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tugoslovenka · 6 months

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Warding Bond - Chapter 8

Woes of Another

A/N:

I tried actually aligning the wording of Woe into the writing just because I love the item description which ended up being a lot of fun here. Reminder that Cazador is a ‘lil bitch. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

Also posting on AO3!

Althea awoke with a gasp, which turned into a chest-straining cough. She hurled the contents of her stomach from the day prior, before rising on her hands and knees, cold concrete grazing her palms. Sounds of scattering rodents and a distant, soft drip encouraged her to look up.

Bars. Dipped in gold. The exposed, steel parts were rusted, dampening the shine from magical lanterns which hung from the distant ceiling. Heaving still, she noticed the color of the walls. A deep green, bathed over by the cyan weave that illuminated the entire hall.

Another gasp, though this one resonated from the pit of her stomach.

She began scrambling away, still crouched, when she bumped into something soft. A sour stench of decay urged her to stand. She could only back away in panic at the horrific scene before her. Bodies. So many bodies. All charred, with split veins that still clung to the residual meat on their bones; mouths and eyes open, peering into nothingness—shriveled skin branded with the same infernal writing on her back.

“You’re awake!” Astarion’s delighted voice sounded. “I was beginning to think I’d need to kiss sleeping beauty back to consciousness.”

She pressed her back into the gilded gate and her hands gripped the bars, as though she could will herself through with enough force.

“Wh—What is this place?” she faltered, wrists squeezing through the railing, the tops of her head partially poking through as her body screamed at her to flee.

Cold hands grabbed hers, intertwining their fingers. She felt a gentle kiss on her head, nuzzling her hair with a deep intake of breath.

“Darling,” he greeted. “Have you forgotten your own prison?”

Althea’s eyes widened. She tried wrangling out of his grip, but to no avail. Quickly, she began murmuring a quivering incantation in an attempt to fight back. The frightened words—prayers, drew a deep laugh from the man holding her, the vibrations from his body translating through her.

“It won’t work, my sweet.” He disentangled their hold, instead electing to grab both her wrists with one hand, keeping her locked in place. She heard the dangling of a chain, then from the corner of her eye, she saw it—a three-pronged trident, piercing a golden ring—her focus.

Instinctively, she swung her head back, only managing to concuss herself against the firm metal cell.

Astarion tutted, squeezing the grip on her wrists until she felt them burn.

“Now, now,” he scolded. “Let’s not act like Githyanki. Use your words.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, squirming—trying to writhe—out of his hold. “Let go of me!”

“Ugh, you do insist on making things exceedingly less fun…” he groaned, releasing her. Immediately, Althea toppled to the cold floor, palms scraping on the rough concrete as she scrambled away from the dead spawn. She couldn’t bear being near them—arranged in a pile like logs for a bonfire.

“Magic is an odd thing, isn’t it?” Astarion observed the mounds of corpses, pocketing her amulet with a curious expression. “You’d think thousands of dead bodies huddled together would accelerate their decomposition, yet they are perfectly preserved.”

Before Althea had time to respond, a wave of spellwork surged through her. A pulse of piercing pain overwhelmed her when her head hit the ground, the rest of her body following. A low, vibrating sound charged the air with energy, compelling her to look up. He was holding a staff—long, thin, topped with a gargoyle whose wings partially coiled around it.

Tap.

The clinking provoked her to shriek. Anxiety bubbled inside her bones. The signal of an approaching storm—Cazador. She shrunk, curling until she was squeezing herself like a self-soothing child.

Master approaches. Master is angry.

“Ah, so you can obey.”

Astarion gripped the staff with one hand, while his other traced its shaft until it touched the monster’s wings, inspecting the tiny droplets of blood that swelled from the gargoyle's jaws. It was as though her heart was brought back to life and traveled into her brain, where she could hear it—feelit—pounding with such force, she thought it would explode.

“You beast,” she bellowed. “You fucking monst—”

A tug. A pull. Her body rose from the ground, lingering in the air, but only just. From a single twirl of the staff, red mists wrapped around her, pulling her towards him, until she collided with the side of the gate once more. He kneeled, grazing the side of her cheek until his fingers intertwined in her hair. He yanked her head upward with such force she thought her neck might have snapped.

“You are a consort, my dear. Behave like one.”

No.

“Yes master.” The words left her mouth, though she didn’t formulate them.

No.

“I despise that term. Lord is preferable.”

“Yes master—”

“—My. Lord.”

“Yes master.”

The clutches of magic dissipated, and she felt the cold concrete again. Astarion’s cursing echoed between the tall walls—her, himself, Cazador—and he hurled the staff against the floor, dimming the lingering haze.

Althea raised herself on an elbow, grunting, silently thanking the seamstresses who sewed the dress with so much fabric that it cushioned her. Dragging and ripping parts of the skirt, she limped to the closest wall where she rested her back, catching her breath.

“You’re not—” A sharp sting in her cheek made her wince. “It doesn't belong to you,” she grimaced, touching the side of her face that ached from the beating of the day.

“Of course it does!” he barked, pacing back and forth like a cornered animal. The panic in his voice showed the inexperience with whatever it was he was attempting to achieve. “I am better. I know better.”

“Then why do you repeat his mistake—Agh!”

The ringing returned in all its violence.

Tap. Tap. Tap. She remembered having seen the winged gargoyle atop Cazador’s staff many times, whenever he walked past the prisons constructed for his sacrificial lambs. Althea was now overwhelmed with this quiet sense of something lost, finally showing itself through the memories she thought forgotten.

Master approaches. Master is angry.

“Why must you whinge?” He stopped his frantic pacing to look at her in exasperation. “Was it not enough punishment to be greeted with dirtied silk like some poverty-stricken half-wit?”

“What are you talking about?” She massaged her temples, doing her best to quiet her mind before it exploded purely from his incessant bleating.

Lowering her hands, she slowly stood up. She hadn’t noticed it, but he was covered in blood. Stains on his lips, speckles on his clothes, in his curls. Althea blinked, trying to recall what occurred after their encounter at the tower—

A dreadful realization soaked in like the cold sweat off her back.

Hurriedly, her fingertips began searching, poking for what she feared happened. The bite marks from Cazador were still there, a grim reminder of her curse, of the fogged memories during the time she was imprisoned in these cells. Gliding just below the nape of her neck and along the side, she stopped.

Two punctures. The wound was raw with fresh swelling, and far too painful to inspect. Instead, her fingers curled into a fist.

“... You drank from me.” She wobbled momentarily, unable to fully express the feeling of bewilderment.

“Tried to,” he corrected. “All went according to plan. And then I started gagging. Puked out my insides right onto the most expensive varnish in all of Baldur’s Gate. Over my fine linen shirt!”

She stared in astonishment. What could she have possibly done in her past life—her current life— to anger the Gods to bring such torment?

“But then—” she paused. “Why am I alive?”

Astarion did not respond. He narrowed his gaze, hesitation evident in his expression.

The situation had grown increasingly more complicated than the rather straightforward agreement with the archduke of Cania. Though he was honest in showing the past she—Varra—experienced, he revealed nothing from the time after she’d turned into a spawn. Neither did he shed light on her years in the House of Hope.

No weapon, magical or not, was going to right whatever wrong Astarion had committed by interrupting the Rite of Profane Ascension. Rarely did the fates work with such clarity, but as she’d learned through her dealings with the Nine Hells, it never worked with devils—the Lords of the Nine especially.

Blood and dirt mixed within the fabrics of her olive dress. She attempted to pat away, as though it would do any good.

Althea of Cania was not going to die like this.

Heels digging into the floor, she centered herself between the gates—posture upright, hands at the front, head held high—like a perfectly polished doll come to life.

“Let me help.”

Astarion whipped his neck in her direction. A flash of white caught her attention—his fangs—as his lips stretched into a wide smile before laughter escaped. He pointed at her, continuing to howl like he’d gone mad.

As seconds dragged by but she remained steadfast in both posture and expression, he stopped. His arm fell limp by his side when realization caught up with him.

“You’re… You’re serious?” He looked dumbfounded when she nodded.

“Varra!”

Her peaceful rest, watching the bubbling rivers of Avernus, had once again been interrupted. This time, it was Raphael who came shouting, the other servants skittering away as he angrily strode towards the balcony. She quickly turned, head bowing when he appeared at the doorway.

“Yes, my lord?” she asked, gaze fixated at the marbled floor.

“When was I to learn of my father visiting the House of Hope?”

Her thoughts paused when she looked up. He was in his human disguise. Raphael never shed his devil form in the Hells—he was far too proud for that, especially here, in the presence of his servants—which was most of the time. However, there was something else that was different about him. Perhaps it was the lingering stench of undeath, which clung like a potent perfume to his every pore. Her nose scrunched and she cleared her throat before addressing her master.

“I… don’t know.” She was telling the truth. She wasn’t aware that she should have informed him of her meeting with Mephistopheles. Though, it did perplex her, the fact that she intuitively elected to hide it from him, even if not with nefarious intentions.

Pinching the space between his eyebrows, Raphael let out a frustrated sigh.

“Sometimes you really are the thorn in one’s—my—side,” he said, putting both hands on his hips and looking out across the sea of fire. “What an embarrassment, being hung and quartered in the company of pit fiends like some degenerate, for indulging in pleasures of the flesh. As if their fantasies are any purer.”

“Raphael?” she questioned, not knowing whether this was his way of dismissing her.

“Nevermind.” He waved it off, but not before taking another disappointed look at Varra. With a snap of his fingers, her back straightened fully—unnaturally—as he hummed. “You are forgetting your manners.”

“I apologize,” she spoke, routinely, with as much emotion as was expected.

He seemed to be considering something. The gleam in his eye was usually a bad thing or a very bad thing for Varra.

He approached, groping the curve of her waist, squeezing in the same spots as always, the spots she swore had turned into indents in her skin. “Why has everyone decided to torment me today, hm?”

