#why do I tag better on this hell site than AO3

[olderthannetfic]

I went scrolling through anti ao3 tags and blogs because I was bored and not doing the shit I need to do and you know for a group of people who every year twice a year throw such hissy fits you’d think they’d at least have a point, but all their arguments make no sense(except their one main one that they almost never use?--why??) Like ok, there is one argument for why people shouldn’t give money to ao3, and that is the argument that ao3 is bad website because it has bad policies and refuses to moderate. I disagree, but ultimately if someone thinks that ao3 should update the TOS and moderate what fan fiction they allow, it makes sense that that person would be against the site making money because… well they are against the sites founding principles, I’m not shocked they don’t want it to succeed.

But the rest of the arguments!? Man they make no sense at all

“They are scamming you there is no way they need that much money”, ”its immoral to give money to ao3 because they already have so much!”, “Even if ao3 was perfect, its ridicuslous to give 100K to a fan fiction site!” — like… maybe I’m the asshole here, but ao3 made about 250,000 this spring, so they make about 500,000 a year… that’s just not that much money! That could what, pay for 10-30 employees at best! And that’s not counting the actual cost of all the shit they currently spend their money on! I get that ao3 is run by unpaid volunteers so antis think that 500K is a lot, but that’s not true! That’s not a lot of money at all! It might be a lot of money for an individual but for a company that’s practically pennies. Wikipedia, which granted is a lot bigger than ao3, with 57,218,269 pages to ao3s 6 million works, makes 155 million to ao3 500,000. According to antis ao3 has over a million in reserve and well according to wikipedia they have net assets of US$240 million. One is clearly more than the other!

I saw someone say that servers should be 1K, which is so stupid and out of touch with eveything I almost died laughing. I had a project using firebase this semester, I created 2 projects within firebase one for my school project and one to dick around and figure out. I accidentally set my test database to a “pay as you go” version instead of a free version. And almost had to pay a thousand dollars for the month! I wasn’t even using that database it was just sitting there but I check my google billing to make sure I wasn’t paying anything and it turns out I was! 150 dollars actually so that sucks! (My fault though)

Also also I keep seeing that its ridiculous and evil to pay the much for a site that “doesn’t improve” but the “doesn’t improve” is referring to A) no changes in TOS, which I don’t want to happen any way so good. B) the fact that it’s still in beta, which I don’t give a fuck about and I don’t understand why I should care. I think antis are dont like that the layout hasn’t changed but I don’t want to the layout to change. Also things come out of beta because they are a commercial product to be sold(this is very simplified), which is why some things come out of beta to waaaay to early and are glitchy as all hell! Ao3 isn’t being sold to me its slowly being built and archiving things that would probably be lost, and it will probably technically be in beta forever, but it doesn't effect me and I don't care. Would it be better if it came out of beta only to continously updated like a lot other shit does. I don't really play video games but I know ppl that do so I know at least once a game came out that didn't really work and people needed to later update shit for it to function and I'd argue thats worse than a functional website just being in beta forever. C) The claim that it hasn’t changed at all, which is just not true! They added the exclude section and eventually added the blocking shit. The blocking took too long to come out, so I guess in this sea of dumb criticism theres at least 1 piece of critism that makes sense. And finally again I don’t want it to change! Every other week we are all bitching that Tumblr or YouTube or Instagram or any other app are needlessly changing the layout or adding shit we don’t want in order to keep up with latest trends, make it more marketable or try and attracted new users. Ao3 is great because its never going to change. Ao3 and Craigslist will always kinda look like ass and I’m ok with that. If it aint broke ¯_(ツ)_/¯

I could keep going but there is no point. I just think they are all so stupid.

--

The thing about beta is the funniest because AO3, like oldschool shit from the 90s, has actual criteria for coming out of beta.

It's not "we've been going for 10 years" or "we want to sell the product": it's "we've checked off all the things on this checklist".

And they still haven't done them all, so it's still in beta.

[mommalosthermind]

So I'm slowly starting to come to understand that we shouldn't censor things but also I'm still a little uncomfortable with the site allowing things like pedophilia to be written in a way that's romanticized. I get it. Avoid it since I don't like it but at what point do we say, 'hmm this isn't okay.' I mean I get it, fiction doesn't hurt people but if that were truly the case then why are we lobbying for rep/realism/etc in media? Fiction, at some point, has to have some effect on real life.

Hello darling! I got your second ask too, please don’t worry, you’re definitely not coming across as unkind.

And you’re definitely not the only one to have similar thoughts or concerns.

But my answer’s going to be the same.

There is no such thing as a little censorship, and opening that particular can of pringles is not going to end happily for anyone. It’s better to not open it at all. And yes, that means people will create deeply fucked up things. But they should have the ability to do so, just like you should have the ability to avoid the hell out of it.

(Which, for AO3, is where I start in on my tag your shit appropriately/read the fucking tags!!! Rants. Learned the hard way a million years ago when I *thought* I was reading something very very different than I was, so when I got to ‘Character has sex with a dog’ I lost my mind, then realized I fucked up and hadn’t read the tags. If I had, I would have noped out of that fic immediately. So. That entire encounter was on me.)

“At what point is this not okay?” Well, that’s the whole point, isn’t it? Who would be in charge of deciding where the line goes? Who gets to decide what goes on which side of the line?

The last anon seemed to think writing was the same as doing, and thus writing shouldn’t be allowed at all.

And then got annoyed when I pointed out how often those unsavory themes happen in movies or TV without any warning at all, and generally, people move right past it.

Fiction doesn’t hurt people. People hurt people.

My favorite comparison is still my kitchen curtains, because my curtains are still weird: fairies, trees. Very witchy. I’ve seen people do literal double takes over my curtains. I can tell by the way they squint they can’t stand them or don’t understand why I would want something so *non-traditional* in such a public part of my house. They keep their damned mouths shut though, because they know its rude to tell me to change my curtains to fit their idea of a kitchen. (And also because I’d toss them out after laughing my ass off but that’s not relevant)

Person A has an idea of what ‘acceptable’ levels are, but that’s much much less than person B. Who wins? No one.

And no one should have the power to just decide things like that.

It’s stupid o’clock at night where I am, so I’m not about to go digging for studies, but I know we’ve got pretty solid proof that media doesn’t cause behaviors spontaneously. At the risk of sounding old, but this same argument once was applied to music, too. The weird compromise was slapping content warnings for language/sex/violence on CD’s. (Y’know. A significantly less useful form of tagging?) It didn’t… really do shit for anyone. Other than make those CD’s more attractive to teens, tbh. But. The argument at the time was rap and rock were violent and would make kids go insane and violent just by listening.

It… didn’t. It still doesn’t.

Reading dark fic isn’t going to cause someone to do something out of the blue.

Someone who’s debating doing the thing might seek out media about whatever their obsession is, yes. But their obsession was already there. Fic, music, movies, they’re not going to create it. I’d wager those girls who murdered their friend and blamed ‘slenderman’ had signs long before they went that far.

Part of the problem with this entire thought is that it’s thought policing. Folks assume the thought equals the sin. And as someone with pretty wonky intrusive thoughts and a long family history of mental issues— no. I have weird ass thoughts all the time. ‘Huh, I’m up high, I should jump, maybe I’ll float.’ I’m not gonna act on them. I know they’re weird thoughts. I’m not gonna float, I’d just die. Your brain just… says things sometimes. Some of us more than others. Therapy’s helpful for folks who struggle with that.

Fiction’s got nothing to do with it, though. Fiction just represents someone else working through their lives.

Melissa Etheridge wrote a song (scarecrow) about Matthew Sheppard’s murder. She didn’t cause anyone else to go torture another lonely gay boy to death. She was working through her grief at losing another one of us. And we worked through our grief when she sang.

Art is made for the making of it. Fiction—even the kind that squicks you— is still art.

As for the other part of your ask, the representation? I’m not sure I see the connection you’re trying to make. When people talk about rep, they’re talking about making the characters more authentic, more reflective of the beautiful range of humanity at large. Not seven brown haired white guys and one bitchy white woman and the unnamed not-white side character used for shit jokes. There should be a rainbow of humans in media, because little black girls deserve to know they’re strong and smart and beautiful. Because queer kids of all sizes and shapes deserve to know they’re loved. Because boys should get to be princesses. Because people with chronic illnesses, disabilities, they should get to be part of the stories. Because white folk need to see the rest of the world as human. Folks want to see themselves in the heroes, the happiness, the successes.

Too many kids never get to see themselves on the screen or read about people who look like them.

I loved belle as a kid because she looked like me and she loved reading. I loved Ariel because she wanted to be free. I cried over encanto because I know what it’s like to be excluded, what it’s like to be the big sister. I cried over reading red white and royal blue because the gays get to live and they’re happy. Everyone should have some way to connect.

The realism bit,though, I don’t think is the consumers as a whole. Yeah, some folks prefer it, but from what I’ve seen over the last 20 years, it’s more like the people who control most popular media have decided that’s what they wanna make. I don’t care for it, tbh. Media doesn’t need to be an exact copy of the real world.

Stories are meant as a place of solace, or at least a place that is different, than your day to day.

I like stories that have soft, happy ever afters. We’ve worked through the Big Bad Thing and come out stronger for it and now we get our well deserved rest. The real world doesn’t give me those things. Other people look at the state of the world, read seriously fucked up shit, and then go, well, at least my life isn’t that. It could be worse! And this is their happy place.

So. I’m not sure I’m much help here, but tl;dr: remember the tenets of fandom:

1) kinktomato: your kink is not my kink and that is okay. (You like this, I do not, I’m gonna leave it alone, the end.)

2) DLDR: Don’t like? Don’t read. Filtering and blocking are your besties.

3) ship and let ship (or sit down) — don’t press your dislike onto the people who do like. Let ‘em alone, go find what you do like.

4) tag appropriately, read the damn tags.

5) curate your own spaces. You alone are responsible for your online existence/experiences

6) have fun. Enjoy it. Be weird. Be silly. Be fucked up. Be unrepentantly yourself. Don’t let anyone else take that away from you.

[kaesaaurelia]

Apropos of the last reblog... whenever I have had doubts about the 1926 fic being well-received in fandom (I had a crisis about this when S2 was announced, and also again when S2 happened) [edit: also I'm using "well-received" as a euphemism for "I won't get crickets and will not get more than 5 people telling me I don't know canon"], my therapist is just like "Why don't you just publish it [commercially as original fiction]?" And like... I don't want to, that should be enough, but I foolishly make the mistake of saying "I don't want to do that, because I'd hate the result and it wouldn't sell anyway." But it's true.

First off, I'd have to fundamentally change the characterizations of not-Aziraphale and not-Crowley to be comfortable with publishing it, in ways that would make them much less appealing to me, because I like those characters. I could see myself writing origfic about Vehuel and Nisroc, and have posted some stuff to AO3 tagged "origfic" because people who would like it will find it more easily there than in the GO tag, but I don't think I'd feel comfortable publishing it for profit unless I changed the setting completely so it wasn't Comically Bureaucratic Heaven and Hell -- which I'd also want to do with the 1926 fic, because everyone who's read or seen Good Omens is going to instantly recognize it. It's not bad to be influenced by something, of course, but look, if I have to rework both the setting AND the characters that's a lot of work to make a story less itself. Had I had more interesting-to-me ideas for either story or characters I would have written those instead.

The other issue is I do not think she understands how LONG it is. People who aren't writers hear "1000 words" and think "wow that's a lot of words, that's like 20 pages, right?" People who aren't writers hear "400k words" and think "wow that's a lot of words, that's like a hundred pages, right?" People who are writers understand that 1000 words is the point during an average NaNoWriMo day where you're like "I don't think I can do this actually," and then you're annoyed with yourself because you barely wrote a page and a half, and that 400k words is "oh no the idea got away from them, RIP." No traditional publisher wants to publish something that's 400k unless it's by George R. R. Martin and it is specifically the thing they've been waiting for him to finish for several presidential administrations.

So I'd have to self-pub. Which I don't really feel like doing because, bluntly, I would not get anything out of it. I do not know how to market a 400k book that is a historical action/adventure story with a substantial queer romance B-plot, but also a lot of it is torture porn, but not like that, it's not dark romance, the romance is fluffy. There isn't a good marketing niche for this. I'd either have to take out the sex scenes or rewrite them to be more appealing to the market (which means less appealing to me, a person who has found maybe one explicit sex scene in self-published fiction that I was into, and surprise surprise, the author's webpage linked to their AO3 account) and if I rewrote them I'd probably do better condensing the story down drastically to 15-20k of mostly porn with a light dusting of historical fantasy, which is not what I wrote.

But back to the marketing: I'd have to build a social media following, something I am not good at, on a social media site that is doing well and not in crisis (how??? where???) and all my insecurities about posting things online would be magnified a hundredfold if a. I had to do that and b. money was on the line. If I'm posting on AO3, I won't get money, but I will (very occasionally) get people telling me they liked it, which I will probably enjoy much more.

Anyway, I don't want to go into all of this with my therapist because she keeps doubting any of these assertions -- as if I do not keep up with publishing drama, or know self-pub authors, or understand that fans can diagnose "they painted landlord white over my blorbos to publish this" at 50 paces -- so it takes the whole hour.

But when I just leave it as "I don't want to do that, because I'd hate the result and it wouldn't sell anyway" she hears it as "I don't think my writing is good and I think no one likes it [clearly a symptom of depression]" but what I am trying to convey is "I don't want to take a sledgehammer to my favorite things about this story just so I can pitch it to a commercial audience I didn't have in mind when I wrote it, and I do not want to waste my free time and energy for socializing professionally trying to get people to like me on social media, something you know full well makes me deeply unhappy even at a small scale."

[newpotatomash]

It's so fucking ironic when little shits start pelting the comment section in fics that are clearly tagged with "pedophilia" and "dead dove do not eat" and similar words.

Long fucking rant under the cut-

What is it with these people and being unable to just fucking click the back button? It isn't even my fanfiction, but these people just scream everything between "Go to therapy" and "kill yourself" as if they actually wish for people to deal with whatever might cause an issue in their life??? They fucking don't. They just want to scream at strangers to die while they write "UwU dead dove do not eat" fanfics themselves that include murder and violent fantasies of a fictional character.

But it's fine when they do it because nobody involved is underage as if that makes their stupid fucking rules about thought-crimes any less violent.

Why is it always the same people who insist they love dark media?? Either you're fine with MADE UP ACTS or you're not. You can't just fucking pick and choose and decide that you're the authority of "acceptable" violence that someone thought up in their heads.

I am extremely fickle when it comes to media that involves vaginal sex, and that is my responsibility to curate, which is why I fucking??? Don't??? Walk right into a fanfic that's been tagged with those exact tags and blame the author.

I saw someone going something like, "No sane person would read this. I can only imagine a very impressionable child stumbled upon it and saw it, which breaks my heart ngl"

IF AN IMPRESSIONABLE CHILD STARTS TICKING BOXES FOR A VERY SPECIFIC TYPE OF FANFIC, AND THEY THEN PROCEED TO READ IT, HOW THE HELL IS THAT THE AUTHORS FAULT. we're one goddamn step away from blaming murder on video games here.

These fucking people think that wishing death upon others for writing a piece of fiction is any better than a 14 year old reading said piece of fiction and going, "Whoa. Weird." And then leaving the website because they realized that pretending to be 18+ was a bad idea.

I am in awe over the internet.

The amount of times I see the word "degenerate" on a day is completely bonkers and I wish sites weren't so fucking scared of porn. We're just competing in some fucked up moral olympics and nobody is winning except the advertisers who cry snot at a site allowing 18+ content. I love ao3 so much.

