiss properly. She has been watching them for six-thousand years, and by Herself, they WILL eventually figure it out.

Bonus:

Crowley: *replaces Job's old children with his old children three new children*

Gabriel: Aziraphale, are these new children?

Aziraphale: Yep! Totally! For sure, new children.

God: Good to know nothing has changed. Carry on

[andromeda4004]

So @tawnyontumblr suggested sharing some WIPs for #shareitsunday, and since I’m working on a Good Omens fic for #IneffablyAusten, I thought I’d give it a try.  It’s a GO AU drawing on Northanger Abbey (as you will immediately spot) and it is being equal parts huge fun and a complete bastard to get right.  Here’s 600 words from the first chapter.  I haven’t shared fanfic before; let me know what you think!

They returned to the refreshments table to seek out fresh glasses, while Mr Crowley was attempting to explain some half-remembered newspaper report on a recent lecture at the Royal Society upon marine life.

“My dear sir,” said Aziraphale, laughing despite himself, “you must be misremembering.  It cannot possibly have described dolphins in those terms.”

“Here is a man who did not read the article, and yet presumes to inform me what it said!” said Mr Crowley with a smile, and he sank in a sprawl of limbs onto a fainting couch. Aziraphale took a chair with a far more decorous posture, and the slightest roll of the eyes, which Mr Crowley caught.

"I see what you think of me," he said gravely.  "I shall make but a poor figure in your journal tomorrow."

“My journal!"

“Yes, I know exactly what you will say: Thursday, went to the Lower Rooms; wore my ivory waistcoat with blue trimmings, the Sentimental cravat, plain brown shoes – appeared to much advantage; but was strangely harassed by a queer, half-witted man, who would make me dance with him, and distressed me by his nonsense."

“Indeed I shall say no such thing."

Mr Crowley leaned in a little, not enough to be at all inappropriate, but just enough for Aziraphale to notice.  “Shall I tell you what you ought to say?"

“If you please."

“I danced with a very agreeable man, introduced by our mutual friend; had a great deal of conversation with him – seems a most extraordinary genius – hope I may know more of him. That, sir, is what I wish you to say."

Aziraphale hardly knew whether to hold his gaze or glance away.  “But, perhaps, sir, I keep no journal."

“Perhaps you are not sitting in this room, and I am not sitting by you. These are points in which a doubt is equally possible. Not keep a journal! How are your absent family to understand the adventures and excitement of your life in Bath without one? How are your various outfits to be remembered, and the particular choice of your cravat, and the curl of your hair to be described in all their diversities, without having constant recourse to a journal? Tell me, Mr Fell,” he leaned in closer, “how are you to turn these few weeks of society living into valuable and pertinent sermons for your parishioners without a journal?  For you are certain to encounter perfect living illustrations on vanity, on avarice, on kindness and on charity – you have already demonstrated a true example of Christian charity since you arrived – and you risk letting the details slip from memory if you will not write them down.”

Aziraphale took another gulp of wine.  Somehow his mouth had contrived to go quite dry.  “And what will your journal say in the morning, Mr Crowley?”

He looked away into the crowd, and was silent a moment.  “That I learned angels truly do exist.”  He drained his glass.  “Thank you for your company, Mr Fell, but I have taken up too much of your time already. I shall circulate a little, and let you do the same.  It was a pleasure to meet you.”  With a wry smile, he bowed, and was suddenly gone.

____

That night, after he had taken his candle to his chamber, Aziraphale found in his valise a leather-bound notebook he had brought with him for the purpose of making notes if he had the opportunity of visiting the library.  He turned a few pages in, to a fresh sheet, trimmed his pen, and sat down at his desk to write.

October 21st, 1813

Tonight I met a most unusual man…

[peanut-tyrug]

DS Fanfic: Tying Burnt Ends

The Survivors have finally returned to Earth. Everyone is making new lives for themselves. A fresh, new start for all. Among the glee of it all however, lies a firestarter's past once lost…

—

This is for the Wicker/Willow hc I brought up the other day. I’m not certain if I’ll fully commit to it, but I thought this would be an interesting idea to put out there.

—

TRIGGER WARNING - This fic contains slight gore/blood, graphic depictions of death, a witch hunt, voices/whispers, ghosts, visions of the past, swearing, and caps. If you aren’t comfortable with these things, please don’t read this.

The Survivors stand together, staring in near disbelief at what has appeared in front of them.

A portal.

A portal that actually led back home.

No one could believe what they were looking at. Not even the children.

“Wow…” Says Wilson. “That's it. Right there…”

“Our ticket home...” Says Willow.

“…I cannot believe what I'm looking at...” Says Maxwell.

“I can't either, Maxy. Heheh.” Says Charlie, now having been freed from Their hold.

“No one can believe it, sis.” Says Winona, looking over to Charlie.

“What're we waiting for!?” Says Webber. “Let's go home!”

From behind the crowd, Wendy looks over to Abigail with dread in her eyes.

She doesn't want to leave her. Abigail doesn't want to leave Wendy.

But they know they have to.

They have to move on.

“I’ll miss you, Abby.” Says Wendy. “You'll watch over me, right?”

Abigail makes a little noise, indicating a yes. Wendy smiles a little. “…As long as I know you'll be there.” She says.

“You ready, WX?” Winona asks WX.

“AS LONG AS I AM AWAY FROM EVERYONE ELSE HERE BUT YOU.” Says WX.

“…Good enough.” Says Winona. “What about you, Woodie? And Lucy?”

“Of course I’m ready!” Says Woodie with a chuckle.

“Oh, I hope our cabin is alright.” Says Lucy.

“I bet it is, Luce.” Says Woodie reassuringly.

“Friends!” Says Wolfgang. “Is time to return to home, yes?”

“My dear and faithful ströngman asks the grand questiön!” Says Wigfrid. “And I shall be given an answer tö extinguish my yearning!”

Wes nods firmly in agreement with Wigfrid.

“I believe our time to return home is now.” Says Wickerbottom. “We've stalled long enough.” She then turns to Willow and places a hand on her shoulder. “Are you ready, dear?” She asks Willow in a whisper.

Willow smiles. “Yeah.” She whispers back.

“Alright!” Says Wilson. “Everyone... go slow. One at a time. Try to contain yourselves, is that clear?”

The group agrees in unison.

Wilson nods, a smirk lays on his face. He turns to face the portal.

“Let's go home.” Says Wilson.

—

It's been a few years since the Survivors have returned home. Everyone’s new lives are coming along well.

Wilson is actually trying improve in his field, along with study new ones. Maxwell and Charlie got married and have joined the traveling circus Wes, Wigfrid, and Wolfgang had made. Wendy has reunited with her family and seems a lot happier. Webber reunited with his family, who were absolutely thrilled to see him, no matter how he looked. Woodie and Lucy have returned to their cabin, but are trying to get out more. Winona and WX live together now. Winona got a new mechanic job. WX doesn't do much, but Winona is trying to get them to work a bit more.

As for Willow and Wickerbottom?

“Oh, isn’t it lovely, dear?” Wickerbottom asks Willow.

“…It’s huge.” Says Willow.

The two stand in front of a library. One that Wickerbottom had finally been able to purchase and own. Wickerbottom was ecstatic to be a librarian again.

As for Willow…

—

“How are the visitors? Are they treating you well?” Wickerbottom asks Willow as she sorts some books on the shelves.

Willow is sitting behind a small counter. She has a small name tag clipped to her sweater vest. “Yep! They’ve all be great so far.” She says. “How’re you doing up there? You need any help?”

“No, I’m alright, dear.” She says.

“Good.” Says Willow. “Just try not to throw your back out.” She chuckles.

“Willow!” Wickerbottom exclaims, although she doesn’t sound necessarily angry. Not entirely.

“You know I’m just playing with you!” Says Willow, a little teasingly.

Wickerbottom smiles. “I know, dear.” She says. “I’m just messing with you back.”

“Hey!” Says Willow, giggling a bit.

Wickerbottom chuckles a bit.

The two were practically like family.

—

Willow and Wickerbottom are beginning to close the library for the night. As they clean and work, knocking can be heard from the front of the building.

