#wary of getting notes on posts like this so again not tagging

[ardentpoop]

idk if I have an audience for this type of post here but if you’re reading this and you’re interested, a few tips for crafting fundraising posts with a higher likelihood of success, from someone with professional experience in digital marketing.

use a headline and make it emotional. for obvious reasons people default to “negative” emotional phrases but try leading with positive language as well as that can make the post stand out and can make less engaged people more likely to share. when you’re looking to reach the broadest audience possible I recommend being especially cautious with phrases and images that evoke guilt or alarm (all caps should be reserved for your most important lines only.)

something that is frequently discussed in marketing is the gradual “decay” of once-successful language & strategies. unfortunately the more frequently a particular phrase/format/image type is used the less effective it becomes at generating engagement over time. with this in mind it’s important to change up the formatting of these posts as much as reasonably possible. it’s one explanation for why as other people have pointed out posts that feature art or multicolored text etc have appeared to work better than others.

shorter is better. less engaged people are more likely to scroll past text-heavy posts than concise posts. if you’re tagging a bunch of blogs for reach put that under a readmore so it doesn’t overwhelm readers and distract from the call-to-action.

speaking of call-to-actions: the “CTA” is the most important piece of any post besides the headline. you’ll want to make your CTA stand out from the rest of the post as much as possible, whether that’s putting it in all caps and changing the font color, trying it at the top vs the bottom of the post, hyperlinking it, etc. I recommend looking up effective fundraising CTA phrases because there are people who get paid to analyze this constantly.

edit: of course these are suggestions rather than hard rules and are worth a try if you are boosting a fundraiser on behalf of someone else and are seeing engagement start to drop.

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

HOLD ON WAIT UP HOLD THE PHONE

I KNOW I WAS GONE FOR A FEW MONTHS THERE BUT HAS BLUE LIKE DON'T FORGET ABOUT ME ALWAYS BEEN A PART OF A SERIES OR IS THAT A NEW DEVELOPMENT???

I FEEL LIKE ITS CHRISTMAS ALL OVER AGAIN FUCK Y E A H

Okay so

I...

have been cooking

by which I mean illusions of grandeur and

schemes

And I have not been forthcoming lol Everyone kind of disappeared all at the same time so I kind of stopped talking about what I'm doing but I have been biding my time, quietly putting mechanisms into motion and plotting and occasionally cackling over my cauldron.

I finished the first draft of Blue like don't forget about me and didn't like it so I cut out all the sci-fi fantasy stuff (bye bye aliens farewell superpowers) and in November wrote a new first draft that's all contemporary romance babeee and I'm so in love with it I'm turning it into a little 3-part (possibly 4 if I can't control myself) series.

The original childhood years have been split off into a prequel novella called Red like my bleeding heart in your hand. Then Blue like don't forget about me will take place 20 years later. Nash works at Cherished Hope Nursing Home

“And what is it you do? At the nursing home, I mean.” I wipe shit off of old people. And Teddy’s a hockey player. What’s Luke, an underwear model? He shouldn’t have come.

Teddy comes back to town for a funeral and

Teddy looks at him for the first time in twenty years and every ounce of warmth leaves his expression. Message received. He should not have come.

OKAY SO AND THEN the next book will be Jo's POV and is called Violet like these delights. and MAYBE there will be a 4th from Luke's POV bc he gets to live this time by the grace of god (me) but it'll depend on how Violet goes (its current state is mostly vibes and a single overarching theme so, stand by).

Red needs a clean-up round of edits to snip out the few little threads that connected it to OG blue. And rewritten blue is basically done. I've done the major revisions and am about to start line edits and after those are done I'm sending it out to beta readers (lmk if you're interested).

There are concise actual summaries in my pinned post btw lol

WHICH REMINDS ME

The series title is Wildflowers of Deliverance. Which I'm extremely proud of. Did you notice did you notice how each title incorporates a wildflower did you did you? and the town they grew up in where Nash and Teddy first met is called Deliverance!!! It's okay I know I'm a genius.

And this brings us to the meal okay? because like I said I've been Cooking™ quietly but steadily for a few months now. ANd what have I been cooking? PLOTS and PLANS

I've decided on a pen name: Sarah B. Elisa

I've created a(nother) side blog for it that will be exclusively centered on my og writing and geared more toward readers rather than writers like this blog is: @sarahbe-writing

I'm going to create a website (as soon as I convince myself to spend money)

and a newsletter (as soon as I convince myself to spend money and do work)

I'm still waffling between trad publishing and DIY. I really like all my hats and it would be a shame to have to share them but oh my god I don't want to do all the marketing but trad pub seems hit or miss on how well they market you so I might get half of my hats taken away and still have to do the marketing bullshit UGH

anyway

OH YEAH and the OG draft I wrote for Blue? I'm going to spin it back to its OG OG roots [parkner, naturally--Return of The childhood friends to estranged almost lovers to super-powered rivals to reluctant allies to friends to lovers finally wip!!! AKA: We Were Gods (we were kids)] and that will fix all the things that went wrong and I didn't like 😌 so it's basically like double Christmas I think

[thesandsofelsweyr]

THE SUS BOY NEXT DOOR

《 PART 3/3 // READ ON AO3 // TAG 》

After coming back from a terrible blind date your asshole neighbor is the last person you want to see right now. He doesn’t have his signature scowl for you tonight, however. Tonight he seems terrified.

《WORDS》 1,484 《CHAPTERS》 1 2 3

《PAIRING》 Arkhamverse Jason Todd x Female Reader

《TROPES》 Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Neighbors, Pre-Relationship

《WARNINGS》 Aftermath of Torture/Violence (canon typical), Panic Attacks, Scars, Blood and Injury, Swearing

《TAGLIST》 (in replies because tags aren't working in the post for some reason)

《NOTES》

This takes place immediately after Jason leaves his failed Batman confrontation and run-in with the Joker from Arkham Knight: Genesis Part 6.

Reader is a true crime addict who enjoys red wine 🍷

I just want y’all to know that this chapter was written for you—I prefer the story ending at Chapter 2 😉

If you enjoy the read please kudos, comment, and reblog ❤️

《 ALSO ON AO3 》 (comments & kudos there are very much appreciated!)

You catch the door before it clicks shut. You don’t want to leave him like this. You can’t leave him like this, so you inhale a deep breath and creep back inside, steeling yourself for rejection or another hateful outburst.

His weeping tapers off into sniffles and the occasional cough. You can feel his eyes following you as you pad over to his couch and grab the neatly folded throw blanket, casting a furtive glance towards his gun, which is still lying undisturbed where you left it, before returning to him. His eyes have fallen away from you—his head sagging between his slumped shoulders, chin touching his chest—and you hope he hasn’t gone away again to that terrible place in his mind. When you drape the blanket around his shoulders he flinches but gives no other protest, even pulling it more tightly around himself. He doesn’t order you to leave—doesn’t even acknowledge you’re there—so you kneel down in front of him, careful not to crowd him. He looks so defeated, so beaten down by the world; an abused child wrapped up in his security blanket for comfort after another unfair punishment. Your heart can’t help but break for him.  

You sit for a moment, listening to his soft sniffles and harsh breathing until you find the right words to say. Then you open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles to the floor again, his tearful eyes hidden behind a curtain of sweat-damp black hair.

For what? Passing out? Getting strangled? Knocking me to the floor then screaming at me? But you keep those questions to yourself, asking him instead: “Are you sure you don’t need to go to the ER?”

He slowly shakes his bowed head, as if it’s filled with lead, as if those awful memories of his are weighing it down.

“Then why don’t you lie down? Maybe get some rest?” you suggest. “I can bring you some Ambien…”

Your voice trails off because he shoots you a wary look. But then his face softens and he nods before muttering, “No drugs.”

“No drugs,” you echo softly, your brain jumping to conclusions again about this brooding man of few words. Perhaps he’s a recovering addict or something. You push yourself to your feet then reach out a hand to help him up. He stares at it then his eyes fall away again. He’s really not a fan of eye contact.

“I don’t even know your name,” he says.

“It’s Y/N,” you offer eagerly. “What about you?”

There’s a pause, and for a moment you think he’s going to ignore you, but then he answers, “Jason,” in a barely audible voice, as if he’s ashamed to utter the word aloud.

Heavy silence swells around you and you’re acutely aware of your outstretched arm hanging awkwardly in the air. He wipes his bleeding cheek against his shoulder, smearing more blood onto his hoodie. You pull back your proffered hand and use it to push a lock of hair behind your ear as you fumble for something to say to fill the uncomfortable silence that stretches on. And suddenly you're back at dinner with John Preston Anderson III trying to make conversation while he scrolls on his phone, pretending you don’t exist. You have to swallow down a bubble of anger that threatens to erupt.

“I’m… sorry for whatever happened to you, Jason. I… can stay with you, if you want.” Suddenly your face is afire and you’re mortified that you just invited yourself to sleep over at his place only seconds after learning his name. “On your couch, I mean,” you clarify, blushing furiously, but his eyes never leave the floor. Thankfully.

He coughs then shakes his head again. “I already ruined your night.”

A bitter laugh bursts out of you at that without your permission, and his head jerks up, startled, bloodshot eyes snapping to yours. You clap both hands over your mouth as if you can shove the rude sound back inside you. Guilt grips your heart as you see the pained expression on his pale face. It’s not anger or hurt or annoyance, but rather that same look of fear that you witnessed earlier when he was cowering in the corner, as if your laughter frightened him. 

You rush to explain, to put him at ease. “I’m sorry, it’s just that… if you only knew the night I’ve had. Anyway, I’m glad we finally got to meet. It’s nice to put a name to the-the face.” You stutter that last part, realizing after the fact that it’s probably not very nice to bring up his unmistakably-scarred face like that, or complain about your night to the guy who got strangled, so you blurt out before your mind can catch up with your mouth: “It isn’t every night that I get to help a handsome stranger in distress.”

Your face somehow turns an even darker shade of crimson. How many times can you put your foot in your mouth in one conversation? But to your surprise and relief you’re rewarded with a little laugh from Jason, a sound that seems awkward and unnatural, as if he doesn’t get to laugh very often. Some of the color returns to his cheeks as he blushes the prettiest shade of pink. When the corners of his mouth quirk up into a timid smile you realize that he has absolutely gorgeous lips, despite the swelling. Full and soft, finely laced with small silvery scars—little arrows pointing to where they need to be kissed. Jesus Christ. Again, you literally just learned the guy’s name and now you want to kiss him. No, that’s a lie. You’ve wanted to kiss him since his rude ass scowled at you the first time. What is it with you and Ted Bundy types?

“I’ll have to pass out more often,” he says shyly, fingers plucking at the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His blue-green eyes find the floor again, as if his script is written there. “Turns out it’s a great way to meet beautiful women.”

Beautiful… beautiful… The word echoes in your mind like a heartbeat. No one has ever called you beautiful. Your chest comes alive with sudden warmth as butterflies take flight. You want to stay there with him for the rest of the night. To kiss him on his busted lips. To wrap him up in your arms. To protect him from whatever hurt him. Instead, you grab one of the discarded ice packs and hand it to him, heart still fluttering wildly in your chest. “Google says you should get some ice on that. Your throat, I mean.” Goddamnit. He just said you’re beautiful, and you reply by handing him an ice pack. How the hell are you so bad at flirting?

“Who am I to question Dr. Google?” he replies sarcastically with a smug little smirk on those beautiful lips, but still does as he’s told, accepting the ice pack then holding it against his red-ringed throat.

You gaze down at him as you grope for the perfect words to say that will turn this scene into one worthy of a romcom. You consider inviting him back to your place to share that bottle of merlot you’ve been dreaming about all night. But then remind yourself that the poor guy is traumatized, definitely in no shape for a romantic nightcap. You can’t help but find yourself wishing, as if you can will it into existence, that he’ll look up at you, that your eyes will meet, sparks will fly, and he’ll flirt with you again. Maybe even invite you to stay the night with him. But his eyes remain glued to the floor, and your heart drops in disappointment as your ridiculous delusions are dashed by his silence.

“I should… probably go, for real this time. It’s late.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure I can’t do anything for you before I go?” you ask, coming back down to earth from the high of his compliment and seeing him again as the guy who’d gotten cut and strangled then passed out cold on his floor rather than an object of your lust.

He shakes his head, then he glances up at you, those stunning blue-green eyes of his finally finding yours, sending a fresh flutter to your chest. “You’ve done more than enough. It was… really nice having someone to talk to. To… distract me from… other things.”

His kind words give you a boost of confidence. “Well If you ever want to talk again, you know where I live. Or if you need a babysitter.”

You smile at the puzzled look that crosses his face and nod towards his houseplant.

He laughs that adorable little laugh again. “I may take you up on that offer sometime. Goodnight Y/N. And… thanks again. For everything.”

“Take care of yourself, Jason.”

[emry-stars-art]

I didnt mean to rediscover how much I like brainstorming and world building stuff but here we are - this time it’s (mostly) pirate Neil and shark Andrew flavored!

@tell-me-your-vision had some very good tags on the last post like this so of course I started thinking harder about it lol, you all know by now that the best way to get me to draw more is to leave ideas and questions in your tags 😘 it’s very interesting figuring out what parts I want to be drawn directly from the source animal and what I want to have artistic liberty with! Sometimes you just gotta say “it’s this way because I decided it is” and offer no more explanation, not even to yourself.

That being said. If the snippet interested you, find more of the unfinished scene here :D (and if you want to leave a comment… 👀)

I don’t know how clear this image is going to end up being, so here’s the important notes typed up:

Does [Andrew’s] missing fin cause maneuverability problems? Yep. Fins keep the body stable and streamlined in the water. No fin/half detached fins means Andrew spends a lot more energy to be equally as efficient while swimming. (That’s part of why he had more upper body strength than most mers.)

Does jelly Neil feel pain like humans? Not at all. Pain vs nociception - the detection of averse stimulus. So Neil can sense and respond to ‘painful’ stimuli, and he does feel some pain like a person would in his upper half, but it’s mostly just a sensation that he responds to. (This is dangerous. Less pain means he doesn’t realize how dire a situation may be.)

A second eyelid - like a crocodile/etc; a clear secondary eyelid that closes horizontally beneath the primary eyelid, developed to keep the eye safe and clear underwater. Why jelly Neil rarely ‘actually’ blinks

Pirate Neil’s prosthesis. Most of it is always hidden under clothes; it’s made of leather, copper, rubber, and cumaru wood. It was given to him by Stuart as soon as the man found out that Neil had lost his leg, and Stuart had it custom made through his vast connections. At one point in the timeline, Neil angrily takes it off to show a wary and lashing-out sharkDrew that he has also once been on the wrong end of a ‘whaler’s’ knife.

The tiny two panel comic in the bottom right corner: pirate Neil says “stop trying to stab me in the leg” while sharkDrew was fairly certain he just took out this pirate’s kneecap with his sharp rock

The snippet:

“And it was terrified. It’s second eyelids fluttered, it’s eyes were hazy. It held the rough stone ready in case Neil tried to get close again. It still wasn’t breathing right. It was still bleeding.

“Okay,” Neil said softly. He held his own hands out a little to the side. “I’m not going to hurt you more.”

The shark snarled, though it’s mouth never opened.

“I didn’t hurt you in the first place. They’re still finning mers?”

Neil tried to step in, slowly, and was met with another vicious swing. He was ready this time, avoiding the sharp stone neatly.

“Hey, thing. Keep moving like that and you’ll bleed to death.”

Another attempt, and another swing. Neil looked at the place it’s fin had been, now a horrible, gaping wound on its back. He could see the meat beneath the blood. If he didn’t help soon, the shark would go into shock, if not simply die here on the rocks.

“Do you even realize what’s at stake for you?”

[bloopitynoot]

Reading SVSSS: Chapter 7

For those who don't know, I am reading SVSSS for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag bloopitynoot reads SVSSS. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read.

A new day a new chapter! Today we get into the Water Prison. The real question: will Shen Qingqiu actually make it out?

No Charlie pics today, I have been abandoned at my reading/writing station, but I do have tea! Tea today is a blueberry jasmine.

Let's get into it!!!!

What the fuck?! Is this an acid lake? p89

Dang it really is crazy how after two accusations with zero evidence or proof that Shen Qingqiu actually did anything, he get's locked up in maximum security prison. p89

Right now I'm having war flashbacks from MDZS -> another protagonist out here doing their best with the rest of the world just making shit up about them for fun. RE: Little Palace mistress and her delusions of what SQQ did. She literally even says- he didnt say you did anything but I have a vibe. Like what? p91

We are gathered here today to all witness how Shen Qingqiu is once again refusing to acknowledge that he is indeed the Love Interest. Honestly, does anyone ever tell him? I live for the day the system changes his classification from villain to Love interest and actually tells him this. Idk if it happens, but now I need it to happen. Re: "what fit even less was the fact, in the original work, the Little Palace Mistress's refined iron whip had only been used for attacking love rivals" p93

Luo Binghe to the rescue!! p94 just catching that whip

Okay but when SQQ states that something is wrong with the script- is he actually on the path to understanding? or still clueless? I hope he sort of realizes what's happening, because dang this guy has 0 idea Luo Binghe would kill for him p95

OOP. "There is no need for Shizun to be so wary. If I wished to do something to you, I wouldn't need to touch you at all" p96

Re: point above about "is he understanding?" *deep sigh * SQQ has not learned at all and refuses to actively listen. He is still trying to follow the old script p.97. Okay but I do love how this guy is accidentally getting himself (in a weird way) romanced.

