#fic: medium

[unknowndrone]

Yelena’s Diary

Yelena Belova X Fem!Reader

Prompt: Natasha finds Yelena’s diary which results in the contents of the diary getting revealed to you.

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: siblings threatening to kill each other

__________

She should’ve known better. As the greatest spy and assassin in the world with a sibling with a similar title, she should’ve known that unless that diary was sewn to her body, Natasha was somehow  going to get her grubby hands on it. 

“Give it back, Natasha!” She hisses.

They were like school girls, things that Yelena would only ever see happening in the American TV shows, not between two assassins. Natasha flips through the pages, while simultaneously dodging Yelena’s efforts to retrieve the book.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. How many chapters are you going to spend complaining about the team and complimenting Y/N?” she questions.

“Natasha, I am not afraid to stab you!” the younger sister threatens. 

“Do it,” Natasha challenges. “I bet you’d love to explain to Y/N why you felt the need to stab her favorite Black Widow.”

“-you are not her favorite Black Widow!” 

“Just because you wrote it in your diary doesn’t mean it’s actually true-”

“Stop it!” Yelena screams once more. This time she pounces on to her sister’s shoulders. Natasha wildly spins knowing that Yelena was seconds away from putting her into a choke hold before throwing Yelena on to the bed. 

Natasha paces away, flipping through the pages and gaining a few more paragraphs before her sister would rush to attack once more. “Who taught you to draw a heart like that, Lena?” 

The younger widow pouts. “Give it back, Natasha!”

That’s the thing about older siblings. They’re a menace.

At this point, the two widows were running through the compound. The blonde chasing the red head with no one to stop them. No one except-

The elevator door opens, revealing you. You just returned from your mission only to see Natasha trying to evade Yelena who looked ready to murder her. You raise your eyebrow, noticing how they were far too busy trying to fight each other that they didn’t hear the elevator door. 

Your eyes dart to see Steve walking past you with a book in his hand. Tapping his shoulder to get his attention, you gesture towards the widows. “What happened?” 

Steve only lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yelena’s been chasing Nat for hours.” He explains before leaving you to your thoughts. 

As amusing as it is to watch the two widows play a game of cat and mouse, you figured that it was time for the two to reconcile as you carefully approach them, making sure not to get too close just in case Yelena decides to throw a knife at Natasha and you aren’t able to dodge it in time. 

Eventually you get close enough, crossing your arms, fighting the amused smirk that was forming at your lips. When you let out a cough, the fight instantly stops. Natasha smiles brightly when she sees you, almost too brightly. Meanwhile, Yelena looks more horrified than she is happy. Part of your heart wrenches as to why she looks so disheartened to see you. She was always happy to see you. 

“That’s enough fighting for you two, don’t you think?” You suggest, eyes darting between Yelena and then Natasha. 

Natasha glances at Yelena, nodding, “I agree.” Her response only earns another glare from the blonde widow. 

 “How was your mission?” Yelena asks you. 

You shrug, “Standard.” Your eyes catch at what seems like a journal in Natasha’s hand. “I didn’t know you journal, Nat.” 

Natasha holds the book up, the smile on her face becoming more mischievous. “Oh me? Oh no,this isn’t mine. This is-” 

“Natasha stop! Don’t you dare ruin this for me!” Yelena hisses.

But just before Natasha can say anything, Yelena pounces on her. Your eyes widen at the violence and Yelena’s sudden persistence. You knew if you didn’t act now, the floors of the Avengers facility might be painted red. So your arms grab Yelena’s shoulders and you pull her until her back is flushed against you.

“That’s enough!” you bark, trying to get the two siblings to stop.

Yelena almost instantly relaxes in your hold. It wasn’t your first time holding her. In fact, you’ve hugged her many times before whether it be before missions when you return home from missions or whenever she’s upset. Your touch was like an instant sedative. 

This one especially.

Natasha sighs in relief, but her hand was still clutching the book. When she meets eyes with her sister, she notices how Yelena almost looks like she melted into a pool of her own love for you. Regardless, you pull Yelena away, dragging her to her room before things get worse. 

“Oh here’s your book Yelena…” Natasha teases, handing the book to her sister. Yelena quickly snatches it before you could get your hands on it. You know better than to ask questions seeing how pissed Yelena was. You figured that you would have a chat with Natasha as to why she’s going through her sister’s belongings later. For now, you need to make sure Yelena has cooled down.

The two of you are now sitting in your room. Yelena is laying in bed while you are getting changed into more comfortable clothes. The book is held protectively over her chest. It seems to be super glued to her like she didn’t want anyone seeing what was inside. 

“So…is there anything in that private journal I don’t know about?” you tease while slipping on your pajamas. 

The blonde blushes profusely, “no,” she speaks a little too quickly. 

“I’m not pushing, Lena. I was just curious,” you shrug. “You’re allowed to have your own private thoughts.”

Yelena looks at you for a while. She’s been doing that a lot recently where you would notice her gaze on you seemed to linger longer than expected. It made you curious at what was going through her little head. 

Eventually, you plop yourself on the bed next to her and, like many other nights before, you two bask in each other’s presence. You found her shoulder comforting, so you lay your head there, too, observing her reaction intently. To your surprise, you feel her muscles visibly tense for a moment before easing into your warmth.

“Is everything okay?” you ask her suddenly. 

“Everything is fine,” the assassin dismisses. “Just stop talking…”

Of course, her dismissive attitude made you just slightly more worried. Yelena was your best friend. The only time she was ever like this is when she’s afraid of something but she’s too scared to tell you. Just like the time she was secretly afraid of the sound of thunder so she actively avoided Thor and also tended to blast your music louder than usual during a storm. You knew just as well as Natasha when something was wrong with Yelena. 

“You can tell me,” you whisper in the silence.

“I can’t.” Yelena whispers back, her voice small. “This is different. I-I can’t share it with you.” 

You pout, looking over your shoulder to see her expression. “Why?”

“Because it’s not a good idea.” 

You frown, “Do you not trust me?” 

“This is different,” Yelena emphasizes more. “It will change how you look at me.”

A sigh escapes your lips as you lean into her shoulder more. “If it’s another assassination regret, you know I would never-”

“No…it’s not that.” 

“But it’s bothering you,” you reason. 

“No it’s not.”

You know better than to keep questioning Yelena knowing she wasn’t going to relent so you two continue to sit through the silence. You would give many things just to see what was going through her head right now or what was written in that journal of her’s that she wasn’t allowing you to see. 

Part of your heart might know, but your brain looked at your denial and turned it into cold hard facts. 

“If you started dating someone else, would you leave me?” Yelena asks suddenly.

“What?”

The blonde assassin nods slowly, “Would you forget about me?”

“Why would I forget about you? You’re my best friend-”

The word ‘best friend’ seems to only upset Yelena further in the way her eyes fall. You see it right away and you stop talking.

Yelena sniffles. “I don’t want to be your best friend. I want you to like me. You know? The one where you draw hearts around our names!” she blurts. 

Your jaw goes slack for a moment in complete disbelief. “Y-Yelena…”

The blonde turns away from you, not wanting to face you or the consequences of her words. But you are quick to put a hand on her shoulder. 

“Lena look at me…” you whisper gently.

Slowly, she turns, but her eyes don’t quite meet yours. “I ruined everything, right?”

A soft laugh escapes your lips as you shake your head. “No…no you didn’t. Would it be hard for you to believe if I said I liked you back?” 

It takes a moment for the blonde to process. She didn’t even think she heard you right the first time. “M-me?” 

You nod slowly, “yes you, dummy.” 

If she wasn’t so enamored by the realization, she would be pouting, but hearing you say those words cause her eyes to light up like a Christmas tree. You pull her close to you.

“I like you too, Lena. I was also scared that if I told you I would ruin things,” you admit. 

“Really?” Yelena questions in disbelief.

You nod slowly, “Really…” 

You feel Yelena lean into your touch which allows you to press a soft kiss to her forehead. You couldn’t help but notice the smile that paints the blonde assassin’s face. It was like a schoolgirl who just found out her crush liked her back.

As you both enjoy each other’s company, another thought crosses your mind. “Wait Yelena what did you put about me in your diary?”

Yelena starts blushing as she buries her head into your shoulder. “Nothing.”

“Do you draw hearts around our names?” you tease.

“Stop it-”

“Will you let me see what you write about me in your diary?”

“No.” she says firmly, burying her head more into your shoulder. 

For the rest of the night, the two of you enjoy each other’s company. A smile painted on both of your faces.

__________

OKay guyyysss i got hella lazy at the ending bc I couldn’t think of shit, but I hope you enjoy this anyway. Also, I totally havent had this sitting in my files for like 8 months...I hope everything is well with yall. Have a great day/night and rest well!

