#Martian Bingo

[fandombingo]

Fandom Bingo: The Martian

For July, we're heading into space with Martian Bingo! I read the The Martian and watched the movie several years ago and recently got hooked back into it. I still like it just as much, so I figured I might as well do something useful with my obsession while it's there. If you haven't read or watched it, I definitely recommend giving it a try.

But as per usual, this event is multifandom, so you don't need to know the source material, and you can sign up no matter what fandom you want to write for.

**Signups here! Open until August 5th.**

General Rules:

You can interpret the prompts any way you want. If you think it fits, then it fits. All prompts, including the quotes, can just be used as inspiration or a general fit, no need to actually include them word for word in the fanwork, and tenses and pronouns can be swapped accordingly.

You can combine multiple prompts in one fanwork.

Each submitted fanwork should be new and complete, but it can be a standalone, part of a series, or one chapter of a multi-chaptered fic.

This bingo is primarily geared towards fanfic, but any medium is fine if you feel you can do it.

For fanfic, the minimum is 100 words with no maximum.

You can use fanworks submitted for this event for other events as well, so long as it’s okay with the other side too.

While signups are only open for a month, there is no time limit for completing a card.

This round's bingo only offers 3x3 cards. Everyone can sign up for a maximum of FOUR cards (please send in one form per card).

After submitting a form, please give me up to a week to reply with your card.

All content and ratings are allowed but please tag everything appropriately, especially if there’s trigger-warning content.

Please be respectful of each other. If you see content tags you don’t like, just scroll past and move on.

All fanworks must be your own creation. No plagiarism. No AI-generated works.

To Finish a Card:

Get a bingo! This can be: 🪐 1 horizontal row 🪐 🪐 1 vertical column 🪐 🪐 1 diagonal line 🪐 🪐 2 diagonal lines 🪐 🪐 or a blackout 🪐

Fill out the completion form (1 form/card).

When Posting:

You can post your fanworks to this AO3 collection here.

If you make a Tumblr post for your fanwork, remember to ping @fandombingo and tag #MartianBingo so I can reblog it.

On your post, please clearly indicate the Fandom, Prompt(s), Rating, and Tag(s)/Content Warning(s).

If you have any other questions, don't hesitate to send in an ask!

[livsoulsecrets]

Klaus&Ben Fic - I am not scared of death

Written for @fandombingo Martian Bingo prompts: “I’m running out of miracles” and “Puncture Wound”.

Fandom: Bridgerton (TV).

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences.

Summary: Ben has been losing control of his powers since he turned sixteen. When it happens during one of the Umbrella Academy’s missions, Klaus is the only one left to help.

Read on AO3.

The Horror sat low at his gut.

It stirred when Ben smelt blood. It lashed out to taste it. It retreated when it was satisfied.

Ben could feel its hunger seeping deep into his bones, threatening to swallow him whole.

The Horror had no language, but Ben understood it all the same. He didn’t know where it came from or how his body became its vessel, but he had felt it stirring within himself for as long as he could remember.

His siblings were the only people in the world who weren’t scared by it.

Even the people they saved looked at him with a poorly disguised look of disgust and fear. It didn’t matter that he had just saved their lives when all they saw was a monster.

Reginald was mostly intrigued by the Horror. He wasn’t particularly happy about the fact it couldn’t be controlled either, but at least that had kept him and his experiments away.

It was nearly impossible to know where it ended and where Ben began.

The Horror took over for his overwhelmed mind in the split of a second when danger was near, and, at the slightest threat, it lashed its fury without hesitation.

That was the reason why Ben had always been careful about his own strength, especially during missions.

That day was no different. He had waited until the thugs ran towards the distraction Luther, Diego, and Allison were causing in the east wing of the warehouse before tapping into his power.

He made sure they were out of reach and rushed into the room with Klaus in tow, ready to release the hostages.

And then he heard the telltale sound of gunfire to his left, and the world turned red.

He turned around, and the tentacles exploded in color and movement. He willed one of them towards Klaus and pushed his brother behind him, away from danger.

The rest of them engulfed the guns of the five outstanding thugs and ripped them away.

Three of them reached for new weapons, and the Horror wasted no time tearing them apart.

The metallic taste of blood had stopped bothering Ben by the time he was seven, but the stickiness it left on his skin and clothes was the worst part of the job even after all those years.

“Stand down,” he ordered, holding the Horror back as he faced the two men still standing across from him.

One of them threw his hands up and fell to his knees, begging for mercy.

The other paled considerably, shaking where he stood. Ben took his desperation for defeat.

He arched his back, commanding the tentacles to retreat.

And that was his mistake.

Because the desperate man across from him wasn’t surrendering.

He reached inside his coat and pulled a knife out. He threw it across the short distance between them, and Ben was too slow—too weak—to dodge it.

It lodged on his shoulder with a sharp pain. He yelled as his vision clouded and the Horror attacked again.

Ben barely registered its actions as it tore his attacker apart. He fell to his knees, reaching for the knife.

Somewhere on his mind, he knew it was the wrong thing to do, but he pulled it off anyway.

