Writer of MorMor Fic and Fantasy. Absinthe Faerie in disguise as a human. Do have a peek at my work as TheGreenFaerie on AO3, darlings... if slow burning-darkly romantic-vicious-delicious indulgences are your cup of drinking chocolate. This blog is for all things MorMor that I adore... Fic, RP, and my beloved idiots, The Kitten & The Tiger.  XOXO

Mormor Six Sentence Sunday


Thanks @lavenderandvanilla for the tag!

I can’t imagine this day having turned out any differently.

Which makes no bloody sense, and part of me is protesting mightily against it…

Against the madness of following instructions from a priest who is quickly unravelling before my eyes…

who when confronted with basic questions responds by fainting…

whose eyes are like pits of tar that I feel myself in danger of drawing too close to…

And when has going for a dip in a lake of asphalt ever turned out well for anyone?

And yet, I’ve been promised a reward greater than my soul’s salvation?

Who makes promises like this??

St Jimmy Chapter Two

God… we’re still in the final stretch, and I miss them already… 

The Epilogue, though… (!!!)

Hail Jimmy, full of Grace… 

Beautiful art by @baroquegothik

ic_web Created with Sketch. greenfaeriefeverdream
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Your sailor nickname is [what color your shirt is] [your first pet’s name]. You are [phone battery percentage] years old. Your ship is the HMS [last thing you ate].

Black Maruschka - 71 - nasi goreng

Grey “Metal Studs” Jasper

41 years old

the HMS Cheese Bagel

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your last words before you die are the 3rd line of the last song you listened to. what are we saying ladies?

the price of freedom is no less than a life

I command your very souls you unbelievers

And now it’s time to build from the bottom of the pit, right to the top

Bela Lugosi’s Dead 🧛‍♂️🖤🦇

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@conduitstreetcat @greenfaeriefeverdream ALL I CAN THINK OF IS ST JIMMY


“i wanna know how i got these scars”

Joker (Confused

As in… under his cassock…? I’m thinking of it now, too… ;)

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Enter the year you were born on the gif area and post what you get.

Fuck. I feel old

I’ll take it.

Oof ok

hmmmmm accurate

Oh yeah, Bowie baby

There’s a Starman waiting in the sky…

He’d like to come and meet us

But he thinks he’ll blow our minds…

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aesthetics of jim moriarty & sebastian moran

I appear to have already begun my collection…


MurderBook. Check.


Tac boots. Check.


Dog tags. Check.




Another year, another pair of murder gloves… 

sacrificed to the god of accessories for aspiring assassins. (How many gloves does one god need??)

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Chapter 15: The Nature of the Crime

Of course, there are always repercussions, Tiger…

Discover what they are on AO3!

Jim threw open the door, and stood in the doorway, breathing - he reminded himself of something from a horror film at that moment.

Only… was he the monster?

Of course he was… he stepped into the room, and kicked the door shut behind him.

“It’s been a couple of days, darling… I hope we haven’t gotten complacent, Tiger?”

Jim stalked toward him. “I expect that even without restraints, you’ll be obedient, Sebastian…” He stared up at him and stroked his face.

“But you just look so pretty in chains, I can’t resist…” he purred, and his hand tightened on his jaw. “Get over to the wall,” he ordered, then kissed him hard.

Face up close to his, Jim gazed into his eyes and whispered, “What the fuck are you waiting for?”

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Chapter Seventeen: Survival Is a Rare Treat

Water… water flowing over my face, my body… warm water…

Body pleasantly limp, sprawled on a chair…

Loins twitching with afterglow…

I look down at a face with the largest grin I’ve ever seen on man or beast… Lethal and endearing, looking up at me with pride and… possessiveness? No - I must be mistaken. I’m the possessive one. You’re the possessed…

“I do think you’ve got healing powers, Saint Sebastian. I’m feeling a lot better…”

Shall I? Oh, why not. I’m in a generous mood, and you’ve had enough to put up with these past days.

“Get up…” I gesture, and when you’re standing, pull you towards me, open my mouth, put it on your cock.

