#i need to write more star trek fics

[tea-earl-grey]

i had an itching for comfort media so i went back to watch some s1 voyager episodes and s1 is soooo much better than i remembered. the later seasons appeal to my tastes a bit more but all the characters in s1 are so earnest and hopeful even when they butt heads and disagree and i'm just sitting here like "oh god they don't know what the next 7 years have in store..." i doubt it was that purposeful on the writers' part but it's so compelling how all of the characters have pretty open insecurities and are clearly people with lives and dreams beyond Voyager and bit by bit that's chipped away in later seasons. yes everyone becomes more confident and competent but is that really who they are or are they just losing themselves along the journey? (unfortunately the Doyalist explanation is just that the writers stopped putting focus on like. half of the main cast but shh i'm here for Watsonian analysis.)

like it's particularly noticeable with Janeway. she's definitely always been written as a strong leader but i forgot how much in early seasons we get to see her insecurities and vulnerabilities, how different she acts from when she's acting as captain to when she's alone, how often she questions her morality and whether she has the right to make decisions for her crew (and how often others questioned that right). then in the later seasons (around s3 and definitely by s4), she almost never questions her moral decisions, she rarely shows doubt, she plans heists on Borg cubes without a second thought, she dispenses her justice to the Equinox crew without really considering their position, she regulates others' autonomy (especially with Seven and the Doctor) without seeming to realize how easily that can go wrong. and don't get me wrong i love this development and think it's incredibly realistic for Janeway to deeply internalize her role and authority as a Captain and for it to permanently change her sense of self. Endgame is the perfect closure for Janeway's character because her future self exerts that same authority that she's been practicing over herself (also Janeway gets to live out her martyr complex one last time). i just wish the show was a little bit more self-aware that it was writing Janeway (and other characters) like this because there could be so many more interesting character conflicts.

anyways rewatching early ds9 made me say "aww these characters don't know that one day they'll all grow together and basically become family" and rewatching early voyager has me saying "uhohhhh these characters don't know the unhealthy relationships and neuroses they're going to uncover and develop". toxic found family for the win.

[good-wine-and-cheese]

"This is what love feels like."

Crossover comic between Gesicht from Pluto and Star Trek TNG, specifically the episode "The Offspring" - in which after the death of Lal, Gesicht helps Data experience love (and by consequence, grief) by sharing his own memories of his child. These are characters that have a lot in common and I would love it if they could share their stories and have a good hug and grieve together.

I wanted to try to render the emotional progression of the scene without using any dialogue, though I can't say whether it worked how I want it to or not. It was a fun exercise though! Trying to render Data with and without emotion is interesting. I may touch it up and colour it eventually but for now it's just this ^_^

[uss-genderprise]

venn diagram i figured out after two weeks in the torchwood fandom. can't go two blogs without running into a trek gifset. just found a torchwood fic written by someone with five trek fics i've read before. what is this

[queenboimler]

with strange new worlds back for season 2, i am begging for more spirk fic in the snw universe 🙏🏼

[gallifreyanconsultingphilosopher]

Hey! After almost a decade of not posting fic, I have posted something once again! Some smut in it, feel free to give it a read if you're curious! If you enjoy it a kudos and/or comment would be appreciated. Since I have AO3 this time so I uploaded it there.

[notebooknonbinary]

Byler Week, Day 1: Halloween

Happy Halloween to those who celebrate! (Happy s2 Byler to all) And happy first day of Bylerweek!

Today is Day 1: Halloween / AU / –gate. I chose to write a fic bc my drawing skills need serious brushing up skills and I can eventually stuff this fic into my other fic’s universe😌.

Edit: Also posted to Ao3:)

Halloween used to be Mike’s favorite holiday. He’s always loved dressing up as whatever his favorite character that year is. And he loves seeing what other people dress up as.

One year, before the Party started doing group costumes, he and Will had gone as Kirk and Spock. He’d even made the ultimate sacrifice and let Will be Kirk.

Tiny little seven-year-old Will had made an adorable Starship Captain (equally tiny Mike had thought he looked super cool). Mike’s fake ears had itched, but he’d liked the cool blue color of his shirt. And everyone that gave them candy that night had known they were a pair, which had thrilled them both to pieces.

The first year that the Party did group costumes, Mike and Dustin had convinced the other two to go as DC superheroes (Lucas and Will have always preferred Marvel). Lucas had been Green Arrow, and Dustin had picked the Flash (his favorite). Everyone had expected Mike to go as Superman, who was his all-time favorite. Except he’d gone as Batman instead and asked Will to be Superman. Everyone’s costumes had turned out great, but Mike’s favorite had absolutely been Will’s—handmade by Mrs. Byers as always.

(It seems obvious in retrospect, that Mike had already begun to get a crush on Will—which is why he’d wanted him to be Superman.)

(And then, of course, the Halloween—only a few days before Will would be taken by Vecna, the Party had dressed up as Star Wars characters. This time it’d been easy to convince everyone that Will as Luke was just the obvious, correct choice, and not because Luke was obviously the best character.)

But Eighth grade had been the last time any of them had dressed up (“Who you gonna call?”) —and it hadn’t exactly ended well.

(Well, technically that Halloween had ended with Mike and Will hanging out alone in the basement, watching a lighthearted movie and sitting close together to feel safer—so that part…)

Freshman year, Mike had been in the middle of being miserable and missing Will and El too much to even think about a costume—and last year, they’d been in the middle of recovering from an apocalypse (neither Will, nor Max, had even been awake yet).

So now there are multiple anniversaries right around Halloween that seem much more prevalent than going around getting candy (which they’re pretty much too old for anyway, in Mike’s unhappy opinion), or going to a Halloween party—with too many people they’re not friends with, and alcohol, which none of the Party even likes.

So yeah, Mike doesn’t really intend to broach the subject of costumes this year.

Instead it’s Will who brings it up. “If all I have to focus on this year are the shitty memories and handing out candy, I’m going to scream.” Then he grins, a little mischievous. “Plus this is the first Halloween that we’re dating. I’ll be able to tell you this time that I think you look handsome in your costume, instead of pretending that you, as Han Solo, didn't fluster me half to death.”

Mike, they’ve both learned, is much easier to tease out of the two of them—Will makes a game sometimes, out of all the easy ways he can make Mike blush. Like right now.

“You’re mean,” he grumbles, hiding his suddenly warm face in his hands. It only gets warmer at Will’s delighted laugh. “You wanna do a group costume with the Party, or a pair like we used to?”

“The Party’s a lot bigger than it was back then—it’d be too hard to coordinate on short notice. But…” Will trails off. Mike risks a look at Will, who is suddenly much closer, smile softened but eyes still bright with mirth. “I think, Michael, that in this context, it’d be a couple’s costume, not just a pair.”

Mike resists the urge to hide his face again.

“Everyone always thinks I’m the mean one of the two of us,” he grumbles, but accepts the embrace Will is silently, cheerfully, offering—nosing into the other boy’s shoulder. “I’m gonna tell your mom you were bullying me. She loves me, you’ll get in trouble.”

“Tattletale,” Will singsongs. “I’ll stop bullying you if you let me pick our costumes this year.”

Mike, who doesn’t actually want Will to ever stop bullying (aggressively flirting with) him, cocks his head. “Alright Byers, deal.” He pauses. “And you just have to lay off flustering me in front of our friends—they already think I’d let you get away with anything.”

Will snickers. “You know what? Deal. But, for the record, I think you would let me get away with anything. Which is why, one day, you’ll go with me and El to Vegas so we can use our powers to scam the slot—”

Mike interrupts this long-running (hopefully a) joke to kiss Will. Will leans into it briefly, reaching up to weave a hand into Mike’s hair. After a moment, though, he pulls back, looking thoughtful.

“Now we have to figure out what we’re doing for Halloween.”

…

The Halloween of Mike and Will’s Junior year of high school, the Extended Party (minus Jonathan and Nancy, away at their colleges) convene on the Byers-Hopper house, dressed to the nines in their Halloween costumes. The plan is to watch minorly scary movies, eat far too much junk, and take turns answering the door for Trick-or-Treaters.

The Original Members of the Party (including Max) show up early to help set up.

Dustin is in a full suit and tie, a gun holster (with two full water guns in it), and a fedora. The entire setup is impressive, but none of his friends can guess who he’s supposed to be. The only one who understands who his character is immediately, is—oddly—Hopper.

“Elliot Ness.”

“Yes! Thank you!!”

It turns out that, having recently seen the Untouchables, Dustin had gone on a research spree about the Real-life man, and been fascinated. Thus, his choice of costume.

Lucas and Max have decided against couple costumes. Instead, Max wanted to go as Wonder Woman, so she has (and she looks every bit the Amazon warrior, sitting in her wheelchair like it’s a throne).

