#only collectively have 1700 fics on ao3
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i have deeply tragic news
#quick everyone write 1005 more goncharov fics#goncharov#i mean don’t get me wrong it’s still funny that 2 of the 4 highest grossing movies of all time#(including THE highest grossing movie of all time with a nearly $3 billion gross)#only collectively have 1700 fics on ao3#but it’s not as funny as when they had fewer fics than a movie that doesn’t even exist#over 1k
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Hey! I had this fic request idea and I thought I’d come to you because your Frankie is my favourite Frankie. It’s about Frankie and his really young daughter on a plane journey for the first time. Maybe Frankie has not long divorced his previous wife and is moving across the country to live near Pope and the Millers with his daughter. His daughter gets all irritable and cries quite a bit on the plane and reader notices he can’t settle her and she goes over and helps him. I imagine her sitting a few rows away, hears some passengers complaining about the crying, Frankie getting increasingly irritable and embarrassed and then, noticing a spare seat next to him, she goes and sits there. They leave each other at the bag collection but then they end up in the same town afterwards and romance ensues after meeting again. Thanks!! 😊
Finding Love at 30k Feet
Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader
Word Count: 1700+
Rating: This is pure fluff but my blog is rated Mature - 18+ ONLY!
Warnings: None, except for Frankie fluff. But I’ll post my typical warning here. Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.
Notes: I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to get to your ask! I’m working through them now and this one I couldn’t get out of my head. It’s such a fluffy prompt!
**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!
Main Masterlist
Frankie Morales Masterlist
“Sssshhh I know, mija, I know. But you have to be quiet on the plane,” Frankie whispers to his daughter for what he knows is the millionth time, but she keeps on wailing, her tiny, barely 1 year old body showing all signs of being upset.
He knows the people on the plane are upset. He can hear them all talking about “that man with the baby that won’t shut up.” But he doesn’t know what else to do - he’s tried feeding her, giving her her favorite comfort toys, distracting her with new things, checked her diaper, all of it. It has to be her ears, right? But there wasn’t much he could do for that.
Feeling helpless, he smiles apologetically at the people sitting in the row across from him who peeked over the edge of their magazine to give him nasty looks. They retreat back into their magazine, whispering unfriendly things as his daughter continues to wail.
“Can he not control his child?”
The woman across the aisle from me speaks, barely above a whisper, as she turns around, glaring daggers towards the seat where I’m assuming the crying child sits.
I understand why people get upset, but kids on planes happens and their little ears are physically not equipped to handle it. Her words are not the only unkind ones I’ve heard since the crying started, making me lose more faith in humanity at a rapid pace.
I wonder if the dad needs help. I’d noticed the handsome man as he walked past me in the aisle, his little girl happily babbling away in his arms.
“Someone should shut that kid up.” I glance up at her and she meets my eyes, smiling at me as if waiting for me to agree.
“I think that a little compassion goes a long way.” The smile disappears from her face and she turns to her husband next to her, no doubt grumbling about what I’d just said.
Closing my book, I stow it in my bag, kicking it back under the seat in front of me before unbuckling my seatbelt. I turn, looking back a few rows and I see the blue baseball cap the dad was wearing as it bobs up and down in the seat, leaning towards and away from the kid.
I stand, stretching for a second before heading back and stopping at his row, looking down at the little girl who’s face now nearly matches the red on her shirt as tears and snot leak down her face.
“Ssshhh, mija. We’ll be there soon, I promise.”
He seems to feel me standing there and before I can say anything, he turns his face to me and I suddenly can’t speak. I didn’t get a really good look at him before, the patches in his beard on prominent display under the most gorgeous Romanesque nose I’ve seen. But that’s nothing compared to his eyes, deep brown and expressive as fuck, except now they’re narrowing at me the longer I stand here not saying anything, completely captivated by him.
“Look, I’m trying to calm her down but she’s just a baby,” he gestures towards his daughter.
Say something, idiot. Don’t just stand there.
“I- that’s not-”
“I know it sucks being on a plane with a crying baby and I’m trying but this is all new to her and nothing I do works.”
“That’s…why I’m here.” His eyes bore into mine, gearing up for another defensive statement, but I cut him off. “Do you need some help? Or a break? I’d be happy to sit with you both if it will help her?”
His mouth hangs open, absolutely floored at my offer.
“You..wanna help?”
“Yeah. My ears suck on planes too so I know she has to be feeling it.”
He studies me for a moment, trying to see if I was messing with him. Satisfied with what he saw, he turns to his daughter in the middle seat and picks her up, placing her in his lap as he scoots into the seat. He gestures towards the aisle seat and I sit, feeling the angry woman from my row give me a look as I do.
“Frankie. This is Aria.” Frankie holds his hand out to me and I shake it, telling him my name.
“”But you can call me Poppy.”
“Poppy?”
“Yeah. My mother is a florist and they’re her favorite. But my dad didn’t want to give me a flower name for whatever reason.”
It was then that Aria seemed to sense someone new, her little eyes popping open from where they had been clenched shut in crying mode. They were nearly a carbon copy of her father’s, deep, dark, and expressive.
“Hi Aria!” I immediately launch into my baby routine, quickly pulling some laughs and giggles from her.
Frankie’s jaw hits the floor as he watches our interactions, which quickly moved on to snack sharing, which Frankie said she rarely does. He tells me he was in Delta Force where he learned how to fly helicopters, and how he had divorced his wife a few months ago after finding her in bed with her lawyer boss. He was granted full custody and approval to move closer to his Delta Force friends, Benny, Santi, Will, and Tom, which is what brought them on this flight.
“Aria hardly ever saw her mom, anyway. It was always me with her and occasionally her grandma or a couple of babysitters Aria liked.”
“I’m sorry you’re having such a crappy year.”
Frankie shakes his head. “It’s not that bad. Well, I mean it seemed like it at the time, but honestly, Lucy and I were already split long before this. Moving closer to my friends, my brothers was an easy choice. I can’t wait for Aria to meet them. And I’ll be closer to my mom, who can’t wait to get ahold of this one.” Frankie tickles Aria’s side and she squeals with laughter.
I had grabbed my backpack long ago after Frankie invited me to stay with him and Aria, especially Aria when she saw me pulling out my plane snacks. Food was apparently the way into her heart. Something I could relate to.
We made our final descent, waiting for everyone to disembark before we did, Aria finally falling asleep once the plane had landed. Seeing her sleeping all cuddled up on Frankie really hits a girl in the feels and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to see them outside of a plane or airport.
We make it to baggage claim and I help Frankie gather up his bags, gently placing Aria in her stroller and tucking a blanket around her that he’d pulled from her diaper bag.
“Thank you so much for all of your help. I’m not sure I would’ve made it.”
I smile, tucking some hair behind my ear. “It was nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing to me. Or to Aria. I can tell she really likes you.”
“She’s a good kid. Smart as a whip - just like her dad.”
He smiles, a chuckle escaping him and it’s like the whole room lights up with it. I would do anything to see that man smile everyday for the rest of forever. But before either of us can say anything, a loud voice sounds from somewhere behind me.
“FISH!!”
A tall man with sandy blonde hair and light blue eyes bounds up to Frankie, giving him a bear hug of sorts before listening to Frankie shush him, gesturing towards Aria in the stroller.
2 more men join the group, a shorter man with olive skin and salt and pepper hair speaks to Frankie in rapid Spanish, and another man with blonde hair and blue eyes, probably brothers with the first blonde. They’re all chatting and talking over each other, giving Frankie hugs and pats on the back while taking turns to admire Aria. I slowly turn, grabbing the handle of my suitcase as I head towards the elevator that would take me to the rental cars. While I stand there, I glance back at the group of men, all of them smiling and laughing, Frankie’s the brightest smile of them all. He catches my eye just as the elevator doors open and all I can manage is a smile and a wink before I’m pushed forward by the small crowd.
As I settle into my hotel room that night, my apartment not quite ready for me after the previous tenants moved out, I think about Frankie and I hope he and Aria can have a great fresh start here. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little sad at the thought of never seeing them again.
----
2 months later, I’m across town at a farmer’s market I’d been meaning to try out. Walking through the rows and rows of crafts and goods, I sample nearly everything I can, taking in the lovely day, sunshine streaming through the shady trees. Moving here had been a great idea, getting away from everything in the city.
Turning the corner to start down the next row of vendors, I run smack into someone, shifting my cup of hot chocolate away so it spills on the ground and not on whomever I just slammed into.
“I am so sorry!” My eyes linger on my hot chocolate, making sure the sloshing was dying down.
“Poppy?”
I’d know that voice anywhere.
My eyes snap up and there’s Frankie, all broad shoulders and big eyes staring at me, a look of disbelief on his face.
“You probably don’t remember me, but I was the one with the kid on the plane that wouldn’t stop crying?”
“I know. Of course I remember you, Frankie! How are you? How’s Aria?”
“Good, good. She’s over on the playground with Santi now.” He points his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of a small playground where I can just see the shorter man from the airport chasing her around.
“She looks happy.”
“She is.”
He’s still looking at me, like he can’t quite believe that I’m here.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to Aria-”
“Do you want to go to dinner with me?”
What?
“What?”
He’s nervous, shifting from foot to foot. “I mean, you don’t have to. Why would you? I’m just..it’s ok. Just..you can forget it. I don’t know what-”
“Frankie,” I reach out and place my hand on his forearm giving it a squeeze. “I would love to go to dinner with you.”
2 years later, we tie the knot.
-------
General Taglist:
@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @Hauntedmama @giuliarogers-blog @icanbeyourjedi @diaryofkali @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @jadore-andor @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed @ladykatakuri @marrianena @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin
#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales#frankie morales x reader#triple frontier#pedro pascal#frankie morales x you#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal character ff#pedro pascal character fanfiction#frankie morales x f!reader#francisco catfish morales#asks
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I SURVIVED KLOKTOBER 2023 WITHOUT MISSING A SINGLE DAY I THINK I'M INSANE
i wrote 59,199 words over these past few weeks. i did a nanowrimo of mtl fanfic. i need to be institutionalized. (i'm also a nanowrimo veteran, and the median word count for these fics was just over 1667 words, so ain't that crazy.)
thanks to everyone who reblogged or who left likes, kudos, and comments! i even got some acknowledgement from some of my fave mtl creators, i feel so honored. i wasn't expecting to get much attention at all since i've only been kicking around this space for a couple months, so thank you everyone!!
if you missed any of my fics, here is the entire collection:
if you don't want to read them all—and you absolutely don't have to, they're all stand-alone—below the cut are my top 10 favorites and a few other fun things:
10. Nights at the Mastodon (Original Character or Self-Insert, oops i created an oc just to give abigail a gf, 4387 words, M-rated chapter 1/E-rated chapter 2)
9. A Pickle of a Name (Your Choice, inspired by an anon and oops dethklok are idiots, 1673 words, T-rated)
8. Abigail Goes on a Coffee Break (Use Brendon Small in Some Way, don't let these men do anything unsupervised, 1250 words, M-rated)
7. Everything Left Unsaid (In Memoriam: Honor the Fallen, vague dickface and platonic murdertooth, 1670 words, T-rated)
6. A Vacation from the Vacation (Dethklok Goes on Vacation, nickles fluff turns suggestive, 2303 words, M-rated)
5. For His Brother (Your Favorite Villain, edgar jomfru character study, 990 words, T-rated)
4. Pickled Testosterone (Your Favorite Headcanon, trans pierced pickles babyyy, 2211 words, T-rated)
3. Not with Anyone I Work With (Abigail Appreciation Day, oops i gave her depth and a fucked-up backstory, 1700 words, M-rated)
2. Scar King (Inspired by a Metal Song, toki trauma hurt/comfort, 4107 words, M-rated)
1. Gone Too Far (Comedy or Tragedy, skwisgaar pain but also vague skwistok nonsense, 6044 words, M-rated)
just for funsies, here is my kloktober writing playlist! includes songs that inspired some of the fics and some songs that just fit the vibes i was going for. a lot of these songs are definitely inspiring future fics also.
and one last thing, i did also make a ko-fi, since i did all this while being a full-time grad student and part-time library worker. no one is obligated to tip me anything, of course, i’m just putting the option out there, if anyone is feeling generous. regardless of if you tip or not, even if you just enjoyed my writing, started following on ao3, reblogged my posts on tumblr, whatever—i love you all.
more fics will be coming. but holy shit, not for a while. good night.
🤍🩷🩵🤎🖤❤️🧡💛💚💙💜
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Hello mods! I'm not sure if I've already sent this ask. Found it in my notes but didn't cross it off, so I'm assuming I never sent it. If I did, you're free to ignore this :)
Hi mods!
Whenever I find a human au fic with queer themes, I go in hoping for something not set in modern era and try not to be disappointed every time I'm mistaken. So, do you know of any fic set in the past (could be 1700s, could be 1950s, hell could even be the 80s. Don't mind just as long as it's not set in the 21st century or ancient times) in which A&C are queer in some way and have to deal, at least a bit, with the consequences of being that in that time? Could be gay, trans, or whatever. I just really want to read about them being queer in a world against them and finding comfort in each other. So a happy or at least hopeful ending would be appreciated too.
Thanks in advance! The work you guys do is fantastic <3
Hello! Try the Historical AUmens Collection! There are also tags on AO3 for particular eras like Victorian, Regency, Medieval etc.
Here is an ask with long list of historical recs.
Some more:
Moonlight Serenade (Extended) by TawnyOwl95 [E]
That night the bombers flew out from Tadfield Airbase. They always woke Crowley up, set the dogs barking but tonight they disturbed him long after the night had fallen silent again.
He couldn't sleep until he heard them come back, until he knew if there was a chance Aziraphale was still alive.
