#I was so tempted to specifically reference some really bad fics I read back in the day on FF.net
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don't let me tempt you / ch.1
pairing: angel!seokjin x angel!f.reader
⇢ au: Good Omens universe (none of the characters or the plot are mentioned so this fic can be read without knowing anything of Good Omens)
⇢ genre: forbidden romance, friends 2 lovers, comedy(?), fluff, eventual smut (not in this chapter)
⇢ summary: Seokjin is temporarily banished from Heaven and you're not all that good at paperwork.
⇢ chapter wc: 4.5k
⇢ rating: fic rating is explicit/18+ for eventual smut; chapter rating is 16 & up bc they're the equivalent of ken dolls rn, but minors please DNI anyway. This isn't for you.
⇢ chapter warnings: LOTS of religious imagery bc this is set in the Good Omens universe and there's gonna be a bunch of biblical references, but please remember that this isn't meant to be accurate. Author is an atheist. Author did next to no research on calendars that pre-date the Georgian one bc she is lazy and can't do maths. Swearing. If there's any tags you think I'm missing, please let me know - I'd hate to be the cause of any upset or discomfort <3
⇢ a/n: thank u to my beloveds @the-boy-meets-evil and @ugh-yoongi for reading this over and thinking my babies are cute. thank u to my angel @effortandmore for your encouragement! Ur all cute too. Ily
1106 BC
Time in 1106 BC follows some kind of construct that the author has not deemed necessary to research, but if the Georgian calendar (or indeed days of the week) had been invented, the day our story begins would be in mid April, on a Tuesday, around 3pm.
The weather in Heaven is, as you would expect, perfect. The company is not.
“Sorry to bring you in here like this,” you say, as the thirteenth angel of the day takes a seat on the other side of your desk.
There’s a spiel to this. Angels have a tendency to lean towards the dramatic, so you’ve learned the ways of ‘softening the blow’, as the humans call it. Doling out God’s punishments wasn’t your preferred assignment, but it’s the role that was dropped in your lap after you quit the last - and you’re not in a position to refuse Her again. Here goes another.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news but-”
“Let me guess,” the other angel interjects. “She’s demoting me?”
This is unusual. The angels know God’s wrath, but they’re usually surprised to find out when said wrath is directed toward them specifically. Not this one, he’s sitting there, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently, waiting for you to rip off the bandaid.
“Uhh. A temporary banishment actually.”
He stares at you. “It was only a little miracle.”
“Three very large miracles, I’ll have you know. We’re not supposed to be bringing people back from the dead anymore.”
“Since when?” he asks, rather like a petulant human toddler.
You frown. “Since protocol changed - didn’t you read the memo?” The angel shakes his head. “God’s decided to save those types of miracles for someone really special in-” You pause to check your watch “- a thousand years, give or take a century.”
“Special how?” The angel asks, sitting up a little straighter.
“You know we’re not told details of The Great Plan.” You flip the file shut. “Well, it seems like you know the issue at hand, and there’s little else to discuss-”
There’s a look of unease creeping over his assigned face that gives you pause. His fingertips drum on his knee. Too human for a heavenly body. “Are you alright?”
“She’s not- they’re not going to cut-”
“Oh! Goodness no,” you’re quick to reassure. “Oh no, you’d have to do something really awful for that, like, question her authority like Lucifer did.” His laugh comes out like a bark, and you’re confused because it wasn’t a joke. “No, but I am terribly sorry to say that you’re being sentenced to four-hundred years on Earth.”
He blinks twice. “Excuse me?”
“Four-hundred years - horrid, I know. But God does say the punishment must fit the deed-”
You’re interrupted again, this time by the kind of laughter that starts as disbelief and quickly has his shoulders shaking and tears rolling down his cheeks. Most unusual.
“You’re telling me I get to spend near half a century on Earth?”
“What do you mean ‘get to’?” The thought of even spending ten years in such a place sends shivers right through your wings. “You won’t be able to return to heaven at all during that time. No correspondence with anyone, unless of course we contact you first.” He’s positively glowing and you can’t understand it. “You’ll have to live amongst humans-”
He’s standing now, moving to the screen and zooming in on earth. “Can I pick where?”
You move to stand next to him. He’s zoomed in so far, you can’t quite tell where it’s supposed to be. In truth, you spend very little time looking over God’s preferred planet, choosing instead to focus on the vastness of the universe in all its glory. You prefer the stars and the galaxies and all of their colours.
“May I?”
“Sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Can I choose where to live? Will I have a role?”
There’s nothing like this in the training manual. No one ever has these questions. They’re too busy crying, wailing for another chance to stay in heaven, let alone look excited as this one does.
“I suppose you could,” you say slowly. “And no - there’s no role.” You wait for the penny to drop, but he doesn’t seem to get it. “Pointlessness is the point of this sentence.”
Wonder breaks out in his expression, and he turns back to the screen and zooms in on a peninsular you’ve never noticed before. “Can you drop me here?”
“Where’s here?”
“Gojoseon.”
“Why?”
“Good people.” His smile spreads wide. “Good food.”
You gasp. “You’ve consumed their provisions? You’ve eaten?”
He looks at you in shock. “You haven’t?”
Of course you flaming haven’t! Even if you could stomach it - how in heaven would you get the opportunity to dine on Earth, what with all the work piling up in your pigeonhole and the lack of angels rights to paid time off, not to mention a union?
Your expression must say it all because he laughs again and says, “Well then visit me sometime, I’ll cook for you.”
“You’re very peculiar.”
“Yes,” he says with a shrug. “I get that a lot.”
You move back over to the desk to complete the rest of the paperwork while he stands there, still looking at the map with a satisfied smile.
After a few moments, he says, “I’ll need a name if I’m to live with humans.”
You find his given name at the top of the page. Soterasiel.
“What’s wrong with the one you’ve got?”
He shrugs again. “Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue for everyone.”
“I hear John is rather popular these days,” you muse, still checking boxes. “And Abraham. Or what about Jos-”
“Seokjin.”
“Bless you.”
“No, I mean- Seokjin.” He moves to sit back down. You don’t quite like it, the way he walks, like he’s got a bravado he hasn’t done anything to earn - rather the opposite in fact, given his grievous error in judgement. “That’s my new name.”
“Oh-” You glance up at him. “It suits you.”
Seokjin beams. He’s quiet for the next few moments, but you can sense his eagerness as he watches your fingertip move down the page. When all the documents are signed, you show him over to the chute, and he peers into it.
“This is the one-way?”
You nod. “We’ll send someone to relieve you once your sentence is up.”
He steps inside without hesitation, and it’s almost too late. You've been itching with curiosity since you opened his file, so you blurt out exactly what you’re not supposed to ask.
“Why did you do it?”
Seokjin tilts his head, confused.
“Why did you bring those humans back from the dead?” you clarify.
His eyes soften. “They’re my favourites.”
There’s a pregnant pause as you regard him. You don’t understand. Favourites? Angels aren’t supposed to have favourites. Angels aren’t supposed to be anything like him. Maybe you haven’t met enough to speak on the matter.
“Come visit me, won’t you? I get the impression you’ll like it down there.”
And before you can scoff at the very idea of visiting a banished (albeit temporarily) angel on earth, the chute opens up below him and he’s gone.
It’s difficult to get back to work after all that. All day there are punishments to give out in God’s name, but thankfully they’re nothing as extreme as that one. You get through a few sanctions, several warnings filed, and a strongly worded letter to the Department of Animals to remind them to stop creating wasps (apparently earth has enough) and then (at what would usually be known as 6pm), like clockwork, Turiel enters your office.
He’s another one you can’t get a read on, but in an entirely different way. He came up the ranks quickly, and became your boss without the necessary qualifications within a single century. He’s kind of course, but he’s a Watcher, so naturally he watches everything. Being watched makes you uncomfortable.
“How is everything?”
“Wonderful, thank you.”
“What happened with the banishment this morning?”
“With Seok- Soterasiel? He took it rather well.” Turiel stares at you, and you clear your throat to fill the awkward quiet. “Seemed quite happy about it, actually.”
Turiel frowns. “That’s odd.”
“Yes, quite.”
“We should watch that one,” he says, already making his way out. “Oh- you remembered to strip his miracles, correct?”
Strip his- why in heaven would you do that? It seems horribly cruel enough just to leave them there, let alone take their ability to do anything worthwhile.
“Sorry?”
Turiel stops on the spot and turns, frown deepening further. “Tell me you saw the memo from Metatron? We’re to strip any and all banishments of their miracles going forward. Too many mishaps and too many angel turned demon that still have their powers.”
If you had any blood in your face it would surely drain. No, you haven’t seen any blasted memo. The pigeonhole is stuffed to burst and it’s something you’ve been meaning to work through, you truly have, but there’s so little time in the day and- and- heavens, he’s still staring at you. Tell him the truth. Tell him you didn’t take Seokjin’s miracles. They’d overlook one error, especially as it’s the first offence. Surely?
“No need to worry,” you hear yourself say, voice unnaturally high. “Of course I did.”
Turiel blinks, smiles with relief, and shuts the door behind him as he leaves.
For the first time in your existence, you’re tempted to curse.
879 BC
6:43pm. Patchy rain showers through til 8.
Seokjin’s home looks like nothing. A shack at best. It’s hardly worthy of the name home but you still need his sodding permission to cross the threshold, so you knock and wait, huddling as close to the door as possible to keep dry. As the rain pelts your back you bitterly wonder why angels have to wait at the threshold for permission to enter. It’s utterly beyond you, surely such a restraint could be reserved for those who are up to no good?
(You pointedly ignore the little voice saying that you are actually up to no good.)
“Oh my God,” Seokjin says when he opens the door (if it weren’t for the threshold force you’d keel over) and your nose wrinkles automatically at the blasphemy. “It’s you.”
“May I come in?” you say, too busy watching for Watchers in your peripherals to take in the sight of the angel in front of you. It would be terrible to be caught now, after the web of lies you weaved in order to get an hour off work.
“Why?” he asks, suspicion lacing his voice. “You’re not bringing me back early are you?”
“Oh heavens no,” you say, starting to feel a little desperate, pushing the wet hair from your eyes. “I forgot something in your documents, a quick signature and I’ll be off in a jiffy.”
“You forgot something?”
“Yes-”
“And you decided two hundred and twenty-seven years later was the right time to fix that?”
“Time slips away when you’re working!”
Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Your lot really need to unionise.”
“Shh!” you hiss. “Let me in, please?”
“Alright, alright,” he says, stepping aside. “Come on in. Take your shoes off at the door.”
“I don’t have shoes,” you say as you push past him. A little miracle as soon as you’re out of the rain has you dry and warm again. What a pity, you think, that Seokjin will have to live without these little perks for the rest of his banishment. The sympathy you feel for him catches you unawares. “What are shoes?”
Seokjin smiles. “Thought you were a watcher?”
Part Cherubim part Virtue actually, but you won’t be telling Seokjin that. That’s between you and God. You bustle past him inside the shack and you can finally relax. All protocols are being broken right now, but with the teeny tiny miracle that you performed earlier, only you and Seokjin will know about this clandestine meeting.
Seokjin’s home is much nicer on the inside. Rather homely. And clean. And it smells good. What is that smell?
“I just made some tea, would you like a cup?”
Drinking? Apparently you can’t hide your expression because Seokjin's responding smile is mirthful. “Haven’t changed much, have you?”
“I suppose not, no.”
There’s no time to dilly dally like this. If you’re not back in the office soon, there’ll be questions you won’t know how to answer without twisting the truth. An angel can’t be going around telling lies. It’s uncouth.
Seokjin busies himself at the table while you unroll the documents. The scroll is horribly long, but eventually you find the line you missed all those years ago. You cough to get his attention, and he looks up and takes the scroll from your outstretched hand.
But then he starts to read. Oh goodness gracious. You hadn’t expected that. He seemed the sort that wouldn’t get hung up on the details, that would trust an angel (one like yourself in particular) implicitly. It’s offensive, actually, that he doesn’t trust that you’re not trying to pull the wool over his eyes, even though that might be exactly what you were trying to do. Are you not trustworthy? Are you not angelic?
Seokjin frowns. Uh oh.
“You’re taking my miracles?”
“Uh-”
“Why?”
“Well- uh. It’s protocol, you see.”
Seokjin stares. The silence is palpable.
“You fucked up.”
You gasp. “Don’t curse!”
“You did!” he says, eyes wild. “You fucked up when you sent me down here!”
There’s heat creeping up your neck.
“It really doesn’t need to be such a big to-do,” you splutter. “Just sign the form, and I’ll be on my way and then you’ll be back in Heaven in no time at all!”
“But I won’t have my miracles?”
“You’ll get them back on your return!”
“What if I need them?”
“You won’t.”
“I’ve needed them a lot, actually,” Seokjin insists. “You’ve no idea how many sticky situations I’ve been in thanks to all the creatures our Heavenly Mother made!”
“Oh!” you exclaim. “Have you seen a tiger yet? Those are my favourite.”
Seokjin looks like he might slap you.
The door opens.
“Seokjinie-hyung! We’re back!”
We? Who’s we?
We are three men, one short, one tall, and one somewhere in the middle.
The room is very suddenly too small and too quiet as all of you stare at each other.
The small one’s eyes, wide and curious, dart between you and Seokjin.
“Who’s this, Seokjin hyung?”
“Uh-” you say.
“Uhh-” says Seokjin.
You can’t think of a human name. Not a single, blasted one comes to mind. Of course, humans know angels exist, but you can’t go around telling everyone who you are when you’re not exactly here on official business. Their mouths blabber too much. Word on Earth gets around faster than in Heaven.
“This is-”
“Oh my God-” the somewhere-in-the-middle one exclaims, while you grimace. “You’re that angel hyung told us about!”
You turn to glare at Seokjin, who is all of sudden very interested in the wood grain on the table. His ears are strawberry red. Strawberries were one of your ideas, you’d know that colour anywhere.
“You told them?” you say, incredulously. “What were you thinking?”
Seokjin sighs. “They’re not going to say anything.”
“Yeah!” the small one says. “Don’t worry, we’ve kept Seokijn hyung’s secret for two cent-”
He’s cut off by a loud cough from the tall one, but you’re not stupid. Humans aren’t supposed to be alive that long anymore, not since The Great Flood when God finally got sick of Noah and his bothersome family - that was one of the few memos you read.
“Seokjin-” you say slowly. He’s pointedly looking everywhere else but your face. “Are these the same humans you told me about during our first meeting?”
The small one grins. “Oh hyung, I knew you loved us more than you let on.”
Two centuries they’ve been alive - at least. Oh Goodness. You need to report it, but how could you without telling them you didn’t do your job properly.
“You don’t need to say anything to Heaven,” Seokjin says. “What they don’t know doesn’t hurt them.”
“The protocol-” you start, but you’re cut off by a groan.
“Fuck the protocol! Don’t you want to think for yourself for once? Didn’t She give us free will for a reason?”
“She gave them free will, not us!” you reason. “We’re to do as we’re told!”
“Why? What for?”
“The Great Plan!”
“The Great Plan-” he parrots in the most condescending tone. “-is supposed to be ineffable. If we knew what was in it, we wouldn’t have a choice. If I didn’t have free will, I wouldn’t have been able to turn them into vampires.”
You frown, confused. Vampires weren’t in the handbook, but then you never could keep up. “What’s a vampire?”
Seokjin swallows thickly. “Uh. Nevermind that. The point is, if this wasn’t in The Great Plan, if it wasn’t written, would I have even been able to do it?”
The thought gives you pause. He’s got a point, actually. The Archangels talk often of fate and destiny and what She wrote. No one knows the plan, of course, and it can change at Her will, but the whole point of this charade is that you’re all to trust in God’s Plan, regardless of what happens.
There’s a long moment of silence. The three men- or rather, vampires- are still just standing there watching the two of you argue.
The small one finally breaks the tension and introduces himself. “I’m Jimin,” he says.
You nod, and give your name. He repeats it, butchering the pronunciation, but of course you expected that. Humans have never quite managed to get their tongue around it. You muse for a moment if you should give yourself a more human name, like Seokjin, but your thoughts are interrupted by the large one.
“I’m Namjoon,” he says, and points to the last one, who gives a tentative wave. “This is Taehyung.”
You nod again, and start to feel a little ridiculous.
Okay, so the plan needs to be adjusted. You can’t take away Seokjin’s miracles without getting him to undo whatever he did to the human-vampires.
“How long have you all been alive?”
Namjoon glances at Seokjin, who nods. “Around three hundred years.”
“Okay,” you say. “And do you plan on dying any time soon?”
The three of them stare at you. “It’s not something we’d considered, no,” whispers Jimin.
“Right,” you say, and then turn to Seokjin. “You need to fix this, make them human again. I’ve got to go, they’ll be looking for me, but I’ll be back soon to check in on you so you’d better have done it by then.”
Seokjin’s Adam's apple bobs in his throat. It’s… somewhat pleasant to look at.
“Pleasure to meet you everyone,” you say tightly to Seokjin’s friends. “Enjoy the rest of your lives.”
You catch their confused expressions shift into something horrified before you appear back at your desk in Heaven. It leaves you befuddled. That was a perfectly pleasant first interaction with humans that are aware of your celestial-ness - you’re not quite sure what they could be so bothered about.
827 BC
Early Autumn. 8:12am. Current Earthly conditions: foggy
It’s another fifty years or so before you can catch a break long enough to get back down to Earth. The shack has improved drastically - quite the pleasant looking home in fact. There’s flower boxes on the windowsills that are covered in a light morning dew, but the plants seem hardy. Purples and yellows. Dainty looking little things. You wonder what they might be.
The door opens as you bend to smell them, and you look up to find the angel wrapped up in the largest item of clothing you’ve ever seen for something that just seems to be used for a neck. It’s ever so bright. Mismatched colours and patterns that don’t seem to line up. One end of it drags along the floor. Seokjin doesn’t appear too pleased to see you.
“What are you wearing?” you ask, amused.
“Taehyung made me a scarf.”
“It’s very big.”
Seokjin glares.
“Did you really come to ruin my life so early in the morning?”
You roll your eyes. “You’re immortal. I hardly doubt this little blip will destroy you. More like God would if you don’t pull it together.”
“I could say the same about you.”
He’s got you there. But as you hold his gaze something in the air shifts, and he reluctantly lets you in. This time you take his offer of a cup of tea. You take a tentative sip, and it warms your belly in such an unexpected way. The weight of the cup is heavy in your hand, and the warmth of it seeps into your palm. It’s rather nice.
You sit at the same table he had fifty-something years ago. There’s a few more marks in the woodwork by now.
“Shall we get it over with then?” he says. “Where do I need to sign?”
You stop his hastiness with a gentle touch to his arm. He stares at your hand.
“Did you get everything in order first?” you ask.
Seokjin coughs. “Yes, of course.”
His ears are strawberry red again. The colour really is pretty, you’re glad you chose it. You’re glad you see it in other things, even if they are the tips of this angel’s ears.
“They’re dead?”
“Not yet,” he says, lips twisting bitterly around the words. “They’re living out the rest of their lives. You might get a chance to see them, if you stay awhile. They said they’d be popping by later.”
“Oh,” you say, surprised. “Well, I suppose that’s something. You know, I am really sorry about that. I thought about it after my last visit, and I think I understand now why you’d want to keep your friends around for longer.”
“Feeling lonely up there?” he asks, voice gentler than usual.
“No!” You snort with (only slightly put on) derision. “Of course not. Too busy for such a thing as loneliness.”
He chuckles. “Maybe I wasn’t busy enough then.”
You ignore what feels like a thimbleful of sadness dropping into your stomach.
Seokjin does most of the talking while you drink your tea. He talks about what he does down here - cooking mostly, but also a little pottery. He’s been training under a man called Yoongi. Says he made the cups you’re holding, and you inspect them. They’re quite ugly, thick and uneven- and you’re about to say as such, but Seokjin looks proud, so you smile and tell him he did very well, and that you like the colour of the clay. You wish you could bottle the way he beams.
All too soon the tea is finished, and Seokjin signs the document. It’s done. His eyes still shine, if a little less bright now.
“What now?” he asks.
You suck in a breath. “Your miracles are in trust until your return to Heaven. Until then you can live as a human. More or less.”
His eyes snap up. “I’m still immortal, right?”
“Oh of course,” you say with a laugh. “You think they’d go through all this trouble just to risk you being eaten by a giraffe?”
“Do you know anything about Earth?” Seokjin says it like you’re an idiot. “At all?”
You’re tempted to roll your eyes. “I know plenty-”
“Name one thing,” he interrupts, crossing his arms and looking at you with an almost amused expression.
You draw your shoulders back. You’ll give him three. “It weighs five point nine-seven septillion kilograms.”
Seokjin blinks three times fast. You must’ve caught him off guard with your knowledge. Good.
“It’s made up of thirty-two point one percent iron, fifteen point one percent silic-”
“Alright,” Seokjin says, lips twisting into a small smile. “I get it. You don’t need to prove yourself.”
You grin, ever so pleased with yourself, and Seokjin laughs.
“You’re cute.”
“What?”
“Cute,” he repeats. “It’s a compliment.”
“Oh,” you say, wondering why reciting facts from the Earth’s handbook would warrant a compliment on your character. “Okay…” You look down at your mug and see it’s empty and you’re struck with a surprising pang of disappointment. The tea was really rather good, it’s something of a pity as you realise you won’t be able to make it the same back in Heaven.
“Well, I’d better get going. Paperwork to do. Miracles to take.”
“Of course,” says Seokjin, and stands to see you off. “If you visit again will you let me know in advance?”
“Why?”
“I’ll make dinner.”
You smile without thinking. “I don’t eat, Seokjin.”
“You know,” he says, in a very matter of fact tone. “Despite the fact that every time we meet you’re taking away something of mine, I’m growing quite fond of our meetings.”
You blink.
His eyes are so big and gentle and- “Let me know- okay?” he says with earnest.
“Okay,” you promise, already wondering when you could possibly get away long enough to watch Seokjin eat dinner.
“Would you like to take some flowers with you?” he asks suddenly. “I saw you smelling them.”
“Oh! Ye-” you start, and then you think better of it. So you plaster on a smile and say “No, that’s quite alright, I can whip some of my own up in no time at all.”
Seokjin nods. He looks like he’s going to say something else, but time is getting on and you’re not used to these odd goodbye rituals the humans (and this angel in particular) seem so fond of, so with a flash of a smile you’re back in Heaven. Seokjin and his lovely brown eyes remain on Earth.
Your office looks so bland in comparison to Seokjin's home.
It takes a second to notice that the cup he gave you is still in your hand, remnants of the sweet tea drying on the bottom. You briefly consider going back down, just to hand it over and say goodbye properly, but in walks Turiel to squash any ideas you have about leaving your post again.
“Great, you’re finally back,” he says, dumping a stack of files on your desk. “We’re swamped.”
“What happened?” you exclaim. You’re barely able to see him over the pile.
“Some bright spark in Organisms made a new virus. Let it loose in Greece without proper authorisation, killed half of them,” he says with a frustrated sigh. “The higher ups are fretting because one of the dead ones was supposed to be a prophet.”
Oh dear.
Turiel leaves without display. No time for pleasantries like offerings of tea and flowers up here. You sigh, dejected.
Being around Seokjin makes you wistful for things you didn’t know you wanted. You set the mug on your desk, turning it to and fro so you get a view of the prettier side- and with the smallest of miracles, there grows delicate flowers, in purple and yellow.