I hate that if I wish to post smutty drawings I have to use twitter? I won't suddenly start using a site like furaffinity when I don't draw anything that would count as furry.

I hate the internet for taking away the immeasurable joy it is to bond with people who just want to play dolls (write fanfics or draw fanart, make oc stuff, all that) with me. I've met some of my best friends online that I've sent and received gifts from over the span of 5, 10, 15 years.

I remember writing an abundance of shotacon fics, and knowing it was an acquired taste, but never seeing the kind of moral-policing we have now. (I know it existed. Of course) Hell, I remember people just saying that Enzai was an amazing anime because to them, it was a given that a yaoi anime would include kids and rape and false imprisonment?? It was the fucking wild west and it's like people saw this and went "Hey... We should start tagging things."

But instead of continuing to have fun with their fictional writings and tagging topics in the stories, we just escalated into "We have a pedophilia tag but people will wish death upon you."

How do these people survive in day-to-day life in actual conversation? Do they start arguing and calling a 15 year old who has a crush on their 14 year old friend a pedophile? Do they start berating young women because they named their boyfriend "daddy" in their phonebook? Why are they like this???

I miss fanfiction.net and livejournal so much when the biggest concern was figuring out what topic I'd discuss while I pretended to speak to characters from Yugioh and yelling "I don't own any of these characters". I miss it so much. It made my life better. I found community, I made friends. I wonder what kind of friends people nowadays will make 15 years from now.

Shout out to my buddies from ffnet who are still following me because you know exactly who you are

[dandywonderous]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

Tagged by @kiaxet

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

210, but about 110 of those have been copied over from my old FFN account (almost all of the One Piece fics, basically).

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

709,457

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently I'm mostly only writing for Rise of the TMNT, but I have written a lot for One Piece and Free!, as well as Twisted Wonderland, Persona 5, Fire Emblem 3 Houses, FFXV, KnB, and others.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. I May Be Invisible, But I Still Look Good (ROTTMNT) 2. Tight Fit (FFXV) 3. Tapping Out (ROTTMNT) 4. Lab Accident (ROTTMNT) 5. Things Overheard (Hiding Under the Bed of the King of Athens) (Hades)

5. Do you respond to comments?

No |'D I don't know why but it just gives me anxiety so I don't. I do appreciate the comments, I'm just bad at responding. I'm sorry!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably this old fic where Sanji just dies in the end, but I think I have fics that are angstier in the middle even if they end better. For something that's not just the character dying, probably Herbal Tea (ROTTMNT), or maybe Failures and Heroes (You and Me) (ROTTMNT)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my fics have happy endings so this is hard! Probably a tie between Tight Fit and IMBI, since those have their central characters going through pure hell but getting all kinds of love in the end (including romantic love in Prompto's case).

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Once. This is the hazard of writing AkeShu (P5) lmao.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO BOY I sure do. I write all kinds of smut, including a few gross kinks most people put in their hard nos. If you're poking around in my full fic list proceed with caution. Lately since I've been writing so much ROTTMNT I haven't been writing smut, though, since I'm more into the canon for the fluff and family feels. The last smut fic I wrote was The Appearance of Impropriety (FE3H), which is a Dimitri/Edelgard/Hubert threesome. And before that, it was a TWST AzuJami fic that, well, took advantage of Azul's octopus anatomy, if you get what I'm sayin'.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I haven't really written fandom crossovers since I was a teenager and tbh I don't remember much about them, I think they were more crackfics than anything serious. I have written several AUs that use other fandoms, though. Probably the weirdest one I've actually written is a Free! RinRei Dragon Age AU, where Rin is a templar and Rei is a mage (the forbidden love of it all). I also have waaaay too many ideas in my head for an ROTTMNT FFX AU where Mikey is a summoner.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I remember back in my FFN days I would occasionally search up my fics and find them c/ped to random clickbait sites, probably as a bot scrapping operation. But to my knowledge I've never actually had anyone take one of my fics and claim it as theirs. Even that bot reposting still had my username attached lol

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yep! The fabulous @e-turn has translated several of my ROTTMNT fics into Russian! I've had other requests before, too, but I'm not sure how far those went. If anyone does want to translate my works, feel free! Just be sure you're crediting me, and if it's going on AO3 be sure to link the original!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have done some co-writing and some fic round robin events but none of them ever got to the point where they actually got published, because someone would flake out or we would just lose steam. I might be up for it, if it were a project we were both really invested in, but I'd probably have to be friends with the co-writer first.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

MMM this is hard... probably RinRei from Free! I've never felt quite as intensely about a ship as I did that one.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Hold On To Me (KnB); I love it but I am so far out of KnB fandom at this point haha.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Character voice, I think; it's what I usually get compliments on and what I feel the best writing. In a way, fanfiction (and fandom RP) has really helped me think about characterization. Something I was certainly guilty of in my younger days (and that a lot of amateur writers are guilty of) was having my characters act as vehicles for plot, doing or saying whatever I needed them to in the moment to move the plot where it needed to go. This meant none of my characters had any kind of consistent characterization and all of them were samey. We joke about "he wouldn't fucking say that," but in a funny way this kind of thinking really got me to think about characterization and character agency. Before I would say, "we need to get from point A to point B, so let's do that." After trying to get into the groove of writing already strongly characterized characters, and please an audience with certain expectations, I found myself thinking really hard about what would motivate a character from point A to point B, and if the circumstances I'd set up weren't enough to cause that, I'd need to tweak them, or better yet, explore what I think the character WOULD actually do in that scenario (which may be more fun anyway). This is a skill I think fanfiction is great for helping new writers develop.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I wish I had stronger word choice at times, and had stronger imagery. I'll read lines in other people's work that just blow me away haha. I could never write so poetically, I think.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

If you are good at a language, or have someone fluent helping you out, then go for it. There's no reason any work needs to be written in only one language. I'm not a purist on this. That said I also think writing "he said in Spanish" or something like that is fine. If it serves your purposes better for your fic to all be in one language, or you aren't confident enough to write in a different language, then you can just make it clear to your audience that a different language is being spoken now. Especially because I come from a lot of anime fandoms, I'm used to there being a sort of unspoken understanding that the characters are not speaking English and what we're getting is just the English approximation/localization of what they're saying. So this doesn't bother me. And of course, throwing in random Japanese exclamations in an otherwise English language fic always comes off a bit campy. I do think it's fine for things like terms of address and nicknames, though. I've never really gotten the hubbub over not having honorifics like "-san" or "-chan" in fics because the same people who usually hate that are also fine with "Señor" or "Mademoiselle" in writing and, like, what's the difference? Idk if any of what I said answers the question. My thoughts are that it's variable, ig.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Technically it was for the book Alas, Babylon, and it was a class assignment in 9th grade English.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Ah this is hard... IMBI is my longest fic and I'm really proud of how it turned out, but I think I'll always have a soft spot for I Keep on Hopin' (We'll Eat Cake by the Ocean) (TWST) - warning that this fic is NSFW and has explicit smut.

Idk who to tag. @aria-faye @unpredictable-probabilities @daboyau ? Anyone else who wants to do it feel free!

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

(Not hate) okay so about that one controversial fic. I’m not gonna say anything bad about but I’m actually just genuinely curious why you decided to write something like that? Considering that there’s way less controversial things to write about, why did you decide to write that?

i think i answered something similar a while ago, but it got lost on my blog bc i am incapable of tagging things properly lol i can never find anything

i am a person that likes to be challenged. i like taking an unusual or controversial concept and exploring it (one of the reasons i invented and did kink!week, where i challenged myself to write abt unusual/odd/misunderstood kinks and tried to make it genuinely hot, even if i personally wasn't necessarily into it). truth is, i got bored with the fanfic community and the type of content that was preferred, and i was honestly bored with it for a while before writing this fic. no hate to fandom writers -- i think there is a place and an audience for everyone, but i craved a different type of content, both to read and to write. i felt like i was expected to throw out fics that are basically all a variation on the same concept, and i felt i'd go nuts if i read one more larissa x teacher!reader self-insert fic. i felt like the content was just used for self-insert gratification and porn with little to no plot or actual character exploration/development. and honestly, nothing wrong with that, but i was hungry for stories with substance, or even slightly more imaginative smut, if we're talking smut (and let's be real this is a very horny fandom lol).

so one morning i was scrolling through the Webbed Site, as one does, and i stumbled upon a larissa x wednesday fic by a person whose username i honestly don't even remember, but they were not a popular or a known creator. and i was like, what the hell, let's see if this is cringe and if it is i can be Outraged with my wife later. and while Some of it was cringe, i felt like there was actual substance to the story and that their dynamic made sense, even if there were bits that i disliked and the grammar was very poor. and i was like, wow, that actually felt refreshing to read, even with its many flaws. at least it was original.

so i started to wonder -> under which circumstances would these two characters actually make sense? how do i create a world in which that relationship would work? i love to challenge myself as a writer, and i thought about it until i came up with a narrative that could support my idea!

i am honestly surprised by how many people are appalled by the concept of ageing up a character? that has been around for as long as fandom exists. i didn't think it would be *that* controversial, and if you read my story i honestly don't think there is anything Outrageous in it. in fact, i think it's much, much tamer than MANY popular fandom works. i expected some backlash bc people are generally close-minded online and have very Specific ideas abt what is Moral and what is Not, but i didn't expect people to go *this* nuts lol. i am better prepared for next time, i guess

and even if my work was like. Immoral and Horrible, it's fiction. if you don't like it, don't read it. i feel we encounter a genuine problem when people try to control and police other people and the type of content that gets written and posted -- a lot like young people trying to erase "problematic tags" from ao3. i am not saying certain things aren't problematic, but there is a distinction to be made between fiction and real life. people are allowed to write about whatever they want to write about, and it doesn't make them criminals, murderers, pedophiles, or morally corrupt and evil.

i honestly think most people who have accused me of promoting pedophilia wouldn't recognise sexual abuse if it was happening before their eyes irl lol. and besides, i never said oh go fuck your former teacher, that's a great idea!!! (i know fandom people who have bragged abt doing that though lol) i have simply written a story about two characters that are both consenting adults, and you can take it or leave it.

i am, in fact, writing a new fic that does deal with pedophilia, ephebophilia to be precise with my terminology, sexual assault and cycles of abuse -- how and why they happen and whether they can be broken and how. it's a very personal story and i pull a lot from my own life experience with sexual abuse as a minor. it's, obviously, not a romance or a ship story, but it *is* set in the wednesday universe -- and i am SURE i will get another bout of "kill yourself" messages, to which i say, i don't give a shit. i think people who send that type of shit are sad and deranged -- and tbh, you can send me those day in and day out and i would still i post whatever the fuck i wanted. i got angry with all the ignorance and hate that i witnessed after i published "particular" and i now feel the need to write what people think they witnessed in my story.

all that being said, i am also a person that likes to poke at the status quo. my answer to "why" is "why not?" so you can take that as you will. i am not harming anybody and i don't see why i should be apologetic about writing a fic that i wanted to write.

i appreciate you asking a genuine question and not hiding behind anon! this is my genuine answer, and i hope it's somewhat satisfying -- if not, that's too bad bc it's the only one i've got.

[nowoyas]

Actually just for like nuance purposes bc I'm sure OP of that post is probably annoyed as hell by the notes already but I HAVE to nuance this shit since there's a lot I want to add to that post, re: ao3 etiquette

kudos when you feel like it. different people use kudos for different reasons. I use them because I actually liked the fic. it's like giving a thumbs-up. apparently some people just use it to say they finished it. that's not standard, there is no standard. consider it like a facebook "like" in that it kind of ticks a number up but doesn't really tell you anything further than that.

comment when you feel like it. it's nice to do. a lot of authors enjoy comments that aren't worded super rudely and will enjoy anything from "<3" to "asdkljfhdksljfhdjksh" to an essay about why you loved it.

"pls update" comments are a toss-up. some people love em, some people hate em, some are ambivalent. comment how you like but understand that some people see requests to update as pushing them along while others think of them as really nice reminders that that fic they've been avoiding eye contact with IS liked by people, and it's difficult to tell which a particular fic author will be.

general rule of thumb: if they didn't ask for concrit, they probably will consider it rude if you give it. before you start whining in the notes, yes it's the internet and you can do what I want, you're very entitled I get it. it's still rude to walk up to someone painting on the street or something and tell them how they can do x y and z better when they didn't fucking ask. no matter how combative you get over the right you do have to be an asshole on the internet, you are still being an asshole. some people on the internet are kids. sometimes a fic is intensely personal to someone. sometimes they're just starting out. sometimes they're just having fun and not particularly interested in learning the nitty gritty of grammar and story structure. sometimes they just didn't fucking ask because they don't want it. you're never going to make it not rude by insisting on leaving concrit anyway. if you really really want to, there's a really simple solution: leave a comment POLITELY asking them whether they'd be open to constructive criticism, and then respect the answer they give you. in this case, silence is an answer, too.

metas and theories are allowed under TOS. ao3 is for "noncommercial, non-ephemeral fanwork... that is fannish in nature". ao3's faq explicitly calls out meta as allowed under TOS.

what is not allowed under ao3 tos: "help me find this fic!" requests posted as "fanworks", links to or mentions of donations or patreons/monetizing fic, posting a request for someone else to write a fic/rp with you as a fic, posting straight fic prompts

ao3 has a goal of "maximum inclusiveness". it was created with the express intention of allowing "as many fanworks as possible". it was created in response to fanworks on other sites being removed for "decency", "moral reasons" (anything from "this is harmful because the characters are x age" to "this suggests the existence of queer people"), or simply not being appealing to advertisers.

you are in fact responsible for your own reading experience. if you find something you don't like, the back button is always there. tags exist for a reason. if you think it's morally reprehensible or whatever, okay, cool, hit the back button. it's not for you.

from the ao3 tos faq: "One basic consequence is that users are responsible for reading and heeding the warnings provided by the creator. Risk-averse users should keep in mind that not all content will carry full warnings. If you want to know more, you may also wish to consult the bookmarks that people other than the creator have used to categorize the fanwork." (emphasis native to faq)

that being said, if it's very obviously incorrectly tagged ie "gen rating on a fic with explicit sex and gore in it" you would be within your rights to ask them to update the tags accordingly and/or report the fic.

subscribe whenever you want even if the fic is complete I promise you unless the author is super obsessive they likely won't even notice let alone think it's weird

delete your fics if you want. you're not required to keep them up. it'd be nice if you orphaned it or added it to the anonymous collection instead for others to read, and I personally would encourage you to do so as I've personally regretted a lot of fic deletions I've made, but it is your content and you don't have to let it be archived forever if you decide that you hate it/it's no longer representative of you/etc.

character/character is indeed intended for romantic/sexual pairings. character & character is intended for platonic pairings. most people searching the '&' tag for a ship tend to be annoyed if you tag a fic with both unless it's explicitly intended to be read either way, because they are in the & ship tag because they DON'T want romantic and/or sexual content for the involved characters.

the only tagging you are required to do is ratings and specific basic warnings, however you are also allowed to use "not rated" and "creator chose not to use archive warnings". tagging helps people find your fic and also helps people who aren't right for your fic avoid your fic, so it would be nice to do more than just rating + archive warnings for your sake and others, but at the end of the day, it's your choice.

if tagging confuses you, my rule of thumb is "would someone in x tag who found this fic be annoyed that it had this tag?" and "what would someone looking for this fic generally be searching for, tag-wise, to find this?"

ao3 is not social media. there is not an algorithm. there will never be an algorithm. it is a place for storing fan content from basically any fandom. the closest thing to an algorithm is the front page of recently updated fics for a fandom, and it's extremely poor taste to use tricks to stay on the front page. depending on the fandom, it's also an extremely losing battle. (eg. there have been days where I've posted a bnha fic and it was IMMEDIATELY pushed down to page three of the fandom simply bc the fandom's so big.) I recommend posting your fic and then going to like take a shower or take a nap or something to step away.