Called Up by cassieoh, Liquid_Lyrium [T]
"Bit of a chilly day to go without a jacket," he points out stupidly. He tries not to stare openly at the braces that attractively frame the other man’s chest. Then he remembers his shades are in place, and he feels some tension leave his shoulders.
Fell (terribly ominous name for a pilot, that) goes a little pink in the cheeks, and isn't that something?
"Gave it away," he mumbles under his breath, and it's like a trap door drops out from under Crowley's feet.
Once More, With Feeling by saretton, TawnyOwl95 [E]
1950s. The research continues, but Aziraphale is determined to shake things up.
If only he can find the courage to let Crowley know.
The things one does for science.
All My Heart Is Yours by FeralTuxedo [E]
1847. Aziraphale Fell arrives at Eden Hall to take up his new position as tutor to the young heir. The house is enormous, remote, and its occupants rather strange — but none more so than its master, the ill-mannered but inconveniently handsome Mr Crowley.
Mr Crowley’s gaze lingered on him.
‘Now I see you in broad daylight, I can tell you’re no gentleman.’
Aziraphale bristled. He was wearing his best ensemble, and it was of fine enough quality, if a little rumpled from the luggage.
‘Whereas you certainly look the part, even if your manners suggest otherwise.’
A Victorian human AU loosely inspired by Jane Eyre, but with 50% less angst and 100% less spousal incarceration.
As Time Goes By by teatales [M]
Mr Anthony Crowley was fine with being alone. He had his car and his plants and his career as a travelling salesman, and it was fine. Even with his awful new bosses, he had no plans to quit selling watches anytime soon. What else would he do?
Mrs Aziraphale Ingels had been stuck in Tadfield ever since her husband passed away a year ago. She tried her best not to dwell on how lonely she felt as she filled her days with books and baking while waiting for the inheritance to be finalised. Only then could she consider what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.
A chance meeting, a blossoming friendship, and Aziraphale and Crowley soon find themselves falling in love with the stranger they met only a few months ago. But neither believe the other could ever love them back, and both have things they're terrified to share.
As Time Goes By is a timeless romance set in the 1950s about acceptance, being less alone than you think, and watch-related puns.
~Mod N
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I posted 7,159 times in 2022
That's 1,391 more posts than 2021!
248 posts created (3%)
6,911 posts reblogged (97%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@lilbittymonster
@ir0n-angel
@sorrelchestnut
@pip-n-flinx
@bitterotter
I tagged 5,578 of my posts in 2022
Only 22% of my posts had no tags
#sound on - 774 posts
#always reblog - 349 posts
#*snort - 342 posts
#this - 310 posts
#cats - 245 posts
#no lies detected - 241 posts
#awesome art - 239 posts
#hahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!! - 210 posts
#solas - 151 posts
#lamb writes - 128 posts
Longest Tag: 136 characters
#... & to all y'all that have to watch could have been better spent monies get pissed down the drain of an overblown funeral & coronation
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
Til It Squeaks, a Series
Today, on the anniversary of its beginning, Da'Fen Carly Mayers Lavellan's story came to an end. Two years, 337,909 words, 7 works. So I thought I would put together a masterpost of the series, with links to AO3, for all of you.
Twist
The fic that started it all. Carly Mayers, a woman from Earth, gets transported to Thedas and becomes the Herald of Andraste. And she decides that canon needs a hammer. A Solavellan fix-it with a happy ending. Rated E for sexual content. Also contains canon typical violence. ~197K words.
The Cutting Room Floor
A snippet fic, full of little bits the main fic had no room for. Includes screenshots of the ensemble cast. Also includes 'deleted scenes' and versions of the first draft that never got off the ground. Rated T for occasional swearing, adult themes and canon typical violence. ~27K words.
Choice, Pride and Trust
A oneshot of Carly and Solas defeating Imshael at Suledin Keep. Rated M for graphic depictions of violence. ~2300 words.
Waiter, There's a Fluff In My Soup!
A multi-ship collection of prompt fills for Fluff-uary 2021. Pairings include Carly and Solas, Varric and Marian Hawke, Dorian and Iron Bull and more. Rated E for sexual content. ~28K words.
Twist Some More
A sequel to Twist. Carly and Solas continue their work rebuilding the Dales, taking down the Veil and having a surprise baby. Incorporates events from Tevinter Nights, but is overall self-indulgent and fluffy. Rated E for sexual content. ~67K words.
Earth Pizza and Qunari Street Food
Takes place four years after the events of TSM. Carly and Solas welcome Dorian and Iron Bull for a visit. Cooking and family fluff ensue. Rated T for some adult themes, but with a happy ending. ~4600 words.
Make It a Good One, Peaches
50 years post-canon, mortality affects Carly's inner circle. A final send off including the generation to follow that of the Inquisition. More sweet than bitter. Rated T for major character death. ~1700 words.
Thank you to everyone who has read these fics and come to love Carly as much as I do. My heart is full. 💕
18 notes - Posted March 3, 2022
#4
Six Sentence Sunday
Tagged by @noire-pandora, thank you! 💕
Tagging @about2dance, @a11sha11fade, @sinsbymanka, @mrscullensrutherford, @dreadfutures, @mogwaei and @espressocomfort. No pressure!
R&R grabbed the Muse this morning. Have some Lark Cadash in Skyhold.
---
Something had happened here, some cataclysm that broke the magic of this place. That sundered it.
The Veil.
What she felt under her fingertips and saw in her mind's eye was like the aftermath of a shockwave. A burst dam of energy, exploding outwards from a central point deeper in the bowels of the Stone. Traces of the spell lingered like a taste on the back of her tongue. She didn't recognize it, but felt like she should.
19 notes - Posted March 27, 2022
#3
WIP Wednesday
Tagged by @noire-pandora, thank you!
Tagging @fiadhaisteach, @lilbittymonster, @sinsbymanka, @serial-chillr and @about2dance. No pressure!
It's Fluff-uary, folks. I am neck deep in somft and silly. Have a peek.
---
As often happened, a bolt of inspiration hit Varric while he was bathing. He gave a rueful sigh, wrapped himself in a towel and rushed to his desk without even bothering to swipe his dripping hair out of the way as he jotted down the idea before he lost it. He was never more grateful to Imogen than in that moment, since having his own suite meant having his own bathing chamber in it. He didn't have to traipse halfway across the keep to get back to his room, the mad gleam of words in his eyes. He didn't need that kind of blow to his reputation.
He got lost in the idea after a while, eventually snagging his reading glasses so he could see the page better. His hair stopped dripping onto his bare shoulders and he didn't even notice he was getting chilled sitting there in nothing more than a damp towel. He never heard the door open.
He certainly didn't hear the low, needy hum that Hawke made. If he had, he might have been warned.
Her sharp teeth sank into the ball of his shoulder and he jumped, thoroughly startled. “What the...Hawke!”
She cackled, leaning on the back of his chair. At least she'd bitten the off arm, so the only splotch on the page in front of him was his own fault. He glared at her over the rim of his glasses.
“Oh, your face! That's a weighty look, serrah.”
“What are you doing?”
She smiled at him, warm and loving and he almost melted. Almost. Then she spoke. “Haven't you ever just wanted to bite someone? You looked so delicious sitting there, I had to have a taste.”
Half his blood rushed southward. The rest seemed to have taken up residence in his cheeks. Either way, it left none for his brain and he gaped at her like an addled nug. He scrambled to find anything to say, anything at all.
“Andraste's flaming knickers,” was what came out. Hawke laughed again.
“No, I don't think I'd want to bite those.”
21 notes - Posted February 9, 2022
#2
WIP Wednesday
Tagged by @noire-pandora, thank you!
Tagging @lilbittymonster, @natsora, @blueboxness-art, @whataboutbugs-art, @espressocomfort and @serial-chillr. No pressure!
While The Fluffs(tm) have been keeping me busy, I've still been working occasionally on new chapters for WG. I made myself very emotional with Cole's personal quest recently. And by emotional, I mean angry. I could rant forever (and will in the author's notes), but here, have a snippet.
---
“You!” Cole shouted, advancing on the man. “You killed me!” The Templar scoffed and tried to push him away, but Cole wouldn't be deterred. “You forgot. You locked me in the dungeon in the Spire, and you forgot, and I died in the dark!”
“The Spire?” the man replied. Imogen heard the others behind her.
“Cole, stop,” Solas commanded. The Templar took advantage of his hesitance and ran.
“Cole,” Imogen said gently, reaching out but not quite touching him. “He didn't kill you, he killed the human Cole. You came to him, as a spirit, to give him comfort at the end. He was not you, not the way you are now.”
“A broken body, bloody, banged on the stone. Guts gripping in the dark, dank. A captured apostate. They threw him into the dungeon in the Spire at Val Royeaux. They forgot about him, and he starved to death.”
“Yes,” Imogen said. He turned to her, his watery blue eyes boring into hers with all the power a fully realized spirit possessed. “And you crossed the Veil to help. But you couldn't make food out of nothing, so all you could give him was yourself. Your compassion. You became him when he was gone. Cole.”
“Let me kill him back. I need to.”
Imogen cupped his face in her hands, the Anchor flaring against his skin as it touched the Fade within him. “No, baby. That won't help you.”
“Then what do I do?”
“You need to forgive him.”
“What?” Varric sputtered. “He can't just forgive the man who killed him!”
“You can't,” Solas said. “But Cole is a spirit. His nature works differently.”
“Stop it, both of you,” Imogen snapped. She focused back on Cole. “Make him forget, it will remove the ties that bind you together. You will remain you, and he will no longer carry the pain of his guilt. Can you feel it? Cole, concentrate. Can you feel his pain?”
“'Don't worry, we'll erase his records'. They clap him on the shoulder, smell of oiled metal and blood. They smile at him like Louis did when he made him drown the kittens...”
“Go to him Cole. Help him. He's in pain, and you are a spirit of Compassion.”
She let him go and watched as he disappeared down the path the Templar had run. Varric was staring at her like she'd fallen from the sky – always that look, she thought idly – while Solas looked at her more pensively. She wondered if he guessed that she'd taken his words and spoken them herself.
“I hope you know what you're doing,” Varric muttered.
21 notes - Posted February 16, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
Dash did a thing.
55 notes - Posted November 30, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
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writing masterpost
does what it says on the tin. last update 7/24/23
general ao3 link
my fic tag on here
ocean eyes’ specific fic tag
the sky full of stars (on our way up) series tag
please mind cw tags in the fics themselves! be well 💜
the eclipse:
series: the sky full of stars (contains choices, unknown star, on our way up)
fic: choices
e12 akkayan and the path to public affection. approximately equal parts genuine emotion about coming out and constant flirting. t, 8500 words
fic: unknown star
postcanon akkayan on what would be their graduation day. very sappy soft h/c content here. t, 3200 words
fic: on our way up [wip]
slice of life style domestic postcanon akkayan. aye goes to college & akk goes to therapy: the fic. currently at 21k words (7/24/23)
fic: listen close, i'll say it loud
several grouped prompts on the theme of akk and aye's long-distance relationship post-our skyy 2. t, 6900 words
fic: celestial navigation
crossposted various akkayes from prompts. usually but not always soft & fluffy. t, 7100 words as of 7/24/23
💜
between us:
fic: stay close
canon-compliant, gentle and tentative hair care intimacy fic for winteam. soft with slight h/c. t, 5100 words
fic: your quietest feeling
episode tag for e9. soft and sad and extremely exhausted nightmare h/c for win. made several people cry, t, 2000 words
💜
moonlight chicken:
fic: horizon line
heart/li ming h/c written in response to the e7 preview. hugs & crying on the floor of leng's apartment
💜
only friends:
series: not the doorways we had hoped for
prerelease giga-angst bad decisions only friends fanfic centering my baby boy & favorite chewtoy san, set to richard siken quotes. various ratings & 11500 words overall.
contains: wish it was mine (t, raysan, light physical h/c) + but none of them are ours (e, raysan, emotionally painful pwp) + to be like him (m, santop, failure hookups)
💜
shadowhunter chronicles:
fic: midnight hour
canon-compliant, between book 3 --> red scrolls of magic. soft h/c moment for new relationship malec. t, 4800 words
fic: shining through
5+1 things that’s actually 6+1 re: alec being made to wear colorful clothing. canon-adjacent if not compliant, very sweet. t, 15500 words
💜
redacted asmr:
series: rest with your vampire mate [m4a] [post-inversion]
sam aftershock & some associated events. t, 12000ish words over all parts
contains: wolf out of water (darlin & william), mind in the moment (darlin & sam), part of the promise (darlin & sam, darlin & david, angel)
series: your boyfriend tells you he’s magic [m4a]
unconnected set of redacted magic reveal fics. t overall
contains: plausible deniability (asher/babe werewolf reveal, early canon, 2500 words) & bring me a dream (elliott/sunshine pre-relationship magic reveal, 4400 words)
fic: ocean eyes [wip]
canon-adjacent poly sam/darlin/angel/david development fic featuring my listener ocs. lots of significant eye contact and yearning. t, 28000 words (in january 2023)
fic: synesthete
caelum & freelancer have a conversation. pre-DAMN. softe with slight h/c. g, 2100 words
fic: circuit breaker
post-inversion, william watches lovely for an afternoon. h/c. t, 3300 words
fic: painkiller
geordi/cutie, extremely gentle headache h/c. fun text formatting. t, 1700 words
fic: refractions
gavin/freelancer pre-confession pining on an aquarium date. overcautious m rating, 4200 words
fic: riparian
brachium pov w/ elliott/sunshine, realizations about the bond beyond death. t, 2000 words
fic: no exit
avior/starlight, pre-canon & pre-relationship. tentative trust & void experiments. t, 3200 words
fic: cinnamon
avior/starlight, post-canon domestic niceness because they deserve it. t, 3300 words
fic: floodgates open
my rasmr ficlet assortment; i started crossposting these to tumblr at the huxlasko chapter. non-tumblr snips in this collection include cute milo/sh, angsty darlin, & some gav/fl flirting. all of the prompts i did in may 2022 are in there
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OUTLANDER PROMPT EXCHANGE: Countdown to S6
Welcome to the Outlander Prompt Exchange: Countdown to S6 Challenge, a fandom event designed to be quick, simple and something new(ish) to help get us through the last month of Droughtlander. The rules are simple: be kind and patient with both yourself and others… and get creative! ♥
6 FEBRUARY 2022: PROMPT EXCHANGE OPENS
SUBMIT A CLAIM: From the 6th of February readers and writers alike are invited to submit a prompt via the blog’s inbox. This month’s theme is ‘Countdown to S6’ and you can submit basically anything be it a general prompt or something more specific. This can include any Outlander-related character, relationship, scenario, location, etc.
