#we don't need those fanfic sequels

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

I really really hate to be that person - especially because I know a lot of people are under the impression that fanfic authors are greedy and we should be grateful for any comments we get, even if those comments are full of unauthorized concrit, even if they're kind of rude, even if they're weirdly self-shaming (sometimes insinuating that people should feel bad over reading the dark or smutty content in the fics or that we should feel bad for writing it in the first place even though you're also reading it??).

But like, lately, I have been getting so many comments along the lines of "this fic should be longer!!" "I wish this was a series!!" "please turn this into a series!" "I would read endless sequels of this!!!" - today someone literally commented on one of my fics saying that it was a war crime that the fic was 30k instead of being 'a whole series'. And I totally understand the mindset that if something is good, you want more of it. If you enjoy something, you want more of it. But these comments are definitely not as flattering as people think they are.

When reading those comments - it doesn't always come off as a compliment. Most of my fics range from 5k to 30k on average, and they are usually oneshots or oneshots that I have split into multiple parts in order to be more readable - most of my longer, ongoing series are abandoned because I didn't have the steam to maintain them. (Most people don't know at all how hard it is to write a good, coherent, well-plotted 100k fic and actually keep up with it.) After I post the fic I have written later this week, I will have written over 400k this year alone, with my entire AO3 having over one million words split between 79 different fics.

So often, having people look at my fics and having their only comment be to 'write more' - feels like an insult. Because I do write more. I have written more. I write consistently. (It just sucks that people have almost nothing to say about what I have already written.)

Having people look at my fics - usually very long fics - and go "hey, this would be better if it was longer!!" or "hey, that was good, but the only productive thing I have to say about it is: make it longer" - it always feels very discouraging.

It doesn't make me want to rush to write more of that fic. In fact, most of the time, I actively avoid working on sequels to fics where the only comments are 'more please' because I know the only thing people will say about the sequel is 'when are you gonna make more?' - and oftentimes, I don't intend to make more.

I have said this in another post, but the ending to my fics are always intentional. I don't write fics with the mindset of turning them into a 100 part series. I write fics with the mindset of making them like a film or a short TV series - telling a capsule of a story with a very intentional beginning, middle, and end. And if I write a sequel, it's because I feel there is more to be told - but I will also cap off that sequel with a very intentional ending.

(Also, don't get me started on the complex of - if fics don't have the classic 'happy ending' people feel like every single thread needs to be resolved until it gets to a more classic happy ending, when I love writing intentional melancholic and thoughtful endings.)

Also - in general, I feel like people don't understand how much work goes into a fic. It might take you about 2 hours to read a fic that's 30k (and a lot of people who are avid readers probably read faster than that, reading it in an hour or less) - but concepting that fic, writing that fic, and meticulously editing that fic so that it can be readable and pleasant for people takes upwards of 20 hours of work. I would say realistically, upwards of 30 hours. And those are just working hours - hours sitting at the computer actively working. That doesn't include the time spent in between workshopping the ideas in my head while I am doing other mundane tasks in life.

It's very, very easy to consume a 30k oneshot in one sitting and then hold out your plate and go "more please!!" without putting any thought into how much work went into the original fic.

All of this just to say - please think about these things next time you are commenting on a fic (or even closing a fic without commenting at all), or doing something stupid like generating a fic with AI - which steals from everyday hard working fanfic writers. Fanfiction is hard work - it's a labour of love, and it shouldn't be about blind consumerism where you finish one and then rapidly start looking for the next one. You should appreciate each one like a good, hand pulled taffy instead of gobbling them all down like cheap candy mass made by factory machines.

Yeah - I think that's it.

-your local over worked (but still passionate) fanfic writer

[kaylinelizabeth4004]

Heaven is Here

SYNOPSIS: Through many fleeting moments throughout history with a strange woman, Aziraphale and Crowley learn they accidentally trapped a human soul to Earth, stuck to reincarnate forever.

TAGS: Aziraphale x Crowley x Reader, fluff, slight angst, soulmate au (on accident), history, historical settings, no beta we die like men

WORD COUNT : 12,253

A/N: This fic is kind of accidental. I’ve always been more about Aziraphale/Crowley in this fandom than any reader insert, but one day I happened upon a Tumblr fanfic and had an idea. This probably won’t be a regular thing - except I am planning a sequel to this exact fic - but I thought why not. Im still more Aziraphale/Crowley.

55BC—————

"And you love this?" Crowley asked, holding the seafood up to the light as though it would reveal to Aziraphale all the disgusting little details.

"It's delightful!" Aziraphale insisted, showing Crowley how to eat the oyster. "Try it, dearest. You might just enjoy it."

Crowley pursed his lips, not wanting to put whatever the hell this was in his mouth. But Aziraphale was looking at him with those eyes. He didn't know how describe them, and he didn't want to analyze how they made his heart hurt inside his vessel's chest. So he closed his eyes and ate the damned thing.

He put a hand over his mouth to stop the gagging. This Angel's taste was not quite normal if this is what he considered fine dining. He tried to smile politely, to not let him know that it was utter horseshit.

"You don't like it," Aziraphale said with a rather disappointed voice.

"N-No, I don't," Crowley said, and he didn't know why but he was sad to disappoint the angel. He was just trying to be kind after all, it wasn't as though he had properly sinned. But why would a demon feel bad for an angel? That went against his lot's whole thing.

However, Crowley found a wicked part of him that liked pissing off his lot. He'd never put it in as many words however.

"Pity, they are quite delectable."

"Sure, angel," Crowley said, sipping a large mouthful of wine. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, eating and drinking as they'd like. Then Crowley looked up to Aziraphale's soft "ahem." He was pointing behind Crowley, and when he turned he saw what caused it.

A young woman was sat in the corner, a large glass of wine in her hands, and she was weeping to herself. It wasn't loud or particularly noticeable, if it wasn't for the tear tracks down her cheeks, glittering as they caught the light. She was looking at her lap and sipping the wine, balking at the taste yet coming back for more.

"She looks happy," Crowley said.

"She looks sad! You demons need to learn the proper emotions."

Crowley stared at Aziraphale for a moment, wondering if he was joking. Upon realizing that Aziraphale was, in fact, not joking Crowley said, "that was sarcasm, Angel."

"What was sarcasm?"

"My comment, 'she looks happy.' Of course she doesn't look happy that's why I said it."

Aziraphale furrowed his brows, "but your words meant the opposite of what you said."

"Exactly," Crowley said. And with a flourish he added, "it's called sarcasm."

"But why say something you don't mean? Isn't that lying?" Aziraphale asked, in all sincerity.

Crowley thought it over, "s'pose it could be seen that way. Most people view it as ironic."

"Oh, yes, of course." Aziraphale took an anxious sip of wine, looking back towards the girl.

"Angel..."

"Yes?" He was avoiding eye contact

"You don't know what ironic means, do you?"

Aziraphale pouted, "no I don't and I quite detest that you do."

"Ironic literally means saying the opposite of what you mean for some sort of point. Mine being that she looks downright miserable."

"Even though you said she looks happy." Aziraphale said slowly as he tracked that line of logic through his head.

"Right, even though I said she looks happy."

"And that's ironic?"

"Don't ya think?" Crowley said with a wide smile, his teeth appearing almost like he had pointed fangs.

"Why yes I do think-"

"Angel, that was irony."

"Oh." Aziraphale blinked rapidly a few times then sipped his wine, embarrassed he didn't know something that Crowley did know. He thought he was the knowledgeable of the two. "Well, sarcasm or not, we should help her."

"We?"

"Why - yes, we're both here and we see -"

"I don't help people," Crowley said quickly, his voice deep and harsh. "I'm a demon, I do the opposite of help."

"Well, yes but-"

"There are no buts with this. My lot were created to ruin your lots pickings. I pillage and plunder, that's my job." Crowley said this firmly as though it would make his point clearer. The more intense he was, the more his words seemed to slur together a bit.

Aziraphale paused for a moment, and Crowley wondered if he was about argue his point once more. "Isn't the phrase rape, pillage and plunder?"

"I don't do that. I'm not a monster," Crowley balked. He finished his wine and set the glass down. Throwing some money on the table he said, "sorry Angel. Got a priest to tempt. Catch you later."

"Oh, goodbye." Aziraphale said as Crowley ambled off through the restaurants doors. But despite himself, Aziraphale found himself smiling. Crowley wasn't truly all bad, even if he thought himself it. His gaze at the doors quickly moved over to the pretty girl weeping. She was still crying and her glass was a lot emptied.

Aziraphale got up, straightened his toga, and walked over to the girl. "Oh, um, hello. I'm -" oh shoot, he hadn't thought of this part yet. He had to quickly think of a name. Instantly his eyes shot up to the art above her, a fleece. Aha! "Jason. My name is Jason. Pardon the intrusion, but I couldn't help but notice you're upset."

She sniffled, setting the glass down on the table. Aziraphale was struck by her face, now that he could see it not turned down and hidden. She was pretty. She eyed him warily, "Yeah, what's it to you?"

Aziraphale sat down on the chair opposite her, "I wondered if I might be able to help."

She laughed bitterly, "only if you can stop the Emperor." Aziraphale's eyebrows raised at that and she rushed to cover for herself, "oh no, I didn't mean that. All Hail the Caesar and what not. He's doing a mighty fine job."

"It's certainly not a 'mighty fine job' if he's got you crying as such."

"No, I s'pose not."

"What can I do for you?"

"Nothing," she said honestly, wiping the tears away quickly. "Honestly, Jason, I appreciate the thought but what's done is done. You can't change the past."

Aziraphale made a face in slight disagreement, though he knew he couldn't explain that to a human female. "Then perhaps telling someone will make you feel better. I harbor no connection with the Emperor, your opinions are quite safe with me."

She stared up at him after he said this, looking him truly in the eyes as though they told her all she needed to know. Then she did speak. "It's this invasion on Britain. My father and brother were both sent off and I worry. I've heard horrible things about the natives, truly barbaric things like removing of one's head. I don't want them to be hurt. Especially my brother, he's so sweet. He could get hurt by the army rather the natives."

"Hurt by his own army?"

"He doesn't stand up for himself. And that lot can be harsh. I s'pose I shouldn't blame them, I'd be harsh too if I had to kill people in battle. But I worry they will pick on him, push him 'round to try and get him to fight, and he won't."

"Ah, I see," Aziraphale said, rolling his tongue in his mouth as he thought it over. "Well, I can assure you one thing. The natives are not unnecessarily cruel. They do fight, but only when they need to. You couldn't expect anything less, dear."

She nodded, biting her lip. "No, you're correct. I'd defend my country against invaders as well."

"But they won't torture. Your brother will be quite alright, I'm sure of it."

After a minute of silence she looked up again at Aziraphale, "Thank you, Jason. Strangely enough, that makes me feel better. Knowing it wouldn't be torture."

"No, it wouldn't be."

"I really should be going, my daughter will be expecting me."

"Right, of course. Blessings on you, my dear." And though he'd already said the blessing, he felt compelled to say it again. To strengthen it for this poor soul. "Blessings on you forever."

Aziraphale helped her out of her seat. Just then, for an imperceivable second, Aziraphale thought he saw a golden shine cross her eyes. He didn't think much of it, figured it was the miracle. He'd never seen that happen, but he wasn't often looking in their eyes.

She took his hand, kissed the back of it, and thanked him again before walking out. Aziraphale smiled contentedly, though he felt a pull in his heart he hadn't felt before. Urging him to follow her, but he figured it was some sort of indigestion.

Crowley was sprawled on a bench not far from the restaurant, glancing up at a night time sky he couldn't see. He wanted to see it, but he gave up on that dream 2,000 years ago. The Fall took many things, and his eyesight was one of them. He could still see in general, he knew what people's faces looked like and where he was going. But specifics were lost on him, and the night looked like eternal darkness rather than the sparkling stars and planets he'd been told about.

"I helped create some of those," he mumbled to himself.

Then he closed his eyes, needing to not look at what he couldn't see. It still hurt, as though the wound wasn't thousands of years old. But it never properly healed in the first place.

He felt a weight against his foot and heard a thud within a matter of seconds, and he blinked in surprise. At his feet, a young woman was crumpled to the ground. His foot was sticking out in the pathway. Whoops.

He thought about rising to help her, then thought better of it. Beelzebub didn't need another reason to hate him. So he sat still and watched the woman get onto her hands and knees, glaring at him.

"Not going to help are you?"

"No, I think I'm keen to just watch," Crowley responded. She rolled her eyes, getting onto her feet and dusting off her toga. He examined her quickly, not knowing what to make of her. Then, she said something entirely unexpected.

"Keep your foot out of the way, asshole."

It wasn't a particularly inspired remark, nothing witty or threatening. But it was the fact that a random woman said that to him, a demon, without prompting. And with that remark, she walked away.

"Damnation on you eternally," Crowley murmured, waving his hand in a flourish towards the woman. He doesn't know why he said it, he's never really said it like that before and he certainly didn't why he even added the 'eternally' bit. But whatever the reason, he said it.

Though he knew she was too far away to hear him, she turned and looked back. And found a brief moment, maybe it was the trick of the light, he saw a golden shine pass over her eyes. She smirked shyly, then turned and walked away. And with each step, Crowley felt his heart pulse in a way he hadn't felt before.

1377—————

There was complete silence in the cathedral as a young boy, only aged 10 and dressed in trousers, walked through the crowd towards the priest. They seemed to hold their breaths as he lay on the floor before God, surrendering himself to Her mercy. Aziraphale watched the coronation. He had mixed feelings about the child, Richard. He wasn't a particular fan of the whole 'king' concept, but he thought the honoring to God bit was a nice touch. He wore simple enough clothes to note stand out, yet nice to enough to be recognized as a noble. His layers were in varying degrees of beige as he hid in the very middle of the crowd.

After the 10 minutes on the floor, Richard rose and made his way to the priest where he was being dressed in oil.

"Bit like a salad, eh?" A sultry, baritone voice said from beside Aziraphale, making him shudder. When he looked, it was Crowley. Dressed in similarly simple noble clothes, of course in tones of black and red, he watched the young king as different body parts were coated in oil for different purposes.

"Crowley? How did you get in here? It's a church?" Aziraphale said in a hushed whisper, earning glares from the people beside him. "Sorry Lord Wellington."

"Churches are built by humans."

"And what does that have to do with anything? You're still a demon in a place of worship for God," he said the word 'demon' especially softly for fear someone would turn in a panic at the word 'demon' being said in a cathedral.

"Yeah but it wasn't made by God. It was made for Her, by humans. Totally human structure."

"It is not."

Crowley shrugged his shoulders, "you got a better reason I can come and go in these?"

Aziraphale pursed his lips, "I suppose not."

A loud smack echoed through the church and Crowley frowned, "you made me miss the slap, Angel."

"That is your concern?"

Crowley shook his head in frustration, "He's a bloody king now, last time he coulda gotten hit and it's by a priest. S'course I wanted to see it."

"He's a child."

"Not anymore. He's got too much to think about now to be a child."

"No," Aziraphale wondered. "I suppose he's not longer a child at all. You know, dearest, you really do have the grandest thoughts when you think about it."

"Shut up," Crowley replied, his cheeks turning rosy at the compliment.

Within seconds of him saying it, the priest placed the crown on top of boy's head and declared loudly, "Long Live King Richard II!"

The crowd burst into applause as the young king was carried through the cathedral. They whooped and hollered, crying "all hail" and "god save the king" as he passed them by. The boy looked cheerful, pink cheeks and bright curls waving underneath a crown that looked awful heavy for a boy his age. But no, Aziraphale thought, perhaps this was the end of his childhood after all.

"Are you attending the feast afterwards? I hear they will serve beef, and I haven't have beef in decades!"

"Ahh, well I don't know, Angel."

Aziraphale smiled, leaning in as though he was sharing a conspiratorial secret, "I hear there are miraculously two spots for a Lord Fell and Mr Fell, if you are so inclined."

Crowley's eyebrows shot up, eyes hidden beneath his favorite pair of sunglasses, "oh you devil!"

Aziraphale's smile dropped, "don't you say that."

There was a pause as Aziraphale processed the hurtful words, and Crowley processed that he actually cared to make it right to him. Then all at once, they both started speaking on the issue, words overlapping in a frightful mess.

Crowley sighed, "Right I'm sorry -"

"- that really hurts -"

"- I know, I know -"

"- I mean, I am most certainly not fallen -"

"-we had this conversation in 1066 -"

" - I did not appreciate that."

" -I know, Angel. I'm sorry."

After that final note, Aziraphale nodded. "Alright, well. Thank you."

They started to walk together towards the banquet hall not far from there, waiting to indulge in fine wines and beef. There was a large parade towards it, all the nobles and even those fortunate peasants engaged in laughing and singing. Jesters performed stupid dances in their funny hats, knights marched in perfect unison, and songs came pouring from every lute and voice in the area. It was a perfect celebration of a new king, all on their way to fall victim to gluttony, drunkenness, lust, greed and infinitely more temptations.

All things that should fill Crowley's heart with a miserable sort of glee. And yet... he felt off. Crowley couldn't explain the feeling in his chest, almost like a nagging telling him things weren't right. But all this temptation, he thought. This ought to be perfect! But it wasn't, and he had a feeling before he even glanced at his Angel that it was because of him.

Sure enough, he was right. Though Aziraphale hadn't said anything, being kind enough to accept Crowley's words at face value and dropping it, but Crowley knew him well enough to know something was wrong. He hadn't made it up to him.

"Angel, a word -" Crowley said, grabbing Aziraphale's elbow and leading him away from the crowd. As he did so, he missed the way Aziraphale's mouth dropped open, blue eyes fixated on the contact. They'd rarely touched before.

"Yes, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked politely but his tone was full of too much passive aggression to really be polite. He stood stock still, arms poised in front of him and looked expectedly at Crowley.

"I- I, I need to..." Satan this was hard. The words felt like glue in Crowley's mouth but he did his best to force them out. "I need to, to s'make it up to you."

"Pardon?"

Oh damn Aziraphale, making Crowley actually communicate. "What I said, I was wrong. You were right. It wasn't right of me and I need to make it because my apology isn't enough."

