#ignore me saying ficlet when this is over 1k

[aimwigs]

begging for you to write dad ludwig. the brainrot is real.

he would be such a. good girl scout leader

fine have some girl scout leader lud for the soul... i may not have a cohesive narrative for dadwig but im happy to provide little snippets

Really, the reason that Ludwig took on the role of troop leader was because nobody else wanted to do it. The old leader moved to Vegas, along with her daughter, leaving the troop in a state of uncertainty. If nobody stepped in, the troop would have to disband and Ryan would either have to find a new troop or brave it solo as a Juliette according to what QT said when she dropped off the girls at his place a few days before the school year started. Apparently, she meticulously researched both of these options but she wasn’t sure that Ryan would even want to be in Girl Scouts if she wasn’t doing it with her friends from school.

So he decides to step in. There’s nothing in the rules that says a dad can’t be a Girl Scout leader and if it means his daughter gets to continue to do this thing she loves with her friends, he’s not going to let her lose that. He’s not all that busy these days anyway— what’s the point of free time if he can’t spend it with his kids?

So that’s how he finds himself a few months later, in charge of more than a dozen eight-year-old girls on a camping trip. They’re in a cabin, at least. As much as he intends to give these girls an actual scouting experience— something he feels like the previous leader failed to do— he needs two more years and a few more chaperones before he’s ready to teach them how to pitch tents and start their own fires.

They get to the cabin in the evening and he gives the girls some time to put their stuff down and set up their sleeping bags for later before taking them out on a hike. It’s a short hike in theory— just a two-mile loop— but when you’re hiking with easily distracted kids, it always ends up a lot longer. He has to stop the same girl from eating berries off random plants like five fucking times.

The first time he squats down to her level and carefully explains, “We don’t eat things when we don’t know what they are. It could make us very sick.”

By the end of the hike, he’s just absently snatching the berries out of her hands before she can shove them in her mouth. He gave them all granola bars and as much as he understands the raw human urge to forage for your own food where you can, he doesn’t think getting poisoned on your first overnight camping trip would be a great scouting experience.

There’s a creek that runs through the canyon they’re hiking in, and he gives the girls fifteen minutes or so to splash around in the shallow water, expressions of pure glee on their faces as they look for frogs and skip stones together.

“Dad!” Ryan runs over to him and very seriously hands him a rock, light gray with a small curvy brown line running through the center of it and smooth from the rush of the water. “I don’t want to lose it.”

As much as he would love to just hold the rock for her, they all had a conversation about this before they left and he’s not prepared for the domino effect of all the girls shoving everything they find out here into their pockets.

“Take only memories and leave only footprints, remember?” he says, holding it back out to her.

She frowns. “I want to give it to Lucy so she’s not sad that she didn’t get to come.”

Fuck, the thought of the delight on his younger daughter’s face as her sister hands her a rock that she found special for her is enough to make him shove the rock in his pocket before anyone else can see it. “You can’t tell anyone else I let you keep this, okay?”

She smiles brightly. “Thanks, Dad!” she tells him, running off to splash around in the creek again.

Maybe he just got scammed into breaking his own damn rules but the thing about having kids is that they can scam you every time and you’ll never really mind it.

By the time they get back from the hike, it’s time for dinner. He starts the fire on his own, tactfully, with a lighter because he doesn’t fucking remember how to light a fire without one— he’ll learn when it’s time to teach them— and has the girls go find sticks to roast hot dogs with, telling them to stay near the camp.

They have their dinner and sing songs that Ryan and a few of the other girls learned at camp last summer and then move on to making s’mores. He tells them a story that he found online about how s’mores were invented by a Girl Scout and they all watch on with wide, excited eyes.

While he’s cleaning up, the girls tell scary stories around the fire. It’s nothing particularly terrifying, except for something that the tiniest girl in the troop cooks up in her dark twisted mind about evil clowns riding bears that somehow comes off as less insane when she says it— seriously, that girl is going to be a screenwriter someday— and then he teaches them how to properly put out a fire before they all head in to go to bed.

Half the girls knock out straight away— the hike must have seriously taken it out of them— and the other half drag their sleeping bags together and quietly whisper and giggle as if this were just a normal sleepover. Truth be told, he doesn’t care if they stay up talking all night since their parents are coming to get them in the morning anyway and they’re being quiet enough that he can sleep.

So he closes his eyes and tries to get some shut-eye before he’s inevitably woken up when somebody decides they need a snack or can’t find the bathroom.

It’s about thirty seconds before somebody drops a sleeping bag next to him and cuddles into his side.

He cracks an eye open to see Ryan lying there in her giraffe pajamas, curling into him a little.

“You okay, kiddo?” he asks, rubbing circles on her back.

“I’m thinking about the clowns,” she whispers with a frown.

He hugs her a bit closer. “You know that I’ll fight any clowns that try to get you.”

“They were riding bears, Dad.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “I’ll fight the bears too.”

Ryan lets out a little giggle. “You can’t fight a bear.”

Ludwig very dramatically lifts his other arm into her field of view. “You see these guns, I could fight a bear for you any day.”

She rolls her eyes. “Only Uncle Slime can fight bears.”

How the fuck did she come to that conclusion?

“There are no clowns on bears coming here. I promise,” he tells her, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “I wouldn’t take you girls somewhere where you’d be at risk of a clown attack, much less clowns with the ability to ride bears.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Let’s get some sleep now, okay? You can stay here with me if you want.”

She nods softly and stays cuddled up into his side. His heart soars a little— she’s in a room full of her friends and she still wants to hang out with her dad. He wonders how much longer she’ll be little enough for this.

He savors the moment for a minute and then falls asleep too. As it turns out, camping trips are fucking exhausting when you’re managing a troop full of third graders.

[luveline]

WOAH CONGRATS ON 40K JADE !! u deserve it and more 💓 can i ask for one of these

𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐞𝐛 —send me an established relationship request for any reader and any character and I'll write a ficlet, 1k or less

of something super domestic w miguel like where all guards are down and they’re just super comfortable w each other and being in each others space?

i love u and ur writing always ! to 40k more 🥂

luveline's 40k party ☆ thank you very much lovely! fem!reader

Miguel pulls you along like an upside down fireman's carry under the twist of his toned arm, your heels dragging along the floor. You know he won't drop you but it's strange. 

"I can walk," you say, giggling, forcing your hand under the fabric of his shirt to touch his naked stomach. 

He ignores your touching. "Slowly," he agrees. 

You put all your weight into his holding. Miguel can't drop you, his strength is a mixture of worked for and otherwise radioactive, but he gets the hint and slows to let you stand. 

On your own two feet, Miguel offers his hand to hold. You take it and attempt to keep up with his long strides this time lest he throw you over his shoulder like a sack of flour, drifting away just so he can pull you back in. 

It's not long walking until you're back to his room, the door opening automatically at your touch. You grin and kick off your shoes, abandoning Miguel at the door to crawl into his bed. You squeal as he grabs the cuff of your jeans and again when he turns you around, eyebrows raised as his fingers slip under your waistband. "This is forward, even for you." 

"I'm helping. You're going to take them off, aren't you? Throw them on my floor and leave me to pick them up. This way, I'm cutting out the middleman."

Miguel drags your pants down the lengths of your thighs. You have just enough time to stroke his hair as he bends to kiss the side of your knee, but then he's across the room and you're alone, the phantom of his hot hands like lines along your legs. You bring your knees up and hold your ankles, watching him from over them as he peels out of his shirt. 

"It's fucking hot," he says. 

"Super hot," you agree, tracing the many ridges and hills of his abdomen without shame. He brings his hands up to his hair to brush it away from his flushed cheeks, muscles tensing in new places with the movement. 

Huffing, he sidesteps into the kitchenette and out of view. There's a clink of metal cans and the shivering of the ice tray being pulled out, the promise of a cold drink. "Can you get me something, please?" you ask. 

"That's what I'm doing." 

"Because I read minds," you murmur. 

Miguel is smiling as he returns to you, more when he presses the chilly plastic of a wrapped milky ice lolly to your thigh. You gasp and roll away from him, he grabs you right back and deposits you in his lap. "Bully," you say, beaming as he hands over your cold treat. 

"Passive aggressive idiot," he responds, opening his water one handed. 

You tear your lolly open and turn to look into his face, his usual frown held at bay, his thick brows relaxed. It's easy and common practice by now to offer him the first bite. He always takes it, the sharp of his canine tooth leaving an uneven semi circle missing at the top. 

"Nice?" you ask as he chews. 

He leans down for a very cold, very sweet kiss. That's all the answer he gives you.

[cyberpunkboytoy]

"Impossible Girls" - a Reverse 1999 Ficlet

Pairing: Schneider/Vertin

Tags: Character study, implied sexual content, basically canon compliant, angst, wordcount: 1k, chapter 2 ending spoilers

Summary:

Vertin would survive. And Schneider would engrave her name into Vertin with her tongue, carve a place for herself in the Timekeeper's memory.

At some points Vertin reached out to try to touch her back, but each time Schneider pushed the woman's hands aside. Schneider was not someone Vertin could have…or at least, not someone she could keep.

6 Hours

After the battle Vertin laid on the muddy, churned up ground and talked to herself as the beginnings of the storm fell around them. An umbrella wouldn't stop the cold from soaking into her jacket and staining it dark with dirt and blood, but that didn't stop Schneider from walking over and holding one above both their heads.

"My lord, you're actually lying here defenseless…"

Giggling lightly, she knelt down in the wet grass and ignored the shiver that went through her bare knees. Vertin seemed numb to it, and somehow Schneider thought it wasn't because of the extra layers she was wearing. Instead it seemed the looming annihilation of this history was bearing down on her, as oppressive and heavy as the rain.

It wouldn't do to have their fearless leader looking so thoroughly defeated. Putting on a playful smile, Schneider looked down at Vertin and forced some levity into her voice. "I have been fighting for your cause for some time now…my lord was not planning to never repay me, right? No, surely I deserve a reward…"

She leaned down then, tilting the umbrella slightly to hide the two of them from sight, and watched as Vertin finally seemed to break from her lethargy. "Schneider?"

Smile growing minutely, Schneider continued to slowly lower her head. She moved until the heat from their lips echoed off each other, tantalizingly close to a kiss, when—

"Schneider, what are you doing? Don't suddenly get so close to her!"

She felt more than heard Vertin's sudden intake of breath, the moment shattering around them. The Timekeeper murmured Sonetto's name with both alarm and disappointment, not quite able to fix her tone in time, and as she sat up to address her second in command Schneider obediently pulled away, the air between them abruptly becoming cold with absence.

Still, as Schneider got up and turned to walk away, she carried a residual warmth inside her. When they had been suspended in that moment together, Vertin had looked…willing. Tense, but anticipating. Eager.

A plan began to form in the back of her mind, yearning and desperate.

4 Hours

"You're the last one to tell me your wish. Although you won't go…I still want to hear it."

Schneider looked past the Timekeeper for a moment, mind faraway. The beat of silence she took before replying was heavy, as if waterlogged from the coming storm. "You want to hear my wish, my lord? Then my wish is…"

She stopped mid-sentence, suddenly changing her mind. The plan from before nagged at her, more selfish and yet easier to say than the words she'd almost uttered. These, she could speak with a smile.

It didn't quite reach her eyes, but it lifted the corners of her lips all the same. "My wish…is that you would let me give you an unforgettable night."

She took that moment to come closer, the distance between them shrinking with every step, and watched Vertin's throat work around a swallow. It made Schneider's expression finally soften, her smile turning fruit-sweet.

