i would do anything for more of the dr. cheshire x angel/grace content i'm ngl i was hooked by ur mini fic
In reference to this piece of original fiction
A Supervillain crashing her hero's wedding, anyone?
-claps- so I polyam-ed this one up a little but it's still very... I don't have a ship name for his two. Helace? Changel? that's awful. Anyway. Helen x Grace, Cheshire x Angel.
CWs: Murder Discussions.
___
Dr. Cheshire has probably gone too far this time.
Not just in the sense that there were lines she isn’t supposed to cross— she was no stranger to lines she isn’t supposed to cross, much like moral event horizons, she likes to be aware of where they are so she can wave as she barrels past, pop a proverbial wheelie. In the more informal parlance.... Fuck ‘em.
But there are rules. She understands rules. She understands the rules of the physical universe, the laws of gravity and the rules of mathematical certainty, the physical limitations of a body in the face of extreme heat, which was really somewhere in this particular mathematical proof, the fact that the human body cannot tolerate being set on fire very well, the fact that she does, in fact, still have a human body, despite all her efforts to the contrary. She throws up a table and ducks another fireball and realizes that, actually, wedding crashing was vastly overrated. This was not how this was supposed to go. This was supposed to be a kidnapping. Grace was supposed to be marrying some random asshole, and she was supposed to sweep in, overwhelm them, because she’s Dr. Goddamn Cheshire, this should have been easy, but no, apparently Grace has swapped out the asshole she had at home for a woman Chess vaguely.... recognizes.
But that’s ridiculous, so she pushes the thought back down.
Plan. This is time to plan. Does she run? She should probably run, because Grace’s new wife is apparently far more capable than Chess had realized, and as much as she wants to declare herself willing to fight for Grace’s favor, she is aware of the fact that she’s in the presence of a far superior enemy. And then there’s a blinding flash, and when Chess blinks the light from her eyes, Grace is standing in front of her, looking... extremely unamused.
Her hair is pinned up in a pile on her head with a few loose strands in front of her ears, her green eyes narrowed, a...beautiful shimmering white dress draping off her shoulders, and about ten sets of fiery wings off her back, blinding red, orange, yellow, blue. She’s holding a bouquet.
“Chess.” She seethes, exasperated, looking really and truly angry in a way that Dr. Cheshire had never seen her, and Chess opens her mouth, hoping she has a one-liner on standby from her prepared speech, but apparently she doesn’t, because what comes out of it is—
“Helen.”
Grace stops. Squints at her. Does not punch her, so she takes that as encouragement to continue, face as red as her hair.
“I think I’m going to go by Helen.”
“Helen.” Grace says, and ah. Okay. Telling Grace her name so Grace could say it. Is not helping matters. Grace searches her expression, for a second, and then she reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose, and her wings disappear again. She looks... more human, now, in the dress, and Helen feels something very like guilt that she sincerely hopes against hope is just indigestion.
“What’d they do?”
“What are you doing here, Helen?” Grace asks.
“—Though I’d try my hand at the I object. It always goes great in the movies.” Helen winces at the force of Grace’s glare, tries it again. “You weren’t there. I’ve killed like three more people.”
“—ordered civilian bombings.”
“Those don’t count as people. Why are you really here, Helen?”
“Because—”
Because i’m in love with you.
“I don’t know.”
Dammit, Helen!
Grace looks unconvinced by that, and Helen braces herself.
“—What’s she like?” she asks. “Does she make you happy?”
Grace blinks, surprised, and then softens. “She makes me happy. She’s— serious. Deadpan, but funny when she’s in a good mood. Beautiful when she isn’t smiling, stunning when she does, half because it’s so damn rare.” Grace hikes up her dress and kneels in front of Helen, folding her arms across her knees. Helen notes, distantly, that she’s wearing brown leather boots under that dress.
“She’s a lot like you, actually.”
Helen feels her heart stop, looking back up at Grace. She doesn’t know what her facial expression is doing. Grace meets her eyes.
“Look.” She says. “I’m going to marry Laurie today. Because I love her. But— maybe if you weren’t. A completely murderous maniac. I’d like to have you around.”
Helen feels like a scolded kid again, but she swallows.
She straightens, letting her dress drop over her boots again, and Helen feels like she’s been let in on a secret as Grace smiles.
“And maybe if you can avoid any more fighting, you can stay for the cake.”
“—could do.” She says.
Grace offers her a hand.
