#i read it it’s movie divergent but pretty good

[lektricfergus]

hey thingblr did you know the novelization of the thing is on archive.org? well now you do

[parkerflix]

—corazón despeinado

miles morales x gn! reader

genre: fluff?? angst???

wc: 1.7k

part two here

synopsis: your friendship with miles seemed to hit a sore spot. the reason? his hair.

warnings: atsv spoilers! like big spoilers! canon divergence (miguel would hate me sorry bae)

a/n: this is earth 42! miles! just put it under here since i put the warning okay read at your own discretion from here on!

“Ow! Que te pasa? That shit hurt, mami.” Miles sat forward, rubbing his scalp.

You sighed and rolled your eyes. Miles Morales was such a baby when it came to doing his hair. You loved doing his hair, and him letting you have full control of it, but hated how much he flinched.

“No jodas. I barely even pulled it. If you would sit still, maybe we could finish this faster.”

Miles grumbled under his breath and he sat back in the chair, wincing when you started up again.

You had been doing Miles’ hair for years, Rio being your mom’s best friend. You guys spent summers and most weekends together, always having some sort of party. Your mom owned the neighborhood beauty salon & had been showing the ropes to you.

Miles always came to you when he wanted his hair done, or if he just wanted to see you.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight? Got a steamy date?”

Miles rolled his eyes.

“A date?”

“Yeah, a steamy date with some beautiful woman or man! Or romantic, a nice stroll on the street, the sky full of stars, going to a nice dinner.”

“Ya tu sabes, I’m not the type who does those types of dates.”

“Oh, so it is a date?”

“Mira, I don’t think there’s anyone I would date.”

You reached down in your apron to grab a hair tie to finish one of his braids.

“And why is that?”

You were so focused on his braids, that you didn’t notice his eyes staring at your face through the mirror.

Miles knew that he wasn’t into anyone the way he was into you. He wasn’t sure if you knew that he liked you. Miles thought it was fairly obvious, he gave you little gifts that he knew you would like, and spent most of his time with you. His mom had pretty much adopted you into his family, showing you how to make his favorites like mofongo & empanadas. For someone so bright, you seemed to not catch the hints he threw at you.

His silence caught you off guard & you stared at him through the mirror, a little surprised to see he was already staring at you.

“Miles?”

He seemed to snap out of whatever train of thought and sent you a half-hearted grin.

“Enough about me. What about you? Any plans?”

You shook your head, laughing slightly.

“Nah. Te recuerdas de ese guy que salí con like ages ago?”

Miles hummed as a signal for you to go on.

“Well, he asked me out again and as much as I loved the first date, I just wanted to spend the night by myself. Nothing sounds better than a cheesy movie & takeout.”

Before he could say anything else, you finished his last braid and tied it off.

“Ya terminé. What do you think?”

Miles got up from the chair and glanced at himself in the mirror, admiring your work.

“It looks good.”

You clapped your hands and gave him a hug.

“I’m so glad you like them! I know they’re a little different than usual but I thought they suit you.”

He nodded and gave you a small smile.

You were about to say something, when his phone went off.

“Girlfriend texting you?”

He rolled his eyes and pulled his phone from his jacket, seeing his uncle ask him where he was.

“Ya te dije, I don’t have anyone like that. I gotta go, but I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nodded and started to clean your station, hoping if you finished early you could leave.

Miles placed a chaste kiss on your cheek & made his way towards the door.

“I’ll take you out for breakfast tomorrow!”

He walked out of the door, leaving you smiling and shaking your head at how cute he could be sometimes.

You had left the salon late in the afternoon, taking a few of your mother’s clients while she handled a few other clients. You weren’t licensed just yet, but you knew you had the skills and experience to get your license as soon as you finished high school.

Your mom had some more clients after you had left & told you she wouldn’t be home tonight as she was planning on having a girls night with a few of her friends.

You had finally got home & changed into a shirt and shorts, ready to just relax and watch some movies. Rummaging through the fridge, you realized that you actually did have to order takeout, since there was nothing already made.

Checking the time, you figured you could swing by the local pizzeria, and stop by the supermarket for some ice cream. Grabbing your bag, you slipped on some easy shoes and made sure to lock the door.

At the pizzeria, you had ordered your food, and were just waiting. Sitting at one of the booths, you were slightly confused when you heard Miles’ voice come from the counter.

You turned to take a peek, and saw Miles there with a completely different outfit, and most noticeably, his braids were gone.

You were annoyed, his braids took you some time & he had already taken them out. If he really hated them, why didn’t he just tell you?

Going up to him, you tapped his shoulder.

He turned around and saw you, giving you a confused look.

“No me das esa cara, si no te gustaron, you know I would’ve changed them!”

Miles gave you an even more confused look, and started to really piss you off.

“Okay, why are you giving me that look? Seriously if you didn’t like the braids, I would’ve fixed them.”

“Braids? Do you have me mistaken for someone else?”

“Your name is Miles Morales, right?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Then no, I’m not mistaken. God why weren’t you just upfront about it with me? I would’ve done whatever you wanted, you know that.”

“Uh—“

“What? Are you too cool for them?”

“No I just—“

“I bet you do have a hot date huh! That’s what it is.”

“Hot date? Definitely not. I am so confused.” Miles said, awkwardly scratching the nape of his neck.

The guy at the counter called your name, and you pointed to Miles.

“Stay here. We aren’t done talking about this.”

You rushed up to the counter, and grabbed your pie, thanking him and ran back to Miles, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him with you.

Once outside, you dragged him to your apartment building, stopping at the stairs, placing your pizza box there.

“What’s going on with you?”

Miles just stared at you, not sure how to tell you that he wasn’t who you thought he was.

“I’m sorry.”

You sighed and frowned. Miles rarely apologized, even when he had done something. He had always sweet-talked you into not being mad at him, knowing that you had a soft spot for him.

“An apology? That’s a first. Miles, I just wanna know what’s been going on with you. You make plans with people and don’t tell me who, which like yeah I guess I’m not entitled to that information but—” you were cut off when he hugged you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and stayed like that for a second. You knew Miles. He wasn’t a PDA sort of person and he wasn’t big on hugs either. He wasn’t telling you something, and it seemed to weigh heavy on him.

Before you knew it, he had unraveled himself from you and you both were standing away from each other.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure this will all make sense eventually but I really gotta go.”

He gave you a look that you couldn’t decipher and left you, pizza still on the steps, getting cold.

You didn’t hear from Miles until the next morning, knocking at your window.

You groaned and threw a pillow in that direction, knowing it probably missed.

The knocking kept going, so you got up and went to open the window not even sparing Miles a glance.

You trudged your way back into bed, making space for the both of you. He laid down next to you, having a debate if he should pull you close to him.

“Amor, what’s wrong?”

“Be quiet. I'm still trying to sleep.”

Miles let out a huff and poked your side.

“Miles, leave me alone.”

“Que hice?”

“What do you mean ‘que hice?’ We talked about this. If you didn’t listen to me at all then why are—”

You turned to face him, quickly realizing the small space in between the two of you.

You stared at his face, the sunlight giving him a soft glow. His eyes even were a different shade of brown, turning more like pools of milk chocolate. But what stood out to you the most, was his hair, in braids, neatly as if they were never out of them.

How was that possible? You saw him the night before and he didn’t have them. What was happening?

Miles called your name and you blinked, face feeling flushed at your gawking.

“You have your braids.”

He gave you a confused look.

“Yeah?”

“But last night you didn’t.”

“Last night? I don’t remember seeing you last night.”

“You’re joking right? I saw you and we talked and you left in a hurry.”

You sat up and sighed, confused and frustrated as to why he wouldn’t remember this.

“Are you sure it was me?”

You stared at him. Why did he have to say it in such a condescending tone?

“Yes, Miles. It was you.”

“It couldn’t have been me.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“Maybe a bit delusional. Guess you missed me that much.”

You were beyond frustrated now, and got out of bed.

Without a word, you pulled him out of bed and walked him over to your window.

“What— seriously que te hice?”

Crossing your arms, you looked away from him.

“The fact that you don’t even remember our conversation yesterday, and the fact that you’re acting like it never happened and you weren’t being weird— I can’t.”

“You can't do what?” Miles' voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat.

“I can't do this right now. You should go.”

“But-“

“Miles.” you whispered his name, feeling so many different emotions. He knew that you had made up your mind and pressed a kiss onto your forehead.

With that, he climbed out of your room and went down the fire escape.

You sat in your room, confused by everything and feeling something new, something like a heartache in your chest.

[bcitisthelight]

hey remember when we were discussing how weird the whole cliegg thing is in AOTC. and you had thoughts, feelings and emotions. tell me about those XOXO

(Big TW for this post - I discuss human trafficking, sex trafficking, rape, child abuse, slavery, and PTSD in this post. It's about the realities of slavery and Tatooine and how it involves the Skywalkers.) Something that I almost never see in any discussion on the Lars family is how sharply the fanon headcanons and characterizations of diverge from the ones we get in the moves. Like, particularly Cliegg and the prequel trilogy. Like - I feel like there's this automatic assumption that the Lars loved Shmi and that they cared for Luke out of dedication to her and her family, and it's this huge found family vibe but like can I be real. Can I be super real right now. It’s something that I find kind of baffling, because when I watched Attack of the Clones, and on every rewatch since (and there have been many), it always seems kind of obvious to me that Cliegg bought Shmi as a slave, presumably as a house slave, if not outright as a part of sex trafficking. And I don't mean in one of those "He bought her to free her, he's a good guy, etc etc". I mean, he bought her as a slave with the original intention of keeping her as a slave. And what's really interesting, is you can get pretty much all the clues about that from the exchanges between Anakin has with Watto, his and Shmi's former master.

Again, I want to stress that, because I think it's crucial that we see this for what it is - not an exchange between a former employee and his boss, not an exchange between a kid and a member of his former community. His former slavemaster. The man who won him and his mother in a gambling game like so many fancy necklaces. The source and object of Anakin's childhood enslavement. Watto would have beaten them. He made Anakin, a child of 9 - and I read somewhere once that Anakin started in the races at 6 - ride in a pod race that no human has ever won before, with the full expectation that he would die. This is a being whose entire life has revolved around the certainty that society is not only capable of functioning, but functions best, when sentient beings can be bought and sold like property. And, to be real with you, because this is a thing that happens to people who suffer enslavement, he very likely loaned them out temporarily for sex trafficking purposes for a quick buck - a practice that is noted historically in virtually every society that operated on a system involving slaves.

It's important to recap that, because I do think it's impossible to understand how deeply horrifying the conversation they have is without that context. Like, let's look at how he tells Anakin about Shmi -

This scene is....so telling to me. From the outset, Watto said he sold her as a slave. Like, it was a slave exchange. Watto heard about her freedom later - clearly, Cliegg bought her, and behaved in a way - intentional or not - that Watto believed he was buying her as a slave to own as a slave. That part is not subtext, that's just actual text.

"But Mikhayla" some will say "he freed her the second he bought her - he bought her in order to free her." Except....there is genuinely nothing in the movies, and off the top of my head, the wider narrative, that ever indicates that that's true. In fact it makes no sense in that case, for Watto to have not known that Cliegg was buying her in order to free her. Why would he have to hide that? Watto presumably doesnt care what happens to her, because he's selling her. In the larger materials, its said that his shop fell on hard times, and in the movies, we can see the proof. The script says he's sitting outside his shop, but at that point it resembles more of a kind of beaten down stand. He's still selling junk, but less and of poorer quality - presumably, he's spent all his money on gambling debts. And the thing is, slaves are expensive. He sold her years prior, and I bet he fed himself on that money for a very long time - he was a very motivated seller, as barbaric as that language is to use about a transaction involving a human person. He's not going to be fussy over why the person buying her wants to buy her. There's also the fact that this is a society that vastly runs on slavery, and large plantation owners would often "rent" out slaves to smaller but still profitable farms. And Cliegg is a moisture farmer with presumably a large tract of land for water vaporizers. If anything, I can see Watto having rented Shmi to her, Cliegg taking a liking to her, and then approaching Watto to buy her. I mean, if he's profitable enough to just buy a slave, then he clearly had at least some money. "He spent his whole savings!" Show me that in the text. "He loved her from the start!" Show me that in the text. "But Mikhayla," yet others will say, "he did free her! And then married her! He clearly meant from the start to free her, and only bought her to get her away from Watto. He could have never seen her as property. Who would marry their slave?" Except, in the real world, this is...another thing we see across multiple historical records, masters buying women as slaves and then later freeing them in order to legally marry them. PARTICULARLY in societies that operate so heavily on an entire caste system involving slaves - we can look to the Roman Empire, for example. Countless Roman officials, merchants, and military officials bought women, fell in love with them, and freed them in order to marry them. "But maybe she said yes!" (I know these are not your objections, but as you know, I'm an attorney, which means I constantly have to find an argument to fight against). So, to this imaginary detractor I say: I feel like it should be rather obvious, but I'll say it just in case - it is impossible for a slave to consent to any action they perform at the request of a slave master. It cannot happen. A woman who is enslaved cannot consent to marrying the man who bought her, and who has very likely been raping her up until this point, and wants to now marry her - usually, to make any children he had by her legally his children, and therefore citizens, rather than slaves themselves.

So really, whether or not Cliegg had a change of heart doesn't actually change my mind about his actions towards Shmi. I don't care if Cliegg DID love her - in fact, I'm sure he DID love her. People can and have convinced themselves of all kinds of moral superiority, people can claim to love someone while owning them as property! Shmi could never consent to marrying a man who held her as a slave. Even if he freed her, and she willing chose to stay there for a few years, and then he asked her to marry him. In my head, you can't overcome that power imbalance. Cliegg will never not be a man who once believed Shmi was a thing to be owned. He will never be a man who didn't see her as property. Like, at some point, it actually becomes kind of more and more unlikely that this is a guy who took up this transaction for non-malicious purposes. Because we simply do not see it in the movie. What I see in the movie is a slave owner saying he fell on hard times and sold his slave to a farmer who probably needed help on his land or in his house - he has no wife, so the latter is probably more likely. I see him saying that at the time of the transaction, he had no idea that Cliegg intended to free her. And for all that Cliegg calls Shmi his darling, his love, his wife - not once do we ever hear of any evidence that Shmi saw this as a love match. In fact, the only thing we find out about her daily life with the Lars family is that in the mornings, she wakes up early and goes to pick mushrooms. You know. A task for the house. An unpleasant task, done before everyone else is awake, that she does absolutely alone. I'm just saying. These implications are not good ones. I will say though, for all this, do you know what really sells me on the idea that the relationship between Shmi and Cliegg is is not a consensual one, is Anakin's reaction to it. This is a boy whose entire hopes and dreams have revolved around his mother's freedom. You have more excellent writing than me on this, but the moral injury Anakin suffers leaving his mother behind is. Intense. All he wants is to one day free her. In a way, a part of him is always that tiny boy who couldn't bear the idea of leaving behind his mom, who swore, the last time he saw her, that he would free her. And at this moment, all of his dreams have seemingly come true! His mother is free. According to Watto, she's found love, and married. For all he knows, she's had other children. Maybe that could involve SOME complicated emotions, but mostly you would expect that he would feel, at the very least, relieved. Happy. Interested, curious. Instead, this is his reaction:

He's grim, business like. He is not happy. He is not relieved. He doesn't even seem to acknowledge that she's still alive - the way he reacts is not a man who thinks his mother is out of danger. To Anakin, who grew up enslaved until 9 and knows how this society works, it seems almost immediately apparent that the Lars are just a different kind of danger. There's also this rather interesting detail:

This is a boy who bleeds, every second of every day, longing for a family. He basically begs at obi-wan's feet day and night, to be acknowledged as a son. His reaction to his wife's pregnancy is radiant joy - his reaction to know she could die, profound existential horror. I mean good god, he basically turns Palpatine aka Satan Himself into a father figure, because he's that desperate for one. And here, this man is claiming him as his family. He's talked about being excited to see him. He talks about planning with Shmi to meet him. He calls him "son". And Anakin doesn't give him another moment of his time, the second those words are out of his mouth. It's silence. For a boy who is so starved for intimacy he genuinely falls in love with the very first girl who was ever nice to him, to react to a claim of relationship this way. It's bizarrely out of character for him. Unless it isn't. UNLESS he's disgusted by that claim, instead of relieved by it. If he thinks his mother has been bought and then forced into marriage, of course he hates Cliegg. I remember when we were watching the movie together, and remember I said to you "You can just tell Anakin is thinking, 'Call me son one more fucking time'" And can I be real, I have so much more to say about this. As you know, I actually have essays of opinions and feelings about Shmi Skywalker and her horrible life, and how Anakin was the one bright point she had in that horrible life. I have feelings about how she gave away her only happiness, because she knew he did not deserve the life of a slave. I had ideas about how you could turn this into a way to actually fix AOTC and make it better, a way you could use it as an excuse to get rid of the Tusken arc entirely without losing the tragedy of his mother's death. But this post is already so fucking long and I'm sure you're tired of me talking xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

[aziraphales-library]

Heya!

