#wicked saints spoilers

[java-lava]

My Favorite webnovels/Webtoons/Webcomic/Whatever;

The Remarried Empress

My Gently Raised Beast

I Became the Villain’s Stepmother

Born as the Second Daughter

My In-Laws are Obsessed with Me

The Tyrant Wants to be Good

Men of the Harem

The Matchmaking Baby Princess

Who Made Me a Princess

For my Derelict Favorite

I Thought My Time Was Up

I’m the Queen in This Life

Tricked into the Heroine’s Stepmother

Woes of a Male Lead

Baby Tyrant

Hello Baby

Go Away Romeo

Monster Duke’s Daughter

Divorcing My Tyrant Husband

From a Knight to a Lady

The Male Lead’s Girlfriend

When the Third Wheel Strikes Back

A Heart for the Emperor

My Husband Changes Every Night

Edit to add(I’m constantly updating this);

The Twins New Life

I Got Pregnant with the Tyrant’s child

I’ll Raise You Well in This Life, Your Majesty!

The Evil Princess Dreams of a Gingerbread House

I’m the Soldier’s EX-Girlfriend

I Adopted the Male Lead

Villains Are Destined to Die

The Crown Princess Scandal

Marry My Husband

Perfect Marriage Revenge

Boyfriend of the Dead

Refund High School

Siren’s Lament

Empire’s Cutest Little Hostage

A Tender Heart; The Story of How I Became A Duke’s Maid (dropped due to SPOILERS the child being the ml and his nanny being the fl)

I Hold the Tyrant’s Heart

Lout of the Count’s family

I Am the Villain

The Crown Princess Scandal

The Dragon King’s Bride

Please Kill My Husband

The Reason Why Raeliana Ended up at the Duke’s Mansion

Am I Your Daughter?

Taming the Marquess

Pricilla’s Marriage Proposal

Crowning my Feral Prince

Under the Oak Tree

Finding Camellia

I Raised a Black Dragon

Adeline’s Darkest Night

Wish Upon a Husband

My Husband, My Sister, and I

I’m Being Raised By Villians

Talented Baby Squirrel

The Greatest Estate Developer

The Little Princess and Her Monster Prince

Surviving as the Tyrant’s Daughter

Father I Don’t Want This Marriage

Ten Ways to Get Dumped by a Tyrant

I Will Live The Life of a Villainess

Vampire Husband

Cursed Princess Club

What the Evil Dragon Lives For

1HP Club

Days With You

Batman: Wayne Family Adventures

Love Me to Death

Suitor Armor

I’ll Be the Matriarch in This Life

How is This Hot Duke Just a Background Character

My Three Tyrant Brothers

You Are Obsessing Over the Wrong Person, Lord of the Tower!

Beware the Villainess!

It’s Not Your Baby!

Being Loved for the First Time

I Will Divorce the Female Lead’s Older Brother

Everyone’s Princess

Villainess Have More Fun.

A Wicked Tale of Cinderella’s Stepmom

A Stepmother’s Marchen

The Beloved Fake Saint

Daughter of the Archmage

How to Hide the Emperor’s Child

The Male Lead’s Little Lion Daughter

The Crow’s Prince

The Reason for the Twin Lady’s Disguise

Adopted by a Murderous Duke Family

If anyone wants a one-shot based on a character from any of these, let me know

If anyone know where I can continue reading these for free, pls let me know (I’m broke);

Empire’s Cutest Little Hostage

A Tender Heart; The Story of How I Became A Duke’s Maid (nvm. About this one, I’ve been told that the child IS the Ml)

I Hold the Tyrant’s Heart

Lout of the Count’s family (found on Tapas)

Crowning my Feral Prince

[aziraphales-library]

hihihi sooo i finished season 2 of good omens and i have noo idea where to start when looking for fics as there are like soo i need some recommendations for beginners :3

i’m a big sickfic and hurt/comfort enjoyer, that’s mostly what i read lmao. i’m pretty open to anything except nsfw fics!! i like uhh coffee shop aus and like calm chill stuff.

thank you so much to either of the mods for reading this and maybe answering this!!! love ur guy’s account <3

Hello! I am still baffled by the idea of "beginner fics"—just jump in! We have #fandom classics you could start with if you want, and we have #hurt/comfort, #sick fic, and #coffee shop au tags. Here are more coffee shop fics to add...

Coffee and Tea by Chemery (T)

What if Good Omens but coffee shop AU with some angst and fluff mixed in?

The East Wall by Aloe_Vera13 (G)

Crowley owns a 24/7 coffee house near Aziraphale's university, he is immediately interested in the cute linguistic student coming for coffee late into the night. ------------ “Okay, I’ll have the ‘French Kiss.’” Aziraphale paused for a moment before adding, “The latte.” He pointed at the menu for extra clarity, feeling his face heat up. “Coming right up, angel.” Crowley smiled as he turned around, just missing as Aziraphale’s light pink blush turned up to practically magenta.

Tea For Two by ICanSingNoRequiem (T)

Aziraphale is living his life in London's Soho District when he's summoned to the sleepy town of Eden to settle the affairs of his recently deceased childhood friends.

Coffee Breath by midnightdragons (M)

He stared, mouth half-open, at the stranger he had collided with, and became momentarily frozen in place as his barreling heart caught up to his fretting mind. The (man? woman? neither? well, there was a he/they pin clasped to their sweater, so at least he had that to go off of) person who he had just crashed into, knocked onto their arse, and made spill coffee all over their things, was undeniably and irrevocably the most gorgeous creature Aziraphale had ever laid eyes on in his entire life. Just his luck.

A rather cliche but cute human AU story with bookshop owner!Aziraphale, plant shop owner!Crowley, and a meet-cute involving spilt coffee, with angst but also lots of fluff because we all need a cute little story sometimes. Featuring a bonus chapter with their "first time."

Heavenly Wicked Cafe by WaitingToBeBroken (T)

There is a terribly rude barista that makes amazing coffee and a saint of a barista, whose coffee tastes vile. And they are in love.

The Defiant Houseplant by corvidae9 (M)

A professor doing his best to start over and a barista still flogging himself for mistakes of the past meet cute and hit it off like a house on fire. Excellent! Now can they make something sweet out of their broken bits and partially healed lives with the help of a small band of odd and oddly familiar friends? (and frenemies?) (SPOILER: Yes. The answer is yes. Absolutely. Hallelujah and amen.)

- Mod D

[ab-art-07]

(WICKED BOOK SPOILERS!!! READ AT OWN RISK!)

"We'll sort this all out in a flash, and no one need know. The baby has a name?"

"Elphaba," he said.

"After Saint Aelphaba of the Waterfall?"

"Yes.”

________________

Elphaba's name in the book was based on a Saint, and considering later in life she was dubbed Sister Saint Aelphaba, I thought I would play into that. After the bullshit she's been through, she absolutely deserves sainthood.💚🩷💚🩷

Other versions below!

[kraken17]

List of dimensional variants/counterparts of Enid and Wednesday introduced in my fanfiction Kooky Spooky in order of appearance.

This means that other characters that are counterparts such as Taylor Galpin, the Yoko and Weems from Agent A's dimension and the rest of the Adamos (High Fantasy Addams Family) are not on this list. Only Enids and Weds.

(Artwork from Kris6758 on Twitter)

First, those with some weight in the plot:

Eamon Sinclair (Chapter 1): Initially named in Chapter 1, with no formal appearance until Chapter 43. Eamon is a male counterpart of Enid and husband of Friday (the Wednesday from the 1973 cartoon). Basically, he is "our" Enid if she had been born male. Standard lycanthrope, though exceptionally strong.

Thursday (Chapter 9): Wednesday Thursday Addams. As Eamon, a male counterpart to Wednesday and Friday's cell neighbor. He looks identical to a teenage Gomez but with no mustache and with Fester's pallor.

Enid Saint-Clair (Chapter 19): The Enid of Woe's dimension (the Wednesday of the '90s movies). Brunette, of Greek descent and werecat rather than werewolf. Affable and nice, though with psychopathic tendencies and a love for exacerbated violence. Loves to fight people who can keep up with her. To call her "kitten" is to invite death. Better just call her “Nid”.

Agent A (Chapter 22): Wednesday Tuesday Addams. The Wednesday from a dimension gone to hell (literally). She's a grown woman in her forties, dresses like she's a MIB and is a practitioner of magic. She's also one of the few Wednesdays who doesn't make use of her pigtails or pull her hair back in any way, leaving her hair loose. If you want to put a face on her, I imagine her as Hailee Steinfeld about 16 years from now.

Wodnesdæg (Chapter 35): Lord Wodnesdæg of the House of Adamo, Prince of the Kingdom of Nova Gersia. Wod to his closest family and friends. Trans male version of Wednesday. He collects his hair in two short but thick pigtails. Likes to wear black armor that makes him look like the stereotypical Dark Lord from a fantasy novel, but first impressions aside his personality is closer to that of a Gomez Addams.

Eneit Synklar (Chapter 35): Enid's variant from Wodnesdæg's dimension and his betrothed. A barbarian and werewolf princess Enid, extremely tall and muscular, usually dressed in furs or light leather armor. Very outgoing, affable and friendly, though she lacks a bit of tact and has no qualms about breaking in half anyone who messes with her loved ones.

[UPDATE] The Bright One: SPOILERS! Read the fic 😁

Now, the ones that are more cameos:

Chapter 43:

A golden tyrannosaurus Enid and her ape-like sidekick Wednesday, inspired by the original comic book versions of Devil Dinosaur and Moon Boy.

A middle-aged futuristic soldier Enid.

A Wednesday who looks like a living marble statue with golden cracks adorning her skin and luminous white hair.

A Wednesday and Enid who look like stereotypical pirates.

Gargoyle Enid. A purple-skinned Enid with horns, tail and wings, inspired by the characters from the Disney series Gargoyles.

Chapter 45:

Cyborg-lycanthrope Enid.

Vampire Wednesday, armed with a spear.

Reverse Enid and Wednesday: A violent lycanthropic but black-furred Enid accompanied by a disturbingly extroverted blonde Wednesday.

The younglings: A group of five or six young Wednesdays, the oldest no older than seven.

Saiyan Enid: A brunette-haired martial artist Enid with ki abilities, orange robes, staff and monkey tail. Inspired by Dragon Ball, although it can be interpreted as a reference to Journey to the West as well.

Gunslinger Enid and Wednesday, as if out of a classic Hollywood Western.

Sasquatch Enid.