#bts fic#bts fanfction#seokjin x you#seokjin fanfic#seokjin x reader#bts fanfic#bts seokjin#seokjin fluff#jin x you#jin x reader#thank u for reading#fic: don't let me tempt you#ksj x reader#ksj fic#ksj fluff#bee writes
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I don't know if this could be taken the wrong way, so let me just say that I'm approaching this with the utmost respect and admiration for you work: would you ever consider writing a "how to" kind of tutorial for how to structure a smut fic? I love your fics and would love to get a sense of your process, since mine apparently does not work for me anymore.
Okay, phew, this took me far longer to get to than I’d hoped, my apologies, nonny! I’ve never considered writing a “how to” before, since I don’t really see myself as an expert or a teacher, and everyone’s process is very personal and subjective. But I hope this sort of slap-dash tutorial will help you in your writing endeavors!
Warning: NSFW and “crude” language ahead, since I’ll be damned if I’m bothering to use a bunch of euphemisms while I’m literally talking about writing sex scenes.
So You Wanna Earn that “E” Rating: One Kinky Idiot’s Guide to Writing Smut
(Shut up, I’m hilarious.)
First Steps: Before You Write
Okay, so, I say this pretty much anyone asks me for writing advice about something, no matter what the topic might be: start with research.
Shocking as this might be, I have not had sex with a vampire, a dragon, or a werewolf (yet, hit me up, I’m single). This is pretty easy for the reader to assume, since most of us have not met a vampire or any other supernatural creature (alas). But a lot of the other sex stuff I write about I haven’t done, either, and same with a lot of other writers. For example, I have never given a blowjob to an uncircumcised man. Garcia Flynn is from Europe, where it’s a lot more common for Gentiles (non-Jews) to be uncircumcised, so it made sense for him to still have a foreskin (compared to Wyatt Logan, being American where most men regardless of religion are circumcised). So when writing sex scenes, especially blowjob scenes, I had to know what the fuck to do with the foreskin.
RESEARCH!!!!
Research can also be kind of helpful in the erotic sense. Most articles such as “how to use a vibrating dildo” can be very straightforward and clinical, but the detail of their descriptions can help you to start picturing the sex scene you want to write.
So before anything else: if you don’t have the hands-on experience, RESEARCH RESEARCH RESEARCH. This includes reading other smut fics that have whatever it is you want to write about! I read a lot of gay smut before I wrote two men getting it on, seeing as I am not a man (I am as swift as a coursing river and have the strength of a raging fire but, alas, do not possess the force of a great typhoon and I am the farthest thing from mysterious as the dark side of the moon).
Another thing some fellow smut writers have found helpful is watching porn. They’re much more visual than I am, and so seeing things acted out, even if they’re acted in a cheesy way, can help them to get creative juices flowing and visualize what they want their characters to do. I do not like porn, since I am a fucking snob and criticize the lighting, the script, and the camera angles the entire time.
Yes, I’m a great time at parties, thanks for asking.
Also? Masturbation. YES I’M SERIOUS. Think long and hard (ha) about what turns you on when you’re touching yourself. I don’t just mean that fantasy about the pirate captain, I mean literally, what parts of yourself does it feel good to touch? Do you like to tease and take your time, or get right to it and be a little rough? Do you prefer big dildos that fill you up or a small vibrator that concentrates on your clit?
What you like and how you want to be touched is a great way to start.
Part Two: How to Get Your Blank Word Doc To Stop Mocking You
I usually start my smut scenes one of two ways. The first way is generally for my oneshots: WHAT KINK ARE WE GOING TO GET EVERYONE INTO TODAY??? LET’S SPIN THE WHEEL!!! *game show theme music*
The second way is more for my multichapter fics, which is: what is the purpose of the sex scene? Why are these characters having sex?
Everyone has times where they have sex just ‘cause they wanna have it. That’s what PWPs are for. “I’m horny and I want to read someone getting two cocks in their vagina/being tied up and made to orgasm five times/fucked against a wall.” Great! Excellent. Wonderful. For those cases I ask myself, “well, if I were in Character A’s shoes, what would I find hot?” I consider the person’s personality, and then roleplay in my head what would feel good to me to do. Then I swap and do the same thing through Character B’s shoes.
For example, I am very submissive in bed. I want my partner to tell me what to do (not all the time but when we’re getting kinky). I do not want to be the one giving orders. Lucy Preston, however, is dominant in bed. She wants to be in control. So when I write sex scenes I can’t just say, as Lucy the woman, “oh I want him to hold me down and fuck me,” because that doesn’t fit her characterization (at least, not the characterization I see for her). That’s important to consider, always.
CHARACTERIZATION IS KEY!!!! I can’t tell you how many damn good fics I was into until I got to a part where a character was acting OOC and it took me completely out of the story. Most recently, I was reading this hilarious and sexy smut oneshot that I was absolutely in love with–until I got to the end, and Character B, who is known for being very taciturn and not good with words, started spouting off all this really earnest and romantic stuff.
Look, there are ways that a taciturn person, who isn’t good with words, can be earnest. Having them say cliche romantic stuff is not it. I was completely taken out of the story and that saddened me because I loved it up until that part.
***Interlude***
A good example of this is pet names! Pet names that characters call each other really showcase their personality. For example, I have Flynn call Lucy moja draga and moja ljubav which are Croatian for, respectively, “my darling” and “my love.” But he calls Wyatt moj tigriću which is Croatian for “my tiger,” because it just doesn’t fit the snarky, chaotic, initially-adversarial Wyatt/Flynn relationship for them to call one another “my love” or “my darling.” Wyatt calls Flynn “babe” in a way that started out sarcastic and became a habit before he could stop it.
I could go on (the trio has a lot of pet names for each other) but my point is, the pet names fit their personalities and their dynamics. Gotta do the same for your sex scenes! People don’t just become porn stars when they have sex, they’re still themselves!
***Interlude Outro***
Okay, so that’s PWP But what if it’s in a longer fic? What if this is the sex the characters have been building towards for 50k, 100k, 200 FUCKING THOUSAND WORDS WHAT THE FUCK–
*ahem*
Anyway, if you do that, then of course it’s not just about “hey I’m horny and have a thing for being spanked.” There have to be reasons why. Consider the circumstances. Is it a release of tension? Did they just have an argument and they’re running high on adrenaline? Did one of them just suffer a loss and they want physical intimacy to feel comforted? Why are they having sex now, instead of at another time, and once you figure that out, that’ll set the tone for the whole thing.
This was something I really struggled with in The Thing With Shadows Is (They Come From Light, From Somewhere). The setup for that fic is that Lucy was a dominatrix at a BDSM club, and needs to become one again to go undercover and get personal information on Rittenhouse members. To maintain her cover, only one person will be in contact with her, by posing as a client and doing BDSM scenes with her. The person chosen is Flynn.
This was a bit of a shameless excuse to have Flynn and Lucy fucking every chapter, but having characters doing sexy stuff to each other every chapter can get boring quickly. So every chapter I was thinking, why are they doing this. Why are they being sexually intimate? What are their emotional states? What do they want, and what are they not saying to each other? What is coming out through the sex because they’re refusing to use their words?
The why will immediately dictate what sex stuff actually happens in your scene. If a character is, say, grieving the death of a loved one and wants intense physical comfort, they’re probably going to want to be on the bottom (missionary position) so that the weight of the other person on top of them grounds them. Or, perhaps they would like to be on top, so that the other person can wrap their arms around them, and they feel held and cared for. Perhaps they want to do it with the other person behind them, kneeling, arms around them, so that they feel held but they don’t look at the other person’s face, because they can’t handle that kind of intimacy right now with all the emotions they’re struggling with.
But on the contrary–maybe they want to be fucked hard and rough, taken out of their heads, made to not think about anything at all! All of these are viable choices based on the character, and it’s up to you!
Comparing it to yourself can really help. How would you want to have sex in that given situation?
Is the sex tender? Is it explosive? Is it frantic and on the floor of the foyer with their clothes mostly on because they can’t get enough of each other and they’ve waited too damn long already? Or is it done slow and soft in a bed, fully naked, their hands interlocked, staring into each other’s eyes? What the characters are feeling and why they’re having this sex now, here, will help with that.
Figure all that out, then projectile vomit it onto the page.
Part Three: Revision, or, Taking Your Darlings Out Back and Shooting Them
Once I finish vomiting unleash my first draft, then that’s where the research comes in. I read the scene over again and go, okay, well, this and this and this are very hot, but this position here isn’t physically possible. Or I can add in bits of realism like, okay, here’s a part where I can describe the safeword, or how she tied the knots, or what the vibrator looked like.
Your first draft is where you just vomit up whatever you find sexy. Because if you keep stopping along the way to interject realism or to double-check everything, you’ll never get finished. Save that for the second draft.
And by the way–I’m using the word ‘vomit’ for a very important reason. The goal of your first draft is for it simply to exist. So often we want perfection immediately, and that’s not gonna happen. If you aim for perfection, your story will never be finished. It doesn’t matter how crappy your first draft is. What matters is that it exists.
So. Revision time. Now, fanfiction can be, say it with me folks, ESCAPISM.
LOUDER FOR THE PURITANS IN THE BACK!!!
FANFICTION CAN BE ESCAPISM!!!!!!!
So sometimes that means your sex is a little too good to be true, sometimes the BDSM practices are a little unrealistic (who the fuck is going to survive ten orgasms without a break, the closest I got was five and I got a fuckin’ UTI out of the deal), and so on. But! Don’t break the rules until you know what the rules are! Learn the rules! Do your research! Then you can break them without breaking your readers’ sense of realism.
For example, I have read fics where the person was tied up and had an unreasonable amount of vibrator orgasms, and yeah, probably in real life, there should’ve been a pee break in there somewhere, they should’ve stretched their limbs, taken a breather. But it was a damn good fic to fantasize.
On the other hand, I was rudely jolted out of a fic I read once when the dom fit his FIST inside the sub’s MOUTH.
I tried it, guys. My hand is not that big. It did not work. I was literally reading the fic screeching YOU’VE DISLOCATED HIS JAW, HIS JAW IS NOW DISLOCATED, OH MY FUCKING GOD.
So yeah. Do your research so that you know how to break reality in fun ways that enhance the sexiness, not in weird random ways that take your readers out of the story.
Going back in and looking at your sex fantasy (because that’s what your first draft was, a sex fantasy) through the lens of your research and your critical eye ensures that you can add in details that make it more realistic, and sexier.
When you’re three fingers deep (or jacking off, I don’t know, whatever your genitalia is) and you’re picturing your favorite actor fucking you, you’re not thinking about the details.
Unless you’re me in which case you halt halfway through because no no we should’ve taken our shirts off in the hallway and then she could pick me up–rewind, let’s take it one more time from the top…
And that’s good! You’re flooded with endorphins, you’re chasing an orgasm, who the fuck cares about logistics! But it’s an experience that’s just for you, in your head. When you’re writing a story, you’re giving that experience to someone else, so you have to provide them with as many details as you can so that they can experience that fantasy, too.
Of course, all rules are meant to be broken. There are times when a lack of detail is good, and fits the mood. My smut scene at the end of Love You Like a Killer (I Want To Make Your Heart Stop) was very mood-oriented, very emotional, very much about release and the connection between these characters. I had them make love during a goddamn thunderstorm of all things. So I didn’t go into huge detail about whose throbbing cock was where and so on. Because going into too much detail would’ve ruined the dreamy, emotional, romantic-music-swelling mood I was going for.
But yes, revisions, add in all those lovely realistic details about logistics (I have drawn stick figures in the past to figure out sex positions, do what you must) and things I learned from my research, and ta-da!
Part Four: Random Information I Find Helpful
Variety is the spice of sex. Be careful not to overuse words. This is something you tackle after you revise, when you’re on the more nit-picky stage. If you find yourself using the word “yet” a lot, or you’ve drawn attention to someone’s “massive” cock three times in the last paragraph or said that she spoke “breathlessly” a dozen times… grab the thesaurus.
Fanfiction is often escapism, that means it’s okay to sometimes leave out mundane details like “hey are you on birth control,” using a condom, peeing right after sex, tying your hair back so it’s not in your mouth while you eat them out/blow them, etc. You can use those details! But don’t feel shackled by them if you feel they take the reader out of the moment. Use your discretion.
Cock and dick are the words to use. Prick is okay but it depends on your audience–it’s a very British/UK term, but as an American it’s kind of a weird word to me (it always makes me picture his dick as like three inches long). Use your discretion. “Shaft” works if you’re stroking it or blowing it (i.e. she swallowed around his shaft) and don’t overuse the word. Personally I find “cock” is more erotic than “dick” so I tend to use dick for non-sexy moments and cock for when I’m trying to turn on the reader, but again, that’s personal preference.
For the love of God just call it her entrance, her pussy, her cunt. None of these ridiculous euphemisms. “Her lower lips”? What the fuck. Be careful not to overuse pussy/cunt though because those are unfortunately also used as insults so if you use it too much, readers can find it too crude. Find a balance. Yes it sucks. (Or y’know generally avoid using any term altogether which is what I do yes I’m aware I have a hangup stop looking at me like that.)
Common sense should always prevail. Know your biology. A 40 year old man is not going to get it up again five minutes after coming. A 20 year old man is going to have shit stamina. Characters should not be having athletic sex after they’ve been stabbed. Nobody can deep throat a cock without choking on their first time. And so on.
Don’t bite off more than you can chew. If you don’t know how to describe the knots you’re using to tie your character up, then don’t describe it! Just say Character A tied them up! A good rule of thumb is if you don’t know how to describe something logistically, focus instead on how the character feels while it’s happening. Are they exhilarated by being tied up? Nervous? Describe that instead.
It’s okay to write something you haven’t done. I was writing smut (well praised and enjoyed smut) long before I ever had sex (on a similar note, hey, it’s okay if you don’t have sex until your mid-twenties or even later, you do not have a “sell by” date, okay?). Don’t be afraid to ask questions of people you trust, if you want first-hand information.
Take. Your. Time. Don’t rush it! Savor it. Enjoy it. Really dive into it. Nobody likes rushed sex in real life and nobody likes rushed smut.
And last but not least, have fun! This should be fun, titillating, this is your fantasy about these two characters. Enjoy it. Maybe your kinks aren’t someone else’s kinks, but your goal isn’t to please everyone (that’s impossible) or even to write what you think will be the most popular. It’s to write what you want, and what you find sexy. So experiment! Enjoy!
We all have moments of writer’s block. But the more you do it, the easier it gets. I hope this was all helpful, dear nonny, and I hope that you’ve having a wonderful day and that you get your smut writing mojo back!
yes that was an Austin Powers reference I’m sorry I couldn’t resist please forgive me
#mads answers things#smut#fanfiction#fanfiction writing#writing#writing advice#smut writing#what the fuck else should I tag this#I was so tempted to specifically reference some really bad fics I read back in the day on FF.net#but I resisted#because I am (sometimes) capable of being mature#I had way too much fun with this
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Sulky💭
Yoongi has a weekend at home for the first time in awhile.
There are three things on the agenda
1. Food
2. Sex
3. Informing Yoongi that he looks like a video game character
Pairing: Yoongi x Reader
Genre: FLUFF, references to animal crossing, smut (18+ only plz), established/new relationship au
Word Count: 4.2k
Warnings: smut, language and, an overwhelming amount of fluff
A/N: well hello there beautiful reader! I hope you enjoy this little piece of mine. It’s kind of silly but, honestly ever since I started playing animal crossing; I cannot get this comparison out of my mind. If you haven't played the game, you can still read though! The main point of the fic is Yoongi and the reader’s relationship.
Yoongi hasn’t had a night off with you in weeks.
And he doesn’t want you to know how much he’s looking forward to it.
He has a particular way he wants these kinds of nights to go but, they never really follow the pattern he expects.
Tonight, it starts with a small glass of whiskey.
Yoongi drinks the old stuff cause he’s secretly a 300 year old hipster who can’t be bothered with cheap liquor.
Instead, he grabs a lowball glass and pours himself a drink as he plops onto the couch and, slowly sips until the amber liquid has disappeared down his throat.
It’s kind of hard not to notice the way his lips curl around the glass, the way his tongue collects any misplaced whiskey, the way he seems to savor the taste...
He leans back against the sofa, legs spread carelessly across the cushions and, although you usually find manspreading unattractive, there’s something about the way Yoongi does it that makes it so hot.
The chatter is minimal on days like this because you both appreciate comfortable silence.
The low hum of the television is enough to fill the room and, although Yoongi doesn’t speak, he says so much with his body language.
Yes, Yoongi values being alone and he isn’t much for frivolous displays of emotion but, he still loves affection.
His nimble fingers find their way to yours and the way he slides his fingers against the palm of your hand is enough to send a shiver down your spine.
Yoongi doesn’t notice of course as he’s dealing with his own feelings at the moment.
Holding hands on the couch is a part of his bedtime routine and if he’s being honest, it's one of his favorite parts of his day.
He smirks at something on the TV, squeezing your hand a little tighter as he chuckles to himself, taking another sip of his whiskey.
You watch the way his throat bobs as he swallows and god help you, you feel like a creep for how much you want to just sit there and stare at him.
He notices you looking at him a little longer but, he doesn’t comment on it.
He’d stare at you all the time if he got the chance.
His thumb is rubbing over your knuckles now, taking it’s time to caress the space between them, sending you further along the path of no return.
Subconsciously, lean closer to him, resisting the urge to rest your head on his shoulder.
You know he’s going to get up soon to shower.
With a heavy sigh, Yoongi turns toward you, “I need to get this makeup off. Do you need to get in the bathroom before I shower?”
You regret having showered before he got home now because, with your still damp hair, you can’t really request that you join him without him raising an eyebrow.
Which he would, cause you know, it’s Yoongi.
“No I should be fine. Have a good shower.” You smile, squeezing his hand before releasing your grip to allow him to get up.
He returns your smile, ignoring the twinge of regret he feels as you let go of him.
“Thanks. I’ll be out in a bit.”
You nod and return your attention back to the TV but, your boyfriend lingers around the entrance to the living room a little too long and, it’s enough to make you giggle and call him out.
“What?”
He smirks boyishly, jerking his head in your direction, “What do you have planned tonight?”
The look in his eyes makes your stomach flip but, you play it cool as you don’t want to assume the hidden meaning in his question.
“I’m in for the night. I just have to go over a few things of tomorrow morning but, otherwise I was going to hang out with you since you’re off. Why?” You tuck your legs onto the couch to fill the space that Yoongi once did, awaiting his response.
“Just wondering. I was gonna order something from the restaurant across the street, does that sound good to you? If not, I can probably make something.”
His smirk doesn’t fully disappear but, he masks it well enough with his further inquiries.
“The restaurant sounds good,” You smile, “I know we’re both off this weekend if you want to cook then. I miss your cooking...”
Yoongi’s heart is a flutter then, he’s lowkey obsessed with any compliment you throw his way but, he doesn’t necessarily want you to know that.
“Yeah? I can cook whatever you want this weekend, you just have to let me know so I can get the ingredients. I’ll cook all of our meals though, so we don’t have to waste money on take out.”
He emphasizes the second point, trying to mask his reaction and, you resist the urge smile at how cute he is.
“Really? You don’t mind doing that? I would literally die happy, I haven't had your cooking in so long. It’s better than all the delivery places we get anyway so, I wouldn’t mind taking a weekend off from that.” You flop back against the couch, sending a longing look his way.
Your heart stutters a bit as the gummiest of smiles present itself on your boyfriends pretty lips.
“You’re uh- you're sweet ha-” He rubs the back of his neck shyly before gesturing to the shower, “I’ll try and come up with some recipes in the shower.”
He disappears down the hall rather hastily then, not bothering to fully conclude your conversation.
It’s very much on brand for him though.
Yoongi craves validation but, its often too much for him to handle so, he often gushes over you in private.
He spends the duration of his shower thinking of all the different ways to impress you in the kitchen, meticulously sorting through all of his current favorite recipes and the ones he knows you love.
When he strolls back into the living room, he’s wearing nothing but his boxers, his damp hair haphazardly pushed to the side.
It’s hot outside so, it’s justified but, it’s unlike Yoongi to walk around shirtless.
Modesty and all that.
“Hold on...is that? My boyfriend??? Looking fine as hell on a Wednesday afternoon like it’s no big deal?” You look him up and down which prompts him to roll his eyes.
With a smirk on his lips, he waves you off but the blush on his cheeks contradicts his actions.
“Shut up. You're so weird.” He mutters, his arms subconsciously moving in front of his stomach.
You laugh before rushing over to him, attempting to wrap your arms around his waist.
“I’m not weird!? I’m just admiring my boyfriend’s natural beauty; excuse me.” You huff, still trying to hug him as he pretends to wiggle away from your grip.
“Yah! What’s wrong with you???” He shouts playfully when you place wet kisses against his cheek, which is afire with the effect you have on him.
You giggle when you finally succeed at securing your boyfriend in a hug, your lips inches away from.
“You look good. I wanted you to know...” You murmur simply, your laughter fading slightly whilst you lean in towards his mouth.
Yoongi’s breathing stalls a bit when your lips press onto his.
No one kisses like you do. It kind of sickens him honestly.
It always fucks him up.
You’re just so tender and sensual.
It makes his head spin.
Tucking your lips between his, you slowly slide your hands up his torso, delicately brushing against his ribs as you hold him.
Yoongi reciprocates your motions, his fingers holding onto the fabric of your waistband, his eyes fluttering shut when he settles deeper into the kiss.
You decide you want to take a step further and, continue touching him.
You brush your fingers over his chest, admiring the tightness there that’s developed from longer hours spent in the gym.
Yoongi’s chest is very sensitive so when you brush over his nipples, his hands are quick to settle over yours.
“W-we haven’t had dinner yet...” He stutters, nervous laughter emanating from his lips, “d-do you want dinner?”
He doesn’t move away from you though, he’s just shy.
He hasn’t totally figured out how to initiate sex or to receive attention.
You’ve been dating for six months now.
You’ve had plenty of sex but, it still makes him nervous.
Even though, he wants you so bad.
You smile softly against his mouth before patting his hips, “Sure yeah-” You step away from him and nod towards the kitchen, “I’m gonna get the menu. I think I want something different tonight.”
Yoongi feels a little twinge in his heart when you pull away but, he knows he hasn’t offended you.
That’s the thing about you.
The reason he fell in love with you.
He doesn’t always need to explain himself; you just get it.
“I want steak. I’ve been craving it all week. I’m a little tempted to get more than one but, I know that it’s gonna hurt my stomach.”
He follows closely behind you, his heart still unsteady from the effects of your kiss.
“You can always save one for tomorrow? Knowing you, you’ll probably re-heat it and make it like 1,000 times better anyway.”
He scoffs playfully, “You can’t re-heat cooked steak Y/N. It gets all rubbery....”
Yoongi? Defensive in the face of a compliment?
It’s more likely than you think.
Rolling your eyes you concede, setting the menu on the countertop, “I’m so sorry for even suggesting that you could deviate from your very specific rules regarding leftovers.”
Yoongi snickers before wrapping his arms around your waist, “I’ll find a way to forgive you I guess. I can’t fault you for having poor taste.”
A gentle elbowing is in order but, otherwise you relish in the warmth his embrace is providing, “You’re such a dick.” You smirk before flipping the menu over.
His rickety laughter continues as he tightens his grip on you, “What are you thinking of having?”
“I don’t know; I think I want the chicken/steak combo bowl but, I’m also feeling the ginger-sesame salad. Ugh- but maybe I want the alfredo? There’s so many choices.”
During your minor breakdown, Yoongi feels his lips twitch in amusement.
You’re really cute.
He wants to kiss you again and now that he’s pressed against you, he kind of regrets chickening out a minute ago.
“What do you think?” You turn slightly in his grip to look at him and right as you do, he pecks his lips against yours.
“I think you’re cute.” He says simply before nodding to the menu, “Order all three. Eat the salad tonight and save the rest for tomorrow.”