I honestly am pretty sure this is a dating sim XD "*to the system* Do you think we're playing a dating sim?!" p99

omg torture via demon blood is horrible. Like this is a worst nightmare, having little bugs in your organs NO THANKS. p101

I'm crying LOOOOOL two options; 1. the fake jade guanyin. 2. [Activate Small Scene Pusher] and gets his CLOTHES ripped off. Bro is now the lead in a period bodice ripper XD p102

*face palm* "Does it just take advantage of Luo Binghe's physiological disgust upon seeing a man's half-naked body?" p104. no my man, it is not disgust

oh no, giving him his outer robe made it more scandalous p104

RIP confirmed that that is the previous canon's sex robe p106

literally everyone has a feeling about what's up. Gongyi Xiao is eyeing SQQ, see's the robe and does indeed assume things about SQQ and Luo Binghe. How stupid is SQQ??? p107

Re: the note from Shang Qinghua to SQQ. Shang Qinghua is also an idiot, this guy had 1 job and that was to not fuck up the mushrooms. he goofed this exponentially. RIP those mushrooms. p109

Welp. Gongyi Xiao is realizing that Luo BInghe may not be as pure of heart as he thought p112

it's so much worse though- he really thinks that Luo Binghe assaulted SQQ and is now helping SQQ escape. p113

meanwhile SQQ is living in his own universe LOL no idea these are the assumptions. Also, IDK what's going to happen when Luo Binghe inevitably see's SQQ in Gongyi Xiao's robe. RIP GYX p115

Okay but SQQ I too would freak the fuck out if I had a walking/wake dream. Meng Mo's realm is no joke. p120-121

Dang Luo Binghe has become so strong. This dreamscape is insane. pp 124-126

again with the clothes ripping. I hope one day they enjoy this consensually. p127 (blessed be this canon for the fanfics)

in which SQQ does not realize that the fight in the dreamscape is indeed not a fight- it is most definitely foreplay. p128

I fucking KNEW IT Luo Binghe was NOT pleased with SQQ wearing Gongyi Xiao's robe. LOOOL. p130

but also I don't know what became of GYX but let's take a moment to remember him, I am sure he did not make it.

oh gosh more tragic SQQ backstory :( p132

I am glad I clocked it in the last chapter. Something was so fishy about the family that took him in and his "betrothal" my heart for SQQ :( :( :( p134

Okay get it Ning YinYing!!!! Re: her talking shit to and about Little Palace Mistress to her face! p138

yes she got slapped but still she did a pretty good job! and her sect siblings have her back.

That is it for today!!

Oh god. ofc we leave on a cliffhanger with a shady guy ready to super saiyan AND the next chapter is ominously titled "Death". I am not prepared for this!

[burntheedges-updates]

over again, chapter 3: dinner

This is my updates-only blog! Follow me at @burntheedges Joel Miller x f!reader summary: you fell in love with Joel Miller in Austin, Texas, in 2001, but you thought you lost him and your whole family in 2003 when the world turned upside down. now it's 2024, and you find the surprise of your life waiting for you in Jackson, Wyoming. or, five times you and Joel fell deeper in love, on both sides of the apocalypse (and one time you did something about it) 18+ minors DNI chapter tags/warnings: fluff, flirting, banter, angst, bisexual!reader (like me), dancing, holding hands, a bit of pining, kissing (!!!) (the smut is coming so soon, y’all) a/n: Welcome to chapter 3! We’re finally getting somewhere with these two… and there’s a bit of dancing. The Austin section of this chapter was the preview I posted a few weeks back, but it's been edited a bit. music note: All songs mentioned in this fic are on the playlist. The first 19 songs on the playlist are the mix CD mentioned in this chapter. The playlist post has annotations about the first 19 songs with mild spoilers, so skip reading those for now if you’d rather wait. I was a teenager in 2000 and I grew up in the south (and lived in Texas for a bit, later), so I was aiming for songs I would have heard on the radio and songs the reader and Joel definitely would have heard on the radio and when they went out dancing. word count: 8.2k

series main post | series playlist | ao3 | ch 1 | ch 2

Chapter 3: Dinner

Jackson, Spring 2024 

Despite your agreement in his kitchen, you don’t talk to Joel the next day, or even the one after that, except in passing. He’s still taking care of Ellie, and you end up staying in the stables overnight to help with the birth of a foal. (You try to imagine yourself from Before doing anything like that, but it’s impossible.) At least you’re able to sleep again, after that. You’re too tired not to. 

It’s been three days when Joel catches you outside around dinner time and asks if he can walk with you, as he’s planning to pick some dinner up for Ellie. She’s feeling better, apparently, but not up for the dining hall quite yet. You remember being wary of it yourself when you first arrived, so you don’t blame her.

Joel falls into step beside you, in silence at first. The air between you is more comfortable than it was three days ago — it feels easier to walk next to him, less fraught to look at him. You imagine touching his hand again and it seems possible. You were exhausted then, it’s true, but it was also overwhelming to be around him like that after so long. Now you’re a little more used to the idea. 

You use the quiet moment to look him over, checking the outline of his shoulders, his hips, his gait against the Joel in your memory. He’s grayer now of course, but so are you. He’s the same shape but somehow even broader than Before — same Joel, just stronger, and hardier, and more weathered. You can see a hint of discomfort in his walk, but you all have that these days. The sign of a person who has to walk everywhere. It wears at your joints. 

You don’t notice how long you’ve been checking him out in silence until your gaze wanders back to his face and you find him smirking at you, knowingly. 

“See something you like, darlin’?” You feel a rush of warmth towards your face, but you’re not really embarrassed. 

“Maybe I do, neighbor.” You tilt your head at him and smile a bit. “Same as always.”

He shakes his head and works his jaw to hide a wider smile. “I’m pretty sure we’ve said that to each other before.”

“Yeah, I think we did. That night we had dinner at your place after Sarah was sick.” It’s easier to recall things like that, now that you’ve let yourself start. It’s like the memories were just waiting for you to acknowledge them and now they’re all pouring out. 

He tenses a little when you say Sarah’s name, making you wonder if you shouldn’t have. But she was yours too, and you can’t let go of that. You never have and you won’t start now. Not even for Joel. 

He looks away and then back at you, seeming to shake it off and moving a little closer to nudge your shoulder. “You still remember what I taught you? Pretty sure we had our first lesson that night.” He winks, the old flirt. You laugh. 

“Joel, I haven’t danced with anyone since the last time I danced with you. I can’t promise I even remember the steps.”

He pauses, slows to a stop, and turns towards you fully. “Maybe we should give it another shot, see if, um,” he clears his throat. “See if we still partner so well.” You meet his eyes, and you see he’s feeling the same things you are – hesitation, hope, maybe a little fear. Maybe a lot. 

That feeling that’s been pulling at you – that second chance you’ve been thinking about for months – becomes almost tangible in the air between you as he speaks. It makes you feel brave.

You step a little bit closer and reach out to slide your hand into his. He closes his eyes, just for a moment, and you hear his breath hitch.

“Tommy always did say we could light up a dance floor.” You look down at your hands and decide to go for it, too. “I’d like to see if we can, still.” You’re talking about more than dancing, and you both know it. “But I know Ellie comes first, and I don’t want to rush into anything and mess it up. I missed you,” you see he’s formed a shaky fist with his free hand, while the hand holding your own is relaxed and warm. “But we’ve done a lot of living without each other.” 

You look back up at him, hesitantly. You don’t want to push for too much, too fast. You have no idea what fast or slow mean for the two of you anymore. 

Joel nods, twining his fingers through your own and squeezing gently. “We have. But even now I’d never have doubted you’d understand about Ellie. You’re a great mom.” 

He uses present tense, which makes you suck in a sharp breath. You feel it again, that echo from the past. It still hurts. Maybe it’s like building muscle and it’ll fade the more you let yourself feel it. 

“She doesn’t know you, of course, and she’s wary of strangers. And we need to get to know each other now. But we can take it slow.” He smiles at you, a bit sadly, and squeezes your hand again. 

“Slow is fine with me, cowboy.”

He looks surprised, and then huffs out a short laugh. “No one’s called me that in 20 years.”

“No one’s called me darlin’, either.” For a moment, you just lock eyes and take each other in.

“Do you want to come over for dinner soon? Maybe next week, I want to try to get Ellie to leave the house first.” He looks hopeful, but also still hesitant.

“I’d like that, Joel. And I’m happy to wait until she’s ready. I’m still getting used to these- um, these feelings, myself.” He nods, and you know in that moment he understands what you can’t put into words. 

“It wasn’t easy for me, at first. I reacted badly.” He shakes his head, and you think maybe this is an understatement. You reach out to grasp his wrist, right above where your hands are intertwined. “I was cold, barely living back in Boston. Mostly just dying, slowly. Not ready for all the ways that kid can get under my skin. Not ready to have someone I would- that I could let down again. Everything she did reminded me of–“ he clears his throat. “Of Sarah. And I didn’t talk about her or let anyone else talk about her for 20 years. Even saying her name, it’s…” He trails off and looks down the road back towards your houses for a moment, working his jaw as he gathers his thoughts. 

“Anyway. I think I know what you’re feeling. I’ve been there myself.” You nod, not sure what to say, or if you can get any words out. You squeeze his hand, this time. 

He steps back a little, stepping out of the moment you’ve just shared. “Anyway. We should get on. I’ll let you know about dinner, and maybe you and I can meet for lunch sometimes? Until then?” You nod and smile, even as your hands separate well before you enter the dining hall. 

…

You don’t manage lunch, but Joel does come back to you a couple of days later with an actual dinner invitation for the following Saturday, five days away. You agree of course, even though you know how anxious you’ll get with five days to wait. He must see it in your face because he reassures you, “Ellie told me to ask you, darlin’.”

So you manage, anxiously, counting down the days until Saturday. You keep busy in the stables and the garden and even eat with Tommy and Maria a couple of times, trying and failing to ban all teasing about it. He takes mercy on you when he sees the state you’ve wound yourself into by Friday afternoon. 

“Everything’ll be fine, sunshine. No need to look so gloomy.” You can’t help but roll your eyes, wondering if you’ll ever escape Tommy Miller’s puns about the weather. You see Maria doing the same but Tommy just grins, unrepentant.

“I just don’t know what to expect, which makes it worse.”

He reaches over to pat you on the arm. “Ellie’s prickly, sure, but she adopted him the same as he adopted her. She cares about what he cares about. It’ll be fine.” 

You’re not so sure, but you take the reassurance as it’s meant and try to breathe through some of your anxiety. It sort of works.

…

On Saturday you distract yourself with baking so you’ll have something in hand when you arrive at their house later. You haven’t made cookies in years (you hadn’t had the chance in years, before Jackson) but you think they turn out fine. You run out of things to do eventually and find yourself staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. With fifteen minutes to go you wrench yourself away (he knows what you look like and you’re both old, now, anyway) to finish getting ready. You glance at the shoe box by the door, wondering if you should bring it or leave it – maybe it won’t come up? It probably will, though. You sigh, unsure, and decide to leave it. You can run back and get it if you need to. Cookies in hand, you head next door. 

You wonder if Ellie was waiting at the window, because she yanks the door open before you can knock. She raises an eyebrow at you and asks, “What’s that?” nodding at the plate in your hands.

“Cookies. You’re looking better.” You hand her the plate. 

“Cookies!” her eyes get comically big as she takes them from you. Joel, demonstrating how much of a dad he still is and always will be, calls from the kitchen, “not until after dinner, Ellie!” She immediately frowns, looking mutinous. You grin at her as she rolls her eyes. 

“Don’t worry, that whole plate is for the two of you. Plenty to go around.” She looks a bit mollified, and heads towards the kitchen. You follow.

You find Joel at the stove, spooning something out of a pan and on to three plates. “Whatever that is, it smells amazing, Joel.” 

He smirks at you over his shoulder. “It’s pepper chicken.”

“No fucking way.” 

It’s out before you can help yourself - you haven’t had a meal like that, from Before, in ages. Ellie snorts. “He’s been talking this up all day, it better be fucking good.”

He eyes her a little, but you cursed first (whoops), so what’s he going to say? He looks back to you and explains that Tommy helped him figure out how to make it with what they have in Jackson. “Hopefully it’s about the same.” 

The three of you settle at the table as he sets out the plates, and you notice they’ve put a candle in the center of the table. 

“Nice ambiance,” you say, grinning at him a little, trying to shake off your nerves.

Ellie laughs, a single emphatic ha!, loud and bright. “He would not stop talking about that candle all damn day. I told him it was cheesy, so he wanted to get rid of it, but then I told him you apparently liked cheesy romantic shit, so he should keep it.” Joel is staring Ellie down and clearly wants her to stop talking, but she’s looking at you and you’re nodding to encourage her.

“Oh? I do like cheesy romantic shit.” Ellie laughs again, clearly at his expense. “What else did he say?”

“That’s enough of that, I think,” Joel interrupts, cutting Ellie another look. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

You roll your eyes and see Ellie does the same. She grins at you, but then seems to catch herself – like she’s enjoying the back and forth, but isn’t sure of you yet. Fair.

You take a bite of the chicken and can’t stop the moan you let out at the taste. “Holy shit, Joel. How did you manage this?” When you look at him he’s already staring at you, fork dangling from his fingers, looking a little bit like he just got hit over the head with something. “Joel?”

He coughs and adjusts his seat. “Um, right. It wasn’t so hard, just traded for some ingredients from the garden. It’s good?”

“It’s great,” Ellie says. Clearly it’s true because she’s making the chicken disappear at the speed of light. At the same time she’s somehow also darting her eyes between the two of you, like you’re doing something suspicious. She lets the silence hang for a moment, but then asks, “so, what have you been up to for the last 20 years?”

“Ellie! I told you, we don’t need to hash everything out all at once. We can take it slow.” Joel cuts in, eyebrows furrowed in her direction. 

“Oh come on, Joel, you’re such a dinosaur. But like, not one of the cool ones. Just ask! Why waste time?” You wonder what you did to make Ellie want to ask. You were nervous before, but now you’re feeling a bit like you’re walking a tightrope again. Is this a good thing or a bad thing? It’s impossible to tell, but it feels like it will go over worse if you refuse.

“We can talk about it. I don’t mind.” You try to give Joel an encouraging look as you respond. He’s quiet for a moment but then agrees. 

“Alright. Don’t see why we shouldn’t, I guess.” His voice takes on a teasing note as he looks back towards Ellie. “Let’s just jump right in, since you want to so bad.” She rolls her eyes at him again.

“So, let’s hear it! Where have you been?” 

You take a deep breath, trying to decide where to start. You know from Tommy the outline of what they did, where Joel has been – the locations, a few major events, and so on. But you don’t think he knows much about your story. You set down your fork and begin. 

“On Outbreak day, I was in Boston at a conference for work. Joel and I talked on the phone that morning before the conference, but by the end of the day… well. Everything changed.” You take a sip of water. This part, at least, you’ve told someone before, so it’s not as hard to organize your thoughts. “I tried to call, I think everyone did, but the phones went down pretty quick. There was chaos, and then there was what became the QZ, later. But I left before they really got it going. I went south – all I wanted was to get home. To get to Texas.” You’ve been speaking to Ellie, mostly, but at this point you finally look at Joel, and you find him staring at you, unblinking, with the unreadable expression on his face that you know means he’s trying to hide some strong emotion. You look away from both of their gazes and down to the table, gathering yourself.

“I found a group heading south and went with them. We made it to Baltimore, but it was such a goddamn mess. They didn’t want to keep going and I didn’t want to go alone – I knew back then that I wouldn’t make it far – so I stayed, thinking I’d find another group. But staying for a little while turned into a long while and, well. You’ve probably heard what happened to the QZ there in ‘07.” Joel nods, you can see him out of the corner of your eye. You look at him again and find him the same as a moment ago, but with his fists clenched so tight his knuckles are white. You realize you’re staring and look away.

“At that point I was clinging to the hope that my family was still alive with the barest tips of my fingers. But having to leave Baltimore pushed me further south, and I ended up in Atlanta. And, well,” you look at Joel. “I ran into Joyce.” Joel starts in his seat, hands relaxing in his surprise. 

“Joyce Roberts?” he asks, incredulous.

“Yep. That Joyce. Can you believe it? Just walked right into her on the street one day.” You look at Ellie again. “Joyce lived on our street, back in Austin. This was in ‘08, I guess? And we had a whole reunion moment, and then she just looked at me, and I knew. I knew what she was about to say.” You feel yourself start to choke up, and close your eyes, taking a deep breath.

“I know now that she was wrong, but then, it was crystal clear, like a movie playing in front of my eyes as she told me what happened. She said she’d seen you that night, Joel, you and Tommy and Sarah. You sped out of the neighborhood in the truck, and somehow she saw Tommy again, in the chaos after that plane crashed. After that she lost you again, but she asked after you later at one of the camps. She said they told her that according to their records, all three of you were dead.” You’re whispering, at this point, but you try to breathe through it. 

“I guess the, um, the news about what happened with Sarah and then... after… that news got around from the field hospital, but not quite correctly. So some list of survivors got updated wrong. It’s not like those lists were worth much, not for much longer. It was before everyone stopped trying to keep track like that.” You open your eyes, and glance at Joel. He’s pale. 

“But anyway. She was sure, and it had been five years. It killed whatever hope I had left.”

You’re quiet for a moment. You see Joel is barely breathing next to you, his hands clutching the edge of the table. Ellie’s eyes are wide and her face says she’s not sure if she should make any noise at all. You know Joel knows what you were alluding to after Sarah’s death and you don’t want to bring it up any more than that, not now. You’d heard it from Joyce and it’s been a weight ever since.

“Um, anyway. I guess I’ll… we can talk about that another time.” You glance between them and rub your hands on your thighs. Breathe. “So I was in Atlanta for a while. Probably about 8 years? I just worked, like everyone else. Made some sort-of friends.” You hesitate, thinking about Michelle. You decide you’ll come back to it later. You’re already choking on the words as they leave your mouth. 

“But by ‘16, I had to leave. It was getting… weird, in the QZ. And for other reasons.” You take another sip of water. “By that time I was more capable of surviving on my own. Like everyone these days, I guess. So I headed west, thinking I’d go home, see what was there. Turns out I beat Tommy back to Austin by a year or two.” 

You turn to Joel. “That’s why he barely found anything in the house. I, uh, got there first.” You see it dawn on him. “Yeah. I have some stuff over at my house, I wasn’t sure we’d talk about it. I can go get it later.”

“What- what stuff?” He looks like he wants to know and doesn’t want to know, at the same time. You know the feeling. 

“You remember the photo calendars we had made in ‘02 and ‘03? Those, and a couple other pictures. Sarah’s favorite book. One of your shirts and the- um. The belt buckle.” You cleared your throat. “Some new clothes for me. And, um.” You meet his eyes. “That mix CD, from when we got together. Some other little stuff.” He looks overwhelmed. “Yeah, there’s a lot. I’ll bring it over, ok? You can go through it, keep stuff.” He nods, looking far away.

Ellie looks like she’s about ready to burst. “What CD? And what happened in Atlanta? What about after Austin? What next?”