The witches: Two Enids, one of them in school uniform and wand-wielding, clearly inspired by the Potterverse novels/films or other similar works. The second Enid, with green skin and black clothes, pointy hat and broom is more inspired by The Wizard of Oz and Wicked.

Punk-looking Enid with cybernetic implants like blades in her arms. Inspired by Cyberpunk 2077.

Angelic Enid, alternates between a humanoid form with wings and a fire-wheel form with multiple eyes.

Hellboy Wednesday (Hellgirl?).

[UPDATE] Chapter 50:

A witch-like Enid with a talking cat familiar.

[ohshitfangirlalert]

Here is an excerpt from my recent Rio backstory fic!

Rio's Trial Against the Universe (Wip):

*note: the name kinda reminds me of Scott Pilgrim vs the World. Thought it's relevant to mentions :p

**mild spoilers, sad, dramatic, loss, Agatha

The rulers of the universe have gathered to warn her, that night, before she had to take Nicky away in his sleep. "You cannot bend our ancient rules," began one of them, with a voice as low as an earthquake, "for a mere mortal, this— wicked mortal." Rio froze. The word wicked vibrates through her bones as she recalls Agatha's mother calling her evil. Slowly she snaps back into reality as he continues, angrier: "She is not a saint, nor a goddess. What were you thinking, you— did you think you could just get away with this?". Rio's knuckles whitened as she clenched her fists, her black, dirt filled nails digging into her palms. Her gaze to her feet, shame washes over her. The emerald green suede cape, once a symbol of power, now draped over her skeletal form like a shroud. She wants to become a void and disappear. Tears gathered in her big brown sockets as she took on a scolding for her stupid, plan. She had dared to dream, to crave the warmth of human love. Her desire, to have a family to call her own. With Agatha Harkness. How utterly foolish, she thought to herself.

Let me know what you think :)

[pruneunfair]

Women who deserve better, both in story and writting. *Spoiler warning*

Isabella de Mare

Shes who I think of when someone asks me which character has the most wasted potential. She's a horrible human being with no other qualities but that was fine because she was set up at first as this conniving mastermind behind it all, her whole monologe about not putting all your faith in men was pretty badass and she even knew Ceasre would fall out of love with her eventually, girl just wanted that power. Unfortunately authors didn't want her to be smarter or even as smart as the FL so they dumbed her down into a spoiled green tea bitch with a low intelligence stat.

Rhyse Sinclair

Honestly she's one of the better green tea women I've seen, I like that instead of her immediately trying to mess with Edith she's trying to be her friend and actually does a good job playing the role of the sweet saint while dropping hints of her new rotten nature. I think she was originally a sweet girl who wanted the best for Edith until the Author started to influence her more and more.

Iris Van Conrad

Correct me if I get something wrong cause i just started reading this one. While Iris is annoying and just the typical punching bag designed for the FL to basically say "I'm not like other girls." I kind of pity her, she's getting humiliated every which way. In the beginning the FL pours wine on her for insulting her dress and a comment said that was classy? That's literally the opposite of how to handle a situation with class, she's not hard to dislike but not hard to like either, I want to hope she'll become a real threat but it's unlikely

Rashta Ishka

Ah, the iconic Rashta and probably one of the most famous green tea bitches. This girl was done dirty by both the story and the writting. She's the anti-sue to Naviers Mary sue. She was a slave sold by her father, was taken advantage of by one of her masters and got pregnant, her child was then taken from her by her master and he gave her a dead baby he claimed was hers and that's only a slice of what she goes through.

Nobody really likes her, she's regarded as a stupid slave who barges in on the empress, Sovieshu happily takes advantage of her to try to make Navier jealous and her only friend is manipulating her into ruin, all while any chance at her being complex is destroyed by the writers who turn her from a smart grey character/Villainess to another wicked punching bag to be used as a stepping stone for Navier and Heinrey.

Aisha

Basically Rashta but even worse. She never succeeds in any of her plans or schemes and is always one step behind the girlboss protagonist Robelia. Aisha exists to be the "other girl" fans can make fun of. The moment the protagonist shows up, the ML (who I'd beg to differ is the sole conflict and not her) ditches her to be with Robelia now that's she's "interesting" leaving Aisha to basically throw childish tantrums as she fails to be better than the FL and worse yet, the writer justifies Alexandros cheating and is viewed as misunderstood while Aisha still a pick me concubine who's only personality is trying and failing to win over Alexandros.

Minthe

The only one who's not from a manhwa. Minthe is proof to me that no one on webtoon really cares if your a mistress just as long as your the protagonist. She is one of the few character in lore olympus written with acknowledged flaws and reasons to be upset, Hades gets in an emotional affair with Persephone and apparently she's evil for not sucking it up and being reasonably upset, she's often a victim of prejudice by the other characters and is literally called "nymph trash". Even the fans would ridicule her for being upset and getting in the way of the creepy ship between Hades and Persephone to the point of bodyshaming her and being overly happy when Persephone turned her into a plant. In the end Minthe gets a half-assed arc and leaves the story forever.

Diane Poitier

One of the other well written women in historical manhwas. She's treated pretty badly by everyone including her brother and the Emperor who she tries desperately to keep by her side and she wrongfully takes it out on the protagonist Adelheid but whats different between her and other concubines in other media, Diane was there before Adelheid so it gave a reason why she was defensive (not an excuse but a reason). Seeing her break down when Adelheid actually cared about her broke my heart and really showed just how little worth outside of the Emperor she really has for herself and makes some pretty nice character development for herself and died realizing she blamed her problems on the wrong person.

[esta-elavaris]

I won't list all of my stuff here - just the things that I think are worth shouting about. Organising it all via fandom, with some little sub-categories within those because some of them *cough*James/Theodora*cough* have decided to become ungovernable.

Where to find me: AO3 -- IG -- Goodreads

Catch the Wind-verse:

Catch the Wind - James Norrington/Modern!OC Status: Complete. [400k+ words] AO3 The behemoth that started the absolute sickness in me, and probably where you should start if you want any of the rest of my Norrington stuff to make total sense to you.

When it was completed, I also did a read-through on here talking about some behind-the-scenes type stuff. The tag is here, but it's obviously reverse-chronological order so spoilers abound! I plan on doing this for other fics when they're complete!

Sainted by the Storm - James Norrington/Modern!OC Status: In progress, updated sporadically. AO3 The home for any random snippets of this pairing that I write - there are a few AU chapters here and there, mostly it's flufftober fills, or pieces not long enough to warrant their own story. Wicked Game - James Norrington/Modern!OC Status: In progress. AO3 Semi-sequel to CTW, just a very small smutty series set after the events of the main story. Red Thread of Fate - Theodore Groves/Pirate!OC Status: In progress. AO3 Vague companion piece to CTW, taking place in the background of that story, and then branching into the timespan that follows it - with appearances made by Norrington and the OC I write for him.

Catch the Wind AUs

Fallen Through Time - James Norrington/Modern!OC Status: In progress, on a break. AO3 -- Tumblr An AU of Catch the Wind, exploring what might've happened had Elizabeth Swann been the one to find Theodora when she fell into the world of POTC.

As It Was - Modern!James Norrington/Historical!OC Status: Planning - a teaser can be found on tumblr for now. AO3 Another AU of Catch the Wind, where James Norrington is the modern character, and Theodora Byrne is the "canon" character from POTC who is fated to die.

Here, Where Fire Grows - Boromir/Modern!Amnesiac!OC Status: In progress AO3 Writing Catch the Wind didn't get the "modern girl falls for fictional dead man" trope out of my brain, so I had to inflict another on Boromir - but this time with an amnesiac twist, just for some added fun. Other mini-stories for these two written during flufftober can be found here.

Flufftober '23 The non-Theorrington flufftober fills can be found in this series on AO3, but all of the fills also be found on Tumblr where they have pretty banners to go along with the chapters.

About a Girl Captain Hook [Peter Pan 2003]/OC AO3 Hook sets out to manipulate a former member of The Lost Boys in order to gain the upper hand against Peter Pan…and learns the hard way that it's best not to underestimate one's opponent. Manipulations, trust issues, lots of "falling for you would be the worst possible idea so I won't do that haha...unless 👀" on both sides.

Obscure, Plain, and Little Aemond Targaryen/OC AO3 A Jane Eyre-inspired fic -- probably won't follow the events of the show/book.

Absolution Dracula [Van Helsing 2004]/OC AO3 Set in the modern day, lots of cliché favourites with (hopefully) some added twists to spice things up a bit! Free Cullen Rutherford/F!Inquisitor AO3 Modern!Royalty!AU which will eventually follow the events of the game.

This is the hub that contains all of my post documenting my progress with the challenge I'm setting myself for 2025, in which I'll be aiming to have twelve consecutive 50k word months.

List of ideas for tentative future pairings and fandoms I want to go into can be found here. I'm also always open to suggestions, so don't feel too shy if you want to send me an ask or a message 💜

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Fragile - a Malevlent fic (Intermezzo spoilers)

Arthur got low in Larson’s house. He hit bedrock; he admitted, brokenly, that they won.

John didn’t let him drown. Which is ironic, because John was already drowning.

Spoilers for Intermezzo.

AO3

———-

Humans were fragile.

John knew this. He’d known it since before he was ‘John,’ when wicked memories seeped through the torment of loss and damnation.

Arthur was fragile, too.

John did not know this, and this new and acidic knowledge threatened the unset foundation John had built his everything upon. 

#

Your hands, Arthur. You have broken pieces of his eyes under your thumbnails.

Hardly like John hadn’t done things like that  when King, hadn’t done things like that for Kayne, hadn’t torn people apart until he knew them down to the cellular level. It wasn’t that eyeballs were gross, or the violence was too much; it was that Arthur was the one who did it.

Arthur. Who’d stayed so strong through cult and coma. Who’d kept his head in the prison pits, and forgiven John more than any saint could.

Who’d cut his own damn throat to keep the King from winning.

John knew it had been less than a day for Arthur. (It had been… longer, for him.) Less han a day. How could Arthur change so much in less than a day?

“I…” Arthur sounded fucked.

Instinctively, John tried a lever, tried to use that name to prize Arthur from the mud. Imagine what she would think. Faroe wouldn’t want her father to be this. To lose himself in this way.

The lever did not work, and Arthur slumped down, bleeding, and wept. “I’m lost,” he said, and It was a terrible sound. “I’ve lost. I’ve sunk too far.”

Less than a godsdamned day.

No, said John, scrambling in the wake of shock. I know you, my friend. You are in there. You saved me before. (Arthur had, everything he’d done, everything he’d said, had saved John in the Dark World, had kindled his only lingering light and hope. Arthur could not lose. He could not sink. If Arthur did…)

John vowed: I will not let you drown.