[mestos]

Man I don't even know. Deleted the last post because maybe I'm too hasty, seen how insulting it can be to be accused of AI generating shit, but my god! I cannot help but feel so much more for writers—writers who use words to craft their art, already fighting for a place in a world that prioritizes visual language/graphics over their medium, writers who are much quicker to be criticized than artists, writers who have to find a way to hone their crafts just so they keep your attention all the way to the end of their stories, writers who have no other means to present their creation and being told to pick up an entire other skill just to be appreciated in a community space, writers who are so much easily more exploited by AI generation because their medium is TEXT.

I don't fucking know dude. Sometimes it feels like people are fighting against AI art but not AI generated writing, voice acting, music or any other creative medium because visual graphics/language takes more precedence in this world, and everything else is secondary to it even though we are constantly preaching that all mediums are considered art

[storm-cloud-lightning]

Mediums, DP prompt

ok ok, hear me out. There's this fic I read years ago- this one - and basically it has Harry Potter using his MoD powers in a new world as a medium. He brings people back and learns stuff and people give him money for the info, you know, what mediums do.

Now, consider this: Danny Fenton -yes, FENTON- becomes a medium. Could be like the fic where it's in a new world, thus a crossover, could not be. You do you, idk I've literally never written a prompt before.

But anyway, yea, imagine it! It would probably be something he stumbled into due to his rouges messing with him by following him around invisible (or just Youngblood, since he can only be seen by kids) and since it's Amity, people don't think crazy, they think oh man can that Fenton kid see ghosts all the time? Even ones we can't see? Maybe even...new ones?

Imagine:

Danny: Hello how may I help you today

Customer, flashing crazy eyes: I need you to tell me how my mother died

Danny:

Danny: Sir, this is the Nasty Burger

Customer: You're a Fenton, and I've heard the rumors, you can see ghosts normal people can't. Please, I need to know.

Danny, who definitely can't see these 'other' ghosts, his rouges have just been messing with him a little too much while invisible lately: Look-

Customer: NO! I will not take no for an answer!

*they are starting to draw too much attention*

Danny, nervous whispers: Look, I'll ask around ok? But you can't be saying this kinda stuff out in the open, you know the Anti-Ecto laws will go after collaborators. They don't care about collateral damage

Customer, looking around apologetically: You're right, I'm sorry I just- She died so suddenly and the police have nothing. Her name was Jasmine Bale please, please I just want to make sure she's ok.

And thus, Danny stumbles onto a much better paying job than the Nasty Burger. or something idk I haven't written anything in a while.

OR

Danny, desperate for money on the streets of Gotham.

Danny: hey my guy, do you think if I told your son something from you, he would give me 10 buck?

Jack Drake, startled someone can see him lurking outside a coffee shop spying on his son: Uh- what.

[wangxianficrecs]

Seven Seconds to the End by Admiranda & miixz

Seven Seconds to the End

by Admiranda (@admirableadmiranda) & miixz (@miixz)

T, WIP, 15k, Wangxian

Summary: Wei Wuxian has been alive for less than an hour, he has no plans for his future. But if there is one thing he knows, it’s that he wants to see Lan Zhan again. Wei Wuxian remembers all that happened at the end of his first life. He remembers that Lan Zhan stayed on his side until the very end, how he'd tried to save him before Jiang Cheng attempted to kill them both. When he fell, the last thing he saw was Lan Zhan's eyes, the last thing he heard was his cries. When he finds himself unexpectedly returned to life, he knows exactly who he can trust and where he needs to go. A Chen Qing Ling retelling. Kay's comments: The thing with CQL is that I love it dearly, but also, there are so many plotholes due to how it was adapted from the source material and I actually love those plotholes too, because that's where fanfic authors can make themselves comfortable and write so many creative stories. This story explores how CQL Wangxian's relationship is actually really great and it makes no sense for freshly-resurrected Wei Wuxian to run away from Lan Wangji when he appears in Mo village and I love this so much. The cherry on top is the fact that miixz and Admiranda are both really great writers that always draw me in and I'm excited to see how this story might continue! Excerpt: In the distance, Wei Wuxian hears the Lan juniors scramble to their feet, overhearing something about how they’ll be acting in the west courtyard tonight. It’s good to know where he can find them, but he doesn’t mind the loss of the rest of their conversation. Whatever they’ve come here for is definitely something to look into, but he’s in no hurry to learn about it. If their presence is somehow related to his return, he doubts any of them know it. No one would knowingly send a group of young cultivators anywhere near the scourge of the cultivation world. But for once, this works in his favor. For one thing, young cultivators are bound to be informed on the state of the world, and most importantly, these particular boys should know about the one he wants to meet. Just a little bit longer, he thinks, looking at the cuts in his wrist. I’ll see this through, then I’ll find my way back to you, Lan Zhan.

pov wei wuxian, canon divergence, the untamed compliant, canon rewrite, fluff, hurt/comfort, family feels, getting together, developing relationship, pining, friends to lovers, adopted lan sizhui, no jiang cheng & wei wuxian reconciliation, not jiang cheng friendly

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[starfieldcanvas-art]

An illustration for my favorite moment in Melime’s Gault/Lucienne fic Lost and Found 💜 The book is the Complete Works of Sappho, which of course exists in the Library of the Dreaming! 📚

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: The Shared Desk Dilemma

In the hallowed halls of Eden University, professors Aziraphale Eastgate and Anthony Crowley share a desk but have nothing else in common—except for their knack for outwitting each other with escalating pranks that have the entire faculty taking sides. When the university president, in a desperate bid to restore peace, mandates a team-building retreat, the adversaries find themselves reluctantly sharing a room, and sparks fly. Crowley can't stand the pompous, irksome Dr. Eastgate, and the feeling appears to be mutual, yet they can't seem to keep their hands off each other.

Length: 32,405 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Mostly Safe in Public, Human AU, Comedy, Pick-Me-Up

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by MissUnderstoodLyrics

*Minor Spoilers* If you haven’t read this one yet, you need to change that right now!! This one is so FUN! I had been following this as a WIP and every update felt like an event. Seriously it may be one of the most entertaining stories I've read.

Dr. Crowley is a brand new professor at Eden University, and he is forced to share an office with the terror that is Dr. Aziraphale Eastgate. It starts when Crowley starts moving some of his files in, and Aziraphale is NOT having it. What follows is an escalating prank war, and gosh they are so fun. I love that the pranks were (relatively) harmless, and never mean spirited. Annoying, cumbersome, messy, but never mean. Eventually this leads to a mandatory staff retreat where oops! There’s only one bed! Things escalate, of course, but greater things are to come once they combine forces against the forces of evil (aka Gabriel)

This had me honest to god laughing out loud. Truly the best use of images in a fic. Watching our boys rile each other up is always such a treat. They know how to get under each other's skin in the best way possible. Don't mistake the humor for shallowness though! This fic has some beautiful moments, especially when our pair open up to each other about their pasts.

There is so so much to enjoy here. Mostly safe in public, though there are a handful of explicit sex scenes so be prepared for that.

Read it here, fic by MissUnderstoodLyrics

[neverevan]

Inspiration Saturday 🍂

I frankly don't think that I can finish this one before the new season airs and in that case it might just get scrapped entirely (because of new wips and changing canon events) but I hope I get around it before that, because it would be such a great exploration of characters and just an abundant source for angst and fluff and eternal domesticity. Anyway, here's a snippet that'll probably be heavily revised later on if I actually end up working on this.

Buck got up abruptly and started pacing up and down, covering the tiny length of Eddie’s kitchen two strides at a time. “Buck, calm down.” Eddie rose from his chair, his eyes following Buck’s every step with concern. “What the hell am I even gonna tell him when he asks about his parents? How do I explain any of it?” “Woah Buck, slow down there, he can’t even talk yet, let alone ask questions. You’ll have plenty of time to think about that.” Eddie put a hand onto Buck’s forearm, halting his movements just by the table, then he guided Buck back down to his chair with gentle force. The warm tips of Eddie’s fingers were a solid comfort over Buck’s stress-cold skin as he squeezed his arm lightly, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “I-I’m sorry.” Buck sighed. If he was apologizing for flipping out just a moment ago or for bringing this to Eddie in the first place; even he wasn’t entirely sure. “Look, I get that this wasn’t the plan when you decided to help them,” Buck opened his mouth to cut in but Eddie pressed on, “but this is what’s happening now. So you’re just gonna have to take it slow and deal with it one thing at a time. Okay?” “I… Okay.” Buck closed his eyes in defeat, desperately hoping that when he opened them the next time, he’d find the strength he needed to go through today; though he was aware that the chances of that were slim to none. But funnily enough, when he finally opened his eyes and his gaze landed on Eddie’s face, something shifted. Eddie was looking at Buck with an expression that told him everything he needed to hear without words, his eyes were glimmering like amber in the bright morning light and the creases between his eyebrows seemed softer than before. Eddie was the embodiment of everything Buck ever wanted and needed — and in remembering that, suddenly the sight of him was enough to find the strength Buck was looking for.

tags under the cut 💛

I was tagged by @daffi-990 thank youuu 💛

✨and no pressure tagging: @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @jeeyuns @jamespearce9-1-1 @eddiebabygirldiaz @hippolotamus @disasterbuckdiaz @nmcggg @thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @theotherbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie @ladydorian05 @wikiangela

[ceilidho]

Why is no one talking about toxic yuri ghoap oh my god?? That would leave me in a puddle ????

the basic premise is that it takes place in a bdsm universe where subs are always paired with doms so both parties can balance each other out, and Soap has just been recruited into the 141 and she's been assigned Ghost as her new dom (Ghost is one of the odd outliers that typically works unbonded - very atypical).