Stopping a whisper's breath apart, she gingerly reached up to touch the top of Vertin's clothed shoulder. "Tell me…would you like to see what else my trigger finger can do?"

2 Hours

When they finally kissed it was with Schneider's hand pawing between Vertin's legs, both of them flush with excitement and heat.

Her free hand was tucked away in the long curtain of Vertin's hair, its usual side bun let down to instead flow over her shoulders. It was still the color of Schneider's favorite feather, one kept in a collection she had back home—she was suddenly reminded of an angel's wings, in that moment.

She had not believed in God in a long time, but a few hours ago she had prayed. Now she was on her knees again, and this somehow felt more sacred—Vertin more holy, loving her more virtuous than begging for life.

Schneider felt her heart beat on the wrong side of her chest. She had never been a beloved daughter of God, made with care and intention, and besides she had dirtied her hands with so much sin. She would not be forgiven. There would be no miracle to save her from the storm.

But Vertin would survive. And Schneider would engrave her name into Vertin with her tongue, carve a place for herself in the Timekeeper's memory.

So she bowed her head as though in prayer, kissed up her lord's thighs with devotion, worship. At some points Vertin reached out to try to touch her back, but each time Schneider pushed the woman's hands aside; there was no use trying to forge a mutual connection. It was too late for that.

Schneider was not someone Vertin could have…or at least, not someone she could keep. Their parting was inevitable. She would not hurt her lord more than this; she would not tease her with the promise of a girl she could not get.

5 Minutes

Before the banquet inside the suitcase, Schneider had swept her gaze over the wall of pictures Vertin had collected from forgotten eras.

There were all kinds of people there: boys and girls, young and old, and all sorts that refused to fit in any kind of binary. Artificial and organic matter, human and arcanist…Vertin told her the stories of them all as they'd waited for Sotheby to finish setting the table, and it had felt a bit like a preview of what was to come. Like Schneider was being allowed to see what Vertin might look after this was all over, when she eventually told the story of a girl in a red feather dress.

Selfishly, though, she hoped it might look different. That Schneider would not just be remembered, but stand out as a special existence in Vertin's heart.

"Hold me."

Vertin did as she asked, and Schneider gave her last confession. Gazing up into the Timekeeper's eyes, the rain of the storm outside the suitcase was replaced by the unbelieving tears forming there. They rolled down Vertin's cheeks and fell down onto Schneider's face, and—and that was baptism enough.

She was ready to die in the arms of her lord. Not lucky enough, but lucky all the same.

[profoundbondfanfic]

Fourth list with our favorite aro/ace/demi fics 💜

Part 4

Ace=/=Aro by Unforth [Mature, <1K, Aro!Dean]

Ficlet written to the Tumblr Prompt: Aro Dean calls Cas "buddy" and "pal" and "devastatingly handsome friend" because he really believes that and the guy's really, really hot and always licks his lips because they're so chapped and dry. Dean obviously has to kiss him to get him to stop. Only problem is, Cas thought Dean was ace, not aro (thank you very much, small town gossip, for mixing everything up), and he is very confused by this.

Halflings by Unforth [Explicit, 103K, Demi!Cas]

Ever since his wife Lisa died, Dean Winchester has been willing to do anything for his son Ben. When Ben decided he wanted to adopt a halfling, Dean said yes without hesitation - provided they did so the right way, by giving whichever half-human they decided to bring home the respect and dignity it deserved. Half-octopi Castiel isn't exactly what they were looking for in a pet, but, then, they aren't exactly what Castiel was expecting for owners, either.

honeysuckle by sharkfish [Teen, 3,9K, Demi!Dean, Ace!Cas]

“Your omega’s here, ok? Everything’s ok.” Cas closes his eyes and leans a little into Dean’s solid warmth. His omega is here. He can smell them all over each other already. “You made me such a nice nest, too.” Dean’s voice is low, honeyed and soft. He smells sweeter, it hangs thick and heavy in the air. “Show me.”

Never Trust a Skinny Baker by mnwood [General, 11K, Aro!Dean]

Dean owns a bakery. Cas is a patron who can't hear, and Dean happens to know sign language. This fic has all the tropes you know and love so get reading, fuckos.

Smells Like Love by shiphitsthefan [Teen, 1,5K, Aro!Dean, Aro!Cas]

Five times Sam tried to tell Dean he was aromantic, and one time Dean told someone else.

Dear Virgo by K_K_TiBal [General, 9,9K, Ace!Cas]

Dean Winchester is a journalism major planning to coast his last year by mostly just sticking to writing the campus newspaper's daily horoscopes, and he almost succeeds. Enter Castiel Novak, captain of the soccer team, and his next interview appointment. It's obvious from the start that there's something between them, but things don't quite go as Dean first hopes, and he ends up learning a lot more about Castiel than he ever planned on - luckily for him.

Sparks by vipjuly [Explicit, 21K, Demi!Dean, Demi!Cas]

The creepy house on the corner has been abandoned for years, everyone says. It's ramshackle and decrepit, the yard overgrown, the wrought iron fence bent and broken in some places. The adults in the neighborhood have asked the city to do something about that eyesore for so long, but the city insists that someone is paying property taxes on the house, therefore they cannot do anything about it. So, everyone ignores it and pretends it doesn't exist. They definitely don't go anywhere near it, either. Dean, though. Dean is drawn to it as if by gravity. Little by little, Dean repairs what he can. The monster inside the house ain't so bad, either. Y'know. For a monster.

Decompression Therapy by TheAuthorGod [Explicit, 6K, Aro!Dean]

For AroDeanWeek 2015 Dean is a sex therapist. He's good at it; he helps people. He doesn't get attached to people romantically, so he's a better fit for the job than most. Complications don't arise until he starts to feel something totally new for his best friend Castiel Novak. I mean, it's not like he hasn't been around Cas his entire life or like he's not living with him and helping him raise his niece turned daughter. Dean just needs to deal.

[tennessoui]

You look really tired for the actors au? The short ficlet or the bigger universe, whichever!

hey hello!! so this is a prompt fill for the actors au, but not the space actors one (someone else already asked for that!!); this is goes in the same universe as the ficlet up on ao3!

(1k)

Actually, the thing that Anakin hates the very most about his job is the goddamn press conferences, the ad hoc interviews, the reporters who darken the room’s doorstep with a story they already know they’ll write, regardless of what Anakin says or does. 

All they need is a soundbyte or two, and Anakin hates it.

The movie trailer is out, the movie itself in post-production. Every day, he’s forgetting more and more of the dumb, stilted lines he’d had to memorize for it.

Every day, his co-star kisses them out of his mind until the only thing he can possibly think about is auburn hair and blue eyes.

If only he could find a way to tell Irene, the current reporter, this. It’s not like Obi-Wan and Anakin are in a private relationship. In fact, after Obi-Wan’s stunt in the restaurant six months ago, they’ve been very, very public. Contractually obligated to be public even.

But Irene seems to have temporarily forgotten this. She’s looking at Anakin and Padmé on the couch, and her eyes are narrowed in on the slim amount of space separating them. It’s not their fault they have to sit so close together. There are too many damn pillows on this couch.

This is one of those reporters who knows what story she wants to write, and Anakin knows it all too well. This reporter wants to write a trash-piece for a trash-website, about the chemistry between Padmé and Anakin, the forbidden romance of it all (given that, and this cannot be stressed enough, Anakin is in a relationship), the love that transcended the movie screen.

Anakin has been very, very quiet since the moment he clocked the reporter as one of those. It hadn’t been hard. She’d spent half the introductions stroking over his arm and the other half talking about how thrilled she was for such an unconventional romance to be shown on screen.

What is so unconventional about Anakin and Padmé’s characters kissing, Anakin doesn’t understand.

“Excuse me, I’m so sorry,” Padmé says suddenly. Her phone is ringing. Anakin silently begs her to stay, but Padmé is singularly incapable of ignoring a ringing phone. “I need to take this, I’ll be right back.”

The reporter croons and fusses and tells her to hurry, but there’s something very hungry in her eyes when she turns back to Anakin.

Padmé, please hurry, he thinks to himself and slouches back further into the couch.

“You’ve been so quiet, Ani!” Irene tells him.

“Uh,” Anakin says. “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“You look really tired,” the reporter agrees, and Anakin is offended on behalf of the make-up team who spent at least thirty minutes trying to cover up the shadows under his eyes. There’s a flicker of movement at the door Padmé had exited through, but it’s been much too short of a time for her to have finished her call, so Anakin doesn’t bother looking away from the reporter.

“Thanks,” he says. “That’s sweet.”

“Up too late…running lines with a certain co-star actress?” 

Anakin blinks and furrows his brow. “The movie’s finished being filmed. Why would we be running lines?”

She smiles, and it’s a hungry, bloodless thing. “Oh? Were you up all night doing something else with her?”

“I believe,” says a very welcome and beautiful and familiar voice, “that would actually be my job.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi flops onto the sofa next to him, all purposeful indolence and spread limbs. Anakin relaxes at the sight of him, going so far as to move over so that their legs brush together from hip to knee.

“You’re out early,” Anakin says. Not that he’s complaining. He thinks they should definitely be doing more interviews with the three of them all together, seeing as how they’re basically the main characters in the movie, but every time the executives say no.

Apparently it’s alright when Anakin and Obi-Wan are pictured being loved up in front of various restaurants and bars around the city, but sit them next to each other in an interview and suddenly all the footage is unusable.

“Mr. Kenobi,” Irene says between gritted teeth. Anakin huffs and sits up straight because that’s not nearly enough respect in her tone. She’s gotta learn to separate reality from fiction: Obi-Wan isn’t a villain, he just sometimes likes to play one.

Yes, sometimes when the cameras aren’t rolling. 

But Anakin’s into that.

“And before you ask, yes, I did keep him up far too late last night,” Obi-Wan tells her, wrapping an arm around the back of Anakin’s shoulders and pulling him closer to his body so that he’s half on top of him. “We were celebrating.”

“Celebrating?” The reporter asks, even if it’s clear she doesn’t want to.

“Six months,” Anakin says before Obi-Wan can, and he tilts his head up for a kiss.

The reporter looks like she’s swallowed a lemon. “There are some people who believe the two of you are faking it,” she announces, as if Anakin cares what some people believe.

“That’s ridiculous,” Obi-Wan seems to be on the same page. “And anyway, even if we were to begin with—” they hadn’t been, Anakin had insisted on trying this for real and Obi-Wan hadn’t protested at all— “then we certainly wouldn’t still be doing it after six months.”

“The press circuits—”

“I mean,” Obi-Wan says as if she has not said anything at all, “he’s quite lovable, isn’t he? After six months pretending to be in love with him, I probably would have actually gotten there. What do you think, darling?”

Obi-Wan’s slate blue eyes have a special sort of super power: the ability to drag any sort of truth from Anakin, no matter the setting. “I thought I was in love with you when I was fifteen and you were a poster on my bedroom wall,” he admits. “I had no idea though.”

Obi-Wan grins and presses a kiss onto Anakin’s forehead. He likes that sort of admission, but then, he was a child star who practically grew upin the limelight. Of course he enjoys a bit of an ego stroke.

“Oh no,” Padmé says from the doorway. “It appears my seat has been stolen.”

Lazily, Obi-Wan tilts his head to look at her. “Apologies, darling,” he drawls, hand slipping low and proprietary over Anakin’s chest. “Only, I am the villain.”

