Requests currently closed, but my inbox is always open for comments, questions, and memes of questionable origin.
Even if not listed as such, assume all works at 18+ and please do not interact if you are underage.
This list features all my works currently available on Tumblr. Check out my AO3 account for more. I like original characters, and many blur the lines with x reader fics. Please enjoy, and remember: to like is kind, to comment/reblog is divine.
The Sandman
Younger Gods (main story complete/epilogues in-progress)
A Year and a Day (in-progress)
Hello, Mr. Monster (18+) (in-progress)
Persephone's Devotee (1920's AU) (in-progress)
500 follow one-shot collection (in-progress)
Tithe Part 1 Tithe Part 2 (18+) (completed) (Bonus)
Promises (18+) (in-progress)
Scary Dream head canon request (complete)
Sometime Dreamers (Doctor Who crossover) (in-progress)
COD MW
Civilian Asset (18+)(in-progress)
Neighborly Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 (18+) (Soap x reader x Ghost)
Yearning (18+) (Price x reader)
Lyutsifer Safin (James Bond/No Time to Die)
Wild Garden (in-progress)
Illuminations I / Illuminations II (completed)
Baron Helmut Zemo
Soft Target (in-progress)
In-Development fic teaser
Kylo Ren
The Moon's Lies (in-progress)
One Piece
Paper Pirates / Part Two / Part Three (Shanks)
If He Never Says It (Shanks)
Pay the Piper (in-progress) (Multiple/undecided)
A Sparrow at Sea / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four (Whitebeard pirates/reader)
The mission had been simple: get close to King the Wildfire, learn his secrets, then get the hell out.
Unfortunately, King turned out to be less of a masked BDSM idol and more of a starving apex predator who had spent thirty years pretending he didnât need affection.
You cracked through the armor, the mask, the walls, and whatever deeply repressed emotional disaster was living underneath. Getting into Kingâs bed had taken skill, planning, and nerves of steel.
And it was a huge mistake because now you are trapped.
The next morning, you wake up and discover King has attached himself to you with the determination of super glue and the grip strength of a hydraulic press.
You attempt to leave. His arm tightens.
You attempt diplomacy.
âNo.â
You attempt bribery.
âNo.â
You attempt escape while heâs supposedly asleep.
A single golden eye opens.
âNo.â
He isnât even threatening you. Youâll soon discover heâs known about your little game a long time, which should be a death sentence, but wonât be because heâs finally found something he wants.
Meet Pando, not a forest but a single tree. Every trunk of the Quaking Aspen is genetically identical & connected by a single 80,000 year old root system, making it one of the largest and oldest living entities on Earth!
Sea folk loved nothing so much as a good story. Tales worth beaching themselves to hear. Yarns worth growing legs to chase. Shanks fought for his territory, and as he transitions into a new standing among his own kind, he finds something worth pausing for in Foosha Village.
Chapter warnings: undiagnosed mental health conditions, dysfunctional creative tendencies, dissociating
âThe pirates are back!â
Luffyâs voice ricochetted through the kitchen. It pinged off every pot, pan, and potato on its way to your face, and you accepted the blow with all the grace you could muster before breakfast. The coffeemaker burbled, tired and apologetic that it couldnât brew any faster, and you sighed across the counter to Makino. She tittered, smiling like the angel she was, equipped with a well of patience deeper than the ocean. You smiled back wryly, lazily whisking an enormous bowl of eggs as she chopped scallions.
Who needed roosters or alarm clocks with small children in the house?
The sun had barely clawed an inch above the horizon, and you were neither conscious nor kind enough to suffer such ungodly volume before at least two cups of caffeine.
As he slammed through the screen door, Luffy hollered again, âThe pirates are here!â
âAre they in the market for little kids born without indoor voices?â
Makino shook her head, sighing at you, but Luffy put his hands on the enormous island worktop to pull himself as high as possible, so focused on the subject he didnât even cheer and beg over the food. You kept working, but you met his eyes, eyebrows up as you waited for one of Luffyâs little Lessons On Life.
âShanks wonât take me,â he said, face sternly disappointed, like you ought to understand the gravity of the situation. âHe says Iâm a baby, and an anchor, and ââ
The rice cooker beeped, and Makino interrupted.