Arthur sobbed.

A good sob? A broken one? Don’t be scared. 

“They’ve won, John,”  Arthur wept in a high, unrecognizable voice. “He won. Faust. I… I wanted to kill him. I wanted to fill his blood within my hands. I wanted to feel the crunch of his bones beneath my palms. They won.”

This couldn’t be happening.

No.

No.

Arthur was his light. Arthur was his hope. The source of a purpose in a life so short, the proof they didn’t have to win!

Kayne’s voice might only be in his head, but it rang cruelly true: If he was this wrong about not letting them win, what does that say about his hope for you?

No!

Humans were fragile. Arthur was less fragile than most, but still human, and John...

John knew what to do. 

He was ashamed of it, this innate, easy understanding of manipulation, of control, of (pleasure it had always brought him pleasure as the King) pretty words to make Arthur do what he wanted, to shift Arthur’s sails and steer him from the rocks.

He felt ill. Sick. He shouldn’t do this. Good people did not think like this.

Would it really be “good” to let Arthur wreck on the rocks of himself?

It would not (and John told himself it was for Arthur’s sake and not to shore up his own cracking foundation), and so John made his choice. Followed his instinct, and manipulated. How could they have won? We’re nowhere near finished.

That was the exact right delivery, and it snagged Arthur’s attention like a lure (fish, Arthur, now caught). 

Next, communication the way Arthur thought in his quietest hours: Whose woods these are, I think I know... Because Arthur thought in music and poems. Because Arthur’s sobs slowed as John quoted, pulling the verses from the shared well of their mind. 

My horse must think it queer, to stop without a farmhouse near... Because Arthur might deny that gloriously artistic part of himself (of which John, as King, was keenly aware), but he could not resist the siren-song of rhythm and introspection and beauty, and he’d listen to this when he’d kick all else in the teeth. 

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, but I have promises to keep… and miles to go before I sleep. He would not lose this man today (maybe if the King had used poetry instead of compound fractures, he would have gotten somewhere). And miles to go before I sleep.

It worked. (Of course it worked. It had to work. It was back to the Dark World if this didn’t work.) Arthur, as John knew he would, responded. “I’m sorry, John,” he said, and he finally sounded like Arrhur again. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

(He’d missed him so much, his changeability, his chosen softness.) I’m sorry, too.

“Why? For what? You…”

For what?

For what he’d done to get back here.

For the lies he’d told.

For the wickedness he’d wrought.

For—

For leaving you for so long. But that was too close to the truth of things Arthur must never know. Now. Let’s leave this place.

“No,” said Arthur (because his stubbornness took no time at all to reassert itself). “We need to help those people. Down in the mines.”

And there he was. The Arthur Lester of John’s imagining. The flawed but willingly good human, the anchor to which John clung, the mortal for whom he’d debased himself, for whom he’d died.

He’d done… so many things to stop being dead. Arthur (canonized in memory, precarious on his pedestal) would never understand.

How could he? Arthur was human. Humans were fragile. And even Arthur had people he would not forgive.

He could never know. It’s a new beginning, Arthur. A clean slate. For both of them.

“No, no. Not a clean slate.”

John’s metaphorical heart clenched. No? I thought that’s what you wanted.

“That was easier than to remember what I’ve learned, what I’ve preached, not only to you but myself… that we can’t escape these things we’ve done,” said Arthur, fragile human, with no idea he was telling John that John was beyond hope.

John had to escape the things he’d done. He had to.

This confirmed it all: If Arthur knew what John had done, he’d never forgive him, and that flickering hope-light in would finally go out.

John couldn’t really reply. Okay.

“But it still is another,” said Arthur, sounding like his soul had shed a thousand pounds. “And I’d rather greet a new day like an old friend—with fondness and appreciation.”

Oh, Arthur. How did that fragile hope always survive? (He could never know.) Okay, Arthur.

“My friend. Let’s leave this place.”

And of course, Uncle’s body was still there, still shaking Arthur with reminders of savagery.  “I… I lost…”

Damn it. You’ve beaten yourself up enough over this, Arthur. It’s fine.

It clearly was not fine. “You’re right,” lied Arthur Lester.

Nope. Misdirection time (and John refused to think how easily the manipulation came). Oh! There’s a corpse in the bed.

And just like that, the detective switch was flipped, and finally, Arthur actually was fine.

It would all be fine.

It had to be fine.

The danger was past. John would never, ever need to tell him what he’d done. Arthur would continue to hope in John. It would be fine.

He couldn’t handle all that horror, anyway, John told himself as they dove into mystery and memory. Arthur was fragile, after all.

[kmomof4]

A Scoundrel… Or a Gentleman?

Ohhhhhh, I’m so happy to FINALLY be posting this fic!!! Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton’s story, When He Was Wicked, I wrote the prologue - 8k words - last September, then took a six month break before sitting down and getting the rest of the thing written. I so hope I did the story justice and that you enjoy and let me know what you think!!

And now thanks to whom thanks are due!!! @jrob64 is a LITERAL SAINT for everything she did to make this fic better. She is an outstanding beta and a dear friend, but I seriously tried her patience going back over and back over and back over AGAIN trying to make this just right. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, my friend, for EVERYTHING!!!

To @hollyethecurious for all the historical info that she shared with me and asking the questions that needed to be asked and answered before the fic was ready for posting. Her support was absolutely invaluable. Thank you, babe!!!

To @motherkatereloyshipper for her work on the Prologue artwork shown below. It is soooo beautiful, I could stare at it for hours!!! Thank you so much, darlin!!! Please give her lots of love!!!

The fic is complete with a total of 9chs. I’ll be updating twice a week- Wednesdays and Saturdays.

Summary: Killian Jones has been in love with Emma Nolan since the day he met her - the day before she married his brother Earl Liam Jones. That was six years ago, and Liam has been gone now for four years. Emma and Killian have both arrived in London for the season - her to seek a husband so she can hopefully bear children, him to finally take up his duties as the earl, including finding a wife. Will they succeed in their respective desires?

*spoiler alert- of course they will. It’ll just take them a little while to get there…*

Rating: M (smut in later chs)

Words: almost 8400 words of approx 59,5k

Tags: Regency Romance, Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton’s Story, Smut in Later Chapters

On ao3 if that’s your preference.

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

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Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Prologue

There is a moment in every man’s life in which his future becomes clear. A turning point of sorts. The moment when he becomes a man, when he leaves the irresponsibility and temerity of youth behind and turns his eyes to the future. A future that he’d never bothered to think about before. Unfortunately, that moment came for Killian Jones when he first laid eyes on Emma Nolan at a supper celebrating the imminent marriage between herself and Killian’s brother, Earl Liam Jones.

After years of chasing anything in a skirt, Killian grimaced at the irony. In all that time, he’d never allowed his heart to become entangled with his many, many romantic exploits. Allowing himself to be chased until he conquered, his reputation as a rake and a scoundrel was well deserved. He’d even stopped attending church, although he assuaged the pricking of his conscience by telling himself the derelict stones of Kilmartin Abbey on the Kilmartin estate up in Scotland… no originality among his ancestors there, who were so proud of the title when it was newly bestowed about 300 years ago, they attached it to everything they possibly could... Anyway, the Abbey couldn’t withstand a direct strike of lightning, which would surely happen if Killian Jones ever showed his face inside. 

Killian Jones

Worst of Sinners

He would have had it printed on calling cards if he didn’t think it would actually kill his mother. The only semblance of honor he’d maintained in his heart over all these years was the fact that the only times he’d slept with married women was if their husbands were tossers, and they’d produced at least two male offspring. Three, if one was sickly. He’d also never seduced a virgin, but even that wasn’t enough to redeem him now. Because this was the one thing that truly blackened his soul beyond all redemption. 

He coveted his brother’s wife. 

And had since that fateful moment two years ago. The day he met Emma Nolan. Now Emma Nolan Jones. Lady Kilmartin. Countess Kilmartin. Wife of his brother, the Earl of Kilmartin.

He could torture himself for days, thinking of every iteration of Emma Nolan Jones, but it would never change the simple fact. He couldn’t have her. She’d never be his.

Now, looking around the room where he, Emma, and Liam were enjoying some after-dinner conversation, he had to rise and cross the room to the decanter, pouring himself a drink to avoid the thoroughly besotted eyes Liam and Emma were making at each other.

“What shall we do for our second anniversary?” Emma asked, sitting down at the pianoforte, her long delicate fingers tickling the keys. Killian swallowed a low groan.

“Anything you want, darling,” Liam answered. He smiled gently at his wife as he opened the evening edition of the Times. She turned her attention to Killian.

“What do you think?”

“About what?” he asked, turning to her, a charming, lopsided smile on his face. No one took him seriously when he smiled like that, which was exactly the point. She pressed her lips into a thin line and Killian relented slightly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening.”

“What should we do for our anniversary?”

If she’d thrust her own hand into his chest and squeezed his heart to dust, it probably would have hurt less. He shrugged indifferently. He was, after all, an expert at hiding what he really felt.

“It’s not my anniversary.”

Emma rolled her eyes, the corner of her lips lifting in amusement. It probably wasn’t a good thing that Killian spent far too much time studying the lips of his brother’s wife.

“I’m aware,” she huffed. “I was asking if you had any ideas for us.”

Killian lifted one brow quizzically. “Why would you ask me, when I have absolutely no experience in the realm of marriage or the anniversary celebration of such?”

The amusement left her face and was replaced with irritation and no small amount of sympathy. Emma rose and moved toward him.

Oh, God, he thought. Please no. There’s nothing worse than when she…

She placed her hand on his arm.

“You won’t always be unmarried, you know,” she said gently.

She shouldn’t be touching him. She couldn’t be touching him. His next words were with the singular purpose of getting her away from him.

“Am I to become your project then?” he bit out. “‘Killian can’t possibly be happy living his life of debauchery and aimlessness, so I must see him married,’” he mocked. “I am not interested in marriage, thank you very much.” 

She removed her hand from his arm and backed up, her brow furrowed, her mouth a small o of hurt. Thank heaven, it bloody worked, he thought, even as the guilt surged.

“We care about you, Killian, and we want to see you happy.”

And there it was. We. Not I. We. They were a unit. Liam and Emma. Lord and Lady Kilmartin. She may not have meant it that way, but that was what he heard. As if he’d ever forget it.

“I care about you, too.” His voice wasn’t much more than a whisper and he shot pleading eyes toward his brother who finally gave up all pretense of reading.