“I’ll get it!” Says Willow. She hurries to the front door opens it. It’s Wilson.

“Hey, Wilson!” Says Willow. “How’ve you been?”

Wilson enters the library. He looks over to Willow. “I’ve been good.” He says. “What about you? You haven’t tried to bring upon a book burning, have you?” He says teasingly.

“I’ve been great— Hey!” She exclaims, putting her fists to her hips.

“She hasn’t, not at all.” Says an approaching Wickerbottom. “She’s been fulfilling her apology tenfold.”

Willow smiles. She had decided to help Wickerbottom out when she got a new library as an apology for burning down her old one. Both have seen past the past.

“That’s splendid!” Says Wilson. “I’m glad you’re learning, Willow.”

“Hehe, I am too.” She says, a smile on her face. “How was that show, by the way? We got a letter from the performer trio about it. Sorry we couldn’t see it, we were busy.”

“Oh! The one Charlie and Maxwell joined?” Wilson asks. “They were wonderful! And that’s fine, they’re very understanding.”

“Anyway, Wilson, what do you need?” Asks Wickerbottom.

“Oh, just a book on botany.” Says Wilson. “After our time away from here, it seems to have grown on me.” He smirks.

“Oh, come on, Wilson!” Says Willow teasingly.

“You know I have to!” Says Wilson. “Anyway, do you mind helping me find the book I need?” He asks, turned to Wickerbottom.

“I don’t mind, Wilson.” Says Wickerbottom. “And Willow, while I help Wilson, do you mind cleaning up the library some more?”

“Oh, I don’t.” Says Willow.

“Splendid.” Says Wickerbottom. “Follow me, Wilson.”

Wilson nods. He and Wickerbottom walk toward a nearby bookshelf while Willow goes to grab her broom.

—

Willow quietly cleans to herself as Wickerbottom and Wilson talk nearby.

“Thanks for the help, Wicker!” Says Wilson.

“No problem, dear.” Says Wickerbottom. “I’m glad to have been of assistance.”

Wilson looks down at his wrist watch. “I believe it’s best I be on my way, now.” Says Wilson. “It’s getting late.”

Wickerbottom nods. “Get home safely, dear.” She says.

“You and Willow, too.” Says Wilson as approaches the front door.

“Get back to Ohio without a scratch, you hear?” Says Willow, looking up to the scientist.

“I will!” Says Wilson as he exits. “Have a great night!”

“You too!” Says Willow.

The man exits the library, leaving it quiet.

Wickerbottom goes over to Willow. “Are you about done cleaning, dear?” She asks.

“I’ve gone through every nook and cranny I think.” Says Willow, looking around the premises, smiling.

“Good work, dear.” Says Wickerbottom. “I believe it’s time for us to get home. I’ll put that broom up for you.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Willow says, smiling.

“No problem, Willow.” Says Wickerbottom.

Willow hands Wickerbottom the broom. The librarian heads toward the tool closet in the library while Willow waits for her return.

—

Willow and Wickerbottom walk down the sidewalk back to Wickerbottom’s home. A full moon lays above the New York streets lit up by street lights.

Willow reminisces about how life had been. How all the others had been. She was happy, not just for herself, but for everyone. A large smile sits on her face.

Wickerbottom looks over to woman, smiling.

Willow looks over to Wickerbottom, still smiling. “You ever think about how far we’ve come?” Willow asks.

“I have.” Says Wickerbottom. “It’s a wonderful feeling.”

“Yeah.” Says Willow, now turned away from Wickerbottom. “We all met each other, survived in what’s practically Hell… and made it out alright. We’re all one piece. Our loose ends have been tied.”

As Willow finishes her sentence, she looks over to Wickerbottom. She doesn’t look happy, she’s frowning. She looks as if she’s deep in thought. Willow frowns.

“Hey, you alright?” Willow asks.

“…Oh, just…” Wickerbottom pauses. “Thinking.”

“Thinking what?” Willow asks.

“…About the past.” Wickerbottom answers.

“…Did something happen…?” Willow asks.

“…I’d rather not talk about it, dear.” Says Wickerbottom. “I apologize.”

“No, no, you’re alright.” Says Willow. “I understand.”

The two walk back home. The air begins to feel oddly thick…

—

Willow and Wickerbottom have arrived back home. They’re preparing to get to bed.

“Are you ready for bed, Willow?” Wickerbottom asks.

“Yeah.” Says Willow. “Sleep well.” She says.

“You too, dear.” Says Wickerbottom.

The two head to their bedrooms for the night…

Willow enters her room and enters her world of thought for a moment. She can’t shake off that something is up with Wickerbottom. She tries not to press on it much. Wickerbottom did say she didn’t want to talk about it. Why bother her with something she may not be comfortable with speaking about?

Willow approaches her bed. Bernie is exactly where she left him, sitting up against her pillow. She smiles, content with that Bernie is safe and sound. Willow climbs into her bed and slowly drifts off to sleep…

—

It’s silent. Barely any sound can be heard amongst the near deafening silence. Amongst this peace however…

Willow tosses and turns in her bed, brows furrows and eyes sealed shut…

~~~

Fire. Fire everywhere.

Willow would enjoy it, if torches and lanterns weren’t practically being thrown at her.

People are screaming, yelling. Pointing crosses. Shouting Bible verses.

All at her.

…But why…?

“What do you people want from me!?” Willow asks, unable to flee from the attempts to hurt her.

“Die, witch!” A voice would shout.

“Burn in the deepest pits of Hell from whence ye came!” Shouts the voice of a pastor. He holds out a cross in Willow’s direction.

Willow can’t help but be utterly confused. Was this about her being a pyromaniac? …Why even try to fight a pyromaniac with what they loved most…?

As Willow attempts to flee, the voices quickly become louder and louder, echoing around the dark space she was in. The fire begins to encompass the small spot Willow was standing in…

~~~

Willow jolts awake with a gasp. She places a hand to her chest.

“…What… the hell?” Willow asks herself, her breathing beginning to calm. “…What was that?”

Willow begins to recollect herself. She glosses over the dream she had…

Sure, she’s had worse nightmares, but they normally were related to her time in the orphanage. Or Shadow Creatures…

Never had she ever had a dream like that…

Willow’s gears begin to turn. Why in the world was she being called a witch? Who were those voices? Barely anyone knew her before she had come to the Constant, so why would these random people know her?

Willow looks to her side. Bernie lays there, still and stiff as a board. She picks him up. “Hey. I had some weird dream where these creeps were throwing stuff at me and calling me a witch.” She says. “Why do you think I had that dream, Bernie?” She asks the stuffed toy.

The toy doesn’t respond.

Willow’s expression droops. “…Oh, yeah.” She says. “You aren’t alive.”

Willow plops onto her back and lays there. She shuts her eyes and exhales, disappointed.

…Suddenly, Willow feels something twitching in her hand. She looks to her right hand, the one Bernie was sitting in.

Bernie’s twitching in her hand.

Willow brings the toy up to her face with both hands. She doesn’t throw the doll away. She just watches it intently with wide eyes and a firm gaze.

After a bit, the twitching stops. The bear goes limp. Until it slowly lifts it’s head and looks up Willow.

Willow’s expression softens. “…Hey, Bernie.” She says. She puts the doll down, allowing it to stand.

What was odd however, Willow wasn’t in the Constant anymore…

Bernie didn’t have the ability to walk before the Constant.

Realization quickly hits Willow. “Wait… You never did this before I got placed in that hellhole…” She says.

Bernie stares at Willow.

“…Welp, guess you’re alive now.” Says Willow. “Do you get why I had that dream?”

Willow watches as Bernie jumps off the side of the bed and lands on the floor feet first. He walks over to Willow’s door and points at it. He stares back at Willow.

“…But, I need sleep.” Says Willow.

Bernie doesn’t move.

“…Oh, fine.” Says Willow. “If it’ll help me with that goofy dream. And whatever else was going on in it.” She gets out of bed and goes to her door. She quietly opens it.

Bernie steps out of the bedroom into a dark hallway. Bernie leads the way while Willow quietly follows behind. Bernie stops at the house’s front door. He points at the door and turns his head to face Willow.