CLAIM A PROMPT: Prompts are available to be claimed from the Prompt Masterlist below at any time. Simply send a message via the blog’s inbox with the prompt # and it’s yours! Note: each prompt can only be claimed once and will be allocated on a ‘first in first served’ basis.
1 - 6 MARCH 2022: PUBLICATION
PUBLISH YOUR FIC: From the 1st of March through to the 6th of March writers can publish their work at any time and in any space. If posting on tumblr just remember to use #OutlanderPromptExchange where possible, tag @outlanderpromptexchange and/or send through a link so that we may also share your work. There’s also an AO3 Collection to add to if you wish. We can’t wait to see what you come up with!
Do you still have questions? FAQ available here!
PROMPT MASTERLIST
1. Jamie and Frank are bffs and Claire is the new girl in their school.. She's the quiet one (bcoz of her uncle's death which leaves her orphaned) but becomes fast friends with both Jamie and Frank.. Both the boys like her and it's now up to her to decide what she feels....
2. What if Claire was in America when Murtagh came with his indenture and she bought it!!!!
3. Ian Murray (the elder) is actually the celtic vampire Eric Gallowglass de Clermont, (which explains why both are played by the actor Steven Cree). Between meeting Diana in the 1500s, and today, Jenny was the only woman he ever loved. Can Jenny go through the stones? An Outlander and A Discovery of Witches All Souls crossover. I saw one fic along these lines, but would love to read more!
4. Reverse meet cute: it’s because of Fergus and Marsali that Jamie and Claire meet (and fall in love)
5. What if Jamie wasn’t seeing things and it really was Claire standing there in the courtyard at Lallybroch in 3x02?
6. Winter Olympics AU - it’s been 4 years since Jamie and Claire last saw each other
7. Claire catches Fergus smoking
8. Claire is a modern day witch who often fumbles her words and nearly always says the wrong thing... so she casts a spell to improve her communication skills only to discover she can now communicate with ghosts - including a 1700s Highlander named James Fraser
9. Roger and Bree discover "Exotic foods " foods that are common in the late 60s and early 70s are just starting to show up on the docks. Future recipes show up on the dinner table, Jamie and Ian discover the word "Nutrition" means a nap at the dinner table with gorging upon awakening.
10. What if Jamie met Joe Abernathy?
11. On the Eve of Culloden, Jamie sends Claire through the stones. But she travels back to the day she met Jamie (no longer pregnant, has all of her memories, gets a do-over essentially)
12...
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MASTERLIST 446 - WOLF
Check out the fanworks created for the latest prompt: WOLF. Don't forget to express your appreciation by leaving a comment!
If you haven't already added your work to our collection on AO3, please feel free to add it to the collection for this prompt. If you have any questions about submitting, please leave us an ask to let us know.
Submissions are listed ordered by word count. Please check the content notes and pairing for more information about each submission.
Don't Call me 'Dude' by @josjournal (FICLET, Derek/Stiles, G, 297)
On the way home III by @theydraggedmein (FICLET, Gen, PG-13, 308)
open/ambiguous ending, sheriff Stilinski was shot two stories ago
Second Nature (Part 1) by @otg2012 (FICLET, Stiles/Jackson, G, 442)
AU - Canon divergence, original characters, fluff, light angst, nobody is dead, future fic, marriage
Wolf by @sivan325 (FICLET, Derek/Stiles, G, 609)
Tell Me You Love Me (with words, damnit!) by @whenwordsmakesense (FICLET, Derek/Stiles, PG-13, 1050)
There's a mention of bestiality, though only in passing.
Wolf Pup by @goddess47 (FIC, Derek/Stiles, PG, 1700)
Continuation of an older story; may stand alone.
Wolf by @darkjediqueen (FIC, Stiles/Jackson, R, 7181)
One-Shot, Alternate Universe, Fantasy AU
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writer ask game- tagged by @loved-the-stars-too-fondly !! thank you!!!
What’s your all-time favourite ship?
horrible question to start out with for me cause i dont think i really have one???? i tend to not be as ship-focused as many people in fandom, and also unfortunately am the type of person to get REALLY into things and then many times my feelings dont stay super strong over time. so some Honorary Mentions are shules from psych cause thats probably my oldest remaining ship, ineffable husbands from good omens cause that was my first gay ship, and clintasha from marvel because thats the oldest ship i still have waves of strong feelings about
How many works do you have on AO3?
95, 8 of those being more than 1 chapter/a collection. i also deleted a good handful of fics from older fandoms when i rejoined ao3 in 2015 (i was an early adopter but then left for a while), as well as having a decent amount of fics on ff.net and a fandom specific site from Back In The Day
What’s your total AO3 word count?
just with the fics on there now, 348k. total fics i've written across sites/before deleting was probably closer to 400k. if we're including original fiction / fully rewritten drafts of the same books, i'm definitely over a million
What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
hello my old heart (3209 - she ra, touched starved catra 1)
wherever is your heart (1700 - she ra, touched starved catra 2)
you or your memory (1262 - she ra, catradora ptsd exploration)
the memories and scars (1115 - fullmetal alchemist, parental royai and elric brothers fluff)
time take us (773 - she ra, adora chronic pain au)
also shoutout to this untitled good omens ficlet that got 17.5k on tumblr but did not do nearly as well in the ao3 collection lmao
Do you reply to comments, why or why not?
yes, i always do!!! idk it makes me happy to acknowledge the kind things people say ;; and frequently they say stuff in their comments that i want to scream back about or give explanations/behind the scenes for. also i've made friends this way!!!
What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?
im not super a person to leave off with angsty endings, so in recent memory probably this catra cuts her hair fic that takes place after save the cat. or maybe this fic that is almost entirely claudia thedragonprince whump cause i was really Going TF Through It at the time and had to take it out on someone
What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?
i tend to go hurt/comfort or bittersweet a lot, but probably the like. just absolute Happiest is heartlines on your hand which was the last in the touch starved catra series and was just. the sappiest sap to ever sap
Do you write crossovers?
the only crossover i've ever done was an agents of shield/air bud crack fic that we DONT talk about. i got fucking bullied into doing it okay
Have you ever received hate on a fic?
not that much honestly? i got a few kind of mean comments on the touch starved catra #1 but also like. that fic got so popular there were bound to be a few. nothing else to my memory?? if there were a few on older stuff i probably just dont remember it at this point lmao
Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
i really dont lmao. besides not writing a ton of shippy stuff in general, i dont tend to write anything too Spicy. probably the closest i ever got was one short scene in this ineffable husbands 5 + 1 kissing fic that did not do as well as i thought it deserved tbh hahahaha
Have you ever had a fic stolen?
not that i know of????? yall would tell me right lol
Have you ever had a fic translated?
i wrote a little ficlet about elena aos celebrating a colombian holiday with the team and a colombian friend translated it for their family! but i believe that is it. that ficlet isnt even on ao3 i tried to find it but was unable to. i dont believe anything has been translated for public consumption
Have you ever co-written a fic before?
i don't think so? but i have gotten fanfic for my aos adoption au series!
What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?
i pretty much write things in one sitting or not at all lmao. i dont tend to take on a lot of series and stick to one shots as well. unless its over 8k i probably wrote it in one day. even the ones longer than that usually took less than a week from start to publication (for example, paladin!aelwyn fic is 15k and took 4 days of actual writing over less than a week to write, edit, and publish)
What are your writing strengths?
i feel like im best at dialogue and tend to get a lot of compliments on in-character voices. dialogue is my favorite to write lmao. i also think im good at describing spacing and movements, because i tend to think like. almost exclusively verbally and like?? physically?? if that makes sense?? when i write i picture almost nothing but i can "feel" what the character is doing. like i imagine making the gestures and everything but dont necessarily see anything as a picture in my head
(fun fact: for actual play fic i actually uh. picture the players acting it out, not the characters in the world. lmao whoops. like the first draft of it at least is 'what does this look/sound like at the table' and then i make it into a fic)
What are your writing weaknesses?
coming from the last question, definitely description, again because i picture almost nothing when i write. i have a VERY VERY hard time thinking with visuals. even when im coming up with description, i just THINK WORDS that would describe something, not picture it. so a lot of time i have to base my description on something or im just like. pulling descriptive words out of my ass with no basis. and the visual of it doesnt always make sense to other people. the other thing i struggle a lot with is action scenes, rip
What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?
i think there's a time and a place and a right way to do it. i think with anything, it's not a "write what you know" but "know what you write". if youre writing someone multilingual, understand how multilingual people actually talk and use those languages. i think the closest i've gotten is "writing signs" for amaya from dragon prince. obviously thats not exactly the same, but for those fics i went back and forth between translating what she was saying, giving the exact signs without grammar, or just describing the movement of the signs. i dont know that i did it perfectly, but i did my best and learned from it. everything in those fics was knowledge i gained from my ASL classes in college (mostly taught by Deaf teachers)
What was the first fandom you wrote for?
technically digimon when i was like 7 years old lmao but first published fic was for avatar in 2007 on ff
What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?
it definitely changes depending on what i've written recently, but i'm really proud of paladin!aelwyn fic and am still really happy with the catradora ptsd exploration and this self-indulgent ineffable husbands mutual pining fic, but i also will say that writing humor is not always easy for me so whenever i feel like i pulled it off i am very proud of that hahaha
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tagging @agentcalliope @floralprintshark @beatricexbenedick @marshmallsy @frenchibi @rizguks @strangetorpedos @labelleofbelfastcity
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Probably literally no one wants to read this, but on the off chance anyone wants to CHOOSE to read my thoughts on fanworks in relation to traditional western culture and not merely be subjected to them via DM during an innocent (though angsty as all hell) convo on the parallels between Stucky and Destiel well, here’s 1700 words on it:
—-
Actually. And here’s the thing that works so damn well with both bucky/Steve and Dean/Cas is that there is no clear “damsel/hero” dichotomy that we see in classic heteronormative relationships.
But like.
The thing about fan fiction, and AO3 specifically, is that it primarily features homoerotic and homoromatic relationships between two cisgender white men. Yes that is changing- mostly thanks to the rise of KPOP (the surprise lord and savior of 2020) and Hulu and Netflix optioning East Asian movies and television series to spread those narratives. Which is an entire thing on its own because so many of those like- is it Untamed? Feature homosocial environments and thus- the point is. The landscape is changing and yay.
But AO3s success is largely predicated on two main ships: Stucky and Destiel. Yes there are others that are huge and continue to grow, but these are the two that I feel (with no data or research to support my assertion) helped AO3 take precedence over ffnet as THE site for fan work hosting.
Now, the contradictory thing about fan work, the thing that is so often described as hypocritical and/or fetishizing is that the majority feature two cisgender white men engaged in homoerotic and/or homoromantic relationships when the majority of the readers and creators of fan works are neither.
Data supports the supposition that most fan work creators and consumers identify as non-male. And in that subset the majority identify as female.
Simply based on generic population data, the correlation can be made (again no effort put into googling this because I have sewing to do) that the majority of this group is likely cisgendered heterosexual (white) women.
However, fan works and fan engagement are a proven community for fans who do not ascribe to the heteronormative gender binary or heterosexual and/or heteroromantic relationship structure and are, in fact, not just white. Again- imagine numbers that are factual because sewing.
Fandom is not unique to entertainment media. We can trace it back to, well, as long as we can trace it back. What are the Venus of Willendorf statues of not fanart? The Parthenon? Egyptian funereal pyramids and their contents? Renaissance art in general? Is the King James Bible not a “fix it” for the previously canonical literature (that’s a hot take don’t come for me.) (you could also consider the King James Version an attempt at song fic).
In more contemporary culture, we have sports fandoms- primarily male dominated. Primarily cisgendered heterosexual white male dominated.
The fandom culture of sports fans has been described as that of collectors and curators- they want memorabilia and statistics and gatekeeping actions often require proof of knowledge or commitment via possessions.
Meanwhile, entertainment media fandoms- such as those experiences on AO3- are more creative than curatorial. Instead of efforts to organize, delineate and create hierarchies within fandoms (yes this happens but is not the overriding force), these sorts of fandoms seek to create fanWORKS and fanCOMMUNITIES. Yes, fantasy sports leagues exist and so do sports teams fan communities. But I ask you, where in sports fandoms is there a GISH?Or an AO3?
The reality of contemporary western dominated culture (entertainment,sports,economic,political, artistic and philosophical) is one that features white cisgendered heterosexual men at the apex-
Both as creators and consumers despite prevailing realities in population and cultural zeitgeist.
As such, most western dominated fandoms are homosocial: dominated by one group, that of white cisgendered heterosexual men.
All that is to say, most star athletes are straight white dudes. Most movie stars are straight white dudes. Most politicians. Most wealth holders and distributors. Most creators.
Why? Because patriarchy. But the WHY isn’t the point of this long ass word vomit.
It’s the So What?
Sports fandoms are the territory of these same homosocial networks.
But media fandoms are the territory of those NOT at the top of that hierarchy.