And at first, she's incredibly excited about finally getting to work with another woman, especially a female dom because she's only ever been paired with aggravating, but mostly inoffensive male doms. but she very quickly learns that Ghost is 100x worse than any dom she's ever been paired with before.

[coffeebanana]

i love how optimistic i am when outlining long fics it's like "oh wow if i just plan this all out and then Follow. The. Plan!! it will totally be SO EASY. i mean i can have it all done so quickly!"

...ignoring the fact that this has never once happened 😂

[jjkeremika]

OH MY ~MAPPA~ LOL WOW🥵

[swashbucklery]

flowing here like honey (willow, kit/elora/jade, E)

Here in the wildlands, on the border with Galladoorn, Kit isn't concerned with formality. The obligation of caring and fussing and explaining feels like something she'd rather have left at the palace gates. She just wants to be with her girls, to touch and comfort and warm both of them as they need her.

A strategic mind, the Empress-Consort's mind, would consider it. A more perfect version of Kit would take into account the customs and laws of Galladoorn and the best type of comportment for the situation at hand. Kit isn't as perfect as Sorsha wishes her to be. She's just herself, tired and cold, snowed in on the Solstice with her two favourite people in the world.

+

(OR: the coziest snowed-in made-up-fantasy-holiday fic you've ever seen. Kit and Elora and Jade snowed in over solstice, passing the time together.)

Chapter 1

Chapters 2-4 coming Feb 8, 12, 16

[unknowndrone]

Her Birthday

Natasha Romanoff X Reader

Prompt: The reader and Natasha are both in the Red Room and they manage to get assigned together on a mission together. Natasha decides to bring her and the reader out for a special occasion.

WC: 728

The both of you were back in the hotel room together after an exhaustingly long mission. You laid on your hotel bed, staring at the roof with one arm over your forehead. You breathe a sigh, still wondering how the hell you and Nat even managed to get out of this one.

Your thoughts would only become interrupted as someone throws something towards you. “Get up,” Natasha says firmly.

You groan, “Why?” 

“Because I said so,” she retorts.

You weren’t going to continue arguing with her as you spring up from the bed. With a key and a purse in her hand, you follow her outside like a lost puppy.

Sooner or later, the two of you found each other standing outside what seems like a local bakery. There was a good crowd of people there, but not enough to cause congestion. 

“Find us a chair somewhere,” she recommends. 

You didn’t feel like complaining or arguing with her. You managed to find a spot secluded from the crowd of people, near the back end of the shop. You wait there patiently for whatever Natasha has planned for the day.  Eventually, the woman comes back, with a single tray.

She places down two plates and two drinks. “Don’t eat anything yet.” She tells you before walking away to put the tray away.

You look at the food. Two slices of red velvet cake and two mugs of hot chocolate. You raise an eyebrow wondering what the hell this was even about. In the corner of your eye, she struts back. 

“What’s the occasion?” You ask her. 

“Nothing,” she says shrugging. “I just thought you and I needed some time off from the mission.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, but her stone-cold face made it impossible to read any signs of inflection. She takes a sip out of her hot chocolate, but you were still staring at her, trying to read her. 

“What? Did you want me to spoon-feed you the cake, too?” she asks sarcastically. 

“Is it your birthday?” you ask her curiously.

“Why does it matter? I got you cake, just eat it.”

You put your fork down before heading to the counter. When you came back, Natasha still hadn’t eaten her cake and the puzzled look on her face still resides. 

“What did you just-”

Without warning, you place a candle on top of her cake. With the lighter in your pocket, you light the candle up. A small smile harboring your face. “There. That’s how a birthday cake works.”

“You wouldn’t even know that for sure,” she argues.

“I’m sure we would,” you argue. “Now blow on the candle.”

“Now you’re making a big deal out of this.”

“You were the one who brought me out here. Now we’re going to celebrate for what it’s worth. Besides, live a little Nat. You never know if you’re going to celebrate it again. Plus, I’ll be the one celebrating it with you.”

“You are impossible,” she grumbles.

You laugh at her response. “Sure. Now, I’m going to sing and then you make your wish.”

In the most tone-deaf but somehow enthusiastic manner, you sang the words. Finally, you managed to let Natasha break out a smile as you sing happily to her. You didn’t know it at the time, but it was the first time in forever since she ever had celebrated her birthday. The smile on your lips becomes contagious and it was enough to make her smile. 

When you finished, she blew her candle. You clap like an idiot. “Let’s hope your wish comes true,” you tell her hopefully.

“Now that’s just you being childish.”

“We can call it that, too!” you reply happily

Circa 2010s 

She still kept the candle. It was a memory with you she could never forget. It became one of her many firsts. The first time she had celebrated her birthday. The first time you managed to make her laugh for more than five minutes. Maybe the first time she has ever fallen in love. The last one, she isn’t quite sure of. 

It was lonely in the Avengers facility. Among the many birthday wishes she gets with her new family, she still thinks of you. If she had known you more at the time, her wish might have been different. 

She should’ve wished you would’ve escape with her.

_____________________________

Hi! I hope you enjoy this slightly angsty one. Don’t worry, the reader isn’t dead lmao :) Have a great day/night and may you always stay safe

[inevitably-johnlocked]

hey steph!! would you happen to have any 'medium burn' (slow burn for the impatient) Johnlock fics? preferably minimal to no spice and a happy ending is a must! my weak heart can not bear an angsty ending :<

Thank you for all you do here <3

Hey Nonny!

HAHAHAH AHHHHH YES. The Medium Burn, huh. I never thought of calling my shorter "slow burn" fic lists Medium burn, but like... that's a good thing to call it! Because you don't have to wait too long to get it, hahha!

Ah, let me collect all the shorter fics on my Slow Burn Fics Lists and compile them here! I provide ratings for all of them, and chose to keep under.... 25K, let's say! If you're here on my blog, I'm guessing you can read through my lists like eating candy, so 25K is nothing hee hee.

I tag all my fics, so feel free to ignore the Ratings and Sad tags that you don't want to read <3

MEDIUM BURN FICS (Slow Burn Under 25K w.)

New Year, New Beginning by DaisyFairy (T, 810 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, New Year’s Eve, John POV, Friends to Lovers) – New Year at a crime scene and John makes a decision.

Ex by Itsallfine (T, 1,248 w., 1 Ch. || Angsty Fluff, Love Confessions, Coming Out, Exes, First Kiss, Fake Relationship, Getting Outed) – One night, in the midst of their post-case high and on the cusp of something more, John and Sherlock run into John’s ex. His ex-boyfriend.

In Dreams by Youarethelightoftheworld (T, 1,340 w., 1 Ch. || Falling in Love, Accidental Cuddling, Snuggling, Fluff, Romance, Domestic Fluff) – Every once in a while, the dark makes it easier to see.

There's Always Three of Us by Itsallfine (T, 1,765 w., 1 Ch. || S4 Fix It Fic/Post TFP, Parentlock / Rosie, Angelo’s, First Kiss, January 29, Love Declarations) – Sherlock takes John and Rosie out to Angelo's and gets a chance to correct the biggest mistake of his life.

Want by siennna (T, 1,806 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Pining, First Kiss Requited, Second Person POV Sherlock) – When John speaks, you hear more than words. You hear the rise and fall of his tone, the comfortable quake of his laughter, the warm pauses of silence in between. When John laughs, there are stars glittering on his tongue and galaxies resting just behind his teeth, and you wish you could press your lips there and burrow into the warm sound. Part 6 of sienna’s favorites

100 ways to say 'I love you' by Teatrolley (NR, 2,143 w., 1 Ch. || Slow Burn, Fluff, Domestics) – Sherlock sleeps with John’s body next to him, and wakes up to find him making them both toast in the kitchen with sleep still sitting in the corner of his eye, and he holds on tight to every little intimacy that John gives him; every little small moment, every little fond smile. It could be enough. Still, he’d like more. But Sherlock Holmes doesn’t know how to ask for things. Luckily, John does. In which there are a hundred phrases and none of them are “I love you.” Until they are.

The Marriage Proposal Negotiation by Goddess_of_the_Night (G, 2,161 w., 1 Ch. || Dev. Rel., Possessive Sherlock, Insecure Sherlock, Fluff, First Kiss, Post Mary) – Sherlock hasn't ever really done anything the traditional way, so of course it wouldn't bother him to propose to John even though they're not even dating. And the fact that John is already on a date with someone else when he decides to do it? Tedious. 