Willow’s brows furrow. “Are you kidding me!?” She asks in a harsh whisper.

Once more, the doll doesn’t move.

Willow puts a hand to her face. It slides down her face until limping back down. “…Sure.” She says.

Willow quietly unlocks and opens the front door. Bernie exits first. Then Willow exits. She closes the door behind her. Willow then bends down to the welcome mat in front of the door. She lifts it, revealing a key. She locks the door from the outside and places the key back where she found it. Her and Bernie head off.

—

It’s been awhile since Willow and Bernie had left their home. Willow’s legs and feet are tired. Bernie’s trucking along just fine.

They walk through a desolate and empty spot of town. The landscape is mostly barren. Trees are sprinkled about. An eerie atmosphere surrounds the area.

“…Bernie?” Willow asks. “Where are we going?”

Bernie doesn’t respond. He keeps walking. Willow continues to follow, ignoring her skepticism.

Eventually, more trees begin to fill the area.

Amongst the sounds of the night… whispers. Faint whispers among the trees.

Willow is shaken up… she almost feels as if she never woke up from that dream…

“…Bernie…?” Willow asks, fear in her voice. “…Where are we? Where’d you take me? Why am I hearing whispers?”

Bernie doesn’t respond. He keeps walking.

Willow can’t take it anymore.

Willow grabs Bernie from behind. She holds him in her hands. The whispers can still be heard. “WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU TAKING ME!?” Willow asks, anger seeping through her vocal chords.

Bernie’s head then turns to face forward. He points. Willow looks up.

Her eyes go wide.

In front of her is large clearing… within the clearing though are crosses made from sticks. Little pieces of fabric sit on them. It also appears they’ve been written on.

“…What… the hell…?” Willow asks herself.

Willow looks down at Bernie. He’s still pointing forward. Not moving at all. Willow looks back up.

Bernie appears to be pointing toward two particular crosses that sit side by side.

Willow’s brows furrow. She slowly begins to walk toward the crosses.

As she approaches, the whispers become more and more apparent, more loud.

'Her…'

'The other…'

'Their precious little doll…'

Willow eventually approaches the two crosses. She looks at the words written into their fabric.

Willow’s eyes widen in shock.

'Winslow Wickerbottom' and 'Waylon Wickerbottom'.

“…WHAAAAAT!?” Willow exclaims. “Are these her parents or something!? Why are they buried in a creepy ass clearing!?”

Bernie then suddenly goes limp. Willow looks down to Bernie, then looks to the ground.

A little doll, a beaten and messed up, sits there.

…The doll has an appearance similar to Willow’s…

Willow holds Bernie with her arm and bends down and picks up the odd forlorn doll. She stares at it.

It stares back.

Willow blinks.

The lighting then suddenly changes. The doll is no longer in Willow’s hands.

“Huh?” Willow looks up.

The clearing is no longer as barren. Around the area are multiple shacks and huts. Homes and small shops. People in witch-like garments walk around amongst the cluttered village. The village is lit up by wooden poles with small lights with fireflies inside dangling from them.

“…What…?” Willow questions.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” A feminine voice says from nearby.

Willow shoots her head over to the direction of the voice.

A man and woman walk together. The woman is holding something in her hands. Willow walks over to the couple to get a closer look.

The doll looked exactly like the one Willow had found. Although, it didn’t look nearly as beaten up. It practically looked brand new.

Probably because it was.

“She is, Winslow.” Says the man.

Willow’s mouth goes agape.

…Did she hear the man correctly…?

…Winslow…

…Winslow Wickerbottom…

“I think she’ll grow up to be a great witch someday.” Says the man.

“Oh, Waylon,” Says Winslow. “How I cannot wait for such a day to come!”

Waylon chuckles. “I can’t wait either, Winslow.” He says.

The couple then begins to walk further down the gravelly road toward a shack in the distance. Willow holds onto Bernie with her hands and follows the two and enters the shack behind them. She looks around.

The shack is lit by lanterns similar to the ones outside. Various shelves and tables full of flasks, bottles, and books lay about.

The couple walks into a decently sized room secluded by a curtain. Willow follows them and steps into the room. The couple doesn’t notice her. Willow begins to believe that they can’t see or hear her.

The same lanterns on the walls and a few shelves. In the middle of the room is a small baby bed framed by a decorated rocker. A window mostly covered by curtains near lays on the wall near the rocker.

Willow stares at the rocker, confused.

“…What are the hell are they gonna do with that doll?” Willow asks herself.

The couple walks over to the rocker. Winslow sets the doll inside it, tucking it in the blanket. Willow notices a little teddy bear sitting laying next to the doll.

Bernie.

So that’s how she got him.

“Hehe.” She giggles. She holds Bernie up to peak inside the rocker. “Look, Bernie! It’s you!”

Waylon then walks over to one of the shelves in the room and grabs an unknown book from it. He walks back over to Winslow. Willow moves away from the couple and stands to the side. Waylon opens the book in his hands and eventually finds the page he’s looking for. He looks over to Winslow. “Are you ready, my dear?” He asks.

“Yes, I am.” Says Winslow.

Waylon nods and looks at the page sternly. Both he and Winslow close their eyes…

“…By the Mother’s beautiful light…” Waylon begins.

The room begins to shake a bit. Willow moves back against the wall.

“…We speak to thee on this silent night…” Says Winslow.

“…Give unto our babe, the light which ye give…” Says Waylon.

“…Give unto our babe, the gift to live…” Says Winslow.

The doll then becomes surrounded in a bright purple glow.

“…Bless this babe, oh, dear Mother of Nature…” Says Waylon.

“…Bless this babe, oh, dear Mother of Nature…” Says Winslow.

The room shakes even more. The light coming off the doll is practically lighting up the entire room. Willow squints and covers her head with her arms, worried that the roof could fall on her.

“Oh, Mother of Nature…” The couple says in unison. “Bless this babe! Bless this babe! Bless this babe!”

A large gust of wind then blows. The couple and Willow gets knocked back a bit. The light coming off the doll then dissipates.

…Then, the sound of crying.

Coming from the rocker.

The couple recollects and slowly walks up to the rocker. They look inside. Willow opens her eyes and slowly follows suit.

Willow’s eyes go wide.

“…Just as I thought.” Says Winslow. She tears up a bit. “…She’s beautiful.”

Willow stares at the crying baby.

It… or she, had dark, black hair. Long bangs that covered up her forehead. And the face…

It looked exactly like Willow’s…

Because it was Willow’s.

Hell, even her voice sounded like Willow’s. Although pitched up, that of a baby’s. Even through the cries, the resemblance can be heard.

Willow couldn’t believe what she was looking at. Her mouth was agape, her eyes wide. She felt as if she’d faint on the spot.

…She was born from a doll…?

…Why…?

Then, amongst the excitement and confusion…

CRASH!!

Waylon drops to the floor. Blood gushes from his head.

Winslow looks down to the dead man. “Waylon!?” She shouts.

Willow looks down to the dead man and panicking woman, then to the window, eyes wide and mouth agape.

A part of it was broken.

Someone had shot a bullet through the window.

…But who?

“There!” A voice from outside shouts. “The domain! The domain of the Unholy!”

“The witches!” Shouts another voice. “They’re here!”

Realization hits Winslow and Willow hard.

Witch hunters.

“…Oh, no…” Says Winslow. She gets up to grab the baby.

As she gets back on her feet however…

BANG!!

Winslow falls. Dead on the floor. Willow looks down at the body in shock.

From outside, what sounds like a crowd rushing toward the village can be heard. Willow attempts to grab the baby, but her hands phase through her. The sounds from outside quickly approach. Shadows can be seen out the broken window. Willow moves back as someone lights a match and sets the shack ablaze. A few men then break through the window and begin to break down the house. Willow stays in the corner, looking upon the scene before her.

One of the men in the room looks down at the baby in the rocker. “That’s a baby!” He says.

“Leave it there.” Says another man. “Let it slowly experience the punishment of witchcraft.”

The other man sternly furrows his brows and nods, obeying the other man. The men in the room trash it and leave.