Helen swallows her heart, and her pride, and takes it.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I AM OBSESSED WITH YOUR KITSUNE SIBLINGS(?) CAN WE GET MORE 👀‼️
They are siblings! okay, I haven't written in like a month because of carpal tunnel and fatigue but. I love the Darling Siblings. they're unhinged. They're the three children of a kitsune their father Jack fell in love with in college and then had a bitter bitter fucking divorce with that led to her leaving him with the kids and ditching because he Fucked Up Big Time. So. Half-kitsune. Jack Darling is a whole other post but he's.... an archaeology professor with a penchant for finding cursed objects and absolutely zero fear of death or ability to be Cautious. He's pushing 60 and worries his kids Deeply. He was fired from his university job and now sort of softly robs private collections because he was like Well This Is All Stolen Anyway. Carrie, his youngest, adores him and wants to be just like him. She's a college student. Ford, his middle child, also adores him and Is just like him. He's a bartender. Harry.... is an accountant.
so! I wrote you a darling family holiday.
_____
It is 6.52pm, and Harry Darling has allotted himself seven more minutes of pretending he’s an orphan before he goes back out into the living room.
Unfortunately, his husband knows exactly what that look in his eyes means, and is having none of it.
“Sweetheart” Harry says, trying to keep his tone from pleading. “Isn’t there anything I can help you with? You must be so tired from cooking all day-”
Santos gives him the flat look of someone not buying his shit for a second. It’s a very familiar look. Harry wishes he could attribute his familiarity with it to their years of loving marriage, to knowing all of Santos’s looks, or to him having directed it at the children. In actuality, Harry is pretty sure he got that look at least twice the day they met and every day thereafter.
“Jack’s going to be here soon, isn’t he?”
Harry winces a little, and Santos sighs. “He’s your father-”
“I know-”
“And you love him.”
Harry sighs. “I do.”
“And you haven’t seen him in six months.”
“Because he got arrested.”
“And? We’ve bailed your siblings out of jail three times this winter.”
Harry frowns. “Three? When was the third?”
“This morning.”
“What?”
Santos waves him off, like he’s the one being hysterical, and pushes him towards the door. “Out of my kitchen, or I'm frying you with garlic butter or maybe basting you.”
“You can grease me up any time if you leave the frier out of it.” Harry jokes.
“The frier wouldn’t even hurt you, baby.” Santos smacks his ass, lightly. “Greasing you up later. Once the kids are asleep. Family time now.”
“Kill me.” Harry mutters.
“Ask Ford to tell you what he did last night, maybe you’ll finally get that heart attack i’ve been trying to save you from by lowering your cholesterol.”
“What-”
“Ask your brother.” Santos says, shoving his husband with ease despite Harry’s foot of height advantage. “Shoo. If you come back in here before I hear your father break something i’m going to make it rain on you on your way to work.”
Harry knows better than to call that bluff, so he just twists to kiss Santos’s forehead before he heads back out into the living room, immediately ducking as a football whizzes over his head.
He pops back up, glaring in the direction it came from, and is totally unsurprised to meet the eyes of his sister. She grins, sheepish.
“Oops?”
“What did I say about sports in the house.”
“I don’t know, actually, must have missed that.” She says, tapping her cheek. “Ford, what did he say about sports in the house?”
“Well, he let his kids run around with the ball.” Ford says, lounging on the couch. “So I think we should get a pass.”
“You are not my children.” Harry says, coming up behind the couch ford is on and tipping it forward, trying to dump him onto the ground. “My children have more maturity than you.”
“Hey, I can be plenty mature.” Ford says, popping his claws out and clinging to the couch automatically before he registers what he did. “-ssshhhiit, uh, I can buy you new seat covers.”
Harry sighs. “Don’t bother, I’ve got changeable ones on because the babies- nevermind. Prove you’re mature by acting like it, for once. What the fuck did you get arrested for?”
“Well, I think that’s evidence i’m not a kid.” Ford says, his grin audible. “Kids don’t get arrested for public indecency.”
Harry just flips the entire couch over on him and then sits on it, taking just a moment of satisfaction at his startled yelp before the doorbell rings, because of course, he can’t have anything.
“You gonna get that?” Carrie asks, innocently. “I mean it is your house.”
Harry eyes her, running calculations in his head, and then says--
“I’ll do your taxes for free if you hold him down till I get back.”
“Sold.” She says, immediately, jumping up.
“You fucking traitor!” Ford calls. “I’m gonna go fox and eat my way through this couch, so help me.”
“No you won’t.” Santos yells from the kitchen, and Ford winces.