âLuffy,â she called, âcould you wake up your brothers? Breakfast is almost ready.â
The reminder of a meal shattered his concentration, and he zipped off, howling a confirmation over his shoulder.
You blinked. And blinked. And looked up to Makinoâs laughing face. Between half-raising the boy and handling a bar, she was accustomed to hurricanes, but you werenât quite used to the sheer chaos of seaside life. You chose to make it a joke instead of a chip on your shoulder, and you tried to pay Makino back for her tolerance with some humor at your expense.
The quiet wouldnât last â you could still hear Luffyâs feet pounding overhead â and the sound would triple. Best to ask the important questions while you could.
âPirates?â
You poured the eggs into a pan, poking them with a spatula as Makino assembled quick pickled vegetables and rice on the boysâ plates.
âMore or less,â she said. âTheyâre one of the⌠interesting parts of Foosha Village. They come and go, but theyâve never caused problems, and...â
She trailed off, and her gaze turned to the window, where you could just see the water through the mess of fishermenâs storage sheds and scraggly palms. âLast year, their boss pulled Luffy back from a riptide. I liked them well enough before, but, well,â she shrugged, ânow I feel like we owe them, you know? Theyâre part of the town, maybe even an important one. Oh! And weâll need to restock. Everything. They live on their ship, and they spend most of their time in the bar.â
The oil popped, and you turned off the heat. Eggs ready, you brought the pan to the plates and doled out the protein for your growing monsters as you considered.
âWhat do you need today?â
A chorus of childish voices and thundering feet exploded overhead, and you braced for the invasion.
âThings will get even louder,â Makino warned. Brightly. Smiling.
She treated everything like it was part of a prescribed therapy to scuff off the thick, hermit shell youâd grown in the city. Before the boys took mainstage, she added, with a bit of mercy, âIf you could run errands, Iâd appreciate it. Iâll make a list. Youâll have a few quiet hours that way, right?â
You managed half a nod before Ace and Sabo tumbled through the door to the stairs. Aceâs knee crossed the threshold first, but Sabo seized the back of his comradeâs shirt and heaved himself over via an unannounced game of leap-frog.
âGood morning!â he said, broken smile bright as the sun.
âI was gonna say that!â Ace grumbled, somehow still in motion despite having his face to the floor half a second earlier.
Really, these children thought they were made of rubber. Had they had so many bumps and bruises when they went to bed? No. Surely not. A midnight scuffle, then? They couldâve snuck out. They usually did. So long as they didnât get in the water, Makino wasnât very concerned about their wild roving. City instincts made you think differently, but Foosha sat at the edge of the world, for all intents and purposes. Maybe you should give the wild boys more creditâŚ
Both tweens launched elbows at the otherâs ribs.
For fuckâs sake.
Luffy rushed in on their heels, demanding they âSave some for me!â like it wasnât pre-portioned on individual plates and guarded by your spatula.
Breakfast felt like a carnival ride, spinning in a disorienting blur of giggles, screams, and flying colors. Not how you were used to starting your day, but youâd paid the ticket and pulled down the lap bar because you needed to escape gravity and common sense for a few minutes. So it was fine if Ace left with a shred of pickled carrot in his hair, Sabo kept a fucking lead pipe in his lap as he ate, and Luffy didnât stop to breathe between âbites.â
âIâm gonna go see the pirates!â Luffy cried.
And then the troop left as they came â a heaving mass of gangly limbs and an unholy racket.
You poured the coffeemakerâs overdue blessing into a travel mug as Makino made her list, and a minute later, you were out and on with the day.
You didnât think of the pirates again until you carried in the first load of bulk groceries and alcohol from the car.
The ocean hugged the town close, and Makinoâs place stood at the worldâs edge, closest to the breeze and farthest from high ground. Crabs found their way into the kitchen more often than mice. The only structures beyond were docks and piers where local fishermen tied up their boats and stored nets and traps in need of repair.
Makinoâs apartment, accessible by an exterior and an interior stairwell, sat on the second floor. Partys Bar took the first. The front door welcomed guests, and the back led to the kitchen. You parked behind the building on the lone patch of gravel still visible between swaths of scrubby grass and sand, comfortable in a live oakâs shadow.