While the CONTENT and the original content creators remain part of that homosocial white cisgendered heterosexual group, the consumers of media are largely NOT OF THAT GROUP despite what the content creators may desire or believe (see: the creatives behind supernatural and their ridiculous ability to convince themselves that their core demographic are straight white dudes 15-40).
As such, content that features the patriarchy is primarily heterosexual, heteronormative, racist (acutely or passively), misogynistic, homophobic, homosocial and, well, lacking.
Take, for example, MCU and Supernatural as franchises. Our main characters are primarily white dudes. White dudes who mostly interact with other white dudes, whose “tribes” (brethren, compatriots, coworkers) are also white dudes. Yes, smurfs exist- the token woman or non-white person. Sometimes even a queer person (gender or sexual, though very, very rarely gender queer).
The fact that whenever our “heroes” interact with anyone outside their tribe or homosocial group they are almost inevitably evil, dead or about to die is telling. How many women die in supernatural? How many people of color? How many villains in the MCU (and while the X-MEN franchise isn’t necessarily within the MCU because Hollywood, the queer coding within X-MEN is encyclopedic) are queer coded?
Now, I’ve said repeatedly that heterosexual and heteronormative relationships are the mean within such media. Our white dudes bang white ladies, love white ladies, but act like manly white men and don’t put romantic feelings ahead of things like patriotism and pain unless they have “earned” the right to such (a trial that often involves a lot of deaths that are never addressed or given recourse. See:endgame)
Bros before hoes is more or less the rule of western mainstream media.
As such, relationships that demonstrate respect, trust, vulnerability, compassion and resiliency are almost always homosocial: or they are between two bros (no homo) and not between a man and a woman.
You trust the guy at your back, not the woman because you 1. Want to bang her 2. She’s probably going to die 3. She’s a damsel 4. Seriously she’s probably going to die.
Which all means: most of the well developed characters and relationships within mainstream western media are homosocial- they exist between two members of the same group. In our case, those straight white bros (which of course within supernatural can sometimes be taken literally in the case of Wincest).
Which means, the consumers of this media- mostly not white straight cisgendered dudes- are left with content that doesn’t represent who they are or what they want or even can aspire to.
So what’s the solution? Collect data and memorabilia? Sure why not.
OR: use your beloved media, those well developed characters and relationships, to create something new.
Fan work.
We circle back, at last, to the idea that fan work creators and consumers can be hypocritical or contradictory by creating works that feature that which they are not- these white dudes in love (romantic, sexual) with each other.
This supposition suggests that creators and consumers are using the characters and situations in fan work as replacements for what they lack in heterosocial relationships- either in media or in their own lives. Or, put another way, fans replace either Bucky or Steve with themselves and image the other to be their “love” interest.
To an extent, this may be true. That both parties are usually written to have male genitalia while most fans do not is where so many of the hypocritical and fetishization issues come into play.
But the reality is, fans are working with what they are given. Most fans don’t have dicks. A generous portion of fans don’t want to engage with dicks is sexual ways (or engage in sex at all) (and it must be emphasized that the majority of works on AO3 are rated T not E).
But the value in reimagining, subtextualizing, or deconstructing the mostly platonically presented homosocial relationships in western media as homosexual or homoerotic or homoromantic is not (for the most part) about fetish or about placeholders and substitutions for the fan.
It is about creating fanwork that reflects the society a fan lives in or wishes to live in.
Just as the sports fan will go to a bar and paint themselves blue and deride the Yankees because they want to envision a society that upholds a white cisgendered male patriarchy, media fanWORKS are created because we do NOT have a society that values romantic or erotic relationships between equals (for in traditional western society the only equal to a white cisgendered man is another white dude).
So, at last, a return to Stucky and Destiel.
The relationships created in fanWORKS between these two aren’t simply those where one is the “‘man” in the relationship and the other is the “woman”.
Yes those fanWORKS exist.
But most utilize the strong bonds of trust and respect and vulnerability and dare I say shared experience to create romantic and erotic relationships that are both more complex and more realistic than those actually portrayed in the same media.
In Stucky, we see Steve save Bucky and Bucky save Steve. We see Bucky hurt Steve and Steve hurt Bucky. We see their positions as EQUALS as a means by which to create a world where fulfilling relationships can exist that do not automatically restrict one (or more) parties to that of “chattel”.
The same is true of Destiel.
And both relationships feature key similarities within the original media that make for such rich possibilities.
Castiel saves Dean from hell. Castiel is brainwashed by the patriarchy to view Dean as lesser and even to kill him (this happens multiple times).
While Steve saves Bucky from Azzano, it is Bucky who saved Steve for almost their entire lives before that point. And after that point the two go back and forth to save each other. And let us not forget that Bucky was ordered to kill Steve but “he knew me”.
Dean and Castiel go through a similar ping pong match of saving each other.
This isn’t just about being equal in strength- it’s about being equal in vulnerability.
Which, to belabor the point, doesn’t exist in mainstream media’s romantic or erotic relationships nor is it widely taught or reinforced in western culture as a whole.
In conclusion.
Stucky and Destiel can save the world.
But probably KPOP would do it better and faster and cooler.
—-
Totally feel free to engage with your own opinions. Because I have to go sew now but later? Later we should talk friends and foes.
#fandom#meta#critical#fanfiction#fanfic#fanart#mcu#supernatural#SPN#stucky#destiel#Steve Rogers#captain america#bucky barnes#winter soldier#dean winchester#castiel#deancas
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Mid of the year Naruto fandom stats
At the beginning of 2020 I made some stats regarding Naruto fandom dynamics (to be found here), and the trend wasn’t very optimistic - a steep, steady decline on ff.net, maybe somewhat balanced out by a rise of AO3. Probably unavoidable state of a fandom 6 years after the end of the canon...
But then I saw really LOTS of fics appearing on AO3 over past few months, and it prompted me to check the numbers (even though the year is only in the middle).
And, there was a big, an uncharacteristically big rise on AO3. I went to check ff.net, thinking that it probably died totally and all the traffic shifted to AO3 (and that’s a reason for the unprecedented rise), and to my amazement ff.net rose as well!!!
In May and June there were ca. 1700 and 1520 fics (+/-20), respectively, published on AO3. And, for the first time since mid-2018 ff.net broke the thousand fics per month mark, with ca. 1050 fics in May and ca. 1000 fics (+/-25) in June!
What’s happening? Naruto fandom, you’re on fire!!!
No, but seriously, does anyone have an explanation for that?
And since the data were collected for January-June 2020, it is very easy to extrapolate (multiply by 2, lol), and if we assume the trend will continue, there will be an increase by the end of the year!!! The first increase since 2013!!!
Yay!! Go Naruto Fandom!!! Go!!!
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And a baby makes 3 Chapter 2
Soooooo, I don’t know how I should post chapters on Tumblr, cause I’ve never posted my fics on Tumblr like this before. So for now, I might just post chapters individually. If you guys have a better idea for how I should do this, please let me know! Anyway, this one is longer than the first, so I hope you enjoy!
Crowley quickly began working on Eve’s nursery, choosing to do things the semi human way. Which meant he miracled in the materials he would need to decorate the room, and then did the actual decorating by hand. The only major thing he miracled was the room itself, having to create a space for her that was connected to his and Aziraphale’s room. It wouldn’t have a door, to give them easy access to Eve if she needed them in the middle of the night, but as she grew up, they could always miracle a door, or even close the wall up.
Aziraphale was very excited to see what Crowley was going to create. The demon had begun painting secretly in the 1700s, and he’d taken to it like a duck to water. He only showed Aziraphale his collection of paintings after they helped save the world, and the angel was amazed. Crowley was an incredible painter. As of right now though, Aziraphale was stuck in the dark. While Eve’s room wasn’t going to have a door, Crowley miracled one up, to keep the decorations a surprise.
And while Crowley had decided to miracle the supplies, Aziraphale insisted on buying furniture, toys, clothes, even food, like regular human parents. Crowley just rolled his eyes and agreed. Aziraphale was letting him decorate her room, by himself, the least he could do was let Aziraphale have this. The only things they did miracle for Eve was a few things for her to wear, some food, and diapers. Thankfully, they didn’t need the diapers, as they quickly found out that angel babies weren’t far off from adult angels.
Crowley spent hours on end, in Eve’s room, only coming out once in a while, to check up on her, and get a kiss from Aziraphale. He always had dots of paint across his face and arms, that looked like multi colored freckles. Of course, Crowley already had freckles, but the thought always made Aziraphale laugh. When Crowley wasn’t working on Eve’s room, when he took longer breaks, he loved to spend it with Eve. She absolutely adored him. Anytime she caught sight of the demon, she would smile her widest smile at him. And she didn’t fear his snake eyes, which just made Crowley all the more happy.
Check out the rest of the chapter on AO3, or press keep reading! https://archiveofourown.org/works/23760160/chapters/57105358
A couple of days after Crowley and Aziraphale found Eve, they decided to give her a bath. She may have been an angel, and angels don’t really need to keep up their hygiene, they have perfect hygiene as a default. But, they wanted to raise her the human way. And that meant giving her baths. It was incredibly adorable, seeing her happy in the tub. She loved the warm water, and she especially loved splashing the water with her tiny hands. Aziraphale was very glad he’d changed into something more casual. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen to his waistcoat if it got wet. Crowley had gotten drenched, and couldn’t have been happier about it. He was all smiles that night. After they were pretty sure she was clean, by human standards, Crowley and Aziraphale pulled her out of the tub, and dried her off. Crowley did have to walk out of the room when she giggled at the towel. He didn’t come back for a few minutes, and when he finally did, his eyes were a little wetter than they had been before. Aziraphale smiled to himself, but didn’t say anything about it. After that, they put her in pyjamas, and laid her down to sleep.
“I still can’t believe we get to raise her” Crowley said, as he and Aziraphale lay in bed together. Aziraphale smiled at him.
“You could almost say, we’re blessed” Aziraphale said, smirking. Crowley turned his back to Aziraphale.
“Good night, Angel” the demon said, and Aziraphale laughed quietly. Crowley couldn’t stop his own quiet laughs, as the angel wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist, and pulled him in close.
“Good night, darling” Aziraphale said, pressing a kiss to the back of Crowey’s neck, and they both drifted into sleep.
It only took Crowley a few weeks to finish Eve’s room, and when he finally did, Aziraphale was incredibly excited to see what it looked like. They had decided to pick her furniture together, but Aziraphale had a feeling Crowley had picked a theme already.
“Finally finished, Angel!” Crowley said, walking into the downstairs kitchen. Aziraphale, who was making tea, turned and smiled at him.
“Oh! Do I get to see it now?” he asked, and Crowley shook his head.
“Not yet. Gotta let the paint dry first” Crowley replied, smiling back at him.
“How long will that take?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley shrugged.
“Maybe a few hours, at most” he answered, and Aziraphale pretended to pout. Crowley laughed at him.
“My impatient Angel” he said, and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist.
“I’m not impatient. I’m merely excited to see what you’ve created, my dear” the angel replied, looking up at Crowley with feigned shock. Crowley laughed again.
“But, when you get excited, you get impatient. And don’t try to deny it. We both remember Paris 1793” Crowley said, and Aziraphale blushed a little.
“Fine, yes, I can, sometimes, get impatient when I am excited” the angel conceded, and Crowley smiled.
“Told you” the demon said, and leaned down to kiss his angel.
A few hours later, the room was ready, and Aziraphale was bursting to see it.
“Do you think we should show Eve too?” Aziraphale asked, looking at the smiling baby, sitting in her crib. He smiled back, and she giggled.
“I guess we should. It is her room” Crowley said, walking over to Eve, and picking her up gently. She giggled again, and Crowley’s heart melted for the millionth time since finding her.
“Ready to see your new room, Little Star?” Crowley asked, and Eve smiled up at him.
“I guess that means yes” the demon said, and he walked back over to the door separating them from Eve’s room. Instead of opening the door, he simply miracled it away. They weren’t going to need it for a while anyway. Aziraphale walked in first, and gasped, Crowley and Eve following suit.
“Crowley, it’s amazing!” Aziraphale said, and smiled at his demon. Crowley blushed a little, but smiled back. Crowley had painted the room from ceiling to walls, with a very dark blue. The walls and ceilings were covered in tiny, different colored dots, stars. The ceiling looked like a galaxy, and even had some glow in the dark star stickers on it. The trim of the walls were a gorgeous, shining gold, that contrasted beautifully with the dark blue. Aziraphale looked closely at the walls, and realized that the stars weren’t just randomly placed. Crowley had painted the stars to match what they had looked like from his time in Heaven. Aziraphale only knew this, because he remembered the stars looking like this when he would visit the outer parts of Heaven. Crowley hadn’t been there by then, but the stars had been.
“Crowley” Aziraphale said softly, turning to see there were tears in his demons eyes. Aziraphale quickly walked over to comfort him.
“Whatever is the matter, dear?” the angel asked, and Crowley huffed a small laugh, and wiped his eyes with his free hand.
“Nothing. Just wish I could have shown you my stars in Heaven. I’m just so happy you get to see them here” he said, and Aziraphale smiled at him.
“Well, it certainly looks like Eve loves it” Aziraphale said, and Crowley looked at his daughter. God, he loved calling her that. She was looking around the room, smiling, and trying to grab the star stickers on the ceiling, despite being too far away.
“Do you like your room, little star?” Crowley asked, and she turned back to him, still smiling. Crowley smiled back at her, and gently kissed her forehead.
