#fic: like a parasite (kill my butterflies)

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

ouch 😅

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

He’s not a NRC student but…

Rollo: “What are YOU doing here?” (Assuming that pre Playful Land piece you wrote happened and Rollo just happened to be at NRC for whatever reason.)

[Referencing this fic!]

This interaction is fr the "wow, these people are so weird; thank god I'm the normal one" meme 🤡 Pretend Gidel's off chasing butterflies or something--

So tell me, do you wanna go?

“What are YOU doing here?!”

The words had been taken right out of his mouth. They were spoken simultaneously, two accusatory fingers pointing in the opposite directions. One away from him, one toward…

A young man with a silvery bowl cut, bangs short, dark circles under his even darker eyes shaded by a tricone hat. His robes were elaborate in their stitching, golden thread spinning into flowers that hugged his waist and circles his arms. The aura he radiated was quiet but intense, all the heat and power of a devastating wildfire contained in a single human being.

“I remember you!” Fellow cried, brusque with his declaration. “You’re that shitty brat with the awful personality! The one that brushed us off at the docks and threatened to set me on fire!"

"And you are the incredibly shifty, invasive conman who sought to lure innocent children into the claws of magic." Rollo grimaced, pressing a handkerchief to his nose. "... It seems you've dropped the polite pretenses since our last encounter."

"Yeah, well, no point in puttin' on those airs anymore. I left my last job, so I'm not obligated to kiss ass."

"How... good for you."

Rollo’s reply, while curt, was phrased politely enough—but the pause stuck out. His eyes burned with disdain, as though he were regarding something offensive. A piece of trash, maybe. No, dirt. Perhaps something even lower than dirt.

Rollo averted his gaze, as if to end the conversation then and there. The dismissive motion grinded Fellow’s gears, sandpaper rubbing on his skin.

What, am I not worth his time to talk to? Who does he think he is?!

Fellow clenched his jaw and forced a smile. “So, my good man! What have you been up to since we last met, hmm?”

“… Official business.” Rollo glanced at the documents tucked under one of his arms. “As Student Council President of Noble Bell College, it falls to me to act as our representative and to engage with other magic schools.”

Fellow blew out air through his teeth. “You’re a real hotshot, huh?”

One of the lucky ones, polished and put on a pedestal. Envy tugged at Fellow’s heartstrings. What he would give to be a part of that glittering world, not a worry to his name.

“One could say that, yes.” Rollo seemed to be frowning with his entire body. His expression, his posture. “Hmph. It is a burden I did not ask for. How troublesome.”

Fellow straightened—irked. “What are you talking about? You have any idea how many people would kill to be where you are? Be a little more grateful, wouldja?”

“Excuse me?” Rollo’s brows twitched. “Who are you to judge others and determine how they ought to behave?”

“You don’t have to be a somebody with a fancy title to know when there’s a bad seed around.”

“You do not know me,” Rollo said icily. “Do not presume that you do.”

You could never understand what I’ve been through!!

He looked the beastman up and down, noting the patchwork in his attire, the holes in his façade. “… Pray forgive that I do not place much stock in your word. You do not present as a scholar, nor an upstanding adult of any sort.”

The comment cut deep, striking at his core. Fellow lashed out in defense.

“S-So what?! I don’t need a hoity toity kid like you labelling me. You’re bound to school and its rules. Me? I’m free to go wherever I like, whenever I please.”

Rollo sniffed, unimpressed. “So you claim—yet you linger at the feet of this institution of those who worship sin. It’s perfectly clear what your motive is, Mr. Honest. Like an parasite drawn to rotting fruit, you seek to be in the vicinity of that power, hoping to leech some of it for yourself. You too are one of the mindless sheep clamoring for a crumb of magic, not recognizing that pursuit will inevitably lead to your demise.”

Fellow blinked. His anger wavered, mixing with confusion. “Wh-What the hell, kid! You always gotta talk like a doomer?! Unclench your face for a second and take a breather, sheesh! I’m getting depressed just standing here listening to you mouth off.”

Rollo scoffed. “If you ask me, you do not take life seriously enough.”

“Life’s meant to be fun. Not all work, no play. You’ll become a dull and jaded grown-up if you keep going down this path.”

“I would rather be that than a fool who holds fast to his childish delusions.”

"Psssh. Least I'm not a hardass. All the privilege in the world and you still gotta act all sour."

Rollo stared at him, his gaze cold and steely. Fellow returned it. The same thought filled both of their heads.

He isn't satisfied with what he has now. He wants something more for himself than this. He's...

Deplorable, Rollo thought.

A greedy bastard, Fellow thought.

And when, at last, the staring became too much for either to bare, Rollo coughed into a fist. "If you will excuse me. I mustn't dawdle. These documents have to be delivered to Headmaster Crowley in a timely manner."

He paused deliberately.

"... I will pray for you," Rollo murmured as he walked off, his steps brisk and snappy.

Fellow gawked after him, appalled.

"Yeah, good riddance!" he hollered. "Hope the door hits ya on the way out!!"

[yanderes-galore]

Yandere Mir! Naib pls! Its been so long since weve talked abt that evol gremlin >:3 and i loved the backstory u wrote for him

I used the backstory I wrote for him to make a concept :) Sorry for the long wait, not into IDV rn.

I'm not used to making a concept from a scenario ^^; usually it's the other way around. I pull from my fic "Wither" a lot in this so I recommend you read it.

Yandere! MIR! Naib Subedar Concept

Possible Trigger Warnings: Obsession, Vague explicit behavior, Kidnapping, Murder, Violence, Blood, Forced relationship, Dehumanization, Manipulation, Sadism, Cults, "Marking" mention, Power dynamic.

- First, a small summary of Wither.

- Naib, before he was known as Man In Red, most likely met you in the town you both grew up in.

- He fell for you and that's where his obsession first rooted.

- Except at the time is wasn't really an obsession, it was just a crush.

- You two would send letters to each other and grew close.

- Then you turn him away for another man, just like in the backstory.

- Leading Naib to slowly (and painfully) morph into a demon through hanahaki disease and some odd otherworldly force.

- Now, when you meet Naib again, he is no longer himself.

- He is now known as the demonic leader, Man In Red, or MIR for short.

- MIR's Possessive, Sadistic, Flirtatious, Manipulative, Cold/Cruel, and Obsessive over you.

- MIR lost his memory since he became what he is now, so when you come back into your old town with your new spouse, Runaway (Real name Edgar), he isn't sure who you are just yet.

- (Honestly, rereading the Wither fic gave me RE8 vibes before I knew what it was, lol)

- The demon feels some sort of familiar connection to you but can't figure it out.

- Leading to MIR to subject you to his sadistic games until he figures out who you are.

- You can bet Runaway's being put through hell, too.

- "Welcome to my town, I'll be sure you're both given a warm welcome."

- Once MIR remembers who you are over time, it's all over.

- MIR is possessive, once he knows you were his beloved, say goodbye to Runaway.

- He'd make everything a game, too.

- Taunting you about how Runaway will be sacrificed in front of all his followers.

- How Runaway is a parasite in his prospering ecosystem.

- He can thank the guy for one thing, though.