I've read a LOT of GO fics in my time, but I can't remember if I've seen crossovers/AUs of the following movies with Aziraphale/Crowley, can you help please?

So my favourite rom coms of all time are the following, and I'd love GO versions (if they don't exist I may have to write them)!

French Kiss (Meg Ryan and Kevin Kline)

You've Got Mail (Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks)

When Harry Met Sally (Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal)

Runaway Bride (Julia Roberts and Richard Gere)

Never Been Kissed (Drew Barrymore)

I won't bother asking about Pretty Woman because I've read so many versions with either of them in either role lmaooo (and I have loved Every. Single. One.)

Or basically any late 80s/early 90s rom coms with Meg Ryan (except Sleepless in Seattle because I find it incredibly boring) or Julia Roberts!

Thank you so much for everything you do! You've helped me discover so many amazing fics and writers and it is much appreciated!!! 💖💖😇😎

Hello there!

Did you know there is a whole collection from the Good Omens Rom-Com Event that was run a couple years ago? You might find what you're looking for there! (Some of the fics are unfinished so keep that in mind)

We have previously recommended a bunch of You've Got Mail/She Loves Me fics HERE, so check those out.

As for the other ones you've asked about:

French Kiss AU:

A Bit of Crumpet by Fyre [E]

With a handsome, successful fiance and a respectable home in Manhattan, Aziraphale Fell thought his life was more than adequate. He never expected to be jilted in a long-distance telephone call and so he sets out for England to find out exactly what's going on and gets a lot more than he bargained for.

When Harry Met Sally AU:

it had to be you by curtaincall [M]

“What I’m saying,” said Aziraphale, looking fixedly ahead, “and please don’t take this as a personal insult in any way, is that an angel and a demon can’t be friends.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” said Aziraphale, firmly. “It’s against the order of things. You’re supposed to tempt. I’m supposed to thwart. We can’t go being friends.”

*

A canon-divergent AU inspired by When Harry Met Sally.

I don't know of any fics with your two last wishes but there is also:

Notting Hill AU:

Soho by Lurlur [E]

Aziraphale lives a quiet kind of life, running a quiet specialist bookshop in one of the liveliest districts of London. He's content with his lot, happy with his friends, tolerant of his probably-human housemate, living vicariously through the gossip pages.

One day, a chance encounter with Anthony Crowley, lead singer of wildly successful rock band The Demons, threatens to turn his whole world upside down.

Music and Lyrics AU:

pop! goes my heart by attheborder [E], WIP

When has-been musician Anthony Crowley is recruited by pop singer Anathema Device to write a song for her new record, he jumps on the chance to resuscitate his career with a hit. There's only one problem: he can't write lyrics to save his life.

But a chance meeting with a stranger by the name of Aziraphale, with a poetic streak that's a perfect fit for the song, changes everything for Crowley. Together, they'll create something beautiful, fight the forces of the music industry, and perhaps even find a way back into love...

A Music and Lyrics AU for the GO Rom Com Event, complete with all-new original songs written and recorded by the author!

Kate & Leopold AU:

Until by Nadzieja [T]

“I don’t want to go home.” Half-asleep Aziraphale murmurs into his ear and Crowley's heart clenches. His grip tightens reflexively around the warm soft body in his arms, around the smell of old books and sandalwood.

“Then don’t.” He’s trying not to sound like he's pleading, but his throat is tight and his voice hoarse.

*

Crowley lives his average life, working in a high-end advertising company at London that pays just enough to get him a room in a shared accommodation. That's just his luck that he ends up living with a literal witch. One day she brings home an even more eccentric man that has a taste for 19th century fashion, as if Crowley didn't have enough things to worry about. Little he knows that the man will turn his world upside down. Literally. And that's just the beginning of his problems.

~Mod N

[ramshackledtrickster]

Across the Spiderverse spoiler thoughts below about Miguel and some meta

Low key feel like they’re gonna address this in Beyond the Spiderverse but ,, Miguel in his comic book origins has a lot more in common w miles? In terms of differing from main spider-man canon while still very much being spider-man

I feel like comics Miguel would probably totally be on Miles’ side in the film and tell film Miguel off for it tbh like

Miguel’s origins were directly written to be different from Peter Parker’s

Of all the spider people, assuming they keep his origins from the comics, he should know more than anyone that divergences don’t necessarily break canon

Yeah there was already a Spider-Man in his universe, long dead now— but Miles too had a spider-man? Who died? And Miles took on that mantle? Peter even told him ‘you don’t have much of a choice’ in the first film when he realizes he has spider powers, and Miguel DEFINITELY didnt choose to become 2099’s spider-man

He actively hated his powers and the circumstances that led to them (forcefully drugged and almost killed by a coworker by getting his genes spliced with spider DNA) and he put on a costume on a whim to get a bounty Hunter off his trail— but everyone else put the spiderman title on him and he would rather not have those powers at all

He became spiderman to atone for the bad things he did at Alchemax, and he’s driven by guilt “With Great Power comes Great Guilt” which I really hope they elaborate upon in the movie

He’s still spider-man, but he’s absolutely a different breed of spider-man— he didnt have an uncle Ben figure’s death to motivate him into becoming spider-man, and barely of the ‘canon events’ apply to him at all in the comics. Also if he could go back in time and ensure he never gets those powers, he was pretty explicit in stating so in one of these issues

So I feel like the filmmakers knew this and gave him the extra ‘lost family’ dimension angle to have him better justify his thesis of the film, where he believes that any anomaly or change to the formula means disaster. But like,,, he is an anomaly. Both for his presence breaking that dimension as well as his origin’s diversions from Spider-man lore.

One of the definitive traits of being Spider-Man is the initiative and the choice to become spider-man— put those powers to good use to help people. And comics Miguel was emblematic of that because despite being so different in origin, and his turnaround happens much later in life after he’s already done wrong and Eve if he doesn’t want to, he still chose to continue being spider-man. Comics Miguel would totally be on miles’ side w all this in mind like,,

Idk my brain’s kinda mushy and this analysis probably sucks but I’m just making observations especially after reading up on the 90s spiderman 2099 run in preparation for the film

[prolix-yuy]

The Booth (and All its Misuses)

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader Editor "Murch"

Summary: Dieter is pushing boundaries with the roles he takes. And with you.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, heavy fantasizing including oral sex (m and f receiving) and allusions to PiV sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk like whoa, male masturbation, allusions to female masturbation, Dieter's voice is a weapon.

Notes: That fucking cat show waltzed on in here and made me imagine Dieter recording those ridiculous lines and here we are. It's such a role for him I couldn't resist. This Dieter and Murch are from my series Best Laid Plans, and this story takes place before the events of The Plan. I also have to thank @boliv-jenta for being part of the inspiration for this fic with her hilarious Claude story that I've been giggling over for a couple days now.

Cross-posted on AO3

Best Laid Plans Series Masterlist

“What stupid thing did you sign me up for?”

Dieter’s agent blows a sigh into the phone that makes him wince. He’s still a little hungover despite the IV service he ordered this morning, the grease-laden breakfast sandwich, and the lazy handjob he gave himself in the shower. He thought today was a light day, maybe a press junket in the afternoon he could roll into once the edges of his vision cleared. But instead he’s ushered into a Mercedes and finds himself on the way to a studio to record…

“The voice of a bald horny street cat?” he asks, flipping through the short script. 

“It sounded up your alley…cat,” she quips back, and despite the low ache in the base of his skull he has to admit he enjoys the over-the-top dialogue. A little slutty, artistic, dramatic? Yeah, his agent’s got him pegged well.

His thoughts drift for a moment at the suggestive wording. He should really call Mitsy for another night in.

By the time he exits the car his head has cleared a little, aided by the coffee he whined to pick up and a few more minutes of shuteye. It looks like it’ll be a quick read, only a few pages of dialogue. He sweeps in, heavy brown cardigan flapping behind as he greets the audio tech and director. Their handshakes are straightforward, professional. The tech settles him in the sound booth, testing levels and microphones as the director walks Dieter through the scenes. It’s exactly how it sounds; a lascivious street cat wooing a plump pink hairless counterpart. He’s scrungly but smooth, devilish but dashing. Dieter raises an eyebrow at some of this - are people supposed to be horny for the cats? - but makes no comment.

The read is pretty fun for a one-off job. He leans into the ridiculousness to the director’s delight, and ad libs a few responses. The “follicle divergent” line was a favorite addition. He even turns on the bedroom voice for a few takes. If some classic Dieter filth gets him on their good side, maybe he’ll score something less ridiculous next time. Connections, connections, connections as his agent always says. 

As he finishes up the final page, a door opens on the other side of the glass. His eyes flick up briefly before the words slog to a stop in his mouth.

What are you doing here?

“Problem, Dieter?” the tech asks through Dieter’s headset. It sounds further away than before, like a string between two tin cans instead of Sennheisers. You lean over to address the director, his quick nod dismissing you to sit on a chair in a darkened corner. Dieter swallows hard, shaking off the stumble.

“How do you want me to pronounce ‘gordita’? Throw more accent on it?” he asks, directing their attention away enough to sneak a look at you. Your phone screen illuminates your face, harsh blue light carving your pretty features into something sharp and focused. 

He wants you to look up so he can give you a little nonchalant wave, like it’s no big deal the cute girl who keeps showing up on his movie set and making him laugh is here when he’s reading for a syphilitic cartoon cat. He tries to think up a good line to shoot you when he exits the booth - so this is where you hang out when you’re not on my set, Murch? - but even that falls flat in his head. Plus there’s something about calling you Murch in front of people who don’t know you that makes him cringe. You’ve got enough working against you in Hollywood, you don’t need him tossing out pet names that could lessen their respect for you. He respects the hell out of you in the first place; how hard you work, how everyone likes interacting with you, the trust people have in you to do your job well. Murch is just between the two of you, its own sign of respect. 

He can admit to himself it’s also a sign of a little more than that. Only for him.

He throws himself into the last fifteen minutes of the recording, flourishing his vocals for peak laughs. He wishes you had some headphones on so he could make you roll your eyes or snicker with him, but you’re tapping on your phone up until the tech ends the recording. Dieter gathers himself and feigns casual energy as he exits the booth.

“Need any more takes? We’re running early on my schedule,” he says breezily, letting his gaze fall to you almost by mistake. “Oh, hey, didn’t see you come in. Elias doesn’t have you working today?” He offers a friendly smile, the most professional he’s even been with you. 

“Running drives today,” you say simply, hovering next to the tech while he transfers the audio to a slim hard drive. “The DIT has my footage until 6, so I’m sneaking some extra hours in.” 

Right, you’re still “working your way” in the business, putting in hard days for not enough pay and expected to be happy about it. He’s seen you with lunch orders on set, filling in for a PA or making calls in the home office when shoots are delayed. You’re happiest behind your computer, hands fast on the keyboard and eyes darting over a timeline as you help massage a masterpiece out of the mess. But you’re still working towards that being all you have to do to survive in Hollywood. Maybe after this film you’ll be able to breathe easier. Maybe he could win an Oscar for it and you could be an award-winning editor. It would be nice to win an Oscar for you.

Not for you. For himself. That would just be some icing on the cake, to give you a leg up in the industry where he can. That’s all. 

“That’s all Dieter, you’re wrapped. Sean, take off, you can still make your kid’s game,” the director says, the tech smiling gratefully as he snatches up his bag. A little flash of an idea, born out of wandering thoughts and attraction and foolhardiness, crosses Dieter’s lips.

“Hey, could I use the booth for a little while longer? I’ve got some pickups I need to record for an audiobook and I forgot to book a space,” he asks, silently hoping this moment of assholery might work out. The tech sighs loudly, rubbing a hand over his face, before you chime in.

“I can wait around, I’ve seen Sean do this enough I can figure it out. And I’ll lock up as we leave,” you say, sunny expression lightening the dour mood. It only takes a moment of shuffling for the others to leave, Sean waving a thanks to you as the door swings shut. 

Shit, he only planned this far, now what?

“Well you better hop back in, you’ve only got…17 minutes,” you say, settling into the swivel chair and pulling the huge headphones over your ears. 

“Not even a, ‘hey Di, nice to see you, thank you for brightening up my day with your dramatic cat-acting’? …Cacting? Ooh, I like that,” he says, leaning in the door frame. You smirk and roll your eyes.

“Hi Di, it’s always a pleasure to see your shining face, and whatever you rolled out of bed into. That’s a comfy looking sweater,” you smirk back, redirecting your attention to the soundboard. “Now can you get in there and do your lines so I’m not late getting back?” you say.

“Yes ma’am, thanks again,” he says, shutting the door behind him. A little smile settles on his face that she liked his cardigan, actively dashing it off before he pulls over a chair to the microphone stand. He’s got a reputation to uphold, and getting gooey over a compliment isn’t part of his brand. Settling back into the seat, he pantomimes opening his phone and placing it on the stand in front of him. 

There’s no script, it’s just a ploy, something to get you to stick around and talk to him more. He always enjoys the handful of minutes he gets with you on sets as you wait for dailies or a script revision to bring back to post-production. He wishes you were one of the actors sometimes, stranded on set while the crew reset or shuffled you around, leaving time to chat and open up. He wants to ask you what your favorite memories were, discuss a new art exhibit at length, pop a few edibles and get high enough that your minds could melt into each other, followed by your bodies. But you’re always moving, a skip in your gait like you’re worried about being a step behind. He dreads the day Hollywood tries to beat that drive out of you, make you step on something precious to get ahead. He wants to put his hands on your shoulders and tell you it’s okay to slow down, to walk instead of run, that you don’t deserve to fall into bed exhausted every day just to get up and do it all over again. 

“Do you need me to keep an ear on your recording?” you say, hand hovering over the button as you look at Dieter through the glass. He twists a crooked smile onto his face, his improvisation skills helping him navigate the conversation.

“It’s an erotic audiobook, so I’ll leave that up to you Murch,” he says, winking. You roll your eyes again, hitting record before reaching to mute yourself. “Wait, before you do that, how’s your day been?” he asks, slouching into his chair with spread thighs. He likes to see if you’ll look, give him any hint that you may be as interested in him as he finds you.

“Not too bad, Di, living the dream,” you say, leaning forward on your elbows with a smile. “Post’s coming along good, you’re getting better at not spitting every time you shout at Alé.”

“They keep asking me to drink during that scene, it gets me all drooly!” he retorts, the tinny laugh coming through his headset warming his chest. He really likes the way your eyes scrunch up when he gets a good giggle out of you, that you’ll laugh with your whole body if he gets it right. 

“Besides that, nothing special. You looking forward to the scenes you get to shoot in Rome?”

“Looking forward to being told I can’t have any pasta. What else are you supposed to eat in the city of love?” You laugh again, goosebumps tingling along Dieter’s neck at how intimate the sound is coming through his headphones.

“I’m pretty sure that’s Paris.”

“Tell me you’ve never fallen in love with a pasta alla vodka.”

“You eat all the things you love, Bravo?”

“Some of them,” he purrs, dropping his voice down an octave and tilting his head. You shake yours with an exasperated sigh, but he thinks he sees your eyelashes flutter. He’s about to elaborate - I do love pussy, and not just the weird cat I’ve been reading for - when the glow of your phone directs your eyes down.

“Shit, I’m blowing up,” you curse, scrolling quickly. “Are you good to go?”

Dieter nods his head, squaring up his chair and adjusting the microphone stand down to his level.

“I’ve got it Murch, you take care of business. Thanks for doing me a favor,” he says, trying not to let the disappointment bleed into his voice. You shoot him a tight smile before muting yourself, red light blinking in his view. You watch the screen for a moment before taking off your headphones and diving back into your phone, alternating typing and scrolling.

The silence of the room lays heavy on his shoulders, the warmth of your voice slowly fading. He feigns opening up something on his phone, a blank webpage all that actually stares back at him. Wetting his lips, he wonders what the hell to say to make it look like he’s not just dicking around in here.

“Hey Murch,” he finally settles on, keeping his eyes glued to his phone, now dark enough to reflect his face back at him, your blurry silhouette in the corner of his eye.

