FandomAid

SPN ART inspired by The Bright Lights of Disturbia by Leonidaslion

2016-08-15T03:12:33Z

Title: The Bright Lights of Disturbia - LJ I AO3
Artist: kinkajou
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Warnings about art: nothing alarming comes to mind... hot, wet guys in underwear, scars & tattoos
Created for: sw0rdy
Description/summary: inspired by The Bright Lights of Disturbia by leonidaslion - if you haven't read it yet, but angsty, dark, heartbreaking wincest is your thing, I suggest go ahead and have at it <3 (heed the warnings, though!)

the part I attempted to draw is from Chapter 56 - there is swimming in underwear and sad/hopeful hip touching :)

Harry Potter: Saṃsāra

2016-05-16T11:44:01Z

Title: Saṃsāra
Author: ely_baby
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Work Type: Fic
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Ginny Weasley, Xenophilius Lovegood, Scorpius Malfoy, Lily Luna Potter, Luna Lovegood, Rolf Scamander, Lysander Scamander, Lorcan Scamander
Pairings: Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley, Scorpius Malfoy/Lily Luna Potter, Luna Lovegood/Rolf Scamander
Rating: NC-17 (Explicit)
Length: ~43,000 words on five chapters (will post a chapter every other day until complete).
Written For: alisanne
Summary: Three unlikely people find themselves on the same path to understanding.

Written for the lovely and absurdly patient alisanne, who asked for either Draco/Ginny or Harry/Astoria. I love my Weasleys, so I had to go with Draco/Ginny.

Since this story was written for the fundraising for Nepal, I wanted to set it in Nepal to pay homage to the country and its beauty. I have never been there and I speak no Nepali, but I did my fair share of research and I hope that my representation of that beautiful place is, at the very least, not terribly ridiculous. This is a story in five parts and every part is titled after one of the Five Stages of Meditation, while the quotes are taken from Buddha's teachings. I've chosen to write this in the present tense because Buddhism teaches us the importance of living in the present.

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, alisanne.

I have to thank my wonderful alpha-reader, Alice Helena, and my beta-reader, the lovely realanise, for their invaluable help. Any remaining mistake is solely mine.

Read it on AO3 or on The Fire and Ice Archive.

Original Work: Trapped Outside

2016-05-08T11:59:40Z

Title: Trapped Oudside on AO3
Author: Nicky Gabriel
Fandom: Original Fiction
Work Type: fic
Characters: original
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: none
Written For: waltzmatildah
Summary: Oh, backpacking! Like, gap-year style. Maybe in south-east Asia? Or South America? A time of experimenting and figuring out who you are and all that juicy goodness.

SPN Fic: Pomegranate

2015-11-11T20:52:05Z

Title: Pomegranate
Author: frozen_delight
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Crowley
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Immoral people doing immoral things.
Word count: ~ 4300
Beta: Many, many thanks to the fantastic misplaced_ad who is the most swift, thoughtful and encouraging beta one could hope for. All remaining mistakes are mine of course.
Written for: The wonderful anactoria
Summary: After the events of 11x05 “Thin Lizzie” Dean and Crowley go on a road trip together to find Amara.

Read here: LJ | AO3 | FF.net

Supernatural RPF: It's a Start

2015-08-28T09:54:41Z

Title: It's a Start
Author: ashtraythief
Fandom: Supernatural RPF
Work Type: Fic
Characters: Jensen Ackles/Jeffrey Dean Morgan
Rating: NC-17
Written for: beelikej
Summary: Jeff is just looking for a one night stand. Instead, he finds Jensen.

Fic: Love and Friendship (BBC Sherlock)

2015-08-01T22:33:21Z

Title: Love and Friendship
Author: frozen_delight
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Characters/Pairing: Anthea, John, ensemble cast, eventual Sherlock/John
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Word count: 4400
Summary: Ten times John met Anthea. Or ten steps John took towards falling in love with Sherlock Holmes. Not S3-compliant.

A/N: Written for the lovely cherrytide who generously participated in the fandomaid fundraiser for Nepal.

Read on: AO3 | FF.net

Daredevil: Guilty

2015-08-01T00:49:42Z

Title: Guilty
Author: nrgburst
Fandom: Daredevil (TV)
Work type: fic, 1283 words
Characters: Matt Murdock, Foggy Nelson
Rating: PG-13, mild language and medical descriptions
Spoilers: up to Ep 10
Written For: dragonbat2006
Summary: "Missing scene(s) from Nelson vs. Murdock, Matt and Foggy, angst" (Matt-centric introspection during Ep. 10.)

Read on my LJ, or on AO3

Fic: And After the War, Peace Comes Not Easy (Tamora Pierce—Emelan, PG)

2015-07-10T08:08:11Z

Title: And After the War, Peace Comes Not Easy
Author: dragonbat2006
Fandom: Tamora Pierce—Emelan
Work Type: fic
Characters: Briar, Tris
Rating: PG
Spoilers: (Tris's Book, Battle Magic)
Written For: tolkienfancaiti
Summary: On the way back from Namorn, Briar has a nightmare. It's one Tris knows all too well.

ART: Green (supernatural RPS, J2)

2015-05-31T23:16:31Z

Title: Green
Artist: kinkajou
Fandom: Supernatural, RPS
Work Type: art
Characters: Jensen, Jared
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/kinks/things that happen: possessive!Jensen, jealous!Jensen, biting, lots of hiatus facial hair
Made For: expectative
Summary: Jared won't flirt with Stephen Amell on Twitter, and especially not in person, EVER again - Jensen will make sure of that!

NSFW art AT MY JOURNAL

Fic: Better Than Fantasy (LotR RPS)

2015-05-30T09:46:43Z

Title: Better Than Fantasy
Author: lotrspnfangirl
Fandom: Lord of the Rings, RPS
Work Type: Fic
Characters: Sean Astin/Elijah Wood
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Written For: lbilover
Summary: Elijah gets stuck in an elevator at work with the object of his secret desires.

You can find it here.

FIC: Look To Thy Purse (Sherlock BBC)

2015-05-30T09:45:57Z

Title: Look To They Purse
Author: xfdryad (Dryad on AO3)
Fandom: Sherlock
Work Type: Fic
Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Wiggins
Rating: PG13? AU
Spoilers: none
Written For: Cherrytide!
Summary: "Your money or your life!"

Shouts from the front of the stagecoach as it juddered to a skewed halt informed Dr. John Watson as to what exactly was the nature of the stoppage. His companions, Deacon Richard Thorne and his wife, Allison, his wife's maiden sister, Miss Marjorie and their cousin Professor Edwin Unthank were happy and chatty and John simply wasn't in the mood. It had been an uncomfortable fit from the start, for John had had a restless night at the inn, and breakfast had been a poor affair of burnt toast and sour small beer. So to find himself shoulder to shoulder with strangers who knew one another well and him not at all - no. He did his best to accommodate, smiling and making the occasional comment when really all he wanted to do was stare out of the window and contemplate his sudden change of circumstance.

All of which was forgotten in the instance. The ladies were shaking and terrified, Miss Marjorie already sobbing with fear even though nothing had yet happened. The Deacon was sputtering with outrage, while the Professor threatened to give whomever opened the door a good thrashing with his walking stick. John was on the verge of getting out of the coach just to get away from them when the door was flung open and a pistol shoved in.