Lucas, on the other hand, has finally been able to be a Marvel superhero. After long deliberation between all of his favorites, he’d finally settled on Falcon—partly because he enjoyed the recent comics miniseries, but also because if he’d gone as Spider-Man (his other big choice), he’d have to keep removing the mask to eat.

“Falcon is just cool enough to date Wonder Woman,” Max tells him, mock-loftily.

He laughs, leaning across her lap to give her a kiss. “Well, Wonder Woman is more than cool enough to date Falcon.”

This being one of El’s first actual Halloweens’, she chose to go as the ghost she’d wanted to go as on her first Halloween—though the simple sheet had been switched for a white dress, pale makeup, and fake blood (with the occasional appearance of actual blood when she used her powers to get another soda, or pop Mike across the head with a pillow).

Steve and his group seem to have collectively decided to go as the Breakfast Club (or perhaps Steve is in regular clothes, it’s hard to tell). Robin, dressed as the outcast girl, is lounging across Vickie’s (dressed as Molly Ringwald’s character) lap, attempting to toss popcorn into Steve’s mouth. She’s largely just making a mess, but neither of them seem to care.

The (actual) adults of the bunch settle in the kitchen. Joyce convinced Hopper to do a couple’s costume with her (they’ve gone as Frankenstein and the Bride of Frankenstein), but Murray shows up wielding a bottle of something very strong for them to drink and wearing just a dollar store cape over his regular clothes.

(Erica, out with her other friends for one last candy-haul before high school next year, will come at eight-thirty. She’s dressed up as her DnD character, Lady Applejack. She has no plans whatsoever to share her candy—even though she knows she probably will end up doing so.)

Joyce had been overjoyed to see what costumes Mike and Will picked this year.

She hadn’t been the only one.

When Will told Mike what costumes he wanted, Mike almost cried. He is (not so) secretly a sap, and Will knows it (though Will isn’t much better on that front, honestly).

“Shall we, Mr. Spock?”

“Indeed we shall, Captain Kirk.”

It’s the best Halloween yet, in their opinions.

[variousqueerthings]

if I had a nickle for every time I had a favourite character who was a brilliant lanky doctor who was incredibly idealistic and would crawl over broken glass for his patients and routinely flouted authority that he didn’t respect and was experiencing the horrors of war and had a deep lasting connection with another character who suddenly left him and who was commonly read as bisexual or gay, and I decreed him as kinky aroace in my head I’d have two nickles......

[procrastinatorproject]

I'm back! :D Today's entry comes courtesy of @regionalpancake (by way of @jazzfic's original prompt. Yes, still.)

I was talking about how all the writing I've been doing has essentially just been the same story in so many self-indulgent repititions. To which Pancakes, rightfully, pointed out that many people will, say, watch reality tv that is essentially the same story week in and week out and extremely self-indulgent, too. "[And] they don't even have warp cores!"

So, of course, my brain immediately grabbed onto that and I had to pen another chapter in this ongoing saga...

Context: This takes place a couple weeks or so after the big showdown on Coppelius. As many people, myself included, have pointed out, the crash on the plantes' surface must have knocked out all of La Sirena's Emergency Holograms, which is why they didn't activate during the ample emergencies Picard and Agnes ran into during the climax of season 1. @thelaithlyworm actually wrote a lovely little story about this issue (it makes me cry every time!), and this snippet happens in the aftermath of all of that.

---

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing?”

There was a flash, a bang, and then a rain of sparks followed by a puff of smoke.

“Jesus sufferin’ Christ!” Ian crawled out from under the injector assembly and glared at his colleague. “You do not sneak up on a man when he’s handling live circuitry! I could have blown up the ship!”

The EMH was utterly unfazed. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t be working on live circuitry in your current state.”

“Ach.” Ian waved a dismissive hand and adjusted his hat. “I told you I’m fine. And the injectors have been acting up all week. What if we need to make a quick getaway and suddenly the warp core goes offline?”

Emil raised his eyebrows and gave his colleague a judgy look. “The captain doesn’t seem worried about it.”

“The captain,” Ian said as he got to his feet, “has other things on his mind.” He tucked his hands under his arms and practically dared Emil to find a way of denying that.

To his credit, the EMH didn’t try. “Be that as it may, you shouldn’t be working. You shouldn’t be in here at all.” He made an expansive gesture before shoving his hand back into his pocket.

Ian looked around Sirena’s small engine room. Apart from the relay he’d just blown out, every bit of machinery was in acceptable working order. But between all the recent battles and chases and trans-warp conduits, not to mention a full-on crash landing without any power, a lot of routine maintenance had been neglected. To Emil and the captain, everything might look fine at first glance, but Ian could practically feel all the little problems that had been accumulating over time. Sure, a .078° misalignment in the injectors might not sound like much, but it had almost doubled since the last time he’d managed to check on the assembly., The growing discrepancy was like an itch at the back of Ian’s algorithmic mind.

“I’ll be done in a tick,” he said imploringly. “Just let me finish this wee bit of maintenance and then —”

“You nearly blew up the ship.” Emil sounded almost offended. “Do you really think I’ll just let you continue fiddling with highly sensitive engine parts when you’re so clearly unfit for duty?”

Ian’s emotional algorithms shifted slightly towards defensiveness and he pulled his arms more tightly around himself. “I dinnea mean that. I wouldn’t have blown up the ship. You startled me, is all.”

“Yes and that’s exactly the problem!” Emil took a deep breath, then he continued a little calmer: “Don’t you always say that you optimized your input buffers so much that no unexpected sound or sight could ever overload them?”

Ian could tell where Emil was going and a part of him knew that his colleague was right. Still, he wasn’t willing to give up so easily. “It’s a minuscule lapse in compression efficiency. Barely noticeably. It only means that my responses have slowed down to the same baseline as all of yours.”

Emil didn’t dignify that with a response but simply gave Ian a Look instead.

“Besides,” Ian continued quickly, “there’s no guarantee that shutting down now is going to help. That fundamental field-replicator the synths gave the captain might work wonders on hardware, but it has thrown the computer maintenance routines for a loop.”

Once again, Emil knew better than to argue with the facts.

Ever since Dr Jurati had brought the holograms back online a week ago, they had all felt the lingering effects of both the damage Sirena had taken when the Orchid drained her power and the wonderful new synth tool that was only partially compatible with the ship’s patchwork systems. Raffi Musiker, Dr Jurati and the captain had been trying to get things back into working order, but with everything that had happened over the last month, Ian could understand that none of them had a lot of time on their hands right now. And what little time they did have, they chose to spend together or with their new friends, and who could really blame them for that? After everything they’d been through, they deserved to finally enjoy this bit of connection.

“Ian.”

Emil’s hand on his elbow made the EEH jump again. He blinked, surprised to find the EMH standing much closer than he had been.

Emil’s face no longer showed his typical exasperation, but instead was brimming with deep sympathy. “I know you feel responsible for the ship, and you can’t bear it if you feel like you’re neglecting her. But you’re an essential part of Sirena, too. And right now, that part needs your attention and care more than any of the others.”

“Ach.” Ian grabbed the front of his hat and pulled it down over his eyes for a moment, trying to escape Emil’s unbearably kind look. But he knew his colleague was right. Of course he was. And if Ian hadn’t been so run down, he probably would have seen it a lot sooner, too.

With a sigh he shoved his hat back in place and put his hands on his hips. “Aye, you’re right. I’ll shut myself down for a few hours and let the computer run some maintenance. Just let me finish this bit and then I’ll —”

“Now, Ian.”

“Yes, yes, fine, now.” Ian cast another look around the engine room. The warp core was humming away, its harmonics ever so slightly off from where the EHH would like them to be at rest, but close enough that it still sent his diagnostic subroutines something akin to reassurance. “You know,” he mused, staring at the swirl of colours, “given our recent troubles, maybe I shouldn’t shut off all the way. If I keep my matrix running and merely put all higher processing into standby, it won’t slow down the maintenance subroutines but I can access my cache and restart much faster in case of an emergency.”

Emil made some disapproving noise, but after a moment he huffed: “If that’s what it takes, fine. But I’m putting Enoch in charge of deciding what constitutes a real emergency for at least the next twelve hours.”

Ian looked at him over his shoulder. “Eight. That’ll be more than enough to —”

“Ten,” Emil said calmly, “and that’s final.”

For a moment, they looked at each other, the air bristling with tension, but then Ian’s lips twitched and he chuckled. “All right, you win. Ten hours.” He stretched and simulated a yawn. It seemed appropriate, somehow. “And I’ll set up additional monitoring so I’ll wake up if the computer’s maintenance cycle gets interrupted.”

Emil gave him another long look.

“So it’ll alert Enoch if the computer’s cycle gets interrupted and he can fix it,” Ian emended.

“Good.” Emil clicked his fingers, and suddenly, the large pile of holographic pillows and blankets that was usually reserved for sickbay was settling in a colourful heap against one of the walls of the engine room. The EMH gave Ian a knowing look. “I’d suggest finding somewhere less noisy to sleep, but knowing you, this actually constitutes a ‘restful ambience’, doesn’t it.”