- Bringing you back to MIR, where you belong.

- Think about it, Runaway caused all of this, it's only fair he pays what's due?

- His blood splattered across these city streets....

- MIR is also not normally one to share.

- But as this town runs on a cult dynamic, only his most trusted followers can speak with you.

- He won't let them get too greedy, though.

- This shows his sadistic behavior, too.

- Murder or kidnapping doesn't phase him, he'd kill in front of you and even make a big deal out of it.

- Taunting all the while with a grin.

- "What's wrong, my butterfly? Scared of a little blood~?"

- Flirting and lechery is also what he subjects you to.

- MIR is disgusting at times.

- Always making little comments towards you.

- Feeling you up and maybe even marking you.

- He's capable of such dirty things... he is a demon, after all.

- MIR can also be cold and cruel.

- He doesn't care if his followers die.

- He doesn't care if he has to hurt you.

- MIR is an evil creature and mortal life doesn't concern him.

- Although if you're dying he refuses to let it happen-

- He has powers, if he wanted you back, he could get you back.

- Yay for otherworldly entity powers, right?

- Lastly, obsessive.

- MIR will not leave you alone sometimes.

- More like most of the time... as he still has cult leader duties.

- He sees you as a pet, something to pester whenever he wants.

- His transformation made his crush turn to obsession.

- You made him like this.

- Your presence alleviates his yearning whenever near.

- Fate has brought you two together again.

- Now you'll never leave this demon's clutches.

- "I became this when you left. Do you really think I'd just let you walk out, butterfly?"

[yellowocaballero]

I read the daemon fic last night and I loved it! That man sure does try to punch that bird! My question is: if you wrote the fic on the fly, how did you come up with such a coherent explanation for daemons and Dust in the tma universe?? (Also I'm curious if you're willing to explain your reasoning behind some of the characters' daemons bc I love hearing why authors choose the animals they do)

sweats

I don’t remember? I got kind of interrupted in the middle of writing it for Snowpocalypse and Life reasons, and I tend to figure out my writing through just daydreaming because I’m bored. It’s also possible that I was chatting it over with a friend, and it came up? Most of my story ideas and plotting are through me chatting about writing...it’s also possible that in the middle of writing the story, I was like, ‘THIS is a good idea!’. That’s also true. 

I find stories as I’m writing them. I knew the story was about grief going in, but like halfway through I was like “okay so this is about hope and new possibilities” isn’t it. I actually intended for Strix to be entirely the Beholding, and none of Jon. He would just say mean (yet true) shit that hurts his feelings in a weird negging maneuver. I always intended the story to end with Jon embracing Strix in a moment of desolation, embracing his ‘monster’ and ending the story on a creepy note. I realized while writing that Strix was serving a specific role, and that I needed to play into that - and maybe accepting him wasn’t a bad thing.

Statistically, I was probably in the middle writing and made something up...I could be wrong. But, like, come on, the Entities as Dust thing just makes so much fucking sense. I think basically I decided first off “Avatar’s daemons ‘die’ and are replaced with Evil Daemons that are the Entities.” and then I had to retroactively justify that. gromitputtingdowntraintracksasthetrainmoves.gif

Re: daemon thing...okay, I also refuse to think too hard about a story BEFORE I write it, because then I get bored and don’t write it. And figuring out daemons is something you figure out before the story happens, so...not a lot of thought there...which is something I know is kind of against the way almost everyone else thinks up daemon aus but in my defense I was too busy trying to figure out how the fuck the Avatar thing worked...but I’ll give you what I have. I did take a weird amount of time to figure out naming conventions because I think daemons are VERY tied into culture and spirituality. I also tried to go with animals that were at least vaguely from the habitat of the ethnicity of the character. I didn’t always land there exactly (I wanted a Jamacian bird but an African bird worked best, etc) but it was the attempt.

Jon’s Oxpecker: Vampiric, small, fragile. Bird...why did I decide Jon had to be a bird...uh...the Vibes.

Martin’s Large Blue Butterfly: Parasitic, imitates ant pheromones in ant hills to feed on them. Martin has insect vibes I feel because he’s kind of inscrutable and hard to read.

Daisy: Wolf, because Avatar Daemon Is ALWAYS Metaphorical. Doberman because I think there’s a police dog stereotype, so she was like. aw fuck yeah this is a great excuse to murder people. Wanted a very big and potentially dangerous dog because she’s a small woman who relies on her daemon to overpower others. 

Basira: Bee. Insect, inscrutable. Social animal. Hive animal hyuk hyuk ACAB

Georgie: Cat vibes. also just had to be admiral. come on.

Melanie: Tasmanian devil, see the most tenaciously viscous animal I could think of. Beaver because...vibes...I think I read something where she had a beaver. 

There are others but those are the main ones. (Gerry sandcat - desert for survival in difficult decisions and also fucking adorable; Gertrude blue ringed octopus for a very dumb and silly looking animal that will just fucking kill you; Tim’s ox for a protective, herd animal that can also get blindingly, thoughtlessly angry; Sasha praying mantis cause haha she gets eaten) Not much thought :(

Thanks for the ask! I wish I had better answers. 

[avaria-revallier]

Uhmm this is my first time asking- anyone really. So I was wondering if you could make a Thilbo Bagginshield fic about Prompt #100?

I am honored that you chose me for your first ask. I hope this small story of mine satisfies you!

Bagginshield Ask #100

There was no way that his stupid plan would ever work. Trying to negotiate with a troll! Damn that burglar. He would not only cost them their lives, but also the small chance they had to reclaim their home.

“They have parasites, all of them. Nasty business if you ask me. I wouldn’t risk it. I really wouldn’t.” he could hear the shaking voice of the dangling hobbit again.

“Parasites?! We have no parasites!” rumbled someone to his left.

A well calculated kick in his nephew’s side made them all rethink their approach. The burglar at least seemed to have some kind of plan. But really, parasites? Grumbling into his beard he swallowed his pride and swore to himself to never speak of this day ever again, before he also started to yell. Embarrassing.

“The dawn will take you all!” with a loud crack the boulder broke and bright daylight flooded the clearing.

~

“What were you thinking, burglar?” Thorin roared as soon as he was free from the sack and had put on some decent clothing, “You nearly got us all killed!”

The hobbit, covered in snot and filth, was desperately trying to get the slimy substance out of his mantle. Ridiculous effort. Well, not that he cared. Not at all.

Kili, on the other side of the camp was receiving a similar ear full of his older brother. Something about being reckless and what he was thinking charging into the fight like that. Thorin had to agree with Fili.

Sadly, he hasn’t acted any better. He had charged in like that as well, unprepared, reckless. He should have known better. But the sight of Kili against those three giants all alone and the burglar- no, he would certainly not care about the burglar. He was no more than dead weight on this quest.

Still, why was his heart clenching tightly each time the hobbit stumbled or seemed to be in danger? Why would he rest when the small frame of their burglar crouched in exhaustion? Why did his belly felt like a million butterflies when that hobbit was near, looked at him and smiled? By Mahal, what was wrong with him? Had he eaten something spoiled?