Rooftop Confession by Random_Nexus (T, 2,514 w., 1 Ch. || Ace Sherlock, Developing Relationship, Friendship / Love, Angsty Fluff) – Sherlock asks John to join him for a slightly unexpected discussion.

BBCSH 'How To Save A Life' by tigersilver (T, 2,784 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Angsty Schmoop, Requited Love) – Pining, requited, and unabated spates of 'first kiss' fluff. Post Mary, AU, mildly cracky. John lays a smooch on Sherlock's nape in passing. The world does that thing it does when it wobbles and Sherlock practically falls off his own pins. Part 1 of 'How To...'

What He's Like by magikspell (E, 2,919 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confessions, Fluff, First Time, Inexperienced Sherlock) – Realistic first time. They love each other so much.

Once is Enough by Jominerva (T, 3,030 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confessions, Domestic Fluff, Whump) – Just as the earth rises to meet the sun at every mountain crest, John reaches out for Sherlock and takes his hand in his own."Tell me it won't end like this," he says, blue eyes holding grey while he laces their fingers together. Sherlock lets out a shaky laugh and shakes his head. "I wish I could."

A Bit of Indulgence by beltainefaerie (NR, 3,364 w. || Fake Relationship, Pride Parade, Declarations of Love, Fluff, Dev. Rel., Case Fic) – A case leads John and Sherlock to fake being boyfriends and John runs into an old acquaintance.

Hope Springs Eternal by QuinnAnderson (T, 4,054 w., 1 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Pining Sherlock, Vacation, Anxious Sherlock, Love Confessions, Fluff, Requited Love) – John Watson and Sherlock Holmes go on holiday, and Sherlock has romance on the brain.

How Will I Know? by eragon19 (E, 4,895 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, POV Sherlock, Fluff, Sherlock’s Imagination, Papa Lestrade, Masturbation) – Here was the problem: Sherlock Holmes was completely and irrevocably in love with John Watson, and he had absolutely no idea how to tell him.

changing tides by simplyclockwork (M, 5,983 w., 1 Ch. || Substance Use, Drug Relapse, High Sherlock, Sherlock Falls Down Stairs / Injury, Caring John, Drugs, Oblivious John, Hurt/Comfort, Angst With Happy Ending, Acceptance, Pre-Relationship, Addiction, Starting Over, Self-Destructive Behaviour, Drugged Hallucinations, Forehead Touching, Sherlock POV) – If Sherlock were to stop to think about it, he might wonder if he’s simply lonely. He doesn’t stop to think about it.

Closeted by sussexbound (T, 6,115 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confession, First Kiss, Games, Trapped in a Closet) – Sherlock and John get trapped in a closet while on a case. Some revelations are made while they play a game to pass the time. Part 1 of Intimacy

Full Disclosure by Itsallfine (E, 7,032 w., 1 Ch. || Bars & Pubs, Fake Relationship, First Kiss / Time, Love Confessions, John’s Army Mates, Three Continents Watson, Semi-Public Sex) – John’s army mates get together for the first time post-discharge and invite John “Three Continents” Watson to join them. If John shows up alone, he knows he’ll be the object of non-stop ridicule all night. Sherlock plays along. John tests the waters.

A Lifetime Together by LondonGypsy (M, 8,886 w., 1 Ch. || Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Falling in Love, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Pining Idiots, Alternating POVs, Domestics, Retirement) – John and Sherlock falling in love.

You fit me, Sherlock Holmes by orphan_account (G, 10,077 w., 1 Ch. || It’s An Experiment, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Questionable Science) – An unfortunate series of events leads to John accepting being a part of Sherlock's study in physical intimacy. As the days pass by, John realizes he might be in for more than he bargained for. He doesn't entirely mind.

Their Great Reward by BeautifulFiction (T, 10,095 w., 1 Ch. || UST, First Kiss, Fluff) – Boxing day, in John's opinions, is the worst day of the year. Christmas is over, the tree is wilting and stripped of gifts, and there's a week of dead-time until the clean slate of the new year. However the combination of a blizzard, a power-cut and Sherlock might just make it a day to remember.

Down with this Ship by FrostedFlame (PinkOrchid) (M, 10,862 w., 10 Ch. || For a Case, Gay Bar, Pining, Coming Out, Slow Burn) – Sherlock drags John undercover to a gay bar - for a case, of course - looking forward to seeing John flustered by their surroundings (since you know, he's NOT GAY). John decides that he has hidden both his orientation and his feelings for his daft flatmate for far too long. He is done hiding, time to be honest with his bloody best friend in the world. He just hopes it won't change anything between them. And then it does.

Iris by slashscribe (E, 11,948 w., 1 Ch. || Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Post-S3) – Sherlock does his best to make John happy when John comes back to 221B with his new baby after the events of Season 3, but Sherlock has a track record of getting things wrong in this area. This story is an exploration of their gradual shift from friends to lovers, told from Sherlock's perspective, full of a lot of pining and lack of emotional awareness.

I See You Through by belovedmuerto (T, 12,078 w., 8 Ch. || Psychic AU || Empath John, Alternate TGG, Whump, Nightmares, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn, Pre-Slash) – John has never asked Sherlock about his past, his childhood, the reason he quails in lonely misery almost every time he sees his brother. He’s never needed to. Part 2 of An Experiment in Empathy

The Slow Burn by CaitlinFairchild (E, 12,097 w., 4 Ch. || Romance, Emotional Infidelity, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock POV, First Kiss/Time, Fix-It) – John smiles, something small and private and for him alone, and Sherlock just...he knows. With a heart-stopping certainty, Sherlock suddenly knows. It feels like falling off the edge of a cliff. It feels like falling off the edge of the world. It feels like flying.

holding steady by darcylindbergh (E, 12,724 w., 4 Ch. || Post S4, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Growing Old, Gone Fishing, Mood without Plot, Soft Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, POV John Third Person, Anxious Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Feeling Old, Sherlock Worship, Crying Sherlock, Cuddles, Comforting, Introspection, Retirement, Hand Holding, Forehead Kisses, Caring John, Bed Sharing, Emotional Love Making) – Sitting on a thick wool blanket at the end of a rickety dock side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge, a styrofoam container of wet, dark dirt between them, they’re fishing. John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.

Speaker for the Bees by antietamfalls (M, 14,649 w., 3 Ch. || Deaf Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Sign Language) – It isn't always easy assisting a deaf detective. Luckily for John, they make a pretty good team.

Merlot by Itsallfine (E, 14,844 w., 17 Ch. || Christmas, Pining Sherlock, Wine, Slow Burn, First Kiss / Time, Love Confessions, Wine, Holmes Family) – Sherlock and John work toward becoming something more as they prepare to host the Holmes parents at 221B for the holidays. Part of 25 Days of Fic-Mas 2015.

A Hooligans’ Game Played By Gentlemen by scullyseviltwin (E, 15,213 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Rugby as Foreplay, Porn with Lots of Plot, John POV, Ogling, Body Appreciation, Cranky Sherlock, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Cuddling, Touching, Heavy Petting, Blow Job, Botttomlock) – In which John wants to get back in shape, does so, joins a rugby league and has sex with Sherlock Holmes. In that order.

Pleasure to Burn by scullyseviltwin (E, 17,863 w., 1 Ch. || Firefighter AU || Firefighter John / Arson Investigator Sherlock, Slow Burn, Pining, Case Fic-ish) – “If you’d kindly stop knocking about in there and destroying all of my evidence, it would be most appreciated!” John groaned and for a moment rested his head against the side of the truck. Of course he was the only captain left on the scene, which meant he would have to be the one to deal with the arson investigator.

Anytime by SilentAuror (E, 17,995 w., 1 Ch. || UST, Porn With Feels, POV Sherlock, Romance, UST/URT, Happy Ending, Drunken Endeavours) – Sherlock blinks and attempts to focus. There is a little too much vodka in his veins at the moment and it’s having an unfortunate effect on his brain and retinas both. There are two Johns sitting across from him, and both of them are frowning at him. “You’re drunk,” the Johns tell him. Sherlock blinks some more. “Says the man with Mrs Hudson’s doily on his head.”

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier. 

The White Lotuses by SilentAuror (E, 20,340 w., 1 Ch. || Slow Burn, Domestic, Romance) – One day John realises that he just isn't where he belongs, which is back at Baker Street with Sherlock. So he goes back and Sherlock, in his own way, courts him. Romance.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

whiskies neat by Ellipsical (E, 20,660 w., 15 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, POV Second Person Sherlock, Slow Burn, One Night Stand, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Anal, Soldier John, Crying, Emotional Lovemaking, Switchlock) – Home and hearth and whiskies neat, or, alternatively, Sherlock Holmes falls in love.

Once More, With Feeling by cellard00rs (T, 21,178 w., 7 Ch. || John’s Family, Fake Relationship, Romance, Fluff, Humour) – To put off his meddlesome, matchmaking mother, John convinces Sherlock to play the role of his significant other. Unparalleled awkwardness ensues.