You smile a little at her questions. “Ok, let’s see. Well, Sarah helped Joel burn me a mix CD – do you know what that means?” She shrugs, saying she knows what a CD is. “Ok, close enough. Basically Sarah and Joel created the list of songs and put it on the CD. It had some of our favorite songs to dance to on it. I haven’t seen a CD player in years but I took the CD anyway. 

“Atlanta…” you swallow. “Let’s come back to that, ok? After Austin, I kept heading west. I found some people in west Texas who weren’t so bad to stay with, for a bit. I think I was there for about two years? And then I decided to head to Kansas City, but I heard some bad stuff before I ever got there. I ended up making it work with what was left of the Dallas QZ for a while. I did ok there, anyway. And then last year I decided to head out this way, and Tommy literally stumbled over me on a patrol and scared the shit out of me and turned my life upside down in the process.” 

You stop, and the three of you are quiet. All you hear is the sound of your own breathing.. You aren’t sure what else to say without getting too deep into things you don’t feel ready to talk about, from Baltimore and Atlanta and Dallas. None of them were easy and all of them still hurt at least a little bit. You hope Ellie doesn’t ask but you’ll try if she does.

Joel looks like he’s still trying to take in everything you said, but he finally says, “I wonder if we ever passed each other. Tommy and I, well, our goal at the beginning, as much as we had one, was to get to Boston. To you. But somewhere around Dallas we heard that the initial Outbreak in Boston had been so bad, there were barely any survivors. And I-“ he clears his throat. “I, um, wasn’t in the best shape, back then. It convinced me you were gone, like Sarah, and well. I wasn’t… I couldn’t…” he just shakes his head. “We didn’t actually get there until years later. I guess we could try to match it all up, make a timeline.” 

You shudder. Were you ever in the same place at the same time, unknowing? You almost don’t want to know. 

“I don't think I’m ready for that.” He shakes his head, agreeing with you. “I think that’s all I can do tonight.” You look back at Ellie. She’s studying you. 

“We can talk more later,” she agrees, “but I have one question.” You nod, fixing your face into something neutral. A slightly mischievous look comes across her face. “Can we listen to the CD? We have a player in the living room.” 

You start and bang your hand on the table. “You do? Fuck, I never thought I’d find one.” Joel sighs, and rolls his eyes as you shake out your hand. “I’m allowed to curse, old man, I’m just as old as you.”

“Not quite, darlin’.” He smiles at you. You start to come down from the emotional rollercoaster of the last half hour and smile back. 

“Let me go grab the CD.”

You run back to your house, and after a moment’s thought, grab the entire shoebox. He can look through it later. 

When you return to their house, Ellie and Joel have moved to the living room, and she’s elbowing him and saying something you don’t catch that makes him put his face in his hands. She grins and spots you in the door. You hand her the CD.

Ellie inspects it carefully, seeing the handwritten tracklist in the little paper insert that has yellowed a bit with age. “Joel, did you really make this?” He nods. 

“Sarah did the technical work but we made it together.”

“You weren’t lying, he really was a cheesy romantic. How many of these are in Spanish?” He sighs in a long-suffering way, falling back onto the couch. It makes you smile. 

“Like I told you, it’s who he is.” You look at him, and despite the grumpy act he’s putting on for Ellie, he winks at you. It sets off fireworks inside of you and you smile, helplessly.

Ellie gets the CD in the player, and the whirring noise it makes as it spins the disc sends a wave of nostalgia over you, unexpectedly strong. You resist closing your eyes, knowing what you’ll hear first. You want to see Ellie’s reaction. 

You try to control your face, watching as “La Bomba” starts. She looks confused, and then incredulous. 

“What the fuck is this?” 

You start to laugh, and you see Joel chuckling, too. You know “Suavemente” is up next so you look at him and hold out your hand. “Want to show her?” He gives you a look, and for a moment you aren’t sure what he’ll do. But he stands, of course, and takes your hand. 

“Sure, darlin’.” And then he starts to move.

You weren’t lying when you said you hadn’t danced in 20 years. But somehow, in Joel Miller’s arms, your body remembers what to do, and you start to move across the room together like no time has passed. 

Joel had taught you how to dance in his backyard, with Tommy and Sarah laughing nearby. He had shown you a bit of merengue and how to two-step that first day, and much more later, but most of the time you had just let him lead in both partner dances and line dances. Some of the songs on the CD were ones you used to dance to in his living room or in night clubs, and some were just for you. You wouldn’t say you’re doing any particular style now, as the second track starts, just that you’re dancing and following his lead. 

Ellie whistles and cheers you on from the side, but you can’t look away from Joel. His eyes are locked on you and it feels impossible to look anywhere else. You float through the dance, feeling like your feet are barely touching the floor. 

When the song ends and “Lambada” starts, you force yourself to step back, a bit overwhelmed with how much the dance affected you. 

“Ellie, do you want to learn?” She looks surprised, and then uncertain. 

“Um, maybe? I’m not sure I want to dance with anyone.” 

You tilt your head as you look at her, a hunch forming in the back of your mind, and smile. “Maybe give it a try?” She nods and Joel beckons her over. As they get in position you search through the tracklist to a song you think might work for a lesson. You skip ahead to the Shakira song later on the list because you think the slower beat will help.

You sit on the couch to watch Joel start to direct Ellie around the room, but it pretty quickly becomes clear that it’s not working. She’s fighting him with every step and they keep bumping into each other. It seems you were right – maybe Ellie, headstrong as she is, would do better leading. You stand up.

“I think we’re teaching her the wrong part,” you say as you cut in between her and Joel. He smirks, gesturing for you to take his place as he moves towards the couch. “Ellie, why don’t you try leading for a bit.” You direct her and it’s immediately pretty obvious that she’s more comfortable controlling the dance. She learns a couple of easy steps and starts to lead you carefully around the room, picking up on what Joel had been trying to do as well. 

After a couple of minutes you look over your shoulder at him, grinning, but you see that he’s gotten distracted by the open shoebox on the coffee table. He’s got his belt buckle in one hand, thumb tracing the design absently, like he still remembers the exact shape of the letters after all these years. With the other he reaches in to pull out the 2002 calendar. It’s the one with you and Sarah on the front, smiling for the camera and posing in front of the lake you used to visit in the summer. 

You don’t even realize you’ve stopped dancing until Ellie bumps into you. “What’s wrong?” she asks, looking around you at Joel. “Oh.” 

Joel seems to realize you’re both looking at him, and he looks up at you, that familiar unreadable look on his face. “Sorry, I just looked in and couldn’t help it. I–”

“It’s alright. Maybe that’s enough of a lesson for today, anyway.” You smile a little. “You can hold on to the box, we can figure it out later. Or talk about it. Whatever you want. I kept, um, one of Sarah’s hair ties, with the yellow beads. There’s another one in there.” There’s one more thing back at your house that you decide to keep to yourself for now. Neither of you are ready for that. “And, um. I gave Tommy your mom’s bracelet. For Maria.” 

Joel snorts. “The one you always hated and thought was ugly as sin?” You laugh. 

“Yep, that’s the one.”

The atmosphere in the room has gotten heavier, the moment clearly over, and the two of you have become awkward, losing all the ease you found when dancing. Ellie steps into the middle of it, and says, “well, I still have questions, but I can already hear Joel telling me I’m being rude like the cranky old man he is, so next time, I guess.” 

You feel a bit lighter at her words. Next time? You’ll take it. “I’d like that. Thanks, Ellie.”

You start to head towards the door, and Joel carefully sets everything back in the box to join you. “You can look through it, Ellie, just be careful.” She nods, sitting gingerly next to the box on the coffee table, looking over its contents with wide eyes. The two of you step out onto the porch to say goodnight. 

You’re quiet for a moment, looking at each other. Joel regards you thoughtfully, and says, “that went about as well as it could, I think.” You agree. 

“The dinner was great, Joel.”

“Well, that too. But you and Ellie, is what I meant. I think she’s still wary of everybody but me, but seems to me like she wants to get to know you.” 

“I really hope so. She’s a force of nature, isn’t she?” He nods, smiling, and you can see in it how much he cares about her, his adopted younger daughter. 

“Sorry she brought all that up so quick.”

“It’s fine, Joel. I wanted you to know, anyway. Both of you.” 

He nods, but looks a bit hesitant. “I know we said slow and agreed, darlin’, but I hope you don’t mind if it ends up being real slow after all.” You reach out to reassure him, lightly touching his right arm.

“I need time, too, Joel. There’s things you don’t know about me yet, and things you probably want to tell me, too.” He doesn’t look reassured. You think for a moment, and add, “We know the foundation is there, right? But what we built is long gone, so we just have to see if we can build it again.” He’s looking at you like he can’t tell if you’re sincere or making a construction pun to tease him. It’s both, but he doesn’t need to know that. For now. 

“Alright, darlin’. That’s maybe enough feelings for one day.” He laughs as you roll your eyes at him. “But I have to tell you something, though, before you go.” He moves his arm and you start to move your hand away from where you were still touching him, but he catches it and laces your fingers together. 

“You’re so kind and smart and beautiful,” he starts, and your breath catches in your throat. He smiles at you. “It took my breath away back then and it still does now. I’ll be mad until the day I die that I missed out on 20 years of you, but I still can’t believe you’re here, in front of me.” He tilts his head and squeezes your hand. “You’re especially beautiful tonight. I felt as lucky to have you in my arms during that dance as I did back in ‘01.” 

Your face has gone hot and you raise your free hand to your cheek, knowing he can tell. 

“Joel–”

“No, I want you to hear it. You were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen outside of your house with the moving truck that day we met and it’s still true now. And watching you talk to Ellie and get to know her?” He shakes his head a little, but he’s smiling. “I never thought I’d feel this way again, never thought I’d get to watch two people I care about get to know each other like that. I just wanted you to know how much it means to me. That’s all.”

That’s all, he says. Like it isn’t everything. You’re biting your lip, holding back tears by the time he’s done. You reach out to cup his cheek with your right hand. “Joel Miller, you smooth-talking son of a bitch.” He laughs outright at that, sounding a little choked up himself. 

“I’ve never been able to defend against those moves. Not that I’d want to.” You smile as he leans his head into your hand. “I’m feeling it too, ok? We should go slow, yes, but… well, like I said, we’ve got the foundation. We’re just easing into it.” He grins, and you see a glimpse of him at 32 that you weren’t expecting to ever see again. 

“Probably better, at our age.”

“Better for you maybe, old man. I’m still younger than you.”

“Darlin’, you turn 50 soon, and we both know it.” You shove him a little, grinning. He smiles back, that half smile that used to get under your skin and take your breath away. It still does. 

“Well, Joel Miller, with that I think I’ll turn in.” You start to turn away, but he reels you back in for a short hug. He holds you tightly for just a moment, whispering, “Thanks for the shoebox. I can’t… well. I’m going to take my time with it.” He pulls away.

“Take all the time you need.”

...

Austin, Spring 2001 

On Sunday, you changed your outfit five times before telling yourself to get a grip and putting back on the first thing you had pulled out of your closet, 45 minutes ago. Joel had seen literally all of these clothes before; he’d lived next door to you for six months. Get it together. You looked at yourself in the mirror, messed with your hair one last time, and then forced yourself to leave the bathroom and head downstairs. 

In the kitchen, you glanced at the clock – 5:54pm – and picked up the cookies you baked that morning, heading next door to the Millers’. 

You knocked on their door, and after a few moments with no response you knocked again. Odd. You put your ear to the door and heard music and Sarah laughing. You tried the door and realized it was unlocked. 

As you crossed the threshold you called out, “Millers? Anyone home?” Inside you could more clearly hear the music coming from the backyard, so you left the cookies in the kitchen (where something smelled amazing) and headed towards the back door.

You found it open, and you could hear Sarah laugh again as you moved closer. “Dad come on, you stepped on my toes!”

“Sarah Miller, I raised you not to tell lies.” Joel sounded out of breath, but he was laughing as he said it.

“Well, that’s definitely a lie if I ever heard one.” You leaned in the doorway, smiling as you watched Joel lead Sarah around the yard to “Rie y Llora.” Tommy jumped out of the way as Joel steered Sarah right into him in retaliation for that remark. They hadn’t noticed you yet. 

“Celia Cruz, huh?”

All three Millers turned at your question, all three smiling at you. It was a little overwhelming, as always, to have the attention of all three at once. Sarah elbowed her dad lightly and laughed, saying, “she’s Abuela's favorite.” Joel rolled his eyes. 

“It’s good music for learning,” he muttered, clearly not for the first time. 

“It looks to me like Sarah already knows what she’s doing.” You smiled at the look he shot your way.

“Ha! See, dad?”

“Sure, baby girl. Why don’t you go take Uncle Tommy for a spin, since you know what you’re doing.” With that, Joel spun Sarah towards Tommy, who caught her easily and started leading her around the yard. You laughed, and then looked back towards Joel. He was watching you with that half smile that always gave you goosebumps. 

“Do you know how to dance, darlin’?”

“In a club? Sure. Like that? No way.” 

He grinned at your answer. “Want to learn?” He held his hand out, guiding you towards him once you placed your hand in his. 

“I’ve never danced like this before. I’ll probably stomp all over your feet.” Joel placed your right hand on his shoulder, and took your left hand in his right.

“You let me worry about where our feet go, darlin’. I’ll show you the basics and then you just follow me.” And over the next 15 minutes, that’s exactly what he did. 

Soon you found yourself slowly moving around the yard to “Lambada,” definitely slower than the music called for. At some point Tommy and Sarah went inside to work on finishing dinner but you barely noticed. You were focusing on keeping up with Joel. 

Just as you started to feel a little bit confident, a slow song that you didn’t know started to play. Joel slowed the two of you as well, starting to mostly sway in place instead of moving around so much. He pulled you a little closer with his left hand around your waist.

Catching your breath, and taking your focus off of your feet, you asked, “what brought this on? I don’t think I’ve ever come over to find y’all mid-dance-lesson before.”

“Sarah’s got that school dance coming up and she’s a bit nervous.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I tried to tell her I only know how to do this and a few of those line dances they do in the clubs Tommy goes to. Not whatever dancing they’ll be doing – probably closer to your club dancing.” He winked at you, and you held on a little tighter to his shoulder. “But then she reminded me that her cousin’s party is coming up, anyway, and they will definitely be dancing just like this. So, we were practicing.”

“Cousin?” You asked, confused. Tommy didn’t have kids, and you were pretty sure there were no other Miller siblings.

“Ah, technically it’s my cousin’s kid, on my mom’s side. Easier to just say cousin. They all live down in San Antonio.” He shrugged. You nodded. 

“Well, you did a good job teaching me. Bet that’ll be a fun party.”

You realized at that point that you had slowly swayed in the direction of the trees closer to the back of the yard. You were under the shade of one of the trees, partially out of view from the house. You'd moved closer together as the dance slowed and you found yourself with your right hand on Joel’s neck, fingertips almost touching his hairline. Your eyes darted from his arms, holding you securely, to his shoulders, flexing under his shirt, up to his face. 

You looked up to find Joel looking right back at you. “See something you like, darlin’?” He smirked. You felt a rush of warmth towards your face, but you weren’t really embarrassed. You felt like your whole body was tingling, like you were heading towards something you’d been hoping for for months. Like you were racing forward and up ahead there was a cliff you might fall off of, but you’d fall together. Like the fall was the point, the destination. Your breath caught in your throat. 

“Maybe I do, neighbor,” you managed. He grinned in response, tugging you just a bit closer. Any closer and you’d feel him pressed against you everywhere.

“I know I do.”

“What?” You’d lost track of the conversation. His proximity was going to your head. 

“See something I like.” As he responded, he let go of your hand and brought his right hand up to cup your face. You saw him glance from your eyes to your mouth and in response, you pressed closer, winding your hands into his hair. Joel leaned in, and you barely felt the touch of his lips to yours, when the back door opened and Tommy shouted, “dinner’s ready, love birds! Get in here!”

Joel groaned as he stepped away from you, resting his hands on your shoulders. “I guess we should head inside.” As he said it, he lifted one hand to trace his fingertips along your cheekbone before running his hand lightly over your shoulder and down your arm. “Stick around after dinner? I’d like another dance.” You smiled as he reached down to take your hand and lead you toward the house, walking backwards and keeping his eyes trained on yours. 

“Smooth moves, Miller. Save some for later.”

He was still smiling, but suddenly you felt the intent in his gaze, more focused than even a moment ago. “Oh darlin’, don’t worry. For you I got plenty more.”

…

Dinner with the Millers was always fun, and this occasion was no different. Tommy and Sarah teased Joel mercilessly, and he got them right back, though he was always a little softer with Sarah. 

You talked and joked over dinner, noting Joel had made one of your favorites – pepper chicken – and he winked at you when you thanked him for it. Sarah updated you about her week after she got over her cold and her excitement about the upcoming dance. After dinner she rushed upstairs to talk to a friend on the phone as Tommy headed out the door (“to do some real dancing, y'all should come out sometime”). You were left with Joel in the kitchen, clearing the table together and starting in on the dishes. 

“You don’t have to help with that, darlin’, I can get ‘em later.” 

You bumped your hip against his as he slid in next to you at the sink. “It’s no bother, Joel. Let me help.” He smiled at you, softly, and nodded, picking up the towel to dry the dishes. 

You worked quietly, sometimes recalling a joke from dinner, but you mostly just enjoyed the moment together. As soon as you handed him the last dish he set it aside, still wet, to take your hand and lead you back outside. He switched the music back on with the volume low as you passed the boombox.

In one smooth motion, Joel turned and pulled you back into his arms, into the stance you had only just left before dinner. But this time he pulled you close from the start, tucking you up against him and smoothing his hand across your lower back. 

“Well hello there, darlin’. Fancy meeting you here.”

You smiled, and rolled your eyes a little. “Hey, cowboy.” You let your fingertips play with his hair along his neck. You noticed a light shiver in his shoulders as you did. 

You smirked. “Joel, are you ticklish?” 

“No, and you better not let on to Sarah that you wondered anything of the sort.” He glared at you playfully as he said it, spinning you a little into a new spot in the yard. You laughed, a bit winded even though you'd barely moved. 

“Hmm, seems like information that would be worth quite a bit to some people around here,” you mused. You brushed your fingers lightly across his hairline again, and he squirmed again in response. 

He hid a smile, pulling you in so he could whisper directly into your left ear. “But darlin’, if you keep my secret, I’ll make it worth your while.” It was your turn to shiver. 