Read it on AO3!

Uh oh… tempers fray and a certain cat is let outta the bag…

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It's Just Fan Fic...








I got an email from a reader earlier.  The sender was a lovely young woman who had just re-read my first published fic and wanted to tell me how much she enjoyed it—how it made her feel, how it made her smile, how it made her cry, how it made her excited to get home each night and curl up in bed with it, how it helped ease the pain of a difficult patch in her life, and how much she misses it now that it’s over.  It was a beautiful letter, and my reaction to it must have been visible enough to make my saner half take notice from across the room.  He shot me a questioning look, and I turned the laptop around and gestured to the screen.

I followed his eyes as they scanned each line, saw his lips tip up in a smile that grew broader as he read, then braced myself for the good natured snark I’ve come to expect when my little literary hobby comes up in conversation.

“Wow.” He said. “That was kind of amazing.  How does it feel to be someone’s favorite author?”

“Don’t be a dick,” I said, slapping him on the shoulder.

“I’m serious,” he replied, gesturing to the screen.  "That’s what she said—right there: You’re my favorite author.”

“I think she means favorite fic author.  Not real author.”

“Is there a difference?” He asked.

Yes,” I said, rolling my eyes.  ”Of course there is.”


“Because, as someone in this room who isn’t ME is fond of pointing out, self published gay mystery romance novels aren’t exactly eligible for the pulitzer.” I said, turning the computer back around.

“So what?” he shrugged, “Something you wrote inspired a stranger to sit down write what it meant to them and send it to you.  A lot of total strangers, as a matter of fact.  You write, people read it and react.  That makes you an author.”

“Huh.” I said, very eloquently, then got up and went into the kitchen to start dinner.

Hours later, sitting down to reply to the letter in question I find myself writing this post instead.  Because here’s the thing: That wonderfully crazy man who lives in my house is right.  (But please don’t tell him I said that)

From the moment I realized that letters made up words and words made up sentences and sentences made up worlds that were mine to explore any time I wanted to I’ve been a reader.  I have fallen in love with perfect phrases and epic stories and countless characters pressed between the pages of the thousands of books I’ve read in my life so far—and sitting down to string together those same 26 letters into tens of thousands of words of stories I felt needed telling?  That makes me an author.

I have adored the work of countless authors in numerous genres, and the world of fan fic is no exception.  I have admired and cherished and savored the words of talented writers whose work is no less legitimate for the fact that their names include random keyboard characters and their words don’t live on bound paper on a shelf.  

It’s not JUST fan fic.  It’s literature.  It’s published.  It’s read.  It’s loved.

It matters.

Thanks to all of my favorite authors for every word on every page on every screen that I’ve ever loved. 

Reblog for the sweet anon who asked me if I thought fanfic was as important as “real” fiction. Hope this answers your question. :)

Thanks for reading my work, so happy you’re enjoying In The Library!

Read this. Take it to heart. REMEMBER IT.

Comments are the best

They really are. Anything that manages to touch another person, make their life – their day, a particular minute – better is invaluable.

“Let us not desert one another; we are an injured body.  Although our productions have afforded more extensive and unaffected pleasure than any other literary corporation in this world, no species of composition has been so much decried. … There seems almost a general wish of decrying the capacity and under-valuing the labour of the novelist, and of slighting the performances which have only genius, wit, and taste to recommend them.“

–Jane Austen, defending that most reviled of genres: the novel.

As Joanna Russ says in How to Suppress Women’s Writing, “Jane Austen … worked (as some critics tend to forget) in a genre that had been dominated by women for a century and one that was looked down upon as trash, a position that may have given her considerable artistic freedom.”

This is us, now. This is fanfic.

Russ also writes that “women always write in the vernacular.  Not strictly true, and yet it explains a lot.  It certainly explains letters and diaries. … It explains why so many wrote ghost stories in the nineteenth century and still write them.”

As I’ve said before, what is more vernacular in the 21st century than ephemeral, fannish internet porn? This is us. We are part of the long tradition of women writing and being told their writing is not real and does not matter, that the things we love and value are worthless and foolish, for so long that we even begin to believe it.