“I like the way you think Min.” You smile, a bit dazed from his kiss, your cheeks warmer than before.
Delivery arrives in no time and the two of you spend a good half an hour shoveling takeout into your faces before you settle back against the couch to relax.
This is one of your favorite parts of a night off with Yoongi.
The two of you just do your thing together, side by side.
There isn’t much talking but, its so comforting to be near him.
He’s scrolling on his phone, checking out new equipment for his studio and, you’ve delved into your most recent obsession: Animal Crossing.
Yoongi often pokes fun at how into the game you actually are but, truth be told, he actually enjoys watching you play.
Although, he’d never admit it.
“Oh my god Marshal, my sweet beautiful boy, how are you?” You coo to your screen, your thumbs furiously moving your character towards the fluffy little squirrel in question.
Yoongi smirks but otherwise he keeps to himself, his arm wound around your shoulders.
“Do you like your flowers? I planted new ones behind your house, aren’t they pretty?”
“You taught me how to smirk? Of course you did, that’s literally your specialty.” Marshal responds off topic because, he’s literally a video game character and cannot hear you as a look of disgust comes over your face, “Ew Canberra no, leave me alone, I’m hanging out with Marshal.”
Yoongi finally chuckles, shaking his head, “Yah, who is Marshal and why are you always talking to him when you play that game?”
You tilt your Switch towards him, showing off your favorite villager, “This is Marshall. He’s the love of my entire life.”
With a quirked brow, Yoongi looks at the screen blankly, “This mouse is the love of your life?”
You laugh at his expression, moving the Switch closer to his face, “He’s not a mouse! He’s a squirrel!”
Yoongi’s stoic expression cracks at the sound of your laugh, “OK fine, he’s a squirrel,” He chuckles, “Why is he so special? What does he do?”
You narrow your eyes at him, “He- What does he do? He is a future coffee shop owner/actor/fashion extraordinaire thankyouverymuch...”
Yoongi snickers, “Wow he has a lot going on. I didn’t realize mice could own property...”
“He’s a squirrel!!!” You whine and Yoongi’s head falls back as he cracks up at your outburst. “You know I only like him so much cause he reminds me of you...”
Yoongi’s laughter fades slightly, “What do you mean?”
“Look at him-” You shove your Switch back in his face, “He’s literally you. He's cute, he’s cranky, he likes music and coffee- He's basically Animal Crossing Yoongi. That’s why I worked so hard to get him on my island. See? I put his house right next to mine...”
Yoongi is going to spontaneously combust.
You are the cutest thing that has ever set foot on this earth and, he’s quite certain you were sent here to destroy him.
“You worked hard to get a villager who reminds you of me...on your island?” He clarifies, his eyes holding something new in them.
“Yeah- so don’t be mean to him.” You respond matter of factly, giggling before returning to your game.
You notice the blush that creeps across Yoongi’s lips but, you elect to ignore it.
“You’re ridiculous.” He smirks and despite resuming his activity on his phone, you don’t miss the way his hand begins rubbing circles against your shoulder.
“You’re ridiculous.” You retort
A part from a bit of laughter, silence quickly settles between the two of you once again.
Yoongi slipped on some actual clothes before dinner and the scent of his citrus fabric softener is a welcome addition to the comfortable atmosphere of your living room.
You wish every night was like this.
After an hour or so, your lids begin to grow heavy.
Yoongi’s presence is soothing enough but with a full stomach and a bit of Animal Crossing, you’re struggling to stay awake.
“Jagiya?” He whispers, brushing his fingers over your cheek, “Yah, let’s get you to bed ok?”
A grumble leaves your lips then because your exhaustion is fucking with your plans for the rest of the evening.
Nights like these usually end with sex.
Sex isn’t something the two of you get to do as often as you’d like.
You both have demanding jobs that keep you apart more often than not.
Sex is usually on the agenda because, the two of you miss each other so much.
“But we didn’t have sex...” You grumble against his chest which suddenly shakes with scratchy laughter.
“We can have sex tomorrow. I’m off all weekend.” He murmurs through his chuckling as he ushers you to your feet, “C’mon, I’ll come to bed too...”
“Mkay. Promise?”
Yoongi smiles, fondness exploding within his chest whilst he helps you to your feet, “I promise. Let’s go.”
Moments later, your head is on your boyfriend’s heart.
It takes no time for you to drift back off to dreamland but just as you do, you hear Yoongi whisper:
“I love you so much.”
---------------------------------------------------------
The following morning comes about slowly.
The two of you sleep in past 10am, which is a rare occurrence.
You’re the first one to wake up but upon noticing that Yoongi isn’t awake yet, you opt to snuggle against his chest.
His t-shirt has risen enough to expose the lower half of his stomach which you brush gently with your fingertips.
Your intention is to fall back asleep as you know very well how long your boyfriend is capable of staying in bed.
However, you notice Yoongi stirring beneath you which prompts you to turn your head towards him.
Sure enough, he’s awake: he’s blonde hair is a mess atop his head, his babydoll features scrunched up with remnants of sleep.
A wry smile is present on his lips though and, it makes you grin just at the sight of it.
“Good morning.” You murmur
Just like a cat, Yoongi offers a slow blink before replies, “Morning.”
“How did you sleep?”
His smile broadens, “Mm really good. You?”
You nod, resting your cheek back on his stomach, “I slept like the dead. I haven’t slept this long in weeks.”
“Yeah you passed out last night. You tried to protest when I told you to come to bed.” He recounts, his lips turning up in a smirk.
“I did? I don’t even remember that. What did I say?”
Yoongi clears his throat then, beginning to blush, “Uh you said you couldn’t go to bed because we couldn’t have sex.”
At that, you laugh and shake your head, “Oh my god. I mean-” You prop yourself a bit, “I kind of had a point but, I couldn’t have rocked your world in that condition. What did you say back?”
Yoongi’s lips are curved into a shy smile but, his eyes are lit up with his usual snark, “I told you we could have sex tomorrow and, that I was off all weekend. That seemed to be enough to get you in here.”
“That sounds about right.” When he mentions sex, warmth rustles around in your stomach, “I can’t believe you’re off all weekend...”
His hand comes up to rub against your back, his smile never fading, “Me neither. They haven’t given us a weekend off at home in months. Thank you for taking time off too, I feel bad that you usually work around my schedule.”
You scoot up more to be closer to him before leaning in to press a kiss against his cheek.
“Don’t feel bad. It’s a little easier to do on my end and, I’ve been working 60 hours a week for the past 3 months, my co-chair was begging me to take a few days off.”
Both of his arms wrap around you now, hugging you to his chest, “You work so hard jagi. You have to make sure you don’t overdo it.”
You wanna throw a “right back at you” his way but, Yoongi’s been at the all work/no sleep lifestyle a lot longer than you.
Plus, he has a point.
“I am. That’s why I’m staying with you all weekend duhhhh.” You smile, craning your neck to kiss him.
The action immediately causes his smile to return whilst his hands slide down to your lower back.
Kissing turns into making out much quicker than you expected but, you’re not complaining.
You’ve missed your boyfriend’s mouth so much.
“Can we- can we uh...” Yoongi breathes a little heavier now, his request sounding very shaky, “Can we fuck?”
Logically, you can blame this statement on the fact that Yoon’s first language isn’t English and, that he likely heard this phrase from Namjoon but, with his hardening dick digging into your hip, you can’t help but feel like he knows exactly what he’s saying.
“Mhm...”
Yoongi rolls over so he’s resting between your legs, his hips grinding eagerly onto yours.
Still, he kisses you deeper, introducing his tongue into your mouth.
You accept him eagerly, allowing your tongue to brush against his.
“I love it when you do that...” He confesses, nudging his nose on the side of your own.
With determination, you usher his mouth back into the kiss, ensuring that you allow your tongue tease his own.
One of your free hands slides down his stomach and tucks into his black boxers, encircling his dick.
It’s throbbing which prompts you to begin guiding a firm fist up the length of him.
“Oh-” Yoongi grunts softly, his brow furrowing whilst he tries to focus on kissing you.
You smirk into his mouth whilst continuing to jerk him off, swiveling firmly around his swollen tip.
“Shit.” He can’t help but break the kiss now, his head falling into your neck, “That feels so good.”
“Yeah?” You coo, kissing the side of his head, “You like it when I touch you?”
He nods rapidly, sucking on the exposed skin of your neck, his hips beginning to rock with the motion of your hand.
Sweat is starting to appear on his hairline but that doesn’t stop you from pressing kisses up the side of his face.
“I wanted this as soon as I saw you last night. Ugh-” He grunts again but, its starting to sound very much like a whimper, “I wanted it but- fuck I’m so awkward still. If I wasn’t I- oh fuck...I’d be all over you.”
His honesty warms you from the inside out.
You love how vulnerable he’s being and, you want to make sure he continues to feel safe enough to do so.
“Look at you now though, you are all over me. You're doing so good.” You whisper and tilt his head back towards you so you can look him in the eyes, “You don’t have to worry about how awkward you are- I’m so wet right now and, you haven’t even done anything yet...”
Suddenly, Yoongi’s expression shifts to one of pure lust as he glances down at your underwear, “You’re wet for me?”
“My panties are ruined.”
Yoongi wastes no time, although pulling away from your touch is a hard decision, the next thing you know; he’s sliding a hand inside your underwear.
Nervously he giggles, his mouth hanging open in awe, “It’s so wet- do I really make you this wet?”
“Everytime.” You whisper, a soft moan brewing in your throat as the pads of his fingers find your clit.
With his mouth still parted, Yoongi smirks a little, enjoying the sight beneath him, “Back and forth?” He moves his fingers against your clit, applying the perfect amount of pressure, “Or in circles?”
“Back and forth.” You reply, eagerly straining towards his lips, “Please.”
“So polite.” He notes, still smirking as he follows your instructions, “That good?”
You part your legs for him, “Mhm...”
Yoongi touches you with confidence now, bringing you quickly to the edge.
“Are you close jagi? I really want to be inside of you after you cum all over yourself.”
That's enough to warrant an orgasm that causes your toes to curl into the sheets.
He kisses you all the way through it before lining himself up at your entrance.
He’s different this time, he’s faster, he’s harder...it doesn’t take long for the warmth of a second orgasm to begin approaching.
Baring his teeth, he looks down at where you’re joined, chuckling incredulously, “I swear- I didn’t know sex could feel like this. Not until I met you...”
His laughter his infectious so you follow suit but, his lips are so tempting you have to kiss him again.
“Yoongi?” You grunt into his mouth.
He nudges your nose, “Yeah baby?”
“I’m gonna cum again.”
A satisfied smirk comes over his lips, “Yes you are. All over my dick huh?”
All you can do is nod and let the wave of pleasure crash over you once again.
Surprisingly, Yoongi is still fucking into you but, the desperate look in his eyes signifies how close he is.
Nudging your nose again, he kisses you sloppily, “Can I cum? Please?”
With your fingers in his hair and your lips on his, you nod, “Cum for me...”
“Oh fuck- fu-fuck fuck fuck fu-fuck ah...oh shit...” With a string of curse words, he buries his face between your breasts and empties himself inside of you.
---------------------------------------------------------
After your morning rendezvous with Yoongi, the two of you eventually make your way out to the kitchen to make some coffee.
You just bought a fancy new espresso machine for your apartment and, you’re about ready to make Yoongi an Iced Americano.
He’s at the counter, chopping up some sausage for breakfast, quietly humming to himself.
At first, you think nothing of it until you slowly start to recognize the song he’s singing.
“Is that- is that Bubblegum by K.K?” You giggle, turning towards him.
He grins but he doesn’t look up at you, “I don’t know what that is...”
“Its the song from Animal Crossing- did you go and listen to it???”
He shrugs, “I looked into Marshall and one of the first videos that came up was him singing this song.”
“You-” You smile, slowly moving towards him, “You looked up Marshal?
Still grinning, he avoids eye contact with you, placing the sausage into a bowl, “I wanted to see what you were fussing over.”
“And? Do you get it now?” You venture hopefully and he finally looks up at you with a straight face.
“No I don’t...sulky...”
“Ah! You said it! You said his catchphrase!” You giggle before rushing over and wrapping your arms around him, “I love you...”
His expression softens as he kisses the top of your head,
“I love you too- sulky...”
#bts yoongi#yoongi smut#yoongi fluff#yoongi one shot#yoongi fanfics#yoongi fics#yoongi fic recs#boyfriend! yoongi#yoongi#yoongi sexy#yoongi cute#yoongi x reader#bts#bts smut#bts one shot#bts fluff#bts fanfics#bts fanfiction#bts fics#bts fic recs#shy! yoongi#yoongi marshal#marshal animal crossing#marshal#animal crossing#animal crosing new horizons
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I’m working on a main story for my Reverse Omens au, but for right now, I really wanted to do something with Aziraphale the Demon opening up his shop.
So, here’s a little something while I work on the main story for Sour Blessings. I had to do a bit of research for this, so you’re welcome.
Summery: The opening for A.Z. Fell’s Antiquities and More is on Friday, however, the demon Aziraphale may have to put that opening on hold, indefinitely, due to an unexpected promotion.
Not if the angel Crowley has anything to say about it!
Warning: Reverse Omens, the other demons and angels are not swapped, these two fools are in love but they won’t admit it so it’s getting the ship tag.
Aziraphale (formally Azrafel) is a half-deaf, white cat demon, Crowley (formally Samael) is a rainbow boa angel and the one who tempted Eve (There is a reason for this!).
Rewrite of the infamous Bookshop deleted scene.
On with the fic!
--
Can’t Have That Now, Can We?
--
Aziraphale, formally known as the demon Azrafel until he stole back his original name, was more excited than he had been in years.
Finally, after so many hiccups, missions, and simply being absentminded about his goal, he was opening up his shop! Well, not officially, he planned on being open to the public on Friday, but he was allowing for guests today!
So far, the only person invited is his dear angel, Crowley, who he knows will be here promptly at a quarter past eleven, the redhead was also so good with time.
Proudly, Aziraphale looked up at the sign that had just been installed this morning. A. Z. Fell’s Antiquities and More, it read with a shine of silver paint on a dark blue background. It was beautifully fitting for the man-shaped being, fitting his color aesthetics. He practically purred in delight as he stepped through the doors, happily hearing a jingle of a bell above his head.
The demon hummed to himself a song from an opera he had attended a few days ago, carefully lining up some of his collection he had noticed he bumped out of place. His shop was going to house his massive collection of antiques, a term he had adored using for the collection since it was first coined during the 1400’s in references to ancient artifacts.
He finally had a place for all his stuff, things he had hidden all over the world, bought, traded, stolen, made himself, gifts from his favorite snake, all in one place now! Sure, it took him centuries to finally settle down, but 1831 was a good enough time, right?
Well, there had been an attempt a few centuries ago, back in the 1500’s, but it had been a bookshop next to a printing shop that had printed a book he really had wanted, but a mission to China had prevented that. And had also resulted in him not paying rent on the shop and having gotten in trouble with Hell for something stupid, he couldn’t pay the rent and lost the first shop.
Anyway, he happily likes to forget that happened and has instead tried again! Same location too, second time’s the charm!
Aziraphale wasn’t finished setting up though, he still had more stuff in storage that he needed to bring in, but his angel had said he’d help up with bringing that in. He wouldn’t help with the organizing though; Crowley knew from experience that Aziraphale had a way of organizing his clutter in a way that worked for the cat. Especially when it came to certain collections, like his massive library and his collection of rare snuff boxes.
As he carefully aligned a bronze statue of a rather specifically detailed and accurate horse he got as a joke gift from Crowley, he heard the jingle of the bell above his front door. He cupped his hand over his left ear, trying to hear who it was, couldn’t be Crowley, it was too early still.
Then he smelled the scent of festering mold and swamp scum, along with other unpleasant things, and he felt his skin prickle.
With a held back sigh, Aziraphale put a fake smile on his face, turning to face his fellow demons, hoping his beard hid the fact that his mouth twitched. “Hastur, Ligur, to what do I owe the pleasure of two Dukes of Hell in my shop?”
The two demons stood by the open doors, dressed in rather shoddy clothing, meant more for the lower class than the higher, as Aziraphale himself was dressed to blend in with. However, it was good to note that this time they actually wore clothing that would help them blend in, rather than how they dressed the last time they ‘visited’ Aziraphale. He would never forget those sins against nature.
Neither of them smiled, they just stared, before Hastur stepped forward. “We’ve orders from Below for you.” He ground out, making Aziraphale raise an eyebrow.
“Orders? Strange, normally Hell just burns a message in one of my books or screams at me from an envelope nowadays, don’t usually send messengers to tell me what my next job is.
“It’s not really… orders.” Ligur spoke up, waving a hand, completely bored of this already. “’s more like you’re getting somethin’.”
Aziraphale blinked, cupping a hand over his ear again. “Come again?”
Hastur made a face. “Think of it as… bad news, but not really bad news, more like good news, but we can’t say that shit, so it’s bad news, but not that bad-”
“I… I got it.” The cat sighed, holding up a hand. “Is it about the second revolution in France?” He had sent in a wordy letter to Hell about how he had helped kickstarted that event, even though he hadn’t actually done so. He and Crowley had taken a trip to the south of France and got dreadfully wasted and somehow ended up on the Isle of Capri.
“More like a bunch of things you’ve done, Azrafel.” The chameleon demon spoke and ignored the face Aziraphale pulled, hearing his old name. It has been centuries, and no one cared that he stole back his angel name, they just ignored him, thinking he was edgy or something. “Apparently, you’ve done your job to such extremes that Hell is oddly impressed.”
This can’t be good.
“And because of this, you’re going down to Hell, promotin’ you back to Downstairs. Heard you might get a cushy job runnin’ the torture department, lucky bastard.”
Aziraphale blinked, trying to register what this meant. “But… I’m opening this antique shop on Friday. If Master Hatchard can make a go of it, then I think I can really…”
“Hm,” Hastur pondered for a moment, “actually, I think that’s an idea, whoever replaces you up here can use this place as a base of operations.”
This got a look of disgust from the cat demon. “Use my shop?” The nerve! No one was allowed to use his shop; this was for him! And maybe Crowley, because he knows that wily angel will also laze about wherever Aziraphale is staying.
Neither demon seemed to give two shits about what Aziraphale thought of this. “You’re bein’ promoted,” the frog demon shrugged, “you get to go back home.”
“Can’t imagine why anyone who wanna spend more than five minutes on this waste of space.” Ligur commented, look at a bell jar on a shelf, containing a taxidermized scene of insects dancing at a ball. The chameleon on his head licked its lips.
“Azrafel’s been on this shithole for almost six thousand years,” his companion replied, “that’s some impressive patience, I can’t stand doin’ tasks up here that take longer than a day. Just plant bad ideas in a human’s head and let ‘em do all the work. Still, gotta give kudos where kudos is due…”
He dug into the pocket of his grubby coat, pulling out a box, covered in stains that Aziraphale really didn’t want to know the origins of. “Apparently, this is for all your bad work.” He said in a tone that clearly didn’t hide his jealousy and bitterness.
Hastur opened the box and Aziraphale stared at a rather lovely, shiny medal. He had seen this kind before, proudly worn by members of the Dark Council.
When they said he was being promoted… oh, oh bugger, this was a Promotion.
“I don’t want it.” Aziraphale spoke without much thought. He glanced up and nearly screamed, because right behind Hastur and Ligur, was a redheaded angel, giving a cheery wave.
The grandfather clock off to the left happily showed that it was exactly a quarter past eleven in the morning. It was the worst possible time for Crowley to show up.
--
With a skip in his snake-skinned step, Crowley turned a corner down a street in Soho, a box of the finest chocolates under his arm. He had dolled himself up for today, putting on his finest dark gray suit, his pink shirt clear and ironed, and a new hat sat happily on his head, decorated with a gold-plated apple blossom.
It was over-the-top, but the snake-eyed angel was known for being flashy and showboat-y with his appearance.
He spotted the shop at the corner and picked up the pace, mentally counting down the seconds. He loved being exactly on time, but he also loved putting Aziraphale on edge when he was a few minutes late.
Crowley got right up the steps at exactly 11:15, noticing that not only were the doors opened, but two figures were standing in the doorway, with Aziraphale stared past them. And right at Crowley, with a look the screamed ‘oh bugger’.
The demon licked his lips, stammering as he tried to speak to the two strangers, who Crowley hadn’t quite realized were demons. “B-But only I can properly thwart the good deeds of the angel Cr-Samael!”
Crowley stopped smiling, tilting his head, eyebrow raising over his dark shades. He held up the package, smiling, and mouthed ‘chocolates’ at his best friend.
“I don’t doubt that,” the blond-haired demon spoke, “whoever replaces you will be as bad an enemy to Samael as you are. Baphomet, maybe.”
The angel looked horrified and disgusted. He looked towards Aziraphale and mouthed ‘Baphomet?! Baphomet’s a wanker!’ The gray-haired demon shifted on his feet, trying to ignore Crowley to not draw attention to him.
“Samael’s been here just as long as I have, and he’s wily! And cunning, and brilliant, and oh…” Aziraphale was a bit flushed in the face and Crowley perked up, smiling brightly.
“It almost sounds like you like him.” Hastur spoke in a tone that was clearly not pleased with this.
“I loathe him!” Aziraphale shouted, though his face still burned red. “And, despite myself, I respect a worthy opponent! Which he isn’t because he’s an angel, and I cannot respect a demon. Or like one!” He tacked on quickly.
Hastur actually smirked, crossing his arms. “That’s the attitude that Hell likes to hear. I can see why they’re bringin’ you back.” He stepped forward, pinning the medal to Aziraphale’s dress jacket, the shorter man holding his breath at the bad smell coming off of Hastur. A quick glance over the other’s shoulder let Aziraphale know that Crowley was out of sight, hopefully he knew to stay away until these two were gone.
“So…” Aziraphale started, “we’re going straight back, now? Before the grand opening?”
“Ehh… soon.” Hastur waved a hand. “Got a job to do, then we’ll be back for you.”
--
The job was a simple corruption on, convince a human in charge of a respectable pub to take in bribes, sell illegal content under the counter, and convert his pub into a drug den in later years, that should do the trick.
And to help with that, they decide to plant things in the backroom of the pub for the owner to find, miracled with a temptation to put the pieces together. Ligur stood outside the backroom’s door while Hastur moved to remove the contents of his pockets in the room.
He pauses, however, hearing voices outside of an open window.
“Are you certain that we are unobserved,” it was the voice of the angel Samael, “of glorious being of God’s divine will?”
There was a strange, echoing voice that followed right after, layered as if multiple voices spoke at once. “No one is listening, oh angel Samael, the Lefthand of God.”
Blinking, Hastur steps onto a crate under the window and, using his true eyes, peeks out the window, only the top of the head of his frog looking into the alley behind the pub. He could see Crowley, standing before a cloaked figure in white, the latter having their back turned to the window. He slipped down a bit to not be seen, but still remained close to hear.
“Curses.” The angel hissed. “If only I could understand why my blessed plans are always so brilliantly thwarted! It’s as if the forces of Hell have a champion here on Earth who contaminates my blessings! Who overlaps their own dark influences on my own good ones! Who thwarts me… thwartingly…”
Unbeknownst to the demon on the other side of the wall, the cloaked figure that Crowley was speaking to was actually just a tailor’s dummy from the tailor shop just next door. Crowley was practically tickle-me-pink with delight of how much fun it was doing this. He absolutely loved when he got to flex his acting skills.
He continued the act, putting on the heavenly voice once more. “Why, Mister Crowley, you must not be downcast. I hear news that will bring joy to you and all the powers of Heaven! They do say as how the demon Azrafel, your nemesis, is being sent back to Hell!”