“I misspoke! I would never do such a thing!” he yells.
Carrie hops on top of the back of the couch, still texting in one hand, and then tucks it away.
“You ready?” She asks Harry, unusually serious.
He sighs. “Ready as i’ll ever be.”
“You missed him.”
“Of course I did.”
Despite Carrie being the youngest, and thus the furthest from him, sometimes she had a knack for cutting through the fog in his head. Ford tended to break out a smoke machine. Carrie gently jabs his ribs. “It’ll be fine.”
“Shouldn’t his favorite child get the door?” he deadpans.
“Don’t be stupid.” Ford says, muffled, under the couch. “You’re still the eldest. Even if you are a fucking accountant.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence.” He mutters.
“You gave him grandkids.” Carrie says. “Come on, Harry. Don’t be stupid. Get the door.”
Harry half-smiles at her. He has a respectable career, a stable relationship, an established schedule and a domestic life. All of which means he has nothing in common with his father. He takes a deep breath.
“Here we go.” he mutters, and goes to get the door.
At least when all else failed, there were baby pictures.
I am here for the blorbos from your head! I'm gonna be that one customer and ask, what are the chef's recommendations?! For someone who enjoys deeply repressed characters who will probably cry if they receive a good, heartfelt, tight hug. Anyone?
So I read this and I went "Oh, Denis! Absolutely Denis!"
And then I tried to go through all of the moments in Denis Archibald's history that would make a good introduction to his character and I remembered how profoundly depressing it is. So- one of the highlights of Denis Archibald's existence, about as wholesome as he gets, here is... uh. Him rescuing a suicidal teenager and softly inducting her into a cult. CWs: That. Basically That. + Murder, violence, implied domestic violence, references to drowning (none details)
___
Denis Archibald very rarely bothers to think about how much he hates his job.
It’s a moot point. It’s not just a job, it’s a duty. A calling. A responsibility. He’d lost his right to live any other way when his mother died and he’d lost control and made a forest her funeral pyre. His hopes had died with her. And with her gone, he’s an Archibald, studying under his father’s tutelage and his father’s hands and not infrequently his father’s steel toed boots. He had learned his lesson, been broken in over and over. He’d never really healed.
So he’s fucked up. It’s fine.
He’d never wanted to fuck up anyone else.
But here he is.
June Adams is from a good family. The Adams were involved in the town’s founding, have been wealthy and established about as long, if not longer. June Adams’s mother is on the town council, and on the other council, the one with actual sway around here. June Adams is the heir to a powerful name, even at fifteen years old. And about twenty-four hours ago, he pulled June Adams out of Lake Michigan.
Alive.
Unwillingly.
Twenty-four hours. June’s swaddled in blankets on the borrowed couch of one of Denis’s least favorite employees, because he trusted the old guard to at least pretend to be hospitable. Because it’s only pretending, he hasn’t left. She’s been sleeping in fits as she warms up— it’s December, she was barely alive when he got to her, he’d used so much magic, is in debt to at least three people to keep her alive— he doesn’t care. She’s alive. The trick is going to be to convince her that she wants to be.
He knows what he has to do, because he remembers being her age. A purpose. He’s just— struggling. With it. And there’s no space to doubt now, no room to question, no point in wondering if he’s doing the right thing now, he’s given everything up for this cause what’s asking someone else to do the same thing? Even if it’ll save her? He’s pacing the hall, trying to keep his steps quiet, trying to make the rhythm of them drive the message into his head like nails in a coffin. Tries to make each step a pulled trigger, a punch connecting. All the things he’s done that he can’t take back now. It’s too late for you, but is it too late for—
A floorboard creaks, footsteps. He stops, turning, an angry reminder on his lips that he’s the paradigm and he can walk down their hallways at 3am if he damn well wants, but it freezes on his lips when he sees June.
She’s dry, now, but her hair is clumped together and hanging limp. There’s dark makeup smudged around her eyes, and she looks miserable, hugging a quilt around her shoulders, wearing clothes the Williams had dug out of their late child’s closet. Eri hadn’t been much older than she is. Denis didn’t want to think about that right now. He’s moving back towards her before he even fully knows what he’s doing.
“It’s 3am.” He says. “You should—”
“I’m hungry.” She says, and ah. Right. Food. His own stomach’s probably been protesting a while, but he doesn’t pay much attention to it anymore.
He sighs. “—okay.”
She eyes him for a second. “I don’t remember where the kitchen is,” She says.