“Have you lost your damn mind?” the angry outbroke of the burglar caught him off guard, but he kept his facial expressions in check.

Frantically rubbing at one of the darker stains on the red coat he takes a step closer towards Thorin. His toes nearly touched the tips of the dwarven kings’ boots. His golden curls were a mess, Thorin nearly raised his hand to untangle one of the strands but stopped himself just in time.

“If it wasn’t for you and your gorgeous voice, luring me on this journey to end up as a dragon snack you would be long dead! The trolls would have swallowed you and your pretty ass in a matter of minutes if I hadn’t stalled for time. But all you do is complain with that sexy voice coming out of your sweet mouth. A simple thanks would have been nice! … Never mind,” he sighs, looking down on his ruined coat, “I am going to head down to the river to wash my clothes and clean myself throughout. If you swallowed your pride and came to your senses, you are very welcome to join me. I could use some help with my hair, it has gotten quite long over the past few months.”

Without another word Bilbo turns around, heading down to the river. Leaving behind twelve gaping dwarrows, an amused wizard and a dwarven king, completely perplex and baffled by the words this seemingly gentle creature had spoken.

Had that been an invitation?

If you like what you have read consider reblogging my story for others to enjoy too.

I am always open for asks and requests for shorts of our favorite dwarrows!

Masterpost

[thechosenburrito]

The Heart Gambit (Dennor): 7-The Argument

Word Count: 1179

Description:

Emil finally confronts Lukas about his behavior.

Previous: 6-Someone Else’s Parasite

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He closed the door behind him and sighed.

"Emil... I don't wanna talk about it right now," Lukas said, pulling off his coat and tossing it onto the bed before flopping onto it face first.

"Do you even know what I'm talking about?" Emil asked, getting up to stand over him.

"About how I ditched him at the cafe?" he replied, muffled by the pillow.

"Actually I was talking about how you left the seat up and I collapsed like a folding chair when I fell in the toilet.  But that's not as important!   Why the hell did you ditch him?" he demanded.

"Wait you did what?"

'Shut up!  We're not talking about that right now!"

"What do you want from me?"

"An answer.  Obviously."

Lukas pulled the covers over himself and rolled onto his side.

"What's there to say?  It was fun, but in reality, the odds of it working out, in the long run, is slim to none so I'm not gonna bother getting attached to someone."

"So you don't like him?"

"That's not what I said."

"So he doesn't like you?"

"I didn't say that either!"

"So what the hell are you saying then!?  You both like each other!  So why are you sabotaging the only shot at a decent relationship you've had in years!?"  Emil said, his voice rising a bit.

"I'm not self-sabotaging!  I'm just being realistic!" Lukas replied, almost shouting.

"Ok fine.  You're a smart man, so tell me.  When two people like each other, the most logical thing, according to you, is to just not be together because 'it won't work out in the long run'?  Or did I hear you wrong?" Emil snapped.

"Why the hell do you care so much!?  Just leave me alone!" Lukas shouted.

"Maybe because I care about you dumbass.  Maybe because I just watch you mope around sad and lonely all the time!"

"The emotional risk is just too much for me, alright! Is THAT what you wanted to hear!?" he shouted again, sitting up.

"Oooooh, I get your deal now.  It all makes sense!  You're so afraid of getting hurt that you pretend you don't care about anything or anyone!  Because you somehow think that's better than loving someone and getting hurt!"

"What's wrong with that!?  It's worked so far!"

"Bullshit!" Emil yelled, starting to pace.  "You can't convince me that a lifetime dull aching sadness is the same as temporary heartbreak that can heal with time!  Yeah, it's shitty when someone you love hurts you.  No doubt about that."

Emil sat at the edge of the bed.

"But, the thing is, if you work through that pain properly and take you time to heal, you can grow from it.  But you," he turned to Lukas's covered-up figure.  "You chose to perpetually suffer, to hurt even when you don't deserve it.  And you wonder why you're so miserable.  It kills you inside to act like you don't care when you really do,".

"I don't! Well, I don't want to..."

"Well, it's easy then.  Tell Mathias you don't care about him and never speak to him again after Sunday." Emil said flatly.

'I'm not doing that!"

"Ok then tell him the truth!  Tell him that you like him but you're too scared it won't work out and that you won't speak to him again after Sunday."

"I'm not doing that either!"

"Then what ARE you gonna do!?  What exactly is your endgame here?  Are you just gonna avoid him for the rest of your life?  That's a dick move!  Make him wonder what he did wrong for the rest of his life all to spare your own feelings!"

"..."

Lukas sat there for a moment.  He had too many things to say at once.  He parsed through all his thoughts in search of something to say, but it was like trying to pick out a single grain of rice from a sandstorm.  His mouth opened and closed a bit.  He finally caught something.

"I love him... but I don't know what to do..." a tear dripped down Lukas's cheek.

"I don't understand," he whispered, burying his face in his hands.  "I don't get how I can care about someone so much.  I barely know him, but somehow how he makes my heart beat more.  And the fact that he feels the same way... it's just too much..."

Emil put his arm around Lukas.

"Heh, yeah.  Life's funny like that.  You should consider yourself lucky, but I know it's hard for you.  You should tell Mathias the truth and, if the guy's really worth his salt, he'll understand and reassure you."

Emil rubbed Lukas's back before patting him on the shoulder.

"You should take a shower and get some rest.  You've been through a lot.  Then, tomorrow, you can go talk to Mathias."

Lukas shook his head.

"No."

"Are you sure?  A bath might be good for you considering how sweaty you probably got today."

Lukas sprinted to the door, pulled on his coat pulling his coat on over him and throwing on his shoes.

"I'm going to see Mathais right now!  I don't want to wait anymore!" he yelled, slamming the door behind him.

A moment passed before the door cracked open.

"Thanks... for everything... I love you," he whispered from the door.

Emil smiled.

"I love you, too.  Just don't blame me if we get a noise complaint."

The door closed, and Emil collapsed onto the bed.

- - -

Emil did his best to run down the sidewalk.  His lungs were burning and he could barely get his legs to move as they got heavier and heavier.  All the buildings looked the same.  He just kept running until he finally saw something.  A hotel with the same name as the one Emil had gone to that first night.  He made himself run faster.  He had no clue where Mathias was in there, or if he was in there at all, but he was going to try.

He threw open the door and met those bright blue eyes that gave him butterflies.

"Mathias!"

His face looked almost as if it were grimacing.  His face quickly softened.

"Lukas!  What are you doing here?" he said, holding the door open and letting him step inside.

"I have to tell you something!  Right now!" Lukas said, grabbing Mathias by the arms.

"Woah!  Actually, I have something to tell you to-"

"Please!  Just let me say this!"

Mathias nodded.

He forced himself to meet Mathias's eyes.

"I don't understand exactly why it happened, or what will happen next.  But, I know one thing is for sure."

His heart was pounding out of his chest so that he could hardly hear himself speak.  He pulled Mathias close to him pressed his lips onto his own.  At that moment, he felt as if he might float away if he let go of Mathias.

"I love you," Lukas whispered.

Mathias's face flushed red before he pulled Lukas in for another kiss.

"I love you, too.  Now, it's my turn to tell you something."