“It’s nice to see you today. You haven’t been on set in a bit. Things must be ramping up in your edit bay. They’re keeping you busy, that’s for sure. Or you’re keeping yourself busy. Because you know, you work really hard. I see it. Everyone does.” He clears his throat briefly, eyes snapping up to you. You flick your own up, a question on your face, but he just thumbs-ups you. 

“What would you do if you got a break? What does the lovely Murch do on a day off?” he says, his throat catching a little on lovely. “I think you like a big breakfast, something with fruit in it. You like…mangos, right? I’m pretty sure you said that once. Or peaches.” The phantom flavors drift along his tongue. “And then I’d bet you’d want to do something outside, especially if it’s nice out. Get out of that dark basement. Wear something light and breezy.”

It occurs to Dieter he’s never seen you in anything more than jeans and a t-shirt. What would you look like with your shoulders bare, legs on display, breasts scooped into a flattering neckline and ass swishing along? Did you even like pretty summer dresses? God he hoped you did. You would look fucking delicious.

A tightening in his groin alerts Dieter to a path his brain probably shouldn’t go down, but it’s the Wizard of Oz in there and his libido is following the yellow brick road. He licks his lips at the thought of you turning to wait for him, a flirty hemline skimming along your thighs. If a little breeze kicked up the skirt would flutter just a little too high for your liking, making you smooth it back down. And he’d be helpless to stop from falling to his knees and ducking his head under it.

His cock is at full attention now, straining against his slacks. He tries to shake off this train of thought, redirect to something that will refocus him, but every time he glances up to take in your features, your attention elsewhere, only hardens him more. 

“Fuck, you’d look good in something like that. You look good all the time.” Dieter’s hand clenches on his thigh, dangerously close to crossing a line. An irrelevant notification lights up his screen - ten more minutes of studio time. He squeezes his eyes shut, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth.

He shouldn’t. You’d be grossed out if he did, violated. Probably scream at him, call him a filthy little slut. 

Fuck, his pesky degradation kink’s not helping.

“Shit, Murch, you got me hard in a fucking sound booth. I can’t even get this hard this fast watching porn. What the fuck have you done to me?” he husks out, running a hand over his face. His cock bobs in his pants, the mistake of even alluding to porn in the same breath as your name furthering his thoughts. Because now that he’s said it, all the little scenarios he lies to himself about jacking off to come to the forefront unbidden.

The way the slip of your tongue over your lower lip makes him want to follow it with the head of his cock, fat and weeping at your hot breath. 

How your hands moving along a keyboard make him wonder how they’d look wrapped around his shaft, pulling him to the brink expertly before easing him back.

The fact that there’s a couch in that dark little room you work in that calls for him to fuck you on it over and over again.

You put down your phone right as he’s spiraling, imagining how you’d look spread on your back on that beat-up monstrosity as he hovers over you, and slip your headphones back on. He coughs once, hoping his face isn’t too red.

“You doing okay Di?” you ask, a note of concern coming through.

Busted. 

He shifts in his chair, his erection thankfully hidden by his low seat and the little stand his phone rests on. 

“Hah, yeah, just…getting through some of this dialogue.”

You smirk, chin in your hand.

“What, a little too spicy for THE Dieter Bravo?” you say, and have the audacity to pull the corner of your lip between your teeth. 

Well never mind then. He was going to be the gentleman and suffer in silence. But if you were going to insist on egging him on when he was just imagining how sweet your cunt would taste, then he’s going to play a little dirty.

“You can be the judge of that,” he says airily, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“I’ve read my fair share of romance novels. I don’t think you’ll surprise me.”

Oh, it’s really on now.

“Then listen in. Maybe you’ll learn something new.”

You settle back into your chair, motioning for Dieter to begin. He rolls his shoulders, putting both hands on the stand and pulling focus to his phone. His grayscale reflection is remarkably confident for how rippling his insides feel. Pulling from memories of early gigs that were a hair shy of softcore pornos and his own racing thoughts, he writes you a story.

“I fucking want you. Keep telling myself no but I fucking want you,” he growls, puffing hard out his nose. Your reaction is immediate; your eyes snap wide, mouth parting. He wants to look you in the eyes as he improvises a scene but doing that and trying to keep his composure above the waist is proving too much. His lips brush hard against the microphone, his whiskers scraping along the sensitive instrument.

“I’d make it so good for you, make you mine so many times you’d have to spend the night. Would you like that? For me to take care of you so fully, so completely, you wouldn’t be able to walk out after? Because I want you like that every. Single. Day. Let me make you feel so fucking good, baby.”

You’re trying to keep a neutral face but he can see it. The tremble of your lower lip. The rigidness of your posture. He would bet his summer house you were squeezing your thighs under the control table. God, he wants to be on the other side of the glass and saying these things in your ear, lips brushing against your skin. Filthier things too, like how he wants you to cum so hard it drips down your legs for him to lick up. That he’ll stretch you so good on his cock, make you drunk with pleasure every moment you let him. 

“Because you deserve to feel like a goddess. You do so much for me, baby, let me give you even an ounce of that back to you. I’ll be so good for you, sweetheart, treat you better than that goddamn shithead of an ex that was never worth your time.”

Dieter’s running his mouth as close to the truth as he thinks he can get away with, sneaking glances up to see how you react. Your arms are folded in a picture of ease, but he can see how your fingers dig into your bicep. He drops his voice into a lower register, rumbling deep but with a gentle quality he enjoys utilizing for narration.

“He lets her ride his buttery slick thighs, buried so deep he can’t tell where her pleasure ends and his begins. He doesn’t care as long as she keeps throwing her head back like that and crying his name. If his heart gave out now he’d die happy with the musk of her on his lips and her velvet walls clenched around him. Even though she’s already cum twice he urges her into a third with his clever thumb and a grin when she shatters.” Dieter’s half impressed at himself for thinking on his feet, the words quickening the rise and fall of your chest. Your cunt must be on fire from this, he hopes he’s not the only one aching. You can’t be unaffected, not with the way you can’t look away, gaze tight on his face when he looks up. He’s got one more tiny idea that could get him in trouble, or make the tension thread between you finally snap. Leaning forward, he looks through his lashes at you. You’re holding your breath.

“Be a good girl for me, baby.”

Your reaction is instant. Blinking hard and flaring your nostrils, your grip gets even tighter. Your skin must be blazing hot, the heat between your thighs unbearable. He wants to soothe it with his tongue, quench it with his fingers as you fist his hair and tell him how good he’s making you feel. His cock is hard to the point of exploding in his pants, the telltale tingle in his hips warning him that it’s all too possible. 

A question hangs on the tip of his tongue, one he’s so prepared to ask:

Want some help with that Murch?

You jump suddenly, the faint clanging of an alarm on the other side of the glass a shock to his own system.

MotherFUCKER.

“Sorry Di, time’s up. I gotta get moving,” you stammer, shakily pressing buttons to stop the recording and transfer the data. He tosses the headphones off quickly, taking the briefest of moments to wrap his cardigan around his middle to hide the prominence of his erection. He saunters back into the room with a smug smile.

“Now who’s gotten all flustered?” he teases, hopeful you won’t bolt from his sight. The balance is precarious now, a tiny nudge in the direction he desires setting everything off balance. Thankfully you chuckle and shake your head.

“That’s really paying your bills? I swear I’ve read better online for free,” you say, sticking in a loose USB stick and transferring the “audiobook” over for him. Dieter hovers in case you open the file, but you only hand him the drive with an overly bright smile. He takes it from you, searching your face for any hint of the titillation he caught earlier.

“You’ll have to send me your favorites, I’ll record them for a good price,” he drawls, leaning on one hand in your space. It’s a dance he’s done with you in the past, but never with so much charge in the air. He can almost taste the electricity between you, and when you meet his eyes there’s a flash of something deeper, something you won’t let come to the surface so you tamp it down with a dramatic sigh.

“Why would I want my scorching hot erotica in your voice?” you joke, his hands coming up in mock hurt before he winks at you. You shake your head and put the hard drive you came here for in your bag. 

“See you on set?” he asks, and god he sounds pitiful to his own ears but you tilt your head and smile, hand on the knob to leave.

“I’ll be around,” you say before leaving him in the booth in silence and his own tangle of thoughts.

A bolt of arousal claws down his spine, a filthy moan falling from his lips.

“Sweetheart, I’m so goddamn hard for you. I need you to look at me. Look at me and I’ll cum so hard. Just fucking look at me. See me. See what you do to me?” His hand moves faster, fingers catching along the thick ridge of his head, the need almost painful as his mind conjures the image. Your lips pursed, eyes still cast down as he whimpers into a microphone.

“Want you to put those talented fingers inside your panties and rub your clit on the other side of this window. Let me whisper all the fucking depraved shit I want to do to you, how I want to lick and finger and fuck every hole until you beg me to stop. I’ll be…such a…good boy for you.” He’s on the knife’s edge, looking down into the chasm, heavy breaths making it harder to hide. “Let me…be your good boy, sweetheart. Please, look at me.” 

And in the moment before he cums, you look up and catch his eye. 

It’s a livewire to his cock, and he empties onto his stomach with ragged cries. He’s begging it to hurry up, be as fleeting of an orgasm as when he pumps it into some starlet wanting a night with his publicity, but it keeps rolling and rolling over him, shuddering breaths and clamping legs. Tears come to his eyes because even with how fucking good it feels, he knows it could be so much better. He knows a night with you would be a million fucking times better than his hand and his phone next to his ear playing the soft laughs he coaxed out of you. That you’d make him cum, but you’d also make him smile, and preen, and maybe even glow.

Shame burns along his chest at how fucking sad this must look, legendary playboy Dieter Bravo, who could open his hotel room door and have anyone on his cock that he pleases, covered in his own cum while your voice tells him Paris is the city of love. 

Stopping the recording, he flops an arm over his face. He’s gotta get you out of his system, invite you to one of his parties for one really good fuck then send you on your happy little way. You could brag about bedding him, about how many orgasms he gave you and how much he’s ruined you for other men. And he could scratch the itch buried between his shoulders that flares when you trade good-natured barbs. Clear his head of this weird little infatuation he hasn’t experienced since he was 25 and drunk off his first love. 

That’s it, he’ll do what he always does. Make you feel like the center of his world for a night and part happy and satiated. It might finally ease the giddiness you bring with the swing of your hips. Maybe it will finally feed the emptiness inside him when the drugs peter off and his skin feels too tight and all he wants to do is find the next high or low to distract him.

But first, he’s gotta get you to accept his invitation.

END

[cha-melodius]

Hi friend! Congrats again on 100 works! Thank you for offering to write more for us! ❤️I'd like to request 1. firstprince and 2. Kensington as an AU, but only because you dared us to! Alternatively, if someone already requested that and you don't want to duplicate, I'd be interested in a hockey AU set inside the rink! Thank you again, I am so excited to see what you come up with and to read more of your words!

(Thank you so much for taking my bait lol, I've wanted to write this canon-divergence AU where they hook up in Kensington during the damage control trip for a while now. I hope you enjoy!)

Falling Down the Stairs of Your Smile

(firstprince, 4.1k, M; read it below or on AO3) read all the fandom fest fics

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. They were supposed to finish up at the hospital, and then Henry would go back to whatever the fuck he does while Alex went to the airstrip. He’d fly back to DC, so that maybe he’d be able to get some schoolwork done before Monday, and try to forget that this ridiculous weekend ever happened—barring the fact that he and Henry were still obligated to keep up the fake friendship for a few more months, that is.

Instead, Cash comes up to him as they stand outside of Kensington with a slightly grim look on his face and says, “Change of plans.”

“Huh?”

“They discovered an issue with the plane during the flight prep. It needs some part that they’re not going to be able to get until tomorrow morning. We’ll leave then.”

“What do you mean, they can’t get it? Why not?” Alex demands. Surely in a country with fucking royalty, nothing is out of grasp for said royals and their guests.

Cash shrugs. “Didn’t ask. The palace confirmed you can stay another night.”

Alex groans probably a little too dramatically. “What about my classes?”

“I am, in fact, very aware of your class schedule,” Cash says dryly. “You’ll be back in time.”

“I don’t have another change of clothes.”

“Pretty sure Kensington has laundry.”

“I’m really not getting out of this, am I?”

“Nope.”

Alex sighs and looks over to where Henry is standing with Shaan by the front gates. There’s a look of trepidation on his face, no doubt because he’s just been told that he’ll have to deal with Alex for another night. Of course, that’s not a given. Henry will probably disappear into his apartments and ignore him, which suits Alex fine. They may have reached a kind of détente today, but they’re not friends.

“Sorry to hear about your plane,” Henry says as they get back into the car that will drive them further into the palace.

Alex shrugs. “It’s fine. I guess I’ll have to survive the hardship of ten thousand thread count sheets another night.”

Henry huffs a little laugh and grins. It’s kind of amazing how different he looks when he smiles for real. “I know you’ve probably had your fill of me today, so feel free to say no, but…” He hesitates a moment, as if waiting for Alex to shut him down before he even makes his proposal. “I was thinking of ordering in curry for dinner tonight. There’s a place not far away that’s quite good. Maybe watch a film?”

It’s pretty much the last thing Alex expected him to say. He wonders if this is another olive branch, an acknowledgement that it’ll be easier to pretend they’re friends if they’re actually… kinda friends. Surprisingly, Alex doesn’t hate the idea.

“What movie?” he counters.

“Well, I would suggest one of the Star Wars films, but I’m not sure we could agree on one.”

“If we’re not going to watch the best one, aka Empire—”

“You mean Return of the Jedi,” Henry interjects.

“—I guess that leaves the next best.”

“So, Rogue One?”

Alex grins. “Ok, maybe we can be friends, after all.”