"Your money or your life!" yelled the highwayman, who was well masked.

"What insolence!" retorted Unthank, thumping his stick on the coach floor.

"Sir, I beg you give us leave," cried Mrs. Thorne, clutching her sister's hands.

"Stand and deliver, I say!" shouted the highwayman.

John grimaced as he shifted to get his small purse. Unthank refused to move over in the slightest, leaving John to shove against him in order to reach his pocket. He was never going to sit with his dominant arm to the wall of a coach again. Moving carefully, he held out the little purse without a word.

The highwayman grabbed the purse, gestured at Unthank with the pistol. "That's right, easy as you like."

For a moment John thought of shoving the pistol down - he was close enough, and he was fairly sure that if it fired it would go into the floor of the coach - then he caught movement from the corner of his eye. Ah, another highwayman on the other side, peering through the window. This one wore a leather from brow to just below his nose, dyed with read and black swirls, with cut slits for the eyes.

"Get out."

Leather Mask had a deep voice and clearly meant business. John complied with neither too much nor too little haste. He just wanted to get off this damned road, and the sooner his companions gave their money over, the quicker he would be on his way to Little Orrie. Standing well clear of the first highwaymen, John watched Unthank and Thorne help the ladies out of the coach. Leather Mask appeared around the side of the coach, keeping his distance. Even so, John could see he would be caught in the crossfire should the short one fire. What happened next took him by surprise.

Unthank either made an unfortunate move or lost his balance, in retrospect John wasn't quite sure which, but the short highwayman's gun went off, and Unthank fell to the ground.

"Shit!" cried the highwayman, staring at Unthank.

A moment later Mrs. Thorne silently dropped as well.

"Allison!" screamed Miss Marjorie, swiftly going to her knees to touch her sister's brow. She glanced up and cried, "Sir, do something!"

For a brief second John was torn between Mrs. Thorne and the professor, but her husband was beginning to attend to her, leaving him to throw aside societal niceties in favor of treating the wounded. Before he had a chance to take more than a couple of steps, the short one shoved his pistol into his face. He held his hands up. "I'm a doctor! That man needs medical attention."

"A doctor?" asked the short highwayman. Above his mask he peered at John. "What kind of doctor?"

"A surgeon," John said shortly. He tilted his head towards Unthank. "I need to attend to him. Now."

Perhaps it was the force with which he had spoken, but the highwaymen allowed him to see to Unthank.

A lucky shot, or maybe weak powder, all in a all. The lead hadn't penetrated the professor very much, in fact it was easily visible once John peeled back the layers of vest and shirt and coat and greatcoat. Nothing that would kill the man immediately. He stood, pointed at the back of the coach. "I'll need my kit. It's that bag, there, the black one."

"Wait," said Leather Mask. He waggled his pistol at Thorne and the women. "The rest of the money."

Silently snarling, Thorne refused with a shake of his head.

"Come on, man!" cried John. "This is no time to be parsimonious!"

Thorne's lip curled further, but he nonetheless he removed his purse from his greatcoat and tossed it at John's feet. "On your head be it."

For a second, John stared at him in disbelief. He had seen better conduct from the enemy during the war than from Thorne. "So much for your Christian decency," he spat.

The short highwayman snatched the purse from the ground, peered inside and gave a howl of delight before closing it and tossing it to Leather Mask.

Leather Mask caught it easily, which was more than John could do at the moment. He looked inside and then glanced at Thorne with a smirk. "Much obliged, Deacon Thorne."

"You bastard!" Thorne snarled. "Every man in this land will be after you once they've found out what you've done!"

Wait, what? John frowned. "You know one another?"

"Only by reputation," said Leather Mask, looking John up and down. He took a step back, and then another.

"Wait, how did you know his name?"

"Dr. Thorne is well known in certain circles for his lack of ...

"That's not true!" shouted Thorne. "Williams is a liar and a cheat!"

"Nonetheless, I have what I need, and you have nothing but your reputation left. A reputation that is sorely lacking."

At this, Mrs. Thorne sat up a little, staring at her husband. "Richard?"

"It's nothing," He answered, shaking his head. "Nothing, do you hear me?"

"Richard! Praise God, tell me you haven't done anything foolish."

"Shut it, woman!" growled Thorne, red faced.

If he raised his hand John would be forced to intervene. Unthank was in no danger of bleeding to death, not yet, anyway.

Leather Mask shook his head and tsked, backing further onto the edge of the road and the forest beyond. "Well, I believe I hear hoofbeats, so I must away. Doctor, a pleasure."

Now that he had mentioned it, John realized that yes, he could indeed hear pounding hoofbeats as well. He looked down the road, saw a flash of sun on metal. That was that, then, and he had a patient to attend. Ignoring the highwaymen, as they didn't appear to want to bother him further, he went to the back of the coach and quickly unstrapped his bag. Thank god he had had the foresight to have it placed on the top of the large trunks. He returned to Unthank's side just as cavalrymen came into view. They swirled around the coach, making the coach roll back and forth as the carriage horses began to high step in place. "Keep them still!" shouted John, wondering if it would be better to pull Unthank away and lay him flat. That would only exacerbate any internal bleeding - yes, better to keep him upright. Chances were the bleeding was as superficial as the wound. After all, he personally knew the difference, didn't he?

Ignoring the calls of the soldiers, he worked as quickly as he could, lamenting the fact that he had no alcohol to swab his instruments with after he had removed the bullet. At least they had been sterilized before he had started work, so Unthank was unlikely to get an infection. He hoped. Unthank was still unconscious, which meant John could take the opportunity to use his magnifying glass to look for fragments of bullet, threads from his shirt, any other little bit of material that might have got in there to make things hellish for the man. He put a wad of fabric against the wound, made a makeshift tie to keep it on. "This man needs to get to his destination as soon as possible."

The driver opened his mouth to speak but was distracted by gunshots in the woods. There was a scream, and then another, then another gunshot. John shook his head. What foolery. He could spare no pity for them.

When the soldiers returned. the body of the short highwayman dragged behind one horse, tied by his feet, his arms making trails in the detritus at the side of the road. It was a disgusting and heartbreaking sight, and even though John had seen many travesties done upon corpses before, it was never pleasant. Thankfully the ladies were spared the sight, having already retreated inside the coach. John had been aware of their low conversation for some time. Listening in for a second, he understood that Mrs. Thorne was taking her husband to task quit hard. Thought John had not particularly thought of the tenor of her voice before, he was searingly glad that with Unthank having to recline on the entirety of one of the inside bench seats, the rest of his own journey would be taking place on top of the coach. A precarious position, yet one likely to be safer than inside, now that they had a retinue of soldiers to take them to the next town.

Town? It was barely a village. The inn was small but comfortable, with plenty of hot food for travellers. Though he had the option to stay the night, John decided to move on. The very idea of having to overhear the Thornes fight more was not appealing in the slightest. So, after his hasty meal of bread and cheese and a slice of cold pottage, John returned to the coach and settled in for a few more hours of travel. Due to the robbery he would be a day late to the opening of the clinic, but it couldn't be helped. Hopefully Dr. Moran would be understanding, given the circumstances.

So it was with great surprise that he awoken by hard rapping on the door. Rubbing his eyes with one hand and gripping his cane with the other, he said, "Yes?"