[stackthedeck]

53+101 for any matt ship

I am kissing you tenderly on the forehead thank you so much for the prompt! Okay we're aiming for 1k but 2k at max (Yes under 2k!)

53. "you smell really nice"

101. "Define normal"

so here's the Matt flirting with Foggy by describing his smell ficlet

“So, we never really talked about your powers,” Foggy says. 

They’re at Matt’s apartment, working late on a case. Papers in braille and the sighted alphabet are spread across the table, but Foggy didn’t turn on a light when he walked in. Maybe the sun was enough when they started, but it’s late now and surely Foggy can only see by the soft glow of the billboard outside Matt’s window.

“What’s there to talk about?”

“Like, can you see normally with them?”

They’ve had a beer each and with Foggy’s pension for alcohol, he’s definitely not drunk enough to ask that question. But, Matt’s not drunk enough to take it personally. 

“Define normal.”

Matt removes his glasses, turning his head in Foggy’s general direction. He blinks slowly. He remembers his eyes being hazel and he knows the doctors described them as cloudy and scarred. He wonders if that changed their color. Most people flinch at his eyes, but not Foggy.

“Like can you tell what color my hair is?”

“Nope.”

“How tall am I?”

“You’re a little shorter than me?”

“Anything about how I look?”

Matt shrugs and reaches for another beer. “I don’t know, you’re a bigger guy with longish hair. Why does it matter?”

“I don’t know, you always go home with attractive people, I figured you could make out something.”

Matt snorts then passes another beer to Foggy. He’s not sure why he started this conversation, but Matt is more than happy to have it. This will be funny.

“How would I know?” Matt pushes their case papers aside, leaning back into the couch.

“I don’t know, it’s spooky, like actually really spooky!” Foggy takes a long sip of his beer, no doubt glaring at Matt. Or maybe he’s brooding. Either way, the muscles in his face are tense and warm.

“What’s your secret man?”

“No secret.” Matt hums with a smirk.

“Bullshit.” Yeah, Foggy is definitely glaring. Matt ignores him.

“You really want to know?”

“Obviously.”

Matt leans closer to Foggy and he can hear his heartbeat spike, nonetheless Foggy leans closer too.

“I don’t care if they’re attractive or not,” Matt whispers.

“Yes, you do!” Foggy shouts right into his face. “You are only pulling major hotties, man.”

“I have an idea of who’s good looking. Heart rates spike around them, I know vaguely what shape and size are supposed to be attractive, but that’s not important.”

“So what is?”

“Intelligent conversation, compassionate, ni—”

“Oh wow, you’re a real saint Matthew.”  Foggy gestures with his beer bottle and his face does something, probably rolling his eyes. “I just rolled my eyes by the way.”

“Yeah, I could tell from your sanctimonious tone.” Matt rolls his eyes back at Foggy, glad that he took his glasses off earlier.

“But seriously, if you were just into personality, you’d keep a relationship going for more than a month, a week, a night—”

“Okay, I get it,” Matt smirks, raising an eyebrow.

“Come on, I think it’d kill me if you weren’t actually shallow.” Foggy leans back into the couch, taking another sip of his beer.

“You really want to know?” Matt lowers his voice into a hush like they’re sharing a secret and Foggy’s breath catches. He leans forward, snaking his arm over the couch so that his fingers almost graze Foggy’s shoulder.

Foggy nods but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t catch himself and verbalizes his gestures. It’s okay, Matt can pick up on the movements of the air to tell. He doesn’t need to though, he can hear Foggy swallow dryly, hear his heart skip.

“I don’t care if someone is easy on the eyes, but I’d prefer if they were easy on the other senses.” Matt takes another sip of his beer, letting some catch on his lip.

“Oh?” More a strangled sound than a question.

“Soft skin.” Matt reaches out to brush his hand over Foggy’s knuckles. The gesture is small, could be accidental. Foggy’s hands are soft, he treats himself to nice soaps and lotions and Matt is grateful for it. Desk work has kept his hands soft, but there’s the idea of strength behind them too, like maybe he could have been a butcher. Foggy’s hands would have force behind them if he was a butcher, but they’d be rough like sandpaper instead of silk.

“Nice hair.” Matt’s hand ghosts over Foggy’s shoulder, just catching the edges of his hair. That gesture couldn’t be mistaken for accidental. Maybe he could have passed it off as fumbling blindly years ago before Foggy knew. He likes it better this way, likes that Foggy can read into his movements. “Not pretty, but soft. Hair that isn’t scratchy, but smooth. No bleach, no 2-in-1. The kind of hair you can grab.”

“Oh,” Foggy whispers to himself and it’s almost lost in the race of his pulse.

“Pretty voice,” Matt hums. His hand is already on Foggy’s shoulder, it’d be so easy to drag a finger across his throat. But Foggy’s heart is already beating out of his chest, he doesn’t want to scare him. Not yet. “Someone that I really like listening to, someone that could—well, you get the idea.”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I think I do,” Foggy almost gasps, and yeah Matt’s got the idea too. The air smells of the salt of sweat and the spice of adrenaline. 

“Someone that smells nice.” Matt bites his lip as he takes a deep inhale, a part of him hoping Foggy catches it and another hoping it’s a secret just for him to cherish.

“I’m afraid to ask,” Foggy says and he almost pulls off nonchalant, almost maintaining the illusion that this is just friendly.

“Ask anyway.” Matt leans forward and suddenly his hand is hooked around the back of Foggy’s neck and he’s pulling him close and he is filling his lungs.

“Do I smell…” Foggy swallows and Matt can taste his breath on his lips. Their faces must be so close, but somehow Matt can tell that Foggy is looking anywhere but at him. “...like alright?”

“Oh Foggy,” Matt smiles, “you’re better than alright, you smell…well you smell really nice.”

Heat rising in his face, pulse racing, adrenaline spiking. Matt likes to think that his senses give him the ability to sort the wide range of human emotion into easy facts and fiction, but if he thinks he’s a human lie detector, he’s only lying to himself. All that input could be what he wants or it could be fear, anger, shame. But it’s something.

“Nice how?”

“You wear an expensive cologne, just a little bit to make it last. I’m not sure if anyone else can smell it, but I can. Hints of jasmine and lemon and it doesn’t clash with your fancy shampoo.”

“Hygiene is important,” Foggy mutters like he’s defending himself, like Matt’s complaining.

“And I appreciate that.” Matt takes another inhale and there’s no doubt that Foggy notices.

“Right now, you smell like cheap beer and even cheaper coffee—”

“Wow!” Foggy huffs.

Matt squeezes the back of his neck, just a barely-there touch. “Can I finish?”

Foggy nods, their heads so close together that Matt doesn’t need him to say it, doesn’t need radar sense to feel it.

“Underneath it all is always something sweet, something that’s just you. You smell amazing, Fogs, you smell familiar, like home.”

“So…” Foggy licks his lip and Matt can almost taste him in the air “...touch, sound, smell, any other sense that’s important?”

Matt could say that there’s more than just five senses. That he likes people that run warm, people with a deep thundering heartbeat, people that fill a room in a way that Matt can’t help but gravitate towards.

“Well, taste usually only comes after I’ve brought them home.”

“You’ve brought me home.” Matt can feel the heat in Foggy’s cheeks, but his voice is finally unwavering. Finally flirting back.

Matt kisses him and his hair falls into Matt’s face, his lips are just as soft and sure as his hands, and he tastes as good as he smells.

[eumenidaes]

16 for the ficlet :3

The power of oc x canon ship has once again compelled me to make this 1k words lol. It is completely unedited tho, so idk if this is actually good or not, but it has my special little ship so that's enough for me

16. have you ever / you wouldn’t dare

“James?” Chae-Yeong says, drawing his attention away from the book he was reading. 

“Yes, starlight?” he says. 

She rubs her hand along his back in slow circles. “Have you ever thought about changing up your look?”

James blinks. 

The question came out of nowhere. It’s a summer night that’s warm by Atlas’s standards, and they’re curled up together on a couch in Chae-Yeong’s living room. She’s warm against his side, and he holds her close to him with one hand while the other keeps his book open as he reads. Before Chae-Yeong had spoken, they’d been sitting together in a cozy silence, the only noise being the soft hum of the big band, swing, and jazz music that she loves playing from a radio below her television. 

Once James starts to think of a response, doubt settles over him. 

James always has been image conscious. He was even more so after he got his prosthetics, and then even more so when he started to exist more in the public eye as he rose through the military ranks. 

Chae-Yeong’s never been anything but adoring of his body, and for that he’s always been grateful. But as she asks if he’s thought about changing his look, he can’t help but worry that she’s asking because there’s something she doesn’t like. 

“Is there something I should change?” James asks. His voice is tighter than he wanted it to come out, but he supposes there are worse things than being vulnerable around his wife. 

Before James can get too caught in his head, Chae-Yeong’s expression softens and her eyebrows furrow. 

“No, I’m sorry, yeobo, I didn’t mean it like that,” she says. “I’d never ask you to change anything for me. Besides, I’ll think you’re the handsomest man in Remnant no matter what.”

If nothing else, that’s reassuring. James knows he was being ridiculous thinking that she might be trying to tell him she didn’t like the way he looked, but it’s still comforting to hear it. 

“Then why do you ask?” James says. He bookmarks his book before laying it on the coffee table in front of them. 

“I don’t know. I guess I was just curious since you tend to stick to one look for a while,” Chae-Yeong says. 

She’s right. James has never bothered with experimenting much with his physical appearance. He found a look that worked for him, and he stuck as close to it as he could without any major changes beyond shifting to a white, gray, and red color palette instead of a more gray and brown one as he rose through the ranks of the Atlesian military. Before he became General Cloud’s right hand man and then Atlas’s newest general, he sometimes would let his facial hair grow out since he knew that Chae-Yeong liked how he looked like that, but he’s been clean shaven for a decade now except on their rare weekends away from Atlas together.

Every other change to James’s appearance since he became a Huntsman has more or less been beyond his control. His hair started graying at the temples, and he’s started getting some wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He’s become farsighted too, and he never wears his glasses in public, but he does around Chae-Yeong.

That’s ignoring the biggest change in his appearance over the years, but James tries to do that when he can. The prosthetics that make up the entire right side of his body from the neck down are significantly different from when he was in his early twenties, though. They can mimic the real thing well enough, but they’re nonetheless a sensitive point for James. He hates having to see a reminder of his own failures in the mirror everyday, and he hates even more how he hears people whispering about them behind his back. 

James figures that his prosthetics are a big enough change to his look. There’s no need to change it more than that.

“I’ve never given it much thought,” James says. “Change suits you better anyway.”

In contrast to James, Chae-Yeong has changed countless little things about her look over the years. Some changes are ones that only James gets to see, knowing it’s her, like her shorter hair and fangs and her own prosthetic limbs. Other changes are ones that others get to see too, and every now and then James thinks about how she shifted from wearing her father’s blues and golds to black and their old team’s reds and purples and grays.

It’s good seeing her get to move away from her family’s influence. It’s also flattering to see his colors on her. 

“But if I did change my look,” James says, tone now light enough to be teasing, “I could always try shaving my head. Maybe get a bit thinner.”

Chae-Yeong frowns at him. She pushes herself up with one hand on his chest so they’re looking eye to eye. 

Her annoyed expression is cute. 

“You wouldn’t dare,” she says, gravely serious. 

He wouldn’t, but he’s going to keep teasing her for a little bit longer. “You said that you’ll find me attractive no matter what.”

“I will,” Chae-Yeong says unconvincingly. 