Our work is real work. Our writing is real writing. Our stories matter. Our community matters. We are here, together, doing this thing. This is real life. This counts. If you write something on the internet, you write it in real life.

Fanfic matters. Fanfic is literature. Fanfic is literature that breaks the bounds printing technology and capitalism once imposed on the wide distribution of the written word. Copyright law, royalties, the logistics of producing and selling paperback books, none of those can touch the heart of what a story is. None of those make your story any less a real story that can really touch another person.

If anyone tries to tell you different, you can tell them Jane Austen begs to differ.

Fanfic is never just fic.

I’ve had someone tell me I literally saved her life, by giving her something to look forward to, to keep reading. I’ve read stories that’ve made me get teary and smile and stay up until 3am.

Fanfic works on an emotional, connective, affective, aesthetics-of-pleasure level. This is a different function from most ‘mainstream’ literature, as the professors over at fangasmspn have pointed out in their academic book on fandom. It serves a different purpose–one that’s closer to romance novels or other ‘pulp fictions’. This is not to denigrate either function–we need to know how to read Shakespeare or Chaucer, how to think objectively and analytically about lives lived in other places and times, how to read factual scientific pieces for data, how to engage with the literature of ideas–by which I mean idea-driven rather than character-driven (and most literature blends the two; it’s not a hard-and-fast boundary).

Fanfic serves a different and equally valid purpose: community, social engagement, empathy, emotional catharsis, subversion of traditional conceptions re desire and sexuality, exercise of pleasure and reclaiming of the importance of pleasure, aesthetic appreciation, creativity plus appreciation for others’ creativity, and as Larsen and Zubernis point out in Fandom at the Crossroads, a form of healing that’s potentially both individual and collective, involving a space for exploration of identity and identification.

Art saves.

Stories matter. 

Fanfic… you have my heart. 

And when needed…

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Happy Birthday to the magnificent Andrew… 

…whose purrformances render us momentarily speechless… 

and then send fic writers stumbling to their laptops…
dazed… dreamy… determined.  <3 

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Chapter Twenty: Let It Bleed

“… I must admit I haven’t given it any thought so far. It’s all been such a whirlwind…

Yes, lots more getting to know each other… I want to explore every inch of that beautiful body… I want you to use me whenever you want however you want… there is nothing in the world that’s hotter…

As to other stuff - well, we are in Vegas, and I do like gambling, so let’s go wild on the town one night?

And you mentioned going into the desert… we could rent a car and drive out and look at the stars. There are so many more in the desert than you ever think possible while you’re in London…

What about you? Did you think of anything?”

I kiss the top of your head, take the cigarette back.

Read it on AO3!

Our boys on their honeymoon… they do not disappoint. ;)

And also… foreshadowing I totally forgot about… :O

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And award for the best character development ever goes to…




Oh Mickey, you’re so fine

You’re so fine you blow my mind, hey Mickey
Hey Mickey!

Was it about short, dark-haired romantic little monsters that set my head on fire??  *Swooon* 

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Look what I found @conduitstreetcat & @greenfaeriefeverdream! Santa Muerte!

Ohhh… Our Lady of Mormor! You rock, @hiblovesandrewscott!!

Jim & Seb’s unofficial patron saint has inspired so much beautiful art… once I start looking for images of the Pretty Girl, it feels impossible to stop!!  


Artist: Roxannamundi

Artist: Chris Parks

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Wow! A priest-fanvid by Amazon themselves!!



oh god… so much hotness squeezed into 2 minutes… 

it’s almost too much  just what I needed.<3 

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Chapter Sixteen: I Don’t Do Dismissals


Of course.

I’ve been so distracted with the demented rollercoaster of my own issues that I didn’t think about how your problems might be affecting you.

You don’t just get the perfect second thrown at you in mint condition, Moriarty. You knew he had some previous damages.

He’s good though. He’s that rare combination of overall intelligence and elite soldier.

But - a bit suicidal and probably more than a little fucked up in the head.