"Dr. Watson? It's me, Fletcher. I'd like you to come with me and take a look at one of my patients."

John consulted his watch - nearly midnight. "What, at this time of night? Can't it wait until I've settled at Dr. Moran's?"

"I have greater need of you than Dr. Moran does at this moment, Dr. Watson."

"Wel,l why didn't you say so," John said testily, swiping back the curtain. He winced, for Fletcher was holding the lamp up to the window. It was one thing to wake a man up in the middle of the night for nothing, quite another to do it for a medical reason using the brightest gods-be-damned lamp known to man.

John stumbled out of the coach, medical bag in one hand, cane in the other. No way was he going to leave it with the luggage, not on this route. Still partially blinded by the lamp, it took him a moment to notice the damned mask of the gentleman standing to his left. "Oh god, not again - "

"You were specifically requested, Dr. Watson," said the highwayman.

Making an effort not to stare at the man's odd regalia - he was wearing a broomstick wig for god's sakes, a dark red frock coat and old-fashioned white hose and breeches. "Well, let's get on with it."

"Dr. Watson!" called the driver, still seated on the bench of the coach, his face ill-lit by the lanterns in the postern. "You can't go with them!"

John had had enough. He was late, his sleep had been interrupted yet again, Surely Dr. Moran would understand him being bloody kidnapped? If not, it was his loss. "I'm being kidnapped, see?"

The driver frowned and shook his head. "I can't stay here, sir. I must do the delivery to St. James'."

"I understand," John said, abruptly tired of having to explain everything to everyone. "It's fine. This gentleman has assured my safety, haven't you?"

The highwayman startled, blinked back at John. "Ye-es. Yes, of course. We don't want anything to happen to the good doctor. It's his doctoring that we're after, sir."

"And I'm sure they'll drop me off some place safe in the morning, am I right?" continued John, checking his pockets to see if he had left anything in the coach. No, he was good. To the driver he said, "Leave my other bag at the next inn and I'll collect it as soon as I can."

If he had any kind of luck whatsoever, his bag would actually be at the inn when he eventually arrived there. In the meantime, though, he had clearly lost his mind, because he was joining a masked man of his own free will, and following him into the woods. Yes, his highwayman had a lamp, but that wasn't the point! What was he doing? Was he so desperate for change that this was the choice he was making?

The going was rough even with the lamp. John did his best, getting slapped by thin branches as he watched his footing, or stumbling over roots and rocks if he attempted to look ahead. The forest was old and thick and slippery with moss on rock. They went up hill and down, crossed streams and once, a small glade with standing stones. Time passed in such a manner that he was thoroughly lost by the time they stopped. All he knew of the area was that there was forest, and plenty of it. Pretty in the daylight, seeing as it was springtime and the new leaves were that peculiar shade of bright green that meant all was well in the world. At night, it was a little ominous, if a person was prone to fears of the dark. John was familiar enough with surprises at night to be wary, so when the highwayman abruptly stopped walking, John took two steps back to make sure he had room to defend himself from whatever might be about to happen.

Instead, the highwayman turned around, giving John his unmasked face. Presumably the highwayman had removed it during their walk, but why show John? It didn't bode well for his future, surely. Besides, the highwayman had a long, identifying wound along the side of his face from eyebrow to chin. It was crusted with old blood. "Am I here for you, then? Because you could have come to Dr. Moran's instead."

The highwayman shook his head, motioned to John's left with the lamp, "I got you for him. You go that way."

Following the motion of the lamp, John looked and blinked in surprise. He had been aware they were skirting the edge of another hill, yet the light shining from the crack within the hill was shocking. Right. Presumably his patient was within. Turning sideways, John squeezed inside, knocking his hat off in the process. The way was too narrow to retrieve it, but he was relieved when it widened almost immediately, allowing him to bend down and collect his hat. It wasn't an expensive hat, however, he didn't care to replace it from his severely depleted funds.

Looking back John suspected that even in the daylight he would have been hard pressed to see the entrance. Really, one would have to be looking at the right spot at the right time to even notice there was an opening in the rocky outcrop in the first place. A curiosity, one that paled in importance to his patient, who lay on a blanket on the ground, looking up at him with shining, fever bright eyes. John took note of the dark hair plastered to the man's brown and neck, how pale he was even in the warm light of the small, nearly smokeless fire burning next to him. The man shifted restlessly, further rucking up the rug.

Behind John, the other highwayman spoke. "Will, I got a doctor. He'll fix you right up."

"Daniel, I don't need a doctor," mumbled the man

Daniel held his hand in both hands. "Begging your pardon, but you do."

The cave had little ventilation and was overly warm. Below the smell of infection was damp and dirt and John really hoped his own survival was not dependent upon his patient's living. Without preamble he knelt down and opened his bag. he took out some clean linen, the bottle of alcohol, his needle case and silk thread. Thus prepared, he reached forward to move his patient's clothing aside. Instead of taking his hands away, the man grimaced and tightened his grip. John leaned back and said, "Alright, let me see."

"You're not going to tell me you're not going to hurt me, are you?" drawled the man, his voice deep.

John eyed him. Even lying down he was tall, with midnight hair and pale skin that John suspected was not all from blood loss. He was dressed like a gentleman down on his luck, though his boots were newer than the rest. There was something off, though, something John couldn't quite put his finger on. "I don't like to my patients."

"Much."

John conceded the point with a nod. "Depends on the patient. You don't strike me as someone to fool."

"Most people who try only do it the once."

"I see," John didn't like the glitter in the man's eyes, nor the sheen of sweat on his brow. "Be that as it may, I'd still like to take a look at you, okay?"

"If you must."

"Thank you," he said drily. Ah, there it was. A stick as thick as his pinky finger STICKING out of the man's torso, just above the hip.

"Have you tried to remove it?" he asked, wishing the light was better.

"It broke off," said Fletcher from the other side of the smoldering fire.

Just a knuckle's worth of stick was jutting from the wound, which was dark with blood under the skin. John gently touched Will's hip, ignoring his hiss of indrawn breath, and equally shaky breath out. There was no telling how deep it was, or how long it would take to get out. All he knew was that he didn't want to do it here in the cave, but clearly the sooner the man was out, the better off he would be for healing. "Will, there are two ways I can do this, and both would be best done in a house. Have you a home nearby?"

Will gave a shallow chuckle. "Must we?"

"Yes. If I leave a sliver of wood, it could travel to your heart and kill you. An infection has already begun, I need proper light and supplies. We can continue on to Port Maundy - "

'Can't," said Fletcher. He stared at John, his face hard. "They'll hang 'im if they find 'im."

"And you an' all," murmured Will, who was clearly fading.

"You can't stay here," John said quietly.

Will's eyes closed. "Mm."

John checked Will's pulse - still steady, and strong enough to get him through the next twenty four hours. After that there would be no telling.

"Is he going to die?"

A good question. "Not yet," answered John, taking advantage of his patient's state to further examine the wound. "He's just asleep. Can you tell me how this happened?"

Fletcher nodded, drew a bit of nonsense in the dirt. "We was running and he tripped and fell."

"Right..."

"Should I go get his brother?"

John put his instruments back in the bag. "Only if his brother has a cart to get him to the surgery."

"Okay."

And just like that, Fletcher was up and out of the cave, leaving John and Will alone. Nothing for it but to wait until daylight, and if Will lived, drag him outside, perform the surgery and then try and find a way out of the forest.