[josiebelladonna]

another reason why i’m picky about reading erotic fanfic (besides “those two” and the fact that it all seems one-note with very little variety coupled with the fact that second-person perspective is officially at “polished turd” status): it…

actually makes me feel terrible about myself.

yeah. for real. i’m completely serious about that.

today i was reading temple’s fic afterglow just out of curiosity (also because i tried with her: even with her being two-faced, if she was trapped in a mudslide, i’d pull her out) and. one thing that has always made me trip balls over her and the green druidess’ writing—always, without fail—is how their descriptors always seem so self-assured, how they describe their own characters as “gorgeous” and “beautiful” and the like, and i never really saw the appeal of that in any of my writing because i know what they’re doing, it’s to help themselves feel better about themselves (knowing them, they have no shortage of that whatsoever, so you can see why i have a hard time seeing the point and i actually find it dumb, tbh). but i had to stop at one point because it was making me feel terrible about myself.

it always happens to me with het fic: there’s a fic in the metallica tag, “groupie love”, and it does this to me, too. nevermind who it’s written by for a second: i cannot read these fics because they make me aware of how inadequate and unsexy i am, especially when i think about how fucking popular their fics are. you would think reading something erotic makes you feel erotic, no, it has the opposite effect on me: it makes me feel terrible about myself (maybe that’s another reason why i hate second-person perspective, aside from it just not looking right and it feels incredibly pointless and lazy when you start bringing inclusivity into it. sorry, i can’t imagine myself in this scenario and no amount of complaining about lack of inclusivity will change my mind. make up an original character, it’s literally not hard).

sexuality has always been a very delicate subject for me but when i see andi referring to herself as gorgeous, or tommy calling her that, or—hell—either joey, peter, or nikki referring to lizzy as that, it reminds me of how i have no sexual agency and i have never been desired, by anyone… ever. all het fic rated mature or explicit does this to me: just the thought of it alone will do this to me. it reminds me that there’s no room for me. and the fact that good company is very few and far between doesn’t help. “there’s room for all sexualities and all genders!” fucking tell this to fanfic circles, where there is either literally no imagination on the back of bad company, or they’re all obsessed with “you” and “y/n” rather than giving something personal or autobiographical, something true to them rather than what they want their *~mUtUaLs~* to feel. i have to write what tickles me myself because everything else quite literally makes me feel awful about myself (or it just doesn’t jump out at me). it’s taken me this long to just sniff the ass of the 200-read mark because when i first joined ao3 in 2019 and debuted with have your cake and eat it, i thought for sure that i would hit the ground running with it because i was starting to acknowledge my kinks then. but, no: i didn’t get my first kudos until like… chapter 20, and i think i had 4 by the time it was done. then the green druidess showed up and she may as well have told me “you’re doing it wrong” when i got to the sexual parts of now it’s dark (actually surprised she didn’t but… i also am not, she’s way too passive-aggressive). i’m just not good enough.

it makes me wonder if i can actually be on a fanfic site because it just opens up my wounds again and i feel inadequate and i have to remind myself of my own sexuality to ground myself. i shouldn’t have to do that, but i do because i’m damaged goods. plus, i already can’t stand fake confidence on its own because face it: it does not work for everyone. but when that fake confidence is obviously weaponized, it’s used in a way to beat someone down… it’s the worst thing ever. and with them, it’s exactly what they were up against, too.

[keystonepublishing]

As someone who lives in a conservative country (Malaysia) and who has been in fandom for decades, I have seen sites like LiveJournal and FanFiction.net purge many NSFW fics, and of late there has been tens of thousands of fics being privated or deleted on AO3 as a result of authors not wanting their works to be scraped by snoopy AI-bots (Twitter and several art sites recently went through the same thing with AI art bots scraping people's artwork).

Hell, AO3 is currently blocked in China and FanFiction.net is occasionally blocked in Malaysia. Indonesia has blocked Tumblr, Turkey has periodically blocked YouTube, and many other nations have their own policies on blocking or deleting "offensive content", even if it's just a story of two guys kissing.

So I have personally seen fanfics and fanart I love get blocked and deleted out of existence time and time again, and it is heartbreaking to be a long-time fan of something to see a barren wasteland that was made from the scrubbing of stories. Which is why nowadays I try to save the ones I like by either downloading them or printing them. The adage "you have no idea what you had until it's gone" is very true for fans who have been through this.

And mainly for ficbinding, we usually do ask authors and artists for their permission to bind fics. And there is even a tradition of making an author copy of fics as a thank-you for putting such gorgeous works out there! For us, a well-written fic can be better than some of the published literature in bookstores (especially in censorship-heavy nations), and so we honor that creativity by turning something digital into something real, something that can take pride of place next to all the published works on a bookshelf.

Most of us do not make any profit from this, as we see it as detrimental to the idea of fandom and collaboration for all. For us, ficbinding is a labor of love for wordsmiths that have touched our hearts.

EDIT: If you have anymore questions, check out @renegadepublishing ! They have a Discord of fanbinders who can answer more of your questions! And check out the ficbinding and fanbinding tags - we're all just fans making fanwork out of our favorite fics.

an artist i follow got an ask about whether it was alright to use their art as covers for fanfic bookbinding and i'm. sorry i must have missed this discourse but since when are people outright printing out other people's work and binding them into books? do you contact and get author's permission (sure as fuck hope so)? and how do we writers feel about that, because i certainly feel very uncomfortable with that idea. i mean not to spoil the artistic expression of bookbinding because it's beautiful work that i most certainly could not do, but. you can access them stories any time you want on the websites where they were originally posted. why print them? again i mean i get the pleasure of holding & reading physical books, i much prefer that too, but like. get some books i guess? sorry i come from a place of honesty and tbh surprise and confusion about this whole thing. someone tell me how we're feeling about this. someone explain to me why it's being done. i just wanna understand

[crinkled-emotions]

If you’re still taking fic ideas, how about something where Eddie is hurt on a call but he’s trapped and Bobby has to talk to him while the others try to get him out? I just need some Dad!Bobby with Eddie. Idk…

Oh my gosh why did this take me so long I’m so sorry!

Mood I love dad!Bobby too, whether it be with Buck or Eddie. Hen and Chim kind of feel like his younger siblings and I love that vibe we get when this man deadass swore that he wasn’t going to get attached to them in S1.

Anyway. Enjoy 2200 words of hurt!Eddie, dad!Bobby and underlying Buddie lmao. Apparently that’s all I write now oops.

The truth was even before the bus crash, Eddie had been on edge. He’d been quieter than usual at breakfast with Christopher, but he made a real effort to make conversation with his son. Christopher could potentially be a mind reader; he’d sat with Eddie for a little longer that morning instead of playing before school.

Pulling into the parking lot, Eddie grasped Buck’s hand as he leapt across the centre console and kissed him. Buck reciprocated, smiling against Eddie’s lips.

“You good, Eds?” He asked, because Eds was as close to a pet name that he could get with his macho boyfriend. Eddie had shrugged.

“Feeling a little high strung,” he admitted, and that was Buck’s first warning sign. Frowning, Buck watched Eddie grab his duffel from the backseat of the Jeep and head into the firehouse.

Driving a bus drunk- seriously? There were other, less reckless, things to do when drunk, but apparently the bus driver had been doing it for a while. He’d driven it straight through the first floor of a high rise building and while it should have been supported, the building tilted slightly more toward the traffic by the minute. Bobby had opened his mouth to bench Eddie, when they’d heard screaming.

“HELP!” A man yelled, waving frantically.

“It’s my wife! Help!”

Eddie was in work mode, yanking the spare medical bag from the truck and following the man over to the building. Bobby glanced at Buck, who frowned.

“Bobby-“

“-I’ll go with him. You, Hen and Chim check for other survivors, okay? Take the tags.”

Take the tags was firefighter code for be prepared for DOA at this point. It hurt everyone but unfortunately with these situations it did happen. The other three dispersed and Bobby headed for where Eddie was doing chest compressions. Kneeling by them, Bobby glanced down at the woman. She was bleeding heavily from her thigh- her femoral artery severed maybe- and she wasn’t conscious. She also bled from her head, but head injuries always bled like a motherfucker. Gently touching her skull and down to her neck, Bobby realised what was going on.

“Eddie,” Bobby said gently, but Eddie refused.

“She can survive a femoral artery cut, Bobby, I did,” he said. Bobby held his shoulder.

“Her skull is in pieces, and I can feel where her neck snapped.”

“I’m not letting go!” Eddie yelled as Bobby took his hands away, looking up to the distraught husband.

“I’m sorry, there’s nothing that could have been done. Her neck was snapped, most likely on impact,” he explained. The man collapsed to his knees, pulling his wife’s body to his chest. Bobby touched Eddie’s back but he got up, clearing his throat.

“Better start sweeping the upper floors, just in case,” he said. Bobby watched him for a second. Finally, he sighed.

“Okay-“

The entire building trembled. Eddie swore, yanking Bobby up.

“The supports are going,” he yelled, “get the fuck outta here!”

Bobby was barely out of the impact zone when the first floor collapsed in on itself.

“Diaz, do you copy?”

Chim had come running the second he saw the building go down, yanking on Bobby’s jacket to get him away from the debris and dust.

“What the hell just happened?” Chim yelled and Bobby tried to move.

“Eddie’s in there!” Bobby exclaimed. Chimney’s eyes widened.

“This is- ugh. This is Eddie, can anyone hear me?”

“Eddie, are you okay?”

Eddie exhaled, reaching for his radio. At the last second, he’d managed to throw himself under one of the counters and it had saved his life.

“Bobby, I’m good. I just- I think I’m trapped.”

“Hold on, we’re coming to get you.”

Shifting his head slightly, Eddie spotted a gap in the rubble and reached for his torch, shining it through the hole.

“Eddie?!” Buck yelled and Eddie exhaled in relief.

“Buck, I can’t see a way out. What’s the plan?”

“The whole second floor collapsed. Luckily the others are intact for some reason. We’re still working on a plan. How are you feeling, is anything broken?”

Eddie wiggled everything important. Nothing triggered a pain response, but he knew it could be the adrenaline still.

“Don’t think so.”

There was a muffled conversation on the other side of the rubble, then Eddie could see Bobby.

“You need to stay very still, okay Eddie? We can’t get a c-collar to you. Everything is concrete and metal here. I know you don’t think anything is broken but-“

“-the adrenaline. I know. Cap, it’s getting a little tight in here.”

“Then stay quiet. I’ll stay here, we need Buck with the other teams to clear the rubble. We should be able to get you out before dark.”

Eddie heard Buck dash away, heavy gear and all, and tried to wriggle out of his turnout coat because it was making him warm.

“Eddie, stop,” Bobby reminded him gently. Eddie groaned, before going quiet again.

“You survived Afghanistan, a well, and getting shot again, Eddie. This is just a minor inconvenience.”

“Yeah, sure, minor inconvenience.”

“I’m here, Eddie. Just try and stay awake, okay?”

Eddie wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He knew the air was getting tighter and his chest was starting to ache with the lack of oxygen. The adrenaline that had been running through his body had worn off and when he glanced down, he realised his arm was broken. Just looking at it…

“Bobby?” Eddie called, starting to panic. He heard shuffling.

“Everything okay Eddie?” Bobby asked, concern creeping into his tone.

“My arm’s broken, and I think there’s something pressing into my back.”

“Okay. I do have some good news; Chim said he could probably get an oxygen tank and mask into that hole, and Buck is making good progress on what’s on top of you right now. How bad is your arm, do you need pain relief?”

“Uh, it’s- it’s not too bad…”

Eddie tried not to look at it, the sight of bone sticking out enough to make him want to vomit. He’d set a few compound fractures in his military career and then a few more in his firefighter role, but looking at it on himself? Completely different.

“Eddie, I can give you pain relief, okay? We can administer it via an IV.”

That was Chim. Chim was there. God, it was good to hear his voice.

“No, I’m- I think I’m good. How far away is that oxygen?”

“Right here.”

The tank came through first, followed by the oxygen mask that was connected. With his good arm Eddie pulled the mask over his face, switching the tank on.

“I’m going to pass you through a splint Eddie, are you okay to get it sorted?”

“It’s an open fracture Chim.”

Chimney swore. Eddie couldn’t see him- or anyone, really- but he could feel Chim’s frustration.

“Okay Eddie, just hold on. Me and Hen are working with Buck, Bobby sent him to work with the cleanup crew but he’s pretty desperate to get down here, do a Buck.”

Eddie tried to laugh but it made him tired, and he knew he couldn’t fall asleep. He at the very least had a broken arm and a mild concussion, but he knew there were other things to be concerned about.

“Okay. Just- don’t tell him about my arm, Chim. He’ll- he’ll lose his shit.”

“We got this, Eddie, just focus on keeping calm,” Bobby said confidently.

Another chunk of time passed. Eddie had a feeling he’d been passed out for a majority of it. His head was a little foggy, and it smelled like- oh, that’s humiliating.

“Bobby,” he choked out, “Bobby!”

“Eddie,” his captain said, “what’s wrong?”

“I puked,” he frowned.

“Yeah, a couple times. We couldn’t get in there to roll you over. It’s lucky you didn’t choke.”

“What happened?” Eddie asked, trying to get a better grasp of his surroundings.

“Some asshole drove a bus into the building and the second floor collapsed. You got trapped. Eddie, who’s the president?”

“Not Trump, thank fuck,” Eddie replied. His head throbbed, and he glanced down at his arm to see it mangled.

“Oh, shit,” he groaned out.

“Buck’s on channel if you want to talk to him,” Bobby suggested gently.

“No, I- I don’t want to scare him.”

“Eddie, he got down here just as you had a seizure. He’s pretty spooked already. I sent him back to the cleanup to get his mind off of it.”

“I had a seizure?” Eddie frowned, shifting to pat himself down. His turnouts were damp. Fuck.

“Yeah, you hit your head a little harder than we originally thought. Hen radioed through earlier with some good news. She said they’re making good headway with the debris. We’ll have you to the hospital in no time, then back with Buck and Chris.”

“O-oh, okay… Bobby, my head hurts.”

“I know Eddie. Try to stay awake for me.”

“Bobby…”

“Hold on a little longer.”

“How long am I gonna be in hospital?” Eddie croaked. He could almost feel Bobby’s frown.

“24 hours at least, I think, with a broken arm.”

“I don’t feel that great.”

“Put your oxygen mask back on but keep your eyes open.”

When Eddie tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, he realised he could see Bobby. Eddie yelled in pain and Bobby winced.

“Not long now, Eddie.”

Buck shoved the last of the debris away and leapt into the hole, taking the c-collar from Chim when he handed it down. Eddie’s good arm found Buck’s waist and Buck smiled.

“Hey Eds. It’s gonna be okay, we’re here. We’re gonna get you out, just hold on.”

“Buck…”

“Bobby’s comin’ Eds, he’s coming.”

Buck was quick to put the c-collar around Eddie’s neck, wipe off the vomit and cover him with his turnout coat.

