people don’t enjoy shipping anymore. the point of shipping isn’t the catharsis of watching them kiss onscreen, it’s grabbing the characters and mashing their faces together like you’re five years old playing Barbie in your room again. it’s to take one moment of eye contact in canon and read that over and over and over again with twenty different writers’ interpretations of the characters internal monologues if they were in love. it’s to see the characters interact and cheer because you know that’s another moment to add to your list of canon compliant fic ideas. you’re stressing yourself out, this is supposed to be fun!
Hehe. Sometimes I like to think about how their first meeting would go down if it were more.. erm... not in defense of family or kidnapping... I like to think Luci would be rather charmed. Vox is very charming.
I was very inspired by what @mikeellee said on the first chapter, so I wanted to incorporate a lot of that into this one. I really expanded on the lore, so I hope everyone likes it. ☺️ Here's chapter 2!
I talked about the idea of Abanddon seeing a B horror movie and thinking it is peak romance...the same idea but with the movie really leaning into the romance. "Poor bullied girl is tormented by her bullies and ended up summoning a demon...who falls for her"
I can see Abanddon writing up everything, better yet if the movie has a fandom and he is on the internet fishing ideas.
Oh, my goodness, I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to answer this! (Still, happy very late 2026 to you too!)
Yussssss, I loved this idea so much it's now a fic, lol. But I definitely want to incorporate some things here for the second chapter, hehe.
Yes, I can definitely see him doing the same thing; he definitely would join the fandom. It's the only thing that makes him learn how to use the computer, lol. He's definitely looking for ideas. 😆
I wanted to write something really cute and sweet for Estherdon (like usual, lol), so more snuggles for these two because I can't stop writing about it! 😁💕💕💕
From the @/creativepromptsforwriting blog.
Prompt: “You’re just the cutest.” “You’re the only one who is allowed to say that.”
I've been wanting to write this one for a long time, lol. I got this on my Tumblr from @mikeellee so long ago, and I had always wanted to turn it into a fic, so I did. 😁
Ao3 is down, so I'm posting this prompt fill on Tumblr for the time being.
No trigger warnings except for some gun violence and animal death.
Abaddon tells the story to a few members of their Cult as he cleans the blood from his head—it’s been another demonstration for the new recruits, and as per usual, Esther has demonstrated his powers of rejuvenation by shooting him at point-blank range. Eagle-eyed prospects would have realized the positioning of her pistol was fine-tuned only to sever his eyes from his brain, not pierce the brain itself, but of course, that was only because the recovery time was quicker.
“It was really a race to see who could ask for the other’s hand first,” he says, brushing out a clot of sticky maroon. He has stripped down to his undershirt and pants and sat on the stone slab that protrudes from the wall as a Cult member holds the showerhead up for him. His eyesight has largely recovered, though today the double-vision lingers, so he keeps his eyes closed. The bathroom is large, cold. Grey stone and green walls. In the other room, a Cult member has their blue robe sleeves rolled up as they dunk his blood-stained shirt in dish soap and scrub. Another is setting up their phone, “Delta Dawn” crooning from the speakers.
“I think she had been working on her gift for me for a while, and wished to give it to me first.” Abaddon continues. “So whenever she would see me with a hare or a fox in my hands, she’d run away.”
“I’ve had a few Tinder dates like that,” the Cult member with the showerhead says.
“Really? Did you ever catch them?”
The Cult member blinks. “Well, no. I mean, it seemed like they—”
“I thought modern women liked to be chased.”
“I think that’s just metaphorically.”
“How boring.” Abaddon forces his hairbrush through a nasty tangle, says, “Esther loves the chase. Although admittedly, we take turns; sometimes she even chases me with a gun. That was our third date, though. What was I talking about?”
“Your first date, my Lord.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” The water still runs red, so Abaddon motions to be given the shampoo bottle again, speaking as he lathers up the side of his head. “Finally, after a week or so of this, I managed to corner her. Well, I cornered her through her uncle, who was a ghost, so I just had to pass through him.”