"I never said that."

"Ah, yeah, you never said it. But you's do this thing with your face when you's upset. And my words aren't getting there. Just tell me what I can do to make it up to you."

They waited a moment, staring at one another. Suddenly, a large crash came from parade and the two looked over in surprise. The musicians were playing a long, one very eager man slamming the cymbals that caused such a loud sound. Behind them another jester bobbled along a delicate little dance, flourishing his arms on either side before turning and doing a bow.

Crowley saw Aziraphale's eyebrows raise, the corner of his cute little mouth twitch up and a finger pointed towards the little dance. He ran to stop it, saying, "no, no, no, I'm not doing that."

"Come now-"

"A dance? You want an 'I was wrong, You were right dance'? You can't be serious, Angel."

"I am serious, you wily serpent. Now do the little dance or I'll never forgive you," Aziraphale said in mock frustration, puffing out his chest.

Crowley saw before him a choice, between what his lot were bound to and Aziraphale. And without a second thought, he chose Aziraphale. He would choose Aziraphale every time, he just didn't know it yet. And so, despite all the humiliation he knew this would cause him if the bosses down under ever found out, Crowley did the little dance.

Aziraphale watched, eyebrows raised in shock. He hadn't thought Crowley would do it. Certainly not for him. But as Crowley bowed, enunciating his t's with a flourish, he couldn't help but smile.

"Very nice."

"Are we good, now?"

Aziraphale beamed, "quite right, dearest. We are quite right."

Crowley let out a breath, adjusting his glasses as though they would hide that dance from history's books. "Well then, let's get a move on."

The pair followed the parade into the banquet hall, and continued with the affair. Aziraphale literally wiggled in his seat when the food was placed before him, so excited he couldn't sit still. Crowley drank the wine, actually quite good for English wine.

Then the dancing started. King Richard - now Richard II - climbed on top of the table and proclaimed everyone to dance. And so, the nobles in their fancy gowns, drunk and laughing to no end, jumped from their seats to join in the dance. Aziraphale sat still for a moment, not knowing what he should do. Angels don't dance, not really. But this Angel longed to dance.

Crowley saw the way his fingers tapped along the table to the beat. He groaned, getting up from his seat.

"S'alright Angel, up up."

"Pardon -"

"You heard what I said. Come on Angel, let's dance."

Aziraphale giggled and got up, following Crowley into the chaos of swirling dresses and flirtatious looks between anyone and everyone. Almost immediately they were separated, swung by different partners.

Crowley danced with an older woman who squeezed his buttocks when she thought he wasn't looking. He wasn't fond of dancing, not the way Aziraphale was, but he enjoyed the freedom of it all. There were no rules, not really. Yes some people liked the structured ones where you pose and turn on every 3rd beat or what not. But in dancing there was an air of just living - being truly alive. That's what it was all about, it's all anyone yearned to feel.

In the next turn to switch partners, time seemed to slow for Crowley. He saw her, flitting between the people to slide her arm into Crowley's and continue the dance. She was pretty in an unconventional way. A way society might not call beautiful, but made Crowley stop and stare. He was pulled towards her, as though he couldn't control it. She was the center of his focus and he wanted nothing more than to meet her. Then, she turned that pretty gaze on him. Her lips quirked into a smile, hands warm and soft as they held his tightly. Her skin was flushed from the dance, and her dress swung around her in bright, dashing colors. The last dance had ended and all the people were gasping for air yet still ready to dive into the next.

"Hello," she said softly, though somehow he heard her voice over the crowd.

"Hello," Crowley answered back, not sure what to do. He'd never been in this position before.

"A dance?" She asked, taking a deep bow before holding her hand out. Palm up. She wore one, golden signet ring.

"I'd love to," Crowley answered honestly, taking her hand and pulling her into him.

She giggled happily, throwing an arm around his neck as he led the pair towards the center of the dance floor. He started to laugh along with her. Their dancing wasn't particularly good, both of them knew that, but they were having fun. She would twirl away only to twirl back into him awkwardly, laughing so hard she snorted which only caused a barking laughter from Crowley. They continued forward, holding each other close until the final pull drew them chest to chest. She was shorter than he, and she glanced up through dark lashes.

"Hi," she murmured, her breath hitting Crowley's face. She smelled of wine and temptation. He looked into her eyes and there it was - that one moment in history he thought was a fluke.

It had been 1,432 years, not like he was counting, but he didn't forget the way the golden band seemed to fleet over her eyes back in 55BC. And now, he saw that same golden shine slide over the same pair of eyes. It was just a second and yet it made Crowley's mouth drop. She saw it too, but for different reasons. He watched as she looked at his lips, he could tell what she was thinking.

She went to lean in, breasts pressed against his chest and breath hot, but was ripped away by the next dance. She giggled wildly as she was pulled into a circle, but found herself glancing over her shoulder to stare at the handsome stranger she almost kissed.

As Crowley stood in the middle of the floor, mystified, Aziraphale went over to his table to get a drink. All this dancing was positively amazing, but it certainly drained one of their energy.

As he brought the cup to his lips, a body crashed into his, sending the crimson liquid all over his clothes.

"Oh, bugger," he said, setting the cup down to assess the damage.

"I am so sorry, sir!" A girl said, breathless as she ran over. "That was entirely my fault. Please, let me help you clean it. I'm sure there's a tub not far."

Aziraphale smiled politely and went to decline the kind offer, but when he looked into her eyes he found himself agreeing to go with her. She lit up with excitement, grabbing his hand and pulling him away. There was something about her, something he couldn't explain. But he was in awe of her movements and eager to learn more about her.

She turned into an empty hall near a bathroom. She had him wait here while she collected a basin of water and grease.

"I can't promise it will fully work," she said as she set it down, "but I'll do my best. I really am so sorry, sir. I would have never ruined your clothes intentionally."

"It's quite alright. They weren't my favorite anyway," he said as he removed the outer layer. His multiple layers undergarments were fine, and could suffer slight staining. It was the outer garment that changed the most.

She shook her head as she dunked it in the basin, "you can't mean that, sir."

"I find that I quite do," he said, watching her with a quite awe.

"What's your name, sir? I feel I've seen you before," she said, suddenly watching him with the same astute attention. She kept narrowing her eyes as though she'd remember.

Maybe it was the stain, the wine, the party, the demon nearby, or maybe it was just this woman that did it to him but without realizing, he answered honestly, "Aziraphale."

Her eyes lit up, "like the Angel?"

"Precisely, my dear."

"That's a beautiful name. Aziraphale, Aziraphale... can you believe it?" She mumbled the last bit to herself, rubbing liberal amounts of grease into the fabric.

"Do you have a connection to the name? Or the Angel, perhaps?" Aziraphale asked curiously, wanting to hear more about her.

"I do, strangely enough. It's a silly connection..." she said, absentmindedly turning the signet ring over and over on her hand.

"I rather find that when it comes to angels and demons, nothing is silly." Aziraphale chose to neglect some of the more strange decisions the staff had made.

"I, well, oh goodness it sounds all made up. Well, I was in the shops the other day. My friend makes jewelry and he's very good. I came by and he said a man dropped off this gold signet ring with the name Aziraphale burned into it. Said he didn't know what to do with it, not many people knows the Angel, and he gave it to me." She took the ring off her finger, staring at it with an admiration before holding it out to him. "It's your name. You should have it."

"Oh I couldn't possibly take from you, dear."

She shook her head, "no it's not taking. It's a gift. It's fate, that I should have a ring for an Aziraphale just before meeting one of my very own."

"Oh dear, I couldn't -"

She interrupted him by pressing a soft kiss to the ring, taking his hand and sliding it onto his pinky finger. When she looked up, still holding his hand, Aziraphale's jaw dropped. That golden shine. Where had he seen that before? It was brief, flashing over a pair of kind eyes, but it was there all the same.

"Please accept this, Aziraphale."

"I - I will. Thank you, my dear."

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale saw her after that night. They didn't know her name, her status, or even really remember her outfit. If Cinderella was around, she would have been the prime candidate for it. Neither told each other about their experience with a strange woman until 150 years later as they talked about Henry VIII's decision to have Anne Boleyn beheaded. Nasty business that was.

1601—————

"He's really quite good," Aziraphale said, watching fondly as the actor of Hamlet lamented about life and death. It really was moving the way he toyed between truly living a life, or if death was not truly what life was about.

Aziraphale found himself doing that 'excited sigh' that Crowley described. He found it an odd way of saying his behaviors, but Crowley insisted that when Aziraphale was excited it wasn't a 'satisfied sigh' but an 'excited sigh.' To be fair, he'd said this after 2 whole bottles of wine and a shot of pure vodka, so Aziraphale couldn't grant its true authenticity. A drunk demon would truly say anything just to illicit a reaction.

The speech made him wonder what it was like to be a human, with no certainty about what happens with their souls. They don't have a guarantee about life, or death, and yet are expected to do as they are told with no questions. Crowley knew what it was like to ask questions, and it lead to scars even Aziraphale didn't know about.

"Ngk, s'pose so." Crowley grumbled, watching as the man stamped his foot on the stage. "Bit dramatic, no?"

"It'd a tragedy!" Aziraphale countered, furrowing his brows in surprise.

"Eh, I still prefer the funny ones."

Aziraphale shook his head, turning to watch the man on the stage. A flash of purple fabric caught his eye, and his gaze traveled to see a young woman peaking out from behind the railing. She was trying to stay hidden, but Aziraphale could see that she just couldn't resist the temptation to watch the rehearsal. Her eyes were bright and wide, soaking in the sight. Her clothes were dirty and well worn, a few sizes too big and the hem covered in a layer of mud. But despite it all, she looked entirely unique.

She was pretty, and Aziraphale didn't often feel as though many humans were pretty. He appreciated the art of humanity, and believed each human was their own work of art. But he didn't feel a pull to any of them, but her... she had an attraction to her. He could see her lean too far over the edge, as though the stage were dragging her in. It wasn't just a love and an admiration, it was an addiction. Aziraphale could see what was going to happen moments before it did, but it was too late. The girl tumbled over the edge and fell onto the floor of the Globe, catching the attention of everybody in the rehearsal space.

Her cheeks immediately blotted pink, covering her face in a rosy hue as the stage manager came to her with a snarl, "oi, who're you?"

"I-I-"

"You's not supposed to be 'ere," he said, grabbing her roughly by the arm and dragging her to her feet. She stumbled along as he pulled her to the entrance. "Out with you."

"Mary? Whatcha doin here?" Crowley called out, sauntering over to the man and the girl. The man stopped, looking at Crowley with a skeptical gaze. The girl's eyes widened, bright and eager, as she realized what Crowley was doing and she nodded vigorously.

"Yes, sir, I came to fetch you! Mistress Paulson requested you." She said quickly, trying to stand on her own despite the stage manager's tight grasp.

The man cocked an eyebrow, "oh yeah? You know's him?"

"Know me? Know me?" Crowley sauntered over with a cackle, "me's and Mary goes way back."

She nodded, ripping her arm from the man's grasp then standing politely. "Oh yes, Mr..."

"Oh don't bother with all the Mr Crowley Miss whatever business, just call me Anthony like any other bloke."

"Anthony has helped my sister much. He's an excellent doctor," she said, standing firm. Aziraphale watched her in awe, he was impressed. She picked up that Crowley was saving her quickly, easing into the lie with an expert comfort. She seemed familiar, as though they'd met her before. And most importantly, she was intelligent.

"Doctor? You didn't mention that about your friend," the man said to Aziraphale, his enunciation so poor he practically spat the words at Aziraphale's feet.

Aziraphale flashed a charming smile, "I hadn't realized that those particular skills would, uh, come up in a theatre of this, err,... caliber."

"I haven't the pleasure of meeting you, sir." The girl piped up, her smile was warm and gentle. But he could see in her eyes a tension, wanting to convince this man to not throw her out or worse - press charges. "My's names Mary Edwins. Friend of Mr Crowley."

Mary Edwins, clearly a fake name. Just basic enough to be believable, but enough slight hesitation that Aziraphale knew she was lying. She gave a little curtesy, spreading the oversized purple skirt over the floor. It really was too large, but she still looked charming. Aziraphale felt as though he'd seen that curtesy before. There it was, fast you could have blamed the lighting, Aziraphale knew better. There that same golden shine came over her eyes, if just for a moment. His mouth fell open in a little 'o,' unable to speak for a while 10 seconds before stuttering out, "oh, h-hello Miss Edwins, I'm Mr Fell."

The stage manager thought on it for a moment, before deciding that he wasn't paid enough to care. It was hours away from opening night, after all, and the little boy playing Ophelia needed alterations in his costume.

"Alright then," he said, walking back towards the director, a Mr William Shakespeare.

The girl was still a few feet away as Crowley walked dramatically back towards Aziraphale. The Angel tried to ignore it. He hadn't mentioned that part of it with Crowley, and he didn't know how to continue. Crowley mistook Aziraphale's expression as one of angelic smugness and rose a finger, "shut it, Angel."

"That was a good thing you did," he said with a little smile. He pushed it to the back of his mind, something to worry about when it was late and the city was asleep.

"Twasn't good, no. I was, real, I - I - I was bad. I let a criminal get away."

Aziraphale patted Crowley's shoulder, "no, dearest. You let a woman enjoy her passion. Look at her, you've saved her."

The pair glanced over at her as she tried, and failed, to subtly watch the actors get ready for their next scene. Her hand was on her heart, as though if she didn't put it there her heart would pop right out.

"Ehhh, that's not saving. Not really."

"Oh, it's not? Then what would you say is a human's purpose?" Aziraphale asked with a soft voice.

"I thought that's your job, Angel. Praising God and what not."

Aziraphale pursed his lips, looking away from Crowley. "You know as well as I that love of God is not all humans were made for. I am of the firm opinion they are here for their passions. They survive by it. They might be able to live with food and water alone, but no soul could truly exist without their drive. And this woman, her passion is theatre."

"Rather blasphemous words from an Angel."

"Rather kind actions from a demon."

Aziraphale smiled, looking towards the stage. Crowley tried to hide the blush on his ears and cheeks. It was always his ears that turned bright red from, from, well he didn't quite know from what. But he felt the heat and looked away. He looked at the girl, who perked your once she realized he saw her. She went over shyly.

Despite her apprehension, she raised her voice enough to say, "thank you for your help, Mr Crowley and Mr Fell."

"Mmm," was Crowley reply, gazing around the globe with a distinguished air about him. As if he was the most important person in the room. He tried to ignore her presence. She had a pull to her and he couldn't explain it, didn't want to address it. He already had the issue of a certain Angel who wouldn't leave his mind.

"Who are we to stop the love of the arts?" Aziraphale said, rather eccentrically. "Though you could have waited a few hours to see the whole show."

"I can't afford it," she said quietly, staring at her feet. Aziraphale noted her sweet little boots, their pointed ends digging into the dirt out of anxiety. "My mistress only gave me the morning. I need to be back in an hour."

Crowley and Aziraphale shot a glance with one another, not quite knowing how to respond. They stood in silence, the girl's eyes wide as she drank in Ophelia's mad lullabies.

"What's your name?"

"Mary Edwins."

Crowley smiled, "nice try, love. Your real name."

She cocked an eyebrow, glancing up at first at Crowley, then at Aziraphale, before looking back at her reflection in his sunglasses. "Why do you want to know?"

"We did help you, dear. We'd just love to know you, but if you cannot tell us, we won't rush you."

"Are you two a couple?" She asked quickly, pointing at the two and waving her hands in some strange, gesture of coupling. Her choice of question was so drastic, they didn't bother to notice the intentional diversion in topics.

Aziraphale looked up, mouth dropping in a little 'o' and he looked at Crowley. Crowley lifted a brow. Aziraphale answered, "We've known each other for a long time."

"That doesn't answer my question, Mr Fell."

"Aren't you a sly one, Miss Edwins." Crowley sneered, his top lip recoiling.

She just smiled, shrugging her shoulders with a little giggle. "Suppose so, Mr Crowley."

The golden shine. Crowley sucked in a harsh breath as she turned to look back at the stage. He could practically hear all his thoughts as they raced through his head, and he was unable to settle on just one. Those eyes. He hadn't seen them in years and yet this was the third woman who just happened to flirt with him, and had a gold shine go across her eyes. He reckoned she didn't know it happened, she probably didn't know what those little eyes could do to an immortal creature. Crowley swallowed, praying she never had to.

Then, the show continued and 'Mary's' eyes seemed transfixed. Aziraphale loved the theatre, Crowley enjoyed it, but 'Mary' adored it.

Crowley watched her eagerly, partly out of curiosity and partly because he liked feeling her passion in his soul as though it was her own. He found himself attracted to it, a drag of one's purpose. The passion filled her up, and she seemed to want to lean into it. She gasped as Hamlet killed his mother, she listened with eager ears as he instructed the actors on how they were to act, she cried as it seemed that everyone fell to the floor in a miserable death. Then, it was over. Actors stumbled to their feet, laughing as though they weren't stabbed with poisoned rapiers. The story was over, but 'Mary' seemed to be in a daze. Crowley watched with shrewd, yet eager eyes as she came out of it.

Then she straightened her back, smiling tightly to both of them. "Mr Fell, Mr Crowley, thank you for letting me stay. It has been such a gift. I'm afraid I must go."

"Let us escort you home," Aziraphale said, without realizing what he was offering.

She blinked wide eyes, "there's no need, sir. It's two blocks away."

Crowley lifted his chin, "love, we'd like to see you off safe."

"If you insist. Though I must tell you it's entirely through the city. Eyes will be on you at all times," she said it as a threat, a reminder to not do anything unsavory. Crowley almost frowned at that little bit of false hope. If they actually had bad intentions, a crowd wouldn't stop anything. She wasn't truly safe. But both Crowley and Aziraphale nodded, as though they truly headed her warning.

"Was that your first Shakespeare production?" Aziraphale asked, making polite conversation as he walked on one side of her, Crowley on the other.

"Oh, no. I do my best to attend all of them. I tend to prefer the funny ones, but the crowds can be a bit much for me."

"Eh? What'd you mean by that?" Crowley asked.