Willow sneers.

She was left here to die.

Or so, she was supposed to…

Willow begins to ponder over how she survived. Maybe it had something to do with Willow not being able to get injured by fire?

Willow then snaps out herself out of her world of thought. She then hurries out of the destroyed shack and returns to the village. She gasps. Her eyes go wide.

Carnage and discord everywhere. Shacks being burned down. Various villagers being brutally killed left and right. Gunshots, screams. Everything happening everywhere.

And Willow has barely anywhere to run.

Willow’s brows furrow. She bolts through the fire, carrying, Bernie in one hand, trying to find a way out. The destruction seems endless. “Help!! HELP!!” She shouts, panting a bit. “GET ME OUT OF THIS NIGHTMARE!!”

Amongst the chaos however, someone quickly passes by Willow. Willow turns.

The woman looks back. Willow can see her face. It feels as if time has stopped.

Her eyes go wide.

It’s Wickerbottom… yet younger.

Her hair is partially orange. Various areas of the hair are streaked in gray. It also looked a bit longer. It was more puffy and put up in a ponytail.

…How long ago was this…?

Wickerbottom then turns back around. She runs off into the forest nearby, trying not to be seen.

Then, as Willow watches the young Wickerbottom run off, the fires quickly dissipate. The sounds go away. The land is covered in debris and dead bodies.

The only sound left being the sound of a crying baby.

Willow looks in the distance. She squints and walks toward the source of the sound.

She sees a baby crying on the ground. The dead bodies of her parents beside her.

It’s baby Willow.

Willow looks down at the child. She frowns.

Then, footsteps are heard. Willow steps back a bit.

Two very familiar woman come into view… Willow sneers at the sight of them.

…Those disgusting women from the orphanage. The ones that Willow hated to the bottom of her very core.

The taller woman looks down at the child and picks the baby up. “Sister, look!” She says. “A child.”

“Someone must’ve abandoned her here.” Says the shorter woman in a more raspier tone. “Understandable. She looks like a rat.”

“You’re correct, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be saved.” Says the taller woman.

“Maybe if we bring her into God’s light, she’ll look nicer.” Says the shorter woman.

“Not just that.” Says the taller woman. “She’ll be one of God’s children. A blessing worth entering Heaven.”

“Maybe.” Says the shorter woman. “She looks like a pain to raise though.”

“…Yes, but we do need the money.” Says the taller woman.

“Agreed, we do.” Says the shorter woman. “Lets just bring her back to the orphanage.”

“Mm-hm.” The taller woman nods.

The two woman head out from the ground and into the forest ahead.

Willow stares…

The she blinks. Once she opens her eyes, she suddenly finds herself back in front of the crosses, not holding the doll she found. Bernie sits in her grip.

She stares into the distance.

She’s absolutely speechless…

Everything that happened… it was so much…

Her being born from a doll. Her belonging to a family of witches. Her home and family being torn apart and killed.

But the most overwhelming thing…

She was a Wickerbottom.

“Willow!” A voice calls from behind.

Willow is smacked out of her world of thought. She looks back.

It’s Wickerbottom.

“What are you doing out here!?” Wickerbottom asks. “Why aren’t you asleep back home!?”

Willow doesn’t answer. Tears well up in her eyes.

Then, she snaps.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME I WAS YOUR GRANDDAUGHTER!?” She exclaims. “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME ABOUT MY FAMILY!?”

Wickerbottom’s eyes go wide in confusion. “…What?” She asks.

“My family… they died in a witch hunt! You LIVED here! YOU were related to them, and YOU DIDN’T TELL ME!? WHAT IS YOUR DEAL!?”

“…Willow, I don’t understand—“ Wickerbottom begins.

Willow cuts the librarian off. “YES, YOU DO!” She exclaims. “YOU ARE LYING TO ME!”

“No, I’m not!” Says Wickerbottom.

“You didn’t want to tell me because it would 'overwhelm me' didn’t you!?” Says Willow. “Because, apparently, I can’t handle the truth, right!?”

“Willow, no! That isn’t—“ Wickerbottom gets cut off again.

“THEN WHY!?” Willow exclaims.

“Because I didn’t want you getting involved with family matters!” Wickerbottom exclaims. “This is a personal matter between me and my family!”

“But I AM your family!” Willow exclaims, pointing her hands toward her chest.

“No, we aren’t!” Says Wickerbottom.

“Yes we are!” Willow retorts. “I saw it! I saw the past!”

“How?” Wickerbottom asks sternly.

“…Some… weird doll!” Says Willow.

“She is not wrong, mother.” Says a voice.

The duo look back.

Near the crosses, the spirits of Winslow and Waylon Wickerbottom hover. They stare upon their living family.

Wickerbottom and Willow slowly walk up to the couple.

“…Oh, Waylon…” Says Wickerbottom. “…My boy…”

“You’re Wickerbottom’s kid?” Willow asks Waylon.

“Yes.” Says Waylon nodding. He looks over to Wickerbottom. “I see you want an explanation for what she saw.” He says, then turns to Willow. “You do too.”

“Yeah.” Says Willow.

“Yes, dear.” Says Wickerbottom.

Waylon nods. “Willow, your mother…” He hesitates. He looks over to Winslow; who puts a hand to his shoulder, smiles, and nods, indicating that she doesn’t mind him sharing this particular fact about her. “…Your mother is infertile. She can’t have kids.”

“Because I wasn’t able to give birth to a child, we thought we’d see a doll maker to assist us.” Says Winslow.

Willow’s brows furrow. She tilts her head. “What’s a doll maker?”

“A doll maker makes dolls that a wedded couple can make if the wife is infertile. Or if it was a same sex couple that wanted a baby.” Says Wickerbottom. “Those specific kinds of dolls contain what makes up both the mother and father’s genes. Meaning that although you weren’t born by normal means, you still have the genetic makeup of your parents.”

Willow nods, understanding what Wickerbottom said. Wilson had talked about genetics so much during her survival days that it practically got burned into Willow’s brain. Wickerbottom also helped with cementing that knowledge in more.

Waylon nods. “The night that you had been given life, as you saw…”

“We were killed. And our home was taken down. Along with many villagers.” Says Winslow.

“But what about Wickerbottom?” Willow asks.

“She had run off.” Says Winslow. “She was able to get away safely.”

“And start a new life as a librarian.” Says Wickerbottom. “I’ve kept this secret with me for 20 years. Since I was in my 40s.”

“What about me?” Asks Willow. “How’d I live?”

“Oh, that’s because of the doll.” Says Winslow, smiling a bit. “They’re fire resistant.”

Willow smirks. “I kinda suspected that actually.” She smiles. “Sick.” She says to herself. She then looks to Wickerbottom. “But how come you didn’t know I was granddaughter? I thought you’d know?”

Wickerbottom’s expression droops a bit. “I was on my way to see you…” Says Wickerbottom. “…But then the attack happened… I never got to meet you… I had no idea that my granddaughter had been by my side all this time I had known her.”

Willow smiles. “As long as I know you weren’t trying to lie to me.”

Wickerbottom looks to Willow sternly. “If I had known you were my granddaughter, I would’ve shared this with you.” She says. “I never intended to lie to you.”

Willow smiles. “You’d never do that, would you?” She asks.

“I’d never hide my roots from my family.” Says Wickerbottom, smiling.

Willow’s smile grows. She almost feels tears forming in her eyes.

“Anyway, would you like to stay?” Asks Waylon. “I’ve been wanting to see how my family has been doing.”

“I have as well.” Says Winslow.

“That’s why I came here.” Says Wickerbottom. “To say hello. Talk with you both.”

“What about you, Willow?” Winslow asks, looking over to Willow.

Willow smiles brightly. “Sure!” She says. “I’d love to get to talk to my actual parents! Anyway, what’s up with Bernie?” She looks down to the bear in her grip. “Is he magic? Why was he moving on his own earlier, if you know? He normally doesn’t do that.”

“Oh, we casted a spell on it.” Says Waylon. “One that allowed him to protect you. A little gift from us to you.”

“And I had possessed him.” Says Winslow. “I wanted to help you discover you’re past. You’re family.”