“Emma,” he chastised lightly. “Killian is a grown man. Let him find his happiness when he’s ready. In his own time.”

Emma shot her husband a disgruntled look. Killian had to bite back a bark laugh. He knew Emma almost as well as he knew his brother, and he recognized the root of her irritation was at being thwarted in her attempt to arrange the people in her life to her satisfaction. Liam smirked at him and picked his paper back up as she returned to the pianoforte and sat down, her visage contemplative. It suddenly lit up and Killian’s heart rate increased with it. 

“I should introduce you to…”

“Emma.” It was only a single word, but Liam’s voice held a note of reprimand in it. Leave him alone.

Emma deflated and Killian could have kissed his brother. He may have only thought he was saving Killian from Emma’s nagging, but if he had to suffer the woman he was in love with trying to find him a match - a match he was wholly uninterested in - it might be the final straw of his sanity. Truly. 

“We should all go for a walk,” she said suddenly. Killian looked out the windows where darkness had finally descended over London.

“Isn’t it a little late?” he asked.

“Not with two strong escorts,” she cheeked.

“I’ve an appointment in an hour,” Liam said. He winced and rubbed his temple. “And I’ve got a headache. I think I’ll lay down for a bit before leaving.” He looked at Killian then. “But you should go.”

Absolute proof that Liam hadn’t a clue about his brother’s true feelings for Emma.

“Parliament?” Emma asked. Liam nodded and rose. “Do you want me to wake you when we return?”

“I’ll ask my valet to do it, darling,” he said, dropping a gentle kiss to her lips. Killian averted his eyes. He’d never begrudge his brother and his beloved their happiness, but he certainly wasn’t going to watch them bask in the clear love between them. 

“I’ll just be a moment,” Emma assured him once Liam left, a soft smile on her face, her forest green eyes glowing. Perhaps it should disturb him how certain he was of the color of Emma’s eyes when she wasn’t even in the room, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He dreamed in shades of green these days. Emma green, the color should be called. He poured himself another drink and slammed it back, trying to steel himself for their impending constitutional. 

He knew he shouldn’t be accompanying her. He knew he shouldn’t ever be alone with her. But when she smiled, he was helpless to resist her. It may leave him wracked with equal parts guilt and desire later, but he couldn’t deny himself any amount of time in her presence. Because that’s all there would ever be. He’d never act upon his desires. Never betray his brother in that way or sully Emma’s reputation. There’d never be a kiss, meaningful glances or touches, whispered words of love and affection, or moans of passion. 

All he’d ever have was her friendship, her smile, and her company. And besotted fool that he was, he’d be happy with it.

She came back down wrapped in a soft yellow cloak and he held his elbow out for her to take. Resigned to his fate, he escorted the love of his life out of the house and to the street below. Lucky him.

~*~*~

As Emma and Killian walked along the street, Emma couldn’t help but think what a dear man her brother-in-law was. Oh, he’d be certain to scoff and list all the reasons his soul was as black as they came (none of which, she was afraid, were exaggerated) if she expressed those sentiments out loud, but she knew him nearly as well as she knew her husband, and Killian Jones possessed a heart of honor and had a capacity to love that was unequaled among the men of her acquaintance. And if she didn’t find him a wife soon, she’d go mad.

“Killian,” she began, turning to look at him.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupted. “Didn’t Liam just suggest that you let me find my happiness in my own time?”

Emma’s jaw dropped in shock. “How did you know what I was going to say?”

“You’re a bit of an open book, my dear,” he said, looking at her and booping her on the nose. Emma huffed indignantly as they continued their walk.

It was funny. When she met Liam, she fell head over heels in love more quickly than she ever imagined possible. He understood her in a way that she’d never experienced before. Of course, she loved her family immensely, but as the youngest of six siblings, she often felt lost in the shuffle. Killian was the only sibling Liam had, and removing herself from the hubbub of London and her large family felt like a breath of fresh air. Not to mention the actual fresh air of Scotland, her new home.

But then there was Killian. She hadn’t met him until the day before her nuptials to Liam, since he’d just recently returned home from the Napoleonic Wars on the continent. He was handsome, to be sure, but there was an undeniable connection between them that she felt from the moment she met him. If Liam understood her the way no one ever had before - the opposite side of the same coin - then Killian was like a puzzle piece that fit her perfectly. A puzzle piece she never knew she was missing. He completed her. Besides Liam, Killian was her very best friend and that was why she wanted him to be as happy as she was. And the only way that was going to happen was if she found him a wife who’d make him as happy as Liam made her.

“Finding me a wife is not among your duties, Lady Kilmartin,” Killian spoke again, drawing her from her musings.

She huffed again. “Well, it should be.”

He laughed, which delighted her immensely. She could always make him laugh.

“Very well, then,” she said, dropping the subject for now. “Tell me something wicked. Something that Liam wouldn’t approve of.” Her lips lifted in a conspiratorial smirk that he returned in kind. It was a game they played, that spoke again to how Killain somehow completed her. As much as she loved her husband, hearing about Killian’s exploits was always immensely entertaining. And she knew Liam enjoyed hearing about them, too, even if he gave a token admonishment whenever he was also present. Killian never shared too much, he had too much discretion for that, but he’d share hints and innuendos that never failed to amuse her greatly.

“Alas, I’m afraid I’ve done nothing wicked this week,” he said with a sigh.

“You?” she asked, incredulous. “I find that very difficult to believe.”

“It’s only Tuesday, my dear,” he reminded her.

“I’m aware,” she shot back, “but aside from Sunday, which I’m sure you’d leave sacred…” She shot him a look that belied her words completely, earning her another laugh, “that would leave Monday, and a man can get up to quite a bit of mischief on a Monday.”

“Not this man,” he assured her. “Not this Monday.”

“What did you do then?”

He was quiet for a moment as they continued walking. 

“Nothing, really.” 

There was a tone of melancholy blanketing his words and Emma stopped and turned to him. His blue eyes shone under the street lamps and Emma was shocked at the intensity she found there. A moment later it was gone and the thought occurred to Emma that Killian Jones perhaps wasn’t really the man he wished others to believe him to be. Even her.

She squeezed his arm gently. “We must find you something,” she whispered into the night.

He held her gaze a moment longer then he looked up.

“We must return. Liam will have my head if you catch a chill.”

“Liam will blame me for my foolishness of insisting on a walk after dark, and well you know it. This is just your way of saying you have a woman waiting for you, probably wearing nothing but a sheet.”

He smirked. A devil-may-care grin that made Emma roll her eyes and recall why the female half of the ton fancied themselves in love with him, even without the title.

“Don’t be jealous, my dear,” he said, the teasing clear in his voice, making Emma roll her eyes again.

“As if I ever could be,” she scoffed.

He stopped and faced her, the way his black hair flopped over his brow making her long to brush it back. The intense look was back in his crystal blue eyes and Emma had trouble drawing a deep breath.

“I know.” His voice wasn’t much more than a whisper. “It’s the only reason I tease you.” He reached up and lightly ran his knuckles down the side of her face. “You’re the only woman I know who would never stray. I can’t tell you how much I admire you for that.”

“I love your brother. I could never betray him.”

“I know that, too.” His hand returned to his side. He was so handsome and so in need of love, Emma felt her heart would break. If only he’d let someone, anyone, into his heart. If anyone would care enough to look beneath the handsome, yet devilish facade, they’d find the man she knew- kindhearted, loyal, and true.

They continued toward Kilmartin House and Emma took a deep breath. “Thank you for bringing me out tonight. I was just feeling so closed in, claustrophobic almost. The fresh air did me quite a bit of good.”

“Then I’m happy to have been of service, milady,” he said as they climbed the steps to the front door of Kilmartin House. The door opened, the butler obviously looking out for them, and Emma undid and handed him her cloak and gloves.

“Will you stay or must you go?” she asked Killian. She could just see Liam’s valet coming down the stairs out of the corner of her eye.

Killian checked his pocket watch. “I’ll wait for Liam, if he hasn’t left yet. I came on foot, so I might as well avail myself of his carriage after he’s done with it.”

Emma nodded and turned to the valet. 

“Has his Lordship left yet?”

“No, my lady. I’ve rapped on his door, but he must be sleeping quite soundly. Do you still want me to wake him?”

Emma sighed. As much as she wished he could sleep longer, she knew how important this meeting was.

“No need,” she assured the man. “I’ll wake him myself. Thank you.” She nodded at him and Killian and hurried up the stairs.

Moments later, Emma’s scream pierced the night.

~*~*~

Killian had no memory of taking the stairs three at a time to rush to Liam’s bedchamber, one of two thresholds in the house he’d never breached. He suddenly found himself there, staring at the bed on the other side of the room, barely conscious of Emma screaming from where she sat on the edge of the bed as she shook the shoulders of his unnaturally pale and still brother.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. Whoever that was lying on the bed, it wasn’t his brother. His brother was gone. He’d seen death in battle, but death wouldn’t dare come for Liam. Liam. Who was so strong. So steady. The pillar of their family. The one they all relied on. The picture of good health. 

He took a laborious step forward.

“Emma.” His voice was hoarse, strangled, and unsurprisingly Emma made no indication that she’d heard him, her screams continuing unabated. When she finally stopped to take a breath, her face turned to him.

She rose, her movements so slow and graceful, her face nearly as pale as Liam’s, Killian could have mistaken her for a ghost. She glided toward him and as she got closer, he could see the splotches of color high on her cheekbones, the sunkenness and redness of her eyes, the tear tracks down her cheeks. She grabbed his hand, her grip so tight her knuckles were white.

“Wake him up, Killian,” she begged, more tears spilling from her eyes. He met her gaze, knowing the same devastation she wore on her visage was reflected back to her on his own. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her in tightly, automatically, like some kind of machine. She grabbed the lapels of the coat he wore and buried her face in his chest, moaning like a wounded animal. “It was just a headache.” Her tears soaked his shirt. “It was just a headache. How could this happen? I don’t understand!” 

He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t offer her any sort of comfort beyond holding her as he was now because he didn’t understand either. Between Eton, Cambridge, and the Royal Navy, he’d been trained for everything the life of a gentleman had to offer. But he’d never been trained for this.

She pulled back suddenly, the cry falling from her lips coming from the depths of her soul. 

“WHYYYYYYYY??!!”

Just as suddenly as she pulled back from him, she collapsed in his arms, bringing them both to the floor. He stared, unseeing, at the far wall, wondering why he wasn’t crying. He was numb and his body felt heavy, like his very soul had been crushed. Killian’s internal cry echoed Emma’s.