"What's that?"

Mathias beamed.

"I'm broke!"

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Next Chapter: 8-Endgame

a/n:

I’M BACK!! After being stuck in summer school for over a month and taking a well deserved vacation, I’m feeling refreshed and ready to get back to writing!  After this comes out I’m going to be finishing up the next chapter of Intro to Love and either my Romano x Mexico OC fic or the into chapter to The Room in my Heart.  We’ll see how it goes but it would be super helpful to drop an ask or message me and let me know what you guys want!

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

Hello hello and happy ffwf! What's something you thought was really interesting that you had to research for a fic?

WELL. for butterfly kisses, my "sambucky date to the audubon insectarium" fic, i had to research many bug facts as well as information about the insectarium itself. obviously i did pull from my memory regarding the latter, but i also used this extensive walkthrough of the insectarium on a website called zoochat that i think helped make the fic more immersive than i initially ever thought it could be! i also learned that around mardi gras, they served cricket king cake at the insectarium, and i am very upset i never had a chance to eat any :(

but back to the (mostly) bug facts. have some samples:

- everglades crawfish can be electric blue

- leafcutter ants can carry up to 20x their body weight; they can also get parasitic flies in their head

- back when there were a ton of love bugs in louisiana (there's still a lot, but this was before their natural predators managed to catch up with the love bugs migrational patterns out of florida), they would collect all over cars, especially near highways where they liked to swarm. when dead love bugs get left on those cars in the heat for a day or longer, their bodily pH becomes acidic. what happens then?? well, it can eat through the paint on the vehicle! fascinating, am i right? (nowadays, they take that into account when they make car paint, lol)

- the largest reported american alligator was a 19ft 2in male killed on marsh island, la, in 1890

- black widow venom is apparently not usually fatal to healthy humans, especially in recent years (probably assuming treatment tho, lmao)

- dung beetles, aka scarabs, were associated with khepri, the god of the rising sun in ancient egypt

[bethagain]

I wasn’t actually planning on this, but somehow I’ve been sucked into @drawlight‘s Good Omens advent calendar fic challenge. I was watching all the mistletoe fics go by, and while the many first-kiss fics are fluffy and lovely, my genfic-loving self couldn’t resist putting a different spin on things. No kisses here, but things do get a little schmoopy by the end. Also on AO3.

----

The Dose Makes the Poison

Warlock was a month shy of two years old and walking with more confidence every day. Nanny Ashtoreth, walking beside him on the way to the garden, had to bend a bit to hold his hand. The brim of her black sun hat tilted down toward the tiny child toddling at her knee.

They were on their way to the orchard, because entertaining a two year old indoors all day is boring. Also because Crowley fancied an apple. He’d always been intrigued by the variety of the things, by all the different combinations of tart and sweet. For something that was supposed to be forbidden to humans, God sure did spend a lot of energy coming up with different versions. Something to tempt just about everyone.

Or maybe She’d simply lost track of them. Crowley had long suspected that the evolution thing had been set into motion and then left to run wild. After all, you had to have a sense of humor to invent the elephant. There was that whole “man plans and God laughs” thing, but privately Crowley wasn’t sure She was actually all that funny.

He also thought it was a bit ridiculous that this one house should have such a huge garden and several dozen apple trees, all for exactly three people. (Eleven people, if you counted the staff. Not that the Dowlings ever did.) Whose fault that was, he had no idea. Maybe it was just a human thing. Same way some people got to own a Ferrari and some people took the bus.

The apple trees were old, gnarled, and heavy with red fruit. Here and there, a bunch of bright green mistletoe interrupted the shape of a branch, whitish berries standing out against shiny leaves.

Brother Francis, the gardener, was halfway up the nearest tree, feet planted on the middle rung of a ladder and a pair of pruning shears in his hands. 

The angel’s smile was so bright, Crowley wondered what he could possibly be looking at.

“Well, that’s adorable.” Aziraphale waved to Warlock, who stared up at him, mouth open and a bit of drool on his chin. “Holding Nanny’s hand, are you?”

Crowley’s lip curled into a growl. “Don’t have a choice,” he groused back. “He’ll wander off otherwise. Faceplant into a rosebush. Fall down the well.”

“Babies do take some watching,” Aziraphale agreed.

The baby, otherwise known (or so they thought) as the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness, pulled free of Crowley’s hand, lost his balance, and sat down in the grass with a soft thump. He patted the ground with his little palms, found a stray apple leaf, and put it in his mouth.

“Were you wanting a break?” Aziraphale offered. “I can watch him for a while.”

“You just want to teach him good things.”

“Of course I do.”

“Go on then.” Crowley patted Warlock on the head, and the toddler looked up at him with a gummy smile. “I’m getting an apple,” he said to Aziraphale. “You want one?”

Aziraphale crouched down beside Warlock, looking at him earnestly. “Shall we have an apple?” 

Warlock burbled at him. 

“Yes?” He called after Crowley, “Yes, we’ll have two.”

“Kid barely even has teeth yet,” Crowley grumbled, but he took a few moments to wander among the trees, looking for the brightest, best-looking apples. They all looked good, in fact, plump and shiny among healthy green leaves, in spite of the equally lush mistletoe living its parasitic life on the branches.

He wandered back a few minutes later, three perfect apples in his hands. He gave one to Aziraphale, set one in the grass in front of Warlock, and took a bite of the third. It had a nice crunch. Not too sweet, these ones. An appealing sourness in the background.

He used the hand holding the apple to point toward the trees. “You should trim that away,” he told Aziraphale. “The mistletoe. It’s a parasite. Sucks the life right out of them.”

Aziraphale swallowed his own bite of apple. “I suppose I should, but it’s so pretty. And it doesn’t seem to be harming anything.”

Crowley knew that guilty tone. “We’re not supposed to be calling attention to ourselves, Angel.”

Aziraphale shifted his posture. Looked away. Took another bite of apple.

“Angel.”

“Oh all right. Fine. No more miracles. I’ll trim it tomorrow.”

Crowley stretched out on the grass, long legs crossed at the ankles below the demure knee-length skirt. Aziraphale leaned back on his elbows. Between them, Warlock gummed at his apple, tiny front teeth making little furrows through its bright red peel.

“Humans have a thing with mistletoe, don’t they?” Aziraphale said, after a while.

“They do,” Crowley said. 

“A sort of romantic thing, isn’t it?”

“Something like that.” Crowley, in fact, knew all about it, because he was the one who had invented it. 

-----

300 years earlier

In a windowless room in one of the middle levels of Hell, a dozen demons sat around a conference table. Its scratched surface was littered with coffee mugs. The mugs were chipped and the coffee was cold. Crowley had made the mistake of adding creamer to his. Clumps of beige powder now floated on top, refusing to dissolve. 

Up above their heads, through layers of stone, earth, and spiritual darkness, horse-drawn carriages rattled along the streets of eighteenth century London. It was late December, the time of year when days were short, weather was cold, and tempers were easily frayed. 