The dress she wore was loose at the front, an open neck for easy access in case Raphael or Haarlep had any particular cravings for human that day. As if reading her thoughts, he parted the top, allowing her breasts to spill out into the warm air of Avernus.

Varra didn’t yell, or scream, or tear herself away.

She knew not to.

“You need a reminder, it seems,” he mused, thumb circling her nipple, admiring the piercing with a hum of approval. “Though, I am feeling rather… forgiving. I suppose I could be convinced not to punish you for disobedience, were you to repent.”

Without any further encouragement, Vara knelt down, hands finding his belt and unbuckling it with speed unmatched even by the most experienced pickpockets in Faerûn. Faerûn. Cloakwood. Varra D’allrnir of Cloakwood.

The pause drew out a groan from Raphael, who fisted her hair in response. She shook her head, returning to the bulge staring her in the face. The rhythm was practiced; Raphael ensured his little lamb was cognizant of his exact desires depending on his mood. Anger usually meant a quick endeavor, her favorite among the types of affections he craved.

Favorite. Like the Marsember Blush Varra D’allrnir of Cloakwood had drunk on special occasions.

Not wanting to enrage the master of the House of Hope further with idling, her lips pulled the hardening cock from its confines, and not a moment later she felt the tip hit the back of her throat, practically swallowing its entire length. Anger usually meant aggression as well. The devil gripped the back of her head, squishing her nose against his lower abdomen, preventing her from taking a breath.

“That’s more like it, Varra,” he moaned, lightly thrusting into her mouth, worsening the suffocation. Though she had no right to protest, she couldn’t help but be repulsed at it—she could only kneel, praying to the Hidden One to—

—The Hidden One. The Mother of all Magic. Her people’s Prophet.

“Speak,” he commanded.

And so she did. She tried to.

The muffled bubbling from her throat only egged on his grunts. Varra had learned to disconnect from the world around her during these sessions. She would wander into nothingness, untethering her mind from the very Plane it occupied, letting time pass until she felt the gush of hot seed seep down her throat, sometimes burning her esophagus. And if she—

Loud muttering broke her from the daze. He was mumbling, not in pleasure, but annoyance. Not on account of her, but someone whose name she didn’t recognize.

“Wretched orthon—” A growl. “Despicable, disgusting creature—” Another moan. Varra was close to losing consciousness, yet knew better than to pull away. Her muffled noises had turned into gagging, which did seem to catch the devil’s attention enough to peek downwards.

“Apologies,” he expressed, lovingly almost, petting her cheek with his free hand. He even loosened the grip on the other, allowing an intake of air while he panted with need. “I am rather… infuriated.”

Varra continued, looking up at him with tears welling in her eyes. To this, he only smiled. With a nod, he silently instructed her to stand. She did so while making sure to keep his cock occupied by grabbing it with both hands. The heat rising from Raphael engulfed her, eliciting a whimper when he pinched her nipples. Despite the years of torment, her skin was still not used to the Hells—and her master ensured her supple flesh continuously received a replacement for any fading burns. The stench of it didn’t bother her anymore, though it did prompt a rather violent thought when she saw the reddening turn into bleeding.

“There. All better.”

A hand snaked itself between her legs, easily pushing past the fabric that made bending her over to be rutted into but a simple maneuver. Varra immediately moaned—squealed—in delight, knowing it was what she was supposed to do. The burning continued, this time between her legs, as hot tears streaked down her cheeks. She was unsure if it was her body’s way of protesting him, but the outcome was one he had hoped for either way. Humiliating, devouring, belittling her was something he craved. He would call it submitting, but she knew they were both aware of her full compliance.

Her aching clit was being rubbed in slow circles, but the fever that followed was anything but soothing. Raphael was watching carefully, as though drinking in her desperation. Once he pushed past her entrance, she bounced forward. Once another finger followed, she settled. A third had stretched her to fullness, but she pressed her lips together to cease the screams that threatened to sour his fun. All she could do is stare at him obediently, waiting for his next command.

Thankfully, she did not have to wait too long. His expression furrowed and his hand quickly retracted, taking a hold of her throat instead.

“You will obey me, won’t you, little lamb?”

Varra nodded vigorously, attempting to breathe from her nose when she felt her throat close at his grip. With a grin, he simply lowered her to her knees again, his cock caressing her face.

“Why did you—“

“Master!”

Haarlep sounded somewhere in the distance, merrily skipping towards them wearing nothing but a grin on his face. Just in front of the doorway, he dropped to his knees, crawling towards the devil, tongue lapping like a dog.

Making use of this interlude, Varra closed her eyes to regain composure, knowing this was going to be a long night.

“Has Yurgir been pestering you again, master?” The succubus teased, lowering until he could comfortably fit between Raphael’s legs.

“It’s those Baldurians. Hopeful heroes,” the devil responded, throwing a quick glance at the woman patiently staring at him before promptly shoving his cock in her mouth again. Varra used her tongue to trace the underside of his member this time, knowing it made him particularly happy.

“The tadpoled freaks?”

“The very same, Haarlep.” He clenched his jaw, drain dripping in his voice, as he looked down at the fiend who had already began sucking his sack.

After taking ample time to suckle on the wrinkled skin with a whine, he let go of his ballsack with a pop. “Let me fix that for you, master,” he cooed, cupping them with his hands instead. “They are nothing compared to you.”

“Who do they think they are, refusing me so ardently?” he shouted, committing another assault on Varra’s throat, with more force this time.

“Of no importance, master.”

“And that pathetic spawn of Cazador’s, moping his way to an answer like he was owed one!” he scoffed. “I will cherish the day he perishes in the rite, when my little lamb—Argh, fuck!”

Scorching heat filled Varra’s mouth, the extreme temperature forcing another gag out of the human who had been fighting to breathe. His thick cum burst like mead from a broken bottle, expelling the fires of the Hells into her body. Haarlep whined in disappointment when he didn’t receive the coveted prize.

The wanting gawk from the incubus confirmed this was far from over.

#astarion fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion x original female character #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #wb #my fics

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shin-di · 2 years

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To emphasis how much I write, I have decided to make a post of a contest entry I made for an Amino event a while back. I hope you enjoy it ^^

Word Count: 4,641

Character count: 25,973

It was a silent night riding down the sea of stars, time seeming to flow as slow as the spirits boat. The chilly night breeze bit away at his cheeks of the ferryman, yet the many years he spent on the seas had left him accustomed to such winds. He found comfort in the cooling breeze, yet not even that could coax the cloud of unease that loomed over his head like a brewing storm. His gaze scanned his boat, once again his eyesight skewed onto the silhouette of a girl who leaned against the boat's low railing.

He had picked her up close to midnight, just as he was about to close for the night. She came like a phantom, silently creeping up vastly from behind him. Her soft, hushed voice sounded like nothing more than a whisper of the wind. Dressed in a cloak of black with a hood fastened tightly onto her head, she asked the spirit for passage to the land of sloths, offering double the payment in hopes that she could get there before dawn.

The spirit complied with her request, running her down the basic rules of the boat as he sailed from his harbor and into the sea of stars, the hum of the paddles of his boat filling the eerie silence.

A strange grip of unease had tensed his mind as he sailed into the night, such emotions rising when he stole a glance of the girl, who did nothing but sit there, as still and as silent as a statue with a hand submerged in the freezing waters. He had no idea why, yet his intuition warned him of her, sensing some feeling of doom radiating from the girl. An emotion unprovoked, yet potent. The spirit would criticize himself for allowing such thoughts to creep up on his consciousness, yet they still lingered, screaming from the back of his head.

He attempted to strike a conversation with the girl, a bit of small talk to dismiss his woes and worries. Yet, not to his surprise, she wasn't much of a talker;

"What brings you to the Land of Sloths?"

"Business,"

"What kind of business"

"Negotiation,"

"Interesting- How's that going for you?"

"Difficult"

"Sorry to hear that... What are you trying to negotiate?"

"Claims to land,"

"Oh! Are you looking to wrangle land in the realm to live on?"

"One could say that,"

The spirit had no idea what such a reply was meant to insinuate, yet he didn't bother to ask. Her curt, dry replies were impossible to continue from. He had a more engaging conversation with a boulder than with the girl. So he never bothered to press for further details, knowing that in the end, it would all lead to the same awkward silence.

Once again, the hum of the boat's ores began to dominate the quiet, and the spirit was about to turn away to check on the fuel stocks when suddenly, the phantom-girl spoke, her crab-call voice soft, yet piercing through the sound of the ferries ores.

"Is it true that the Land of Sloths is ruled by a lousy elder?"

The spirit jerked up at the question, his eyes wide with shock! She spoke! She started a conversation! What a surprise! It took the ghost a moment to process such a miracle, but when he did, he nodded explaining; "Most don't even consider him an elder. He doesn't assume the role of one, he just sombers about in his throne room, drinking and eating to his heart's content. Especially with the spread of darkness plants popping up throughout the realm. He hasn't done much to control or put in efforts to limit the spread. His alcoholic behavior has done worse for the kingdom. Word has it that he's become so much of a drunkard, that the guards need to prop him up to keep him from slouching over his own throne,"

"And the darkness... Has it spread far?" The girl had asked, her voice almost inaudible as she hunched herself closer to the edge of the water, gently sloshing her hand in the reflecting waves.

"Yes but not very far," the spirit would respond, "the locals are trying to keep the plants at bay, yet they always come back, growing bigger than before. They're trying everything, uprooting, burning, poisoning, even going as far as to take out chunks of land and replacing it with new soil, yet nothing works" he would sigh, shaking his head slowly with disappointment.

She had fallen mute as the boat pressed on. Her attention seemed focused solely on the sea of stars and the cool water that engulfed almost her entire forearm.