For a brief moment, Ian rested his hand against the gently thrumming warp core. “Aye,” he said, more to himself, “this’ll do nicely.”

[pilots-and-protons]

Pretty sure I have 5 or 6 different Tom Paris whump fic ideas rattling around in my brain but zero energy to write them.

I mean, why is writing so hard? God I haven’t really written fanfic in years because college scrambled out my poor autistic brain.

I’ve started actually writing at least one of the whumpy fics (though I keep getting stuck), and a couple more have had their basic ideas scribbled down. But it’s such a shame I can’t just magically have them written without actual effort.

[anxiousopium]

Starting to get the sneaking suspicion that the Incredibly Specific Fanfiction I want to read actually doesn't exist and I will have to wrench it out of my unconscious and bring it into reality as I scream and lament the loss of the ineffable possibilities it will inevitably lose in the process :/

[tea-earl-grey]

listen Chakotay/Seven is bad for many reasons but it really doesn't bother me as much as it should because it's so poorly written that it just ends up feeling like both Chakotay and Seven were in love with Janeway and realized it would never work out so they just shrugged and starting dating each other. (i'm not even that much of a shipper either but like. the subtext is there for both JC and J7.) you cannot convince me that they didn't mutually break up before they even landed on Earth and then they never talked about it again.

and to add to the comedy, both Janeway and Seven know that if Voyager didn't get home then Seven and Chakotay would have gotten married and both died, etc etc while Chakotay, if i recall, just Never Learns This. Chakotay goes about the rest of his life thinking "oh yeah i went on a few dates with Seven but it never went anywhere" and then Seven and Janeway are just haunted by this alternate timeline. peak comedy tbh.

[ervans]

Care for You (Mizu x F!reader)

warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, and violence, soft sex, fingering (r! receiving)

a/n: wow. it's been a minute since i've truly sat down and wrote something. i'm absolutely obsessed with BES and mizu, i haven't felt so passionate about something since TLOU. this is my adaptation of what seems to be the most cliche scenario in this fandom so far: reader finding an injured mizu. i'm a bit rusty when it comes to writing so any and all feedback is welcome and appreciated, follows and notes as well. i have more ideas for works surrounding mizu (including a brothel fic muahahaha) so keep your eyes peeled for my posts :))

The sound of your sandals shuffling against the ground and your heavy pants were the only noises that pierced the otherwise quiet night. The moon, stars, and faint glow of your home in the distance were your only source of light as you trekked up the hill where the soft orange hue was coming from. The walk up this specific hill usually caused you no trouble, having done it dozens of times; however, this time was a tad bit different. Why? The limp, unconscious body that was currently draped over your shoulder.

Earlier in the evening you had heard a commotion down at the lake below the hill your home rested on. It was normal for stragglers, crooks, and opium addicts to travel through this part of Japan and mixing those groups of people usually ended up in some sort of fight. You had paid no mind to the noise, continuing with your cleaning. It wasn’t until you realized you needed more water for your tea that you made your way down the hill. As you reached the shore and saw the mess in front of you your stomach lurched.

Four bodies laid lifeless in front of you on the sand. From what you could tell they all had various stab and slash wounds across their bodies. Fifteen feet away from the tattered bodies lay another smaller one clad in baggy black trousers and stockings, a dark blue haori, and white scarf around his neck with a brown straw hat, round glasses with an orange tinted lens, and a sword, the telltale sign of a samurai on the ground beside him.

 From where you stood you could see his chest still moving as he tried to shallowly breathe in oxygen from the air surrounding his struggling body. That brings you to where you are now, struggling up a damn hill trying to save this unknown samurai’s life. Was he responsible for the four bodies you had pushed into the lake? It didn’t matter to you; you weren’t one to judge in a world where it was kill or be killed.

You push the door to your house open and lay the injured stranger onto your mat near the fire. You start to boil water to disinfect whatever wounds he had and open a drawer to grab a needle and thread just in case stitches were needed. They very much were. You quickly realized the source of what seemed like never-ending blood on the top half of his body as you stripped the bloodstained clothing away. A gash about 4 inches long and deeper than you’d like it to be starting towards the base of his ribcage, skin around it starting to turn a yellowish color. It almost distracted you from the way the stranger was wearing chest wraps. Almost.

You frowned looking down at the shallow breathing of the samurai’s chest. Why would he need chest wraps? You thought, fingers brushing over the once white cloth now stained. Unless? You slowly started to undo the bindings, telling yourself you needed to anyways to properly clean the wound. As the cloth unraveled in your hands your small suspicion was confirmed. Two small breasts sat atop the chest of the slender samurai that laid before you, nipples hardening as they became exposed to the air. Your eyebrows raised, head tilting slightly to the side. A female samurai? How? Questions began to fill your mind as you started to clean the wound, gently washing it with the now hot water. It was unheard of for a woman to even touch a sword as it was said to make the blade impure. Where had this woman gotten her sword? Who did she get taught by? Clearly from the mess on the beach she knew her way around a fight.

You finished cleaning and stitching the larger wound and got to work on disinfecting the smaller cuts and scrapes on the upper half of her body. Once you were satisfied with your work, you began removing the woman’s trousers and stockings, revealing another deep gash running from the top of her knee down to her shin. Sighing you started the same process as her chest and prepared yourself for the unknown amount of time you would be caring for this mysterious female samurai.

════════════════════════════════════════════

It took three days for the samurai to fully regain her consciousness. In those days you had changed the dressings on her wounds, forced broth and water down her throat for some form of sustenance, and carefully studied her whenever you found the chance to. You noticed small things others would easily miss. The way her face seemed like it was always in a permanent frown, her subtly toned muscles from what had to be from years of training, how her calloused hands would twitch in her sleep, stress being the cause of it you had concluded after watching her for a good hour whilst you sipped on your tea, and how insanely handsome she was. Wait what? Handsome? That thought scared you so much that you had refused to watch her for the remainder of the evening besides checking her wounds thoroughly before you went to bed. But you couldn’t ignore those thoughts that plagued your head as your touch lingered for more time than it should’ve.

You were sat cross-legged waiting for your tea to steep when you heard a thud from behind you. Quickly turning around to find what the source of the noise was, you were met with the samurai staring back at you, blue eyes shining in the dimly lit space. And oh, were they blue. You had never seen or known something could be as piercingly blue as the eyes that met yours.

“Who are you? Where am I?” The samurai demanded in a gravelly voice that sent a shiver up your spine. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer right away, mouth slightly agape with shock at the stranger who had, just minutes ago, been passed out. “I asked you a question, now answer it.” She said sternly after a beat of silence between the two of you.

You blinked, raising an eyebrow and rising to your feet. “Well that’s no way to talk to someone who saved your life now is it?”

The woman, stern frown never leaving her features, quickly looked around the room taking in her surroundings. She then looked down at herself, usual blue haori missing and replaced with a softer red one. You hadn’t wanted to leave her bare in the middle of your home and opted to dress her in one of yours while you worked on scrubbing the stains out of hers.

You saw her tentatively try to move, and the flash of pain the appeared on her face for just a second didn’t go unnoticed by you. She pursed her lips and looked back up at you. “Thank you for stitching me up, but I would rather not stay a hostage here any longer. I have more important places to be.”

Your eyes widen and you scoff. “Hostage? Are you fucking serious? By all means you can leave, makes my life ten times easier if you do.” You were lying, you quite enjoyed caring for the handsome samurai, but you would never admit that to her. At least not now. “Good luck walking on that knee by the way, I’m sure it won’t be any trouble for you though.”

You crossed your arms and leaned against the wall as the blue-eyed woman looked you up and down once more before attempting to get up. After a few minutes she was standing, hand against the top of the fireplace to keep her from falling over. You could see her chest rising and falling quickly from the struggle of just standing. She looked back over at you, still leaning with your arms crossed. “Where are my belongings?”

“On the table to your right.” You responded, eyes never leaving hers. You watched her glance over to the table. It was about five feet away; it should’ve been no problem for her to walk over and grab her things. Should’ve. It took her almost ten minutes to reach the edge of the table, her injured leg making it difficult to have a full range of motion. She opted to shuffle inch by inch over to the edge. By the time she got there she was out of breath, looking down at her hands placed on the wood in front of her. You hadn’t moved at all, the only change being your expression shifting from annoyance to amusement as you watched the fit samurai struggle.

After a moment she let out a shaky breath. You saw her knuckles tighten as if she was having an internal battle with herself. “Can you help me back to the mat?” She asked so quietly you almost missed it. You pushed yourself off the wall and walked over to where she stood, taking notice in the way her legs were shaking from lack of use over the past three days. She refused to look at you as you placed her arm over your shoulders and helped guide her back to the mat on the floor. “Thank you.” She muttered.

