#(like I do post my fic when it's done I just have no investment whatsoever in anyone else ever seeing it)

[demetriandelibinaryboyfriends]

WAIT UR THE ‘demitri and eli take a gay little road trip to find miguel’ GUY?? I LOVE THAT FIC OMG

YES HI I'm That Guy!!! That's my fic!!! Thank you for still noticing and reading it!!! <3 <3 <3

TBH it hasn't been getting a lot of comments or interaction lately, so I wasn't sure if people were still following it or really thinking about it much D: I definitely am going to continue and I have pretty solid plans up through about Chapter 13, but I got caught up in good old Adult Things (got a car part stolen and had to speedrun finding a job, and by some insane miracle I landed a good one???) and had to sorta get my life together for a while. I was also pretty bummed and discouraged that the Elimetri fandom kinda fizzed out after S5, and the hype that was there after S3 and S4 seems few and far between these days </3 And when someone DOES show up and get hyped about my boys, it always seems like they get bored after like 2 weeks and vanish into the ether again D: I feel like an immortal roaming the ruins of a once great and thriving civilization akjsalksufhdulrh

BUT ALL THAT TO SAY this is really encouraging <3 <3 Love that people are still invested, and now that my life has stabilized a bit, I may actually get Chapter 7 done ^^; The canon Mexico plotline was the most underwhelming thing I've ever seen in my entire life (and Season 5 as a whole and I just...did not really Vibe for a lot of reasons), and it's frustrating because like!!! Why would you introduce this grand epic quest for Miguel to find his dad and learn about his Dark Past™️ and then have it be over in 5 minutes and reveal nothing interesting whatsoever about Hector!!! Like if the point was to have Johnny prove he could be a good father figure to Miguel after all and to cause conflict between Miguel and Sam, then there were like...ways to do that without yeeting Miguel to another country with no ultimate character development or narrative payoff :/

And they really expect me to believe Miguel and Robby sat in petty stony silence the whole several-hour drive home and didn't even try to talk through ANY of their issues??? Didn't have ANY road trip bonding whatsoever??? WHAT A FUCKING WASTE. LAME.

ANYWAYS. I know a lot of people were against the Mexico subplot from the jump (mainly because of the potential problematic directions the show could go with it I think), but I might have been in the minority in being excited for it and thinking it had a lot of potential to see a world outside the Valley. Potential which it...did not fill at all. Like at least show us what sketch-ass shit Hector actually DOES!!! My god!!! Also not Robby being like "I wanna make things right with Miguel!!!" and then...clearly not doing that. Like considering their apartment brawl later was the first time Robby has shown onscreen remorse for what he did to Miguel, Robby didn't even apologize in the car ride on the way back??? Or speak a single word to Miguel about the whole, like...Paralysis Incident??? For all Miguel knows, Robby was tagging along just for kicks ajhdsukhfuyh

The whole thing is a mess tbh. I blame rushed production for S5. Deadass thank god for the writer's strike??? Maybe with more time for the writers to actually do their jobs, S6 will give its plotlines some room to breathe.

SO YES, long story short, I wanna do this plot thread some justice and also have my OTP be gay as shit the whole time <3 And give Miguel the epically dangerous adventure of self-discovery he deserves while ultimately still showing him he is very loved and does not need his shitty biological dad!!! God bless!!!

Thank you again for sliding into my inbox about this fic, I am always looking for motivation to keep going with it :D

(For anyone who doesn't know, the first 6 chapters of the fic in question are posted on my AO3, SummerPhlox!)

[kjack89]

hi! first off, congrats on having 500 works up! ❤ ive been wanting to ask you for advice... im fairly new to posting fics on ao3, so i know not to expect much hits/kudos, but one of my fave fics that i wrote barely has any hits, and tbh it made me feel bad, coz i poured my heart into writing it. now im nervous to post the multi-chap fic that i wrote last year and am proud of coz what if it doesnt get appreciated and i lose appreciation for it too? :( do you have any advice for me? - E.

Thanks so much Nonny!

In terms of the advice you’re looking for…well, I can try, but the truth is, I may not be the best person to ask because the question you pose runs so opposite of how my brain is (mis-)wired that I temporarily blue screened while reading it. (Which is not to dismiss your feelings as invalid by any stretch! But they’re not necessarily something I’m equipped to help with.)

Which is to say, to me, you’ve already done the hardest part. You’ve already written something more.

When I have a fic that flops - and I’ve had a lot of them! I will have a lot more still to come! - my difficulty is always in getting past it to write the next thing. And I won’t lie, I’ve built in my expectations for return on investment into how I write fics. It’s why I don’t write very many multi-chapters anymore. It’s why I’ve had ideas for a fic and know that I’m never going to write it because the effort isn’t worth the payoff. It’s why I play things fairly safe in terms of treading familiar ground. Because I know how to manage my own expectations (and because I know that’s important to me to be able to keep writing).

But you! You have a multi-chapter already done and ready to go! And not only that but if I’m reading your ask correctly, you managed to write the entire thing without any feedback/hits/kudos/comments whatsoever! That’s mind-boggling to me. I don’t work like that. It’s one of many reasons why I struggle with the idea of writing a novel - I have a hard time staying motivated when I’m not getting semi-consistent feedback (in no small part because my brain chemistry is pretty fucked up).

Additionally, my appreciation for my own fics generally doesn’t change once it’s done and posted. I have moments of doubt, sure, like when a fic that I really love bombs I may question if it wasn’t as good as I thought it was, but I’ve been doing this for long enough now that I tend to read that more as a reflection on the fandom than the work itself. Like, oh, I wrote a whump fic, fandom didn’t respond, they must not be into that anymore (or at least right now), so I will probably not write a similar fic for awhile (or, if I get an idea that I just have to write that is in this vein, I’ll do so knowing that it’s gonna flop and adjust my expectations for it accordingly).

(And, on the flip side, if a fic ends up going over super well and I think it’s kind of meh, I don’t tend to think higher of it just because fandom loves it. I figure I managed to tap into something in the zeitgeist and that’s great but it doesn’t make my clumsy turns of phrase or lack of effort in characterization any better, y’know?)

So in terms of the advice that you’re looking for, I don’t know that I have an answer for you. All I’ll say is this: you can’t get appreciation from anyone besides yourself if you don’t share it. That said, for right now, maybe you decide to shelve it for the moment, to work on something else and keep this for yourself until you’ve established yourself in whatever fandom you’re in. And that’s ok too! I truly cannot relate (though I wish like hell I could) but you probably have a healthier relationship long-term with your writing than I do if that’s a decision you’re happy with.

At the end of the day, the only thing you (or any writer) can do is keep writing, so my advice is to do whatever you think will help you most to keep writing. That will almost certainly not look the same to you as it does to me, which I know is maddeningly unhelpful, but it’s all I’ve got.

[qqueenofhades]

did you watch lucifer season six and what are your thoughts pls and ty

Ahaha. Yes. Yes I did watch it. Then I cried for a literal hour and attempted to compose myself, only to start crying again when I lay down and kept on thinking about it. Then I had more feelings. Then I slept like the dead due to emotional trauma. Then I reblogged gifsets and had More feelings. Then @buffaluff and @flynnanimal watched it and also required emotional support due to drowning in their own tears. So, uh... we're all fine here now. How are you?

My main takeaway from the final season was the sheer amount of love for the characters, story, and fans that you could feel shining through all the episodes, and which made SUCH a refreshing change. I had feelings in my tags the other day about how a show about the devil was constantly goofy, hopeful, loving, and uplifting, rather than all the grimdark nonsense they could have easily done with it. (As I said, just imagine it as written by the GOT idiots?? NO THANK YOU.) The writing really loved everyone and wanted to give them a proper ending and emotional journey, and it wanted to show the fans that they weren't stupid for having invested six seasons of effort and emotion into this, and just... that is so much rarer than it should be? Compare all the movies and TV shows that treat their fans like the enemy, that want to outsmart them at all costs even if it means changing major plot elements, that ferociously guard spoilers and think that "shock value" means good writing, by throwing hackneyed cliche upon cliche and making everything Depressing, and just... Lucifer had its hiccups and slow points and missteps, of course, but I am SO glad they didn't do that. The entire show consisted of Lucifer slowly but steadily progressing toward being a better man, despite mistakes and setbacks and sometimes a little too much will-they-won't-they. (Season 3 was the only one where I got bored and skipped over the filler episodes with Pierce/Lucifer/Chloe in order to get to the end).

That is an essentially simple premise, but they stuck to it, and they didn't try to create more drama by randomly wrecking what they had already established. I wrote a fic all the way back in mid-season 2 (In Nomine Patris) that ended up predicting quite a few of the future characters who had not yet appeared on the show at that time, including Eve, Michael, and Azrael, and several plot points, including the very major one of Lucifer returning to hell for the sake of his daughter with Chloe. And while this might mean that I am just that good at guessing TV shows (I would like to think this....) it also means that the writers set expectations, followed through on those expectations, and didn't suddenly derail everything or turn it totally on its head just for the sake of cheap shocks. As we can all attest, they certainly caused PLENTY of drama, anguish, pain, and suffering, but they did it in a way that remained faithful to the overall premises of the story and the characters, and wanted to see them become the best versions of themselves. I cried my eyes out at the end and then thought, "hey, I might want to watch the whole series again," which, if you ask me, is the mark of doing your job right. There have been so few TV endings recently where I didn't immediately swear off the whole thing or have to pretend that canon didn't exist, so yeah.

As I said, it was just refreshing to watch something that had that essential deep generosity at its core, where the message is that everyone is worthy of love if they make the hard and painful effort to change and become better, and that even if earthly things feel small next to all this messy celestial drama, they still matter, and that you are loved no matter what. I loved that Amenadiel became God and Lucifer returned to hell as a choice in order to help all the trapped souls be able to work through their guilt and go to heaven. There were obviously certain echoes of The Good Place in that ending; I don't know if it was something they had planned all along or if the success of TGP, another series asking deep questions about life, death, morality, and human nature within the framework of a goofy heaven-and-hell sitcom, influenced it, but either way, it worked so well. Even if it tore my heart out and stomped on it on the ground, it was fitting and oh so lovely to see Lucifer, once the most selfish being in the entire universe, following in Linda's footsteps and becoming selflessly dedicated to helping other people. Just. Chef's kiss.

And of course, Deckerstar. The Hades and Persephone vibes were IMMACULATE this season, and while it did take Lucifer and Chloe the best part of four seasons to get together, they never significantly backslid, never had third-party issues or cheap cheating storylines once they were officially a couple, and Tom Ellis and Lauren German REALLY killed it this season in particular. It was never easy for them and sometimes the drama went on a little too long over the course of said six seasons, but the love story was beautiful and incredibly meaningful and always true to the fact that the actors and characters and writers (not to mention the fans) all loved it so much. They were so much the emotional heart of this, and when they went to hell together in episode 6x03 (where they turned into cartoons because wHAT even IS this show), Joe Henderson said in an interview that this was to give the fans a view into Lucifer and Chloe's future (after) lives post-6x10, and to offer them a basis to write fanfiction. I mean... the showrunner saying to the fans "here, we love you, have something to write fic about!" is likewise pretty shockingly rare. It's again an example of how this show always audaciously poked fun at itself, never took itself TOO seriously, and was always welcoming its fans and the people who loved it to do so, rather than making them feel stupid or taking joy in wrecking beloved characters or plots.

Obviously, I loved Rory, the badass lesbian half-angel goth Deckerstar child straight out of My Immortal (seriously, she was SO edgy, it was amazing), because of the fact that Lucifer's entire arc was always about feeling abandoned by his father and that he was going to have to face it for himself. Dorky Devil Dad Lucifer trying his absolute HARDEST to bond with his daughter was simultaneously hilarious, adorable, and heart-wrenching, and yet again, the Growth. We all remember when he could barely tolerate Trixie touching him, and now we're here. Also, any variation whatsoever of "this is just a brief moment of time that we must be apart, love is eternal and stronger than death and we will never really leave each other" as a line is guaranteed to make me bawl my eyes out. So that was fun.

I got a big kick out of Ghost Dan running around and trying to get everyone to see him, and had feelings about seeing him in heaven with Charlotte and his beloved Pudding Pops at the end. I had feelings about how they handled Ella finding out the truth (or rather demanding to know why nobody had told her) and of course, I obviously loved Maze and Eve and their goth/femme wedding and the fact that they got a good three-season romantic arc (indeed, I wanted more of them). My god, Trixie is SO BIG, she used to be a tiny little nugget. I love that Linda was the moral and emotional rock all along, from the first episode to the very last, and that Amenadiel was Deeply Vindicated when Charlie's wings appeared at his first birthday party. I love how Lucifer in s6 is absolute thousands of light years from Lucifer in s1. And as ever, Chloe was Perfect. I am happy that I spent six seasons with these characters and saw them become better, and that I was never made to feel like an idiot for trusting the writers to end everything in a beautiful and emotional way. Because, well. They did. Sure, maybe I could go back and pick at a plotline here or a detail there, but I don't terribly feel the need to do so? It might not have been perfect, but it was perfect, and I am so grateful that it existed.

[leelysian]

Chan as your older brother AU 💖✨

word count: 1.4k

genre: fluffiest of all fluffs, you’ll rot your teeth, bullet point fic

warnings: swearing

Disclaimer: I do not personally know Chan. This work is purely fiction and my own idea. I took inspiration from his on screen persona. Please do not translate or re-upload my work.

☆ Let’s start with you two as babies. 

☆  Chan probably LOVED the idea of having a younger sibling he probably crawled to his mum with her baby bump and he'd softly talk to you "please come out quickly baby 🥺"

☆ Then he’d get impatient and ask “is it time yet?” Then he’d start whining and pouting “How much looonger? Baby is so sloooow”

☆ “is it gonna be a boy or a girl?” he wasn’t particular about the gender as long as he gets a playmate 

☆ Probably helped your parents pick your name even

☆ He was just THAT much invested in helping mummy raise the baby and in return he gets to play kill me I might just start crying just by THINKING about it asdfghjkl

☆ When he heard the baby is here, the Flash had nothing on Bang Christopher Chan as he literally ZOOMED through the corridors of the hospital to where his mum was staying to jump up on the bed. 

☆ There’s at least 10 different photos of Chan holding you on the hospital bed as soon as you were born. #cutie

☆ When your mum was discharged and everyone came home, he would cuddle you and just WOULD NOT LET GO

☆ And he'd sing lullabies to you

☆ He would speak in ᵗᶦⁿʸ and just talk ˢᵒᶠᵗˡʸ around you so he wouldn’t frighten you

☆ No jealousy whatsoever........ okay maybe just a liiiiiitle bit

☆ He’d feel a little jealous when he realised he didn’t get as much affection as he used to when he was the only child

☆ But that quickly changes when he receives attention from one of his parents preferably his mum Channie is a mamma’s boy I don’t make the rules

☆ When you were a newborn, your parents would have you sleep with them in their room. Chan would scamper out of his room in the middle of the night to sleep with the three of you because he was a wee bit jealous you got to sleep with mum and dad.

☆ It became a routine very quickly after that

☆ But your parents wouldn’t let him sleep next to baby because what if he accidentally hits you in his sleep. What a struggle. So he’d sleep on the edge of the bed cuddled in his mum’s arms. don’t touch me I’m soft

☆ Your mum would dress you two in matching outfits and take dozens of photos. “EW MUM WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!” you two looked the absolute cutest so it doesn’t matter

☆ Slowly when you two grew up and you started crawling, you’d follow him everywhere because he was so intriguing to baby you

☆ He started finding you annoying “STUPID BABY”

☆ But he’d still cry if something happened to you

☆ Slowly he started liking you back again

☆ He liked the idea of someone looking up to him and from then on he was your little protector.

☆ He was your guardian angel, he was your hero. He’d do anything to protect you. Scratch that, he still is. He always will be.

☆ Now you guys are older as tweens/teens/young adults whichever you prefer

☆ Eats your share of food- looking into the little nook in the fridge to take out your hidden stash of candy but your favourite one is gone. 

☆ You confront him about it and he looks guilty. You're extremely annoyed but at the same time you can't stay mad for too long. 

☆  He makes it up to you by buying you two of your favourite candies or treats you to something else. 

☆ "Why steal my food in the first place if you're gonna treat me anyway?" He'd shrug "for some reason it tastes better" so you smack him upside his head and then it escalates into a mini wrestling match

☆  He's a very active guy who’s into a lot of sports but when you ask him to teach you he's very whiny "noooooo later" but then when you're chilling he'll show up "come on let's go swimming" and you're like "noooooo" he'd be like "I thought you wanted to go? Come on" and drag you along even though you don't want to and it’s like “why didn’t you do this WHEN I TOLD YOU?”

☆ But he makes it fun for you in the end and afterwards he treats you to ice cream. 

☆ Eats a lot. If your mum gives you both a bowl of food. He'll inhale it like he's never eaten before in like 5 minutes and you're confused like how did he finish it all and it was piping hot meanwhile you haven't even finished 1/3rd of your bowl 

☆ so he's done and he's staring at your bowl with greedy eyes "you gonna finish all of that?" *switches to puppy eyes* you're like "yeah" so you continue eating until you finish half then just hand the rest over to him and it's all gone in a minute. 

☆ Your mum has no idea he eats half of your food when she gives you equal amounts and you'll never tell her because she'll scold you for never finishing her food so Chan is like your personal eco garbage disposal because he eats everything

☆ It’s like a dirty secret between you two what she doesn’t know won’t kill her

☆ He'll be your emotional support human he'll be the first person you always go to when you need a pick me up. 

☆ And it's a guarantee he'll always make you feel better whether it's through his words or his actions because both feel like a huge, cozy and warm hug

☆ If someone bullies you, your normally sweet and gentle older brother will go on a rampage "WHO THE FUCK HURT MY BABY BROTHER/SISTER?! I'M GONNA KILL EM"

☆ He’s the Golden child of your parents because he's good at everything but it never matters to you because Chan never makes you feel lesser than you seem to think of yourself. He's always supporting you and uplifting you 

☆ Tries to help you with your homework and in turn learns a few things himself. 

☆ He's a big help with poetry, literature or creative writing homeworks (wbk)

☆ You two are really close and you always talk about random stuff he's not just your older brother he's also your best friend

☆ Even your friends ask about him and want to be his friend too because he's so cool, some of them have crushes on him and you’re like “ew what’s there to like?” *fake gags*

☆ He's always nice to everyone he sees. Elderly people love him too because he's such a gentleman.

☆ He's very proud to have you as his sibling he'll proudly show you off to his friends. “THIS IS MY LITTLE BROTHER/SISTER :D”

☆ If he's having fun with his friends but if something is wrong with you he will drop everything and race to you as quick as humanly possible to make sure you're okay because he's not okay if you're not okay. this is science ok

☆ Sometimes you two bicker a lot but it's sibling banter where you end up laughing

☆ Shows you funny memes or jokes he finds on the internet be like "that's you" or "this is so me lmao"

☆ Tags you in siblings memes be like "us"

☆ If your parents are angry at you for something he'll try to defend you if he feels it's not your fault 

☆ But if something IS your fault he'd try to calm his parents down and then tell you about how wrong you are to do something in private so your parents don't put you down even more

☆ You always go to him for advice first. Not your parents, him. His input, opinions and approval mean the most to you. Because he’s the coolest.

☆ You two goof around a lot. Carpool karaokes on the daily. 

☆ You two would sing/rap together to songs and have a blast

☆ You feel insecure about your voice but Chan makes you feel like a popstar

☆ You two would post anonymous YouTube covers together when you slowly grew confident with singing. Just a side thing for funsies 

☆ He’s your rock sometimes you feel like he does too much for you and you can't do anything for him in return

☆ But little do you know Chan is the strongest because of you by his side always cheering him on. Your very existence gives him strength for everything

☆ You two have each other's backs through thick and thin

☆ Because of Chan as your older brother you're a better version of yourself everyday 

[your-local-bnha-writer]

Hi again! I'm the one who requested about the chaotic s/o for Miruko svjksd That was so cute😭 I saw that you like kpop so I was wondering if It's ok for me to request again, could I have Deku, Dabi and Shigaraki (if 3 people is okay) with an s/o who's a kpop stan? Thanks a bunch! Have a nice day :)💞 Also Iroh is also one of my fav atla characters too lmao he's just so cool🍵

kpop stan s/o

characters included | Deku, Dabi, Shigaraki

warning | swearing

genre | fluff / crack lol

a/n | hiii! i’m really happy that you liked the headcannons! and of course it’s okie for you to request again 😚 and I don’t really have a limit for characters so don’t worry abt that either! dUDE IROH IS GREAT I LOVE HIM SM. i really hope you like this fic, I kinda steered away from the request 😓

deku gif | @unfamiliarworld

dabi gif | @dxkus

shiggy gif | @erasergavemehead-moved

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Deku:

- djdjjwfi bitch— he’s a kpop stan too

- and if he isn’t you’re going to turn him into one 😳

- like you’d show him all of these kpop idols and live performances

- he’d be so invested

- but like,, there’s once performance that catches his eye and he’s dONE

- he will catch up on all of their vids, stream all of their songs, watch all of their v-lives everything

- he buys all of their light sticks and it’s great

- he’d fanboy with you omg

- “y/n!! Changmin posted a selca oh my god!”

- you show him all of their albums and the photo cards

- he’d lowkey get jealous of everyone you find attractive

- you have to reassure him that you think Kevin Moon isn’t as attractive as he is

- he listens to their songs while studying

- sometimes you guys just vibe to their albums

- his favourite song is Bloom Bloom my The Boyz bc it’s so upbeat and cute

- you try and get him to learn a dance with you and he’s 100% for it but this bby can’t dance to save his life 😔

- he can barely do T.T by twice

- he can’t choose a bias theyre all great

dabi:

- uhHhhH dis dude

- okokok if you like girl groups that’s cool

- he doesn’t rlly care,, might thirst over them once in a while

- boY groups tho are different

- ok this boy is lowkey salty so he’s gonna get so jealous

- “what does pretty boy have that i don’t?”