Quietly, the crew drew closer and closer, an island coming into sight just as the dawning sun began to creep from the horizon, casting the landmass as a dark black shadow against the red and orange skies.

As the spirit pulled into the docks, he noticed a figure waiting by the pier, their heads moving to focus on the girl as she lifted herself, slowly making her way to the ferryman. Reaching from within her pockets, she held out a small pouch, one that sagged with the weight of gold coins that jingled from within. "Thank you," She replied, handing the boater his reward.

The spirit nodded his head in thanks, reaching to take the pouch. It was there that he saw it, the horrific state of her arms.

Her fingers were sharp like claws, her skin tainted a dark raven black. The darkness that immersed her arm seemed to stretch upwards, yet he wasn't able to see how far it spread, as her arm was still covered by her robes.

Fighting to hide that horror in his expression, he plastered a weary smile as he took the bag in his palm, watching as the girl bowed her thanks before turning to leave to join with the one who awaited her by the docks. "Good luck with your business," he called out, his forced irrational enthusiasm was almost impossible to miss.

The Ferryman watched as the group walked, with his passengers being flanked by her waiter. The feeling of dread only grew deeper within him as the spirit pulled himself and his vessel, from the island's dock, headed back in the direction from which he came. As he sailed the seas back, he couldn't help but once again wonder, "What was it that spooked him so much?"

══《✧》══

As the dawning lights of the sun became the golden glow of the morning, the group of two traveled in quiet tranquility quickly weaving their way through the land. It was only the phantom-girl who lacked behind her friend, looking around and admiring the overgrown beauty of the land.

Flowers of vibrant pinks and purples stood proud and blooming, growing as tall as the girl. The morning dew that clung onto their delicate petals bounced the morning light off them in a playful array of light. The trees stood like giants, wrapped up in vines and ivory while their branches hung limp and droopy, creating curtains of luscious emerald leaves. The bushes that laid scattered about the floor bore small bright berries that were glossed in rain droplets, their citrusy scent lingering in the air like a silky, yet intoxicating perfume.

Though she fought the temptation, she couldn't help but pluck a handful of berries from the brush, popping them into her mouth and basking in the ripe, fruity taste that exploded in her mouth. As she walked with her comrades, the girl would now and again, pluck a handful of nature's goodies before suddenly coming to a stop, seeing something that sent a chill crawling down her spine.

A bud of darkness bloomed from a bush, small and round, yet glowing bright with that eerie blue light. Those small dark orbs seemed to slowly replace the plant's fruit, affecting its structure as well as its gifts. The lush leaves turned into thick black leaflets. Its branches, which were once strong and smooth, were thin and laced with thorns sharper than obsidian blades.

"Isn't it beautiful? Your blessing spreads its influence. Can you see it now? A forest of darkness, doesn't that just sound so... possessing?" The voice that spoke from behind her only deepened the frown that spread across her face. Such a soothing voice spoke honeyed words, ones that barely managed to sway the Phantom-girl's thoughts.

"I'm not sure how I feel about this, " She replied, able to envision the scowl of her comrade from her words alone. " This island has such a beautiful and diverse ecosystem, I don't want to ruin this realm..." The girl spoke softly, her voice edged with uncertainty and hinted with fear as to how her opinion might be taken.

Much to her surprise, his voice wasn't angry, nor filled with distaste as he began to speak: "What will you be ruining? You're a gift brought into this world. You can bring the charm to this realm no one has ever seen. It will morph this land into a united world, one where darkness and light can coexist peacefully. A world where no one will be shunned for what they are, regardless of how they came to be. Isn't that what you wanted? A place where you don't have to hide? A place where you will be loved for your gift, and not rejected? " His voice was easy and relaxed, alluring the girl into a state of ease as he reached for her arm. Carefully, with the most gentle of touches, he guided her arm up, allowing the sleeve to slump down and expose the darkness that consumed her entire arm. "What we do is for the greater good, Lilith, there is always a sacrifice one must make to achieve their goal. Our goal is noble, but it will take a lot of effort for us to achieve the greatest of glories. Do not be afraid, trust in me when I say that it will all pan out for the better,"

His words coaxed her stresses from her, placing her into a trance of agreement. "It will all pan out for the better..." She repeated dully, echoing the words that weren't her own. "Yes, it will," She affirmed to herself slowly, buying into the sweet promise of her colleague. Slowly Lilith reached down her hand to touch what little green was left of the bush. The color drained from the plant that moment her fingertips rested upon its surface, the bright vivid greens drained into a deep, vivid black, laced with streaks and hints of a vibrant blue. The transformation was beautiful, yet the product was eldritch. Though she could hide it, the girl wouldn't shake off her guilt, instead, concealing it behind the shadows of her hood.

"Good," He would say, the smug pride in his voice allowing Lilith to envision his twisted smile at her compliance. "Now come along, we have wasted enough time, I want to face the elder before mid-meal," He commanded, his arm, which rested draped across the Forest-Child's shoulders, pulling her away from her creation and guiding her forward, continuing their trek once more.

══《✧》══

The duo found themselves standing in the capital of the magnificent island. If you thought the nature was gorgeous, then the city was tenfold of its beauty. The city was where sky-kind met nature, forming a beautiful balance to create a natural eutopia. The stone houses built on the forest floor were covered in blankets of greenery, reclaimed by nature with heavy layers of moss and shrubbery as proof of ownership. Yet that never deterred the people, who moved up the canopy of the trees, balancing their homes atop the thick, sturdy branches of the trees, or hung their homes by thick unbreaking vines that dangled from the trees. Shops rested on the forest floor, built beneath the roots of the mighty evergreens. Streams of crystalline water cascaded from gutters carved from bark, pouring into channels of waters that all lead into a vast lake, located in the center of the capital. And within the lake, rested a mighty castle. Its pale gray stones were engraved with patterns. Unkempt vines claimed the walls, while smudges of stucco stains tainted what was meant to be its pristine condition.

The two hopped atop a tourist boat, riding the still waters to the temple of the lake with a group of eagerly waiting moths, all who wished to tour the temple of the Land of Sloth.

Lilith sat quietly aside her partner in a poorly cushioned booth, leaning over the low-hanging rails with her hand submerged in the refreshing water. She sloshed her hand about in the lake, her mind lost to thought as she sat there. Yet even the soothing feeling of the rushing waters between her fingers couldn't soothe her stress. Was she really about to do this? What if something were to fail and she were to be caught? What a story that would be; A former Forest scholar, not nothing more than a criminal committing Treason- She shivered at the thought of what kind of punishment would await her.

Her ally noted her stress, a low chuckle arising from his throat to see the girl on edge. Leaning a hand over and placing it on her shoulder, he delivered a small squeeze, one that grounded the girl back into the present. "Do not be afraid Lilith, we will be fine," He reassured with a low whisper, audible to her and her alone.

The girl, in return, nodded her head, yet never gave a verbal reply, her sights still locked onto the rippling water as the boat's steer broke through the flat, reflecting surface of the emerald lake. 'We will be fine' she repeated to herself in the silence of her mind, chanting the phrase as if it were some life-saving prayer. 'We will be fine, we will be fine'

In due time, the boat would pull into the harbor, allowing the passengers to dismount with ease. The duo would stick close together, constantly at arm's length away from one another. As the crowd of giddy tourists approached the door, they were greeted with two stone-faced guards, both of who blocked the door by bringing down their spears before the group as they tried to slip through the door.

"No visitors," One's gruff voice would say, their piercing gaze scanning the disappointed faces of the travelers, who all seem so excited to come. "Turn around and boat back, no one is allowed to enter. Elder's orders," His swift command sent most of the Skylanders sulking back to the boats. Yet only two figures stayed still, waiting for the others to leave before approaching once more.

Unamused, the guards would glare upon the cloaked figures, once again barking out his warnings, his tone harsher than before.

"Step back, no visitors are permitted within the temple. We won't hesitate to remove you by force," the man would threaten, his voice low yet hostile, melting away Lilith's calm and collected composure into a shy, borderline nervous one.

Her colleague, however, never once did back down, remaining where he stood as he cleared his voice and spoke to the men. "We come bearing news vital to the Elder and his Realm. We know who started the spread of the Darkness and we have a way to stop it," he would announce proudly, puffing his chest out in satisfaction as their stony complexion crumbled into astonishment.

Both men cast one another confused glances, their silent exchange heavy with confusion and unease. It often flickered back to both of the hooded strangers, their doubt doubling as they examined both their ragged shape. "And who exactly are you two?" One guard would ask as the other began to prod Lilith with the dull end of his spear.

"This lovely lady is Lily, a scholar of the Forest who has spent her life studying the darkness and its effects" her comrade would explain, gesturing towards Lilith in a slightly dramatic manner. "And I am Erebus, a Wasteland Warrior assigned to keep Lilith safe until she returns to her realm," he would finish, his tone as proud and as mighty as ever, despite the dishonesty of his words

Their fabricated alibi seemed enough to slip past the watchmen's skepticism as they slowly, with ever-doubtful gazes, raised their staffs, opening a narrow path from which both would walk down.

Lilith felt a rush of relief crash over her, washing her free of the stresses that tormented her mind mere moments ago. Yet such hopefulness would be crushed as she came to see those same to guards trailing close behind, closing in onto the two until she stood less than a foot length behind them. Their hardened gaze burned holes into the back of her skull, yet she was too anxious to dare turn to confront their stares. She instead distracted herself by taking in the surroundings of the old structure, her gaze scanning the temple as Eberus led her forward.

The castle was oddly empty, void of all semblance of life. It seemed like no one had walked through the empty corridors for years, judging by the thick layer of dust that blanketed the few cushioned chairs that lay sprawled about the marble floor.

The only proof of life that kept Lilith from thinking that the castle were the empty bottles of wine that laid askew across the floor. They emanated the stench of bitter wine, one that laid heavy in the air, radiating from the stained purple carpets and faded tapestries that adorned the walls.