Crowley knew he was acting slightly to broadly, but it was the style of the time, so it was necessary.
“Can this be true?” He continued in his normal voice. “I was going to throw myself into a pit of Hell Fire in my despair at once more being beaten by the demon Azrafel! But such excellent news! Only Azrafel knows my ways well enough to…”
“Thwart them?”
“Exactly. Now, let us retire to church, and pray to the success of good on this Earth, thanks to Hell’s foolishness!”
Hastur heard the other walking off before he moved out of the room, well, he might have to have a conversation with Aziraphale it seems.
--
“So, I’m… not going anywhere?” Aziraphale asked, mismatched eyes staring at the two other demons, the pupils growing with possible hope.
“Change of plans.” Hastur grumbled. “We need you here, in this shop, battling good.”
Ligur slapped the Aziraphale on the back a few times, nearly knocking him over. “Carry on battlin’ that pain in the ass angel. I’m sure Hell’ll understand that you’re needed here more than down there.”
“Keep the metal.” Hastur poked at it against Aziraphale’s chest, making him wince at the pressure of the jab.
“But I don’t understand…” The cat demon blinked, suddenly realizing he was all alone in the shop now, the scent of sulfur starting to mellow out. With a snap of his fingers, the shop suddenly smelled of flowers, thanks to the lovely potted plant that just showed up next to him.
With a heavy sigh, he shook his head, moving around a shelf to try and return to his previous task of worryingly set up his collection.
“Well, that was fun.”
Aziraphale yelped, jumping a foot in the air as his hair and beard puffed up from the shock. He turned, finding a certain angel, basking happily in a chair that had been swiped from the King of Spain in the late 1300’s. “Crowley… w-what are you doing here?” He asked, approaching the redhead, who just smiled, holding up the box of chocolates from behind.
Aziraphale chirped in joy, taking the box. “Oh, yes, thank you, darling!”
“’s nothin’, kitty cat. I think you deserve them now than you did before those two idiots showed up.”
“How… much of that did you see?”
Crowley shrugged before getting out of the chair, stretching. “Well, I arrived to see that you were stuck dealin’ with two idiots, and that you needed help. So, I may or may not have helped you out of a bit of trouble, again. Nice medal, the Dark Council kind? Wow, that’s a hell of a promotion, kitty cat.”
Aziraphale frowned and removed the metal from his jacket, tossing it towards Crowley, who caught it with ease. “I’ve done so well at my job that I was promoted to join them! I mean, it’s not the worst promotion I could get, in fact, any demon would give up their whole… well… everything to be part of that group! But I must admit, it would be too much, I’d be allowed to do whatever, but I wouldn’t be able to work and stay on Earth.”
“Sounds like a shit job to take, Aziraphale.” Crowley commented, looking over the metal before dropping it into a clay pot. “But hey, you get to stay here!”
“For some reason…” Cat eyes turned, staring directly at snake ones, hidden behind dark lenses. “What did you do?”
Crowley grinned brightly. “Oh, just pulled off some theatrics.” He wiggled his fingers and Aziraphale groaned. “I told you I was good at this! I should join a theater, get my name out there! I’ll even do those boring, sad Shakespearean plays you like so much!”
“Uhg.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes before looking at Crowley, smiling. “Still, thank you for helping me today, darling. Now, how about the two of us enjoy this delectable box of goodies you got me, I have a lovely red that we can drink alongside them in the back, found it while bringing things in the other day.”
“Sounds delightful, kitty cat.”
END
--
Well, this was a lot of fun to write!
In case you wanna know what they look like, Aziraphale looks like Martin from Prodigal Son (except well dressed in a light gray and dark blue Regency outfit), and Crowley looks like David’s portrayal of Richard II (in a dark gray and pink Regency outfit).
Hastur and Ligur look like characters from Oliver Twist haha.
In case anyone was wondering why Aziraphale owns an antique shop, it was because as much as I love the bookshop still being part of a Reverse Omens au, I also really loved the idea of going off the little fact that book Aziraphale also collects old snuff boxes and it went from there that he just collects all sorts of things.
Oh, and Hastur left Aziraphale on Earth cause if he's really the only one who can 'stop' the Heavenly might of Samael, the angel with the title of Destroyer, well... yeah, might as well leave him to deal with that mess.
Thanks for reading! As always, drabbles are open!
#good omens#reverse omens#aziraphale#anthony j crowley#ineffable husbands#hastur#ligur#john's drabbles
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SVTFOE: A Retrospective
Happy Mama Star Day!
OK, first and foremost, a quick update on TGG: I plan to have something ready for at least one of the major anniversaries coming up, and hopefully will resume slightly more regular updates from then forward. Thanks to everyone for your continued support, it’s been a rough year so far for me personally and for everyone in in the current pandemic situation. The anniversary of both STH and Mama Star seemed like a fitting time to get some things off my chest, both good and bad, so I’ll do that now and get it out of the way to focus on bigger and better things in the future.
Fair warning, this is gonna be long and rambly and personal more than it is any sort of serious show analysis. If you’re looking for fun, feel-good celebration of what definitely were some of my favorite moments in the series, I’m not so sure this is gonna be the post for you.
It goes without saying that Star vs the Forces of Evil, for better or worse, is incredibly important to me and has been without fail for years. How are you supposed to feel when something that important lets you down so hard? Is having such strong, mixed emotions and attachment better than having nothing you care about at all? The past year hasn’t answered these questions for me, and this post certainly won’t either. There’s no thesis or likely any kind of closure here, just me baring a bit of my soul here on tumblr dot com.
It’s been a rough year or two for me. I don’t want to get too much into the specifics, but let’s just say I hit a crossroads where the entire path I’d envisioned for myself in life came into serious question, and I had been spiraling into depression and paralyzing anxiety over a complete lack of any fulfillment in my “professional” life for months before I even recognized it for what it was. Season 3 finished airing around the last few months of my undergraduate degree, which (while obviously it significantly emotionally impacted me) was a generally happy and stable time in my life. As things started to change and get worse for me, SVTFOE S4 was my ray of hope. I’m not kidding when I say that some days in the hiatus leading up to it, the thought of S4 delivering on its potential for emotional fulfillment and Starco goodness (consistently, not just at the end) was the only thing that got me out of bed in the morning and the only positive thing I could see in my future.
When we got the S4 we got, it shattered me, utterly and completely. This isn’t an attempt to dunk on S4 in some “objective” manner - hell, I even like a lot of the things about it that the fandom despises (the ending prioritizing character closure over lore, the upheaval of the political structure rather than just having Star become the Goodest Queen, etc). I’d still make the argument that a lot of the character development was very flimsy and poorly paced, a very clear effort to force the relationship resolution to be delayed until the end at all costs, but that’s not the point here. Life felt dull and lonely and warm fluffy Starco was my vicarious escape from that, and the season we got left me so completely hollow insid that it felt like I couldn’t breathe for its first more-than-a-dozen episodes, and I was so burnt out that I couldn’t even properly enjoy the parts that were genuinely good.
Even earlyish on, I was already fearing that things wouldn’t be resolved till the end and that there’d be almost none of the content I actually longed for from the show. As I’ve mentioned before, The Greatest Gift was born the morning after Lake House Fever’s late night release, out of salt and spite and a need to give myself something good to look forward to, even if it would be something I’d be making myself. I completely removed myself from even passing conversations with my best friends in the fandom because it hurt too much to even think about. I even had Seddm give me summaries of episodes before I watched them so I could take some time to emotionally prepare (at least until the 2nd to last week). And to the show’s credit, its last few weeks of episodes (with some exceptions) tried their absolute damnedest to right the ship (pun intended) and bring back the sorts of things I wanted with a vengeance. I was smiling like a complete fool for 12 hours straight after Here to Help. The ending didn’t fix my issues with the show, not by a fucking long shot, but it at least left me on a positive enough note that there was a feverish enthusiasm to continue it further on my own.
But it’s been tough. Have you or a family member/friend ever gotten bad food poisoning from a restaurant you really liked, and the smell of it makes you queasy afterwards even though you do really like it? That’s probably the best analogy I can draw to a lot of my relationship with SVTFOE since it ended. PLEASE NOTE I’M IN NO WAY TRYING TO EQUATE THE MAGNITUDE OF MY IRE WITH A CARTOON WITH SERIOUS DISORDERS THAT PEOPLE SUFFER FROM, but I’d almost be tempted to liken it to PTSD. Seeing reminders of the painful parts can put me in a bad mood for hours, and on some days even just dwelling on the show in any way will invite creeping negativity and “why the fuck couldn’t it have just-” types of thoughts taking over. There have been some days writing TGG where having to draw inspiration from or reference events/dialogues in S4 was so emotionally taxing that I had to stop writing for the night. I blocked Seddm’s entire askbox tag because I’d find my own emotions frothing into a rage over things in the show people would bring up. I’ve lost acquaintances and potential friendships over my bitterness. I instantly block anyone who posts even a hint of Tomstar/Kellco content in the Starco tags on any site because it induces such palpable negativity in my heart - I think I’m up to 1000 accounts blocked on Instagram right now, which is why Toxic runs the TGG page over there. If you’re one of the people out there that tried to strike up a conversation with me over a shared interest in the show and I vomited bile into your DMs, I sincerely apologize. And to anyone who got wrapped up in the brazen high hopes I put forth here every day as S4 approached and came crashing down with me as a result, I’m sorry for that too.
And yet... I can’t say there’s not a genuine love I still have for a lot of it. I still have my little shrine of stickers and pictures that I’ll sometimes just get let myself get lost in. There was a recent postcanon fic started by someone who just caught up on the show that brought such a depth of warmth into my chest that I’m smiling like an idiot just now thinking about it. I haven’t watched even a clip (let alone a whole episode) that Star and Marco’s voices in my head feel distant and abstract, but when I’m writing chapters I can still get emotional imagining them saying and doing things out of their devotion to one another. I’ve made no secret that I (to put it very very very lightly) have a strong distaste for the vast majority of this fandom, and yet the joy of knowing I could make people’s days or lives brighter gives me a satisfaction I can’t put words to. Don’t get me wrong, writing quickly just isn’t my thing normally anyway - I’m not trying to suggest that the sole reason for TGG downtime is that I’m driving knives into my own heart and pouring my blood onto the page. Just that that’s part of it, and it takes its toll.
The last few months, although I have missed the joy of brewing up fluff ideas and seeing them come to life, have admittedly been a welcome reprieve just not having to think about this stuff so much. In the last few weeks I’ve finally been coming around to a bit of a better place where the good bubbles up without bringing as much of the bad with it. It will likely still wax and wane, and I can’t guarantee if or when TGG will fully finish. And this isn’t my entire life - I have MMOs and card games and all kinds of other hobbies that suck up lots of my time, so don’t worry about me just lying in bed sobbing over S4 for 12 hours a day. I don’t know if the day will ever come when I can truly be at peace with it all, but I don’t want to toss out the good with the bad. All I can ask is for your patience as my own journey evolves alongside my writing, until the day comes when perhaps this story can finally come to a close. Thanks for reading, and stay safe.
Ngame
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Next fanfic cover project
So, for quite a while I had plans for a cover for an amazing Supercat fanfic series called Future Shock by @argyle-s that has, like most of my other stuff, been on hold due to depression and every day shit. Now that I'm trying to get back to being active and promoting my mad skillz by showing what I can do with fic covers I thought this one would be a good choice.
But after some thinking I think I'll have to wait until the fic is over. Not because it'll be super hard or time consuming, but because I had some pretty cool new ideas for it and unfortunately while I love them and solve a few issues I had before, one in particular is completely dependent on me knowing how the story ends, which it hasn't, so I see no other choice but to wait.
Still, I would like to share my ideas, because I got really excited about this project. So, for starters, the first fic on the series is called The Shape of Things to Come, which sounded familiar, but couldn't figure out why, until I remembered that there's a novel, and a movie, with the same title. Now, I never asked Argyle if there was any connection between their fic and the novel/movie, but it inspired me to make a sort of, tribute cover? using the movie poster as a reference:
The bad guys would be on the background and the heroes on the front, but they would be all confronting the villains, instead of running away from them, if I can find pics of them taken from the back.
I was, and still am, kinda in love with the idea, but my first problem was that I didn't just want to make a cover for the first fic, I wanted to make one that would work as a cover for the series and for each fic. What's the problem with that, you may ask? Well, that I wasn't sure how to make it different for each fic.
But the other day inspiration hit me and now I have an idea: have all the heroes and villains that haven't appear yet as shadowy figures, each becoming clear on the cover of the fic they show up. But as I said, unfortunately that means I need to know each and every one that will show up or I might miss one. And that's kinda impossible when I don't know how the story ends. I mean, I knew who the main ones are from the beginning, but some other major players have appeared and I would hate to not include one of them.
Anyways, that's a long and overly complicated way of saying I need to find another cover to work on. I have a few ideas, but if anyone has some fic they would love to see a cover of, preferably from a show I know or a pairing I ship, let me know. Just keep in mind that if I haven't read it I'd have to do that first or if it's from a pairing I don't ship I might say no, unless it piques my interest. But Rao knows I can be so easily tempted, all it took to get me to read a Bellamione fic was a drawing by @chlove-art and I was lost, but
So yeah, that’s how things are right now. I’m also gonna be posting some of the other covers I’ve made, although to my shame they’re not as many as I would like. I mean, I added covers to like 50 or so fics, but most were made during a time when I had like zero inspiration and was reading so many fics that I just made text covers with a nice background for most of them and put them on my phone to read them as soon as I could.
Obviously I won’t be posting those, I’d rather go outside naked. But the others I will, even though some are actually not much better than the text covers, meaning it’s that but instead of a simple background I took the effort to look for an specific image that I felt suited the fic. One day I might go back and remake them, with some actual edits this time, but for now I can say I don’t hate them, so I don’t feel a desperate urge to change them.
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meta ask questions for you! 3, 5, 6, 18, 19, 20, 21 and 25!
Ooo, thanks so much for playing along, hon! I appreciate it! :D
3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)
You know, I really don't have one. I plan on eventually doing them all, if I can!
5. What character that you’re writing do you most identify with?
Usually Caitlin because she tends to be the one who's lost and Eobard is either deliberately withholding things from her or is in someway messing with her and she's trying to catch up, lol! I do really love pairing her with Harry, though, too, even though their dynamic is different. :D
6. What character do you have the most fun writing?
Eobard, definitely. Most specifically, I love getting into his head and getting his p.o.v., like in the "Partners In Crime" series. It's much rarer that I'll give you only Caitlin's p.o.v. and it almost always has a plot reason as to why, such as "The Thousandth and the First." Secondly, though, I adore writing Frost and Nash, especially in all of their oblivious or just straight up "don't care" shenanigans. I still have a particular fondness for "Star-Marked" which was the first time I really got in there and wrote them like that. ;)
18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.
Heh, yes. "*With Benefits" has a completely different version out there. It was originally a lot darker and angstier. It still technically met the "friends with benefits" prompt but, well… Let's just say there's a reason why I started off calling it my "dom!Harry" fic where he's a bit more consensually dominating and aggressive than I generally write him. It still exists and I'm still considering finishing it one of these days. I'll have to decide whether to just basically write it as a second fill for the same prompt (so I don't have to worry about the similarities, since they were the same fic at one time ;) ) or to try to replot it and make it as different as possible. The tone itself is pretty different from "*With Benefits" because I wanted that one to be lighter and funnier than the first fic was turning out. But I think the other tone still has some merit to it. I dunno if anybody’s really down for that alllmost BDSM feel or not. *shrugs* The other fic is titled "Here" so you'll know it if you ever see it. ;)
19. Is there something you always find yourself repeating in your writing? (favourite verb, something you describe ‘too often’, trope you can’t get enough of?)
I have a bad habit of using "very" way too often, so I always try to scour my final drafts a final time by doing a find either in Word or in the browser looking to see how many times I've used it. I also inevitably find I fall back on a similar word and over use it in pretty much each fic depending on the circumstance. Like for "Three Little Words," I didn't want to repeat "frozen" and other such icy descriptors but I didn't want to have to go far out to get some unusual/unnatural ones that probably nobody would really think to themselves. ;)
20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)
I don't know if this quite fits but one of my writer friends asked me if it's hard to have so many variations of the same characters and honestly? No, it's not. If you look at just my original ReverseSnow/ReverseFrost pairings, "Partners In Crime" Eo/Caitlin have a different dynamic to me than "Good Day" Eo/Caitlin. "The Ghost of Eobard Thawne" is going to show us a little more obsessed Eobard than my other series!Eobards (some of the one-shots have touched on that before, though). Weirdly, in "Haunted"'s continuing chapters (I swear, y'all will get to read them eventually ;) ), Frost and Eobard have several scenes together and normally that would start pulling me in a ReverseFrost direction. BUT. This particular Frost is just so set on Nash that she's not even tempted and Eo is equally as set on Caitlin, so, while he has no problem needling Frost, Cait is never for a moment not who he has his heart and mind aimed at.
Then you've got something like the ReverseFrost pairing in the "It's All Fun And Games When You're A SuperVillainous Power Couple In Love..." series and it's like there's NO DOUBT they're meant for each other. (This couple feels actually like the more "show-current" version of "Partners In Crime," honestly. "Partners…" is distinguished by my characterization and "rules" for Caitlin/Frost's powers having been drawn more from the comics since we hadn't seen them yet in the show at that time.)
21. What other medium do you think your story would work well as? (film, webcomic, animated series?)
Heh, I think a lot of mine would have to go to a channel where they can show more explicit stuff, like HBO or something, lol! ;)
25. What part of writing is the most fun?
Finishing it, reading it back and thinking, "Yep, that's what I wanted to say," and then getting comments where it sounds like other people enjoyed it. That's definitely the most fun in my opinion! ;)
Thanks again!
♥♥♥
Fun meta asks for writers
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Making a Character Profile
I’m the kinda person who spends hours making a family on Sims then never plays with them, so working on my characters is probably my favourite aspect of writing.
There are a hundred million ways to make a character profile, including ready-made templates like this one, but I find that it’s better to make your own and tailor it to your story. As with everything, you need to do what works for you, but I tend to take quite an instinctive approach to writing my characters, so I keep my profiles fairly basic.
For the purpose of today’s post, I’m making a profile for Sergeant Iorath, an OC from my WWI fic A Gentle Sound. As AGS is a pretty big project, this profile is much fancier and robust than I would generally make them for a fic. I have a specific aesthetic I’ve been keeping up in my AGS notes, so don’t be daunted by that - you don’t have to make it pretty if that’s not your thing!
🌙
General Guidelines for Character Profiles:
Stick to the point. This profile is for you, not your readers. You don’t need to fill it up with information that comes to you instinctively. Reading through a profile should get you back in touch with who your character is as a person and allow you to envision them more clearly - that’s all.
Most important to least important. Keep the information you’ll need often and quickly up near the top of your document. Don’t put their appearance description at the bottom of the second page, y’know? And I wouldn’t advise starting a profile with a massive block of text detailing their backstory - expand on that further down, if you want, or in a separate biography document.
Don’t overdo it. When you forget your OC’s birthday at 4:00AM, you don’t wanna read an entire essay just to find it! For regular fics, my profiles are only about half a page long. AGS is a Big Project, with lots of research and multiple works likely to be attached to the universe, so these profiles are more like two pages. You don’t have to stick to this, but I think it’s a good guide.
Short and snappy. Keep each individual section short and easy to read at a glance. Avoid large, multi-paragraph blocks of text. Bullet-points and tables are good, don’t be afraid to go wild with the formatting options available to you.
✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧*
1. The Basics:
Edit: I noticed the image quality was pretty bad for these screenshots, so here's a link to the document itself!
This is literally just the most basic information, which will always begin with name and date/place of birth. As you can see, I’ve adjusted this to suit AGS universe with rank, enlistment date and time spent on active duty; if it was a fantasy universe, I’d probably have species in there instead; for a college AU, maybe their major, roommate, etc. You’ll also see that I have the Major Combat heading near the top simply because this is something I often forget, so I want it to be easy to find.
2. Appearance:
For OCs, their physical description is particularly important because it’s often the only real reference you have, but even when you’re writing fic, you’re gonna have to keep track of hair colours and body mods and such. It’s a good idea to have this very close to the top of your page and easy to find. Try not to get carried away with this bit, tempting as it might be. Only include what’s most important/details you really don’t want to forget. If you have a character with a lot of body mods, I’d suggest a separate section specifically detailing those.
3. Short Biography:
I just think a basic character profile is no place for an in-depth, multi-page biography, but a little bio is good. You want to be able to get a sense of who your character is as a person, so you need to know a bit about where they come from. Don’t load up this bio with useless information - only include details which actually had a formative influence on your character. For many characters whose background is important, I’ll write a separate, much more detailed biography for them in another doc.
4. Habits, Quirks & Hobbies:
This section does exactly what it says on the tin: habits, quirks and hobbies. I find these areas are often the most important for making your character into a person, and a unique person at that. You might think right now that you don’t know these things about your new OC, but I’d encourage you to spend a while with this section and try to write a few things down. You’d be surprised what you can discover about your character once you start on the finer details!
5. Extras:
So, I think the basics are pretty much covered under the headings mentioned above. Now comes the part where you really tailor it to your specific AU. For AGS, I have section about their health where I’ll mention any injuries/illnesses they’ve sustained during the war (and before, if relevant), then also a bit about the state of their mental health since most soldiers in WWI suffered some degree of (usually untreated) PTSD.
Most AUs probably don’t need a ‘Health’ heading, so you can switch this up with things like their major, class timetable, relationships, mental health, magical education and specialties - the possibilities are honestly endless. You’ll know what you need here, if you need an extra section at all!
Remember, this is for you. Don’t refrain from adding a section or several simply because I haven’t included them here - you know better than anyone what you need! Just channel your inner minimalist as best you can to avoid creating an overwhelming monster of a document.
I hope this wasn’t too confusing, lads. I don’t exactly have the most refined method of creating character profiles, but this works for me. I hope at least some parts work for you, too!
As always, don’t be scared to come to me with questions specific to this post (I won’t be offended if something wasn’t clear!) or suggestions for future posts. Thank you for reading, my frens, have a nice Sunday <3
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The Bad Boy/Good Guy public personality dynamic of David Duchovny
Written as a birthday gift (with her blog prompt) for Charmion @grungekid84
Dedication: Charmion and I are of different generations; separated in age by over twenty years. I was the age she is now, about, when the X-files was new and she watched it first as a child. Yet today we share similarities in thoughts related to our celebrity crush. To both Charmion and David Duchovny I say, I hope this blog does the love the justice it deserves.
Why are women 20 to 70 years of age fan girls of the 59 year old David Duchovny? Not simply fans! Fans might watch a movie because an actor is in it. They might rewatch a series a half dozen times. Fan girls like Charmion have an Xfile room and paint pictures. Fan girls like myself write blogs, fan fic and team up with fan girls like Cathy Glinski to present at academic conferences. Why do women who have no other celebrity crushes have this need to celebrate this one celebrity in these ways? It seems significant to me the age range of women who are fan girls. I have stood in an audience surrounded by women barely old enough to meet the 21 age limit who knew every word to each of his songs. I heard one such woman say that this is an experience she would tell her grandchildren about. I, also, know women closer to 70 who have traveled to a meet and greet or comic con because they wanted the opportunity to thank this celebrity for the years of joy. Just today as I start to write this a woman I do not know tweeted @hearteyes4david an open letter to the world with a life wish to meet and thank this man. There are so many of us who just want to say thank you. And I won’t say none of us are not, but most of us are not crazy. We are lobbyists, store managers, attorneys, emergency room nurses, church secretaries of different ages and nationalities, many happily married, most normal women ( and some men). So many of us eager, compelled almost, to meet a single specific man and say thank you.