James laughs, pressing a kiss to Chae-Yeong’s temple. 

“I wouldn’t, honey,” he assures. “I know you like my hair.”

“No comment about you losing weight, hmm?” 

“And I won’t lose any weight.”

“Good,” Chae-Yeong says. 

“Maybe I’ll see about getting my ass to be a little smaller, though.”

Chae-Yeong smacks James on the chest. “You’re such a dick.”

James grins at Chae-Yeong, and as much as things have changed, for a moment it feels like they’re in their twenties again and falling in love for the first time. 

Chae-Yeong rolls her eyes. She climbs onto James’s lap, legs straddling him, before letting herself relax onto him. Her chin rests on his right shoulder and her arms wrap around his middle. James holds her close, massaging the space between her shoulders with his metal hand because he knows that she likes the pressure from it. 

“I still would love you even if you did any of that,” Chae-Yeong assures.

“I know, beautiful,” James says. 

Even when he overthinks and starts to panic, he knows in the back of his mind that Chae-Yeong will always adore him. And there are few things in his life that he could be more grateful for than that.

[clotpolesonly]

Tis The Season

for the Stiles Shipping Central discord server monthly ficlet exchange, for @geekmom13​’s prompt about hoodie-stealing season and wooing via borrowed outerwear!

| Stackson | 1k | Gen | Awkward Flirting | Sharing Clothing | Getting Together |

(also on AO3)

“It’s a crime, Scott, I’m telling you!”

Even through the bank of lockers, Jackson could hear Scott’s sigh. There was a clunk, too, which was probably Scott letting his head fall back against his locker in dismay.

“You have your own hoodies,” Scott said. “I don’t get why you can’t just wear your own.”

“It’s not the same,” Stiles insisted. “You can’t tell me that you don’t like having stuff that smells like Kira around. You sniff her all the time! You would wear her hoodies in a heartbeat if they fit you!”

Jackson snorted into his own locker. Danny, with his human ears and his general disinterest in eavesdropping on other people’s conversations, gave him a weird look, which Jackson ignored.

“I’m just saying,” Stiles went on, undeterred. “It’s prime hoodie-stealing season, and I have no one to steal hoodies from. It’s not fair.”

“Woe is you,” Scott intoned.

He led the way out of the locker room, Stiles following in his wake, lamenting that woe was, in fact, him. Jackson didn’t realize he was watching them go, only halfway into his shirt, until Danny started laughing. He hurriedly pulled the shirt the rest of the way on and scowled at him.

“Don’t give me that look,” Danny said. “I’m not the one with a crush he refuses to do anything about.”

Jackson considered denying it. But that hadn’t gotten him anywhere in the past, so what was the point? Instead, he snatched the rest of his stuff out of his locker and said, mulishly, “I could do something about it if I really wanted to.”

Danny just laughed again, like the asshole he was. He patted Jackson on the shoulder. “And to think,” he said with a sigh of feigned wistfulness, “it could be your hoodie he was stealing.”

Danny would claim that his ideas were always good, which was flagrantly incorrect, but every once in a while he came out with a decent one. Which was why Jackson was here, loitering in the hallway a few feet away from Stiles’ locker. Stiles was rooting around in it, a frown growing on his face.

“Where did my—? I swear I put my jacket in here after last period!”

He had. And then Jackson had broken in, taken it, and transferred it to the backseat of his porsche instead.

Stiles sighed, head flung back. “It’s so fucking cold out, I’m gonna die.”

“You can borrow mine.”

The force of Stiles’ startle threw the locker door shut with a clang. Stiles stared at Jackson, then at the red hoodie Jackson was holding out to him, then back at Jackson’s carefully neutral face.

“…What?”

“I said you can borrow mine.” Jackson gave the hoodie a shake. “Unless you want to freeze to death?”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed. Slowly, he reached out to take it. When Jackson didn’t shout “psych!” and snatch it back, he hastily pulled the hoodie on over his head. He spent a minute fussing with it, tugging at the sleeves, arranging the hood to his satisfaction. For all that Jackson was more athletic, there wasn’t much difference in their actual sizes, so it fit him well.

“Thanks,” he said eventually, still with a tinge of suspicion.

Jackson shrugged like it was no big deal, like there was nothing weird about this interaction. He saw Stiles lean his head down to sniff at his own shoulder, though, as he walked away.

—

“You know Stiles is gonna figure out what you’re doing eventually, right? It’s not subtle.”

Danny’s judgment was palpable. Jackson—eyes fixed on Stiles across the field, warming the bench and wearing the fourth of Jackson’s hoodies, the hood pulled tight around his face and hands stuffed in the kangaroo pocket—shoved him.

“Who said I was trying to be subtle?” he countered.

Danny just shook his head, hoisted his stick, and disappeared into the goal for the next play. On his way to his own position, Jackson found his eye drawn back to the bench. Stiles was looking at him. Neither of them looked away until Coach blew the whistle.

—

“Is that a new sweatshirt?”

Jackson looked down at what he was wearing; he’d missed the sizing sticker, a line of Ms running down the sleeve. He peeled it off, cheeks pink, and held his head high as he stuffed it in his pocket.

Danny stared at him. “You’ve seriously given so many of your hoodies to Stiles as part of this elaborate courtship ritual that you’ve run out and had to buy more. Dude.”

Jackson turned his nose up and said, “Maybe I just wanted a new one. Worry about your own relationships, why don’t you?”

“Relationship, huh?”

It wasn’t often that someone successfully snuck up on Jackson, but he turned to find Stiles right behind him, leaning casually against a locker. His arms were crossed across his chest, his eyebrow raised and a smirk on his lips. He was wearing the blue hoodie that Jackson had lent him last week.

When Jackson didn’t immediately respond, Danny snorted. He clapped Jackson on the shoulder, whispered “good luck” in his ear, and fucked off.

Clearing his throat and refusing to fidget, Jackson said, “What?”

“Is that what this is?” Stiles asked, tracing a finger through the air between them. “You stealing my winter-wear so that you have an excuse to give me yours and me pretending like I don’t know that’s what you’re doing—that constitutes a relationship now?”

Jackson went pink.

“You know,” Stiles mused, “this isn’t exactly what I was imagining when I said ‘hoodie-stealing season’, but you do get extra points for creativity.”

“What can I say,” Jackson said, heart beating fast. “I’m an overachiever.”

“Are you gonna give me my jackets back?”

Jackson wasn’t too keen on that, if it meant that Stiles would go back to wearing those instead. But Stiles looked perfectly at home in Jackson’s borrowed hoodie. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to take it off. So Jackson mirrored Stiles’ stance, arms crossed and leaned up against the lockers, close enough that their elbows brushed.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

Stiles frowned then. “What? Why not?”

“Because it’s hoodie-stealing season.” Jackson shrugged. “And you’re not the only one who likes to steal his boyfriend’s clothes.”

The dawn of realization brought another smile with it, brighter than the smirk from before.

He smiled the next day too, when Jackson showed up wearing his jacket.

[drabbles-mc]

Bookworm

Bishop Losa x F!Reader

Warnings: mild language, Bish being a cutie

Word Count: 1k

A/N: This was just a random little thing that’s been sitting in my WIP folder for ages so I figured I’d wrap it up. Idk if I originally had more in mind for this story when I started it forever ago but oh well haha. Just a cutesy lil ficlet. Hope you enjoy!

Join my group-chat here: (X) ​

Bishop Losa Taglist: @masterlistforimagines​​ @sincerelyasomebody​​ @sadeyesgf​​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​​ @tomhardydallasstarsgirl​​ @multiyfandomgirl40​​ @sillygoose6969​​ @queenbeered​​ @louisianalady​​ @gemini0410​​ @paintballkid711​​ @chibsytelford​​ @yourwonkywriter​​ @sesamepancakes​​ @arveeee​​ @mayans-sauce​​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​​ @plentyoffandoms​​ @georgiaaintnopeach​​ @twistnet​​ @themoonandthewicked​​ @garbinge​​ @bucky-iss-bae​​ @encounterthepast​​ @everyhowlmarksthedead​​ @rosieposie0624​​ @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo​​ @mijop​​ @xladymacbethx​​ @blessedboo​​ @holl2712​​ @lakamaa12​​ @kkim120​​ @toni9​​ @shadow-of-wonder​​ @crowfootwrites​​ @redpoodlern​​ @punkgoddess-98​​ @black-repunzel99​​ @lexondeck​​ (If you want to be added to the list just let me know!)

You were lying on your back on the picnic table outside the clubhouse. You were nose-deep in your newest book purchase and completely unaware of everything that was going on around. The only reason you had turned up at the clubhouse at all was to see Bishop, but they had been in Templo when you got there. You asked EZ how long it was going to be and the look on his face told you that you were going to be waiting for a while. You didn’t mind, though, because your book was waiting in the back seat begging to be torn into.

You didn’t hear the sound of the door opening, or all of the footsteps coming out of the clubhouse. All of the guys walked by you, chuckling to themselves as you were still completely tuned out of reality. They even tried waving to you but your eyes were locked on the words in front of you.

Bishop was the last to walk out, and he smiled when he saw you sprawled across the table. You had your water bottle perched on the bench within easy reach, and your phone resting next to your head so you would hear it vibrate if someone was trying to reach you. You were in your ideal setup and he hated the thought of disturbing you, so he didn’t.

He sat on the bench opposite your water bottle and silently took out his phone and a cigarette. You didn’t hear the click of the lighter or even notice the smoke. He silently took a picture of you on his phone, something to look at and make him smile later. He was content to sit in silence with you and soak up the feeling of being in your presence. It wasn’t often that he got to see you so engulfed in something that you were doing. You were always trying to do everything for everyone else and he loved the fact that you got to have a few minutes to yourself.

Without taking your eyes off the pages, you reached over blindly and grabbed your water bottle, taking a sip, still not noticing that Bishop was sitting at the table with you. He tried to stifle a laugh but failed, and it snapped you back to reality.

“Holy shit,” you gasped as you dropped your book, having it hit you in the face before you pulled it down to your chest so you could see him, “How long have you been there?”

He chuckled and shrugged, “Five, maybe ten minutes.”

“I’m so sorry,” you could feel your face heating up with embarrassment, “Why didn’t you say something?”

He leaned down and kissed you while you were still lying on the table, “You looked so peaceful, querida, I couldn’t disturb you.”

You smiled as you put your bookmark in before setting it off to the side. You sat up, propping yourself up on your hands, “You’re very considerate.”

“New book?” he nodded towards the novel resting in your lap.

You nodded excitedly, “Bought it a couple days ago. When EZ said you guys were going to be in Templo for a while I figured I would get some reading done. And maybe catch a little bit of sun while I hung around waiting for you,” you smiled.

He rested his hand on your thigh, tracing his thumb across it, “It’s nice having you here.”

“Yea? You don’t feel suffocated when I’m hanging around here on my days off?”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your leg, “It’s like having the feeling of knowing I’m coming home to you, but I don’t even have to wait to come home.”

You beamed—he was such a sap when he wanted to be. You hadn’t been expecting that from him initially, especially when you saw the way that he spoke with the guys in the club, but when it was just the two of you, he was so much softer. On more than one occasion you had come home from a long day of work and he already had dinner ready for you, along with your favorite show on and your blankets ready. He had even let you talk him into doing a couple’s massage (and ever since he had been asking to go for another one and you didn’t hold it against him). For someone who was so tough, he was putty in your hands.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you reading before.”