At least Crowley’s chair still had both its arms. That didn’t quite make up, though, for the fact that the adjustable height didn’t adjust anymore. Crowley’s head was six inches lower than it ought to be. To his left, Ligur was six inches taller than he ought to be. On Crowley’s right, a demon whose name he’d never bothered to learn was trying to balance on a seat that was no longer properly attached to its base. 

Beelzebub, Prince of Hell, lounged in the cushy executive chair at the table’s head. Their chair was at the exact right height. Their coffee cup steamed. 

Ligur’s demonic possessions of a dozen housewives had earned a round of applause. Merihem, who had tempted a cook to poison an entire banquet hall, had gotten a nod of approval. 

Crowley was the last to give his report. He sat straighter, trying to make up for the missing six inches. He’d done some good demonic activity this season, really he had. If a few of them were trades with Aziraphale, this crew didn’t need to know. Frame it right, and he’d get credit for tempting a father to go out for tobacco one night and never return. Never mind that the man was an abusive bastard.

He got full points, too, for leading a man into bigamy, against the marriage vows he’d made before God and man in London’s finest cathedral. If all three of them are now living together on a farm in northern Scotland, it’s nobody’s business but theirs. That one wasn’t even part of the Arrangement, it was just Crowley thumbing his nose at Her stupid rules--and breathing a sigh of relief when he got away with it.

He did have one thing he thought they’d genuinely get a kick out of. He thought it was particularly demonic. Right up their alley. “I invented a new Christmas thing.”

Beelzebub took a sip of coffee and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Go on, demon Crowley.”

Crowley reached into a jacket pocket and drew out a sprig of mistletoe. He had to stifle a giggle.  He was really, legitimately proud of this one. “They think it’s a symbol of love!”

He looked around the table, waiting for the response. 

Everyone stared back at him.

“They hang it above their doorways. If two humans stand under it, they have to kiss.”

Beelzebub tilted their head, set down their coffee. “Sszzzoo?”

“So, they think it’s romantic,” Crowley said, a little desperately.

Blank looks.

“It’s poisonous!” He shook the sprig of mistletoe at them. A few berries came loose and bounced their way across the table. “The berries make you sick to your stomach. If you make a tea out of the leaves, you’ll be nauseated. It makes your vision go blurry. Butterflies in your stomach, weak in the knees… Get it?”

They didn’t get it.

He couldn’t help grinning, even then. They’d get it when he told them. “It’s all the symptoms of unrequited love!”

Ligur leaned across Crowley to the demon on his other side, hissed, “I don’t get it.”

“And how,” said Beelzebub, “does that get us new soulszz?”

Crowley set the sprig of mistletoe down on the table. He smoothed the leaves, brushed a finger across the remaining berries. It didn’t. That wasn’t the point. The point was, it was funny. 

Wasn’t it?

-----

“That was very clever, my dear” Aziraphale said, when Crowley finished the story. 

“It’s all right,” Crowley said, “It’s not your thing. You’re all about the requited love, not the other kind.”

“It’s not as though I haven’t seen it. They do get so upset. It’s just like your poison, isn’t it. Not enough to kill them, but it does make them feel like they’re going to--” He trailed off. “Where’s the baby?”

Crowley sat up, looking around wildly. “You said you were watching him!”

“He can’t have gone far.” Aziraphale got to his feet, eyes scanning the grass around them. “Oh,” he said, relieved. “There he is. He’s just playing with the mistletoe.”

Warlock was there beside the nearest apple tree, about twenty meters away, wobbling a bit on his short little legs as he peered at a branch weighed down to the ground with ripe apples. A bright green bunch of mistletoe rested at the level of his head. He reached into it, tiny fingers grabbing a greenish-white berry that immediately went into his mouth. 

Demons can move very quickly when they need to. Crowley crossed the distance at a run, grabbing Warlock and plucking the berry from his mouth. Warlock immediately began to wail. 

Aziraphale snatched the crying toddler from his arms. He whispered something against his hair, and Warlock quieted. “You didn’t have to scare him like that.”

“He was eating the mistletoe!”

“You said it would just make him sick to his stomach.”

“That’s adults,” Crowley groaned, sinking to the ground as though his knees were giving out. “And only if you just eat a little. Higher doses will kill you.” He gestured weakly at Warlock, now sitting calmly in Aziraphale’s arms. “It doesn’t take much to make a big dose for a baby.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale looked horrified. “Why would you-- And they’re using it for Christmas decorations?”

“They were doing it anyway,” Crowley sighed. “I only added the romance part. And I didn’t make it poisonous in the first place,” he added. He pointed upward. “That wasn’t me, that was Her.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said. “Death by poisoning. I suppose that would have been one way to put an end to our problem.”

Crowley reached out and Aziraphale handed Warlock back over. The little boy snuggled up to his Nanny, who bounced him gently against her chest. “I suppose it would have been.” Nanny leaned her head down to look Warlock in the eyes. “You ready to go back to the house now?” 

Warlock giggled back at her. 

Nanny set him on his feet and reached down for a tiny hand. “See you later, Brother Francis.” The two of them walked back across the garden, toward the big house. Nanny had to bend down a bit to hold on to Warlock’s hand, the brim of her black sun hat tilted down toward the little boy toddling by her knee. 

Brother Francis watched them go. Then he crossed the grass back to the orchard, picked up the shears, and began pruning away the mistletoe. 

[gilliansanderson]

Kindred

Mildly nsfw. Mulder runs into an old X File while on the run.

A while ago i joked about writing a mulder/cryptid fic and i uh. did it. But it isn’t Nessie and it isnt Flukeman. It’s a little bit MSR angst. It’s very Mulder/other. Tbh i don’t know what it is.

P.S: This is my first attempt at the smuts so please be forgiving

She hadn’t believed in any God, until she had become one. She hadn’t believed in destiny either, until it had turned her into a party trick.

He told her the one thing he didn’t believe in was fate after she had found him in the city that never sleeps, sleeping in a rental car, blocking her driveway.

She believes that Kismet is nothing but some sick god’s sick joke, playing with the hearts of fools. She believed the twisted string of fate had stitched their paths together. She did not believe that it meant for anything good.

The least she could do was offer him her couch, she reasoned, since he was the only reason she had one, to begin with.

Jenn had never had a roommate before, it was not an unwelcome change. After four months they had discovered were equally terrible at living. They both forgot to clean the dishes and forgot to pay the gas bill and forgot to get mad at the other about it.

It happened one night in cold December, her boiler had kicked the bucket. They huddled in front of a space heater, nursing their flat beers.

The one thing she likes most about Mulder was that “We don’t talk about me,” was his one and only rule. Genies rarely get therapy, so she was ok with that. But she had drained the last of her Guineas and had a question she was itching to have answered.

“So, how’s the baby?” she said out of the blue, making him choke on his malt liquor.

“how did you…” he began, before realisation caught up with him and hit him square between the eyes. It was almost the same look people had always gotten when she would twist their careless words against them; she revelled in the nostalgia of it. “It was you,”

“Nah, it was all you, buddy,” she replied with a wry wink “I just helped you out a little,”

“But I didn’t… I used my last wish to set you free,”

“And you did. And I was grateful. You should also be grateful that you didn’t wish for me to stop being an all-powerful being,”

Jenn snorted at the look of sheer dumb awe on his face, at the cautious twinge of terror. “Don’t worry, I’m just your average gal with unlimited magical energy, who chooses to use it for the people I feel deserve it.”