Some of it, people will say, is lust. Yes, it’s possible that if he was a less attractive man we would wish to thank him in person less. Still, can you truly look at the picture at the end of this blog and say his looks are so much more Adonis like than any other man? To say it’s purely a physical lust for a handsome man is dismissive of the intelligent, thoughtful women so moved to want to thank him.
His talent? “Sweet baby Jesus” he gave us Mulder and if that wasn’t enough, Moody. Whether he is playing a man who has lost his wife in Return to me, a drugged out doctor in Playing God, or a Russian operative determine to see the US nuked in Phantomn he makes every character seem so real that he gets a reputation for only playing himself. He is so good of an actor playing such diverse roles that folks can’t believe is truly acting. Still, I think most of us would just be fans and not fan girls if good looks and talent was all he had going for him
He is multi-talented and many love the rock star with romantic, heart breaking lyrics. For me, as I have often said, he is my favorite living novelist with three novels published and a fourth to come out soon. He writes intelligent, funny, heart breaking novels with an unique style and characters that again seem real (even the talking animals). In a recent interview he said something to the effect that his kids could read these novels and know who he was a man. I think that’s why I love his writing so much is because lyrics or prose they are authentic expressions of an artist’s personality; which brings me to Charmion prompt...the personality of David Duchovny.
I have met the man briefly a handful of times. I like the man I have met, but I can’t pretend to know more anymore than his public persona. I know how he comes across in interviews, what others who know him say about him, and all I can possibly gleam from his public art...from the things he has acted in and from his written art- the XFiles the Unnatural, the movie “House of D”, the novels, the lyrics, the distorted selfies in the mirrors reflections he tweeted when he used to tweet. This is how I know what I know about the man...and the fact that the few times I met him he was soft spoken, polite, humble and kind; taking time to answer my questions intelligently, joke a little and write kind words.
I know he is flawed. It is impossible to be a fan and not know about some of the faults which have been well publicized. As he himself says in my favorite of his songs, “I got skeletons in my closet which time ain’t forgot...”. They will never be forgotten. They will be included 20 or 30 years from now in his obituary. His flawed character is a fact, it has been aired, it is part of who he is.
I have written that what I love best about his writing is the combination of darkness and despair with the lightness of the human spirit and resiliency (mmm...the ability to believe?) rising out of darkness. He writes about the most depressing subjects on earth realistically and the fairy tale quality which rises to fill our hearts, to make us laugh and cry, is as real. It is either or both n amazing technique and/ or a result of a world view. I choose to believe it is the latter.
David Duchovny is no saint, but God Damn, he seems like a remarkably good guy with enough of a bad/boy mischievous side to make his personality as sexy as fucking itself. See how I just got a little different in my language there. David puts fucking in a book title, god damn in a song, gets bleeped on air record breaking number of times. God damn, fuck you if you think this is a man who is afraid to swear. He is not really Fox Freaking Mulder but he is David Fucking Duchovny
He is a good guy. He is intelligent. His ability to reference the high brow literary comes across in all his works. His second album title is from a Shakespeare quote. Walt Whitman shows up throughout his novels (and his dog’s tweets). He is well read, it quite well known. If you don’t get that reference, he would, as a Dylan fan and a fan of many other musical artists. He is also happy to talk about and reference sporting heros.
He is a bad boy. Oh, but the lowbrow humor! Early interviews have fart jokes, bathroom humor. He has a knack for intermixing the profane and profound. His novel, Miss Subways, has the elementary teacher leaving the classroom in tears when an assignment (write a letter to a Shakespeare minor character) results in an innocent boy reading “My dearest Fellatio...”.
He is a good guy. He is a romantic. He gave the XFiles fans the shippy Mulder and Scully baseball scene. He believes in his heart that Californication was at heart a love story. He writes lyrics for his ex wife who loves the rain saying “ It will always be raining in this song.” In his novel are real people having real sex type of scenes...no great erotica with flowing hair and heaving bosoms for this man, but discussion of lights on or off or an older couple off screen and an adult son hearing and embarrassed.
He is a bad boy. The man has no fear of nudity. . In his first movie he was filmed completely naked. In the commentary to the rapture he admits that he told the director he thought the character slept in the nude. (Hence the balls shot). It was his idea to wear the red speedo. He improvised the moonshot in evolution.
He is a good guy. He believes in causes. He volunteers and donates to protect the planet, for animal rights, for music education and for planned parenthood. His was the only story in over 200 XFiles episodes that truly dealt with racial injustice and segregation.
He is a good guy. In House of D the thirteen year old boy’s best friend is a forty year old janitor with special needs. He is a bad boy. That boy and janitor told each other a lot of pee jokes.
I can go on and on and on about the bad boy/good guy public personna of David Duchovny, but I am going to close with a subject that might tempt fate and bring forth the haters. I want to end with thinking about David and women.
In Red Shoes diaries David was in the forefront of the soft porn explosion. In an interview this year Brigitte Bako describes her experience in filming the movie as the “worst experience of my life”; but has nothing but complimentary things to say about David, how sweet and nice he was. They became close friends and she later appeared in an episode of Californication.
In Californication, David was the star of one of the raunchiest series in television history. Tits and ass, fucking and punching. I love the show but it would likely not be made today although, to be fair, it demonstrates women having agency over their sexuality. Nevertheless, actresses who appeared on that show have recently been asked what it was like. Over and over again they talk about how comfortable the environment was and how polite and respectful David was.
Much has been made over Gillian Anderson being paid half of David Duchovny’s salary. This is hardly his fault and something he argued against once he was made aware of it, but, as a fan of the show, I love hearing him talk protectively of Mulder and of wanting to protect that relationship. I love that he was responsible for rewriting an ending to one of seasons 11 episodes which end not with Mulder objectifying Scully and not with him in his under wear, but with Scully opining the door and him standing there. As David said, Scully being in control of her own desires.
Finally in Miss Subways, I find a female character written with such realism and authenticity that I have to go back to the 19th century to find a female literary character so relatable to me. She is a reader, beautiful to some men, a little eccentric in some ways, vulnerable, strong but without a great belief in herself or her talent. She’s just fucking real in a fucking real world despite being in a surrealistic fantasy novel with Irish banshees and African spider goddesses, parallel timelines and phones that can alter reality.
We, the fan girls, love this celebrity, David Duchovny because of his looks, his talent and his personality; because he is a bad boy and a good guy; because he inspires us, because he is flawed as we all are and goes through his life trying to be present in the day. For all the fan women who have yet to meet you, Mr. Duchovny, I say thank you and we love you, until they can meet you and tell you themselves.
Happy Birthday, Charmion. If you should meet him someday when I am not there give him an extra hug for me.
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A friend's litte sister asked me some constructive criticism for her first ff. Now I am in a very difficult position, because I read it and there nothing to save and A LOT to unpack. The plot is a mess and doesn't make sense if you examine it, characters are OOC, she tries to use complicated words that do not really work with her writing style and you can feel that she tries to emulate other authors. But the thing that makes me cringe the most is that she, at 13, chose to write a story full -1
of delicate themes that she doesn't really understand and romanticize, such as abusive relationships and rape, because she tries to be "mature and dark". It's very unsettling to be handed explicit sexual content written by a 13 years old CHILD. How am I supposed to correct this thing?! It would be like sending her pornographic material! She's a CHILD! Another thing is that in her fanfiction there is a scene blatantly copied from MY fanfiction. She didn't even try. I asked her if she reads [title] and she said it's one of her favorites. I could forgive it but now I suspect that she may have plagiarized other authors as well. So, on top of it all, now I know that one of my readers is an unsupervised child who reads heavy darkfics Explicitly rated with a ton of warnings. Splendid. (Is there such thing as a block button on Ao3?) I am at loss of words. Please, give me an advice, because I am seriously tempted to just show her parents what she wrote and tell them what she reads online. People tell me that I would be an asshole to do so, but honestly I don't give a shit about "crushing her drems" now? I wouldn't even know how to help her. This goes beyond simple bad writing, because I touches arguments that I don't feel like discussing with a minor. Am I overreacting? Should I just tell her that I will not read/beta her fic and end it here, ignoring that she pretends to be an adult online and reads fics definitively inappropriate for her age?
It took me a while to get to this, so you may have already acted. In case you haven’t, though, here’s my honest opinion...
As far as your friend’s sister reading and writing explicit material, I honestly don’t think I would take that to her parents. For one thing, it’s up to them to be aware of what their children are doing on the internet, and if they’re not monitoring that, that’s on them. I think the most I’d do is maybe casually mention it to her sister, and if the sister wants to take it to her parents, that’s her choice. She understands the situation/dynamic better than you do.
As far as giving feedback, I think if I were you, I would go for some really general feedback--nothing about specific elements (because, you’re right, you obviously don’t want to hand her back corrected explicit material) but just general constructive criticism. I haven’t read it, obviously, but based on your description, I’m thinking things along the lines of:
-- Be careful of romanticizing dangerous and abusive situations.
-- Be sure not to use pieces or elements of other people’s writing. This is called plagiarism and it is strongly frowned upon and something you can get into trouble for when writing things other than fan-fiction.
-- Thank you for trusting me to provide you with feedback, however, for future reference, I’d prefer not to read explicit material from authors under the age of 16.
Those are just some ideas. I hope something along those lines will help so that you can give her something helpful without dashing her dreams. There’s nothing wrong with being honest in the nicest possible way.
If you want to address the fact that she plagiarized your story, you can do that but be prepared to tell her exactly what part you recognize, what it’s from, etc. and come from the position that she probably doesn’t know any better and you’re trying to help her do better.
Unfortunately, it does not appear that AO3 provides any blocking options.
————————————————————————————————-
Have a question? My inbox is always open, but make sure to check my FAQ and post master lists first to see if I’ve already answered a similar question. :)
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.Invisible man.
So here we are, the first chapter is here (and i’m terrified..)
disclaimer 1: english isn’t my first language, so i apologize for any mistake
disclaimer 2: this fic uses references to the very first internet service, chatrooms & all, i was 20 back then and there were no smartphones yet.
disclaimer 3: Deakster:John CoolCat:Cassandra
pairing: 00s John Deacon x OC Cassandra
warnings: brief mention of divorce and paranoia. Age-gap (20/50), extremely slow burn, very angst, probably sweet at very end (multichapter)
thanks @binkyisonline for everything, without her i wouldn’t be here, writing silly things
summary: Newly divorced John Deacon joins the Queen forum’s chatroom with a fake account and start talking with someone who completely understand him and make him feel alive again. He finds himself obsessed with her pretty soon....
"Yeah, I think that laughing makes me feel better. I try to think about good things and smile, even if I had a bad day. It’s better than worrying too much." - John Deacon 1979
*CoolCat is online*
……………………..
CoolCat - Hey D., you’re already here :’D
Deakster -…today was quite boring, so yeah…how was school ?
CoolCat - a really big NOPE day…but I’ll tell you in a bit.
Deakster - oh ok…still busy?
Cool Cat - oh no, not so much, I just came back it’s all..
________
This was her new normal from one month and a half, almost since the day she joined the official Queen forum and the chat room as well.
She was in London from less than a year attending the London Fashion College and apart from people from her classes she didn’t know anyone in particular; she wasn’t much an outgoing person anyway, but it was ok. In her perspective, now her studies were more important.
One day, too much free time on her hands leaded to, finally, join the official Queen chatroom. She was already registered onto the forum but she didn't have time to actually talk to people or post something but that day she was bored, more than usual, and while the school was closed for winter holidays, she found herself with nothing more to do..
Now thanks to an impulsive decision, she found so many people to talk to with the same love and passion for a band that changed her life forever.
Luckily she found some new “friends” too. One in particular who she talked to almost every time she was there, between school, her new part time job and a almost non-existent private life.
She didn’t know much about him, he was nice and very well behaved so she assumed he was a bit older than her. She even didn’t know his real name, not that it wasn’t important but it was ok, for now. She only knew that he lived in London, like her, but she never asked where exactly and he didn’t tell her too. It was just a really nice and easy chat to pass the time and probably she will never see his face so... why bother about all this anyway?
________
CoolCat - so?Why a boring day? Tell me..while I finish up my dinner : )
Deakster - I’m no that interesting y’ know?i don't know why you still talk to me anyway
CoolCat - don't start, i talk to you ‘cause i want it to ...so go on then, wanna know..why boring?
Deakster - I was at home all day, cleaning up…listening to old music, I wasn’t much in the mood for tv or reading today.
CoolCat - sounds interesting ;D
Deakster - i told you it was boring, no need to mock me ):
CoolCat - I will never ;D
Deakster - as much as I want to believe you, I don’t. Are you laughing at me right now, aren’t you?
CoolCat - I assure you I’m not, ok maybe a little bit.. picturing you doing all things housewife-y is fun..and cute, maybe.
Deakster - am I cute now? Now you totally making fun of me, you little devil :’(.
CoolCat - oh, you realizing it now? That i am indeed evil? I thought you said that you were smart once… :).
Deakster - that i am, i didn't know i was going to meet a tempting devil on my way ;)
CoolCat - eh, life's full of surprises …
CoolCat - back on topic, do you still want to hear how bad my day was instead? It's funny...in its own way
Deakster - and probably much more interesting, go on tell me then…
CoolCat - alright …..in short, they didn’t like my patterns at all..not even one….
________
He didn’t even know why he was still there.
It was supposed to be a one time only...twice at least, just to ease up his boring life a little.
But now?
At first the idea of joining the official band forum was absurd - its own band, what the hell he was supposed to do or say?
Hence the idea of creating a fake account, he really missed the people, the noise, the attentions that once were given to him. In short, he missed the fame and he was bored out of his mind..
Newly divorced, although he and his ex wife were still on speaking terms, she was one of the few people to know him well after all, but still, life had put him through a lot and his life had changed so much in few years
Now he find himself in up-north London, all alone in a small fancy apartment, and 50 years old already.
He didn’t want anyone to know it was him, he wanted to be free, just be himself and not the worldwide famous rockstar. So the idea he had seemed the best way to do it
- and quite silly- his ex wife commented once with a laugh..
It was basically hiding in plain sight, if people knew better, his nickname gave it away a lot, but in a Queen forum not really, not so much…
________
Deakster - so you have to do them all over again? Like you did last week ?
CoolCat - basically yes, but better and it’s so frustrating…I know it’s for my own good, I know it but..fuck….. uh, sorry, it slipped :/
Deakster - hahahahaha don’t worry about it, I used to be worst than that :D
CoolCat - really? You didn’t say one single bad word since I’ve known you..
Deakster - that’s because I can behave in front of a young lady ;)
CoolCat - LOL omg! you know, you talk like a really old man.
Deakster - I am an old man !
CoolCat - you’re not, you’re funny! ;D
Deakster - I can be funny and old at the same time y’ know?
CoolCat - haha yeah right xD …
Deakster - ..and you’re mocking me again.. :/
CoolCat - am not, I told you you’re funny..thank you btw, you really cheered me up, sorry about the rambling...
Deakster - my pleasure and..don’t worry about it :D
________
She didn’t know why it was so easy talking to him, but it was indeed, even if they had a limited time whenever they chatted, every time it was worthy it. She felt safe with him, from the first moment they spoke, relaxed even and she really didn't know why..
It was the first time that a man didn’t ask her for special pictures or talk to her in a creepy way and, honestly, it was quite a relief.
Each day that passed she, slowly, became the curious one but and didn’t know how to tell him just after two months but she really wanted to know more about him.
She liked their unusual friendship and really didn’t want to ruin it, so maybe it wasn’t the right time anyway..
CoolCat - as nice as it was, now I have to go..i’m so sorry D. : (
Deakster - oh, it’s ok… :’(
CoolCat - oh don’t cry, I’ll see you another day isn’t it? :D
Deakster - yes! This old man could use some nice company, every now and then..
CoolCat - I’m flattered :* ..i’m a nice company after all…
Deakster - less when you, clearly, make fun of me :P
CoolCat - ouch! You hurt me ;) …. Now for real, I have to go or I’ll have to pay way too much for my internet.
Deakster - allright..allright, listen…
He stopped for a second, torn between his rational mind and his instinct...a question in his mind for days.
Deakster - Can I ask you something?
CoolCat - maybe next time D. but if it’s important…i can stay a little more..i think
Deakster - no, not all…next time it is :D
CoolCat - ok, bye :*
……………..
*CoolCat is offline*
It wasn’t an important matter, but he really wanted to ask...he had that question in his mind for two weeks or so already…
It was stupid? Probably.
It was too soon? Absolutely.
But he felt different, he felt at peace, he felt alive again, all thanks to her..and that’s what he needed these days.
Almost everyday he was there waiting to talk even if for few minutes and he didn't know why. Infact, he knew little about her, but he didn’t wanted to seem too pushy even if he wanted to know more every time.
In almost two month they talked about almost everything: he knows she was a Queen fan and it was a “family thing” like she said; her mother was a long time fan so it was natural for her to knew about the band. She didn’t have a favorite one, she was more into their music and, to his delight, she liked almost every song he wrote, making him feel really proud. He knows she was attending the London College of Fashion and he smiled to himself at the silly coincidence.
She was a big time fan of fantasy literature, especially Tolkien.
What he didn’t know was her real name, it wasn’t important per se but the more they talked, the more he wanted to know.
Was it the same for her? ..
Next time, maybe...?
________
What they didn't know was that the following days soon took an unexpected turn…
Her life was already messy, but this week seemed much more chaotic than usual.
At school they had a bunch of unexpected tests, mostly pointless and boring and at work they changed her shifts without asking and now she was on the afternoon one; It wouldn't be a problem if only she could still study too, but every night she came back from work too tired to do anything more than sleep or eat. So every morning she woke up an hour or two before her actual alarm so she could did something, even if it meant to probably fell asleep in class...
Every night was a struggle to sleep. Her mind wandered to all the things waiting for her the next day and to a specific person, the one who had soon become a pleasant habit in her life and on how much she missed their small late talks.
She sighs, hoping to come back online soon.
The truth was that she really missed him..
________
He was a mess.
He logged in more than usual that week, just to check if she was there, ignoring anyone else, but nothing showed up.
Many times a little voice inside his head told him that this was pathetic, caring for a young girl like that, a girl that didn't know who he was, a girl that had a very busy life, full of interests, a girl that, surely, was not thinking about him like he was with her.
But he did, he can't help it.
She was somehow special to him, someone who listened to him for once, that talked to him not because of his fame but because she wanted to, someone that made him laugh. She was nice to him, that's all.
However deep down he knew it was all a lie.
What will happen when she would discover who he really was?
That thought scared him the most, but still, he was still there looking for her.(missing her)
________
A week passed with no news whatsoever.
She was always tired and impossibly busy, sleeping on her day off..
He was stressed with family issues with no one to talk to
He still hoped that she would showed up one day or another.
Meanwhile his paranoia started to tricked him in the worst way ever...
________
opinions?advices?constructive criticism?..please tell me what you think..
and if you like it, comment and..maybe reblog? thank you
taglist: @bluewillowmom @iwanttoridemybri @deakysgurl @deakys-chesthair @deacytits @spacedust1124719 @stormtrprinstilettos @dontstopmemeow @mydeakydoesme @culturefiendtrashqueen @babyzellodeacon @sitonmyhot-seatoflove @myguardianmailman @raven974 @chasingthespiders @bismillahnah @acdeaky @sohoneyspreadyourwings @supersonicfreddie
sorry two tags didn’t worked properly
#My writing#queen fanfiction#john deacon fanfiction#john deacon x oc#invisible man#John Deacon#oc cassandra#2000s internet#2000#chatrooms#silly writing#fanfic writing#Queen
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I found a piece of fic that I wrote ages ago and decided never to post and miraculously did not delete! Which is rare for me! I delete too much! I think it’s pretty crap but I promised an anon a while ago that if I found something like this I’d share it (and apologies if there are errors this is a completely unedited first draft of something that I never finished).
Lily Evans is thirteen-years-old when her mother sits her down and explains that her body is about to "undergo some changes."
Her active participation in such a conversation is not how Lily pictured kicking off the summer holidays, but after two years at a boarding school that keeps her apart from her family from September 'til July, her mum is chomping at the bit to delve right into the Talk, lest her daughter learn about menstruation elsewhere—or god forbid, wake up covered in blood one morning and assume that she is shortly about to die.
Of course, Lily knows what to expect from her period. She can read, for one thing, and has numerous female friends. Beatrice got her first ever period at the start of second year, and on the train to school, of all places. Lily will be fine if left to her own devices, but her mother is so excited to talk about Puberty and Buying Bras and Now You're Becoming a Woman, and Lily doesn't have the heart to tell her that she's already quite clued in, thank you very much. She doesn't think she could live with inflicting such disappointment.
There's even a shoebox of props to hand, for Grace Evans is a nurse, and she wants her daughters to have all the information that she was denied at school.
Menstruation education station, she calls it.
"Tampons," her mother tells her, slapping the tiny, lipstick shaped contraption down on the kitchen table like she's preparing to place it as a wager in a high-stakes poker game. Her hand returns to the box and draws out yet another item. "Or pads. They're your two main choices. I'll give you a good supply of both before you go back, just in case, unless—do they have some other method, at Hogwarts? Some sort of magic potion? It's a very difficult subject to research, in my position."
Lily's father walks into the room—newspaper in hand, lips pursed as if preparing to whistle—catches sight of them both, then turns and walks right out again.
"What's wrong with Dad?" says Lily to her mother.
"Men are afraid of menstruation, sweetheart," Grace tells her, with a baleful glance at the door through which her husband has just exited, "because they're weak and silly, and can't be bothered to learn."
"Oh," Lily says, then lets out a laugh. "I suppose I won't ask Professor Slughorn how witches deal with periods."
"Heavens, no, he'll faint dead away."
Lily does not add that it would be rather funny to watch Slughorn faint to get out of an awkward conversation about the miracles of puberty. She doubts that he would feel comfortable talking to the boys about such a thing, let alone a member of the opposite sex.
Puberty is so much easier for boys, she reflects, and that's dead unfair. She may be but a girl and ignorant to the inner workings of the male body, but the only visible change she ever noticed in any of the boys in her year—specifically, in her house—was a sudden onslaught of squeaky voices. To make things more unfair, that phase didn't even last very long, except for poor Peter Pettigrew, who seems to be a squeaker by default.
Now she has to deal with people like Potter—to pick a name completely at random—acting like puffed-up, macho twits because their voices have finally broken.
"I don't know what witches do normally," she says, "but I can always ask Madam Pomfrey. She's the matron at school. My friend Beatrice started hers last year but she's Muggle-born too, so she never thought to ask. Her mum just sends her pads."
"Make sure you do," says her mum, her tone almost warning. "I can send you whatever you need, but it'll be easier for you if there's some magical method you can access, especially for the cramps." She pauses, looking thoughtful. "And the mood swings. And the sore boobs—" Her eyes light up. "—which reminds me..."
Lily groans as Grace delves into the box again and extracts a small measuring tape, such as a tailor might use.
"I don't have boobs to measure," she reminds her mother, clasping both hands to her chest.
"Yet," says Grace, brandishing the rolled-up tape like a particularly tempting treat. "You don't have boobs to measure yet, but that doesn't mean you'll never have boobs." She nods down at her own chest. "I was your classic late bloomer—not so much as an insect bite until I was sixteen, then I ballooned out. Same with your sister. In any case, you've got at least enough to fill an A-cup, and you need to start wearing bras."
"I don't need a bra."
"Well, you're getting one. As soon as I've got you measured up, I'll take you to M&S and get you sorted."
"What else have you got in there?" says Lily, eyeing the battered blue box with a wary eye while her mother unfurls the tape.