“Oh? How so?” You’d never heard your own voice so breathless. 

He chuckled, and raised his left hand from your hip to your jaw, tilting your head to your right as he tucked his face into the left side of your neck. He ran his lips lightly from your shoulder to your jaw, sending shivers down your spine as you inhaled sharply. He kissed you, lightly, right at the hinge of your jaw, and then on your cheek, and then his mouth met yours, softly, barely there and then with gentle pressure. 

He pulled away after only a moment, and you met his eyes in a daze. His gaze was dark, and you felt like you were moving through molasses. Everything was slow, and soft, and heady. You were floating through it and Joel’s hands on you – on your cheek, holding your left hand – were the only things keeping you tethered.

Joel murmured your name. “Let me take you out.”

“When?” Your reply fell from your lips so quickly it made him smile, and you smiled back, unashamed. 

“Friday? Sarah’s got a sleepover.” He smoothed his thumb over your cheekbone. “We can go dancing, show off these moves.” 

You laughed. “Joel, I’ve barely got one, maybe two moves. You sure we don’t need another dance lesson before we take this show on the road?”

He huffed a laugh too, and turned you a little. “Just follow along with me, darlin’, I won’t let you stumble.”

You bit your lip, and nodded. “Friday.”

“Friday,” he agreed, pulling you in again. As his lips met yours again, you wondered how you were going to wait five days for more of this. Joel pulled himself away with a small groan, resting his forehead against yours. “We should stop before we get too carried away, with Sarah home.” You nodded. 

You danced a bit more, finishing out the last couple of tracks on the CD. Joel kept his forehead against yours at first, and then tucked your face into his chest, resting his cheek on top of your head and slowly swaying as the last song trailed off into silence.

You didn’t want to let go quite yet, and it seemed Joel didn’t either, as neither of you moved. You could feel your happiness at finally taking the leap together glowing in your chest – from dancing around each other to an actual dance, the months of talking and flirting had finally gotten you somewhere. But you couldn’t help but wonder.

“Joel? Why now?” You asked it softly, face still tucked into his chest. He hummed lowly in response before pulling back to meet your eyes. He regarded you silently for a moment before seeming to come to a decision. 

“I think we both felt it, right? That first day. You were – you are – the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I knew I wanted you,” he smirked as he noticed you bite your lip at that admission. He squeezed your hip. “But I realized pretty quick that with you, I wanted something real. I haven’t dated anyone in a long, long time. I wanted to take it slow, and get to know you first.” You nodded. You wanted that, too. 

“But darlin’, I realized the other day, when you were here with Sarah, that maybe there’s a line between taking it slow and just being afraid, and I was flirting with it. And I’d rather be flirting with you.” He grinned as you rolled your eyes a little bit at his joke. “I’ve been afraid for a long time. Afraid of letting someone in when it’s not just me I have to worry about.” He looked towards the house. “But Sarah loves you.”

“And I love her, Joel. That girl is special.” He smiled and nodded before looking back at you.

“I know you do. And she’s been teasing me about asking you out for months.”

“Oh yeah? Well you should know better than to ignore her advice, Joel.” 

He sighed, long-suffering, and nodded. “I know it.”

Joel pulled away and started to head back to the house, right hand reaching for your left. You felt a little shaky, like you really had been floating for the last half hour. 

As you approached the front door, he squeezed your hand. “I’ll see you Friday, darlin’.”

“You sure will, cowboy.” He smiled and pulled you in for another short kiss. 

“Now get, before we get any bad ideas.” 

You laughed, and headed out the door he opened for you. 

“Night, darlin’.”

“See you Friday, Joel.”

...

a/n: see you 8/20 for chapter 4 (aka, when the smut arrives lol)

update: ch 4 now posted!

Tag list

@morgaussy @jay-zzle @bluetattoos @dins-riduur-anthe

[roadhogsbigbelly]

ok i didn't really want to do this because i deleted the original posts when it had only 70 notes because i was under the assumption noone would see it but t/xttletale ended up reblogging it anyway and now i have people telling me to kill myself in my inbox so i guess i might as well give details

honestly did not know she was trans until people accused me of pedojacking her, for some reason it never registered because i guess i only see her blog when her posts pop up on my feed but you know my bad i guess

2)yes it's true the term "loliporn" never shows up but someone does say "don't say you're pro-kink and nasty gay sex if you're not supportive of ageplay, cnc, or incest shipping" and than she said "yes, and" which like. seems slightly like an endorsement? but i assume that loliporn was just kind of included with the package, because i do have evidence that toonimal would not be against that

3) i never directly called her a pedophile just that it's really fucking bizzare to have that hot take about "wholesome games" when you agreed with a take that said not liking incest porn or ageplay is "anti-kink or whatever

now did initially censor the names in the post because of reasons i'll explain later but i did realize with no context it looks like both posts were from the same person so i did end up mentioning in the tags that there were two different people before later deleting it all together. but i honestly don't feel THAT bad attributing it to her because she did both reblog the post and than also add on to it, which kind of negates the possibility she didn't fully read the post? still i did censor it again for reasons i'll explain later.

4) i kind of went out of my way to not attribute anything to her. when i talked about her weird stardew valley take i still censored them, because after being told to kill myself for having a lukewarm hot take on sex work last year i usually always censor posts when criticizng/making fun of them. i'm honestly surprised she managed to find it because i deleted it when it only had like 60 notes, and the only reason i found out she found it is because one of her followers sent be an ask telling me to kill myself. and out of curiousity i checked her blog.

i deleted this post before i post this just so her follower doesn't get harassed or whatever. but you know. not fun.

and 5) while i insist i didn't directly accuse her of being a pedophile i DID in fact accuse the person she was agreeing with of being a pedohpile. cause they are.

i'm not going to post the entire callout post cause it's honestly really fucking gross but tldr they run a "contact positive paraphilia forum" which is a basicly code for "actually fucking pedophiles" which kind of recontextualizes they entire post right? that's also why i went out of my way to censor txttletale's name and than later specify there were two different people before deleting it. because i assumed she didn't know the person she was agreeing with was an actual pedophile, but accidently agreeing with a pedophile is uh. not good. i think, someone actually informed her that toonimals was a pedophilia and she said this.

now i'm not saying you have to do a background check on every person you reblog from but if that post talks about "how pro-sex freak people need to be more supportive of people who are into incest" than actually yeah you do sort of have an obligation to make sure they aren't an actual fucking pedophile. the entire basis of that post is "people should stop being mean to actual sex freaks" and you not only reblog it but add onto that yeah that's a fucking issue because 99 percent of time the people who make those posts ARE actual fucking pedophiles, so yeah you probably should be a bit wary. because like.

this is my issue, i don't think you're a pedophile because you don't think there's anything wrong with fiction/sex acts that depict immoral things, my issue is that that logic is used and agreed upon by actual pedophiles. pedophiles are agreeing with you! that's not great! there's my issue with your logic!

[thisbisexualbrainrot]

I Know Places We Can Hide

Rating: E

Summary: Aziraphale sneaks out of Heaven to visit Crowley. This fic is my version of a third season!

Tags: Post Season 2 Finale. Canon Compliant. Aziraphale POV. M/M. Sexual but plot driven.

Author Notes: NOW ON AO3! I just want more fic from Azi's perspective so I did it myself. Partly based on this post by @sensitivesiren cause I thought it was a great theory. Full first chapter is under the cut! :)

“Baby, I know places we won't be found and

They'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down

'Cause I know places we can hide.”

-Taylor Swift

—

He wasn't supposed to be here. 

Earth, that is. He wasn't supposed to be on Earth. And certainly was not supposed to be visiting a certain demon who, for all he knew, did not ever want to see him again. 

The Supreme Archangel took a breath to steady himself, absentmindedly pulling on the stiff collar of his pressed, white suit that he knew he could not show his face in. A hint of a buzzing sensation in his fingers and he was back in his familiar earthly attire. 

It's a small miracle, they won't notice…I hope Aziraphale bit his lip and wondered if he was pushing his luck too far this time. He had slipped out after his weekly management meeting, when the weight of the discussion had been overwhelming to no one else but him. He didn’t understand how they could talk about such things, their eyes dull with apathy, like they were discussing budgeting and not the destruction of the human race. 

These last few months had been a torment. He knew Crowley was right, he was not like the other angels. He didn't care about war or great plans. Well, he did care in the sense that he didn't understand why the earth needed to be destroyed at all. If I'm the one in charge, I can make a difference. Some difference he’d made, indeed. In the months he’d been in heaven, the only difference he’d made was restructuring the scrivener recording schedules due to Muriels absence. In all other regards, he had found the job to be lacking in the “making decisions for heaven” department. It was more of a mouthpiece role, mimicking whatever The Metatron told him to command of the lower angels. He realized rather quickly that he had been manipulated. That heaven had offered him the job to get him away from Earth. Away from Crowley. Away from actually making a difference. 

So, his wary eyes scanning the room near the elevator, he hastened his steps toward it and made his escape.

–

“Nope, not doing this.” 

Crowley shot up from the bench like it was made of holy water. “I have absolutely nothing to say to you, Angel.” He turned to leave Saint James park, but not before throwing a spiteful “You can go ahead and change your clothes back. I know that's not what you're wearing up there.” 

Aziraphale breathed out sharply through his nose. Of course, Crowley was going to be difficult. He’d hurt him, he knew that but he had hoped the demon would at least be a little pleased to see him.

 “I changed for my own comfort, if you must know.” Not a complete lie. “Crowley, we need to talk. I-I’m terribly regretful of how we left things and-”  “You need my help.” He interrupted,  “That's why you’re here, right?” Aziraphale said nothing. He understood he had hurt him but the demon had hurt him as well. And it wasn’t fair that he was being so cruel. Crowley clearly noted the silence and snarked, “Well, unfortunately for you, I'm out of the business of helping angels.” 

“Crowley, please.” Aziraphale said softly, “I- if you would just hear me out.” The angel felt a pang of fear, pursing his lips and hoping that he would at least be allowed to explain himself. He couldn’t read Crowley's expression since he wasn’t facing him but his shoulders looked… tense.  He finally heard Crowley mutter through gritted teeth, “Fine.” 

“Oh, thank you.” He could feel a slight warmth of relief sing through his bones. “You see, I made a terrible mistake and The Meta-” He stopped himself, this should be discussed more privately. He stumbled over his words, “That is, Could I-...would you be willing to come back to the bookshop with me?” It was the first place he could think of but not the most ideal place either, he realized. 

Crowley paused and Azirphale hoped he hadn’t ruined his chance. “We can meet at my place.” 

“Oh you're um- you have a new one now?”  Crowley seemingly ignored the question. He took out a slip of paper that looked like a receipt, scrawled an address on it and handed it to him, still not turning fully to meet the Angel's eyes. “Meet you there.” And with that, Crowley quickly shoved his slender hands into his tight pockets and walked away.

Aziraphale watched Crowley leave, the slip of paper still clutched between his fingers. Hearing the anger in his voice made the angel wince. Oh how I've made a mess of things.

-

He still stopped by the bookshop briefly to check on it. Muriel was delighted to tell him all about their interactions with the humans and how they had read almost every book in the shop already. He smiled kindly to them, his mind distracted by the events in the park. He did not mention any of it to the young scrivener. He gave them a quick farewell, thanked them for watching over things and exited the shop. Anxiety pooled in the pit of his stomach. Right, the address. He pulled it out of his pocket.

 How would he ever explain all of this? Where would he start? Had heaven realized he was gone? What if they found him? He glanced around anxiously and waited for a feeling of Michael or Uriel appearing but saw no none. He wanted to stop and see Maggie and Nina but couldn't risk any more time. He would have to catch up with them later. 

He glanced back down at the sheet of paper and could make out the address even with Crowley's terrible handwriting. Aziraphale couldn't help but smile. It turns out, the flat was just a few blocks away. Maybe Crowley didn’t truly hate him after all.

The doorbell rang, a hollow chime echoing through the flat. Aziraphale waited not so patiently for the black door to swing open, yellow eyes finally meeting his gaze.

 “I knew they would be purple.” Crowley mumbled with what sounded like annoyance to his voice.

His eyes. He had forgotten. “Oh- I would love to do away with them, however, I can't seem to change them.” He fiddled with his ring and gave Crowley a half hearted, nervous smile.  Crowley smirked, “I know the feeling.” 

He stepped aside, a gesture that pulled Aziraphale in and he was hit with the familiar comforting scent of amber and brimstone. I know what you smell like he remembered the demon telling him once, and well…likewise. The door shut behind him and Crowley headed over to a bar counter, pulling two wine glasses from a rack and pouring each of them a glass. A fire crackled in the hearth, and the room was cozy despite being mostly decorated in sleek black furnishings. Crowley handed him the glass and Aziraphale managed to say thank you with a steady voice. He was incredibly nervous. “So?” Crowley cleared his throat, knocking Aziraphale’s racing mind back into the room. “Are you going to explain what the purpose of this holy appearance is?” He settled in a large armchair, swinging one leg over the other. He leveled his gaze on Aziraphale, taking a sip of his wine. 

Aziraphale felt the panic that had been swelling inside of him threaten to bubble over. He had no idea where to begin, just as he had feared. He ran his finger nervously over the rim of his glass. Staring down at it, he centered himself and pulled together what he needed to say, or at least it was a start. 

He admitted quietly, “I've made a terrible mess of things. I should have never taken the job.” 

Crowley was silent. Aziraphale continued after a pause, his eyes still downward. “It appears The Metatron’s intentions were to separate us. I have been all but useless as a leader, I'm afraid. They don't actually let me decide anything. Not anything of real importance. And, worst of all, they plan to initiate the Second Coming in a matter of months? Years? I'm not entirely sure but it will be soon.” 

Crowley let out a frustrated sounding sigh, shaking his head, “So that is why you’re here, to get my help then? Cause if that’s all you want you can shove o-” 

“No.” Aziraphale looked up then, and he hoped Crowley could see the pain in his eyes as he confessed, “I am here to apologize and beg for your forgiveness.” Silence. A long awkward pause. Aziraphale didn't know what to say next, so he waited. 

“Well then Angel, go on.” Crowley gestured his glass toward him. “Beg.” 

Aziraphale huffed, “If you are going to make a mockery of it, I’ll just as soon leave.” 

Crowley looked amused, “Oh come on, you really can't expect that I wouldn't give you a hard time. With you rejecting me and all, it's only fair.” 

“I would appreciate you taking this seriously.” Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. If Crowley was going to make his feelings a joke, then he wasn't going to even bother trying to mend this- this…

“Oh I am,” Crowley’s tone shifted, “and you better start talking, Angel.” 

“Fine.” Aziraphale straightened, setting his untouched glass on a nearby table. He looked at Crowley, “You were right.” “I want the dance.”

“No.” Bastard.

“Then apology not accepted” Crowley took another swig of his wine. It was almost like he was having fun with this. Looking Aziraphale up and down he remarked flatly, “You’ve lost weight. No crepes in heaven, I suppose.” 

Aziraphale felt his frustration growing, “Crowley, will you please focus on what I am trying to say?” 

“So far, I haven't really heard you say anything.” Crowley shot back, his eyes were dark and angry. 

Aziraphale had enough. He moved toward Crowley’s seat, kneeling in front of him firmly but gently. He locked their eyes together, hoping that Crowley wouldn't see how scared he was and mistake it for something else.

“Then I will say it now.” Aziraphale’s voice wavered but he pushed on, “I have never regretted something more, in six thousand years. For choosing to leave you. The truth is…” He swallowed nervously, “I love you Crowley, no matter what you are. I will always love you the same.” He took a breath, “A-And you owe me nothing in return, except I would prefer for you to still consider me a friend. You don't have to kiss me, if it's not genuine.” If Crowley would agree to still be his friend, that would be enough. He didn't want Crowley to feel forced to love him the way he wanted. That would not do. And he couldn’t bear to hear Crowley speak to him with such disdain and anger any longer, even if some of it was deserved. He had placed his hands on the demon’s knees sometime during this admission, the warmth of Crowley's legs sending a jolt of adrenaline down to his gut. Now, it seems, he was unable to remove them. He was frozen in place, his eyes following Crowley’s expression. The demon said nothing, at first. Aziraphale watched as he slowly set his wine glass down, 

“You think it wasn't genuine then.” Not a question. 

Aziraphale looked back at him with slight confusion. “You- you surely know how I feel about you, Crowley. Certainly your kiss was a cruel temptation, was it not? A last effort to try to change my mind? I-I forgave you for it but it did hurt, you see, so I was angry and I-...I am..” 

“ARGH!” Crowley stood up, pushing past Aziraphale and spinning around to face him. “Did you really not hear a word I said?!”

Aziraphale, startled by the sudden movement and aggression, stood and turned to face Crowley with confusion now etched into his features. “I-I was listening. You didn't want to come with me, you didn't want to be an angel with me, you- you said you didn't need heav- “ 

“Argh, not that part Aziraphale!” Crowley rarely said his full name anymore. He loved how it sounded rolling off the demon's tongue. Very distracting. 

“What part then?” Aziraphale asked quietly. He had clearly been wrong about the kiss, but that meant- he felt his heart beat faster in his chest. 

“I refuse to believe you dont know.” Crowley’s expression hardened, but tears welled in his eyes. He didn't have his sunglasses to hide them and Aziraphale could see then that the anger and disdain for him was actually just…heartbreak. 

Crowley was heartbroken. Oh. OH.

He had been wrong in Crowley's intentions for the kiss.

Crowley had been trying to tell him his feelings the last time they saw each other. Aziraphale had just not been listening properly, or at least not been really hearing him properly. The kiss was a last ditch attempt, but it was to show Aziraphale how he felt. What they could be if he did stay. We could have been us. 

“Oh I…Crowley.” He stepped closer instinctively, reaching his arm out to grasp Crowley's hand. He thought for a moment Crowley would pull away, but he didn’t. “I've been such a complete fool. Please forgive me.” Crowley cursed quietly as a tear slipped down his cheek, looking away. Aziraphale pulled them closer then, his free hand reaching up to turn Crowley’s face back to him and wipe the tear away. His hand remained, gently rubbing his thumb on the demon’s cheekbone. Aziraphale’s heart could not have been beating louder in his ears as Crowley leaned in until their foreheads were resting on each other. A breath of silence and then quietly he heard,

“I’ve missed you, Angel.” 