There were enough things lodged in his body he had no control over. He would not add this nameless thug’s knife to the list.

Distantly, he registered the screaming. A high-pitched cry from a young woman and uncontrollable sobbing from a grown man. Klaus calling for him. The Horror humming with energy, aching for more, reaching blindly into their surroundings.

Klaus, loud and bright and real. “Ben! Ben, look at me. Ben, get the fuck up!”

His vision snapped into focus. He lifted his head, acutely aware of the blood dripping down his chest.

He couldn’t tell if it was his or not.

The scene he found was chaos.

The Horror had taken hold of two of the hostages and the thug who surrendered, lifting them in the air.

Ben had lost control in the middle of his own pain.

He had hurt those who posed no threats. He had become one with the monster within him, and it was only through his subconscious fighting against the intrusion that he had managed not to tear those bystanders apart too.

“Ben, you need to put them down,” Klaus told him, carefully approaching his brother.

“I’m trying,” Ben grunted, because he was. He was fighting the hunger and the bloodthirst, and he was losing.

The tentacles tightened even more, and he hoped to God he hadn’t broken any bones.

“I know. I know you are, Benny,” Klaus agreed. He was standing by his side now, and Ben resisted the urge to shove him as far away from this mess as he could.

“It thinks they hurt us too,” he spat out through gritted teeth. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead when his jaw clenched painfully. “It wants blood.”

Klaus paled considerably, desperately looking back and forth between his brother and the tentacles.

“Don’t know how much longer I can hold it off,” Ben told him. “You need to get out of here.”

“Fuck no,” Klaus replied.

“You have to,” Ben yelled. “If this goes wrong, you’re dead. It’ll take a miracle to get this under control.”

Klaus smiled like the freak he was. He shrugged in a nonchalant manner that hardly belonged to the battlefield. “You have always been good with those. You save our asses all the time.”

“I think I’m running out of miracles,” Ben cried out, forcing himself to stand up again when Klaus pulled him to his feet.

Klaus looked around, desperately searching for a solution. His eyes landed on the knife Ben had dropped on the floor.

“I think I just found our miracle,” his brother announced.

Ben saw the exact moment a madman’s plan formed in his brother’s mind.

“Don’t,” he snapped, but Klaus was already moving. “Klaus!”

Ben tried to reach for his brother and failed—he was spread thin between the blood loss and his rebellious power.

He could only watch as Klaus rushed forward to grab the weapon.

He watched in terror as his brother threw the knife towards one of the tentacles.

Ben immediately felt a sharp pain when the blade slashed the tentacle’s flesh.

In the split second it took the Horror to process the new threat, it lessened its hold on its targets.

It was all Ben needed to summon it back to him.

He kicked Klaus to the side, successfully avoiding a tentacle that had snapped itself towards him, and felt the tentacles’ familiar weight retreating back into his stomach.

Ben’s knees weakened, and he stumbled forward. He trembled down the next second, his back hitting the hard concrete floor with a loud noise.

The hurried footsteps of terrified people soured through the room. Ben forced himself to breathe, forced the bile to retreat, and his eyes to remain open.

Klaus crawled to him, sliding over the blood and viscera on the floor with little care for the mess.

“Way to go, Benerino,” he mumbled. “Never a dull day with you, is it?”

Ben crooked his head to face him. Klaus threw a hand to his shoulder and pressured the bleeding wound there.

“I could have killed you,” he whispered, horrified by how true that was.

Klaus shook his head. “You wouldn’t.”

“You don’t get it.”

“I could have,” he wanted to scream. “You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know how much worse it has become.”

“I don’t,” Klaus replied.

“You don’t know…” Ben tried again, but his words were slurring together, all their meaning lost to his worn-out body.

He had lost too much blood. He had fought too hard and caused too much damage.

He would be out of commission for days. Ben distantly wondered if Reginald would punish him for that too when he learned about this mess.

“I do know you, though,” Klaus told him in the unusually serious tone he loathed having to use. “You wouldn’t kill me.”

“I almost killed them,” he countered.

“But you didn’t. I saved your sorry ass for a change,” Klaus replied, cursing under his breath. “Where the fuck are the others? I can’t carry you out alone.”

Ben felt his consciousness slipping away, even as Klaus slapped him in the face to keep him awake.

“Do not pull this shit on me,” his brother ordered.

The last thing Ben thought before the darkness was that he had never heard Klaus sound so scared.

———

Ben woke up in the infirmary.

His shoulder was covered in gauze, and there was an IV line attached to his arm.

He blinked a few times, adjusting to the dark. Ben brought his fingers to touch the bandage, wincing as the contact sent a burning sensation through his arm.

“The knife was dirty as hell,” Klaus’ voice sounded from the darkness. “You had an infection. Luckily Grace noticed it as soon as we brought you in.”

Ben would have startled if the thought of moving wasn’t so painful.

“How long have I been out?” He rasped.

“A day and a half,” Klaus answered, picking up a glass of water and passing it to him. Ben drank carefully, despite his desperate thirst.

“Did you… Did you tell them?” He asked next.