"Just the essentials," says Grace airily. "Some leaflets from the hospital, panty liners, condoms—"
As if her mother has cranked up the dial on an embarrassment meter that only a parent has the necessary skills to operate, Lily immediately turns as red as her own hair. "Mum!"
"I'm not saying you need to use them—"
"I'm thirteen!"
"—but it won't hurt you to know how, for future reference!"
"Mum, no," says Lily, as firmly as she can, in her best attempt to sound as if she's taking a mature line on this, "I don't have any reason to want to know how to—how to use—honestly, no." She can't pretend. Her face feels all hot, as if it has been set aflame. Even the thought of what her mother is referring to makes her feel slightly sick. "Seriously, no, I don't want to learn—"
"You don't have to take them with you in September, of course, you're still only thirteen," Grace continues, completely undaunted by her daughter's mortification, "but it seems like you were just a baby five minutes ago, sweetheart. The time goes so fast, honestly, and it won't be long before you start to experience your own sexual awakening—"
"I'm going to my room," says Lily desperately, and shoots out of her chair.
"It's really not that bad—"
"I am grounded. I am grounding myself."
"Really, Lily, I'm just trying to help." Her mother lets out a hefty sigh. "Once we've measured you for a bra, I'll show you how it works on a banana, and you'll see that it's really not that complicated."
Lily Evans decides that she will never eat a banana split again.
***
The inconvenient, unwanted, and oft warned-of sexual awakening comes to hammer down Lily's door when she is fifteen-years-old, by which time her boobs have most certainly come in.
Despite a multitude of painfully awkward conversations with her mother—who doesn't say it, but seems desperate for Lily to fancy someone, anyone, so that they can gossip about it together—on the topic, she finds herself entirely unprepared for it.
She's unprepared because it's… weird.
Lily has had crushes before—sort of—fleeting things that seemed to exist because she thought they were supposed to, rather than stemming from any particular stirrings on her part. She's a late bloomer, just like her mum, and she knows as much. Bea and Mary have both been snogged, and Lily knew that she was trailing a little behind, but she never cared. It was fine and dandy and totally normal. She might even say that she's been lucky to escape it for this long.
It doesn't happen in the way she was expecting, not that Lily had any particular expectations, but had she ever, they would not have formed along these particular lines. It wouldn't be so embarrassing, or confusing—not the how or the why or the when or the where, but the what. The what, of all things.
The what is the thing that baffles her most, because Lily always figured that it would be some transformative, meaningful thing, like an effortlessly witty conversation with a mature intellectual—tall, dark, and a little bit older than she, a boy with soulful blue eyes and scholarly interests.
The what should not be James Potter's arse in a pair of jeans.
But it is.
The thing about the magical world at large is that the robes are basically formless—loose, large, flapping things that hide the body away and become quite annoying during hotter months—but younger witches and wizards will opt not to wear them when it isn't strictly required. Throw Hogwarts, where robes are the mandatory default, into the mix, and something as unexpectedly disarming as a structurally spectacular derriere may spend a vast amount of time being cunningly hidden.
It's the last Hogsmeade trip of fourth year—with summer looming tantalisingly ahead like a ripe apple dangling from a tree—when Lily steps out of Scrivenshaft's and finds herself perfectly positioned to spy James Potter's denim-clad backside as he walks past with his mates.
Her eyes flick over his form as she scans the general area, then Lily finds her gaze dragged abruptly back, as if she's snagged her sleeve on a nail whilst passing through a doorway.
And now she's staring.
At an arse.
At James Potter's arse, which is the worst of it. If Lily has just discovered that she is, in fact, a person with a thing for bums, James Potter's bum—a neat, compact, beautifully fashioned marvel that looks like a peach in those bloody jeans (what monster let him go out in public wearing those things?)—should not have been the catalyst for this discovery, because James Potter is an immature sod, a walking headache, and a bloody annoying git. He and his gang of mates are childish boors, and Lily considers herself to be quite above their general tomfoolery.
She doesn't want to stare, but her eyes won't cooperate.
She likes it, and as she's quite certain that she doesn't much like James Potter, that makes even less sense than the school’s policy on using quills in a world where ballpoint pens exist. Would that she could deny it to herself… but Lily is not deluded. She can recognise the pleasure she's deriving for exactly what it is.
And that is just… not acceptable.
And how dare he, really?
"James Potter," she says hotly, finding herself suddenly and inexplicably compelled to acknowledge his existence, point him out, say his name, anything, "is a complete and utter toerag."
"What?" says Beatrice, who has been counting coins in the palm of her hand.
"Potter is a toerag," Lily repeats, even as she's telling herself to stop, shut up, why are you letting these words come out of your mouth? "I can't believe McGonagall even let him come here after the prank he pulled the other day."
"He got a bunch of detentions," says Mary, eyeing Lily curiously.
"Isn't that enough?" seconds Bea.
"Why are you so angry?" Mary adds. "What's he done to you?"
"Nothing, he's just an arse."
That's an unfortunate choice of words, Lily thinks, colouring nicely.
"Right, but he's always an arse," Mary presses on. "Why are you so angry about it now?"
"Nothing," Lily repeats, "but he just walked by and it reminded me that he's been pissing me off lately."
"If you say so, I suppose," says Mary, looking nonplussed, but a giggling Beatrice sticks her free hand in the air, waving as if to signal a rescue ship.
"Oi, Potter!" she bellows.
Several heads, including James Potter's, turn in their direction.
"Potter!" Beatrice repeats, waving him over.
Lily's heart leaps into her throat, gets stuck, and slides sheepishly back down to her chest.
"What are you doing?" she hisses, taking a swipe at Beatrice's arm.
"If you're pissed off with him, you should tell him to his face," says Bea, dodging out of Lily's grasp to beckon Potter over. "More fun for me that way."
Mary snorts, while Beatrice grins like a cunning fox. Meanwhile, Potter has left his friends to wait for him outside the Three Broomsticks, and is sauntering over with his hands in his pockets.
"I hate you," Lily mutters to Bea.
"That's right," says Bea, smiling broadly, "get it all out of your system."
"I don't want to talk to Potter."
"Then you shouldn't have been mouthing off abo—hey!" says Beatrice brightly, as Potter draws level with their group. "Look who it is!"
"Hello to my adoring fans," he says, with a grin that would be charming, if only it were spread across any other face, and widens considerably when his gaze lands on Lily. "Alright, Evans?"
Potter has been doing this lately, offering bog-standard greetings to the masses, then following them up with, "Alright, Evans?" as if he’s been compelled to single Lily out.
Knowing him, there's some wildly nefarious reason behind it, and Lily persists in believing that despite Bea's insane theories pertaining to thoughts and feelings of the romantic persuasion.
"It means a lot that you don't consider me a fan," she says coolly.
"It's not my place to tell all your secrets," Potter replies. "What did you buy?"
She frowns. "What?"
"In Scrivenshaft's." He nods to the shop behind her. "What did you buy?"
"That's none of your business."
"Oh, right, because Scrivenshaft's is known for selling top secret wizarding spy equipment, and the world as we know it will end if you tell me," he says, sending her a flat look. "Why'd you call me over?"
Lily has to force the corners of her mouth to stay determinedly downturned, rather than laugh, which she really wants to do. "I didn't call you over."
"Didn't you?"
"No, you idiot. Beatrice did."
"That's strange. Could've sworn it was you." His eyes haven't budged from her face for a second, and Lily is beginning to feel irrationally fearful that he's seen her ogling his arse. "Why'd Beatrice call me over?"
"Because Lily wants to talk to you," says Beatrice.
Lily wants to die on the spot.
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Hello I've got 2 questions: The first one was if you could do a directors cut of toms chapter from grass crown? The second one was if you have any tips for writers, specifically dealing with criticism? I'm not great with constructive criticism and have a hard time putting my work out there and I was wondering how you deal with it?
I like how chapter 10 of Grass Crown is now just known as ‘Tom’s chapter’ haha it sounds so foreboding.
I was both very nervous and very excited to write Chapter 10 because I’d never attempted to write from Tom’s POV before, despite being tempted a few times during Barbed Wire.
I know I discussed that chapter pretty heavily in the comment section so I’ll try to avoid repeating anything I said there.
the chapter begins with Tom waking from a dream because I think it speaks to his nature- he has a lot of dreams for his future (most of them good for him, bad for others) and it could be correctly said that he is, in many ways, delusional. but he’a also got a pretty good track record with making his dreams (thus far) into reality, through a combination of smarts, cunning, blackmail/intimidation/threats, and networking.
Amy has mentioned before, because nothing is really ‘off limits’ to Tom, he very rarely doubts that he can achieve something; he’s like that meme of ‘everyone should have the confidence of a mediocre white guy walking into an interview he’s unqualified for’ haha. He’s used to getting his way, either sooner or later. the only ‘thing’ he’s ever dreamed of that he failed to materialize was a life with Amy in it.
It was also important to me that everything in his house be described as modern and new and top of the line and carefully selected by him or Lydia. it’s really his version of a ‘fuck you!’ to his childhood at Wool’s, where he had very little control over his surroundings. now he has all the control.
we then go into the intro of the pensieve, which I knew pretty much from the start I wanted/needed to include, given the constant flashbacks and references to the past in this fic. Tom using a pensieve was a smoother transition to the memory than him just brooding on it for an hour straight.
what’s also interesting is the memory he’s chosen to ‘replay’ over and over again; yes, it is his and Amy’s ‘first time’ but his interest in watching this doesn’t really seem to be pornographic- he acknowledges that he’s not even interested in watching the act of sex itself over and over again- but what precedes and follows it. that level of vulnerability and intimacy which he had once and has never had again. I think it both intrigues and repulses him, the idea of ever opening himself up like that to anyone again.
he mocks Amy’s appearance and his younger self’s devotion to her because that’s easier than confronting the pain of losing all that. he pretends to focus on the fact that sex just isn’t super exciting or even interesting to him anymore to avoid dwelling too much on the fact that being with Amy made him feel appreciated, not just in the physical sense for his looks, but appreciated and accepted as a flawed person, not for any other reason.
we then get the creepy segue that A. Tom hasn’t been celibate since then, unsurprisingly or not and B. the one sex worker he frequents bears a passing resemblance to Amy. that sort of speaks for itself. Tom looks for her in the people around him, especially the women, and is both infuriated and pleased when they either live up to the standard she set... or miss it entirely.
we then jump back into the memory and see Tom and Amy joking with each other after the fact and having a playful argument. this is obviously very painful for Tom, but he masks that by acting shocked and appalled that he ever let someone speak to him like that or mock him to his face like that. the lack of agenda or manipulation in his younger self at that point disturbs him, for all that the relationship between the two was already damaged at the time.
we then see Tom head into work, which is pretty straightforward until the infamous interrogation with Jaime. Jaime is pretty much Tom’s opposite; referred to as a ‘conman’ and a ‘common thug’ and known for moving in the same circles as a lot of organized crime, he’s essentially the blue collar outlaw to Tom’s white collar, just-under-the-surface corruption and deceit. Jaime might not be trustworthy, but he doesn’t pretend to be, either.
Tom is so dismissive and derisive of him that he is enraged when his usual tactics don’t work, and Jaime fails to immediately turn on Amy, as Tom had expected him to do so. the idea of a ‘common criminal’ having some kind of code or honor or even loyalty to anyone but themselves both perplexes and angers Tom. he pivots to assaulting Jaime’s mind in an attempt to get the info on her by force, and is further incensed when Jaime’s memories of Amy conjure up feelings of warmth and affection.
the idea of her even having a friendly relationship with Jaime Isola clearly does not sit well with him. unfortunately for Tom, his attempts to then imperius Jaime our cut short... and we see the transition to home again and the anxious wait for the election results.
his conversation with Lydia is always interesting for me to write because they are both very calculated but trying to play it off as casual and innocent, and both always think they’ve got the upper hand at the moment. Tom suspects Lydia is not nearly as pure of mind and heart as she pretends to be, but is ambivalent about this, content to wait until they’re married to pry much deeper, and acknowledges her intelligence and charisma in the sense that it will be an asset to his career.
he ‘scolds’ her a little by bringing up the fact that he knows about her visit to MESP, but is surprisingly unfazed by her lack of cowering or subservience when she gives a clearly overacted apology. she still, of course, demonstrates plenty of deferral to him in other ways, fixing him a drink and getting his mail.
also, of course, the note that Tom seems to like her best when she acts in a more ‘Amy-esque’ manner; he’s thrilled by her verbal approval of him and not nearly as put off as he usually might be by her open display of affection when she hugs him.
re: dealing with criticism:
this is something I continue to struggle with, although I do my best not to get into sparring matches in the comment sections and I try to ‘see the best’ in every comment and not get derailed into a pointless argument over semantics or fixate on someone’s wording. I’m a sensitive person (I think a lot of writers are) and I think it’s okay to feel upset or hurt by someone’s criticism without feeling like you are being arrogant or selfish. sometimes constructive criticism can be delivered unkindly or in a convoluted manner, especially when it’s mixed in with more minor critiques or compliments, and sometimes criticism isn’t really criticism and is just someone expressing their frustration in the comment section.
I know a lot of writers choose to moderate comments or disable non-ao3-user comments for this reason. I don’t do this because I want people to be able to read my comments and get an accurate sense of how readers felt right when the chapter was posted. even when the comments are embarrassing to me or make me feel bad about my writing. this is a personal choice and I’m not saying you should or must do this.
mostly I deal with it by trying to wait a little to respond; it’s easy to get upset and type out a snarky reply but sometimes if you wait a little you can get a better perspective on how the reader might have felt or what confused or annoyed or felt incongruous to them about your writing. when I do respond I try to just address things very point by point and straightforward, and I also generally do thank people for commenting unless they’re being a blatant troll and just looking for a rise from me.
overall I feel like it’s just something you have to get exposed to over and over again. I’m much better now about not taking comments too seriously or letting them direct my writing than I used to be. when you gain confidence as a writer you can sort of develop a better filter for what critique is useful to you and what isn’t. just because someone has raised a valid point in the comment doesn’t mean they necessarily have the best solution for said problem.
sometimes it is really just a matter of interpretation of a character. it also heavily depends on the fandom (if you are writing fic). in my experience the ASOIAF fandom, as much as I love it, tends to come in swinging a lot harder than the HP fandom, which I think is a little more chill and mellow and more ‘you do you’. if I mess up a worldbuilding detail or don’t explain myself properly in an ASOIAF fic, especially if it involves popular characters or plot points, I know I’m going to get heat for it in the comment section from someone.
overall, I would say try to come at it from the commenter’s perspective, but also don’t let yourself obsess over it. it’s hard to remember but most fics do have a silent majority, and there are so many people who are just going to read it and enjoy it and who just don’t leave a comment because that’s not how they roll. if moderating comments and being able to approve them before they go up will make you feel more in-control and secure, then you should do that.
I do find that if you reply to comments, a lot of times people might seem less abrasive or intimidating on comment #2 than #1, mostly because they’re not expecting to get a reply from the writer. you shouldn’t be afraid to go ‘actually, I agree with you regarding *insert*’ or ‘well, in my view, *character* is acting this way because...’ it’s good practice to be able to calmly state your opinion or defend your work without it turning into an online brawl, and it’s not a mark of weakness to agree with someone’s critique or acknowledge that you could have done something better.
plus, you have to write a lot of crappy fics before you can write a good fic. I try to remember that when I look at my old works. nothing’s set in stone and you can absolutely continue to improve and adapt your writing as you go along.
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Content Creator Interview #8
Here we are again folks, number 8! This time we’re continuing on from last week’s interview with a bit of role reversal, @ellis-hendricks posing questions to her friend and beta @geekmama, chatting about Brit-picking, bad writing habits, favourite authors, and, most importantly, which of Sherlock’s shirts does it for her.
But starting off with a recap of last week’s intro...
We are, respectively, a Californian and a Geordie, and we got to know each other through reading and reviewing each other’s fics (geekmama’s ‘Time of the Season’ series was one of the first fics I read and loved). Geekmama has been writing in the fandom for around 3 years, and I’ve been doing the same for around 2 years, spurred on by the end of series 4 (and the ILY scene in particular). We started beta-reading each other’s work around a year ago, and are always discovering new and unexpected words and phrases that don’t translate across the pond! Although we’ve used the same set of questions for these interviews, we haven’t seen each other’s answers – so it does mean that if nobody else is interested, at least we will be!
Series
ellis-hendricks: Was there a particular moment in the series that set the ship sailing for you?
geekmama: I think it was A Scandal in Belgravia, and specifically Sherlock’s unprecedented apology to Molly, that got me thinking that the possibility was there, that it wasn’t just Molly’s schoolgirl crush vs. Sherlock’s needs when the game was on. I have to say, even though the Sherlock/Molly ship is easy to board, Mofftiss, etc., were very clever about leaving the way open for other pairings throughout the series. Even the ILY scene and its fallout could be interpreted very differently, if one was so inclined. It is really thanks to all the amazing fanfic authors out there that I jumped on board and took up residence on the good ship Sherlolly.
ellis-hendricks: What's your favourite episode and why?
geekmama: I love bits and pieces of all of them, but the one that I’ve watched more than any other is The Sign of Three. It’s heartwarming, hilarious, and only mildly heartbreaking. Even the villain of the piece, as little as we see him, has a motive one can understand.
ellis-hendricks: If you could ask/tell the series writers one thing, what would it be?
geekmama: Killing off Mary was a mistake, and I don’t care if that event sets up the entire story arc of season four, you should have thought of something else. Come on! You are brilliant writers, you could have done it.
ellis-hendricks: Do you have a controversial opinion about the series? E.g. a character who everyone else hates, but who you love?
geekmama: Or everyone loves but you hate? I’d say Moriarty qualifies. Andrew Scott is very cute, but though he’s in a number of the episodes we’re never given much insight to his character’s motives. Moriarty is pretty much just murderously insane in canon, and I don’t understand how one gets around that to write Molly/Moriarty or any of the slash pairings.
ellis-hendricks: Have you ever, when watching an episode, cracked a case before Sherlock?
geekmama: Well, if the writers want us to, then we’re given the information to crack the case before Sherlock. The series is about him, after all. The cases are secondary.
ellis-hendricks: With whom would you rather be stuck at a wedding table –
Janine or Irene?
geekmama: Janine, she is just fun and rather ordinary, whereas Irene has numerous ulterior motives under her veneer of smug vanity.
ellis-hendricks: Donovan or Anderson?
geekmama: Anderson, since he actually felt remorse for what they did to Sherlock, and came to admire him, too. There might be more to Donovan than what we’re given, and certainly that’s what fanfic is for -- I’ve made her a sympathetic character in a couple of my own fics. And apparently she and Sherlock have some pretty interesting history between them.
ellis-hendricks: Who would you rather bring back in series 5 - Mary or Moriarty?
geekmama: Mary, of course -- she is a far more well-rounded (and loveable) character. One wants to know more about her.
ellis-hendricks: Whose house would you prefer to live in - Sherlock's, John & Mary's, Molly's or Mrs Hudson's?
geekmama: Probably Molly’s, though Sherlock’s would be tempting. Molly’s looks pretty state-of-the-art in the ILY scene, if rather bland -- I couldn’t imagine Molly living in a place that’s all granite gray. It doesn’t reflect her personality at all, and I didn’t even think it could be her home the first time I saw that episode.
ellis-hendricks: In your opinion, who has been the best series villain - Jim Moriarty, Charles Magnussen, Culverton Smith, or Eurus Holmes?
geekmama: Eurus. We’re at least given some idea of her motives, and one can feel some sympathy for her, even though she is as insanely murderous as the other three. The other three are pretty equally revolting.
Your writing
ellis-hendricks: What was your first fic? What prompted it, and how do you feel about it now?
geekmama: My first in the Sherlock fandom was Visiting Hours, written in March 2016. I first watched seasons 1-3 of Sherlock in October 2015 and I’d been reading other authors’ work for several months. There were ideas I wanted to explore, and I wanted to see if I could still write at all, lol! I hadn’t written anything since July of 2013, when I celebrated a decade of being in the Pirates of the Caribbean fandom with a series of ten 50 word drabbles. Visiting Hours is only 100 words, official drabble length, and it’s held up pretty well, I think. I don’t hate it, at least.
ellis-hendricks: Which fic are you most proud of/most attached to, and why?
geekmama: This is a really difficult question since I’ve written quite a few Sherlock fics. If I had to narrow it down, maybe Idiots in Love, which is part of the Aftermath series and from Greg Lestrade’s pov, which is always fun, and The Kensington House, kid!fic from my Time of the Season series. But then there are all the holiday fics… and the historical AU’s…
ellis-hendricks: You write great AUs set in other historical periods - do you prefer this or present day?
geekmama: I’ve read, and written, a lot of historical fiction, and certainly writing it comes much more easily to me than writing something set in the present day -- particularly current culture in the UK. It’s a good thing my dear Ellis_Hendricks is willing to Brit-pick for me. I did my best, but I’m sure my early Sherlock fic has plenty of errors in that regard. That was the most difficult thing for me when I was beginning to write in this fandom. However, I have grown to enjoy writing fic set in the present almost as much as writing historical fic.
ellis-hendricks: What are your worst writing habits?/What are your most overused phrases, plotlines, etc?
geekmama: Wow. There are probably a LOT of bad habits (run-on sentences, excessive use of parentheses and ellipses, etc. etc.etc.), and overused phrases/words. As for plotlines, I find the (comparatively) reality-based canon of Sherlock to be somewhat limiting to begin with (which is why AU’s were invented, I suppose). I try not to repeat plotlines, but of course I’ve used post-ILY scenarios multiple times (and no doubt will again -- the anniversary is coming up on the 15th), and I tend to overdo the h/c as that’s one of my favorite things.
ellis-hendricks: Do you have a writing routine? Where and when? And is everything digital, or are things ever handwritten first?
geekmama: Laptop, ideally in the morning, alone in bed (except for a pile of snoozing dogs), with no distractions like music etc. I can write with the TV or music on, but it takes a lot longer to produce anything. I haven’t produced finished handwritten works since I was in high school, and when I first got back into writing in late 2003 it was on a laptop I borrowed from work -- and it was a revelation! I wouldn’t bother handwriting more than a drabble or the outline of a story, now. Computers FTW!!!
ellis-hendricks: Who do you enjoy writing the most?
geekmama: Sherlock (if I have to choose -- I love Molly, Mycroft, and Lestrade pov, too).
ellis-hendricks: Who do you find easiest/hardest doing first person POV? - Sherlock seems fairly easy a lot of the time (hopefully readers agree -- I may be way off base, who knows?), and maybe Molly for hardest. We see so little of Molly over the course of the series it’s sometimes difficult for me to get a handle on her.
ellis-hendricks: Which fic would you recommend to someone who has never read your stuff before? - Benefit of the Doubt, maybe. I like the way it came out. It was one of those that practically wrote itself.
ellis-hendricks: What do you value most when it comes to feedback?
geekmama: Any feedback is very much appreciated, from Kudos to brief comments, but it’s always nice when someone references a particular phrase or idea they liked. I know how difficult that is to do, sometimes, though.
ellis-hendricks: Would you ever go back and revise old fics - or do you consign them to history once they're published?
geekmama: If I discover (or someone points out) an error I will go back and correct it, but I don’t really revise my stories once they are posted.
ellis-hendricks: What's the nicest/weirdest bit of feedback you've ever had? And does feedback ever influence what you write next, either within a story or in terms of future fics?
geekmama: I have to say I’ve had a lot of great, encouraging comments over the years, and maybe a few negative ones, mostly on FF.net, which I pretty much ignore, though one or two brought up interesting points. I think mostly people leave a comment if they really like something, or just go away if they don’t. Feedback does influence what I write to an extent -- say if someone really wants more of a certain story, or aspect of a story, that gets me thinking how it could be done.
ellis-hendricks: Do you - or would you - write other pairings?
geekmama: Well, yes, I’ve written Mycroft/Lady Smallwood, and John/Mary, and I have a few fics that reference Lestrade/OFC. And of course there are other F/M possibilities. But mostly it’s Sherlock/Molly.
ellis-hendricks: How would you define your style? (E.g. mine was called 'fluffy realism’, which I quite liked!)
geekmama: I agree with that ‘fluffy realism’ definition, the sweetest stuff and easily related to. I would call mine “Romance” if I had to choose a word, the old definition of romance that entails fluff, angst, humor, adventure -- all the stuff that makes a story interesting and fun to read.
ellis-hendricks: What's your method in approaching a story? Do you plan methodically, or wing it?
geekmama: I am somewhere in between. With longer fic I sometimes use an outline, but more often I have a basic plot in mind, complete with ending, and think about it until I’m finally ready (and have the time) to write it.
ellis-hendricks: Who do you write for? Is it you, or are you thinking about trying to please your audience?
geekmama: Mostly me. I started writing fanfic in the Pirates of the Caribbean fandom because I wasn’t seeing fic that went where I wanted to go with that story. With Sherlock it was some of that, and the fact that I wanted to further explore these compelling characters, and writing fic was the best way to do that. But I do write for my audience, to an extent, and it is fun to accept a prompt or theme from someone and write to it. In the PotC fandom we had a weekly drabble challenge for years, and I really miss that sort of thing.
ellis-hendricks: Do you have any WIPs, and do you think new chapters will ever see the light of day?
geekmama: I do have a WIP, Souvenirs, for which I’ve written a couple of additional chapters, and hope to finish some day. But it sort of got waylaid by the whole post-ILY thing. I may finish it. You never know. I also hope to write some more of that Regency AU, Uncertain Terms.
ellis-hendricks: Are you working on anything at the moment?
geekmama: I’m going to try to write something for the ILY Anniversay (January 15th).
ellis-hendricks: What’s harder for you - writing the start of a fic, or coming up with a decent title?
geekmama: Writing the start, I guess. Titles are usually easy. It’s plot and particularly a good ending that take a lot of work.