It wasn't long before the group found themselves standing before the doors of the throne room. Or at least, what they thought was the throne room, judging by the two huge tapestries that flanked the door, captured an image of a stone crown laying perfectly atop the head of an elder.

Erebus pushed the doors open without a shred of hesitation, unflinching as they flung open and landed against the wall with a boom.

Light poured into the dimly lit halls like a wave, revealing a stone gazebo that stood amidst an open court, one that laid to waste to overgrown shrubbery. Weeds sprouted from the cracks in the pavement, the roof laid broken, cracked from the weight of the plants that grew atop it. Even the gazebo wasn't spared any mercy, with moss claiming land all over the stone in bright vivid ploches that stood out like sour thumbs against the pale beautiful stone.

Yet the poor condition of his garden didn't seem to bother the elder, who was seen lingering in the shade of his gazebo. The tall, lanky being laid lazily on a velvet cushion: in his hand, a stone goblet from which he drank, and on his head, a lackluster crown, resting crooked upon his flowing lock of snow-white hair. The elder in question turned with the sounds of his doors being opened, casting a drunken glance over his shoulders to his unexpected visitors. "If you are a diplomat, leave me be. I have no wish to be bothered with the matters of other realms, " he dismissed, slowly returning his formal position.

"And what if we are not? What if we hold the key to saving your kingdom from devastation?" Erebus would ask, a sly smile shown from beneath his hood as his shining gaze glowed with excitement as the elder once again turned, his gaze suddenly lit with interest at the stranger's promising words.

"I assume you're here regarding the darkness then," the elder would speak, his demeanor attentive as hope began to creep into his tone as Erebus crept closer.

"Indeed I am," the 'wasteland warrior' would reassure, gesturing to Lilith to step closer. "We are here to offer you a deal, one that you are sure to be unable to resist,"

Such an offer confused the elder, and it was clear in the way he raised his eyebrows. "A deal? I don't think terms of bargaining can be spoken when it comes to saving a kingdom," the Sloth Elder would say, laughing lightly, as if to take the entire suggestion as a jest.

"Normally, yes. But, you see, this is a situation as anything but ordinary," Erebus would reach up, his hand resting on Lilith's hood before snagging it down with a sharp snag.

As the cloth flung back, the horror of her face would send gasps of horror flowing from the mouths of the guards. Though her ragged and matted hair tried to conceal it, the thin strands of white specks were unable to hide the blossoms of darkness that sprouted from her right eye. Her cheeks were hollowed with hunger, her one good eye was dulled with exhaustion, lacking the bright sparkling light of any regular sky child. Black stains of darkness plagued the skin surrounding her right eye, growing down her right side in crack-like patterns.

She would hear the guard murmur to themselves, the sounds of their iron spears clinking together as they rose echoing around the girl as she stood there, her dead dropped in shame as a feeble effort to conceal her face. she stared at crackle tiles she stood beneath in shame. Those judgmental eyes. She faced them for the longest time, yet she never grew accustomed to them or the cruel words that followed the disgusted glares.

"Because I have Lilith, the one who started this spread, and the one who can make it worse within the blink of an eye," Erebus would say, his arm defensively drawn over her shoulder, offering a shred of comfort to the shame-ridden girl.

Silence fell upon them before a wild cackle came from the sloth elder. Looking up, Lilith could see the pure amusement that radiated from the elder as he leaned over, his eyes leaking with tears of laughter. "What do you take me for? A fool? Lilith is nothing more than a myth that mothers use to scare their children! That isn't Lilith, that's just some pathetic SkyChild you picked from the slums of the wasteland! You had her tailored her in the valley and thought you could come here to threaten me with her? Don't waste the time of an elder with such lies and leave this temple! Guards! See these liars to the door,"

Lilith flinched at the cruel words of the elder. From deep within the shame that grappled her mind, a new stir of emotions would begin, starting as a flickering flame that grew into a burning inferno with each insult the lousy elder dealt. Anger. It boiled deep within her, growing stronger than the shame that plagued her, filling the scrawny girl so much to the point she trembled under the grasp of her partner in crime.

Hesitantly, the guards would slowly stride forward, making their way to the two as their leader commanded. Yet Erebus had different plans in store.

Leaning over, he whispered to Lilith with that same smug smile still spread wide across his lips. "Prove to me that our training did not go to waste; Show them the power of the Lily," he would command, slowly drawing his hand free from her shoulder.

Lilith nodded slowly, bolting forward and enclosing the gap between herself and her attackers. They expected her to charge them head-on, to unsheath some sort of blade from beneath the fabric of her cloak and charge. Yet much to the guard's surprise, the girl dove for a nearby patch of weeds that sprouted from the ground, her hands gripping tightly onto the nimble stems of the golden blossoms.

Confused yet sensing a threat, they drew their weapons and charged, their blades aimed for the hunched-over girl. Yet before they even grew meters close, vines of darkness would break through the concrete ground, winding itself around the limbs of guards like a viper.

They dug into their flesh, ripping through their weak leather armor and lingering just close enough to poke their bare skin, yet never puncturing it.They were subdued, yet Lilith wasn't finished. Once bonded from making another move, two thick leaves would spout outward, closing in on the two Skylanders like a venus fly trap. Their screams of terror were silenced as the leaves closed in on them complete, engulfing both in darkness.

An uncanny silence consumed the room as Lilith slowly rose, the weeds that she had clasped now nothing more than new sprouts of darkness, black, blue, and budding with an ominous glow.

She slowly turned around, facing a petrified elder and a beaming Erebus. She no longer wore the timid and reserved completion of a girl rejected from society, yet a merciless and cold expression of a battle-hardened woman, one whose gaze burned with the thirst for revenge.

A flurry of applause came from Erebus, who clapped his hands and cheered for the girl as she slowly sauntered over, resuming her place by his side. "As you can see, Lilith is no myth, but a force to be reckoned with." He would announce proudly, laughing as the elder stumbled backward, dropping his chalice and letting its wine spalter onto the velvet cushion he once sat on. "And if you don't want to end up like your guards, you'll accept our deal"

The elder looked at both of the children, biting his bottom lip as sweat began to collect across his face. His sights would flicker back and forth from them and the darkness that captured his guards. He opened his mouth, only to close it again as he struggled to formulate a reply. This action would repeat a handful more times, yet the two would wait ever so patiently for their answer. "What are your demands?" The elder would question, his tone small while his voice was heavy with defeat.

"Surrender your throne to me, and leave this realm. In return, we will control the spread of darkness and ensure the safety of you and your people" Erebus would enlist the details, his arms crossing over his chest with pride at the compliance. After all, it was a rare sight to see an Elder comply with rules that weren't their own.

Grinding his teeth, the elder gave the two his queries, "And where am I supposed to go? Where good is an elder with no realm?" The thought of him surrendering his life to the likes of two criminals didn't seem to sit well with him, sparking a flame of stubbornness within him.

Yet Lilith, who had a brighter flame of hatred still raging within, made a quick come back to silence the weak protest of the elder. "What good is an elder when they spend more time drinking than they do directing their subjects to a better life?" She would challenge, watching as the elder's face dropped from her prompt.

Just as she had intended, the elder went quiet and Erebus continued, listing off the consequences had the elder denied his proposal. "Of course, you could always say no, keep your throne and you could let the darkness spread. But, your people will suffer the consequences and you will be hearing more often from us," he would reply, keeping his words vague to allow the Elder to envision the demise of his realm with his imagination. "The choice is ultimately yours; bow to me and walk away with your life or drag on this ordeal and watch as your realm withers because of it"

Silence fell upon the elder once more, contemplating his limited options. Unlike the prior time, he came to his conclusion rather quickly.

Without a word, he lowered himself onto a submitting, his head hanging and his crown tumbling from his head and onto the ground, cracking from impact.

#sky children of the light #ocs #sky cotl #oneshot #skyblr

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sp1resong · 2 years

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woe spiral!sol writing be upon ye

this is somewhat old but. i'm still fairly proud of it! and i thought i may as well post it here

cw for uhhh spiral-typical weirdness,, i'm not sure what to tag this as specifically

Hollypaw walked through the trees. She’d scented something over here, something that definitely wasn’t supposed to be there. Logically she knew she should probably bring a patrol with her, in case whatever it was turned out to be dangerous, but what if it went away by the time she got back to camp? What if she never found out what it was? She had to know, and she wasn’t going to risk being unable to do so.

She sniffed the air again. The scent was stronger here—she was going the right way. It smelled like lies and fractals and colors that did not exist, none of which were things that should have scents.

This did nothing to scare her off. If anything, it just made her more curious.

She continued walking. The scent was almost overpowering now, and yet she still saw no sign of whatever had left it.

She stopped, letting out a frustrated growl, before freezing as she heard something behind her.

She turned, slowly, to see something that was not a cat.

It had calico fur that curled into an almost-glowing yellow spiral on its back. She did not know how she could see its back—she was facing it head-on. Its claws were far too long and sharp, if they were its claws at all and not just horrific twisted extensions of its paws. It had mesmerizing yellow eyes that, on second thought, might not have been yellow after all. Its colors were all wrong, hurting Hollypaw’s eyes. As she watched, it smiled. It had far too many teeth and didn’t fit its face.

“Who are you!?” Hollypaw demanded, fur bristling defensively.

“’What are you’ would be a far, far better question,” it purred. “If I can be said to be at all.”

“Fine! What are you, then!?” Hollypaw hissed, aware that she did not look at all threatening.