“And I you, my dear. Desperately.” Aziraphale closed his eyes and brushed his nose against Crowley’s, cautiously. Slowly. With his eyes shut, the sensation of the demon’s breath was so close. His warm face was so unbearably close and the Angel pushed in further until his lips were barely caressing the demons, testing his boundaries. 

Testing to see if Crowley would push him away.

He didn’t. 

Aziraphales heart fluttered as Crowley wrapped his hand around the Angel’s neck, his fingers curling into the nape of the white curls and pushed in to deepen the kiss. It felt like fire. Warm, crackling and intense. Nothing like before, no feeling of humiliation or pain. Aziraphale sunk into it, letting out a small moan as Crowley licked against his lips. Crowley must have taken the moan as an invitation. He began to push off Aziraphale’s jacket and it fell to the floor. 

Aziraphale pulled back slightly, “Crowley, I- shouldn't we talk about this?” 

“I think we’ve done enough talking, don't you? Always talking, us.”

Crowley moved back in to claim the angel's mouth once more and Aziraphale agreed, they could talk after. After they- oh mother in heaven, has Crowley always smelled this incredible? He breathed in deeply, pushing his tongue in and getting a satisfying groan in return. He wanted all of him then. Wanted to touch every unholy inch of him. He felt Crowley start to push him backward and clung to him as they toppled onto a black velvet couch. He felt the weight of Crowley's hips as he settled onto his lap, one leg resting on either side as he straddled over him and cupped his jaw, kissing him feverishly. Aziraphale used one hand to pull the demon closer to him. The other gripped Crowley's neck, fingers gliding into perfectly soft red hair. He felt Crowley slip off his shoes and he did the same, all while not breaking their joined mouths even for a moment. Crowley chuckled affectionately as he broke their lips apart, “You sure you’re alright with this, Angel?”

“I don't know what you mean,” Aziraphale chided, “I have been around just as long as you. I know perfectly well what this is.” 

Crowley wrapped his arms around the angel's neck, “but have you ever...” he waved his hands and the rest trailed off. Implied. “I haven't had the desire until now.” 

“Oh is that so?” Crowley teased, “Well well, Supreme Archangel...” 

Aziraphale blushed hotly and sputtered “Well I- I wouldn't say I didn't have the desire till now but I just- oh you know what I mean you impertinent demon!” Crowley rolled his hips then, and Aziraphale forgot to keep scolding him. 

“S’what I’m good at after all” he whispered, his breath hot in Aziraphale’s ear, “flustering you”. 

He then watched the demon's eyes go wide as he grasped Crowley's thighs and flipped them over on the couch. The angel was now resting on top, his legs splitting Crowley's apart. Aziraphale began running his nose along Crowley’s neck, his voice a bit deeper than usual. “You know my dear, I think you underestimate just how adept I am at flustering you as well.” He then pressed a number of light kisses along Crowley’s long neck, and was quite pleased when he heard a low growl. He had never felt quite like this. There was an unleashing of desire at seeing Crowley laid out so desperate for him. He nuzzled lovingly against Crowley's mouth, his eyes half lidded, as he asked “Where is your bed?” Crowley swallowed, noticeably. His voice was rough. “Down the hall to the left.” 

“Show me.” 

Crowley pushed Aziraphale off of him enough to stand and hastily lead him down the hall, their sock-covered feet sliding smoothly over the hardwood floor. He had reached out and grabbed the Angel's hand without another word. And Aziraphale’s heart was in his throat as they entered the bedroom. Crowley pushed him back to lean against the doorframe and kissed him achingly and intentionally. The angel barely noticed the undoing of his bowtie as it dropped to the floor. They broke apart and Aziraphale sucked in a shuddering breath,

 “Crowley…” he exhaled as he lifted the silver tie over the demon’s head. The black leather vest came undone next and he captured the demon's lips in his again as Crowley set to work on his velvet waistcoat. With hungry confidence, Aziraphale pushed against Crowley until he was stepping backward toward the king size bed. The demon was finally sliding off the waistcoat and working his way down the buttons of the undershirt when he muttered with frustration,

“Too many layers....” and proceeded to rip the rest of the shirt off, the buttons clattering against the wood floor. Aziraphale, shockingly, did not object. He pulled the white undershirt off over his head and climbed on top of Crowley as they settled onto the black duvet, soft and inviting against their bodies. He ran a hand down the demon's side and Crowley hissed with pleasure as the angel ducked down and pushed the black t-shirt up to run his mouth along the demon’s stomach. The shirt was pulled off and got lost somewhere on the bed in the process. 

“Aziraphale...” Crowley breathed, and a vulnerability slipped out of him. He said the angel's name like it was a prayer. He brought his mouth back up to Crowley’s lips and felt the demon wrap his arms around him. When their lips met again it was a moment of devotion and reverence. He savored Crowley's mouth, trying to give him the worship and love he deserved. Please always say my name that way. Please always want me as you do now. He begged silently and he hoped Crowley could feel how much he adored him. The demon kissed back with as much affection, rolling them so he was now laying on the broad chest of the angel. He sunk his head down and began kissing his neck and down his chest. Aziraphale moaned and grabbed at the red disheveled hair of the demon, bucking his body upwards to bring himself closer to Crowley’s pleasuring mouth as he moved downward. 

“So naughty…” Crowley teased and Aziraphale let out a small huff of annoyance. But Crowley kissed his body tenderly, nipping and smoothing over the bites with his tongue. And slowly moved downward. Until Aziraphale sucked in a breath at the sensation of Crowley’s mouth on his cock, only a thin layer of fabric in between. He needed that fabric to be gone. Thankfully, Crowley was one step ahead and pulled the boxer briefs down the Angels thick thighs. 

The feeling was overwhelming, incredibly good but almost too much. His vision went blurry and all he could think was how he needed more. Every movement of Crowley's hot, wet mouth pushed the Angel further into utter oblivion. It was no surprise that humans found this so enjoyable, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t done it until now. He gasped as Crowley's tongue flicked out to pleasure him and lost all sense of anything but the demon's touch on his skin. 

If this was sinful, Aziraphale made a mental note to sin often in the future. 

_

It was some time later when they collapsed, the tension in their bodies melting away with the release. Aziraphale laid next to Crowley, his breathing a little ragged as he caught up. He rolled over and smiled into the crook of the demon's neck and Crowley smiled too as they both broke into a shared laughter. There was no denying what was between them. There was no going back now. And somehow, after everything, they found that it was incredibly funny. Crowley sighed pleasantly. He rubbed his hand on his forehead, pushing his sweaty red locks away from his face, 

“Well, now that that coming is over with, do you want to tell me more about this Second Coming then?” Aziraphale gaped with dramatic disgust, and nearly shoved Crowley off the bed. Crowley sat up laughing, “I'm going to grab the rest of that wine.” 

Aziraphale pulled him back down to sit on the bed, sitting up himself to wrap his arms around him from behind and plant a kiss on his cheek. He savored the feeling of intimacy as his bare chest warmed against the demon's back. 

Crowley laughed warmly, “I’ll be right back.” 

He got up and pulled on a black silk robe he had hanging on his door, and reached into his closet to toss an oversized Velvet Underground t-shirt to the Angel. 

Aziraphale tucked up his nose at the shirt, “Don’t you have anything a little more stylish?” Crowley rolled his eyes, “It's just us, you’ll survive. I’ll go grab you some new clothes tomorrow.” 

Azirphale watched him slip the robe on, wanting very much to rip it off later. Partly to wear it instead of the t-shirt, if he was being totally honest. He could miracle something, he supposed, but he’d already risked enough doing the small one earlier. And Crowley wasn't doing miracles either, he noticed. He thought back to the handwritten slip of paper. 

But he couldn't deny that he enjoyed the pleasing silk covered view that sauntered down the hallway and out of sight. 

–

It turns out he had lost a little weight and the shirt did fit. Albeit a little tighter in the arms and shoulders than it would on Crowley but it would do. 

When Crowley returned, Aziraphale was wearing the offending t-shirt with his boxer briefs back on, blonde hair disheveled and flipping through the records Crowley had on a small shelf in the corner of his room. He noticed Crowley staring at him, a look of arousal in his eyes and he suddenly felt very self conscious. He was sure he looked like an absolute mess, but apparently the new look was appealing to the demon. 

Aziraphale walked over to meet him and accepted the glass of wine he had neglected to drink earlier gratefully. He felt so content it was almost dizzying and he heard himself say without thinking,  

“I hope you know that I am very much in love with you.” And he couldn't very well take it back, and realized he actually didn't even want to. He leaned in for a kiss before sitting on the edge of the bed. He felt the weight of it shift as the demon joined him. 

“I caught on, I think,” Crowley teased. “Seeing as you left your very important heavenly post to pop down here and seduce me.” Aziraphale’s blush deepened and he caught Crowley smiling devilishly, clearly enjoying it. 

“T-that wasn't the plan! Initially.” Aziraphale fussed absentmindedly with the bottom hem of the shirt, “Oh I don't know, perhaps it was. I just couldn't stand being there anymore. They are all so dreadfully dull and awful. I needed to see you. I couldn't leave it as it was and- oh dear,” Aziraphale remembered, “Do you think they’ve realized I'm gone?” 

“Probably.” Crowley shrugged, stilling the angels' fussing hand with his own. Aziraphale was grateful for the secure touch. “But they have no idea where you are.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I warded this place after I moved in, against angels and demons. No one enters here without my permission and no one can see it or who’s inside. We can hide here until we sort this out.” 

“Impressive,” Aziraphale sipped his wine, “How did you come up with such a thing?” “Muriel has been reading a lot of your books, the ones in the back. Spell books. And, I had my own ideas. I wasn't sure it would work but I tested it on Muriel, they couldn't come in until I let them. I don't know for sure about the second part of it. So we will see what happens, I suppose.”   

“Fascinating.” Aziraphale smiled fondly. “You really are such a clever demon. I’ve always thought so.” Crowley blushed, and it did not go unnoticed. Aziraphale let Crowley pull his face in and give him a long, affectionate kiss. His mouth was warm and supple from earlier, a hint of wine on his tongue. 

“I'm in love with you too, Angel.” Crowley stated, like it was as obvious as the stars in the sky. “And I thought, maybe, you would come back so I- I, you know, came up with a plan. Just in case.” 

Aziraphale beamed at the confession. He wasn’t sure if he ever would say it out loud and honestly didn’t need to hear it. But, actually hearing it was like finally releasing a breath he’d been holding for years. But that initial meeting in the park, if he’d wanted him to come back then why-

“You didn’t seem to want me back at first.” It was more a question, and he looked at Crowley to see how it landed. Crowley was staring straight ahead at nothing. Lost in memory.

“I did,” he said finally. “But missing you and actually seeing you again were very- it was hard to know for sure why you came back.” 

“Ah,” Aizraphale felt a small twinge of guilt, “Well, I hope it’s clear now.” 

Crowley chuckled, “Just a bit, yeah.” And for the first time, Aziraphale felt truly forgiven. 

They talked through the night, among other things that distracted from the conversation. By morning light, they had the beginnings of a plan to save humanity and each other. Again. 

_ It had been a few hours after Aziraphale had left the bookshop. Muriel was busy cataloging books when Michael stormed through the doors seething, Uriel following behind. “Where is he?” 

Muriel smiled, “Oh hello! Where is who?” 

“Aziraphale.” Michael snapped, “who else would I come here asking about?” 

Muriel winced, “I don't know actually. He was here for a moment but then he left. He didn't say where he was going.” 

Michael let out an aggravated groan. They had been tasked by a very irritated Voice of God to locate the second missing Supreme Archangel and bring him back immediately. 

The only problem was, there was no trace of him anywhere. Or the demon Crowley. 

Ugh. 

Michael was going to get so much shit for this. 

_

Author Notes: Thanks for reading! Let me know if you'd like me to continue this story. :)

[orion-r34l1ty]

The Harbinger

Summary: Ventress’ return to the screen was iconic, but what if it didn’t happen? What if…someone else came to tell the Batch about Midichlorians? And that someone just happens to be Darth Maul? A different story begins to play out, as this time our visitor has dangerous ulterior motives.

Word count: 1706

Notes: Based on this post by @third-generation-female-warrior ! This may be one of my favorite ideas ever and it was so fun to write! Hope you enjoy.

Tag list: @traveller-of-word-and-screen

Omega walked along the Pabu beach, Batcher right next to her. It had been a very peaceful day so far. It was good to be back on Pabu, to be back home. Omega and Batcher walked in the sand, the cool morning air of the sea breezing by them. The skies were becoming grayer day by day. Omega hoped that didn’t mean another sea surge, or anything bad for that matter.

Omega was near a rocky part of the beach when Batcher began barking. The lurca hound then ran off towards the cavern up ahead.

“Batcher, wait!” Omega called after the blue hound. She quickly ran after her. She came to the cavern and saw Batcher standing just outside of it, barking at whatever was inside.

“Batcher relax,” Omega said, patting the hound’s head. “It’s just the cavern. We’ve been in there plenty of times before.” Batcher whined and ran around Omega, clearly nervous. Omega sighed and turned on her flashlight.

“Okay, okay. I’ll check it out.” She grumbled. She loved the hound, but sometimes she really got on her nerves. She walked inside and immediately noticed something new. Something strange. A large ship had landed inside the cavern, and it just barely fit inside. Omega hadn’t seen this kind of ship before. It had a round body, and large wings that looked like they could spin while flying. Omega’s flashlight illuminated the black and red colors of the ship. She reached up and touched one of the ship’s large wings.

“Where did that come from?” Omega wondered aloud. She heard Batcher barking again and turned around. Batcher was still at the entrance to the cave. Suddenly, the hound backed up and ran away from the cavern.

“Batcher! Where are you going?” Omega called. Omega suddenly felt a presence behind her. And it was not a good one. She turned around and saw a man in black robes, with a red and black face with all kinds of markings. He had horns on his head that formed a sort of crown.

“Ah, hello.” He said. His voice was eerie. Omega didn’t like this. She began backing away from him, trying to get out of the situation. She hoped Batcher ran off to get her brothers.

“…who are you?” Omega asked, still trying to back away. The man swiftly walked around her, forcing her path to now go back towards the ship, away from the cavern’s entrance.

“Well, Fennec sent me. She said you needed…help. Something about Midichlorians?” He said. Omega was still very wary of him. “Come along, there is no need to be so anxious.” He said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Would you like my help, or not?” Omega stopped backing up. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, like she’d seen Gungi do in meditation. She faced the man once again, feeling a little less nervous but still on guard.

“First, tell me who you are. And how you got here.” She said, folding her arms. The man smirked and nodded.

“Yes, yes, of course. One cannot skip the pleasantries. You may call me Darth Maul. As for your location, you needn’t be worried that Fennec ratted you out. I found you myself. Now, why do you want to know about Midichlorians? It’s quite reckless to inquire about such things.” He said, clasping his hands behind his back. Omega paused for a moment, then answered as best she could. She couldn’t tell him the truth, she didn’t trust him just yet.

“It’s…for a friend. The Empire’s after her, and…she’s worried it’s because of the M-count thing.” She said. Maul looked unimpressed by her lie, but played along anyways.

“I see. Well, Midichlorians are something in the blood. Everyone has them, but…at varying levels. It is believed that the more you have, the more able you are to wield the force. Jedi…and Sith were known for having higher counts.”

“You’re saying I’m a Jedi?! I mean..” Omega blurted out. She did not mean to say that out loud. Now he knew for sure she’d been lying before. Omega watched him nervously as he laughed softly and smirked.

“Well, not quite. You would need…training to be a Jedi. However, that can be easily arranged. So, child, are you sure that you have a…high Midichlorian count?” Maul asked softly. Omega could tell he was trying to gain her trust by being less intimidating. She decided this was the only lead she had, and curiosity got the better of her.

“I’m not sure. Like I said…the Empire’s after me. I think it’s because of M-count. I can’t be sure though.” Omega said. Maul placed a hand on her shoulder, and Omega got a very uneasy feeling.

“Well, then you have come to the right person. I…can test you for any signs of a high M-count. It shouldn’t take long. I know a planet where we can go that has the necessary equipment. A ruined place, but plenty of old Jedi equipment was left there. I know their ways, and I am sure that—“ Maul was cut off by the sound of blasters clicking. Omega looked past him to see Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair with their blasters up and pointed at Maul. Batcher was beside them, growling.

“Step away from her.” Hunter said firmly. Maul took his hand off Omega’s shoulder and turned around to face them, hands behind his back once again. He took a step away from her. Omega warily moved away from him and over to her brothers.

“Who’re you?” Wrecker asked. Maul stepped out of the shadows of the cavern, fully illuminated by the midday light peeking through the clouds.

“I am Darth Maul, as the child already knows. Fennec sent me to help with your…questions.” He said, examining the group with care. “The child has explained. I can help, but I will need to take the child off world to test her—“

“Not happening.” Hunter said, tightening his grip on the blaster. Maul grumbled and took a step closer to the group.

“Listen carefully. That child is in danger. The Empire is hunting you because of a high Midichlorian count. I can…protect the child. I have been looking for a new apprentice for a very long time, and I—“

“I’m not going with you.” Omega spoke up. Crosshair handed her the electric crossbow from behind his back. Omega knew what this was coming to.

“That…that is unfortunate,” Maul spoke softly, then reached for something at his side. “For you.” He drew what looked like the hilt of something and it ignited into a red blade. Hunter and Wrecker immediately began shooting at Maul as he rushed towards the group. Crosshair pulled Omega out of the way and began trying to get a good shot at Maul. Omega readied the crossbow and began shooting at him as well. Maul was fast, clearly experienced. He used his saber to masterfully deflect each blast away, and then he made his offense. He went for Hunter first, dashing towards him and kicking him square in the chest. Hunter was knocked back a decent amount, and then Omega noticed something strange about Maul’s legs. They looked like Echo’s. Tech had explained what happened to Echo (with Hunter filtering some of it), that his legs were cybernetic. Droid parts. And Maul’s looked the same. His legs were artificial too, meaning that any kick he gave would be incredibly powerful. Just like getting hit with a giant block of metal, since that’s what was essentially happening.