~*~

"Dr. Watson."

John jerked awake at the touch on his arm, bumping his head against the stone he was leaning against. "Sorry, yes?

The man crouched in front of him nodded and gestured towards the exit, his features barely visible with the fire extinguished. "It's time to go."

"Who are you, sir?" John blurted, remembering where he was and what he was doing a second later. "Where's Will? I need to see my patient!"

"He's fine, we have him outside. Wouldn't you like to see how he's doing?"

Of course, that's why he asked just a moment ago, wasn't the man listening? He got to his feet, shaking the stranger's hand off of his arm. "Who the deuce are you?"

"Andrew Wiggins, sir. Come from the big house to collect Master - Mister William, sir."

John didn't miss the 'master', but didn't comment on it. He followed Wiggins outside, blinking in the overcast light that made the springtime green so breathtakingly bright. There was no one else there. "Where's Will?"

"He's been taken home, sir," said Wiggins, throwing up placatory hands. "He'll be fine, sir. We have a doctor on the premises who will be able to handle him."

"I demand to see him."

"I'm sorry, sir," Wiggins gestured to John's right. "I'm to bring you to the road, where you can catch the mid-morning coach to the town."

Wiggins refused to answer any more questions about Will and where he had gone, or if John could find out how he was recovering or even if he had recovered. John was not happy. Nonetheless he followed Wiggins to the road, which was surprisingly only a short way away. At least the way was as difficult in the daylight as it had been during the night, proving John wasn't totally incompetent. Still, by the time he reached the road his leg was aching fiercely in a way it hadn't the night previous.

It wasn't until Wiggins handed him a cloth with a hard roll and a slice of cheese that he realized how hungry he was. Thirsty, too, as he drank small beer from the stoppered bottle. Wiggins remained untalkative, staying with John until the coach appeared. As soon as John was aboard - Wiggins having slipped the driver some coins of indeterminate origin, the coach pulled away and Wiggins was lost to John's sight. The other passengers, two men and an older lady who gave John the once over, sniffing delicately in the process and letting him know exactly why he was lacking. Which was clearly everything. John could understand her poor opinion of his person, he knew he was dirty and unwashed, his trousers covered in damp. That was better than some had.

The journey to Port Maundy took only three hours, by which time a hard rain had begun. By the time they pulled in to the coaching inn, John was exhausted, hungrier than ever, and in desperate need of a bath and tea, not in that order. He took a room for the night, ate a hot dinner of soup thick with potatoes and cabbage and bacon, and fell into a dreamless sleep after writing about the days events in his diary.

Presenting himself only two days late for his interview, John tried to calm his nerves with some deep breathing before knocking on the door to Dr. Moran's private office. To his very great surprise, he left an hour later having recounted his adventures of not only the war, but of his time in the woods with Wiggins and Fletcher and the strange man with the wound to his hip.

"Ah," said Dr. Moran with a frown. "Wiggins. It all comes clear. Well, Dr. Watson," he said, standing up and reaching over his desk to shake John's hand. "it will be my greatest pleasure to have you here."

"Oh," said John, blinking in surprise. Not the result he had been expecting. "I...am very glad to be here."

"Excellent. Now, if you'll excuse me, Mrs. Perthmore is due in at any moment."

"Of course, of course," muttered John, finding himself in the hallway with a confused recollection of how he had gotten there. Hat in hand, he made his way back to the coaching inn and determined to find himself digs. Which he did on Butcher Street. Just a single room with access to the kitchen that he was sure would result in his death should the landlady ever actually catch him in it.

A month passed without consequence. John settled into a room at Mrs. Butcher's establishment. There were of course several other young men rooming there as well as a young 'lady' whom John (and many others) found pleasant company. She was popular with the young gentlemen, so John made a frequent point of inquiring after her health, and admonishments to visit him as soon as she felt any illness whatsoever. Again, his army experience came in very helpfully.

Dr. Moran proved to be a worthy employer. He was generous with his wages, and often told John to rest when it became apparent that his leg was bothering him. He constantly spoke of his son, who was away in India but was expected back before the new year arrived. The patients were the usual variety, and John reminded himself that the excitement of battle and being under fire while stitching someone up was of course very different from civilian life. That did not, make the constant stream of hacking coughs and rheumatoid complaints any easier to bear. He was, however, grateful that nobody very young had died thus far. Made spring so much easier to bear.

So, John was very surprised to find a new patient in the waiting room of the surgery. The man was tall, dressed in fine, fashionable clothing that was clearly made at the finest tailors of London. John appreciated the sentiment. Besides, a wealthy patron attending the surgery could only bring in a higher class of patient, which meant money, money he could sorely use.

Closing the door behind himself, he smiled and sat down at his desk, gestured for the gentleman to seat himself. "Good afternoon, Dr. Watson at your service."

The man eyed him from head to toe, then slowly sat down. "Dr. Watson...my name is Sherlock Holmes."

"What may I be of help with today, Mr. Holmes?" asked John, dipping his pen into the inkstand.

"I...have a pain at my hip. An old injury that was never properly treated."

John nodded, began to write on the piece of foolscap he had brought out of his desk drawer. "Those can be nasty. How did it come about?"

"I was in the forest and fell awkwardly. Dr. Oate attended to me, but I did not find his treatment satisfactory."

John continued making notes, added a question in the margin as to who Dr Oate might be, what practice, his medical training, whether or not to avoid him, the usual. "Alright then. If you'll oh - " glancing up, he was shocked to see Mr. Holmes undressing right in front of the desk. There was an expanse of flesh before him, and when he realized he was staring, jerked his gaze to the side. "Uh, there's a screen right in that corner if you prefer."

"You're a medical doctor, ex-army, surely the human body is nothing you you will be surprised by," said Mr. Holmes. His voice was lovely, just lovely.

Though a little discombobulated by the gentleman's correct assertion (there was a suggestive tone in his voice which had John on edge a little), John nonetheless watched him undress. It felt a little rude. Having a woman undress in front of him - especially in private - was one thing, having a gentleman do it was quite another. And the way he kept looking at John, scrutinizing him...John rather felt like an insect under a microscope.

However, as soon as the shirt came off, John was drawn to the bruising above the man's left hip. Crude stitches had been pulled out, leaving a patchwork of marks no seamstress would be happy with, never mind the patient. Or fellow doctors. John shook his head. Such sloppy work, disgraceful. If he had his way this Dr. Oate would not longer see a single patient.

"You disapprove."

"Of course I do," John said hotly. He looked up the acres of skin, met Mr. Holmes' stunning eyes. "This work is substandard at best. Which was it, too fat or too slim?"

Holmes blinked. "Too slim."

"He's not wrong there," muttered John. He returned his attention to the bruise. "You could stand to eat more, Mr. Holmes. Having said that, was there something in the wound? Clearly you did more than bruise yourself. Was there a puncture of some sort or another?"

"Yes...?"

At Holmes' tone, John looked up again and there it was. That familiarity - oh, oh! But surely not?

"Yes, Dr. Watson."

John was drawn to Holmes' intent gaze. "You? But...why?"

"You were instrumental in helping me. I am the world's only Consulting Detective, and was on a private commission from the government to retrieve a certain item from Professor Unthank and Deacon Thorne. Thanks to you, I was able to do so with a minimum of fuss."