- evEn if he thinks their songs are bops he won’t admit it

- “dABI JUST ADMIT THAT BOSS BY NCT SLAPS”

- “fuCKIN NEVER WHAT DOES TAEYONG HAVE THAT I DONT?”

- you pester him into admiring their songs are great by constantly playing it

- and eventually he caves and confesses that Baby Don’t Stop is a bop

- he lowkey has a crush on taeyong but he’s not telling anyone

- he thinks he’s being slick but whenever you make him watch their live performances he’s only focusing on taeyong

- you try to learn a dance with him and he’s surprisingly good at it??

- he secretly watches all of ten’s dance practices

- hES SO GOOD AT CHERRY BOMB

shiggy:

- okie so he was nOT interested in kpop whatsoever

- like,, he’s so uninterested

- until he heard you vibing to Piri by Dreamcatcher and he was hOOKED

- bby couldn’t not stop listening to their songs

- you show him other groups like CLC, Orange Caramel, Blackpink

- you also make him listen to all of their albums

- sometimes after a rough mission you just play one of their songs to calm him down and just chill for a bit

- he’s thinking of making one of Blackpink’s songs their new song entrance

- you guys try to learn a dance together and let me tell you

- this bitch is hella good at dancing

- he does it in heels too

- HE NAILS RYUJINS SHOULDER MOVE

- he is their #1 hype man omg 😳

- like deku, he wILL order their light sticks

- irene from red velvet is definitely bias

- have you seen her scare off men?

- that’s fucking amazing

- you and him have sessions where you guys just chill and listen to their songs

- and sometimes learn the dance but for some reading shiggy is always better than you when learning the dances

- it’s hilarious

[ailec-12]

Out of curiosity: 1) Do you hate it when people ask you for an update on a wip? 2)what story do you think is the most loved by its readers out of all the ones you’ve written? 3) what story do you personally love the most?4) which do you think you pay the most attention to? 6) Do you think setting up a schedule for posting is more beneficial (as it’s good to set goals for yourself) or harmful (since it makes you write when you don’t want to)

Such interesting questions. *o* Thanks!

1) Mm, short answer: No, I don't hate it; generally, I don't mind and, sometimes, I like it. In the end, asking for updates means that people are interested in the story, but if the only feedback you get is variations of "more please," it gets old really fast.

In my case, whether I see this as interest or just a demand really depends on my own circumstances at the moment —which are out of the reader's control and knowledge— and the way the request is worded. For instance, if I've been working on the story recently and I get the "When are you going to update" type of message, I'll likely feel excited because oh boy, you got no idea what you have coming. If I'm in the middle of a writer's block, though, it can be a reminder that it's been a long time since I wrote for that story and I have no clue when I'll be able to update it. Of course, this isn't the reader's fault, so I'll remind myself that they're actually showing interest and answer truthfully.

Moreover, if a reader leaves a comment saying something positive about the story in addition to "can't wait to keep reading/hope you update soon," it never feels like they're asking for an update. I only feel their excitement and it really boosts me up. However, if the comment is only "update soon" or "when's the next update," it can indeed come across as demanding. I understand why other writers may get fed up with this kind of comments, but for me it's not really a big deal. I answer and move on.

What I do hate is people telling me they'd assumed I'd abandoned a WIP or even stating I'll abandon it eventually after having said several times I won't. I know people don't need to believe me, but I wonder what else they possibly expect me to answer.

2) Without a doubt, my most popular story is House Potter for Children in Need —the others don't come even close—, which is kinda ironic since I started posting it before it was done precisely because I was convinced only a few people would be interested in it. xD I don't regret it, though. I'm thrilled this fic has touched so many people.

3) I think my best written story is House Potter, just because it's the latest one, so all I've learnt from writing my other stories is (hopefully) reflected in it. It's a really complex and ambitious project and I'm loving the challenge. Yet, it's a tie between it and the Greenie series. Despite all the things that could be improved, the latter lived in my head rent free for over five years. I can see my own evolution as a writer and an English speaker when I read it and posting it was also a very rewarding experience.

4) Do you mean in terms of stats or when writing? In terms of stats, I'm much more likely to notice who leaves kudos or how the hit count goes up in my least popular stories, particularly December 17th and Of Heroes and Love. When writing, House Potter is the most demanding one so far, because there's a lot of things I need to take into account.

5) I think posting schedules are really nice for readers, who get something to look forward to. Regular updates help to build an audience, too. It gives the feeling the story won’t be abandoned and so, readers are less afraid to let themselves be invested.

These are, in my experience, general statements about posting schedules. However, whether they are beneficial to the author or not will depend on the author. For me —both as a writer and a reader—, schedules in fanfiction are something that can change or disappear without any guilt whatsoever. We’re all here to have fun! I don’t like the idea of forcing yourself to write if you don’t feel like it —another matter is when you do want to write but you feel blocked. And, even though setting goals for yourself can help with motivation, I daresay these goals should be more oriented towards the writing process itself rather than getting the chapter done and posting it. I don’t have the ability to control the length of my chapters, so it wouldn’t make much sense for me to say “I’ll write a chapter every two weeks” when one chapter might be 3000 words long and another one, 6000. That’s why I only keep posting schedules when the chapters are actually already written and only need editing, because I can estimate better the time they’ll need to be ready.

Hope this satisfies your curiosity, thanks again for dropping by!

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Complexities Unknowable- Chapter Two

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23274334/chapters/55737937

Chapter One Link: https://tha-best-url-evar.tumblr.com/post/613354402381807616/complexities-unknowable-chapter-one

Masterpost

Relationships: Established Relationship Dukeceit, eventual intrualiceit, background analogince.

Warnings: Remus Says Things, everyone is sympathetic (but there are some misunderstandings and misconceptions about each other at first), food mention, Things will be sad and they will get more sad but then they will get much less sad very quickly as this story progresses (sorry idk how to tag chapter fics??? on tumblr???), cursing, lmk If I missed anything.

Word Count: 1,373

Deceit despised Patton, there was no doubt about that. He didn’t murder-despise him (he wasn’t a monster), but it was still very hard to find anything to like about the things Morality did. And said. And the ways he said it. And especially, especially, the way that sugar-coated empty-headed cotton ball looked at him- like Deceit actually had murdered someone (although Deceit would concede that when those looks were directed at Remus... it was pretty justified).  

But on the subject of things he hated! Being in The Conscious! Whenever he appeared it felt like a million little needles pricking him and reminding him that he was unwelcome. Another con: Deceit struggled without the ability to flow through rooms, undetectable, like in his half of the mindscape. He was far too exposed for his liking. 

Remus, however, loved being topside, and now that word about him was out he was visiting constantly. Remus also loved doing things that were dangerous and hazardous to himself and others when left unsupervised. And Deceit (regrettably) loved Remus. So. 

It was as the snake lifted his head to see a very upset Patton that he began to question if love was worth it, though. This was going to go so well for them.

Deceit had done what he always did when he was thrust into a situation he wanted no part in. He shut his mouth and observed. And instead of yelling at them, or having a fucking heart attack and insisting that Thomas was a terrible person, Patton extended an offer to prolong their time together. Because nothing about Morality was consistent or made even a little sense. 

Deceit had steered Remus away and teleported them back home as soon as they were out of sight. Immediately, Remus turned to him with his hands on his hips and his nose scrunched up. 

“Since when do you care about making a good impression? You love fucking with them! I know I do.”

“Correction: I don’t fuck with them, I make  a formal appearance and explain my point, only to have them act as though I’m fucking with them. I sure love that! My goddamn favorite.”

“Okay, we both know how dramatic you love to get with your ‘formal appearances’. I say split the difference and just drive a screwdriver through his eye; it makes you harder to ignore and it saves you tons of energy! Or show up naked- he’d have a fit!”

“Because I totally wanted to show up in the first place,” Deceit tossed himself onto the couch, (he hardly had to keep up appearances here). Remus flopped down next to him and took up the rest of the sofa without even trying. He wrapped his arms around the other’s middle, right below Deceit’s third set of limbs. 

“I was doing fine on my own!” Remus explained, punctuating the point by burying his face in Deceit’s ribs. 

“Objectively you weren’t.” 

“You know we can’t really hurt each other. I couldn’t have done anything worse than mentally scar Patton!” Remus’ voice was muffled by the fabric of Deceit’s shirt, but he made no move to get up. 

“It’s not them I’m worried about, you moron.”

The snake-like trait heard a tiny gasp from below him. Remus dragged himself up to throw his arms around Deceit’s shoulders.

“Awwww, you care about me, that’s so embarrassing,” he cooed, smashing their lips together messily. He was grinning more softly than usually when he pulled away.

Despite Deceit’s best efforts, a cackle escaped him. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, halfheartedly pushing Remus back. He let himself wrap a few arms around the creative side as his laughter subsided. For a moment, they were calm.

“I wasn’t being serious, by the way. I know you’re absolutely impervious to emotion.”

“I’m fine,” Remus’ response was too quick. 

“Where do you expect to get by lying to me? You think I don’t know why you were so invested in your most recent project? You think I don’t know why you felt the need to crawl up to The Conscious for caffeine instead of conjuring your own rancid brew like usual? I know you’re distracting yourself, Honey.” 

The other trait was silent for an uncomfortable stretch. When he spoke next, it was barely more than a whisper.

“... Sorry, Dee.”

That shook Deceit down to his core. He couldn’t bring himself to be upset at Remus, and he wouldn’t dare think of any of this as his fault. The protective side pulled him up to look him dead in the eyes. 

“Hey- look at me. I’m not angry. Don’t ever think that I’m mad at you for missing your br- for missing him.” 

Slowly, Remus nodded, and Deceit let go of his face. “We don’t need to talk about it,” the reptilian amended. 

If Remus had made him talk all the times that he’d been overflowing with emotion. All the times he’d sworn on his life it wasn’t because he missed Virgil, but of course it was. If Rem had forced him to drag it all out, rather than just holding him close and letting him distract himself- Deceit was sure he would have died by now. So he returned the favor.

He heard the hitching of Remus’ breath as the trait tried desperately to fight down sobs, but he didn’t say anything. It was impossible not to hold some resent for the “light sides”, when this is what they did to them. When this is what they were left with.

He held Remus close and never, ever wanted to let go.

Before long, Deceit had put on a film to occupy their minds. One of their mutual favorites- Pan’s Labyrinth. They’d been completely immersed in the movie before being so rudely interrupted by a certain someone. A certain someone who was somehow an even better cook than Deceit had presumed. Despite such, he would not be swayed. 

Remus, however, looked pretty damn swayed.

“That was weird, huh?” He stated, chomping on cookies (he’d seemed in much better spirits over the past half-hour, thankfully). Deceit merely raised his eyebrows, still standing in the middle of the room. 

“Not a bit out of the ordinary whatsoever,” he double-spoke, too preoccupied with thought to focus on talking front-ways,  “In fact, I don’t think he was put off by your assertion that he’s not usually ‘nice’. He doesn’t seem like the defensive type, does he?” 

Remus shrugged, flopping face-first down into the couch and grabbing the remote.

“Whatever, now we have movie-watching snacks! They could use more finger-nail clippings, but other than that they’re almost as good as mine!” 

Deceit didn’t respond. He paced the floor, tapping his fingers against his leg. Distantly, he was aware of Remus rambling about something or other- but he couldn’t think about that now. There was a very promising opportunity to consider here, if he could just gather it all together.

“Dee-Dee?” Remus had sat up now, leaning forward to peer curiously at the plotting side.

“Mhm.” Deceit muttered automatically. 

“Hey, Budget Scalesona!”

“I agree completely.”

“Dee!” 

Deceit’s head snapped up to look at Remus, whose face was split with a wide grin. He was practically hanging off of the arm of the couch.

“You’re scheming, aren’t you? You’ve got your scheming face on,” he said with delight, “What are we gonna do? How gory do you want it to get?”

“Nothing like that, you sadist, I’m just... thinking.” It was only about 35% sadistic, but who didn’t love to indulge in a little schadenfreude every now and then? If Patton wanted to know why they weren’t huge fans of his, well, then they’d just have to show him. It would be all too easy to get under his skin, get a nice outburst from him that would show him just how mean he could be. The best way to get to Thomas would certainly be his heart (nevermind the old saying, as the closest thing they had to a stomach side would be the insatiable pit that was Remus).  

“I think we’ll have to finish this film later, Dearest,” Deceit hissed, smirking rather slyly.

Remus sighed dreamily, leaning his chin on his hands.

“You’re so hot when you’re planning revenge.”

Chapter Three Link: https://tha-best-url-evar.tumblr.com/post/616160448347275265/complexities-unknowable-chapter-3

[notthatiwilleverwriteit]

Hellooo! What's your opinion on He tian and Jian Yi friendship from the start till now? And Mo and Zhang friendship from start till now? Also, I loveee your 'the cycle of the sunflower' fanfic!♥️

Good evening, anon-san, sorry it took me this long to answer You had interesting and quite broad questions but first things first: I’m happy to hear you enjoyed my fic so much, and thank you very much for letting me know! I was actually entertaining some tentative ideas for a sequel today while procrastinating. But you know, not that I will ever write it.

“What's your opinion on He tian and Jian Yi friendship from the start till now?”

Tl;dr: I was pretty annoyed by He Tian at first when he was trying to get close to Jian Yi but these days I quite like their friendship. I especially enjoy those little heart-to-hearts they have sometimes.

You gave me quite a long timeline, and I had to go all the way back to chapter 60 when HT was apparently featured for the first time:

That panel doesn’t give us a lot to go on, and I’m sure most of us didn’t even pay that much mind to the random black-haired guy. I know I didn’t. But in retrospect, it could be interesting to wonder if OX’s intention was to make a fleshed-out character out of that random black-haired kid at that point already.

After his first appearance, it takes about 40 chapters before we see HT again (ch. 102):

This time their interaction seems different, like it has more meaning and HT is not just a random passer-by teasing him a bit. JY is upset and conflicted after giving ZZX the confession letter entrusted to him by Xiao Hui. He doesn’t tell HT what’s wrong but he’s obviously down, and HT seems to attempt to lighten the mood, perhaps even comfort him a bit. It’s hard to say how serious he’s being. What’s interesting is that he’s again patting JY’s head, but this time it doesn’t have the same teasing vibe.

After that chapter HT started to pop up more often and increasingly annoy me. Before long, I was fully in the “okay, buddy, you need to go be somewhere else” mood. Whenever he spotted JY’s mop of blond hair in the crowd he annoyingly stuck to him and draped his arm around his shoulders like they were the bestests friends.

What annoyed me the most, though, was that it was hard to say why he was acting so buddy buddy. One thing that struck me about their friendship from the beginning was that it seemed rather one-sided. It was HT who seemed to initiate hanging out and being turned down time after time. I didn’t know much of anything about HT, so at first, it all came across as him being romantically interested in JY. And I couldn’t have hated anything else more. I was fully invested in Zhanyi and worried the already slow pace was going to be hindered by some cliched love triangle. The only thing I was happy about was that JY didn’t have any interest whatsoever in HT.

For quite a long time, I didn’t really question or go back to the idea of HT being interested in JY in a romantic sense. I just thought his interest shifted to MGS. Now, after learning about HT’s past, goals and priorities, those early chapters tell a different story to me. 

Rather than being in love with JY, I think HT sought him out for two reasons.

First of all, we all know this kid is so lonely it hurts to watch but making genuine friends isn’t a simple matter in his situation. I already talked about this in one of my earlier posts, but the bottom line is, HT isn’t like his classmates. He was born and raised in a vastly different world but can’t tell anyone about it.

It’s almost like he’s living a double life. In front of his classmates and fangirls, he appears easy-going, cool, and carefree, but in the shadows, he looks much more intimidating and colder. Both of those sides are a part of him, but no one knows about his dark, shadow side. Not only that, but HT himself wants to get rid of his other side and deny it. If anyone learned about it, he’d risk putting them in harm’s way but at the same time, he craves the “normal”; acting his age. If he was being careful, maybe he could try and have friends even if he couldn’t show them all of himself.

However, I think HT also had another objective to get close to JY. I think he knows more about JY’s family than JY himself and was low key keeping an eye on him. I’m sure the surname “Jian” means something to him if She Li can recognize it as well (ch. 117):

It’s unclear to us how much he knows about He Cheng’s business with Mr. Jian, but I’m sure he’s guessed by now that dirty underworld wants something to do with one of his friends. He seemed to be in the know enough to rush over when HC was trying to get JY for the first time (ch. 166) and later warned his brother to not “get any ideas” (ch. 229). He’s probably pieced together that they’re trying to get to JY but since there’s nothing much he can do to stop that he’s just going to have to follow him. It’s still better than to let him get pulled into the lion’s nest alone. If that means he has to go all the way to the doorsteps of his own family, then so be it.

What I probably love the most about HT and JY’s friendship are those little heart-to-hearts they started having. The borderline philosophical nature of them reveals interesting new sides to HT’s character especially. I think JY was the first one who formed a deeper connection with HT and is still the only one who ponders those kinds of life-sized questions with him.

Chapter 133 is my favorite chapter about the deeper side of their friendship. Earlier JY had asked HT what people are living for, and HT’s half-serious answer was “probably so that they can do the things they want~”. He hadn’t meant it to actually stick with JY, not to mention prepared for JY to get back to the topic and ask something seemingly simple but rather personal from him later on (ch. 133):

Not only do I think that no one had seriously asked HT that before but that question also invited HT to open up. Though, all JY got out of him was:

Even in all its vagueness, it was the first time HT had implied being from a different world to someone who’s not a part of it, at least not knowingly. And that’s a quite sad line if you think about it. The things HT wanted to do in life were no doubt vastly different from JY and most kids of his age. He didn’t want to grow up to a man who would hurt others for a living. He wanted to belong in the world of JY and ZZX. He wanted to protect his friends. He wanted to do good and rid himself of his past that way. He wanted his brother to want to be like him, too. He wanted the puppy and wake up one morning to a normal family and life and it’s all been just a long nightmare. 

All of that remains unspoken and is replaced by silence, instead. HT just pats JY’s head while they stand in the rain and tells him to go to ZZX already; he hadn’t skipped just to sit around with HT, after all. JY wants to go but is also a bit worried about leaving HT like that. When he asks, “what about you?”, HT goes back to teasing him. Before leaving, though, JY gives him a little side-smile that warms my heart. That smile somehow has an understanding undertone to it, and he’s cursing HT almost affectionally.

They had a moment, and no one can convince me otherwise. It was as if JY got a feeling that maybe there was more to HT than what appeared.

And that’s how I see them now; JY was probably the first and closest thing HT could call a friend and it’s become more than just looking after him for HT. JY’s genuine, curious, and obliviously frank nature brings out certain kind of depth and platonic, big brother kind of affection in HT. It also seems JY was the first person to be cool with HT’s “dark” side and not think any less of him.

“And Mo and Zhang friendship from start till now?”

Tl;dr: They’re a bit odd together but I really like their little bonding moments. They’re weirdly similar but in different ways. Mo Guan Shan definitely needs and deserves a level-headed and no-bullshit friend like Zhan Zheng Xi.

This friendship certainly had a rough start (ch. 126):

There’s one thing I’ve always wondered about that fight: Was ZZX actually getting the upper hand? I’m hesitant to say ZZX is a better fighter than MGS, but he still seemed stronger. Did MGS also notice he was about to lose (in front of his posse, no less) and picked up the rock which was somewhat of a dirty move? Did ZZX get strength and courage from the need to protect JY? You know, when you think about something that matters to you and get a mental/physical boost to your drive that takes even you by surprise a little? He didn’t have a delinquent reputation like MGS had but if he lost this fight JY could be in trouble and he had vowed to protect him since they were little kids.

Well, either way, I was surprised how easily ZZX let the thing go when he and MGS came face to face again. He suggested an act of revenge but was actually the only one who wasn’t serious about twisting MGS’s balls in the end. Not only that but he seemed to even think MGS wasn’t that evil (ch. 150):

If I had been ZZX, I’m not sure I would’ve wanted to have anything to do with MGS after that. It’s still a bit unclear to me why ZZX suddenly thought like that, but maybe that’s just how his mind works. He doesn’t dwell or hold grudges, perhaps he finds that even a little childish.

He certainly started to consider MGS his friend and wanted to genuinely help him when the whole She Li situation unraveled and was frustrated when it looked like they couldn’t do anything (ch. 184):

Overall, compared to HT and JY, ZZX was a different kind of friend for MGS. HT would raise hell and go up against anyone who dared to mess with him. JY didn’t lack enthusiasm and oblivious courage to stand up for him and loudly demand justice. To both of them, MGS reacted with varying degrees of annoyance.

ZZX, on the other hand, was silent, calm and mature. He doesn’t talk bad about people behind their backs and when he’s done with something, he’s done with it. He’s in touch with himself and grounded. But it seems MGS wasn’t used to having people like that around. The way ZZX wasn’t bothered by being alone with him made him uncomfortable (ch. 248):

MGS is always half-expecting people to negatively react to him somehow; avoid making eye contact, look down on him, and whisper behind his back. When ZZX just stands there in silence and faces him head-on it bothers MGS. He feels awkward because he never apologized for the fight and bashing ZZX in the head. Pulling stuff like that in the heat of the moment could have had serious. long-lasting consequences. He seems to be ready for ZZX to bring it up and hold it over his head, and he’d have the right to do so, too. But it doesn’t look like ZZX is expecting an apology, either. As far as he goes, the matter is over and done with.