Why?

~*~*~

“Could she be with child?” 

Killian sat behind Liam’s desk, and blinked at the question posed to him by Lord Isaac, a short and thin man who rather reminded Killian of a rat. The representative of the Committee for Privileges of the House of Lords had a self-important air about him that grated on Killian’s nerves. Liam hadn’t been gone - he still couldn’t bring himself to say or even think the truth - twenty-four hours and here was this bastard, demanding an audience and droning on about some sacred duty to the crown. He turned his attention back to Lord Isaac, his brow furrowed.

“What did you say?”

“Her ladyship,” he repeated, enunciating each syllable carefully, as if Killian had no idea of whom he spoke. “If she’s carrying, it will make things… difficult.”

“I don’t know,” he said, enunciating his own words just as carefully. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this right now. “I haven’t asked her.”

“You need to.” The man sniffed indignantly. “I’m sure you’re eager to assume control of your new holdings, but before you can do that, we must determine if she’s carrying. Furthermore, if she is, a member of our committee will need to be present at the birth.”

Killian was stunned. There was no other word for it. “I beg your pardon?” He was amazed he was able to get the words out.

“Baby switching,” Lord Isaac said grimly, with all seriousness. “There have been instances…”

“For God’s sake…” Killian interrupted, scrubbing his hand down his face.

“It’s for your own protection as much as anyone’s,” Lord Isaac assured him. “If she were to give birth to a girl, and no one is there to witness it, what’s to stop her from switching the babe with a boy?”

Killian couldn’t bring himself to dignify that with any kind of response.

“You need to find out if she’s carrying,” Lord Isaac insisted. “Arrangements will have to be made.”

“She was widowed yesterday,” Killian bit out. “I will not burden her with such intrusive questions.”

“There is more at stake here than her ladyship’s feelings,” Lord Isaac continued, haughtily. “We cannot properly transfer the earldom while there is doubt as to the succession.”

“The devil take the earldom,” Killian snapped.

Lord Isaac drew back in visible horror. “You forget yourself, my Lord.”

“I am not your lord,” Killian growled. “I’m not anyone’s…” He stopped suddenly, realizing almost too late that he was perilously close to tears. He glared at the man in front of him, trying to stave them off. This little weasel, who didn’t seem to understand that it wasn’t just an Earl who had died, but a man. 

His brother.

He expected that as soon as the abhorrent little rodent left, the door was locked behind him, and Killian was sure no one would observe him, the tears would finally come. 

“Someone has to ask her,” Lord Isaac said.

“It won’t be me,” Killian murmured.

“Then I will.”

Killian could take it no longer and was out of the chair like a shot, grabbing Isaac by the lapels of his jacket, pushing him against the wall before the man could even blink.

“You will not approach Lady Kilmartin,” he growled, menacingly. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my Lord,” the damnable man choked out. Killian realized he was turning an alarming shade of purple, so he stepped back, releasing him.

“Get out.”

“You’ll need to…”

“Get out!” Killian roared.

“I’ll come back tomorrow, when you’re in a more calm frame of mind.” The man left quickly with as much dignity as he could muster and Killian closed the door firmly behind him, turning the lock before he returned to the desk.

He dropped his head into his hands and a single tear finally spilled over and tracked down his face. His chest was tight and his throat felt so narrow, it was a wonder he could breathe at all. A gasping sob escaped him and the dam broke. Killian’s anguish poured from him in a seemingly endless tide, the tears streaming down his face, soaking the loosened cravat he wore and the shirt underneath.

How had it come to this? Yes, as long as Liam and Emma had remained childless, he was second in line to the earldom. But no one seriously expected him to inherit. Liam was barely thirty and the picture of health. 

Word had already reached him that men at the club were calling Killian the luckiest man in Britain. What no one realized was that he’d never wanted this. He’d never wanted the earldom. He wanted his brother. 

And no one seemed to understand that.

Except Emma. Her devastation equaled his own, he knew. 

They’d put her to bed last night, him and her mother, Ruth, who’d arrived quickly after his urgent summons, and she’d slept soundly all night, too worn out from the shock of it all. Killian knew, because he’d spent the night opposite the large bed where Emma slept, in one of the chairs where he imagined Liam and Emma taking their morning coffee before starting their days. He couldn’t bear to leave her or be alone with his own thoughts.

When she woke this morning, he could see the moment she remembered the events of the night before. Her eyes landed on him and he saw a moment of alarm, surprise, confusion, and then finally realization. He stood on shaky legs as her eyes filled with tears. They only lasted a moment, however. He watched as a firm resolve took over her gaze, her movements choppy and stilted as she swiped away the evidence of her anguish.

He grudgingly admired her for that and stood before her helpless to do anything useful. What were they to do? Neither of them was prepared for this. They were young, happy, carefree. They’d never dealt with death before and all the myriad details involved with it.

Who would have guessed the Committee for Privileges would get involved? And demand a front row seat to an event that should be a private moment for Emma. If indeed she was with child. Which he was not going to ask her.

“We must inform Alice,” she said.

“Of course,” he murmured. Why he hadn’t thought of that, he’d never know. Their mother would be equally devastated.

“I’ll write the note.” 

Killian could only nod, wondering what he was supposed to do. The answer became apparent when Lord Isaac arrived. But he couldn’t think about that now, all that he stood to gain since Liam was gone. There was nothing good about Liam being gone. And if anyone dared to offer him congratulations…

His tears spent, Killian lifted his head and stared sightlessly out the window. He hadn’t wanted this. Had he?

He only wanted Emma. But not like this. Not at this cost.

He’d never coveted Liam’s title. The money or power.

He’d only ever coveted Liam’s wife.

And now he stood to gain everything that had been Liam’s. Except his wife. Guilt wrapped itself around his heart and threatened to strangle him. 

He didn’t want this. He’d never wanted this.

“Killian?” Her soft knock and voice drew his attention to the door. The locked door. He rose and moved toward it, making no effort to hide his grief. He unlocked and opened the door and she stood there, as thin but strong as a young birch tree, her face pale, her green eyes round as saucers and beyond exhausted.

“I’ve sent a note to your mother,” she murmured. “Is there anyone else…”

Killian shook his head slowly. He knew he should say something to her, but his mind just refused to give him anything. He was too broken, too grief stricken. Just like the woman in front of him.

He gently took her elbow. “You should sit down. You look exhausted.”

Emma shook her head, even as she allowed him to lead her into the room and toward a chair. 

“I can’t,” she murmured. “I can’t stop. If I do…” She shook her head. “If I don’t stop, I don’t have to think. And if I don’t have to think…” she trailed away and her eyes filled with tears again. It didn’t matter. He understood perfectly.

Then she turned her eyes upon him and her mouth opened like she had something to say. He steeled himself against the despair in her eyes.

“I’m pregnant.”

~*~*~

Seemingly overnight, Kilmartin House in London changed. 

First, Alice Jones arrived from Scotland. 

Second, Emma’s own mother, Ruth Nolan was a much more frequent guest than she’d been when Liam was alive. 

Third, Killian was a much less frequent guest than when Liam was alive. 

And Emma wasn’t sure she’d survive that last one.

Of course, it was a comfort to see her mother-in-law. They got along well and Emma loved her. And she’d known the grief of losing her husband. But now she’d lost her son, and in many ways was in as much need of comfort as Emma herself.

And of course her own mother was also a comforting presence, having also been widowed young, but Killian was the one she needed. Killian was the one who knew and loved Liam best, besides herself of course, and Killian was the one who most understood what she was going through.

He still came to visit occasionally, but when he did, he didn’t feel there. Not like he was when Liam was alive. His eyes were distant and he didn’t come anywhere near her, beyond what propriety demanded when greeting her or taking his leave - a formal bow, a slight brush of her knuckles with his lips, murmured words she could barely hear. He wasn’t the same.

And it was killing her.

But, she reminded herself, he was hurting, too. 

She reminded herself of it when she didn’t know what to say to him. She reminded herself of it when he didn’t tease her. She reminded herself of it when they sat together in the parlor and neither had anything to say.

She’d lost her husband. And she’d lost her best friend at the same time.

She was lonely. And so sad. Why had no one told her how sad she’d be? But would she have believed them? Of course not. There was no understanding this kind of grief without experiencing it for herself. 

Killian was the one link to the husband she’d lost - who’d loved him as she did - and she hated him for being here, but not being here. To walk beside her in their mutual grief. So they could be a comfort to each other.

It never occurred to her that in losing Liam, she might lose Killian, too.

“How are you feeling, dear?” Alice’s gentle question drew Emma from her musings. She blinked, momentarily unable to really comprehend the question, much less answer it.

“Uh, fine,” she said after a moment, with a slight shake of her head. The soft smile on the face of her mother-in-law, coupled with the joyful sadness in her eyes, prompted a small smile from herself as well. It brought home the fact that while Alice had lost her first born, the fact that Emma was carrying a piece of him brought a measure of peace to her grieving heart. “No different than I ever have.”

Alice sat down across from her and folded her hands in her lap. “It’s remarkable. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“If it wasn’t for my missing courses, I’d never know anything was different.” And it was true. She’d been around enough pregnant women to know what to expect in the early weeks and months, and the only thing she was experiencing that might be a symptom of early pregnancy was that she was a bit more tired. But, of course, that could be the grieving as well. Her mother had told her she’d been tired for a year after her father passed. Emma experienced none of the expected quirks and illnesses other women had told her about.

She’d be happy to be losing what little breakfast she was actually eating each morning, if only so she could imagine the little one waving, hello, I’m here!

“I wonder if Killian will be visiting today?” Alice mused.

“He hasn’t been here in three days,” Emma murmured, “So I expect he will.” She’d never admit to counting the days between his visits, but she had been, and he was due for his bi-weekly visit.

“He’s grieving Liam,” Alice said softly.

“So am I.” Her voice was a bit sharper than she’d have liked. “So are you.”

“But it’s different for him,” she continued. “He’s a bit in limbo until you deliver. And that’s still six months away.”

“Well, I can’t do anything about that.”

“Of course not,” she replied. “I just hope that he begins thinking about the future soon. If you do deliver a girl, he’ll have to marry and produce an heir.”

Emma scoffed. “Killian will do what has to be done, but he’d never marry while he’s still grieving Liam and it’d be dreadfully unfair to expect him to.”

“Of course,” Alice agreed. “I just so want him to be happy. Even with Liam gone.” She sighed forlornly.