But Wrecker hadn’t noticed this. And when Maul went to use the same move on him, he tried to deflect it. He ended up getting thrown off to the side, and hitting his head on a nearby rock. Maul turned to Omega and Crosshair next. Wrecker was near the water, out cold. Hunter was several feet away, struggling to regain his breath. Maul took a step towards Omega and Crosshair, who’d lowered their weapons and stopped firing for the time being. He held his lightsaber to the side and outstretched his free hand.

“Child. I am giving you one last chance. Come with me, or die with these fools.” Omega looked at Maul’s hand, then back up at him.

“I won’t be dying with fools,” Omega said, confident. Maul had a pleased look on his face. Just as he went to say something, Omega brought her crossbow back up and shot Maul’s shoulder. “I’ll be dying with my brothers.”

Crosshair took his chance while Maul was stunned. He shot Maul in the rib as he stumbled back towards his ship. Maul grumbled angrily, but recognized the situation he was in. This wasn’t worth it. He didn’t even have confirmation the child was force-sensitive. He limped back to his ship and stood on the ramp, looking back at the clones.

“…you are lucky I have…other options.” Maul then entered his ship, and a few moments later the red and black ship flew off. Omega immediately ran over to check on Wrecker and Hunter.

“Wrecker?” Omega called for her unconscious brother, trying to shake him awake. Wrecker stirred and slowly got up, rubbing his head.

“Ugh…that guy was no joke.” He said, sitting up. Hunter had gotten up too, and he was walking over to Omega. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, a concerned look on his face.

“Are you alright, Omega?”

“I’m alright.” Omega said, smiling. She stood back up from Wrecker’s side. Crosshair stepped forward, placing a toothpick between his teeth.

“So. You told him?”

“…yeah,” Omega said, now feeling a little guilty. “I thought he was going to help. But…it’s clear he wasn’t going to.” Omega looked back to where the ship had been moments ago. “I guess we’re no better off now than we were before.”

“No. He knew how to find us..did he say how? We never told Fennec our location.” Hunter asked, still looking concerned.

“He didn’t. I didn’t know you hadn’t given her our coordinates, so I didn’t ask,” Omega said. “But he did tell me what Midichlorians are. So…it’s a start.” At this, Hunter smiled softly. She always tried to make light of the situation.

“It is. It certainly is.”

[mixelation]

FAQs

Housekeeping post! Last updated 29 June 2024.

General:

Who is Tori?

My OC! Check out her masterpost.

Do you have a tags masterpost?

I'm working on it. :)

How do I refer to you?

I've been telling people to call me Mixel, but some people call me Mix. I use she/they.

Can you tag something for me?

I am not good at remembering to tag things. In general, if you following a blog requires certain things to be tagged, I wouldn't recommend following this blog.

You didn't answer my ask!

I don't answer even close to every ask I get. It's nothing personal! Sometimes I don't have time or energy, sometimes I just don't have opinions on the thing, and sometimes I mean to answer later and then forget and then it gets buried. Sometimes this happens even if I've specifically asked for people to send me stuff via an ask meme. Sometimes I don't answer even when I really want to for various reasons.

Do you want a recommendation?

Please don't send me recommendations unless I have specifically asked for them.

Can I DM you?

I don't like getting DMs from people I don't know. Please don't DM me unless we've talked before (via comments, asks, etc -- anon does NOT count). If you have a question you don't want answered publicly, you can send me an ask and request it be answered privately.

Also: please do not send me posts with zero context. I cannot read your mind and I don't like not knowing what you expect me to do with the post (reblog it, talk to you about, etc). Yes, even if you think the context is obvious. You do not need many words to contextualize a post.

Do you have a DNI?

No, but relevant to being a fandom blog: I am a bonafide adult, and my view on shipping and other fandom activities is basically "I have no right to judge what fictional scenarios other people enjoy or want to explore." If either of those things make you uncomfortable, go ahead and block me.

Can I repost your content to another website? I'll credit you!

For fics, absolutely not. Do not repost any of my creative story writing, fanfic or original fic.

For generic tumblr posts, I am wary of giving permission to repost any sort of content on another site. I can’t stop you reposting screen caps of my posts, and I’m not going to hunt them down or (publicly) complain about screen caps of my post on other sites. But if you come to me actually asking for permission.... the answer is no.

Fandom and fics:

I came here to find the Plasticity AUs and what I found confuses and frightens me.

Not to worry! I made a masterpost.

Why did you change your user name?

Here's a post about it. Most relevant notes form that post: 1. Don't refer to me by my old user name, even on other sites. 2. If you find an old tumblr link that's broken, you can replace my old user name with "mixelation" and it will work again!

Can I do ______ with your fic?

I have a permissions statement on my AO3 profile. I try to keep this up-to-date as my feelings on how my work is used evolves.

Can I tag you/send you a post that reminds me of your fics?

Yes, but please explain that's what you're doing. Please don't send me context-less posts. I cannot read your mind through the internet.

I might retract permission for this if I start getting a ton, just for my own sanity. But so far it's been fine.

How do I send you fan art?

Most people have been sending them by asks, but you can also post them to your own blog and @ me, or else comment on the fic itself or send me a link via tumblr asks. Give me a few days to interact before following up.

When are you going to update _____? Is _____ abandoned?

I have a busy life and what fic I work on in my free time is controlled by the whims of my brain. There's no schedule and I am unlikely to be able to give you an estimate. I will tag a fic as abandoned on AO3 if I decide there's no way it will ever get updated. For some fics for which I get this a lot:

Homemade Dynamite - I actually have about 95% of chapter 13 written. Chapter 12, however, is only like half written and I have a pretty big block on it. :(

Fun and Games - I do hope to continue this one, and I have a decent chunk of the next chapter written, plus notes + an outline for the rest of the fic. Unfortunately, to keep writing it, I have to do a decent amount of research on HP canon, and certain recent events have really soured by motivation to interact with that canon.

I found a fic I think you would like!

Please see my answer about recommendations. Don't send them unless I've asked, no matter how good you think it is.

[paintedhyenadogs]

Just because Im lowkey pissed that people don't understand the archive warnings on AO3 and get mad at the author because of their own lack of understanding:-

Here are what the archive warning tags mean and what each apply to:

No Archive Warnings Apply

This means the fic doesn't have any of the content that fit into the other warnings

Still tread with caution, especially if there are no other tags, as in 0. No relationship tags, no character tags, nothing, nada. It means the author might be really new or just was too lazy to use any tags or warnings. Know the risk or play it safe and don't read.

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

This means the fic might have none, some or all of the listed warnings. This is the warning. You might end up reading triggering material, or reading a fluffy sweet fic. It's a toss up, so if you aren't willing to take the risk, DO NOT READ.

If you've filtered out any of the other archive warnings and see this one, make sure you are ready to encounter something that might be triggering, that you've filtered or just avoid it. Even if the other tags don't indicate it, be wary and stay cautious, remember that this is still a warning.

Graphic Depictions of Violence

The content of the fic features graphic violence, as is stated. But if the creator chose not to tag what happens specifically that is violent, be ready for anything ranging from a bloody fist fight, to cannibalism to eroguro to violent torture.

Rape/Non Con

The fic will contain rape/noncon, which I've also seen include dubious consent/dubcon. It can be a major plot point in the story of the fic, or be smut. Read the additional tags to get a gauge of if it is one or the other. If there are no other tags, and you only want to read a story driven fic that may have rape/noncon, play it safe and don't read.

Underage

The fic has pedophillia and just like the rape/noncon warning, can be either a plot point or part of smut. Just like the above, if you do not want to read smut, play it safe and do not read if it has 0 additional tags. Honestly just filter it out all together, it's a good idea.

Some people also might use this tag when the fic involves sex between two underage characters (usually when the show is set in a high school), please keep this in mind if you aren't filtering the underage warning altogether. Also serves as a, "Always read additional tags!" note.

(Just in case someone gets on my ass and says "omg why would you say it also has smut under it ewww, are you a pedo?!" because I know someone will: I am simply saying that, the reality is, it's on the site. I don't wanna see that either, but it's there and I can't do a thing about it, just please be aware that you could be stumbling into a gross fic if you are not reading the tags properly.)

Major Character Death

A major character in the fic dies. This could be an OC, the reader, or a canon character.

If anyone feels I should revise and/or add these explanations, please tell me.

Additional words for newbies for ao3

AO3 is an archive site first, fanfiction hub second. It isn't for readers, it's for authors to archive their work and be able to label their work accordingly (or just not label it).

As a reader you should be respectful towards the authors and their work. You have no right to demand for a new chapter of a work you may like, you have no right to insult the author because of your own lack of knowledge or ignorance. Be grateful you're even getting any work from these people. Again, these people. These authors are real people like you and me, writing you fanfiction to read at no additional cost.

If you plan on posting on AO3, you should tag it, just so people can filter it, it's nice to be nice. I don't write on AO3 so I don't know what else to say on this part.

[jakowskis]

torchwood fanfic resources

so i'm a chronic livejournal archaeologist, and fixating on 2000s media is particularly fun for me because it means i get to go digging on lj / dw / old fanfic forums. below you'll find some of the excavations from my torchwood fixation (give it up for month 6!) it's pretty much got every comm i've ever stumbled upon and found useful, or thought others would find useful. it's largely fanfic-oriented, though there's some more generalized comms, too. i hope you guys enjoy!

i was originally going to include a link to my reclist on this post as well, but it's still a wip, so i'll just post that separately in the future.

general disclaimer: most of the content here is from 2006-2013 or so. period-typical attitudes may pop up in places. i'm not sure if most modern tw fans have witnessed the original fandom at all, but i felt a need to say this anyway, because i've seen some icky stuff. i've warned for anything notable. gwen bashing in particular may unfortunately pop up in some of these comms, especially in the comments, so tread carefully.

if you're new to probing through old lj comms, remember to always have the wayback machine on hand, because you're going to run into a lot of purged accounts and seemingly lost fics, but sometimes you get lucky and something's been archived :)

as of the date i'm posting this, all of these comms are still accessible, but if you're from the future and some have been deleted, again, go ahead and give the wayback machine a try. additionally, livejournal has a system that includes 'cross-posting' in which, if authors choose to (and the majority of them do, to get their fics more visibility), fics get posted to multiple comms at once. so chances are, even if one comm gets deleted, the contents will survive through other comms. kind of like how reblogs continue to exist even when the original blog is deleted.

finally, ctrl + f is your best friend if you have a specific ship/character/trope you're invested in, especially in comms with less than ideal tagging systems. if a comm does have a substantial tagging system, you can find all of its tags by adding '/tags' the end of the urls i've provided.

ok... let's begin :-)

assorted livejournal communities

✎ torch-wood: this is essentially a torchwood subreddit. it started before the show even aired, and one of the highlights of it is episode reaction posts (easily accessible on the right side of the lj) that document how everyone immediately reacted to the eps, which is pretty damn cool, fandom-history wise. only thing i should mention is there's quite a lot of gwen and owen bashing in the comments of some of those reaction posts, so just be wary of that if you love those two like i do, 'cuz it's a bit of a bummer.

✎ torchwood-three: this comm is an extremely cool then-daily newsletter (that still updates sometimes?!) that compiled as much fan-content as it could find into cleanly organized lists. the posts made immediately after new episodes aired contain reactions, discussions, meta, theories, new fic, fanmixes, just about everything. very very cool to go back and see the way the fandom was thinking as the show was airing and as they were getting to know the characters. here's a direct link to all posts made in late 2006, during the airing of s1.

✎ torchwood-fic: exactly what it says on the tin. desktop layout is easy to navigate, tags are all there!

✎ torchwood-fic's profile page also features a list of affiliated accounts that's pretty handy. it's worth taking a peek at, in case i've excluded anything in this post that you might be interested in.

✎ twgenrefinders: handy dandy comm where people would ask for fics of a certain variety & be treated with reclists, or hyper-specific fics... pretty cool stuff, ive got several threads bookmarked to sort through the links later. ofc, please note that some of the things people asked for might be stinky. particularly i've seen a lot of ppl requesting gwen bashing fics :/

✎ twstoryfinder: cousin to the above comm; here, people would ask for a very specific fic they'd lost. it's kind of fun to find fics through because you get someone describing memorable scenes + hyping it up, so it's different than just a standard summary. this one still gets posted on, too, which is crazyyy.

✎ tw-unpaired: for gen fics! no romance allowed! there's some good character studies + friendship fics in there. stuff's tagged by character + authors are even tagged, in case you find one whose writing you particularly enjoy. this is v useful for when someone's main journal has been deleted.

✎ torchwood-decaf: a comm where janto is BANNED. nah i'm kidding, it's not anti-janto, it was just made because janto is so huge that it overshadows everything else. pretty smart, tbh; wading through the sheer mass of janto content can be tiresome.

✎ jack-in-cuffs: for dark tw fic, or uber smutty tw fic. as a fan of dark!fic, there's some goodies in here, but of course it's not everyone's cup of tea. most of the writers included warnings, but if you go a little further back, some people weren't as courteous; navigate with caution.

✎ jack-owen: for fic featuring our captain and his (second favorite) doctor. i know this pairing's kinda divisive nowadays, but i enjoy it a lot. the comm's got a dismal tagging system and, ngl, i don't truly like any of the fics there (i'm very intrigued by jack and owen's relationship but i've never found fic that really does them justice, and i still haven't figured out how to write them myself) - but i'll include it anyway.

✎ odetojoi: for fic featuring owen in the middle of a janto sandwich, for those of us who are allergic to women (/sarcasm). there's an oddly impressive supply of fics of the three of them, and a good chunk of them can be found in this comm. (everytime i see this comm i think of a certain abbreviation found in p/rnogr/phy... but i digress)

✎ halfwee-and-tea: for ianto x owen fic. haven't gone through this one much, truthfully. i hate when comms have no tagging systems agh.

✎ owenharper-fans: a comm for the saddest undeadest bisexualest doctor around. also features a few burn appreciation posts, which is nice to see pre-pac rim era. mostly just features a shit ton of owen fic, particularly owen x ianto fic. mostly sufficiently tagged. if you need me once i post this, btw, i will be balls deep in this comm.

✎ the pro-owen alliance: another owen-focused comm - i think this one was made directly in response to owen bashing. haven't combed through this one much but it's got a fair amount of fics.

✎ house-of-cooper: a gwen comm! made in response to gwen bashing. haven't gone through it, but i'm glad it exists.

✎ torchwoodcoffee: ianto comm! this one's hugeee. the majority of it's janto, but the pairings aren't tagged, which is really frustrating. about 6k fics on there, though! just untagged. fff.

✎ tw-femficfest: a comm for fic about any and all of the torchwood ladies. tagging's cleanly done & there's some handy fic round ups, too.

✎ tw-femslash: yuri!!! wahoo!!! a comm for f/f tw ships. there's quite a lot of fic on here, but unfortunately there's no tagging whatsoever. sigh.

✎ tw-classic: a comm for 'all things series one and two of torchwood'. was made after s3 and was popular around s4 out of nostalgia for the golden age <3 good amount of fic, discussions, etc.

✎ torchwood-house: this comm is, like, letterboxd, but for torchwood fanfic. basically a group of individuals who thought of themselves as having Good Taste would read Good Fic and then go in this comm and write a post about why they recommend it. it's well-made, easy to scroll through, and sells the fics v well, and it kinda gets you more excited to read them when you get to see someone hype them up with Fancy Words. it's like a little torchwood yaoi bookclub. we're eating quiche

✎ tw100: a drabble challenge; this thing's full of 100 word drabbles. ngl i hate drabbles but i'm throwing it in here anyway

✎ touchyerwood: i love kink memes... i love kink memes less when my favorite character/pairing is unpopular. the pac rim kink meme's been a blessing bc i'm a basic ass newmann - the torchwood kink meme? not so much. it's got a fair amount of shit, though, so maybe someone else will appreciate it. this one isn't the original, that one's been wiped off the internet, to my chagrin. keep in mind before digging that people in kink memes are horny & gross. that's your warning.

✎ reel-torchwood: for any and all movie aus... ok i have a bone to pick with this comm. i'm a big movie nerd, i love film, i've seen dozens of films i've thought would make good aus - i combed through this and there is not a SINGLE fic in there that piqued my interest. NOTHING. needless to say my disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined. i'm sure my experiences aren't universal though.

✎ torchwoodslash: ah, remember when we called it slash? gee whiz. i'm not big on this comm, it's not very user friendly + there's like no tags whatsoever so it's extremely hard to navigate. enter at your own risk & good luck, lol.

✎ rounds-of-kink: this isn't a torchwood-exclusive comm, but it's got a sizeable torchwood tag, which can be found here. pretty organized tagging system; makes me happy.

✎ tw-declassified: this comm was mainly used for running a 'torchwood bingo', which, i've been in other fandoms that do episode bingos and it's usually cute... this one confused me a little so i didn't bother peeking around too much, but still a cool little bit of fandom history.

✎ writerinadrawer: this was an annual torchwood writer's challenge that ran for four years... it's kinda hard to navigate but it does have some fic in it so i'm putting it here.

✎ dmarley-recs: a recs journal someone ran for compiling torchwood fic; it's got a l o t of recs on there, largely jack/ianto.

ok and straying from lj briefly for two other places to find fic...

✎ kink_bingo: this is a dreamwidth comm, and it's not torchwood-exclusive, so i've linked straight to the torchwood tag. this comm has a livejournal equivalent, but for some reason the tw tag is pretty barren on that one? not sure why. but on dw it's got a fair amount. the tagging system is rough, it tags fandom and kink but not pairing, which is irritating, and every post is hidden under a cut AND makes you go through a discretion barrier every single time (but probably only if you don't have an account? i'm not logged in) which makes navigation a pain. but i dunno, more smut, if you want it.

✎ whofic.com: this site is for doctor who fic, but it's got a very substantial amount of torchwood fic. i do not, however, like the formatting at all. i'm being overly nice; i HATE the formatting. it's very reminiscent of fanfic dot net but, like, worse. it reminds me of adultfanfiction dot org which was a NIGHTMARE to use. but! there is torchwood fic there so it's going in here.

aaaand there we go! that's all i have. i hope these prove handy! enjoy :D

[sleepyfan-blog]

Float

Author’s Note: This is the second part of mer-Nadesir’s fic! Previous. Next

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @the-pure-angel 

Warnings: none

Summary: You meet up with The Night Lord you freed a little while ago.