She blushed, "I don't like when crowds get very loud. They tend to jeer and toss things at the actors. It doesn't feel safe for anyone. I do enjoy his dramas though."

They walked in companionable silence for a moment before she asked the next question, "what do you two do? If I may, you're dressed rather odd."

"Odd?" Crowley asked with a frown, gazing down at his outfit. He was quite proud of this outfit. The ruff was amazing, really helped one feel confident.

'Mary' giggled. "I don't dislike your outfits, you just don't see these colors often."

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a glance, shifting in their outfits. Perhaps they do cling to their colors a bit much. But Aziraphale never felt it was a problem, he was proud of his wardrobe.

"I make my own clothes," Aziraphale said with a smile.

'Mary' lightened up, her eyes taking on a bright, sparkling quality before she actually smiled, a little tell that Aziraphale noticed. He'd seen that before, but couldn't place it. "That is quite wonderful, Mr Fell. I'd love to make my own, however I mostly sew for my mistress."

"You make her clothes?"

"Oh no, I tend to mend them."

The conversation lulled again, and Crowley bit his lip as he thought before asking the question that has been on his tongue since the play ended, "why do you love theatre so much?"

Her chest flared, her eyes wide and sparkling, and she could barely contain the words before they poured from her in excited spurts, "what's not to love? It's stories about being human wrapped up in fancy costumes and dramatic voices. It's full of stories that seem so outrageous yet we still find our way to connect. Isn't it just fascinating that you could watch a show about a man, driven mad by jealousy caused by a deceiving friend, murdering his wife and leave full of emotions? You'd think you'd be mad at the murderer, condemning him for killing his love. And yet, there's more to it than that. You can't quite hate Othello, but you can't love him either. It's so hard to explain what it is to be human, there's no word or sentence to explain it. It can be so isolating. But these stories can give us insight. I, sorry, I'm rambling," she said, taking a wistful sigh.

"Stories can be found anywhere, dear. Books, especially," Aziraphale noted. He enjoyed hearing her speak with such fire. In the back of his mind, he felt as though he could recall someone else talking about their love of stories, but he couldn't place it.

She nodded, smiling. "Yes, of course. And I adore books too. It's just... theatre is such a temporary art. Those moments on stage, or watching, could never be recreated, it could never be exactly as it was. And that's what made it so beautifully tragic. You are stuck with a slightly different story each night, with different takeaways."

"What a beautiful takeaway," Aziraphale said, watching her with a slight sort of awe.

She blushed, "I'm hardly unique in that way."

"Ngk," Crowley mumbled in disagreement, though he didn't actually say a word. Yet, she seemed to still understand what he was trying to say and blushed all the same.

As they walked, Crowley took off his sunglasses for a moment to wipe his eyes. He seemed to forget that his were unusual, yellow and with a snake like slit as a pupil.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

"M'yeah," Crowley answered, opening his eyes to look at her. After the initial realization he was seeing her without glasses, thus revealing the snake like eyes, he went to shove the sunglasses back on. But she wasn't looking unkindly at him.

Instead, she smiled widely, "they're beautiful."

"Wot?" He said in shock.

"Your eyes are beautiful, Mr Crowley." Then, as Crowley sputtered in surprise, she stopped in front of an expensive flat. "This is me mistress's. Thank you, Mr Crowley and Mr Fell."

She looked both of them in the eyes as she said their names, and with equal kindness and appreciation. Then, she turned away and scampered around towards the servants entrance. Aziraphale waited until she was inside to blow out a breath.

"She was something," Crowley said.

"Yes, she was."

"I- angel, I could be wrong on this but didn't she feel-"

"Familiar?" Aziraphale finished for Crowley, looking down the alley as though she would magically reappear.

"Yes! It's so bloody weird," Crowley said, rubbing his hand along his jaw.

"Yes, weird," Aziraphale said, enunciating weird in an odd way that made Crowley furrow his brows. The two beings tried to shrug off this encounter, heading their separate ways for the time being.

1865—————

Aziraphale stared at Crowley as though he'd never seen him before, utterly gobsmacked. "I will not provide you that, that thing! It's suicide."

"Aw not for that Angel," Crowley groaned, waving his hand nonchalantly as though he hadn't asked for the one thing that would completely kill him. "Just for, err you know, protection."

"You are a demon, Crowley. The world would need protection from you."

Crowley tried to not let that sting. He'd never said as much to Aziraphale, but these last 200 years have really brought some perspective over what it is to be a demon. He found a weird sense of discomfort over the word demon. As though he were entirely bad because of what he was, and not what he does. But he'd never say it, or tell Aziraphale he accidentally rhymed.

"It's not like that, I just want to secure myself. That's all."

Aziraphale pursed his lips and looked away, not bearing the thought that his closest acquaintance would dare to think of something like that. It was simply not going to happen, Aziraphale refused to let that happen. Crowley was going to live forever, with Aziraphale, and he was going to do so happily. He'd never tell Crowley, of course, but Aziraphale didn't know if he could manage eternity without him.

"Oi! That can't have that!" Crowley said quickly, throwing himself off the bench and facing towards a woman standing by the river.

She turned to look at the, in her view, random man dressed in mourning garb barreling towards her and shouting in a thick accent. She clutched the loaf of bread close to her chest, eyeing him warily as he continued rambling.

"Bread's not good for 'em, it can - can - can cause diseases," he said once he got close to her.

She sucked in a breath. He was taller than he'd looked from afar, and she found herself staring at him. He was also quite handsome, with tanned skin and shocking bright red hair, curled away from his face. She noticed a pair of odd looking spectacles hiding his eyes, and a tattoo peaking out beneath his sideburns.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," she said breathlessly. She felt kind of stupid now, holding a loaf of bread as he stared at her with a passion for the ducks. A man dressed in all beige apparel came by quickly, standing by the other man's side. He looked kind, with bright blue eyes and plush pink lips she didn't even realize she'd taken note of.

"I'm terribly sorry for my friend's outburst," Aziraphale said to the woman, still looking shellshocked. "Though I'm afraid he is right, bread is not the best for them."

She looked down and stared at it. "Right, well I apologize. I hadn't been doing it long, if it's of any comfort."

Crowley grumbled but didn't say anything else, eyeing her with skepticism. After a pause where the three stood in silence, the woman tore the loaf into three sections. She then offered up a piece to each of the men, "better we eat it than them?"

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a glance, they hadn't expected this. Maybe it was the mood of St James's Park or the pull of this young girl, but they reached out to accept their proffered piece.

Just then a golden shine passed over her eyes. Both men's jaws dropped as they'd never shared of this particular detail of their stories, and had never experienced it together. And, for the first time, she seemed conscious of it too.

A hand went up to her cheeks just below her eyes, which had grown wide in surprise. "What was that?"

"Pardon?" Aziraphale asked in that slightly tense voice he had when he was covering up for something.

"The, my, my eyes. I was looking and then it went all - gold like."

"Oh I don't know about that," Aziraphale said.

She shook her head vehemently, pointing at the both of them. "Yours did too, and yours!"

"You saw our eyes shine gold?" Crowley asked shyly.

"Y-yes. I saw through your spectacles. The whole eye, it went gold -"

"It must have been a trick of the light, dearest. Eyes don't 'go gold.'"

She shook her head again, "no. I know what I saw. I, I think I'd better go. Thank you for the, the, the ducks."

"Wait-" "Don't go-" Aziraphale and Crowley started at the same time, but she'd already lifted her skirts so she could walk away as quickly as possible.

"She saw it this time," Crowley said, mouth open in surprise.

"This time? This time? You've had a girls eyes shine gold before?" Aziraphale asked, trying to ignore the way his heart ramped up at the news. Crowley felt it too, it wasn't all him.

"And by the sound of it, you have too."

"Yes, I have. But only thrice before, 55BC, 13-"

"-77 and 1601."

Aziraphale's blue eyes widened and he stared at Crowley in shock, "I- I, how did you know?"

"Same for me, Angel. Same for me."

"So she's connected then, to the both of us." Aziraphale said slowly, trying to work it all out in his head. Crowley nodded, pursing his lips and making a 'tsk' noise under his breath.

"She's looked different each time. I don't think she's an Angel or a demon," Crowley said, ripping off a small piece of the bread she gave him and tossing it into the water. No, it wasn't good for them but who cares at this point. They were eternally connected to something.

"No, I think you're quite right. She's something else entirely. I'll have to do some research, I'll let you know if I have anything of note."

Crowley swallows, "same 'ere."

"Okay. Well then, good afternoon to you," Aziraphale tipped his hat and wandered off back to his book shop, his head completely filled with ideas of shapeshifters and witches, all sorts of creatures.

Current Day—————

Crowley parked the Bentley outside Aziraphale's shop, the wheel a slight tap before getting out. It was cold today, and he saw dozens of people shuffling into Nina's shop for some warmth. He himself was freezing but he knew even slightly suggesting to Aziraphale would earn him some pampering, blanket tucked in, hot chocolate, and near undivided angelic attention. Normally he didn't like asking for it, but it's been a weird few years with the Armageddon't, and he could use some pampering.

He felt a pang in his chest, a strange sort of pull he didn't know what to do with. What did humans do when their hearts hurt? Then it struck him - he wasn't human. Why would his heart be hurting?

"Oi, you doing okay?" A voice said from the pavement outside Aziraphale's shop. Crowley looked up, surprised to see Nina with a bag full of ingredients.

"What're you doing out

She held up the bag with a raised brow, as though he was stupid to just suggest it, "you're alright then?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. But you haven't got other staff and the place's full."

"Oh, yeah, forgot you didn't know about that." Nina said dryly. "I hired a new barista. Name's Y/N. New to town."

There it was, that pull dragging him towards her shop. He couldn't explain, tried to rack his brain as to what would want him in there. He glanced back through the windows, trying to see if anything was amiss.

Each instance with her seemed to last for a second, barely enough to know if it was the truth or a trick of the light. But Crowley had lived long enough on enough stupid planets to know that when he saw something that wasn't typically there, it wasn't a figment of his imagination. He swallowed, trying to betray anything to Nina.

"Right. Well then, better get back to it," he said, moving past her shoving his way into Aziraphale's bookshop.

"Oh Crowley, wonderful you're here-"

"Yes, yes, I'm wonderful, you're wonderful, the world's bloody wonderful. Angel, do you remember in 1865 when we saw her in St James's Park?"

There wasn't a need to clarify who the 'her' was. Aziraphale straightened, removing his spectacles from his nose. "Yes, I do."

"And you remember when you said you'd research it and report back, but never did?"

"Yes, I do. Crowley-"

"I need that research now, Angel." Crowley said quickly, not letting Aziraphale ask more pointless questions.

"Nothing came of it, dear, that's why I'd never told you. We would have sensed if she was a witch, angel, demon, or anything other supernatural. We have those senses."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Crowley, what happened? What did you see?"

"She's here."

Aziraphale's eyebrows shot up and he placed a surprise hand on his chest, not quite knowing what to do with that information. "Here?!"

"In London. In the coffee shop, in Nina's coffee shop. I - I saw her. There was a golden thread between us. I know it's her, Angel. She looks different but she has every time. It's her."

"You saw a golden thread?"

"Yes."

Aziraphale put his spectacles back on, heading for one of his bookshelves towards the back of the shop, "are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes, Angel, I'm bloody positive."

"A Golden thread has never shown up before. The previous times were all the, err, the eyes. This means something." Aziraphale said, gathering the dusty book from his shelf and depositing it on his desk with a thud. "In Greek mythology the golden thread was your life line. Your life thread so to speak. Fate, destiny, the whole nine yards."

"Yes, Angel, but the Greeks were wrong and that's how we exist so what does it mean for us?" Crowley grabbed a chair and fell into it, placing a frustrated hand on his temple.

Aziraphale thumbed through pages until he found what he was looking for. He read the words, but it only helped to scrunch his brow. "This doesn't make any sense. The threads only have two colors, two avenues."

"What do the threads mean, Angel?" His tone pained in frustration. This girl was scaring him, and he couldn't explain why. As far as he knew she presented no threat to him. And yet all the same, he feared her. He wasn't a fan of the unknown. Everything had been so planned out for so long, even though he didn't like the idea of the world ending it was a plan nonetheless.

"It says here that white thread is for eternal blessings. Saints and what not. Black thread for eternal damnation. But it only exists on a human while they are alive."

"Wot? I don't see black threads on people, d'you see white threads?"

Aziraphale adjusted his spectacles, "it says here they only appear if an Angel, or in your case, dearest, a demon, specifically bless them. Or, err, curse them."

"Still, you'd think 6,000 years and I woulda seen something."

Aziraphale nodded in agreement, "I've not seen any either."

"Wait, how'd you know about all this then?" Crowley waved a hand vaguely in between Aziraphale and the book.

Aziraphale looked confused for a moment, "all this? Oh, ah, you mean how I've come to know about the threads? Well it is to my understanding that this was brought up by Michael -"

"Head honcho Michael?" Crowley asked.

"Yes, though I wouldn't use such human terms myself. Michael had thought it up around 100BC. Thought it would be a fun way of identifying humans. But the upstairs didn't fancy the idea, She dispelled it not too long after."

"Hmm... never woulda pictured that out of Michael."

"Well, they say you never really know someone." Aziraphale replied, looking back over the pages as Crowley began to ramble.

"Always thought that applied to killers. No one ever says that 'bout the good deeds, they only say it after you've hurt someone. If someone's killed a kid, everyone's all up in arms like 'you never really knew 'em.' But if someone's a paramedic no one's like 'you never really know-'"

Aziraphale felt his jaw drop open as the words at the bottom of the page finally clicked. Part of the reason Michael's plan never worked, at least according to Gabriel, was that the wording was too specific. "No one uses 'eternally' in their everyday vocabulary," he had argued. Back then Aziraphale had quite agreed with Gabriel, but everyone agreed with Gabriel if it meant shutting Michael up. But he remembered a time not long before the thread idea was vanished when he had used the word 'eternally' in conversation. He reread to be sure, then piped up over Crowley's random complaining, "C-Crowley... do you remember what you said to her in 55BC?"

Crowley's face scrunched as he tried to think all the way back. "I, uh, tripped her. On accident, then she called me an asshole and I-I damned her for eternity I think."

"Oh dear."

"What does this 'oh dear' me? Angel?" When Aziraphale didn't say anything Crowley got up, stalking over to him quickly. "What did you see?"

"I blessed her for eternity."

"So? What's that mean?"

"I-I think, and I could be very very wrong, however I think that means we've, err, we've trapped her soul in an endless strain between Heaven and Hell."

"No, no, no, no," Crowley started to say, unconsciously pacing as he tried to unravel it all in his head. "That doesn't make any sense. Her thread is gold, white and black don't make gold. It makes grey, she should be grey!"

"I think the color of her thread is far from our biggest issue, Crowley."

"So, so what? She's trapped to us?"

Aziraphale ran a hand down his face, trying to process. "I- she might be."

"But her body's changed each time. It's not the same woman."

"Ah, but her eyes. They've stayed the same. You know as well as I do they're the same."

Crowley stopped, knowing he didn't have grounds to argue. Aziraphale was right, after all. Then he groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Fucking hell-"

"Language," Aziraphale said with pursed lips.

"Wot? For the fucking or the hell part?" Crowley snapped, then upon seeing Aziraphale's dropped expression he immediately retracted. "I'm sorry. That was rude. You're not getting the stupid dance though. Angel, she's not immortal. Her soul is. She must just keep being, being reborn. But the soul from 55BC is still the same."

"That would make sense," Aziraphale said. "They do say the eyes are the window into the soul. Perhaps that explains why they remain while the rest of her can change."

"Yeah, yeah. It makes sense, don't it?"

"So we've accidentally trapped a human soul to Earth to live and die for eternity?"

"Yeah, yeah," Crowley sniffed. "Think we did, Angel."

There was a quiet pause as the two reflected on what they just realized. They, unwittingly, had created an immortal creature. She doesn't even know she's immortal, and by the past experience it sounds as if her mind is wiped with each death. But her soul lives on.

"Fuck," Aziraphale said quietly.

Crowley looked up sharply, "wot'd you say?"

"I said fuck." He repeated, with more confidence this time around.

On any normal circumstance, Crowley would laugh and cherish the moment he saw Aziraphale curse - and with fuck of all of them - but he couldn't help but think Aziraphale was right. Fuck, indeed.

"What do we do?" Crowley asked.

"We have to tell her."

"We do? Why's that? What d'ya think we're gonna say? Hi random stranger I'm a demon he's an Angel and your soul is stuck, here have a cuppa."

"Well that would be straightforward -"

"Sarcasm, Angel. You've been here for thousands of years and you still don't process sarcasm."

Aziraphale stood up and went over to Crowley, touching his shoulders so he'd look up to him. "I understand that this is difficult. This is, it's entirely unprecedented territory. But she deserves the truth." He leaned in, his voice but a whisper. "It does help that we both feel a pull to her. Once we see her, it hurts to no interact. Perhaps we can find a way to end this, to help her."

Crowley swallowed, looking away from Aziraphale's bright blue eyes. He smelled of vanilla and old books, a scent Crowley would bottle up and spray all over his stupid, cold flat if he could. Maybe this girl could help, maybe she was good. But they first needed to meet her.

"Alright. Fine. Let's go, now," Crowley said, sliding his sunglasses back on. Aziraphale nodded and retrieved his coat.

The pair walked out of the bookshop, locking up, and swiftly walked cross the street. They hesitated outside the door, neither knowing what to do. A flash of a blue apron in the window caught their attention, and then a golden thread, shining in the light, emerged and wrapped round the owners waist.

"You seeing that, Angel?"

"Y-yes, I am. It's not faded."

It didn't. It sparkled and swayed in the air, moving with the owners body as she walked around in the shop.

"On three," Aziraphale said. Crowley grumbled in agreement. "One, two ... three."

They opened the doors and were almost immediately greeted by a sweet smile and kind eyes. The same eyes they'd seen for hundreds of years. She smiled, tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear.

"Hi guys, welcome in! Feel free to take a seat wherever you like, I'll be with you in a moment."