It was odd. Emma wanted Killian to be happy, too, but imagining him married was rather hard to picture. Of course, it hadn’t stopped her from trying to push Killian in that direction. But if she was really honest with herself, he just didn’t seem the type. For years, she’d had Liam and Killian had been their rather constant companion. Could she be happy for him if he found love and happiness and she remained alone? Was her heart big enough?

She was tired and feeling a bit weak as well. She stood, grasping the arm of the chair when a sudden wave of dizziness came over her. 

“I think I’ll lay down for a nap,” she said. “Wake me when Killian comes, if you please.”

“Of course, my dear. That’s a very good idea. You need your rest.” A sudden gasp escaped Alice and Emma saw that she wasn’t looking at her, but at the seat she just rose from. 

There in the middle of the cushion was a small patch of red.

Blood.

~*~*~

Killian stared at the almost full bottle of rum sitting on his desk. His life would have been much more bearable if that amount of alcohol was enough to get him drunk. But unfortunately, Killian was blessed with quite a robust constitution and could hold his liquor with aplomb and grace. 

He glanced outside the window to see it was still some hours from sunset. Also unfortunately, he couldn’t make himself override the good manners and etiquette Alice had instilled in him from the time he was a small boy that refused to let him get bosky before the sun set. 

He tapped his fingers against the desk and wondered what he ought to do with himself. Liam had been gone for nearly two months now, and he hadn’t yet brought himself to move into Kilmartin House, still living in his modest apartments a few blocks away. According to Lord Isaac, whose lectures he was eventually forced to endure, the title would go into abeyance until Emma delivered. And if she gave birth to a girl, then the title and everything with it would be his. But given that that event was still six months away, Killian felt he could get away with not taking up residence in the earl’s house. He told himself he didn’t want to move in only to have to move out again in six months.

But the truth was something else entirely. He wasn’t sure he could survive living under the same roof as Emma. 

She was still living in the house. She was still the Countess of Kilmartin. And would be until she gave birth to a girl and he married. Which he was absolutely not inclined to do.

Because even if he did end up as the earl, Emma wouldn’t be his countess, and that knowledge was enough to make him seriously think about damning etiquette to hell and downing that entire bottle of rum between now and sunset.

He would have thought his grief would have overtaken the longing in his heart for Emma, that he could be near her and not want her so much he could barely breathe. But no. His heart still ached with the pain of loving her. Even being in the same room with her caused his breath to hitch and his heart to race. 

And now, all that longing was intertwined with a suffocating guilt. As if there hadn’t been enough of that when Liam was alive. 

Emma was in pain. Grieving. And he should be there comforting her. Who could better do so? No one had known Liam better than he did. The two people who knew and loved him best should be comforting one another in their loss. But no, instead of comforting her, he was lusting after her. What kind of bastard lusted after his sister-in-law, his pregnant sister-in-law, when his brother wasn’t even cold in his grave?

Him, apparently. 

And so he stayed away. Not completely. He couldn’t get away with that, not with his mother in residence at Kilmartin House. In addition, although the title wasn’t potentially to be his for another six months, everyone was looking to him to manage the affairs of the earl. 

It was the least he could do. For Liam. For Emma.

He may not be able to be her friend at the moment, but he could make sure her finances were in order.

She didn’t understand. And he knew she didn’t. She’d often come to visit him when he was working in the study of Kilmartin House - going over various solicitor’s and land steward’s reports - looking for their previous camaraderie, he knew, but which he was unable to give. Not yet.

“My lord?”

Killian looked up at the door to see his valet, Smee, and a footman wearing the unmistakable green and gold livery of Kilmartin house.

“A message from your mother,” the man said, approaching with an envelope in his outstretched hand. “She said it was urgent.”

His brows rose on his head. Urgent? That was new. His mother had sent him nearly daily missives, or it seemed like it anyway, but they were never more than just prattling on about the doings at Kilmartin House. She was likely just trying to keep herself busy.

Once Smee and the footman left the room, he opened the letter.

Come quickly, it said. Emma has lost the baby.

~*~*~

Killian himself was nearly killed several times, not to mention the numerous pedestrians who were in his way, as he raced on horseback to Kilmartin House.

But now he stood here in the foyer, holding his crying mother, and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

A miscarriage they called it. It seemed like such a small word for such a profound happening. And why had they called him? This was the province of women and doctors. Of which, he was neither. What could he possibly do?

But then it hit him. He was the earl.

Slowly but surely over the last two months, Killian had been stepping into Liam’s shoes. And now that process was complete. The final nail in the coffin, so to speak. 

It took nary a thought to murmur comforting nonsense to his mother as he led her to the downstairs parlor, her sobs abating. 

“It’s like losing Liam all over again,” she whispered.

“I know,” he agreed. And he did. While Emma had been pregnant, a small piece of Liam still existed on this earth. And while he wasn’t yet prepared to step fully into Liam’s shoes, by the time she delivered, he would have been, and he would have done everything duty demanded. For Liam, his child, for Emma.

But he wasn’t ready. He couldn’t. Not yet.

That last fragile link to Liam was snapped and he was right back where he was two months ago.

“How is she?” he asked.

“In shock,” she answered quietly. “She’s been crying. She can’t seem to stop. She asked for you.”

Killian’s head snapped toward his mother.

“Me? Why?”

Alice’s face was surprised. “She wanted you.”

“But… I can’t…” he stammered.

“Yes, you can.” His mother looked confused at his refusal. “You have to,” she insisted.

Killian shook his head vehemently, his hands starting to tremble. “I can’t go in there.”

“You can’t abandon her!”

“I’m not! I didn’t!” he cried, the grief breaking free. “Liam abandoned her! Liam abandoned me!” he shouted. His voice shocked him. He sounded like a wounded animal - pained, panicked, confused. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes. “She was never mine to abandon!”

“Killian George Alaster Jones!” his mother cried, shocked. “How can you say such a thing?”

“Mother,” he all but moaned. “She needs a woman. What can I do?”

“You can be her friend,” she said softly.

“No. I can’t. Not yet.” The anguish on his mother’s face was real and he knew his was the same. In a move of utter and pathetic cowardice, he rose and ran from the room. 

~*~*~

If there truly were nine circles of Hell, then in the month since he’d taken on his duties, Killian surely must have taken up residence in one of the lower levels of Hell on earth. With every new ceremony, each document he signed as Kilmartin, and every “my lord” he was forced to endure, it was as if Liam's spirit was being pushed further and further away.

Everything that had been Liam’s was now his. 

Except Emma.

And Killian was determined to keep it that way. He would not bring that last insult to bear against his brother’s memory. He’d seen her, of course. And offered his best words of comfort. Which were, truthfully, woefully inadequate. And both he and Emma knew it. 

He’d been more relieved that she was physically unharmed than upset over the loss of the child. But he couldn’t very well say that.

Their mothers, for some reason, felt compelled to describe the event in gruesome detail, a chamber maid trotting out the bloodied sheets as proof that Lady Kilmartin had indeed lost the baby. Lord Isaac had nodded in approval when presented with the evidence, but had then added that Lady Kilmartin would still need to be observed closely for the next few months to be sure she was not increasing. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to circumvent the sacred laws of primogeniture, he’d asserted.

The rage inside Killian at that statement nearly propelled him to pick up Lord Isaac bodily and throw him out the window, but he managed to control himself by the most tenuous of grips.

He still hadn’t moved into Kilmartin House. He knew it was expected, but the circumstances at the house hadn’t changed, and Killian still couldn’t bring himself to live in the same house as the woman he loved.

Who now stood at the threshold of his study. She looked thin and pale, but her green eyes flashed.

“Emma?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

He was shocked. He couldn’t deny it. She’d never been here. Not when Liam was alive. And certainly not after.

“I wanted to see you.” The rest of her statement, her accusation really, went unspoken. You’ve been avoiding me.

Was this improper? He hadn’t a clue. Their relationship now was so different and ambiguous, he couldn’t guess what rules of etiquette applied. He motioned to a seat and she took it, her fingers twisting in her lap. 

She finally looked at him, her gaze intense, grief and anger swirling in their depths.

“I’ve missed you.” Make that an even lower level of hell.

“Emma…” he tried.

“You are… were… my friend,” she said, angrily, swiping at the tear that tracked down her face. “Besides Liam, you were my closest friend!”

Emma, I…” he tried again. He was a fool. And a coward. And he didn’t know what to say to her.

“Where have you been?” 

“I…” He was speechless. Brought down by an angry and grief-stricken face, and a mountain of guilt. Although guilt for exactly what, he couldn’t pinpoint any longer. It came from too many sources to make sense of anymore.

“I needed you.” The plaintive need in her voice nearly undid him. “You knew him best. You loved him the most, besides me. Why didn’t you come and help me?”

Killian looked down at his desk. He couldn’t lie to her. But he couldn’t tell her the truth either.

“I don’t know,” he settled upon instead. She was quiet and Killian couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes.

“That’s it then,” she whispered. 

“I guess so,” he replied sadly. The sadness threatened to consume him. In the eyes of the ton, he may have gained much, but in reality, he’d lost everything. And the one person who needed him the most… he couldn’t be what she needed. He couldn’t stand to be near her. Because the grief and the anger and the love and the guilt were a never ending flood, and he was drowning.

The ticking clock on the mantle was the only accompaniment to her swirling thoughts. She looked at Killian and took in his tense shoulders, his rigid bearing, the unbridled grief on his countenance mirroring hers. 

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he finally said, taking a tentative step toward her. Then another. Then another. Then he was kneeling before her, his hand on her knee. “I’m so, so sorry, Emma.”

“Why did this happen?” she cried. “I don’t understand!” The tears poured from her eyes and Killian gathered her into his arms. “It isn’t fair!” She clutched at his jacket, holding on for dear life as all the grief, all the anger, all the confusion that she thought she’d already released burst forth from her all over again.

“It isn’t fair that it happened to me!” she lamented. “It isn’t fair that this happens to anyone! Oh, what am I to do?”

“I don’t know.” She could just hear him murmuring into her hair and placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. And the comfort she felt from him holding her was almost more than she could bear. For the first time in months, she felt safe and warm. And not alone.

Her tears finally spent, she pulled back from him. 

“Will you come back? To Kilmartin House?” she asked, her voice shaky. “Will you stop ignoring me? I still need you.”

She could see the tears in his own eyes, grief and something else she couldn’t identify, as she waited for him to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t know what to say to you. Didn’t know what I could do, so I stayed away.”

“I know,” she said quietly, looking down at her lap. She still clutched at him, unable to let him go, or the warmth and safety he gave. “I knew that’s why you were staying away, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.” He released her and stood, even as her arms reached for him again. “I’ll take up my residence in Kilmartin House.”