He’s absolutely not letting himself think about the warmth that grows in his chest when Henry laughs.

~~~~~

Alex discovers that there’s a room in Kensington that’s pretty much as tricked out as you can get without being in a movie theater—“There’s an actual theater in Buckingham,” Henry tells him, “but Dad had this put in for family film nights”—with a massive screen and a killer sound system. They eat their curry out of take-out containers on a surprisingly comfortable, normal couch as the movie plays, keeping up a running commentary between them that ranges from Star Wars lore to the cast (“Come on, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t follow Diego Luna anywhere. Look at him!” Alex insists, which garners him a strange look from Henry) to random things entirely unconnected to the movie.

Turns out Henry is actually really funny, which is a fucking shock and kind of annoying except for how he leaves Alex in stitches several times. It’s absurdly easy between them in a way that it shouldn’t be, and Alex can’t remember the last time he had this much fun just hanging out with someone. And it’s Henry. What is his life, even.

“I can’t believe you like this one,” Alex says as they watch Jyn and Cassian embrace desperately on the beach. “It’s pretty much the opposite of a happy ending. For the main characters, at least.”

Henry hums, tipping his head slightly. “They give up everything in the service of a cause bigger than themselves, and they succeed. There’s something beautiful about that.”

“God, you are a sap,” Alex teases, bumping his shoulder up against Henry’s. Somehow they’ve managed to migrate closer on the couch over the course of the movie, until they’re practically touching.

“And why do you like it, then?” Henry counters. “The action and spies and intrigue?”

“Not only that,” Alex says. “But there’s a reason I’m a big Bond fan.”

A smile flickers across Henry’s face that’s a little melancholy but mostly contented. “I suppose that makes sense given what I know of your movie tastes now.”

“Also, your dad was a total babe.”

Henry’s eyes go wide as he chokes on a laugh. “I beg you to not.”

They lapse into silence as the final scenes as the credits start to roll. The movie is over and it’s getting late, but all Alex can think of is that he really doesn’t want the night to end yet. Which is crazy. Twenty-four hours ago Alex was actively cursing this man’s name, and now he seemingly can’t get enough of spending time with him. It doesn’t make any sense, but somehow it does; it’s the same feeling that he was chasing all those years ago in Rio, the one that pushed him to go up an introduce himself at exactly the wrong time, the one that made the hurt of that encounter linger for so long in his psyche.

“Hey, uh,” he says eventually, turning slightly to look at Henry, “thanks for suggesting this. It was fun.”

“I hope it made up for being stuck in London longer than you wanted,” Henry replies, his voice low and soft.

“Definitely.”

Henry smiles, a warm and pleased one that stretches his lips and crinkles the corners of his eyes, and Alex feels like he’s being pulled in by the magnetism of it. He wants to get closer, despite how close they’re already sitting. His fingers twitch with the urge to touch—the soft blond hair falling over Henry’s forehead, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the fullness of his lips. He’s always known Henry was objectively good-looking, but Jesus, where does he get off being so pretty? It’s annoying, really.

Alex isn’t trying to make things weird, but he also can’t quite help the way his eyes are drawn inexorably down to those plush lips, still curved in a gentle smile. Who even has lips like that, does he get fillers or something, because they can’t be real, except they look very, very real, Alex hasn’t even ever kissed any girls with lips that nice, that look that soft—

Something short circuits in Alex’s brain and he just— has to know. How soft they really are. Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s leaning in and pressing his lips to Henry’s, which are, as it turns out, extremely soft. It only lasts for a second before his brain comes back online and he realizes Henry’s frozen stiff, which is fair, because Alex has no fucking clue what he’s doing. He hasn’t kissed a boy since Liam and this was not the fucking boy to just kiss out of nowhere. He’s gonna get, like, locked in the Tower of London or something.

He wrenches away as quickly as he leaned in, meeting Henry’s wide, stunned eyes (—still so so blue, how can they be that blue—), his lips slightly parted and just a little damp from Alex’s.

“Shit,” Alex breathes in a rush. “Fucking shit— I don’t know why I did that, I’m so sorry, Henry, I didn’t mean anything by it—”

“Alex,” Henry murmurs, but Alex is too far gone in his spiral at this point.

“—I promise, it was just— I mean, I’m not even—”

“Alex.”

Alex stops in the middle of a word, his mouth hanging open. Henry’s got some kind of strange look on his face that he can’t parse at all.

“Did it really not mean anything?” he asks slowly.

The thing is, Alex has no idea what it means. Absolutely none. Something inside him—something he doesn’t really understand—wanted to do it, but like, just as an objective experiment. Except that part of him wants to do it again, even though he already got his answer. Really wants Henry to kiss him back. Which is making him feel a little insane.

Alex closes his mouth, licks his lips, and swallows hard.

“That depends,” he says cautiously, “on what you want it to mean.”

For some reason, that makes Henry growl in frustration and cast his eyes to the ceiling. Then he groans, “Christ, Alex, you’re so—”, grabs Alex’s face between both hands, and kisses him soundly.

Alex’s insides go positively molten. Henry’s hands are gripping his jaw, and in his hair, and Alex can’t help but press closer. His own hands find Henry’s narrow waist, reveling in the dip of it, the heat of his body scorching through the thin fabric of his shirt, and the only thing currently occupying Alex’s mind is a desperate urge to feel bare skin under his palms. That is, until Henry slides his tongue along Alex’s lower lip, sucks it into his mouth and tugs on it with his teeth, and Alex stops thinking altogether.

Their positions are a little awkward, twisted toward each other on the couch as they are, and Alex isn’t sure if he pulls or Henry pushes—or maybe both—but a moment later Henry is unfolding his long legs and shifting to straddle Alex’s lap, which is both incredible and incredibly overwhelming. Especially when Henry’s hips rock forward and Alex can feel his growing arousal pressing into the rapidly tightening region of Alex’s pants.

Jesus, this is— it’s— it’s a lot, but the very last thing Alex wants to happen is for it to stop.

He absolutely does not whimper when Henry pulls back, sending Alex unconsciously chasing after his lips. Fortunately, Henry doesn’t go far. He presses their foreheads together, breathing raggedly into the space between them as his thumb swipes across Alex’s cheek.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Henry breathes, and yeah, Alex had no fucking clue.

His mind is spinning at a thousand miles an hour, and he has no idea what to say to that besides: “Fuck.”

Henry chuckles softly, nudging their noses together. “Indeed.” He presses a soft kiss to Alex’s lips, then another to the corner of his mouth and one to the edge of his jaw. “Do you want to… go somewhere we won’t be interrupted?” he murmurs into Alex’s ear, and his warm breath combined with the words makes Alex tremble under him.

Alex swallows hard as his hands tighten on Henry’s hips, but he hesitates a moment too long because then Henry is actually pulling back, a concerned expression creasing his brow.

“Which is not to say— we don’t have to do anything more if you don’t want— I just thought—”

“I want to,” Alex blurts, surprising even himself. He’s not entirely sure what more means to Henry, but he knows he wants it. Jesus, does he want. “Yes. Fuck. Let’s do that.”

Henry grins, wide and nearly blinding in its brilliance, and Alex thinks he would do just about anything to see that smile on his face always.

They clamber off the couch, adjusting themselves with shared, knowing giggles, then Henry grabs his hand and tugs Alex through formal, stuffy corridors lined with portraits and antiques, which just adds a certain something to the absurdity of the whole situation. Somehow it’s not a surprise that Henry’s apartments are just as impersonal and opulent as the rest of the palace, full of hideous floral wallpaper and baroque furniture. Before, he’d have put that on Henry himself, but now it feels wrong despite the fact that Alex still barely knows him. It feels like he knows enough. Henry eats curry on the couch and cracks crude jokes and sniffles at the tragic endings of Star Wars movies (yes, Alex noticed). Henry is warm and soft and feels like he belongs in cozy, simple rooms full of old books and tea and cardigans.

Alex’s musings are cut off when Henry pulls him close again at the foot of the hideous gilt monstrosity that is his bed, wrapping his arms around Alex’s waist and tugging him into a lingering kiss. It’s softer than before, delicate and sweet, exactly like Alex would imagine Prince Charming would kiss. From this angle Alex has to tip his head up to kiss him, which is definitely not something he ever thought would do it for him, and yet. Henry’s evening stubble scratches against his chin, and broad hands grip onto his hips and pull him against the hard, flat planes of Henry’s chest, all of it constantly reminding him of the unmistakable masculinity of the person he’s currently making out with.

Alex thinks, distantly, that he should probably be freaking out about this a bit more, but it’s too easy to give himself over it in the moment. He can freak out about what whatever the fuck it means later.

Henry’s hands move to the front of Alex’s shirt, and his nimble fingers make short work of the buttons before pushing it backwards off Alex’s shoulders. His fingers leave trails of fire where they linger against Alex’s bare skin, and even just this has Alex moaning into the kiss, desperate for more. He tugs at Henry’s shirt, yanking the tails out of his pants and nearly tearing the buttons open in his haste, which makes Henry laugh at him, the bastard.

“Eager, are we?” Henry teases, and Alex bites the grin right off his face.

“Shut all the way up,” he huffs before sinking his teeth into the absolutely irresistible collarbone he’s just uncovered.

Henry sucks in a gratifying breath at that, his hands tightening on Alex’s waist, and then he’s manhandling Alex back onto the mattress, which has no business being as hot as it is. Alex kicks off his shoes before scrabbling backwards so that he’s lying against the pillows, his heart racing as Henry crawls up over him with a nearly predatory grin on his face. The way his body fully blankets Alex’s is overwhelming in the best way, making every part of Alex ache with the need to somehow be closer, even as Henry presses the their bodies together from knee to chest and captures Alex’s lips in another deep, probing kiss.

They kiss and kiss until Alex’s lips are almost numb from it, their hands roving over heated skin and through thoroughly mussed hair. Henry’s hips roll slowly against him, almost a question, and Alex groans when he feels the hardness of Henry’s cock pushing against his hip. His own is straining against the front of his trousers, and his breath shudders in his chest when he imagines what it would feel like to have Henry’s hands wrapped around him.

But—

“Hey, uh,” he breathes as Henry’s mouth moves to his neck, and he’s nearly driven to distraction by the feeling of Henry’s teeth scraping lightly over his pulse point, but he wants to get this out, “I’ve never actually—” His voice fails, and Henry pulls back just enough to look him in the eye. Alex swallows. “Done this. With a guy. I mean, kinda, but not really—” He lets out a frustrated huff. “It’s a long story.”

Henry stares at him so intensely and earnestly that Alex feels flayed open by it, like Henry can see all the parts of him that Alex himself didn’t know were there. “We can just do this,” he says as he pushes a curl back from Alex’s forehead. “The last thing I want is to push you into something you’re not comfortable with.”

It’s completely reasonable not to rush things, but Alex thinks if he leaves London without seeing Henry naked he might fucking expire.

“Did I not already fucking say I wanted it?” he retorts, a little testily. Better that than admitting how desperate he really is.

“Well, to be fair, we didn’t exactly specify—”

“I want you naked,” Alex breathes in a rush. “I want your hands on me. Your mouth, if— if that’s something you want.”

Henry’s gaze goes dark and hot, and he actually licks his lips. Alex’s dick twitches in his pants. Jesus Christ.

Henry dips back down to kiss his neck, but a moment later he answers. “That,” he says, pressing it into Alex’s skin as he kisses a path down his chest, “is something I very much want.”

Then Henry’s hands are at his waistband, making short work of his belt and peeling off his underwear and pants in one go, and everything goes very, very hazy after that in the absolute best possible way.

~~~~~

The room is quiet after they subside, after every ounce of pleasure has been wrung from their bodies, after shouted names ease into murmured endearments.

“I should go,” Alex eventually whispers into the stillness, because he should. It would be better if he spent the night in his own rooms. Safer.

He doesn’t want to, though. He doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts right now, doesn’t want to give his brain the space to run wild with this. That’s what will happen if he goes. He’ll fall into a research spiral on google, and text Nora even though it’s too late, and quietly freak out about everything that’s happened tonight. Here, though, Henry’s got an arm thrown over his waist, and it’s not much, but the weight of it soothes something within him. Keeps him grounded.

Maybe it’s just Henry that settles him. He doesn’t want to think too hard about that.

“You could stay,” Henry murmurs back. He leans in, presses a kiss to the outside of Alex’s shoulder. “No one will notice. Tomorrow’s Sunday. The staff come in late.”

This is a terrible idea. This can’t be… anything, really, given who they are. Alex doesn’t even know what he wants it to be, but he knows that.

“You sure?” Alex asks anyway.

“Stay,” Henry repeats.