Willow smiles. “Cool!” She exclaims.

—

The sun has begun to rise. Willow and Wickerbottom head back home from the clearing after having said their farewells to their family. They plan to see them next year, exactly a year after having discovered they are family.

“It’s crazy to me that I had known you for ages, but never knew you were my grandma.” Says Willow, looking over to Wickerbottom.

Wickerbottom chuckles a bit. “Same here, dear.” She says. “I never expected a future such a this to be true.”

“Neither did I.” Says Willow. “It’s cool though. The fact that I’ve got witch blood in my viens.” Willow says as she punches the air in front of her a bit.

“It is, dear.” Says Wickerbottom, smiling softly.

The two walk back home, talking about their family, their relations.

And how everyone’s loose ends have finally been tied.

- END -

[sorry-i-ship-drarry]

Started with a muffin

Word 5: Concert

Harry and Ron were walking hurriedly to their last lecture of the day, not wanting to miss another one of them because of the Quidditch practice or they'll hardly make it through the year.

"Have you thought about those tickets you got?" Ron asked in between the conversation.

Harry shook his head, "I was thinking I could skip going to the concert. Just stay in or something."

Ron shook his head almost rigorously, "You've been inside for far too long, I think you should really take this opportunity to go out and have some fun, you know. It's about time you did."

Harry thought about it and he knew Ron was right but he couldn't find it in himself to go. He was deeply unmotivated and to say somewhat even depressed to go to such a happening place but maybe somewhere it won't be so bad so he simply nodded and said he'll think about it.

It went through the whole day after that, Harry not thinking about the tickets all that much until he was walking out of the kitchen and ran into Draco.

"Potter." Draco nodded his head, Harry did the same acknowledging him.

"You should try their blueberry muffin, they're to die for." Draco suggested pointing at the muffin Harry had in his hand.

Harry looked at his muffin then nodded, "Next time when Hermione forces me to study in the library all night long, I'll bring your muffin so there would be something else killing me." But the moment Harry said it, he was worried Draco might take his humour otherwise but to his surprise Draco smiled.

"Good one." Draco said.

Harry smiled back at him, "my source of inspiration." He said as he lifted the muffin in his hand.

Draco chuckled at that, "It must be awful if that's the source of inspiration."

"Hey, you just said you liked my joke." Harry playfully whined.

"it's not the joke. It's the source of inspiration. It's awfully dry." Draco tried.

Harry smiled seeing how that one worked then there was silence for a moment until Draco spoke up,

"I heard you got those concert tickets as a secret santa gift."

"Oh, yeah.. I'll probably pass on that." Harry shrugged.

Draco frowned, "The band is not that awful, you know. They're very low-key so there's not much crowd. If I were you, I'd definitely go just to make a joke over how I can't play guitar because my fingers are too precious."

Harry almost laughed at that but then the school bell rung. It was 10 in the night and they just crossed their curfew.

"Anyways, though. You enjoy your muffin, I'll go." Draco bid his bye after that and started walking away but Harry remained there standing and realised that in all the conversations he's had with people, this one he could really enjoy if he knew Draco well enough, he even liked this one.

So, he acted in impulse.

"Draco, wait." Harry said aloud. Draco turned around.

"I have two tickets, do you want to come with?" He asked.

Draco stood there for a moment then smiled and nodded, "I'll be there, Potter."

"Harry." He corrected.

Draco smiled again, "I'll be there, Harry."

"I'd like that." Harry smiled back and then Draco walked away.

Harry went to bed thinking about Draco's smile.

Tagging some of y'all for a boost, don't hesitate if you're uncomfortable with the tag <3

@phoebe-delia ​ @chinike @elenaxoxo22 ​ @thecornerofbelu @nv-md ​ @cissa-bee @missdrarrydawn @littlebodybigheartttt @harryandginnydeservesbetter @draco-lucious-malfoy @textrovert-01 @inflation-of-mind @dearly-devoted-dawdler @drarrywords @loves-to-read-fanfic

[huskynotwolf]

Looking for answers — Grian

From my Fanfic Watchers and Hunters on Quotev

I thought of sneaking into the public library of the grand city of the Watchers. Maybe not. I needed to know what happened to the relationship between Watchers and Hunters. Why are they in conflict? What caused it? Who created this? I need answers.

It won’t be easy, though. I’m exiled, meaning I can’t get into the city. But first, I need tools. I glided through the skies, searching for a cave for me to snatch an iron sword or axe. I found an underground ravine not long later. I went in, bracing myself for creepers and skeletons. I know that I’m in Watcher territory, not mine, because I could see the grassland savanna that marks the border. I had passed it without turning back. Who cares. Okay, maybe I do.

I tried thinking of a solution to sneak in. Cloak? No, because if someone brushes me, I’m dead. Another jacket that covers the wings? No way I can afford that. My gaze drifted towards a running stream in the ravine. Squid ink? It came to my mind. I need to find a squid to get ink, then dye my wings black. Then I could go in as a crow. 

Possibly.

I found an iron vein not long later, then set off to find a squid. On the way, I found a village so I crafted my weapons. The villages panicked when they saw me, but as I kept a spare Emerald with me, I found a house with an anvil and a crafting table, then traded with the villager for an efficiency enchanting book then borrowed the crafting table. I used the anvil, thanked the villager then left, leaving two pieces of bread behind.

I soared over the hills, looking for a lake. I found a forest ravine that overlapped a jungle one, so the trees were mangled in a tight scrap. I swooped down, relived to see a squid swimming around. I bought myself the courage to kill it in order to get the ink sac. Then, holding the sac, I poured it over my rainbow wings. As soon as the feathers touched the pitch black liquid, they shed all their colour and turned black like crow feathers.

Perfect, I thought to myself. I gave my wings a light shake, making sure the black stuck to my feathers. As soon as water touches it, the black will turn back to rainbow, but otherwise, it’ll be fine. I can’t touch water. 

I took off, heading east, looking for the city. As luck would have it, I found a large city that was definitely not the capital, but I figured it’ll do, being so close to the main city and of course, the Imperial Palace. I shruddered, landing near the city gates. “Name?” The guard that stood next to the gates asked. “Taiga,” I replied. I figured that’ll be a good name for a crow. The guard nodded then gestured me. “Sure. Go in.” He grumbled.

I awkwardly stalked in, ruffling my newly-dyed black feathers. Stalls clustered the streets of the city; the residents crowded around shops, arguing on who has the best item. I ignored them and forged my way through. “Excuse me, do you know where the public library is?” I asked someone walking by. “Left, then two streets down.” They replied. I ran down the corner, swerving to avoid citizens. I finally found the giant building marked with letters in red bricks: ‘Library’. I went in, pushing open the doors. Then, going  straight to the history section, I found a rather large book about Hunters, or ‘Humans’, the book wrote, then settled down somewhere no one can disturb me, then began to read.

Unbeknownst, I was stalked. 

Contents

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[carissimipaixao]

─ ii. FAMILIAR

published on: february 10, 2023 pairing: okabe rintarou & reader summary: as luck may have it, you are able to return the mistaken manual to its rightful owner. word count: 1.8k+ entries: i. | ii. | iii. note: this is be a multiple-chapters fanfic, and each entry will be numbered accordingly on the top of the story. if you are reading this from a reblog, don’t forget to check the original at my blog, due to broken or missing links! second note: slight changes, including a pov change from 3rd person to 2nd person!

You have never been one to mingle with the big crowds. They often feel caging, as if you have been locked up with no possible exit in sight or at least an exit that wouldn’t invoke a hundred and then some gazes upon your fleeing figure. Moreover, you always feel claustrophobic when you are surrounded by people, after all. However, if there is free food involved, it is a worthy sacrifice.

It has been based on that reasoning that you decide to attend a seminar at Akihabara Techno Forum, accompanied by a new friend you made at the beginning of the week at University. Perhaps, the reason you two clicked so easily — and so quickly — is because of Naoko’s warm personality, despite her playful nature. Then again, unlike many, Naoko has never once glanced at you as if you were some sort of freak.