I’ll have to dig into that. Can’t have him dropping any balls, not when I rely on him.

“Right. I’ve been a bit preoccupied, as you can imagine, but I do need you in top form. So - we have the psychiatrist on standby. Maybe we should have him come over and you could have a talk with him about how to deal with your issues.”

I don’t want to get into this - I don’t - I have enough on my bloody plate -

I have to. I rely on him - he’s all the Empire I got at the moment…

“Do you know what is going on? What your issues are? Do you have any diagnoses, or suspicions? What are your coping mechanisms, why are they failing? Have they ever worked?”

I see you frown at my questions.

“I need to know these things, soldier. You are my entire army at the moment. I need to know how you work.”

Read it on AO3

Our adorable idiots get to know each other a little better… and show how good their skills are at reading people. 

Scary-crazy, indeed… I love this chapter… 

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In a move away from our usual deep emotional explorations of the Mormor psyche, @greenfaeriefeverdream and I started writing a PWP where Jim and Seb exchange snarky texts across continents, culminating in video chat sex.

There may be plot at some point in the future, but for now it’s just two delicious psychos enjoying each other’s bodies while they’re not together.

iPad shopped over Seb because the original version of this post was flagged for adult content… *eyeroll*.

Read it on AO3! 

Our delicious psychos just need to do a whole lot more of this, plot or no plot… 

They’re just so… gifted

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Chapter 14: Impress Me, Darling

More gunfire, and then a quick stop for ice cream before the return to the Deep Dark Woods… 

Check out the latest chapter on AO3!

Jim heard quiet footfalls and the door swishing closed. He smiled, still sitting and facing the window.

“Sebastian,” he said lazily. “What a pleasant surprise… Help yourself to a whisky - on the table.”

He took a sip of his own. “At the end of a work day, I’m more likely to pour a nice Riesling, but this has a certain enjoyable - heat.”

He heard Sebastian pour himself a glass, and stood up - still staring out the window.

“First day back together since our little entanglement…” he mused. “I’d say it went well. Steve aside, I don’t think anyone suspected. Business as usual, no?”

He turned to look at Sebastian, his eyes glittering. Putting down his glass, he walked over to Sebastian, and looked him up and down.

“A very successful deception,” he purred. “Who would suspect the terrible things we did…” He leaned closer, breathing in his scent. “The terrible things we’ll do,” he whispered. He plucked the glass out of Sebastian’s hand, and put it down on the table. Then he opened up his arms, smiling fiercely.

“Go on, then…” he purred. “Give your boss a little kiss hello…”

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I’ll do it, unless you start acting like a real pussy and take one for the fucking team.

Totally not Mormor, but Margo from The Magicians is so awesomely bad-ass and here are just a few reasons why. 

(Also she wields a pair of axes and she made ‘em herself.)  

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One year ago we posted the first chapter of Roses and Tequila for Santa Muerte - FUCK YOU, You Little Shit, because though our boys are incredibly romantic, they also drive each other up the wall sometimes. 

Featuring a Death Saint who manages to stir their black, black hearts just a little bit, a near shooting, a baneful phonecall, stripping in biker gear, the Day of Domination, and a beautiful dark faerie tale.

I love this fic <3

With @greenfaeriefeverdream

“Sacred accomplice of the underworld, beloved death in my heart, protect my crazy life.”

Art: Mexican Mob

How I’ve missed writing about Our Lady of Holy Death, Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte! 

So much so, that I found myself writing just yesterday in the Symbiotic Criminal Psychopath series that Sebastian suggests bringing roses and tequila for Santa Muerte, only to discover later that it was the mormorversary of posting the first chapter of… Roses and Tequila for Santa Muerte. 

So that was delightfully unsettling and synchronous, but it was so good to remember Book 5 of the series. So much delicious divine darkness in this tale… I can only echo the words of my feline associate: I love this fic.  

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“Irritated fans produce fanfic like irritated oysters produce pearls.”

— Anne Jamison
(via pen-in-hand)

1.5 years of launching shiny black projectile pearls… and still haven’t touched the bottom of this tempestuous sea… 

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