So Alex stays.

~~~~~

The bed Alex wakes up in is unfamiliar, which is hardly surprising given his travel schedule lately. What is unexpected is that he’s naked, and there’s a warm, naked body pressed against his back, and abruptly all of what he got up to the previous night comes slamming back into vivid clarity.

He slept with the fucking prince. Henry. His nemesis, except not actually, apparently, and oh yes, definitely also a dude. Alex sucked his dick and most definitely enjoyed the experience, so that’s a whole new thing. The freakout about his sexuality that he shoved to the back of his mind last night rockets to the forefront now, and he can feel his breath stutter in his chest.

Except then Henry’s arm tightens around him and he presses a sleepy kiss to the back of Alex’s shoulder, and the tightness in his chest unclenches somewhat. Not all the way, but enough.

He fumbles for his watch, then jolts up to sitting with a new fear once he sees the time. Jesus Christ, Cash or Amy is going to show up at his bedroom any minute now to pick him up so they can leave, and Alex isn’t fucking there. This is a disaster.

Henry grumbles at being disrupted, sleepily rubbing at his eyes in a way that’s definitely not adorable at all. “Time is it?” he mumbles through a yawn.

“Late,” Alex huffs, briefly getting tangled in the sheets and nearly falling out of the bed in his haste to find his clothing.

He’s halfway into his pants when there’s a knock at Henry’s bedroom door, and he almost falls on his face again. That seems to wake Henry up a bit more, and he finally sits up, his hair standing up in all directions and his eyes gone wide.

“Yes?” Henry calls out.

“The Secret Service seem to have misplaced their charge,” comes Shaan’s voice through the door, and Alex would very much like to die right now. Henry stumbles out of bed, throwing on a robe, then opens the door just enough so that Alex isn’t visible. “I told them I would inquire with you to see if you had any idea of Mr. Claremont-Diaz’s whereabouts.”

There’s something very knowing in Shaan’s tone, like he’s perfectly aware of where Alex spent the night and furthermore none of this is exactly a surprise to him, and Alex only barely manages to hold back the extensive collection of curses crowding at the tip of his tongue. What the actual fuck.

“Ah,” Henry says. His cheeks are bright pink. “Just a moment, I’m sure I can help you locate him.”

“I’m not sure I’ve properly conveyed how agitated they are, sir.”

“Tell them I’m ok,” Alex sighs begrudgingly, stepping into view now that his shirt and pants are on. It’s not like he’s kidding anyone; he’s still barefoot in Henry’s bedroom and the bed that two people clearly slept in is fully visible from where Shaan is standing. “I just—”

Shaan holds up a hand. “Believe me when I say that you do not need to finish that sentence. I will deliver the message, but”—he pauses, glancing between them—“you probably shouldn’t linger.”

He pulls the door closed behind him as he goes and, despite the warning, Alex stands there for a minute, rooted in place and staring at the floor. Maybe Shaan doesn’t want an explanation, but the Secret Service certainly will. Fuck.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” Henry says quietly, suddenly close beside him. Alex hadn’t heard him approach. He still looks so soft and sleep-rumpled, and something tugs at Alex’s chest that absolutely should not be tugging. “I shouldn’t have talked you into staying here.”

Alex huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “I didn’t take much convincing,” he says. “I shoulda just set a fucking alarm.”

“Probably,” Henry agrees, his lips tipping into a wry smile that fades into a look of concern. “Are you… ok?”

“Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be?” he answers, probably a little too quickly. Henry just stares at him in that way that makes Alex feel entirely too seen. “Probably gonna get chewed out for disappearing, but it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“That’s not exactly what I was talking about.”

Alex swallows. “I’m fine.” He offers Henry a little smile. “This was fun.”

“It certainly was,” Henry agrees carefully.

“Where’s your phone? I’ll give you my number, it’ll be easier to plan joint appearances or whatever,” Alex says in a blatant attempt to divert from a discussion about what happened or what this makes them. He’s got to figure his own shit out first. He doesn’t need Henry to know that he’s already wondering when he can arrange his schedule to see him again.

Henry gives him a look, but he fetches his phone and hands it over to Alex with a blank contact page open. Alex types in his number and hands it back.

“I’ll be disappointed if you only use that for booty calls,” he jokes.

Henry sputters out a laugh. “Noted.”

He’s endearingly pink-cheeked and smiling, and Alex doesn’t think before he takes the last step that puts him in Henry’s personal space, grabs the fronts of Henry’s robe, and pulls him into a kiss.

If he’d had any lingering doubts about the previous night, about whether what he’d felt was real or not, this thoroughly dispels them. The press of Henry’s lips to his, the way their mouths slot together as easily as if they’ve been doing this for years, the zip of electricity that fizzles under his skin and spreads out to tingle in the tips of his fingers and toes… Alex has never been kissed like this, has never felt like this being kissed, and it’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

Like he’s falling.

Oh. Fuck.

[notacyborg]

Stu Macher Head Canons / Relationship head canons

Stu's parents travel for work a lot; he's on his own a lot, but they love him. That's why they miss so many little red flags.

He killed a dog but decided he didn't like killing dogs and cats but hunting dear and bore, and you know people are okay.

He's read anatomy books for a couple of different reasons.

Because of how often he's on his own, he's pretty good at taking care of himself unless he gets wrapped up in something; then he can have a moment of 'oh, I should probably eat or go to bed.'

He loves to read true crime books, but not for good reasons or victim-centric reasons.

He would have become a serial killer with or without Billy; he would have been one of the ones that either goes un-caught for a long time like GSK; however, unlike GSK, it would be a surprise to everyone around him.

Stu Snowboards

Stu is touch-starved

Stu doesn't feel guilt about Moreen or any of the killings

Stu is smart, really smart; he just likes to have fun.

Other Stuff

Billy doesn't hate Stu or use him and isn't mean to him; they have that standard 90s boy-in-public relationship, saying stupid shit and smacking each other around in public.

In private, they are partly on top of each other, watching movies and just tangled up in each other.

What they do to each other is always a little on the rougher side of things. Billy will never admit sometimes he likes the simpler stupid stuff.

Stu doesn't have the same jealous streak that Billy does. But Billy honestly doesn't like the way Casey and Tatum treated/treat Stu, even if it's mostly a delusion.

Stu tells Billy to kill Tatumn and suggests he kills Sid to keep their cover; this obviously doesn't work out because they get stupid in the end (fixing this in my horrific canon divergence fic)

Billy would become a killer without Stu, but probably the first time would be an accident in a bar fight or something induced by rage, then he'd get a taste for it.

More other stuff, if they got away with it:

Stu's lungs would be fucked after the 'stagged' stabbing oxygen for a while, then an inhaler.

Billy would probably have scar tissue that gets painful from time to time.

Billy was never going to use Stu as a fall guy, and Stu wouldn't have done that to Billy.

Billy was a little shocked at what Stu did to Casey when they started their 'sequel,' at least the part where he strings her up from the tree, but he loved it.

Stu makes a living writing, and Billy works in an FX house. They probably go to USC or UCLA.

They live quietly and don't really talk about what happened in Woodsboro; sometimes, they have to find a way to scratch certain itches, and that is harder for Stu than it is for Billy. But they work something out.

[church-of-lilith]

Vinylatte Good Omens Fic Masterlist

the maggie/nina tag on ao3 post season 2 has been almost impossible to navigate if you’re trying to find actual fics of them. so i decided that i would compile all of them i could find and put them here in one place for anyone who’s been looking.

**denotes fics where they’re more of a background pairing, but still prevalent

Pre-Season Fics

Shrinking Violet by deathbymistletoe

Really cute one shot written and published after the early screening of the first two episodes. Explores Maggie’s feelings for Nina but is canon divergent after 2x02

divine intervention by literary_lesbian

In which Nina thinks her intentions are pretty clear, but Maggie needs a bit more reassurance.

all this (and heaven, too) by literary_lesbian

5 times Nina & Maggie assume Aziraphale & Crowley are together + the 1 time they actually are.

Collections/Series

Atlas (then suddenly, I saw you) by Andnever_ever_eatpears

A collection of fics set throughout Maggie & Nina’s relationship. Currently at 8 works but the author says there’s 11 planned so definitely keep an eye on this one!

When I’m Ready I Hope She’ll Be There by gutsandglitter (@applebottomclaudiajeans)

A collection of fics that take us through Maggie & Nina’s relationship as it develops. Currently at 4 works and they’re some of the sweetest most well written stories you’ll ever read.

One Shots

The times, they are a-changing by WrittenMemxries

4 times Nina enters Maggie’s shop + 1 time she enters her house

i’m begging for you to take my hand, wreck my plans, that’s my (wo)man by Lavenderknives (@lavenderknivess)

Maggie is closing up the record store, but Nina has something she wants to say.

lost in your current like a priceless kombucha by Lavenderknives (@lavenderknivess)

Short crack-ish fic where Maggie makes her own kombucha and brings some to Nina.

my, my, how can i resist you by Lavenderknives (@lavenderknivess)

Maggie and Nina have a silly little movie night because they deserve it!

and she aches (just like a woman) by literary_lesbian

A year after The Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeepers Association meeting, Nina comes to terms with what she really wants.

and yet it moves by literary_lesbian**

Aziraphale knows he should leave Earth behind entirely, if he means to take his role in reforming Heaven seriously. But when Maggie calls out to him, he can’t help but listen in. He never was very good at following the rules, even his own.

a new light by literary_lesbian

Nina has always hated the holiday season and the decorations her fellow Shopkeepers on Whickber Street enjoy utilizing to the extreme, year after year after… Until Maggie comes along and sheds some light on a few things.

terms of endearment by literary_lesbian**

In which Crowley learns something new about humanity, and he and Aziraphale finally come to terms with their feelings.

hymns for a broken heart by andiwriteordie

Five records Maggie gives to Crowley, plus one she gives to Aziraphale

worm-hearted by findmebythemilkway**

“Would you still love Mr. Fell if he was a worm?” Maggie blurts out and immediately blushes. Nina snorts in her respective corner. Crowley, who’s been busy eyeing both the television and the bookshop, redirects his eyes to her. Maggie offers him a toothy grin. “I’m… sorry?” Crowley asks. He can’t wait for Aziraphale to arrive and hear this.

I’m ready by Culties

Nina has a confession to make and reminisces on her relationship with Maggie so far.

Like Real People Do by My__name__Leo**

Aziraphale and Crowley are on a double date with Nina and Maggie. But what happens when Crowley gets overwhelmed?

who wants to live forever? by lovelosvers**

“Maggie,” he turns mock serious. “Would you describe The Velvet Underground as bebop?” She looks bewildered. “Never in a million years,” she says. “So you see my point, then,” Crowley grins.

Tilt by DoonaRose

Maggie tells Aziraphale that her and Nina have started a relationship but that he can’t tell Crowley because Nina doesn’t want to hear ‘I told you so’. Aziraphale tells Crowley because he can’t help himself and then Crowley decides to show Nina that him and Aziraphale are also now doing the kissing and being a couple thing.

a little uncertainty by TheTellersEye

Maggie and Nina talking about the future and being cute.

Mr. Fell is Back by ughdotcom

Mr. Fell is back. Nina and Maggie have a few comments.

Multi-Chapter Fics

Moving On by neowitcher

Maggie and Nina have endured a lot in a short amount of time and now that Aziraphale is off to Heaven, any heavenly or demonic threats seem to have departed. Now, the two women are left spending their days in each other's company and are steadily growing fonder of each other. Maggie fears she's moving too fast when all Nina wants to do is move on.

The Third Fall by cordsycord

The Second Coming of Jesus Christ, son of God, came to Earth, against the predictions of dozens prominent religious scholars, on the relatively normal day of June 21st 2024, four months before the Earth's 6028th birthday. It was raining in London. The M25 was backed up. The Tube was late arriving to one station, and early arriving to another. Tourists took pictures at all the places that tourists enjoy taking pictures at.

Coming Back Around by CLOVERTOWN3

After Aziraphale leaves Earth, Crowley is left to drown in his sorrow. Together, Maggie and Nina weigh the tasks of keeping Crowley in check and solving the mystery of Aziraphale's strange and sudden promotion. All the while Muriel learns more about love, heaven, and the nature of humanity.

Whickber Street Relationship Counseling (And Rescue Service) by staroversea

The incredible true story of how 8 shopkeepers become responsible for a very emotionally fragile demon.

Uncharted Territory by Justanothernerdsstuff

Seven months after Aziraphale took his new position in heaven, Crowley is coping the best he can.

Most Ardently by borealisaurora**

Aziraphale brings Pride and Prejudice with him to Heaven, and with its help and the help of some friends, he realizes where he went wrong with Crowley and what he needs to do to fix it.

We Could’ve Been Us by elusive_ellipsis**

Aziraphale's last words to the one being he could ever say he loved were "I forgive you," but he knows that Crowley will never forgive him. Nina and Maggie try to convince him that he can make it up to the demon, but Aziraphale is only staying on Earth until he accepts that their relationship is truly over.

You’re Crashing but You’re no Wave, You’re Just an Angel Cast out of Heaven by Blueleaf12

Where is Crowley supposed to go after the Metatron whisked Aziraphale away to heaven? Bunk across the hall from where the Archangel Gabriel once resided in Aziraphale’s bookshop? Fuck no, now was the time to mope with those two human women you royally messed up trying to get together.

Something lasts forever by Aidaran

After Aziraphale leaves, Crowley is left to drink himself to death and be just as miserable as he can be. Lucky for him, Nina doesn't have patience for drunk demons in his shop, and Maggie is always willing to give a helping hand.

what it all comes down to by dollsome**

Aziraphale starts sneaking out of Heaven to visit Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death. It helps immensely.

Shepherds of the Damned by angelwithawand**

After Aziraphale leaves, Crowley carves out a life of his own.

on the inside and no sunlight by the_moonmoth**

In which Crowley makes some friends, Aziraphale does some thinking, and they both learn a thing or two about communication

[sexyleon]

I felt that post of yours about the Dracula fandom and the way it talks about adaptations tbh, like, I'm someone who was very involved in DD last year and I've written critique myself about Dracula adaptations bc I love comparative analysis and really thinking about the choices adaptations make, for good or for ill, but from my personal experience, a lot of fandom commentary on adaptations isn't really thoughtful analysis, and don't get me wrong, I'm a hater sometimes too and enjoying venting, but I noticed that this year, there were so many posts that started out as thoughtful commentary on the book, then launched into bitching about the evils of adaptations out of nowhere, and people can write what they want, but it got tiring after awhile to be in a fandom with so much angry energy, not to mention the divergence in canon vs fanon that was much starker this year that made me feel like I had read a different book.

Also, every time I see people point at re: Dracula to be like, see, it's so easy to do a perfect 1:1 adaptation of the novel, why can't other adaptations do it?, it's like, it's an audiobook, a movie can't be that long, even a television mini-series would have to make cuts. And I might dislike a lot of choices adaptations make, but creatives absolutely have the right to take a public domain work and put their own spin on things beyond book accuracy as the number one goal - and like, do we truly want a 100% accurate adaptation when the novel is still ultimately a xenophobic reverse invasion story? Like, I would hope modern directors would seriously grapple with those aspects of the original story instead of reproducing Victorian bigotry unquestioned.

Hi, thank you for your response! I'm glad that my post resonated with a few people!

I definitely also felt a shift in energy with this season of Dracula Daily, and I'm pretty sure it is a direct result of the phenomena that is Re: Dracula. Don't get me wrong, I am a HUGE supporter of RE: Dracula, and I found it to be absolutely delightful specifically because it was a 1:1 adaptation of the book, but I also think that it has skewed the way people engage with all the other adaptations of Dracula. You are so right when you say that Re: Dracula's media as audiobook is what allowed it to be so authentic. Even if it was a long-form series, there would have to be creative liberties taken to account for visualising certain aspects of the text. I am 100% sure someone would be able to do it, but it would undoubtedly be a labour of love and expense.

I think the biggest thing that got lost in translation in my post is that I was speaking specifically on the rhetoric of "bad adaptation = bad media." I don't even like to use the term "bad adaptation" because it feels inaccurate and gives the connotation of being holistically terrible; "failed adaptation" or "inauthentic adaptation" seems more apt when discussing how close an adaptation relates to the source material. I think it is unfair for any adaptation to be written off solely on the fact that it does not strictly adhere to the original text. This can be in way of narrative, characterization, theme, etc. I don't think it's fair to say "x adaptation is bad because it ignores x from the text" because that fundamentally dismisses all the other attributes that contribute to whether or not a piece of media is subjectively good (because honestly that's all it is-- subjectivity). Media, especially film and stage, has so many dynamic and moving parts. There are so many attributes that contribute to the success of any one given thing, especially adaptations (which can claim the title with even the loosest references to the source material). I feel like the black and white thinking when it comes to this doesn't really allow for a dialogue to exist between people who enjoy Dracula adaptations for what they are and, forgive me for saying this, book purists.

Understandably, there is criticism against some adaptations that have claimed to follow the source text closely, but very distinctly did not (Ahum, Cappola). However, I think it does everyone a disservice to deny the impact of a lot of these (mostly) films. Someone in the reblogs of my original post did a good breakdown of the origins of the Dracula genre itself, and I think it goes to show that the story of Dracula has a life of its own outside of the pages of Bram Stoker's book.

The most annoying thing about the responses to my initial post was the refusal to believe that anyone was making these comparisons. I really would not have gone out on a limb to rant about this if I hadn't been consistently seeing vent posts in the main tag with mostly negative responses to a lot of different adaptations of Dracula based on the authenticity of them to the text. I admit I was frustrated when I wrote it, but it really was meant to just address the black and white thinking re: failed adaptations making bad media. This is not to say that criticism of adaptations isn't valid, but I think there should be more nuance to this conversation and that's what I wasn't seeing. It's not fun to dive into the broad Dracula tag and find post after post shitting on your favourite media because it isn't like the book.

Sorry this was a bit long! I am just really passionate about Dracula okay!! And I really really really like all the shitty little shows and movies and plays and comics and all other media that comes out of his name (because YES, a lot of adaptations really make vampire synonymous with Dracula and ROLL WITH IT). Vampires are really neat and the Dracula genre of film has been a huge influence on horror media. I think there is a lot to be said when analysing adaptations, but none of it can come from blanket statements against them.

@spider-xan

[mlbigbang]

2022 Ladynoir Fic Rec List

It's the end of the year which means it's finally time for the ML Big Bang's yearly fic rec lists! We're really excited to bring you our contributors' favourite fics started this year to supply you with plenty of reading material while you're waiting for the Big Bang fics' publication in January.