You looked at her, worry spreading across your features. “Of course. I’m here for anything you need. Consider me your personal caretaker.” You joked. “Although, a good caretaker should know her patients name.” Your words hung in the air for a moment before she responded.

“Mizu.”

════════════════════════════════════════════

It had been three weeks since Mizu had introduced herself to you. She didn’t talk much about her personal life, which you respected, instead filling the silence between the two of you with your own stories from your childhood. In that time her leg wound had been healing considerably quick, mostly due to the bedrest you ordered her to stay on. The only time she was allowed to move her legs was when she needed to relieve herself or when you would do small stretches with her to keep her blood flow moving. After some time, she was able to get up and walk for short periods of time on her own. The only problem with her quick recovery in her leg was the fact that her chest wound had hardly any progress to it.

Since Mizu couldn’t walk for some time, she exerted all her energy to her upper half, much to your dismay. She would sit up on the mat doing stretches on her arms and shoulders, sometimes raising them so far up you were afraid a stitch was going to pop. It did.

Mizu had been practicing arm movements with her sword, stating that “If I want to achieve my goals, my skills must always be honed and sharp.” Bullshit you thought. She just wanted to aggravate you. How could you tell? The small smirk that would grace her lips whenever she went to pick up her sword, even after you told her it was dangerous, and she could hurt herself anymore. Alas, she was a stubborn woman and it’s how you ended up rushing inside from chopping wood after hearing a sharp yelp from inside your home.

She sat on her mat, one hand clutching the spot above her wound while the other reached for the needle and thread you always kept close by. Once you realized she was going to try to stitch herself back up you rushed over to snatch the needle from her hands and straddle her lap, careful of the wound on her knee. She looked startled for a moment before her whole face turned a deep shade of red once she realized the position you both were in. You had a faint blush as well as you plucked the thread from her hand as well.

“I’m not letting you stitch yourself. You’re going to make your injury worse.” You said looking down at her. She looked up at you with those damn blue eyes you could get lost in for ages, cheeks still red but an amused expression on her face.

“You don’t think I know how to stitch myself up?”

You laughed awkwardly. “Well, no. I just…you just…you just popped a stitch by doing something I told you not to do! How can I be sure you’ll do it correctly?!” Mizu laughed. A sound so beautiful you were sure it would play through your mind for months to come. “I guess you have a point. C’mon then doc, fix me up.” She smirked. You felt your face grow even hotter.

Still straddling her you pushed her robe off her shoulders revealing her chest wraps with blood from the reopened wound soaking through them. You gulped. To stitch her back up you’d have to remove her bindings. And this time she was awake. And would definitely take notice in the way your eyes would roam her chest. Sensing your hesitation, she smiled looking up at you. “What? It’s not like you haven’t seen them before, obviously you have, or I wouldn’t have stitches here.” She was teasing you, you realized. “Here I’ll make it easier for you.” Her hand reached around to begin to undo her wraps. You sat there dumbfounded as they fell to the floor and her breasts were exposed to you once again.

“You just gonna stare sweetheart or are you gonna patch me up?” Mizu’s teasing question broke you out of your trance as you swallowed thickly and got to work on restitching her wound. You felt her piercing gaze on you the entire time and did your best to try and ignore the warm feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Later that night after the excitement of the day you sat sipping on your tea while Mizu slept next to the fire. You couldn’t stop thinking about her. Those beautiful blue eyes, the way her lips turned up into a smirk whenever it seemed you were flustered, and the sound of her laugh plagued you. You hadn’t felt like this in a long time.

Suddenly Mizu woke with a gasp, shooting up from the mat. You turned to her startled as you took in her appearance. Eyes wide with fear, chest heaving up and down, and her hands gripping tightly onto her blanket. “Nightmare?” You asked softly as to not startle her even more than she was. She just nodded as she looked at you, eyes bright in the darkness.

You softly rose to your feet, padded over to where was sat up, and sat down next to her. Her eyes had never left your figure as you made your way to her. You looked down at the blanket, then back up to her asking a silent question.

Slowly she lifted the blanket up and laid back down, giving you room to scoot in next to her. You wrapped your arms around her and brought her closer to your chest in the most intimate position the both of you had ever been in. You had never slept as well as you did that night.

════════════════════════════════════════════

It had been four days since Mizu’s nightmare, and every night since then you two had slept together, arms wrapped around each other. The dynamic between you had changed drastically, lingering touches and glances to each other becoming a new normal.

Tonight was no different to the past few. You lay facing Mizu while her back was turned to the fire, tracing circles into her rough and calloused hands. The silence was comfortable, but you chose to break it in that moment.

“When do you think you’ll leave?” A flash of hurt ran across Mizu’s face.

“I can leave whenever you want me to, I think I’m healed enough by now. Would you like me to leave tomorrow?” Your heart clenched at the sadness in her voice. You didn’t want that at all.

“No,” you whispered. “I don’t want you to leave me. Ever.” Her eyes softened, moving closer to you she brushed her nose against yours.

“Then I won’t.”

Your lips met her soft ones in a searing kiss, one that knocked the air right out of your lungs. You let out at soft noise as she titled her head, running her tongue across your bottom lip to deepen the kiss and ask for permission to enter. You parted your mouth for her, tongues running against each other as she rolled on top of you, straddling your hips. Her fingers ran down your sides and under your top, tips of them brushing the underside of your breasts as you pushed your chest up into her, silently asking for more.

She pulled away from the kiss, a trail of spit the only thing keeping you connected, and smiled. “I’m going to need you to tell me you want more. Tell me you want it and I’ll stay.”

You moaned at her words. “Yes! Mizu please I want it, I need you.” She leaned down to kiss you once those words left your lips, fingers moving up to circle and pinch your hardened nipples. You let out a gasp into Mizu’s mouth at the sensation and she smiled into you, moving her head to trail kisses down your face to your neck, sucking a purple mark just below your ear.

You raised your arms over your head as she stripped you of your top, eyes lingering on your now bare breasts. “Beautiful.” Was all she said. You let out a whimper at her words. She kissed down your shoulders to your breasts and licked a long stripe up your nipple, the sensation causing you to moan and buck your hips up into hers. As she continued her assault on your breasts, her hand traveled lower down your stomach and slipped her hand into your trousers to run a finger through your slick folds.

You were a moaning, withering mess below her at this point. Between her mouth on your tits and her finger slowly brushing against your clit, you weren’t sure how much more you could take. “Please Mizu. I need you, please.” You begged, grinding your hips up into her hand hoping she got the message. She did. Slowly she pushed her middle finger into your wet heat, savoring the noise that left your lips as she did. Experimentally she curled her finger, finding that spongy spot at the front of your walls.

It wasn’t enough for you. “More, I need more.” You whimpered. Smiling against your breast, she pushed another finger in, thrusting at a quicker pace. You were close, she could tell by the way your pussy clenched around her digits. You just needed one last thing to push you over the edge. Removing her mouth from your nipple, she brought her forehead against yours admiring the way your mouth was slightly agape and the furrow between your brows.

“Open your eyes. You’re to look at me when you cum.”

At her words and her thumb suddenly circling your clit matching the pace at which she thrust, your eyes shot open meeting her icy blue ones, the last thread keeping you from falling snapping.

“‘m gonna cum Mizu, fuck m’ gonna fuckfuck-“ You were sent over the edge, cunt clenching and gushing around her fingers while your back arched off the mat, eyes never leaving hers as she guided and talked you through it.

As you caught your breath, chest heaving, she peppered soft kisses all over your face causing you to giggle breathlessly. She smiled down at you as you looked up at her still panting. “Give me a second, let me return the favor.” She leaned down capturing your lips once again as she removed her fingers from your core, wiping the slick on her pants and rolling to lay next to you. She pulled you into her chest and nuzzled her nose into your hair.

“You’ve taken care of me these last few weeks, let me take care of you. We have all the time in the world, I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

And Mizu always kept her promises.

[dawnfelagund]

I wrote this article for my monthly Tolkien fandom studies column, Cultus Dispatches as part of the OTW's "ten things about fandom" challenge for International Fanworks Day. Normally, my Cultus column begins with a gnarly soup of data, and I often don't even know what (if anything!) will come out of analyzing it. This month, due to the relative lack of data, I thought I was giving myself an easy month of writing. I just needed to come up with ten things, right?? Ha! I think this might be the most challenging article I've written for this column to date.

Here are some fun facts I learned while researching these 10 Important Moments in Tolkien Fanfic History:

Tolkien fanfic is older than Star Trek fanfic.

The first known Tolkien fanfic was an alternate-history Sauron redemption fic.

The first Tolkien fanfic archive was a slash archive.

Three out of four archives opened after the LotR films left theaters used the eFiction open-source script.

The first Angbang story was posted in 2002 (though it wasn't called Angbang yet).