“I am many things. I am That Which Lies, That Which Isn’t.” It paused. “Once there was a cat named Sol.” It was tapping its claws, or perhaps its tail, on the ground. The sound ricocheted around Hollypaw’s mind, knocking everything out of place and making it impossible to think. “He was raised on stories of cats that flew and fought and leapt from cloud to cloud. They were the only thing that made his life worth living, for a time. Even as his mother abandoned him on a Twoleg’s doorstep and the fog drew closer, he clung onto these stories like a lifeline. So, when given the opportunity to join a Clan in a massive, distant gorge, he said yes. Of course he said yes.”

“But the leader, a cat named Leafstar, believed that Sol was unfit for Clan life. That he did not belong, that he did not have the skills needed to survive in the wild. And perhaps he didn’t, but he wanted so, so badly to be a warrior, to live as one of the legendary cats he’d been raised on stories of. He tried so very hard to prove his worth, to show that he deserved his place as a warrior.”

“But it wasn’t meant to be. One day, he wandered too far, or perhaps too close, trying to prove himself. He got lost. And here I am.”

“So—you’re Sol?” Hollypaw asked, mentally shaking off the grip its story had (for some reason) held her in.

“That is a name.” It—Sol—watched her from where it was lounging on a rock that probably hadn’t been there earlier. Sometime during the story, its eyes had turned an indescribable color.

“I—alright then. What are you doing on ThunderClan territory?” Hollypaw hissed.

Sol looked amused. “Oh, little Eye, that will not work on me. I am of lies and confusion. Not even your patron can wrangle me into some semblance of truth.”

Hollypaw sighed, deigning to ignore the implications of that statement. “You’re still not allowed to be here.”

“I disagree.” Sol smiled.

Hollypaw was getting thoroughly tired of Sol’s entire deal. “You know what? I’m just going to leave. You’re clearly going to tell me nothing of use.”

“Alright, then.” Sol shifted position to lay on its back, head hanging off the rock-that-wasn’t-there so that it was looking at her upside down. It didn’t break eye contact, still smiling. “Although, little Eye, who is to say what is and isn’t useful? You, of all cats, should know that every bit of information is important. A time of great darkness is coming. Water washes away blood, and you all may be swept away in the deluge.”

“What does—” Hollypaw began, but before she could finish, Sol was gone, vanishing into some sort of door that wasn’t there. Hollypaw did not know how it opened it, or even how she knew what a door was. Not that it really mattered.

She sighed, turning around to head back to camp. Its ominous words still echoed in her head. She’d have to ask Jaypaw to help her try and decipher their meaning.

#btw i imagine its voice as like #some combination of michael distortion's voice and yellowfang's from the old oots audiobooks #warrior cats #tma #warriors/tma au #spire writes #hollyleaf #sol wc #wc sol #ask to tag

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tgmsunmontue · 17 days

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What to write weekend...?

Another standard weekend this weekend. It's Friday afternoon, start of my weekend (except I have to go out and do social stuff tonight)... Also the adult responsibilities still beckon...

I have some letters/numbers from last weekend (and this week) to get me started. Also due to being sick and having a busy social calendar I haven't written much this week so am behind on my numbers in terms of words. But I'm well aware that people may want A to update sooner rather than later.

NUMBERS:

Online and Anonymous - 4/16 Hangster who are anonymous Grindr buddies for YEARS. (Tumblr post)

More than Movie Magic - Hangster Hollywood AU (~3 bits left)

Sagas of Solitude 3/? - IceMav with side Hangster AU - angsty Nepo!Baby

CURRENT LETTERS:

A, C, D, E, H, I, K... Bingo #1, Bingo #2

A) Where do I know you from? There are too many Jakes and Bradleys for Jake and Bradley to be dealing with. (Tumblr idea unspooling here...)

C) To wake, perchance to dream - Jake wakes up in the future, gets a glimpse of what their life could be and then wakes up back right before being called back to Top Gun for the special detachment (e.g. TGM). (Tumblr post and the beginning of the fic)

D) Together or not at all... (SEQUEL) - Hangster - years after Javy/Nat get together they think their best friends (Hangman and Rooster) could maybe try dating each other. It'll either end in disaster or not.

E) Cyclone/Maverick - Cyclone is struggling to deal with being attracted to the most annoying person he's ever met. Why does he like him so much?

H) Getting to know you from the beginning - an Ice/Mav epistolary fic where Jake and Bradley matchmake them, not realising exactly who it is they've matched together.

I) Life is too short to waste time matching socks... 2/? The peach and eggplant socks as an anonymous gift as an incredibly unsubtle hint that someone would like to fuck them. (tumblr idea unspooling here...)

K) Caring, Keeping and Collecting Transformers - A Guide - Transformers cross-over for help me @yeagrave is 110% to blame for me adding this... (related to this post) (Prologue)

BINGO #1 - Hangster Ranch AU

BINGO #2 - IceMav Florist/Undercover Agent AU

You pick 1-3 of the above and either:

Message

Send an ask (Anon is on)

with the letters/Numbers of the fic/s you wish would hurry up and get finished/posted already. (Yes, you can pick the same one three times - some of these fics are that close to getting finished that would be enough to tip them over, you also don't have to pick more than one).

Numbers indicate fics I am consciously working on updating/completing, and likely have a completion date in mind.

Letters indicate fics that are often getting completed because people ask for me to work on them through things like this. (I usually do this every weekend).

Asterisks represent fics that are most likely soon to become numbered fics.

Doing this keeps me on task and makes me accountable. It stops me from procrastinating and I really appreciate people providing their numbers.

THANK YOU!

#what to write weekend #writing and wranglings woes

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sunmontuewrites · 3 months

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Man my brain works in very weird ways... getting a comment like "please write more" make me immediately want to do the complete opposite (like dig in my heels and cross my arms type reaction).

Yet in a post on a side blog I ask people to tell me which fics they want me to bang out >250 words on... (And I also run a poll on which WIP I should focus on next) and I am managing days of 3-5k words EASY...

WHY THE DIFFERENCE BRAIN? WHY?

#writing and wrangling woes #Is it because one is specific to a fic?#or is it because I am actively asking on the post and poll?#but man what an immediate and visceral response to being told to 'write more' for a fandom I have already written >100k for this year alone

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phrenics-writes · 8 months

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i just need a little ramble. Entirely unrelated to anything writing - it's technology and my struggle to get a working PC back up and running.

I spill a pot of hot soup on my laptop I've been using. It's pretty much toast, which means I've gotta revive the old computer. It should still work. Boot it up like 5 months ago.

SSD fails about four months ago, but I keep stuff backed up, it's fine. It'll be a bit pricy, but sure.

But the motherboard? CPU? is having issues now. Never figured out what. But it's about time I replace them, they were getting to the point where a fresh install of windows isn't helping the performance woes. Add to the cost. Sure. Pain.

New CPU and motherboard. PITA to install but done. But the CPU is throttling to fuck. Must have knocked the cooler during installation or something? Dunno. Wrangle that.

And now, oh, the WIFI card doesn't work in this new build. Worked fine for 10-12 years, but, like. Sure. The bluetooth works but the WiFi doesn't. What the hell.

I just wanna pull my hair out, I swear. Feels like once I get a working WiFi card in it it'll want some other component switched out.

The RAM isn't playing nice also. That's cool. Love it for me.

#phrenics talks #tech #computers are pain

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vickiabelson · 1 year

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Live with The Cowsill on Game Changers With Vicki Abelson

There’s so much wonderfulness and fun packed into this 1:15 Live, I’m woe to break it down and give any spoilers. Suffice it to say we talked about their avid, loyal fans, me being one, since kneesocks, their group dynamic, how the 7 came and went, family auditions, oh yes they did, how the harmonies stack, how the songs on their new album, Rhythm of the World, got written, recorded, and out there in spite of the pandemic and a stroke of someone’s bad business, the hero who saved the day, meet & greets, how they genuinely love their fans and invite all to join them, even when they’re eating, their podcast, Peter Noone for one, The Flower Power Cruise this March, another Happy Together Tour this summer, and always, Bob, Susan, and Paul, loving being together, whether taking a “snow day,” continuing to thrill their fans and make musical magic, or just chatting it up with the likes of me.

I’ve been blessed to present Bob a few times over the last decade, and stay close sending him the constant onslaught of comments that still post almost daily from his visit to my living room for Women Who Write years ago. I’ve met Susan a few times and attempted more than once to wrangle her here, Paul I’ve only gandered onstage till today, yet they all felt like family almost instantly. It’s who they are, what they do. I adore these three, all The Cowsills family, and have put in my request to be adopted.

Rhythm of the World

TheCowsills Live on Game Changers With Vicki Abelson

Wednesday, 1/11/23, 5 pm PT, 8 pm ET

Streamed Live on my Facebook

Replay here:

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in-tua-deep · 5 years

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I’m on vacation yet I suddenly have a hankering to write a series of oneshots where the hargreeves siblings get kicked out of various craft classes and skill lessons

#soul speaks #writing woes #just picturing the kids attending a bunch of hobby classes #it would go so badly if they all went together #as FAMILY BONDING #the poor people wrangled into teaching the classes though #having to deal with this disaster family smh

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dokoni-mo · 3 years

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She Truly Was || Muzan Kibustsuji x F!Reader

Summary: Enmu helps Muzan remember you.

SFW // Fluff with small amounts of Angst

Word Count: 4626

WARNINGS: *slight Mugen Train spoilers*, slight mentions of implied sexual activity, obsessive(?) behavior, Muzan is soft for one person only, some angst, mentions of injury, mentions of blood, I also barely proofread this lol

A/N: I've had this in my head for a while and decided to write it down. This is largely just a compilation of scenarios I made in my head to fall asleep at night when I was stressing over exams and stuff, all loosely thrown together with a plot. This is my first time writing for demon slayer, so please be patient! I also am basing a lot of my info about the characters on s1 of the anime, some of the manga, and the wiki. I apologize if something isn't accurate. tldr; I just think he's neat.

Despite having lived through thousands of years with hundreds of stormy nights in the midst, Muzan Kibutsuji never learned to appreciate them.