Also maybe to win a scratch card or two. 500 years wrapped in a carpet doesn’t qualify you for much, and a mortal’s gotta eat.

“So? Our little wish?” she prompted, nudging his shoulder heavily with her own.

He pulled the picture from his wallet. The wish was cute, chubby cheeks and a bright tuft of hair, looking content in the arms of his mother, gazing him with pure adoration. Jenn felt a rush of pride at what was probably her finest work.

“He’s… perfect, Jenn, he looks just like his mother.” The corner of his mouth twitches in the ghost of a smile.

She doesn’t know what possessed her to place her hand on his, but he turned his palm to meet hers and gently squeezed.

An idea invaded her head as he gazed forlornly at the photograph, the mother and the son, and the empty space where he should have been. A wish, a twisted, terrible, fucked up wish. Utterly and completely sick and wrong. Jenn wasn’t entirely sure if it was his or hers.

She didn’t realise she was granting it until the freckles started to bloom on her skin.

Mulder, with the keenest of senses, noticed the most subtle change in the hand he was holding, and his head snapped up, startled.

“Jenn,” he gaped, his fingers continued to grip hers like a vice.

“I have a talent, Mulder, for predicting one’s deepest desire,” she murmured in a voice not hers, “You pick it up after the first few hundred years,”

He drank her in for a long while, eyes roaming over her, intense and unreadable, she had to stop herself from squirming.

“So,” breathed Jenn, “how did I do?”

The Polaroid is face down on the coffee table. Mulder’s free hand began to move, achingly slow, as if by its own accord, and pushed up the light blue fabric of her shirt. His fingers feather-light against her stomach, butterflies burst from their cocoons and began to flutter at his touch.

“She was shot, once. The bullet went straight through there,” he finally whispered, “It nearly killed her. It nearly killed me too,”

The scar formed on her skin and she watched his expression darken. nobody had ever looked at Jennie with so much longing, and she began to ache. Her shirt disappeared along with her inhibitions and there was suddenly very little space between them, as an arm snaked around her, he drew slow circles with his knuckles on the small of her back.

“She has a tattoo right there, I really fucking hate it,”

Fucked up. They were so fucked up.

She felt a phantom needle breaking her skin, and her breathing becomes shallow. The tension in the air was suffocating as he cupped the base of her neck.

“This scar is new, it happened while I was gone,” he travels down her spine, leaving a thin line of broken tissue behind, “Something about a parasitic slug,”

She let him discard her now ill-fitting bra the old-fashioned way. Mulder examined the subtle curve of her body with an agonising tenderness. “She has a birthmark here,” he said, as a thumb traced the underside of her breast.

“And a mole right here,”

Jenn stifled a moan as he pressed his lips softly against her collarbone.

“Here,” he whispered again, lips on her shoulder now, his breath tickling her neck.

“And here,”

She’d already counted for the mark on her lip, but that didn’t stop his mouth from brushing over hers. She kissed him hungrily, urgently, a frenzy of teeth and tongues.

The two of them so touch starved, they were ravenous. Pinning him to the unmade couch, her thighs locked tightly around his waist, grinding her aching wet heat against him as he hardened beneath his jeans. His hands were everywhere, on her breasts and in her hair and all the places he’d fixed. He found his way into her pants and they groaned into each other’s mouths.

His kiss became salty and she immediately broke it, halting the movement of her hips as she caught him wiping the tears of anguish streaming down his face.

Sick. They were sick.

“Mulder,” Jenn panted, catching her swollen lip between her teeth, “We don’t have to do this,”

“We shouldn’t,” he agreed, for a moment she was terrified that they wouldn’t, before he flipped her on her back.

He came inside her with Scully’s name on his lips. Maybe that should have bothered her less. Maybe it should have bothered her more. But the buzz of the post-orgasm high gave way to exhaustion.

When Jenn woke after what felt like a thousand years, her hair was dark again and Mulder’s clothes were gone.

She wished that she would see him again, if only to return the picture he forgot.

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

“It looks like you’re in trouble there. Can I help?”

Tom has had the unfortunate displeasure of ending up in a few uncomfortable situations throughout his life. Needless to say, he’d rather these situations stay between him, himself, and he.

However, that is not always the case.

He can remember his first year and how he sank into the small marsh area in the corner of the common room with startling clarity. It did not matter that it was nearly a rite of passage to fall prey to the trick carpet hiding the deceptively deep water. His embarrassment burnt like a cauldron fire. And the giggling of his schoolmates still grates in the dark when his eyes have shut, and he tries to drift off to sleep.

Tom can even remember that time Amy Benson was dared to kiss him. How he’d flinched so badly, his head reared up and back with force strong enough to make her nose bleed. How she cried and cried and cried, dripped blood everywhere, and rubbed her arm harshly across her lips. Tom can hear her shouts, “So gross! Whatta monster!” as loud as the morning rain when it pelts against his room’s window panes at the orphanage.

More recently, Tom remembers the harsh face of rejection. So much like his own… but he feels the sting of that soothing with time, and with each turn of the family ring he wears with vicious pride.

And today, when Tom decided to patrol the castle’s upper levels once curfew set, he hoped his small and insignificant blunder would stay just that: his.

And yet.

“Seriously, are you alright down there?”

Tom looks up, a frown tugging at his lips and a glare sharp enough to cut. “Clearly,” he starts, sarcasm scathing, “I’ve never been better, Potter.”

And Harry Potter merely stands there, hands on his knees, smiles his stupid crooked smile and cocks a brow. “Oh? So I can go then?”

Tom hates him. Tom hates him enough to curse him. Maybe even curse him dead. “Yes. I don’t need your help,” and knowing you, you’ll just make everything worse, Tom doesn’t say.

But he’s almost confident that’ll be the case. Potter has an odd habit of ending up in odder places and dealing with the oddest circumstances. Though, even Tom can recognise that he has a natural talent for wiggling his way out of them. Abraxas has a running gag, keeping a ‘comprehensive list’ of situations the new transfer student has wound up in and a matching list of dramatic and ridiculous things he thinks Potter will do next.

Surprisingly, Potter has managed to cross three things off that list.

Most of Slytherin agrees it’s his Gryffindor nature, and the red tie certainly contributes to that argument. But there have been moments. Quiet and scarcely there, barely under the surface, something that flickers when Tom catches Potter at just the right instant, just the right angle… that has Tom wondering.

Even now, when Tom blinks, he swears the stripes on Potter’s undone tie, thrown carelessly over one shoulder and dangling down as he looks over Tom, is a green that rivals his eyes.

“Come on, Riddle. You can’t mean that.” Potter huffs, exasperated, “I mean, look at you.”

Ah, yes. Tom can admit that falling off the astronomy tower and dropping his wand in his panic to grab the ledge was not something he’d anticipated.

That didn’t mean Potter had to rub it in.

“I don’t see a problem,” Tom grits out. Just go away, his eyes scream. As though Potter is smart enough to know legilimancy, laughable. Please. He’s hardly aware enough to pick up common social cues.