"I'm pretty sure the ladies wouldn't think the same," answered John. His highwayman, who could have guessed! "I'm afraid there's not much I can do for you, Mr. Holmes. Cold compresses will help with the remaining bruising, but I'm afraid you'll always have this scarring."

"The body is merely transport."

"Well it's scarred transport now. I'm sure your wife will have something to say on the matter."

"Very doubtful," said Mr. Holmes with a tiny smirk. "I'm unmarried and tend to remain so. despite what my brother might think."

"I can imagine so," said John, imaging Harry's face if he were to say the same thing.

"I...wanted to ask you to the house on Saturday. My brother is hosting a small dinner party and exhorted me to find a companion to bring."

"And you thought of me? Because we don't know each other at all."

Holmes shrugged,the merest twitch of one elegant shoulder. "You're the most interesting person I've met since leaving the City. You can't fault me for wanting to spend more time with you."

A bold statement. And John found Holmes intriguing. He wasn't sure which was more interesting, that Holmes was also a highwayman who would hang if he were ever caught, or that he was a, what did he call it, a consulting detective. "So you help the police with their inquiries?"

"No. They come to me when they find themselves at a loss, which is always. Please present yourself at eight. Dinner will be served promptly at nine. There will be others there, Dr. Moran, of course, and several acquaintances whom you might find of interest. Are you in need of a wife?"

"Uh," John gave a nervous chuckle, trying to keep his hands from turning into fists. Clearly Holmes' lacked in the social graces - or maybe he simply hadn't heard of the reasons why John was in Port Maundy. "No, no I'm not."

Holmes rocked back on his feet slightly. "Of course. A love affair gone sour upon your return from the war, damaged in heart and soul. Your limp is psychosomatic, by the way."

"So I've been told. I shall see you on Saturday evening, Mr. Holmes. Thank you."

Holmes tipped his head in acknowledgment and turned to leave.

"Oh, but where will I be going?" asked John, the first trickle of anxiety beginning to make its presence known in his belly. Did he even have anything to wear?

"Herrick House, Islington. Good day."

Islington? Islington meant London, and John barely had clothing decent enough for London. Saturday, though, that gave him a few days to prepare, perhaps visit the local tailor and see what could be done on a pittance. If need be, he would ask Dr. McMillan for a small advance.

The matter settled for the moment, he made further notes about Holmes' character and the quality of his bruises, then put the paper away. There were only two more patients to see before he could go home and look at his wardrobe, such as it was. Who was he seeing again? Mr. Thomas, gout, and Mr. Van Klinken, who had recently returned from taking the waters in Bath. Poor sod was convinced it did him well, but John really thought that it was just a matter of him getting away from his wife that did the trick.

At the knock on the door, he called out a welcome, and as Mr. Thomas limped in, John decided that something something something. No matter what happened, it would be worth it in the end, he had little doubt. And if the worst did happen - well, he would move on, wouldn't he? He would be fine, as he always was and always would be.

~*~

With no small amount of trepidation, John approached Herrick House. Fine coaches were lined up in front of the street entrance, patrons in their finery being escorted up the marble stairs with great dignity. John felt completely out of place in his own drab clothing, his best. Clean, and mended where no one could see. At least his cravat was snowy white, his waistcoat in regimental Gosling Green. His jacket was dark brown, his trousers camel, and his boots gleamed dully in the gaslights. Now he wondered if he was supposed to wear his uniform, then decided it didn't matter. He paused to take a deep breath, then strode on.

Following an elderly couple, the man in top coat and tails, the woman draped in a furred opera coat that hid everything but the jewels at her neck and ears (oh god, he was woefully under dressed!), John hoped he made an impression of sturdy reliability rather than that of a hanger-on. The footman at the door smiled at the couple, then turned a wary and dismissive gaze upon John.

"Oi, this is a private residence," he hissed.

John opened his mouth to speak, but before he had the chance, the door opened again and a butler wearing spotlessly clean white gloves looked John up and down. "Dr. Watson, Master Holmes is expecting you."

There was nothing he could say that wouldn't make him look like a fool more than he already was, so John merely nodded. He did glance at the footman though, noticed the blanched complexion and smirked. He really had had enough of fools on the day. Which had him wondering why on earth he was headed towards Herrick House in the first place. Curiosity, obviously...and a desire to make further acquaintance with Master Holmes. Moving up in Society couldn't hurt either.

Inside, the house was everything one would have expected upon viewing the outside. It was grand, profligate in the use of white candles. The scent of beeswax was the base to the jangle of perfume and cologne of the...crowd. Yes, most definitely a crowd. Men and women were everywhere, chatting, flirting. bowing, laughing.

And this was only the foyer.

John gave his cane and overcoat to another footman, and followed the flow of the people into the next room. The salon was large but comfortable, and John circled it twice before he caught sight of Master Holmes. Hands behind his back, John made his way to Master Holmes - who was otherwise unoccupied by company, in fact he looked downright disdainful and haughty of his guests - and was glad to see a bit of welcome on his countenance. Once he was standing before the man, John bowed. "Thank you, sir, for the kind invitation. "

Holmes inclined his head in agreement. "Of course, Dr. Watson. Happy to oblige one such as yourself, presumably well knowledgeable of the local customs and stories."

John really didn't have the foggiest idea of what the man was on about. But he never let ignorance get in the way. "Do you have need of medical assistance? Are you being bothered by your wound?"

"Pray, sir, no," answered Master Holmes, his eyes glittering in the soft light. "I shall require your assistance later on in the evening."

John bobbed his head. Just once, and gravely. He turned to face the same direction as Holmes. "I do hope nothing untoward is going to happen."

Holmes shook his head, then winked at John slyly. "Do you know any of the guests? There's Pomeroy, over there, worried about our forces in India. His wife, that woman there, wears her paisley shawl, but only because he insists on it. The Weatherfields, wool merchants with holdings in Australia, Pilkington, he owns sugar plantations in the West Indies, et cetera, et cetera."

"You don't sound particularly enamored of any of them."

"You're perceptive."

Now it was John's turn to shrug. "Part of my duty as a doctor."

"Ye-es…" Holmes eyed John again, his gaze impertinent.

John shifted from foot to foot, refused to be embarrassed or ashamed.

"Would you care to see my lab?"

"Lab?"

"Yes, for experiments. I could use your medical opinion on several matters. Especially your experience in the field."

"Of course, why not."

"Excellent."

Skipping out on the party held great appeal. John had already tired of the sound and the heat, the glances wondering who he was and what he was doing there. Besides, he wanted to ask Holmes more about being a highwayman, risking it all for the Government - yes, he had to know more. "Will I still get my dinner after?"

"In more ways than one, I think."

~*~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here lies DuVall: Reder, if male thou art,
Look to thy purse; if female, to thy heart.
Much havoc has he made of both; for all
Men he made to stand, and women he made to fall
The second Conqueror of the Norman race,
Knights to his arm did yield, and ladies to his face.
Old Tyburn’s glory; England’s illustrious Thief,
Du Vall, the ladies’ joy; Du Vall, the ladies’ grief.
~Claude Du Val memorial at St. Paul's Cathedral
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Note: Cherrytide, this took me soooooooooo much longer to write than I was expecting! Because apparently I am unable to write short things under pressure. I hope you like it. :)

Fic: Had Enough? (Firefly, Mal/Jayne)

2015-05-07T07:37:17Z

Title: Had Enough?
Author: canonisrelative
Fandom: Firefly
Work Type: Fic, 2000 words
Characters: Mal, Jayne
Rating: Mature
Spoilers: None
Written For: milly_gal
Summary: It started in the war, but it sure as hell didn’t end there. This itch of his that’s near impossible to ignore.