Something about nights like those in Japan just never sat right with the demon. It wasn't that they were too dreary, not at all. Life as a demon was plenty dreary. On the other hand, it wasn't that they were to lively either. No one ever went out on stormy nights; demon or not. Perhaps it was just because the rain was another reminder of the singularity that was being a demon. The poignant pitter patter just seemed to have a way of whispering to whoever heard it, telling them the most unpleasant yet quiet truths of their lives.

After Muzan's bloody meeting with the lower moons, he had told Enmu his task Muzan had planned for the pitiful, weaker demon. Although he had doubts that Enmu could hear him over the sound of the weaker demon's screams of pain from the blood he gave, Muzan was pleasantly surprised when Enmu understood the orders the first time around. Seeing as though it would cause trouble if the lower moon started to go around bragging about his newfound power and job, Muzan decided it would be best to keep a crimson eye on the demon.

This is what led to the scene before Muzan now.

Muzan had taken Enmu back to one of his many properties scattered across Japan, this one being tucked away in a lush, quiet forest in the middle of seemingly nowhere. The lower moon had not said a word throughout the entire journey there, and still refused to say anything now. Most likely out of fear.

Although it had been a long day of wrangling the lesser worms he called pawns (or "moons" if he was generous), Muzan did not want to show any weakness towards Enmu by resting. To busy himself, Muzan decided to do the tedious work the humans have him do in the job he took to please his human wife.

That insufferable woman.

With his bowler hat placed on his desk, Muzan had taken a seat in his large, leather chair, ordering Enmu to stand at the edge of the desk and face the opposite way. And, for extra edge, he was not to say or do anything.

It had been about two hours since then. The room was filled with only the sounds of Muzan's writing and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

Although he ordered it to be that way, Muzan was already sick of it.

Peering his red eyes up from the papers scrawled below him, Muzan fixated his bone-chilling gaze upon the back of Enmu's head. Muzan could see the corners of the lower moon's mouth turned upwards as he faced the wall, presenting himself with an expression of dumb content.

Freak.

Enmu was definately a curious specimen. So eager to die, yet so eager to please Muzan. The demon lord would have been confused if he were not who he was.

Perhaps it was his own boredom setting in, perhaps it was because he wanted to feed his already gargantuan ego, or perhaps it was just because he was tired, Muzan decided to speak up.

"Tell me," Muzan said, his deep, smooth voice making Enmu perk up slightly, "Why is it that are you so loyal to me?"

Enmu took this as an opportunity to finally move, but not without some caution. The lower demon only turned his neck towards Muzan, along with a tilt of his shoulder. Muzan noted the disobedience of orders, but decided to let it slide this time.

The rain must have told him to be generous that night.

"Why, Master Kibustsuji," Enmu said, a faint blush adorning his cheeks, "It is because I am so delighted to be in your presence, and have my power be of service to you."

The demon lord felt his jaw clench at this, his red eyes peering up at the lower moon from under his abyssal lashes. Although Enmu had an... odd, way of putting things, Muzan always did like it when someone stroked his ego, even if all they ever said was the same banter over and over again. He was nearly perfection, afterall.

Muzan sat quietly and pondered Enmu's response for a second, before formulating his own.

"Your power, as you put it," Muzan said, his voice firm, "What is it?"

Enmu's grin widened, "Dream Manipulation, Master. I can enter, manipulate, or control anyone's dreams however I want to. I can use it to kill from the inside, eating a person spirit first and body second. I can also put people to sleep."

Muzan wasn't necessarily impressed by this, but he wasn't disappointed either. An ordinary power, really. Nothing that could ever rival his own.

However...

Muzan's gaze flickered down to the surface of his desk. A flicker of a long lost yet not forgotten feeling bubbled deep inside of his being. A mere spark of light, really, a piece of warmth he felt from long ago, lost to the wayside by the vestiges of time.

It was something Muzan thought he would never experience again.

Dream manipulation, huh?

It might be worth a try.

Muzan looked back up to Enmu, sharpening his gaze, "Tell me, are you able to give... pleasant dreams?"

Enmu was surprised to hear this come from Muzan to say the absolute least. He took this as another opportunity to disobey orders and turn to Muzan again, this time fully and whole-heartedly. The lower moon looked right into those blood red eyes, looking for any sign of a rare flicker of humor or joking.

Muzan's gaze was serious, poised as ever.

Muzan was being for real.

Taking a pause to swallow, Enmu allowed his soft smirk to return to his gray, pale face.

"Why," the lower moon retorted, "I can, Master, yes."

Muzan eyed the lesser demon for a good second at his response.

This move was risky. It could damage his image. Yet, if he was to do this with any of his pawns, he would do it with Enmu. Enmu seemed to have no intent on harming Muzan or his image in any way; he was far too loyal for that.

Besides, if someone were to question the might of Muzan, he could just prove them wrong.

Muzan leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other and lacing his fingers together, wrapping them around his knee. His icy gaze still on Enmu, he spoke again.

"I wish to see a pleasant dream."

Muzan nearly rolled his eyes when he saw just how wide Enmu's grin had gotten and just how flushed his face got.

It was repulsive.

But, if it meant what Muzan thought it would mean...

It was worth stomaching.

After a breif moment used to compose himself, Enmu's smile faded to normal again. He pulled up the sleeves to his coat.

"I will give you a dream where you will experience the happiest days of your life over again, Master Kibutsuji," the lower moon stated, "Is this to your liking or would you prefer something else?"

"No," Muzan stated flatly, "That is fine."

Perfect, even.

Enmu smiled widely one last time, holding out his arm and pointing it at the demon lord.

"Sweet dreams, my lord." Was the last thing Muzan heard before falling into a deep, deep sleep.

"Muzan..."

Despite his blood demon art being so much weaker than his, Muzan wasn't quite ready for just how Enmu put him into a dream like that. Muzan's headache had grown ten-fold now, and he could feel that his face was scrunched.

"Muzan..."

Slowly but surely regaining his full consciousness, Muzan could first feel that he was in different clothes than what he had been wearing before. These ones were lighter, softer, and much more airy than his normal suit. Squinting open his crimson eyes, he saw that he was in what appeared to be a long, dark, flowing kimono.

The second thing Muzan could feel was that it was rather cool where he was, and that he appeared to be lying on the ground. Sifting his weight slowly, he could then feel that his head was lain upon what felt like two soft, plush pillows firmly squished together.

The third thing, however, took him a little longer to discern quite that it was. At first, he thought it was a pair of chopsticks running across his scalp over and over again. Upon, further thought, however, Muzan was further snapped back into awareness.

Those were not chopsticks.

Those were fingers.

All too familiar fingers.

"Muzan..!"

Muzan felt a stir deep down inside of him. He recognized this feeling, this touch, this warmth. It had been so, so long since he had felt like this. How long was it again? It had to be an eternity ago. An eternity wrapped within all time time in the world.

Muzan was speechless. Muzan couldn't move. Muzan was struck from deep within, and nothing in the world could ever compare to its blow.

"Muzan!"

Although the calling of the demon's lord name had been going on for some time now, he was just now able to respond.

Tilting his chin upwards towards the voice's source, Muzan nearly fell to bits right then and there. If he was someone else, he would have wept deep, earnest tears at the very sight of the being above him. For everything and nothing surrounded him as he studied the bright, radiant face above him, and nothing else seemed to exist other than that smile.

Other than her.

Her.

Oh, her, her, her.

His beloved. His sun, moon and stars. The ground beneath his feet and the air around him. His joy and love, his woes and sorrow. His fears and excitement. His warmth and his cold.

You.

You were really here.

"I was wondering if you were ever gonna wake up," you said, a faint laugh behind your voice, "You were out for so long!"

This scene was all too familiar to Muzan. He had replayed it in his head countless times, as if it were the only record left in the world.

He knew what this day was, and he knew all of your lines.

How could he ever forget?

Every moment he had ever spent with you had been a blessing.

Right now, his head was cradled in your lap, your soft, delicate fingers combing through his hair oh so gently as he had slept. It was deep into the night, and ordinarily Muzan would not be sleeping at this time. However, your touch was just so relaxing to him.

Everything about you was.

Today, you and him had spent the night wandering through the garden of your home together, chatting about anything and everything. It was only about two months into your relationship with Muzan. Muzan had first come to your home with the intention of eating everyone within the residence, but once he saw your face, watched you, saw your heart, your spirit, your you, he just couldn't.

He just...

couldn't.

You were human, yes.

But Muzan didn't care.

He was in love with you.

Muzan had yet to tell you the truth about him, however.

But that could come later.

"Muzan, are you alright?" He heard your voice echo again, snapping him out of his trance. He saw your face painted with worry, making his own features soften.

His darling angel. If only you knew just how much it pained him to see you with anything other than a smile.

Muzan reached his hand upwards, steadily maneuvering his fingers to brush your hair behind your ear and cup your warm cheek. He was shocked at how real you felt, shocked at just how similar it felt to all those years ago.

Perhaps Muzan had to give Enmu a reward.

The demon lord caressed your cheek gingerly with his cold, calloused thumb, savoring in just how warm your flesh was compared to his. For the first time in what felt like eons, Muzan felt a smile adorn his handsome features. Not one put on just to appease the humans around him, but genuine. The type of smile only you got to see.

Only you.

"I'm more than alright, my darling." He responded, his voice soft and warm, without the normal venom he gives to his subordinates. A voice reserved restrictively for you.

Finally, you let a soft grin come over your heavenly face again, making all seven of Muzan's hearts swell.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up," you said, "But it's about to be dawn soon. I don't want you to get a burn, so let's go in the house again, okay?"

Ah yes, the lie Muzan told you. He, of course, couldn't be with you in the sunlight (as much as he wanted to). So he had told you that he had a rare disorder that made him extra prone to sunburns and heatstroke.