Interestingly MGS and ZZX are quite similar deep down but in a different way as weird as that might sound. They’re both very responsible; MGS has had to work and take care of the house from a very young age to support his mother. ZZX is very close with his little sister, he’s always taken care of her and learned the responsibility that way. They both have tsundere characteristics; Others being touchy-feely with them might earn them curses and a couple of punches, but they’re good at taking care of others. ZZX can be quick to lose his temper with JY but also quite tender and reassuring and surprisingly comfortable showing affection. MGS takes a certain kind of pride in cooking for his friends and can’t quite hide his concern for HT if he’s bleeding or having a nightmare. His help is always very practical.

What I love the most about ZZX and MGS’s friendship is that they kind of join forces being the only responsible voices of reason of the bunch. As a huge fan of my precious MGS, watching them bond over cooking warms my heart so much (ch. 289):

I’m so happy MGS has gained such a strong and loyal friend as ZZX. I’m really interested in seeing more of them together.

Thank you for your interesting question, anon-san, and sorry for such a late reply again.

[bigskydreaming]

Beware: do not consume the following post in the belief that there’s a point being made with it or like. Any real reason to it whatsoever. LOL. Just something I’ve been pondering.

So, its interesting to me that there’s such a lack of fics about Bruce raising his kids with a partner. And by interesting I mean just that, lol....I’m not trying to imply anything, I’ve no specific opinions or conclusions on that myself, I’m just...thinking about it lately.

Literally just that. That I’m kinda intrigued by how rarely I see fics where Bruce has a co-parent that his kids would equally deem as much their parent as Bruce himself. There’s plenty of Bruce ship fics, with various of his children usually playing fairly large roles in the fics rather than it just being about Bruce and his ship partner. But not a lot that pursue or at least show that relationship through to the point where they’re effectively a co-parenting team rather than like...Bruce and his kids, plus Bruce’s new partner who likes his kids well enough but doesn’t really feel its their place to parent them.

There are a number of Batcat AUs where Bruce and Selina have a pretty established relationship from fairly early on in the timeline, but in general, most of them tend to have her take a pretty hands-off approach to the kids. They’re still pretty much viewed as Bruce’s kids. While she’s someone they might come to when they need to vent about Bruce and want a sympathetic ear, she’s not really front and center making the child-rearing decisions alongside Bruce. (In a lot of the ones I can think of, she usually doesn’t even officially live in the Manor herself, she’s more just a strong presence who will still leave to return to her own space when things get too chaotic around the house). 

And even in fics where she and Bruce marry, she’s usually written as the stepmother to his kids rather than....hmm, I don’t mean to come across as disparaging of step-parents or to imply that they can’t be just as fully a parent to a child as any biological or adoptive parent. 

Let me put it this way. Just to clarify, when singling out Selina, Clark and Talia as step-parents in fics I’m generalizing about here, the thing I’m really trying to get at is like....for instance, you might see plenty of Selina having a positive relationship with the Batkids, but you rarely see her being like...equally involved in the decision to adopt any of the kids. Either because they’ve all already been adopted, or the fic is set in a window where whichever kids are present have already been present in Bruce’s life when she officially begins a relationship with him, and the fic ends before any of the later kids come into his life. 

And same thing with Bruce’s other partners I refer to in this post. Like, there’s plenty of fics where you can certainly assume that after the conclusion of the fic, any later kids to come into their lives, Bruce and his partner/spouse decide to take in together, are equally invested in giving them a home and a family, etc....I literally just mean, this isn’t something you usually SEE in any of these fics, which is part of what I find interesting and have been kinda musing on.

Anyway. Then there are a good number of Superbat fics, that usually diverge from canon before Clark ever starts forming a family with Lois, but retaining all the Batkids. My assumption is this is because the Batkids as a family unit are more established and still the ‘preferred’ family overall, and if you feel you have to pick and choose because say, you have trouble picturing or don’t want to write Tim and Kon and Jon and Damian as stepbrothers, etc, then I can understand why a writer would go that route. 

But what’s interesting to me here is the way most of these are set timewise....there’s a number I can think of that have Bruce and Clark get together early on, when Dick is still Bruce’s only kid...but by and large, these ones almost always end when Bruce and Clark officially get together. Like, there may be plenty of Clark and Dick bonding scenes, but the fics themselves don’t normally progress past that ‘finally getting together’ resolution, so there’s no real delving into Bruce and Clark as actual co-parents for Dick and then the later kids. 

And then on the other side of things, there’s a lot of Superbat fics I know of where Bruce and Clark only get together at a point comparable to ‘current’ canon. Where basically all Bruce’s kids are already present, Dick, Jason and Cass at least are all adults and living on their own, usually Tim as well, and so of course, they’re all very much Bruce’s kids by the time Clark even comes into the picture. Their child-rearing officially done and over with, so even when Clark eventually becomes the cool approachable stepdad or whatever, again, its that angle where he’s involved, but it wouldn’t really be accurate to describe him as a full co-parent with Bruce.

(As far as Bruce/Clark goes, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Superbat fic that has them get together at some point in the middle of Bruce’s.....umm...child acquisition period, let’s call it. LOL. I just mean, there’s not really any fics I can think of where Bruce’s kids only include Dick and Jason so far, etc. Again, it tends to either be early on, when Dick is really young, or ‘contemporary’, where all the kids are around.)

Similar to the Superbat take is the BatLantern. I’ve seen a few of these, and again, you tend to see Hal and Bruce get together when Bruce has all his kids already and most of them are fully grown, or early on when its still just Dick. Actually, as opposed to Superbat, I think I have come across one Batlantern fic that was set when Dick was Nightwing and Jason was Robin, but that was it. However, there’s possibly a bunch of Batlanterns I haven’t even looked at, as I’m uh....not a Hal fan, so who knows what I’ve skipped over there. *Shrugs* 

And then we’ve got Bruce and Talia fics, which.....I confess aren’t my favorite, as my general impression of fics that have them officially get together, live together, the whole nine yards, is that pretty much all the ones I’ve come across tend to heavily prioritize Jason and Damian as ‘their’ kids, and Dick and Tim are usually just kinda...there, or more often than not, the antagonistic foils/sources of family drama. Which. Umm. Not my thing, obviously. 

And interestingly, a lot of Bruce/Talia fics I can think of, where they live and raise the kids together, like....there’s a lot of them that are full AUs, even No Capes/No Powers AUs, at least relative to how often Bruce’s other big ships go the No Capes route. My personal assumption there is because its the easiest way to separate Talia from being heavily associated with the League, even just in the fic’s past, whereas with Selina, Clark, etc, there’s less of a narrative concern how their comic-book pasts/origins might affect a relationship with Bruce and his kids. Who knows if I’m in the right direction there or not, its honestly just my gut theory, and doesn’t really matter, its just something I find interesting and worth noting.

But even in the full AUs here, even ones where Bruce and Talia are married, she’s largely written as the stepmother to his kids rather than someone who was already there and present as a co-parent throughout various kids’ adoptions or fosterings. Often she’ll be written as particularly close to Jason, or with a soft spot for him, but it tends to be kinda a ‘he’s her favorite of Bruce’s kids, aside from Damian, who is of course as much her kid as he is Bruce’s.’ 

Granted, there are some Bruce/Talia fics I’ve seen that come the closest to what I’d describe as them being full co-parents to several of the kids from the start of whenever they meet those kids in the fic. But lol, again, I’m not really a good source for delving into the specifics of those fics, as the ones I’ve come across IMO tend to prioritize getting Talia more involved early enough that Jason’s ‘hers’ as much as Bruce’s, and uh, most I’m familiar with aren’t too complimentary to Dick, who takes the role of the rude, resentful holdout who dislikes his wicked stepmother from the word go...which is when I usually go too, lol, so I can’t really claim to know how those fics handle later arrivals like Tim and Cass. But with maybe only one exception, I definitely don’t think I’ve ever seen a fic that tried to tackle Bruce and Talia co-parenting Dick as much as any of the others. Even the full AU fics where Dick doesn’t have his canon reasons for disliking/distrusting Talia, lol.

Anyway, that’s it, basically. That’s the post, the train of thought I’ve been pondering, though to what end...eh, I’ve got no clue. I rarely do, though. So, just putting it out there in case this is of interest to anyone else for any reason, lol. Hell, its not even that I particularly would like to see more fics of this vein myself - I’m honestly just not a huge Bruce shipper....I don’t honestly think I have a preference for any of his bigger ships, beyond just....disliking Hal, and refusing to give Morrison’s take on Talia (or on Damian’s conception) the time of day. Ugh. Morrison. Eww. Why is he. Just. Anyway.

Actually! One last interesting (to me) thought, lol....now that I’ve written this whole post and processed it, I can think of literally one and only one fic that I would describe as the Batkids being taken in and raised equally by Bruce and a co-parent....and the bizarre thing is its a Nolan-verse fic. The bizarre part is I hate the Nolan trilogy, like, with an intensity that burns like no other (look I know I say that a lot, and about a lot of things, but I swear its almost always true). 

Anyway, literally the only thing I like about the Nolan trilogy is I have a soft spot for Hathaway’s portrayal of Selina. Which is pretty much the only reason I ever read this one fic where after the third movie, Bruce and Selina ‘start over’ in Europe and end up taking in and raising Nolan-verse versions of Dick, then Jason and then Tim together. Its actually a pretty damn compelling Selina, and I found the boys and their dynamic completely adorable, so I mean, not like that was the point of this post but its worth a read IMO. I know I have it on my bookmarks page and shouldn’t be too hard to find as its literally the only Nolan-verse fic on there, lol. 

(Also, it was written over ten years ago, I’m pretty sure, which is why its just those three kids.....Damian hadn’t even been created yet at the time, and the author’s non-movie Batfam knowledge was mostly cartoon based, which is why Cass wasn’t present, which was pretty much my only complaint about the fic from what I recall).

Anyway, that’s it, that’s the post. These are my thoughts, I’m all done with them so here, you can have them.

[bemused-writer]

Hello! First of all I gotta say I love your VNC fics and meta a whole lot and I'm very thankful for them (your Vanóes are GOOD). They're incredibly fun to read, and I love both writing and reading meta a lot. In this topic I'd like to ask your opinion about your views on Noé and Jeanne's relationship? I was rereading VNC recently and noticed that Noé blushes sometimes/stares at Jeanne a lot in the first few chapters, which I found a bit weird since their relationship doesn't get focus? Wdyt?

Thanks so much! This response has turned into a full-blown analysis of their interactions to date, so it’s a bit of a long post.

I’ll admit, the first two times I read what we currently have of VNC I didn’t notice anything between Noé and Jeanne at all. 8D So, it’s quite subtle! However, there’s definitely something going on, otherwise no attention would have been drawn to it in the first place.

The way I’ve been interpreting their interactions is that Noé respects Jeanne, which makes perfect sense. She’s a strong individual and they met on the battlefield in volume 1. I think a lot of his impressions of her stem from this first introduction. The first notable thing he thinks about her is that she’s strong, though not quite as strong as his teacher. 

He continues to say, “I can do this. Even on my own…” From this, we can gather he was excited to fix things without Vanitas’s help. It’s important to remember that, at this point in time (volume 1), Noé doesn’t like Vanitas, doesn’t trust him, and would definitely like to distance himself from that bizarre individual.

However, he got ahead of himself. In thinking Jeanne wasn’t quite as strong as his teacher he got a little cocky and was surprised that she countered his attack resulting in what I will call Blush #1:

She then proceeded to send him through a wall. I think his reaction to that (seen below) is important because it tells us something about Noé that becomes more and more evident as the series goes on: he hesitates in combat against certain people. 

Noé has a chivalrous side, something that drives Vanitas nuts. He doesn’t want to harm women or children (as evidenced by his first battle with Astolfo where Vanitas remarks that Noé hesitated because Astolfo reminded him of both). Noé was easily defeated by Jeanne here partially because he held himself back because she’s a woman.

He seems surprised by his own hesitation, however, and at how easily he was sent flying. Noé has led a remarkably sheltered life at this point and I think it’s also been somewhat traditional. Women are capable (he knows Dominique, so he must believe that) but they’re also not generally fighters. In short, I think Noé was impressed and had to reevaluate some things on the fly.

At any rate, he’s learned he can’t take Jeanne one-on-one in a fight, so he’s stuck going along with Vanitas’s plan after all, which is kidnapping Luca (even though he doesn’t realize he’s kidnapping Luca…). He doesn’t hear what Vanitas and Jeanne say to each other but by the end of it all, we can tell Noé isn’t exactly impressed with how things were resolved.

The next time Noé even sees Jeanne is toward the end of the Bal Masque in volume 2 after Jeanne drank Vanitas’s blood and Vanitas saved him from Charlatan. While he doesn’t directly interact with Jeanne in this volume whatsoever (all of the focus is given to three relationships this volume: Noé & Dominique, Noé & Vanitas, and Vanitas & Jeanne) we can at least draw a comparison between their personalities. Both Noé and Jeanne go out of their way to protect Luca. Jeanne has a more personal investment in this of course, but Noé befriends Luca and Luca is instantly charmed by Noé. 

Speaking of blushing, Luca has done so for both Noé and Jeanne, so I would consider this further evidence of the two of them being similar in personality. Poor Luca, his type seems to be too old for him, unavailable, and with a weird background to boot. 8D

Getting back on track, volume 3 is when we finally see Noé and Jeanne interact a bit once more. They’re at a cafe in Altus Paris after the battle has been resolved. Luca has just finished thanking Noé for rescuing him (it was Vanitas but, honestly, neither him nor Jeanne really want to acknowledge that), and Jeanne chimes in:

Blush #2! For Noé at least. To be honest, I think this is the first time Jeanne has actually addressed him with words. Their only other interaction was their battle in volume 1.

At any rate, the two have very similar reactions. Jeanne is charmed by Noé because he performed the one act she considers most important: he protected Luca. Likewise, Noé is flattered because he’s just been complimented by a very capable individual. I don’t think Noé is used to receiving praise. Vanitas definitely isn’t about to dish it out in any conventional manner, Louis did the opposite of compliment him more often than not, and Teacher doesn’t strike me as affectionate. Dominique is warmer towards him, but I think there are limits there because she doesn’t want Noé to know how she really feels.

The point I’m getting at here is that I think these words, this type of declaration, is dear to him.

The conversation continues into some very awkward territory thanks to one Vanitas. Even if Noé hadn’t heard Vanitas’s declaration of love before, he definitely has now and even he has some awareness that a Mark of Possession is important. I’m kind of unclear on how in-the-know Noé actually is here, but he’s definitely shocked:

The tarte tatin is being ignored… Of course, once Jeanne and Vanitas exit through the window he pursues.

It’s a little unclear whether Noé overheard Vanitas and Jeanne’s conversation but I lean towards thinking he did and that’s why he’s so disappointed: Jeanne gets all of Vanitas’s blood to herself. It also means he knows the two of them have some kind of arrangement and that Vanitas claims to love her. We have no idea what Noé thinks about any of this outside of a general disappointment he can’t have Vanitas’s blood. Unfortunately, it doesn’t tell us anything about his relationship with Jeanne outside of possibly seeing her as some kind of competition.

He next sees Jeanne at the dance where he tries to offer to dance with her except Dominique beat him to it.

There’s also a tiny, little blush here, but I think it’s aimed at Dominique. He has a lot of reasons to blush at Dominique: he literally just drank her blood a few moments ago, and he cares for her deeply. 

Also, I know I just said Noé might consider Jeanne as competition, but I really don’t mean that in a negative way. Noé is disappointed, but he still likes her. He honestly doesn’t have any reason not to. He offers to dance with her because she was all by herself and looked troubled. Noé is all about helping troubled individuals, especially when it matches up with his general sense of chivalry.

Their interactions in this volume end there as the rest of his attention is taken up by Vanitas. He does talk about Jeanne, though, but mostly to figure out why Vanitas likes her. 

“Vanitas… what do you like about Jeanne?” It’s an honest question and Noé just doesn’t get it. If we continue with the assumption he overheard Vanitas and Jeanne’s conversation, he knows they have an arrangement. He knows Vanitas claims to love her. But he isn’t seeing it himself. He likes Jeanne, but it isn’t that kind of love. Vanitas’s answer does little to explain anything to him whatsoever. He loves Jeanne because she won’t love him back. Rather than explain their relationship, he’s made it far more confusing for Noé, who is no doubt trying to figure out what it is Vanitas and Jeanne actually have. He’s never been confronted by a Mark of Possession before, never been exposed to two people loving each other before, and he’s just lost.

Noé and Jeanne next see each other when they all go to speak with Ruthven in the same volume, but they don’t interact. Noé and Jeanne also don’t interact for the entirety of volume 4, which is centered more around Vanitas & Jeanne as well as Noé & Vanitas.

They finally meet up once more in volume 5 during yet another battle:

Jeanne’s reaction is pretty amusing: “Y-you’re here, too? Well… since Vanitas is here, it’s only natural… I suppose?”

I think it’s just now dawning on her that Noé is always around Vanitas. XD In fairness, she’s actually had dealings with Vanitas on his own pretty often. I don’t think she’s used to seeing Noé by himself whatsoever.

He suggests they can save Chloé and once again he and Jeanne are confronting one another. It does give us Blush #3, though:

In fairness, I think this one is a mix of awe–she’s bested him once again–, some intimidation, and probably embarrassment seeing as a woman just wrapped her whole leg around his neck. I’d be blushing, too. Their confrontation is interrupted by Charlatan and … that’s it. They didn’t interact in volume 6 or in any of the most recent chapters (up to 39 at this point).

So! You are completely correct when you say their relationship isn’t getting a lot of focus. Personally, I think these blushes are just Noé being Noé. He blushes at just about everything. He blushes at Dominique, Jeanne, Paris, Altus Paris, things he finds interesting, and even Vanitas once in the train. Noé doesn’t try to conceal his emotions; he let’s them out. Likewise, Jeanne does the same, although she’s learned to be more reserved than is natural for her judging by her childhood.

Both Noé and Jeanne are designed to be foils to Vanitas, and that’s part of why they’re so similar. They’re both earnest, honest, loyal, kind, powerful, sincere, protective, etc. 

In contrast, Vanitas is extremely guarded, tends to have a shaky relationship with the truth, his version of kindness is usually pretty harsh, he’s not strong the way vampires are, and he’s definitely not sincere. He actually is kind of protective towards Jeanne and Noé, though, but he sees this as a flaw rather than a strength. He’s also managed to be pretty loyal to both of them as well though, once again, not something he’s happy about.

I know some people think Jeanne and Noé might get together at some point in this series and I’d say it’s certainly possible. Mochizuki has surprised me with which couples get together before. I think these two would be cute on account of how similar they are. But looking at how things currently stand, I don’t think that’s where we’re headed. I think it’s more likely that we’ll see Vanitas torn between the two of them. Not necessarily in a romantic way, but as far as who he can continue to protect and maintain his reluctant loyalty towards.

I would like to see Jeanne and Noé form a friendship at least, but I think a lot of that is also dependent on Vanitas and other external forces, such as Ruthven.

Thanks for the ask! I liked getting to explore these two. ^^

[hazelandglasz]

Sweet, Sweet Temptation

Word count: 12.727

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Pairing(s): Arizaphale/Crowley (Ineffable Husbands) ; Hastur/Ligur ; Beelzebub/Gabriel (Ineffable Bureaucracy); Background Minor Relationships

Characters: Crowley, Aziraphale, Gabriel, Beelzebub, Hastur

Tags: Alternate Universe-Humans, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Food Porn, Bibliophile Aziraphale, Gourmet Aziraphale, Slow Burn, Awkward Flirting, Romantic Fluff, Fluff and Humor

Summary: Anthony J. Crowley started working at Heavs and Hens, F.A., but they thought he asked too many questions, and frankly, he didn’t like his colleagues’ attitude. (Well. Except for one, but he never got the chance to get close to the blond cutie.) So he left. Now he’s working in a pastry shop and life is infinitely better. (Well. Most of the time, since neither his boss nor his colleagues are too often in the shop and he’s left to his own device, which is really for the best.) Baking is fun, tempting customers is even better, and if there is a certain blond who keeps on coming back to the shop, well, Anthony is not one to deny himself that pleasure.

A massive, massive thank you to the artists who managed to create such beautiful art for this fic, to the mods who set all this process up, and to my betas for blessing this mess!

Artist: IG Hufflepuffbetty (Art Post) / @hufflepuff-betty

Artist: @scribblemakes

😇😈😇😈😇😈

They say they fired him, but if you were to ask him, Anthony J. Crowley would tell you that he quit before they could.

Or, more accurately, he would tell you to bugger off and leave him alone, but if he felt like giving you an answer, that is the one he would give you.

Joining the financial advising firm was never his idea of a good time, really, but he did because he could and that it made his mother happy. But as weeks went by, Crowley discovered some things.

About himself, and about the firm’s ways, and both were inextricably in opposite directions.

He discovered that the more answers he found, the more questions he got.

That questions were not exactly welcomed, at Heavs and Hens.

That asking questions was the equivalent of lighting yourself on fire in the middle of a family dinner--a sure way to get everybody’s attention, but at what cost?

That fairness and obeying to the idea of the law was not a top priority for the partners.

And that fairness was one of his major core value (along with curiosity, which, if you have paid attention, should tell you how bad an idea it was for Crowley to work there).

So he quit, not with a bang, but with a swagger.

(And a comfortable “keep your mouth shut” pocket money.)

Oh, Crowley doesn’t hold any lasting feeling toward his former colleagues--especially not for Gabriel, that pompous ass who kept on stealing all of Crowley’s ideas and notes for his own credit--but there is a, oh, how can he put it into words, a chance of something greater that was missed with one particular junior adviser.

The man must be approximately Crowley’s age--old enough to be an adult, young enough to still have hope and energy--, with curly hair so blond Crowley isn’t quite sure it is natural, blue eyes that remind Crowley of a Spring sky, and the perpetual shadow of a smile on his rosy lips.