“Good. You’ll be sleeping in here in no time” he said. Aziraphale couldn’t keep the smile off of his own face. He had always known, despite denying it, that Crowley was amazing with children. It was just a wonderful surprise to see him so paternal to Eve. Aziraphale could feel the love Crowley felt for her. It was incredibly strong and protective. Aziraphale could feel that Crowley would do anything to protect her. There are a lot of misconceptions about demons. They aren’t inherently evil, but they chose to be, to be what everyone saw them as. They don’t like each other, yes, but they have the capacity to, just as they are able to love. But there is one fact that is, and always has been true about demons. They are very possessive about the things they care for, the things they love. Once they become attached to something, they will protect it until the end. This is true for all demons, and Crowley is no exception. Crowley is perhaps the most extreme case, because he has allowed himself to love. Most, almost all demons chose to avoid love. Crowley has learned to embrace it. Aziraphale knows about Crowley’s possessiveness first hand. It’s never been negative. With many demons, and even some humans, they get possessive in negative ways. Crowley never has, and Aziraphale knows he never will. At least, not towards the ones he’s possessive of. But Aziraphale knows, if Crowley has to fight to protect the ones he loves, he’ll fight until his last breath.
“I love you” Crowley said quietly, and Aziraphale pressed his forehead against the demons.
“I love you too” Aziraphale replied.
“I love her. So much” Crowley said, voice breaking, and Aziraphale’s heart ached. Sometimes, Crowley loved so hard, it would hurt him. When his love overwhelmed even himself. This was one such time.
“And she knows it. She’s an angel. She can feel your love for her, and I know she loves you back” Aziraphale replied, smiling at his demon.
“How do you know?” Crowley asked, sounding unsure, but hopeful. Aziraphale gently cupped Crowley’s face with his hands.
“Because I am an angel too. I can feel your love for her, and I can feel her love for you. Just as I can feel your love for me” Aziraphale replied, and Crowley smiled at him. Aziraphale leaned forward, and gently kissed his demon.
“Thank you, Angel” Crowley said, when they parted. Aziraphale smiled at him.
“Of course, love. Now, onto the next order of business. It’s time to buy furniture” Aziraphale said, and Crowley huffed out a small laugh. Eve started giggling at the sound of his laugh, and Crowley smiled at her, kissing her forehead again.
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Stucky remix - requirements
As with the rules and the schedule, not everyone has been able to follow the link to the requirements, so we’re posting them here as well:
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In order to participate, we would like it if you have a minimum of three remixable works. These can be fic, art, or some of each, but must be:
Over 300 words (if fic)
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Steve-and-Bucky centric
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May I have this dance? (amedot fic)
One-Shot
Summary: 2. We were dancing but all of a sudden it’s a slow song and we’re standing here awkwardly staring at each other (Prompt)
Notes: So around a year ago, someone requested this for a prompt game. Originally this took over a week, due to brainstorming and being busy with school. I've rewritten this several times since, so it went from 800 words to 1000 to 1700 to now over 2000 words. I completely changed the ending back in December, so that's why it's way longer. I'm pretty happy with how it came out, because it doesn't feel as fast paced as it was before and I worked really hard on this fic. (Update/Edit)
Word Count: 2365 words
AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15794496
It was the evening of Steven’s fifteenth birthday. August 15th. And of course they were celebrating the occasion by throwing a party for him. It was just the gems, Connie, and Steven’s dad, Greg. They were all on the dance floor that had been set up by Greg and Bismuth earlier in the day. Unsurprisingly, Steven and Connie were dancing together, as Lapis stood off to the side. She wasn’t really that much of a dancer. She stood off to the side with Greg, watching him dj music. Garnet, Bismuth, and Pearl had been chatting the night away. And then there was Amethyst and Peridot, who were dancing together as well.
After one song finished, another one started playing. The mood of the song had changed from a tone that sounded fun to a tone that was more so slow and calm. It almost even sounded romantic. ‘Oh my stars. The dance for this sound would be slow dancing? Wouldn’t it?’ Sometime ago, after watching an episode of Camp Pining Hearts, Peridot’s curiosity got the best of her, so she decided to look up what a slow dance was, the definition being ‘a type of partner dance in which a couple dance slowly, swaying to the music, usually done to very slow-beat songs, namely sentimental ballads.’ Peridot then looked over at the purple quartz, almost like she was now staring at her, as Amethyst awkwardly stood there, staring back. Both wondering if the other gem would even want to.
After at least a couple of seconds of just awkwardly standing there and staring at each other, Amethyst finally spoke up, breaking the silence between them and risking the chance of being rejected, asking “Peridot, may I have this dance?” in a tone that came off as daring and bold but also tense, nervous, anxious..
Amethyst then gently pulled her in, firmly but also gently placing her hand onto Peridot’s hip. Peridot, in response, put her left hand on Amethyst’s arm, with her right hand locked in with Amethyst’s right hand. The rhythm of their bodies slowly danced with the sentimental and passionate music. Peridot found herself trembling and shaking, with her cheeks burning as they had now turned into a light shade of blue, admiring how beautiful Amethyst was. Her chest felt a mix of so many different things. It felt heavy. It felt tingly. It felt like her chest was pounding to the point where it might burst. ‘Stop staring at her like that you clod!’ Peridot told herself in an effort to stop herself from staring at Amethyst, secretly praying that she would never notice how flustered she was. How head over heels she was.
She then looked down, so she wouldn’t stare at Amethyst anymore, and so it wouldn’t be noticeable that she was a complete mess. And yeah, she was a complete mess. She was trembling, blushing, and she had so many weird feelings in her chest. After about 30 or so more seconds of dancing, Peridot finally looked back up at Amethyst as she had told her to. Her breathing had now become little of depth, and her chest now practically felt like it was racing, merely seconds away from bursting. Her face was now incredibly close to Amethyst’s, as she felt her lips inching closer to Amethyst’s. She caught herself, immediately pulling away.
“I.. I have to go,” Peridot stammered as she had nothing else to say to her in an attempt to flee. She was now looking away from Amethyst, avoiding eye contact altogether. She then ran off, disappearing from sight.
Amethyst just stood there, now alone on the dance floor. She was incredibly confused and nearly in disbelief, but also somewhat hurt, with the feeling like she had been punched in the gut. She felt rejected. She felt incredibly stupid, for even asking Peridot to slow-dance with her, because she should’ve known it was a dumb idea. She then buried her face into her hands, frustrated and mad at herself, ‘Ugh. I.. I really messed up this time. I should have known she was gonna get super uncomfortable. I should’ve known that things were gonna get really weird and awkward. This is all my fault.. I should’ve never asked her to slow-dance.. I mean.. why would she want to slow dance with me anyways? ...I know I wouldn’t want to..’ After taking a minute or two to collect her thoughts, she ran after Peridot, following her into the beach house, which was half-way through being renovated. It was pitch dark inside the beach house, and completely silent. She turned on the lights, now slowly and quietly walking. “..Peridot?” She then asked, the tone of her voice being cautious. No response. “Peri, is.. Is everything okay?” Still no response. ‘She has to be in the bathroom.’ And so she was. Just sitting there, by herself, hiding her face in her knees, which she was hugging. “Oh man, Peridot.” She sighed, “Per.. I’m sorry.. I should’ve never asked you to slow dance..”
After a few seconds of complete silence between the two, Peridot finally spoke up, in a quiet and muffled but clearly pained and frustrated sounding tone of voice, “You asking me to slow dance was not the problem.”
“Oh? Then.. what’s wrong, P-Dot? Did I.. did I do something back out on the dance floor to upset you?” Amethyst asked. She was now confused, as her asking Peridot to slow-dance when she didn’t want to was not the problem, like she had thought previously. But, what else would have upset her?
“No, no.. You were not the problem, Amethyst. Not at all. You did nothing wrong,” Peridot said in response. She then lifted her head from her knees and looked up at the purple quartz, her cheeks now a light shade of blue. She sighed, “I am just.. Incredibly embarrassed… That is all.”
“Embarrassed? Wait, why?” Amethyst asked, surprise and confusion written all over her face. What would Peridot have to be embarrassed about?
“Because!” Peridot blurted out in obvious frustration. She was mad. Mad at herself. Mad that she ran off like that. Mad that she couldn’t even slow-dance with Amethyst without embarrassing herself and making herself look like a complete fool, she was mad. “Ergh!” She shouted, not knowing what else to say to Amethyst as she frustratedly tugged on her hair. Realizing how upset she was getting, she then paused and took a deep breath to calmly collect herself. “Amethyst, it’s not that I didn’t want to slow dance with you.. Because, frankly, I did. I did want to slow dance with you. And If I didn’t want to, I would have said so. But I kept staring at you, and I was trembling, and blushing. I even think my hands were sweaty? But frankly, I was just a mess. And it was just very.. embarrassing.”
“Ohh, right..,” Amethyst mumbled. She then took a step closer towards the bathtub. “..Is it.. Is it because you don’t like it when I touch ya or whatever? ‘Cause, I’ve noticed that ya’ve gotten super uncomfortable whenever I do, and I - uh - can back off if ya want me to. Y’know? If I’m ever making ya uncomfortable in anyway, just say so. Okay?”
“No! That is not what I meant! ..Amethyst, I do like it when we touch.. A lot! ..Almost too much.. But, I hate the way it makes me feel when we touch.. Because whenever you do touch me, I just, freeze up or blush or all of the above.. Because I like you so much,” Peridot rambled, making frustrated hand gestures as she admitted her feelings for the other gem. “And, I know you have noticed. That’s why I ran off.. Because I was incredibly embarrassed of you noticing how flustered I was.”
“Ugh.. Peridot..,” Amethyst groaned as she buried her face into her hands.
“W-what? Did I say something wrong?” Peridot asked her, now confused but also concerned that she might have said something that upset or weirded out Amethyst by the tone of her voice.
“You’re.. You’re not the only one who becomes a complete mess. Whenever I’m around you, you make me feel so mushy... Like. all. The time.” Amethyst made frustrated hand gestures and tugged on strands of her hair as she spoke about how Peridot made her feel. Now she was blushing herself. Peridot gave her a confused look in response, she had never noticed Amethyst ‘become a complete mess’ when she was around her. Maybe it was just that Peridot was rather oblivious to it. “It’s lame. Right?” She then sighed and crossed her arms. “I just..really hate that I love the way you make me feel.”
Peridot gave Amethyst a weak but also the most softest and gentle smile, as it made her really happy to hear Amethyst say all of that, “I’m glad that you feel the same way..”
“Good..,” Amethyst said, smiling back at her. She then walked towards the tub and lent her hand out to Peridot, “So, you want help out of the tub?”
“Yes, please..”
“Okay..,” Peridot slipped her fingers into Amethyst’s, grabbing onto her as Amethyst helped her up. She then carefully stepped out of the tub, her fingers still laced through Amethyst’s. This got Amethyst to impulsively ask, “So, what if I held your hand?”
In response, Peridot looked at her, bewildered. She then asked, “Like how you’re holding it right now?” as she lightly squeezed Amethyst’s hand.
“Mmm, yeah.”
Peridot gave her a simple response of “It feels..nice..” To her, even the brush of Amethyst’s thumb against her palm felt amazing, and lit her up inside. “But, at the same time I feel nervous, but that’s okay because I like getting to hold your hand.”
“So, uh, what if I kissed your hand?” Amethyst asked in an unusually shy manner. She was now blushing, with a tender but almost nervous look on her face. “Would that be okay?”
“Yes.”
Amethyst slowly lifted one of Peridot’s hands, the one that she was holding, up to the level of her lips. She then gently and softly kissed it.
And even though it was just a small kiss on the hand, the color of Peridot’s cheeks turned into a light blue, now overwhelmed with the feeling of butterflies swirling in her stomach, the feeling of her cheeks burning.
“Was that.. Was that okay?” Amethyst asked, noticing how Peridot’s face was now burning, as she had looked rather uncomfortable.
“Yes..”
“You sure?” Amethyst asked her. “Because, I don’t wanna pressure ya into doing this stuff if it makes ya uncomfortable. Y’know?”
“Amethyst.. It’s okay,” Peridot softly spoke, reassuring her, as she squeezed the nervous gem’s hand and gave her a loving smile to let her know everything was okay. And this then led to them just staring at each other, admiring the other gem and how pretty they were. Amethyst was just so beautiful. Her long, thick, and messy lavender hair, her little nose, her full and plump lips, her big blue eyes, and everything about her body. It was so hard for Peridot to not stare at her just because of how pretty she thought Amethyst was. “So, what if you kissed me?” Peridot blurted out, asking from a sudden impulse.
Amethyst’s eyes widened out of surprise, her lips now parted. She then asked, “You want me to kiss you?”
“Yes..? Is that bad..?” Peridot asked her, as the tone of Amethyst’s voice and the look on her face had concerned her that kissing would be a bad idea.
“No, dude, not at all. I guess, it’s just, I dunno, surprising?”
“Amethyst, out on the dance floor, I.. I tried to kiss you,” Peridot admitted to her, now blushing out of embarrassment and avoiding making eye contact with Amethyst. She then took a deep breath and looked back at Amethyst again, asking “How is it surprising that I want to kiss you?”
“Wait, what?” Amethyst asked her in a higher-pitched voice, being louder than she had intended, now even more surprised then she was before. “You actually tried to kiss me?”
“Yes, I did. That would be another reason for why I ran off. I nearly kissed you, and I thought that you would not want the same and I didn’t want to overstep a boundary, so I ran off.”
“Of course I want to kiss you, Peridot!” Amethyst exclaimed, now visibly blushing.
“You do?” Peridot asked. Now it was Peridot’s turn to be surprised as Amethyst had been rather subtle about her feelings for Peridot in the past.
“Yes. I do. For so long, I’ve wanted to kiss you, badly. But I was never able to because I was so scared of messing things up, and me being completely clueless to it, thought that you would never want the same.”
Suddenly feeling brave, Peridot got closer to her, now stroking Amethyst’s palm with her thumb, softly and quietly saying into her ear “Well.. nothing’s stopping you from doing so now.”