Read it: On LJ // on AO3

FIC: Number One Priority (Marvey, Suits USA)

2015-05-06T09:15:00Z

Title: Number One Priority
Author: take_this_waltz / sal-si-puedes on tumblr
Fandom: Marvey (Suits USA)
Work Type: Fic
Characters: Harvey Specter/Mike Ross, Jessica Pearson, Donna Paulsen, OMC
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~2.3k
Spoilers: none
Written For: hannahcarrietta
Summary: In a society where Omegas have to be registered and are excluded from most activities and jobs and unbonded Alphas are regarded as society’s most esteemed and valuable assets, Harvey finds all he holds dear in life in danger when he gets summoned to Jessica’s office one morning.
Warnings: Alpha/Omega dynamics, but nothing graphic; mentions of mpreg; kid!fic (in a way)

Read it: On LJ // on AO3

A/N: hannahcarrietta – thank you SO much for the prompt and for “buying” me! I had a blast writing this and I hope it is what you wanted.

Number One Priority

Harvey can count the times he has been summoned to Jessica’s office like this on the fingers of one hand, so he knows that something is profoundly wrong even before he steps through her door. When Jessica merely raises her head and lets her eyes dart to the chair opposite her in lieu of a welcome, he silently crosses the room and sits down on the other side of the desk, folding his hands in his lap.

Jessica doesn’t speak nor move for the longest time and when she finally does move, she hands Harvey a small, rectangular piece of cardboard.

It’s a photograph and what is in it causes Harvey’s heart to miss a couple of beats.

He stares at the picture for what seems like an eternity and only when he can’t bear the sight of it any longer does he lift his gaze.

The way Jessica tilts her head when their eyes meet would most certainly go unnoticed by anyone who doesn’t know her that well. Harvey does notice, though, being very familiar with Jessica’s every tic and whim after over fifteen years of working together, side by side and day after day.

“Who is that?”

Jessica’s voice sounds flat, curt, and her words cause Harvey to flinch inwardly. On the outside he keeps as calm as he possibly can and shrugs his shoulders.

“I don’t know.”

“Harvey,” Jessica says and a sharp note creeps into her voice. “Who is that?”

After a few breathless seconds, Harvey lowers his gaze again and stares at the picture in his hands once more.

“Jessica—“ he whispers but the woman on the other side of the desk, his boss, his partner in business, his friend cuts him off harshly.

“I will ask you this just one more time. Who. Is. That?”

A boy, a beautiful scrawny little boy, about ten years old and a little small for his age, with dark blond hair, blue eyes and rosy cheeks. Autumn leaves and dusty rays of sunlight, a beaming smile and a shadow at his side. Two shadows, actually, but you can’t make that out in the picture, not really, not clearly enough to see.

“How did you get that?” Harvey has to clear his throat twice to get that one question out. “Who—“

“That is not the subject of this conversation.” Jessica gets more and more impatient by the minute and Harvey knows that she’s just seconds away from exploding into a calm fit of pure cutting cold rage.

The tension in the room increases exponentially with every moment that passes in silence and it’s slowly but gradually wearing down Harvey’s resolves. He knows what Jessica is doing, he has used that tactic, that strategy a thousand times and a thousand times over himself, but still he doesn’t seem to be able to prevent it from working on him. He knows that he’s going to fold sooner or later, so he takes a deep breath and looks up, looks at her again.

“That is Scott. My son.”

Harvey watches how Jessica moves ever so slightly, how she nods and shifts in her chair a little, how she leans forward, closer to him, and it seems as if everything is happening in slow-motion. Harvey’s heavy, viscous heartbeat and the low roar of his blood in his veins fill his ears and he feels dizzy, light-headed.

“Whose is he?”

Harvey tries to stand his ground, to hold Jessica’s gaze, but he can’t keep his eyes from fluttering down, from brushing over Scott’s beaming features once more and over the two shadows that look like one. He places the photograph onto the desk’s wooden surface, slowly and carefully.

“Mine,” he finally says and Jessica shakes her head.

“Harvey, whose is he?” She sits back and crosses her legs, smiling ever so faintly. “You’ve apparently kept him hidden for what? Nine years? Ten? And you are an Alpha, so—Whose is he?”

“Mine,” Harvey repeats, clenching his jaws until his teeth violently and painfully grind against each other. “He’s—He’s—Mine. Just mine.”

“He’s an Omega, I assume?”

Harvey just nods and he can feel how the blood drains from his face. She knows. She knows so much, far too much.

“He’s not registered,” Jessica carries on and picks up the picture, turning it over in her hands and tapping against it with her meticulously manicured nails. Red daggers.

“No,” Harvey mouths and swallows drily. “No, he isn’t.”

“Look, Harvey.”

Harvey hates the fake gentleness, the fake fairness in Jessica’s words. He hates that she has a right, that she has every right to do this.

“There are exactly three ways we can do this. You tell me,” she counts One with her fingers, “whose that Omega is.” Two. “Or I can have you scanned.”

Harvey’s body betrays him with a shiver he isn’t entirely able to suppress and he cringes at Jessica’s smile widening.

“Or.” Three. “I can have him scanned.” She nods towards the picture in her hands and before Harvey can even finish thinking it a word is out of his mouth. One word.

“No.”

“What’s it going to be, then, Harvey?”

Harvey swallows and rubs his palms over his thighs. They’re sweaty and his hands are shaking.

“Are you going to tell me or—“

“Please,” Harvey whispers and closes his eyes. He will do anything. Anything. “Don’t make me do this.”

“You know what,” Jessica snaps and Harvey visibly flinches. “Let’s make this a little easier for you. Limit your options. You tell me or he gets scanned.”

Harvey knows she could do it, he knows she would. She has every right, but he hopes against hope that she’ll let it go. She doesn’t.

“Decide.”

Taking a deep breath, Harvey can feel how the fiery ball of fear and anger in his stomach settles there for good. He straightens his back and raises his head, looking her square in the eyes.

“He’s Mike’s.”

He holds her gaze for as long as he can but when she speaks again, he averts his eyes.

“Mike Ross?”

When his chest constricts around Harvey’s heart, he wonders if she’s doing this on purpose or if she’s just surprised. If she really wants him to betray Mike again.

“Yes.” He closes his eyes and bites his lips. Please, he thinks, don’t make me do this again.

“Mike Ross is an Omega,” Jessica drawls, the hint of a question swinging in her words, and Harvey doesn’t want to listen. He doesn’t want to hear the realizations spoken out loud. “An unregistered Omega.”

“Yes.” His voice has dropped to a mere whisper and he grinds his teeth together so forcefully his jaws hurt.

“And this,” she raises her hand that holds the picture of Scott up a little so he’s forced to look at it again, nodding towards the portrait. “And this is his son. Your son.”

“Yes,” Harvey presses through his teeth and he feels as if he can’t get enough air into his lungs. “Jessica—“

“Shut up,” she interrupts him curtly and leans forward again. “You know I have to report this.”