Yes, Crowley could wax poetics about this angel of a man who passed his desk once, eyes on a pocket watch while Gabriel was berating him for being too soft with the clients.

Crowley also knows one thing about this former colleague of his, that could-have-been-something-more-but-wasn’t, one thing that nobody else knows--if they knew, Crowley has no doubt about whether the man would still be working at the company or not.

(The answer is a resounding “not”)

The man, Mr. Eastgate is all Crowley knows to call him, is not as robotic as the other employees and, behind his soft smile and perfect attire, hides just enough of a dark side to be interesting.

How does Crowley know this to be facts?

Crowley saw a memo that miraculously disappeared from the system the following day.

A memo stating that while Mr. and Mrs. Godson would have been very interesting clients for the firm to acquire--read, very profitable clients who would have ended up with the clothes on their backs, if at all--, Mr A. Eastgate thought it best to tell them to invest their savings in a more secure venture, such as Apple shares or any other investment they could actually profit from in the future.

Which, if you weren’t aware, goes against the grain for a financial advising firm.

Tells you a lot about the kind of ethic and the character of Mr. Eastgate, that’s for certain, but where Crowley wouldn’t have been able to resist the need to rub it in everybody’s face, Mr. Eastgate apparently possesses much more diplomatic talents and decided to just …

Swipe it under the proverbial carpet, and play dumb whenever asked about it.

Crowley has to admit it: he respects that.

In addition to his already unbearable crush on the guy for simply looking cute, that’s the only reason he has a pang of regret as he leaves the firm’s building with his potted plant and his severance check.

So long, Mr. Eastgate.

😇😈😇😈😇😈

Aziraphale may not be the best financial advisor in the company, let alone in the world, if only because he doesn’t like putting people in harm’s way, and financial enterprises often lead to harmful conclusions.

But he’s good with numbers, and people listen to him, so, financial advisor it is.

When A.J. Crowley is summoned in the boss’s office and leaves with a smile on his (handsome, unusually handsome) face and a swagger to his walk, sunglasses firmly in place even indoors, Aziraphale feels something akin to regret to see him go--the man was probably the only of his colleagues Aziraphale could stand.

Sad to see him go, but delighted to watch him go, if you can catch his drift.

Good Heavens, what a sight.

Anywho, Aziraphale needs to get back to work, now, doesn’t he?

After all, collecting books is one pricey hobby.

😇😈😇😈😇😈

Plant in hand , Crowley lets himself stroll the streets down to the parking garage where he left his beloved car.

As content as he may be to be done with all of those self-righteous lunatics, a question keeps on nagging him:

What is he to do with his life now? Pester his neighbors until they want him blown to smithereens?

Not that he would particularly mind, Crowley delights in being a bother to his admittedly boring neighbors.

But there is a limit to the amount of little offenses one can come up with on a daily basis, isn’t it? And staying idle is really not in his temperament; again, lounging in the sun and doing nothing is a fun past-time, but there always comes a time when his mind cannot stand the passivity.

No, there is no way around it: Crowley needs to find himself a new job, one that will not make him feel like needles are piercing his skin every time his values system is breached.

A quiet, nice job, with almost non-existent colleag--

Oh, look at that shop window.

All thoughts about his future, near and far, come to a standstill as Crowley pauses in front of a bakery.

“Tempting Bites”, an interesting name for sure, but it is the content of the window that really gets his interest.

The cakes are all, indeed, bite-sized, but elegantly decorated--if a little on the morbid side, if Crowley is actually seeing what he thinks he’s seeing.

Yep, that is a tombstone on that grey-glazed éclair.

The pastry cannot be bigger than Crowley’s index finger (sure, he has long, pianist hands, as his mother called it, but still, it is a size-reference) but the fondant is still delicately decorated to mimic granite, and the tombstone is engraved and, dare he say it, sculpted to perfection.

The woman behind the counter glares at him, raising one eyebrow when he replies with a smile.

Daring him to enter her queendom, no doubt, and Crowley has never been good at resisting a dare.

“Good morning,” she says in a deadpan tone, “may I tempt you with one of our delights?”

Crowley’s smile only widens. “I would love to try the éclair in the window,” he replies, eyes perusing the store’s shelves. “And may I get a bag of chouquettes?”

The puff pastries are just, well, too tempting to pass, what with the black and red pearls of sugar decorating them.

“Temptation accomplished,” the salesperson says in a monotone, ringing his purchase. As Crowley goes to pay, he spots a sheet of paper behind them.

“You are hiring?”

They blink at him before sighing. “Yes, we do. Do you have any experience in baking?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Do you mind if the hours are long and the pay minimal?”

Crowley beams at her, leaning over the counter. “Not at all.”

“Are you a felon?”

“Would that matter?”

For the first time since he entered the shop, the hint of a smile appears on the person’s face. “Not at all,” they reply, “but I have to ask.” They shrug, pulling a piece of paper from under the counter. “Here, fill this and send a picture of your I.D. to the number inscribed on top.”

“Right away, boss,” Crowley replies, giving them a jaunty salute with the piece of paper.

“Call me Beelzy.”

😇😈😇😈😇😈

Okay.

If we’re going to continue with this story, there are a couple of things you need to know about Aziraphale Eastgate.

First of all, as previously stated, he is quite the bibliophile, collecting all first editions of British children’s books.

(Yes, it is a collection that requires a lot of time, care, and money.)

(Yes, Mother, he’s aware that he is an adult and that there are better things he could do with his money than chase after kiddy books.)

(No, Mother, he has yet to find a woman to marry and carry on the Eastgate’s legacy.)

((If only she knew.))

Second of all, but perhaps not entirely unrelated to the first point, Aziraphale considers himself an epicurean. A lover of good and beautiful things. A man capable of appreciating the finest things in Life, from a good book to a good meal.

After all, C.S. Lewis said it quite eloquently, “Eating and reading are two pleasures that combine admirably.”

Third of all, as brave and smart as he vows to be on a daily basis, Aziraphale hates being confronted.

All three are needed to understand how conflicted Aziraphale has always felt about the bakery around the corner near the office.

(All right, so maybe the fact that he is a bibliophile is not particularly relevant to this part of the story. But presenting Aziraphale without insisting upon his love for books would be criminal, criminal indeed.

Back to the point.)

Because on the one hand, bakery! Provider of scrumptious cakes and food!

But on the other hand, the person usually behind the counter makes him feel like he’s about to enter a ring just to prove himself worthy of the cakes.

Oh, he has seen many of his colleagues and many people coming out of the shop with little black bags, so the confrontational attitude may just be in his head, but still.

For now, he has only savored the pastries with his eyes, for their aesthetics and satisfies his need for sweet goodness in other places.

(No one needs to know about this, but his favorite place is a little, how should he say, hole-in-the-wall restaurant near the Theater district that serves the finest sushis in all of London and got him addicted to crepe cakes. Di-vine, to say the least.)

That being said, he’s reconsidering his avoidance of the bakery.

The sight of a certain shade of red hair behind the window is most definitely to be blamed for this change of mind, but Aziraphale would never admit it, even under threat.

(It depends on the kind of threat. Though he tends to avoid it if he can, Aziraphale is more than capable to handle a little brawl, shall the need arise. But threaten his books or his closet, and chances are Aziraphale will fold like a … well, like a crepe.

Oh, crepes.)

As it is, Aziraphale is not so easily tempted, so “Tempting Bites” and his possibly newly hired and very tempting salesman will have to work a little bit harder at convincing him.

Or, to be more truthful, Aziraphale will need to be sure that it is his infamous former colleague who is now behind the counter, in order to ensure a fruitful encounter.

😇😈😇😈😇😈

Crowley is many things, but he is not a liar.

When Beelzy asked if he had any baking knowledge, he did not lie when he said none whatsoever. 

But. He is a very fast learner.

“Crowley!”

And. He has a lot of imagination.

“Crowleeeeey!”

Not necessarily a bad combination--he supposes it depends on who you asked.

“What. Is. That.”

Crowley beams at his boss and at his colleague.

“That, my Lord,” he replies with a small curtsey, “is a pumpkin brioche.”

“A … brioche.”

“Yes.”

“A bit on the nose, Crowley,” Hastur drawls from behind him. “An orange brioche, shaped like a pumpkin, and you flavor it with pumpkins.”

“Try it, Hastur.”

“No thank you.”

“Try it before you ditch it.”

Hastur rolls his eyes at him but takes a knife from his pocket anyway, cutting two slices of the brioche.

Beelzy’s face barely shows any reaction, but then again, their face is usually expressionless. As it is, the slight uprising of their eyebrows is all Crowley needed from them.

Hastur’s reaction, in comparison, is far more immediate and satisfying. 

“WHAAAAA--”

“Yes, Hastur?”

“But--! How--! Beelzebub, how did he do this?”

Beelzy takes another bite, waving the slice in the air. “Well, there are definitely spices in the dough of the brioche--you’ve been too generous with the cinnamon, Crowley, curb your enthusiasm there--reminiscent of the infamous pumpkin spice latte, and there is the matter of the gooey center … Citrus?”

“Lemon zest and orange compote.”

They nod, swallowing the remains of their slice of brioche in two bites. “Good product. We’ll get the high school population and the office population tempted in no time.”

“Only a matter of days until they’re ours.”

Hastur recovered from his shock--or from his distaste of cinnamon, whichever sounds best--and is now smiling like he came up with Crowley’s creation.

“I’m glad you approve of my idea, my Lord,” he simply says, pushing Hastur out of the way with a hip check. 

Beelzy leaves the kitchen as the bell above the door rings and Hastur comes far too close for comfort.

“One of these days, Crowley,” he croaks, “one of these days, you’re going to run out of ideas. And then--”

“And then we’ll be more alike than ever, Hastur! Won’t it be wonderful?”

Hastur snarls one more time before pulling his phone out of his pocket--to text his boyfriend about all the things he wishes he could do to Crowley to make him suffer, no doubt.

Crowley picks up the last piece of brioche from the plate and nods to himself. Indeed too much cinnamon, but he lost track of his spices while he was preparing his test batch.

See, a certain blond head happened to walk by the kitchen’s window when Crowley was seasoning his dough, and, well.

Crowley preferred to follow its tracks than to follow his idea.

😇😈😇😈😇😈

That is most definitely Anthony J. Crowley arranging small brioches in a basket in the bakery’s window.

Aziraphale finds himself dry-mouthed at the sight of these long fingers carefully placing one delicate peachy confection after another on a checkered napkin, and he would have an awfully hard time telling you which of the two brings him to push the bakery’s door.

“Good afternoon, how may I tempt you--,” Crowley starts, spinning on his toes before coming to a stop as he sees Aziraphale.

The way he stops and the way he gawks at him from behind his tinted glasses makes Aziraphale blush and preen.

“--today,” Crowley finishes his welcome, a small smile appearing on his face. “Well, well, well. Welcome, Mr. Eastgate.”

He knows who I am.

He knows my name.

Say something, Aziraphale, before he thinks you are under the influence of something illegal.

“Hello, Crowley.”

There, short and to the point.

Oh, dear Lord, he’s leaning against the counter like some sort of Michelangelo’s sculpture.

“Tempted by something, Mr. Eastgate?”

“Oh please, call me Aziraphale, Mr. Eastgate is my brother Uriel.”

“Aziraphale.”

Crowley repeating his name should not awaken such warm tingles in his lower regions, and yet, here we are, aren’t we?

Maybe it’s the way his tongue seems to hiss on the ‘zee’ sound and curl around the last ‘el’, maybe it’s the way he says it like Aziraphale himself is the delicacy about to be devoured.

“Earth to Aziraphale?”

Oh, right. He didn’t enter the shop just to leer at his former colleague and ever-present fantasy-man.

“Forgive me, Crowley,” he manages without a stutter, “I was, um, that is to say,” so much for not stuttering, well done, “your buns caught my attention.”

An army of angels passes by, as Crowley’s smile widens into a smirk. “Did they now? Flatterer.”

Aziraphale blinks at him until the words that left his mouth fully register. “Oh! Not those buns! I--I mean! The edible buns! Brioches! In--in the window!” He groans, placing his hand over his face. “Can the floor swallow me now, please?”

“What a waste it would be,” Crowley says quietly, his smile less mocking and more … gentle. “Don’t worry, Aziraphale, your appreciation of all my kinds of buns will be my little secret.”

Aziraphale can literally feel the color of his face taking a turn for the crimson. “G-g-good to know.”

“Now, about the pastries in the window, would you care for one?”

Aziraphale relaxes with a deep breath. “That would be lovely, yes, please.”

Crowley nods and goes to pick a couple of perfectly round orange brioches to put in a paper bag, and Aziraphale watches him carefully.

There is clearly more to Mr Anthony J. Crowley than meets the eye (and a sight it is already, look at those lines, those curves!).

What a pity that he didn’t get closer to the man when they shared an office--now, if he wants to be better acquainted with him, Aziraphale will have to come to the bakery quite often, won’t he?

As he takes a bite of one pumpkin-flavored brioche at the bus stop, letting moans that scandalize and, or, amuse his fellow commuters, Aziraphale comes to realize that it won’t be much of a hardship to pursue a friendship with his former colleague, present favorite baker.

😇😈😇😈😇😈

Crowley waits for Aziraphale to cross the street and turn toward the bus stop to fall to his knees behind the counter, one hand pressed against his heart.

So not only the man looks like an angel, but he decides to attack Crowley with puns, albeit unintended, and a delicious flush that Crowley wanted to follow under that crisp, white shirt?

Cruel, cruel, cruel.

Cruel and delicious torture.

😇😈😇😈😇😈

As time goes by, Crowley comes to really appreciate his new job.

Sure the hours complicate his social life, but Crowley never really had a social life to begin with, and he’d rather be in the lab in the early morning to tend to his garden of herbs and berries and try new recipes than go out and, what, dance on a sticky dance floor in the hopes of finding someone who will only be second-best to the man he really yearns for ?

He’s not that much of a dancer anyway.

And he has standards.

“I’m warning you, you better do as I say or there will be consequences.”

Luckily for him, now that both Beelzy and Hastur know he can hold the fort alone, they tend to mysteriously disappear and leave him to his own device.

All the better for Crowley to experiment to his heart’s content.

All the better for Crowley to enjoy the company of one particularly faithful customer, too.

Aziraphale comes almost every day now, several times on particularly gruesome days in fact.

By some kind of magic, the shop manages to always be empty when Aziraphale enters it, allowing Crowley to take a break with a man who is slowly becoming a friend.

Crowley doesn’t talk much, not in his nature really, unless a bottle of strong alcohol is involved, but he is a good listener.

And there are very few things in this world as entertaining and satisfying as Aziraphale daintily devouring Crowley’s cakes while ranting about his colleagues.

The man is made of contrasts, and Crowley …

Well, Crowley loves it.

Him.

Whatever.

You’re not in his head.

So what if he made a detailed mental list of all of Aziraphale’s preferences in the matter of tastes, uh?

What about it?

So what if his heart tries to compete in the Gymnastics Olympics every time the doorbell rings?

What are you going to do about it? Mock him? Tell him that he is an idiot for pining after a man who, clearly, seeks his company?

(Well, you wouldn’t be completely wrong about that, even Crowley would admit it. Not out loud, never out loud, but he would admit it.)

Trust him, he knows that this is bordering on ridiculous, this pinning and sighing and burying his feelings in yeast and flour whenever Aziraphale leaves.

Ridiculous, yet productive. 

He just put a batch of his matcha, sesame and crushed hazelnut loaves out of the oven, right before the end of the working day, when Aziraphale comes in.

“Hmmm, that smells heavenly.”

“That’s the yeast fucking.”

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them--he entirely blames Hastur for the phrasing (and his twisted mind for actually enjoying it)--and he looks up toward Aziraphale in alarm, with an apology on the edge of his lips.

Except that Aziraphale, while clearly startled by Crowley’s words, seems to be even more enthused by them, if the beaming smile on his face is to be trusted.

It’s blinding, truth be told, even with the protective sunglasses Crowley has to wear at all times to protect his sensitive eyes from any light.

“The yeast f--”

“I mean, it’s the dough,” Crowley interrupts. He’s not sure he would survive hearing Aziraphale actually curse.

He’s already as infatuated as can be, there is absolutely no need to add another layer of hidden bastardry into the mix.

Aziraphale hums, his amused smile hiding possibly jokes that would kill Crowley on the spot. 

“And what, pray tell my dear, did you do to make the dough rise so deliciously?”

A thousand arrows into the chest probably wouldn’t hurt as much as this.

(Probably.)

Either Aziraphale has taken a secret vow to kill Crowley with innuendos while not doing anything about … whatever is brewing between them, or he is really that oblivious and Crowley’s mind just has a dirty filter.

Whatever explanation works, Crowley wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Green tea and roasted sesame seeds,” he replies before shimmying his shoulders. “And my personal touch.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks turn a delicious shade of pink. “As in …?”

“As in, that’s my secret and you won’t get it, as angelic as you may appear.”

Aziraphale looks surprised for a moment, before turning bashful. “An-angelic? Me? No, I’m not, I’m just... I’m just me.”

Crowley cocks his head to the side, mentally listing everything he would love to do to the people who ate this man’s self-esteem.

Then he starts mentally listing everything he could do to restore said self-esteem, and, folks, it takes a turn for the graphic with the speed of light.

“You are just you,” he finally says, leaning over the counter with his chin in his hand, “and that’s all it takes for you to be angelic.”

The blush on Aziraphale’s face darkens, but his smile is more assured already. “That’s … probably the nicest thing anyone has ever s--”

“Oh shut up,” Crowley sneers as he straightens up, “I’m not nice.”

Aziraphale makes a show of zipping his lips shut, but his shy smile is still there when he leaves.

😇😈😇

When Crowley leaves the shop, not too long after Aziraphale, the skies have taken a turn for the gloomy and seem ready to open and throw a flood on them all.

Crowley allows himself a moment of self-pity. Even if he takes the bus instead of walking home like he intended to, there is no actual bus-stop.

Hence no shelter.

Hence his new boots getting soaked and his evening ruined.

Raising his head to the heavens just as the first drops fall, he mouths a heartfelt “why” before making his way to the aforementioned bus-stop.

Only to find a blonde head and a beige trenchcoat waiting under the most Aziraphale-Esque umbrella possibly conceived.

“Aziraphale?”

The man in question looks startled before beaming at him. “Crowley!”

Without another word, he lifts the umbrella higher, giving Crowley some room to shelter himself from the downpour.

“What are you doing here? I thought you had dinner plans for the evening,” Crowley says, digging his hands in his pockets to keep himself from doing something stupid.

Like, on the top of his head, snake his arm around Aziraphale’s waist.

That would be a terrible, awful idea.

A deliciously awful idea.

Aziraphale shrugs. “I did,” he replies, looking at Crowley from the corner of his eye, “and then decided I would rather be at home, with a nice cup of cocoa and a book--and some secret bread someone just created.”

His bus comes and leaves and Crowley cannot be bothered to leave the cocoon of warmth that the umbrella provides.

“Which bus are you taking?” Aziraphale’s voice is muted as if the umbrella really shelters them both, not only from the rain but from the rest of the world.

“I--I think it just drove away.”

Aziraphale looks at him more directly, a crooked smile on his face. Not mocking, no, just …

A smile that speaks a thousand words.

A smile that says, “I know what you did, and I know what it tells me about you and about us, but I won’t say it aloud. For now. Because this is comfortable and nice too.”

Or at least that’s how Crowley reads it.

“Looks like mine is delayed,” Aziraphale simply says. “How do you feel about breakfast for dinner?”

Crowley smiles, tired but content. “What do you have in mind, Mr. Eastgate?”

“If there is enough cocoa for one, there is enough for two, my dear Mr. Crowley.”

😇😈😇

For the life of him, Aziraphale doesn’t know what he was thinking.

He entirely blames Crowley’s tight pants and warm smile and--and ...Well, he entirely blames Crowley for being Crowley for his enthusiastic yet unplanned invitation to go to his place.

If he has to be completely honest, Aziraphale’s place is … Not somewhere you invite someone without careful planning beforehand.

(Especially someone who could potentially see more of the place than any random guest, and is possibly someone Aziraphale would like to see in the said apartment more often than not.

Possibly. 

As in, always and forever.)

Because, and not that it is a piece of information that is absolutely needed but it bares being told at least once, Aziraphale is messy.

“Ooooooh,” Crowley starts, low under his breath the moment Aziraphale lets him in, an amused look on his face. “You’re messy.”

It does bare being told twice, to be honest.

What puzzles Aziraphale is the sheer delight in Crowley’s voice. He glances around the living room, slash, kitchen, slash, dining room, slash, personal library, and tries to give it an objective look.

There are empty, dirty mugs in the sink, but otherwise, the kitchen area is clean-ish.

There are … oh dear Lord, there are dirty clothes on the couch where Aziraphale came home last night, too tired to get to his bed but not tired enough that he didn’t feel like indulging in a little one-on-one session with himself and his thoughts before succumbing to sleep.

(If said thoughts involved the very person now standing in said living room, well, that’s for Aziraphale’s shame to feed on.)

Three books are opened, stacked in a precarious pile on the coffee table.

At least Anathema is nowhere in sight. With any luck, she’s asleep on Aziraphale’s bed and won’t bother sniffing around.

(Aziraphale feels like introducing Crowley and Anathema would bare more consequences than introducing Crowley to his family.)

Some shoes and ties create a parkour-worthy arrangement around the room.

On his shelves, it’s not a mess. It’s the perfectly organized chaos Aziraphale has chosen as his way of putting his collection together.

All the editions of one book together, naturally, arranged per publication date, of course.

So it looks a bit in disarray in relation to the sizes and the conservation states.

That doesn’t bother him in the slightest, but he can see how, added to the rest of the room, his shelves give a distinctively chaotic vibe.