Ghost Stories by SwissMiss (M, 22,256 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Holmes Family, Christmas, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, First Time) – Sherlock's parents think he and John are a couple. They might be onto something.

You Can Imagine the Christmas Dinners by ardenteurophile (T, 23,584 w., 9 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Drama, Fluff & Angst, Humour, Romance) – Sherlock takes John along for Christmas dinner with Mycroft and Mummy (And "Anthea", too). Over the course of the evening, John realises that everyone in the room - apart from him - seems to think that he and Sherlock are a couple. Part 2 of Xmas Dinners Verse

Tomorrow's Song by agirlsname (M, 24,645 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TRF, POV Sherlock, Angst with a Happy Ending, Virgin / Repressed Sherlock, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Pining, Jealous Sherlock) – How can he think a relationship with me would be a good idea? I am the sort of person to take a break from my life and when I come back after two years, I expect to find it exactly as I left it. In reality I find it shattered to pieces. (I actually equate you with my life. When did I start doing that?)

State of Flux by Atiki (E, 24,655 w., 4 Ch. || S3 Fix It, Sherlock POV, Slow Burn, First Kiss/Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Cuddles and Snuggles, Awkwardness, Insecure/Virgin Sherlock, Romance, Humour, Masturbation, Love Declarations, Bottomlock, Brief Suicidal Ideations) – John’s marriage is over and he is finally back home (i.e. at Baker Street, where he belongs). Sherlock is awfully insecure and John is awfully hesitant, and they’re both awkward idiots, of course, but they figure it out. Many First Times happen.

[heyidkyay]

Havin' to be human |

As it's October and Halloween is by far one of my favourite holidays, I thought I'd write something a little different than usual! This is another Matty fic, not sure how long it'll be but if it's well liked I'll post a second part? Happy October, hope you enjoy it:)

Summary: There's a fine line between the living and the dead. I realised that at a very young age and still have yet to escape it- even after forcing myself to move miles away from home. It seems that you can't escape much though in Wilmslow either, not the dead, not overly-involved flatmates, and certainly not the curly haired lad that stands hanging about in cafe's. But when have things ever been easy for me?

“Would you like another biscuit, deary?”

I glance up from my slight daze and draw my eyes away from the staircase sat just outside the living room door to meet the older woman’s weary smile. I’m fine with the six she’s already handed me but I can’t find it in myself to deny her, so I just nod minutely and give her another quiet thank you.

“Sorry about all this, I’m sure he’ll be in any second now.” The woman, Mrs O’Donald, tells me, still fiddling with the biscuit tin. It's one of those metal ones you usually find in old people’s houses, full to the brim with either shortbread or sewing needles. Always one or the other.

“It’s no worry. I don’t mind waiting, I’ve nowhere else to be.” I assure her but she just nods quickly and then starts rearranging the table for the seventh time. I leave her to it, knowing it must bring her some sense of comfort. She seems the type, the many figurines littering the shelves are all in perfect position and the cushions on the sofa look practically untouched.

But while she does that, my gaze ultimately drags its way back over to the doorway, to the bottom step of the staircase where I can still see a tiny hand gripping the banister bar, the rest of the body hidden behind the living room door’s wooden frame. It's eery but I can't keep myself from looking.

I cough lightly after a moment and rest my teacup back on the coffee table, making sure to use one of the many coasters offered, “If you don’t mind me asking, Mrs O’Donald-”

“Rosie, please.” 

With a polite smile, I nod. “Rosie.” I correct myself and don’t pay attention to the light tremors in her right hand as she refills my cup once more, I say nothing about it. “I was just going to ask if you had any more children, other than Andrew, of course.”

I’m a little startled then by the way her entire demeanour seems to shift then, as though my question has triggered something deep within her. Gone are the faint tremors and stuttering pleasantries, she’s now sat deathly still, the fidgeting and the strained smile she’s worn since the moment I’d arrived have vanished.

“Just one other.” Mrs O’Donald, or rather Rosie, answers me, her eyes caught on the fireplace mantle now, where a plethora of neatly arranged photo frames crowd together, all of them silver and very detailed. 

“Oh,” I reply quietly in return, deciding now to tread with a little caution after having witnessed her previous response, “Are there many years between them?”

The older woman seems to swallow then, her throat bobs and her thin lips tighten, before her eyes dart back to me. I try not to outwardly react, not to still under their sudden scrutiny, their coldness.

“Why? Who told you to ask that?” She immediately quizzes me, hunching further in her armchair now that it takes a great strength in me to keep from cowering back in my own.

“No one.” I hurry to reassure her, and I can hear the tight pitch of my voice, how bewildered I sound. “No one, Mrs O’Donald. I just, I just wanted to know a little more about Andrew. That's all.”

Mrs O’Donald nods then at my lie, but my assurance seems to ebb her sudden worries, which gifts me no reprieve. At all. I’ve often gotten myself into some odd situations, some even more strange than this, but the woman’s reaction to such a simple question is so peculiar that it instantly sets me on edge, not to mention that the little hand on the staircase has vanished now.

Fucking Frankie and all her meddling, I could wring her neck right about now! I think to myself helplessly. 

Frankie’s my roommate, you see, we’ve been friends since I’d first moved to town, since I’d left London and got on the first train that had been leaving the platform. I’d seen her ad in the newsagents outside the local train station, all bejewelled and with this ditzy font, and had headed into a nearby cafe to give her a call. She’d been two months behind on rent and had been desperate enough to tack up her spare room on the bulletin board there for a couple hundred quid a month. Then along came me and well, I’d had nowhere else to go. 

We’ve been as thick as thieves from the get go though, she’d actually been one to arrange this rather impromptu excursion, having set me up with a lad she knew from secondary that was apparently ‘my exact type’. Not that she really knew what that was, in truth, Frankie knew nothing of actual importance about me, even though we were dead close. She had no idea why I’d even left home, or why I’d come to Wilmslow of all places, and had never once bothered me about it. 

My sex life, on the other hand, was something she loved to bug me about to no apparent end. Enough that I’d finally relented and agreed for her to set me up with this mate of hers after having seen a picture of him on Facebook, if only for the reason she’d let this whole thing go. I was perfectly content being on my own, preferred it actually, even when it sometimes grew harder having to keep everything to myself all the time, scared to let people near. But that was just life, wasn’t it, and life was so much easier when everyone around me was none the wiser to my… situation.

Mrs O’Donald appears to have softened a bit now and I try to return the gesture when she gives me a shaky smile. “Sorry, it’s just. It’s hard, even now, to talk about, you know.”

Fuck. I struggle to keep my smile.

“I didn’t mean to pry.” I’m quick to tell her, my chest tightening as I draw in another slow breath. I can see that the small hand is back now, there, just out of the corner of my eye. “We can pretend that I didn’t even ask, hey?”

The woman just shakes her head at me though and for the millionth time today I wish I’d never stepped foot through that fucking door.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Mrs O’Donald says, although I’m pretty sure she’s only doing it to reassure herself. “It was a long, long time ago. Gary says it does me no good to linger on the memory. And our Andrew’s the same.”

I have zero fucking idea as to who Gary could possibly be, her husband maybe? But I don’t even ask, just willing myself to pop out of existence then and there. Or for her pink puffy chaise longue to eat me whole. 

“Right.” Is all I can bring myself to say, and it’s then that my mind finally relents in its stubbornness and allows my eyes to wander back over towards the staircase again, only I’m not fully prepared for what I see. The hand is still there, only now it’s joined by another, the pair of them bracketing a wan head with unrelenting eyes.

I jump on instinct at the image and send the teacup I’d taken to cradling again soaring through the air. Mrs O’Donald jumps too, though her reaction is solely down to me, and I find myself so surprised that all I can really do is ramble, “I am so sorry. Honestly, I don’t know what came over me. I’m so, so sorry, Mrs O’Donald. Here let me-”

The woman, who appears to be in better shape now that she has something to occupy herself with, is waving my apologies away freely, a tea towel already in hand as she pivots around to wipe up the spilled tea. “Not to worry, dear. I’m the same somedays, just one of those things, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” I breathe out, though my stare is still stuck on the staircase and the tiny little boy staring back at me through its wooden railings. “Just one of those things.” I murmur.

To say I made a clean break for it after that, would’ve been an absolute lie, seeing as how the second I tried to say my goodbyes to Mrs O’Donald, claiming that I suddenly felt a bit under the weather and apologising once again for the spillage, did Andrew walk through the front door.

“Oh Andrew! You’re just in time.” Mrs O’Donald all but beams, a total contrast to the woman who’s been serving me tea and biscuits in her living room for the past twenty minutes. She hurries over to the front door to properly welcome him in whilst I linger in the hallway, only a foot away from the bottom of the staircase, trying incredibly hard not to concentrate on the soundless feet kicking at the skirting-board. 

So before Andrew could even utter a word to me, or simply breathe in my direction, I was slipping between the pair of them and out the front door before you could say ‘goodbye’. I practically legged it down their street, even as Andrew called out after me in obvious confusion, and didn’t stop running until I was far too winded and amongst the noise of the high-street in town.