Reading other people's fics
ellis-hendricks: What are your favourite tropes in the fandom?
geekmama: Post-ILY scenarios, for sure, h/c, kid!fic, Mary is still alive, Christmas stories. Etc.
ellis-hendricks: What things are likely to turn you off a fic?
geekmama: Bad characterizations (we read fanfic because we want more of the characters we love); poor editing / grammar; too many crazy tags; Intro posts that have TMI (I don’t want to know that you’re bad at titles/summaries/etc.), or that solicit reviews too blatantly. Well, those things and just stuff I don’t want to read -- bad porn, excessive violence (torture in particular), stories focusing on characters I dislike. I’m kind of picky, actually. But we write and read in a particular fandom for personal pleasure, and I think authors have to expect that their work won’t please everybody (or maybe anybody - who knows?).
ellis-hendricks: Can you recommend 3 favourite fics that aren't your own?
geekmama: Only 3??? Well, I’ve printed out miabicicletta’s A fearful hope was all the world, and sunken_standard’s Fumbling Toward Ecstasy, so I guess that counts for something. It’s virtually impossible to choose one of Ellis_Hendricks’ fic, they reference so many of my favorite tropes and are all of them deliciously memorable. But then, how can I leave out Quarto’s Competition? Or Emma_Lynch’s Quarantine? Or so many others?
ellis-hendricks: What compels you to leave comments on top of kudos?
geekmama: If some idea or turn of phrase stands out for me, and if the fic is well-done in general.
ellis-hendricks: Quick-fire questions!
John's TEH moustache or his TAB moustache?
geekmama: TAB (I don’t think we are meant to like his TEH moustache, are we?).
Sherlock's purple shirt or white shirt?
geekmama: Gah! Why do I have to choose? Purple, then.
Molly's stripy jumper or cherry cardigan?
geekmama: Stripy jumper, I think, as their relationship is more fully developed at that point.
Mary's christening outfit or black-ops gear?
geekmama: Christening outfit, for sure.
Submitted by OhAine: this is a joint question for Ellis and geekmama: Do you feel that working together as betas has changed the way you both write?
geekmama: Not really, my process is the same and any input from Ellis_Hendricks is given after the fact. I edit the story accordingly, but there are usually only minor changes involved. I am particularly grateful for her “Brit-picking” skill, which obviously makes her far more valuable to me than I am to her -- it’s surprising how many little differences there are between the UK’s culture and California’s. I was woefully ignorant about that when I became involved in this fandom, and I don’t feel I’m much better now, really.
Next week, Friday 12th April 2019, @thisisartbylexie interviews @writingwife-83
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ESS sign-ups
Mmm... maybe sideblogs don’t show up in tag searches?? Because my key chain post does?
So the Escaflowne Secret Santa (ESS) is a gift exchange that’s going into its fifth year. If you love Escaflowne you should join! We love new blood people. Please follow the @esca-ss blog for information and updates!
Thanks @drkstars-art for reminding me! Omg it is almost the end of October isn’t it? :/
Yes I’mma still use this sideblog for sign-ups bc it functions. Sign-ups end 11/16, partners will go out 11/20. Please post gifts by 1/11/2020. (Cannot type ‘2019′ for that ha.)
Sign-up form is here, send your info to icm.9302014 [@] gmail.com to sign up. FAQ is here, if you can’t find the answer holla at me.
Remember that I ignore time zones; if your time zone is right then you’re good!!
Anyone who loves Esca and wants to participate is welcome!!! Reblog and tag!!
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If the blog doesn’t work, here’s the FAQ/Information and the Sign-up form:
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Don’t see your question here? Just contact Rad via any method (email: icm.9302014 [@] gmail.com). [Heeeey, that’s a different email…. Yeah I don’t mind that the internet can see it. Responses will come from my primary email.]
What is the ESS?
The Escaflowne Secret Santa (ESS for short) is a fan-created holiday gift exchange to promote friendship between those who enjoy Escaflowne and to create new works for the fandom.
Who runs the ESS?
radicalrad-1986, call her Rad, hosts the ESS exchange. So far we’ve got four! wonderful years under the belt!
Do you need help organizing/running the ESS or working the Tumblr site?
At this time, no. If help is needed there’s already a list going. If there arises a situation in the future where Rad needs help she’ll ask. Thank you!
Who can join/participate?
Anyone and everyone who loves Escaflowne! You don’t need to be a part of the location we hang at or our little usual group on Tumblr. If you love Esca then come have fun, meet new people, make stuff for the fandom! It does not matter how old you are* or how old a fan you are; come join! (* = Please be 18+/local age of consent to participate in the NSFW exchange.)
How does this work?
1) Sign up by filling out this form and emailing it to icm.9302014 [@] gmail.com.
2) Receive your recipient’s name.
3) Create! (Keep it a secret!)
4) Check in at the requested times.
5) Post!
6) Have fun!!
– Each year there will be someone helping Rad give out a set of names - including hers! Please check in with Rad, not the secondary person. Generic questions about the ESS should be directed at Rad. If you receive Rad’s name and have a question about her gift please contact the secondary person OR if you directly ask Rad be sure you’re anonymous.
When are the sign-up dates / posting dates?
These dates will change as the years go by so they’re not set in stone. If Rad is on top of things (haha) sign-ups will begin early October and posting week is mid/late December or early January. For the posting week you have the entire week, you’re not late if you post on Wednesday or Saturday instead of Sunday! :)
What can I do as a gift for my recipient? What quality does it have to be? How much time should I spend on it?
Whatever you want! If you’re a writer, write! If you’re an artist, draw! If you like making animated images, animate away! Music videos, fan soundtracks, manips, whatever your talent is. Please make something for your recipient to enjoy; if they don’t like Dornkirk don’t draw or write something elaborate based on him. Quality and time spent are hard to quantify. No one expects you to spend years on it or break yourself over it. “Please spend more than five minutes and don’t gift a rush job,” goes without saying. Surely no one will give a rushed gift but so it’s been said. Don’t compare yourself to another gifter and feel bad; know that your gift will be loved by the recipient and the fandom for the care and time you put into it.
Can I gift something NSFW or state that I’m fine with receiving it?
Yes! There is a secondary swap for those who are alright with NSFW. If you’re not into NSFW no worries! Must I gift something NSFW if I’m in that group? No; if your inspiration does not lead down that road that’s alright. It’s a way for people who are comfortable in the area to give/receive NSFW while those who are uncomfortable don’t have to worry.
Can I do BOTH swaps if there are two swaps?
Sure! The point is to have fun, so why not double it?
How/where should I post my gift?
Wherever you want; Rad is primarily linking to things on AO3 due to Tumblr’s 12/2018 stupidity.
– NSFW entries that are SFW: Please comment in the post that they are SFW as Rad will tag them that way for the filtering/block systems.
– NSFW entries that are NSFW MUST be under a cut!
– Tagging: Please @-tag this blog, esca-ss. In the tags section please tag it “ESS(space)[year]”. For example, “ESS 2017.” For the NSFW please tag it “NSFW(space)ESS(space)[year]”. Example, “NSFW ESS 2017”. Rad uses the Tumblr Search function to make sure she doesn’t miss postings. If this blog, esca-ss, doesn’t reglog your post within 48 hours please contact either this blog or RadicalRad1986 and nudge me.
Where do I sign up?? How much information should I provide? May I ask for an extra personalized gift?
Please email your form toicm.9302014 [@] gmail.com.
You can provide as much information as you want! Don’t write a book but don’t submit a single sentence either. :)
— An ‘extra personalized gift’ means you’d like something based on fic you’ve written or art you’ve drawn or if you really like someone’s headcanon and you want your gift based on that. A generic request is alright but not specific (example of specific: fic A, chapter 2, lines 12-54). You must also include at least three generic likes as well. [If its longfic you can point to a chapter or two because yeah we may not have time to read 500,000 words.] Etc; it is not limited to fic, art, or headcanon.
—— Example: “So I’d really like art based on this fic (URL link) that I/someone else wrote.” Or “I’d love to see a story based on this art (URL link) that I/someone else drew.” Or “Xyz posted this headcanon and I’d love to see this explored.“ As well as “I enjoy the VH dynamic, Folken intrigues me, and what the heck was Dryden doing for his five years abroad I mean how did he build his merchant empire-ish thing?”
— URLs MUST be included, not just links. Links disappear as things are copied/pasted.
Can/should I message my recipient before the posting date? Can I post a teaser of some sort?
If you want, certainly! Remember though, it’s a secret! Don’t let your recipient know who you are or exactly what you’re making! If you’re having fun that’s the goal! (Example: Message your recipient as anonymous or Submit/send Rad or the ESS a teaser and she’ll post it, that way the original creator is temporarily disconnected from the teaser.)
What if I can’t post my gift on time or I have to duck out due to real life?
This is alright and totally understandable. There is a week’s time in which you can post your gift so don’t feel rushed. No one will look down on you because life happened. You have to take care of yourself first. Being a little late is obviously undesirable but understandable. If you’re going to be late or sadly must duck out please let Rad know asap. There are back-up gifters in place for this reason.
Deadlines and time zones
I try very hard to ignore timezone s. I live in Michigan, USA, so when I say a date/deadline I’m referring to my time zone of Eastern Standard. However, I try to allow twenty-four hours to go by before no longer accepting sign-ups or calling deadlines. If it’s the stated date in your timezone, you’re on time. :)
You sure link to your personal blog a lot… Just sayin’.
While I have notifications turned on for the ESS blog, Tumblr conspires against me and I don’t get the notifications. Notifications usually DO work for my personal blog. Therefore you’re more likely to get a faster response if you contact my personal blog. (Blame Tumblr.)
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**: Please copy/paste or type out the URL on the form. For example: (radicalrad-1986.tumblr.com). When Rad receives sign-ups and their information she copies and pastes them into a Word/GDrive document. Text links usually don’t/sometimes carry over and thus your locations are lost! (This is an example of a text link.)
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– Esca universe: If you know me at all you know that the Series is my only focus and Eries and the Astons and Dryden are my peeps. I’d LOVE to see more Marlene/Mahad! Love the girls x their men too. ^.^ I do love the Movie and if you want to do my gift in another universe, any universe, that’s totally fine. The usual/standard is also enjoyed but it’s nice to have a larger variety. I’d love to see more of minor characters or pairings. I can be tempted with rairpares if they’re not terribly OOC. :D I would super enjoy fanart of anything I’ve written too, iffn you feel like it. Fanart of anything I’ve written would be wonderful! (My Aston girls fic is in the reworks but the gist is the same.)
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7) If needed, are you available as a back-up gifter? Yup!
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LOT/CC fic: Same Time Next Year
Leonard is a demon. Sara is an angel. Still, they've learned to work together over all the millennia--and to appreciate each other. But when Leonard wants to change their...arrangement, will Sara manage to face her feelings enough to figure out what she really wants?
***
Inspired by my recent reread of “Good Omens,” though I haven’t managed to see the show yet. A warning that it is fairly long for Tumblr, coming in at more than 7,000 words.
Many thanks to Pir8grl! Can also be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.
***
Most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people.
“Good Omens,” by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
***
It was a lovely day, really. The sort of day that generally put people in a wonderful mood as they walked in the sunshine and gloried in one of the first truly beautiful days of the spring.
As such, Leonard thought as he sauntered toward the meeting point, it was probably the sort of day he should dislike intensely. He couldn’t quite muster the feeling, though. He liked Central City enough that he rarely voluntarily left it these days, and he wasn’t horribly fond of cold weather (ironic as that was, really). He was as pleased with the day as everyone else.
Maybe that had something to do with his plans for it, though.
And he certainly shouldn’t be thinking that.
Leonard was, not to put too fine a point on it, a demon. Fallen child of heaven. Devotee (as much as he was devoted to anything) of Lucifer himself. He’d been on Earth a long, long time, tasked with keeping a weather eye on humanity and his opposite number. Which was what he was doing today.
Really.
Well. Sort of.
Despite the weather, he was all in black. It was sort of his thing. Skinny black jeans, black turtleneck, black leather jacket. Icy blue eyes—well, he was an ice demon—were hidden, at the moment, behind dark glasses. Very short salt-and-pepper hair (which showed an annoying tendency to curl manically if he let it grow any longer, despite all his demonic efforts) gave him a look of experience (or so he liked to think). And the line of 5 o’clock shadow on his jawline was classic “bad boy,” at least by current standards.
Certainly plenty of people, men and women alike, were watching the saunter that fine spring day. (And the ass, especially in those tight jeans.) Well, temptation was part of the job. Perhaps to their sorrow, however, passive temptation was all they’d be getting today. Leonard’s mind was elsewhere.
To be specific, it was on the being sitting on the rim of the fountain in the park just up ahead. Her attention was, to all appearances, wholly on the other people walking by around her, and Leonard let his steps pick up, just a little. As long as she wasn’t looking. It wouldn’t do to look too eager.
He wasn’t that far away, though, when she glanced up. Leonard immediately went back to the saunter. Nothing to see here. He wasn’t that glad to see her.
Something in Sara Lance’s face, as she got to her feet, told him that she saw right through that.
But because she was glad to see him too, neither of them would dare say anything.
Sara—properly, Sarai of the Holy Lance—was an angel. Leonard’s opposite number, here on Earth, to be honest (which, as a demon, he probably shouldn’t be). And she was beautiful, all that the modern image of angels tended to be—blond with bright blue eyes and the, well, face of an angel. Innocent and sweet and naïve.
One of the things Leonard lov…liked about her, though, was that that image was absolute garbage. Even That Book (as demons tended to refer to the Bible) noted that angels appearing to humans often had to say, “Fear not!” Angels could be scary.
Sara was no exception. And Leonard, frankly and completely counterintuitively, found it utterly and deliciously intoxicating.
She was badass. Leonard, lurking as only a demon could lurk, had seen her as a shining warrior of the light more than once, including as she took on a group of neo-Nazis in 2017. (Leonard hated neo-Nazis and Nazis alike. They were, he thought, a measure of how much evil humans could come up with completely on their own.)
(And some things, even a demon couldn’t countenance—at least, this demon. He’d never truly claimed to be a very good one, after all, even if that was a contradiction in terms.)
Sara had left a trail of bodies behind her that day, more (Leonard thought) than he’d ever personally accounted for. (He was rather fonder of breaking the eighth commandment, himself.) And when she’d stopped and turned toward him, as if sensing his presence, the beatific smile on her blood-splattered face had made something deep in his chest do a weird little flip-flop.
If he hadn’t known better, he’d say it was his heart.
He was a demon. He wasn’t supposed to have a heart.
Today, Sara was wearing her usual white leather jacket, he saw as he sauntered closer, trying (and failing) to look cool. Over a blue T-shirt, and blue jeans just as tight as his were. Not that he was looking at her ass, or anything.
Leonard noticed the pin, a tiny heart with stripes in pink, blue, and purple, on her collar, and smirked a little, tapping his own lapel. An equally tiny circle, with stripes in pink and yellow and blue, appeared.
(A wise man—two wise men, really—had once written that “For those of angel stock or demon breed, size, and shape, and composition, are simply options.” Leonard knew perfectly well that he and Sara both enjoyed exploring all those options. In more ways than one. Neither of their sides really cared who did what, consensually, with whom, contrary to common belief.)
He saw her lips twitch as she noticed, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she just folded her arms, lifting an eyebrow at him.
“You’re late,” she informed him.
Leonard smirked at her, sitting down smoothly on the fountain’s edge and then sprawling comfortably like a cat. She always said he was incapable of sitting in any way that approximated “normal” human behavior. “Oh, you know,” he drawled, watching her intently. “Places to go. People to tempt. Trouble to cause.” A pause. “You look...well.”
Sara didn’t react to the abrupt change in tone. She sat back down on the fountain too, curling her legs under her. “So do you,” she said after a moment, quietly. “I didn’t see you much this past year. Been busy?”
“Eh.” Leonard hesitated. The tone was already different from most of their meetings. Where was the playful flirtation, the banter, the back-and-forth he was used to?
He pushed back his sunglasses, wanting to see her better. Was there a shadow there, in her eyes? He was surprised by the surge of anger he felt at the idea something or someone had caused that.
He was her opposite, damn it, and he was the one supposed to be the one giving her hell, in whatever respect. No one else better try it. Or...or...
Oh, hell. Literally.
He’d take on any being, diabolical, angel, or human, who hurt her.
“You know,” he repeated, a little more subdued as he tried to figure out how to deal with this realization. “I honestly don’t need to do much. People seem to do it all on their own, these days. And worse than I could manage.”
It was true, although Leonard wasn’t precisely a conventional sort of demon. There were things he wouldn’t do—although he really didn’t want the Powers That Be knowing that.
“I know.” Sara watched the water of the fountain play a bit, shifting closer. “That’s...I guess that’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?” She glanced over at him as he sat up, watching her. “They do it all on their own,” she said, lowering her voice. “And so many times, they talk themselves into thinking they’re doing good. And really believing it.”
He did know what she meant. Far too well.
And sometimes it hurt, even to him.
Leonard and Sara, they’d come to their agreement long ago. Earth was a fascinating place, and (for the most part) they really rather liked it and all its opportunities. (And its food. And its entertainment. And its booze.) So, they played their scripted chess match, never a temptation without an instance of grace, and let humanity handle its own highs and lows.
And once a year, they met to check in. That had started, years ago, as just a way to get enough dirt on “the other side” to appease their respective sides. It’d grown into the need to talk to someone else who understood, who just got the highs and the lows. The intriguing and confusing and sometimes heartbreaking nature of these humans they lived among.
Sara, as she’d come to know Leonard better, discovered that he was less inclined to actually harm than merely tempt, and rarely in a way that was truly evil. And Leonard had discovered that Sara, angelic or not, had an ironically wicked sense of humor and fewer illusions than most about her “side” of the coin.
One might say they’d even become friends, over the years. Confidants. And then….and then…
Leonard cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said quietly, looking at the water and then glancing her way out of the corner of his eye. “Sorry I ain’t been around much.” He’d been trying to avoid getting pulled into the sort of plot “his” side was so fond of right now. The trend was for true evil dressed and posing as lofty moral good these days, and it made him gag.
Give him a good ol’ fashioned sinner any day, rather than those devils in fundamentalists’ clothing. Or even worse, their smug, self-satisfied human patsies, so convinced of their own holy rightness that they’d tell themselves that their fellow humans deserved the worst of punishments for their alleged failings.
Yeah, Leonard was trying to stay far away from that. Or he’d get rather too involved—and not in the way he was supposed to.
Sara gave him a sad little smile, and he decided that that was enough introspection for now. He stood, turning with a little flourish and holding a hand out to her.
“C’mon,” he said, wriggling his fingers. “I think I owe you dinner this year. And I know a great place in this very city.”
Sara considered him, then reached out and took the hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet.
“Aw, no Ritz this year?” she asked a little playfully.
“Nah. I got something better.”
*
Sara hadn’t meant to let her current state of pessimism show quite so much. She should have known that Leonard, of all…entities…would see and hear it and react.
She’d just been so dam...so darned glad to see him, smirk and saunter and all. He could be a jerk and a jackass, but long experience had taught her that there was no true evil in him, despite everything she’d once been taught about his kind.
He understood her better than anyone else at this point, she thought, glancing across the table at him and toying with her glass of wine. The angel Ripkiel, her mentor, would choke, but it was true. The ones who never spent much time here, among the humans and all their amazing and horrible creations and potential, they didn’t get it.
As if he’d read her mind, Leonard, who’d been focused on the remnants of his meal at the little hole-in-the-wall steakhouse he’d taken her to, glanced up.
“And how’s ol’ Rip?” he asked laconically.
Sara sipped her wine. “Oh, you know. Harried and self-important, but still one of the better ones.” She paused. “And how’s Mik?”
Leonard’s brother, for lack of a better word, was a fire demon. His name was close enough to the name of one of the most famous archangels that he now refused to use anything other than a nickname.
Sara had met him, memorably, at the 1666 Great Fire of London, when she’d shown up, suspicious that the blaze was a demonic ploy. (The angelic host had been on high alert all year.) There, she’d found a big man with a fiery aura staring raptly at the flames and Leonard hovering nearby, his own icy aura evident as he kept an eye on the fire as well.
Mik had been inclined to great dubiousness when it came to Sara, but Leonard had quickly talked him into a sort of truce. In the end, parts of the city burned, but only six people died—and the flames had the counterintuitive benefit of cleansing great swaths of the city after the bubonic plague outbreak (which had killed a whopping 100,000 people) the year before.
(People still claimed it was the wrath of God that had caused the fire—because of the Catholics or the city’s sin of gluttony, depending on who you asked. Sara was still sighing over that one.)
“Mik is…Mik.” Leonard smiled briefly. “He’s OK. He keeps his head down. Still about as fond as…ah, authority…as I am.”
What did it mean when a demon hated authority? Sara wondered, given the authority to whom said demons were supposed to answer.
And what did it mean when an angel felt the same way?
That question led down paths she was still uneasy with. Her gaze dropped to her wine glass again.
“I’m glad,” she said, staring at the pale liquid. “I like…”
She liked Mik. But how could an angel like a demon? They were evil, her side taught. Unworthy of redemption or grace. You didn’t like a demon. Let alone lov…
Sara’s head jerked up. Her gaze glanced off Leonard’s, then ricocheted around the room before resting, finally, on the wine glass again.
Silence, except for the quiet bustling of the restaurant. Sara heard and partly saw Leonard pick up his own glass, half-full of a deep red wine, and take a drink.