Want to know more? Go read the article! And I'd love to hear what I didn't include that you'd add to your own list. (Or if you make your own list, let me know!)

Many, many thanks to all of the people who talked with me about their work for this article and to those involved in the discussion on the SWG Discord's #fandom-studies channel about this topic.

[karajaynetoday]

hey now, you're an all-star | jack hughes

it took one month of watching hockey for me to write fic. lmao. classic. good vibes.

thank you @littledrummeraussie for proofreading, love you angie 💖

READ PART TWO HERE

READ PART THREE HERE

word count: 2.8k

Warnings:  i don't think it needs any? just forgive my limited knowledge of hockey and canada i suppose? mentions of anxiety related to university? it's a bit angsty bc let's be real, do i ever know how to write anything else?

(This is a fem reader insert)

More writing here (soz that the masterlist is not up to date lol) | send thoughts/feedback/suggestions here

You’d known Jack Hughes for as long as you could remember. He stood up for you in the playground at kindergarten, when a bigger kid pushed you off the swings; you returned the favour by saving him from a spider on his backpack. Ever since, you’d always had each other’s backs. 

And for as long as you’d known Jack, you’d been able to tell when he was upset about something. His lips did this thing, not quite a pout, but nowhere near the easy smile you were used to seeing. He’d pull his sleeves down over his hands, and his breathing would be… deeper, somehow. He could never meet your gaze, either. 

You were scrolling through Instagram on your couch at home, where you were supposed to be studying, when you saw a video of Jack from the Devils fundraiser event, answering media questions about his injury and when he’d be back on the ice. He laughed and smiled for the cameras, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. They asked about the all-star game, and you could feel his hesitation in answering. Jack tried to be positive and assure everyone that he had a chance of playing, but you both knew that wasn’t very likely. 

You sent the video to Jack with a comment bagging out his hairstyle, hoping to lift his mood a little, before dropping your phone onto the couch and drawing your attention back to the economics case study you were supposed to be analysing. 

You’d stayed in Toronto for university, while Jack headed off to New Jersey after his draft year. Long distance friendship took a lot of getting used to, but at least you were still in the same timezone, and the NHL schedule meant that Jack was contractually obliged to visit you a few times each year. Quinn too, despite how much he complained about the intensity of hockey mania in Toronto. In fact, the entire Hughes family sometimes made the trek, which you knew your parents not-so-secretly loved. It reminded you of the warmth you felt growing up in each other’s homes, filled with laughter and joy.

The little focus you had for your economics homework was broken when your phone began to vibrate beside you, Jack’s name flashing on the screen. You rolled your eyes with a smile, before leaning over to answer the video call. 

“Good morning, sunshine!” You greeted your best friend, who was already scowling at you. 

“Is it a good morning, though? When all I do is get criticism from my supposed best friend?” 

“It’s not criticism, more… encouragement, I’d say.” You teased back, Jack rolling his eyes at you.

“Encouraging what, exactly?”

“Encouraging you to make better personal style choices, especially related to hair. You are a millionaire, after all. Least you can do is get a decent haircut.” 

“Oh, my apologies. Didn’t realise I was getting encouragement from the queen of high fashion. Is that a coffee stain on that shirt?” Jack’s eyes glanced down at what little he could see of your outfit in the video call, before poking his tongue out at you.

“Hey, I’m a university student. This is high fashion, I’ll have you know. Anyway, why aren’t you at training?” You asked, cocking your head to the side in curiosity. 

Jack’s lips pressed together, and he looked away from his phone and you; you silently cursed yourself for asking the question. Even though Jack had been injured, he’d been pretty dedicated to his rehab and recovery, so it was a little odd for him to be calling you in the morning rather than be at a physio session. 

“More scans this afternoon so no session this morning. Trying to decide if I can play next weekend or if I just have to show up and look pretty.” Jack tried to joke, but you could tell that it wasn’t something he found humour in. 

“Good thing that looking pretty comes naturally to you, J.” 

“Oh, so now I’m pretty? I thought I had shit hair?!”

“You can both be a pretty face and have shit hair, buddy. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Mutually exclusive? Is that a fancy term you learnt at school?” 

You laughed at that, earning a Jack smile in return. You continued chatting back and forth for another 30 minutes or so, before Jack had to go to his scans. 

You managed to get through the rest of your economics homework, but your mind kept wandering back to Jack and his frustration at being injured. He’d been an All-Star before, so it wasn’t that specifically he was frustrated about missing, you were certain. The difference this year was Quinn’s selection in the All-Star weekend, and the building anticipation around so-called “Team Hughes” that would see Jack and Quinn on the same team for the first time in their NHL careers. That’s probably what Jack was upset about, because as much as they chirp each other and are fiercely competitive, there’s nothing Jack Hughes loves more than his brothers. You knew that he’d be in his head overthinking everything and convincing himself that he was letting Quinn down, somehow, despite it being beyond his control. 

The only further communication you got from Jack that day was a thumbs-down text message, which told you all you needed to know. You were sporadically in touch a few times throughout the week, and before you knew it, it was the day everyone was flying in for All-Star weekend.

You’d managed to persuade your parents that a full-blown neighbourhood party was not necessary, and instead convinced them to accept Quinn’s invitation to a lowkey but nice dinner downtown near the hotel where he and Jack were staying. The dinner was something you were looking forward to all week, but you hadn’t anticipated two things: accidentally deleting half your economics essay the night before it was due and having to stay up until 3am to finish it; and the butterflies that you were feeling when you were getting ready for dinner. Why on earth were you so nervous? Seeing Jack and Quinn after a while was usually something that excited you, not stressed you out. 

You had just pulled on your dress and finished wrangling your hair when your phone pinged with a message from Jack. 

Have you looked at the menu for this place? We need to order a side of the loaded mac n cheese pls and thx 

I thought you were a high performance athlete? But of course, mac n cheese is a MUST

Correct, my body is a temple. A temple of mac n cheese. Mac is a carb, cheese is calcium for my bones. Winners all around. See ya soon x

Xo

It was freezing outside, so you took an Uber from your university apartment to the restaurant. You were running behind, thanks to traffic, and then you almost toppled over on the pavement outside due to the wet weather. Between that and your sleep deprivation, you honestly wanted nothing more than to go home, put your pyjamas on and cry; but you plastered a smile on your face and headed inside the restaurant. 

The hostess greeted you warmly, and offered to take your coat once you established that your parents had already arrived and were seated on a table towards the back of the restaurant, and you could see the backs of Jack and Quinn as you approached them. Everyone stood up to greet you with hugs and kisses, and the butterflies sparked again when Jack pulled out the chair next to his for you to sit down. Jack and Quinn both had nice sweaters on with collared shirts, and you were quietly glad you’d decided to wear a dress rather than the jeans you’d initially picked out. 

“How did your essay go, sweetheart? I know economics isn’t your favourite…” Your mother enquired, obviously unaware of your crisis the night before. 

You gave her a tight-lipped smile and took a sip of the diet coke in front of you (that Jack must’ve ordered for you, no doubt) before mumbling something about getting it sorted and hoping for the best. Your dad swiftly changed the subject to the weekend’s festivities, excitedly asking Quinn about his plans for the All-Star draft, but you could feel Jack’s eyes on you. You met his gaze and subtly shook your head, silently asking for him to save his questions for later. Jack frowned at you, but complied. 

The dinner felt like it went quickly, but also went for hours. Your stomach hurt from laughing (and probably too much mac and cheese), as Jack and Quinn regaled your parents with stories of their seasons and their plans for the next summer off in Michigan, where your two families would join each other for a month or so of adventures. You found yourself smiling as your dad and the Hughes brothers comically argued over who would pay the bill, before Jack excused himself to the bathroom and sneakily paid the bill on his way there. 

Jack and Quinn’s hotel was walking distance from the restaurant, and they excitedly invited you and your parents to come and see the fancy suite they’d been gifted for the weekend. Your mother made some excuse about traffic on the drive home and promised to come and see it some other time, but nudged you in your side as she told you to go and check it out. You were so tired and ready for bed, but reluctantly agreed; your window of opportunity to spend time with Jack was closing, so you figured you may as well make the most of it.

The butterflies in your stomach flitted around as Jack helped you into your coat before you headed outside the restaurant and bid your parents farewell. You fell into step in between the brothers as they traipsed back toward the hotel, conversation flowing easily as Quinn asked about your college classes and you asked him about the latest book he was reading. Jack was silent as you walked the few blocks before arriving at the hotel, and he gently placed his hand onto your back as you were guided through the hotel front door and into the elevator. 

Your jaw dropped when Quinn swiped his key card and you all entered the hotel suite. They weren’t joking about it being fancy, holy shit. 

The floor to ceiling windows had incredible views of the city skyline, with a very comfortable looking couch in the living area facing the view. Two doors at either side of the living room lead to bedrooms with luxurious linens, and the marble bathrooms were impeccably finished. 