The screen door yowled as you stepped through, but it didnât catch your heel or smack you on the ass, which was a particular relief with your arms full. As it clapped shut, a wave of deep, manly laughter filtered through from the front of Makinoâs business.
Someone was telling a story at a volume Luffy would use, and lots of heckling jeers interrupted between the tides of cackling. You couldnât make out a word.
Ah, well.
The groceries landed with a satisfying thump.
Youâd meet them eventually. But you werenât in a rush.
There were coolers to unpack and bottles to sort and it felt like you were moving underwater.
Your head floated in its happy, hazy place, dissociating from the mundane.
The next town was an hour away, and a full restock demanded supplies shops in Foosha Village simply couldnât stock. So, youâd been alone, windows down, wind in your hair as your fantasies spun a thick cocoon over the entire morning, and you couldnât bother cutting yourself free so soon.
Later, youâd lance it, let the stories and visions spill out in watercolor and ink until your eyes cleared and you settled back into your skin. Stories, and images, and fragments of dreams in paintings and prose you bled to translate adventures youâd never had and ease the pressure that grew in your soul. Until then, youâd stay away from introductions and other things that demanded cognizance, wit, and attention. You just werenât in tandem with the rest of the world at the moment.
As if summoned by your drifting, Makino stepped through the swinging door to the front of house.
âYouâre back! And you didnât even get lost this time.â
A private smile melted in your mouth. Lost? That rather depended on the definition.
Your friend knew you well enough to read your expression, though, to notice how your eyes refused to fix on any one point, even when your hands kept busy. Her head tilted, catching a bit of midday sun that wove gold through her green hair, like kelp in clear water. She tracked your wavering focus and softened her voice.
âLuffy mentioned you. I think he ââ
The door slammed against the wall, and the hellion flew to your side like a cannonball. He squeezed your waist hard and grinned up at you with all his teeth.
âCome meet Shanks and his crew!â He released the hug just to seize your hand. He tugged with all his strength, but he simply didnât have enough mass to push around a full-ass adult. âCâmon! I want you to meet the pirates!â
Your free hand settled on his hair, ruffling it as you tread water to stay in the moment. âNot today.â
âWhy?â
âShe said she doesnât want to right now, Luffy,â Makino said. âEveryone can wait until sheâs ready. That way weâll have more fun, right?â
âYeah, but,â Luffy still looked at you, wanting a clear answer. More than two words. âWhat should I tell Shanks?â
Your tongue was heavy. Your social battery was never astonishing, but when you went into a fog, conversation was an uphill battle.
âSay Iâll meet him tomorrow.â
That felt right. Enough, but not too much. Once you indicated someone had the right to details, they started expecting them. You were sure the men in the bar werenât really pirates, but you grew up reading fairy tales, and you treated strangers accordingly.
âThatâs alright, isnât it, Luffy?â
He groaned and gave your arm one final jerk, but he let go once heâd made his point. âFine.â
Back through the door. Back to his pirates.
Makino settled a hand on your shoulder once he was out of earshot.
âGo get those ideas out so youâll feel better tomorrow, okay? Only half the crew came in tonight, and I have plenty of rum and sake for this shift.â
Guilt prickled under the fog. You scratched your scalp and tried to thank her with a moment of your full attention. âYeah. Sorry. Thanks. You sure youâre good?â
Makino laughed and bumped your shoulder as she moved deeper into the kitchen. âI ran this place for years before you came to stay. What do you think?â
It was good enough, and you knew youâd be no help anyway, so you meandered up the stairs to the small room you shared. Your tools waited on the windowsill, dappled sunlight moving over the paper.
You travelled through the afternoon, filling half a notebook with words as the bar thrummed beneath your feet.
The sunbeams ran warm hands from the crown of your head, down your shoulders, over your belly, to your toes, a slow, slow caress that took hours to complete. When it finished, the light had faded to a weak blue, and you jolted awake when the front door banged shut for the night.
The voices that had rumbled below carried out to the street, and you watched a handful of men stroll away with a chorus of goodbyes for Makino. You settled the pen between pages, closed the notebook on a sceneâs bones, and leaned forward for a better view.
Makinoâs home was very old, and the glass in the windows sported warps and waves from the days before modern glassmaking. It made all the details hazy. Usually, that suited your frame of mind. But it didnât help you spy any faces or sharp differences besides height, gait, and color.