Potter lowers further, squatting on his haunches. His hand reaches out and traces the tower’s edge like he can’t help himself, like flirting with danger. “So this was part of your plans this evening? You decided to run your rounds and thought, Goodness! Do you know what would be lovely? A nice little hop off the astronomy tower!”

“Was that irritating voice meant to be an impression of me?”

“Not to you’re liking? That’s a shame; I’ve been practising since I was twelve.”

Tom rolls his eyes so hard he sees spots. “You didn’t know me when you were twelve.”

Potter just keeps smiling.

Tom snaps, “What exactly is it that you want?”

“I already told you. It looks like you’re in trouble, I happen to be an expert on trouble, and I’m offering you help,” Potter says and crawls forward until he can comfortably stretch his arm down to Tom.

And Potter, with his stupid quidditch body and toned arms, could probably lift Tom up easily. It just infuriates him more. “I would rather fall.”

“And die?” Potter asks. There’s something off about his smile when he says it. Something that sends a chill down Tom’s spine.

It’s said with a little too much knowing for Tom’s taste.

His disquiet lingers long enough for Potter to speak up again, “What were you doing up here anyway?”

Given the placement and fullness of the moon and the fact they are nearing the dawn of Capricorn’s sky, Tom thinks it rather obvious what he is attempting to do at the top of the astronomy tower. Admittedly, rituals of this nature may be a league above anything Potter is aware or tolerant of, so maybe obvious is too generous an assumption.

Regardless, it’s not something Tom is going to brag about. “Prefect rounds.”

Potter actually laughs in Tom’s face, “Yeah, right. And I’m just here to gaze at the pretty little stars!”

Tom’s eyes narrow, “And what is it that you are doing here, Potter?”

Potter grins a wide closed mouth thing. “Stalking you, of course, Riddle.” Tom frowns, unamused, as Potter carries on, “It’s one of my favourite pastimes, foiling your small schemes.”

And for a moment, Tom almost rolls his eyes again, annoyed and fed up with Potter’s antics and this ridiculous position he’s found himself in. But there’s something about the tone of Potter’s voice, the way he says it so carelessly, harmlessly, that has the hair on Tom’s neck standing straight up. Like a warning, like danger.

With an outside awareness, Tom carefully reviews memory after memory of his recent string of (he hesitates to use the word, but) failures. How one too many times this past week something has gotten in the way of his budding connections with purebloods, or his ability to meet with his knights, or his evening strolls through Ravenclaw territory to sweet talk the Grey Lady into revealing the hiding place of Ravenclaw’s lost Diadem.

It startles Tom to realise that these strange and unaccounted-for mishaps all have one thing in common: Harry Potter.

Potter, who has recently taken it upon himself to spur on cross-house relations. Encouraging people of all ilk to get along even if it means dragging them into conversations (or casual quidditch matches) kicking and screaming. Thus causing Tom’s carefully planned run-ins with certain influential and affluential children of ministry officials and the scared twenty-eight alike to miraculously not be on their habitual routes that Tom has spent years learning.

Potter, who was responsible for the prank flooding in the room Tom’s knights used to meet. His insistent apologies profused left and right— not for the flooding itself, but because he flooded the wrong room. Tom gave it a pass at the time because they were so close to the Gobstones Club, but what if it was intentional all along?

Potter, who was often seen prowling around the fifth and fourth floors due to his frequent visits to the hospital tower. He had struck an unlikely friendship with the normally timid Grey Lady, and Tom had found them in soft blue evening light, Potter’s form stark through the Grey Lady’s transparent hovering, talking quietly a few handfuls of times. And how has Tom not realised all of this sooner?

It’s not like Potter is trying to be subtle, after all.

Suddenly, Tom feels very wary. “Potter…you wouldn’t have anything to do with my current predicament, would you?”

“I would never come up here an hour before you and cast aguamenti on the stone to let the naturally brisk December evening work its wonders and produce a nearly invisible sheet of ice for you to slip on, Riddle. And I’m offended you’d ask,” Potter deadpans.

Tom feels his eye twitch. “I’m going to kill you.”

“You really need a new hobby, Riddle.” Now Potter is the one rolling his eyes. “Just take my hand, and I’ll help you up.”

Tom scoffs, “You orchestrated my near catastrophic fall, and you expect me to just trust you’ll not drop me?”

Potter raises a brow, looks left, looks right, and back to Tom. “I’m sorry. Did you have any other way out of this? Because from the looks of things, you’re pretty fucked. And I don’t believe I have to remind you that it’s Christmas Hols, so no one is likely to check on the tower till after the break. Which means you could be here for days.”

Tom, for a moment, can’t find the words. He just stares in open mouth horror at Potter. “You… how did you sort Gryffindor?”

“I asked,” Potter smiles like that absolutely ridiculous answer is something very clever. For all Tom knows, it probably is.

Insanely, all Tom can think about is how Abraxas would be able to cross attempted murder off his comprehensive list.

Tom knows he doesn’t have the time nor energy to mull over Potter’s offer of help any longer but does so anyway just to watch Potter shake his head in growing disbelief. Then he sighs and says, “Fine,” with much reluctance.

Potter reaches down, stretching as far as possible, and Tom makes the risky decision to drop hold of the ledge with one of his hands. He wills himself to ignore the painful burn of the reach and the paranoid feeling of numbness from the cold on his remaining grip and meets Potter halfway. Their hands touch, and Tom feels an instant relief.

The relief is short-lived.

“Swear to me,” Potter starts, not pulling Tom up, “Riddle, swear to me right now that you’ll never make another Horcrux again.”

Tom rears back in shock, the jerked motion tugging harshly on Potter’s hold. He sees Potter’s brow furrow at the pain, no doubt, and feels vicious satisfaction through the raging scream echoing loudly in Tom’s very being.

“What?” Tom hisses, and it dawns on him quickly that this had been Potter’s goal all along. Potter wasn’t some annoying idiot attempting to be a thorn in Tom’s side; he was a Slytherin in Gryffindor’s skin, plotting and crafting and scheming his way to tonight, to this moment. To Tom’s ruining.

“I know I’m too late for the others,” Potter grimaces, and his displeasure is an ugly taut thing that Tom wants to see and cause a hundred times over. “But I can stop any more you’ve planned. I can at least do this much.”

Tom feels a bubble of laughter building and is helpless when it bursts hysterically and loudly in the quiet winter night. “Potter, if you know oh so much about my supposed Horcruxes, then you know what they do. You know what they’re for.” Tom deliberately loosens his hold and feels a rush of heady elation at the panic in Potter’s eyes, at the sudden tighter grip he holds Tom with.

“You know that if I fall, I’ll just come back.”

Potter nearly snarls, his lips pulling back to show straight white teeth. Tom’s sure their bite is as crushing as his bark. “Yeah, sure, Riddle. And you’ll just be a wraith or whatever until you somehow get a new body.” Tom tuts, disappointed and wildly pleased that Potter had clearly done his research. “Call me crazy, but I doubt your current little followers have enough wits about them to build you a whole new body from scratch. And I doubt you’ve had the time to actually prepare such a failsafe yourself while stuck at Hogwarts most of the year and at your Orphanage for the rest.”