Just something to keep you safe from the truth.

His soft smile still adorning his features, Muzan gave you a nod as he slid his head off of your lap. Since you were on your knees, you were quicker to stand than him. Brushing off your kimono quickly, you offered one of your hands to Muzan to help him stand, of which he gladly took. He had long since forgotted just how perfectly your hand fit into his, along with how radiant your kimono made you look.

Once he was back on his feet, Muzan couldn't help but to hold your arms, holding you a few feet away from him to simply admire you for a moment, his crimson eyes doing laps around your face and body.

You were perfect to him.

Every single thing about you was without flaw in his eyes. Not one curve of your body was too shallow or too wide. Not one strand of your hair was misplaced or without poise. Not one feature on your face took away from your radiant beauty. And you had not one bad bone inside of your body.

Muzan was never one to believe in angels.

However, if anyone in any part of the world were to tell him that you were one of them, straight from the heavens themselves,

He would believe them.

As soon as Muzan stepped through the door, his hand in your own, the scene before him changed in one giant, peaceful flash of white light.

Before him now was no longer the house that he had shared with you all those years ago. Now, in its place, was a beautiful, lush springtime garden, all dredged under the cover of the night. It was not devoid of light, however. There were a few lanterns afloat in the water of the stream, as well as some within the structure of the small bridge that went over top of it. Flowers adorned every nook and cranny of the space, and the occasional insect or bird would make a brief appearance.

A small slice of paradise, just for you and Muzan Kibutsuji.

Fearing that you were no longer by his side, Muzan turned his head. His fears were quickly subsided when he saw you there next to him. Your delicate hands were placed on the railing of the bridge, and your eyes were fixated on the calm water below, almost as if it were a window into the heavens above. There was a small smile plastered on your face, and the delicate lights illuminated each of your features so perfectly.

Muzan knew this night.

This was the night he told you the truth.

The truth about him, about his "condition", about where he went for days on end, about why he couldn't walk with you in the sun, about everything.

This was the one night Muzan had ever felt fear.

"Is it really true, Muzan?" You asked, your gaze still fixated on the water below, "Are you really a demon?"

Muzan felt his lips part in small surprise. Even though he had replayed this night time and time again in his mind, it felt as if this were all happening for the first time over again.

Enmu really was good at this.

Muzan wet his lips before responding, setting his gaze on your precious, beautiful face and refusing to move it, "Yes, my love. It is true. I would not lie to you about this, I..."

A pause to collect this thoughts, before he could continue, "I kept it from you to protect you, (Y/N). I did not want any harm to come to you. My darling, I... I love you. My love for you knows no bounds. You are the stars that shine at night, and you are the shining moon above. Each time I look upon you, all I can stand to think of is how deep my love for you runs. I... I need you, (Y/N). I do not wish for you to be frightened of me, my angel. I would never, not ever harm you, nor let any harm come to you."

You still weren't looking at Muzan, yet your smile had yet to falter. Muzan felt a bubble of nervousness in his gut. Although he knew your response to his words already, even thinking of this moment never failed to make his stomach churn. He hoped his words to you were enough. He doubted that he had ever said anything more truthful in his entire life.

After a long pause of silence between the two of you, you closed your eyes and widened your smile. Then, you opened your eyes again, finally turning to face your lover. You looked Muzan right in the eyes, seemingly unfazed that you were standing so dangerously close to the most powerful being alive.

You were so brave.

Your heart was so big.

Muzan felt so overwhelmed.

"Muzan," you said, your cheeks dusting a light pink.

What you said next to him, Muzan could never get out of his head, never forget. No matter how much he tried, he would never not ever forget your words in that moment.

Within that one short, simple phrase, the king of demons fell in love all over again.

"I've always known."

Another flash within his crimson eyes, and the scene had changed again. Nighttime again, of course, but this time within the confines of the bedroom you and Muzan shared. Both you and Muzan were nude, sans the blanket that covered the lower half of your forms. Muzan was on his back, one strong arm wrapped around you, the other cradling the back of his head. Your legs were intertwined with his, and your hair and hands were sprawled out on top of his lean, muscular chest.

Muzan knew this night as well.

It was his most loved night with you, but also his most dreaded.

How cruel fate was.

Stroking your back with the tips of his fingers, Muzan stared up at the ceiling above the two of you. Your body was flush against his, and as warm as ever. He wondered to himself if he was making you cold. If he was, you didn't seem to mind.

After a long period of savoring the silence between you and him, you softly snorted out a cute, soft giggle. This made Muzan angle his chin downward to look at the top of your head.

"What is it?" He questioned.

You giggled again, tilting your head up to look at him. Smiling, you turned your body to lay on top of the demon king, your breasts smushing against his own. Instinctively, Muzan laid his hands on your hips, rubbing small circles into them as he held you in place.

"I just find it funny that even though you profess to have so much stamina, you get tired after only two rounds." You explained to him, a playful mischievousness in your tone and eyes.

Muzan breathed out a smile, reaching up a clawed hand to brush your hair out of your face.

"As I recall it, you were the one complaining it was too much." He quipped back.

You snorted, "As if that ever stopped you before."

The demon let out a soft chuckle, leaning forward to give you a kiss on the forehead. Muzan couldn't remember ever laughing so genuinely before you came along. You truly were the light of his life. You filled his days with the sunlight he had long since forgotten, as well with the warmth no other demon could ever have.

He loved you.

He loved you he loved you he loved you.

And he still did.

He watched as you dropped your gaze to his chest, running your fingers along the flesh.

"Muzan..." you said, your voice more serious than before, "I've been thinking a lot lately..."

The demon king hummed, brushing more hair from your face.

"What has been on your mind, my love?" He asked.

You paused for a second before continuing on. Muzan could practically see the gears turning in your head.

"Well, I... I'm not getting any younger, you know, and I've been thinking. I... I really love you, Muzan. You're the only person I can imagine myself being with for the rest of my life. The other day, I was in town, and I saw the cutest family ever with a husband and a wife and two adorable little children, and it made me think..."

You looked up at him again, giving him a soft smile.

"What if we were to have a family of our own?"

Muzan could feel the same sense of joy, love, and pride in his chest as he did this same moment all those years ago. In this moment, he had never felt closer to you before, nor could you recall ever looking more beautiful.

He wanted nothing more than to be a family with you for the rest of eternity.

"Darling, you know what that would mean, correct?" He questioned you. He had told you long before that demons could only have offspring with other demons, for a demon baby would eat its human mother from the inside and kill her. It was gruesome, and had originally made you cringe at the thought. Muzan had thought your reaction was quite cute.

"Yes, yes, I know," you answered, "and I'd be ready for it. Even if I'm a demon, and even if I can never go out in the sun again or live normally ever again, I'd be happy knowing I got to be with you and our baby for the rest of time."

Muzan gave you a smile in return, his long, white fangs flashing in the light of the night. Leaning forward, he kissed you upon your soft, warms lips, gently pulling you closer to him.

This was one of the thousands of reasons why he loved you.

You were always so sweet, so kind and optimistic. He would admit, he did have a soft spot for you and you alone. But he didn't care. You were worth it. You were worth every single piece of money on planet earth. You were worth the sun the moon and the stars, and all the planets here and beyond. You were worth any injury, any heartache, and any trial or tribulation in the world.

The king of the demons unquestionably, unfathomably, undeniably, adored you.

Pulling gently away from the kiss, Muzan looked deep into your eyes, right past your pupils and looked right into your soul, your very being.

"I would want nothing more, my sunlight."

If Muzan could turn back the hands of time, he would have kept you here with him for the rest of everything and beyond.

For he did not know then that was the last kiss you and him would share.

Another flash, and Muzan was no longer greeted with a visage of the past. Much to his dismay, the demon was now greeted with the sight of his office, with a smiling Enmu creepily watching him from across his desk.

What a fucking freakshow.

Taking in a breath of air through his nose, Muzan sat up tall in his chair again, rubbing the bridge of his nose with this thumb and pointer finger.

You were gone again. You were again nothing up a memory, a whisper of a time from the past.

Muzan could hardly bare it.

He had felt you, held you near him.

And just as fast as you came back, you were gone again.

This was a pain almost too hard to bear.

How long was he asleep for? Muzan really didn't care how long it was.

No amount of time with you was enough.

"Did you have the pleasant dream you wished for, Master?" Enmu asked the demon king. The lesser moon was lucky Muzan was in a somewhat good mood that day.

"Yes." Muzan replied simply, closing his eyes to rub them with his thumb, "Excellent work."

Enmu's smile widened at this, his cheeks turning pink again.

"Why, thank you, Master." He responded, his excitement prevalent in his voice.

Enmu really was a special one.

After composing himself again, Muzan scooted his chair forward up to his desk, fixing his gaze back onto his work sprawled out below.

Muzan just wanted to be alone again after that. He had been alone for years now, but he wanted Enmu out of the room. Although he could have easily ordered it to be so, he again did not want to show any weakness to the lower moon.

Christ on a bike. Muzan was so fucking stubborn.

He remembered all the times you nagged him for it.

Oh, what he would give to have you nag him one last time.

After a long bout of silence, the lesser demon decided to speak up again. He turned his head over his shoulder again to Muzan, trying to sound as naieve and innocent as possible.

"Master," Enmu said, "Where is she now?"

Muzan stopped his movements and glared up at Enmu with a venomous glare. How dare he even refer to you. You were so far above him, how dare Enmu even think to invoke your name.

Though Muzan wanted to kill the other demon right on the spot, he decided against it. He still wanted to see how Enmu would do on his mission. Also, Muzan had to admit that he did feel lighter and more generous after his dream with you. And he supposed it was fair that Enmu had his questions.

Feeling nice, Muzan decided to entertain Enmu's question.

Shifting his gaze back to the papers below, Muzan replied.