They looked like an interesting troop through the windowâs imperfections, and you wondered how much was true. If they were really so tall and broad. If the one gesturing in the front really had hair so red, or if it was just a sunset illusion.
Like he could feel your eyes on him, the redhead turned, and although you couldnât make out his face, it definitely felt like it was angled up to yours.
He paused there.
You refused to be the first to look away.
Eventually, one of the other circus-glass figures said something to him, and the stranger broke the staring contest with a laugh. He spun on his heel and swaggered into the gathering dusk.
You set aside your notebook once he vanished. You looked down at your hands. Stretched your fingers. Curled them into fists. Dug into the dozens of little sensations that reminded you these were the hands that assembled your dreams. The real ones. The ones that filed taxes and handled the steering wheel on errands for Makino.
They were there.
They were yours.
The fog faded with the light, and while inspiration still clattered like loose seeds in the back of your head, it didnât choke you.
Youâd lanced the swelling and returned from abroad. So why did the stranger with the red hair feel more like an ember than a man?
why do you reblog fics that are obviously abandoned? i donât want to see a fic, start reading only to realize the author has not posted in more than a yearâŚâŚ.
Sometimes when an author sees that the fic has activity, it encourages them to continue it.
That's not why I reblog but sometimes it does happen.
There's been lots of talk on here about how there's so little interaction that it's demotivating to authors. Maybe if you read that fic and commented or reached out to the author in a pleasant way, they might come back to it. A little kindness goes a long way.
I had a comment on a fic I wrote 15 years asking to finish and when I figure out how I plan on doing so. Thank you for asking. Good fics can still be unfinished fics.
Iâve started updating fics this year that readers would rightly have assumed abandoned. One I hadnât written on since 2017. This year I completed a sequel to a fic I posted in 2016.
The reason Iâve done this is that I get comments still from people reading, re-reading, and discovering whatâs already there - itâs a real boost to your own interest and confidence in returning to a story.
The idea that fic writers exist in some kind of vacuum and that they ought to be writing âjust for themselvesâ is utter nonsense - if that were the case, these stories wouldnât be posted at all. Theyâre up there because people are invested in the characters and are keen to engage with other people who feel the same - but life gets in the way, and enthusiasm and creativity can wane.
Genuinely what can bring it back is knowing that someone out there enjoys it, and is keen to read more.
Unfinished fics are still worth reading. Many times, they're left in a good place, too, and just because the chapter count indicates it's not done doesn't mean there's not a satisfying conclusion in that last posted chapter.
And you never know--your comment, your reply, your reblog might be the one to inspire the author to posting another chapter. The question you ask about a character's choice or motivation or the theory you pose about what happens next might be what inspires the author to figure it out themselves!
No author wants to leave a fic unfinished. Those hang on us for the rest of our lives. (I have unfinished fics from the Fandom That Shall Not Be Named that still wear on me sometimes, and I have zero intention of going back there again.) There's usually a good reason why we haven't finished them... and most of the time, it's not necessarily lack of engagement, but lack of inspiration.
So comment. Ask questions. Pose theories. Pull out the lines that made you smile or laugh or cry or squeal. Who knows--you might jar that creativity loose, and get us writing again.
Having heard a bit about One Piece from people who are up to date with the anime and such, it really sounds to me that Shanks is like everyone's dead wife? The communal dead wife, look at him filmed in soft light laughing in bed and running along a beach and giving a kid a hat. He was married to everyone, even you, and now he's gone. Everyone's wife, who died tragically, captain Shanks.
A rule change pushed by White House officials would slash benefits or end support for as many as 400,000 Supplemental Security Income recipi
The Trump administration wants to make a rule change that would decrease or end benefits for SSI recipients who live with their family. As many as 400,000 disabled people may have their benefits cut if this rule change occurs.
It's worth noting as always that as things currently stand, the MAXIMUM benefit a person can receive from SSI is $994 a month.
If two people on SSI are married, the MAXIMUM they can receive is $1,491 a month, total, for both of them. (Meaning marriage to another SSI recipient reduces your maximum income possible to $745 a person each month.)
Could you live on that?
Could you live on that without living with family?