You smiled and shrugged as you swung your legs so your feet were on the bench next to him, “I usually only read when I’m alone. I kinda, as you can see,” you laughed, “tend to tune everything out. I don’t want to ignore you when I’m with you.”

“I don’t want you thinking that you have to be alone to do things that you enjoy,” he lifted your hand and kissed your knuckles.

“And just leave you to sit there and stare at me like a creep?” you laughed.

“I could think of worse ways to spend my time.”

You reached out, gently cradling one side of his face in your hand as you smiled, “Who woulda thought that el presidente was such a softie, hm?”

He chuckled as he leaned into the palm of your hand, “And who woulda thought that you were such a bookworm?”

You leaned forward and kissed his forehead, “Well, in all honesty, EZ definitely knew,” you laughed, “We swap books all the time.”

“Seriously?”

You nodded, “Seriously. Maybe one of these days you’ll walk out here and see him sprawled out on the table reading.”

“Maybe,” he laughed and shook his head, “But I won’t hang around to watch.”

“Ah,” you positioned yourself so that you were sitting directly in front of him, one foot on the bench on either side of him, “the lurking is saved just for me?”

He rested one hand on each of your thighs, his thumbs tracing lightly back and forth, “Just for you.”

[thedamageofherdays]

I read a variety of Evanstan and Stucky fics this week and revisited some old favourites. A good reading week I would say :)

Favourites are marked with a 🌻

Won't you tell me (you're scared too) by hellobeautworld @hellobeautworld [Evanstan, 6k words, Teen]

Before his brain – or his heart, in fear of it being its last living hours, Chris isn’t exactly sure which one is in charge right now – can talk him out of it, he speed-dials the most intimidating phone number he has ever set eyes on. And he had to make a lot of terrifying phone calls to a lot of terrifying people. It rings three, four times, until that familiar, always a bit hesitant, but yet so easily excitable, voice comes on.

“Hey, Chris, how are ya?"

Chris takes a very deep breath to keep from blurting out the truth. That he is so damn scared of what he’s about to do that he just wants to run away. Straight into those now a bit less heavily muscled arms, if possible.

nostalgia isn't forever by wintersoldier1989 @wintersoldier1989 [Evanstan, 904 words, Explicit]

This ficlet was inspired by a tumble prompt.

"I wish you would write a fic where… Seb comes home a day earlier than expected from filming and catches Chris watching Political Animals and feels all soft until he realizes he's got a hand showed down his pants in between all the blankets... now he either is very flattered and goes to say hello on his knees or he's a bit :( cause "so you like young me better than this old thing? *pouts*".. either way Chris is mortified at getting caught and red all down his chest :)"

The smirk on Seb’s face when he realizes what’s going on. 😏

Chris would blush furiously, that pale Irish skin turning a bright shade of red from lust and a hint of embarrassment at being caught with his hand in his pants with this particular ahem viewing material. It’s no surprise that both of them have aged over the course of their 10+ year relationship. And as much as Chris loves the grey in Seb’s beard these days, he’s always had a soft spot for his boyfriend’s baby face. It takes him back in time, reminding him of all the longing heated glances, fumbling hands and nervous butterflies.

Closer by musette22 @musette22 [Evanstan, 5k words, Teen]

The relief that floods Sebastian at seeing Chris alive and well is intense, lifting some of that debilitating weight that’s been pressing down on his chest all evening, but it’s short lived. Because Chris looks... Well, he looks unfairly gorgeous as always, with his beard and his soft, cerulean eyes, but he also looks nervous and just a little bit shifty.

The feeling of unease grows when Chris shoots him a smile that’s tense around the edges and says, “Hey, Seb. Can we talk for a moment?”

Sebastian’s stomach drops, a physical sensation that makes him suddenly grateful he hasn’t had any food all day. He swallows through a tight throat, then takes a step aside and gestures for Chris to come in. “Sure,” he says hoarsely. “What’s up?”

Chris smiles at him again, and wow, yeah, he’s definitely nervous.

“Sit down for a minute, okay?” Chris orders gently, taking a step closer, and Sebastian closes his eyes. This is it.

🌻 Soul Searching by musette22 [Evanstan, 20k words, Explicit]

So?” Scott asks after a while. “You wanna tell me how you’re really doing?”

A little hesitantly, Chris says, “I don’t know what to tell you that you don’t already know.”

“Sure you do,” Scott says easily. “How ‘bout you start with telling me why you were going around telling everyone you were going to take a break from acting, only to then sign up to two big new projects in the past month or so?”

Chris picks at the label of his beer bottle, looking a little sheepish. “Ah,” he says. “I was kinda hoping everyone’d forgotten about that.” He sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “I mean, I was honestly planning on taking a break, but then I had a couple of weeks off and I just- I just realized I would have all this free time on my hands and no one to spend it with, you know?”

There it is, Scott thinks.

🌻 I've done some things that I shouldn't have done (but I haven't stopped loving you once) by musette22 [Evanstan, 59k words, Explicit]

After the release of Infinity War, Chris and Sebastian each take some time off to recharge. Chris is staying in Scarlett’s lake cabin on his own and invites Sebastian up to come and spend some time with him. Due to busy work schedules and a number of other, more personal reasons, Chris and Seb haven't been as close lately, something which neither of them are very happy about. This mini-vacation presents a chance for them to revive their friendship and maybe (definitely) explore if there might be something more. Over the course of a week, and with a little help from meddling friends and co-stars, the boys learn to build bridges, to be vulnerable and take chances, and to stop letting fear rule their lives.

Angel in an Ambulance by deucalionsvision [Stucky, 1k words, Teen]

Bucky twists his ankle while drunk, and his flirting greatly impedes the hot paramedic's ability to examine him. Said paramedic doesn't really mind.

🌻 Rites of the Wild by dreamsinthewitchouse @dreamsinthewitchouse [Stucky, 2k words, Mature]

When they move, it’s into Steve’s direction, and two things become clear at once.

One, the person has only one arm. Two, they’re covered in blood.

OR:

Steve is a nature photographer in an unfamiliar forest. Bucky is a maenad who saves Steve from their bloodthirsty siblings.

Fic & moodboard for Stucky Week 2021, Day 5: Alternate Universe

🌻 pillow feathers by wearing_tearing [Stucky, 2k words, Mature]

“Steve,” Bucky whispers, trying to tug at one of the blankets wrapped around him.

Steve snuffles and scowls in his sleep, bringing his legs up to his chest and effectively stopping Bucky from tugging anything. He also rubs his face against Bucky’s pillow, making a little soft sound in the back of his throat.

“Fuck, but you’re cute,” Bucky murmurs, lips twitching.

🌻 odd ways by peterbparker [Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

“And it would have been an amazing night with my son if he wasn’t distracted by the hot guy on the other side of the room,” Sarah sighed, shaking her head. “He’s been looking over at you for the past fifteen minutes.”

Bucky choked on the mouthful of beer he had just taken. 

“What?” he croaked. Things were starting to make a little more sense now. 

“Right?” Sarah said, waving her hand towards her son. “He completely ignored my garden stories because he’s been making eyes at you so I decided to come over and introduce myself.”

or; Sarah Rogers being a nosey mother, Steve Rogers blushing a lot and wishing the earth would swallow him whole, and Bucky Barnes being confused and amused for 2000 words

[amysteryspot]

Out of Time - Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Female Reader Summary: Tommy is leaving for France and all he and (Y/N) wanted was a little bit more of time. Warnings: a little bit of angst and two idiots in love Word Count: 736 (or so I've been told) Prompt: “I would sell my soul for a bit more time.” (11 Minutes, Halsey & Yungblud) A/N: Hello there! This ficlet was written for @smallheathgangsters 1k celebration. For some reason there’s what I call a reference to Star Wars in there - yes, you read it right, a reference to Star Wars in a Peaky Blinders fanfic. Sue me. Anyways, hope you all enjoy it.

English is not my first language and this wasn’t proofread by a beta.

(Y/N) = Your Name | (Y/N/N) = Your Nickname

She refused to cry. At least until she had the chance to be alone. The feeling of helplessness was crushing her soul and for the first time in a while (Y/N) was having a hard time holding back the tears.

Her mother always said that she was good at hiding her feelings—too competent for her mother’s liking.

“It can’t be healthy! You’ll end up chocking on your own feelings.”

(Y/N) had rolled her eyes at her mother’s words. Life had taught her that some things were better left unknown.

“It’s alright, princess. We will be back soon.”

Her father’s words—said in a steady voice, filled with reassurance—did little to ease the ache in her chest. What was supposed to provide her some sort of comfort only made her more aware of the painful truth: he didn’t know when they would be coming back.

He didn’t know if they would be coming back.

“I know,” she lied, trying her best to smile as her father cradled her face between his hands and planted a kiss on her forehead.

(Y/N) kept her eyes closed for a second after he let her go, trying to make the moment last longer. When she opened her eyes, the first person she saw was Tommy, standing a few feet away from her, hugging a crying Ada.

She watched as he tried to comfort his younger sister, Arthur and John were talking with little Finn while Poll tried to hold back her own tears.

Memories of the past night overflowed her thoughts, sending a shiver down her spine. It was difficult not to, especially when he was looking at her as if he could read her like an open book. Not when she could still feel his scent on her skin and his taste on her tongue.

She woke up this morning in his arms. It wasn’t exactly new, considering how they have been friends for all of her life. (Y/N) had lost count of how many nights she stayed at the Shelby’s household and ended up sleeping in Tommy’s bed. For some reason, their parents never cared much about the fact, that became a habit over the years.

This morning had been different though. Even when they both got dressed and acted as if nothing had happened, ignoring Polly’s knowing glances when they climbed down the stairs, it was impossible to deny that things were different.

“(Y/N/N)...”

She looked up at him, bright blue eyes staring back at her.

“Just don’t say anything.”

Tommy nodded, defeated, silence falling between them. (Y/N) took a moment to size him up, felling guilty for thinking that he looked handsome in his uniform—it was so unfair. Still, she couldn’t help herself from stepping into his personal space to fix his crocked tie, felling the lump in her throat getting more prominent.

He brought his hands to hers, fingers caressing her skin, gently, before bringing her to his arms. (Y/N) sighed, nestling her face on the space between his shoulder and neck, arms hugging his waist. She inhaled deeply, trying to memorize his smell—sandalwood, cigarettes, mint, coal… Home.

“You won’t notice that I’m gone. Won’t have time to miss me.”

“I miss you already.”

He chuckled, tightening his grip on her and planting a kiss on the top of her head. Tommy moved away from her just enough to look into her eyes.

“I’ll come back, I...”

“No. Please, don’t promise me something you can’t keep.”

Tommy nodded again, taking a deep breath. Arthur called him but he ignored it, palms rubbing up and down her arms.

“I’ll promise you this, I’ll make everything in my power to come back to you.”

His hands came to rest on her cheeks as he touched her forehead with his. (Y/N)’s own hands came to hold his wrists, thumbs gently caressing his skin. They closed their eyes, breaths mingling due to the proximity. If she was a little more fearless, she could have kissed him one last time.

Tommy cursed under his breath when the whistle blew, calling all men on board.

“I would sell my soul for a bit more time.”

He made no move to step away from her, but (Y/N) knew that the moment had arrived, so she spilled the words that she had been chocking for so long.

“I love you.”

Tommy released her from his embrace and smiled.

“I know.”

.