You felt drawn back to the beach, since your encounter with the injured Night Lord. You'd done research on him after your initial encounter, and were quite surprised to read that Night Lords - at least according to the internet - were apparently viewed with deep and terrified suspicion from their allegedly violent and cruel nature. You wondered how accurate those accounts were - or if the people telling them had been taunting the mers in some way.

The Night Lord you'd encountered had been initially wary, but he'd been trapped and injured. He'd been flirty and grateful once you'd helped him get free, so not all of them were the nightmarish terrors of the deep that hysterical internet posts had ranted and raved about. Perhaps it was simply because the posters had approached the Night Lord in question incorrectly? Or maybe they'd been fucking around and found out that taunting the giant fish-man was a really bad idea, and went to whine about it online after managing to survive.

You'd not seen him again after that first encounter for over a month. Then again, from what you'd managed to gather, Night Lords seemed to prefer deeper waters and avoided most costal places unless they were having territorial disputes with different kinds of merfolk. No one could agree on how m any different kinds of merfolk there were, as they came in dozens of colors and patterns and species. You hoped that he was healing up well from the netting-wounds. 

The moon was full and hung high in the sky, and the stars shone beautifully. You'd debated for a while with yourself - as a medical professional, you could easily find work wherever it was you wanted to live, and the urge to stay in one of the small coastal towns along the coast was almost too much for you to handle. The ocean was fairly calm tonight, with the occasional rippling wave that washed up the beach. You quickly found that your feet led you to the water's edge, your sandals quickly getting wet as the warm waters lapped at your feet.

It would be really, really dumb to go swimming out in the ocean at night. You could so easily vanish beneath the waves, never to be seen or heard from again...

But still, as you looked out over the calm ocean waters, the desire to take off your clothes and go swimming out into the sea was nearly overwhelming. With how dark the night was and the brilliance of the stars, you wondered briefly if it would feel like you were swimming among the stars. 

As a child you'd wanted to know what it would be like to see those distant lights. To explore worlds beyond the Sol system. To explore the galaxy, but alas, the age of space exploration was not going to happen in your lifetime. Not for several generations at least.

You hardly notice where you are and what you're doing until a large, clawed hand lightly envelops one of your shoulders, a vaguely familiar voice calling out to you from behind and above you "It's not safe to go swimming at night, little mortal."

You blink and look up into the worried face of the handsome Night Lord you'd helped over a month ago. A small smile appears on your face as delight and relief flood through you. You reach up with one hand to touch his, lightly squeezing it "I... I know. But I really, really wanted to swim, for some reason. How are you? How have you been? Is it rude if I ask you what your name is?" You tell him your name, still beaming happily, genuinely delighted to see him again.

"I am doing well, and I have been teased by several of my older brothers for getting caught in one of the industrial nets, but I have also been learning how to better spot them and avoid them. I am Nadesir. We should head to the shore. Mortals like you do not swim very well, and there is an undertow in these waters that comes and goes unexpectedly." He responds, a small frown appearing on his face as he looks you over in concern.

"I... If you really think that's important. I'd rather stay out here for a little while, at least." You ask, pouting up at him a little, despite the fact that you know for a fact that he's right. You should go back up on the shore. But you really, really don't want to. A subtle itching that intensified and lowered at times that you'd managed to more or less ignore had finally, finally stopped. You were very unwilling to get back out of the water when that maddening itchiness had finally subsided. You were also admiring the way that the light of the moon highlighted his high cheekbones and made the endless inky pools that his eyes had turned into in the night were deep enough for you to happily drown in. 

"I... If you are sure. I will stay close by, in case something happens." Nadesir decides, still watching you with concern. He fidgets a little, pulling out a silvery-white bloom from one of his armor's pockets. "I... I found this a week ago and thought of you. Would... This is yours, if you want it."

An awed smile appeared on your face as you carefully took the flower and tucked it behind one of your ears, not really having a good place to put it, as you realized that you'd taken off your clothes in order to go swimming... Not that you found that you minded being naked in the warm waters. "Thank you, this is beautiful."

"Almost as much as you are..." He murmurs, something akin to reverence in his eyes as he looks down at you, awe and something softer in his eyes. 

"I... What? You... you're quite handsome, too." You respond, a warm blush appearing on your face as you lean into him, humming a little.

"Thank you." Nadesir rumbled, one arm gently wrapping around your waist as the two of you floated together in the ocean waters.

[affiesque]

So, after surviving a crappy year, I decided my reward would be yet another rewatch of Desire Catcher. I know this fandom is kinda tiny, but I always enjoy reading other people’s random thoughts and observations so I thought I’d throw mine out there too.

There are, of course, a bunch of different crime-related plot lines in the show, but this is basically going to just be me yelling about Luo Fei and Lu Fengping, seeing as I remain obsessed with them. I’m always up for discussing these two nerds in love, so feel free to tag me or message me (*waves to @thinkonce-acttwice!*). I’m at about the halfway point now, so I’ll post again once I finish the rest of the episodes.

Overall, I really like Desire Catcher - the various bits of plot don’t quite come together in the end, but for me it’s more about the relationships and themes of revenge, regret, and forgiveness. So, lots of angst, which I’m always a big fan of, and which I suppose says something about me…

Luo Fei! Light of my life, the silent, broody, lone wolf cop - ACAB, of course, but he’s firmly in sad (not-so-little) man territory, which is catnip to me. Plus he has a collection of black leather jackets - need I say more?

Lu Fengping! Other light of my life - Luo Fei’s future boyfriend, I mean consulting hypnotist, the more outgoing, “quirky” one. He’s always in light colors, dashing around with a lollipop in his mouth (I know there's a cute connection with his mom about them, but that aside, “oral fixation vibes” anyone?), teasing everyone around him - contrasted with Luo Fei’s dark colors, grim expressions, and workaholic nature. Though it’s interesting that as the show goes on it becomes clear that some of Lu Fengping’s affectations are really a mask he puts on to hide his pain (yay, angst!).

Their first real meeting happens over a meal; it’s dark, it’s raining, there’s thunder in the distance - foreboding and romantic all at once. There’s definitely a teasing/flirty vibe there, though Luo Fei seems wary of Lu Fengping - in fairness, Lu Fengping is sort of using him for info on his mom’s murder case, though it gets a lot more complicated than that as time goes on.

While there’s a lot of emphasis on their differences (e.g., dark vs. light), it’s interesting to note how similar Luo Fei and Lu Fengping actually are, even if they don’t see it yet. For example, Luo Fei has trance-like visions as he imagines what happened at a crime scene, much like how Lu Fengping sort of walks around in someone’s mind/memories when he’s hypnotizing them.

So I know this is mainly about the boyfriends, but I want to say that I love all the other members of the investigation team too, especially Liang Yin - definitely not a fan of the “woman suffers for man pain” thing, but they do give her a couple of moments of reclaiming her agency, which I liked.

Luo Fei and Lu Fengping kind of dance around the whole I-know-you-know-more-about-my-mom’s-death thing for most of the first half of the show, at least until it all comes out when Lu Fengping hypnotizes Luo Fei (and WTF suggesting that Zhang Yu - you were supposed to be the show’s moral compass!). Like I get that by this point they’re becoming closer, feeling more open to each other, but still - you’re just rooting around in his brain without permission, my guy. Yikes.

I’m a big fan of parallels and I think we get a pretty significant one here between Luo Fei/Lu Fengping and the story of the relationship between Xiao Xifeng and Tu Liansheng. While you could certainly read it as just two longtime friends, the flashback scenes of them raising the abandoned kid together certainly give off a “couple-y” vibe. Given that the show can’t come right out and say anyone is actually gay/queer, to me it’s a way of floating the idea out there and letting people draw their own conclusions.

Speaking of reading into things, I had to go there and look up the various books shown strewn around Lu Fengping’s apartment. There were two romance novels (“Crimes of the Heart” by Allie Harrison and “Yesterday’s Bride” by Charlotte Walker), another female-centric novel (“Things to Make and Mend” by Ruth Thomas), a financial memoir (“The Age of Turbulence” by Alan Greenspan), and, my personal fav, some gay French shit (“Remembrance of Things Past” by Marcel Proust). Kind of an odd combo of things, but there are some bits that do seem to fit with the themes of the show - lots of misunderstandings, mistakes, not wanting to lose the people close to you. The Greenspan book is more of an outlier, but it does have the theme of “the invisible hand” - it’s mainly an economic term, but you could extrapolate it more generally to people acting on instinct, rather than in a calculated way, sort of like how Lu Fengping’s mom acts to save Liang Yin, setting off a chain of events (kind of a stretch, though). And I guess I don’t have to say much about the Proust - feels like the kind of book you’d use as shorthand for “some gay stuff is happening here, folks.” Plus, the book deals with memory and how people can perceive the same thing in totally different ways, which seems relevant to the mom’s death story line.

Getting back to the gay stuff, there were definitely a few things that made me 👀. First, when Lu Fengping says “no problem” a little too forcefully when Luo Fei tells him to wait outside while he changes - like, “don’t worry, bro, I totally don’t want to see you naked, nope, not at all, hahaha” (combine that with his comment “You don’t like men? Haha, neither do I!” in a later episode to Liang Yin - feels like he’s protesting a bit much). Second, they’re always kind of flirty with each other, even if it’s subtle. There just seems to be a bit of subtext in a line like “You’re in a pretty unique situation” when Luo Fei sees Lu Fengping facedown on the floor at one point, not to mention the looks they give each other when Lu Fengping ends up stumbling to his knees in front of Luo Fei (and you can’t tell me that that was a totally accidental push on the part of Lu Fengping’s mentor - he totally ships them too, IMHO). Third, you can’t overlook the jealousy that rears its head when Luo Fei sees Lu Fengping getting flirty with the (eventually evil) nurse, or when he thinks Lu Fengping brought a girl home to his apartment. Fourth, there are several bits of convo that play around with subtext and seem aimed at the audience with a wink and a nudge. For example, there’s the bit in the car where Lu Fengping brings up marriage (sure, it’s in reference to a different character, but Luo Fei has a justifiable WTF reaction), asks if Luo Fei has a girlfriend, and basically tries to set him up with a female client of his (who, it should be noted, sounds suspiciously like Lu Fengping himself - “very outgoing; your personalities complement each other very well”) in the span of about 10 seconds. Luo Fei gives him his best “bitch, please” look and ditches him - I’m with you on this one, boo. Then there’s a weird bit of dialogue when they’re searching a suspect’s very neat and orderly apartment - Lu Fengping says “A man living by himself can keep a place like this clean. He wouldn’t be that thing…” - long pause, pointed look at Luo Fei - “OCD or something like that?” The audience knows at this point that Luo Fei’s apartment is just as well-kept, and there seems to be an implication that Lu Fengping is actually referring to the stereotype of gay men being very neat. And how could I not mention the fight scene in the gym - beyond the groping, grunting, and full-body contact of their grappling session, the looks they give each other afterward, the small smiles when the other isn’t looking, Lu Fengping thanking Luo Fei for bringing flowers to his mom’s grave - it’s a lot.

DATE NIGHT! (Sorry, I just get really excited about this part.) So here we have Mr. Uptight, known-to-not-drink-with-his co-workers-ever Luo Fei agreeing to go out with Lu Fengping after work and proceeding to get shitfaced (or does he…? He seems suspiciously sober after Lu Fengping puts him to bed and leaves the room). It’s tropey (drunken piggyback ride), it’s sweet (Lu Fengping tearing up when he sees he’s been added to the work group chat), it’s typical man shit (drinking instead of talking about feelings). They’re both just so tender and raw right under the surface and it makes me slightly feral, ngl. Also, the bit with Luo Fei’s parents there in the morning - I love how Lu Fengping immediately charms them and how they rush off like, “oops, sorry son, didn’t realize you brought a 'friend' home - we didn’t mean to interrupt!” And, of course, Liang Yin’s knowing smile when she sees them show up to work together the next morning; at this point in the show I’m not sure there’s any character who doesn’t ship it…

On a sad note, poor Xiao Liu - all he wanted was for his boss Luo Fei to be proud of him. Sure, he fucked up a couple of times, but he still didn’t deserve to get stabbed to death like that, nor just become another brick in the wall of Luo Fei’s “man pain.” (Also, WTF Luo Fei - do not throw papers at your subordinates - not cool, bro.) I’m probably reading too much into things, but there was kind of an undercurrent of Xiao Liu having a little bit of a crush on Luo Fei - he seemed so sad that Luo Fei had drinks with Lu Fengping almost immediately after meeting him, while Xiao Liu had been waiting to do that with Luo Fei for years. Interesting to note too that Xiao Liu also favored lighter-colored clothing, much like Lu Fengping (more of the light vs. dark trope).

Alright, well, this got away from me a bit… Looking forward to the second half of DC and all that delicious angst. 🖤

[passerkirbius]

Rusty Quill Saga - 24 Hour Follow Up

Hi everyone! I appreciate all the new follows! Might actually get me posting more about stuff!

So, it's been about a day since I posted my response to the Rusty Quill article, and reading some of the tag comments I wanted to respond to a couple, again in the interests of helping those who aren't within the audio fiction community get a little context that you might not otherwise have had.

But I also wanted to put my cards on the table - why should you listen to me? Hi! My name is Lee Davis-Thalbourne, I'm Australian, and I'm one half of the Fiction Podcast Production team Passer Vulpes Productions. We're the creators of a number of fiction podcasts, including Love and Luck and Supernatural Sexuality with Dr. Seabrooke. I also have a reasonable resume of small VA roles with a lot of different podcast production teams, I have a history of theorycrafting around podcast production, and I'm currently engaged in some part-time independent research around fiction podcast production that, if people are interested, I might actually get around to finishing one day. Myself and my partner Erin were the founders of AusFicPodMakers, which was/is an informal group supporting audio fiction producers in Australia, and as part of that support, I currently curate a list of Australian Fiction Podcasts (which I encourage you to take a look at!). In terms of affiliations, PVP is not associated with any podcasting network (though a few have knocked on our door), and I'm not currently producing audio fiction right now - I have no projects on the boil, so to speak.

So, I think I can say, with some evidence, that I'm a part of the audio fiction production scene, that I care about audio fiction in general, that I might have some thoughts worth listening to about it, and that I'm a mostly disinterested party regarding this - I have no particular stake in Rusty Quill's fortunes one way or the other.

Tag Responses

Okay, so I wanted to quickly respond to a few of the tag comments that have popped up in response to yesterday's post, mainly because I feel like it's worth expanding on some of them:

#i also feel bad because i was always kinda wary on tma2#now it feels even more like a cash grab

Look - as a podcast producer, I can respect a cash grab. If you can grab that cash, I'm a strong believer in doing so, because making audio fiction without cash is kinda sucky. It's like any other big endeavour - when you get nothing out of it, it eats away at you. That's part of the reason why PVP isn't producing at the moment - We tried to scale up to multiple productions and it damn near killed us. We weren't really getting the income we needed to do more than just barely break even - we, as producers, weren't making a dime off of our podcasts, even with Patreon and crowdfunding. Rusty Quill is actually an extreme outlier regarding their ability to get cash from their audiences. How extreme? Well, before the TMA2 kickstarter, the most successful Audio Fiction crowdfunding campaign was Unseen, from the producers of Wolf 359, one of the seminal audio fiction shows of the modern audio fiction renaissance, and it hit a little over US$40,000. Which, just to note, was significantly higher than any other audio fiction crowdfund project before it - very few audio fiction crowdfund campaigns get more than around US$5,000-10,000.

So, sure, it's a cash grab. It might still be good anyway though! Don't disregard it just because they're making financially-dominated decisions.

#Adding onto this while the evidence isn't conclusive (because as many people have said it is conjecture and opinions and stuff)#and also the author's credibility is...in question

So, first things first, Newt Schottelkotte is an extremely credible journalist in the Audio Fiction space - they've broken a number of big stories, and written a lot in support of the audio fiction production scene. Wil Williams, who helped edit the piece, is also a highly respected critic and journalist within the space, while Tal Minear is a very prolific audio fiction producer of good repute. Personally, I have absolutely no concerns about their integrity or credibility - they've all done incredible work.

But it is worth noting that Audio fiction is kinda odd, in that journalists, critics and producers all pretty much come from the same group of people. The honest fact is that Audio Fiction, as a beat, has pretty much no prestige, there are (currently) no publications that are dedicated to audio fiction coverage, and the whole sector is mostly considered an afterthought to the real podcast industry. So, the few people who do create audio fiction meta-content, even if they begin as separated from the industry, don't stay separated for long - they will start making contacts with producers, they may start finding people offering cameo roles in shows, and eventually, they'll consider moving into podcast production. If your requirement for a "credible" voice within audio fiction journalism is one that has absolutely no connections with any actual production, I'm sorry but that ain't happening - the scene is too small, and people move between production and commentary so often, that "true independence" isn't a thing.

With that said, these journalists do a lot to make their affiliations visible up front, which is the other way to manage conflicts of interest within the scene - by declaring them. I'd be a lot more suspicious of a journalist that doesn't put their affiliations up front, honestly.

The Rusty Quill Response

So, I wrote yesterday that I wasn't expecting a response from Rusty Quill for a good three days - they are a group, it takes time to coordinate a response, I figured I could relax for a bit. However, Rusty Quill has already produced a response, and that alone says something - it says that a single person has dictated this response. Considering the record speed, I also doubt that it has been looked over by anyone else. Knowing these things, I find it very likely that this is Alex Newall's response specifically, speaking for Rusty Quill, rather than one that that the leadership at Rusty Quill has worked on together.

I'm not going to go through the whole thing point by point - I don't have the time, and this post is already too long for most Tumblrites to consider going through it. But on a more general level, I find it interesting that the response contains not a single link, not a single pointer towards contrary evidence. Almost certainly this is due to the timeframe - were I in RQ's position, I would be going through our paperwork to find some boilerplate contracts to provide some counter-evidence to the article, or providing some financial details to show where the money is going, but finding, redacting, and publishing these things takes time. RQ has done none of this, and this isn't necessarily a point against them, but it does mean that Rusty Quill hasn't done much more than shout "Am not!" into the audience.

To talk about one specific point, I also find it interesting that, having been attacked on the subject of crew pay rates, they talk about how their cast have very good pay rates. This might be true, I don't have the resources to fact check that, and I hope it is - actors do deserve pay. But it is worth noting that actors are on a production for very little of the time - it's the editors, sound designers, musicians, transcribers, etc who put the most time on to a production. In general, you'd expect that the crew would be getting more money than the cast, because the crew is going to be putting in more time (although, fair's fair, the vast majority of audio fiction out there doesn't do this, because the only "crew" is the producer, who is usually financing the production out of their own pocket).