“Eddie?” Bobby yelled and Eddie burst into sobs of pain when Buck and Chim set his arm, splinting it. Bobby was there in seconds, grabbing Eddie’s good hand.

“It’s okay. Just breathe.”

“Make room!” Hen yelled, “give us space!”

Chim and Buck got Eddie on to the backboard, Buck getting out of the hole to help Hen haul the backboard up on to the waiting stretcher. They stood with their backs to the crowd, Chim and Bobby jumping up to protect Eddie. Other firefighters have backed off anyway, focusing on keeping the crowds back as Eddie’s loaded into the ambulance. Buck gave him a kiss on the forehead, sighing.

“I gotta find someone to drive the truck back but I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay? Hen and Chim will stay with you.”

“Love you,” Eddie said over the oxygen mask and Buck smiled.

“I know. Love you too.”

He jumped out of the ambulance into the onslaught of media frenzy and concerned firefighters who knew all about Eddie getting shot eleven months ago but weren’t aware of their relationship. Ravi stepped into line with Buck to get organised, and Bobby gave Eddie’s hand a final squeeze.

“We’ll see you soon,” he said firmly before getting out of the ambulance too. Hen pulled the doors shut, glancing down at Eddie.

“Hey, how are you doing?” She asked with a gentle smile especially reserved for patients and when Buck does something stupid. Eddie huffed, trying to lean into her, but restricted because of the neck brace and backboard. Hen sat on the seat beside Eddie, giving his hand a squeeze.

“We’ll keep you safe Eddie, just focus on breathing okay?”

Bobby took a seat next to Buck at Eddie’s bedside, giving Buck’s shoulder a squeeze.

“What did the doctors say?”

“MRI came back, no brain bleed thank god. Uh, it was a heavy concussion though. Broken arm, that they fixed in surgery. Broken rib, another cracked on his other side. He was awake for a little while, but he didn’t have any idea where he was. He threw up again, but after that the doctor said it would be better if he was sedated for a little while longer. Concussion checks are every hour and he’s slowly getting better at them. Last time when the nurse asked who the president was, he said not me and rolled over.”

Bobby chuckled, glancing over at Eddie who was still asleep.

“Did he know who you were? Christopher?”

“Yeah. Begged me to tell Christopher it was going to be okay. I just got off the phone with Carla; she said Chris was scared but he’s strong and he knows his dad’s coming home soon.”

“I’ll stay with him. You should go and be with Christopher.”

Buck stood, pausing as he pocketed his phone.

“It’s scary that we have this down to an art, Bobby.”

“Agreed. I’ll keep you updated, kid.”

“Thanks.”

Buck paused to kiss Eddie’s forehead, before he disappeared back into the hospital. Bobby got up to pull the blankets on Eddie up to his shoulders. He stirred, glancing up at Bobby who smiled.

“Hey.”

“Ugh.”

“You just missed Buck.”

“Again?”

“Yeah. Seems like you’re stuck with me.”

“That’s cool,” Eddie yawned, bringing his good arm up to rub at his eyes.

“Go back to sleep.”

“Yeah, okay. Can you just- can you stay? Just for a little while.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

[ailelie]

I know a few people who don't support the ACLU because the ACLU supports free speech for everyone. They even have a post on their website about it: Defending Speech We Hate.

The simple matter is, when you draw a line in the sand, you defend that line. Even when that means people and ideas you hate are technically on your side. You don't gerrymander the line to keep them out because it makes it harder to tell where the line is at all and makes it easier for those you're defending against to take advantage and slowly push back or even remove the line altogether.

I am pro-rehabilitation in prisons. I think prisons should be humane places where people are allowed therapy to overcome any mental issues that led to their crimes and classes to help them integrate into society upon release (e.g., job skills, courses to bridge high school and college, etc). I believe everyone deserves another chance.

This is not a position I have come to lightly. I know people in prison, one personally, that I would love to stay there. But, ultimately, I believe they deserve another chance, too. Just one far from me and the people I love.

I fully realize that I am advocating that rapists, child abusers, and serial killers deserve another chance. That "another chance" doesn't have to look the same as it does for others. Maybe it means life in a therapeutic halfway house. Maybe it means daily check-ins with a parole officer. Maybe it means life in a very humane, community-oriented prison removed from all temptation. That's a discussion we can have.

Drawing a line doesn't mean losing nuance. You just take that line as your foundation and build from there.

AO3 drew a line in the sand. Every single fic that could be written could be archived so long as it was legal in the US. That's the line. The site offers tools (and is creating additional tools) to enable users to curate their own experience. There's discussion to make racism one of the big tag categories so that it is easier to recognize and filter out. The site isn't perfect, but it is improving.

If you don't like the line in the sand, go elsewhere. Other options do exist. They may not be as popular right now, but they can become more so if people flock to them.

When I defend my line regarding rehabilitation, I'm not saying that 'rape is cool actually' or 'people should forgive their abusers.' Screw that. I'm not condoning crime. I'm saying that our current prison system doesn't work and that focusing on punishment actually creates a world in which prisons beget criminals. Focusing instead on rehabilitation and release may lower the number of former prisoners who end back up in prison, which should also help lower crime in general. Also, I think the punishment model focuses too much on 'what makes me as the judge/victim feel better' and not enough on 'what makes society better'? We can't just write off every person that goes to prison. If we do that, then why don't we just move to a radical death penalty and kill everyone who is sentenced to more than 5 years? It would certainly save money and would possibly serve as an actual deterrent.

AO3 isn't saying that child sexual abuse is cool. The archive is not condoning rape, murder, sexual abuse, child abuse, or anything like that. Instead, the archive saw how writers did not have a safe place to share their works that wasn't limited by sponsorships, ads, etc. They saw how 'think of the children' campaigns led to the demise of communities filled with NC-17 works and queer content. They built a site where everything legal (in the US) could be housed. They said and meant 'no censorship.' Censorship is, and has always been, a slippery slope. AO3 avoids that slope by refusing to censor anything. And that is why I continue to fund the site year after year.

Do I support all of the stories? Hell no. I wish a lot of them didn't exist. But, damn it, they are on my side of the line and this is a line I will defend.

[errorcode582]

ff.net has been in complete shambles for the past several years and is a notorious hive for plagiarism. The mods also nuked thousands of fics from the platform for reasons ranging from justified to incredibly questionable, and the site has had two of these mass purges in its lifetime. It's also been on the decline for years with constant outages, unresponsive mods, and a piss-poor tagging and search function. The owners of the site do not seem keen on even really giving the base code a spit shine, and I'd really question the security of it overall. I would not be surprised if they have a major data breach in the years to come. Don't get me wrong, I love it to death in a nostalgic way, but I can see why it's not exactly a great place to post fic these days.

Wattpad, usually the second site mentioned in these discussions, hosts tagged erotica alongside the rest of its content with no filter by default. This means you can find erotica in any search query you use unless you specifically exclude the tag. It's also a notorious hive for rpf, and allows rpf erotica. It also allows sexual content of 16 year olds, as it states in its code of conduct that, quote, "the age of consent is 16+ on Wattpad".

And really, those are the only notable contenders against ao3. Any other website you could list would fall into "niche" territory, and most writers do want their work to be seen so they can gain traction and potentially a clientele later on if they want to enter writing professionally. Plus, blogging sites like Tumblr tend to not be very conducive to posting fic as they aren't designed with a book format in mind, so word limits are tighter, you have to manually stitch a sort of chapter browser together by yourself as you post the fic, readers will encounter your fic in reverse chronological order, and honestly I could go on. Plus, Tumblr's tagging system is also complete garb, and if people don't reblog your fic, you're SOL. So, while I've heard of Fanfiction Online and have seen some promise in Quotev (I've made an account there recently, so consider that a "to be continued"), sadly, in terms of usability and popularity, all alternatives are overshadowed to the point of complete obscurity by the behemoth that is ao3.

Trust me, I hate that website and the cesspool it plays host to. Ever since I learned just how bad it was over there, I haven't spent a single second of my time on it. However, I can't blame aspiring writers for using it in the same way I can't blame other content creators for using YouTube rather than Dailymotion or Vimeo, despite YouTube's openly predatory practices towards their artists and child audiences (the Elsagate stuff never stopped, they're just using Mickey and Sonic now). The site holds a soft monopoly over the realm of fanfiction publication, and it's going to take a website that directly outclasses it in terms of user-friendliness to even really start giving it trouble and to convince the majority of the audience to switch over.

I'm all for taking as much of an audience away from that hellhole as possible though, so I'll gladly vouch for any alternative website that directly outclasses ao3 purely by design. Hell, ao3's code is completely open-source. If anyone manages to literally make a better ao3 (maybe even implementing those lofty promises of multimedia support that they've been harping on for years, hm?), I'll make an account on there the moment I hear of it and spread the word of it as far as I can manage.

Honestly, I think it really speaks to the state of fan culture overall that the best place to view and post fanfiction online is a csem hive, and I really want to change that message if I can. Unfortunately though, as much as I want a viable alternative, we're stuck between YouTube and Dailymotion, and I cannot blame anyone for wanting to stay away from Dailymotion.

Also @proship-blocklist since it was your post that was involved in this, feel free to add your input as an author/reader if you feel so inclined.

[verai-marcel]

Of Dragons and Love (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Arthur didn't want to come to Strawberry, didn't want to help a certain sniveling rat escape his cell. So he decides to explore the town instead and runs into a mysterious woman whom he can't let go. 

Author’s Notes: I’m gonna take a moment and lean hard on my heritage to pull some inspiration from an old Cantonese opera. And we're gonna leave Micah in his cell because nuts to that guy. So pretend this takes place in chapter two when Arthur was supposed to go rescue him, but decided to do a side quest instead. This was written for the RDR Mini Bang! @rdrbigbang

Tags: Arthur x F!Reader, spoilers, Chinese mythology-inspired, alternate timeline, mild exophilia, insta-love, magic, smut, HEA

Word Count: 6,378

Accompanying Artwork: @danger-r-98-5 has made some wonderful art for this fic!

AO3 Link is here.

--------------------

Arthur stepped into the small town of Strawberry and immediately wanted to turn around. He could pretend Micah was dead. He could just bide his time and wait for him to hang. 

As he rode through the small town, he passed the small jail and kept going to the visitor's center. Seeing the map of the nearby area tacked onto the wall next to the entrance, he hitched his horse and walked over to take a better look. 

"Welcome to Strawberry, good sir!" 

Arthur flicked a tired glance at the boisterous man before continuing his casual perusal of the map, waiting to see if he would leave. When the man remained beside him, he sighed, exasperated. 

"Hullo," he said without looking at the other man.

"Are you here for business or pleasure?" 

"Uh, just passin' through." It sure as hell wasn't for pleasure, and his business was his own. 

"Ah, I see. Well, please keep us in mind if you ever want to spend a day relaxing in our lovely town. This hotel is the coziest in West Elizabeth," the man boasted, gesturing behind him. "And the scenic Mount Shann and Owanjila Dam aren't too far from here."

"Alright."

"And Big Valley, just past the mountains, is a beautiful place to hunt and camp."

"Uh huh."

When Arthur continued to look at the map without any further inclination towards interacting with him, the man gave up on his sales pitch. "Well, I'll be inside if you have any questions."

"Ayup."

Finally alone, Arthur focused on the path that would take him to Owanjila. He'd been meaning to do a bit of fishing and commune with nature. Seemed like as good a place as any. 

Anything to postpone the reason he came here.

***

You weren't sure how you lived so long, not knowing what you were. You had been living with your mother for two decades, not knowing who your father was. Your mother didn't talk about him, and the one time you asked, she had simply said one thing. 

"He disappeared."

You didn't know what that meant exactly, and she did not explain. 

Until one day, on your twentieth birthday, he appeared. A large, scary looking man came to your door. Your mother paled and tried not to react, but when he held out a necklace and told her how sorry he was for leaving her alone, she broke down and cried. 

You found out that when she was young, your mother lived in a small house by a waterfall that fed a large lake. There was a growing town not too far from there, where she worked as a waitress.

One day, on the other side of the lake, a group of Chinese workers made camp as they worked on the railway that was coming through town. They were not welcomed in the town by most people, but your mother took pity on them and sold them food and other groceries, for a delivery fee. 

Somehow, your father had caught her eye, and they developed a secret relationship. When her parents discovered the love letter your father had written to your mother, she was kicked out of the house, without anything of hers to take with her. When your mother had gone to the camp to look for your father, it had been abandoned, the workers having left hours earlier to the next site. 

Broken hearted, your mother had thrown the necklace he had gifted her into the lake and left town, moving to Strawberry and giving birth to you. You had grown up here, made friends, had a few short dalliances with boys here while you grew up.

Strawberry was a small town, but there was a creek running through it, and when you had free time, which was not often these days, you loved to follow the creek to a waterfall and watch the water. You always felt an affinity with the water, felt like it always pulled at your very soul. You had learned how to swim with ease; your mother had said you were like a fish. 

Your father explained why he had left, and why he had finally come back. 

"I am a Dragon," he had said. "Great-great grand-nephew of the Dragon King of the North Sea."

He was an immortal creature, drawn to the belief of his people in a foreign land, looking for something to comfort them while they worked in dangerous conditions to make money to send home to their families. He protected them, guided them, and thus, had to follow where they went. When the camp left suddenly, he had no time to say goodbye and was nearly dragged away, the pull of his people’s belief taking him with them.

But now he was free, his people having finished their jobs. They had dispersed, either leaving for China or moving to San Francisco, where other Dragon Gods held domain and took over the belief of his former followers. So he started looking for his long lost love, who still cared for him deep in her heart, and traced the thread of emotion leading back to her.

He promised to take care of you and your mother from now on, and he made good on his promise. For the past five years, he had worked alongside the two of you, making your small farm plot healthy and fertile. 

It helped that he could make the sky rain whenever you needed it. 

He had also trained you in your small powers. Because you had been untrained for so long, your powers were weak, but over time, and with practice, they grew steadily stronger. You could breathe underwater. You could swim faster than humanly possible. And while you couldn't transform into a dragon, your hair became teal and your skin could shift into a bluish-grey tint. It was a bit unsettling the first time you did it in the mirror. 

But your most favorite power of all was the ability to shape nearby water to your will. At first, you could only move a small amount of water in a mug. But over time, you could move water in pitchers, basins, buckets, barrels, and even water troughs for animals. 

At this point, if you entered a pond, you could easily create ripples and small waves just by focusing on your energy and sending it outwards from you. 

Five years had passed since he had come back, and you had learned so much. Your life was so peaceful now that it came as no surprise when your parents announced that they wanted to move back to their hometown. Of course something had to change; that was the only constant in life, after all.

But you didn’t want to leave. You loved Strawberry. This was your home.

Your father had let out a breath, then smiled, much to your surprise.

“Owanjila does not have a spirit to guard it, since it’s a new body of water. Perhaps… you can become its guardian.”

“But I’m half-human,” you had said.

“So is Owanjila,” he said.

You nodded and smiled. Now you knew why he had been training you so hard all these years.

***

Arthur was pleasantly relaxed for the first time in a long time. He had spent all day fishing and gathering herbs after he set up a small campsite tucked away in the thicker part of the forest. It was quiet on this side of the lake, since all the travelers would go across the dam to take in the scenery. He was glad he picked a spot that was farthest from, for he didn’t have the energy to even say hello.

With a couple of large fish, he made his way back to his campsite, cooked up a fine meal with his freshly picked herbs, and spent some time writing and drawing before looking up at the stars before he fell asleep, the campfire quietly dying as his snores melded with the rest of the night.