"O-okay," Aziraphale said, his voice wispy in the confusion and whirlwind that was her. But she was entirely unaware, blissfully living in her own world that she didn't know was about to be ruined.

They sat in a far corner, away from any windows. Crowley sprawled in the seat, looking anywhere but at Aziraphale. Aziraphale sat stiff as a bored, left leg bouncing so furiously the table itself started to shake.

"Right, what can I get you lads?" She seemed to appear out of nowhere, shining golden thread wrapped round her sweet waist right where the apron was tied.

Aziraphale spoke first, not looking her in the eye but instead staring out the window. An uncharacteristically rude action on his part. "Oh, um, just a latte please. With 3 shots of vanilla."

"Ooo, yum. And for you, the one with the glasses?" She asked, her voice light.

Crowley thought for a moment. Better bite the bullet, eh? He turned, took his sunglasses off, and looked her in the eyes. "Espresso, darling."

Her eyes had a golden flash and she seemed to jump, her pad falling to the table in her shock. She looked between Aziraphale and Crowley with wide eyes, hands going to her stomach as she took deep breaths. "Aziraphale. Your name is Aziraphale," she said to him. Eyes wide. She turned to the demon. "You're Crowley."

"Yes, dear, we are."

"Why do I know that?" Her voice was shaky and yet she stayed, not angry or scared that she knew unknowable information.

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a glance. Crowley sighed, flicking his hand. Time around them stopped. Customers held their mugs up in the air, Nina mid pouring a cup, and a man getting ready to ask for the most ridiculous drink he could think of. All were trapped in this moment except for her, Aziraphale and Crowley.

She jumped, looking around with wide eyes, "h-how'd you do that? Why did you do that?"

"Please, take a seat dear," Aziraphale said, snapping as a plush chair appeared behind her. She tripped into it, her body language stuff and frightened.

"This is all feeling like a very strange dream, and I don't like it," she said, taking deep breaths to try and clear her mind. "Did you just stop time and if so, how the hell did you? And you just miraculously created a chair? And why do I know who the hell you are?"

"Dearest, it's not a dream, I'm afraid. You have met us before. You've met us multiple times before," Aziraphale took a breath. "I-I'm afraid we have some complicated news."

"Tell me who the hell you are!" She was getting scared, her heart fighting against her rib cage. She wanted to get up, she wanted to run away, put her hands over her ears and scream 'la la la' over and over until they left her alone. But she didn't. It wasn't a physical thing, even though these familiar strangers had put her in a terrifying position she knew they'd let her go. It was her soul that kept her trapped. "Who are you? I need to know. Who are you really?"

Aziraphale placed a warm hand on her own. His was large, soft and yet strong. She liked the feeling of his hands as he held one of hers, looking into her eyes. "My name is Aziraphale. I am an Angel of God. I was the Guardian of the East Gate at the Garden of Eden, but now I am on Earth. I perform miracles and I run a bookshop, with my dearest friend."

His eyes glanced over to the other man. He was handsome, tanned skin with fiery red hair slicked up and back over his head. Aziraphale might have called him a friend, but she wasn't stupid enough to believe that. It was more than that, maybe they didn't know it but she definitely did.

Another hand grasped hers, this one lean and long. He grasped her hand with a soft intensity she didn't know possible. "My name's Crowley. I'm a demon, you'd know me cause I was a, uh, let's call me a reptile."

She blinked rapidly, "you were the snake that tempted Eve?"

"Wow, she's a quick one," Crowley smiled widely.

"Wasn't he cursed to only use his belly?"

Crowley rolled his eyes, "it's complicated."

"You, both, are not human. You're an Angel and you're a demon. So Christianity is right."

"Yes, love. But God is actually a She, that bit got muddled," Aziraphale smiled. "Are you feeling better?"

"That doesn't explain, why- why do I know you? I recognize both of you, but I don't know why. Then you made that comment about having met me multiple times, for years, what does that mean?" She was getting a little riled but she tried to stay calm. This wasn't going to make any more sense by screaming at a literal demon. And Angel, but the demon was more infuriating at the moment. He stared at her with a mix of awe and shock, and she didn't want to think about any of it.

Aziraphale sighed, "before the current era, you know Roman times and what not, the Archangel Michael played with the idea of threads. It was similar in concept to the Greek idea of fate -"

"You happened to be alive when this was a thing. It means when a demon curses you and says the word 'eternally' a black thread'll appear to let everyone know you're damned forever. White thread with angels."

"I'm damned forever? Wait, you said Roman times - I was alive during the ancient roman era?"

"Well, darling, he blessed you and I cursed you at the same day. Meaning your soul is trapped with both Heaven and Hell," Crowley said softly. "We think your soul has been reincarnated since about 55BC. And it's because of us. This Golden shit you see is our connection."

"But white and black make grey?"

Crowley clapped and said "aha! She gets it!"

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, though his eyes were light with amusement. "We can't explain the color of the thread. But we believe it means you're connected to us. Both of us, we get this pull to you when you're around. As though we have to see you."

There was a moment of silence as they let her collect her thoughts. Unconsciously, she'd curled up into a ball on the comfy chair Aziraphale had miracled. She thought and thought, rolling over the idea that she's trapped here on earth. An accidental immortal being tied to these two.

She glanced at Aziraphale. She knew him, she has known him. She bit her lip, wishing to understand everything as it was.

"M-May I?" She asked, tentatively lifting a hand near his face. She needed to touch him, to feel him, to try and remember.

The Angel nodded. He was soft, his hair light and white, in short curls on top of his head. She liked the curls, they looked rather fetching on him. Her fingertips brushed lightly down his face, feeling his kind face. She liked his lips, they were pink and couldn't fight a smile. Then she glanced down and saw his hand in his lap. Running an hand down his shoulder to his hand, she lifted it and eyed the golden ring.

"Aziraphale..." she murmured. It all started to fall into place. The dancing, the food, the wine. He'd looked so out of place in pale clothing, so obviously finer than anyone else's. He'd tried to blend in with an outdated style, to balance the richness, but she could spot him through the crowd with ease. His cheeks had gotten pink, and he'd gone for a drink. She hadn't meant to spill on him, she just wanted a chat. "I gave you this ring. You didn't want it at first, but I gave it to you. It says Aziraphale on it."

He took a shaky breath, his eyes becoming glassy with tears. His lips trembled as he said, "you did."

Aziraphale slid the ring off his finger, turning it so she could see the inside. There enough his name was scrawled in haphazard writing. It had faded from the years, some of the details lost to time. But she remembered this ring when it was new. When William had gotten it in his shop and didn't know what to make of it. And she'd taken it, knew it would be special.

She pressed a soft kiss to the ring, then slid it back on Aziraphale's finger. She looked him in the eyes as she kissed the back of his hand, "I remember you."

The tears had actually fallen now, hitting his cheeks softly. He didn't try to hide it, and she wouldn't want him to. Perhaps it was this whole eternal blessing thing, but she was drawn to him.

Then she turned to the demon. Crowley. He sat high and mighty in his chair, looking away as though he were intruding on Aziraphale's private moment. He was handsome in a different way than Aziraphale. Where Aziraphale was soft and strong, Crowley was sharp and sweet. She smiled when she looked at him, knowing he was sweet without saying it.

She went to him to, lifting her hand then asking softly, "may I touch you?"

He swallowed, and nodded. She first touched his hair, it was softer then it looked. Her fingertips brushed it so it feel on his forehead, liking the contrast of his skin against the red. Then she traced along his tattoo, the way his cheekbone felt under her touch.

With gentle hands, she cupped his cheeks and turned his face so he had to look her in the eyes. She smiled. "I'd wondered if they were still yellow."

He closed his eyes, cringing. He'd always hated his eyes. "Sorry they're-"

"Beautiful." He opened his eyes quickly. "I remember your eyes. They've been in my dreams and I never knew why. The man with the yellow snake eyes. They are so, so beautiful. Like a sunflower."

"You're comparing s'demon eyes to a sunflower?"

She smiled and nodded, "you have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."

Crowley sucked in a breath, closing his eyes. It as though the attention itself would make him implode.

"Keep them closed," she said. Then he felt a pair of soft lips kiss one eyelid, then the other. "Absolutely beautiful. Don't you think so, Aziraphale?"

Crowley was shocked to hear Aziraphale agree. "I adore your eyes, dear. They've been my favorite for a long time."

The three didn't know what to do with themselves, time frozen around them. But however strange the situation, she wasn’t afraid. Not anymore. She wanted to get to know this Angel and demon, understand their pasts and more about their connection.

“Thank you, my dear, for your patience,” Aziraphale said kindly.

“I suppose I should be thanking you, you’ve waited hundreds of years.” She said with a dry laugh that made Crowley smile.

There weren’t any words that seemed to describe the moment the three of them shared, in a moment frozen in time knowing they had all the time in the world. But for now it was enough, and that was all it needed to be.

[muiitoloko]

I don't wanna be annoying but can we please have another sequel to the unscripted love? You can keep it in the back burner for now so you can do other people's requests first tho! I like the idea of the reader and Alan reading fanfiction lol and maybe maybeeeeee while reader reads, Alan suddenly gets the idea of recreating it 😩. Like he'll stop whenever reader stops reading too haha. Just a thought but you totally don't have to do it! I just love your stories so much! Any update from you I try to read immediately ♡♡♡

Title: Cloaked in Love

Summary: Alan’s playful impersonation of Severus Snape leads to laughter and a deepened connection during a well-deserved break from your hectic lives.

Pairing: Alan Rickman × Fem! Reader

Warnings: none.

Author's Notes: You’re not annoying at all—trust me, I love hearing your ideas! 😄 The thought of Alan getting inspired by some fanfiction and deciding to recreate it? *chef’s kiss* I’m definitely intrigued! I’m so glad you’re enjoying the stories! Thanks for the love and support—now I just need to make sure Alan doesn’t get too carried away with those fanfics! 😉

First, Second and Third part here.

Also read on Ao3

Weeks passed before you and Alan could finally meet in person, the whirlwind of your respective projects keeping you both on the move. You traveled from country to country, promoting your film, attending premieres, and juggling endless interviews. Alan, in the meantime, was busy filming A Little Chaos, and while you kept in touch through calls and messages, it wasn’t the same as being with him. The distance began to wear on you, the days stretching longer as you counted down to the moment you could finally be together again.

So, when your schedule finally allowed for a day off, instead of resting in London as you’d planned, you decided to surprise Alan on set. The thought of seeing him, of being close to him again, filled you with a bubbling excitement that made the exhaustion of travel seem insignificant. You missed him more than you’d realized, and the idea of waiting another day just to see him was unbearable.

Upon arriving at the set, you were greeted with a mix of excitement and surprise. Fans who had gathered around the area recognized you immediately, and you spent a few minutes signing autographs and posing for pictures, all the while trying to keep your nerves in check. The thrill of seeing Alan again was tempered by the knowledge that your relationship was still a secret, something you both had agreed to keep under wraps until the time was right.

Finally, one of Alan’s assistants appeared and offered to take you to where he was. You followed eagerly, your heart pounding with anticipation as you walked through the bustling set. The grandeur of the production was evident in every detail—the elaborate costumes, the intricate sets, the palpable energy that came with creating a period piece. It was all very impressive, but your focus was solely on Alan.

As you approached the area where he was taking his lunch break, you spotted him immediately. He was sitting at one of the tables, fully dressed as King Louis XIV, albeit without the wig, his regal attire a striking contrast to the casual conversations he was having with the crew around him. His hazel eyes were alight with that familiar warmth, and his deep, baritone voice carried across the set, drawing you in like a magnet.

For a moment, you stood there, simply watching him. The way he carried himself, even in costume, was unmistakably Alan—graceful, commanding, yet somehow effortlessly charming. He was in his element, and the sight of him made your heart swell with affection. You had missed him more than you’d realized, and now that you were so close, the longing you’d kept at bay for weeks surged to the surface.

Finally, you began to approach, your footsteps light and quick as you made your way to the table. Alan noticed you almost immediately, his eyes widening in pleasant surprise as he recognized you. He had clearly not expected you to be there, and the delighted smile that spread across his face made all the effort of getting there worth it.

“Well, well, what a surprise,” Alan said, his voice warm and rich with genuine pleasure. He stood up from the table, his tall, thick figure cutting an impressive figure even without the royal wig. “I thought you weren’t returning to London until tomorrow.”

You grinned, unable to contain your excitement as you closed the distance between you. “I couldn’t wait,” you admitted, your voice filled with affection as you looked up at him. “I missed you, Alan. I just had to see you.”

Alan’s smile softened, his hazel eyes searching yours with a mixture of fondness and something deeper, something more tender. He reached out, his hand brushing lightly against your arm as if to reassure himself that you were really there. “And here I was, thinking I’d have to wait another day to see you,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. “This is a very welcome surprise.”

You could feel the heat of his hand through the fabric of your sleeve, the simple touch sending a shiver of warmth through you. There was something electric in the air between you, a connection that neither time nor distance could diminish. The urge to close the gap between you, to wrap your arms around him and pull him into a kiss, was almost overwhelming, but you resisted, knowing that the crew was watching.

Instead, you let your hand rest on his, your fingers brushing against his as you shared a private moment in the midst of the bustling set. “I couldn’t stay away any longer,” you confessed softly, your eyes locked on his. “I’ve been thinking about you constantly, Alan. Every interview, every premiere… all I wanted was to be with you.”

Alan’s expression softened even further, his eyes shining with something that made your heart skip a beat. “And I’ve been thinking about you,” he replied, his voice just as soft. “You’ve been the best part of my day, even when we’re miles apart.”

The sincerity in his words, the quiet intensity in his gaze, made it clear that he felt the same way you did—that the weeks apart had been just as hard on him as they had been on you. It was a comfort, a reassurance that your feelings were mutual, that the bond you shared was strong enough to withstand the challenges of your careers.

For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you standing there, connected by something deeper than words. It was as if the distance between you had never existed, as if the weeks apart had only made your connection stronger. And in that moment, you knew that whatever the future held, as long as you had each other, you could face it together.

Alan seemed to sense the same thing, his hand tightening slightly on yours as if to anchor you both in the moment. “Come,” he said softly, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “Let’s find somewhere a bit more private. I’d like to catch up properly.”

You nodded, your heart racing with anticipation as he led you away from the busy set, away from prying eyes and the chaos of the production. As you walked side by side, your fingers still intertwined, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at him, at the man who had become so much more than just a friend, so much more than just a lover. He was your partner, your confidant, the person you trusted above all others.

And as you found a quiet corner of the set, away from the noise and the cameras, you knew that this was where you belonged—by his side, in the moments both big and small, in the spaces where you could simply be together, without the world watching.

Alan turned to you, his expression soft and filled with a warmth that made your heart swell. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you more than I can say.”

You smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over the stubble that lined his jaw. “I’ve missed you too, Alan,” you whispered, your voice filled with all the love you felt for him. “More than you know.”

You let out a small, frustrated sigh and muttered under your breath, "Damn, I wish I could kiss you right now."

Alan’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he caught your words, and a mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He leaned in slightly, his voice a low, teasing murmur. “And why don’t you, then?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow in that way only he could—both challenging and playful at the same time.

Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion, the temptation to close the gap between you almost overwhelming. But you quickly glanced around the set, taking in the bustling crew and the open space. With a small, regretful shake of your head, you started to look for a place to sit down. “We can’t do that here, Alan,” you whispered back, your tone filled with both longing and practicality. “Not in such a public place.”

Alan didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back against the wall behind him, crossing his arms over his chest in that relaxed, confident way he had, as if he was entirely at ease with the world. His hazel eyes remained fixed on you, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he watched you find a spot to sit.

You sighed tiredly as you finally settled into a chair, the weight of your travels and the emotional rollercoaster of the past few weeks catching up with you. “Why didn’t you tell me you were arriving early?” Alan asked, his voice filled with a mix of curiosity and affection as he gently changed the subject.

You shrugged slightly, leaning back in your chair as you looked up at him. “Honestly? I wasn’t even sure I’d make it here today,” you admitted, your tone light despite the exhaustion in your eyes. “I took the first flight I could find from New York to London, thinking I’d just go straight to bed and sleep the whole day before meeting you tomorrow. But as soon as I lay down, I just couldn’t shake the urge to see you… even if only for a moment.”

Alan’s expression softened at your words, his eyes filled with a warmth that made your heart flutter. He pushed off the wall and walked over to you, his tall frame casting a shadow over you as he leaned down slightly, his face close to yours. “So you came all the way here just to take a peek at me?” he murmured, his voice rich with affection and a hint of that mischievous charm you loved so much.

You smiled up at him, feeling the tension in your body slowly melt away in his presence. “Yes,” you whispered back, your voice filled with sincerity. “I couldn’t stay away, Alan. I just… I needed to see you, even if it was just for a few minutes.”

Alan’s smile widened, and he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face, his touch soft and comforting. “You have no idea how much that means to me,” he said quietly, his voice low and intimate. “And now that you’re here, I’m not letting you go so easily.”

You chuckled softly, the sound light and relieved as you gazed up at him. “I wouldn’t want it any other way,” you replied, your eyes locked on his. “But I’m afraid I’m not much fun right now… I’m completely exhausted.”

Alan's expression softened into one of sympathy, his eyes filled with understanding as he gazed down at you. “You look like you could use a good rest,” he began, his voice gentle. But before he could say anything more, a voice interrupted the private moment.

“Well, well, what do we have here? Two lovebirds trying to sneak a moment alone?”

You both turned to see Helen McCrory approaching, a playful grin on her face. She looked stunning, as always, her presence commanding attention even in the simple, understated costume she wore for her role in A Little Chaos. Alan straightened up immediately, his posture shifting from relaxed to slightly more formal as he greeted her.

“Helen,” Alan said warmly, his baritone voice carrying a note of affection. “Always a pleasure to see you.”

Helen's grin widened as she came to stand beside you, her gaze flicking between the two of you with a knowing glint. “I should have known I’d find you two together,” she teased, her tone light. “Trying to keep your little romance a secret on set, are we?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her words, the sound light and carefree as you looked up at her. “You caught us,” you admitted with a playful shrug. “But in our defense, we haven’t seen each other in weeks, so we’re allowed a bit of sneaky time.”