Still, Crowley is not running for the hills or making fun of him as some other people did in the past.

(Gabriel is a judgmental asshole who wouldn’t make the difference between a sketch by E.H. Shepard and a napkin at the bottom of a dump, and he can suck on his minimalistic design for all Aziraphale cares.

Still hurts when he makes fun of Aziraphale’s prized possessions.)

No, quite the contrary. Aziraphale can only gulp when he spots Crowley strutting, really, the man is strutting in his living room, caressing the back of Aziraphale’s chair or browsing the shelves, the same delighted look on his face softening as he goes.

“Oh, Aziraphale,” he says suddenly, voice barely above the sound of the rain hitting the window. “How did you get your hands on this one?”

Aziraphale forgets all of his embarrassment at the state of his home to see what caught Crowley’s attention.

“Sendak?”

“Not just any Sendak, you little minx. Quite the controversial item, isn’t it?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale can tell that his cheeks are now matching some of his books binding. “Well, no respectable collection--”

Crowley snorts and raises one eyebrow.

“No collection would be complete without Sendak’s entire body of work, now would it?”

“Dreaming about baking in the nude, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale’s brain flies out the window and into the gutter. “I--you--but--”

Crowley snickers, reaching for the copy of “In the Night Kitchen”.

Aziraphale takes it first, clutching it to his chest. “You demon! Do you enjoy making fun of me?”

Crowley’s smile slowly melts away. “I am not making fun of you, honest. It’s just …” Crowley looks frustrated, searching for his words and that alone appeases Aziraphale. “I like finding out that there are more layers to you than what you usually let people know, okay?”

It’s raw and honest and, frankly, adorable.

If Aziraphale wasn’t so worried about losing Crowley’s friendship, he would jump in his arms right there and then kiss the sarcasm out of him.

(It would take a while. Maybe even a lifetime. That doesn’t bother him. He’s willing to spend that time on this task.)

As it is, Aziraphale simply puts the book back on its shelf before clasping his hands in front of him. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Aziraphale chances a look at Crowley, who is busy pretending he finds the pattern on Aziraphale’s floor mind-riveting.

“How about that cocoa to go with your loaf?”

Crowley visibly chokes on air.

“Of bread! Your loaf of bread! That I bought!”

“... Right.”

Aziraphale all but runs to the safety of his kitchen where he gently smacks his head against a cupboard.

“Are you all right, Aziraphale?”

“Y-yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Aziraphale closes his eyes one moment before letting out a deep breath. “Do you have a milk preference? And do you want some sugar in your ….?”

Crowley appears next to him. “I wouldn’t mind if you have sheep milk--easier to digest.” Crowley takes a step that puts his hand almost on top of Aziraphale’s. “And I think I have all the sweetness I need.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale is absolutely not using his countertop as a crutch to keep himself upright while Crowley is standing so close to him.

Dear Lord, he smells like a cologne-scented pastry, and that is more appetizing than it should be.

“Perhaps if you mixed some honey in it, though …”

Aziraphale can’t help but beam at Crowley. “Now that’s an excellent idea, my dear! Go, sit, I’ll be with you in a jiffy.”

Crowley frowns at him, silently muttering “a jiffy?” but still complies with the command.

Aziraphale focuses on preparing their drinks, cutting slices of the delicious green tea loaf and putting them on a clean plate--more of a feat than you’d think--before joining Crowley.

And that’s when he almost drops the tray.

Because Crowley is not sitting on the couch, oh no Sir.

Crowley is sprawled on the couch, spread on the pleather like caramel on a crêpe.

“Com-comfortable, I believe?”

“Hm-hm.”

Aziraphale straightens up and bumps his hips against Crowley’s feet. “Leave some room for me, will you?”

Fussing over the cups and saucers, Aziraphale completely misses the fond look Crowley addresses in his direction as he sits more properly.

😇😈😇😈😇😈

“What are your plans for the weekend?” Crowley asks, wondering if today is the day he’ll finally get brave enough to ask Aziraphale if he’d like to--

“Would you care to accompany me to the auction I texted you about? Afterward, we could go get some sushis ….”

“Why do you need me, exactly?” Crowley cuts in. “It’s not like I know anything about books.”

(This is a blatant lie, for once. Crowley knows it, you know it, his shelves of astronomical and botanical books and romance novels know it. Aziraphale, however, does not. This will have to wait for Aziraphale to actually come to Anthony’s place, and, well, sorry dears, but Crowley is not there yet.

Pace yourself and enjoy the moment, will you?)

Aziraphale toys with the paper napkin, wringing it into oblivion. “Well, if I remember our brief moment as colleagues, you always seemed to be the … responsible, shall we say, um, perhaps, the sensible kind of fellow.”

Crowley barely resists the need to bark a laugh at that. As it is, he keeps it to a smirk stretching his lips as he leans back in his chair.“Hardly.”

“Now come on, dear,” Aziraphale tuts, oblivious to the way Crowley’s eyes widen at the term of endearment, “you would do a fantastic wingman to contain my enthusiasm.”

Crowley briefly raises his eyes to the ceiling--dear God, there is no way his former-colleague-turned-friend-could-be-more is not doing it on purpose, is there?--before sighing. “Why is there a need to contain your enthusiasm?”

Aziraphale gives him a look. 

“No, seriously, Angel,” he continues, this time being the oblivious one to the stunned look on Aziraphale’s face at his choice of words, “you do make a decent living, working for those vampires, why would you need to, um, contain your enthusiasm?”

“Because that’s the … reasonable, err, thing to do?”

“Screw reasonable, Aziraphale!” Crowley exclaims. “You’re not harming everybody, you are not going to spend all of your money during an auction. After all, there is only one book fitting your collection--”

“Oh. You looked at the catalog I sent you?”

“Of course,” Crowley shrugs, mildly offended. “So if you’re only looking to buy one book, why not splurge a little?”

“When you put it that way …”

“Treat yourself, Angel!”

“Clever tempter.” Aziraphale tries to look angry, but it only comes out as unbearably cute.

Crowley lets himself smile as fondly as his heart desires at Aziraphale. “Not much to tempt when it’s already what you wanted to do.”

“So?”

“So…?”

“So, will you come with me, Crowley?”

Oh, right, he never actually gave an answer did he? “I guess. If nothing else more interesting comes my way.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What? I may have hundreds of invitations waiting for me to give them a reply.”

“Dear,” Aziraphale says, his voice just lower enough to awaken an unidentified heat in Crowley’s stomach, “you’re the one who asked me if I had plans over the weekend.”

With a pat on Crowley’s knees, Aziraphale is up and already at the door with a wave. “See you Saturday on New Bond Street, Crowley!”

Crowley is left stunned in his chair, looking after the blond curls bobbing down the street.

The little devil.

😇😈😇😈😇😈

To be completely honest, Aziraphale wasn’t sure Crowley would show up.

After all, it is his only day of freedom before going back to a job that is far more physically demanding than Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale would completely understand if Crowley decided to just sleep it away.

(He would understand. He would be disappointed and sad, but that would be for him and for his pet to know.)

But no.

Next to the entrance of the auction house, in all his glorious lankiness draped in black, stands the man starring in a lot of Aziraphale’s dreams lately.

Oh, kindly get your mind out of the gutter, not all those dreams are of the pornographic variety.

(The key-word here being “not all”.)

Crowley’s hair is out of his usual messy bun, flowing in crimson rivlets around his angular face. Sunglasses firmly in place even though it is a cloudy day in London.

As for the rest of his attire, one would call it “punk chic” if one even dared to try and qualify Crowley’s …

Well.

Crowley as a whole is inqualifiable, isn’t he? Almost …

Ineffable.

And here he goes again, waxing poetic over Crowley while being too shy, awkward, afraid, to do something about it.

Would that be so hard? “Hey Crowley, thanks for coming, after the auction, would you fancy some dinner? No, not like the hundreds we already shared, no, this one would be special. A date. I’m asking you on a date. No? Preposterous? Oh, alright, back to business as usual then, see you Monday at the bakery.”

See? Not that hard. Hardly more than a band-aid ripped from one’s skin.

… Right. As if that simple mind simulation didn’t rip Aziraphale’s heart out of his chest, stomped on it before putting the beaten pulp back for him to heal.

“Right on time, Angel.”

The pet name never fails to cause more aortic gymnastics and Aziraphale beams at Crowley. “If right on time means half an hour before the auction, then, yes, right on time.”

Crowley digs his hands in his pockets, face turned to the ground. “I know you want to find a good spot to observe without being observed,” he mumbles as they enter the auction house and are directed toward the room. “Half an hour to do so sounds reasonable.”

“I appreciate the effort,” Aziraphale says lightly, lighter than he really feels. “I thought reason was your kryptonite.”

A crooked smile appears on Crowley’s face, and he pulls his glasses down just enough for Aziraphale to see him wink. “Among other things, Angel.”

Crowley takes two strides as Aziraphale is glued on the spot.

That--that was flirting, wasn’t it?

It has to mean something, doesn’t it?

Aziraphale is going to lose his darn mind trying to read between Crowley’s lines.

(And he loves every second of it, don’t get him wrong.)

“Now, do you prefer to sit in the back, or somewhere in the middle? I’d prefer somewhere where we can talk without disturbing anybody, even if the walls have ears,” Crowley is rambling, strutting--there is really no other way to put it--strutting his stuff back and forth across the room where the auction will be held. “Do books have ears?” he mutters, to Aziraphale’s complete delight, before snickering in a way that can only be described as adorable, as much as Crowley denies being anything approaching “adorable”, “cute” ou even just “nice”. “Though I suppose they can be eared.”

It requires a lot of focus on their surroundings and a massive amount of self-control for Aziraphale to keep himself from throwing himself at Crowley and kiss the living daylights out of him right then and there.

“Get it?” Crowley insists, his smile far too much for Aziraphale to handle. “Dog-eared?”

“I get it, dear,” Aziraphale says, willing his cheeks to return to their normal, pale complexion. In a very satisfying turn of event, his blush seems to transfer to Crowley’s cheeks, too. “Very funny, and contextually appropriate. Kudos.”

Crowley gives him a little curtsey before pointing at different seats. “So? The choice is yours, Angel.”

Oh, Aziraphale knows that there is a slight percentage of Crowley’s choice of pet name which is vaguely mocking. He knows.

He does love being called “Angel” by a man who looks like one himself, only in a more lustful way.

(Can angels be lustful creatures? There is a probably a whole moral and theological debate to have there, but he’ll keep it in mind for their next date-not-a-date-God-he-wishes-it-was-a-date.)

“Right this way,” Aziraphale points to two seats in second to last row, somewhere around the middle. “Perfect view, perfect to bid.”

As if summoned by magic, a paddle seems to appear in Crowley’s hand. Aziraphale eyes it warily as Crowley twirls it in the air. “Planning on bidding, dear?”

“Yep. You should get yours too.”

“Seriously?”

Crowley looks over the rim of his sunglasses to look at Aziraphale. “Deadly.”

Aziraphale attempts to glare a him as he stands, taking a double take to make sure that his companion is not pulling his leg. When Crowley has the audacity to make a “go on” motion, Aziraphale huffs and puffs all the way to the paddle counter.

“And what, pray tell, do you plan on bidding on, exactly?”

“Something awfully overpriced, just to make some idiots pay more than they should.”

“Oh, be serious, Crowley.”

The room fills up one person at a time, but as far as Aziraphale is concerned, it’s just the two of them.

“If you must know,” Crowley replies, a faint blush appearing on the apple of his cheeks (and on the tip of his ears, that is just … Aziraphale has no words), “while browsing the catalogue you sent me, I spotted a copy of a book that could look good on my shelves.”

“As in …?”

“As in, wait and see, good things come to those who wait, for Pete’s sake!”

Aziraphale smiles crookedly at that, as discretely as he can manage.

If he had any doubts, they’re all gone now. There is definitely more to Crowley than meets the eye. The man is not as blasé as he would like to appear.

Or maybe, just maybe, he only lets Aziraphale sees under all that nonchalance to show his true self.

That possibility almost makes him faint.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention,” the auctioneer calls with a too-white smile. “Let’s begin with the first lot of this English literature, History science and Children’s book auction, shall we?”

😈😇😈

It’s not that Crowley is a bibliophile--far from it.

He simply has a profound respect for books and the answers they can provide to all the questions in the Universe.

And sometimes, just for the fun of it, he likes to splurge on books which show how far Humanity has come, in terms of knowledge.

The irony of it all, and, though he’ll never admit it, the hope that lies between those lines.

If humanity is capable of growing out of a pit of superstitions and darkness, the future cannot be as bleak as it looks, can it?

Which leads us to the present moment, to the book he spotted in the aforementioned catalogue and wishes to purchase if it fits his splurging budget.

Rachel Bell Maiden’s “The Canape Book”.

The small book doesn’t look like much, on its podium, barely held upright by the handler’s gloved hand.

And yet, Crowley wants it like he doesn’t often want for things.

(A look on his left tells a different story, but a, this is not the place nor the time, and b, Crowley himself doesn’t want to admit to himself that he yearns.

Humans can be stupid like that.)

The green binding is pretty unique, or so Crowley has learned online, and he really, really ...

“Starting the auction at 200 pounds, do we have a bidder, I have an offer at 250 pounds …”

Crowley raises his paddle like a sword in the air.

“300 pounds to paddle 666. I have an offer at 325?”

One more lift.

“350, 350 to paddle 666. What about you, Sir, care to raise the stakes? No? On the phone?”

The auctioneer looks around the room and Crowley starts sweating. As it is, with the fees, and everything, the book is going to be right on the verge of extravagant for his budget.

But it is a good purchase, if only to find recipes to try with Aziraphale, sandwiches and cocktails that will make for splendid afternoon and fantastic evenings, perhaps a prelude to more if they--if he ever gets himself together.

“Going once, going twice …”

“Come on,” Crowley mutters between gritted teeth.

“And sold to paddle 666, congratulations sir.”

“Yesss,” Crowley cannot help but hiss as he puts the paddle away.

Still in the rush of the auction--and yes, it was a rush, shut up--he slides his hand over Aziraphale’s next to him. 

And Aziraphale doesn’t move it away.

Oh, no, quite the opposite actually: he turns his hand to clasp Crowley’s firmly and doesn’t let go.

“Congratulations, dear,” he whispers, close enough for his breath to tickle Crowley’s skin. “I hope to be as successful in my own endeavor.”

Crowley smiles bashfully. “Thank you, Angel.”

The fifty or so lots after that go by without Crowley noticing them.

A not so small part of him wishfully thinks that Aziraphale doesn’t pay much attention to it either.

When Aziraphale straightens up in his chair, paddle at the ready, Crowley turns his attention back to the room.

The big lot of the sale isn’t up yet, but a few heads are turning toward the three tan-leather bound books.

“Now, lot 69, a 1840 printing of Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist, in 3 volumes, signed by the illustrator George Cruikshank, we have a lot of interest from buyers over the phone, let’s start this auction at 1200 pounds. 1200, 1300, thank you Sir, 1400 for you Emma, 1400 over the phone, 1500 for me, 1600 over the phone with Tang, 1650 for me, 1650, do I have more bidding?”

Aziraphale raises his paddle and Crowley can feel his heart beating faster in his friend’s behalf.

Well, “friend”.

Whatever they are.

“1700 pounds for the paddle 29472, thank you Sir. 1700 in the room, not with me, not on the phone.”

Aziraphale wiggles in his chair, a proud smirk on his face.

“And 1800 for the paddle 75005.”

Aziraphale and Crowley snap their head toward the part of the room pointed by the auctioneer’s hammer. A smug looking person raises one eyebrow at them.

Aziraphale scowls at them and lifts his hand.

“1900, paddle 29472.”

“2000, paddle 75005...”

Crowley glances back at the catalogue when Aziraphale reaches 3000.

“Angel,” he whispers, “you’re at the higher estimate.”

“These books are mine,” Aziraphale growls back, and while the sound goes straight to Crowley’s bloodstream, it may be time for this whole affair to end.

Glaring at the back of Mx. 75005’s head, Crowley waits for them to lift their paddle, again, and turn to smirk at them, again.

Which they do--so predictable.

Crowley discreetly brings his thumb to his throat and hisses.

The person seems appropriately taken aback.

Aziraphale lifts his paddle one more time, bringing the auction to 3500 pounds.

“3500 pounds for paddle 29742, do you wish to continue, Sir?”

The person hesitates, glancing at them one more time. Crowley lowers his glasses to glare them into submission.

And then they shake their head.

“We’re at 3500 pounds for the gentleman with the paddle 29742, do I have any more bidder? Going once, going twice…”

Aziraphale is the one reaching for Crowley’s hand this time around.

“And sold. Congratulations, Sir. Now, moving on to lot 70 …”

“Unless you wish to stay for what most of these people consider to be the important lot of this sale,” Aziraphale whispers, his hand still clasping Crowley’s, “we can take our leave.”

“Do you want to see how it goes?”

“Nah, I’ll check the final results online.”

“Sure?”

“Sure. Let’s go. I feel peckish.”

“Peckish.”

“Indeed. How about some crepes?”

“Lead the way, Angel.”

😈😇😈😇😈

“Well, wasn’t that fun?” Aziraphale says happily, hands clasped in his back as they walk down the street.

“It was fun,” Crowley replies, a crooked smile on his face. “Especially to see that side of you, Angel.”

“Which side, my dear?”

“The feisty, slightly bastardish side, of course.”

Aziraphale wants to protest, he does, but even if he felt like lying to Crowley, he couldn’t possibly procede. And he can admit that he did let out his … inner bastard.

“Right. Well. I’m glad you enjoyed that.”

“You have no idea.”

Crowley’s voice catches Aziraphale’s attention. It’s soft suddenly around the edges, almost tender, almost fond.

Almost smitten.

Aziraphale searches Crowley’s face for more clues, but beside this smirk that has indeed softened into a grin, his blasted sunglasses block Aziraphale’s “reading”.

“Crowley …”

“Angel …”

They both start at the same time but Crowley shakes his head before Aziraphale can tell him to go ahead. “Never mind that. Where are you taking us?”

Aziraphale considers pushing it, once and for all--speak your mind and heart, damn you, so I can snog you senseless in the middle of Oxford Circus--but Crowley is not the kind of man you can push into confession, that much Aziraphale knows now.

“To my secret spot.”

Crowley’s face instantly matches the crimson lining of his jacket. “Cool. Do you take all your dates there?”

“I never brought anyone there, I’ll have you know,” Aziraphale replies over the pitter patter of his heart at the mention of this afternoon being a date. “But I--I want you to be my guest there.”

They reach a crossroad and Aziraphale brings his hands in front of him, nervouser and nervouser as Crowley remains silent.

Until, that is, Crowley’s hand enters his line of vision.

“Crowley?”

Crowley is not looking at him, but he still wiggles his fingers, prompting Aziraphale to take it.

“I would love to see your secret spot, Angel,” Crowley finally says, voice barely covering the hubbub around them. “I am--I am honored.”

It’s only because he knows the way so well that Aziraphale doesn’t lose them both in the streets, floating as he is on his very own cloud.

“This,” Crowley says with as much doubt as he can put in a single syllable, “is where you take me to have crêpes?”

“Indeed it is.”

“This restaurant? Really?”

“Don’t pass on such a hasty judgment,” Aziraphale tutts. “‘For by your words you will be acquitted and by your words you will be condemned’.”

Crowley groans as he follows him inside the tiny Japanese restaurant. “Quoting scriptures at me now? Why, oh why would you do that?”

Aziraphale salutes the owner before taking “his” seat, inviting Crowley to join him. “If only to make you admit that you knew the source of my quote, you fallen soul. And to gently ask you not to say another word before you have a chance to try their desserts.”

“Fine, fine, I suppose I can put my judgmental side on hold for a moment with you.”

Oh. Wow. That’s too much, too fast, wow.

All Aziraphale can do on the outside is clearing his throat and pulling the menu in front of him.

“I mean--” Crowley starts, but Aziraphale cuts him short. 

“Should we split one plate of crêpes, or should we share two plates, I don’t know, I--I, um, I know I have built an appetite with the adrenaline and all, but how do you feel?”

Crowley shrugs, pulling off his glasses to clean them with his scarf. “You’re the connoisseur, you decide. I’m putting my faith in you, Angel.”

But all of Aziraphale’s knowledge and appreciation for the crêpe cakes on the menu flew out the window the moment Crowley’s eyes came into view.

They’re such a peculiar shade, a mesmerizing golden amber Aziraphale could bask in for all of Eternity.

“-raphale?”

“Uh? Sorry, my dear boy, I was--I was lost in thoughts.”

“Pure, happy thoughts?”

“Enough to make me fly if I had any fairy dust.”

Crowley opens and closes his mouth, the smile left behind enough for Aziraphale to gather that he has a joke on the tip of his tongue and is refraining out of the goodness of his heart.

“You were saying?” he asks instead, folding back the menu to focus on Crowley, now that those jewelled eyes are once again hidden.

(What a shame, but what a relief for his poor heart, too.)

“I was asking you what was your favorite cake?”

“Depends on my mood,” Aziraphale replies, more comfortable on the subject of food. “A good vanilla crêpe can do the trick but when I feel like treating myself properly …”

“Yess?”

“Chestnut and chocolate is my go-to.”

“An interesting combination.”

“A scrumptious combination!” Aziraphale claps his hands. “Oh, that makes my decision easier. We must simply try that.”

Aziraphale’s favorite waiter approaches and they exchange a few words in Japanese before Aziraphale places his order.

As he leaves them to it, Aziraphale turns back to Crowley who is gawking at him.

“What?”

Crowley clears his throat and chuckles awkwardly. “You--you speak Japanese?”

“Oh, yes, I do, don’t I?”

Crowley cocks his head to the side, fingers drumming on the tablecloth.