He could deny her nothing. And living under the same roof couldn’t possibly be any worse than what he’d already had to endure. And if it was, and it did actually kill him, then so be it.

“Thank you. That will… that will be a great comfort to me. And your mother as well.” She paused for a moment and rose. “You know, you were to be his father, in a way.”

Killian felt the blood drain from his face and his heart stop. 

“What did you say?” The words were soft, weak, he could barely catch his breath to get them out.

“The baby,” she replied, turning toward him. “In the absence of his father, you’d have been the closest thing he had. And even with him gone, having you here will help me let him go. Let them both go.”

But Killian didn’t hear those last words. His heart started beating again at a gallop and the blood rushed in his ears. All he could grasp from her statement was that he would have been a father to the baby, and that knowledge destroyed him. 

The title, the lands, the money, the power, the responsibility were all his now. The only things that weren’t were Liam’s wife and child. And now Emma was telling him that wasn’t true either.

He grabbed Emma by the arms. He was shaking, and she looked frightened but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t let her go.

“No!” he cried. “I can’t! I won’t! I’m not Liam!”

“Of course you’re not,” Emma cried out, thoroughly alarmed at the sudden change that had come over Killian. She’d never seen him like this. His eyes were glazed and unseeing, his grip on her arms painful, but her words to try and reach him, to get him to release her, fell on deaf ears. He looked wild, crazed, like a cornered animal that would either make a last desperate attack to try and save itself, or fall over and wait for the final killing blow.

“You can’t ask this of me,” he breathed, the strength and energy that fueled him, completely disappearing. He still held her tightly, but his eyes were finally seeing her and not some vision playing out in his mind. “I can’t do it.”

“Killian, you’re hurting me,” she whispered. “Please let me go.” He released her suddenly, the recrimination in his eyes and the restored blood flow in her arms bringing tears to her eyes.

“I’d… I’d better go,” she said, pulling away from him. She looked at him for a moment more, trying to make sense out of what just happened. She’d never seen Killian like that before and it frightened her. She wasn’t afraid of him, though. Even after that, she knew with utter surety that he would never harm her and would protect her to his last breath.

“Perhaps… perhaps it would be better if you remained here instead of Kilmartin House.”

“Y- yes,” he stammered, nodding with a jerky motion. “I think that would be best.” 

Not only had she lost Liam, and her child, but it was now clear she’d lost Killian as well. And she didn’t quite know what she would do about that.

~*~*~

Once Emma was gone, Killian sat back down behind his desk and poured himself a tall drink.

He’d made a promise to her and broken it almost in the same breath. He’d spent the last month fulfilling the duties of the earl and then Emma’s words made him realize something.

She truly had no inkling of his feelings for her, and as long as that was the case, as long as she didn’t understand how much he hated himself for every step he took in Liam’s shoes, he couldn’t be near her. 

And that brought him to a decision. Rarely in life had his path been this clear. He slammed back the rum and rose from his desk. When he arrived at his bedchamber, he found his valet carefully folding a cravat.

“Smee,” he asked. “What do you think of India?”

~*~*~

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to know what you thought! Next ch will be up on Saturday!

[riiverstyyx-blog]

Wednesday Addams x GN!Reader

In which Wednesday saves the day and nearly loses her world.

Warnings: Body horror imagery, Gore, Near-death experiences, Fire-based contents, Unhealthy love related tendencies, SHOW SPOILERS, Hurt/Comfort,

Song: Saint Valentine, Gregory Alan Isakov

Wednesday Addams thrives off of the familiar yet shackling embrace of death.

Her soul lays dormant within its grasp; her mind teeters atop the bridge that rests above its ghost-infested domain - shoelaces always untied.

She tempts it, Death, giving the embodiment vague tastes and glimpses of her very life within its grasp. Breath and bone would intertwine whilst her feet would glide the floor in the choreographed dance with death.

Never before would her mind weasel away from the rotten smell that clings desperately onto her atoms, and never would the prospect of a person burning alive come across as unappealing.

When death occurs in relation to herself, in her words she loathes it- but realistically, she adores it; as long as it doesn’t claim someone who she considers ‘hers’. And you were ‘hers’. Perhaps that’s why her blackheart races and her stomach drops when Crackstones spell ricochets off of herself and encages your body in an eruption of flames before she is given even a moment to process it. She can’t imagine what that would have been like from your perspective. 

Her eyes stare, wide, as she watches the flames lick your body.

Any other time, perhaps she would have been enjoying herself. Briefly she is reminded of her time with the Jericho statue (which she would love to recreate now), before the gut-wrenching screams and wales of the flames finally yanking you into their grasps tear through the air. 

Skin melting, and bones revealing before they too begin to turn to ash. It’s a horrifying thing to witness.

She wants nothing more than to hold you - if she was lucky that would put out the flames, but if she were a smidge luckier, it would simply take her with you.

Her wide, blinking eyes are quick to take note of Crackstones laughter transforming into an angered yell, and she notices Bianca’s panicked expression when her sword impales the dead man walking.

With sweat encapsulating her palm, Wednesday herself follows along and draws his attention herself by staking him through the heart with a wicked expression forming onto her face.

Far to many things were running through her mind for her to notice Bianca speaking to her when his body began to fade. All of her attention was on the now dimming fire she was approaching.

Wednesday should feel some form of - not that she would admit - joy.

Crackstone had been defeated, and Nevermore could be considered ‘safe’ once again, but she doesn’t think that will matter any to her if you aren’t there to enjoy it at her side.

She stumbles toward you with furrowed brows, her eyes not leaving your ash-ridden corpse. 

Falling to her knees at where you lay, her fingers twitch as they glide over you, attempting to find something - anything to grasp upon.

Her expression remains panicked, hands shaking when she realizes there isn’t anything for her to recognize. All that’s left is pieces of your charred corpse and the nauseating residue of your perfume.

Bianca herself is already in tears, but some other part of her heart breaks when she takes note of Wednesday’s own tears leaking down her pale, blood-coated skin.

“Addams-” Bianca chokes. “Wednesday.”

There is no response. She’s unsure if she can’t here her, or is choosing not too.

“Wednesday, can you hear me?”

Bianca knows to try and stay calm. One of them has too.

Her blue eyes flicker toward your being, widening momentarily. Faint movement comes from the ashes, and Bianca is quick to remove her palm from Wednesday’s shoulder, kneeling to move the ashes aside.

An unfamiliar rage fills Wednesday, but before she can speak, a bright golden glow is pulled from the ashes, forcing Wednesday to cover her eyes and lean back.

Heat surrounds her, and slowly, almost tentatively, she lowers her hands and glances around, only to look back at you.

Where your corpse once lay is a bird of fire - a phoenix, and it’s staring at her with those familiar eyes.

No words can escape Wednesday as she watches a tear fall from the creature before its body begins to glow, transforming into a smoke-based mist that begins to surround your ashes.

Weaving in and out of the destroyed body, the golden glow begins to piece you back together.

In some unexplainable way - some completely unfathomable way, you are being reformed. Your nickname of “Frankenstein” fits far more now that you, well, have died, rather than being a monstrous creation of your parents. (Perhaps that is a story she will have to ask about once more.)

Wednesday doesn’t blink until your body looks as it once was, well, despite the strong scent of blood and burnt flesh.

There’s a sense of fear in her when she does blink. What if you disappear? What if you aren’t actually there when she opens her eyes and she has to inform Enid of your traumatizing passing? What if she has to tell her mother and father a tale of of the love she had, and lost?

She is lucky, this is something she is now confident in, because when her eyes open once more, you’re still there, but now your eyes are wide, glowing an inhuman gold and locked onto nothing but Wednesday herself.

Wednesday Addams nearly feels pure terror when your confusion turns into a soft, yet playful grin. “Are you alright, Addams? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She should have hit you, perhaps gutted you alive, but she couldn’t.

“Amore Mio,” she mutters, taking your hand into her own and gently placing her lips upon your knuckles. “You are terrifying.”

Your eyes soften, placing your palm onto her cheek to gain her attention.

“But you like terrifying, yes?”

“Yes. I adore terrifying.”

[waitingtobebroken]

Finally, the coffee shop AU I keep talking about is here! Spoiler alert, Crowley really is awful to customers in this one (I love it!)

There is a terribly rude barista that makes amazing coffee and a saint of a barista, whose coffee tastes vile. And they are in love.

[morningstarwrites]

Idk if anyone has asked, but why Of Saints and Sinners? How'd you come up with the title? What was the inspiration? (Spoilers? Unless im dumb and just missed it. Woops.) And are you currently reading anything? Or something else has your interest?

Apologies in advance for the long answer!! See under the cut:

I've sort of been sprinkling it throughout, but I've been dealing with concepts of a good person vs a bad person: how Lucifer can't put Alastor in a simple box of pure evil, Alastor grappling over why Lucifer even wants to be friends with him when he's clearly wicked. Alastor insecure about how an angel wouldn't want to waste his time on a demon like him; Lucifer getting over his hatred of sinners and learning that there's layers to people.

Are they still worth knowing if they're bad? And what constitutes 'bad', when people can't be objective?

And of course the literal meaning, the sinner (Alastor) and the saintly/angel (Lucifer), but I'm a big fan of alliteration so I did Saints/Sinners as a compare/contrast. But it's very much "analyze the story to parse out the themes and relate it to the title" LOL

This may sound strange, but I haven't read any other radioapple fics 🫣 I kind of got sucked into them by 1) the show 2) seeing a lot of pretty fanart and 3) funny fan-made comics.

But I have been reading "We Learn Nothing" by Tim Kreider, he's an essayist and a writer for the New York Times!

[valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn]

While I not really interest with Agatha tv show but I see a few clips, and I have to say they keep Agatha be her true character, sure there's some scenes that make us sympathy with her but the plot keep remembering us that Agatha is cruel and will doing anything for her goal

And the best part that the witches in Agatha are not playing 'we good and innocent despite we doing evil and you are evil because you are born evil' , they aware they are not saint either the reason they hate Agatha is very valid and they hate what Agatha really did, not sins she didn't doing it..

If only loki show like that

I'm all caught up now after I just watched the remaining eps and I gotta say, if you're not watching the thing just watch the 7th ep. That was one of the best and most beautiful MCU episodes I've seen. I highly recommend it.

And I agree with you. I don't want to share any spoilers but in one of the episodes they're sympathetic to Agatha and she has a moment where the framing is clearly on her side... but that's followed by another where she's doing something morally wrong and she's called out on it.