Helen’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she reached out to gently squeeze your shoulder. “Of course you are,” she agreed, her tone warm. “But don’t think you can hide from me—I always know when something’s up.”

You grinned, leaning back in your chair as you let out a mock sigh. “Well, I suppose we should be careful then. Can’t let Narcissa Malfoy catch us in the act. Or worse, let her participate in this little get-together.”

Helen raised an eyebrow, her smile turning into a smirk as she caught onto the joke. “Ah, yes, because that would be quite the scandal, wouldn’t it? Severus Snape and Narcissa Malfoy having a little rendezvous on set.”

Alan chuckled softly, his gaze flicking between you and Helen as he played along. “Indeed. I’m sure Lucius would have something to say about that,” he remarked, his tone dry but laced with humor. “But I doubt even he could stop Narcissa if she had her mind set on something.”

Helen laughed, the sound rich and melodious. “Oh, you’re absolutely right, Alan. Narcissa always gets what she wants.” She then turned her attention back to you, her expression softening as she added, “Though I must say, it’s lovely to see you here. We’ve all missed having you around.”

You smiled, touched by her words. “I’ve missed you all too,” you admitted. “And I couldn’t resist the chance to see Alan again. But honestly, I’m not sure how you two manage to keep going with such hectic schedules. I feel like I could sleep for a week.”

Helen’s eyes twinkled with a mix of sympathy and teasing as she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Well, if you had accepted that role in Harry Potter, you’d be used to this kind of chaos by now. We could have been three wizards on set instead of just two.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head in mock disbelief. “Don’t remind me, Helen. I still think about what might have been. But then again, who could ever live up to Narcissa Malfoy? You were perfect for that role.”

Helen grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. “Flattery will get you everywhere, darling. But you would have made a brilliant addition to the cast, and you know it.”

Alan, who had been quietly enjoying the exchange, chimed in with a wry smile. “I must say, I would have enjoyed seeing you wield a wand on screen. Perhaps we could have had a duel—Severus Snape versus… whoever you might have played.”

You laughed, the thought of being in a magical duel with Alan Rickman and Helen McCrory bringing a sparkle to your eyes. “Oh, I would have given you both a run for your money,” you teased, pretending to twirl an imaginary wand in your hand. “But I suppose we’ll never know.”

Helen playfully pouted, crossing her arms over her chest as she gave you an exaggerated look of disappointment. “Such a missed opportunity,” she said, her tone dripping with mock seriousness. “We could have been the most formidable trio in the wizarding world.”

You couldn’t help but grin, loving the playful camaraderie between the three of you. “Well, maybe we can still make it happen someday. I’m sure there’s room for a new character in the Harry Potter universe.”

Alan chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he considered the idea. “Now that would be something to see. But in the meantime, I suppose we’ll have to settle for being mere mortals.”

Helen rolled her eyes playfully at his words, her grin widening as she reached out to give him a light nudge. “Oh, don’t be so modest, Alan. You may be playing a king right now, but we all know you’re still the dark and brooding wizard at heart.”

Alan shared a warm smile with Helen, the camaraderie between them evident in the easy way they exchanged glances. The conversation had lightened the mood, and for a brief moment, the weight of his earlier insecurities seemed to lift. But as the laughter faded, he caught sight of you glancing at your wristwatch, a small frown creasing your brow as you noted the time.

"I should probably get going," you said, your voice tinged with reluctance. "I still need that well-deserved rest before we meet up tomorrow, Alan."

The regret in your tone was clear, and Alan felt a pang of disappointment that the moment had to end so soon. But he nodded in understanding, knowing that you needed to recharge after your whirlwind travels.

Helen looked between the two of you, her sharp eyes catching the subtle exchange of emotions that passed between you. She watched as you stepped forward to share a hug with her, your embrace warm and affectionate, a testament to the friendship you had built over the years. "Take care, love," Helen said softly, giving you a gentle squeeze before pulling back. "We’ll see you soon."

You smiled, your eyes flicking over to Alan, who stood nearby, his tall frame still as he watched the interaction. With a playful smile, you reached out to pat his arm in a friendly way, your touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. "Get some rest yourself, Alan," you teased lightly. "I’ll see you tomorrow."

Alan returned your smile, though his eyes held a warmth that went beyond simple friendship. "I’ll try," he replied, his voice carrying that familiar baritone rumble that always sent a shiver down your spine. "But only if you promise to do the same."

You chuckled softly, nodding as you turned to leave, your footsteps echoing slightly in the quiet of the set. Alan’s gaze followed you as you walked away, his eyes lingering on your retreating figure with a mix of affection and something deeper—something that Helen didn’t miss.

As soon as you were out of sight, Helen turned her attention back to Alan, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "You’re not fooling anyone, you know," she remarked casually, her tone light but laced with meaning.

Alan, ever the actor, raised an eyebrow in mock confusion, his expression carefully neutral. "Whatever do you mean, Helen?" he asked, his voice smooth and composed as he feigned ignorance. "I’m simply seeing off a friend."

Helen’s smile widened, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh, come now, Alan. You and I both know there’s more to it than that. You’ve been practically attached at the hip with her since the day you met. Don’t tell me you’re still going to pretend there’s nothing going on between you two."

Alan let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly as if to dismiss the notion. "We’re good friends, Helen," he insisted, his tone light and casual. "Colleagues, even. Nothing more."

Helen didn’t buy it for a second. She had been around long enough to recognize the signs of a budding romance, and the way you and Alan interacted was a dead giveaway. The subtle touches, the lingering glances, the way he looked at you when he thought no one was watching—it all pointed to something more than just friendship.

"Is that so?" she asked, her voice filled with playful skepticism. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks an awful lot like the two of you are hiding something. And I’m not just talking about a close friendship."

Alan met her gaze, his hazel eyes steady and composed, but there was a flicker of something in them—something that betrayed the truth he was trying so hard to keep hidden. "Believe what you like, Helen," he said with a small, enigmatic smile. "But I assure you, there’s nothing to hide."

Helen tilted her head slightly, studying him with a mix of curiosity and amusement. "You’re a terrible liar, Alan," she teased gently, though there was no malice in her words. "But I suppose I’ll let you keep your secrets—for now."

Alan chuckled again, his laughter rich and deep, though there was a hint of tension beneath it. "I appreciate that," he replied smoothly, his tone still light. "It’s good to know you’re on my side."

Helen’s smile softened, and she reached out to give him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Always, darling," she said warmly. "Just remember, you don’t have to hide everything. Some secrets are meant to be shared."

Alan nodded, though he made no further comment, his thoughts already drifting back to you and the connection you shared. Helen might have been convinced that there was more to your relationship than met the eye, but for now, he was content to let the world believe whatever they liked.

As Helen turned to leave, Alan watched her go, a small smile playing on his lips. He knew that she wasn’t fooled by his denial, but he also knew that she would keep his secret for as long as he needed her to. After all, some things were worth protecting, even if it meant keeping them hidden for a little while longer.

And as he stood there in the quiet of the set, Alan allowed himself a moment to savor the thought of you—the woman who had become so much more than just a friend, so much more than just a colleague. The woman who had captured his heart in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

For now, he was content to keep that truth close, to cherish the private moments you shared, knowing that one day, when the time was right, the world would know just how much you meant to him.

But until then, he would continue to play the part of the enigmatic, charming actor, keeping his secrets close and his feelings even closer, all the while knowing that you were the one person who truly understood the man behind the mask.

The next day, you and Alan finally managed to carve out some time together, albeit later in the afternoon than you’d originally planned. Both of you had agreed that after the whirlwind of your respective schedules, a lazy day at your house was exactly what you needed. No interviews, no scripts—just the two of you, unwinding in the comfort of your shared space.

The moment Alan arrived at your door, you couldn’t help but greet him with a warm, lingering kiss, your hands gently cupping his face as you reveled in the familiarity of his touch. He responded in kind, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you close, the tension of the past few weeks melting away as you both simply enjoyed the moment.

“It’s good to finally have you all to myself,” Alan murmured against your lips, his deep baritone voice sending a shiver down your spine. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, his hazel gaze filled with a mix of affection and something deeper. “I’ve missed this. Missed you.”

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling with love for the man who had become such an integral part of your life. “I’ve missed you too,” you whispered back, your voice soft and sincere. “And now that we finally have some time together, I intend to make the most of it.”

Alan’s lips quirked into a playful smile, and he leaned in to steal another quick kiss before pulling you into a warm embrace. “I like the sound of that,” he replied, his tone light and teasing. “So, what’s on the agenda for today, love? A bit of reading, perhaps? Or maybe we could finally indulge in those fanfics you mentioned.”

You chuckled softly, your fingers idly tracing the curve of his spine as you rested your head against his chest. “You’ve been thinking about those, haven’t you?” you teased, your voice filled with amusement. “I never pegged you as the fanfiction type, Alan.”

He let out a low, rumbling laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest and making you smile. “Well, you did pique my curiosity,” he admitted, his tone both playful and genuine. “And I must say, the idea of seeing how I—well, Snape—am portrayed in these stories is rather intriguing. Plus, I’m curious to see how… detailed they get.”

You raised an eyebrow at his words, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Detailed, huh? You sure you’re ready for that? Some of those fanfics don’t hold back, you know. They might give you ideas.”

Alan’s smile widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, seductive murmur. “Oh, I’m counting on it, my dear,” he replied, his tone sending a thrill of anticipation through you. “After all, what’s the point of reading them if we don’t have a bit of fun recreating the scenes?”

You laughed, the sound filled with both amusement and excitement at the prospect. “Well then,” you said, stepping back slightly and taking his hand in yours. “Let’s get comfortable first, and then we can see just how well you can bring those fanfics to life.”

Alan’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, a playful glint in his eyes as he followed you to the living room. Once there, you both settled onto the couch, the atmosphere relaxed and intimate as you curled up against him, your head resting on his shoulder.

You reached for your phone, pulling up the fanfiction website and scrolling through the list of stories until you found one that seemed particularly promising. “Alright,” you began, your voice light as you looked up at him with a teasing smile. “Shall we start with a classic Snape romance, or would you prefer something a bit… steamier?”

Alan raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. “Why not start with the romance?” he suggested, his tone filled with a subtle, teasing challenge. “I’m curious to see how they capture the… softer side of Severus Snape.”

You chuckled, nodding in agreement as you clicked on a story that had high ratings and plenty of comments praising the author’s portrayal of Snape. As you began to read, the room filled with your voice, each word weaving a tale of unrequited love, intense emotions, and the eventual confession between Snape and the story’s protagonist—a young witch who had somehow managed to break through his formidable exterior.

As you read aloud from the fanfic, you both became more and more engrossed in the story, the detailed descriptions of Snape's inner turmoil and the humorous moments woven into the narrative drawing you in. The author had managed to capture Snape’s dry wit perfectly, and you found yourself laughing at some of the quips that sounded like something Alan himself might say.

Then, you reached a particularly funny scene. In it, Snape, ever the sarcastic and somewhat grumpy Potions Master, was trying to teach a rather inept student the finer points of potion-making. The student, who was clearly out of their depth, had somehow managed to turn their cauldron into a bubbling mess of what the fanfic described as "a rainbow-colored disaster."

Snape, unimpressed and thoroughly exasperated, was written to have dramatically thrown his black robes over his shoulder like a cape, stalking around the student and lecturing them in a tone that was described as both condescending and theatrical. The author had even added a line about how Snape’s hooked nose twitched with irritation as he delivered one of his signature biting remarks: "If incompetence were a potion, you would have brewed a perfect batch."

You couldn’t help but laugh as you read the scene aloud, the image of a melodramatic Snape stalking around the hapless student almost too much to handle. "Oh, Alan," you said, still giggling, "I can just imagine you doing something like this! It’s so over-the-top and theatrical."

Alan chuckled along with you, but as the laughter subsided, you noticed a glint of mischief in his hazel eyes. Without saying a word, he suddenly stood up from the couch, a sly smile playing on his lips. You watched, intrigued and amused, as he reached for the soft sheet you had grabbed earlier to cover his legs, draping it over his shoulders like a makeshift cape.

You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips as you watched his impromptu costume change. "And what exactly are you doing, Mr. Rickman?" you asked, your voice filled with playful curiosity.

Alan gave you a mock-serious look, his lips curving into a smirk as he held the sheet dramatically with one hand, letting it flow behind him like Snape’s billowing robes. "I am now Severus Snape," he declared in a perfect imitation of the character’s deep, measured voice. "And you, my dear, are the incompetent student who has dared to ruin a perfectly good potion."

You burst out laughing, the sight of Alan in his makeshift Snape costume, coupled with his spot-on impression, making it impossible to keep a straight face. "Oh, really?" you said, playing along with a grin. "And what exactly do you intend to do about it, Professor Snape?"

Alan’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he took a step back, lifting the sheet-cape with a flourish and adopting a more stern, imposing posture. "I shall do what any good Potions Master would do," he intoned, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. "I shall recreate the scene, and you, my dear, shall read the lines while I bring this catastrophe to life."

You couldn’t help but grin at the absurdity of the situation, the playful banter between the two of you filling the room with lighthearted energy. "Alright, Professor Snape," you replied, your tone teasing as you picked up the phone again, scrolling back to the start of the scene. "But I warn you, this student is particularly inept. You’ll have your work cut out for you."

Alan gave you a mock look of exasperation, his eyes narrowing as he slipped fully into character. "Do you take me for a fool?" he retorted in that smooth, commanding baritone. "No student is beyond the reach of my… expertise."

With that, you began to read the scene aloud, doing your best to maintain a serious tone even as the ridiculousness of the situation threatened to make you burst out laughing again. Alan, for his part, played the role of Snape with a level of dedication that was both impressive and hilarious. He stalked around the room, his makeshift cape flowing behind him as he delivered the lines with a mixture of stern authority and theatrical flair.

When you reached the line about the rainbow-colored potion disaster, Alan paused mid-stride, turning on his heel to face you with a dramatic flourish of the sheet-cape. "A rainbow-colored disaster!" he repeated, his voice filled with incredulous disdain. "If incompetence were a potion, you, Miss [Your Last Name], would have brewed a perfect batch!"

You couldn’t hold back your laughter any longer, the sight of Alan fully embracing the role of Snape—complete with exaggerated gestures and that iconic, sardonic tone—was just too much. "Oh, come on, Professor!" you protested, trying to keep a straight face. "It’s not that bad!"

Alan, staying in character, arched an eyebrow in that perfect Snape-like way, his eyes narrowing as he took a step closer, looming over you with the full force of his theatrical presence. "Not that bad?" he echoed, his voice low and menacing in the most exaggerated way possible. "Miss [Your Last Name], I have seen first-years brew better potions in their sleep! This—" he gestured dramatically at the imaginary cauldron, "—is an abomination, an affront to the very art of potion-making!"

You were practically in tears from laughing, the combination of Alan’s over-the-top performance and the sheer silliness of the scene making it impossible to maintain any semblance of composure. "Alright, alright, you win!" you gasped, holding up your hands in surrender. "I admit it! I’m a terrible student!"

Alan’s stern expression softened into a triumphant grin, the playful glint in his eyes returning as he dropped the sheet-cape and stepped back, his arms crossing over his chest in that familiar, confident stance. "Indeed you are," he said, his voice slipping back into its natural cadence. "But perhaps with the right… guidance, you might improve."

You grinned, wiping away the tears of laughter from your eyes as you looked up at him. "Guidance, huh? And what kind of guidance would you suggest, Professor?"

Alan leaned down slightly, his face close to yours as he dropped his voice to a low, teasing whisper. "Oh, I can think of a few ways to improve your… performance," he murmured, the playful tone in his voice making your heart race. "But I’ll let you decide when you’re ready for the next lesson."

You couldn’t help but laugh again, the playful banter between you both filling the room with warmth and affection. "I’ll keep that in mind, Professor," you replied with a wink, your voice filled with both amusement and genuine affection. "But for now, I think I’d like to stick to the fun kind of lessons—like this."

Alan smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked down at you with a mix of affection and something deeper. "As you wish, Miss [Your Last Name]," he said, his voice warm and sincere. "But remember, the offer stands. Anytime you need a little… guidance, I’ll be here."

And with that, the two of you settled back onto the couch, the lighthearted moment bringing you even closer together. The rest of the afternoon was spent in a comfortable, playful companionship, the laughter and joy of the day a reminder of just how much you cherished these moments with Alan—the man who had become so much more than just a friend, so much more than just a lover.

He was your partner, your confidant, your source of endless amusement and affection. And as the day drew to a close, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly grateful for the bond you shared—a bond that, despite the challenges and the distance, only seemed to grow stronger with each passing day.

[discordsmuse]

Discordsmuse Masterlist

❀•°❀°•❀

Hello friends! Finally putting together a masterlist to make it easier for you guys to find all my fanfics here since I only post to AO3!

These will be organized by fandom and character.

❀•°❀°•❀

Baldur's Gate 3

Halsin

dance me to the end of love, NSFW/18+: Fem!Tav and Halsin admit to their feelings post-Moonrise and fuck on a balcony.

Silence, NSFW/18+ : Fem!Tav and Halsin fuck in a closet

Do Unto Others, NSFW/18+ : Fem!Tav wants to give Halsin some attention and convinces him to let her be the giver for once.

Enver Gortash

body more than just a flesh, you can sell it for success, NSFW/18+: Fem!Tav is invited to dinner with the Archduke and things get a little heated.

i will give you all that you need, NSFW/18+: Sequel to the above, Fem!Tav and Gortash bathe together before Enver gets a little handsy.

gracious men are those who suffer, NSFW/18+: Fem!Tav and Enver w/ a free use kink.

legacy with no memory, NSFW/18+: Fem!Durge and Enver Gortash w/a pregnancy kink

I wanna know my god, At least enough to fear Her, NSFW/18+: Fem!Durge and Gortash have a lil bit of hate sex

Gale Dekarios

be my nightfire, NSFW/18+: Fem!Tav catches Gale mid-alone time. Feelings and sex ensue.