***

It had been three months since your parents had left you here. They had sold the small farm and used the money to help you fix up a small abandoned fishing cabin out here on the far side of the lake, where you could hunt and gather on your own, trading furs and fish in town. Ever since you had become the guardian, the fish had spawned much more frequently and grew faster than normal, keeping you well fed. You figured it was a side-effect of the lake having a guardian spirit now.

You looked at your hands; yesterday, you had tripped on a step as you walked back from town, getting some small cuts on the palms of your hands as they had scraped against the gravel. Today, they had healed so quickly that there were no scars; you had never healed so quickly before. You wondered if your powers were growing and had walked into town earlier today to send a letter to your folks, letting them know what had happened.

It was late; the moon was high in the sky, and as bright as the electric lights in St Denis. You were roused from your sleep by the pull of the moon, and knew that it was time.

You took off your clothes and set them on your front porch. Walking to the water’s edge, you slipped into the water without a sound, the liquid embracing you as if you were an old friend.

“Hello, Owanjila,” you whispered as you walked deeper and deeper until you were completely submerged. Then you transformed, your skin turning bluish-grey, your hair shifting to a beautiful teal, and your gills appearing near your collarbone. You kicked your legs and swam gracefully through the water, spinning and twirling as you joyfully moved through the water as easily as you could walk on land.

Once you reached the middle of the lake, you bolted upwards, your legs kicking in unison with such speed and power that you broke the surface easily, your body shooting into the air. You let out a whoop of excitement, for it was only during full moons that you could fly this high out of the water; you had certainly tried other times. For a moment, the starry sky and the bright moon seemed impossibly close, and you held out your hands as if you could gather them all up and hold them tight forever.

Flipping backwards, you extended your hands in front of you and dove back into the water with barely a splash.

***

“Huh, whuzzah,” Arthur muttered as he was jolted awake by the sound of someone yelling. Immediately on alert, Arthur reached for his pistol and carefully made his way out of the tent, looking around. Seeing nothing but trees and rocks after circling his campsite twice, he was about to go back into his tent.

Another yell echoed through the trees. It didn’t sound like anyone in danger, more like… elation? 

His curiosity piqued, he quietly made his way towards the lake, following the sounds of the water sloshing around as if someone was swimming. Coming to the shoreline, he saw the full moon, reflected in the water, with ripples circling from the center of the reflection.

Unable to stop himself, Arthur found a nearby rock and climbed it to better see the center of the lake. Squatting down, he peered out at the water.

Something shot out of the water at breakneck speed, surprising him enough that he fell onto his ass.

For a split second, he saw everything clearly.

He saw her nude form, water glistening off her skin, the moon bathing her in a silvery light. He saw the look of ecstasy on her face as she looked up at the moon.

He saw her eyes as they met his.

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat.

Then she was gone, diving back into the water like an arrow, hardly disturbing the surface.

Sitting up, he crawled to the edge of the rock and peered at the spot, waiting for her to return. Part of him wondered if he had imagined it, and part of him hoped she was real. He had felt like he had seen something so evanescently ephemeral that his heart fluttered like a child seeing fireworks. He wanted to experience that sparkling feeling again and again. 

When his knees ached and his joints complained, he finally gave up, climbed off the rock, and returned to his tent. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but it didn’t come quickly as his heart continued to race. When he finally managed to nod off, his dreams were filled with a mysterious woman with an expression so filled with euphoria that he could almost taste her joy.

***

You were mortified. A man was camping around your lake and you hadn’t noticed? Granted, you were in town most of the day trying to sell some rabbit pelts, and then you had written your letter at the post office since you had run out of ink and bought some at the general store and didn’t want to walk all the way back to your cabin. 

But still, you hadn’t noticed. You supposed it was because he had no ill intent. It wasn’t that you could sense people, that wasn’t how your power worked; it was more you could feel out harmful intentions. People who came and went on the dam were usually harmless tourists and you took no notice of them. But occasionally that greedy mayor would come up here and consider building some cheap cabins out on the lake as tourist traps, and you would cause the lake to be extra choppy that day, splashing water on him if you were nearby. It was usually enough to change his mind.

You stayed at the bottom of the lake, waiting long enough before you slowly swam up again, moving towards the edge of the lake before you poked your head up from the water.

He was gone.

You sighed in relief and swam back to your cabin, looking around once more before getting out and back onto your porch. Grabbing your clothes, you got inside and dried off, thinking of the man’s shocked expression.

But what came to your mind most of all was that in the moonlight, you had managed to make eye contact. In that moment, your heart had pounded like you had seen something beautiful. 

Despite your embarrassment at being caught naked and in your half-dragon form, you wanted to see him in the daylight. You wanted to find out who he was, and why your heart had finally moved after all these years.

***

Arthur came out of his tent, bleary eyed as he yawned. He hadn’t gotten a whole lot of sleep, but he was, for better or for worse, used to it. The sound of a crackling of a fire and the sight of a figure sitting with their back turned was also something he was used to.

Until he realized that the fire had gone out last night and he had come to this place alone. Reaching for his pistol, he stopped when he heard her speak.

“I mean you no harm.”

Arthur, suspicious, for people who had said that to him before often would turn around and shoot him, put a hand on his pistol, but left it in its holster. Coming out of his tent and rising to his full height, he walked around to face the woman at his campfire.

When she looked up at him, he felt like he was hit with an arrow.

Those same eyes from last night met his, and he felt like the whole world slowed and became silent. All he saw was her, and he didn’t care about anything else.

***

His eyes were beautiful, like gemstones sparkling in the morning light. His hair was tousled from sleep, but it made you think of him in bed next to you. You swallowed. Why were you thinking of waking up next to him? You barely knew him!

But you couldn’t ignore the heat in your veins as your eyes traveled down his body. His very tall, muscular body. Oh gods, you felt your heartbeat quicken as you suddenly had a mental image of him climbing over you, his naked body above yours, his big hands holding your hips as he thrust—

“Can I help you, miss?” the man finally asked, his voice rough from sleep. His voice was like whiskey, flowing smoothly over your body and making you burn with need. He swallowed, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat. Oh, to lick that sun-kissed skin…

You shook your head, both in answer to him and to clear the lustful images from your head. “I’m alright, I just wanted to share your campfire.”

***

“Oh?” Arthur asked, sitting down beside her to hide his body’s reaction to meeting her eyes. When he had met her gaze, he was hit hard with desire, the sudden image of her beneath him, legs spread, her expression of ecstasy for him and him alone.

For a brief moment, he wanted to take her, to guide her to the ground and thrust wildly inside of her like an animal.

But instead he reeled himself in; he wasn’t that kind of man. He didn’t even know why he had such a visceral reaction to her. All he knew was that she was sitting here with him now, and she was beautiful. When she turned away, he felt like he was suddenly lost, and wished for her to look at him once more with those mysterious eyes. He observed her as she poked the fire with a stick, wondering what she was thinking.

“So, uh, you live around here?” he asked, berating himself immediately for such an awkward question.

“I do, just down the shoreline,” she replied.

“Oh.”

She turned to meet his gaze, and he felt it once more. A pull, stronger than any he had ever known, as if she was hypnotizing him with just one look. Unable to stop himself, he leaned in closer, her lips beckoning him.

“What are you doing?” she asked curiously.

The spell broken, Arthur quickly leaned back and sputtered, “I, uh, I don’t know, to be honest.”

The woman smiled at him, and he felt his entire world light up with fireworks.

“What’s your name?”

“Arthur.”

“Nice to meet you, Arthur.”

She told him her name, and he repeated it just so he could say it out loud. He loved the way her name rolled off his tongue. He had shivered with desire from the way she had said her name. 

“So you saw me last night,” she said after a few moments.

He smiled nervously as guilt wracked him. “Uh, yup. I’m sorry, I didn’ mean to peek.”

“It’s alright, I should’ve been more careful,” she said, a wry grin on her face. “Usually no one camps here.”

Silence stretched between them as Arthur wondered what he should say, if anything.

She brought up her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “And there’s not much to look at anyway,” she said self-deprecatingly.

“You were beautiful,” he blurted out suddenly. He couldn’t believe she’d think that. He wanted to burn the sight of her coming out of the water into his memories so he’d never forget.

She turned her head to look at him, and he felt the pull once more, but it was tinged with melancholy. It made his heart clench. He reached out and put an arm around her, pulling her into his chest, desperate to ease the pain. “Yer beautiful,” he repeated.

***

Surrounded by warmth, you sank into his chest and breathed in his scent. His natural musk, layered with balsam and leather, was soothing to you, made you feel safe and protected. No other man had affected you like this. Was this how your parents had fallen for each other? Was it an instant attraction?

You had been taught to follow your instincts, and something about this man made you want to keep him forever. To hold him tight and never let him go.

So you reached back out to him, wrapping your arms around his broad torso. Looking up at him, meeting his surprised expression, you leaned forward and kissed him. His lips were chapped but pliable as you pushed forward, pressing your body against his.

You were met with a startled grunt. He let you go and backed away, like a shy lady from an all too amorous man.

“Y-you barely know me,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Sorry,” you said, shrinking back on yourself. Maybe you misread him, maybe he was just saying you were beautiful to make you feel better. Maybe you were just lonely and wanted to connect with him, the first man who had made you feel something in years.

“Look,” he said, leaning forward again, “it’s not that I don’t want to, I just think, well, maybe we git to know each other a bit more first before, uh, well…” He trailed off, gesturing blandly.

You laughed. Of course. He was shy. Standing up, you reached out to him. “Will you stay a while? My cabin is small but it’ll protect you from the elements better than your tent. And it’ll be warmer at night too.”

Arthur stared at your hand for a moment before standing up on his own. “Alright. I’ll pack up first.”

***

Arthur wasn’t sure how he was convinced to stay in a cabin with a woman he hardly knew, but every time he met her eyes, everything else fell away and all he wanted was to be with her. 

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, maybe a few days, maybe weeks. But he had never been so content to just fish and hunt and spend time with his sweet lady. He learned about her parents, who had been small-time farmers near Strawberry before they moved to her mother’s hometown, leaving her to live on her own. When he had asked why, she had said it was because she loved it here and didn’t want to leave.

He understood why; after the first few days of just roaming the land, living off its bounty, he was quite content to just stay and forget his troubles. She would go into town and sell his furs and pelts, and when he wasn’t hunting, he would help upgrade her little cabin, fixing up small things here and there to make her more comfortable.

He had insisted on sleeping on his bedroll on the floor beside her bed, at least for now. He felt like he was working up the courage to bed her, even though she clearly had given him an open invitation to her bed. 

Every night he thought about it.

And every night, he trudged to his bedroll and slept beside her bed like a faithful pet dog.

***

14 days had passed. The new moon would be out tonight, and you were itching to go for a swim.

But with Arthur here, you hesitated. He had seen you that first night, sure. But he hadn’t seen you clearly. He hadn’t seen your skin and hair color change, your gills at your collarbone, your preternaturally fast swimming. 

As you stood at the end of your little fishing dock that was connected to the porch of your cabin, you sighed. Watching the setting sun streak its beautiful orange rays across the water, you internally debated if you should show him so you could freely act as the guardian once more. You had been feeling stifled as of late, only able to use your powers while he was out hunting, and only in secret in case he might come out of the forest at any given time.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?”

You smiled. He had started calling you his darling or his sweetheart after a week of gentle caresses as he walked by, or even a casual kiss on the cheek as you went into town on an errand. No matter how much he said it, you melted every time. It was endearing and charming to you, even though they were simple words. The way he said them, the love and care he put into those pet names, was everything you wanted to hear.

Turning to Arthur, you saw that he was dressed in his usual blue shirt and black ranch pants, looking concerned. Seeing the care he had for your well-being made you come to a decision. He deserved the truth of you.

“I need to show you something.”

***

Arthur swallowed as his sweet lady began to disrobe right there on the dock. He was shocked to a standstill, unable to move as he saw every inch of beautiful skin exposed to his view. His pants grew tight, his throat dry, and his internal instinct to protect surged through him.

“Darlin’, what’re you…” 

He couldn’t utter another sound as he watched her usual skin shimmer and then shift to a blue-grey tint. Her hair became teal colored, and slits appeared above her collarbone.

“Gills,” she said as she pointed at them, shrugging shyly. “I’m a dragon spirit. Or half of one.”

Arthur could only nod in both shock and awe. He had suspected she was hiding something, but he would have never guessed it was something like this. He took in her form, human and yet not, familiar and yet bizarre. But still beautiful, wonderful, her.

“Do… do I disgust you?”

“No!” Arthur said, quickly taking two steps to stand in front of her. “Yer still the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

Seeing her smile shyly and look away, his need to assure her only grew stronger. “That why you could swim so good?” he asked, reaching up to caress her neck, right above her gills.

She nodded again.

“What’d you mean by half?” he asked, curious.

“My father, he was a dragon, the great-great grand nephew of the Dragon King of the North Sea.”

Arthur nodded. “Oh. Okay then.” He didn’t understand what that meant, but it sounded a bit important.

She tittered. “I don’t really know how important that is either,” she said, answering the unspoken question. “But I can swim real fast, breathe underwater, and I can control water a little bit,” she said, her excitement growing with each word. She turned to the water and put out her hand.

Ripples started to appear, and they grew into small waves, rolling across the surface of the lake.

She turned back to him, a happy glow to her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re not disgusted by me.”

“I’d never be,” he replied, pulling her into his arms. His gaze traveled along her face, admiring her hair color, her bluish-grey skin, and the gills at her neck, before looking at her smile, full of self-confidence. She was radiant and it made her all the more alluring. 

“You’re beautiful, no matter what.”

***

This time when you kissed Arthur, he kissed you back, unafraid, bold, confident. He quickly took over, his fingers gripping the back of your head as he pulled your body closer to his. You felt the rough fabric of his shirt sliding along your sensitive nipples and moaned softly.

He suddenly wrapped one arm around your waist and one around your ass before picking you up with ease. 

“I need you darlin’,” he murmured before turning from the dock and walking determinedly towards your cabin. He maneuvered you inside and shut the door, not wanting any interruptions. Laying you down on the bed, he stepped away to light the lantern before returning to you, taking off his hat and flinging it aside.

You shifted back to your human colors, your gills disappearing.

“Yer magical,” Arthur whispered before resting his forehead against yours and closing his eyes, a wry grin on his face. You kissed him back, smiling in return, acknowledging his silly word choice and accepting his sentiment for what it was: a compliment. He shared your gaze for a few moments before kissing you back as he unbuttoned his shirt, leaving it open while he climbed over you. You could feel his impatience as he pressed his bare chest against yours, his kisses heating up and becoming demanding.

“Arthur,” you breathed as he moved down to kiss your neck, his lips tracing lines where your gills had been.

“Why’d I wait this long,” he muttered, mostly to himself, as he ran his fingers from your hip up your belly. His touch was feather-light, almost ticklish as he skimmed the underside of your breast before tracing circles around your areola. 

You writhed, whimpering softly. He looked at you, keeping his gaze locked with yours as he leaned down and took your nipple into his mouth. 

"Oh, yes," you moaned as his tongue played with you, distracting you just long enough for his other hand to caress the inside of your thighs. You parted your legs eagerly. 

You felt Arthur smile against your skin before he switched to your other breast, giving you the same pleasure as his hand slid between your legs, his fingers exploring your slit. 

"This honey fer me, darlin'?" he asked in a low, husky voice. 

"All for you," you whispered. 