Amethyst looked at her with softest but also most flirtatious smile on her face. As Amethyst’s face inched closer to hers, Peridot’s chest started to race again, the pounding getting faster and faster. She could feel herself getting closer to Amethyst, tilting her head and closing her eyes, feeling Amethyst’s breath against her lips. She could see how dark Amethyst’s cheeks were. And then it happened. She was the one who gently placed her lips onto the other gem’s lips, giving into the strong urge she had lived with for months of wanting to kiss her. She then wrapped her arms around Amethyst’s neck, as Amethyst grabbed her waist, kissing her back, which deepened the kiss and stole Peridot’s breath. They then pulled away, heavily breathing and giving themselves a few seconds, but then their lips met, again, and again, and again. She then looked at the purple gem who looked blown away. Entranced. Head over heels for Peridot.
“Holy smokes..,” Peridot managed to spit out, as she was completely blown away by their first kiss and still holding onto Amethyst. They then let go of each other.
“So, uh, how do you feel now?” Amethyst asked her, giving Peridot a lopsided smile.
“A-A lot? I feel.. A lot.” She bit down on her lips, clamming them shut, attempting to calm her gasps. The echoes of her beating heart began grasping at her throat, trying to escape from her rib cage, fighting the bones holding it hostage. “But, I do know that kissing is something I would like to do more.”
"Heh, yeah, I.. feel a lot of things right now too, but I definitely know I wanna kiss ya more," Amethyst smiled, moving the hair out of her face. After a few moments of silence and smiling lovingly at each other, Amethyst spoke up, saying, "Soo, d'ya wanna go back outside now? I mean, we don't have to buttt.. I'm pret-ty sure that the others have noticed we ran off by now, and are probably wondering what's up.. Heh, maybe they assumed we ran off to make out or somethin' like that," Amethyst rambled. She then looked over at Peridot, who was visibly blushing out of slight embarrassment. "But anyways, I'm rambling...so..?"
"Yeah," She replied, cracking a small smile. "We probably should."
Amethyst reached for Peridot's hand, slipping her fingers in-between hers. "Is this.. okay?" She stared into Peridot's nervous eyes, watching as her mouth fell agape, in a surprising manner. The purple quartz began to quickly pull her hand away from the other gem's hold. "W-we don't have to if you don't want to."
Peridot reached for Amethyst's hand, grabbing it back, managing to stutter out, "N-no!" She froze, embarrassed from raising her voice.
Amethyst fought to keep herself from laughing, only to fail. She started with a toothy smile. She then began giggling, and finished with uncontrollable laughter. She shut her eyes as she teared up, wiping the tears from her face.
Peridot blushed, feeling singled out. "Hey.. stop," She quietly begged, awkwardly smiling at the other gem.
Opening her eyes, Amethyst noticed she made Peridot feel rather uncomfortable. She stopped herself from laughing out of respect for her girlfriend. "Sorry, P-dot," She apologized, grabbing hold of Peridot's hand again. "It's just that- y'know- we're starting out with all of this ..uh, stuff?" She tried to explain herself, "And um.. I'm just as nervous as you are, okay? I'm.. sorry. I've just never had this kind of relationship before and I don't really know how to act. Y'know?" She squeezed Peridot's hand, hoping it would help the situation.
"I.. don't exactly know how to act either, Amethyst," Peridot started, "It's like.. we were friends a couple of hours ago and now we're.." She averted her gaze, studying the tiles of the bathroom floor below them. She then looked up back at Amethyst, "What are we?"
"Uh, I dunno, girlfriends?"
"Yeah, girlfriends..," She giggled, with a lopsided smile across her face. She then sighed, "... What I’m saying is that I've never been in a romantic relationship before either."
This got a small chuckle out of Amethyst, "Well, I'm glad to know I'm not alone on that." She peered down at their intertwined hands and then looked back up at Peridot, with a shy look on her face, "So this is okay, right?"
"It's.. perfect," The green gem softly smiled at her. Amethyst smiled back, leaning forward and pecking Peridot's cheek. This got Peridot to giggle, and an unmistakable blush appear across her face. They then walked out together, holding hands.
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Fic-Writer / Vid-Maker Meme
Tagged by @educatedinyellow and @gailbsanders, thank you!
Author/Vidder Name: sanguinity
Fandoms You Write For: Lately it’s mostly book!verse Hornblower and ACD!Holmes (although the ACD!Holmes is largely behind the scenes with a long-form WIP that I’ve been focusing on). I also write for assorted small Holmesian fandoms as the whim or prompts take me, and I used to write fairly prolifically for Elementary, before that show wore me into the ground with how persistently they don’t care about Joan Watson. I’ve written a fair bit of Strange Empire, some Doctor Who / Torchwood, and quite a few one-offs in random fandoms, from the Oz books to Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles.
Fandoms I Vid For: Mostly one-offs or small batches that overlap with the fandoms I write for: Holmesian multiverse, Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles, plus a number of rarer Festivids-qualifying fandoms like The Middleman or Noah’s Arc.
Where You Post Fic: Most of it is on AO3, excepting some three-sentence and five-sentence fics that I’ve never collected.
Where You Post Vids: Variously Vimeo, YouTube, and DailyMotion, depending on who threw a fit about what copyrighted music the week I posted it, but all my vids are listed at AO3.
Most Popular One-Shot: “The Sincerity of Dust,” a BBC Sherlock Mystrade flash-fic I banged out one morning and which then went on to eat Cleveland. It has 1400 kudos and is working on 14,000 hits. Its nearest rival is “Score: Q to 12,″ an Elementary flash-fic featuring Sherlock and Joan playing Calvinscrabble, which performed modestly on AO3 but cleaned up on tumblr to the tune of 1700 notes.
Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: “Holocene Park,” an Elementary case fic featuring dinosaurs under the streets of New York City. If I’m remembered in the Elementary fandom for anything, it’s probably for this or Calvinscrabble.
Most Popular Vid: “Something Good (Will Come From That),” my Holmes/Watson multiverse vid. It has 10K plays, the AO3 page has 2.5K hits, and the tumblr page has almost 800 notes. It escaped my corner of pseudonym-based AO3-centric fandom and has made the rounds of the Sherlockian scions on Facebook, as well as being rec’d on non-fannish websites in French, German, and Japanese. For a little while there it was making me anxious with how popular it got -- at the height of its popularity, I was worrying my mom was going to email it to me. After it hit it big I almost completely stopped making things for a while, because I was pretty sure that nothing else I made would be even half that good ever again. Happily, that turned out to be a stupid reason to not make things, and so I started making things again.
Favorite Story You Wrote/Vid You Made: Yeah, sorry, no, my brain burns out on “favorite” questions, especially ones that have no criteria. I’ll just refer you to my Fic/Vid Speed-Dating Score Card, which can be construed as a list of my favorite works on various axes, and is still fairly accurate despite being a year old. (Scariest nowadays is probably “Tea for Two,” a Moriarty-centric story from this last round of Holmestice.)
Story You Were Nervous to Post: “Any Service Required,” which is dark Bush/Hornblower porn. I always feel hideously exposed when publishing porn -- I’m nervous about posting it even in the best of cases. But what with this being dark-fic, I was half-expecting the self-appointed morals police who get prescriptive about “healthy” relationships to show up and make a stink. Or along similar lines, I was fearing that followers who are used to a certain kind of thing from me will look at this one, think it base trash, and lose respect for me over it. I’m happy to say that nothing like that has happened so far, and while readership has been light, I’m fine with that: I’d rather a story have a small readership who is genuinely into it than a large readership who isn’t, and I’d like to believe that this story’s small readership is mostly due to people taking a look at the tags and making good decisions about the kind of thing they enjoy reading.
How Do You Choose Your Titles: BY ANY MEANS I CAN MAKE WORK. My preference is to grab a meaningful phrase from the text, but I’ll also use quotes and popular phrases, sometimes straight-up and sometimes with a twist, if it seems a decent fit for the story. Ideally, a title will speak to some deeper truth about the story, but when push comes to shove, I’ll settle for a title that is short, clean, and memorable: basically, anything that I and others can remember without having to look it up all the damn time. (This is my main problem with people using lines of poetry or song lyrics as titles: they tend to register in my brain as generic word salad, and in many cases I couldn’t say without looking it up what the title actually was, let alone what it had to do with the story.)
Do You Outline: For long or complex stories, sure, yes. If there are many scenes or multiple chapters, I tend to jot down a few lines listing out the succession of scenes or chapters; for “The Next World,” whose main body is a long and rambly conversation, I had an outline that listed out every twist and turn of that convo. The outline for “Langstroth on Bees” (WIP, currently 58K) is a monster of a thing, listing out the internal timeline (five years of current action plus another ten of backstory), various promises I’ve made that I need to deliver on, assorted events that I want to remember to include, and rough ideas about where chapter breaks should maybe fall. Given that I’ve been working on that story for five years now, often with breaks from it of nearly a year, that outline has saved my ass. I guarantee you that without it, I would have picked up this story at some point, tried to remember where I was going with it, come up with nothing much, and shelved it permanently. If anything, I really should outline more often -- I have a few long-standing drafts in my WIP folder that I just... don’t remember where I was going with that. I remember that I did have a destination in mind, yes, but what exactly? WHO KNOWS. Btw, my outlines are living documents -- I revise them often, as my understanding of the story develops. In fact, revising the outline is one of many tools for understanding where a story is going and what is still needed to bring it together.
How many of your fanworks are…
Complete: 92 stories or story collections (I have a few AO3 “stories” that are actually collected ficlets from tumblr or Sherlock60), and 26 vids and vidlets,
In-Progress: Nothing published to AO3 -- it makes me crazy to have a partially-published WIP. My drafts folder has 36 partially completed stories in it, and there are probably a half-dozen vids that I started but haven’t finished.
Coming Soon: Four? For various values of “coming soon.” I have two Hornblower stories that are mostly done (one for the Tegmore verse and another for the Kraken verse), and I’ve been working steadily on “Langstroth on Bees” in the hopes that I’ll finish it this year. And I’m signed up for Remix Revival -- whatever I do for that will probably be the very-most-next thing.
Do You Accept Prompts: Yes! Although I have only a 1/3 to 1/2 completion rate on prompts -- I do hope that no one minds that too terribly! But I’ll actively solicit prompts from time to time -- to celebrate something, or if I’m having a shit day and want to turn it around -- and some of my best stuff has come from prompts people have given me. I never ever guarantee filling them (see my above mentioned completion rate), but if someone wants to prompt me something, my ask box is open. Even if the prompt never gets filled, I still get a warm flutter of “They want to play with me!” from it.
Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: “Langstroth on Bees,” a 58K-and-counting Holmes/Watson retirement fic that I’ve been working for five years. I added a solid 13K to it this month, and have maybe 20K left to go -- I’m hope-hope-hoping to have it done this year. But I’ve gotten far enough into it that “Langstroth” has finally begun overlapping the territory covered in “From Allegany,” and by the end of this chapter I’ll have passed it entirely. Then I’ll be in unwritten territory, wheee! (Speaking of titles, I never really intended to call this thing “Langstroth on Bees” -- that’s just a working title for my drafts folder. But enough of you now know it by that name that I think I’m going to have to stick with it? So I’m desperately trying to figure out how to justify it. ONE OF MANY THINGS TO DO IN THIS DRAFT.)
Tag Five Fanfic Authors to Answer These Questions As Well: @beanarie @quipxotic @phoenixfalls @xserpx @amindamazed And of course anyone else who wants to play!
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From Eden: Chapter 7
Notes: Michael Langdon x Reader/OC. Evil Power Couple fic. It’s difficult to write a summary for this one, because I don’t want to give away the twists. (It’ll also include canon rewrite/divergence for the later half of the season.) It has plenty of angst and fluff, and a bit of character study.
Warnings: Swearing, blood, murder, graphic violence.
Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Also Available on AO3
The Hotel Cortez had called to him. His father had reached out from the void to guide his path, and so he ended up on the doorstep of a hell mouth. It looked rather innocuous from the outside—a seedy, rundown Art Deco relic left to decompose in a back alley. An echo of its former grandeur. Michael supposed it had all of the right elements to act as a conduit for his father’s influence. That familiar rush of darkness ghosted along his skin before he even set foot in the lobby, coiling tightly around him as if it was oxygen to his starved lungs.
Michael breathed it in, greedy for it, confidence swelling in his veins, his hands flexing at his sides. Power hummed across his fingertips, burning as if he’d held them into an open flame. The only other time he had felt his father’s presence so close, so all-consuming was the night of the Black Mass, where he’d affirmed his title as Satan’s heir. A hint of brimstone caught his senses, just a trace of it when the air shifted as he walked through the vacant lobby.
He smirked, chin tilted up, and folded his hands behind his back. The tacky, stained carpet muted his footsteps. Around every turn the Cortez seemed endless and identical; doors stretching in every direction, the hallways casting more shadow than light. It was dim and outdated, gaudy in a way that made Michael’s skin itch.
Agony seeped from the walls. Souls cried out for mercy, for salvation they would never find. The screaming and wailing would never stop. They would never escape, never know peace.
Michael kept walking.
A melody broke through the deafening quiet, the distant weeping and torment. Michael paused in the middle of a hallway, head cocked to one side, brow knit together. Someone was whistling; the sound of a children’s lullaby floated into the hall from one of the rooms up ahead. A fragile, golden orange light spilled onto the carpet from an open door and flickered against the wall opposite like someone had lit a fire.
Michael hurried toward it, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. He stopped just short of the doorway, arms falling to his sides. His lips parted as his jaw dropped a little and he tried to register the sight in front of him.
This room was different from the others.
It was all dark walls and dark, rich wood and elegance—a study full of bookcases and glossy, modern furniture with a large fire burning at one end. Michael stepped over the threshold, pulled forward by some force or feeling inside of him. His ice blue gaze swept over the room, taking in little details like the arrangement of animal skulls on the mantle and the table against the far wall that displayed what he assumed was an expensive liquor collection.