Abdirak

sanctify you bedsheets with the sweat along your hips, NSFW/18+: Fem!Tav is fascinated by Abdirak and nervously asks him to teach her about Loviatar.

Raphael

delightful little detour, NSFW/18+: Canon rewrite for what happens when Fem!Tav tells Raphael he's bad at sex.

Let the Dream Begin, NSFW/18+: Fem!Tav/Raphael Phantom of the Opera AU, slowburn

Office Hours, NSFW/18+: Fem!Tav/Raphael College AU

she keeps the candle burning, NSFW/18+: Fem!Tav/Raphael post-game

Haarlep

Ask prompt, Haarlep/Fem!Tav when Haarlep shows up at camp.

Rolan

i wanna have a home, i wanna share it, NSFW/18+: Fem!Tav and Rolan get together post-saving the tieflings from moonrise.

❀•°❀°•❀

Pirates of the Caribbean

Hector Barbossa

The Pirate Lord, NSFW/18+: Barbossa/Reader post-Elizabeth being kinged.

All That Glitters, NSFW/18+: Longform Barbossa/Reader canon rewrite pre-CotBP

Liar's Bet, NSFW/18+: Longform Barbossa/Reader canon rewrite during CotBP and DMC

feel the edges start to burn, NSFW/18+: Barbossa/Reader where reader is friends w/Carina

❀•°❀°•❀

Harry Potter

Severus Snape

isn't it lovely (all alone), NSFW/18+: Snape/Reader closet sex

no death in rebirth, NSFW/18+: Snape/Reader longform amnesia oneshot

Brought to Life, NSFW/18+: Snape/Reader marauder's era classmates to lovers lol

❀•°❀°•❀

Dead by Daylight

Canon/Canon

Contention, NSFW/18+: Ace/Meg against a tree hatesex

Breaking Point, NSFW/18+: Megmillan first time

It's Alright, Teen/16+: The survivors and killers recover post-entity

Anna/The Huntress

Not so much taming as growing accustomed, Mature/16+, Huntress/Reader friendship to lovers

Herman Carter/The Doctor

Untethered, NSFW/18+, The Doctor/Reader where reader annoying him but in the fun, bratty way

❀•°❀°•❀

Resident Evil Village

Karl Heisenberg

Business Partners with Benefits, NSFW/18+: Heisenberg/Reader where reader is Moreau's niece

❀•°❀°•❀

Spider Man

Dr. Otto Octavius/Doc Ock

Working Overtime, NSFW/18+: Otto/Reader where reader is his lab assistant

Bedside Manner, NSFW/18+: Otto/Reader where reader is Doc Ock's lover

❀•°❀°•❀

Labyrinth

Jareth the Goblin King

Midsummer, NSFW/18+: Jareth/Reader at the midsummer fae ball

don't leave me lonely, NSFW/18+: Jareth/Reader sequel to Midsummer

❀•°❀°•❀

The band Ghost

Papa Emeritus IV/Cardinal Copia

Better Than, NSFW/18+: Copia/Reader where he's a little insecure about Terzo being better than him

❀•°❀°•❀

Dracula

Dracula (lol)

Nice Costume, NSFW/18+: Dracula/Reader in a modern setting at a party

❀•°❀°•❀

Our Flag Means Death

Israel Hands

we do get desperate, now and again, Mature/16+: Fem!Reader/Izzy hurt/comfort unrequited love.

i wanna be yours, Mature/18+: Fem!Reader/Izzy first time together

❀•°❀°•❀

The Quarry (2022)

Travis Hackett/Laura Kearney

❀•°❀°•❀

• fell in love with the fever, Explicit/18+: Travis and Laura are forced to spend some time together 6 months after the incident.

• perspiration and alcohol, Explicit/18+: Travis and Laura meet again and become gym buddies. Laura pushes the line as per.

This list will grow/change as I write more :D Thanks for reading!

[navstuffs]

No Ordinary Love

Pairing: Leon x SuccubusFemale!Reader

Summary: Leon Kennedy is addicted to you.

Warnings: songfic, SMUT, touch-starved leon, needy!leon, reader does feed on him

Author's Notes: hello! this fanfic is so important to me due to the song that inspired me to write: No Ordinary Love by Sade. if you don't know Sade, please go and listen to her. it was super hard to edit this fanfic cause the song is so freaking good and i kept getting distracted. anyway, reader is a succubus, but she might not be a "proper" succubus, i will adapt for my writing needs. this fanfic might have a prequel (how they met, after re2 events) and a sequel, so we shall see. i hope you enjoy!

leon's masterlist

"I gave you all the love I got I gave you more than I could give Gave you love"

It is late when Leon Kennedy knocks on the familiar door after just landing from Spain. He is exhausted, with images of the last days tormenting his head. Ada. Ashley. Luis's death. As a loop, he sees their faces over and over again. He shakes his head, trying to focus on the door before him and the person who will open it. Some part of him knows he shouldn't be there, something deep inside his soul is telling him to leave, he doesn't deserve you, but when the door flies open, all thoughts inside his head disappear.

Everything else disappears around him.

There is no more Ada. No more Ashley, Luis, or even Leon S. Kennedy. Only you.

"I gave you all that I have inside And you took my love You took my love(...)"

You wear an oversized black shirt that goes just above your knees. Your beauty always seems to leave him breathless because no one should look this stunning. It is unfair. Leon forgets how to speak and how to act. He is just a rookie all over again. The hopeless rookie who met you years ago, desperate for some comfort, any comfort after Racoon City. Only you matter right now. Shit, he hasn't realized how much he missed you. Your touch. Your kisses. Your warmth. 

"Do you know what time it is, Kennedy?" You yawn, crossing your arms. Understandable, he woke you up in the middle of the night. You had all the right to be angry if you wanted; Leon feels like shit about it, though he couldn't wait until the morning to see you.

"Yes. May I come in?" His voice way is softer than his usual tone, but again, he is different when it comes to you. He is not the same person around you.

Your eyebrows arch, surprised, and Leon notices your nipples harden against your shirt. Perfect.

"I don't know. Can you?"

"When you came my way You brightened every day With your sweet smile(...)"

Please, let me in. Please, Leon begs mentally, and you smirk as if listening to his silent pleas. As if you could read his mind, knowing precisely how much he needs you.

"Please?" Leon murmurs, looking at your bare feet, not believing how fragile his voice sounds.

Not after all those things he had killed or everything he had gone through, he would still be clay in your hands. It didn't matter how many times he saved the world or how many he killed, you would still be the one who put Leon on his knees, this invisible force pulling him for you. 

Leon doesn't know what would happen to him if you deny him. He might die as a thirsty man who got close to the oasis but failed to drink the water. Or got so close to the sun and burned himself before touching it. All those thoughts rush through his mind before your feet finally, finally give him passage, and Leon thanks mentally for your benevolence.

Leon starts walking into your house before you stop him, hands on his chest. You stare at his expression for a second, and Leon's heart beats so fast that he finally feels like living again.

"You don't look well. Was it hard this time?"

Leon's mind flashes with everything that happened to him in the last couple of days. He doesn't have to say anything: you know Leon better than anyone. You nod as if reading his mind again, closing the door.

"I will take care of you. Come."

"Didn't I give you All that I've got to give, baby(...)"

Leon's mind drifts away. He would lie if he said he didn't like the taste you left on his body, his heart, on his soul. You were like a drug, the strongest he had ever tasted. 

"Leon."

Oh, how much he missed your moans. Your desperate sobs of his name as he pushed his cock inside of you, as a madman. There is nothing, nothing in this world that would separate you from him. 

"Leon."

"I keep trying for you There's nothing like you and I, baby(...)"

He doesn't know what happens when he is inside of you, a feeling he can't describe. It is different from everything he tried before: you delight him. You keep him there while you take away the pain, sadness, and anything he had inside. You amplify all his senses as you empty them. He watches as your boobs bounce and your eyes light with a strange glow, but he doesn't care. Leon only cares about being yours.  

He moans a lot, too: he begs. Begs for you not to leave him, begs you to stay with him forever, and implores you to love him. Tells you there is no else for him, except for you.

Leon can feel you are close, and he trembles under your power, trying to match your thrusts. All he can focus on is how tight you are squeezing him now, how delicious you look on top of him, how much he loves being yours, being loved by you.

"This is no ordinary love No ordinary love"

When Leon cums, his vision gets hazy. He holds your ass down rougher than he would want, so you don't move. He likes to feel his seed inside you, his eyes rolling to his head.

Leon Kennedy ceases to exist to exist again only because of you.

When you fall to his side, Leon can't move. He never moves after cumming inside of you, that feeling of you squeezing tight, taking all that he has. Leon feels your gentle hand taking his hair from his sweaty face, kissing his lips, and savoring it. He moans in your mouth, grabbing your hips with the bit of strength he still has. 

"Feeling better, Leon?" 

Leon nods, his big blue eyes begging him not to leave you. To stay with him forever. He is more exhausted than when he arrived, but he is grateful. You smile compassionately, the strange glow in your eyes slowly disappearing, laying your head on his chest. 

"I lo-"

"Shhh, Leon. You have to rest now. Everything will be okay in the morning. Sleep, my love."

As a command, you watch Leon Kennedy sink into darkness. You sigh, listening to his heartbeats, the sensation of satisfaction and fullness in your veins not enough to dismiss the tiny feeling of worry you had before. Or the happiness when you saw him. Or the feeling that he belongs to you and only you. There were too small to consider but not small enough to ignore. You shake your head and find yourself foolish as you make circles on Leon's chest. Now, after all the years, was not the time to get sentimentalist. You fall asleep, ignoring the sensation of comfort of being in Leon's arms.

"Keep trying for you Keep crying for you Keep lying for you Keep flying and I'm falling

And I'm falling"

[olivereliocorcordium1983]

Now that I have gotten out of the fanfic bubble for a minute, let me just say, that one: I am not very happy with this woman who decided to come into Armie's life and pull this shit with him after everything that has happened to him. Why? yes, I know Armie is a big boy his life is his and he can do what he wants I'm all for that just like Timmy.

However, it kills me to see that he is trying to better himself (like most of us in this world who were abused by someone) and trying to become a better person just for someone to come along and have written on their story this long nice thing about Armie.

Just to turn around and be dumb as hell and write, "super interested in psychopaths" Armie is not a psychopath. Like most of us who end up abused, he is a human being trying to better himself, and become a better version of himself after the fact. And try his best to see the better in people but end up with people who either

want there 15 minutes of fame, because they heard about all the crap that was going on with him and saw and thought to themselves "oh my god! drama let me see for myself what this is about." Hello serial killer lovers of Jeffery Dahmer, Ted Bundy ect.

They only want to be with you because either you are rich as hell and want that big green and will sweet talk your way into it. Having no actual care in the world for the other person at all. Or you have something else that the person wants.

We find someone and think, "okay this is it. Maybe I will try just one more time. Maybe this time will be different." just for them to cheat, lie, and make excuses for their actions because they don't want to take accountability.

Which just instills for those of us who have to or are trying to rewire our thinking from the abuse, that this is just another person who proved to us that we can't open up to anyone. And that there probably isn't a real genuine human being out there who will love us (other than our mommas, grandmas and sisters if you have them in your life or at all) for just us and actually want to see us happy, and actually want to be with us. Instead of adding to the already warped way we end up seeing the world thanks to the abusers.

Now let me clairify this: I am not talking about the "I'm gonna die alone." #foreveralone bs. that people do when they can't stand to be by themselves. NO. I am talking about actually have been alone, can stand and be okay with being alone but, want to experience a real loving relationship that actually lasts with someone who isn't toxic.

It breaks my heart that both Timmy and Armie have to result to having people like this around them in their lives. Or that these people end up finding them. Both of them deserve to be happy, healthy and more importantly they deserve to be with people who will treat them like they deserve. For whom they actually are and not the way Hollywood perceives them to be.

And I have to say after all this shit.... Armie you need to get with Timmy, you two need to go snag Luca and hop your asses on a plane get far away from Hollywood. Go back to Crema, turn off your damn phones and just breath for awhile and this is not me hinting at the sequel as much as I would love that.

These two men need to be around each other again and a hell of a lot more often to keep both of them from doing stupid shit. Like this. Seriously, guys I love you both but you need to focus on yourselves, Armie (your kids) rather than getting into PR bs and having toxic people invade your spaces. Stop jumping pussy and get back to talking about the things that matter. 🙄🙄

Luca, I know you are a busy man, but could you please at some point when you are not so busy to kidnap your boys and take them back to Italy with you.

And Two: WHO IS READY FOR THE CRAZINESS TO GET BACK TO SOME RESEMBLENCE OF NORMALCY? SHOW OF HANDS ANYBODY? 🙌🏻

[olderthannetfic]

i saw this post today where this person was talking abt fandom racism and was pointing out some real issues within my fandom and favorite ship that I too had noticed… but then kept bringing it back to the lack of one particular other ship they liked, when it's like, no that's not the problem, and that ship is unpopular because those characters have zero romantic or sexual chemistry and barely any scenes together. (it was really funny that someone had reblogged this to take their 'lack of seeing this one character in a sexual way in fic miiight be racist' complaint to be like 'i think you're right! we should have more fic about [a long list of different ships involving that character with people they have ACTUAL chemistry with].' it was really funny. ofc op totally missed the point they were making there.) anyway i just feel like way too many useful conversations about this stuff are ruined by people making it about shipping or other really subjective fandom preferences. i get that this is because something like 'number of fics X ship or character has on ao3' is an objective measure, and something like 'level of orientalism in how a lot of people are writing this desi character' is not, but i wish people would realize it tends to alienate more people that it converts. and ime, it's often the people who maybe would most benefit from hearing those criticisms (e.g. are writing unintentionally racist stuff in their works, and are someone who would want to know about that and how to do it differently) who tune it out the second you make it into insulting their shipping preferences.

i mean, there WAS some real racism in the star wars sequels fandom, including among the fanfic/shipping side. not just the shitty dudes harassing kelly marie tran. we saw the really bizarre 'predator' language people directed at john boyega just for making some joke posts on instagram about disliking reylo and its shippers. it was the very classic racist thing where people see something as automatically more threatening when a black man does it. ....but how many people had already tuned all that out because the people most outspoken about the racism in the fandom kept reducing it to 'if you ship reylo over finnrey, or kylux over finnpoe, you're a racist'? it's like a boy who cried wolf thing. if you've shown that you can't uncouple serious discussions and concerns from just being pissy that your otp is not more popular, people are going to see you as someone who can't be taken seriously and then ignore you when you do have a real complaint. it's like how i'm sure that some of stitch's essays are thoughtful and important, but i have no desire to read stuff by someone who is infamous for harassing people just for what they ship. i don't feel like i can take any of that person's judgments about fandoms i'm not in, for instance, seriously.

that's not to say fandom preferences in shipping can't ever be influenced by racism (or other 'isms') but is it ever really *that* specifically that is the problem, or the broader pattern it is part of? and i feel like 'maybe fandom is a little too focused on het and slash ships between two young skinny conventionally attractive white people' is a message more people are open to than 'your specific white M/M or F/M otp is racist'

anyway it reminds me of the stuff i've seen sometimes in academic fandom studies about how you can't really honestly study a fandom where you're deeply mired in its discourse - you need to focus your work on fandoms that you're familiar with but not in that way. and i think that maybe also applies to some of these discussions about fandom racism and misogyny. maybe you're just going to have better takes on something when you're not deeply invested in other unrelated arguments about it, like about which ship is the most popular. like i could not care less about star wars shipping and have zero take in reylo vs. finnrey, so that's why i feel like i could trust my perception that the way a small minority of reylos were posting about john boyega's instagram posts was racist. it didn't matter if he was genuinely being a jerk to them or about their ship. he obviously wasn't a 'predator' and it was pretty telling language for a group of largely white people to use about a black man making fun of their ship on a different social media site.

--

The laying pipe thing was blown so out of proportion, yes. Call it sexist, sure, but it wasn't fucking predatory.

[royal-ruin]

red, white, and royal blue fanfic rec (part 3)

other rwrb fic recs here personal favorites are starred, by the way. everything is complete unless stated otherwise.

the too much that you aren't by DemonPoxHerondale (~2k)

Henry has always been an introvert. High energy situations can get overwhelming, and as much as he loves his boyfriend, it's impossible to deny that he's high energy. Back when they were sneaking around to see each other, the short bursts of interaction meant that they never really clashed. But now that they're living together, well, it's another story.

as an introvert, i get it

champagne problems by alec_rhee (~3k)

Henry’s eyes are otherwise occupied as he closes them, planting a kiss to Alex’s head, but Alex sees Benjamin’s eyes move to Henry’s lap. Where they stay for at least five seconds.  Alex knows; he’s counted. “Look, Benjamin,” Alex begins. “I know we just met but if you look at my man like that one more time I will not hesitate to punch you in your fucking face.” “Alex!” Henry yelps, withdrawing his lips from Alex’s curls. “What on God’s earth are you doing?” “Look,” He says again, his attention still focused on Benjamin. “He’s damn gorgeous. I don’t blame you for looking. I truly don’t, but he’s taken. Happily.” OR Jealous!Alex

jealous/protective alex made my entire day

don't go where i can't follow by coffeecatsme (~4k

Henry turns away, hair silvery under the moonlight. He doesn’t even bother to look at Alex, and something like anger flashes in Alex’s gut when he sees him reach for his backpack, like it’s that easy to abandon Alex, like Alex didn’t bare his heart to him just a day ago. “You could’ve fucking said goodbye,” he whispers before he can think about it; his voice is quiet through the knot in his throat, yet it echoes in the room like a gunshot, stopping Henry in his tracks. Alex wakes up at the lakehouse before Henry leaves.

angsty, but i swear it gets better

in violent symphonies by saltfics (~16k) part 2 of a series (doesn't need to be read)

“So that’ll be a fun surprise. Any chance your brother’s friends are actually… you know… any fun?” Henry halts to a stop halfway out the door, his mind screeching like a shaken record. He can feel the pull of his memory towards things he doesn’t want to think of, feels the heavy weight of it as he forces himself to focus on something else, fast so he won't acknowledge towards which twice locked door his thoughts are wandering.  Sequel to In White (but could potentially be read without it).  When Henry and Alex return to England for the christening of the new baby prince, Henry finds out his nephew's new godfather might be a terribly familiar face.  Sometimes it doesn't matter how deep you lock away a memory if it insists on showing up at your door. (But maybe you can ask for help to keep it out.)

i love henry angst :)

those markings on your skin by saltfics (~62k) incomplete

Originally a collection of one-shots based on Tumblr Prompts, but now a series of interconnected prompt-based chapters regarding a series of assassination attempts towards HRH Prince Henry, and the effect on their relationships with each other that comes with it, featuring most of the main cast. (Plus a few standalones in between).

fair warning, i haven't read it all, so i don't know everything it contains. please beware of the tags.