Jack was grinning as he watched you take it all in, leaning up against the door frame to his bedroom as you stood near the window and gaped at the views. Quinn had flopped down on the couch and was texting on his phone. 

“Can they gift this to you year-round? I’d like to live here…” You mused, shaking your head at how insane this hockey lifestyle could be. 

“We could probably just buy it for you.” Jack said nonchalantly, as he wandered over to stand beside you at the window. 

“Yeah, if you want. They’d probably charge us more because I’m a Canuck, though.” Quinn deadpanned, earning a laugh from you and an eye-roll from Jack.

“Speaking of, the guys are all catching up in Petey’s room, so I think I’ll head down there. See you tomorrow after the draft, sugar plum.” Quinn pulled you into a hug, and your heart burst at him using your childhood nickname (which came from one ill-fated ballet performance and you insisted you hated, but secretly loved being called). 

You could’ve sworn you saw Quinn wink at Jack before he left the hotel room, but then again, the sleep deprivation could also be sending you loopy. 

“Wanna watch a movie?” Jack asked, moving to stand behind you and loop his arms around your waist as you still faced the window. Your heart rate shot through the roof as he pulled you closer, and nestled his head in between your neck and shoulder. You cringed as you realised he could probably feel your pulse beating fast. 

“Sure, but no blaming me if I fall asleep on you, sorryyyyy.” You awkwardly maneuvered yourself out of Jack’s embrace and walked over to the couch, sitting down on it and removing your shoes. 

“The first time we’ve seen each other in MONTHS and you’re going to fall asleep? Am I that boring? Sheesh.” Jack drawled, watching you from where he stood.

“Yes.” You stuck your tongue out at him, but lost it to a yawn which made you both laugh. 

“You know I love you, J. I would happily pull an all-nighter with you, but I don’t think two in a row is probably good for me.”

“Two in a row? What, where you out partying hard last night?” Jack’s voice trailed off as he wandered off into the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him. You heard a drawer open and a light thud onto the floor, and your throat tightened when you realised Jack was changing his clothes. God, you’d gotten changed in front of each other a million times. Why was your brain making everything so weird tonight?

“Not quite. Had a disaster that involved accidentally deleting my entire essay, sobbing for an hour, then staying up until 3am to write the whole thing. Living the dream, as per usual.” You rattled off, trying to sound nonchalant about, even though just thinking about last night made you nauseous with anxiety. Your nonchalance was clearly unconvincing, as Jack came back out of the bedroom clad in a hoodie and sweats and bee-lined for you, his face covered in concern. 

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s fine, I promise. All part of the college experience.” You weren’t sure if you were trying to convince yourself or Jack more. He couldn’t either, but instead of pushing the issue, he threw a hoodie at your head and laughed when you looked offended. 

“I’m definitely falling asleep if I put this on, by the way. You know I love being cozy. Cozy is my natural state of being.” You pulled your hair up into a loose bun using the hair tie on your wrist, before pulling the black Devils hoodie over your head. 

Jack slotted himself beside you on the couch and reached his arm over your shoulders, finding the remote with his other hand and navigating the ridiculously large TV onto Netflix. 

“Fine by be, sugarplum. I’d rather know you’re getting sleep here than send you home to stress yourself out more.”  Jack mused, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your arm while he found the latest season of a TV show you both loved to watch and pressed play.

“I’m not stres - it was just one essay - I promise I’m fine.” You sputtered, tripping over your words when Jack locked eyes with you, his gaze empathetic but all-knowing. 

“Besides, I’m not the only one in the room worth worrying about.” You said softly, nudging Jack’s side gently. Jack rolled his lips between his teeth, and sighed; he put down the remote and pulled his hoodie sleeves over his hands. 

“But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. You’re not letting anyone down, though. Quinn doesn’t think that.” You continued, softly, not wanting to cause tension. 

Jack sighed deeply again and pulled his arm away from you, leaning forward and rubbing his face with both hands. 

“You don’t know what Quinny’s thinking, sugar. And it’s not just Quinn, it’s the fucking journalists, and Bratter’s vacation being ruined, and goddamn Michael Bublé being disappointed in me, and - just - fucking all of it.” Jack exhaled deeply, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. 

You didn’t know what to say, because you could tell that Jack wasn’t in a mood that you could talk him down out of. But you could tell he needed comfort, needed reassurance, needed to know that you still had his back. Ever since kindergarten. 

You grabbed the back of Jack’s hoodie and gently tugged it, and he leaned back against the couch. You tapped Jack’s legs next, and he moved them up onto the other side of the L-shaped couch, so he was properly reclining. You paused, trying to figure out how to position yourself without being literally on top of Jack, but while your brain was running a million miles a minute, Jack’s hand found yours and yanked you towards him gently. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, before adjusting yourself between Jack’s body and the side of the couch. Jack’s arm found a home over your hips and settled gently on your stomach, pulling your back against his chest. You felt his breath on your neck as you both wriggled around, trying to get comfortable.

 

“Is this okay, sugar?” Jack’s voice was barely a whisper, directly into your ear. You didn’t trust your voice not to squeak a response so you simply nodded, trying desperately to calm your fast beating heart.

You rested your hand on top of Jack’s and gently squeezed, feeling yourself starting to lull to sleep. Despite the butterflies and your heart jumping out of your chest, you somehow had never felt more at peace, right in this moment.

This was safe, this was calm. This was home. 

[weast-of-eden]

I've been thinking about how I could contribute to the ACD/Granada Sherlock Holmes fandom for a while, seeing as I'm neither an artist, a writer, or anything actually useful lol. But then I realized something I myself always treasure are curated fic recs, which I could actually do! I've read probably like 25% of all the h/w ACD and Granada fics on ao3, so I compiled a short list for anyone who is just starting out with the fandom. Without further ado, may I present

Eden’s Top Picks for Beginning ACD/Granada Fics:

(edit: i made a second list here!!)

The Adventure of the Doctor's Heart by mistyzeo 12k | Rated E Summary: Holmes has observed much of Watson's habits and tastes over time, which is why it surprises him when his friend objects strangely to a folk song sung at the conclusion of a case. Disturbed by the Doctor's unexpected display of emotion, Holmes becomes determined to lift his spirits by any means necessary, with mixed results. Notes: obviously if you're going to read canonverse h/w, you are going to read mistyzeo. this one is just so good and angsty and features music (!!). it's got some steaminess but it also has wooing. basically it has everything you ever need. this is my odyssey, my iliad, my hamlet, etc.

Cameo by what_alchemy 8k | Rated M | For Archive Users Only Summary: Holmes and Watson become embroiled in a case Scotland Yard refuses to acknowledge. A soulmate AU. Notes: i honestly skipped over this fic for a while, since i'm not the biggest fan of soulmate aus. do not make the same mistake i did, because this shit HITS. this fic has hit after hit: soulmate-mark based case for our main duo, angst, hiatus feels, MORE ANGST, and ofc a happy ending. ugh. read this fic if you enjoy being happy.

A Tide That Does Not Turn by tweedisgood 3k | Rated T Summary: Holmes is a very bad patient with a devoted doctor who adores him. Watson wishes it was safe to speak up, but his friend is a tide that does not turn. Notes: do NOT read this if you don't like angst... ok now i'm sensing a pattern. anyways this is the first hurt/no comfort fic i read for this tag and i literally have cried more than enough tears over it. poor, poor watson :( iconic author though, read everything they write!

The Adventure of the Glad Outlaw by radondoran 7k | Rated T Summary: While Sherlock Holmes solves the mystery of a student's disappearance, Dr. Watson is more puzzled by the changing dynamic between his flatmate and himself. Notes: cute pastiche! a nice little mystery and a nice little get-together. ahhhhhh.... this fic is like cotton candy to me, so sweet and fluffy. defo recommend

Hands by MinorObsessions (draculard) 1.4k | Rated T Summary: Naturally, there are some things Watson thinks about Holmes that don't make it into the books. Notes: i'm also in the star trek fandom, so if you know anything about that then you know that hands are kind of A Thing in both circles and ergo i now Have A Thing about hands. so this is a nice little ode to holmes' hands, featuring some doctoring by watson AND a nice reverse appraisal at the end. it's so sweet :)

Conductor of Light by ColebaltBlue  1.4k | Rated T Summary: A Victorian stiff upper lip won't prevent you from falling in love, but it might prevent you from realizing it. Notes: they finally get their shit together! honestly i would recommend this fic to anyone just starting out with h/w fics in any medium. the characterization and dialogue is A1, and their argument is really realistic to me, idk. also features the iconic HOUN quote for its title so props to that!