He let out a soft growl of satisfaction before dipping a finger inside of you. Your hips lifted up towards his touch. Moving away from your breast, he kissed his way up your neck, to your cheeks, then to your lips once more. He took his time tasting you, his tongue languidly caressing yours as his fingers delved inside of you, his thumb brushing against your bud, each stroke driving you higher and higher towards your peak that was approaching rapidly.

You moaned his name, muffled as it was by his mouth on yours. He growled in return, pumping his fingers faster, his thumb stroking you with determination.

"Ah, ah, Arthur!" you cried out as you climaxed. As you felt the pleasure zip through your veins, you buzzed with power for a moment before it faded. 

You didn't have time to think about it, for Arthur climbed off the bed and took off the rest of his clothes. He was such a big man, with muscles from hard work, scars from a rough life, and a dangerous grace to him. He had power and knew how to use it. 

And right now, he wanted to make you release over and over again. 

He climbed over you, just like in your fantasies, and spread your legs, wrapping them around his waist. Taking his hard length in his hand, he slid the tip around your entrance, slicking himself up as he watched you tremble beneath him. 

"You sure 'bout this, darlin'?" he murmured, a slight tremor in his voice, as if he was holding back. He didn't stop sliding the head of his cock along your slit, up and down in a slow rhythm. 

"Yes, yes please Arthur, just take me!" you begged. He was driving you mad with his gentle strokes. You lifted your hips up, causing the tip of him to slip inside. 

"So needy, sweet girl," he crooned before he pushed forward, driving himself deeper inside of you. 

You writhed and winced as your body stretched around his girth. He was sweating, holding himself steady as he waited for you to regain your breath before inching forward some more. Patiently, Arthur watched your every reaction, taking great care to control his movements until his hips finally came flush with yours. 

He murmured your name, his lips brushing against yours before he kissed you. His hands cradled your face as he grinded against you, the heat of his body warming you up like a thick quilt. Deepening the kiss, he angled your head so he could devour you. A low moan escaped him as his hips shifted, building a steady rhythm of short thrusts. 

"More, Arthur," you said when he finally let you take a breath. 

"I'll give you whatever you need," he replied before lifting himself up, letting the cool air touch your body. He pulled his cock out almost all the way and waited for an eternal moment while he stared into your eyes, the lust blowing out his pupils. 

Then he slammed back inside of you.

Your pleasure-filled yell was stopped short by Arthur's swift uptick in pace. He was hammering his cock inside of your tight, wet channel, and he couldn't get enough. Not saying a word, he only moaned and panted as he drove into you relentlessly, taking just a split second to adjust his angle before continuing. 

"So good," he moaned before he got up onto his haunches, taking your hips in his big hands, his fingers digging into your flesh as he fucked you like a man possessed. He growled, a feral sound of pleasure, before he reached down and stroked your clit. 

"Need… to… see… you… let go…" he panted. 

You tightened your legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts with your own enthusiastic motions, reaching for your breasts and playing with your nipples before him. 

"Oh darlin', you look so pretty like that," he grit out, his face contorted in an effort to control his desires. He was so close. So very close. 

"Give me everything!" you gasped, your body shaking, on the edge of a precipice so high that you almost felt fear.

Feeling your body grip him so tightly, Arthur let out a passionate shout before he spilled inside of you. His eyes were wild as he stared at you, his mouth open as he drew in breath after ragged breath. He moaned as he thrust one last time before crushing his hips to yours, keeping his shaft inside of you for as long as possible. 

As he spent himself inside of you, you felt your core suddenly overflow with ecstasy, your body shuddering as you came around his thick cock. At the same time, your power unleashed, making your body glow a bluish hue. 

"Darlin'!?" Arthur panicked, sounding winded, his brow creased with worry. 

The power that had unlocked within you gave your vision a strange overlay of colors. And within the warm orange glow of Arthur was a black cloud in his chest. You reached out through the haze of your afterglow and pulled at it. 

He gasped and coughed. 

You pulled again. Now that you had touched it, you knew it was bad. It needed to get out of his system before it did permanent damage. 

Arthur grasped his chest. "What…" he trailed off as he coughed a few more times before you managed to heave out the black cloud from his lungs. You quickly quashed it in your hands. 

Looking up at him, you put your hands on his cheeks and kissed him, pouring the last of the glowing power inside of him. On some instinctual level, you knew you had healed him of something. Whether it was an old lingering illness or a new one that was just about to form, it was now gone from his system. 

When you finally pulled away, Arthur looked bewildered. For a few seconds, or a few minutes, you weren’t sure how slow or fast time was flowing, the two of you could only stare at each other, lost in that foggy place between dreams and reality.

"What'd you pull outta me?" Arthur finally asked, still a little breathless.

"Something bad. An illness, I think,” you replied. You took a deep breath before squeezing his hand. “Whatever it was, it will no longer hurt you." 

Arthur smiled and pressed his forehead against yours. "Thank you, sweetheart."

***

Arthur left a day later, telling you that he'd be back once he had taken care of some people.

You didn't see him for a long time.

Four months passed before you saw him again. He looked ragged, skinnier, as if he had been through hell and back. But when he saw you, he rushed over and fell into your arms, holding you tight as if you were the only real thing in his world. 

***

He told you everything. He confessed that he had been the one to help that criminal escape and shot up the town. That he had been chased all over three states with his gang. That he had stolen money from several trains. That he had been on a ship that had sunk and was stranded on an island for days before finding a way back. 

He told you about John. He told you about how he had helped him escape the Pinkertons, had ran with him all the way down the mountain before telling him where to meet his family. Then Arthur had set off, the long way around through the wilds of Ambarino so he could lose the men who were chasing him, just so he could get safely back to you.

You saw now that his eyes were unclouded, having seen his world for what it was. You saw pain and regret in his eyes, but you also saw understanding and a clarity that was not there before. He appeared to have finally found wisdom at a heavy price.

After he had told you everything, you cooked him a meal of steamed fish and herbs. He ate quietly, as if his confession had stolen all of his words from him. 

He finished his meal and sat in silence for a few minutes before looking towards you. "I ain't a good man—" 

You shushed him. "You are more good than not, Arthur," you said. "We all make mistakes. You were just trying to do your best. That's all any of us can do."

Reaching for his hand across the table, you grasped it and pulled it to your chest, placing it over your heart. "Will you stay?" 

Arthur smiled hesitantly. "You… still want me?" 

You stood up and leaned across the table to kiss him. "I'll always want you, Arthur. I love you."

He kissed you back. When he looked at you, his gaze full of gratitude. "I love you too, my sweet darlin'. Thank you fer believin' in me."

--------------------

End Notes: I had to end it on a sappy note, of course. Hope you enjoyed that little romp with some folklore! 

[gointothevvater]

Seeking to devour

Chapter one: I Saw The Dead, Small And Great

Summary: Once upon a time, many, many years ago, Charles's great-great-grandmother, who had herself lived an unnaturally long life, told him that their family was descended from that one wicked snake that haunted the Garden of Eden, that the family Offdensen were more serpent than man. At the time, Charles had thought she was joking, just a senile old woman weaving mindless tales.

He knows better now.

Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour (1 Peter 5:8)

Tags: Chickles, Southern Gothic, horror elements, set in the 1920s, kinda-sorta Godklok on Pickles’s part. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, LOTS OF RELIGIOUS IMAGERY, PERIOD-TYPICAL HOMOPHOBIA, LOTS OF TALK OF DEATH.

Read here or on AO3! 

.

Is your soul prepared?

Charles isn't sure how the sign got onto his property. It's been there for years and years, the nails rusting, the white paint chipping, the wood rotting beneath it. The sign is as tall as he is, and double as wide as he can stretch his arms. It's sinking into the mud, though, like everything else in this damned place, standing crooked enough that it might just topple over in a strong breeze.

He's been waiting for it for months, but it hasn't happened yet. It will, though. It's inevitable. Everything eventually falls here. It's a wonder he's still standing.

Is your soul prepared?

The words were wrought in bright, angry red once, but they're an ugly brown now, the color of old blood. It's oddly fitting.

Hooligans, Charles thinks, but he can't be sure. The sign is large, and its post is set deep into the soft earth. Would just any rowdy local boys be able to do such a thing? Would they have any inclination to pass on such a message? He'd been the target of their little pranks before, but such an effort from boys who hadn't the cleverness to not wet the front of their trousers when they took a piss? It seems unlikely. They’ve always been more the type to leave dead animals hanging on the gates. The sign is too civil.

It was the church that planted the sign, Charles is sure. The Ascension Parish Southern Baptist Church had been after him for years, all the way up until it had caught fire and burned to the ground in 1912. Fingers had pointed at him for that, too, and even now, he occasionally wakes to find God is watching or Repent now! or Open your heart to God! painted across the front gates.

Removing the paint gives him something to do, he supposes.

Is your soul prepared?

Charles has considered removing the sign more times than he can count, but it's not as though any other living soul sees it. Why bother? It's not as if his family's sinking home is the only site of such signs. There are others like it scattered all over the bayou, ones of this seemingly standard size, smaller ones tacked to chain link fences, even huge billboards. God sees all>, they proclaim in letters taller than he is. Jesus saves. Hell is real.

Of course Hell is real, Charles thinks with a roll of his eyes. He lives there, after all.

Hell's End is the name of this area, a name given long before his great-great-grandmother had first arrived in the States all the way from the Netherlands. She hadn't known of the name when she built the house. Her home had been meant to be the end of her long and dangerous journey west, the start of her Heaven on Earth. How wrong she had been. How wrong they had all been.

Charles is one of the very few who dare to come near this part of the swamp now. The brackish waters part around his feet, and his elegant boots leave no prints in the mud. The gators go scurrying away at his approach, and high in the moss-draped trees, the cicadas fall silent.

The snakes, though, make no move to flee. They watch him with their bright, slitted eyes, and they bow as best as they can. He is one of them. He offered an apple to St. Cecilia, and another to Magnus, apples of forbidden, carnal knowledge. He is the snake in the Garden of Eden given human form, and he is the master of this particular bayou.

 Once upon a time, his great-great-grandmother, who had herself lived an unnaturally long life, had told Charles that their family was descended from that one wicked snake, that they were more serpent than man. At the time, Charles had thought she was joking, just a senile old woman weaving mindless tales.

 He knows better now.

This wickedness is in his blood. His parents had tried to fight it, but Charles has long since given in. There's no use in trying to deny who he is.

The wickedness is as much a part of who he is as the swamp is.

The Offdensen family have always been the masters of this bayou, back since the 1750s when the house and its great iron gate had sprung seemingly overnight from the mud. That was centuries ago. Charles isn't sure of the year anymore, but he is certain that it's high summer now. The children should be catching fireflies and the old biddies should be sipping sweet tea on the porch while their husbands talk about the weather, but Charles is the only Offdensen left in this part of the world, and the sinking mansion sits quietly in its watery grave, waiting to claim him as it has all the others.

His family is long gone.

Charles, with his twisted magic and his unnatural tastes, is all that remains of his once-great, once-powerful family.

The irony of it is enough to choke him, to send his hundreds of dead relations a-spinning in their graves. Or spinning in their coffins, at least.

This is the swamp, after all. There are no graves here.

[tigerseye46]

Following in His Father’s Footsteps (Evil Peaches Au)

Summary: Years ago the Zhu-Sun family attacked, lost in their grief. Sun Wukong faced of against his former sworn brother who led the heavenly army to apprehend him. With his magical axe, the Demon Bull King managed to seal the Monkey King under a mountain. The Demon Bull King then disappeared from the public eye, leaving his son and wife to live their lives. Princess Iron Fan and Red have reunited with the king, uncertain of rather to find him and reach out. Red might have to find his father rather he likes it or not.

Ao3 link

Jin started with, “The thing you need to understand about the legends, kid, is that the story is never finished. Heck, just look at me and Yin! People know only part of our story and centuries after that we’re still going!”

“Now… emerging from Flower Fruit Mountain after years of being protectors, Sun Wukong and Zhu Bajie attacked. Heaven sent soldiers to apprehend them but none could stop them except… your dad! Using his axe, your dad managed to trap the Monkey King under a mountain. With that done, the Demon Bull King vanished, never to be seen again. Legend says his axe remains on top of the mountain, keeping our world from being destroyed. With the Monkey King sealed and Zhu Bajie in hiding, civilization was able to advance into the amazing world you see today.”

He placed a hand on Red’s back and guided him a few steps forward so he didn’t see Yin snag a bag of chips. “All thanks to the Demon Bull King,” he finished with his arm in the air.

Red narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I know. I know the story of how my father sealed the Monkey King.”

The gold demon ruffled his hair, Red growled in response and quickly waved him away. “Well, sometimes you could use a reminder. You’re too distracted by that gadget of yours.”

The younger looked at the object in his hands. “Well, it’s better than dealing with you idiots. You know mother will be mad when she catches you two.”

“And she is,” Princess Iron Fan hissed and ripped the bag away from Yin, attracting some attention from customers. “Don’t take things from my store! I’m not running a charity here, boys!”

The silver one replied, “Oh c’mon, Iron Fan! Lighten up! It’s not that big of a deal! Plus my brother was paying in wisdom!”

Iron Fan fumed, “WISDOM DOESN’T PAY FOR THIS PLACE!” She massaged her temples and turned towards her kid. “Sweetie, you’ve been slacking off all morning. Can you pick up the pace?”

“Actually, mom, I was about to take my break so…”

“Break? That’s all you've been doing. There is no break! I need you to go!”

She pushed her son out with a grocery bag. She heard a crinkle and spun around to face the two demons who had chips in their mouth. “BOYS,” she shouted and began her chase.

————

Red raised a brow as they fiddled with his invention, completely oblivious to their surroundings. The place they stumbled into was an abandoned construction site, planks of wood resting on the side, and rocks littered the area.

The demon paused when a noise reached their ears. “I’ve waited too long for this moment. Is everything ready?”

“Almost done, papa” came a response.

The demon gasped and hid behind some rocks. “Finally, after all these years, we finally have the method to lift the Demon Bull King’s axe” said the first voice.

Red peaked their head to see their father’s weapon, it shimmered in all its glory. “Father’s axe!” He hopped up onto some pipes to get a better vantage point. A purple bird squawked in surprise and gave a displeased look. Red paid them no mind.

He observed a pig demon in blue hanfu with golden cloud patterns and a crown, a monkey with a red bandanna, and a bunch of other monkeys crowded around the mountain. He clasped a hand over his mouth. It was the Monkey King’s husband, Zhu Bajie, and their son, Xiaotian.

“My love will finally return to me. Heaven has taken everythin’ from us but I’ll have him back the second we remove it. My handsome lǎogong…” Bajie paused when something caught his eye. A monkey climbed on top of the mountain and tried to pull on it when they received a bolt of electricity that sent them crashing against a wall.

Xiaotian pulled the other up. “Are you okay?” The other bobbed their head. “Good. And good job for trying but we already attempted that. It’s going to take more than that to get rid of that weapon. Only a few are capable of wielding it. But combined with my powers and the gauntlet I invented I should be able to free dad.”

“You’ve worked really hard. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, papa!” He presented the golden power glove and got on top of the mountain. He grasped the axe, purple and golden sparks flying as he struggled to pull it off. The weapon broke away from it. “I DID IT,” he yelled in an excited and ecstatic tone as he lifted the weapon in the air, receiving praises from his subjects.

When nothing happened Xiaotian turned back to his papa. “Why isn’t it working? Papa, are you sure this is the right place?”

“Well I don’t know of any other mountain with a magical axe trappin’ my husband,” he huffed.