Aziraphale starts fidgeting under such intense scrutiny. “What’s so special about it, anyway? I’m sure you speak other languages, too.”

It comes out a bit more defensively than he really intended to. There is just something about Crowley that reveals his darker side.

Crowley smirks, still drumming on the table. “I speak Scottish, if that counts.”

“Of course it does.”

“And I suppose I can manage with French, but nothing as … exotic as Japanese.”

“French?”

“Tout à fait.”

Isn’t it funny, how we sometimes discover things about ourselves late in life?

As it is, until this very moment, Aziraphale had no idea that a few words uttered in French could affect him as it does.

But affected he is, and to his core.

“Mighty useful, French, when you enjoy baking,” Crowley continues, seemingly unaware of the sudden heat threatening to consume his companion on the spot. “So many French words just to talk about ingredients. Beurre noisette, crème pâtissière, sucre boulé …”

“Would you teach me?”

Crowley stops in his tracks and looks at Aziraphale over the rim of his glasses. “French, or baking?”

“Both?”

Oh, it’s not that Aziraphale doesn’t see how either lesson could turn into an apocalyptic sort of disaster. He does, he absolutely, with great clarity, does.

But on the other hand, this kind of apocalypse would inevitably lead to him and Crowley spending more time together, getting closer, until Aziraphale would be able to whisper his freshly acquired vocabulary into the meat of Crowley’s skin.

So, yes, Aziraphale would take the risk of an apocalypse of embarrassment for the reward of successfully wooing Crowley.

“That could be fun,” Crowley replies just as the crêpes land on their table, his hand suddenly covering Aziraphale in a sneak attack. “If you teach me something in return.”

Oh, boy.

“What would you want me to teach you?” Aziraphale asks.

“You could teach me Japanese,” Crowley replies, taking his hand back--both a blessing and a curse. “Or fencing.”

Aziraphale freezes. “How do you know I fence?”

Crowley sits back in his chair, cup of tea in his hand as he slouches. “Something in your posture, Angel,” he replies, gesturing in Aziraphale’s direction. “It was either fencing or horse riding.”

“And how do you know it’s not horse riding?”

“Hard on the buttocks, horses. Bit of a flaw in the design, if you ask me. But you don’t strike me as someone who would inflict such pain on his buttocks.”

Such a sentence promptly produces images of Crowley thinking about the comfort of his buttocks, which, if you are in Aziraphale’s mind, doesn’t take too long before derailing into Crowley taking care of his ass.

Not that Aziraphale’s mind needs much prompting to go in that direction nowadays.

“Touché,” is all he can say without making a fool of himself in the middle of his favorite restaurant. To cover for his sudden silence, he picks up a fork to dig into the crêpes.

Ah, crêpes.

Even when they are average, they are the superior dessert, snack and culinary creation altogether.

Aziraphale takes a moment to enjoy his first bite. Much like a French philosopher, Aziraphale thinks that as enjoyable a thing may be, nothing can surpass the happiness brought by the first bite, first sip, first encounter.

The crêpes are thin yet soft, with a delicate crispy ring on the edges. In the center, the pieces of chocolate are on the verge of being completely melted, but not yet, while the crushed chestnuts are bringing some texture to the whole plate.

Aziraphale hums in his delight, before pushing the plate toward Crowley. “Where are my manners? You’re the one who has to try this for the first time.”

Crowley picks up a fork, turning the plate so he can face an untouched part of the crêpe. Aziraphale carefully watches his face for his reaction.

His mind takes another turn for the gutter at the way Crowley flicks his tongue at the fork before closing his lips around it, but then.

Then.

Crowley’s eyes widens, visible even from behind the tainted lenses and he lets out a soft, heartfelt moan that seems to fly directly through Aziraphale’s veins and straight to his heart.

“That’s--” Crowley starts, a pink flush appearing on his high cheeks. “It’s delicious!”

A small part of Aziraphale’s mind takes pride in making his … friend discover such a pleasure, but most of it is entirely consumed by the way Crowley looks at the moment.

Amazement colors his features, and the largest smile Aziraphale has ever seen on his face stretches his lips.

If Aziraphale thought he had a crush on the lanky man before, that is nothing compared to the rush of, well, Love he feels right now.

“I can understand why you kept this place a secret, Angel,” Crowley says, picking a second piece of the crêpe cake. “This is truly a slice of Heaven.”

Aziraphale lets out a short giggle before smothering it with a forkful of cake.

“Aziraphale.”

“Yes, dear?”

Crowley removes his glasses completely before cupping his face in his palm. The sight of those golden eyes, with their oh so particular shade, short-circuits Aziraphale’s brain.

Particularly because of the fondness warming them.

“May I tempt you for dinner?”

“T-tempt me?”

Crowley cocks one eyebrow at him. “Well, asking you for dinner on my terms means making you leave work early, thus tempting you away from them all.”

“Them?”

“The parasites who used to be my colleagues.”

And just like that, the warm feelings in Aziraphale’s chest melt away. “Parasites?”

Crowley must hear the change of tone in his voice. “Well,” he straightens up while managing to still slouch in his chair, “you know. Gabriel, Michael, all those who act all holier than thou.”

Aziraphale feels hurt--he isn’t quite sure if he feels attacked or if it’s just a sense of professional duty. “Aren’t I one of them too?”

Crowley puts his sunglasses back on. “You work there, yes, but you are not one of them,” he replies emphatically.

“How so?”

“I know so.”

Aziraphale swipes his face with his hand. “I know I should take your words as a compliment, but what makes you so sure that I’m not like them?!”

Crowley smiles at him, blinding and, and, loving, yes. “I know you would never take advantage of the people who have faith in you,” he replies simply. “And that you are more layered than any of those buffoons.”

“Oh.”

“And given the chance, you wouldn’t work for them.”

It’s Aziraphale’s turn to raise an eyebrow at Crowley. “Oh really. And what would I rather do?”

“I think that you would be way happier if your job involved books and making people happy.”

Aziraphale blinks at the image those words paint.

Far too appealing an image. He needs to stir the conversation away from it.

“To answer your earlier proposal …”

“Hmm yes?”

“I would love to let you tempt me.”

“Great.” Crowley beams at him. “Meet me at the bakery around 5pm.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

😈😇😈😇😈

The thing you need to know about Crowley is that he’s a perfectionnist.

Oh, maybe you already gathered as much about him from the rest of the story already.

But anyway, that is to say that in preparation for his date--because yes, this is officially a date, if the previous day wasn’t already one--, Crowley spends the night trying to figure out the best sweets to treat his angel to.

(Yes, his. Aziraphale is his. Move on.)

He considers making a decadent crepe cake, perhaps even on with a heart hidden in its center, cliché be damned, but does he really want to enter a competition with Aziraphale’s favorite dessert on their first date?

No, he doesn’t. Maybe later, once they will have dated for a while, for a special occasion perhaps.

No, for now, Crowley needs to blow Aziraphale’s mind and tastebuds.

(No, Crowley is absolutely not considering blowing anything else. Who do you take him for? 

… If the mood seems right.

Maybe.

Possibly.)

The rest of the meny is fairly simple: Crowley knows Aziraphale’s tastes now. Fresh, quality ingredients, some fancy ones but nothing that can take him away from the ultimate prize that is the dessert.

So he decided to start with oysters (which doesn’t require a lot of preparation, juste the mignonette sauce).

Pros: it’s easy, fresh and aphrodisiac.

Cons: the shells. But Crowley will deal with them later.

For the main dish, Crowley goes with a pancetta and butternut squash risotto.

Pros: he can prepare it in advance and simply reheat it when needed (and he totally prepares it while considering his dessert options).

Cons: well, there are ways to fail at making a risotto, but this is not Crowley’s first risotto. He knows where the potential failure lies, and he sidesteps it like a pro.

And now back to the dessert.

If everything goes as well as Crowley wishes, thinks, hopes it will go, then by the time they get to dessert, they will both want to get closer.

Maybe kiss.

Maybe hold each other.

(Oh, to feel Aziraphale’s soft body pressed against his. Now that would be his treat.)

In order to to so, Crowley has two choices, really.

Either a dessert they can feed to each other, like an ice cream or a mousse of some sorts, or a dessert they can nibble on, like some kinds of biscuits or--

Hold that thought.

Crowley applauds himself before going through the pages of his book.

“Good Nommins: Agnes Nutter’s Nice and Accurate Recipes”, a book he got from his great-great-great-great aunt. All of Crowley’s recipes are a variation he played from those ancient recipes.

And there is something he thinks will do the trick.

So, yes, he spends the night trying recipes, finding ways to recycle what doesn’t make the cut (an unsuitable cookie is only a good cheesecake crust waiting to happen) until Crowley is sure he has the right treat.

And now he is.

At 5 a.m.

Which means that there is no point in going to bed now, is there, since he has to be at the bakery in one hour.

That’s alright, though. Crowley doesn’t really mind, especially considering the ultimate goal. Mission Woo Aziraphale Eastgate out of his waistcoat, dot dot dot, is a go.

😈😇😈

Crowley is waiting for Aziraphale in front of the bakery and he does his best not to be nervous.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Crowley is too tired to hide that Beelzy managed to surprise him.

“I’m waiting. For my, um, my friend.”

“Right,” they drawl, fixing the brooch on their lapel. “Your … friend, the blondy from the vampire office.”

“You know them?”

“Got my loan from them.”

Crowley can’t help but pull a face.

“And my regular booty call.”

Crowley’s grimace takes a turn for the worse. “Isn’t that what people call a boyfriend?”

Beelzy makes a gagging sound. “Don’t be gross. Okay, I’m off. See you tomorrow? I’d like to talk to you about something.”

“Should I worry?”

“Do or do not, I don’t care. Bye!”

Crowley is still frowning after them when Aziraphale taps on his shoulder, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Good afternoon, dear!” Aziraphale says, rocking on his heels. “So, where are we going?”

Crowley leans in to kiss Aziraphale’s cheek, bringing the rocking to a stop. 

“Follow me.”

😈😇😈😇😈

Aziraphale doesn’t quite know what makes him trust Crowley so much that he’s willing to follow him through the streets of London until they reach what looks like an old factory.

“What is--where are we, dear boy?”

“My place, Angel.”

(I told you it would come in the proper time, didn’t I, dear readers? Good things come to those who wait.)

“Your--your place?”

“I thought it would be better to have an intimate setting for our, err, first, you know,” Crowley says while opening his door.

Aziraphale’s brain has already melted at the word “intimate”, but the design of Crowley’s flat finishes the job.

Given the look of the building, Aziraphale expected something rough, somehow bohemian. The idea doesn’t quite fit Crowley’s general look, but what does he know, right?

But that flat!

Everything is sleek and modern, except for the kitchen which has a wooden counter, but even that part of the flat is in the darker shades, black wood and metal.

Though the space is not big, the whole space is tidy and sparkly clean, a complete opposite to the way Aziraphale himself keeps his own flat. Next to the windows, which could be seen from the outside, stand giant plants. Monstera, succulents and alocasia fill in the space, probably eating up the light during the day.

It’s the most luxurious private garden Aziraphale has ever seen. Next to them, in the biggest sunlight spot, stands a vivarium with a napping snake.

Now, that fits the picture of Crowley he has built in his mind.

“Welcome to my casa,” Crowley tells him, taking off his jacket and sending it with a scary accuracy onto the hook. Aziraphale doesn’t trust his own talent and goes to hang his own coat. “I hope you don’t mind Newt?”

“You have a lovely home, Anthony,” he replies instead, looking around. A door is closed, probably leading to Crowley’s private parts of the flat--and Aziraphale is now very intrigued to know more about the kind of bedding Crowley likes to sleep in, while the main room is split between the living room, where the plants are, and the kitchen, where Crowley is standing.

His sleeves rolled up to his elbows, good Lord.

“Thank you, Aziraphale,” Crowley replies softly, simultaneously opening the refrigerator and turning the fire on under a large pan.

For some reason, hearing his first name in Crowley’s mouth is even better than the pet name he got used to.

“Is there something I can do?”

“Make yourself comfortable, angel, and perhaps open a bottle of wine?”

Aziraphale works quickly to open the bottle of red wine in order to be able to return to his gawking at Crowley in action.

“Anthony?”

“Yes?”

“This is a date, right?”

Crowley freezes before nodding.

“I’m really glad it is.”

Crowley comes to sit at the table too, a large plate covered in oysters and a light vinegary sauce. He has a small smile, almost shy. “I’m really glad too.”

“Oh, oysters,” Aziraphale can’t help but sigh happily. “How did you know that they are my “péché mignon”?”

“I had a hunch,” Crowley says, pushing the plate toward Aziraphale.

“You have a lot of them, about me?”

“Quite a few.” Here is that smile again, soft and warm and reaching into Aziraphale’s body to seize his heart in the most tender way.

Aziraphale tries to hide his blush by slurping on an oyster, the peppercorn and the vinegar heightening the ioded taste of the mollusk.

“That’s delicious.”

“I’m glad.”

“How are you so good at cooking?”

That, more than anything else, gets Crowley started, and the hours tick by as they devour the plate of oysters and then the entire pan of risotto, spoonful by spoonful, while Crowley talks about his childhood, his desire to cook and his incessant need to ask questions to understand, really, the why’s and how’s of the universe. Aziraphale interjects some questions, mostly savouring both the food and the way Crowley seems to lighten up from the inside as they move to the plush looking couch in the living room. Truth be told, he becomes more alive the emptier the bottle becomes, sure, and his speech makes less and less sense, but it only makes him more attractive in Aziraphale’s eyes.

“And then, then--” Crowley pauses, pouting. “What was I saying?”

Aziraphale blinks, and yes, he is quite inebriated himself. “Something about fish soup?”

“Bouillabaisse! Yes!”

“What about bulibaze?”

“... I don’t know. But it’s bloody good.”

Aziraphale starts giggling, and when he looks up again to pour himself another glass, Crowley is sitting far closer than he was just a moment ago.

“Oh.”

Crowley’s hair is ruffled and soft-looking, begging for Aziraphale to pass his fingers through them. His eyes are dark, a golden circle surrounding his irises. And his mouth is …

It’s calling for Aziraphale’s touch, that’s what it is.

They both lean closer, and Aziraphale licks his lips the moment Crowley bites on his lower lip.

“I have dessert.”

“You--uh?”

Crowley leans back, still close enough that Aziraphale can feel his body heat radiating on his left side.

“I prepared a dessert. For you. A special dessert.”

I could be happy with you as my dessert, fleetingly crosses Aziraphale’s mind but in the ranking of his sins, gluttony must supersedes lust because he is immediately curious.

“A special dessert for me?”

Crowley winks, the devil, before jumping out of the couch and sautering to the kitchen.

While he waits, Aziraphale tries to compose himself. 

Oh, he has every intention of bringing what almost happened to something that definitely happened, but he doesn’t want it to be a drunken, or worse, rushed moment.

Hence the composing.

“Tadaaa,” Crowley singsongs as he brings a plate to his coffee table. The plate is covered in thin golden biscuits, as thin as paper, rolled up and folded.

“Oh, lovely!” Aziraphale picks up one of the biscuits. It’s amazingly light and buttery. “What are those?”

“They have two names,” Crowley explains, pushing forward Aziraphale’s glass. “They’re known as gavottes, or as crêpes dentelles.”

Aziraphale recognizes the first word. “Those are crêpe biscuits?”

“Yes.”

“And you made them for me.”

“... Yes, angel.”

Aziraphale delicately puts the biscuit back on the plate.

“What are y--”

Crowley doesn’t get to finish his sentence, his lips otherwise occupied by Aziraphale’s.

After months of dreaming about it, picturing how it would be, the reality of kissing Crowley is even better than he imagined. It’s soft and passionate and clumsy and perfect, all at once.

Crowley wraps his arms around him, pulling him closer until Aziraphale is practically lying on top of Crowley on the couch.

Clumsy? Definitely.

Uncomfortable? Just a little bit.

Everything Aziraphale wished for? And more.

Crowley moans into the kiss, and it’s not necessarily the good kind of moans. Aziraphale pushes himself up. “Everything alright, my dear boy?”

“Hm-hm,” Crowley replies, looking a bit dizzy. “Just, let me--agh--” Crowley winces, reaching behind him and picking a book. He glares at it, putting it on the table, before returning his gaze to Aziraphale. The love and adoration in those golden eyes render Aziraphale silent. “Better. Now, where were we?”

Aziraphale smiles, caressing Crowley’s cheek. “At the beginning of forever, I believe,” he whispers, before diving in for another kiss.

(They do get to the gavottes, eventually, once Aziraphale is out of his waistcoat and his shirt is opened, and once Crowley’s pants have been opened.)

😈😇😈😇😈

It’s a heartbreak to part, but on the other hand, they make the journey from Crowley’s flat to the street where they both work together, so Crowley counts that as a win.

He waits for Aziraphale to pause at the entrance of his building, smiling at him one more time before they meet again in the evening, before entering the bakery.

“Ah, just the man I wanted to see.” Beelzy’s words contrast with their tone, but Crowley is used to that by now.”

“What can I do for you, my Lord?”

“Do you enjoy your job?”

“I--I do. Did I give you the impression I wanted to leave?”

“No. Then again, I don’t usually care.”

“Oh. Then why--”

“I don’t want to work anymore. So. Are you interested?”

Crowley feels like he has entered the Twilight Zone. “Interested in?”

“In the shop, you imbecile. Wasn’t I clear?”

“Not really, no. But I could be interested.”

Beelzebub smiles at him. “Not so dumb after all then. Take your time, think about it, and come back tomorrow with your answer. I’m off now.”

With that, they walk out of the shop, leaving him alone with more to think about that he thought he would have on this day.

😈😇😈

“Are you interested?”

Crowley walks back and forth in Aziraphale’s living room, after retelling him of his boss’s proposal.

“I am! Of course I am!” he exclaims. “Fancy me, business owner. In charge of …”

“Of everything.”

“Oh God.”

“I’m sure you could do it,” Aziraphale points out, before sipping out of his mug of tea. “You have all it takes to turn this business into a success.”

“Except for the will to be responsible for it.”

“Hm.”

Crowley pauses. “Do you really think I could do it?”

“I do. You’re smart, creative, intuitive. You can do it.”

Crowley leans over the table to kiss Aziraphale before resuming his walking around. “But what of the money?”

“You have your severance money from Heavs.”

“True.”

“And, um.”

“What?”

Aziraphale wiggles on his spot. “I could, um, invest in it too?”

Crowley freezes. “You? What?”

Aziraphale stands to come in front of him. “I have money I could invest in your business.”

Crowley opens and closes his mouth like a fish; he’s sure it’s not attractive, but he can’t do anything else.

“Or better yet?”

“Better?”

Aziraphale nods. “I could … be a partner.”

Crowley feels his face heating up but he focuses. “A partner?”

“Yes.”

“Care to develop on that idea, Angel?”

“I could--that is, I have been thinking.”

“Yes?”

Aziraphale takes a deep breath and then unloads all of the following in seemingly one breath.

“I have been miserable at my job for a while now, even though I’m quite good at it. I just, just, have enough of it, and I don’t think my soul can take much more of it. Meanwhile, I can see myself having a library of sorts, making my books available for all to peruse and enjoy while, I don’t know, maybe, savor some mini pastries?”

Crowley stares at him.

That idea is crazy.

Demented.

Completely out of this world.

Doesn’t make a lick of sense.

… Exactly what he wants, without ever knowing he did.

And yet, what comes out of his mouth next doesn’t make much sense either.

“You’d let people eat or drink near your books?”

Aziraphale had his mouth open to keep on babbling about his plans, but Crowley’s interjection brings him to a halt and he beams at him.

“I would. Would be rather hypocritical of me not to when I do it so often, wouldn’t it?”

“Ah. Right.”

Aziraphale takes Crowley’s hand and brings it to his lips to kiss his knuckles. “Was that your only objection, my dear, dear boy?”

Crowley’s brain fires up before he can get back to his senses. “I would love for us to be partners.”

“You would.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever had a better idea, Angel.”

Aziraphale pulls on Crowley’s hand, pulling him closer, pulling him to him so they can kiss. “I do have a lot of ideas, Anthony.”

“Can’t wait to test them all, Aziraphale.”

(It takes them a moment to get their shop running, but eventually, Londoners get to enter “Above and Below”, thus named for the nurturing of the mind, through the books-- above-- and the body, through the food--below.

Crowley finds a way to make one-bite delicacies that match some of the books and Aziraphale is the one making the match when it’s not obvious.

They work well together, what can we say?) 