A (Mis)fortunate Man by sans_patronymic 1.5k | Rated T Summary: December, 1880. Watson writes a note which may be his last. December, 1899. Watson writes back. Notes: READ THE TAGS BEFORE READING. this was a gut-wrenching read but god i cried at the end for watson. don't worry, this one has a happy ending. ugh now i wish there was a second chapter where watson lets holmes read the letters. to sum up: oof, my heart

The Second Smartest Man in London by FairSinner 73k | Rated E Summary: Dr John Watson returns from Afghanistan to Victorian London, wounded, traumatised and alone. When he meets Sherlock Holmes, his life begins to seem worth living again. But Holmes is a man who despises sentiment and Watson cannot seem to expunge it from his heart. Notes: congrats, you've made it to the end!! so now i must confess that it's been a loooong time since i've read this fic, but the private note i left on my bookmark was just "holy shit", so i'm sure it's a banger. i'm also sure it has angst because i love angst and i love bookmarking angst so i can read it again and again and suffer infinitely. enjoy :)

anyways, now that i've put these all here i realized how much i enjoy angst and hurt/no comfort fics. if any of you guys have a favorite fic you want to link or want to plug your own writing, feel free to!

[eideticallys]

If you won't do it, I will.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: you were so engrossed with images of you kissing Reid and him kissing you back that you forgot one detail—the man could wake up at any moment without you noticing. and he did wake up. You just failed to notice, too busy ogling his pink lips.

genre: fluff & angst

word count: 3.7k

author's notes: another tooth-rotting spencer reid fluff because i said so! you can listen to watch you sleep by girl in red & out of my league by fitz and the tantrums while reading this because those were the songs i listened to while writing this and i think they fit really well with this fic. also posted on ao3 (spencereids).

THAT DARN SUNLIGHT, YOU SHOULD GET YOUR BLINDS FIXED WHEN YOU’RE FREE—THEN IT HITS YOU. You just got it fixed about two weeks ago. You are definitely not in your room.

Scrambling to get up, you were about to jump off whichever bed you ended up in last night when you felt a warm, lithe arm tucked underneath yours, clasping you in a soft embrace like a lover. Now that you think about it, you could feel this person’s hair tickling your chin and their warm breath against your neck.

This is seriously freaking you out. You have no idea who you are cuddling with. Jesus Christ, how many shots did you drink last night? Why would the team let you go home drunk with some guy? 

Gently, you removed the arm wrapped around your waist and slowly pushed away the brunette positioned snugly between your head and shoulder. No way.

The person you are cuddling with is none other than your genius coworker.

Dr. Spencer Reid.

Like any other normal person would do—no person in their right mind would sleep with their coworkers, literally and figuratively—you checked yourself for any presence of clothing. Thank God, you did not completely lose your mind last night and slept with Reid. But it still doesn’t explain why you were wearing his faded Star Trek shirt and one of his pajama pants.

Fucking hell, did he change your clothes for you? You were ready to catch the next plane and disappear at this point.

You were about to start berating yourself for getting into this mess when you noticed how the sunlight made the man beside you look more angelic than usual.

The sun seemed to caress every freckle on his face, the slight pink tinge from the cold morning air, and his hair—although unruly from the tossing and turning during the night—could pass for that of a shampoo model. Pretty.

And his lips.

They looked even more inviting right now, pink and full and parted slightly, as he breathed in and out small puffs of air, finally sleeping soundly following a week of sleepless nights tracking down an unsub. You roamed your eyes once more on his face, starting from his hair and down to where his upper body was covered by an old shirt and the blanket you shared—forgetting your initial dilemma as to how you ended up in bed with your coworker (whom you have a big crush on).

Thank goodness you did not have sex with the one guy you were practically in love with for years. It would be nice to remember every detail of that rendezvous—if that ever happens. You groaned inwardly. This is not the time to fantasize about your coworker, Y/N! You need to get out of bed and out of his house.

But a part of you longs to keep pretending that this is real. That sleeping next to—cuddling, let us be honest—Reid is a usual occurrence. Pursing your lips, you closed your eyes and willed yourself to go back to sleep. Let the future version of you worry about how you will handle waking next to your coworker. Except you could not.

You wished you could tattoo what Reid looked like in the early morning light when he was asleep and without that crease between his brows that seemed to be etched permanently from all the stress of chasing unsubs around the country.

You gotta admit, some days, you yearned for Reid’s eidetic memory. You wished you could have memories of him engraved in your brain that no matter what you do, you could not help it. He would be there. A persistent thought. But then again, you were in too deep with your feelings for the man that you think, even without an eidetic memory, you could definitely recount all your favorite memories with him in a heartbeat.

So, you chose to stay awake.

This is not looking good for you. How else would you explain to someone—your coworker, of all people—who just woke up why you were staring at them while they slept. God, you are down horrendously.

He looked so peaceful like this. Pink cheeks, freckles, and messy hair. He looked so adorable you wished you could pepper his face with kisses and bury your face in his chest. And he is snoring lightly. He is endearing.

You are never getting another chance like this. This will not hurt anyone, right?

Hence, you took in every tiny detail, every freckle, every mole, and every scar you could see. You committed to memory every inch of skin your eyes could reach before the man beside you woke up. You tried to learn by heart what this man looks like when he is untroubled and at peace—what he looks like in the eyes of his future lover when they wake up next to him because that would never be you.

It would never be you.

And that could happen any day now. Reid was bound to find someone who would love him. He was the easiest person to love. He was not a prince charming nor the male lead of a romance novel kind of guy, But he has this boyish charm.

Let us be real. Reid was probably the most uncoordinated guy alive and the most socially awkward person ever. But you were taken by him. The moment he started spewing facts and statistics about anything and everything under the sun, you were done for.

He could talk to you about why worms were called worms and the probability of people dying on their birthdays. And you would listen to him willingly. You were that taken by him. Not to mention, it does not help your case that Reid was probably the prettiest person alive. Well, not literally, but he was that close to being the prettiest person—in your opinion of course.

He had messy, brown curls that looked like they barely experienced the touch of a comb, but you knew they were soft. You knew because every time Reid did something endearing—everything he did was endearing, for you—you always ruffled his hair. This would make him grumble about how he had to fix it again and to which you would reply with a cheeky, You know what a comb is? And Reid would roll his eyes at you.

He had hazel eyes that reminded you of a puppy dog. They were mostly brown with a tinge of green. Most days, it reminded you of being cozy, drinking hot chocolate by the fire. They looked like you were coming home. They always looked like they were pleading for you to stare at them. And you admit you have lost count of the many times Reid had to flick his fingers in front of you with a matching Earth to Y/N and a mini history lesson starting with a Did you know that the history behind that phrase comes from science fiction movies showing people on earth sending messages to people in space?

And Reid always wore the fluffiest cardigans and sweater vests, reminding you of your teddy bear collection at your childhood home. It was crazy how if you saw anyone else in the law enforcement track having the same fashion sense as Reid, you would probably think of them as ridiculous. He wore a pair of black converse sneakers, among other things. For heaven’s sake! Come on! You have to go after seasoned criminals—you at least have to look the part. Right? You have to look imposing and menacing to intimidate them in interrogation rooms. However, the teddy bear look—as you’d like to call it—works so well for Reid. 

What is more, is that Reid fits your ideal type. He is probably the poster boy for it. Ever since you were never into the macho guys and their big muscles. No offense to them because those are their bodies. They look good, but you like your men a little scrawny. You liked lean and really tall men. And Reid is definitely that. He may have failed his fitness test a gazillion times, but the man was in no way, shape, or form, unhealthy. He had the right muscles at the right places and besides, he literally goes after serial killers. He is fit alright.

Lost in your thoughts, you were damn near ogling the man beside you and ended up looking fixedly at his lips. You always thought he had kissable lips, minus the fact that it is probably because you were practically in love with the guy.

You wanted to kiss him so bad it is killing you right now. But in your good conscience, you couldn’t and you wouldn’t. You were completely aware of Reid being a germaphobe, and he has mentioned countless times, kissing is more hygienic than shaking another person’s hand, kissing a sleeping person was out of the books for you. One, the person couldn’t consent because they were unconscious. Two, you were not his lover. Kissing him while he was asleep would be a violation to him. Not to mention, unwelcomed and creepy as hell. Imagine waking up and someone has their lips slobbering your face. Icky!

You were so engrossed with images of you kissing Reid and him kissing you back that you forgot one detail—the man could wake up at any moment without you noticing.

And he did wake up. You just failed to notice, too busy ogling his pink lips.

“If you won’t do it, I will.”

You froze in place.

Like a deer caught in the headlights, you rushed to leap out of Reid’s bed—almost toppling over on the floor in an unladylike fashion. You probably would look worse than Reid when he was huffing and puffing during his last fitness test mandated by the bureau.

But before you could jump out and run away from the man beside you, Reid had all but effortlessly pulled you towards him. You ended up burying yourself into his chest face first as you clutched his shirt to break the fall. It is not even 8 am in the morning yet, and you have managed to embarrass yourself enough for your parents to cut off all ties with you. You would rather dig yourself a hole to die in than be here.