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy​, @internalmess3, @stressedandbandobessed7771

[gffa]

While this isn’t directly for Obitine Week 2020 in STAR WARS fandom, it’s not precisely to one of their themes, it’s certainly inspired by the wonderful event and how much amazing content that’s been generated and reminding me how much I really do love this pairing a ton. I am such a sucker for A Knight And His Lady Love type dynamics when done well, that for all their snapping and arguing and banter, they exemplify so well. I even love that they both chose other things over their potential romance, because those things are fulfilling to them and so very important to them. While at the same time! I can enjoy the tension between them and want another life where they were together! And fandom has absolutely fed that really well, both this week and in the past, so here’s a collection of fics for the Obitine ship that I’ve loved! THANK YOU FANDOM, SOMETIMES YOU’RE PRETTY GREAT. STAR WARS FIC RECS: OBI-WAN/SATINE RECS: ✦ Trying to Connect by skygawker, obi-wan & anakin + mentions of obi-wan/satine, 2.7k    Anakin tries to talk to Obi-Wan in the aftermath of Satine Kryze’s death. It goes about as well as you might expect. ✦ The Duchess and the General by Gabri Jade, obi-wan/satine & anakin, 1k    Obi-Wan’s life never fails to surprise. ✦ Passion, Wit & Bravery, True Love & Duty by truthtruthlie, obi-wan/satine & cast, 1k    It had been seventeen years since Obi-Wan Kenobi’s death at the hands of his troopers on Utapau. ✦ headcanon fic: luke kryze, prince of mandelore part 1, part 2, and part 3by luckyjak, obi-wan/satine & luke & leia & anakin & cast, 2k    After Mustafar and the twins are born, everything happens exactly like in canon: Obi-Wan intends to go to Tatooine. But look, it has been A Day, the worst kind of day, and he could use a friend. And Satine is nothing if not his oldest and most precious friend. ✦ The Question, Twenty Years Late by Eirian Erisdar, obi-wan/satine & luke, 1.2k    Set just post-ROTJ in a timeline where Satine survived. Waiting alone for an emissary from the newly-formed Imperial Senate to demand Mandalore’s fealty to the Empire, Satine is surprised by an unexpected guest, holding a very precious bundle. ✦ and gravity, scientists say, is weak by victoria_p (musesfool), obi-wan & anakin + referenced obi-wan/satine, 3.2k    “You’re not the only one who’s ever been in love, Anakin.” ✦ The Butterfly Effect by zukoslover, obi-wan & anakin + qui-gon + obi-wan/satine, 2.9k wip    What if Satine had asked Obi-Wan to stay, all those years ago on Mandalore? And what if he had said yes? What consequences would the change in the fate of one man have for the rest of the galaxy? ✦ where war is no more by silveronthetree, obi-wan/satine & luke, ~1k wip    Obi-Wan needs a disguise and Satine just wishes he would smile again. ✦ Failures of Rhetoric by Mithrigil, obi-wan/satine, nsfw, 4.1k wip    Diplomacy is an art that requires years of refinement. Satine doesn’t appreciate Ben’s many failures. Or, five times Obi-Wan Kenobi should’ve kept his trap shut. And once he should have said something, anything, anything at all. ✦ Fire by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12, obi-wan/satine, NSFW, 1.7k    Between the incident with Tal Merrick on the Coronet and the long ride back to Coruscant, there are plenty of things that a certain Jedi Master and Duchess can get into… ✦ Rewind, Repeat by tulomne, obi-wan/satine & qui-gon & cast, time travel, 23k    And just like that, Obi-Wan Kenobi dies. But death is just the beginning, he realizes as he wakes as he once was, Padawan braid and all, alongside Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Satine Kryze. Visions of the future, just out of his grasp, plague the young Jedi as the three traverse the galaxy, avoiding the dangers that follow the Duchess of Mandalore. ✦ a choice made and made again by Sweven, obi-wan/satine & qui-gon & cast, 4.1k    A glimpse into the year on the run ✦ A Passing Evening by belldreams, obi-wan/satine & anakin & cast, 2.9k    With Qui-Gon’s passing and a brand new Padawan in tow, Obi-Wan finds himself at a loss. An old companion helps him find his way again. ✦ if the sky comes falling down, for you (there’s nothing in this world i wouldn’t do) by skywalking-across-the-galaxy (BadWolfGirl01), obi-wan/satine & anakin & cody & maul & cast, 6.2k    [or: The Lawless, but Obi-Wan’s not alone.] ✦ where war is no more by silveronthetree, obi-wan/satine, 3k wip    AU where Satine survives and Obi-Wan goes on the run with her and Luke after Order 66. ✦ One Drink Too Many and a Joke Gone Too Far by victoria_p (musesfool), obi-wan/satine & anakin/padme, nsfw, 7.2k    Obi-Wan and Satine wake up married. Obi-Wan intends to file for divorce. Really he does. ✦ The Lawful by Raven_Knight, obi-wan/satine & bo-katan & cast, NSFW, 4.2k    With the help of Bo-Katan, certain things go a little differently after Obi-Wan Kenobi arrives to rescue Satine from Darth Maul’s clutches. ✦ Villain of a Different Story by HiNerdsItsCat (HiLarpItsCat), obi-wan/satine & anakin & cast, 73.2k wip    It turns out that there are some perks to being the Chosen One: Anakin finds himself transported five years into the past—only to discover that it isn’t his past, but a completely different one. One where Obi-Wan Kenobi left the Jedi Order, where Qui-Gon Jinn survived… and where Anakin Skywalker is the galaxy’s greatest villain. ✦ Obitine Week 2019 by sunshineisdelicious, obi-wan/satine & anakin & ahsoka & qui-gon & korkie, 12.6k    A little celebration of Obi-Wan and Satine. ✦ Split the Night by Zinga763, obi-wan/satine & anakin/padme & ahsoka & maul & cast, 43.8k wip    Darth Maul knows exactly how to break Kenobi. In which Maul targets someone other than Satine, and it changes Obi-Wan and Anakin’s lives, along with the galaxy’s. ✦ eight letters by katierosefun, obi-wan/satine, 2.2k    Five times Obi-Wan Kenobi almost says “I love you” to Satine, and the one time he actually does. ✦ ignore by katierosefun, obi-wan/satine & anakin, 2.1k    …or the time Anakin Skywalker accidentally on purpose locks Obi-Wan and Satine in a room after the events of the Coronet in hopes that they’ll actually talk to each other. (They don’t. But at least they crawled around an air vent together.) ✦ Lost to Time by tulomne, obi-wan/satine, 2k    A series of recordings, messages, and the like, surrounding Master Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi and Duchess of Mandalore Satine Kryze, discovered with the rebuilding of the New Republic. ✦ known by katierosefun, obi-wan/satine & maul, read the warnings, 2.2k    The events of Lawless, only Satine lives. But at a cost. ✦ Eternally Dancing Around You by mytardisisparked, obi-wan/satine, 2.9k wip    A collection of ficlets from Obitine Week 2020 and its prompts. ✦ back to you, always by katierosefun, obi-wan/satine, 1.2k    The time Obi-Wan fended off a member of the Death Watch and collapsed at Satine’s doorstep. ✦ Obitine Week 2020 by sunshineisdelicious, obi-wan/satine & cast, 1.9k wip    Day 1: Seven Deadly Sins + Day 2: Role Swap (AU) + Day 3: Angst/Soft (AU) ✦ because it’s morning now by katierosefun, obi-wan/satine, ~1k    Obi-Wan is usually a morning person. Usually. ✦ behind closed doors by katierosefun, obi-wan/satine, 1k    After the events on Concordia, Satine leads Obi-Wan to the guest rooms. ✦ Beyond the Last Illusion + On Distant Shores + Before the Throne by ruth baulding, obi-wan/satine & qui-gon & cast, 108.2k FULL DETAILS + RECS HERE!

[stilloutofmyvulcanmind]

Bad Days, Good Nights

Pairing: Cisco Ramon x Female!Reader

Word count: 1k

Warnings: Bad days, anxiety

Summary: After an awful day, an unexpected guest shows up to make the night better

A/N: I had a kind of shitty day yesterday, so to make myself feel better I wrote a quick self-indulgent ficlet which also happens to be my first Cisco fic!

Talk about a lousy, no good, awful, terrible day. What should've been a regular workday had gone belly up from the moment you'd stepped foot into S.T.A.R Labs that morning. Everything that could've gone wrong in your department did go wrong and somehow the buck had been passed to you each time, even when you argued otherwise. Then if that wasn't enough, it seemed your family was intent on chewing you out for every little thing and dumping the blame of it all on your shoulders again. 

It was safe to say that by the time you got home, you were exhausted, angry, and about ready to burst into tears. 

So when someone knocked your door an hour after you'd collapsed face-first into the sofa, you nearly ignored it, only curiosity pulling you up and guiding you to look out the peephole. 

Great. 

Outside stood your friend and colleague, the very man you were meant to be getting dinner with this evening. 

Cringing, you opened the door. "Cisco, I'm so sorry, I totally forgot. I didn't mean-" 

Cisco held up a hand to stop you before your apology rambled on any more. "It's all cool. I heard down the grapevine you weren't having a great day."

"That's an understatement."

"Which is why," Cisco pulled his other hand from behind it back, raising it up to show you the takeout bag he was holding, "I brought Thai."

Just seeing the bag made your stomach rumble. "You're a Saint, Cisco Ramon."

Cisco laughed, stepping in when you moved aside. "I'm gonna guess you haven't eaten today."

"Guilty as charged. Slipped my mind, I guess."

"Know that feel, girl." Cisco set the food down on your coffee table while you collected some utensils before joining him. 

The food really was delicious, and the fact Cisco had thought to bring it did make you happy, yet still, you found yourself only absentmindedly picking at the meal, hungry but unable to get anything down. 

"C'mon, spill it," Cisco coaxed, waving his chopsticks threateningly in your direction. 

"Just can’t shake today I guess,” you sighed, slumping back against the sofa. “This was my dream job and I’ve barely had it six months and now I’m probably gonna get fired on Monday.”

“Hey, no, you’re not. I looked over some of the stuff that went down today and half of it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Experiments fail all the time. The other half wasn’t yours either and it’s bullshit that anyone is trying to blame you.”

You looked up from your food at him. “You think?”

“I know,” Cisco smiled. “And I don’t have much sway or anything, but if, in some bizarre turn of events, the shit does hit the fan, you’ve got me in your corner.”

Returning the smile, you nodded. “It’s good to know I’ve got Dr. Wells’ star pupil in my corner.”

“Always.”

The word was sincere enough to make heat creep across your cheeks. You nudged his shoulder with your own. “At least I’m not a disappointment to someone.”

“You shouldn’t be a disappointment to anyone.”

“Tell that to my family.”

“I will. I get it, families are...complicated, but it’s a crime if they’re disappointed in you. You, who’s smart and funny and beautiful and gets all of my pop culture references.”

“That last one is probably one of the reasons why they are. I should’ve ‘grown out of all that stuff’ by now and started acting like a ‘proper’ young woman.”

Cisco blew a raspberry. “You’re already one of the best women I know. You would be without that big nerdy heart of yours too, but it does make it better.”

“Thank you. For everything you’ve done tonight.”

“I just wanted to make you feel better.”

“You have.”

“Good.” Cisco set his food down so he could wrap an arm around your shoulders and pull you in for a hug. Pressing a kiss to your temple, you felt him smile. “The night’s still young. How about we stick on a movie? Do you have Princess Bride?”

“‘Do you have Princess Bride?’ he asks! I’m not a barbarian, of course I do!” You gestured to the wall of movies behind your TV. “Top shelf on the left.”