“Jessica,” Harvey tries again, whispering through his pain and fear. “Please don’t do this. They—They are all I have.”

“No, they’re not.” With a quick movement, Jessica rises from her chair and pushes it backwards, leaning forward, her hands left and right of her laptop, the picture of Scott sliding across the table towards Harvey’s side. “This—“ She gestures vaguely around the room and then at herself. “This is all you have. This. This firm. This job. This partnership. You’re a name partner of this firm, Harvey. My partner. This is your number one priority. This.”

“You—“ Harvey blinks and clears his throat. He doesn’t know how to say this. He isn’t prepared. “You don’t understand—“

“Goddammit, Harvey,” Jessica cuts into his words a second before he would have fallen silent by himself. He can see the look on her face change as realization slowly seeps through. “Goddammit,” she echoes and sits down again, paling visibly. “You claimed him.”

There is nothing left to say. There is only a head left to be held high and dark, glittering eyes to meet with one’s own.

“You bonded with him.”

Harvey breathes. In and out, deeply and slowly, trying to mask the tremble in his breathing.

“You fucking son of a bitch.”

Jessica almost never uses profanities and her cold outburst causes Harvey to flinch. He still doesn’t know what to say so he keeps his mouth shut and his hands balled into tight fists on his thighs.

“You betrayed me. You betrayed this firm, Harvey.”

“I know.” His own voice sounds unused to him, rusty, raw. “I am sorry.”

“How long? How long has this charade been going on?”

“Jessica, I—“

“How long, Harvey. I have a right to know.”

“Twelve years next month,” Harvey confesses almost tonelessly. Two years before Scott was born, he adds in his thoughts. Twelve years. A whole lifetime.

“To think,” a slight shake of her head accompanies Jessica’s words when she finally breaks the deafening silence, “how good you could have been all those years had this been your main focus as it should have been. As you pretended it was. As you got paid for. As this firm—as I had every right to expect of you.”

“I am sorry,” Harvey says again, biting his lips. He keeps his thoughts fixed on his goal. His only goal. His family. His number one priority. He will do anything. He keeps his eyes fixed on Jessica’s.

“You know I have to report this,” Jessica says again and Harvey nods. He knows. Of course he knows. He has done the same more than once over the years. He knows that this is over.

“I know. Just—“ He swallows around the dry lump in his throat and briefly pulls his lower lip between his teeth. “Just let me call them. Please. One phone call. Just let me call Mike so they can—“

Jessica narrows her eyes and Harvey knows he has lost. His mind is still fixed on his goal but he knows that he has failed his family. He takes a deep breath and—

“I am informing you,” Jessica says, her expression absolutely neutral, “that your services here at the firm are no longer needed. And amending all of those by-laws accordingly will take up most of my time today, thanks to you, so—“ She quickly tilts her wrist to glance at her watch while Harvey holds his breath. “So I think I won’t be able to contact the authorities on this matter before 6 p.m. tonight.”

Jessica briefly nods at Harvey and returns her attention to her laptop. “That will be all, Mr. Specter.”

As if in a haze, Harvey reaches out to pick up the photograph and rises from his chair ever so slowly. He walks towards the door of Jessica’s office without looking back und before he closes the door behind himself he stops and turns around.

“Thank you.”

Jessica doesn’t even look up from the keyboard but Harvey thinks he sees a small smile playing on her lips.

*****

“Donna, call Mike. Tell him to be ready to leave in an hour.”

Harvey strides past Donna’s cubicle and into his office. He has to keep a clear head now, he has focus on what’s most important. His number one priority.

“Tell him to be here in an hour. Tell him to bring the pick-up.”

He can sense how Donna rises from her chair and follows him into his office.

“Oh my god, she found out.”

“Yeah,” Harvey confirms and briefly turns around to look at her. “She’s giving us a day’s head start.”

Donna bites her lips and covers her hand with her mouth before she speaks again, watching Harvey rummage through the files on his desk.

“You’re making a run for it.”

“Yeah,” Harvey nods again and stuffs some papers into his briefcase. He then walks around the desk and casts a glance around his office. Donna walks up to him and he hands her the photograph.

“Here, keep this.”

“Harvey, I’m so sorry, I never meant—“

“It’s all right, Donna,” he soothes, touching her upper arm briefly. “It’s not your fault.”

“Will you—“

“Yeah, we will,” Harvey says, smiling. “We got twelve years like this, we never thought it’d last that long. We are prepared.”

He nods at her and makes his way for the elevators. He knows she’s on the phone talking to Mike before the doors slide open and he steps into the cabin.

*****

Donna watches from the huge windows of Harvey’s empty office how fifty stories below a large brown pick-up truck slows down in front of the building and stops at the curb.

She watches Harvey step out of the building’s shadow and the driver’s door open. Mike climbs out and walks around the front end of the car to where Harvey is standing. He stops one step away from the other man and they look at each other for a long, quiet moment. Donna can’t see if any of the two says anything but after a while Mike closes the distance and steps right into Harvey’s embrace. They hold on to each other for the longest time and only when the front passenger’s door flies open and a small, scrawny boy of about ten years of age jumps out, a boy with blond hair and blue eyes and a beaming smile, do they let go.

Harvey crouches down and Scott flies into his arms. He lifts him up and smiles at Mike, nodding. Mike takes their son from Harvey’s arm and climbs into the passenger seat with him on his lap.

Donna watches Harvey walk around the car and climb into the driver’s seat. She watches how the car sets into motion, gathers speed and finally disappears around a corner at a green traffic light.

She looks down at the picture in her hands and she smiles.

They will be all right.

~fin~

[information] fundraiser update and posting guidelines

2015-05-06T02:15:45Z

First things first: An update!

Total funds raised to date from the Buy it Now and Custom Requests components of this campaign = $8878.50

Completed Works Guidelines

If you have received a donation confirmation and finished the item, then you are all set to post straight away. We don't have an official 'start of posting' time, it's just a free-for-all!

LIVEJOURNAL | If the item you've been 'commissioned' to create is Livejournal typical (ie. art, podfic, fanfic, fanmix, icons, etc), and it's NOT part of your arrangement with the donor that the work is kept private, then you are more than welcome to post your completed works here at fandomaid. There is a suggested header on the profile page for this comm. Please also feel free to upload photos of craft or jewellery that you create as a result of this fundraiser, using the same header, modified where appropriate.

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN | For works that are also Archive of Our Own appropriate, a collection and a sub-collection have been created that you are free up add your works to. The collection is Fandom Aid (Fandom_Aid), and the sub-collection is Fandom Aid Nepal Earthquake (FA_NE).

There are also sub-collections for the other fundraiser rounds, so if you have works uploaded to A03 from previous campaigns, please feel free to add them to the corresponding collections.

TUMBLR | If you post your completed work to tumblr, please feel free to tag it #fandomaid.

If you have any questions or comments about posting completed works, please reply to this entry and I'll get back to you ASAP.

Once again, a MASSIVE thank you to everyone who has (or still is!) participating!

[nepal] earthquake | CUSTOM REQUEST fundraiser

2015-05-02T01:26:12Z

MATCHING CUSTOM REQUESTS WITH WILLING WRITERS/ARTISTS/OTHER. DONATIONS TO BE MADE IMMEDIATELY.