Knowing you have nowhere else to escape, you believe it was time to lie on the bed you made. Sluggishly, you pulled your face away from the lean chest you descended on and peeped up at the angelic face you’d been staring at for the past hour with a sheepish smile.

“H-hi, Reid!”

This is just pure torture. Reid probably knew why you looked like an actual tomato with how red you are, at this moment. He is smiling at you like a cat who ate the canary as he suppressed a laugh.

“I didn’t know you had a clumsy side to you, Y/L/N,” Reid snickered.

What?

“What?” You frowned, which made Reid chuckle some more, shaking his head.

“Nothing,” you scrunch your brows as you tilt your head in confusion, “You just seem so formidable on the field and interrogation room. I’d hate to be the one you’re tracking down,” Reid responded.

“Oh, um,” you grinned as you thought of the perfect rib for the man in front of you, “Just because I’m an FBI agent doesn’t mean I can’t be uncoordinated every now and then. I mean, I know plenty of agents who are quite the klutz on the daily,” you peered at him while he gawps in protest.

“Hey!” He argued, scowling at you.

God, he’s endearing.

“I didn’t mention any names,” you chortled, raising your hand in defense, which made him roll his eyes.

You cracked up at his juvenile actions. In turn, Reid smiled in amusement.

God, you can’t believe that you’re laying on a bed beside Reid. With Reid—like it’s an everyday thing. The smiles. The banter. The laughter. This is crazy. You could get used to this. Sleeping next to him and not just next to him—like the ones you have during your cases where you get to be roommates. No, sleeping on one bed, next to each other. Waking up next to each other. Hearing his gruff morning voice.

You could get used to this.

You can’t.

You shouldn’t.

Reid is your friend. A coworker. You shouldn’t be fantasizing about sleeping and waking up next to him, that is unprofessional. Not to mention, you would be breaking one of the golden rules of the bureau. Never fraternize with a fellow agent on the same unit. 

Seemingly lost in thought, you retreated from the man beside you, as you grimaced.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, Reid,” you smiled glumly, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” you patted his cheek gently.

“Is this about you waking up in my bed? I swear no—”

“I know, Reid,” you sighed, “You would never hurt me. I was drunk last night. I’m sure you brought me here because you were too tired to take me home. We just got back from a case and I shouldn’t have drank a lot of shots after all the sleepless nights,” you were slowly sitting up now, “But thank you, Reid. Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Always, Y/N.”

This made you smile.

Trust Reid to always make your heart flutter at the tiniest gestures. He’s probably the most genuine and compassionate person you know. It breaks your heart every time you remember that his actions might make you feel butterflies in your stomach, but he does them not because he sees you romantically—he just does them because that is just how he is—caring.

“I’m gonna get up now,” you muttered.

“So, that’s it?”

This made you pause.

“What do you mean?” You looked at him, to which he scoffed.

“You know what I mean, Y/N.”

“No, I really don’t, Reid,” you scowled, growing irritated at this whole situation, his riddles, and him, for being so perfect, “So, you better tell me because you scoffing at me is slowly infuriating me.”

“You spent an hour, eighteen minutes, and thirty-eight seconds watching me sleep,” Reid shared as matter-of-factly, as if to say "You aren’t slick, Y/N, " which made you sputter in indignation. At this rate, you wouldn’t be surprised if Reid would be considered by the Guinness World Records as the first omniscient person on earth with his brilliant mind. The man has an IQ of 187 for Pete’s sake!

“If that doesn’t tell you anything, then I don’t know what will,” he finished.

“First of all,” you started, “I did not watch you sleep.”

This made the man raise one brow at you. Liar.

“Second of all, if I did watch you sleep and you felt it,” you continued pointedly as if to tell Reid you weren’t watching him sleep. “Shouldn’t you have called me out on it? Why did you let me be then?” 

“I don’t know. Okay?”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” You pushed, crossing your arms.

“I woke up just a few minutes after I felt your stare,” Reid began rambling, “Did you know the reason why we feel someone is looking directly at us is that we have this system called the gaze detection system? I woke up a few minutes after I felt you staring.”

You smiled fondly at the man prattling facts from the back of his brain. This was your favorite version of Reid. The one who knows anything and everything under the sun and can probably talk about them if you asked him to. But right now, you have had enough of that. You won’t allow him to distract his adorable babbling from knowing why he let you stare at him.

Maybe he shares the same feelings with you.

“Reid,” you exhaled, “that still doesn’t explain why you let me watch you sleep.”

This made the man’s cheeks start dusting with pink. You were aware of the fact that it should have been the questioning done the other way around. You literally breached his privacy in his own home but you couldn’t help it. You wanted to know if he feels the same way as you. You wanted to know everything now rather than later. You know you’d probably get rejected but you wanted to get it over with.

“I wanted you to kiss me.”

This made you gasp, eyes widening—you think they were about to come out of their sockets. Reid blushed some more with your shocked expression. 

“I didn’t know what to do,” he continued explaining, “so I pretended to be asleep but I wanted you to kiss me. I thought that you would kiss me but you didn’t. So, I waited.” He looked down at his lap and bit his lip.

With your initial shock wearing off, you practically looked like a wild animal pouncing on the bed. Reid yelped at how quick you moved from where you originally stayed put. Without further ado, you reached for him. Thumbs caressing his rosy cheeks, you stared at his hazel irises.

“Are you sure about this?” You asked gently, wanting to be sure that he wants this just as much as you do. Before you could say anything else, Reid pressed his lips against yours.

As soon as you felt his lips against yours, your eyes closed. His lips were warm and soft—a little chapped but you didn’t mind. It feels perfect against yours. You didn’t want this to end but you want to see him—feel more of him. So, you did. You buried one of your hands in his curls as you caressed his chiseled jaw. Warmth blossomed in your chest as you realized you were kissing the guy you’d been pining for years and he is kissing you back.

You could taste your shared breath and feel the flutter of his long lashes against your cheeks. He tilted his head slightly in the opposite direction and nudged his nose against yours as your lips parted slightly, allowing him to slip his tongue inside.

You wanted to open your eyes. You wanted to see the faint constellations on his face, admire the slight scrunch of his brows when he’s focused—you had a feeling after this kiss is over, being with him won’t be as easy as it was before. You would be ruined knowing what it was like to kiss him. But you were so tired of longing for him. And his mouth was the softest mouth you have ever kissed. And nobody has ever kissed you like this before—loving and warm.

You didn’t stop kissing Reid until you felt like you were running out of air from running. So, you held his shoulders and distanced your face from his. He tried chasing your lips but you dodged him. Instead, you looked down at your lap. You felt your tears and willed them to not fall. Not here, not now, not in front of him. You wouldn’t want him to pity you.

“Hey, Y/N,” Reid placed his warm hand against yours, “What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?” His thumb caressed your hand soothingly.

“That’s the thing, Reid,” you explained, looking up at him right now as he flinched, noting the tears glistening in your eyes, “Nothing’s wrong. The kiss was perfect. You’re perfect.” You could see his shoulders sagging in relief after what you said. “And because of that, I can’t just pretend that what happened was normal because it isn’t. I know it won’t happen again so I can’t get used to it. And you know I’m not the type to kiss someone unless they mean that much to me.”

You were about to explain some more when you felt Reid pull you. You gulped when you felt the tickle of his breath in the junction of your neck and shoulder. “I really like you, Y/N. If it isn’t obvious,” Reid muttered shyly, “I’ve liked you for quite some time now.”

“Oh.”

If this was difficult for you, it was difficult for Reid as well—if not more—to be vulnerable about his feelings. You knew about how difficult it was for him growing up, being the only twelve-year-old prodigy in a public high school. He’s been through so much with his dad leaving and having to take care of his mom. He’s never had a proper experience with just about everything from making friends, being a normal kid, and in this case, harboring romantic feelings for someone—you.

So, you did what you thought could convey that the feeling was mutual. You gently wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled your face into his brown locks. He smelled of crisp pages of a book with a hint of pine. If you thought your favorite version of Reid was him rambling about facts and statistics, you’re probably going to give that version a run for his money. Because this version of Spencer Reid right here—the one who chose to be vulnerable, the one who chose to open up to you not knowing if the feeling was mutual—is probably your new favorite version of him.

“If it isn’t obvious to you, Dr. Reid,” you began, “I’ve liked you for quite some time now too.”

With that, you pulled him away from being tucked into your neck and kissed him again. You felt him grin widely, as you showered his pretty face with pecks, and you could not be happier. Before you could shower him with more kisses, Reid started spouting statistics about office romances.

“One in ten heterosexual couples in the United States meet at work.”

“Lucky for us,” you said as you tried to bury your nose in Reid’s neck, which made him giggle. "We are that one couple in the BAU. Now, shut up, so I can kiss you some more.”

This made Reid guffaw.

You couldn’t be happier waking up next to your coworker.