However, something had come up at the last minute, and Naoko had been requested by her aunt to come over and watch over her little cousins while she was away for a business meeting. Although the news have slightly upsetted you, you think against going home; after all, you have made your best to draw out time. Spending most of the afternoon in the library, writing down notes and finishing up some homework, you have also wasted some of your time on public transport, not to mention the time you sat outside the building, waiting for Naoko. Life’s too short, you have reasoned with yourself. As well as my wallet.

And that leads to where you now stand — by an exit door as you watch in mild boredom, the ice in your glass twirling along the movements of your wrist as you twitch it to an imaginary tempo. It was an interesting seminar, you wouldn’t deny that, but, because the subject is not really part of your own expertise and you were often lost in context, you had guiltily found yourself drifting into sleep multiple times. Well, if anything, you can just blame it on your unhealthy sleeping schedule and the stress.

With a sigh, you open your purse to pull out your phone, unlocking the screen to find an unread message by Naoko. Unable to fight off the smile that has bloomed on your face, you swipe up.

Naoko * please, save me orz * they’re too hyperactive for an old woman like me

You * come on, don’t tell me you’ll give up that easily. plus, aren’t i the older one here?

Naoko * my apologies, obaa-chan * how was the seminar?

You * it was interesting, it was about some sort of AI that they are developing. it seems to behave the same as the original person, while also having their memories.

Naoko * oh, that seems cool! * wonder if they take volunteers?

You * isn’t one naoko enough?

Naoko * harsh * i actually regret not attending, but it seems to have lasted long enough for me to have napped at least through the entire thing

You * don’t remind me * i almost fell asleep, but hey, let’s talk about this more later. i’m sure the newspaper and the media will be talking about this amadeus project soon enough.

In the corner of your eye, amongst the sea of bright colors, there is a sudden spot of black. The bold color immediately draws your attention, and you raise your head to stare. The person has their back turned to you, their shoulders dropped in what appears to be a mix of exhaustion and disappointment. Yet, the more you stare, a confusing sense of familiarity slowly begins to settle in, finally culminating into realization the moment the person turns their head ever so slightly. Your brain immediately replays the events of the previous day — your very first day at Tokyo Denki — but the scenario that you have caused by bumping into another student and stranger makes your cheeks burn in embarrassment.

Suddenly, the weight of your bag seems to increase, as you recall the existence of a red book.

You put your phone away, observing the young man for another quiet moment, and take a deep breath as you clenches a hand around the strap of your shoulder bag. Each step you take, as you near the man who remains oblivious to your approach, makes your heart thump a little bit quicker, and the sound reverbs in your ears. Your lungs fill up with air, one more time, before the anxiety can overtake you.

The man is just within your reach, and you notice how his eyes are ever so slightly narrowed. Before you can distract yourself any further — because you cannot avoid the inevitable —, you reach for him, moving to tap his arm. However, you quickly decide against it and, instead, clear your throat. The man jumps, being abruptly brought back to reality,  and he turns around.

His reaction is immediate, and, just as before, his eyes widen and his body goes stiff.

‘Good evening,’ you begin, your heart racing as you fight the urge to look away from that intense and disconcerting gaze. Whatever it holds, it beckons a weird sense of fight or flight within you. You blame it on your anxiety, which is certainly increasing the more the silence grows.

The stranger — or, Okabe, as the name that was written on the manual suggests — opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.

You continue, ‘I wanted to apologize. For bumping into you yesterday, that is.’ You internally debate whether or not you should bow deeply, whilst taking into consideration that he seems to be around the same age as you. Either way, you do a quick bow, ‘Please, forgive me.’

He closes his mouth, his jaw nearly clicking, and clears his throat. ‘No, it’s alright. I should’ve been more careful.’ He chuckles quietly, ‘I admit I wasn’t paying that much attention to where I was going.’

Yet, despite the attempt to brush the incident under the rug, you can still see how he remains tense.

Maybe, he’s just shy and awkward, just as you are.

But, upon seeing how his face appears a bit whiter than it should be?

‘Are you alright?’ you ask, frowning. ‘You don’t look so good.’ You glance around the room and lean slightly forward, lowering your voice. ‘Do you want me to get someone?’

‘Huh?’ He blinks. Then, he waves a hand, whilst giving you a reassuring smile. ‘No, no, I’m alright.’ When you don’t look convinced, he adds, ‘I’m just tired. It’s just been a long day.’ His eyes wander to the side, for a moment, as he takes a deep breath. It almost looks like he is purposefully avoiding your gaze, just as you had tried not to do moments ago. But, you don’t press. Instead, you watch as he exhales slowly. It reminds you of what you often do when you are burdened by your inner storms.

And, just like that, the conversation seems to come to a halt.

Well, you bite your lip, this is awkward.

You begin to reach inside your bag, which draws the student’s attention back to you. ‘Before I forget,’ you say as you pull out the engineering manual. ‘I know this isn’t exactly the best spot to return something, but better now than ever.’ You hand it out to him. ‘It seems like, while I rushed to the classroom, I accidentally took your book, instead of mine.’

He stares at the manual for a moment, before exclaiming in recognition. He carefully grabs the book from your hand — and you try to ignore the sensation left behind by the tips of his fingers against your skin — and opens the cover, nodding upon seeing his name on the very first page. He meets your eyes with another chuckle, although, this time, it doesn’t appear as forced or nervous. ‘So, this is where it was. And here I was, thinking I had lost it.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m too clumsy,’ you give him an embarrassing smile. But, he shakes his head.

‘That’s alright,’ he soothes her. ‘You were in a hurry, from what I can remember. Plus, mistakes happen.’ His eyes widen for a split second, as if he has realized something, and his lips quirk timidly. ‘Then, I’m guessing that the book I took is yours.’

You nod, ‘Most likely. But, no worries. You can just give it back to me tomorrow or whenever it’s possible. It’s okay.’ you suddenly extend her arm, feeling slightly more comfortable as time passes, ‘Oh, where are my manners?’ You give him your name, smiling warmly.

After putting the book under the wing of his arm, the black-haired man gently grabs your hand, a soft smile on his face, ‘Okabe Rintarou. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

‘The pleasure is all mine.’

Okabe tilts his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. ‘Are you a new student at Tokyo Denki University?’

‘I guess you could say so. I’m doing an internship.’ You look to the side, staring out the distant window as you watch the city lights flicker. ‘I’ve always wanted to visit Japan, anyway. So, two birds with one stone.’

Something shifts in his eyes, but you can’t decipher it fast enough.

‘So, you’ve never been to Japan before,’ he muses, although it puzzles you how it sounds much more like a statement, rather than a question. ‘Which major are you in?’

‘Same as you, engineering.’

‘We may be sharing some classes in the future, then,’ Okabe nods, his smile growing as a joyful glint appears in his eye. ‘If you need help with anything, don’t hesitate to ask.’

You beam up at him. Somehow, you feel at ease when talking to Okabe, despite the fact that you two have just met — well, officially, anyway. Even though you also clicked just as quickly with Naoko, there is something different about this student that makes you feel so comfortable. ‘Thank you! That’s actually very kind of you.’ You will certainly need all the help you can get.

Suddenly, something comes to mind.

‘Wait, hold up,’ you raise her hand, frowning. Okabe blinks. ‘Weren’t you the one, just now, who argued with the audience?’ His back straightens. ‘Something about how skepticism would “stop the progress”?’

The young man grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. You swear you see a touch of pink beginning to bloom across his cheeks, and you smirk. The amused expression causes him to look away. ‘Don’t laugh,’ he murmurs. ‘It’s embarrassing.’

You cover your mouth, attempting to muffle your giggle. Not that it stops Okabe from hearing it.

As impossible as it would be to believe, his face gets redder by the second. ‘I just—’

‘It’s alright, Okabe,’ you say. ‘You don’t have to explain yourself, especially to me of all people.’ You straighten your back, giving him an approving nod. ‘I actually think you did well to speak your mind. It was brave, and I personally didn’t enjoy the man’s tone, either.’ Okabe pauses, staring at your faraway expression before it quickly morphs into another teasing smirk. ‘For someone who looks so shy, you actually have a lot of guts, huh?’