Cisco left you to put it on, and soon you were devouring the rest of the Thai with it playing. Soon after Cisco left the sofa again and reappeared a few minutes later with two giant bowls of the ice cream he’d found stashed away in your freezer. It was lovely and perfect, and somewhere along the line, you found yourself leaning against Cisco’s chest while he absentmindedly traced patterns along your arm with his fingers. After the day you’d had, it was wonderful.

The credits rolled, but neither of you sought to move. So you stayed like that in quiet happiness. 

“Tonight’s been nice,” you said on a contented sigh.

“Mmm.”

“I am sorry I missed dinner though. I was really looking forward to it. Are you willing to give our first date a second chance?”

“Course. But, we had dinner, ice cream, and a movie right here. Sounds pretty first date-y to me.”

You chuckled, “Then this must count as one of the crummiest first dates.”

“I’d say it was one of the best.”

You pulled back then to look at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Cisco tucked some hair behind his ear and smiled. “Any time with you is the best time.”

You kissed him. It wasn’t your first, that happened at the S.T.A.R Labs Christmas party when you’d both pretended to be drunker than you were so you could get away with kissing under the mistletoe. It was better than then. Now you both knew just how into it the other was, and Cisco kissed you back with just as much enthusiasm. 

“That was…” 

“Yeah,” Cisco agreed.

You reached up to play with his hair, enjoying the way he leaned into it. "I know it's getting late, but will you stay a little longer? It's nice having you here."

Cisco grinned, leaning in for another quick kiss. "As you wish."

Like what you read? Consider buying me a coffee! (I’ll love you forever!)

[jinmukangwrites]

Number 15 for Jason and Dick?

Ficlets, I say through tears, as it once again goes over 1k words... Let's just say, 2 asks for the same promt... Double the words???

Warnings for kidnapping, noncon touching, non-explicit noncon nudity, implied threats of noncon/rape, captivity, basically Dick’s kidnapped by a total creep and Jason comes to rescue him okay???? No actual noncon/rape is in this ficlet. But be aware!!!

---

Jason finding Dick happened completely by chance. He was only searching the run down home because it was in the Narrows and because reports of "strange noises" have been going ignored from local authorities.

When he broke into the home, all he found was a man drinking piss smelling beer from a moth-eaten sofa, who immediately jumped up and grabbed a 12gauge shotgun, aiming to kill. Of course Jason took him down, then checked over the gun to find it definitely short barreled, it's serial number scratched out. There's no way it was purchased legally... Which makes it at least a little worth it for Jason to have snuck in here.

He used that as an excuse to check the rest of the home, searching for what those strange noises could possibly be.

H finds a hidden room under a rug conveniently placed in the master bedroom... he finds Dick laying with his hands and feet handcuffed to the four corners of a threadbare, metal framed bed.

When he finds that hidden room and finds Dick... he almost wishes he hadn't. That way, he could still believe that Dick was off somewhere, fighting his captors with everything he's got, practically in the middle of his own escape by the time rescue shows up.

That way, he wouldn't see Dick as he is now, laying limply, completely naked, his body splattered with grime, blood, and other bodily fluids that Jason's sure if he takes off his hood, the smell would be horrid.

It's been close to five days since Dick's gone missing, practically dropping off the face of the earth, and by the looks of it, he'd been attached to this bed the entire time.

"Dick," he breathes, rushing forward. To Dick's credit, the guy only flinches a little, closing his eyes and cringing the second Jason's within the corners of his sight. For a horrifying second, Jason's almost afraid Dick's too out of it to realize it's Jason and not his captor, but Dick blinks sluggishly, and focuses on Jason with hopeful recognition.

"Jay," he croaks, "you came."

Jason nods, trying not to think about that he's only found Dick by pure happenstance. That, in reality, they were at dead-ends so deep you couldn't see the bottom of. He pushes the begging shards of guilt out from his stomach and leans forward with lockpicks in his hands. He releases Dick's hands first, and then almost goes down to his ankles, but trembling, grime covered hands stop him.

"Please," Dick says, sounding so close to shattering. "Let me."

Jason lets him. He gives Dick the picks and backs off to give him privacy as he bends forward to unlock his own legs. As Dick works, Jason slips his leather jacket, knowing it's at least two sizes too big on Dick and will cover most of his exposed body. It's also warm. Definitely warmer than the room. Jason still has his under-armor, he doesn't need the jacket.

Once Dick lets out a weak sound of victory, both cuffs off his ankles, Jason steps forward to help Dick slide to the edge of the mattress. He wordlessly hands Dick his jacket, and Dick takes it gratefully, sliding his thin arms through the sleeves and zipping it all the way up. His legs are still exposed, but the jacket falls far enough to cover everything else.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Jason asks, mentally hitting himself for not asking that sooner.

Dick flashes a smile, one that looks so fake, and shrugs. "Few scrapes and bruises... Nothing to worry about."

Jason frowns. Five days of captivity and nothing besides scrapes and bruises? "What did he want with you?"

Dick's entire posture tenses. He releases a shaky breath. "J-just touching... Mostly. Looking."

Jason feels something tighten in his chest. "Did he-?"

Dick immediately shakes his head. "No. He- talked about it... But never... He might have soon if you hadn't... But I'm fine. None... None of that."

Dick sounds shaken, which Jason understands. He wishes he could go back upstairs and beat the man a little harder, but right now... He just needs to get Dick home. He takes a deep breath to cool his anger, and then slumps down slowly to make himself less big. Less threatening. He finally takes off his helmet as well.

"Can you walk?" Jason asks.

Dick suddenly looks unsure, but he smiles and curls his fists above his thighs. "Of course, little wing, I've got this."

In Jason's opinion, it looks like Dick's about to blow over. Jason can tell when someone's trying to take control when he sees it, and while he's not sure if Dick's doing this to keep up his big strong older brother appearance... or if it's for himself.

Either way, Jason let’s Dick slowly work himself up to his feet. Jason… wants nothing more than to rush forward and grab Dick and steady him as he quite visibly struggles to balance on his own two feet, but he holds back, resisting biting his lip as Dick takes a deep breath along with a first step.

Dick stumbles, and Jason rushes forward before he can think about it, grabbing Dick by the shoulders and attempting to steady him. Dick… flinches in Jason’s grasp and Jason immediately stills. He looks up with a swallow, watching as Dick stares at his feet and breaths so deeply the leather jacket he’s swimming in rustles. 

“Can… can I help you?” Jason asks. 

Dick’s not going to make it up the ladder to the bedroom, let alone across the entirety of the house to the outside. Dick takes a second to calm himself, then he nods with a stiff neck. “Yeah… yeah I might… I just wanted…”

“It’s okay,” Jason says, slowly moving Dick’s arm so he’s more fully supported. “I understand. Can ya get on my back? I’ll need both hands to climb the ladder. Just hold on tight.”

Dick nods, then shifts against Jason so his chest is against Jason’s back, arms wrapping around his neck and weakly holding on with probably everything he has. He manages to stay on though as Jason climbs up the ladder and into the bedroom. The second he’s on solid ground, Dick practically scrambles back and grabs onto a nearby dresser, chest heaving and eyes screwed shut. Jason stands there and watches helplessly and pathetically as Dick slowly gets a hold of himself… he’s never seen Dick like this before. He’s on the brink of panic, and for once in his life he doesn’t want to be touched. 

“I sent a ping B’s way… he should be here soon,” Jason says softly when it looks like Dick’s back enough to himself to process words. “If you want… we can wait here until-”

Dick shakes his head. “I want… I want out of this fucking house.”

Dick stubbornly lifts an arm, and before either of them could hesitate Jason grabs it and wraps the limb around his neck. Dick feels tense like a viper, and Jason can tell he’s fighting to keep his breathing even, so Jason moves as quickly as he can.

If Dick closes his eyes when they pass the unconscious man Jason stupidly left in the middle of the front room, Jason doesn’t say anything. He just continues to support Dick and help him out the front door and down the three steps leading up to it. Thankfully, by that time, the Batmobile is screeching to a halt and Bruce is jumping out in full regalia. Jason steps back the second Bruce is close enough to gather Dick into his arms. 

Jason watches with an odd sense of detachment as Dick immediately melts into Bruce's arms; tears bursting from his eyes and a sob breaking out of his throat. Now… Jason really has no idea what to do as Dick falls apart and Bruce lifts Dick up, carefully keeping him covered with the leather jacket. Jason’s seen Dick cry before… sure, but never like this. And he only seems to cry harder when Bruce mutters it’s okay chum, before looking up and meeting Jason’s eyes. 

“Thank you.”

And wow, lots of strange things today.

Jason clears his throat. “I have to um… get my helmet.” He points at the house behind him and takes a step back, feeling like he’s intruding on Dick being so vulnerable. “I’ll… I’ll call Gordon too. So you can take him home…”

Bruce regards him for a second, shifts Dick in his arms, whose sobbings have turned into soft and sleepy whimpers, then slowly nods. 

Jason nods as well. Swallows; takes a deep breath. “Will he… will he be okay?”

Bruce grunts then turns to the Batmobile. “In time…” he says, like if he says it, it will become true. “Once we have him settled… I’m sure he’d love to see you. There’s roast leftovers in the fridge if you-”

“Sure, B.” 

Jason says it before he can convince himself out of it. Bruce looks at him for a moment longer, then takes the practically passed out Dick Grayson to the Batmobile and drives away. Jason stands there for a moment until he can no longer see the taillights. He then pulls out his phone and calls the police, leaving an anonymous tip for the kidnapper.

He takes a deep breath, then returns to the house, telling himself everything will be okay and that Dick will recover and things will be good again.

He steps on the man’s hand as he walks past. It’s not like anyone’s here to tell him not to do so. 

[friendofspidermannedleeds]

2020 overview: writing edition 

Tagged by the loveliest and kindest of friends, @momentofmemory​. 

I’m not tagging anyone because I’ve not been around and am sure most have done this by now, but if you’re reading this and you’ve not been tagged and would like to participate please say I tagged you! <3 

1. List of works published this year 

The Kid Really is Smitten (Peter & Happy, Peter/MJ. 233) Nightmares and New Beginnings (May & Peter. 733)  Normal Teenager Stuff (May & Peter. 5+1, 1.8k)  Breaking a Promise (May & Peter, May & Tony. 3.3k) Carry Me (Morgan & Happy. 1.2k)

Fictober 2020 Series  * Works around 1k+ include:  Somebody to Talk To (May & Karen. 1.8k) Fireproof (Happy & Peter. 904) Flight Conversation (MJ & Peter. 967) Incalculable Worth (Ben & Peter. 2.8k) Regrets (May & Peter. 1.2k) A Nice Peaceful Afternoon (Mr. Harrington and the AcaDec kids. 3k) 

Knowing (Peter/MJ, May & MJ. 2.5k)  Forever Ours (May & Peter, May/Ben. 3.8k)  2. Work you are most proud of (and why)

I think it would have to be Incalculable Worth from my Fictober series. I’m forever disappointed in the Ben Parker erasure of the MCU and had been wanting to give him the respect he deserves. Most of this fic came to me much more quickly than my typical writing inspo (that Fictober deadline magic!), and even though I still have things I might change about the final product, I’ve never been so pleased with a fic’s result and reception. Several lovely people stumbled across this fic on Ao3 and left kind comments about how moved they were, which makes me think that I did what I set out to do! 