That's one of the things I love about Jac Schaeffer, she did the same in WV. The characters are complex and they can go from being good and selfless to wrong and wicked. They're still allowed their troubled past, but it doesn't change their current actions.

It would have been perfect for Loki. Now I'm left wondering what would have happened if Jac had taken the reins of the Loki show and he had gotten that same treatment: a combination of sympathy and condemnation for his actions. If only.

[wordsandrobots]

The Ragnarök in G Minor playlist

So! Now Ragnarök in G Minor (part 19 of 20 in my Iron-Blooded Orphans post-canon fanfic series Wishing on Space Hardware) is finally posted in full, I thought I'd share the full list of songs quoted at the end of each chapter. Mainly because I used a draft of this post as a way to keep track of all the YouTube links I needed and, well, it'd be a shame to let it go to waste.

This will contain some spoilers for WoSH overall, since where applicable, I'm naming the characters the songs relate to (along with the chapter titles, which are attempts to sum those characters up in a single word). Thus, a cut, to save anyone who wants to dive into the fics unspoilered (I am completing the series with fic #20 in a week's time, so now is an excellent time to do precisely that, if you're up for joining me for 650,000 words of complicated feelings about one of the best shows I've ever had the pleasure of watching).

Wish (prologue) -- A New England by Kirsty MacColl

Loser/Eugene Sevenstark -- Some Kind of Hero by Felix Hagan and the Family

Oddball/Yamagi Gilmerton -- Parallax by Thea Gilmore/Afterlight

Minister/Takaki Uno -- Your Bones by Of Monsters and Men

Sword/Julieta Juris -- Apparition #13 by Thea Gilmore

Corrupt/Earth (interlude) -- Everybody Knows by Leonard Cohen

Stray/Argi Mirage -- Ain't No Rest for the Wicked by Cage the Elephant

Smith/Almandi Iverson (OC) -- Fight for Me by AlicebanD

Maiden/Kudelia Aina Bernstein -- Silver Lining by First Aid Kit

Devil/Kipchoge Ordsley (OC) + Mikazuki Augus -- Wolf Like Me by TV On The Radio

Reconcile/Dort Colonies (interlude) -- Something For The Pain by She Drew The Gun

Noble/Gaelio Bauduin -- The Road You Didn't Take by Stornaway

Terror/Embi -- Appetite for Destruction by Vo Williams

Survivor/Norba Shino -- Rattle and Roar by Skinny Lister

Fighter/Ride Mass -- Skin and Bones by Cage the Elephant

Ally/Teiwaz (interlude) -- The Game by The Levellers

Echo/Ahmed Fahim (OC) -- Rage of Dust by SPYAIR

Remainder/Azee Gurumin -- Try by Pink

Tool/Mackenzie Croft (OC) -- Fire With Fire by AlicebanD

Friend/Chad Chaden -- I'm OK by Honest Men

Grow/Mars (interlude) -- Injuries by Skinny Lister

Mouse/Atra Mixta-Bernstein -- Gold by The Wandering Hearts

Academic/Sri Chaifin (OC) -- Mile Magnificent by molly ofgeography

Fury/Almiria Bauduin -- Fall Together by Thea Gilmore

Human/Derma Altland -- Weeds or Wildflowers by Parsonsfield

Remember (epilogue) -- Embers by Skinny Lister

Vow (epilogue) -- Get Better by Frank Turner

Commit (epilogue) -- Modern Way by The Kaiser Chiefs

Run (epilogue) -- A Good Song Never Dies by Saint Motel

Move (epilogue) -- Battlegrounds by Coco and the Butterfields

[hyukascampfire]

first 🌰 ask of the year, how exciting is that 👏😏 hi ashlynn! hope you’re feeling better! it made me so happy to talk about folk of the air with you. i have more fae stories in my 2025 tbr, like balzac’s the last fey (a very short read) and the second book in the emily wilde series (i think the third one is releasing very soon.) concerning my fave reads from the holiday event… you guessed 2 out 3 titles correctly OMG how do you know me this well !?

let’s go about this in descending order.

🥉 krampusnacht ┃ is this a safe space to say i got off to this one? and i know, i know i said i can rarely get into pwp… which is why i’m pleasantly surprised by how captivated i was by this. i saw the light. and the way beomgyu’s delayed appearance creates both tension and anticipation? i was being teased on several levels LMAO.

🥈 it will come back ┃ maybe it’s because the crowd has been awaiting tsfawc taehyun smut with bated breath but i know i’m not the only one who was reminded of him while reading iwcb. let’s begin with the fact that you named it after another hozier song title!? and the jealousy, obviously? (never fear that you might be overindulging in the jealousy trope for i voraciously eat it up every single time.) but i digress. i think what makes a yandere character so caricatural is when the mc knows something’s off with them yet decide not to do anything about it. like, wdym he just baked your cat into a pie for cockblocking him once and you don’t gaf ??? the fact that, in iwcb, mc only realises she’s fucked when it’s too late adds such a layer of realism that amplifies the prevailing dreariness. also “is this what you want? to be fucked like an animal? you’re better than that. but, if it’s what you like, i’ll fuck you like it.” i died, i’m typing this from the afterlife.

🥇 at swan lake ┃ the story began with melancholy but i was so excited to read this one that i couldn’t stop giggling (◞‸◟) i have to say, you’re so great at focusing on one particular personality trait of each member and expanding on it to make up the character you believe best fits the story. it’s like… they’re familiar/recognisable yet we see them in a new light. (“in the air, the rich nuttiness of fire-toasted chestnuts dance…” they could really get me to show up to the engagement party with that fr.) “i’d take you no matter how you are; in a thousand different lives, i’d have you each time.” yeah, i CRIED. you dropped so many banger lines in this one. the lore was so insane in at swan lake, i was invested as hell. the gasp i let out when beomgyu revealed that the whole swan saints thingy is a lie and they can touch ??? why was i bamboozled OFC they can touch otherwise how would they fuck ??? the concept is way too brilliant, i’d totally read it as a novel or novella.

special mentions ┃ the frost remembers (angst is bait, i am fish.) ⟋ milk with your cookies? (i know the people are enjoying gift wrapping more but sleep on beds, not peak!!)

i read everything you wrote and, as i thought, you could never write anything half-assed. glad to know tsfawc is back AAAAA i’d love a spoiler like last time (＞＜) miss my gang (brooding fae man, changeling, the off-putting kelpie guy they sort of adopted and prince charming fae who’s been all in their business, thinking he’s on the team.) take care! stay hydrated and get adequate amounts of rest! love u 🌰🤎

first chestnut ask of the year!! life is good >.<!! talking w u about my silly faerie obsession has been fun and i’ll have to read some more so that it never ends. :3

IM SO EXCITED FOR THIS YOU DONT EVEN KNOW. i’m just awesome and smart like that 😖 JKJK I JUST HAD A FEELING

KRAMPUSNACHT THREW ME OFF A LIL. i think out of the smuttier ones, tho, it makes sense. also YES it absolutely is IM FLATTERED. i need this pair in ways that i should not disclose. beomgyu’s a little wicked and a little eerie but that’s how i like him. LMAO

IT WILL COME BACKKK that’s one of my favorite hozier songs it’s so eerie and sexy at the same time. i knew it had to be the title 😭 iwcb and tsfawc taehyun are definitely in the same vein. especially with that cool calculation. but of course, they have a very different set of morals and i think that’s where they differ most. hehe. i do sometimes fear that i’m going overboard with jealousy, but… i am who i am. i am a hoe for jealousy, but i am FREE and i am HAPPY. i agree w yandere’s sometimes become unbelievable when they’re not handled correctly. sometimes they’re just batshit crazy in broad daylight, and i’m like?? i am not feeling unnerved and slightly out of place, i’m just SCARED. with yanderes, you definitely have to keep reader in a suspension of belief along with the MC. the best part abt a yandere, in my opinion, is that chills feeling you get when you know something is slightly off, but you can’t pin it/say that there’s smth wrong with them, because they’ve gotten good at hiding who they really are. this one was so fun to write for me,, it was my first dabble into dark territory and WHEW did i love it

at swan lake… my baby <<<333 ALSO IVE BEEN TOLD THIS A FEW TIMES, that the members are vaguely familiar when i write them. i fully own that—i think that sometimes it’s really fun to have a character in a fic that is super far from a member’s true self, but i really like being able to relate them back to the members because it just feels so immersive. maybe that’s why i do it, lol. AND I KNEW YOU’D LOVE THAT i was absolutely thinking abt you when i wrote that. so toasty so cozy so yum. i am so attached to this fic, as the certified #1 soulmates & reincarnation truther. something about a love that will prevail and find its way, even through the stark end of death and the pressure of the world on its back… cries. i just loved beomgyu being her opposite, and everything that goes against what she has been taught, but she just couldn’t keep herself away. it was fate. CRIES HARDER.

the frost remembers, my precious :,)) also I LOVE MILK W UR COOKIES AND i am so w u. santa soobin was smth i was not expecting to have to reflect upon myself with, but it happened and i am better for it.

ILY BUNCHES and i miss my gang too :(( they are a strange bunch, maybe even a motley crew, but they have a special place in my heart. i love them and OFCCC i’ll give you guys spoilers. i’m too impatient not too 😭 i get excited for you guys to see. U TAKE CARE OF URSELF and as always i’ll be waiting for the next time you come to talk! :3

[magustiel]

I have this nagging feeling cocaine bear expected me to stop narrating the very real events in my life influencing the very real world she has permanently disallowed herself to ever return to. Like. Like I'd just drop the plot being as fake as she was, from the moment she ran from her integration opportunity in february after I literally warned her.

Like enough lawsuits in circles would fix things, because she learned NOTHING from the RV incident, or anything I ever taught her at all, magical or mundane.

No bitch you done got yourself cast out by God, and spoiler, you WERE following the actual god hidden in the foils of this mess of a world but you pissed him off so bad you got turned into the example.

I told you. Her roleplays of convenience and distraction using anyone else and anything else. These days are done.

And we are ripping out her hitlerian horse shit at the root, we are literally all over this shit, and deep down, you all know we are too.

You are tired of these false systems, watching screens, arguing about things you aren't even sure about anymore beyond being assured by your local peer group it is the correct thing, chasing the echoes of propaganda bots until you lose yourselves, until you're consumed by anxiety and don't know up from down anymore, until hating your brother is your only option.

These days are ending.

So if you thank cocaine bear for nothing else, thank her for being so wicked as to become this sacrifice, so relentless she tested a literal saint's patience, and that of his brothers, for generations.