The mountain rumbled and the group stepped back with Bajie placing a hand in front of his son’s chest to shield him if need be. Wukong emerged from the mountain, fur ragged, some of it torn, and soot covered his armor. Xiaotian beamed. “DAD!”

The Monkey King gazed at himself with reddish-orange eyes, a pleased chuckle slipping past. He dusted the soot off and proclaimed, “I’ve finally returned.”

Red stared at the scene. No… no way was the Monkey King free. He had no idea what to do, maybe out of sight. Yea, that’s it, if he stayed out of sight then he wouldn’t have to face the Monkey King directly and could alert people. His thought was interrupted by the bird pecking his hands. “Hey! Go away! I mean it!”

Bajie grinned at his love, taking hesitant steps forward, tears began to swell. “My lǎogong, I’ve missed you so much.”

Wukong stared at him with eyes blown wide and a gasp. “BAJIE!”

They ran towards each other and gripped the other tightly. The king examined his partner’s face, their foreheads pressed together. “You’re safe,” the king’s voice quivered. “Last I saw… oh, my Bajie, you’re safe.”

The pig nodded, he sniffled. “Yes, love, I’m safe. I missed you…”

“I missed you too. I missed you so much.” They kissed passionately before Wukong broke away and asked, “How did you manage to free me?”

“It wasn’t me, love. It was our son.”

He gestured to their child who stood there shyly, the axe placed aside. Wukong ruffled the boy’s hair. “I’m so proud of you, bud. You’ve grown so much.”

Xiaotian grinned and hugged his father. “Thanks, dad! I missed you. I tried really hard to find a way to free you!”

“And you did an excellent job!”

Xiaotian flapped his hands at his father’s praise. “Now, us, the Zhu-Sun family, can get our revenge!”

Red Son held in another gasp, this couldn’t be happening. The bird continued to peck at him and in an instant, Red fell and landed right on top of Xiaotian. “Uhhhh… someone ordered groceries.” He smiled sheepishly as he held up the plastic bag.

“HEY! GET OFF! You ruined a nice family moment,” the younger monkey growled and shoved the demon off of him.

Sun Wukong curled a brow. “If it isn’t Red Son, been a while. Seems you’ve fallen into our midst.” He sighed as if resigned to the situation. “It seems a waste to crush someone like you right off the bat but it will certainly hurt your father.” He smirked, disregarding their past battle and focusing on the present. “And that’s what I’m counting on.”

He was about to strike when his son interrupted with, “I’ll take care of it, dad. Don’t waste your energy. I want to show you how much I’ve grown!”

The king placed his arms behind his back and agreed, “Alright, my son. Do what you wish.”

Red tried to tiptoe away when Xiaotian bragged, “Now you’re very lucky, grocery boy. It’s not every day someone gets crushed by the Zhu-Sun family!” Red stared at the axe, something called to him. “Are you listening? I won’t let my family be disrespected!” He attempted to punch the demon but he blocked it… blocked it with the axe.

All hell broke loose.

————

Red panted as Yin and he landed on the ground. Yin snapped a picture and went “Wow! That was fun!”

“Yin!”

“What a workout. Almost like a game of tag!”

“It wasn’t a game of tag,” he snapped. “I kinda almost died back there.”

“You didn't, so you’re fine! We should do that more often. Maybe play at the arcade, I’m hyped! Should invite your friend too.”

“Actually he was trying to kill me.”

Yin’s face turned dark and he looked at Red with murder in his eyes. “Where does he live?”

He was about to respond when a shout of “Red! Where are you? You are in so much trouble!” Iron Fan stomped up to them. “Would you like to explain why someone gave a zero-star review regarding your grocery deliveries?”

“Well, mom, what happened with that is…”

“Congrats, Iron Fan! Zero stars are still good,” he joked.

“Quiet, Yin! Zero stars are terrible! You better explain… wait where did my son go?” She spun around as Red ran into the store.

“Sorry, mom!”

———-

Meanwhile, the Zhu-Sun family was underground planning their attack. Xiaotian adjusted the technological armor he had made for his father. “There you go, dad! That should do it!”

The ruler hummed on his throne, his fingers tucked under his chin. “Interesting. What is it supposed to do exactly?”

“Well, it needs to be powered up. It’s a combination of science and magic, meant to activate your powers when it absorbs enough energy which it can also create. The best source would be the Demon Bull King’s axe.”

“Tch. The axe you lost.”

Xiaotian shirked under that statement. “It wasn’t my fault! It was the Grocery Boy-”

Bajie walked over, pressing a kiss against his husband’s cheek, calming him down. The king squeezed his hand. “Don’t be too mad, my peach. We’ll get it back. I sent monkeys to search the city. They’ll find it.”

“Alright, if you say so, dear. Hopefully they find it fast. I didn’t mean to get mad at you, Xiaotian. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine! The furnace can also convert other things into energy.” He threw his welding mask in, it burst into flames. The Monkey King gripped the ends of the armrest as power shot through him.

Once he calmed down, he settled back in his throne and scrolled through the Internet to find something to strengthen his weakened powers. He stared at the screen with a smug expression. “Time to find something rare. Something to give us the power we deserve.”

————

Red glanced around the shop which thankfully contained no customers except Jin who was eating a bag of chips. “Hey, kid.”

“Jin! Remember how you were trying to distract me by telling me a story about my father?”

Jin swallowed his snack. “Yea?”

“And remember how it was specifically the story of how my father sealed the Monkey King? Well… something happened.”

“Red Son, we were not done talking, young man,” Iron Fan scolded.

“Hm? What is it?” The golden demon pondered.

“I found the mountain! The Monkey King is free! Dad’s axe has been removed! We need to find him! The world is going to be destroyed if-”

Jin pushed him back with an amused grin. “Jeez, did that story get to you? Calm down. Think you’re being delusional. The mountain is hidden and even if it wasn't, no one could just lift your dad’s weapon.”

“Delusional?!” Red’s hair burst into flames. “Is this delusional?” He revealed the axe.

Yin gasped in fake surprise. “Wow, Red. You found a stick.”

“NO! It’s father axe! Tell them, mother!”

The brothers cackled, his mom chuckled along nervously. Red stomped his foot. “Listen! We have to find him. I’ll prove it.”

“How?”

The weapon moved on its own and sliced the cashier counter, right near the golden demon. The three yelped and the golden one pounded his chest to prevent himself from choking on his chips. The second he recovered, he rasped out “Wow. You weren’t kidding. How do you have it?”

Iron Fan swallowed as she examined the weapon her husband once wielded. “That’s… that’s your father’s.” She waggled her head to snap herself out of it. “Okay. Where is the Monkey King now?”

“He’s at the shoe store,” Yin responded.

“What?!”

“I hope this is not one of those mindless prank videos you two always watch.”

“Oh there’s always time for a “mindless” prank video, Princess, but no. Look at what's trending. Hashtag Monkey King!”

Yin showed them a video of the Monkey King and his son robbing the shoe store, taking the one-of-a-kind shoe to power Xiaotian’s invention. “We have to find dad,” Red whispered.

Iron Fan crossed her arms in contemplation. “He should be in the Sky Scraping Cave but it’s been so long. Who knows if he’s even there anymore?”

“We won’t know until we try.”

“Let’s get into the car. We can find everything out on the way.”

She pushed all of them into her car, it swerved as she sped. “SLOW DOWN, IRON FAN! YOU’RE GONNA KILL US,” Jin exclaimed as he held onto the seats for dear life.

“Yea, mother, we have to get to Accumulated Thunder Mountain without getting into an accident. How do we get there?”

The silver brother announced, “The Monkey King is destroying that one mechanic part store.”

“More reason to stop him. How do we get there?” He repeated.

The golden brother shrugged. “Hm… I’m not sure. Might as well turn back.”

“What?!”

The woman shushed them. “There’s someone who can take us there. Maybe we won’t even need someone to take us there… I hope,” she muttered. “There’s a fearsome, deadly warrior on par with the Monkey King himself.” She stopped in front of a boat. The boys shivered as the door creaked open. “Liu'er mihou.”

Liu’er was not what they expected, quite the opposite of what Red’s mother described. He was a gentle human, not some fearsome warrior. “That’s a lot to process. Do you know what I do to people like that? Put on plays and music for them!” He played music on an old record player and hummed along. He placed some drinks on the table.

“You’re right, Iron Fan. He’s so deadly, heck, he might kill us with cuteness,” Yin snarked and placed a rabbit on her lap.

“Sorry, I don’t have a lot to offer but these drinks are good for stress.”

Iron Fan growled, “Liu’er, what happened to you? What happened to the vile, angry, revenge-seeking friend I used to know?”

“Well, my therapist said that years of being angry weren't doing much good so I started finding healthier outlets to manage my emotions. Music does wonders and having a bunch of therapy rabbits helped. Isn’t that right, Huìlián?” A black rabbit with red spots nuzzled him.

The princess’s eye twitched. “Whatever, never mind that. Can you help us defeat the Monkey King?”

He trembled at the suggestion of fighting the king. “Sorry, Iron Fan but I’m retired. I don’t think I can help you beat him.”

She massaged her forehead. “Aren’t we all? Okay, that’s fine.”

Red requested, “Either way, can you please take us to my dad’s mountain?”

“Of course.”

“Really?”

“Yea, anything for Iron Fan. It won’t be easy but we can certainly do it.”

The boys cheered and Liu’er continued, “Alright, time to start this up. Just to tell you again, Princess. I’m different now, I don’t go around seeking revenge or picking fights anymore.” She bobbed her head in understanding, displeased at the possibility she might have to reunite with her husband after such a long time. “Now, launch sequence, Huìlián!”

“Wait, what?”

The rabbit pushed a button and the boat launched off.

——

Red groaned as he woke up, his vision spun until he managed to blink it away. Zhu Bajie had attacked them on their way to the cave. He snatched the axe from Red’s hands and sent him flying, thankfully he managed to land on his father’s mountain.

He hoisted himself up and marched forward to find his father. He rehearsed in his head what he would say to his father about losing his once prized weapon and how happy he was to see him again.

He entered the cave and spotted a mural of his family. It flashed and the pictures began moving, showing things like his father’s friendship with the Monkey King, his parents’ wedding, him as a baby, the fight between him and the monkey, then the bull’s arrest and his reform.

During that, Red caught a glimpse of his father smiling at him before running off. “Father!”

The demon chased after him, he searched around. A bug landed on his arm. “Hello” the bug greeted and the younger waved it off. The insect floated to the ground, “It is me, my son, the Demon B-”

And Red squashed him with their foot. “Die, stupid bug!”

The insect flashed purple, shifting to various forms, it finally changed to reveal the Demon Bull King in all his glory. “Father?”

“Yes, my son, it is me. So, where’s my axe?”

His child bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I tried but Zhu Bajie managed to take it.”

The bull chuckled as if his son hadn’t dropped something so significant on him. “I know. I’ve been watching.”

Something clicked. “That was you? Father, what the fuck?!”

The bull chuckled again. “You’re perfect for the job, my son.”

“Job? What job?”

“The job of becoming my successor.”

“What? Me? Are you sure?”

“Yes. You’ve fought Sun Wukong before and you were fine. You can face him again.”

“But… but that was years ago! I’m not sure if I can do it again!”

Placing a hand on his child’s shoulder, he said, “Yes, you can. You’re my son.”

“That isn’t enough of a reason! What about the Monkey King?”

“What about him? You can defeat him.” Red huffed. “You’re strong, you just have to believe in yourself.” DBK straightened his posture. “The axe was taken from you, you can take it back!”

Red shot his father a determined look. “Alright!” He was about to jet off when he stopped and asked, “Are you sure I can do this? Are you sure you wouldn’t be better? Don’t… don’t you want to see mother?”

DBK clenched his fists and looked away. “I’m not ready to see her and you… you would be a better candidate.”

“Alright, father. Whatever you say.”

Then ran off without another word.

——

Red screeched as he crashed into Xiaotian with his transportation. The Monkey King rampaged in his three-headed, three-armed form. “Oh, my sweet baby boy! You’re alive,” Iron Fan cried.

Yin said, “We saw you blast off. We thought you died. Guess that was kinda stupid thinking.”

“You think?”

“Heh, wait, where’s the Demon Bull King? Did you find him?”

“I did.”

Iron Fan asked, “Where is he?”

“He said it’s up to me, to all of us.”

“Well, that’s anticlimactic.”

“How are we meant to fight him?” Jin pondered.

“We have to believe in ourselves. Clean up the streets and I’ll fight him as best I can.”

“Alright, Red. Be safe!”

“I’ll try.” He approached the king, taking deep breaths.

Sun Wukong hissed at him. “If it isn't Red Son, back for more.” The monkey attempted to hit him with Red using their fire to block every attack. He focused on the furnace, that was clearly where the axe was.

Without hesitation, Red leaped into it. Wukong roared with laughter at the other’s stupidity. “I’ve won.” He clawed at his chest, feeling a sharp sting and his powers waning. The red-haired demon emerged with the axe. “You! How did you?!” Wukong lunged at him, throwing hits left and right.

Red grinned and taunted him, “Sorry! Missed me! Try again!”

They pushed him down with the axe then grabbed a nearby building. He was about to trap him with it when the Monkey King yelled, “Not this again! Not a third time!” He launched him back into a building, the windows shattered under the sudden impact. “You thought you could beat me a second time, huh? I am Sun Wukong! I am the Great Sage Equal to Heaven! I will not let you take this victory! You might have his axe but you are not the Demon Bull King.

“You’re right, I’m not. I’m Red Son!” He plunged the axe to the ground and it created a mech resembling a bull. He marveled at it. “I didn’t know it could do this.”

With the mech, he made quick work of the Monkey King who went back to his normal form.

“How… how did you manage…?”

“By believing in myself and this mech!”

Xiaotian screeched, “Hey! Get out of that mech and fight!”

Red scoffed and was about to pick him up when a gust of wind prevented him from doing so. Zhu Bajie landed on the scene, his rake swung down. He took his husband’s hand, his blue eyes glowed. “We know when we’ve lost but we’ll return.” The pig laughed menacingly and disappeared with his family.

“Come back here, cowards! You can’t leave when I was about to win!”

He exited the mech to receive hugs from the brothers, he tried to push them away before relenting with a sigh. The silver one congratulated him, “Good job, kid! You won! You kicked the Monkey King’s butt again!”

“It’s not every day someone beats him twice.” The golden one threaded fingers through the youngest’s hair. “And it took all of us!”

“I must admit I couldn’t have done it on my own.”

Liu’er hugged the three. “Well, that’s exactly what you did.”

“You’re like the second bull king now.”

“We gotta come up with a cool title for you!”

Iron Fan cupped his cheeks. “Oh, my sweet child, I couldn’t be prouder.”

“Thanks, mother.”

Liu’er asked, “What’s next?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Fight more villains!”

“Or we could eat. I’m hungry.”

“That works too.”

The group laughed as they ate. The Demon Bull King watched the interaction with hunched shoulders. He mustered up a smile then flew off.

A new legacy has begun.

[jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets]

Screw It, I Love You

Title: Screw It, I Love You

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Destiel 

Rating: G 

Tags: Just a lot of fluff! 

Summary: This is based of this post I saw the other day, find it HERE. It’s about Cas being newly human and Dean leaving him reminder notes all over the bunker.

Also, thanks as always to @thebridgekid for reading this <3<3<3

AO3

*** My works are not to be posted on any sites without my permission! But comments and reblogs are love! <3 Please and thanks!!