Denis is almost certain that’s a lie, if only because the Adams and the Williams families have a working relationship. She’s surely been here before, the rich and influential people in town having their dinners and the kids sitting between them. Or so he assumed. He’d stopped attending social functions after he’d killed his father.
He sighs, gesturing with one hand, and she turns and heads back the way she came— shamelessly leading the way now that she’s sure he’s following. He almost smiles.
It’s quiet as they get to the kitchen— Denis leaning on the counter as June opens the fridge and shuffles through it. There’s something about the quiet that feels expectant, so Denis is prepared for it when she says—
“So you saved me.”
“I did.” He confirms.
“Why?”
It’s the question he expected, but it’s like a kick in the chest anyway. He breathes through it.
“—because.” he says. “I didn’t want you to die.”
It doesn’t feel like enough. It doesn’t feel like enough at all. He doesn’t know how to say it, but somehow, he finds more words.
“When I was your age, I was really miserable.” he says, studying the wooden ceiling. “—I never got to— I always had something to live for. But for a while there, I... forgot how it felt. To be happy. And that made it harder. Because even when I had a mission it was hard to care about it. Hard to find the world important enough to save. And then I was sixteen, and i... met a girl.”
June snorts. “Really?” She deadpans. “You’re gonna sell me a story that I should live because I’m gonna fall in love someday?”
“No.” Denis deadpans. “Actually I only got to date her for a few years and then my dad tried to kill her and we broke up.”
June’s eyes widen, a little, and Denis half-smiles at her. “Not a lot of happy endings. I’m not going to promise you one. What I’m going to promise you is that they’ll be good days. They’ll be reasons the world’s worth saving, even if it’s only your own.”
“I kinda feel like you’re not speaking metaphorically.”
“I’m not.”
June eyes him. “—Mom always said I shouldn’t talk to you.”
“She’s probably right.” Denis allows, even through the little flare of hurt. He’d barely spoken three words to Mary Beth Adams. That felt uncalled for. Fair. Correct. But to this town he’d only ever be his father’s son, after all.
“Is it true that you guys kill people?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Denis takes a deep breath, lets it out. “—because there’s something out past the stars.” He says, trying to find the words. He usually wasn’t the one giving this pitch. “It’s asleep. And when it wakes up, everything ends. And if we feed people to it, we can keep it asleep. But every once in a while, it....rolls over. Shifts. And things happen, here. The world shifts. There are monsters. And there are monsters anyway, ones that look like people. And sometimes the only way to beat them is to become a bigger one.”
June eyes him. “...so you’re stopping the world from ending.”
Denis meets her eyes. “Yes.”
She nods, once. “—and it. Helps you too?”
“It helps to have a purpose.” Denis says, only half sure he’s telling the truth. “—and to not be alone in it.”
“....I wouldn’t have to be alone?”
“You don’t have to be alone now.” Denis says. “—I didn’t save you to convince you to join a cult, June. I saved you because you’re worth saving. As you are. Now.”
He’s barely gotten the words out before she moves, and he tenses, his instincts flashing something bright and red and alarming, but she’s just thrown herself into his chest, pressing her face into his sweater, and after a tentative second, he lowers his arms and hugs her back, takes a deep breath, trying to remember how to—
She doesn’t seem concerned by his hesitation, clinging.
“Thank you.” She mumbles.
Denis manages to squeeze a little, gently. “—You’re going to be alright.” he murmurs.
Hey folks this is a total "just throwing this out there" and I have no expectations but on the record, since I'm posting oc content every once in a while now, if you happen to really like a specific character or couple and want to see more of them feel free to ping me about it. Arcane requests are closed as I work through my backlog but OCs are always free seratonin so HMU 💜
Jack Darling Personnel File! What’s up with this cool named character? 👀
Oh Boy. Jack Darling.
My man will be featuring in @theasperagroup and my document with him needs EXTENSIVE overhauling but...
Faceclaim is Anthony Varrecchia on insta, whose entire gallery I highly recommend to men enjoyers.
Jack Darling is a loving father of three and also. A bastard. Just a complete bastard.
On a meta level he's my exploration into the way that magic and mental illness would realistically intersect— he suffers from psychosis that developed after an extremely traumatic magical event that gave him some degree of psychic abilities, but the psychosis very firmly isn't him ""seeing reality"", he's paranoid and being able to see and sense more than the average person actually makes things much worse because it's hard for him to differentiate real things other people aren't seeing from hallucinations. He has a pipe fox named kit that acts as a seeing eye dog for delusions and helps, along with his meds, to manage his symptoms.