~~ The End ~~

[speckledspout]

moving on but not forgetting;

so, here we are. or, at least i should say, here i am. at the end of a very long road with a single turn to take and unfortunately, it’s taking me away from the way that i’ve been going down for a very long time now.

as i’m sure those of you who have followed me for a long time and actually kept up with me have realized that i’m not around anymore. i don’t really post anymore other than every once in a blue moon.

before i beat around the bush some more, i just need to come out and say it, i will no longer be a supernatural blog. i don’t know what this blog will become to be honest. it’s not really going to go the way of a multi-fandom account because i don’t follow enough shows or have been as invested in them as i have been with supernatural.

i don’t know what it is because it’s really sad to actually sit back and say that i don’t feel the same way about the show that i once did. like supernatural consumed my life. i wrote fan fiction everyday. i loved making edits. i scrolled through tumblr admiring all the graphics and gifs that all of the wonderful creators put out into the world. but somewhere along the line, i started to get closer and closer to the end of the road and i’ve tried to prolong it as much as i could but now i really can’t anymore.

i’ve been away from tumblr for a while now. a long while. like the last time i actually remember actively blogging rather than just trying to set up my queue was almost a year ago so i’ve had some time to think, i guess.

i do have my frustrations with the show. maybe that contributed to the fact that i’m not as consumed with it as much as i was. throughout the years i’ve watched these beloved characters turn into a joke and the storylines turn even more crazy to the point where it almost doesn’t feel like the same show anymore. this isn’t a diss on the actors or writers in anyway, so don’t think it is. as a writer, i know how difficult it is to keep producing good, original content. and that’s coming from a little fix writer who had a small following. i can’t imagine how difficult it is for the actual writers to have to keep coming up with a story 15 years later. i’m a realist and i know that they couldn’t have done the monster-of-the-week for this long, no matter how much i loved it but still, with that being said, the show is just different and for some, it’s a good different. they like how it’s turned out and honestly, i am happy for you if that is you but i guess, i don’t like change. i like things the way they were. now, don’t get me wrong, i am absolutely going to watch this final season. i mean, how can i not? i’ve watched supernatural for the last ten years, how can i not watch the season that is going to bring everything together (and if the writers are doing what i think they’re doing, i’m excited about it.)

but you know, the more i think about it, it’s not just the way that the show has gone that’s made me pull away. a lot of things outside the show has. one of which being the negativity that’s within this fandom. i know, you control your own tumblr experience and all that jazz but still, like you see things, you hear things, it gets under your skin. but still, when i first joined the fandom, everyone preached unity and that we’re a family and honestly, throughout the years, it’s seemed kinda hypocritical. like little things seem to set people off. not just with the show but with the actors and instead of tumblr being a place were i would go to relax and blog about my favorite tv show, it became cumbersome to log on and see people hating on each other or hating on the actors because of a comment they said or this or that.

i never really planned on going on a hiatus and i didn’t plan on staying on hiatus but thinking back on it, now that i have the clarity, the fandom was just a mess when i left. it put me in a bad spot mentally. and some of that stems from the fact that i hit a peak with my writing and people seemed to love it and then it started to die off. i would kill myself trying to produce new content with very little gain because people would tell me they would want more and then no one would comment or like or whatever. i had an ample tag list of people who would ask me to tag and other than the very few followers that were with me since day one, i would hear nothing from anyone else. it’s kinda a confidence blow, you know.

but anyway, tumblr no longer was a place where i either felt welcomed and were i wanted to go and now, i just need to let that part of my life go.

now, with all of that being said, i am not deleting this blog. i am not purging it. my fics will stay up on ao3. they will stay here. i am tempted to go through and delete a lot of things that i’ve reblogged cause i have close to 50,000 things reblogged and honestly that’s a lot but i am moving away from supernatural.

i will be changing my url. i’ll be changing the content that i’m posting. i probably won’t ever write another supernatural fic (and wow, that right there hurts to say). this blog, i think will change into more of an aesthetic blog. i’ll still post some supernatural stuff here and there because it was such a big part of my life for a long time but this blog will not longer be a supernatural blog.

i do, however, just want to take a moment and thank everyone for standing by me for so long. i want to thank everyone for supporting my highs and helping me through my lows. i wouldn’t have gotten to where i am now if it weren’t for y’all so i really do thank you for that.

and if you decide that you want to unfollow me, i am completely okay with that. i don’t blame you. there will be no hard feelings whatsoever. you followed me for supernatural and now i am not that. but still, just thank you, for everything.

[scarlettlawyer]

Part 4 of my commentary of @renegadewangs‘ fanfic series Phantoms and Mirages.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Now, onto Haunted Specters! God, I love Haunted Specters.

It’s such a pivotal and crucial stepping stone. Just about all the major actors on the playing board, and in fact, the playing board itself all get rearranged in a careful balancing act that sets the scene anew.

It is, or at least it was, SUCH an incredible struggle for me to reconcile the phantom from the previous fic with the phantom we see in this one (and subsequent instalments, even) upon taking a step back, and with good reason, although for me the divide ran a little deeper, as it completely boggled my mind how this was somehow the same character being written by the same author, let alone belonging to the same fic series that somehow had a line of continuity where it made sense for these characters to end up in these situations – this situation.

I don’t merely refer to the phantom’s characterisation – what’s so great is that you can totally get away with writing him in this manner and have the audience accept it, seeing as he’s suffered a traumatic brain injury from the fall. It allows for a great amount of freedom for what direction to take the character in that would have been absent before.

No, I also refer here to (of course) the dynamic he shares with the other characters, the way he is portrayed and positioned by the narrative, and lastly, my own personal approach to reading and my feelings towards – level of investment in the character as he is in this series. As I’ve rehashed many times, I wasn’t very absorbed in or on board with this series’ version of the phantom for a lot of the previous fic when I first read it, at least until the end. But now, going into this fic, I was fully invested in especially seeing and learning what changes and impact the fall had made on him, and there was a new, thrilling level of unpredictability attached not only to the character, but to the plot itself.

By all accounts, the series so far had set me up to want to see how Blackquill and Bobby were finally going to take down the Big, Bad, Evil Phantom once and for all. How they would, against the odds, track him down and apprehend him against his will in what was bound to be an epic showdown. I was ready for that. It’s what I wanted to see. When I previously mentioned wanting – yearning for a “slightly lighter take” in my first post? That was gone now. I was ready for some pizza, at last. It’s what I had been conditioned to expect so far, so I was like, why not? I was like, heck yeah, let’s do this.

And yet, the narrative didn’t hesitate to seem to want to throw all of this out the window altogether. My expectations completely and utterly thwarted, I found myself realising I really had no idea what direction this could possibly be going in (or why my expectations had been thwarted so thoroughly like this). I well and truly had no idea what would happen next most of the time, because I couldn’t fathom where things could possibly go, and that had me hooked to reading, so eager to know what would happen next since it was such a mystery.

Rereading Chasing Phantoms as I have done for these commentary posts was helpful in truly establishing in my mind that yes, that was the same phantom, the same phantom, the same man that is present continuously within this series. That needed to be reconciled not just with regards to portrayal, but also my own misconceptions outside of that about how the story and character were constructed back then.

But I’m getting a little ahead of myself here, so let’s start off with looking at the first few chapters.

Haunted Specters, Chapter 1

…You know, right off the bat, I know/figure this series was mostly (if not wholly) written prior to the release of SOJ, and yet. I could be wrong but it looks like all of the provided dates still seem to match up in order to make it remain fully compliant to ace attorney canon. As in, there’s nothing directly contradicting it. And if that really is the case, well that’s just pretty damn awesome all around. AA7 will surely come along in future and ruin the fun of that I’m guessing, but for the time being, you can’t tell me all of this stuff wasn’t happening in the background even as AA6 was going on. AA6 all seems to take place prior to chapter 1, anyway. God bless timeskips!

...Wait, wait, coming back to edit this much later: scrap that. Apollo’s presence throws a spanner in the works. Ah, well. We can work around that, I’m sure. I’m gonna play around with it in my mind until it fits, somehow. :P Even later edit: Oh also Gaspen.

When Simon left the office, he couldn’t quite keep the broad grin from his face, nor the light skip from his stride.

This is so cute oh gosh happy Simon!

Save it for a more appropriate time- that was what his therapist had taught him.

Oh? Oh really? Is that so? Who might that be? No one important? Oh you mean? You mean the courtroom sniper? Is that right? You mean the phantom’s future

Boyfriend?

Nah, that can’t be right. Carry on then.

Hah, don’t worry, I’m not complaining. Lang Zi says: A man who cannot keep his own affairs in order lacks the competence to be having affairs.” “… No offense, Lang-dono, but at times the suspicion dawns on me that perhaps you’re making some of these sayings up as you go.” “This coming from the man who has a thousand and one prison anecdotes to share?” Lang paused for a moment, then his voice took on a much more serious note. “Anyway, I’m not calling for idle banter.”

“Haha, yeah, good one, so anyway, there’s a good chance your boyfriend might be dead.”

Haunted Specters, Chapter 2

“No! Hold it! Mr. Butz had no reason to kill anyone!”

I WAS WONDERING IF THE DEFENDANT WAS SOMEONE WE KNEW SKNJSDNKJ

“So tell him to hold off on ordering another useless gravestone with my name on it. In fact, tell him to stop looking for me while you’re at it.”

ANOTHER- god I love how completely wack some of these characters’ lives are/have been.

“… I gave him your regards. I gave him your regards, and then some.”

Me, known phantom fangirl trash: OH GOSH IS HE OKAY???

Me, knowing full-well that Bobby would be 100% justified acting in self-defense against a known emotionless killer, therefore also with somewhat mock concern: OH BOBBY PLEASE TELL ME YOU DIDN’T HURT HIM

(Oh, but he didn’t. I needn’t have worried.)

Ah, I’ve been sitting here, wondering what I can say to this. How his assessment is completely aligned with reader expectations and further sets them up only to be subverted, how far off his guesses are… I just… “even the tiniest glimpse of him” they’re… they’re sharing an apartment… Yeah. We’ll get there. I couldn’t find an appropriate reaction image to the above block of text, really.

Haunted Specters, Chapter 3

Okay this is extremely pernickety, and I apologise, but…

And, mind you, I usually pay no attention whatsoever to these things, and it honest to goodness makes no difference at all in the end – if the narrative says it’s Tuesday, then it’s Tuesday. Simple as that. I merely looked it up out of curiosity and because I’ve annoyingly taken it upon myself to micro-analyse everything in this fanfiction series like a little pest. I also kinda figured because you are picking out the dates and actively calling attention to the day of the week, that you would have some kind of system that you are sticking to for it (and the vast majority of details added into your fic was done so meticulously). And maybe Google is off on the calculation and you got it right, heh. But yeah, I definitely paid no real mind to this at all when reading it the first time around.

But then… Even if Fulbright was now avoiding help from the people close to him, that didn’t mean there weren’t any people close to him. Similarly, the Phantom could never quite work alone.

Okay, okay. I know this is a direct lead-in to re-introducing Domestique into the mix, but… oh my gosh. You really just went right ahead and… Hm! The phantom can never quite work alone. He is working with Bobby right now, as a matter of speaking.

Also. I really like Domestique’s dialogue when he’s forced to face Simon, gosh. Just so unabashedly in-your-face, so dotted with swears, it’s kinda great, really.

I ESPECIALLY LOVE THIS LINE FROM HIM:

Because honest-to-goodness, it’s kinda funny how direct it is (and the “THAT’S TWO DIFFERENT COUNTRIES” asdgd), but also rings really true in a “this is exactly what someone like this would say in this situation” way – exactly how they’d phrase it.

…

Oh, I love. This meeting between Bobby and the phantom at the end of the chapter. It’s – aaah. Very good. With the way it’s set out, you’re somewhat kinda like, oh, huh, is it really him though? Could it really be him? But the narrative goes right ahead and keeps dropping explicit hints. It still doesn’t outright confirm it, leaving the slightest hint of plausible deniability that perhaps this is a New Character we’re being introduced to, but… :D

Haunted Specters, Chapter 4

Even the revelation that the Chief Prosecutor had helped uncover a mole who’d been hiding right by Lang’s side was a story that’d spread through hearsay only.

Second reference to the Her 👀 (yes, I’ve been paying attention to that on this readthrough).

“Coupons. Ambassador Palaeno sends me a considerable package of these things every year, yet I find no use for them. They’re redeemable only in Cohdopia itself, so I’m sure you see my problem.”

Bro. Bro you keep making vague references to characters only for them to actually become super important and plot-relevant later on. I’m blindsided every time.

Me, reading this for the first time: Haha nice reference to a minor ace attorney character, yes, Edgey would totally still receive coupons from him. I can see that. He’s totally unrelated to this story though.

Me later: THIS SUCKER WAS ALREADY BEING REFERENCED AT THE BEGINNING OF FIC 2.

The Chief Prosecutor received gifts from the Cohdopian ambassador? Honestly, everyone was intertwined in one way or the other, weren’t they?

Good work. This is very true of the ace attorney universe and it’s cool that Simon takes note of it here like this. But it’s also very true of this fic series as well, helping reiterate that fact. Oh, Simon, you don’t even know yet how intertwined everyone even is…

You set the scene so well upon Simon arriving in Cohdopia. Really depict the atmosphere and everything super well!

So then, Simon arrives at the address, and he finds… Bobby? And it’s like, wait, wasn’t that supposed to be the phantom’s address? Why’s Bobby here? Aint that hugely coincidental…? How did Bobby find… Well, he did cross paths with the phantom, so I guess he also managed to track him down to this place somehow and he just so happens to be arriving at the same time as Simon (?!) and then some other stranger that Bobby seems to know arrives and…

…

…What?!

I love how there was still plausible deniability up until the very moment Bobby says it outright. Like, the phantom’s apartment might have been abandoned years ago, and this “stranger” is completely unrelated, and took up residence there some time after it was abandoned. Yeah – a stranger that will be an important ally and help them on their quest to bring the phantom down! Right? But Bobby’s behaviour, and then he… that’s… that stranger is no stranger at all…

Simon waited, all sorts of hypotheses dawning on him, each more ludicrous than the next. As it turned out, one of the theories he’d dismissed almost immediately on grounds of being too farfetched turned out to be truth.

LITERALLY ME

Haunted Specters, Chapter 5

“I warned you, Simon. Now back away,” Bobby hissed, grabbing him by the arm to pull him away from the faux Cohdopian.

“Faux Cohdopian”… Well,

Anyway. Well. Wow. What can I even say about this chapter? Most of it’s all contained in Simon’s POV narrative itself.

First off, you have the obvious, “whoa, this is how the phantom is being formally re-introduced to the narrative? I really don’t know what I expected but it sure as hell wasn’t this.”

This chapter, this situation, the characters, are all so incredibly volatile and it plays out, it really plays out with that constant volatility.

I, kinda immediately suspected that something was off in that the fall had done some damage to the phantom’s mind in an important, meaningful way.

Bobby’s behaviour is so surreal. Just like it is to Simon. There’s so much going on, so much to process all at once.

“I think that even you, Phantom, would agree this is nothing short of folly.”  A moment of silence followed. Sam didn’t so much as blink at the question. He merely downed the pill he’d been given by draining the water in one go. “… Sam doesn’t speak English,” was all Bobby said.

Now THINGS LIKE THIS, are what made me think, well, the narrative seemed to be encouraging this viewpoint that maybe, at this point the phantom doesn’t actually remember being the phantom. Maybe he lost all his memories, and he’s just wandering around as some poor confused amnesiac who genuinely thinks he’s Sam Specter. (That doesn’t explain a couple of things, but it was only a temporary thought of mine as I read through). But this viewpoint allowed Bobby’s behaviour to make sense in my eyes. It raises a very interesting dilemma. That the phantom is still despicable and needs to be brought to justice and what have you, but how? The phantom is completely absent now, if this man has no memories of any of that. If he genuinely thinks he’s Sam Specter, an innocent civilian who has done no wrong, and for all intents and purposes is trying to live his life as such, reacts as such? Then Bobby would probably bear no ill will against “Sam Specter”. That perhaps, well and truly up until a certain point, “Sam’s” act was not an act. Or it, at the very least, was much less of an act than it would usually be. It’s… quite convincing. In which case, Bobby wouldn’t want harm to come to innocent civilian “Sam Specter”, even if he used to be the phantom. But now? Now he’s just some weak, frail man with a serious mental condition.

The attempts to affirm the personhood, to what extent there is one, of “Sam Specter” is a very interesting point of contention.

With this in mind, as Simon went after the phantom trying to get him to come out, I kind of expected it to consistently not work. That Simon would just keep pushing and pushing to be faced with that murderer once more, only for “Sam Specter” to never break character, perhaps because there is no real character to break from at that point, so caught in a delusion. For Bobby to want him to stop because at that point he’d just be needlessly harassing “Sam Specter”.

But then he does break character, so that theory kind of goes out the window.

He’d been cornered, faced with the truth and forced to drop the charade.

But. It’s still not revealed to what extent the phantom was impacted by the fall. And I kind of got the impression that the phantom was “holding onto” the act… more than usual. More than he usually would. He only broke character under duress, so there are still a whole bunch of questions raised here about just how much he was immersed and caught up in the role of Sam, exactly. Also. Yes. On a second readthrough he reacts fiercely and breaks character specifically after the asylum comment and I just – oh my GOSH.

Also: Peacekeeper Bobby…

Bobby’s gaze moved from the broken glass to Sam Specter, who was once again cradling his head with both hands. Who was rocking back and forth on the couch, muttering to himself. Obviously not listening to a word they were saying.

Oh gosh, he really… Yeah. A fall from an apartment building can certainly do that to you.

Haunted Specters, Chapter 6

What if… What if this was a mistake? What if he’d just freed a common criminal?

Well, UM.

“Oh. Oh, right. That makes sense.” A moment’s pause. “…Wait, wouldn’t I be walking backwards then, making your six my twelve?” “…” “Or uh… I’ll just turn the clock around and make my twelve six so it’ll still be right side up for you.” “… I doubt this conversation would be any different if I were having it with a young child.”

Oh my gooosh. He’s really like this huh. He’s really just Like This.

“Oh. … Well, that’s good! That nobody else is stuck here, I mean, not the… the selling.” “Stop wasting time on such trivial sentiments and prepare yourself.”

“Trivial sentiments”… I just… He’s really always Like This. Your version of the phantom is so talkative, something I noticed pretty early on, but I love it, honestly. He could have easily just ignored the statement and continued to tend to the task at hand here, not saying anything, and Bobby would have easily taken that cue and also started to focus more and not really said anything further, but oh, no, the phantom just had to throw in some kind of remark. Not replying would have conveyed the same meaning, but this guy? He’s absolutely gonna say something. He didn’t have to equate Bobby to a child either, easily could have chosen to say nothing. BUT HERE WE ARE. I love it.

Two strangers, guarding each other with their lives on the gamble they’d both make it out in one piece.

Incredible. Incredible!

“What…? Friendship?” For the first time since they’d met, the man’s voice showed more than a stoic nature. Some sort of subdued confusion. “… Wasn’t it… justice?”

THIS MOMENT IS GOLDEN. Yes, YES.

And, you know, his brain’s all muddled, he’s missing huge chunks of his memory… And he really is kind of blurting this out at this point? Like a knee-jerk reaction. He’s reaching for a – for a memory that just comes to him even if he can’t quite put it in full context, or even if he CAN, he really says this without thinking. Because even if he was suffering from this confusion, I am very certain that he would not just blurt it out like that under normal circumstances. No. This man is half out of his mind! He must know that Bobby doesn’t recognise him and he has no real reason to tip him off otherwise right now (because it could backfire very easily if Bobby freezes up or freaks out as a result!), to ask him like that... Haaah. I’m so here for really-not-all-there phantom.

Still, even through their little exchange, Sam looked blissfully lost. As if he truly didn’t understand what they were discussing about the Phantom. About him. What a pathetic little farce.

This really did have me genuinely uncertain what to think. Like, how much of “Sam Specter” is a farce? How invested was the phantom into that role? The phantom understands English perfectly, but because Sam supposedly doesn’t… Was it possible at all that selective hearing was truly at play? That the phantom gets so deep into the role that he tricks himself, his brain, into not really understanding English properly – refusing to process it? At least, that’s what I thought at the time. Bobby makes the requests for the phantom in Cohdopian, after all. He doesn’t just casually sit there and say “hey phantom, come out” in English. Switching between “Sam” and “the phantom” evidently takes… some effort for him. And mind you, I was putting all of this (selective hearing etc.) down to the results of the fall as well. I mean, if the phantom was “Sam” under normal circumstances before the fall he’d be able to understand English perfectly well, he’d just pretend he couldn’t, and also that he’d be able to switch in and out and between personas quite easily. But that the fall did things to his mind to make it all more difficult, for him to now be able to engage in this selective understanding, is what I figured.

But… maybe Simon’s right. Maybe he still really does understand everything they say, and is just faking it. He’s such a good actor that it really is hard to tell.

And maybe the simple fact is that it’s still easy for the phantom to switch between personas, it’s just difficult to switch out of them since he has so little sense of self. And maybe that’s just the way it always has been and the fall didn’t actually change that.

Sam’s personhood hinges on how “conscious” the phantom is while Sam is in place. The less the phantom is actually present (selective hearing etc), the more “Sam” is just Sam. But it’s later implied (more than once I think) that the phantom really is just, conscious while he is Sam, and that being “brought out” is not such an immense struggle as it otherwise could be. And yet, at the same time, the narrative seems to want to tilt us in favour of acknowledging Sam as a… a person, his own person. Of sorts. And… I guess it makes sense(?). During the whole of Dual Destinies, even if every action taken by “Bobby” was consciously chosen by the phantom… Those actions were all taken for a reason, all matching up to the consistent persona “Bobby Fulbright”. Both “Bobby” and the phantom would make a choice or engage in a behaviour for the most part, even if the reasoning was different at times they were united on the action itself. Sam is… kind of the same? He is the spitting image of what used to be a real human being, all of his outward actions and behaviours (are intended to) replicate that human being. By cobbling together some approximation of a real person like this, it is perhaps easier to treat them like a real person if they behave in all intents and purposes as such. Especially considering the circumstances. There’s a constant duality going on which I guess is what we’re supposed to settle on? The phantom never really goes away, he’s always there behind the scenes. But Sam’s there too, and we gotta treat him as real or things kinda just fall apart, really. There’s also much to be said for how Sam’s personhood is as much constituted to the extent that it’s acknowledged by those around him, too. We can’t just look at it on its own. It’s also something that’s made more “real” by others treating it and to an extent acknowledging it as real. Even if, in the very end, there might be nothing truly behind it.

THERE IT IS. Right off the bat, I just gotta say: the phantom is really channelling his inner Franziska. XD. Addressing characters by their FULL NAMES. I noticed it quite a bit in the sense that it is, very consistent within his speech pattern, almost making it a kind of “character trait” of a man who himself claims to have no real character. But of course – it makes it stand out all the more when switching to “Prosecutor Blackquill” instead.

”If you attempt to lay a hand on Sam Specter a second time, I will not hesitate to interfere and protect him.”