I wasn’t always like this. I swear.

It had started out with whispers, mostly soft and indistinct, but occasionally a single voice would stand out amongst the others. I’d be on the motorway in mum’s car and suddenly hear ‘Look out, oh God, look out!’ in a frenzied voice that would quickly cut off, or ‘Such a fucking slag, knew she’d move right on-’ on the walk home from school, and even ‘Are you sure I locked the front door before we left?’ whenever I bypassed the house at the end of this one street.

They’d drift in and out of oscillation like a poorly tuned radio. Sometimes the voices are fuzzy, almost silent and barely there, whilst other times they can be so real and immediate that they have me spinning around in a circle trying to work out who’s talking.

It quickly grew from there though, the voices went from being carried on a nonexistent wave to falling from faintly drawn lips caught in a blur of movement. I’d see them just out of the corner of my eye, whenever I’d turn a bend or glance over my shoulder. The visions also made me pause abruptly, stop to catch the breath that had left me, they were like trails of smoke caught on the wind, like wisps from a candle freshly blown out. But even after that, with the seeing and the hearing, things still changed. The blurry images adapted, became more evident, more vivid. They went from hazy chance glances to people crowding busy intersections or sitting by a bridge. Had little girls with snapped necks living in my childhood bedroom and the neighbours lost dog sniffing around my ankles.

Even then though they tended to loop, to say the same things, and follow the same path. The little girl back home would often climb the stairs at night and I’d hear her footfalls, never a step mistook, always the same pattern, the same beat. Always repeating, apologising, crying. Enough that it started to drain me, enough so that I could no longer sleep in that house at night. Enough to force me out and away. 

Only recently have they started to interact more, see that I truly am there, that I can see them as much as they can see me. They don’t appear to forget as much either. Don’t repeat like they did for so many of the years before. When I ask them questions, they can choose to answer, they differentiate from their previous paths, follow me about with a questioning gaze instead of continuing the same cycle. 

That little boy back at the O’Donald’s house, he was one of them. He knew I’d seen him too. From the second I’d sat down. But he’d been reluctant to come any closer than the staircase, why I don’t know, but I chose not to dwell too long on it.

I finally breathe a sigh of relief when I see the front door to our flat, all pretty with the wreath Frankie had adorned it with, not to mention the brightly coloured paint that set it vastly apart from the rest of the street’s. I don’t think I’d ever been more thankful to see it, in fact, not even after that first time when Frankie had invited me inside and let me call it home. 

“Oi, and there you are! Honestly, what do you think you’re playing at? I’ve just had Andrew on the phone, ranting away! Said he just got in through the door when you all but bolted your way out of the house to run like a mad man on a mission down the street! I mean, what on Earth were you-” I’ve just slipped into the warmth of our little two bed and Frankie pauses the second she rounds the corner to the hallway, catching the gaunt face I’m sporting. “Oh, shit. You alright?”

I can only chuckle as I struggle to remove the coat I’d thrown on earlier. “Oh me? I’m fine!” I huff sarcastically, all but chucking the leather jacket up onto one of the hangers we have in the hall, “Fucking brill, me!" I add, but I’m still fighting for breath as I slump against the wall slightly to cast her a narrow-eyed glance, “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me Andrew had a dead little brother?”

“He what?” Frankie shoots straight back, eyes as wide as bowling balls and bleached eyebrows practically hitting her hairline.

“Andrew. Dead brother.” I repeat, forcing myself back onto steady feet so that I can slip past her and head into the kitchen, “What is there not to get about that?”

“No I definitely got it, just… processing?” She replies in that familiar twang of hers, voice carrying its way through the flat. 

“How could you not think to tell me, of all people, that tiny little detail?” I complain in a whiney groan as I set to sticking the kettle on, I'm still struggling to wrap my head around the whole ordeal and sitting honestly feels like the worst thing I could possibly do.

I hear her footfalls follow shortly behind me and when they stop I glance up to find her stood in the doorway, eyes still wide as ever.

“I didn’t know.” Is what Frankie settles on, her arms hanging limply by her sides, “I didn’t know.”

I pause immediately. Her words well and truly hitting me like a truck. 

“Oh, oh shit, Fran. God, I’m so sorry.” I hurry to apologise, a hand covering my mouth as she slowly makes her way across the kitchen tiles. “I didn’t even think. I had no idea. Fuck."

A startled laugh escapes her at that, but I know there’s no real humour in it. “Yeah, me either.”

We just stand there staring at each other for a long while, both in obvious shock. Me trying to get over the experience, her coming to terms with the newfound information I'd all but thrown in her face.

It’s the kettle whistling that sets the two of us back into motion. I look over to it and then back at her, we both seem to just move on instinct then, her heading to the fridge for the milk, semi-skimmed for her, almond for me, and I grab two mugs to fill with the usual brand of tea.

A quiet settles after that, until we’re both curled up on the sofa at least, tele on low and a brew in hand. Fran’s taken to sprawling herself across her end whilst I crowd myself up against the sofa’s back, knees touching my chest.

“So, dead little brother?”

I hum lowly at the cut in the silence, watching Fran's expression from over the rim of my cup, steam hazing the view.

“How dead we talking here?”

I roll my eyes but can’t help the breathy laugh that escapes me as I grip my mug a little tighter, mainly just wanting the warmth. There always came an unrelenting cold whenever dealing with the dead, and I was almost always cold these days.

“Pretty dead.” I tell her, pursing my lips when the image of his little face comes to the forefront of my mind, “He had these dark circles around his eyes, big and blue. He looked so,” I draw in a breath, “I don’t know, he just looked so small and bony. Wasting almost.”

“Cheers.” I snap myself out of it and look back over when I hear Frankie’s voice, I wince at the expression she now wears, all pale and pensive, though trying her best to cover it up. 

“Sorry.” I mumble, but she merely waves me off, shaking herself out of it before she takes a sip of her milky brew.

“Don’t matter, just, can’t believe I never knew of it.” She exhales heavily, “He was young though, yeah? So like maybe he died back when Andy were a kid or summat.” 

My eyes narrow in thought, “I don’t reckon so, when I asked whether she had any other children Mrs O’Donald got all weird about it, she just changed all of a sudden, and then when I wondered the same thing you just did, I questioned how many years were between them- the boys, I mean. She switched up, Fran. Like, gone was the wobbly old woman and there was this massive fuckin’ viper ready to strike me down.”

“Weird.” Frankie comments and she pulls the face she makes whenever something doesn't sit right with her. “Never seen her act like that, was always so skittish whenever we saw her out. Her husband never let her leave the house much though, my mum reckoned they had a bit of a domestic going on.”

I find myself glancing out the living room window, mulling her words over as well as the entire situation. “Maybe. The kid seemed withdrawn too, didn’t move from off the staircase the whole time I was there.”

“They usually move about then?” I hear Fran ask me and I hum as I blink, “These ghosts of yours...”

A small smile graces my lips and I roll my eyes once more before turning back to her, “They’re not my ghosts. And yeah, typically. Sometimes they’re stuck in a loop-”

“What, like reliving their death?” She grimaces at the very notion.

“Yeah,” I admit a little reluctantly, because it always seems to make me feel uneasy whenever I linger too long on it. “But then they sort of become more animate once they know I can see them too.”

“Oh, so you’re sort of like a battery then?”

“Pardon?” I snort, unable to help myself.

“A battery!” Frankie parrots a little livelier this time, smiling over at me as she pushes herself to sit up properly. “You like power them and crap, give them the energy to step off the path, you know?”

I wrinkle my nose, “Never thought of it like that.”

“‘Course not! But that’s why you have me, in’t it?” Fran snipes back, settling her tea down on the coffee table to give me her full focus. “Tell me more about Andrew’s brother then, did he say anything, do anything?”

I sigh whilst shaking my head, saddened by the fact that I now feel as though I have to set my cup down too. Frankie seems to get like this sometimes, where she gets overly excited by the things that intrigue her. When I’d first mentioned all this seeing spirits thing to her- it was only after I’d taken a trip with her to her nan’s house and seen her grandad mowing the grass- I’d still been getting used to the whole change in sight thing and had waved to the old man in the garden as we’d walked by, only realising just after that Frankie's grandad had been dead almost ten years. Fran had been eager to learn more once she’d pestered me enough into coming clean about the whole thing. Not once has she made me regret telling her though.

“He didn’t say anything, just kept looking. Watching.” I tell her truthfully, thinking back to the boy's empty eyes.

“Creepy.”

I chuck a cushion at her for that, which she only narrowly avoids by ducking, it skids across the living room floor and bumps against the tall cabinet we brought home a few weeks ago. “Not creepy, just, he’s dead, Fran. It’s all, well, it's all a little bit creepy but they're still people.”

She just shrugs and gestures for me to continue.

I sigh, “He wouldn’t leave the staircase, even when Andrew came home. Most times ghosts will just carry out their tasks, but sometimes when loved ones are near they’ll deviate and track them instead. This kid just sat there though, watching his mum and brother as he kicked his feet off the skirting-board at the bottom of the stairs."