That's not really what he's about, though, his Deal is that he's an old grouchy bastard who had a horrible divorce with a kitsune so he has three half-human children, a large handful of grandchildren, and following his unceremonious firing from the university he used to work at he's decided to give up archaeology and dabble in Just Straight Up Robbery because some private collections are sitting on some very cursed objects, and anyway, it was all stolen in the first place, really he's doing them a favor by taking it off their hands. And since he's doing them this favor, he's entitled to other compensation. Like the contents of their lockboxes.
He also does more formal consultant work from time to time because he's still an expert in his field, but the robbery is more fun.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
hello yes i absolutely love ur arcane fics but i read ur oc thing when it popped up on my dash and i would LOVE to know more abt grace and helen. pls tell me all the things
SO I actually have a fic in my drafts for them right now (I got another ask about them!) so that's gonna get published in the next hour or so, but let me actually tell you about them!
Gonna write lil bios and a ship section. the ship sections are weird because it’s everyone i’ve ever shipped them with but not all of them are...canon. Christ it’s weird to refer to my own canon. anyway. Feel free to follow up with more questions or requests or whatever I am always happy to write about the blorbos from my brain.
Angel / Grace Macfinley / Grace Algamest -
Some specific details of Grace's deal in the mainline canon ((I can't believe i'm saying that. the @theasperagroup canon)) are a little bit secret. But she's always associated with angel shit, she's stubborn to a fault, principled, lover not a fighter but someone you really do not want to put in a corner. She's scottish (same as Helen!) and at the end of the day would really prefer to be chopping wood in the countryside than doing any of this shit, but with great power... etc. Typically how it goes is that when she has great power she does her time and then does her best to find someone quiet to retire.
Ships: She has a failed (and extremely bad) relationship with one Macbeth Macfinley, the details of which I would not get into without a domestic violence TW. From there, she gets involved with either Helen and/or Lorelei Algamest, The Lady In Black, who will be featuring in this next fic and is one of the central characters of my OC system. Unfortunately Laurie (lorelei) is also susceptible to Macbeth so that goes a little Badly sometimes. (Helen would have none of that shit. Helen would Kill Them)
Dr. Elaine Cheshire / Helen Cheshire
Helen has a.... complicated history. While she's got some secrets, too, the main trajectory of her character is from being a really truly abysmal human being to doing her absolute best to be a better person. She does not do very well at it, frequently. Being a trans student at an academy to make supervillains did not make her the best adjusted person, and she experimented on herself to the degree that she frequently makes herself sick. Her history is a patchwork of grand scale supervillainy, smaller scale villainy, bad decisions, substance abuse problems, medical problems, and stints in prison and rehab programs. She Is Trying. So Hard.
Ships: Helen struggles with trust issues extremely severely and has an unfortunate tendency to self sabotage by falling in love with people she thinks she can't have, either because they're her enemies or because they’re taken or both. This has resulted in her falling for Grace, for Laurie, both of them at the same time, her lab partner in an undercover job (Dr. Evangeline Ariane, a physicist), and also @the-neon-pineapple’s man, Damien Allio, who is just a genuinely good man and thus Well Beyond Her, In Her Opinion (and taken!) (Several times over), oh also the god of winter, Rolf McAnnaly. She has also fallen in love with the god of winter. someone help her.
for your one nsfw fae viktor fic, was there a specific fae mythos/lore you used?
It's actually just the lore setup from my upcoming narrative project! The one I'm gonna host @theasperagroup and all that. I have such a massive lore system set up around it that it's easier to work within then trying to learn the mythos of anything else because it just lives rent free in my head at all times.
Psst I hope this doesn't come up as offensive or anything, I read your original work with Luiz and I think he's supposed to be portuguese-ish (as in any place that speaks Portuguese) character right? So, I'd like to mention that we'd normally use "da Silva" not "de", it sort of semantics stuff. I love your work and I'm excited about Luiz and the possibility of having my country or language rep jghhdggfh I just thought it would be helpful to mention, you don't have to answer if you don't want to
In reference to this piece of original fiction
WOOPS. Fixed now! thank you, that one slipped past my beta reader. Rede and Luiz are both Brazilian! Well. Luiz is Brazilian. Rede was built in Brazil, which Luiz counts, but Rede is indifferent about.
And not offensive at all!!! @theasperagroup , which is gonna host the project I'm gonna be working on more later this year, has a global scale and so I have OCs from all over and I want to get things right. My inbox is always open for language (or cultural!) Corrections and points of clarification or info or Whatever.