He noticed the man last. Or maybe he hadn’t been there a moment ago. Michael didn’t know for certain.
The man rose from behind an ornate desk as if he’d been expecting Michael’s arrival. As if, somehow, they’d had an appointment.
He cut an imposing figure in a tailored, slate gray three-piece suit. There was a dusting of light gray at his temples, his hair the color of ink and slightly tousled. A handsome amount of stubble shadowed his jawline; Michael guessed that he was maybe in his late forties by some terrible estimation. There was something familiar about this man’s moss green eyes, the sharp slope of his nose, the knowing grin that pulled at a corner of his lips, but Michael couldn’t immediately place it. The silver chain of a pocket watch glinted in the firelight as the man stepped toward the far table.
“Hello, Michael.” His voice was smooth, accented. “Would you care for a drink?”
“Sure.” Michael remembered himself—the manners instilled in him by Constance Langdon were impossible to forget, even now—as he neared the man, his steps wary. “Thank you.”
Amber liquid flowed into two crystal glasses from an old bottle. Michael thought he saw a date on the label that suggested somewhere within the 1700s, but he couldn’t be sure, faded as the label was. The man handed one glass over to Michael before he picked up the other, letting it dangle between his fingertips for a moment. He then held it aloft between them, tipping it slightly. The firelight illuminated the amber in his glass and a small, silver ring that adorned the man’s thumb.
“To you, Michael Langdon,” he declared, “Long may you reign.”
He clinked his own glass against Michael’s, that meaningful—and perhaps proud—grin spreading across his lips.
The drink shot like fire down his throat and burned straight through his chest. He stifled a cough and took another sip. Michael had no idea what it was, but it sent an instantaneous, pleasant buzz to his fingertips and toes.
“You certainly are your father’s son,” the man told him. He spoke as if he’d known Michael for his entire life, known things about him that he’d yet to learn. The thought was a little unsettling. “What an honor it is to finally be in your presence at last.”
Michael cradled the glass between his palms. “I’m sorry,” he started, peering up at the man with a slight shake of his head, gaze narrowing in confusion. “Do I know you?”
“No, you wouldn’t. Our paths may have run parallel, you and I, but there was no reason for them to cross. Well, not until now, at least. You’re far too young, Michael, and I am something much more ancient.”
The man’s eyes suddenly turned from dark green to pure black, the whites of his eyes like twin smudges of charcoal. Michael had never seen anything like it before, but he understood. In his soul—the part of him bred for nothing but sin and chaos and destruction—he knew all too well what it meant. Michael’s chin rose, assessing, his small, weighty exhale audible between them.
“But,” the man continued, his eyes returning to their normal color as he looked at Michael over the rim of his glass. “You know someone who’s very dear to me. And it’s time that we met.”
***
Her room smelled of sandalwood and jasmine, like it always did. Although his visits to her home were far fewer than the time she spent at his, the scent always clung to her hair, lingered in his room and on his clothes. He’d grown used to it. It had become a constant in a life so full of sudden, irrevocable change. Michael had noticed it on the bedding in his room at Hawthorne and in the wake of her departure the other night. It stayed on his uniform the next day as they recited incantations, his thoughts pulled to her whenever a remnant of sandalwood and jasmine drifted into his senses.
Michael found himself disappointed, even lonely, when the scent finally faded.
He’d missed her, too.
In the beginning, it had been curiosity that had drawn Michael to her. He’d felt her power, that same intoxicating darkness that resided in his veins, before he’d even seen her. Now, it was something else entirely. Something he couldn’t even measure, let alone name. She never expected anything from him, and that’s what made her different from everyone else who circled around him.
They all trailed behind him, casting him as their leader—whether he had a say in the matter or not—and she always matched her steps with his, always gravitated to his side. His only friend. His equal. His partner, for whatever destiny demanded of them.
And now he understood why.
Michael stood like a silent shadow, the room dark around him except for the soft glow of the candles that scented the air. It was tidy, only because she’d spent so many hours locked away in here avoiding the chaos of her parents.
She cleaned when she was anxious, to quell the panic in her chest by keeping her hands busy, her mind preoccupied. Michael remembered the first time she’d seen the appalling state of his bedroom a week after they’d met outside her aunt’s house.
It had taken her seven days to show up at Ms. Mead’s door again, seven days to process the truth that she somehow knew had been there all along. Michael had watched her pace the room, afraid to look him in the eye, afraid to get too close, her hands frantic and her voice shaking as she asked him about everything except that book she’d let him borrow. Michael’s room was spotless by the time she accepted his answers and the burden that came with being in his orbit.
Michael had been charmed by it. By her.
That seemed like a lifetime ago.
Michael’s cloak rippled around his ankles, his steps quiet. His fingers skirted across the organized row of books on one of her shelves and paused at a silver frame sitting at the edge. He picked it up, thumb passing over the photograph inside: the two of them on Ms. Mead’s porch. They were sprawled over the front steps, his arm across her shoulders, both of her arms wrapped around his middle. She had her eyes closed—Michael grinned at the memory of tugging her into the frame, catching her by surprise—but her smile was bright, her face pressed into his side.
He hadn’t even looked at the camera. His attention was on her, that boyish face he could now barely recognize lit by a beaming smile. It all seemed so normal. So simple, then. Michael couldn’t help the involuntary pang of sadness that hit him in the gut out of nowhere; the nagging whisper that crept into his thoughts when he gave in to doubt. What if they had strayed off the path? Would fate still catch up to them?
He set the frame down and rounded the corner of her bed, sinking into the edge by her hip. The power he carried into the room with him hadn’t roused her. She was still asleep, curled up on her side, her lips parted slightly, her hair fanned out across the pillows. The book she’d been reading before she drifted off had slid out of her hands and onto the tangled up sheets next to her.
Michael had cared for—loved—so few people in his short life who’d genuinely loved him in return. He almost wasn’t sure what it felt like. If it was real and honest. If he had the capacity for it, being who and what he was.
But her… She made him believe in the possibility.
Inhaling the scent of sandalwood and jasmine, Michael reached out and stroked her hair gently. A few moments passed before she stirred with a soft groan, blinking up at him.
“Hi,” she rasped, her voice still thick with sleep.
Michael laughed. “Hey.”
“What time is it?”
“I don’t know.” He withdrew his hand, watching her gain her bearings as she sat up. “Late.”
Her eyes widened. “Look at you,” she gasped. Her fingers seized the fabric of his cloak. She ran her thumbs over the intricate silver clasps, admiring the detail before she became distracted by the new clothes he’d acquired. “Are capes regulation at Hawthorne now?”
“Not exactly.”
“Oh, so it’s just you,” she answered. Her smile was all sarcasm, betraying the look in her eyes. Michael couldn’t quite read it, but there was something in her gaze that seemed to soften his roughest edges, now more than ever. Something that kept him human. “Figures.”
She yawned and stretched like a cat, then gathered up the book that had tumbled into the bed sheets. Michael caught the gilded cover in the candlelight before she left it on the bedside table.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Paradise Lost?”
“I was studying.”
Michael stared at her, a smirk forming on his mouth. “For class?”
She yawned again and tucked one leg under the other. He moved a little closer, and her fingers found their way back to his cloak. “Not exactly.”
Her eyes hadn’t left him since she woke up, her expression soft, her hair mussed from sleep. Michael always felt safe with her, comforted by having her beside him. Despite all his outbursts and dark impulses, he never wanted her to feel like how her parents made her feel when she was with him.
She reached out and kneaded her fingers into his hair. Michael leaned into her touch, his eyelids falling shut. He couldn’t stop the tiny sigh that escaped his lips as she massaged his scalp and played with strands of gold. “Your hair looks longer.”
“Does it?”
“Mmhmm,” she hummed. “You know, I should be used to all of this by now, but some of it is still so…surreal.”
Her thumb traced the mark behind his ear, a delicate, feather-light touch. Warmth blossomed up the back of his neck and the tips of his ears as if he’d just taken another sip of whatever drink he’d had at the Cortez.
“If I had hair as beautiful as yours, I’d let it grow out, too,” she mused. “Please don’t get any bright ideas if you’re ever bored at that school. Teenage boys can be insufferable and stupid—I can’t imagine how magic would factor into that equation in large groups.”
Michael opened his eyes. “Are you calling me insufferable?” He tilted his head, offering her an equally crooked grin.
She matched it. “Only sometimes.” She untangled her fingers from his hair and he found himself missing the warmth, the gentleness of her hands. “So, does this mean you’re taking the test? Because, I mean—no offense, I’m glad you’re making progress and everything—but this arrangement is shitty.”
He folded his hands over the one she’d buried in his cloak and she inched ever closer, her knee bumping into his thigh. He remembered a time when the barest of touches would make him flinch, but that fear had long since passed. “It won’t be for much longer,” Michael promised. “I had to persuade Cordelia—get her attention. I’ll take the test in two weeks’ time.”
“I can only imagine what you had to do to convince her.”
“A grand gesture.” Michael kept his palm pressed to hers, brushing his fingertips across the small bones of her knuckles with his other hand. He dropped his eyes to their hands while he spoke. “Do you know anything about the Hotel Cortez?”
When he looked up again, she was shaking her head. “No. Why?”
“My father led me there,” Michael told her, finally lacing their fingers together, “and I met your father.”
The storm of emotion on her face tore at him; bewilderment and shock and hurt clamored for space all at once. Her eyes were like glass, her fingers tightening around his as she took an uneven breath.
“No,” she answered. “My father—Michael, whoever you met, it can’t be—”
“You don’t have to be afraid,” Michael said. “Those questions you’ve always had about who you are…he can give you the answers. He’s your true father, just as Satan is mine. He can help you understand your place in all of this.”
She sniffled, and a few tears glistened down her cheeks in the soft glow of the candles. “I’m someone else’s daughter,” she whispered. She recoiled and wrenched her hands away from his, tucking them into the long sleeves of her shirt as if the realization had scorched her flesh. “No wonder my mom’s so fucking afraid of me all the time. She knew, didn’t she? They probably both knew and that’s why—”
“Listen to me,” Michael told her, calm as he could manage, taking her tear-streaked face in his hands, “you don’t need them—fuck them. They were never going to care about you—we were born to families who could never accept us. From here on out, it’s just you and me and Ms. Mead. You’re not going to be alone. All right?”
She nodded, and he leaned forward, his lips brushing the top of her head. A habit leftover from his grandma that he couldn’t quite break, though that connection had long since been lost. “Will you go with me?” She wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. “To meet him?”
Michael promised her that he would.
***
It had been five days since Michael had upended everything she thought she knew about herself. She realized quickly that she’d never really known anything at all. There had been a part of her, however small, that feared the truth as much as she’d been desperate for it. She was made of something sinister, the darkness guiding her power, whispering into her soul, her thoughts, her impulses. She’d been made to destroy, to desire chaos and fire and blood.
She had wanted to confront her mother about the truth, but instead she reined in the anger that simmered for days, fearful of exactly how it would manifest. They crossed paths so rarely now that it wouldn’t have mattered. She and her parents were nothing more than strangers to each other. Her mother, who hadn’t wanted to be a mother at all, and her father, who had stared into the eyes of someone else’s child for years and years, accepting her lie.
Michael had returned to Hawthorne and she ended up in Miriam’s kitchen, her haven in moments of personal crisis. She’d still been trembling from the news, her stare vacant, lightyears away, maybe in a different realm entirely. Miriam had praised Satan, breathless at the idea of having yet another connection to his inner circle within the walls of her home.
It was the first time since they’d met that she questioned Miriam’s care for her, and for Michael.
It wasn’t a particularly comforting thought.
Michael loved the woman fiercely, led by his need to be accepted, guided. It blinded him, and until then it had blinded her, too, as Miriam had tended to the wounds left by the people who were supposed to be her blood. Even the suggestion that Ms. Mead’s love was inspired by the power they held and Michael’s title, his power, and not just him—the lost, motherless boy—made her stomach turn.
She couldn’t bear the thought. He’d shatter, and she didn’t want to be the one responsible for it.
She kept her mouth shut.
***
I’ll be right behind you, Michael promised, his voice resonating in her wake as she materialized in a dimly lit hallway. He wants to see you first.
There was something about the Hotel Cortez that made her skin crawl.
She supposed it was a visceral, human reaction to the sounds that traveled through the walls, the shadows that darted around corners. She padded down a long hallway, the heels of her boots shuffling on the patterned carpet, the hem of her black dress trailing behind her. Miriam had taken her shopping for the occasion, insisting that jeans wouldn’t be proper for such an important meeting. She’d had to agree, and since Michael was now dressing the part, she figured it was only right that she would do the same. It was a simple dress, but sophisticated; slightly shorter in the front than in the back and sleeveless. She’d slipped a black leather jacket over it, which paired well with her vintage-style Victorian boots.
The screaming in the walls became unbearable. Her stomach twisted in knots as the voices pressed in from all sides. Underneath all of that, she felt something else, ethereal and strong, winding around her. It was dizzying, overwhelming, swelling like a wave. She let it in, led forward by it, the darkness reaching out to whisper in her ear. It was louder in here than it ever had been in her life.
She’d never felt confidence like this before. Strength. Power. Raw and unmatched and hers to claim.
A haunting children’s lullaby pierced the silence. There were no words, but she knew the melody being whistled as if she’d dreamed of it before. As if it had unlocked a memory somewhere that she’d forgotten.
There was a door open at the end of the hall, golden light beckoning her to step inside. She followed it like a moth to a flame, the answers she’d always sought just within reach. The whistling stopped when she crossed the threshold into a study, books with their shining titles winking at her from several tall bookcases, black paneled walls somehow warm and inviting. Gold flittered across sleek pieces of furniture and made the room several degrees hotter than the hallway had been.