Questions?

So, I figure that if I'm putting myself out there, I might as well offer the opportunity for people to pick my brain. Have a question about Audio fiction production? Want to hear my explicit comments about something someone has said? My asks are open, I'll do my best to come back and answer any asks that come my way.

[alexis-royce]

WIP game, (aka proof that I certainly don't finish everything that I start!)

I was tagged by: @the-dye-stained-socialite

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Please don't get too attached to any of these. Each one is equally likely to languish in draft purgatory or get made into a fully-fledged-whatever-it-is.

Grounds for Termination (Chrome and Prism)

Mostly text below the cut:

No Spoilers (Fallen London)

The third member of the book club had been uncharacteristically quiet. His pencil had been scribbling away for weeks now. Occasionally, Pages would demand to see what the man had been writing, wary of some kind of treacherous spy notation. But each time, his notebook was spun around, revealing a veritable sportsman’s notation of the conversation, complete with tally marks, denoting points. The Jovial Contrarian would flash an expression charitably known as “punchable,” before returning to his note-taking. Great rhetorical zugzwang did not come without effort and study, and if a man wanted to keep his edge, it was frightfully important to find and study such excellent examples.  Cards, at a glance, found themself exceptionally leery of the notation system employed by the contrarian, but before they were ever quite able to question it, some little spark of conversational fluff would waft by, reigniting their squabble with Pages, and more pressing matters would take prescience.

Mastery and the Marvellous (Fallen London)

“Stop that. Why are you rubbing your eye?” “I’m. Rubbing my eye?” She stammered. “I suppose-“ “Hypothetical. I know why you are doing this. Your hand. It vexes you.” “If my hand hurt, why would I rub-“ “Your hand of CARDS, Human.” “That hand’s fine, too-“ The movement was sudden, but there was no harshness in its tone. It stole the cards from The Disgraced Academic’s grip, and spread them out on the table. “Oi!” The Academic reached for them, but Pages shooed her away. “Do you want an afternoon’s amustraction, or do you want victory?”

Hiding an injury / betrayal / lying (Fallen London)

There was a long-running argument as to the exact shade violant most resembled. As a light, it was redder than blood. As a pigment, it was nearly indigo. But everyone who saw it agreed that the effect was much the same as spotting a running rivulet of blood from the stomach of a loved one. It commanded attention, to the distraction of all other things. The Ex-Disgraced Academic’s fingers trembled as they scraped violant eyeshadow from their compact, dragging it across their upper eyelid, and into the creek behind the bridge of their nose. They fanned it out, under their brow, nearly to their temple. It was a daring use of rouge, and frankly scandalous.  But it was exactly the sort of hue that would distract from the blossoming crimson stain oozing from their abdomen.

Dissociation (Deadly Premonition, HUGE spoilers)

First off, Zach could come to the front whenever he wanted, so it wasn’t a problem or anything. The white room was only a room in their dreams. When they were awake, it was more of the feeling of white, then anything else. A pull at the back of his skull, as though gravity shifted at the edge of his brain. But he didn’t have to stay back there or anything. When nobody was talking to them, he liked to strum on their base, or stitch new patches onto their jacket. He liked to get fancy with the stitches, and York was pretty encouraging about it. But the other guys made one crack about embroidery, and it took Zach four months to even pick up a needle again. Sure, he sometimes bumped into things while walking. But Zach was fine. He wasn’t trapped at all.

Experimentation / Muzzle / transformation (Jekyll & Hyde)

Pain hurts worse the more damage it does to you. For Henry John Albert Jekyll, transformation was excruciating. There simply wasn’t a way to reframe it as beneficial. Alchemy followed a process, and one of the first steps was the stripping of vice.  This position wasn’t meant to be anything beyond a simple Nigredo stage. The sloughing and burning of vice. It would have hurt, but it would have been a pain of catharsis. The bitter medicine fed to him in bed by a nurse. A scalding bath. The screaming voice of his father, correcting a shameful behavior. The mortification of flesh. But what was good and noble was being ripped from him. His patience, above all other things. Everything was louder as Hyde, everything was loud and impossible to abide, beer was richer and gin sweeter, the thighs of a woman were soft and the moans of men buttery.

The Outside, Chapter 4 (The Stanley Parable)

He went instead to the encyclopedias, pulled one down from the shelf, and then three more. Volumes 23-26. He opened two of them to random pages and left them open on the ground, then opened the other two, quickly turning pages one at a time. Lots of text, lots of images… THERE.  Two of the volumes were displaying identical page layouts. Two sets of articles on mangroves, not a single difference between the words and images. Volumes 24 and 26 had repeated content.  But when he flipped the books closed, both covers listed “Volume 25.” No…he’d been certain that he’d pulled four differently numbered books off the shelf. He checked the row again, and there, plain as day, was the untouched copy of Volume 26. If Stanley had attempted to relay this fact to another person, they’d likely tell him that he’d made a mistake. The library simply happened to have two copies of Volume 25. It was odd, sure, and bad luck that he’d managed to grab the one book that would trip him up. But those coincidences were more likely than…what? He was dreaming? His senses were handling input incorrectly ? The world around him was a poorly designed fabrication, scrambling to patch itself with limited content and memory allocation? Stanley’s fingers twitched.

Ash and Herbert Comic (Evil Dead, Re-Animator)

Panel 1 Ash, taking his pants off Ash: Hey short stuff I gotta thank you for doin’ me this solid Panel 2 Slumps down in a chair, boxers and hairy legs, kicks his feet up: Ash: I ran outta pharmacies after the S-Mart in Kalamazoo refused me service. Panel 3 Foreground, a syringe flicks bubbles, Ash prattles on in bg, full of a staggeringly self-assured confidence They say it was “because a horde of giggling demons ate the receptionist,” but I know transphobia when I see it.”

Charles Augustus Milverton Adaptation (Sherlock Holmes)

Watson later apologizes. “The very minute which my own blood cooled, I realized that I had committed upon you the same crime of which I had accused you. I was the cold one, not you. And I fear that it was not the young lady’s feelings which I’d been attempting to protect.”

Otto's Mind Design Docs (Psychonauts 2 Spoilers)

Lead Into Gold Roughs (Serialized Killer Spoilers)

Harold “Weird…is this some kind of accountability that isn’t based off fear?” — Maggie: Arrrrrgh Harry’s buzzing around in here telling me what to do.{w} Shut up I don’t take orders from ANYONE! Maggie: GRRAAAAAAHHHH! with vpunch Maggie: huff huff pause Maggie: Hawley, tell me what to do. — Harry "Well, DeLus was ACTUALLY locked in her basement by her father. There wasn't a lock on MY basement door. Show hawley sarcastic Hawley "Yeah, that's completely different." #Harry does not pick up on the sarcasm Harry "I've led a very fortunate and privileged life."

Hojojutsu (Lupin III)

Page 1 Zenigata is walking past a line of recruits, who are saluting. Narration: Inspector Zenigata Koichi is diligent, Zenigata continues to walk by, the word balloons follow him Narration: and hardworking, Zenigata continues to walk past the line of recruits Narration: And Tireless, One of the recruits, under his salute, grins. It’s Lupin. Narration: And A FOOL. Jigen Curse Comic Page Le Salle is a room that dwarfs the Mona Lisa, and how small it is in real life frequently disappoints people. Similarly, the man removing it is dwarfed by the space he fails to magnificently occupy. Rolling up the painting is Jigen Daisuke. Zenigata keeps his gun leveled. Balloon: Jeez, Pops, put that away before you hurt someone! The room is big, and there are only two men in it. Zenigata: Lupin? Come on out, and I’ll swap the gun for cuffs! Jigen, Mona Lisa in hand, brushes back his jacket, reaching for his gun. Jigen: You want me to take care of this? Page Zenigata’s confusion is making him upset. Balloon: Are you nuts? I’m already very mad you capped one guy, don’t push your luck! Under the brim of his hat, Jigen grins. He abandons his draw. Jigen: Whatever you say, Boss. Zenigata finally loses it. Balloon: Hmph, you only call me “Boss” when you’re upset- Zenigata: What the HELL’S goin’ on, here?! His grip is tight on the gun. Zenigata: Where the hell is Lupin? He bellows, in quite the action shot. Zenigata: Because that voice… ...ain’t him! Page Jigen stops for a moment, putting the Mona Lisa into a canvas tube. He slings it over his shoulder. Jigen: Well, that’s rude. Jigen begins to walk away. This conversation is built of linked speech bubbles. It’ll be a little confusing to read, but that’s okay. Zenigata is also confused. Jigen: You’d think he’d be happy to see his reason for living! I know, it’s been what, six months? Six months without a good chase! Must’ve been goin’ stir-crazy. Page The brim of Jigen’s hat tilts up, and a ray of moonlight passes over his face. He’s not doing well. The smile on his face is very Lupin-esque, wide eyed and energetic. But it sits poorly on this gunman. It doesn’t suit him, and with good reason. Jigen: That’s okay! I was itching for a heist, too!

High Protocol (NonPlatonic Forms)

“I can’t believe I shaved for this.” “Shut up, Liam.” Lee found it exceptionally rude that, almost as soon as he’d been able to speak again, he wasn’t allowed to use his voice anymore. “Yes, yes,” Niles worried at the cuffs of his jacket, and straightened his lapels, “an utter shame that the world won’t be graced with your croaky voice. However, the point is for you to be perceived as little as possible. If you draw attention to yourself, it will soundly defeat the point. Lee didn’t think that he was dressed to blend in. The suitjacket was immaculately tailored, and cut from a black-on-black brocade. He’d managed to slick his hair back into place, and he could see his face in his shoes. There was something satisfying about being dressed so elegantly. If you could pull off a look, it made you into a walking piece of art. Neat! But the collar was tight, the layers had already made him begin to sweat, and the shoes pinched at his toes and heels. Lee looked great, but it was a trade-off he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make for long. Niles began to fuss with Lee’s tie, now. Initially, he held tie after tie up to his neck, debating between endless shades of black, wrapping them around his collar in half and full Windsors. As his fingers brushed against Lee’s neck and chest, the sensation was more than enough to distract Lee from the pain in his heels. But the analogue method was too cumbersome for Niles, who quickly reverted to cheating. A snap of his fingers, and a new tie sprang about Lee’s collar. Another snap, another tie. Snap, snap, snap.

Gray Jacket Chapter 20 (Lupin III, and I do actually plan on finishing this one)

It wasn’t unheard of for them to bump into the same opponent once or twice, but over the past couple years, a young swordsman had kept popping up. A genuine, 20th-century samurai, hakama and katana in tow. Lupin had squarely beat him on all fronts, of course. Nobody was ever really any match for his own dazzling brilliance. But the Samurai had survived both encounters, and after a particularly lengthy little job plundering a pair of scrolls the samurai had been ordered to guard, the samurai had tried a new tactic. He’d shown up, barging straight into Lupin’s hideout, shoulders piled high with all his worldly possessions, determined to study, with Lupin as his new master. After all, Lupin had bested the samurai and his master, multiple times over. If he wanted to learn from ‘The Best,’ then it would be Lupin, and nobody else. At that moment, however, ‘The Best’ was plowing straight [OH NO THIS PART IS EXPLICIT], and the samurai’s declaration of intent to dedicate himself to Lupin’s tutelage was drowned out by an overcome moan of [YEAH YOU CAN'T SAY THAT IN CHURCH] and Lupin wasn’t in the habit of making artisan, single-sourced love if he had a looky-loo breathing down his neck. Across the room, Jigen turned the page of his newspaper. “The boss is busy. Come back later.”

Off the Cuff 2 (It's in the title)

"Ahhhhhh, {i}Christ.{/i}" "It’s my ex." "You ever been in one of those relationships that just consumes you from the inside?{w} You really, really know it’s a terrible idea, but that hardly helps.{w} You draw a line super early: clear, definite boundaries." "And then you realize that you’re both insanely fucked up, and neither of you has the same definition for what you’ve defined." "Why do I always find myself in these sorts of scenarios?{w} All I can do is sigh." "Nobody tells you that a 5\’2\" spitfire is going to be utterly irresistible to so many people. Hey, I try to warn them." "Too many folks out there touch-starved, I guess.{w} You pat them on the head once, and they think you’ve got an immortal, irreplaceable bond,{w} and then they drag you away to their laboratory where they just can't stop raising the dead, and you’ve got a whole 'nother issue to deal with." "Oh, well.{w} It do be like that sometimes."

Mecha Pilot Lee AU (NonPlatonic Forms)

The screen illuminated Lee's face. “Huh. That’s weird.” “What’s weird?” If she hadn't been a 15-meter mech, she could’ve been arching an eyebrow, for all her timbre implied. “Diagnostics were checking to see if you’d suffered data loss in the attack, but it’s the opposite. There’s new data in here.” Lee preemptively logged the finding analog-style, pulling out a notebook and copying down the file name.   “Oh, uh. Don’t open that.” She coughed. “That’s private.” Lee smirked. “Julia is not supposed to be saving personal files to your hardware, Channery. It’s a security issue.” “Where else is she supposed to save them? Come on, Lee! The enemy built me with barely any memory as it was! I know that I’m not supposed to be developing a history or memories, but you know better than I that I can’t accurately cross-reference them against any moral codes besides treasuring Julia!” “Oh. So it’s. Uh. Personal?” “Extremely.” Channery glowered. She couldn’t really fire her pulse charges at an ally, but her tone didn’t exactly encourage Lee to test it. “Channery, you know that I’m going to have to double-check this, right? I have to extract this and run it on a limited server. If it’s malicious…” “It’s not malicious! But it is, you know…” she hissed through her not-teeth, “…off-book pilot/apparatus bonding techniques.” “Any events that take place inside a cockpit are subject to government surveillance,” but Lee groaned as he said it. Julia and Channery weren’t the first pair to commit ‘off-book activities,’ and they wouldn’t be the last. It wasn’t even an illegal activity, so long as you were the only pilot assigned to the mech in question. But some pilots looked at the memory reserves in the mech’s hard drive, and figured that, so long as the AI was going to be adding the occasional movie, song or mission footage to its memory banks, there was space in there for their own precious memories of hanky-panky.  Fucking the mech wasn’t illegal. But saving your own unapproved files to the hard drive was.

And last but not least, from the 51k nanowrimo version of Lead Into Gold:

20th of Mid-Autumn, 1905 My one and only, You are quite right. I meant to write you a love letter, but instead, wound myself up in fears and concerns for myself. This next letter must scoop you up into my arms, and submerge us both into the warm comfort of my adoration. I miss you dreadfully; during the days there is my research to keep me company, but it is a cruel friend that runs me ragged and leaves me empty. I’ve grown accustomed to welcoming you to dinner every night, and have been considering hiring a cook, if research continues to go well. It is not fashionable to have servants, as the aristos in other cities do, but the hiring of a weekly maid is quite normal, and has worked well for me. I have kept her from touching the guest room- which is quickly taking place in my mind as ‘Hawley’s Room’- but I cannot say the same for myself. I have slept in there twice already, and worn your sweater while I slept and while I but these hints of you are not the same as your presence and words. You know, as much as I may consider the opinions of others, their presence is extraordinarily draining. I have had three dinners since you left, all of them supposedly university functions, but all also including a number of businessmen. I knew that this was a common occurrence in the chemical and engineering departments; the end goal for most research is to patent and sell to the highest bidder. But as you mentioned, I am quite well off enough that to sell would be quite unethical of me. So it is obnoxious to continually wish for a dinner discussing university business, and to get this other sort of business, instead. Were you here, I wonder what you might have said. And yes, I am sure that that must be an odd thing to hear from me, who is constantly tutting and pooh-poohing you for your lack of manners. But what seems irksome in abundance can be precious in absentia. And your forthrightness is a blast of cool air in these stuffy meetings. The lot of us stuffed-shorts spend hours and hours carefully twisting our words around, into pretty shapes, hoping to avoid offense. But all that that really seems to accomplish is to raise the standard. And thus, words that are not pretty enough become an offense. A missed complement becomes a slight. It is enough to make me long for you to insult me. I am no masochist, but the sense of security one gets by being insulted in good faith? It is endless. To know that one’s faults are perceived, and still accepted, is more flattering than a hundred compliments. That is part of the charm of you, one that is not easily seen by those deluded enough to expect empty flattery. You do not insult out of some desire to exercise power, or to harm the person with whom you speak. You do so out of the simple, innocent desire to speak what is true, or to assist another in correcting a flaw. And thus, when you speak praise, it holds a value to me which is deeply precious. And all the moreso because your opinions and insight are excellent! When we differ in perspective, it is not long before you are able to sway me to your side of the matter, and I feel all the richer for it. I miss them deeply, and remain, Ever Yours, Harry P.S. I am enclosing some additional notes on the new detection device, and I hope that they are of value.

25th of Mid-Autumn, 1905 My Failing Wordsmith, It confuses me to no end, how a man who spins the most poetic words of love in person, cannot manage to do the same on paper. I do not feel submerged in affection yet, you must open the tap further. I apologize, I am in a lackluster mood. I’ve seen neither hair nor hide of the demon, though the readings are exceptionally strong. I end each day in mounting frustration. One of Rakove’s damndable wasps escaped from its carrier the other day, and when I swung at it, the horrible things was impertinent enough to sting me. That was, in effect, the end to my entire day. Unlike you, I do not handle pain well, and the swelling in my arms was enough to command my thoughts, and I took to bed. I tried writing to you, but it was as though the blinding light at sea, searing my eyes, were all concentrated on that one spot on my arm. All I accomplished was to ruin two sheets of paper with curses, and they are illegibly mediocre ones. Professor Rakove did his best to assist, but his research in the matter is still lacking, and the salve which he applied to the sting only made the situation worse. He asked me questions, attempting to ascertain my status, but, delirious with pain, I cannot tell if I was any help. He stayed by my side for the rest of the day and night, and I appreciate his diligence, giving up valuable research time to care for me. I am still weak, and he supposes that I might have been allergic to the sting. I have told him that while I may grumble about it, he is forgiven in my heart, so long as he fixes the latch on his bee carrier. I shall continue to convalesce, but I won’t improve without affection. Yours. I demand it, so that I may remain, Ever Yours, Hawley