3. Work you are least proud of (and why)

This would be Nightmares and New Beginnings. I just think it’s weird. I was so new to fic when I wrote it and was feeling experimental one night. I normally write quite slowly and edit a lot, but the idea for this one came to me after midnight and I published the fic before 2am. I hated it when I woke up and nearly deleted it. Two months later, as I was beginning to post Fictober on Ao3, I almost deleted it once again. The words of one extremely kind commenter saved it from destruction, however, so it’s still there! 

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing 

This is going to be hard for me because I don’t actually enjoy my writing for its composition! I like the concepts and character interactions a lot but I’m not terribly proud of my actual writing ability yet. 😬 

My favorite thing I’ve written lately is the ending to Forever Ours, my new fic about May and Ben adopting Peter, but I don’t want to put it here because it might be a very minor spoiler. 

So here’s a little section of Trust, my last Fictober ficlet. I liked it because May’s inner turmoil over Peter’s Spider-Man life is one of my absolute favorite things to write about. 

What troubles her most is this: whatever is out there, whoever he’s fighting—they won’t know he is fifteen. That he’s a child. That he loves Legos, and Star Wars, and science puns, and Mathletes. But what can she say? 

He’s not asking for permission. He’ll do this no matter what she says, and they both know it. 

He is asking for her blessing.

5. Share or describe a favourite review you received

This review meant so much to me! This lovely commenter read multiple May and Ben Parker fics and it was so nice to find that I’m not the only one who wants more of the Parker family than what we get in the MCU. It made me feel like my niche writing wasn’t of interest to me and me alone after all. :) 

6. A time when writing was really, really hard

Halfway through Fictober, I lost one of the most important people in my life. It was devastating. Writing was nice about 90% of the time, and actually a nice distraction that helped me take a break from the grief. But sometimes it wasn’t, sometimes it felt impossible, and that was when I’d just skip writing or posting and wait until it would serve me again. (So I finished Fictober a little later than I wanted to, but I have 0 regrets about that.) 

7. A scene of characters you wrote that surprised you

I only wrote one thing that wasn’t an MCU Spidey fic, and that was Carry Me with Morgan and Happy. I wasn’t expecting to write it at all, and it’s not one of my favorite finished fics, but I really enjoyed the process. 

8. How did you grow as a writer this year

I grew by writing fic for the first time! My job for the majority of this year involved a lot of nonfiction copywriting, so I’m an experienced writer, but I had no idea what writing would be like outside my “professional life.” I’m glad I tried it! 

9. How do you hope to grow next year

I’m hoping to finish and publish a longer (for me) fic! I’m currently working on Penance, a fic about MCU Spidey’s origins and Uncle Ben’s influence. It should be at least 6-7k by the time I’m finished. I know that is actually short, but I haven’t even cracked 4k yet 😂 Longer fics stress me out because I don’t feel confident enough in my ability to tie together so many words, and I also can’t come up with plots to save my life. So this will be a stretch for me and I am looking forward to it! 

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta of cheerleader or muse etc. etc.)

This is, without question, @momentofmemory​. For so many reasons. (Sorry in advance for how rambly this will get, my friend.) 

Mem’s writing (particularly this May fic that is perfection and no I will never stop rec’ing it til the day I die thank you) is to blame/thank for getting me into fic in the first place. I’d been here in the Spidey fandom on Tumblr but I didn’t trust fanfic because I’d seen my most beloved characters shoved to the side/killed off in too many stories. I began 2020 hating all fanfic tbh. But then I read Mem’s captivating masterpieces (like this, the greatest one-shot!) and opened my heart to fic that celebrates the worlds I love! 

Mem is the kindest human ever. She read ALL of my Fictober works and left the kindest comments that made my heart soar. Knowing that my favorite author had taken the time to read all of that motivated me to write more than anything else has this year! 

Sometimes, when I was trying to write fic but felt burned out or uninspired, I’d go and read Mem’s writing. Her prose is divine, her dialogue is realistic, her characters and their relationships are so well thought-out--her work inspires me! I’d read it and feel excited by the ways that we can use our words to create beautiful things, and though I’m not anywhere near her level, I do think that reading her work has made me a better writer. 

Bonus positive influence: @i-lovethatforme​! Jess, thank you for being the world’s best cheerleader, for being endlessly kind and supportive, and for being my first ever beta in November. I go back and read your wonderful comments whenever I’m doubting myself. You’re an absolute gem and ilysm ❤

11. Anything from real life show up in your writing this year?

Yep. Regrets is about grief, and I was grieving pretty heavily when I wrote it. Peter’s regrets didn’t necessarily mirror mine, but writing it was still a cathartic experience. 

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers

Write what you want to write! Since I don’t do IronDad or smut, I wasn’t sure if anyone in the MCU Spidey fandom would be interested in my work. I thought briefly about trying to write based on what I thought people would read, but I decided against it. I enjoy writing platonic friendships and family fic more than anything else, so that’s what I publish most. I write what I want to write, and it’s made me so happy! 

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year?

I have a few things I’m excited about! I’ve got some Spideychelle ficlets that might be a series. They’ll focus on Peter and MJ after coming back from The Blip, featuring MJ trying to ignore her crush and Peter developing a crush. The other is Penance, the MCU Spidey origins/Ben Parker story. 

14. If you could recommend only one work from yourself published this year

I think I’d say Knowing, my fic about Peter/MJ that’s more about MJ & May bonding. I just love these two women with all my heart, and I’m proud of the way this one turned out because I think it honors both of them pretty solidly.  

15. End of Year word count

36,625 words! It’s not a lot in comparison to other writers but it’s a huge accomplishment for me! 

[asmolbirb]

Pairing: Geralt & Jaskier, gen Word count: ~1k Warnings: angst Notes: as i mentioned in this post, i couldn’t stop thinking of “two minutes” by the amazing devil as jaskier’s reaction to his fight with geralt in rare species, and i finally managed to write a ficlet exploring that idea. i feel like i’m just going to end up writing a fic to every single the amazing devil song because they’re all so emotional and incredible for inspiration lmao. 

anyway, this is super unbeta’d and unedited, so this is still pretty raw both emotionally and creatively. sorry if there are any mistakes! idk if i’m going to toss this on ao3 as well, so please lmk if you’d like me to. 

***

Jaskier drops heavily onto the bench across from Geralt, as though the earth’s pull has increased twofold in an instant and Jaskier is helpless but to follow. He drains his mug in one long pull, grimaces as he thunks it down on the table, and gestures to the barmaid for another. While he waits for her to walk over, he pulls Geralt’s mug out of his hand and drains that as well. 

Soon a third mug is deposited in front of him, and a fourth in front of Geralt when Geralt turns a glare onto the barmaid. He expects Jaskier to bestow the same treatment on this drink as he had on the others, but instead Jaskier cradles the drink with both hands, his fingers interlaced, and stares into it as though it contains the lyrics to Jaskier’s next great masterpiece. 

In all this, not once does Jaskier look at Geralt. 

Geralt takes a long pull from his own drink, both to keep it out of Jaskier’s thieving hands and to avoid looking at the other man. Jaskier’s silence, once so coveted, now chafes. It’s a discomfort Geralt doesn’t want to examine too closely, so he ignores it, and it fades into the great tangle of bad feelings currently taking up residence behind his sternum. 

Finally, without preamble, Jaskier says, “Let’s not do this whole song and dance where you pretend you meant what you said and I pretend the words didn’t sting and we go on acting like we are simply strangers whose paths crossed through happenstance.

“I did mean them, I’m sure you’re planning to say,” Jaskier interjects, approximating a poor rendition of Geralt’s gravelly tone, before Geralt can say— well, exactly that. “To which I say, bollocks! You didn’t mean them. I know this because I know you. You don’t care for blessings or destiny or wishes, and if you had wanted me taken off your hands, you’d have done it yourself long before now.” He pulls one hand away from his mug to count with his fingers. “You could have pushed me into a ravine, maybe, or used me as monster bait, or simply ridden off and left me to plod along, steedless. But you didn’t.”

Geralt resists the urge to look away from Jaskier and settles for thinning his lips instead. Jaskier isn’t entirely wrong; even through the irritation thrumming like icefire beneath his skin, Geralt can admit he has had myriad opportunities to separate himself from Jaskier over the years. There is no logical explanation for why Jaskier is once again sat across from Geralt, rubbing salt into Geralt’s wounds with every word he says.

“So you don’t get to do this,” Jaskier insists, though his tone is still conversational, as though he is commenting on the fair weather or the cut of a woman’s bodice. “You don’t get to act like you’re not equally at fault for every complication that has entered your life — myself included. I may have shoveled the shit, but you’re the one who stood there and let me. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, mighty Witcher, but I have waded in after you every time to pull you out and clean you up again, with no regard for the shit staining my own trousers in the process.”

Jaskier swallows. He lowers his free hand to the tabletop, where his fingers begin drumming a constant tattoo against the surface. Slowly, as though he is tasting his words before releasing them, he continues, “I don’t expect you to apologize. I’m happy to play the fool, even now. That’s my role, isn’t it, in this two-man melodrama that we call our lives? I’ve been thinking, though, about what I said to you after Borch fell, and quite frankly, I am getting too old to deprive myself of the things that please me.”

Geralt stills at that. He had forgotten, between Jaskier’s inscrutably youthful looks and his stubborn insistence on surviving encounters that really ought to kill him, that Jaskier is human, with a lifespan a fraction of Geralt’s own. Jaskier will be dead long before Geralt reaches the midpoint of his own existence, Geralt realizes suddenly. If Jaskier had taken Geralt’s words to heart and disappeared before Geralt finally made the trek back down the mountain, Jaskier may have died with Geralt’s parting sally being the last thing Geralt ever said to him.

The thought makes Geralt’s stomach turn, though whether in vindictive pleasure or bitter remorse, Geralt doesn’t know.

“For example,” Jaskier is saying as Geralt tries fruitlessly to beat back the maelstrom currently swirling in his head. “Sleeping in open fields and shaded woods, the stars forming a glimmering tapestry overhead, without knowing what the next day will bring. A professionally crafted lute slung round my neck, its strings loose and familiar between my fingers, as a merry crowd claps and dances along. And your grumpy face peering at me from across the campfire, and ignoring me from Roach’s back, and telling me about monsters and adventures I could never imagine. 

“If you do not want me, then I will gladly leave you to brood alone while I set out to take the rest in whatever form I can find it. But life is short, Geralt, moreso for me than you, and — Melitele preserve me — I’d like to spend mine divesting you of the shit in which you so often find yourself.” Jaskier smiles ruefully. “Even the shit I’ve shoveled.”

Geralt still has not moved. He feels somewhat like he has taken all of his potions at once, and the world is splintering around him while he fights to regain his balance. 

“If you slip out without a word, I won’t fault you, and you shan’t hear from me again,” Jaskier says after a long moment. “But if you can find it in your heart to grant me one more chance, come find me, dear Witcher, and I’ll follow you without a word. A few harsh insults won’t succeed in banishing me where selkiemore guts and prolonged silence have failed, so let’s leave all that back at the dragon’s cave, yeah? I think I can forgive you, if you forgive me in turn.”

Finally Jaskier puts the mug he has been cradling all this time to his lips, and his throat pulses as he swallows. When he is finished, he sets it down next to the other empty mugs and stands, a smile stretching his lips that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, though a casual observer would not know the difference.

Without ever having looked at Geralt, Jaskier turns to the bar, throws his arms out in invitation, and exclaims, “Who wants to hear a song, eh? The mighty bard Jaskier graces this lovely establishment tonight, eager to delight and enthrall, to make music and merry both!” 

Without ever having said a word, Geralt watches him leave.