Frankie hums as she listens, but then pipes up with “Did he die there then, on the staircase maybe?” when I’ve finished and it breaks me from my own train of thought. 

“‘Spose so, bit grim to think about though. Could’ve just tripped and fell, hit his head, died instantly.” I reply, chewing on my bottom lip as I fight not to think of any other scenario that could’ve occurred. Fran, on the other hand, is not like that though- meaning, I wouldn’t be surprised if she came home one day and told me she was going to become Wilmslow’s next big detective.

“Could’ve been pushed too, by the dad maybe? He wasn’t much of man, bit too short, too hefty, and had the ugliest mug you'd ever seen- me and mum always wondered how he’d managed to score a pretty thing like Mrs O’Donald.”

I purse my lips and inhale, “Could’ve been any of them if we’re going down that route.”

I feel more than see Frankie still then. “What, you reckon Mrs O’Donald could have done it?”

“Maybe,” I shrug a single shoulder, picking up my mug again. “I mean, she changed so quickly when I was there and I’d only been with her twenty minutes. Never know what could’ve happened behind closed doors.”

“Shit.” Fran murmurs and I almost feel bad when I add, “Could’ve just as easily been Andrew too.” Because her head snaps up so quickly she actually winces.

“What? No. Not Andrew, he’s far too lovely! Even in school he was well liked, everyone wanted to be his mate.” Frankie argues, adamant as she shakes her head. “There’s no way.”

“Okay, didn’t mean to upset you, babe, but I was only mentioning it. Everyone has a story, Fran, have things that they hide, that they don’t want other people to see.”

Frankie shakes her head and releases a heavy breath, sat cross-legged now, “No, I’m not upset. Well I am, but only ‘cause I set you up with him- and what does that say about me if he’s a killer!”

I pause entirely at that, before I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up out of my throat, throwing another cushion that does actually hit her this time. “You’re such a fucking self-obsessed twat.”

“Oi!” She immediately retorts, chucking the pillow straight back at me. “I’m not, but just- could you imagine? I’d have to rethink my entire life!”

I roll my eyes, “You’re such a drama queen.”

“And you, my dear, are in dire need of a good shag. So I apologise that I’m the only one here with their head screwed on straight.” She stretches over the settee to grab at her cup, wrinkling her nose when she finds it to now be cold, though she still drinks it. “But at least we can rule Andy out now, even if he didn’t push his brother down the stairs I don’t think he’ll be wanting to see you again.”

“Oh ta, Fran. I’m a catch, thank you very much.” I snark, all bark and no bite. “But yeah, glad we can put all this shit behind us now.”

“Um, no. That is not what I said. Now it just means that we can move onto the next guy on the list!”

“List?!” I squawk indignantly, Frankie just grins all shark like.

“Huh, I figured you would have worked that out by now. You’ve been here seven months, babe, so that means I’ve had thirty something weeks to work out a catalogue of people who might have yet to catch your eye.”

“Frankie.” I warn. 

But she just keeps on grinning, the cow. “You can thank me for it later.”

And she leaves it at that, pushing up off the sofa to stand and make her way back into the kitchen, “Fancy another?” She asks me with her raised mug in hand. I huff but ultimately nod, not looking forward to this charade she’s been apparently been planning in her head for months now. 

It’s a couple days later and the dust has barely settled when Fran asks me to meet up with her in this local coffee shop just off the main street in town. It’s her absolute favourite, she used to frequent it all the time up until her ex from college got a job there, but according to the rumour mill he apparently just got the sack after having been caught selling on the side- “coffee and a baggie, please and thanks.” Anyway, Frankie had been over the moon to hear about it and had popped in first chance she got, came home grinning that same afternoon with a latte in hand and a lemon loaf to share in the other. 

The loaf was to die for though, so I couldn’t blame her for the ruthlessness and understood why she was so keen to meet up there. I only wished she’d given me a bit more notice, I’d been halfway through researching a little more into the O’Donalds- because I could never seem to let anything go- that I’d barely even had the chance to run a brush through my hair. Still, I managed to make it in time and found myself smiling as I pushed through the door to the shop, a warmth wafting over me.

My eyes scan the crowd first, it’s not busy, only a handful of people litter the open space, but the cafe’s really welcoming, makes it feel like a place you can come to hideaway, what with all the dim lighting and wood furnishing. I step in further but can’t seem to catch sight of Fran just yet, so I pull out my phone to shoot her a text, figuring I can just order while I wait. Only, she’s apparently already beat me to it, texted I mean, telling me that she won’t be able to make it, that something came up, and then practically demanding me to stay and try the place out.

It’s a heavy sigh that I let go of as I send her off a quick reply and tuck my phone back into my pocket, feeling a little miffed about the fact that she’d forced me out of the flat only to bail at the very last second.

“You alright?”

I blink at the sudden voice and instinctively glance up to find its owner, a curly haired male leaning against the shop’s counter looks me over with the beginnings of a smile. 

My brows shoot up on their own accord and I glance over my shoulder to make sure that he’s actually talking to me, which seemingly makes him laugh.

“Yeah, I meant you there, Dottie.” He says and when I look back over he’s sporting a proper grin.

I frown at the gifted name and tilt my head down in confusion to peer at the outfit I’d chosen, “What?”

“Your scarf.” He tells me with a jerk of his chin, gesturing towards the silk square I’d used to tie my hair back only half an hour earlier. Instantly I reach up to touch it whilst he merely smirks, sharp eyes still trained on me.

“Oh, um. Yeah I’m alright, why?”

He simply shrugs and it’s with that gesture that I catch sight of the guitar case behind him, it’s a similar colour to that of his eyes but covered in an array of stickers and pins. “Look like you’ve been stood up or something, face is all... sad.” 

I can’t help the airy chuckle that escapes me, he’s hit the nail on the head there. “Not sad, more like pissed off.” I shoot back and step closer to the counter to get a better look at what they’ve got to offer. I’m already here, so who would it hurt if I grabbed myself a treat? 

“Ah, so you were stood up then!”

I turn my head towards him now that we’re standing more in line with one another, his hip resting against the display case, me facing the chalked boards. “Could say that. Was meant to be meeting my flatmate here, but turns out she couldn’t make it.”

He hums, pursing his lips a tad as he watches me and I just let him, looking back up towards the menu- only, it’d be much easier to see if I was wearing my glasses. Hated the things though, made me look all square, like my head was too big for my shoulders or something. Stupid, I know. But I suppose I was just that vain.

Frankie would laugh about it if she were actually here, I think, already knowing about the blur I’d been met with. 

“You work here then?” I quiz the guy, figuring I could either just get a simple breakfast tea or… “Know what’s best to get?”

At my question, he seems to shift so that he’s truly facing me and I note the wooden stirrer he’s holding between his teeth, as well as the way his eyes flitter across my face. “Don’t work here, no. Just waiting for my mate to finish up with his shift, though I am in here enough to know that the honey bee cortado is an actual, honest to God, blessing.”

“That so?”

That smile of his widens, his stare relentless even as a tall, curly haired boy clad in a green apron wanders in from the back.

“G, make this girl one of your specials, will you?” He says to the barista, or ‘G’ rather, who doesn’t even bat an eye at the ask, so I’m guessing that this is a usual thing. “That’s George, by the way,” The stranger beside me states, “And I’m Matty.” Weirdly he extends a hand out to me with that and I feel mostly amused as I reach out to take it, shaking his with a smile that can’t be helped.

“Y/n.” I return. 

Matty hisses between clenched teeth, looking as though my name has actually injured him somehow, my hand still cradled in his. “Nah, sorry, can’t get behind that. Don’t suit you.” He flashes a quick glance over his shoulder at the barista or well, said mate George, “Doesn’t suit her does it, G?”

“Don’t suit her.” George answers with a minute shake of his head, fiddling away with the coffee machine. His tone’s gruff, matches his stoney exterior a bit, but I can see the small curve of his mouth as he flicks a lever. 

“See?” Matty practically beams, extending the hand not holding mine outwards to further exaggerate his point. “Dottie though, I like that.”

“Makes me sound like an old woman.” I huff, wrinkling my nose enough that my brows crowd towards one another. 

“And still, you set my heart racing, darling.” He swoons theatrically and I can’t not roll my eyes at him before glancing downwards once more.

“You gonna gimme my hand back anytime soon, or?” I ask and Matty seems to realise then that he’s still in fact got my hand held in his, but that revelation only has him grinning harder and he moves to swing the joint pair between us both. He’s far too sure of himself, I deem.

“Nah, been chilly all morning, ain’t it? So I reckon I’m doing you a favour by warming you up.”

I raise a single brow- yup, what a cocky little shit. “Could always order yourself a brew if you’re cold.”

He pulls a face at my suggestion, “Wouldn’t feel the same though, would it?”