Imagined his throat working as he swallowed. Imagined his lips, stained red from the wine. Considered a warm, solid, nonjudgmental presence, intelligent and thoughtful, all the things she’d been told and taught were not for her, and…
Sara lifted her eyes again, letting her gaze meet his, acknowledging the spark—hell, far more than that—that traveled between them.
“Your place is near here, right?” she asked, tossing back the glass of wine. “It’s been a long year.”
*
Leonard was a little nonplussed.
He sprawled on the black leather couch in his apartment, feet up on the back just because, watching Sara prowl around the space, perusing all his bookshelves and looking out the windows with a restless sort of energy. It was a great spot, he'd admit that, and he had the penthouse and an utterly remarkable view.
He hadn’t paid rent in, well, ever. He'd just sort of moved in, way back when this building had been shiny and new and state of the art, and stayed there as others slowly filled in the apartments below. No one thought about the penthouse after that day, and that was just how Leonard wanted it.
He didn’t pay for utilities or Wi-Fi either. Nevertheless, both seemed to work just fine.
The area was trendy again, now, and Leonard was vaguely surprised that he hadn’t had to “remind” anyone that the penthouse not only existed but was off-limits for years. He wasn’t too worried about it, though.
He was, however, worried about Sara. Something was definitely off. This wasn’t even the sort of brittle, hard-drinking cheer she had about her when there were things she just wanted to forget. This was more. This was worse.
“You OK?” he asked, watching her from half-lidded eyes.
After a moment, Sara turned away from the bookcase—the shelves dedicated to books that people had tried to ban in schools and libraries, always an amusing (if somewhat depressing, for people who liked books) selection. She crossed back to the couch, flinging herself down on it in a way that caused his feet to slide off the back and fall into her lap, a development she ignored in favor of reaching for her wine.
“Just...discontented,” she said simply, after draining half the glass.
“With?”
Sara studied him a long moment, face unreadable even to him. The only sounds in the apartment were the faint noises of traffic far down below.
“With the way things are,” she said finally. “In general. Your side...my side...the lines are blurring, aren’t they? And I'm so tired.” She put her head back against the black leather with a sigh. “So many evil people have always thought they’re doing good, but I feel like it’s getting worse. Does it even matter, anymore?”
The words fell starkly into the quiet.
This was where he should take a stab at tempting her to change sides, Leonard thought suddenly.
The successful temptation and turning to the dark side (to borrow a term) of an angel hadn’t happened in eons. If he pulled it off, it would be an incredible coup, a feather in his cap. He might get a dukedom out of it. More so, he’d probably get the Powers That Be off his back for a few more centuries or even millennia.
Leonard took a breath. He started to speak. And...
He just couldn’t get the words out. And nothing was stopping him but his own damned (literally) conscience.
Go...heav...well, something help him, he liked Sara as she was. And he didn’t want her to have to deal with the trials and tortures of hell, or even the guilt of knowing you...
He glanced away. Then back, seeing her watching him.
The corner of her mouth ticked up, wryly. “And you?”
And him what? Leonard, still mentally reeling a little, struggled to think of what she meant.
Sara didn’t let him struggle long. “You OK?”
Ah. The immediate answer was simply, of course, no. But he didn’t really want to explain that.
“Kind of...discontented,” he told her quietly. “With the way things are.”
He waited for her to try to redeem him, to change him. If temptation was the logical move for a demon, the reverse had to be true for an angel, right? He wasn’t sure it was even possible, but surely that was beside the point.
But she didn’t. She just watched him silently, an intent and unnerving blue gaze that Leonard met unflinchingly.
Maybe...he wondered. Maybe she liked him the way he was, too? Flawed in ways an angel simply wasn’t supposed to be?
The quiet stretched out for a bit, long enough that Leonard could see the pink of sunset starting to tint the sky outside. Somehow, they’d moved a little closer, and he could smell the faint fragrance of something around Sara. Something lovely and somehow green, more earthy than he’d expect from an angel.
She was close enough, as a matter of fact, that she could look up at him, that smile hovering around the corners of her mouth again.
“Well,” she said with a sigh. “At least we can be discontented together.”
And with that, Sara reached up, wound her hands in the lapels of his jacket, pulled him down, and kissed him in a way that was distinctly non-angelic.
Or maybe that depends on your definition of the word.
*
It’d happened the first time back in 1554, though they’d been dancing around each other in a certain way for far longer.
(Sometimes literally—the thought of that sword dance back in 15th-century Scotland could still get his cold blood stirring.)
And maybe predictably, they’d been angry at each other that evening, at least at first. Well, more with circumstances than with each other. And Sara had been far angrier than Leonard. Something that wasn’t surprising, given that she’d blamed him for Lady Jane Grey.
Now, in reality, Leonard had nothing to do with that, nor with the rise of Bloody Mary—though he supposed he couldn’t be sure others of his ilk hadn’t been pulling strings somewhere.
But he had been lurking about the English court when Sara had returned to England in the midst of Mary Tudor’s rash of executions and found out about Jane’s death. She’d confronted him outside the apartments he kept and marched him into them at sword-point, scary and beautiful and so close to losing control that he’d been a little worried for her.
And himself. That too.
She’d accused and he’d retorted, and they’d sniped back and forth at each other until Sara had placed both her hands on his doublet and accused him of breaking their little arrangement of balance. It’d been the hurt in her voice, breaking through the anger, that had finally pushed him to tell her the unvarnished truth.
“I didn’t do it!” he’d snapped back at her, finally, staring down into her furious eyes. “I tried to help her, for Go-… for someone’s sake!” He should stop. He didn’t stop. “I tried. And I did it for you.”
He wasn’t really sure why she’d believed him that time. Demons were supposed to lie, after all. But he hadn’t been lying, and he really had tried to help.
For no other reason than he knew how Sara would feel.
Sara had blinked. Had stared at him, the rage slowly fading from her eyes. Her hands were still lying on his chest, and they’d slowly contracted into fists as she stared. Leonard was starting to wonder what she was thinking when she…well, growled.
And then she’d dragged his head down and kissed him. Hard. A rage-kiss, the kind one wouldn’t think an angel, even a badass and unstuffy one, would be capable of.
He’d been stunned into a gasp, and she’d taken advantage of that, claiming his mouth rather ruthlessly. She tasted of spices, he thought incongruously, just before her weight against him sent them crashing backward into the wall. That’d brought Sara flush against him and his arms went around her, pulling her close almost involuntarily.
All right, then, he thought, in the one corner of his brain that was still running the show. (He was in a fully human body right then, after all,) All right. It’s not like you haven’t dreamed about this.
And he kissed her back, arms curving around her ass, boosting her against him, even all the layers of clothing of the time not fully concealing his arousal. Sara growled again, then bit his lip, drawing blood, wrapping her own arms around his neck.
Somehow, they’d made it to the bed.
Barely.
It couldn’t really be called lovemaking. He was supposed to be immune to that particular four-letter world, after all, and Sara was supposed to be more, ah, into the platonic notion thereof. No, it’d been raw, passionate sex, and mind-blowing for all that.
It’d been said (and written) that angels were sexless unless they really wanted to make an effort. But somehow, this had seemed...effortless, at least in terms of forgetting that they probably really, well, shouldn’t. Inevitable. Right.
Sara had been gone when he’d woken, hours later. He hadn’t seen her again for a year.
Then, as they met in Augsburg, she’d hadn’t mentioned what had happened, a coolness about her manner that suggested he shouldn’t either. So, he hadn’t. They’d exchanged reports and moved on without even spending a day in each other’s company. And Leonard, restless and oddly unhappy, had promptly taken himself off to cause trouble somewhere, complete with some judicious seduction of both women and men he’d had an eye on.
A full-on orgy been a fun distraction. For a while.
Their meetings continued, though, and eventually, they’d settled back into the bantering friendship that’d been there before. Leonard procured a deck of French playing cards and they’d started teaching themselves the rules of twenty-one, one of the popular games of the time, which led to lots of good-natured arguing and late nights of talking.
Then it happened again, in 1616.
They’d both decided to get utterly plastered in honor of William Shakespeare, whose death hadn’t had anything to do with angelic or demonic influence but was still something they both mourned. And the drunker they got, the more hands had started to roam, the more a little physical release had seemed like a good idea. Still, they could have gotten rid of the alcohol in their systems immediately, sobering up and probably making better decisions.
They hadn’t.
Sara had still been gone the next morning, and they’d still pretended nothing had happened. But there was no coolness at their next meeting and, Leonard thought, they’d both known it would eventually happen again.
It did. Not long after the Great Fire, when the embers had still been cooling and Leonard had gone looking for Sara, to let her know Mik had left with a gruff “Tell Blondie she was right.”
And then it’d happened again. And again. Sara stopped vanishing afterward. They’d wake up curled up together the next day and continue squabbling about the Enlightenment, or what side the whole American experiment would end up benefiting, or the Industrial Revolution.
By the 1900s, finding their way to a bed (or a table, or a wall, or a handy patch of grassy ground) every year had just been what they did. Oh, sometimes they saw each other more often than that, but their yearly “appointments” were the times that not only including reporting on the state of things to each other and figuring out how to keep their state of balance going, but also hours of intense sex—and conversation and argument and venting and companionship.
But it was just sex, they’d told themselves. That was all.
*
This, though, Leonard thought, so many years later, lying in his bed amidst tumbled gray satin sheets, running his thumb gently over Sara’s hipbone as she slept.
This had been lovemaking.
There. He’d thought it. He was a demon, and he’d fallen in love with an angel, and what they’d done together here had been love, at least on his part.
With a sigh, he shifted his other arm, and his fingers grazed something soft that wasn’t skin. Leonard felt around the sheets a few moments, then pulled out a feather.
One of his, he thought, staring at it. More than a foot long, and glossy black. Had he really lost control that much?
He ripped his mind away from that thought and what it might entail. Instead, he smirked, reaching out to run the feather carefully, up Sara’s side. She twitched a little, and he moved the tip over, teasing other portions of anatomy until she batted it away.
“Mmmm...” Sara stretched, opening one eye to regard him, then focusing on the feather. “That’s mean.”
“Well. It is me.”
“True.” She stretched, long and slow, and Leonard licked his lips, wondering if he could get her to stay a bit longer.
“Same time, next year?” she asked lazily—and, Leonard thought suddenly, a little wistfully. It was that perceived wistfulness that gave him the nerve to say it.
“Would it be so...bad...” He was supposed to be bad; he was a demon. Leonard soldiered on. “If we…if we...”
Sara raised an eyebrow after a moment. “Uncertainty isn’t usually your thing. If we…what?” she asked, amusement in her tone. Her eyes darkened, just a tiny bit, and she sat up, letting the sheets fall away around her. “Come up with something new and creative, have you? Tell me.”
“Not in the way you’re thinking.” Leonard met her eyes. “Can we see each other more than once a year?”
Sara blinked at him. “We usually do,” she said slowly, after a moment.
“I don’t mean...on work.” Leonard let out a long breath. He was still lying there, looking up at her, the sheets caught around his hips, and he felt very vulnerable indeed.
“Stay with me,” he said simply, watching her. “We’ve both said how...discontented we feel, lately. We’re better together. Let’s do something different.”
Sara stared at him. Her fingers curled around the sheets. “You mean...”
“I’m not tempting you.” Leonard felt his lips curve in a humorless smile. “Well, maybe I am, but not in that way. Not to...my side. The other side. Whatever.” He sighed, closing his eyes, then opened them again, thinking.
“They get free will,” he told her a bit recklessly, flinging a hand out, encompassing all of humanity in the gesture. “Why don’t we? Why can’t we make this choice?”
Sara’s laugh was a little breathless. “I think the idea is that we do,” she told him. “Hence the whole ‘fall’ thing.”
“Yeah. But what if I...choose again? I can’t, can I?” He gave her a slightly pointed look. “And what would your bosses say if they looked in on you now? Is that really free will?”
Sara glanced away, flushing. Leonard would have enjoyed watching the pink color spread down her neck and farther if he wasn’t so concerned about her reaction.
“Exactly,” he told her simply.
Silence reigned in the apartment for a few minutes more. And then, to Leonard’s great disappointment, Sara got to her feet, reaching down to pick up some white, silky clothing item she’d shed on their way into the bedroom. She stared at it as if she couldn’t figure out quite what it was, then looked up at him again.
Were those tears in her eyes? But angels didn’t cry. No more than demons did.
“Stay with me,” Leonard repeated quietly, not moving.
“What would we...”
“Don’t know until we try.”
Sara took a breath and dropped the piece of clothing. She closed her eyes—and was suddenly clothed, all in white and blue again, pulling her garb directly from the ether in a way she rarely did. She’d always said she liked humanity’s creations too much to do that sort of thing.
“I have to go,” she said, turning toward the door, not looking at him now. “We are what we are, Leonard. And we have a job to do, no matter how...how we feel about it at times.”
Leonard found his voice again. “If you feel so strongly about it, why have you helped me hold the balance?”
But the door clicked shut behind her.
*
Sara avoided him again. For a year.
There were so many times she wanted to go looking, but she resisted, every time. Partly because she didn’t know what to say. Mostly because she was scared.
And tempted.
For long years, she’d expected the demon to try to tempt her, to try to get her to fall, to join the host of hell instead of the side of heaven. Leonard never had, not even when she’d given him openings with her sense of...discontent. He’d listened, and he’d vented as well, but he’d never tried to really change her. He’d understood. And, she’d realized at some point, he had a lot of issues with the way things were himself.
His words that night in the apartment, though—he hadn’t been trying to change her, nor tempt her toward hell. He just wanted...her.
And Sara wanted him.
Heaven help her, she wanted him too.
By the time the year had passed, she really wanted to see him again. Needed to. And she still wasn’t sure what to do or say if he brought it up again, but one way or another…something needed to happen. She couldn’t continue without seeing him. She couldn’t.
When she arrived at the fountain at the Central City park, a little early as usual, she was stunned to see that tall, lanky, black-clad figure already sprawled on the fountain’s ledge, one foot tucked over the opposite leg, looking off in the other direction.
Sara’s footsteps sped up, and her breath caught. Leonard must have heard or sensed something, because he sat up at her approach, still facing in the other direction, but clearly aware.
And, as she slowed and came nearer, he turned to face her.
Sara stopped.
Leonard was...
He was human.
On the surface, he looked exactly the same. But to her eyes, there was something indefinably different. Something missing.
But also something more.
“Leonard,” she whispered, staring at him. No other words would form, so she just whispered it again. “Leonard.”
“Hey,” he said quietly, watching her. No sprawl. No smart-ass comment. No explanation.
“What...how...” Sara had a hard time getting words out. There was too much.
Leonard gave her a tiny smile. “How long have I been…?” He looked down at his hands—those long-fingered clever hands that she knew so well. Human hands, now. “Almost a year. Not too long after…after I saw you last.”
“But…how?” She was whispering and wasn’t quite sure why. There weren’t many people around and they were ignoring the pair by the fountain. But there was a knot in her throat, and it was choking her.
His eyes were distant. “I couldn’t do it anymore,” he told her. “Be what I was. And I...changed.” His gaze focused and fixed on her, intent. “It turns out that’s a thing you can do. No take-backs, though.”
Sara figured there had to be more to it than that, but she’d also had another sudden, horrifying realization. “You’ll die.”
And Leonard, that jackass, nodded. Far too calmly. “Eventually. I’m told I’ll probably get a bit longer than the usual run, ‘specially since I started out in a body that wasn’t exactly newborn.” His smile was a little wry, but his eyes were still direction.
And suddenly Sara was angry. At him? At herself? At the world? All three? She took a deep breath, hands folding into fists. By the way Leonard’s eyes flickered, he sensed it.
“You’re leaving me,” she said, voice breaking on the words. “No, you left me.”
You’ve gone where I can’t follow.
“I didn’t mean to,” Leonard said quietly.
And then, even quieter: “You could join me.”
Sara’s heart stopped.
She stared at him. He stared back.
And then it started again.
“I can’t. I...” She took a step backward. Then another. Saw the hurt in Leonard’s eyes—human eyes, pale blue, no longer truly icy—a hurt that he quickly concealed.
“I get it,” he told her, looking away again. “You have a mission. A good one. I get it.” He unfolded himself from his seat, standing, still tall enough to nearly tower over her—though he’d never once used his height that way.
And he turned away.
There was, apparently, nothing else to say.
Sara struggled to breathe.
“What about the balance?” she asked the back of his black jacket helplessly. How could he do this to her? How was she going to keep going, throughout all the years, without him?”
Leonard paused. Then he looked back over his shoulder.
His face was still, his eyes…
“Gotta feeling it’ll keep going, one way or another,” he told her. “Think about it. I have. A lot.” An odd expression crossed his features, but it vanished before Sara could try to identify it, leaving only regret behind.
“Good luck, Sara,” he said softly. “I’ll be rooting for you.”
And she watched him leave.
*
“Rip!”
The angel Ripkiel had a place he liked to go sometimes. He told the others of his kind who asked that it was where he went to meditate on the nature of the world and time itself. In reality, he just liked the quiet and the fresh air.
It wasn’t much, really. A meadow in the mountains, a place humanity—and other angels—rarely approached. Ripkiel rather liked humanity, really (sometimes more than he liked other angels), but he also liked quiet.
“Rip!” the voice shouted his name again. He opened his eyes and sighed, then looked up from his seat on a large stone, dragged to the meadow by a glacier thousands of year ago.
The angel Sarai, a protégé of his once, approached him, eyes bright and posture tense. She must have flown up here, but she was on foot now.
And she looked pissed.
Ah. So they were going to do this now. Rip (and, yes, he knew about the nickname) smiled a little, sadly, as he turned to face her.
Sara’s steps stuttered to a halt a few feet away. She took a deep breath, eyes fixed on him. “Did you know?”
“About what?” Rip asked mildly, then continued before she could get another word out. “That you’ve had a partnership with a demon for millennia? That you’ve worked against heaven’s stated goals with him?” He paused. “That you’d fallen in love with him?”
Sara didn’t deny it.
“No,” she said, without missing a beat. “That he’s human now. That...that's a thing that can happen.”
Rip nodded, glancing away and out at the view. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I think I came very close to it myself once.”
Sara blinked. He’d surprised her. After only a moment, she came a little closer, seeming a little more subdued.
“There was a woman,” Rip told her, simply, answering the question before she could ask it.
Sara paused. “What happened?”
Rip gazed out at his view again. “I couldn’t leave…what I am…behind. She died. The end.”
Silence, except for birdsong and the faint whistle of the wind.
“Why couldn’t you?” Sara asked finally. She leaned against the larger rock next to him.
Rip looked at her. Really looked, seeing the conflict and the regret on her face.
“Too much doubt,” he said, wanting her to understand. “I just wasn’t sure. And you need to be.”
“I don’t understand. Do you…do you turn yourself human?”
Rip sighed, studying Sara. “It’s not that simple,” he told her. “Or…perhaps the point is that it’s ultimately simpler.” He looked up at the sky again, the sun and the clouds, and thought of Miranda. With regret, always.
“You decide,” he said simply. “That’s all. You decide and you change, and that’s it.” He glanced at Sara, holding out his hands before him. “Free will.”
She didn’t say anything. An interesting expression crossed her face and she looked up at the sun too. Rip wondered what she was thinking.
“Are you going to go with him?” he asked, after a few minutes, keeping his tone wholly unjudgmental.
Sara’s gaze snapped back to him. “I can’t do that!”
Rip shrugged. “No?” he asked. “You’ve been unhappy. I’ve seen that. You’ve changed.” He held up a hand as her gaze sharpened. “That’s not a criticism. If anything, maybe it’s a compliment.”
He sighed. “Sometimes I think the reluctance to change is our downfall,” he mused. “I know it was mine.”
The younger angel let out a long breathe. “But…” she said. “The world…”
Rip listened to her voice drift off before he spoke again. “You know how much good a single determined human can do in the world,” he told her. “And I have a feeling that in the end, that might be the most important thing of all.”
Rip looked back at the view. Sara didn’t say anything.
After a moment, though, he felt a shadow fall over his face as she unfurled her wings again. He felt the downdraft as she stepped back and took off.
And he reached down to pick up a single white feather from where it’d fallen to the grass.
“Goodbye, Sara,” he said quietly, looking out over the mountains. “We’ll miss you.”
*
Trying to decide what to do with your life was an interesting process.
Leonard, sitting on the rim of the park fountain and perusing a newspaper, put it down and sighed. Millennia of experience as a fallen angel didn’t really translate to any sort of job experience, as it turned out. Well, maybe as a politician, but he wasn’t touching that with a 10-foot pole.
It didn’t matter as much as it might have. Any amount of higher or advanced knowledge he’d once had was gone now, but Leonard wasn’t stupid. And he’d always been very pragmatic.
Between the money he already had in a nice, safe bank account and the investments he’d made, he didn’t really have to work—even though his landlord had suddenly realized there was a tenant in the penthouse, which existed after all. (Fortunately, he also had a signed, witnessed rental agreement, whether or not the man remembered it.)
It was even legit. Leonard was more or less trying to walk the path of the angels—so to speak—these days.
His decision had reset his personal scales, but Leonard knew better than pretty much any other human on Earth right now that good and evil were a good bit more complicated than most people believed. Still. Should he wind up in hell one day, there were a lot of…entities…who’d particularly like to see him scream. Better to walk the line.
He pulled his long legs up on the fountain rim and sprawled out again, putting his hands under his head and looking up at the sky.
For the past few weeks, he’d held out hope. He’d looked for Sara everywhere, hoping she’d come back. Hoping she’d decide, like he had, and she’d show up on his doorstep, beautiful and badass and human.
But he wouldn’t ask more than he already had. Pressuring her wasn’t something he ever wanted to do, and it wouldn’t work. It had to be her decision, and it had to be for her.
He closed his eyes, feeling the sun on his eyelids. He liked it. When he was a demon, sun had always felt a little…too good. He was supposed to be a creature of darkness, after all.
He might have stretched out there for a minute or an hour, just enjoying the peace, when a shadow fell over him. Leonard thought about opening an eye, then just decided to hope the person went away.
He felt someone pick up the newspaper by his head.
“Job ads, hmmm? Looking for a new career?”
His eyes popped open.
Sara was standing there, next to him. She had the paper in hand, studying it, and…
She was human.
And the most incredible, amazing thing he’d ever seen in his long life.
Leonard sat up so fast that he had to blink, unused to the sensation of vertigo. Sara gave him a wicked little smile, then dropped her gaze to the paper again.
“Substitute teacher…no. Landscaper…no,” she mused. “Telemarketing…isn’t that a fairly demonic profession? Maybe not.” She set the paper down and regarded him. “Guess you’ll have to find something else to do.”
Leonard just stared at her.
After a few moments, Sara started looking a little uncomfortable. “Leonard?” she asked quietly. “I mean…if this OK? Do you want me to leave? I…”
But then she stopped. Mostly because Leonard had stood, taken a step forward, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her.
Distantly, he could hear wolf whistles in the background from park passers-by, and a few suggestions to “get a room!” They didn’t matter.
All that mattered was that Sara was kissing him back. Fervently. Her hands wrapped around the back of his head and her body molding to his.
When they finally broke away, they were both breathless.
“I…” Leonard cleared his throat, letting his hands drop to his sides. “Well, I had a city CSI I met suggest looking into law enforcement. Because I seemed to have some experience with…certain criminal elements.”
He gave a look from under his lashes. “I don’t know. Personally, I think I’d made a hell of a thief.”
Sara smiled at him. “I don’t know,” she said, thoughtfully, running her fingers down his jacket. “I think you’d make a better hero.”
Leonard coughed. “Maybe we can figure out something more...in-between?” he suggested delicately, holding out a hand to her.
Sara took it. “As long as it’s with me,” she told him. “We’re in this together, and don’t you forget it.”
“Me and you, angel. Me and you.”
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