‘Give me a break,’ his shoulders drop with an exasperated sigh, and his reaction only makes you giggle, once again. Yet, his lips curl into a smile.

[sunny-day-dream]

The Librarian - Part 1

Pairing: Monty x Plus Size!Reader

Wordcount: 1890

Warnings: Slight swearing, slight possessive behaviour, AFAB-Reader, Fem!Reader (She/Her)

Notes: This is my first fanfic in like a year so I'm a little rusty, hopefully it turned out alright!

Part 2 (tba)

---

“Monty, what the fuck.”

A low bellow sounded from across the dark area, resonating around the room loudly enough to send a shiver through your body as you eyed the chaos before you.

Your workspace was now little more than a massive pile of ripped up blankets, cushions and a few surviving beanbags dotting the animatronic made disaster, said animatronic sounding very proud of himself as you surveyed his hard work.

You could only make out where he was because of the reflection his eyes gave off, the neon lights streaming in from the open doorway behind you not making much else visible through the piles of fabric.

As flattering as it was, you knew management would find a way to make sure the room stayed in this state, if only to keep from provoking Monty while he was ‘acting out’ and snapping at everyone that wasn’t you.

‘Yeah, good luck with that.’

Biting your lip lightly as you eyed the mess, you groaned as you caught sight of a familiar scrap of fabric amongst the ruins.

“That was my favourite shirt, did you have to?”

Another bellow, this one carrying far enough to draw the attention of the few guests loitering around the greenrooms, sent you scurrying inside while quickly locking the door behind you.

It was one thing for you to see this trash heap and how weird he was acting, it was another for a guest to witness it. Talk about a PR nightmare in the making.

Monty was lucky you had a soft spot for him, he better appreciate it.

---

Not many people knew about the small alcove located across from the greenrooms or the plain looking door hidden in there, what with all the lights and sounds and general hype that radiated from every inch of the space surrounding it.

It was pretty easy to miss, and not all that eye-catching compared to the main attractions that lay just across from it.

A good thing really, because if you’d asked anyone who knew about it, what exactly it was, they’d scratch their head and pause, before labelling it The Library.

Not inaccurate, with how it was used most days.

On a good day, the small, quiet space was home to a handful of teens and college students trying to cram in some last-minute studying before going to meet their friends in another part of the building. Sometimes it was the occasional staff member looking for somewhere to wind down during their break, somewhere they wouldn’t be dragged into helping another frazzled co-worker with an ‘emergency’.

Mostly though, the room was used as a ‘safe space’, somewhere overstimulated adults and children could go to calm down away from all the lights and crowds while snuggling up on comfortable couches or reading a good book.

And who was running this room? You, of course.

‘The Librarian’ as people often joked, having found you with your nose in a book instead of working one too many times.

Not that you minded, it was nice to be recognised, especially in a building as large as this with so many people running around!

You didn’t have a uniform allocated for your role at the Pizzaplex, or a job title to proclaim who you were and what you did. A strange thing, but so was your job in a building like this.

Unlike most of the poor souls working here, you were happily found wearing comfortable, soft sweaters more often than not- a good thing, as the building always seemed to have a chill to it year round. Your nametag was small, decorated with a few stickers, but always pinned neatly in view with your staff ID and security badge clipped underneath it.

Professional, yet comfortable.

Other than that, they were surprisingly lax with what you wore compared to other staff members and their (more often than not) gaudy uniforms. It also may have had something to do with your previous supervisor ‘enjoying’ the way you dressed, confident enough in yourself to know what looked good on you and highlighted your ‘assets’ best.

(He went missing for a few days before quitting shortly after these incidents started, not that you were complaining too much.)

All in all, it was a fun if not quiet job.

One that you’d actually come to love.

You sat in your comfortable little corner most days, perched behind your desk enjoying the quiet as a few people stumbled in and out, either making themselves at home on one of the provided desks /couches or browsing the large shelves filled with books that surrounded the room from wall to wall.

There were no windows, only nice, soft lighting from the wall/desk lamps- and the only time any of the commotions from outside made its way in, was when the door was opened for more than a moment to let someone inside.

Soundproofing, they didn’t skimp on quality when making places the guests could visit. (The staff only areas though? Better left unsaid)

Mostly keeping to yourself, it was a surprise to everyone when the one animatronic who really shouldn’t be in a library, ended up in the library.

Over and over and over again.

---

The first time he’d poked his snout through your door, you assumed he was simply curious and being nosy, wanting to know the who/what/and why of every little thing around him.

You’d seen him around before, obviously, and had heard enough of his temper tantrums from across the hall while you made your way inside each day- and boy howdy was it hard to walk past when he sounded particularly aggressive of a morning. (The Hazard pay you received from your manager after informing her of this though, made any thoughts of leaving…well, leave.)

So, when you’d looked up from your desk that day and spotted those bright red eyes peering at you rather dazedly from the doorway, you’d been apprehensive about being alone in a room with him.

A little scared too, you wouldn’t lie to yourself about that.

Only for a moment though, because the next thing you knew, he was shouldering his way through the MUCH too small doorway- ducking his head under the frame as he squeezed his way inside rather forcefully.

“Don’t mind me Doll, just gonna-”

“Please don’t bust my door, oh god they’ll dock my pay to replace it…”

---

From that day on, he’d strut in whenever the urge hit, jamming himself through the (still way too small, please don’t make me get it replaced again ohmygodfuckyou) door, his tail dragging along the ground behind him as complaints and rage flowed from his mouth towards anyone but you.

You don’t know when he’d decided you were his favourite, and neither did the other staff (who leapt at the chance to shove him onto you and make him your problem), but one curious visit quickly turned into him barging his way into your space every day.

Be that workspace, or personal space. He liked both apparently.

You, the quiet, plush little human, had somehow won Monty over without trying at all.

He’d definitely grown on you though, the repeated exposure to his gruff and prickly attitude wearing down your hesitation to be around him. He was very sweet to you, told great jokes, and went out of his way to talk to you whenever he got the chance.

He’d even invited you to play golf with him after you’d finally cracked and told him that you “did actually see him as a friend now, so please stop pouting”, and had spent the entire time showboating and trying to impress you! He’d even started making odd bellowing calls whenever you got too far away from him while trying to find your missing golfballs, probably not wanting you to get lost in the maze that place turned out to be.

Weird, but still fun!

You’d never had a man so intent on gaining and keeping your attention before, and while he wasn’t human and you assumed he was just programmed this way, it was still very sweet.

…the lingering touches and heated looks were a bit harder to pass off as just programming bugs though, no matter how hard you reasoned with yourself while ignoring your heated cheeks and his smug looks.

The strangest part of this new friendship started exactly one week after your golfing escapades, when he decided your space wasn’t to his liking anymore, and thus started bringing Gifts.

And calling what he was bringing ‘Gifts’ was just you being too nice to say anything about the shredded cushions now occupying the floorspace next to your desk.

He looked so proud of himself whenever he walked in and saw them still displayed there, you didn’t have the heart to trash them yet.

---

“Monty…why?”

“Aint comfortable enough in here, shits too cold, you need more blankets. And more soft stuff.”

“…okay?”

He looked so smug after that, and you could only blame yourself when the manager from the prize counter caught you on your way in the next morning, fuming about missing blankets and clothing.

All of it was Monty merch.

Of course it was.

---

Then the super …territorial behaviour towards anyone who wasn’t you kicked in, going way past his usual sarcastic and snappy comments when people acted stupidly.

Territorial was the only way you could describe it when questioned, the way he prowled around the outside of your workspace, leaving scratches and dents around the alcove leading to your door just screaming ‘FUCK OFF, THIS IS MINE’

It was getting harder and harder to see him as just a friendly robot made to be attention grabbing- especially when he managed to sneak up close behind you so often. The heat radiating from his body always made your thighs clench together beneath your desk as he loomed over you, insisting he was just watching you type as he lightly ran his clawed fingers down your arms with a deep rumble sounding from his chest.