Home Safe by HMS_Chill (~2k)

Alex is out later than normal, and Henry is left home to worry.

as you can see, after i read God Save the Blessed American President Mom by zipadeea i got just a little obsessed. no mcd here though.

*lifelines by indomitablelove (~27k

Shaan is told by a woman from the press office. Zahra is asleep when he calls her. She calls Ellen. Liam is in the library. Oscar finds out from Twitter. Catherine hears it from her equerry when she gets the morning papers. It's Leo who tells June. --- or, the emails. From everyone else's point of view.

Lockdown by bibliosoph (~4k)

Alex and Henry have a fight before Henry leaves to go to England for a bit. While in England, there is an attempted assassination and Alex loses his mind because he can't get in touch with anyone and he left things with Henry up in the air.

don't worry, there's no mcd, just alex angst.

*Soon You'll Get Better (Because You Have To) by wafflesandkruge  (~4k)

Two nights after the shooting, Henry receives an email with a pre-recorded video from Alex. He gets one every night, and although it breaks his heart to see Alex happy and alive, he's terrified of when they'll stop coming.

i wasn't lying when i said i was obsessed. no mcd.

[theworldofkirby]

i adore you, noble haltmann… (president haltmann x reader fanfic)

A/N: hai guys i wrote a haltmann/rader fic as a kind of sequel to the dedede dating simulator bc i dont feel like coding another game to make a haltmann dating sim so take this haltmann x reader fic instead

ok so like u are in dream land right??? well :) it was taken over by capitalizm!!!!1 omg

you, (y/n) the SEXIEST freak in planet plopstar is almost crushed by one of those leg things on the haltmann works company star dream thingy ok? yea so you dodge that and like… there's a window or somethin and a guy falls out of there

you watch as he falls. he falls for like 10 minutes. but then he lands on the ground next to you and you hear a crumch.

"ow" the male says

"omg!!!!! are u ok" u ask the masculine man

"i think i broke my pelvurouscula" he says

"omg no……" u say and hold him gently. u have magic healing powers so u heal him

"gasp" he gasped. "i don't feel like dead anymore"

he gets up and u cant help but admire he. his beautiful egg shaped bod and wicked pinstripe suit. and his luscious hair and mustache.

"newayz my name is haltmann. max profitt haltmann" he said with not a trace of happy

"haltmann….. my name is (y/n)" u smile

"ok" he says. "i have to go home. bye"

he goes into his headquarters but u follow him. u keep talking to him "um so wat are u doing? i almost died" u frowned

"oh no" haltmann says. "did i accidentally park my plant on u"

"ya" u nod

"im so frickign sorry" haltmann starts crying. "i'm such trash i cant commit capitalizm without almost killing peopel"

u frown at the egg's sadness. "dont cry haltmann…" u say comfortationally

"no it's not okay i'm shaking and crying rn. i might throw up" haltmann starts crying

haltmann cries and opens his office door and runs in and throws himself onto his bed dramatically like a sad disney princess. u enter his office and hear some haunting lyrics…

"I pull away to face the pain

I close my eyes and drift away

Over the fear that I will never find

A way to heal my soul

And I will wander 'til the end of time

Torn away from you

My heart is broken

Sweet sleep, my dark angel

Deliver us from sorrow's hold

Or from my hard heart"

u turn off haltman's ipod. "Haltmann" u say

"no my music" haltmann sobbed

"haltmann." u say again but more like… asssertively

"ouuu" haltmann screams into his pillow. "first i break my airpods and now my music is dead"

"HALTMANN" u grab him and sit him up

"what" haltmann sniffs

"whats wrong" u ask

"u see (y/n) i lost someone in da past… i forget who that was tho… but like someone died ok? and now im sad" haltmann explaines

"halmann" u look into his deep blue orbs. "i…"

"yes (y/n)?" haltmann blinks his beautiful sapphire saucers at u

"i…" u blush "i…"

"..." haltmann …ed

"i think u need to seek therapy" u gently stroke his bangs

"omg… ur right" haltmann tears up. he gives u a hug. "thank u (y/n)"

"ur welcome" u smile

"im so tired of depression. i will defeat this evil inside me. thank u (y/n)"

u get on his computer and start googling local therapists in dream land. "here's one," u say. "call them and see if they're accepting new patients"

haltmann gets his sexy cellphone out and calls the therapist. "hi mr. therapist, my name is max profitt haltmann and my friend (y/n) says i need therapy"

"ya we can take u in" says the therapit. "we will have u do an intake next month ok"

"n. next month." haltmann starts to tear up

u look at haltmann ernestly. "better late than never, haltmann… ur patience will be rewarded"

haltmann sighs haltmannly. "ok. we will do next month"

haltmann finishes scheduling his therapy appointment. u look at him with a pleased look on ur face. "that was kinda sexxy of u haltmann, working towards self care like that" u smirk and wink

haltmann blushes "haha yea i guess that is pretty sexy. um, not that i'm trying to be cool or anything" he stutters

"hey u can call urself sexy and cool all u want," u laugh. "ur epic even"

"(y/n)..." haltmann blushes. he leans in and gives u a kiss. his cute little mustache hairs tickle ur upper lip.

"teehee" u giggle. "ur mustache is so cute"

"thank u" haltmann says. "star dream says its ugly"

--

2 MONTHS LATER

haltmann knocks on ur door. u open it

"hi (y/n) my sweet honey bunches of oats" haltmann wraps his hands around u and dips u for a kiss

"h-haltmann" u blush "where did this come from"

"so u see, i followed thru with therapy like u suggested. little did i kno this would change my life" haltmann says. "going to therapy made me realize that i wasn't treating myself with respect, and if i want to feel respected by others, i need to develop respect for myself. without respect for myself, i won't be able to recognize gneuine respect from my friends and employees. and i cant live being so cynical anymore. i need to love myself, (y/n). i need to be my own bestie becuz who will be there for me when everyone is gone? i need to be there for myself"

u look at haltmann like this:

"haltmann… u… u mean…"

"yea. i love myself, (y/n), and its thanks to u…" haltmann kisses u again. "sory i didnt talk to you for the past 2 months btw i was depressed amd busy with therapy lol"

"its ok haltmann i love u no matter what" u stroke his egg head

"yea" haltmann nods. "um btw i like need some new music to listen to bc my therapist says i shuld stop listening to such depressing music if it makes me wallow in sadness more"

"say no more" u say as u smirk and take out of ur bookshelf a CDs of Hannah Montana 3 and the High School Musical Sountrack

u and haltmann spend the night picking out the best disney channel songs to boost his self confidence. soon enough its morning. "omg its morning" haltmann gasps

"it was nice spending the night with u haltmann" u blushed "we should do it again someday"

"no, (y/n)" haltmann gives u an onion ring "we will do it again today. marry me"

"ok" u blush

u and haltmann have a beautiful wedding with the stupidest most extravagant dress and cake bcuz hes rich. ur live happy ever after the end

[randomshyperson]

So I finally watched The Marvels.

~SPOILERS AHEAD~

They missed the opportunity to actually say Wanda's name but it's totally fine 'cause this is not about her, but also, excuse me Miss Rambeau??? Monica is that powerful now and all because she visited Wanda's little Sims city a couple of times, like what? I love it. That old theory that Wanda was the one who gave Pietro's power is coming back stronger now

I strongly believe misogyny and racism are behind the flop of this movie, I had an amazing time watching it, whole thing was genuinely funny with relevant marvel lore and characters plots (the aliens are still fighting each other and blaming humans, but hey, colonialism and exploit of resources are the main reason we have to protect planets). Everyone loves when Peter Quill explores the galaxy but if three women do the same it's suddenly a problem.

A lot of people saying how tired they are of Marvel, were only tired of women doing the Marvel formula, don't believe those haters. Just like every other Marvel project, we have the hero journey and their blockbusters cliches, a lot of visual effects and jokes, LIKE EVERY OTHER MARVEL PROJECT, but sure, let's blame the girls for the failure. To me, it was really refreshing just to see women having fun and supporting each other and throwing little energy balls every now and then.

Also, the fact that Princess Carol is a fucking Star now? Pretty sure that got her killed in the What if series but good to know she's more powerful than that.

Kamala is the star of this movie, she's so funny and charming but also Monica and Carol angst got me crying and it was not enough!! I need more of their pain

I almost forgot, Miss Carol Danvers is all by herself in space just using a god damn TORTURE DEVICE to try to get her memories back, EXCUSE ME??? Someone gives this woman a hug, or idk, sent her to therapy with Bucky cause jesus Christ that's not healthy lady.

For the things I didn't like, the rhythm for sure. Such a quick movie, a lot of things happening, one minute I was crying the next I was giggling then crying again and then thinking about politics like slow down a little. I wanna digest the dialogues for a second.

THE SINGING PLANET I CANNOT-

Really funny movie, kamala's parents, the cats, everything was so easy going and cheerful even with the little angst moments, I had such a good time.

The best thing about this movie, as fanfic writer who gets truly frustrated with plot holes and stuff like that, it's that I will be able to watch it again. Movies from the first phases I used to love before I start writing, I can no longer enjoy the same 'cause I keep seeing how they don't make a fucking sense or have unbearable characters storylines and personality changes (yes I'm talking about Civil War and Age of Ultron or Ultimate, maybe STEVE ROGERS LEAVING BUCKY in a specific matter). This and also the fact they lack all kinds of minorities. Doctor Strange had like 2 women in the cast?? And don't even get me started on talking about what the sequel did to Wanda's character development.

The Marvels, Ragnarok, Black Widow, Captain Marvel, Captain America (1&2), Infinity War and Guardians of The Galaxy (all three), Black Panther (both), Ten Rings, Eternals, are still the only Marvel movies I actually enjoy rewatching, because they are projects that respect the characters established personalities and history and for origins ones like Eternals or Ten Rings, they are simply fun, what a crime for a movie to be just fun huh

All of the shows are worth rewatching (even Fury's one that I hated it), 'cause they were given time to develop into stuff and as a writer there's a lot for us to work it.

Btw, I'm not talking about Kate Bishop'cause I'm simply unable to process my happiness over seeing her again. I do think I might have a stroke once Yelena is back.

[avelera]

What kind of stories would you say are better suited to be written as fanfic? What kind of ideas work better/worse as such — for both long (to incredibly long) and short (to incredibly short) stories?

I'm going to take a step back because your questions requires a definition of fanfiction.

Fanfiction, in my opinion, is a derivative work that requires knowledge of another author's work in order to be effective to the audience.

This is why, in my opinion, protestations that John Milton's "Paradise Lost" and Virgil's "The Aeneid" not being fanfic are based on a value judgement towards fanfic that I find inaccurate. People who protest that those are not fanfiction have a value judgement in which fanfiction inherently means "low quality", which is a separate paradigm of understanding than my own. However, in order to derive the full enjoyment and understanding of "Paradise Lost" the author John Milton assumes deep knowledge of Christian dogma. The story does not work if you have no idea who God, Satan, and Jesus Christ are on a fundamental level and why Salvation is a good thing and Damnation a bad one.

Likewise, "The Aeneid" assumes and requires familiarity with the story of the Trojan War. The impact is severely lessened if the audience does not know what the Trojan War is, who the major players were, and why Aeneas would be fleeing Troy with his father and son. Characters they meet along the way lack impact if you don't know them as figures from the Iliad and Odyssey by Homer, a separate author.

As a note, a writer cannot create fanfiction of their own original work. An original character in an original universe cannot be a Mary Sue, unless we change the definition (which I believe we should, to one better understood as "an unconvincing power fantasy" but I digress). The Odyssey is not fanfiction of the Iliad unless we believe that Homer did not write both of them. This gets convoluted when we start talking about things like mythology and shared universes.

However, "Fifty Shades of Gray" though it began its life as fanfiction, is not fanfiction, wild as that may sound. That is because though Fifty Shades in its original form was "Twilight" fanfiction, a reader does not require knowledge of Twilight to understand and enjoy the story in its current form. They might derive some deeper enjoyment from knowing its origins but that falls more into the category of "reference" at this point, in my opinion, than "derivative".

"Referential" is different than "derivative" by the way, in my mind. "Shrek 2" might make visual gag references to other works like "Lord of the Rings" that are more effective if the viewer has seen Lord of the Rings, but the story itself does not require you to have seen Lord of the Rings to follow it or to enjoy it. The story stands on its own without requiring you to stop what you're doing, watch Lord of the Rings, and come back.

So, to your question, first and foremost story length has absolutely nothing to do with whether or not a story is better told as a fanfic.

What determines whether a story makes more sense as original fiction or as a fanfic is depth of knowledge of another work by a different creator in order to fully appreciate it.

A story about a high school girl falling in love with a vampire that ends in tragedy does not inherently need to be a Twilight fanfic. You can start from scratch with new characters in a new setting and no knowledge of Twilight would be required, though an audience familiar with Twilight might better understand the author's frame of reference.

A story by someone other than Stephanie Meyer about how Bella Swan came to regret her choice to become a vampire is a fanfic, even if the above mentioned original story and this fanfic cover many of the same emotional beats. Because the story relies on the audience's emotional connection, positive or negative, to the specific character of Bella Swan and the events of the Twilight series in order to follow this imagined sequel where she realized she made a mistake.

Now, that's a pretty canon-adjacent fanfic. I, personally, am not a huge fan of fanfiction AUs like Coffeeshop AUs where very little is kept of canon except the bare minimum of character appearances. I truly do think the author would be better served to saw off the serial number and just write an original work if the only they're keeping is the character appearances and a largely fanon interpretation of the characters. If you take out the vampires, and the high school, and you have Bella working for Edward in a high powered corporate setting and they decide to enter into a contractual BDSM relationship, I think the correct thing to do is to just adjust the story and publish "Fifty Shades of Gray" as an original novel, because you're so far away from Twilight at that point that all you're really keeping is the audience's attachment to that property and some elements of the power dynamic between Bella and Edward, which are easily transposed onto another fictional couple.

However, I am not representative of all fanfiction readers or writers. To some people, presumably, the fact that these characters aren't Bella and Edward makes the story not worth reading, even if their names are the only recognizable shared element with the original work. To each their own.

Finally, to fully answer your question I would say this:

A story that should be a fanfic is one where your goal is to specifically draw upon the depth of emotion and shared understanding of a character with the audience to make the story work. If it would require half the book to explain who these characters are and what they've done and why we should care about their past adventures in order to read this current exploration, you probably have a fanfic on your hands.

Ex. "I want to explore Bella learning she made a mistake by becoming a vampire." But in order to do this anguished character exploration you have to explain who Bella is, who Edward is, how they met, what her other options were, what events occurred to drive her to her decision, etc etc. Basically, a whole separate book before you can open to what you want to write which is her staring out the window realizing she hates her life.

But, if you want to write about a character who hates being a vampire and then embarks on other adventures, and all we really need to know is that at some point their high school crush turned them into a vampire and they now regret it...? No references to the Cullens, no Jacob, no Forks, no battles over Bella and Edwards love? Then you can probably just do an original story. And eventually, after you establish your new characters and world, you might be able to circle around to the moody emotional deep dive with your original character that you wanted to do with Bella.

It's a really nuanced question. It's hard to anticipate everything someone might mean. It's really dependent on the story. But I hope this makes sense!

[frikatilhi]

E for mma guy fic (sorry. Hi), F because your dialogue is so good omg i love you

E: If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it be about?

YES A THOUSAND TIMES YES EXCELLENT QUESTION

It would obviously be a divergence from the main fic that scene is a part of, and in it Bojan would go back to the gym and they would do it right there on the mat, only they would keep up the pretense that everything they're doing is actually just a standard MMA drill.

"Yeah, and now if you just position your hand there-- uhhh god yes, right, very good, just keep your wrist parallel to-- ngggghh excellent"

"And what you want to do here is keep the momentum going by arching your back just a little - yes, maybe pick up the pace just a tad - sure yeah just be mindful of that lock you don't want to overbend your elbow---"

(Have you ever googled MMA drills?? Are they all NOT supposed to look like elaborate foreplay or sad eastern european porn set-ups????)

Anyway, thank you, let's do this again soon

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

I mean, that dialogue right up there is pretty solid, huh?

Oh dearrrrrr though!! I do love to write dialogue but I don't know what comes to mind. Oh, maybe some band banter? I love writing the guys taking the piss on Bojan when he's being oblivious pöljä!Bojan.

I like the Bieber scene and the scene in the van from Chapter 2 of oothan tässä vielä huomenna, I had a blast writing them. Both of those were dialogue-only at first, and I rewrote them to fit that fic. Oh, and also the band scenes from Me ollaan ne and you make me smile with my heart.

Did I mention I love writing dialogue only? This one about matchmaker Joker out is just so precious to me, especially the part where they brainstorm get-the-idiots-together ideas:

“We could get them drunk tonight?” “We’ve tried that before. Bojan drinks too much and becomes totally unfuckable.” “We sabotage his alarm tomorrow morning so he’ll have to stay?” “That would be good, except we kinda need him for Stožice rehearsal.” “One day couldn’t hurt?” “You really think he’d make it back after only a day?” “Yeah, good point.” “What if one of us just tells Jere?” “Bojči would never forgive us.” “He would if it works out?” “We still don’t know for sure, though.” “Don’t we? I mean. Look at them.” “Still, it could backfire. I think he needs to do it on his own.” “Truth or dare? Never have I ever, again?” “One hotel room, one bed?” “Sex pollen?” “What?” “Sorry, I thought we were just shouting out fanfiction tropes.”