A man leaned against a wide, polished desk, dark green eyes sparkling in the firelight. The same dark green of her own eyes, she realized, in the moment that suspended between her and this man. Her and her father.
He didn’t look anywhere near as ominous as she’d envisioned—her nightmares had come with claws and talons and all sorts of demonic imagery—but maybe he kept that part hidden. He wore deep gray, this man who looked so much like her; a starched button down shirt paired with a waistcoat and tie. His coat had been draped across the desk behind him, his hands planted on either side, fingers curled around the edge of the desk. She noticed he’d gone gray at the temples, his hair a few shades darker than her own. But they had the same nose, the same curve in their lips.
Her legs trembled, so she took her steps slow. She wondered if he could hear the panicked beat of her pulse. A gentle smile tugged at his mouth, far softer than anything she could’ve imagined. He pushed off the edge of the desk and moved toward her. She watched, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, as he folded his arms around her.
“My beautiful baby girl,” he said, and she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to react to that. She wasn’t sure how he expected her to react. Her father, so inhuman yet wearing such a kind face. A stranger in her life, too. But one she was anxious to know. “Welcome home.”
She let him embrace her, thankful that it only lasted a few moments because she didn’t return it. He held her at arm’s length, apparently unperturbed by her coldness, dark gaze sweeping over her. She tried to make sense of how her life had become this. It had always been this, really; she was just waking up to it.
Coming home.
“I apologize for my absence in your life, and for leaving you with those wretched people.” He had an accent that she couldn’t immediately place, but it was polished and melodic. “My distance was warranted, I assure you, though it may not seem fair to you. Your mother was not always so indifferent toward you, either, but sadly that’s in the past.”
“Did she know about you?”
“No.” He let go of her arms and she shifted on her feet, putting space between them. “Not immediately, at least. When we met here at the Cortez all those years ago, she assumed I was just like her. A stranger passing through; maybe a little lonely and desperate. Our connection was fleeting—nothing more than simple lust after one too many drinks.”
“And then she found out she was pregnant,” she finished.
He hummed by way of confirmation. “She only began to suspect something was amiss when I came to see you in the hospital the night you were born,” he explained. “She’d never told me she was with child, but of course I knew. It was my job to know.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
The implication that some demon had knocked up her mother, that her existence had been planned without her mother being aware, hit a raw nerve. She may have resented the woman who’d given birth to her, but no one deserved that. It wasn’t quite as horrific as Michael’s conception, but it still left a bad taste in her mouth.
“My dear girl, you were brought into this world with a purpose,” he told her. “There are countless legions who serve Michael’s father, yet I am fortunate enough to be among the chosen few that he holds in highest regard, to govern them. As you can well imagine, this requires a certain level of trust…and responsibility.”
He took up his spot in front of the desk, leaning against it. She was grateful to have room to breathe, to process. “It’s your birthright—you’re meant to lead armies raised from Hell itself and see this world become nothing but fire and ruin. To stand at Michael’s side and rebuild a new world in his father’s image. You have power within you that you’ve only just begun to understand. You’re a leader, my darling girl. A warrior forged in hellfire.”
“We were always meant to find each other.” She knew that already. She’d felt it so deeply in her soul. “Still, that’s a lot of legacy to push onto someone. Not just me, but Michael, too.”
“You were born for it. The both of you,” he said, as if it was an acceptable explanation.
Where she had wanted to find some sense of identity in his words, something that would make her whole, the truth just left her hollow. Did he love her, this man? Were demons capable of love?
“I wanted the connection between the two of you to form on its own, with as little outside influence as possible. But I admit, I never anticipated just how strong it would be. He cares a great deal for you—Michael. Considers you his equal, his partner in all things. It’s a great honor. You’ve made me proud.”
“We’re human,” she challenged, not taking the bait of his praise. “Maybe you forgot that part: our human mothers.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and elected to ignore the venom lacing her words. “You mean the mother who wanted to murder him in his sleep?” he countered. “And as for your mother…well, I don’t believe I have to remind you of her own failings.” He sighed as if he’d grown exhausted by her stubbornness. “Your humanity will always be a weakness, but it’s something that can be overcome.”
“I don’t see it as a weakness.” She dared a step closer for the first time, her eyebrows pulled together as she frowned.
He waved a hand. “Agree to disagree, then, I suppose. It does complicate things a fair bit, all of those messy human emotions.”
“It’s shit sometimes,” she conceded, “but those messy human emotions are why Michael and I are so close, you know.”
“I’m afraid you’re trying to explain a concept with which I’ve never understood,” he relented. “I am not duty-bound to govern whatever emotions you may or may not have,” he told her, annoyance clear in his tone. “I’m concerned with the power that lies in your veins, my dear girl. You’ve been summoned here not just because I wished for us to meet, but because it’s time for you to realize your full potential.”
His eyes lifted to the doorway behind her, and she turned halfway to see Michael there, dressed just as he’d been the other night when he had visited her. He took long, graceful strides to get to her side, his cloak billowing around his legs. Relief flooded her chest, the anxiety and remnants of whatever frustration she’d directed at her father ebbing away once she felt Michael’s arm brush against hers. It must’ve not left her expression entirely, though, because the grin on Michael’s lips faded.
“Are you all right?” Michael wanted to know. Her father paid no mind, circling around the desk to rummage in the drawers.
She sighed and let her knuckles ghost along his. “I don’t know.”
“How fortuitous that you’ve joined us, Michael.” Her father straightened up, and she caught the glint of cold metal in his palm. She immediately tensed at the sight of the knife as her father approached. “I was about to summon you myself.”
Michael’s pale gaze fell to the knife, too, eyes wide with a note of panic. She leaned into Michael’s shoulder and his fingertips laced with hers for just a second, a touch of reassurance. “What’s this about?”
“The night you were born, I put a leash on your power,” her father said. “Once we undo it—and we’ll need Michael’s help for this—they will grow stronger over time. And Michael, this ritual is meant to bind the two of you together. Her power will never eclipse yours—”
“That wouldn’t matter to me,” Michael said.
“In any case, the binding will forever link her power to yours,” her father finished. His gaze turned to her. “You’ve felt it before, haven’t you, then? How your power fortifies in his presence?” She nodded. “This ritual will make that work for both of you, like a well from which you will be able to draw from.”
“And what if we don’t want that? Or…any of this?” she asked, her throat dry, voice suddenly rough.
“You say that as if you think you still have a choice.” Her father laughed, a low and somewhat derisive sound.
She glanced up at Michael and recognized the flash of doubt in his expression, the conflict beneath whatever confidence he’d gained over the last few weeks. It was still there, even if he didn’t say a word. His gaze flickered down to her own and he seemed to understand what she already knew. We’re trapped.
Their lives had been planned before either of them had been conceived, and now it felt like there was no escape, no way to turn back. She shuddered to think of the consequences if they even made the attempt. The idea of Michael’s birthright had always seemed so abstract that she never really grasped the consequences of it being brought into fruition. And now that her own legacy was entwined with his, it all seemed too real, moving far too quickly for her to catch up.
Turning the world into fire and ash had felt like the only option when all she had was anger in her blood, when the world had been nothing but cold and unkind to the two of them. But now that they had each other, did she really want this? Did Michael?
But neither of them had a say in what they wanted. They never did.
“Oh, come now,” her father chided. They watched him gather several candles from a table between two couches. He set them up in a wide circle in the middle of the room, their off-white color stark against the glossy black hardwood floor. “It’s not all bad, I assure you. Power beyond your wildest comprehension, anything you could ever wish for. The world laid out at your feet, yours to rule and reconstruct however you see fit. I could think of worse destinies, darling.”
Once the candles had been laid out, he passed a hand over them, igniting the wicks all at once with a quiet gust of power. “Dreadfully human,” he grumbled. “The both of you.” Michael’s eyes found hers again as he inhaled a deep breath. She felt his fingers slip between hers and held on tightly, her stomach coiling into a knot again. “Time to cast aside whatever reservations you may have—whether you want to or not. You’re both here because Satan commands it. And you would do well to remember that he’s not one to cross.”
He rolled up one of his sleeves to the elbow, then pressed the tip of the blade into his flesh, dragging a line up the inside of his arm. Crimson ran in steady beads downward, droplets raining onto the floor. He lowered into a crouch, working quietly and efficiently with a precision that she assumed had been acquired through practice. As she and Michael stepped closer, they saw the inverted pentagram mapped out on the floor inside the circle of candles.
Her father pulled himself back up to his full height. “Remove your jackets and shoes,” he instructed. “Then I’ll need you both to stand inside the circle.”
There was rustling of fabric as they tugged off layers, not a word spoken between them. Michael draped his cloak and jacket over the back of a chair, and she tossed her own leather jacket on top. She had to sit down to get off her boots—too many laces to untie—and by the time she’d done so, Michael had already dropped his shoes and socks onto the floor. He reached for her hand again, like it was a lifeline, an anchor, and she twined their fingers together, grateful for it. Her hands were already slippery with sweat, but Michael didn’t seem to mind, his grip around her fingers so fierce that she thought their hands might go numb. He was afraid, underneath that stoic, calm façade. He wouldn’t say it, but she could feel it.
Barefoot, they stepped into the circle and stood across from one another with only a few inches between them. The blood had already dried on the floor, but the sensation was still odd beneath her toes.
Her father stood outside the circle, brandishing the knife. “Roll up your sleeves, Michael,” he said.
Michael did so, exposing the pale flesh of his forearms. Her father passed the knife to her, and her breath caught at the weight of it in her hands. Not that it was heavy, but having control of it made a cold sweat break out across her skin. It was a strange knife, the hilt black and inlaid with gold markings that must’ve held some significance.
“You saw what I did to make the pentagram, yes? Cut identical lines into Michael’s arms, and he’ll do the same to you.”
Michael held out his arms, his hands clenched into fists. She rested the edge of the blade on skin just below his elbow, but hesitated. Her eyes flickered up to his, so translucent in the low light of the candles.
“It’s okay,” Michael said softly. “I trust you.”
Blood bubbled up from the edge of the knife, a dark red line from elbow to wrist. He sucked in a breath, nostrils flaring at the pain. She repeated the motion on his other arm before she could think too much about it, then passed the knife over to him. Michael’s fingers had already run with scarlet, his grasp slick around the hilt of the knife. His blood was warm on her skin, the back of her wrist cradled gently in his palm while he traced up her arm. She wasn’t as quiet as he had been, letting out a whispered groan at the burning sting that now traveled up both arms.
“Now,” her father took the knife from Michael, “take each other’s hands.”
They wove their fingers together, so coated in red, dripping onto their toes, that she couldn’t tell what blood belonged to her or Michael. The air was tinged with it, the heat in the room making the scent of iron potent. Ribbons of scarlet run down their arms like rain on a window, and she found herself both mesmerized and a little light headed.
Her father paced around them outside the circle, chanting in a low voice. The flames of the candles danced in his wake, the temperature in the room climbing. She couldn’t have imagined it—she saw the sweat beading on Michael’s temple and felt her dress sticking to the small of her back. Her father continued to speak in a language she couldn’t decipher. It wasn’t Latin; she would’ve recognized Latin, since Ms. Mead had been adamant about the two of them being fluent in it. It sounded like something ancient. An archaic tongue that accompanied images of hellfire and the odor of brimstone.
She gripped Michael’s hands tighter, the coating of blood making her skin grimy and taut. Her knees wobbled a little, the heat in the room squeezing the air out of her lungs. It felt like she was traveling away from her body; if it wasn’t for Michael’s fingers wrapped around her own, she thought she might’ve sunk into the floor.
The influx of power made the candles flicker dangerously. She could feel it, the darkness. Swirling around them in long, endless tendrils, that familiar whisper in her ear. It dragged her under and took root in her soul—and something finally shattered inside her. Something long buried, with claws and sharp teeth and an appetite for destruction. The explosion of power made her drop to her knees, gasping, crying out, overcome with the burden. It was dark, ancient, indescribable…and it scared her, as much as the thrill of it ignited her veins.
Michael had collapsed to his knees in front of her, still holding securely to her hands—her fingers had gone numb and she was sure that his had, too. Blood continued to pool on the on the polished wood and splattered on their clothes. Michael’s cheeks were wet with tears, his head drooping toward the floor so all she saw was a mop of golden curls. The well had been opened, power flowing between both of them unrestrained, stirring up a phantom wind that threatened to extinguish the candles. She thought that maybe the two of them would lose consciousness from the sheer force of it.
When Michael found her again, his eyes were black—that bright blue edged out completely by the darkness. She wondered if her eyes looked the same. She could almost feel it.
Her father grinned, standing over them. “Ave Satanas.”
The candles went out.
@lastregasolitaria @mylippo @zeciex @lvngdvns @langdonsdemon @yourkingcodyfern @sojournmichael @gabnelson98 @rainbowrosesjas @antichristlangdxn @keavysmithxoxo @artistlunadrayne @codysfallenangels @batgirlbride @mileeyyowens @dead-witch-boy @boofy1998 @gentianea @cryptid-coalition @langdonsrapture @kinlovecody @yuriohoe04 @electricurie @marvel-rpdr-and-ahs @gallxntdean @langdonscurls @jcshadowkiss-blog @frozenhuntress67 @sebastianshoe @dixmond-taurus @bookobssesed99 @sassylangdon @queenie435 @holylangdon @weareallevilmotherfuckers @langdonfern @angsty-otters-blog @denaexr @mr-langdonn @micheallangdons @lostin-fern @crazedcatcuddler @satansapostle @monsucre @softlangdvn @ritualmichael
#michael langdon#michael langdon x reader#michael langdon x oc#michael langdon x fem!reader#michael langdon fanfiction#michael langdon imagine#ahs fic#ahs imagine#ahs apocalypse#ahs apocalypse imagine#ahs apocalypse fanfiction#fic: from eden
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