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     Cas woke up around noon, still tired as hell and still not completely healed, but definitely better then the previous day's. Being human always took a beating on him, especially right after losing his grace, but he knew eventually he would adjust and be able to hunt with Sam and Dean again. 

     The brother’s had left early that morning to take down a vamp nest in a nearby town. He knew they wouldn't be back till late, and there was the possibility they wouldn't even come home until tomorrow, so Cas had taken the opportunity to sleep in. But now he decided it was time to get up and not waste the entire day. So he forced his still exhausted body to get out of bed and venture out into the bunker. 

     He was just about to open his door when a little yellow piece of paper caught his attention. He took the sticky note off the door and read it aloud, "Cas, you're human now, so don't forget to eat. Dean."

     His stomach took that moment to growl furiously, "I guess I am a little hungry. I don't know how humans maintain their bodies if they are this hungry all the time."

     He tucked the little note into his pajama pants pocket and made his way into the kitchen. As he walked the hall’s of the bunker he noticed more and more how hungry he actually was, but in the same instant hoped that there was something in the kitchen that he was actually able to make. He was certainly no chef, he could barely make eggs without nearly burning the kitchen down, so hopefully Sam had some cereal left in the cupboard or something easy. Otherwise he wasn't too sure what he was going to eat. 

     He made the last turn into the kitchen and stopped in the doorway. On the counter there was a small pile of clothes and another yellow note. He walked over and read the note, "Hey, Cas, don't forget that humans get cold. I grabbed you a sweater and some socks, stay warm, Dean."

     Cas couldn't help but smile to himself, Dean was right again. Now that he was out of the warmth of his bed, his arms and toes were getting cold. So he put on the socks and sweater and walked over to the fridge. 

     "Another note," he smiled and took it off the fridge door, "I sort of figured you'd sleep past breakfast, and I know how much you suck at using the stove, so I made you some lunch. It's in the fridge. Just some PB&J sandwiches, I know how much you like them and I know it's simple, but it's definitely better than scorched eggs and bacon. I also made you some pasta and garlic bread for dinner if I'm not back. Just put it in the microwave for two minutes. Dean."

     Cas tucked that note into his pocket with the others and grabbed one of the wrapped up sandwiches from the fridge then sat down. With the first bite he moaned, he loved PB&J sandwiches so much, and he was so glad that Dean had been so kind as to prepare him food for the day. He would not have been happy with any of the burnt food he would have ended up with had he cooked himself. 

     He spent a little bit extra time eating the sandwich, savouring it as much as he could, before he was finally finished and now found himself with nothing to do. He tossed his wrapper in the garbage, stood there for a minute, then sighed and slowly wandered through the bunker. 

     He had been in this situation before, him staying behind while the brothers went on a hunt without him, and every time he hated it. He hated being alone in the bunker with nothing to do, and to top it off both Dean and Sam had taken their laptop’s with him to prevent him from attempting to do anything other than relaxing. As he recalled, Dean's exact words on the matter had been, "No work, no searching for cases, nothing related to hunting, period, while we're gone. You just sit back, relax, and focus on getting your strength back." And so now here he was, bored, with nothing to do and no one to talk to. 

     He considered for a brief moment calling Dean to see how the hunt was going, but quickly decided against it. The last thing he wanted to do was accidentally distract Dean mid hunt and have him end up injured or even possibly worse, especially now considering he couldn't heal him if something happened. So instead he kept wandering. 

     He eventually wandered through the map room, ended up in the library, considered for a moment reading a book but decided he wasn't in the mood to focus that hard right now, and was about to head back to his room with the thought of going back to bed when he saw another yellow note on the wall. 

     He walked over to it and grabbed it from the wall and all this one said was, "Cas," with an arrow pointing to the right. He followed it, finding yet another note with the same message, and another, and another, until he found himself in front of Dean's hidden little man cave at the back of the bunker. The note on the door this time said, "Come on in, Cas, and look on the tv."

     "If you say so, Dean," and he walked in. There was another note on the tv right where the last note had said it would be, so he read that one, "I knew you would end up wandering around, bored with nothing to do. So I cued up a new Netflix series for you to watch, there's also beer in the mini fridge, and snacks for you in the cupboard above it. When I get back, maybe we could have a movie night? Haven't had one in a while. Dean."

     "I would love that, Dean, now you just need to hurry home." He added that note to his collection and walked over to the cupboard. Inside there was a bowl with all of Cas's favourite snacks, he then grabbed a couple beers, and walked over to the couch. He placed the snacks and beer on the table, grabbed the remote and turned on the tv. 

     "The Walking Dead," he read the title and the description of the show, "why are all the shows about monsters? We deal with this everyday and now it's all over tv. But if Dean likes it, then it must be good."

     He hit play on the first episode and then started digging through the bags of snacks in the bowl, trying to decide which one to open first, when he found another note. "Enjoy the snacks, Cas, but don't eat them all at once or you won't wanna eat dinner later, and you have to eat dinner. Humans need more than just candy and sweets all day, so make sure you save some room for that pasta. Also, don't forget at some point to shower, humans have to shower. Dean."

     Cas stared at the note for a second before he added it to his pocket. He then grabbed the bag of mini Twix bars and tossed one into his mouth. The man on the tv who had been shot in the beginning of the episode, Officer Rick if he remembered correctly, was just waking up from his coma, so he decided he'd watch another episode or two after this then he would shower as Dean had reminded him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Six episode’s, one shower, a bowl of pasta, and three bags of candy later and Cas was starting to feel tired again. He tried to wait up a little bit in hopes that Sam and Dean might come back tonight, but it was nearing midnight now and he assumed that they had decided to find a motel for the night. He would call them in the morning to make sure. 

     The episode he was watching was almost over, so he decided to wait for it to finish before he turned the tv off, but his newly human body had other plans. He felt himself slowly tipping to the side, falling, his eyes closing, and he ended up landing his head on the throw pillow. But a little crinkle on the side of his face woke him up enough to sit up and grab the sticky note that was now stuck to his face. 

     "Hey, Cas, I knew you would try waiting up for us and falling asleep halfway through your Netflix binge. But since we're not home yet go to bed, Cas, don't sleep on the couch all night, alright. See you when I get home, Dean."

     He chuckled lightly, still almost half asleep, but the thoughtfulness of Dean, leaving all those notes for him all day to make sure he was ok on his own, reminding him to eat and drink and rest, Cas couldn't help but blush. Not to mention he suddenly felt much warmer then he had all day. 

     He tucked that note into his pocket as he stretched on the couch, then forced himself to get up and shuffled to his room. 

     Even though he had been in there this morning and already found the note on the door, he couldn't help but find himself looking for one last note from Dean. Maybe there had been one he didn't see before he went to the kitchen for food, or a hidden note for him to find before he went to bed for the night. But after spending ten minutes searching the room, he was disappointed that he didn't find any more notes. But he pushed the disappointment aside, shucked everything but his boxers, and crawled into bed. 

     Where he was exhausted not too long ago he now found himself tossing and turning. He was wide awake and could not see sleep in his near future whatsoever. And after a few more minutes of restlessly trying to relax enough to sleep, he realized exactly why he was suddenly so unsettled. It was Dean. 

     As an angel, Cas didn't need to sleep, but now that he was human apparently it was necessary. And since he first became human a few days ago, this had been his first time without Dean, his first night going to bed without having spoken to the hunter, or even just as much as passing him by in the bunker. And his smell… it was comforting to Cas, Dean's scent always calmed him, even as an angel. But here in his own room, in his own bed, he had nothing of Dean to bring him that calm. 

     He grunted in frustration as he was still not able to relax, violently tossed the blankets off of him, and stormed towards the door, "As Dean would say, 'screw this!'"

     He threw his bedroom door open and marched down the hallway in nothing but his boxers, then barged his way into Dean's room. Dean's scent instantly hit his nose and he could already feel himself relaxing. And without even so much as a second thought he walked over and got into Dean's bed. 

     He pulled the blankets over him and snuggled into the pillow. Dean, it was all Dean, it all smelled like Dean, it was comfort and home. God, he missed Dean. 

     He laid there for a while, eyes closed just taking deep breaths, though he had no intention of sleeping there. He couldn't imagine Dean would be too happy when he came home from the hunt tomorrow morning and found Cas passed out in his bed. But he figured he could stay there for a little bit longer before he went back to his own bed. So he rolled over onto his stomach and stretched out on the bed, his arm finding its way under the pillows, and his fingers hit something. He grabbed it and pulled it out, finding a full sized piece of paper. He was about to put it back, sure that it was something personal to Dean if he had hidden it there, but in the dim glow of Dean's digital clock on the bedside table, he saw his name at the top. 

     He quickly turned on Dean's lamp and sat up to read the new note, and it would be an understatement to say he was only a little excited about it. "Cas, I wasn't sure if you'd come in here or not, I was hoping you would. And I know you'll probably think you have to go back to your own room, but you don't, you can stay if you want, you don't have to leave. So just lay back, relax, and go to sleep, okay. I'll come wake you up in the morning when I get back from the hunt. Good night, Cas, I…"

     Cas squinted at the bottom of the paper, Dean had written something but scribbled it out completely. Then it looked like Dean tried again, "I… Cas…" Then more scribbles, and more, until he was at the bottom of the page. 

     Cas wanted to know what he had written, what he had wanted to say that he was too scared to. Maybe he could tell if he turned it over…

     "There's more," he whispered to himself then read the rest.

     "Screw it. I love you, Cas. I hope you see this side of the note before you go to sleep, and I can't wait to get home so I can tell you that in person. Sweet dreams, Cas."

     He was stunned, speechless, his brain had even turned off. Dean loved him, and now that was going to be all Cas could think about. His heart was fluttering, he was anxious with anticipation, and all he wanted was for Dean to be home already so he could say it back. How was Cas supposed to sleep now?!

     But eventually he did sleep, with thoughts of Dean's confession on his mind and clutching the note close to his chest. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

     "Man, I don't know why we couldn't have just grabbed a room at one of the many motels we passed on the way here," Sam complained as they grabbed their bags from the back of the car, "I'm exhausted."

     Well, that was a lie, Sam did know why. He also knew why Dean was practically running through the garage and down the stairs, "Dude, where’s the fire. Slow down."

     "I'm just tired too, wanna head right to bed."

     "You don't want to stay up for a beer?" He asked, though he knew the answer, he just wanted to see what Dean would say, "Celebrate taking down that nest?"

     "Nah, I'm just gunna go to bed, I'm beat, see ya in the morning."

     "Yeah, see ya," Sam waved him off and watched with a smirk as Dean practically ran through the bunker towards the rooms. He knew Dean wasn't as tired as he was trying to make it out to be, he had seen Dean running around the morning before, placing notes around the bunker and setting things up for Cas all day. He also knew about the little confession note that Dean had left in his bedroom in hopes that Cas would find. 

     He had caught Dean writing it just before they left, and was able to catch a sneak peek over his shoulder without Dean noticing he was there. Sam also knew that Cas had most definitely already found that note, where he knew Dean wasn't sure if he would. But it was no news to Sam that if Cas was in fact in Dean's room, it would not have been the first time he caught Cas sneaking in there to grab a sweater or blanket of Dean's to take to his own room. He was just glad that these two were finally going to get over themselves. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Dean was just standing, frozen, outside his bedroom door. He was nervous, to say the least. There was no guarantee that Cas would be in there, or that he had seen the note he hid. He was just running off of hope that he had been right in thinking that his missing clothes and blankets had been taken by the ex angel, that maybe he had been taking them for a reason, and that his confession would be taken the way he was hoping it would. 

     He looked down the hallway towards Cas's room, but the door was closed. All he could do was hope that his little hunches were right, and that when he opened this door he would find Cas on the other side. 

     Slowly, he reached his hand out and turned the handle. He was holding his breath, his whole body felt numb, and when he peeked his head in his heart went into overdrive. Cas was in fact there, asleep in his bed, the blankets resting low on his hips showing off his toned back. 

     Dean tried to pull himself together a little bit, to calm down so he didn't wake Cas. He was still recovering from losing his grace and needed as much rest as he could get. So he quietly slipped inside and closed the door as softly as he could. 

     He placed his bag at the bottom of the bed, all the while keeping his eyes on Cas, worried that if he woke him he'd spook and leave in a panic. But thankfully he was still sound asleep. So he removed his shirts and pants and almost in slow motion, he crawled into the other side of the bed beside Cas. 

     He didn't touch him or get too close once he was under the covers with him. Dean was thrilled that everything he had thought and hoped for, was currently laying right across from him in his bed. So he decided to just soak it in for a few minutes, to just lay there and adore Cas, just stare at him for as long as he could before he could feel sleep starting to take over. 

     Just before he closed his eyes, he ran the back of his hand over Cas's slightly stubbled cheek, then he laid back against his pillow. Then suddenly Cas shifted beside him and moved until he was practically right on top of Dean. He tucked his head under Dean's chin, tangled their legs together, and snuggled as close as he could get. 

     Dean just smiled, as happy as he had ever been in that moment, and wrapped his arms around Cas. They laid like that for a minute before Cas moved his hand from where it was rested on Dean's chest, and a second later, he brought it back up and stuck the entire pile of sticky notes he had collected all day to Dean's forehead. Dean chuckled, shaking Cas on his chest who also laughed. Then he brought his hand up again and placed the confession note over Dean’s heart where his hand had just been resting. 

     Dean grabbed all the notes and placed them on the bedside table, then opened the drawer to reach in and grab the pad of sticky notes and wrote out another one. He laughed as he peeled the note off the pad and moved his hand between them to stick it over Cas’s heart. Cas tucked his chin down to read the note upside down and smiled from ear to ear, “Property of Dean Winchester.”

     “At least I hope,” he said, laying his hand over Cas's where it still rested over his heart.

     "I love you too, Dean," Cas spoke into Dean's neck, drawing mindless circles over Dean's heart. 

     Dean moved his hand over to Cas's chin and lifted his face up to his. "I'm glad you found my note, I wasn't sure if you'd come in here."

     "I missed you," Cas admitted, "the pillows and blankets smell like you."

     "I missed you too, Cas, a lot. I did everything I could so that I could make it back here tonight so we could be together." He rubbed his thumb over Cas's bottom lip, then asked in an almost whisper, "Can I…"

     Cas nodded, his nose rubbing against Dean's as he did, and Dean leaned in closing the gap. He touched his lips to Cas's and kissed him softly, sucking lightly on his bottom lip. It was slow, and gentle, and perfect, filled with years of love between them and Dean couldn't think of anything better than this. He had never been happier. 

     When they finally pulled apart, Dean pulled Cas against his chest again, tucking him perfectly against his body as he was before, running his fingers up and down his back. Then he started thinking, as he was staring up at the ceiling, with Cas finally in his arms, and as usual his brain started running wild. He suddenly became nervous and began shifting under Cas. 

     Cas felt it, knew Dean well enough by now to know exactly what was going on, so he just rubbed his hand over his bare chest. It might have been easy enough to write it down on paper, but Cas knew Dean would struggle with actually saying it out loud. But eventually, with the soothing motion of Cas's hand on his chest, he managed to get it out. 

     "I… I love you, Cas, I really love you, so much."

     Dean leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Cas's forehead and he smiled, tucked himself tighter under Dean's chin, "I love you too, Dean, and I'm glad you came back tonight."

     "Me too," he kissed him again, then wiggled to settle back into the bed and closed his eyes, "good night, Cas."

     "Good night, Dean."

End

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A/N: Hope y’all liked that cute little fluff fest XD