Movie Date, Interrupted by @purrfectlypunny 1,043 words, General, 1/1 chapter

Ladybug and Chat Noir finally have time to spend together at a movie; unfortunately, a goofy akuma and a moody teenager have other plans.

"The dynamic between Ladybug and Chat is so good!!"

Polaris by @miabrown007 4,029 words, Teen, 3/3 chapters

Adrien had lost everything. Along with his Miraculous, he gave up his freedom, his kwami, his partner; there’s nothing else left to lose. But maybe it is an akuma attack going so predictably wrong all it takes to change his fate, and prove his worth in the team to the only person doubting it: himself. *** Kuro Neko-divergent hurt/comfort fic

"I am weak for any hurt/comfort that is made worse (better) by identity barriers. This fic very much delivers."

breaking me down to my knees in the dead of night by @sunfoxfic 2,429 words, General, 1/1 chapter

Marinette ran off in the middle of an argument and Adrien panicked. Now, he has showed up to patrol as Catwalker, and he has to lie in the bed he's made, even if he overreacted a bit much.

"(technically Ladywalker, but anyway…) A very sweet fluff-and-angst fic that gently but realistically portrays neurodivergence."

Maintaining a Professional Distance by @buggachat 43,417 words, Teen, 11/11 chapters

“I mean, how dumb does the mayor think we are? Offering us a permanent hotel room as a ‘gesture of gratitude for all our work for Paris’, like it isn’t clearly just some half-baked political ploy to place him more in the public’s favor after the whole school funding scandal, like we’ll allow ourselves to sleep in a hotel that we were publicly offered, making ourselves sitting ducks for Hawkmo—” “It’s a pretty big building,” he countered, and at least he seemed amused, because she certainly wasn’t, “Nobody knows which room we were given but us.” “It doesn’t matter!” she scoffed, “It’s still a security risk that he can narrow our location down at all! Also,” she jutted her arms out towards the bed a second time, “May I remind you? ONE. BED. ONE!” ——— Or, Ladybug and Chat Noir receive a hotel room from the city, which they most certainly will not use. After all, that wouldn't be very professional, would it? Yes, it's a Ladynoir bed sharing fic.

"Genuinely one of the most in character Ladynoir fics I've read. I love how the conflicts are resolved, how the characters deal with the fallout, and how no one is villainized. There's the "there's only one bed" trope, Marinette is a MESS but we love her for it, clownbug, Adrien is oblivious, Chat is a dork. Fun times all around."

"The best "There was only one bed" fic you will ever read. Ladybug and Chat Noir get their own dedicated suite in Le Grand Palais, as thanks for their continuing work protecting the city. Only one bed shouldn't be a problem since they both have a home and a bedroom anyway, right? Except.... sometimes Marinette needs to get away from the kwamis and have some space, and sometimes (a lot) Chat Noir needs to get away from whatever is happening with his family, soooooo..... "Friends with benefits without the benefits" is the perfect tag. It's hilarious. It's sweet. It's romantic and emotional."

Hamburger Ladybug by RaspberryCatapult 1,773 words, Teen, 1/1 chapter

Ladybug runs into a burning building. What comes out no longer resembles anything that can be described as a person.

"So, it's a little graphic, as it's about Ladybug running into a burning building, getting charred up, and Chat staying with her in the hospital. BUT...it is beautifully written - descriptive and emotionally spot on (pun intended). And the ending is mind-blowing. It never leaves you. Totally original."

i am not a puppet (i will work against your strings) by @bugchat 7,525 words, Teen, 1/1 chapter

Nothing quite hurts like loneliness– unless you count being thrown against a wall at top speed, while Ladybug’s horrified expression follows you. Adrien questions how he got here, pressed against a wall while fighting for his life, watching the city crumble around him while Ladybug stares. There are other heroes, a second, third, fourth villain, and all he’s done is give the villain the power to win. It’s over.

"GORGEOUSLY WRITTEN!!!! in love with how Cartara provided an Adrien POV to the season 4 final!!!!"

Wait— Don't let this line go slack by DescentIntoAbsurdity 14,418 words, Teen, 1/1 chapter

I think you've got the wrong number She sends her simple text, satisfied. Then she goes about and wipes down the benches and puts away the flour, and thinks, wait. I have a thousand neighbourhood cats that loiter around my apartment complex and threaten me for food. I cook cat treats in my free time. I know what to feed cats. Marinette deals with her crush on Adrien, cute neighbour and well-known model. She also tries to cope with baking in her free time, and her college assignments, and her growing feelings for Chat Noir; a boy who accidentally texted her regarding his cat. It's going about as well as can be expected.

"loved to follow their interractions via text and their fumblings irl"

Take 31 #LadyNoir kiss, action! by @malauu-ladynoir 41,422 words, Teen, 31/31 chapters

How many kisses does it take to let feelings spread free? How many redo to finally get over the subdued inhibition? Is it a first tentative kiss propelling you in an awkward leap into the unknown? Or is it the one built from years of holding back repressed feelings? When Ladybug and Chat Noir get asked to play themselves in a movie the drama doesn’t just stay on set. With a new nemesis, a dreaded kissing scene, consuming feelings and a new revelation can Ladybug finally give in to what she’s always held back…her love for her partner? Can Chat Noir's heart still be able to surrender?

"I absolutely loved Ladynoir's dynamic in this fic, it's so good!"

one does not love breathing by @wackus-bonkus-maximus 99,476 words, Mature, 34/43 chapters

All of Paris watched as Hawkmoth murdered Chat Noir, taking the Black Cat Miraculous for himself. Ladybug swears revenge, but her enemy—and every miraculous in his possession—disappear without a trace. Six years later, a new team of villains launches an attack for the last remaining Miraculous: Volpina, armed with new powers; Queen Bee, with questionable loyalty; Argos, the new holder of the Peacock Miraculous; and Cat Walker, who Ladybug hates the most. Takes place after S4 - Strike Back.

"Quite possibly my favorite ml fic ever. Is really all sides of the love square (Ladynoir is emphasized, especially towards the beginning, also Mari...walker?), as well as other pairings (Lukazoe, DJwifi, and Feligami), and a lot of amazing action and office espionage. Chat Noir was killed by Monarch in front of all of Paris, and Ladybug swore revenge. Now, after a strange visit from Bunnyx, Monarch is suddenly back, along with a team of Miraculous users that Ladybug has to face all by herself. Amazing character interactions, new uses of Miraculouses, fantastic action scenes, and heartbreak, heartbreak everywhere. Also senticousins."

[thegirlwhowrites642]

Huh, I think you might be a bit hard on Hermione. Generally speaking I mean.

1. Is it really that surprising that Hermione had kids young, so much that it needs to be addressed in this TV show? In wizarding world it's very common to marry and have kids young, since they finish all their school duties at 18/19 and get a job after. So she would have had about 8 years of work experience before she became pregnant. And the whole "she's not family oriented" is also exaggerated and not really true. She clearly enjoys the Burrow chaos just as Harry since she's always there and she obviously loves her parents, even with the questionable Obliviate thing. You're acting like Hermione is some kind of robot. If your personal headcanon is that she's not family oriented..well that's another thing.

2. The canaries thing is obviously not good. Great! Meaning Hermione has flaws, she's not perfect and the readers/audience know this. But ..haha why do Harry and Ginny need to TALK about it so obviously as if the audience are some idiots who can't figure it out on their own.? That's a very beloved rule in movie making - you don't TELL something obvious to audience, let them think for themselves. And it's not like what Hermione did here was something horrible (and I say this as a Ron defender lol). It's pretty vanilla compared to some other weird stuff in HP (the exposing of Snape's underwear and possibly genitals, Harry's crucio, Fred and George's love potion.... So many weirdness) PS. It's not like Ginny would actually care about Ron here to be angry at Hermione. This the book where Ron and Ginny didn't get along and realistically speaking Ginny would've probably snorted or laughed if she heard that Hermione set the canaries on Ron. (Isn't that Ginny's thing - she appreciates dark humor or something like that..?)

So yeah, I think what's really going on here is that Hermione gets on your nerves and maybe that's why you exaggerate her flaws and have sceptical (almost negative) thoughts about her. Which is fine, but it's weird that these 'problems' that you have with Hermione... weirdly enough Ginny is guilty of having them too and yet you never mention these problems with Ginny. What was it that you criticized Hermione for? - being unrealistically capable and not showing flaws towards the end of the series? Not showing enough development? Having kids young? Having a mean streak and being too harsh sometimes and the fans still love you? That's BOTH Hermione and Ginny, my friend xD

Oh, God.

Thinking that not being family oriented means hating your family or being a robot might be a you problem. More and more people nowadays are not family oriented, there's absolutely nothing wrong with it. Hermione repetedely chooses to not spend time with her parents. Her liking going to the Burrow simply means she likes spending time with Ron, generally likes the Weasleys and it's not uncomfortable around a lot of people. And, I absolutely do not care if there are eight years between the end of the war and when she starts having children. She is not a real person, she is a character. What you put in the Epilogue needs to be coherent with what you have told until that point.

Hermione having flaws is not a problem, it's a great thing. Those flaws never being addressed narratevely is the problem. If in no way you adress the fact that what Hermione did is wrong, you are sending the message that what she did was right. If you as the reader percive it as wrong, that's good because critical thinking requires you while reading a book that you absorb the facts but question the interpretation of the author and see if the two things are coherent. Since the fourth book, with Hermione's character there's a divergence between how the narrative wants you to percive her and how she actually behaves, and it progressively gets worse. She never pays the consequences of her own wrongdoing. Which is why after your first reading of HBP you probably are going to think Hermione was competely right and Ron was a jerk, especially if you are a child. It's about the message that it's being sent. And yes, Ginny has flaws too, and that's great, and those are very much adressed. She hexes Smith, she calls Slughorn mad for not putting her in detention. She attacks Smith after the match, and it's hilarious, objectively speaking, but McGonagall still very much yells at her. She mocks Fleur, she admits she was wrong about her by the end of the book. It's not about characters having flaws, characters need to have flaws, it's about the message the story is sending. And, about Ginny not being angry at the canaries, I'm gonna guess you don't have siblings. One of the main rules of having siblings is that you can destroy them but if anyone else dares looking at them the wrong way, that person will die.

The canaries were just an example of one of the many very ugly things Hermione does and that are never addressed as such. What makes that specific episode particulary ugly is that she does it against someone she is supposed to love.

Ginny is not unrealistically capable. She is a powerful witch, that's a natural thing, it doesn't need development, and it's shown since the second book. It's also shown she takes her studies seriously by the way. If you are referring to Quidditch, she trains herself since she is six, what's unrealistic about her being good at it? It's also shown she is not as good of a seeker as she is a chaser. Also, I never said Hermione is unrealistically capable (are you referring to me saying she gets jobs she shouldn't be good at according to the books? That's just an objective thing). I mean, in DH she does things that she shouldn't be able to do out of nowhere, but in general, there's nothing particulary impressive in Hermione's abilities. The narrative desperately tries to make you think she is a genius by making everyone call her that but she just reads a lot of academic material and she is a bit smarter than average, there's nothing weird about that.

Ginny having kids young is extremely realistic??? She is very attached to her family, she is impulsive, and she grew up in a family of seven siblings, I'm surprised none of the Weasleys siblings had seven children of their own.

How can Ginny lack development? She is a character built on progression. She has the most structured development along with Harry. Her whole story is this progressive climb out of the shadow. She becomes the person she needed as a little girl, her helping the injured girl on the grounds is a parallel to her being the girl on the ground in the Chamber. She frees herself of her family need to protect her but still reconciles with her mother. If you are talking about her being well-rounded, Ginny checks out all the boxes in Karen S. Wiesner scheme which is the most detailed one for controlling the development of a character.

If you think I've never said Ginny can be mean or harsh, you have never read this blog. But it's adressed already by the story. There's a whole arc about it in HBP.

If I want to spend my days praising Ginny, I can. This blog is not a democracy. It's very much a dictatorship.

Ginny is loved since when?

I am not your friend :)

[kitsune024]

Loki Fic Recs || Part 1 ||

WinterFrost Fics

IronFrost Fics

-

undetermined intervention by camomiletea I Chapters 4/4 I Completed Time Travel Fix-It, Good Odin

Loki had survived death before. This was the first time he had woken up in the past though.

I’ll Cover You by Ishantah I Chapters 2/2 I Completed Thor & Loki, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1, Loki Lives, Powerful Loki, Infinity Stones, Time Travel, Brotherly Angst, Bromance, Good Loki

Instead of snapping his neck, Thanos decides to take Loki up on his “offer” to help collect the stones, and forces Loki’s loyalty by holding Thor captive. Loki has no choice but to comply… for now.

Fate's Guardian by @peaceheather I Chapters 28/28 I Completed sort of good Loki, BAMF Loki, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Set roughly a year post-Thor:TDW, reference to events in Guardians of the Galaxy. Pretty much a shameless fixit fic. No pairings. A being shows up on Earth looking for Loki, the Avengers get pulled in to see what's going on, and they all learn what Loki has *really* been up to all this time. I dunno, I was in a mood to write something like this, so I did. First posted to FFnet, if you prefer to read it there.

Because I Could Not Stop For Death by @soulessrobot I Chapters 6/6 I Completed Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 Compliant, Fix-It, Big Sis Hela, BAMF Hela, Loki has a plan

Warning Infinity War Spoilers Loki has a plan. Sometimes all you need to kill a Mad Titan is a Goddess of Death.

Withering Away by @galaxythreads I Chapters 10/10 I Completed Loki & Thor, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame, Fix-It of Sorts, Whump, thor whump

[ENDGAME SPOILERS!] Thor failed. He failed his family, his people, his friends, and drinking solves nothing. When the Avengers arrive to initiate their plan, they find a much different Thor. One who’s only willing to agree on one condition: When they get the Tesseract, it will be on the Statesmen, and Thor will bring back Loki with him. (Fix-it) Avengers as family! Whump!

Changing the odds by Ikajo I Chapters 13/13 I Completed Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame, BAMF Loki, Time Travel, no one dies, Good Loki, Loki Does What He Wants

Doctor Strange saw over fourteen million different scenarios and only victory in one. He had not counted for a certain god of mischief however. Because who else would turn the certain to uncertain it would be him.

Mischief on Midgard by Areitheperidotdragon, Moonybird I Chapters 68/68 I Completed Banished Loki, Loki Does What He Wants, Trauma, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loki & Tony Stark Friendship

Takes place after the first Avengers movie, then goes AU. If Odin truly sees Thor and Loki as equal, they ought to face equal punishment for equal crimes. Thor's suggestion is granted and Loki is stripped of his powers as he is banished to Midgard where he has to either prove himself worthy or spend the rest of his life on earth without any special powers. Loki though is not so easily broken. He might not have magic nor supernatural strength. But he still has his wits, his gift of deception, his knowledge, and his basic skills as a fighter. And he is not ready to just lie down and admit defeat. He is ready to do what it takes to rise once again and handle the incoming threat from the void.

Bookmark Series

Let It Burn by ShatteredGlassWings I Part 1-2 I Loki & Thor, Gladiator Loki, BAMF Loki, they're all BAMF, Revengers team Chaos Reign by @fourth-rose I Part 1-14 I Loki & Asgard, BAMF Loki, King Loki, Jotunn Loki, Infinity Gems, Family Issues, Endgame Fix-It A Deep Mark by @withthekeyisking-writer I Part 1-2 I Avengers Team & Loki Loki Lives. Infinity Gems, BAMF Loki, Bruce Is a Good Bro The Deal by orphan_account I Part 1-2 I AU - Canon Divergence, infinity war and endgame fix it, loki lives, it's gonna get a bit dark The Trickster Universe by Shadow_Chaser I Part 1-4 I Completed BAMF!Loki, Epic Bromance, Loki's "kids" are not his "kids" - they are his coterie, Thor tries to make Loki become friends with the Avengers-But it doesn't quite take, Loki Does What He Wants - Series by @shieldcodex SHIELD Agent Loki Part 1. SHIELD Codex I Part 1-14 I Complete Part 2. The Codex 'Verse I Part 1-6 I Complete Part 3. The SHIELD Codex: Judicium I Part 1-14 I

Loki Fics with Fanart

Portal To The Past by @worstloki I Chapters 23/? I BAMF Loki, Jotunn Loki, so just to clarify Thor IS a good bro he's just also still getting there ya know, Crack Treated Seriously, Toxic Asgard, Loki Does What He Wants

Bookmark Series

Oh, Hey There, Mister Blue by @iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid I Part 1-6 I Guardians of the Galaxy Team & Loki, BAMF Loki, They're All a BAMF in Some Way, Fix-It, AU - Canon Divergence, Team as Family

[effemar]

hi are there any trc fics you would recommend? (saw your tags on that one fandoms with good fic post)

ohhhhh tumblr user after my own heart...

First of all, some of my thoughts on the subject. I love fanfiction -- both as a phenomenon and as a genre of writing. I have a deep and sincere appreciation for the earnest engagement with media it fosters, the creative potential it holds, and the way it can be truly and deeply bad. This being said, what I think makes a fic good is different from what makes a book or a movie good. To me, a good piece of fanfiction is simultaneously a story and a piece of analysis. It should respond to the work it's based on, even (or perhaps, especially) to the detriment of its functionality as a standalone narrative.

This is all to say that the fics I'm recommending here rely heavily on knowledge of the books, and their main merit is in how they engage with the canon narrative. So bear that in mind.

TRC has a lot of fic in a variety of niches and tones. I will try to give you a diverse sampling. That being said, the vast majority of TRC fic that exists is Adam/Ronan (because fandoms are predictable like that) which means the recommendations here are slanted that way.

In no particular order:

Son of the Nuclear A-Bomb -- This is the fic I recommend most among this selection. A clear divergence from canon, it nevertheless extrapolates perfectly on existing themes, to the point that it straight-up predicted several plot points regarding Ronan's family in The Dreamer Trilogy. It's the TRC fic of all time.

Out for Re-henge -- Among TRC fics, there's a surprisingly substantial percentage that are, simply and exclusively, about Blue and Ronan having platonic bonding moments. It's just two teenagers having unmagnificent adventures. Like, as a distinct genre. I've never observed this in any other fandom. You can find more of these under the 'Ronan Lynch & Blue Sargent' relationship tag, with Gen checked as the work category. There's some real gems.

empire that runs on its own -- MIND THE TAGS. I said I'd give you diversity, so I'm giving you diversity. I hesitate to recommend this fic usually, as it can be unpleasant to read and has genuinely upsetting subject matter, but if I'm going to talk about how good TRC fic is, I have to pull out the big guns. It's genuinely incredible work. There's imagery and themes in this that still echo in my head, years after I first read it.

feels better biting down -- Everything by this author is incredible, but I enjoy this fic in particular because it's set in an unexplored bit of time before the series actually starts. It has a unique, lethargic tension that mimics the state of the characters' relationship at this point. It is almost pointedly unromantic, despite dealing with characters who we know have/will have a romantic dynamic during the events of the books.