Custom Requester | Sign up with a reply to this entry using the form below (if you want to request multiple works or work types, ie. different fandoms, fic, icons, fanmixes, craft, jewellery, other items, please sign up separately for each).

Custom Request Fillers | Contact your Custom Requester and ensure you're a good match.
Custom Requester | Once the details have been sorted out with your Custom Request Filler, make your agreed upon donation to an approved organisation immediately. Remove any identifying information and send confirmation through to waltzmatildah[at]gmail.com. Also, PLEASE ensure you mention it is for a Custom Request item to make my life easier!!

[nepal] earthquake | AUCTION fundraiser

2015-05-02T01:19:22Z

~~AUCTION OFFERS ONLY. Auction will run until 8pm Friday 8th May, Australian Eastern Standard Time~~ THE AUCTION COMPONENT OF THIS FUNDRAISER HAS CLOSED. THANK YOU TO ALL WHO PARTICIPATED.

Authors/Artists/Offerers | Sign up with a reply to this entry using the form below (if you want to offer multiple work types, ie. fic, icons, fanmixes, craft, jewellery, other items, please sign up separately for each).

Bidders | Bid on your author/artist with a reply to the author/artist's original comment. Track the thread to ensure you get updates in case you're out-bid. Once the auction ends, the winning bidder/s will be notified and instructed to make their donation to an approved organisation immediately. Remove any identifying information and send confirmation through to waltzmatildah[at]gmail.com

[nepal] earthquake | fundraiser update...

2015-04-30T12:29:13Z

As I'm sure most of you know... we are currently in the middle of a fundraising effort for charities supporting Nepal following the devastating earthquake that struck that country a few days ago now. I wanted to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has taken part so far and to provide a bit of an update on where things currently stand.

TOTAL FUNDS RAISED TO DATE: (approximately) $6878.50AUD

Come the weekend, when things from the Buy It Now offer start to wind down, I'll be looking to launch the Custom Requests offer and, perhaps, an Auction offer. A couple of people have expressed interest in both, and I figure, the more the merrier, right?!

Once again, THANK YOU so much to everyone who has participated and for making all the spreadsheeting of doooooom worthwhile! Thank you, thank you ♥

[nepal] earthquake | donation options

2015-04-26T05:16:54Z

INTERNATIONAL RED CROSS | http://www.icrc.org/eng/
AUSTRALIAN RED CROSS | http://www.redcross.org.au/
AMERICAN RED CROSS | https://www.redcross.org/combined-donate?donationProdId=prod9150029&retrieveData=1&flow=oc1
BRITISH RED CROSS | http://www.redcross.org.uk/
CANADIAN RED CROSS | http://www.redcross.ca/
NEW ZEALAND RED CROSS | https://www.redcross.org.nz/
IRISH RED CROSS | http://www.redcross.ie/home/
AUSTRIAN RED CROSS | http://www.roteskreuz.at/i18n/en/
GERMAN RED CROSS | http://www.drk.de/
SAVE THE CHILDREN AUSTRALIA | http://www.savethechildren.org.au/
DOCTORS WITHOUT BORDERS | http://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/
UNICEF | http://www.unicef.org/
DIRECT RELIEF | http://www.directrelief.org/
DISASTERS EMERGENCY COMMITTEE | http://www.dec.org.uk/

WORLD VETS | http://worldvets.org/2015/04/breaking-news-nepal-earthquake/

If you would like to see any donation options added to this list, please link them in the comments below. Consequently, see below for additional verified donation options :)

[nepal] earthquake | BUY IT NOW fundraiser

2015-04-26T04:57:55Z

As most of you have probably become aware, Nepal has been devastated by a 7.8 magnitude earthquake. With over 1800 people already believed to have perished, and infrastructure and housing largely demolished in many areas, fandomaid is launching a new campaign to support fundraising efforts. This fundraiser will only feature the BUY IT NOW (and related) options. There will be NO auction option at this stage.

FIRST COME FIRST SERVED WITH DONATIONS TO BE MADE IMMEDIATELY.

Authors/Artists | Sign up with a reply to this entry using the form below (if you want to offer multiple work types, ie. fic, icons, fanmixes, craft, jewellery, other items, please sign up separately for each).

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[nepal] earthquake | new campaign alert...

2015-04-26T04:26:33Z

As the moderator of this community, I have moments ago been contacted by veteran member, jordannamorgan, about the possibility of initiating a new auction to contribute to fundraising efforts for Nepal following yesterday's devastating earthquake. I was going to reach out to other community members to gauge interest, however, given the extent of the crisis, I have decided to hell with it, any funds raised is better than no funds raised, and so I will be launching the new campaign as soon as is logistically possible (ie. give me about an hour?). As usual with the Typhoon Haiyan fundraiser, this will consist of an immediate 'buy it now' option, a custom requests option, as well as a space for people to offer non-standard items, such as jewellery and other crafts. Unless there is enough interest, there will be no auction component.

Please feel free to advertise this fundraising effort on tumblr, twitter, other social media platforms. If you create any advertising materials, please link them here, they will be much appreciated.

Fanart: Family (Pacific Rim)

2014-06-23T12:39:32Z

Title: Family
Author: oteap
Fandom: Pacific Rim
Work Type: art
Characters: Stacker, Herc, Mako
Rating: Gen
Made For: muccamukk
Summary: Gender swapped Stacker&Herc + baby!Mako
Dear muccamukk, I'm so sorry it took me so long to finish this...

Fic: Running on the Rails (The Professionals)

2014-05-20T21:52:39Z

Title: Running on the Rails
Author: JoJo
Fandom: The Professionals
Work type: fic
Characters: Bodie/Doyle, Anson
Rating: PG-13
Donor: snailbones

Summary: Anson is annoying, so Bodie's thinking about the 3.20 at Haydock - or is he?

Running on the Rails at AO3

Vid! Never (Always) Getting Back Together (Supernatural)

2014-05-02T10:34:31Z

Title: ~~Never~~ Always Getting Back Together
Vidder: ash48
Made For: deirdre_c (Typhoon Haiyan)
Music by: Taylor Swift
Length: 2.50m Size: 59mb (mp4)
Category: Crack, bro!love, feel-good
Summary: Sam and Dean are ~~never~~ always getting back together. Like. Of course.

embed, thanks and notes here

[external fundraisers] pimping post

2014-03-17T23:25:10Z

As all is fairly quiet in fandomaid-land at the moment, I thought now would be a good time to open up the comm. for pimping fundraisers that are currently taking place elsewhere (either on LJ or in other areas of the internet). Feel free to reply to this entry with a comment containing an introductory paragraph and/or graphic briefly outlining the fundraiser you're promoting. Make sure to include all relevant links to ensure participation (either as a contributer or a donor) is straighforward for those reading through the comments.

gif apropos of not very much...!

Any works created for those external fundraisers can also be archived here if you like. Just use the standard entry header and for the 'cause' line use the title of the fundraiser you participated in.

FIC: Conspiracy Theories (Merlin)

2014-03-04T01:27:18Z

Title: Conspiracy Theories
Author: rotrude
Fandom: Merlin
Work Type: fic
Characters: George, Merlin, Arthur, Gwen
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: --
Written For: leaves_girl
Summary: George's observations lead to mayhem

Conspiracy Theories