"Gone." he said, "The night she asked about a family was the last night I saw her alive. The next day, a group of slayers found her and our house. They knew who she was and that she was human, but killed her anyway. All in attempt to get to me. I found her in a pool of her own blood, limp and cold. The slayers died that same night."

Enmu's smile faded at this, his face taking on a look of shock. Closing his lips into a tight line, Enmu looked away, out of a quiet unconscious respect. Everything made so much more sense to Enmu now. Why the demon king was the way he was, his hatred for slayers, his cold-hearted, murderous nature.

It all clicked into place.

"I... I am sorry for your loss, Master." He said, his voice quieter than normal, "She seemed like a lovely woman."

Muzan peered up at the back of Enmu's head. Through his thick, black lashes.

"Yes..." Muzan said.

"She truly was."

#demon slayer #kny fanfic #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba muzan #kimestsu no yaiba #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer x you #demon slayer x reader #muzan kibutsuji #muzan kibutsuji x reader

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fffinnagain · 3 years

Photo

10 Years of Sherlock (TV) AO3 stats!

Sherlock fans, new and old, click below to read a long list of graphs and comments about our communities fanworks over the last 10 years. I scraped AO3 again and demonstrate that:

More creators are writing longer works in 2020

Readers engaged more as the fandom changed after S4

Top ten new tags per year for the last 10 years

And a lot more.

PS the code to gather this data and analyse it can be found way over here.

Activity over 10 years

The last 10 years in the BBC Sherlock fandom have been tumultuous, but this community persists, with engagement from new fans and continued creative output. To commemorate over a decade of squee, I’ve done another scrape of the fandom’s imprint on the Archive of Our Own and will share some insights from the numbers in these plots. A very late update on my post S4 snapshot from 2018.

Note: This analysis is of completed public fanworks only, about 101000 of the 122000 Sherlock (TV) works available at present. This is to remove the late WIP effect, which adds a bulge to the last few months, and out of respect to creators who wish to have their material reserved for other registered AO3 users.

The works are still coming

Counting the number of works posted per day, we can see the peaks associated with each series airing (in UK and US). After that, the number of works continues fairly evenly, 20-30 per day, plus seasonal peaks. This rate is continuing on without a hint of new canon in sight. So who is posting all this work?

Creator-waves, monthly output

Years ago I started plotting creator waves, basically I group fanwork producers by the year they first posted to the fandom and then count how many of this group are active in later time intervals. This lets us get a sense of how long people are contributing and whether new fans are getting the urge to create.

This plot of the Sherlock (TV) fanworks on AO3 shows the standard shape of plump participation in the first year of any given set of creators, followed by a slowly thinning tail as they because less active over time. Turnover is natural in fandoms, with most only posting a work or two within a fairly limited amount of time, while a precious few persist for years. The surprise for me here is that the ratio of new creators is higher in 2020 than it was in 2019. Maybe the excuse of lockdown encouraged more folks to take a turn at creating content.

Another way to look at the output of fan creators on AO3 is to see the total amount of words being shared across all fanworks. The total has been pretty close to 300-400k words per month since 2018! To get a sense of what that means per work, I also plotted the median number of words per fanwork in these monthly sets. The median in higher in the last year than it had been staying for a while.

Reader behaviour: Hits & Kudos & Comments

Fan creators are only part of the story. Stats on engagement are a bit trick to interpret, I’ve got some plots here that tell us something about how works have been engaged with over time.

The obvious first to consider is Hits. Above is the total number of Hits given to works published each month. This is the current totals, not a historical snapshot, so we have a very strong bias towards early works, what we might call the Classics Effect. Works that have been around longer have had the chance to be seen by more people, and in particular those works that become must-read classics in a fandom, extending their exposure through prominence in top ranked works and recommendations.

To cut down on the advantage of the classics, we can also consider median hits per work for each month. As most works get a lot attention when they are first posted and then fade out of sight, the median number of hits reflects instead the ratio of readers to creators, basically how many eyeballs are around to look at the latest work, regardless of status. The median plot shows how the hyper-visibility of the few work available before 2012, and then a more steady curve once the fandom had gotten established on the platform after Series 2. Amazingly, the hit rate for the median work was steady through the big bumps in activity with later series, a 1000 hits for median works between 2013 and 2018, followed by a slow decline. I’d expect the 2020 works to continue gaining for a few months yet, but the median is probably 50-60% of what is was when the show was in production.

Kudos counts and medians show a similar story to hits, but there is a dip down around 2013 for kudos reflects the frenzy of productivity that saw the fandom grow during the Series 2 hiatus. Readers were getting spoiled! From the airing of Series 3 (2014) until a year following Series 4 (2018), the median work received an even 60ish kudos and 1000 hits, a niche audience that decreased to 50/750 through 2018-2019. The numbers of 2020 suggest a smaller community of readers again, though these numbers may still rise a bit in the next few months before the median works are forgotten.

The statistic that tells a different story is Comments. Looking at the total comments counts, there isn’t a drop after Series 3 (2014). Instead, the fandom compensated for changing numbers with more feedback and discussion attached to works. This is reflected in the median comment rate as well, which shows seasonal variation but doesn’t really drop off until 2020.

It’s remarkable that without fresh canon we continue to have new creators contributing to the fandom, and while that may be outpacing the readership somewhat, the standard of engagement has been very high. One could say the fandom is chugging along quite nicely!

What about Tags

So, with all that turnover and shifting population, is there a change in the kinds of works being posted? We can look at tags, all tags and freeform tags, to see if there were any meaningful trends.

First up, I did a creator-wave like analysis of works just for tags, to see how tags continue to be used after being introduced. Unlike the creators, tags clearly persist for years. After 2015, it looks like the core tag set has been established, with very few tags persisting in usage per subsequent year.

This graph reports numbers over time that are not proportional to the number of works or creators active. Instead, works on AO3 have been getting more and more tags over the years, with the average steadily growing from 5 in 2011 to 15 in 2020, with freeform tags (not characters or ships) from 2 to 8.

To get a sense of fic and tagging culture changes over time, I counted the most popular NEW tags of each year (wave). Note: this analysis is using exact matches, not the networked associations of tag meanings wrangled into AO3 today, so some things that pop up aren’t new concepts but instead newly popular TAGs for whatever they represent.

2011: 2752 (First year, so all solid stuff, tags that continue to be popular forever)

Angst 323

Fluff 232

Humor 216

Hurt/Comfort 188

Romance 168

Friendship 168

Crossover 138

Crack 121

Alternate Universe 119

First Time 106

2012: 11637 (still early, first references to Series 2)

Fluff and Angst 145

Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall 97

Kid Sherlock 54

Puppies 50

Sad 48

Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia 47

Mathematics 42

Season 2 spoilers 38

Omega Verse 38

Feels 38

2013: 16176 (Omegaverse nomenclature is growing, Top/Bottom terminology, new challenges)

Alpha Sherlock 65

Omega John 61

30 Day OTP Challenge 59

Tumblr: letswritesherlock 56

Top John 49

Sherlock Holmes Returns after Reichenbach 44

Bottom Sherlock 40

Reichenbach Angst 30

Don't copy work to another site 29

Age Regression/De-Aging 27

2014: 19256 (Mostly Series 3 related

Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow 249

Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three 167

Post-His Last Vow 149

His Last Vow Spoilers 142

Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers 128

2000 AU 100

The Sign of Three Spoilers 74

Fatlock 72

Post-The Sign of Three 66

Post-Season/Series 03 57

2015: 14272 (New challenges, new prominent Sherlolly tags)

Chats 47

International Fanworks Day 2015 34

Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 27

S3 referenced 25

Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing 22

English Accent 22

Sound cloud 19

Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper 19

Protective John Watson 18

but not that kind of graphic 17

2016: 13517 (New stylistic tagging, TAB references, a lot of epilepsy?)

Slowwww burn 92

John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes 37

Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson 33

post-tab 30

JME 27

Post TAB 25

Juvenile Myoclonic Epilepsy 23

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2016 19

epileptic 19

fraternal love 17

2017: 15067 (Series 4 tags and challenges)

Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective 133

Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers 93

Post TFP 73

Sherlock Series 4 Spoilers 69

Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem 60

Post-Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective 55

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017 50

Post S4 48

Sherstrade Month 2017 44

31 Days of Porn Challenge 2017 41

2018: 10733 (Lost of new challenges, seasonal and weekly)

Towel Day 2018 64

Mystrade Valentines Calendar 2018 25

Kinktober 2018 23

Pregnant Molly Hooper 23

Soft Smut Sunday 23

Tom Robbins 23

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2018 21

Inktober 2018 20

established universe 16

Always1895 16

2019: 7785 (More prompts, and character attitudes)

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2019 25

221B Autumn Challenge 21

A-Z Christmas Prompt 19

KatsJohnlockXmas2019 16

Whumptober 11

Poor Greg Lestrade 11

Kinktober 2019 10

Dissonance 10

John Watson is a Good Friend 9

Sleepy Sherlock Holmes 8

2020: 8074 (Not all COVID related, thank heavens)

Mystrade Monday 59

COVID-19 48

Coronavirus 46

Mystrade Monday Prompts 40

Whumptober 2020 36

warning for a covid-19 setting 33

Flufftober prompts 2020 24

Do Not Translate 24

they're all right they're just at home 23

Granada Sherlolly 21

A little note from looking across all freeform tags, not just the new ones, we see a curious pattern with regards to two actions: First Kiss and Anal Sex. They appear amongst the most common tags as of 2014, neck in neck for two years, than Anal Sex drops off the top ten in 2016. From there out, First Kiss stays in the top 5 from that point on, while anal sex appears at rank 9 from 2017-2019 and is gone again in 2020. This probably says something about the fandom, somehow.

Bravo for making it to the end and thank you for reading!

Questions/comments welcome.

#Fandom stats #Sherlock #AO3 #Graphs #python

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