It’s the most Potter has ever said to him, Tom thinks, and it’s dizzying. But he isn’t done, “I’d say that’s plenty of time, wouldn’t you, to find your other Horcruxes and make sure you can never come back.”

Potter says this like a promise. Like it would be far too easy. Tom’s terrified. But, madly, a blistering heat crawls up his neck and to his cheeks, pushing through all of his coursing fear—or worse yet, instigated by it—and his stomach lurches like a swarm have taken home there; he knows it’s not from his anger.

With a dry mouth and eyes only for the wild, determined thing clutching his hand for dear life, Tom nods. “I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, vow to you, Harry Potter, to never make another Horcrux again.”

And when Potter promptly lifts Tom up and back into the tower, safely and gently, and shortly abandons him to its stark winter quiet, he makes another vow. Just to himself.

You will be mine, Harry Potter.

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

Hi! sending you: 3, 5, 11 for the writers ao3 wrapped?

Also I love your work and am excited whenever I see you on my dash!!

hello!! 🥹 thanks a lot for sending in this ask and saying all that - i'm glad to be part of such a kind community. it's really been a pleasure and a privilege! can't wait for whatever next year brings 🥳 and i'm sure i'm equally excited to see you, mystery person 😤😌

3) what work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)? -

i would say i'm most proud of flames and bricks of hearth 🥹 i've never done a series of writings before, and it's been an exciting challenge to explore disconnected but connected stories that could be read as stand-alone but are much better together 😌

5) what work of yours got more feedback than you expected?-

naturally, all of them 😂😂😂 i'm always so surprised! but more seriously, i'd say like a parasite (kill my butterflies) 😭 i really thought it was just a silly little thing, but people seemed to genuinely enjoy it! that made me smile 😊

11) what work took you the longest to write?-

hands down, soul beneficiary 💀💀 that was actual agony - true despair 😂😂😂 i've never done an event before, so i was already stressed about that on top of my deciding to rewrite it four times 💀💀💀💀 my artist was so patient with me 😭😭 and i care a lot about that story so i was extremely hard on my self during the whole process - even now i think it probably would have done better without the constraint of the event 😔 i'm almost scared to touch it and continue it because of how different i wish it was 😂😂😂

anyway 🥹 thanks again! and if someone would like to send me a number, feel free to ask 😌

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

10 &11?

thank you for asking! you made me go into the dreaded statistics page though 💀💀💀 betrayal

10) most popular fic by hits you posted this year - by hits, it is what's lost (what's gained)! i posted this on 13th February this year 😊 happy almost valentine's day to me (and you specifically)

11) most popular fic by kudos you posted this year - unsurprisingly, it was like a parasite (kill my butterflies) 💀 i and others all appreciate a distressed and horny for harry tom riddle 😌🫡🤡

if you'd like to ask me a number feel free to submit an ask!

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

20 Questions (for fanfic writers)

i've been threatened via water gun if noncompliance is reached in regards to this post from @floatingdandelionseeds... so here we go!

how many works do you have on ao3? at least one... maybe eleven

what's your total ao3 word count? i have never once gone on the stats page, so this may put me into fight or flight... 45108

what fandoms do you write for? Harry Potter

top five fics by kudos: these questions were designed to hurt me. - like a parasite (kill my butterflies), - candle-lit garnet, - what's lost (what's gained), - Life Inside the Ministry of Magic, - flames and bricks of hearth

do you respond to comments? i try - i swear i try 😭 sometimes i get shy or never want to look at a fic again 😂 but i mostly try to!

what is the fic your wrote with the angstiest ending? ohh i don't write a lot of angst - but maybe it would be like a parasite (kill my butterflies) 🤔

what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? this was a hard choice... if it's not my most recent, then it'll be flames and bricks of hearth

do you get hate on fics? i don't, really - i'm very grateful 🥹 the only time it's happened was via a bot

do you write smut? 😳 i also don't write smut... publically

craziest crossover? i've never done a crossover! could be fun 🤔

have you ever had a fic stolen? i also don't know... i hope not 😭

have you ever had a fic translated? no - i doubt anyone would feel compelled to - and i don't think i'd do a proper job 😂 too many half languages in my head

have you ever co-written a fic before? no - well... technically, no? the @exquisite-tomarrymort-telephone is my co-writer on the most recent fic, but that's more of a front 😂

all-time favorite ship? tomarrymort for me too! (but i also like some of the other ones dande listed 😂 we have similar tastes)

what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? oh wow great question - this one? but i want to 😭

what are your writing strengths? my what?

what are your writing weaknesses? i can't write to save my life 😂 i don't know how to end things or keep them going - i don't know how to plot things out - i'm a danger to the community - i get ideas that seem simple at first glance but are too complex so i get scared out of writing them

thoughts on dialogue in another language? dande brought up some good questions - i couldn't risk writing everything in another language without surely insulting an entire group of people - but if it's dialogue and there is a water gun to my head, then i guess i could probably do it? sorry to everyone who speaks.

favorite fic you've written? oh god - if it's not my most recent (recency bias 😂), then it would have to be Life Inside the Ministry of Magic - that fic doesn't take a lot out of me, even though i've got a really convoluted secret plot going on within it, which makes it wonderfully brainless fun 😂

is anyone else weirded out that there are only 19 questions?

i'm now supposed to tag some people but i'm scared - if you see this and i know you please assume i wanted to tag you

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

10 First Lines

rules: list the first line of your last 10 fics and see if there's a pattern

i'm going to do first line rather than sentence? if that's okay? though for most fics, they are one and the same 😂

conclusion: actually it looks like i start most of my fics with one sentence 🤣

thank you so much for the tag @i-dream-of-libraries 🥹🥹🥹

“I’ll admit,” Percy Weasley starts. He’s hardly paying attention to anything outside the documents he’s perusing, throwing occasional glances at the small, constantly updating graph shimmering in the air beside him. “When Granger came to me with this idea, I thought she had finally gone mad.” [Life Inside the Ministry of Magic]

“It looks like you’re in trouble there. Can I help?” [like a parasite (kill my butterflies)]

By the time it’s through, Harry is a panting victorious mess. [what’s lost (what’s gained)]

Harry’s life was full of low days. [candle-lit garnet]

Something different. [bitter pollen and fresh dirt]

Sometimes Harry was prone to tossing and turning. [flames and bricks of hearth]

It became an odd habit. [unnamed fic]

Umbridge really was just a rotten bitch. [Interview with a Dark Lord] (not posted - but spoken about here)

It’s an uncomfortable moment of disassociation, an out-of-body experience when Harry first gets the news. [unnamed fic] (not posted - but spoken about here)

Dust and debris spread like a fine mist through the air. [unnamed fic]

tagging: i think i'll tag almost everyone in the exquisite corpse event (i know some of you already got tagged, sorry 😂) - @chaos-bear @silverandbluephoenix @valkyrie-chemist @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger @boromirsayshi @awyeahitssam @azi267 @sir-elian @blackseatwenty @cealesti @merriweather-boat @curioushabitforarivergod @zadezy @aitafrog