You didn’t think management would actually put up with the complaints about this for long, of people getting kicked out of a ‘guest friendly’ space so often. Especially when the giant animatronic gently ushered unwilling people from the room before jamming a desk into the doorway to stop them from ruining his self-proclaimed ‘Quiet time’

(It took nearly 3 hours for Vanessa to notice that you hadn’t clocked out for the night the first time, and another half an hour to get the doorway clear so you could leave the scowling Animatronic and head home. After that, it was the first thing she checked at the start of her shift, much to Monty’s unending frustration.)

You were completely unaware though, that Management honestly didn’t give a shit about anything that happened in your room, the only thing they cared about was the fact that one of their main money makers was suddenly a LOT more cooperative about not causing too much structural damage and keeping his temper in check around the guests…if they weren’t in that one specific room.

And it was an easy fix according to them!

Their solution to your problem? A 'Closed for repairs' sign for your door and strict instructions to keep to your usual schedule despite the changes.

God Damn it.

---

PART 2 (Coming soon)

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Heeeyyy, I love big, like really big, fanfics and was wondering if you know any that are really good (the plot doesn't matter, really) and it can be decided in parts, if the plot follows during it. Thank you 💞😊

I like long fics, too. Here are a few to keep you busy reading for hours, if not days! If you want to download the fics posted on FF.net, FicHub is a great site to use.

Pro tip: If you go to the Library’s Klaine Misc Finder and scroll to the bottom, you will find tags for word count. The hyperlinks will provide with a lot more fics. - HKVoyage

Crowded House by kellyb321 

All of your favorite Warblers and a few new faces, too. Follow our boys as they start their lives in NYC, each couple facing their own challenges, heartbreak, self-discovery and redemption. Stick around as they realize support, acceptance and most importantly, true love can all be found in one big Crowded House. Heavy on the Klaine and Niff. ~~~~~ Keep my heart captive, set me free by The Queen of Rose 

D/s AU - Kurt Hummel had always dreamed of a fairy-tale bond, a perfect, kind and caring Dom. Blaine Anderson had always dreamed of someone who stands out from the boring crowd, someone real, and pure. When their worlds collide, will either of them get what they had dreamed of? ~~~~~ Ride by nellie12 

COMPLETE. Blaine is pretty popular in his city of Long Beach, CA. Summer is here and he's ready to spend it with friends- BMX bike riding in the skate park and surfing when the waves are perfect. Flirting with girls is a definite. But when a new kid from Ohio shows up, Blaine finds himself wanting to share all these things with him, too. But Kurt's just his friend, right?

Sequel: Gemini (abandoned)

~~~~~ Beautiful Mess by WildHurricane

What do you say when your very straight friend tells you he wants to know what it's like to kiss a guy and all you want to say is "kiss me".

Kurt is secretly in love with his best friend Blaine. He's recently figured out he's gay, but hasn't told anyone. Especially not Blaine. Or his girlfriend.

Blaine is confused and in denial about why he wants to kiss Kurt. He's not gay. He has a long line of girlfriends to prove that.

Both are scared what it will do to their friendship if the other finds out.~~~~~ Glory by  Cleverboots (Amberlovesocean)

Kurt is assaulted after singing at a school dance and is left for dead, thrown aboard an empty train car at the railroad freight yard to hide the crime.

He wakes up to find he's been tossed off the car somewhere in an Oregon logging camp, 2500 miles from home. A curly-haired kid named Blaine finds Kurt and protects him by hiding him in his cabin and teaching him how to survive. ~~~~~ Westerville Abbey by @hkvoyage Blaine is the second son of the earl of Westerville, and is considered the spare heir. After his 18th birthday, he attends the London Season to fulfill his duty of finding a wife. He soon realizes he is more attracted to the new footman. Kurt, who has just arrived at Westerville Abbey to work alongside his father, becomes equally as smitten with the earl’s youngest son. Will Blaine and Kurt be able to overcome their class differences in 1910s England? Will their forbidden love survive WW1? A Downton Abbey inspired historical Klaine AU.

[refusethyname28]

WHEN YOU SEE THIS POST A SNIPPET OF YOUR WIP - Hymn To The Sea

Thank you @zanniscaramouche​ for the tag. I definitely saw this so I have to do it now. This fanfic is something that I haven’t worked on since July. My main priority is TMWYB and this was simply just something on the side. I have always been insanely fascinated and intrigued by anything that has something to do with the Titanic, hence why I picked the Titanic storyline as an AU for my Larry fanfic.

Tagging library: @hershelsue @onlyforbrave @bluecolouredlou @momrryrights  @skipperxao3 @beckydoesthings @allwaswell16 @thestylinsons @thelouistiti @larrysballetslippers @sadaveniren @local-troubled-writer @alwayshazandlou @juliusschmidt @haztobegood @mizzhydes @jacaranda-bloom @beelou @larry-hiatus @paranormalbabydoll @justmybeautifulthings @larryyouknow @daffodilwine @louisandtheaquarian @loulovehome @parmahamlarrie @neondiamond @almondtreeflower @cyantific @larrysballetslippers @stylesthebrave and @allmylcnnon @eliassuswood

Also please do not repost my manips on any other platform!

Hymn To The Sea

How he did it, Louis Tomlinson did not know. He managed to get his hands on a ticket to board the Titanic in a game of Bridge. He was lucky, he truly was. Louis had wished to visit the United States of America but never had he ever thought he would be able to go. Especially not sailing on a ship as grand and luxurious as the Titanic.

The male hurried to the harbour to board the ship. There were a lot of people present, and all had come to see the Unsinkable ship sail off. It was a magical sight, one that Louis only dared to dream. But he was living it now, he was genuinely experiencing an event such as magical as this one. He was running around making sure to get to the vast ship in time. After all, the vessel was about to leave in less than thirty minutes. Louis had a ticket for the third-class, he would be sharing his compartment with three other people, and honestly, he couldn’t care less. All he ever wanted was to see the land of dreams with his own eyes. The young male was awestruck as he approached the large ship. He had found his way to the line and waited until he was allowed to board. It was extremely crowded, people were pushing and pulling at each other. Most were trying to get on board as soon as possible, but not Louis. He was already lucky enough to be able to sail on the gigantic ship, he could definitely wait his turn. It was a good day at the haven after all.

Cars were honking and Louis looked up to see a few gorgeous automobiles arrive. The rich. They would be travelling first-class, something that Louis could only ever dream of—and at times he didn’t even dare to dream it. He didn’t know what it was like to be rich, or even to have a stable amount of money. Louis made his way selling his poems, writing for papers, and occasionally he sketched a few drawings. He watched as the rich stepped out of the car, they had servants unpacking their bags for them as they moved towards the ship with their heads high. Louis watched as more elitist people waited until they could board the ship, and his eyes fell on one very particular soul. It was a male with long brown curls. Louis couldn’t see much, only the male’s silhouette, but he knew in his heart that the other was gorgeous. A poem started forming in his head, the words just came to him and he wanted to write them down, but he couldn’t. Not with this many people around. Louis watched the tall male with the brown curls, behind the seemingly young Adonis stood a slightly older chap—gentleman, apologies—he had his arms on the curly-haired’s waist, holding him almost possessively. It kind of disgusted Louis, the way the older gentleman was holding the young god-like male. Louis tried to study the green-eyed’s face, he couldn’t properly read the other as the two of them were distanced from each other and the sun shining in his eyes really did not make it any easier. But Louis thought to recognise agony and despair, like the curly-haired needed a way to escape. He looked like he was suffocating and Louis wanted to help him. But he could never. They would not allow him even near the first-class passengers.

The hierarchy in the world made Louis mad. It was unfair, life was unfair. Why was his life worth less than the life of someone rich? He had never felt sorry for himself, he had felt unlucky at times, that was most certain, but he had never seen someone look as unhappy as the male with the brown and curly locks. Louis was still watching the rich as they boarded, but he was being cut off when he felt a push in his back.

    ‘Keep on walking, will you lad?’ A voice behind him sounded. Louis looked over his shoulder and muttered a soft apology. He kept on moving, not looking back. He was ready to start this new chapter of his life, and before he knew it, he was in line to officially board R.M.S. Titanic. When he looked up the gorgeous male and his seemingly possessive companion had disappeared.