my bones into your bones -- This fic frustrates me so much. It's incredibly emotionally intense, it has lines that are tattooed on the inside of my eyelids, and it's completely and unapologetically About People Fucking so I can't recommend it to anyone without paralyzing embarrassment. I skipped over this fic in the tag for like three years because of this, but eventually I decided to see what all the fuss was about, and gave it a try. When I tell you it's good, I mean that I felt like I'd been put through the fucking laundry.

Those are mostly pretty serious fics, so here's some light(er) runner-ups as palate-cleansers.

see you somewhere, someplace, sometime -- Ronan assholery, feat. Declan

Hey, Brother (PUNKBITCH) -- Ronan assholery, feat. Blue

in your manner of speaking -- Ronan assholery, feat. Adam (are you beginning to notice a pattern)

[love-kurdt]

How to Write a Good Fanfiction: A 5 Step Manual

Hello! My name is @love_kurdt, also known as Eva, and I’m a Wattpad Veteran of the early 2010s, where the genres of Slash Fics, Y/N, and Imagines ran rampant. I spent years of my life as a kid scrolling through my iPod touch, weeding through Wattpad’s plethora of profiles, on a quest to find quality fanfictions. I found a handful, which I added to a specific reading list to come back to when I needed a break from screaming into my pillow because of the sheer audacity of thought-criminals who called themselves writers.

When I’d reached the point of reading the same five works over and over in a never ending cycle, I decided to make the life-altering decision to start publishing my fanfictions online. Granted, I was only thirteen at this point, so my writing wasn’t spectacular by any means, but I came to discover that over time, the mere acts of reading and writing can light a spark of inspiration that can carry you to creative success.

I’ve been writing my own works for over ten years now, and can confidently say that I have cracked the code to writing a good fanfiction that will have your readers captivated instead of cringing. Please don’t get me wrong– if you want to just write fanfic on the internet for fun, and not to write a novel, that’s great, too! That’s what the internet is for; exercising your free will. But this manual is tailored towards those who want to hone in on their craft and gain a substantial following as strictly fanfiction authors. So without further ado, let’s jump into it. Godspeed!

Step 1: Choose Your Fandom

What show, movie, or book has drawn you in and left you feeling like there should be more to the story? When one of those media comes to mind, you’ve chosen your fandom!

Step 2: Do Your Research

When writing fanfiction, it’s kind of an unspoken rule that you need to know the canon of the fandom you’re writing about. The canon is also known as the source material. For example, if someone were to write a Draco Malfoy x OC fanfiction (*cough* a 200+ page Draco Malfoy self insert fic written at 11 years old in a series of notebooks bound together with multiple layers of Gorilla tape *cough*), the canon would be the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling. It’s, in essence, what “really” happened. It’s totally fine if you want to write a non-canon compliant fic, too! In fact, they’re extremely popular, specifically within the “fix-it” genre, which usually involves characters that died in the canon but the author kept alive in their fanfiction. Either way, you should have a general idea of how the canon functions within the context of the fandom, so you can make creative choices that diverge from or stick to the canon.

With the canon comes the fanon, which is basically a compilation of fan theories and headcanons that are often common themes in both canon and non-canon compliant fanfics. A pretty niche example of this is the Byler fandom (the ship between Stranger Things characters Will Byers and Mike Wheeler), where there’s an official list of theories on Tumblr that are used in many, if not most Byler fanfictions. There’s FlickerGate, where the flickering of the garage light in Season 1 is actually Will and Mike in the Upside Down in Season 5. There’s BirthdayGate, where the antagonist, Vecna, manipulates the minds of everyone in Hawkins to forget Will’s birthday, which is a central plot point in a lot of Byler fics since no one seems to remember it, not even his best friend. There’s also LetterGate, where Will confronts Mike in the canon about not sending any letters after he’d moved away, but the theory reveals that Mike wrote plenty of letters– he just never sent them because they ended up turning into love letters, which in turn resulted in internalized homophobia. You get the picture. Most theories reach far into the land of delusion, but it doesn’t stop writers from creating incredible work that could easily be mistaken for a script.

But Eva, what if I just think the characters are hot and I don’t give a shit about the cannonball? I can’t tell you what to do, my friend, but I highly suggest you at least consider the canon so you can avoid all the petty, obnoxious gatekeepers in some fandoms who can be unhinged enough to send death threats if you leave out a significant canonical detail. But you do you!

Step 3: Choose Your Platform

There are three popular platforms to choose from: Archive of Our Own (ao3), Tumblr, and Wattpad. There are also a few other lesser known or dead pages such as fanfiction.net, but I honestly wouldn’t bother with those, since they’re more infiltrated with anons and bots nowadays.

This is where you want to think about 1) where most of the members in the fandom you chose reside, and 2) the demographic of readers you want to reach. For example, I observed a higher number of Nirvana fans on Wattpad than the other two platforms, which is why I chose to post my full length Kurt Cobain fanfiction, “You Know You’re Right,” on there. It also helped that my favorite author of another Kurt Cobain fanfiction on Wattpad, @/ugh-nirvana, had hits in the hundreds of thousands, so I was confident that my book would do well on that specific platform. On the other hand, the Stranger Things fandom is in full swing on Tumblr and ao3, so I chose to post those fanfictions on there rather than on Wattpad. It all just depends on who’s where.

You also have to consider how active you want to be on your platform(s). Tumblr is more of a blog situation, while ao3 and Wattpad are solely for publishing the work. If you want to have a life beyond the realms of the world wide web, choose Wattpad or ao3, as inconsistent updates are a bit more accepted than on Tumblr. But if you want to throw yourself headfirst into a fandom and put your whole author-ussy into your fanfic, then Tumblr is the platform for you.

You should be aware, however, that Tumblr involves a lot of upkeep, as well as constant, strategic, and active participation within your fandom. Visual aesthetic is vital to any functional Tumblr blog. Most profiles have directories, with color coded links to each work’s homepage, which is linked to each individual chapter, which are then distinguished by a unique GIF to capture a prospective reader’s attention while they’re scrolling through copious amounts of content. And there are always new ideas and theories in development in certain fandoms, so it’s crucial to keep up with recent updates in order to stay relevant.

After all is said and done, you don’t have to get married to one platform for the rest of your life. You can choose to be exclusive to one or two platforms, or publish everything on all of them! The decision is ultimately yours!

Step 4: Obey the Writer’s Trifecta of Consistency

Yes, I came up with this term, and yes, it should be a real thing. Because in every piece of writing, whether it be fanfiction, a short story, an actual book, a screenplay, what have you, it is critical to be consistent in your People, your POV, and your Plot. Let me explain.

People

Your people, or your ensemble of characters, consists of three hierarchical levels: your protagonist/antagonist, your side characters, and other background characters. I should emphasize the importance of building character profiles for everyone, including your pre-existing characters from the fandom, but specifically for your original character(s) if you have them. That way, you know who serves as a major plot device, who serves as someone who just helps time move faster, and those who are mentioned by name but have very little significance to the events of the story. I’m going to reference Harry Potter again, since most of the world is familiar with the characters. Harry and Voldemort are the protagonist and antagonist; Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Professor Dumbledore, Hagrid and company are side characters; and Peeves, Seamus Finnigan, and Blaise Zabini are background characters. Keep this hierarchy in check; don’t let your main characters fade away, and don’t let your background characters shift to the forefront for no reason. If you do plan to move a character up or down the ladder, make sure to have clear motive as to why you’re bringing this character into or out of play.

2. POV

Your POV is the point of view in which you’re writing from. Assuming you’ve been in a typical middle school English class, you’ve heard of the first, second, and third person points of view. I cannot tell you how many times I have read fanfictions that jump from one POV to another, sometimes within the same sentence. I open the door and see Kurt Cobain standing in the corner of the room. She walked across the floor to meet him there. See what I did there? I jumped from first person present tense to third person past tense. Do not attempt this at home.

The least common of the three points of view is the second person, or what I like to call the Y/N point of view. In fanfiction, second person POV is often used in self-insert fics, where instead of a character’s name, it’s replaced with “you.” That’s why a lot of romantic character x reader fics are so popular. You should feel free to use this one, especially if that’s the kind of vibe you’re going for, but I’m going to elaborate a little bit more on first and third person, as they’re a bit more “literary.”

The first person POV confines the narration to the mind of one character. It can also be done with multiple characters, but be sure to do it so it’s painstakingly obvious to the reader whose POV you’re writing from. Also note that if you plan to write multiple first person POVs, try to keep that number on the lower side, as a large number of POVs can get really complicated really quickly. Third person narration can be done from two angles: limited or omniscient. Limited is more similar to first person, in which you’re confined to one person’s viewpoint, but they aren’t the narrator; you’re just seeing the story through their eyes. Omniscient is my favorite, because you can narrate from a bird’s eye view with the freedom to travel from mind to mind and read their thoughts.

Building character profiles can be really helpful when developing both first or third person POV; if you connect with a particular character more strongly than the rest, that should tell you whose POV you should write in. If you choose to switch POVs, be sure to do it either on an alternating/rotating basis, or if you repeat, it should be apparent as to why that particular character is the “voice” of that scene.

3. Plot

Dare I say that Plot is the most important step of them all, so do not skip this one, whatever you do! The biggest mistake most fanfiction writers make is having a concept but lacking a plot. It’s like biting into an apple just to discover it’s a lemon. Many writers are capable of starting off strong, but once their initial story begins to meander, traveling into uncharted territory, their brainchild can become a monstrosity.

In order to write a solid plot, it’s pretty common knowledge that you need to have a beginning, middle, and end in place. It doesn’t need to be overly specific or down to the last detail, you just need to figure out how your characters make it from point A to point Z (the larger scale), and how points B through Y factor into the plot (the smaller scale). There are a few routes that you can take in order to do this: you can write the entire thing ahead of time without any input, you can write the entire thing with the feedback of a beta reader or proofreader to help you work out any kinks or mistakes before you publish it for the entire platform to see, or you can publish it gradually and take feedback from your readers as you go. Should you go with the last option, though, you should be made aware that if you aren’t already an established author, it may feel like you’re talking to a wall, and you will likely feel discouraged from writing the story altogether.

I find it helpful to outline the whole thing. I have a closet door in my house dedicated to a Dave Grohl true crime fanfiction I’m working on. I’ve written the entire story from beginning to end on index cards, split into four different parts with each card representing a chapter. What’s good about outlining is that I can edit my story as I go along. If I decide to change something, I can add or remove an index card, then replace or rearrange the other index cards to work around the change I made, and that way, I don’t have to start over from scratch. It’s helpful to see everything laid out in front of me, so I’m not left at the end of a completely improvised plot with a slew of loose ends that I’ll need to go back and edit. It’s also better than publishing each part individually then having to redo everything after your readers have already seen it. And I don’t know about you, but I enjoy it when I’m able to save some time, energy, and lengthy explanations to random people online. That is, unless you enjoy constant feedback from readers, in which case you can change the plot on a chapter by chapter basis based on their feedback.

Consistency in all of these respects is key. I cannot emphasize this enough. Keeping all of these elements in check will help you create a sort of cohesiveness that will neatly wrap the story up with a little bow on top. 

Step 5: Use Relevant Tags and Content Warnings

Repeat after me: tags matter! Again: tags matter! When you’re about to publish your fanfiction, you’re going to be given the option to add tags to your work. For my first few years spent on Wattpad, I had no idea what tags were, so I didn’t use them. Thankfully, the platform was still pretty small, so people still found my work pretty easily. Nowadays, though, it’s nearly impossible to find what you’re looking for without searching excessively specific tags and using a million filters. It’s unfortunate, but look at it this way: there are so many people contributing to so many fandoms that the content is seemingly endless!

What you’re going to want to do is add as many tags as you can but keep it as simple as possible. I know that sounds kind of oxymoronic, but I mean it in a way that all of your tags relate directly to your story, and not just to the fandom itself. A lot of readers feel misled when they’re scrolling through their filtered search page for, let’s just say, a Byler fanfic, and end up neck deep in a Mileven fanfic in disguise. That’s not a fun experience.

Lastly, please remember that you are publishing your work on the internet, and you don’t know who may encounter your work! Listen, we live in a world where everything needs to be overexplained, everything needs trigger warnings, and everything needs to be neutral or else someone is going to hate you. I get it. I’ve been writing fanfiction for a long time. It might be annoying to add content warnings, especially if one of those warnings spoils a major plotline, but if I’m being honest, I’d rather be safe and add the damn warning than not add the warning and be responsible for someone’s worsened emotional or mental state. Bottom line, it’s just fanfiction! Let’s do our due diligence to create a community full of love and understanding for everyone!

After that, you should be all set to publish! Let’s review one more time for the road:

Choose Your Fandom

Do Your Research

Choose Your Platform

Obey the Writer’s Trifecta of Consistency

Use Relevant Tags and Content Warnings

If you’ve stuck around for this long, thank you so much!

I hope this manual helps you along your fanfiction writing journey, wherever it takes you <3

[spartanguard]

sons of love and death, 3/13 {CSSNS 23}

Summary: After the Final Battle, Killian Jones had finally settled into his happily ever after with his wife and family. Until a new foe arrived in Storybrooke: the infamous Dorian Gray, who looks rather familiar—one might say identical—to the pirate, and he’s on a mission: to claim the powers of the Dark One for himself. There’s only one problem: the Dark One no longer exists. What follows is a journey of vengeance, revelations, magic, and finally facing down the darkness within himself that Killian thought he’d finally put to rest. [roughly canon divergent from 5B, though set post-canon]

A/N: Back again with the next chapter of this year’s @cssns​​ story! Some revelations in this update...hope you like it! (Forever thanks to the best beta, @optomisticgirl​​!)

rated M | 4.7k words | AO3 | 1 | 2

The man—not-Killian, Emma was calling him until they found out his real name—had fallen silent during the quick drive to the station, not even affected by the siren screaming (both in warning and from disuse). He made no complaints as they ushered him into the other cell—the one that didn't have half-melted bars. He only slumped listlessly to the cot and tilted his head back, eyes closed, in a defeated manner. She almost felt bad for him, to see him so distressed, until she shook her head to remind herself that it wasn’t really Killian. 

"So, gonna tell us your name yet?" David asked casually. 

The man didn't open his eyes. "Dorian. Dorian Gray."

"Like the picture?" It slipped out of Emma's mouth without thinking, and suddenly two sets of eyes were on her in varying degrees of surprise. "What? I read." (And she’d seen the movie with Ben Barnes because, well, Ben Barnes, but that wasn’t as relevant at present.)

Dorian sighed. "Yes, just like the picture. Although Mr. Wilde’s version of my tale is far from the truth." 

"Aren't they all?" David scoffed. 

"So what is your story, buddy?” she asked, crossing her arms and stepping closer. “I thought you wished on a painting for eternal youth so you could go on a lifelong bender."

"Parts of that. I can attest to the desire for youth and debauchery; but my reasons were far different, and I had a hand in casting the spell myself."

A chill went down Emma's spine, but she didn't let it show. “Sounds like some pretty dark magic.”

“Well, I learned from the best,” he sneered, with a grin that was far from genuine.

“Who?” she demanded.

“Why, the Dark One, of course.”

“Rumpelstiltskin?” That didn’t seem in-character, but she always seemed to forget the man’s paternal leanings, even if he was kind of her ex-father-in-law.

Dorian shook his head. “Zoso, his predecessor. He raised me.”

“You were adopted?” David asked, probably not as nonchalantly as he’d intended—but it needed to be asked so they could figure out just where this guy came from.

“I certainly didn’t get my good looks from him,” Dorian scoffed. 

“So then—”

“Emma!”

She jumped at the sound of Killian’s panicked voice—actually him this time—and his insistent footsteps on the station’s linoleum. She only just turned around before he was slamming into her in a bruising hug.

“Hey, is everything alright?” she asked, trying to make sure he couldn’t see over her shoulder just yet.

“If you're fine, then yes,” he sighed, burying his face in her hair (good). “Gold told me to come here; I was worried.”

She returned the embrace, but knew she only had so long before either Killian or the prisoner noticed the other; probably better to rip off the bandaid.

When she pulled back, he immediately began to study her face, and his brow furrowed a bit. "Swan, what is it?" he said, worried, no doubt seeing her own trepidation.

Before she had a chance to reply, Dorian interrupted. "What the actual fuck?"

Killian’s eyes darted over, then went wide as he studied the man behind the bars. He opened his mouth a couple times to say something, but the only thing that came out was "Bloody hell."

“I got the impression I had a lookalike, not a replica,” Dorian asserted, standing to give Killian a once over. “I must say, though—I wear this face better.”

“Who the hell are you and why are you here?” Killian growled, moving closer to the cell—but staying protectively in front of Emma, she noticed. 

“I could ask you just the same, mate,” Dorian countered, slipping his arms through the bars and leaning against them. “Am I your father or something?” he asked, tilting his head in question. 

Killian barked out a humorless laugh. “Definitely not, though you’re likely just as much a bastard. And I’m far older than I look, mate,” he bit out, his tone on that last word anything but friendly. 

“What a coincidence—so am I.”

Tense silence fell as the nearly indistinguishable men began a staredown, but behind them, Emma found her dad’s eyes; she saw a conclusion settle in his gaze, and she had a feeling she was starting to come to the same one, but she still wanted confirmation—either from Gold, or more modern means. 

Speaking of—the former Dark One arrived just then, breezing into the station with far more grace than Emma expected from someone who was definitely reliant on his cane now. “Captain; Mrs. Swan-Jones,” he called as he strode in. “I’ve got some information you’ll find interesting.”

He rounded the corner, Belle right behind him, with the vial from earlier in his grasp—then paused, when he saw all eyes on him, though the two matching blue ones were rather annoyed. “Or perhaps you’ve figured it out on your own,” he said awkwardly. 