Oh! And the very first dialogue only fic I did where I was manifesting the summer rubber song?

“And me?” “What about you?” “Do you mention me?” “...” “Jere!” “No, of course, no!” “No? You sure? Nothing about you ramming some Bobby from Slovakia from the top, bottom, and sideways? Nothing like that?” “Um. Now that you ask.” “Oh fuck me.” “Now you just say lines from the song again. Who told you?”

And why am I proud of them? I'm proud of anything that makes someone else besides me laugh, and all of those have done so.

Ok, I totally went overboard with this one, didn't I???

Fanfic ask game

[averyaddamsromance]

Ok, Hunter in the pool was supposed to get your attention X_D sorry!

The last few days may have been somehow tough for our wyler community. Shippers and their ships could be the core of fandoms, and I am really sorry that in 2023 someone still doesn't get the lesson…anyway…

I decided to make a post sharing some of the fan-fictions which made the last 2 days brighter after knowing that Jenna Ortega is killing the romance in Wednesday- which I repeat, is not bad for Wyler since we couldn't get any romance in s2 anyway as you can read in my previous post. I just hope this is not going to affect the unresolved sexual tension between Tyler and Wednesday. I am curious to see if views won't drop without that. Because audience is fickle and untamable: dear Jenna, today they are clapping when you say "no romance" then in 2 years (when we will be even farther from the effects of covid 19 on people's emotional life) will start complaining about the lack of intensity in the series. For me, this is a challenge and I am curious to see who's right here.

We are forced to accept the decision to castrate Wednesday Addams, dark and sarcastic woman, yes, but still daughter of one of the most passionate couples (Morticia and Gomez Addams). How is possible that to prove women's independence and strength in 2023 we still have to castrate them? Did men do anything like this since the beginning of civilization? Wouldn't be great to affirm our sexuality together with indipendence and strenght? Is it so dangerous for a woman to get an orgasm thanks to a man, really?

Anyway, now back to fanfic:

ALL IT TOOK WAS YOUR SPARK by @wincestation

For me this is royal blood among the fan-fictions I read, latest chapter was out just a few hours before or after (don't remember) the interview Jenna did at The Tonight Show.

It's impossible to describe how much I love this fanfic- and how much I laugh when I read it. Wincestation has established herself as one of the best wylers writers already. She is building an AU and her Tyler and Wednesday can actually challenge in terms of quality the original characters of the series.

Wincestation, I am one of your cheerleaders.

YOU ARE STILL A TRAITOR by @suchaladyy

Another gem I read immediately after Jenna's interview and I loved the warm feeling left in my heart -I really needed it.

Suchalady is producing fanfictions at an impressive speed and her +18 explicit collections is for true connoisseurs. And I won't even bother to hide that after Jenna's attempt to castrate Wednesday I feel even more sadistic pleasure to read explicit +18 fanfictions where she is completely unleashed by Tyler -sorry Hunter, you find yourself in the middle of a war.

I AM TYLER, BY THE WAY by Kiranightshade @therulerofallpotatos

Gosh how I loved this piece! And I am seconding all the comments asking for the sequel! But I know that Kira is working on another more complex fanfic, so I patiently wait here.

+18 EXPLICIT that as I already said I am enjoying even more after Jenna's interview, as useless absolutely pointless personal vendetta.

BUT IT'S NOT REAL (AND YOU DON'T EXIST) by @the-strangest-person

WOW. I am new to Stranger Person'fanfic but this one hit me really hard.

There's some drama but I am pretty sure that if those poor screenwriters (Wednesday's ones) were allowed to write their own thing we would have gotten something similar.

ROUGH DAY by @realmermaid333

Realmermaid333 won't disappoint you, ever. I loved this explicit fanfic! It was fresh air, really hot but somehow sweet (Tyler can't disappoint you either) as only realmermaid can be.

THE WOES OF SELF DISCOVERY by SwedishlittleOwl @fandom-geek17

So damn hot, I started to read it and then I was like "noooooo it's not completeeee" I need others chapters! I am so curious to know what's gonna happen!

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

And like I totally understand that a lot of people are already shy and awkward and they feel shy commenting in fics - which you shouldn't, by the way. Fanfic authors are dorks just like you are and we just want someone to get excited about our fics with. We are awkward just like you are

But the point I wanna stress is: it's so easy to comment on fics without being rude.

The literal perfect formula for a fanfic comment - aside from the basic "second kudos!" "Omg I loved this!" "I love the way you write x character!". The perfect way to write a basic non-rude comment:

Highlight a line from the fic that you enjoyed. It doesn't even have to be a paragraph or multiple lines through the whole fic, just a single line.

Copy and paste that line into the comments.

Tell the author that line stood out to you - "this line really stood out to me" "I love the way you wrote this" "I love how this line shows x"

It is extremely thoughtful, shows you enjoyed the fic, and it is guaranteed to make the author's day and stand out in their mind forever. And if that line is smutty or angsty or whatever - they are likely to put more of that in future fics.

You don't have to bring unnecessary rudeness to the comments.

Don't ask for more. Asking for a sequel or a 'Part 2' or saying that you 'need more' - even if it's in a joking way, makes it seem like you think that you're entitled to the author's time.

Fanfic writers use their free time to write fics and they post all of their writing for free - so consuming 100% free art and then asking for more comes off as very rude and entitled, even if you don't mean for it to. As a general rule, don't mention wanting the author to write more after you have just read a fic that they have worked very hard on. Stick to commenting on the material at hand.

And yes, I know you mean it as a compliment - like "oh, this is amazing, and I loved it. I loved it so much that I could read 1,000 chapters of it. I love it so much that I wish it would never end. I want more."

But you can always go back and reread fics. Authors will always take it as a higher compliment if you tell them that their fic has rereading potential, rather than if you ask them to put in more work and write more of it.

Secondly - it may have taken you an hour to read a 10k fic, but it may have taken the author months to write it. So imagine getting a message from someone asking you to spend months longer to write a sequel, knowing that they will read that sequel in minutes and then likely ask for more again.

Authors struggle a lot behind the scenes, and rude, entitled comments are very demotivating and are very counterproductive toward making more fics. Which is what we all want in the end - more fanfiction so we can appreciate our favourite characters.

Also, please don't bring 'moral'/religious guilt and backhanded compliments to the comments of fics with taboo content. Saying something like "this fic was so horrible but I loved it" is not a compliment, it's just rude. Saying "I'm going to hell for reading this" is just plain rude.

If you can't understand that the author holds a certain maturity in writing and posting those topics and you need to maintain that maturity in the comments, then don't read those topics at all thank you.

Basically - don't comment on things like it's your personal diary. If you want to do that, make a private blog post or a google doc that nobody will ever see. You have to understand that you are talking to a person when you comment on a fic and that the author is going to read your comments and have emotions when they process your words. You aren't just shouting into a void that randomly spawns fanfiction when you comment on fics.

TLDR - Be polite and respectful in fanfiction comments, for fuck's sake.

[cringecompanionapologist]

Turlough Tales 2: Planet of Fire

I've marked this as a sequel to make it clear that there's an original out there for people to seek out if they need context for these.

I realize that this whole thing is a bit weird. Before the internet, fanzines were where fanfic was published, so these stories from a fanzine really should be on the same level as something posted on Ao3, but it feels different. Magazines are published. Stories have to be approved by an editor, and people pay for the magazine. (in theory, anyway. I'm getting these from archive.org). It makes fanzine fanfics feel more "official" than online ones. They went through a "quality control" process my fics don't have to. So, it's tempting to treat these fanzine stories as more like Short Trips, which were published by either the BBC or Big Finish. But, they're not, so I'm analyzing fanworks as if they can be compared to official EU material, because my zillennial brain can't comprehend pre-internet fanfiction. To people who were active in fandom, reading fanzines in 1996, I probably look like a bit of a dumbass.

Anyway...

I probably should've included a cut like this in the last one. Also, this is gonna take a while. I have a lot to talk about here.

Before we start on this next story, there's a quote in the same issue of the magazine that I think is vital to understanding why this exists the way it does. Peter Grimwade, inventor of the Trions, had a take on them different from anything I've seen anywhere else.

So, this story I think is more based on the idea of Trions as a Planet of Lawyers.

You see, in sci-fi, because writing a planet as complex and diverse as Earth, unless it's the only planet depicted in the story, is virtually impossible, alien worlds are often given a single culture that, though it can be explored in more detail, can pretty much be summed up in a single word. The trope that is doing this is called the Planet of Hats. The "hat" being a single concept that defines the culture of the planet that the audience gets to see. Star Trek has done this a fuckton of times, which a Planet of Logic, Planet of Honor Codes, Planet of Capitalism, and Planet of Pure Devotion to the State, to (not) name a few. (This was about Vulcans, Klingons, Ferengi, and Cardassians, if you're a Trekkie but couldn't figure that out lol).

In Doctor Who, with a few exceptions, specific alien worlds aren't often explored for more than one story, so the clear Planet of Hats you see in Star Trek isn't always obvious. Gallifrey can get a certain amount of development, and a few other planets are featured more than once (Skaro, Mondas, and Peladon, to name a few), but you usually don't get full cultures from them, since Daleks and Cybermen are too uniform to really have much of a culture to speak of. Daleks are the "kill everyone" people and Cybermen are the "convert everyone" people. Sontarans are Planet of War though, so that kind of works.

Trion is never even directly visited by the Doctor onscreen, so it gets little development. They had a civil war and Turlough's from there. That's all the show really gives us. This meant EU media could basically do whatever the fuck they wanted with it, as could fan works. However, there were a few more details that popped up early on, and thus became adopted by most people.

A Brief History of Doctor Who EU Nonsense:

Most Doctor Who EU media began during the Wilderness Years, when the show was off the air. There are a few exceptions to this. Doctor Who Magazine started doing comics in around 1980, and the magazine had a semi-official status, so you had proper tie-in comics for the 4th, 5th, 6th, and 7th Doctors while their episodes were still airing.

Before that, there were annuals, yearly books of comics and short stories. The first one of these was published in 1965 and most of them had virtually nothing to do with the show until the 1980s. In the 1980s, JNT became producer and changed how basically everything worked. One of those changes was taking control of the EU, making sure the people working for more popular magazines and working on annuals and ongoing comic strips had access to enough information to know what was going on in the actual show. The children these things were aimed at earlier were assumed to not care, but Doctor Who in the 80s was marketed less to children and more to people who'd already been watching Doctor Who for at least a decade. The show took on a more serious tone and referenced its continuity more to pander to this new target demographic, and making sure the annuals didn't contradict the show was just a nice little side effect of the change.

This also applies to TV Comic, a comic strip that began in 1964 and was running beside and pretty much completely detached from the show throughout the 60s and 70s. It basically ended when DWM took over Doctor Who comic writing duties.

But, I just wasted your time on a bunch of this that don't matter here, because the only pre-1990 EU relevant to this story are the Target novelizations and a short-lived book series called The Companions of Doctor Who.

Planet of Fire got a novelization, like all classic serials eventually did, but it was one of the lucky ones to get a novelization not long after the episodes aired, written by the same person who wrote said episodes, making the serial and its novelization sort of equally canon to each other, coming from the same brain. The serial aired in 1984 and the novelization came out in 1985.

The novelization added a bit to Turlough's backstory, namely that the civil war was a revolution against the Imperial Clans, a group of families that had ruled the planet before. Turlough's family was one of the Imperial Clans. When the regime was overthrown, surviving members of the clans were either executed or exiled. What the Imperial Clans were beyond "the rulers of Trion" is never elaborated upon.

But, in 1986, someone did. This was the first of a series of spin-off novels called The Companions of Doctor Who, which followed companions after they left the TARDIS. In the end, the series had only three entries, the third of which was a novelization of K9 and Company, a failed spin-off about Sarah Jane and K9. So the only real entries are Turlough and the Earthlink Dilemma and Harry Sullivan's War. Harry Sullivan's War had the advantage of being written by Ian Marter, who played Harry and therefore understood the character very well.

Tony Attwood, who wrote Turlough and the Earthlink Dilemma, had nothing to do with the show and the both is not well-liked by Turlough fans. As far as I can tell, Attwood did talk to Mark Strickson while writing the novel, but not to Peter Grimwade, which he wasn't happy about. Still, the Imperial Clans from the novelization were included in The Earthlink Dilemma, portrayed as a sort of caste of scientists that ruled Trion for millennia, while mostly allowing the commoners to do their own thing. A lot of work is done to make the Imperial Clans seem good and make the leader of the revolution a terrible person who basically led a Reign of Terror (her name is Thatcher spelled backwards!!!).

This means that when Trion is given a Planet of Hats effect, they're more often a Planet of Scientists than a Planet of Lawyers. Turlough is proud of Trion scientific achievements and, when he returns to Trion, welcomed back as a hero and offered political power in the democratic government, he instead decides to be an astrophysicist. He just wanted to be a scientist this whole time. It's actually a pretty interesting take on the character, which is why it tends to stick around.

But, this story in this fanzine (remember that that's what this post was supposed to be about?) really leans into the Planet of Lawyers aspect and offers an alternate ending.

You can tell it's not canon because Vizlov. Not Vislor, nor Vizlor, but Vizlov. Oops.

Anyway, you can see that this version of Turlough was apparently charged with treason for rebelling against the government, instead of being part of the regime that was rebelled against. Said government is referred to as New Trion though, which muddies the waters.

Turlough's exile has a different purpose here. The Trions are basically trying to gain legal control of Earth and Turlough's exile was intended to have him eventually participate in that plan, as well as training in "primitive systems" as a sort of character-building exercise.

It seems that Turlough was blamed for the destruction of Sarn, because the Trions had no idea about the Master or anything else that was going on there. They thought Turlough, after escaping Earth, deliberately destroyed Sarn for Reasons. The exact charges:

He did escape his exile on Earth.

"Consorting with undesirable aliens" is an interesting one. Since Trions are actively involved on Earth, I don't think this would mean humans. This might mean the Doctor? Other EU works reveal that the Time Lords colonized Trion, so there might be a conflict there.

He's also seen as being involved in overthrowing the religious regime on Sarn, which is apparently protected in some way. Sarn is also considered government property that Turlough destroyed because, once again, the Trions don't know what actually happened and have no interest in listening to Turlough.

The Trions also have no way of knowing about Tegan, since she'd already left by Planet of Fire, but this bit is funny.

Turlough had been lured to Trion under false pretenses, expecting not to be immediately arrested again. There's some Lawyer Speak: You won't be persecuted for his previous crimes, but they will persecute him for new ones. Also Lomand has taken credit for Turlough's heroics. The bastard. Also, apparently political criminals don't exist because the motivation of the crimes do not matter...

Though, this story, like The Earthlink Dilemma, doesn't say what happens to Malkon in all this.

He can't prove the existence of the Guardians. Though, when it comes to his departure from Earth, Turlough is actually being dishonest here. He chose to go with the Doctor and was obviously desperate to escape Earth, so he is actually guilty on that one.

Also, Turlough encountered Tractators, which is enough to justify exile, because existing in the same space as Tractators threatens Trion? Because it's an infection? Maybe they're the "undesirable aliens"...

So, instead of going back to Brendon, he's now basically an intern to the lawyer who'd been handling his case, possibly to once again participate in the legal conquest of Earth they've got going.

We end on a sort of Where Are They Now? where we learn how Turlough's doing in 1996 (present day when the zine was published).

"Doctors have been manipulating him all his life" Ouch...

He definitely has reason to feel abandoned by the Doctor here. The Doctor didn't exactly check to confirm that Turlough was actually going home as a hero and not being lured into a trap. Perhaps the Doctor could've explained things to the other Trions somehow, or just straight up helped him escape.

So Turlough becomes a lawyer in an army of lawyers from the Planet of Lawyers trying to take over Earth. That's hilarious but also sad.

I still prefer "Returns to Trion as a hero but turns down the spotlight to become an astrophysicist" though.

[legobiwan]

Can we talk about the weird emotional dependency subplot? While Luigi needs Mario to feel safe, Mario NEEDS to protect Luigi. And I swear I love their bond, but it's also interesting to see that they both learn the same lessons from their respective points of view. Mario can't always be there. Luigi can defend himself. They will both be fine as long as they are a team and work together. And then we have Bowser, as a harmful representation of the consequences of emotional dependence in a bad way

Yes, let's please do so!

This all kind of ties in to this idea I've had about Mario for a while, in that he needs to be the hero. Not because he wants the accolades or wants to be "better" than other people, but because he is driven to protect and save those he loves.

Of course, this applies to Luigi 100% more so than most, and you have to wonder, in a future/alternate plotline where Luigi shrugs off some his anxiety issues, if Mario would find himself adrift absent the daily imperative to be his brother's protecter, to prove to Luigi, to his father, to Spike, to anyone - that he's capable, that he's not a loser. (Don't get me started about how this would manifest in the Super Paper Mario storyline, we would be here all night).

And the thing with Luigi is, yes, he's anxious and lacks confidence and totally uses his brother as an emotional crutch. And Mario, due to his own issues, ends up enabling this reaction by constantly playing the protector.

So yes, they, in a way, learned a lesson by the end of the film, Mario having to depend on Luigi to not immediately die via Bowser and Luigi stepping up and consciously overcoming his anxiety issues to improv a surprisingly effective defense (there's a whole other post concerning Luigi's subconscious badassery that I will not be able to address until I can gif the hell out of this film).

This being said, at the end of the day, Mario is still lauded as being a hero and Luigi (as far as we can see on screen) gets little to no acknowledgement, any positive reinforcement, regarding how he stepped up. (Fanfic can and I assume, will, solve this problem, which I dearly hope is addressed in some way in the inevitable sequels).

And yes, there's Bowser, who has a kind of parasocial relationship with Peach, a woman who he has very little (at least according to the film) real contact with prior to his marriage proposal, yet bases an entire invasion plan on. Crazy.

There are a lot of these little teases to larger themes - emotional co-dependence, family, public vs. private persona, societal expectations - that are briefly addressed in this film which might be part of the critical issue with the pace, yet why it resonates so well (aside from being an unapologetic romp through the Mario Universe).