“Well, it looks as though you’re times up anyway, seems George here has just finished with my drink.” I reply, smiling as I move to step away, but Matty holds strong, leaving his guitar case to lean against the counter alone while he follows after me. I chuckle, shaking my head at him, “You always this needy?”

Matty hums but he’s nothing if not persistent, “Might be. Why, would that put you off?”

I narrow my eyes at him but turn to grab at the mug George has pushed onto the counter. “Might do.” I say, unable to help myself, “But sweaty palms do, and I also need my hand free to pay for this.”

Matty’s chocolate coloured eyes drop down to my mug and then back up to George, who’s stood waiting patiently by the till. “I’ll get it.” He suddenly tells me and then immediately starts riffling through his coat pocket. I blink, look between both him and George, who still appears as though this is nothing to be surprised about, and it’s only when Matty withdraws a crumpled fiver from his back pocket do I find my voice.

“You’re fine! It’s alright, I can get it, honest. But thanks.”

Matty waves me off, awkwardly what with him still holding both my hand and the newly acclaimed five pound note, then rolls his eyes at my rambling, “Nah honestly, I’ve got it. Least I can do for forcing you to put up with G’s crappy coffee.”

George just snorts, snatching the fiver from his mate’s hand, while I purse my lips slightly, “I thought you claimed it to be an honest to a God blessing? If this is shit, I’m holding you accountable.”

“Ignore him, it’s instinctual for him to be a twat.” George sighs as he closes up the till, Matty’s brow furrows.

“Oi firstly, you’re the twat. And secondly, where’s my change?”

“In my tip jar.” George is quick to retort, forcing a pleased grin for his friend before he’s walking his way back through the door he came from, “I’ll be two minutes, yeah? And you’d better be ready to leave ‘cause I’m not dealing with Adam’s bitching again.”

Matty just tuts and I realise that now it’s just him and I in a shop full of people who’ve been watching this entire exchange. “Ignore him,” He tells me, “Well, don’t. Adam will definitely be pissed if we’re late, but a couple minutes for you won’t hurt anybody.”

I just shake my head, hoping to hide my smile as I pick up the recently brewed coffee to take a sip. It turns out that as well as being an arrogant prat, Matty is also a liar, because the drink is heaven sent and I prove it with the soft sigh that falls from my lips. “Fuck, that’s really good.”

When I glance back up I’m only a tad embarrassed by my reaction when I see Matty’s cheeky smirk, even more so when he wets his bottom lip and I have to force myself to look away.

“G’s known for his coffee around here, should see the Yelp reviews from the yummy mummy’s that stop in after dropping their kids off at playgroup- we actually spent an entire night reading through them once, taking shots every time G cringed.” Matty reveals with a conspiratorial grin and he seems to delight in hearing me laugh. 

“I can almost imagine it.”

He hums, this low thing that resonates from deep within, “Should join us one time.”

“Us?”

When Matty nods his whole body moves with it, as though the rest of him disdains the thought of being left idle, the thought makes me smile. “Yeah, got this band. Four of us, me and a few mates. Should come see us rehearse, if you’re up for it.”

I squint back at him, not refusing the offer but wondering over it. “We’ve only just met, what if this is all a plan to lure me into your music obsessed cult?”

“Well, if it’s a cult, it’s a fucking small one. But I don’t think we’ll be Britain’s next Manson family so I reckon you’ll be alright.” Matty quips back and I just nod, taking another sip to hide my growing grin.

“You do this a lot, don’t you?” I can’t help but say, and at the tilt of Matty’s questioning head I carry on, “Flirt and hope you can rope some poor girl into bed by saying you’re in a band. Play ‘em a few chords and flash that smile, not that I’d blame them.”

Matty appears to take it in stride though and doesn’t even comment on the assumption, “And why wouldn’t you blame them? Is it the charming smile, or am I just that fit?”

I snort, then cover my mouth to keep myself from spitting out the sip I’d taken, only a little ashamed by the noise I’d just made. “No, think it’s more down to the fact that you’ve still to let go of my hand. Reckon even if I say no, you’ll still find a way to drag me along with you.”

“Ah, how you wound me, darling!” And our connected palms start swaying again, I realise in the next moment, after having looked down, that Matty’s closed the distance between us even further. I startle only slightly when my eyes lock right onto his. “So, how about it then? You coming or staying?”

And just as I’m about to reply, biting back the smile that wants to overwhelm my face, do I see him again. Just out of the corner of my eye. The flicker of a face pressed up against the shop’s window. I still instantly and the cup slips from my hand.

The boy, it’s the O’Donald boy and he's staring right back at me. 

[wangxianficrecs]

💙 Lay my body down by tawaen

💙 Lay my body down

by tawaen

M, 48k, Wangxian

Summary: One of the fragments of Wei Wuxian's soul, splintered during the first siege of the Burial Mounds, uses the energy released by the Yin Tiger Tally and flees backwards through time to another moment where Wei Wuxian was close to death – after the fall of Lotus Pier, at the hands of Jiang Wanyin. Knowing how his first life will end, Wei Wuxian decides to hide his survival, and leave the cultivation world behind. Kay's comments: This story left me absolutely speechless, it was just so perfect! As if someone magically knew all my favourite things and wrote them into a story. It's got genius inventor Wei Wuxian, who becomes a rogue cultivator of sorts and finds his family with the Wens! It's got actual consequences from grave injuries that aren't magically healed! It's got Wen Qing being a good leader and the best sister! It's got Lan Wangji suffering the pain of loss much sooner and therefore learning his lesson sooner and holding on tight to Wei Wuxian when they meet again! It's got the sects getting what they have coming! And it's also incredibly well-written and I literally couldn't stop myself from reading it in one sitting. Excerpt: Wei Ying is too exhausted and in too much pain to deal with the rage, fear and grief. He is already overwhelmed with those feelings from the fall of Lotus Pier. He cannot process the memory or any of his emotions now. Right now, he needs to focus on healing as much as he can. The Wen will come for them soon. His golden core opened his airways and protected them while he was unconscious. He focuses the remainder of his spiritual energy on his back; he needs to stop the bleeding. He can't stay here, but he needs to be sure he won't loose too much blood or get infected through the open, weeping gashes on his back. He meditates as Jiang Cheng's breathing evens out, having finally burned through his rage and cried himself to sleep beside the broken, bloody body of his childhood companion. Once he is sure all the bleeding stopped, he slowly rolls himself into the water of the river next to them. When Jiang Cheng wakes, it will look like Wei Wuxian moved in his sleep – drowned and carried away by the river.

pov wei wuxian, canon divergence, time travel, time travel fix-it, somebody lives/not everybody dies, rogue cultivator wei wuxian, butterfly effect, no golden core transfer, no jiang cheng & wei wuxian reconciliation, not jiang cheng friendly, cultivation sect politics, demonic cultivation, sunshot campaign, wen remnants live, eventual lan wangji/wei wuxian, time travelling wei wuxian

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Just Up the Stairs

On Valentine's Day, amidst the chaos of handling work and university deadlines as a mature student, Crowley seeks solace with his neighbour Aziraphale. As they share a meal, their long-standing friendship begins to unravel, revealing hidden feelings they've harboured for six months. It's a night that could change everything.

Length: 39,147 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Mostly Safe in Public, After Dark, Human AU, Romance, Fluff

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by foolishlovers, ineffabildaddy, omens_for_ophelia

*Minor Spoilers* Today is Trans Visibility Day, and so I have finally gone back to a story that I have been meaning to reread for a while now! This is a beautiful, sweet, and tender romance story written by two writers and one incredibly talented artist who all have done so much to bring affirming and celebratory trans depictions to the Good Omens fandom.

In this story, Crowley and Aziraphale are neighbors. Crowley is trans and an older student trying to finish his Architecture degree, and Aziraphale dreams of owning his own bookshop one day. The pair meet for weekly grocery shopping trips, where a shy friendship starts, and they bond over music together. As a side tangent, the use of music in this story remains one of my favorite parts. I just love human stories that let Aziraphale be a little modern. Their music selections were great, and I loved the atmosphere and intimacy it let them develop. Sharing music with a love interest just does something to my heart!! Anyway, these two have been shyly circling each other for months, but fate has something planned for them this year's Valentine's Day.

Warm and unabashedly romantic, this first date of theirs is sprinkled with moments of comedic interruptions. I love the cast of characters as their other neighbors, and the adorable Harry the rabbit. Anathema was particularly fun. These asides draw out their night, making sure that they keep spending it in each other's company but also gives them time to reminisce on their past encounters. This story is so full of promise and charm; they are going to have such a loving future together. It's the perfect Valentine's fantasy.

Most of this story is safe in public, however, the last chapter is not! That one you'll want to save until you can savor it. It's the gorgeous lovemaking between two people who have really grown to know each other in the deepest ways possible. This is such a great story!! It effortlessly flows between writers, and the art included made my heart pitter-patter every time. Especially the nsfw one at the end, that had me full on blushing over here! Settle in with your coziest slippers for this lovely story.

Read it here, fic by foolishlovers, ineffabildaddy, omens_for_ophelia