“Not really,” Emma replied. “What did you find out?”

Gold held up the vial, the strands of hair in it now glowing an unnatural green. “I basically did the magic version of a DNA test, and as you can see, it’s a clear match.” It was a good thing he liked to be the smartest in the room; she never would have guessed that’s what that neon color meant.

“A match?” Killian and Dorian said in unison, then turned and glared at each other again. 

“Yes. Captain, this interloper is your twin brother. Identical, obviously.”

Shit. Even though it should have been apparent, Emma was still stunned. She was expecting some (more) alternate timeline shenanigans, or some sort of wormhole clone; not a twin. 

“Impossible,” Killian breathed, now staring at his apparent brother in something resembling horror. “I would have known—they would have said—”

“Not necessarily,” David interrupted softly. Emma wanted to reach out to Killian—to soothe him or something—but her dad was definitely the expert in this situation, having been through it himself. (Why was secret twin a common thing in the Enchanted Forest? Or were these the only examples and Emma just happened to find herself adjacent to both of them?)

Dorian spoke up, but he sounded far less cocky than he had at any point yet—restrained, almost. “My birth parents gave me up to the Dark One,” he explained. “But that’s all I was told; nothing else.”

“Not an unheard-of occurrence,” Gold stated plainly, but he was looking at David; at least they were all on the same page with that memory. 

“Never mind that,” Dorian went on, shaking his head and straightening his posture. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was trying to stand taller than Killian, but that clearly wasn’t going to work. “What I really want to know is: where are the Dark One powers, and why are you still alive if they’re not here?” He pointed angrily at Gold. 

(Emma couldn’t take it any more, and moved to Killian’s side; he’d been visibly withdrawing into himself after what he’d just learned, and the coming conversation was likely to stir some unpleasant memories, too.)

“They’re gone,” Gold said simply, oddly calm when he could have been vague and dramatic. “Something along the lines of divine intervention, I suppose; I traded them to Hades to resolve a debt, and was left a mortal man, same as I was before I took them on.”

“Why the fuck did you do that?” Dorian screamed, grabbing the bars in frustration and shaking them. “Must have been bloody fucking important.”

“I’d say the well-being of my wife and son were worth it.” Emma had only caught the details after the fact—she’d been just a little preoccupied with saving her True Love while they were in the Underworld—but apparently some ancient agreement Gold made regarding his potential second-born child was transferred over to Hades so that asshole god could leverage it into his own deal with the devil. No one thought Gold would actually give up the powers he’d fought so long to hold onto (it was [half] the reason they’d even had to go down there at all, after what he pulled with Killian’s attempted sacrifice), but he’d finally realized he did love Belle (and now Gideon) more than the magic, and made the trade easily. 

“So I’ll find Hades, then,” Dorian concluded. “Anyone know how to kill a god?”

“Um, so,” Emma started, “That’s been done already.”

She expected Dorian to lash out again, but his reaction was almost worse—she could see the fire of anger in his eyes and the irritated clench of his jaw. “So my life has been a waste? Is that what you’re all saying?”

“Some things are more important than power and vengeance, mate.” It was almost jarring hearing Killian’s soft voice in contrast to Dorian’s harsh tones. Emma looked up, and he was holding his apparent brother’s gaze steadily. Without breaking it, he reached for Emma’s hand, underlining his statement. 

Dorian stared back for a long moment, then turned his attention away, to where Rumple and Belle were in a similar pose. (If she wasn’t mistaken, something wistful settled in his gaze at that.) And then hung his head and slumped back on the cot, effectively ending the conversation. There was still a lot more to be discussed, but not right now; they all needed to process what they’d just learned, especially Killian. 

Gold and Belle were the first to leave quietly, then David, after setting the station phone to forward to his. 

Emma squeezed Killian’s hand; it looked like his mind had wandered off again, but that brought him back, and she wordlessly led him out of the building. 

She let go of his hand long enough to lock the door behind them (and maybe throw up a protection spell to keep their visitor inside, just to be safe), but then took it again and started the familiar walk to the docks. 

The conversation ahead was definitely going to require the sea—and probably a decent amount of rum. 

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Killian felt like he was walking in a dream, but he didn’t know if it was a good or bad one. Ever since Gold had delivered the news, it was like the world around him had blurred in haze. 

A brother. He had another brother he’d never known about. And a twin at that. 

One who was apparently an utter arse, but he wasn’t as surprised by that fact. 

Killian had many questions—why did his (their) parents give him up? Had Liam known?—but anyone who could answer those was long dead. Which would make coming to terms with it entirely up to him. 

He and Emma had talked about it, obviously, perched by the sea with his flask between them. Perhaps not terribly in-depth, but he wasn’t sure there was anything more he could say yet. 

What was occupying his thoughts the most, though—it could have been him. They very easily could have been in the other’s position. He could have been the one raised by a demon, letting darkness harden his heart, committing gods-only-knew what kind of atrocities—

—But then, he had, hadn’t he? Perhaps he hadn’t wandered all the way down the path his brother had, but he’d gone far enough; just not so far that he couldn’t come back. 

And what if his brother had stayed with his family? Would he have led a better life, or made the same choices Killian had? Better yet, what if they’d grown up together? How would that have changed things?

Or would Killian have ruined his life, too, the way he’d done for the younger Liam?

The what-ifs were playing on a loop in his head, spinning like an endless scratched record. (Yes, he knew what a vinyl was; Henry had gifted him a turntable and some albums a few months before leaving the realm. He was sorely tempted to wallow with some Simon & Garfunkel later.) Which was probably why Emma had told him to take a walk, with a specific destination in mind. 

It wasn’t a long journey to his in-laws’ farmhouse, but long enough to clear that fog he was wading through a bit. Dusk was settling over Storybrooke as he reached the gravel driveway leading up to the Nolans’ home, where David was already waiting outside. 

“I take it Emma called?” he greeted, not needing anything more formal. 

“Yeah,” David answered, and handed him an open beer bottle once he was close enough. “And I figured you’d come by at some point anyway.”

“I do believe you’re one of the few people that’s been in my position here.”

“Yup. C’mon; let’s take this out back.”

It certainly wasn’t the first evening they’d spent in the rocking chairs on David’s back porch, drinks in hand, but was easily bound to be one of the more serious. But it still took him until the bottle was half gone to say anything. 

“How did you react when you found out about your brother?” he finally asked quietly. It was an obvious question, but he figured it was the logical place to start. 

“Forgive me if this sounds rehearsed, but I’ve been mulling over the answer to that pretty much since we left the station,” David started. “It was a lot at first. Mainly, I was shocked that my parents would do that—even was angry with my mother for a bit. But desperate people do desperate things, and that much I can understand.”

“Aye,” he agreed knowingly; that was definitely the prevailing undercurrent in most of their stories. 

“And then I started wondering what things would have been like if we’d been raised together, especially when I found out what kind of man James was. Definitely had some nature-versus-nurture discussions with myself—like, how much of him being an asshole was the fact that he was raised by one?”

“Did meeting him help?” He’d only interacted briefly with James in the Underworld, but it was odd seeing a man who looked like his friend but was far from honorable.

David shrugged. “I dunno. It’s not like we had any time for a real heart-to-heart when he was trying to steal my place. It just reinforced how different we ended up being.”

Killian scoffed. “Wish I could say the same here.”

“What do you mean?”

He gave his father-in-law a sidelong glance. “David, please—you know the things I’ve done. I murdered your father, for fuck’s sake. I’ve been trying to look at the differences, but I can’t overlook our similarities. What does it mean that we both found our way into darkness?”

David sighed; bringing up his history in relation to David’s father was still a bit of a sore spot, even though they’d generally moved past it. “Yeah, you’ve done some shitty stuff, and we can assume he has, too,” David agreed. “But you turned it around and came back, and made an effort to right your wrongs. I’m not sure how many times we can remind you of that, man,” he chuckled. Killian gave a half-smile back; it was true that he’d heard it a million times, and gotten better about accepting that in himself, but it was a constant struggle. “So maybe this is the chance to take it a step further: show him that he can be a good man, too.”

“I’m not so sure he wants to,” Killian panned. 

“I seem to recall someone else that once applied to,” David countered, then rubbed his temple. “Someone who knocked me out with a crowbar.”

They shared a laugh at what felt like an ancient memory and clinked their bottles together, then settled into a contemplative silence. David wasn’t wrong, but it certainly hadn’t been easy—and he’d needed a reason to want to change. At first, it’d been for Bae’s memory; then, inspired by Emma (and the rest of his found family, in some shape or form). Had it not been for them, he would have followed his path of revenge until it killed him. 

So there was nothing to lose, he supposed, to figure out what made Dorian tick and see if there was any connecting with him. 

However—he had no idea what might happen if he came up empty. 

There was nothing more he could do about it tonight, though, but he and David did spend plenty of time discussing his earlier train of thought, debating the possibilities of lives not lived. 

He felt a bit better when he left, and observing the constellations overhead as he walked home was soothing, like always. The day’s revelations still weighed heavy on his soul, but not quite as much. 

Sleep would help, he knew, and was glad to see the bedroom light was still on when he arrived at the front gate of his and Emma’s home. She was probably already asleep, and he was looking forward to setting whatever book she’d been reading aside, turning out the light, and tucking in alongside her. He smiled to himself at the prospect as he headed through the front gate and up the porch. 

But when he reached for the doorknob, he felt a prick of electricity sparking from his hand up his arm. He’d had plenty of static shocks, especially living in a home as old as theirs, but this was different—stronger. 

He pulled back and looked at his palm, and for a moment, thought he saw his veins lit up from within and the air crackling above it. But it went away as fast as it’d come. 

He shook his head. It had been a long, emotional day; he must need rest more than he realized. Without further interruption, he opened the front door, locked it behind him, and called it a day. 

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Across town, Dorian sat bolt upright. He hadn’t been asleep, but was jolted to a higher level of alertness nonetheless. 

He felt it—the Dark One’s magic. Just a glint, but it was there. 

He’d spent the bulk of the day lamenting his wasted years, but perhaps his quest wasn’t over yet. 

His hope renewed, he laid back down and began plotting his next move. 

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

A couple centuries ago

Decades ago, in a little cottage by the seaside, in the shadow of the Cailleach Mountains, two babies wailed. They were identical in every way, from the dark tufts of hair on their heads, to their bright blue eyes, to the way they cried in pain as fever wracked their little bodies.

Their father wasn’t home; he said he’d gone to see the apothecary, but that was hours ago, and their mum knew he was far more likely to be seeking a different kind of brew at the pub down the street.

They were only a few months old, but her breasts had already dried up and given her no way of soothing her babes with mother’s milk—not that the goat’s milk had really done anything in that regard, either. 

At least her older son had already fought off this illness, and slumbered deeply in the wee trundle on the other side of their one-room cottage. She envied him a bit, wearily rocking the two listless babes in the chair by the fire. 

It felt somewhat blasphemous, but as much as she was thankful the gods had seen fit to double her blessings with two more sons, she wondered if they’d bestowed their gift on the wrong person. She was barely holding it together now, and unless her husband pulled his act together, she didn’t know how they’d be able to continue; she barely had enough to eat for herself as it was.

“Please, boys,” she pleaded to the little ones, one in each arm. “Please hush. I love you so much but I’m at my wits’ end. Please.”

Gods above, she was truly desperate if she was trying to rationalize with infants. That said—she was more resourceful than most, but was losing hope in her ability to see her family through this and into anything resembling a stable future.

As she sat on the precipice of breakdown, her nerves as frazzled as her wild red hair, a chill breeze came through the house, making the fire flicker and dim. This bloody drafty old home, she cursed at it; of course it would happen when there was nought but twigs in the woodpile. So she pulled the babies closer.

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

She jumped at the voice, not just because it clearly belonged to an intruder, but because of the hint of malice on the edge of the words, innocuous as they were. “Who’s there?” she called, sounding far braver than she felt.

“Sorry, ma’am—I didn’t mean to startle you,” the owner of the voice continued, stepping out of the shadows of the kitchen. She couldn’t see his face as it was covered by a thick, dark cloak. “You just seemed awfully desperate there, and I wondered if I could help.”

“Who are you?” She ignored the fact that he seemed to be aware of her mental state, and tried to hold her boys impossibly tighter. “What do you want?”

“I just want to ease your burden.” His words were altruistic but she knew better than to trust them at face value. “Twins; that’s a lot for a woman to handle on her own.”

“I have a husband.”

“Oh, I know. But I also know he’s currently passed out in a gutter. Not much assistance, is he?”

She had no confident answer to that.

The man drew closer. “Such handsome boys; it’s too bad they’re so ill. And medicine is so expensive when they’re that young.”

“Aye, what of it?” she spat. 

“Well, I just so happen to have some of it here,” he explained, pulling a corked vial from within his voluminous velvet robes. The hand that held it seemed to glitter unnaturally in the dim firelight, almost like it was covered in scales. 

“What do you want for it?” she asked, against her better judgment. 

“Ah, I’m afraid the price is steep.” 

It wouldn’t be the first time a woman made payment in favors, if that was what he was implying. “I’ll do anything,” she replied submissively. 

“I was hoping you’d say that,” the man sneered. “See, I only have one dose here with me. I do have more, so this one is all yours…if you trade it for one of your boys.”

“What?” she gasped. What an unfathomable choice! She couldn’t give up one of her babes—not in a thousand years. “Never.”

“Now, now—think about it,” the man went on. “You’d have one less mouth to feed, one less body to clothe, one less boy to worry about.”

His points were valid, but that didn’t mean they were any less abhorrent. “I won’t do it.”

“Then let me be a bit more blunt: you can have one boy, happy and healthy, or you can bury both of them when that fever claims them.”

“What do you even want with a baby?” she spat, clearly deflecting. Because that statement was definitely convincing, as much as she didn’t want it to be.

“Is a man not allowed to feel paternal stirrings as much as a woman?” he countered. “I’m looking for an apprentice, but few people are often willing to turn their sons over to the Dark One.”

Ah, that explained it; she’d heard of a sorcerer by that name, but nothing good about them. “And you really think I will?”

“I do,” he said confidently. “Because you’re more desperate than anyone else, and you have fewer options.”

She hated that he wasn’t wrong.

“If you take my deal, you still have two healthy sons,” he continued. “Or take a gamble and leave it. It’s up to you.”

He fell silent and unnaturally still, which only seemed to make the infants’ cries all the louder and more pitiful. It was a logical deal he was offering her, but not a sound one emotionally. How could she abandon one of her children? What kind of person did that?

But at the same time, how could she risk letting her children die when she had the opportunity to save them? Even if it meant giving up one of them?

“If…if I take this deal—and I’m not saying I will,” she started, “can you promise me you’ll heal whichever boy you take?”

“Of course,” the Dark One said. “He’s of no use to me dead.”

“Will he have a good life?”

“Yes,” he said solemnly. “He’ll want for nothing, and will be comfortable and educated.”

That was more than she could say for her elder boy.

She blinked, her vision suddenly going blurry with tears. “Alright,” she agreed, though her voice was barely more than a whisper. 

“Is that a yes?”

“Aye.” She couldn’t look at him as she said it.

“Now wasn’t that easy?”

At that, she did find the gumption to glare at him.

“Here, I’ll make it even simpler; hand me…that one,” he went on, pointing at the boy in her right arm.

“No,” she said quickly. “The other one.”

“If you insist,” he shrugged.

Holding back her tears as best as she was able, she stood and gently set the babe in her left arm down in his cradle. Then she brought the other boy to her chest and placed a kiss against his forehead, praying it would be enough for him to feel her love as he grew, hopefully strong and smart and caring. “I love you, my boy,” she murmured. “Always know that.”

She was losing her fight against her emotions as she handed the baby over to the Dark One, even though she knew this was the best option for everyone; she dare said he’d have a better life than he would here. And she was heartened by the gentle way the sorcerer cradled the boy. 

He wasted no time in handing over the vial of medicine. “Thank you,” she managed to say politely. 

“No, thank you, my dear.” He seemed unphased by the baby’s continued cries. “And best wishes for your future.”

All she could do was nod. 

He turned to leave—though how he planned on going through the locked door, she didn’t know—but then stopped. “Oh, silly me—I forgot to ask his name!”

“Dorian,” she said softly. He’d been named after her husband’s father, for better or for worse. 

“Dorian,” he repeated, looking down at the squirming bundle in his arms. “I like that. Well, take care.” And then he disappeared in a cloud of dark smoke. 

The fog had hardly cleared before she collapsed on her knees, giving herself a minute to let the grief wash over her before moving on. Not that it was that simple, of course, but what choice did she have anymore? And it’d be easy enough to say the babe had passed; this illness had already claimed others and likely would more. 

She just had to hope Brennan would believe her. At least Liam was small enough to not remember. 

After a bit, her tears had mostly run their course. She dried her cheeks with her apron, sniffled, and then hurried over to the cradle to deliver the medicine to her baby boy. 

He was still crying fiercely and fought her attempts to pour the liquid in his mouth, but she was finally able to once she scooped him back up in her arms. He screamed even harder at first—she doubted it tasted very good—but then settled down, and she could feel the fever subside. For the first time in a few days, he fell into a much-needed, even slumber, and she breathed a sigh of relief. 

She laid him against her chest and leaned back in the rocking chair. “Sleep tight, sweet Killian,” Alice murmured and kissed the top of his head. She’d read his name in a book as a child, the name of the hero, and held onto it until she was able to give it to a son of her own. “I promise to stay with you as long as I can, and love and protect you with all my heart.” 

One thing was certain—she’d be holding him extra close. And sent up a prayer that she hadn’t just doomed her other son. 

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading! tagging some peeps (let me know if you do/don’t want a tag!) @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic @pirateherokillian @colinoeyebrows @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @klynn-stormz @resident-of-storybrooke​ @bluewildcatfanatic​