The water stream jerks. “Ghosts are real?”
An edge of annoyance creeps into Abaddon’s voice; “It was in your introductory pamphlet.” And he will always enjoy watching a Cult member tense around him, ready to prostrate themselves at a moment’s notice. “Anyway, I presented her with a necklace I’d made of carved bird bones—she’d been looking into prophetic magic, and I knew the bones would help with haruspicy.”
A pause. “This is where you ask what she got me in return,” he says, rolling the wrist with his brush.
“Oh, apologies, my Lord. What did she get you?”
“She’d remade the quilt her first version had made for me, back in my original timeline.”
“The one that’s hung up in the Great Hall?”
“Yes, that one. Although the stitching is honestly much better—my original Esther had made it in haste, thinking I’d be going back to Hell the next day.”
He can still remember it: running his thumb over her lines, noticing how much smoother and straighter they were, and feeling a deep, sick pit in his stomach. The thought alone somehow felt a betrayal. But that was stupid, wasn’t it?
He still doesn’t know how long he stood there, only that it was long enough for Esther to place a hand on his shoulder, asking if he was okay.
A dry, mirthless laugh. “If only.”
“That’s really kinda wholesome,” the Cult member says.
One of the others in the bathroom adds, “My wife hasn’t given me a thoughtful gift since our first kid was born.”
The one washing Abaddon’s shirt lifts their head, asks, “You’re married?”
And so it goes.
This is always Abaddon’s least favorite part: telling the story of his quest—yes, a quest!, a noble myth and not a string of blank centuries punctuated with brief, intense failures—to enhance his and Esther’s aura—to “farm it,” as she’d once said. And in a venue like this, letting the Cult members in whom they’d seen potential as sacrifices feel like they were being let in on something intimate. A peek behind the curtain, a glimpse of the man behind the god—a trick to deepen the devotion.
It’s what the original Esther would have done. Of that, Abaddon is certain. Still, sometimes it feels…. Obscene.
But why should a demon care about something like that?
This is where he needs to lie, at least, so the feeling largely goes away. In truth, his “official” first date with Esther had been the Matriarch driving them to see some forgettable movie and then sitting two booths down from them as they stuffed their faces with grease and cheese fries. Their real date had been under the moon, just outside the mouth of her mineshaft hideaway, cutting open the bellies of birds to see what the future would hold.
“This one says we’re gonna have 12 kids and teach them to form a human Mech and beat people up,” she’d said.
“I just see lottery numbers,” Abaddon had replied, holding up the slimy, half-digested ticket.
“It says so right here,” she answered, pointing to something on the ticket—causing him to look down long enough for her to flick his nose.
After a moment, she adds, “Oh, come on, that was funny. Are demons not allowed to laugh?”
“Ha ha ha ha ha,” his dry reply.
And then she’d made like she was going to slap him.
To the Cult members, the lie he tells as the water from his head finally runs clear is that Esther saw in those slimy strings of intestines the future of the Cult—fields of followers, glory, and riches. Palaces of black glass, crowns of bones, and enough gold to sleep on.
The truth is that Esther had complained she couldn’t even throw the disemboweled bird at him because he’d probably just eat it. Somehow, this ended up calling into question his ability to swallow the bird, bones and all, in one bite.
Somehow, this ended up with her telling him to “go long” as she threw the corpse to him, and him backing up until he slammed into a tree.
I love fanfiction because sometimes The Character needs to be held gently and sometimes they need to be beaten to death with a club. and you 🫵 can make both of those happen. for free
Discord is rolling out global teen safety updates designed to create age-appropriate experiences by default.
We cannot have shit.
Fuck everyone who pushed for age verification.
These people have already been fucking hacked since implementing age verification in other places, btw.
Note: do not be a doomer on this post.
We have to fight back with all our strength. Spread awareness, contact who you can whether it be your representatives or the people running these shit holes, write letters, send faxes/emails, etc.
We only lose if we give up.
We've fought against stuff like this before and won. We can do it again.