Here it is, the phantom himself almost treating Sam like a completely separate person… I… don’t think he would have taken this approach before the fall. Hmm. BUT ALSO. Here he’s also implying that he is conscious enough while behaving as Sam to be able to “not hesitate to interfere and protect him”. Hmm!

“Watch your tongue before I cut it off,” he hissed. “I would never lay a hand on Fulbright.” “… See that you don’t.”

Me: I WELL AND TRULY DO NOT UNDERSTAND AT ALL, WHAT IS GOING ON, the phantom is protective of Bobby, well and truly his brain was influenced by that fall.

Simon really is/was in the exact same boat, honestly.

Now we have the smuggling ring brought up, the March 2019 exposure referenced, another reference to how there was a mole in interpol before… And I was kind of like, “hm! You know! There’s a certain character this brings to mind, yet unfortunately they’re nowhere in sight. Kinda really sucks they’re not a character in this fic series, honestly!” Yes, such a shame, really.

”[…] That’s why we need to expose the involvement of Lex Luster […]”

Me, reading this for the first time: Wait. Lex… Le…x. Huh. That’s… for some reason, that name rings a bell. Ah – that’s right. This “Lex”, he’s quite an important character, isn’t he? From what tiny random scraps of information I’ve seen about this fic series (from years ago!)… Yes. I’m pretty sure that this “Lex” character will be showing up quite a lot going forward.

...Well, I wasn’t wrong.

[attackofthezee]

STUCKY REC LIST 10/6/18

I realized it’s been a bit since I did a rec list! I link to fics I’ve read and enjoyed over the week in my weekly writing round ups, but I don’t tag those posts as fic recs (it feels a little too self promoting to tag something about my own writing with fic recs, I can’t seem to do it) soooo I feel like it doesn’t count. So here, have a list of fics I highkey recommend right now. They’re all beautiful majestic fics and everyone should read them.

The Heart of a Dying Star by layersofart (layersofsilence), velleities

As ancient legends have it, mighty magical weapons can be forged in the heart of a dying star.

Wanda, driven by her desire to avenge her brother’s death and backed by Hydra and their secret plans, uses ancient magic to knock a star down from the sky.

Halfway across the land, Steve, the Captain of the Avengers Guard, finds a fallen star named Bucky.

Do you want to feel like you’re reading a fairy tale? Because like, this fic feels straight up like reading a fairy tale. It’s wonderful and soft and also like vaguely a Stardust AU while not actually being a Stardust AU and tbh it’s wonderful, just wonderful. Go read it and fall in love with Star!Bucky and total sweetheart Steve Rogers just like I did.

Howitzer by spacebuck

Bucky Barnes, figure skating champion, is forced to switch his skates for hockey ones when he leaves for college. Problem is, he's never played hockey before, and now he has to be good enough to get the scholarship he needs. Enter Steve Rogers, Carter University Men's Hockey player, who's decided that he'd do anything to get this guy on his team.

Cue five am runs, overwhelming classes, new friends, plenty of snow, and a sport that's fast becoming a way of life.

This fic has been on my To-Read List for approximately six thousand years, and part of me regrets not reading it sooner while the other is really glad I waited because I was reading it while having a rough week and guys, it was like the cure to my overdramatic issues that week. I like hockey a decent amount because it’s dudes being mildly homoerotic on ice and I find nothing bad about that, but I don’t really know about hockey, y’know? And after reading this I felt like I knew about hockey, which was a pretty fantastic experience tbh. I haven’t felt that feel since my fave fic back in Bandom days left me super interested in rugby for a while. Also the relationship between Steve and Bucky in this is fucking beautiful, and the descriptions of the games left me feeling incredibly invested in them and the author deserves literally all the love for that.

What's left behind by Niitza

The thing was, after waking up in that new century, that strange future where nothing and no one was the same, not even himself, it had never occurred to Steve to wonder again if the effects of the serum were permanent.

Catch me outside perpetually screaming about this fic. It’s told in chunks of 200 words and while I found myself inevitably wanting more of every chunk it also worked so well for this fic and is also something I admire because while I believe in brevity, I also have absolutely zero self control and if a scene wanted to be 500 words I’d end up writing 500 words. It’s just, it’s SO GOOD, and if you’re like, super bad at focusing like I am the way it’s told is a surefire way of catching attention and sucking in. It’s just really beautiful and wonderful and I recommend that you don’t take my word for it and go read it to find out for yourself.

Keep the Torch Lit by thepartyresponsible

“Logan,” Charles says, delicately. “Do you know the whereabouts of the Winter Soldier?”

“Nope,” Logan lies, easy as anything. “Haven’t heard a damn thing, Chuck.”

“Logan,” Charles says, “have you forgotten I’m a telepath?”

“Well,” Logan says, a little less pleasantly, “I sure forgot you’re a Goddamn nosy son of a bitch.”

Listen, okay, this fic is not Stucky, at least not technically. Technically it’s Logan/Bucky with past Steve/Bucky but like even the Logan/Bucky isn’t really the focus and if you want to (like me) it’s definitely possible to read future Stucky into this fic. also this is my rec list and I do what I want ya’ll. The focus on this isn’t the shipping, and tbh that’s what makes it so glorious. The focus is on the goddamn glorious motherfuckin Wolverine, aka the love of my life since I was a wee lass watching the x-men animated series back in the 90s and falling facefirst into simultaneous crushes on both Logan and Rogue. Biromanticism ya’ll, it started early. This fic is hysterical. Logan’s voice is so spot on and so very LOGAN that every line manages to be grumpy and hysterical and also reveal that hidden layer of just caring too much that I really believe is like, the true hallmark of a well written Logan. He doesn’t want to care, but he does care, and that’s like the crux of all his issues y’know? That’s why he takes in asshole super soldier assassins that half the world is after when they give the shitty reason of ‘war buddies, you gotta.’  

I could write several paragraphs on my epic love for this fic but I feel like the biggest reason to read it that I can give is that I’ve now read it three times and as a person who barely ever reads things even twice, that’s a huge thing for me. Also it has an appearance of a Charles who’s kinda a dick and tbh that’s how I love my Charles.

ALL OF THAT BEING SAID, if you can stand Bucky being even hinted at being with someone other than Steve, and if you don’t for some strange reason hate Wolverine (which if you do, who hurt you????) then go read this fic. It’s 4400 words of fucking brilliance.

Baby You Should Stick Around by neenya, nephropsis

If somebody had told Steve he and Bucky would end up raising Bucky's clone as their son, he'd probably have- wait, no, he wouldn't have done anything, because nobody would ever have said that.

And yet. Here they are.

Listen, this is one of those fics that I opened up expecting something fun and lighthearted and y’know, just a normal kidfic. What I got was 33k of a seriously beautifully written fic that gave me some seriously intense feelings. It was not what I expected whatsoever and it was all the better for that. I, personally, need to occasionally open up something I don’t expect to make me feel and then experience all the feelings because I am in the words of my former therapist ‘a shaken up soda bottle, building up pressure and just waiting to explode.’ True story. MY PERSONAL ISSUES ASIDE, this is beautiful and sad at times but with like, a really wonderful ending that made me feel A LOT OF THINGS. (The point of this is that this fic made me feel a lot of things. Like just, a lot of things. So many things) And there is this certain quality to the writing, at least to me, that really lets you feel the fact that Steve is having Issues and Steve is not realizing these Issues, and because of that he’s not able to be entirely present in this life that he has with Bucky. It’s wonderfully unique, and wonderfully written, and while not one I can reread super often (because of those aforementioned FEELINGS) it is seriously such a quality piece of work and one I’d somehow never stumbled upon despite it being written four years ago.

Black Dog by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)

So long ago the details were lost to time, people began creating guardians of the dead. They were made from dogs, dogs who were buried in graveyards before anyone was laid to rest, their spirits arising as black dogs, bound protectors of the human dead.

Steve had always wondered what would happen after he died. He hadn't expected the answer to be 'wake up in the cemetery he'd been buried in', but here he was, some kind of ghost, and he could see the trees through his hands. It wasn't so bad, and he wasn't alone—a sleek black dog, golden eyes glowing bright, was happily waiting to greet him.

Decades later, on what was supposed to be a quiet, peaceful, definitely-not-life-changing walk through the woods, Bucky stumbled across an abandoned cemetery and into the impossible.

(It's a ghost story and a love story and a story about dogs.)

I’ve talked about my love for absolutely everything leveragehunters writes, I know I have, but oh my god, Black Dog hits it out of the goddamn park. There’s A GOOD DOG! AND STEVE IS A GOOD DOG EVEN THOUGH HE’S NOT REALLY A DOG! And Laika! I GENUINELY CRIED OVER LAIKA!  And I DON’T OFTEN CRY OVER FICS!! I just, this was so beautiful and there’s always something so special about leveragehunters’ world building in their urban fantasy and magical realism fics in that it never feels heavy handed, never feels like I’m getting a bunch of info dumped on my head, but I always leave the fic feeling like I’ve seen this brand new world and understood it in the way the characters do even if that world is just a little bit left of the one we’re in now.

Also this is just a really good, nice fic to read while curled up with one’s dogs so y’know, if you’ve got dogs, definitely have them nearby to love on while you read this. It makes the experience like 1000x better.

despite the threatening sky and shuddering earth (they remained) by praximeter (Zimario)

“They really didn’t want the mask to come off.” Hill thumbed through the scans, and pulled out a film that she then handed over to Sam, face mostly expressionless but for the flat line of her pursed lips.

Sam accepted the film and held it up to the light, angling so both he and Steve could see it, squinting at the outline of the Winter Soldier’s skull, and the blips of unnatural white that showed up, God, in his brain, not to mention about half his teeth, plus the mask, with its thin protrusions—

“Those are pins,” Steve realized. He looked over at Hill. “The mask—it’s nailed to his face.”

Hill’s face was as unmoved as ever. “Like I said. They really didn’t want it coming off.”

Picture me screaming like a pterodactyl every time I even think of this fic. I kept seeing this fic, kept seeing it recced everywhere, kept scrolling by, kept seeing it recced by people who’s work I love and read and admire, and KEPT SCROLLING. And then finally, finally I decided to devote myself to 70k of what I assumed would be a lot of emotional pain. I was right. This was painful to read, the parts in Bucky’s pov especially so, but it was also so, so, sooo very good. I found myself clicking to the next chapter as quickly as I could and wanting to sink right back into it if I had to go do something. It’s just, it’s so good, and if by some chance you haven’t read it yet do yourself a favor and don’t be like me and keep scrolling past it.

[theleafpile]

@dressedforthebills asked, in reference to the post I made stating that Solo: A Star Wars Story, is a bad movie:

What makes the writing bad? Plot? Structure? What stereotypes would that be?

So I’m just going to go over what’s fresh in my head, so there might be some pieces missing that I’m not particularly interested in. I enjoy the Star Wars movies and read a lot of fic about it, but I’m not a die-hard fan and haven’t read anything in the extended universe.

SPOILERS abound.

Rule #1 of Storytelling: Don’t tell the audience something they already know.

Solo already sort of breaks this rule simply by existing, but we could forgive that fact based on the idea that it was meant to show Han’s early years. However, this rule sticks out to me throughout. 

We know Han won the Millennium Falcon from Lando in a card game - we see two (three?) card games played. It’s difficult to be invested in a card game when you don’t understand the rules. When they lay down their cards, we have no basis of understanding if they are good or not before being shown an in-world audience reaction, which throws off the beat. (At least in most card movies there is a shot of the cards and a voice over of the dealer saying what the hand is for those who don’t know, so the audience can see the cards and hear the hand and make the connection as though they made it themselves. So that could be a simple editing issue.)

We know Han and Qi’ra don’t end up together. We have no reason to be invested in their romantic arc. I could forgive this if they did something at the end like they did at the end of Casino Royale, where the pacing was thrown off because we thought Bond was really going to leave with Vesper, only to find out that she betrayed him at the end and he vowed to go back to work (and never fall in love again). But instead, at the end of Solo, we have Solo left on a beach wondering why the fuck the ship Qi’ra is on is suddenly leaving - was she trapped? Did someone else take over? Is she a hostage again? (all perfectly acceptable canon questions that Han would ask). There’s no clear cut image or moment to show that that was a betrayal, leaving us (and Han) confused.

Rule #1 of Romance: If you have to show two characters kissing to show they’re together, it’s bad writing.

The first scene with Qi’ra and Han breaks this rule. He’s running, in a panic - there’s no reason at all why he would suddenly stop what he was doing, switch gears immediately from panic to lust, and kiss her as he did. It’s a simple and fast way to show two characters are allied, but its boring. If he saw her hiding and waiting for him, and while running took her hand and dashed them to a safer place it would have 1) established that he is confident in his surroundings enough to hide (we love experts) and 2) shown them allied anyway.

They were able to show Qi’ra and Dryden Vos allied even though they never macked on one another, which I guess was to show that Qi’ra still had feelings for Han and that she wasn’t really on Vos’ side.

Qi’ra would have been a more interesting character if she were Han’s sister, not his love interest. 

The guilt he feels for not be able to return to Corellia sooner and the worry he feels over her would have been more palpable if she were his blood relation, the only person in the world he had left and/or could trust, and the only person in the galaxy who could have actually relied on him - making seeing her on the yacht that much more of a surprise, showing that this girl who once relied on him has grown up.  

Also, it would have made a neat parallel for Leia/Luke if there was any strange sexual chemistry between Han and Qi’ra’s actors.

No idea what planet Han was on as a soldier, their objectives, or the purpose.

Which, I guess, was the same as Han felt. If confusion was the goal, they got it. In the book, I guess, they give a reason why Chewbacca was caged there, but for the movie they didn’t tell us so it just felt very, you know. Contrived.

The heist scene doesn’t make any sense.

The goal was to attach the ship to one shipping container, detach the container, and lift it away. Which means that there was no reason to blow up the bridge ahead. Which means...

Val didn’t need to die during the heist.

There was no reason to kill her character. If they were doing this job, as Beckett said, to steal a bunch of coaxium for a gangster, then being a thief she would know the risk involved (i.e., Dryden Vos would kill them if they did not return with what was asked) and not be willing to sacrifice herself in the chance that 1) their failing plan would work, 2) Beckett would survive, 3) the coaxium would survive and 4) her life was worth saving Beckett.

Which, love, I guess. But seriously she had no reason to die. And, being the only black character of the group, it was pretty shitty that killed off her and the alien pilot and not one of the two white guys. Because plot. Of course.

Coaxium is apparently super unstable when unprocessed - but it’s okay to be tossed around.

Take any high school chemistry class and the teacher’s going to tell you that unstable materials are called that for a reason. All the moving around they do getting the raw coaxium out of the mine, loading it and transporting it on the ship, and the temperature heating up to the breaking point (yet still safe enough to get onto the other world, unloaded, and stuck in a container and plugged into something that I guess immediately neutralizes it) but it’s still able to be handled, without any safety gear, by Beckett when he takes “a drop” (not a unit of measurement) and shoves it into the fuel line of the Falcon.

I mean, hell. When it is processed look at Han so carefully gives the containers over to Dryden Vos. The audience is meant to think he’s being too extra careful because we think it’s fake and he’s overdoing it, but - no. That’s how you handle very explosive processed material. I guess the “super unstable” unprocessed material is okay, though.

Stereotypes.

Seems like Hollywood can’t make a movie lately without poking fun at “SJWs.” Enter L3. Who walked, talked, and sassed like a prototypical black woman. No thanks. She did have some funny lines, but I hate how her character’s actual correct ideas were treated as the punch line. (The same problem Hermione had with the SPEW stuff in the HP books.)

Lando is vain. He has a whole closet for capes. Unfortunately we don’t get to see him be or say anything vain at all whatsoever elsewhere. 

The alien pilot at the beginning is like “I am here to state the theme and die.”

Major characterization problems - aka I don’t care about these people.

Qi’ra’s woe-is-me / you won’t look at me the same way if I’ve told you what I’ve done / you don’t know what I’ve done lines. The audience has no idea either, so I feel absolutely nothing when she says these lines. Was she a prostitute? Did she steal, lie, cheat? Did she make other people work for her? How did she get to be in Dos’ inner circle? No clue. It doesn’t make her mysterious. It makes her boring.

Enfrys Nest’s rebellion has nothing to do with rebellion against the Empire. 

Meaning I don’t care about it. That twelve year old mercenary is rebelling against the crime syndicate, which is not affiliated with the rebellion. But wait - 

There was zero indication that was Darth Maul speaking to Qi’ra.

Maul came from a planet where people just... looked like that. The actor was the same but much older, and it showed enough that I had zero inkling to think “oh, hey, that’s Darth Maul” who is a character I really liked. You know why else? Because Qi-gon Jin murdered his ass twenty years ago. I don’t think the Force can keep you alive after being sliced in half and sent down a bottomless well. That’s not how the Force works. They tried to make me think it by needlessly igniting his double bladed red lightsaber, but I was still like.. okay. Another Sith. Whatever.

Also. There’s no indication in the prequels that Darth Maul was the leader of a crime syndicate. 

Things I liked:

- Making the Kessel run. The visuals were pretty cool with the tunnel vision, the Imperial ship, and darting off into the wild unknown with the eldritch monster. Here’s a good example at telling something the audience doesn’t know: Han cheated to do the run in 12 parsecs using the coaxium, which is why no one believes that he actually did that fast. So that’s funny. (”Not if you round down” was a cute line, too.)

- The riot scene with the droids at the mine. They were having a good time.

- Chewie helping his fellow Wookies to get free, and that moment where they touched foreheads. Small character movements like those make a big difference.

- Vos’ blades. That looked like kyber power, which means that those were probably super expensive, and that’s cool characterization. 

So, no. I didn’t like Solo: A Star Wars Story. It added nothing to the characterization of Han or the Skywalker space opera universe we’ve all come to know and love. I know the prequels aren’t as beloved because of the political content, but I think a young Leia movie would’ve been a more worthwhile investment. We could have seen her on Alderran, a planet which we know nothing about, struggling with the life of being both royalty and a senator. We could’ve seen a young woman struggle to be taken seriously at her job that would have had actual in-universe repercussions for the storylines and characters we are familiar with. Yes, it could have had all the problems Solo did, but we would have known that Alderran would be blown up by the Empire, making us root for any chance we saw for characters to leave the planet (and be heartbroken when something required them to stay). 

Young Leia was feisty, not afraid to stand up to Vader (of all people), and I want an origin story for her, dammit! I’m tired of men’s stories! Honor Carrie Fisher you cowards!

[lillyevanssss]

4, 6, 12, 39, 49 🌷

This post turned much longer than I expected. See the questions here. :)

4. Do you have writing habits or rituals?

Well… If it’s a one-shot:

1. Write and write (no editing whatsoever)

2. Wait a few days. The longer I can wait, the better.

3. Read over it. It’s a complete disaster, so I do some damage control. Fix any SPaG mistakes I catch, add a few scenes, etc.

4. Find beta.

5. Work with beta to fix mistakes. (Shout out to @mrbenzedrine89, who is currently beta’ing a one-shot I will post soon.)

6. (Only sometimes. Especially for fests when I have to wait a long time before I can post): Repeat 2-5.

If it’s a long fic: (This is a new method I have decided to use. I have only done number 1)

1. I plan the whole thing. Things that have to happen in order for the plot to progress.

2. Start writing what I planned.

3. Don’t ever post anything ever.

4. Finish writing what I planned.

5. Start rereading to fix the disaster and add additional scenes to make the story more meaningful.

6. Repeat 5 until I don’t have anymore scenes to add.

7. Wait some time. (A month?)

8. Repeat 5 & 6.

9. Beta.

10. Post.

6. Favorite character you ever created.

Well… I used to have a very OOC Draco in a WIP. I took it down, but I really enjoyed writing that character. A young Severus Snape comes to mind in another one-shot…

Actually I love every character I write, so the correct answer is ALL OF THEM.

12. How do you deal with self-doubts?

In writing and fanfiction:

Short answer: I don’t.

Long answer: I don’t really doubt myself? I mean yes, I do feel like my writing is crap sometimes, and I did takes down several stories because of that reason, but I wouldn’t call it self-doubt, per se. It was bad writing, I deleted it. No big deal.

In RL:

Well… I doubt myself all the time. My friendships, my education, etc. I usually deal with it by asking a lot of questions (Is this okay? How did I do? Was that a problem?) which tends to annoy people. (They’re like, chill! It’s fine, you’re great, whatever.) And since I get the vibe that I’m being frustrating, I doubt myself all over again. It’s a sick cycle really. I try not to invest in friendships and lower my expectations on everything I do. It doesn’t always work, but I manage.

39. Do you base your characters of real people or not? If so, tell us about one.

Not really. I try to stay canon as much as I can. Canon characters (or characters in general) are complex and interesting, where as real people are just not. They’re much easier to read. They are hardly ever dramatic. No one is a super-spy double agent. No one is orchestrating a big scheme. Hell, none of my friends are in any kind of relationship where there’s a lot of conflict.

The gist of it is that real people are boring to write about, or read about. Honestly! Tell me one autobiography you enjoyed more than Harry Potter books.

The only exception to this would be myself. If I’m writing an actual human being (not a psychopath Death Eater who enjoys torturing other people on a daily basis) then I try to make their decisions realistic and close to something I’d actually do myself if put in that situation.

49. What do you find the hardest to write in a story, the beginning, the middle or the end?

Definitely the middle. In the beginning, I’m excited to write a new story and introduce difficult plot lines and characters. In the end, I’m excited to have a finished product and try my best to wrap up loose ends. (Favorite part being the last chapter and the last paragraph, where they all live happily ever after. ☺️)

But the middle is the boring part where I have to make it interesting when it isn’t, and everything seems sluggish.

This is why I prefer writing one-shots. They practically don’t have a middle.

Thanks for asking these lovely questions. I loved answering them and hope it wasn’t too long. 💜