Klaus shook his head. “I said you were attacked and passed out right after.”

Ben released a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you, Klaus.”

Klaus shrugged and waved the gratitude away with a flick of his wrist.

“Does it happen a lot?” Klaus asked, tracing patterns against his oversized pajama pants. Ben’s whole body froze.

“No,” he lied.

Because it didn’t use to happen, not at all.

He and the Horror had always been one, but since his sixteenth birthday, Ben felt like an outsider inside his own body.

The carcass of his being didn’t belong to him anymore.

Ben was the Horror’s to use.

He couldn’t risk Reginald finding out and subjecting him to his terrible experiments.

He couldn’t tell his siblings only to be benched and left out of missions.

Ben needed the thrill of the battle and its victims to feed the monster in his entrails, because what would happen if he didn’t, and the next time the Horror got hungry, it fed on his siblings instead?

He would rather have the Horror kill him and a thousand strangers than let it harm his siblings.

“It was my fault, really. I haven’t slept properly since that bank robbery last Thursday,” he lied again. “The Horror has been paranoid ever since. It lashed out when it felt threatened.”

Klaus nodded, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

Ben wondered when was the last time his brother had slept too. His usual paleness had become more pronounced, and so had the bags under his eyes.

He scooted over, careful not to jostle his IV. He made room on the infirmary bed and motioned for his brother to join him.

Klaus quickly climbed into his side, understanding the meaning behind his gesture.

Ben’s body immediately relaxed when his brother rested his head on his unharmed shoulder and threw an arm over him.

“Be more careful next time, you idiot,” Klaus ordered. “I don’t want to have to stab you again. Especially when you’re already hurt.”

Ben laughed weakly and had to hold his own chest when the pain worsened with the movement.

“I’ll try my best,” he promised, because that was all he had to offer.

Ben was terrified. He feared the only way this battle between man and monster would end was with one of them dead.

He feared he wasn’t strong enough to win it. And that his family would be hurt in the crossfire.

But Klaus had been there. He had hurt the Horror on purpose to help him, and Ben had managed to contain his power.

He had to believe that was enough.

He had to believe the only casualty of that war would be himself, if it came down to it.

“Stop thinking so loudly,” Klaus muttered. “It’s keeping me awake.”

“Sorry,” he whispered, and shifted to rest his head against Klaus’.

Sleep shouldn’t have come to him so easily, not after being unconscious for so long and with the heavy weight of guilt over his shoulders, but it did.

Maybe it was because of Klaus’ solid presence tucked into his side or the absence of judgment his brother offered.

Either way, Ben closed his eyes and pressed closer to Klaus.

His siblings were all home and safe. Klaus hadn’t pulled away from him despite his faults.

He would live to fight another day, and, for now, that was enough.

[wardenapproaches]

My second work for the @badthingshappenbingo! This is for the Personal Effects Reveal square, and the fandom is The Martian.

AO3 link is here, or click the readmore here for the fic. Word count is 737.

In the end, it doesn’t really matter how long his food lasts. The vitamins that NASA sent down with them can only last so long, and he can’t grow more of them. It’s in the creak of his wrists and hips. He’s not making it.

~

“Commander.” The confused edge in Rick’s voice brings the crew of Ares V to a halt. Commander Montoya swings down off the ladder with a puff of Mars-red dirt, and immediately goes to Rick’s side. 

“What is it?” Montoya asks, eyes scanning where Rick is looking. She spots it after a moment. There’s a rather… tricked-out rover sitting not far from their landing site. It’s covered and half buried under dust, but it’s definitely a rover with additions that aren’t NASA sanctioned. Jutting up through the sand is the broad front window, frosted over from the years of sand hitting it.

ARES III is scrawled just above it.

“Martinez, will you be alright to continue?” Montoya asks, stepping between her pilot and the rover. Breaking his line of sight seems to jolt him out of the stupor he fell into, and he shakes himself, before nodding. 

“Yes,” Rick’s voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “Yes. We need to know why it’s here.” Montoya eyes Rick, and nods.

~

After everyone else disembarks from their shuttle, and the Commander updates them on what they’ve found so far, Rick gets the green light to approach. The others follow, helping dig the rover out of the dust and the sand and making the process much easier. They dig the rover out in record time, and Martinez approaches the main door, but pauses. 

There’s a… pouch? A Large pouch made of duct tape, attached to the rover near the handle of the door. TO ARES IV is written in shaky script on the tape, slightly faded from the sun and the sand. Rick’s hands clench. 

“What’s wrong?” Gallagher, their flight surgeon, breaks the silence.

“That’s… that’s Mark’s handwriting.” Rick responds. He can hear everyone behind him gasp or shift backwards in shock, but he ignores them as he reaches up and slowly peels the edge of the tape away. A small stack of paper, ripped from a notebook, flutters into his hands, and he’s hit with a fresh wave of grief when he spots more of Mark’s chicken scratch. It takes him a few minutes to gather all the papers together, and sort them into the correct order (of course Mark numbered his notes. Why wouldn’t he?). 

“To the crew of Ares IV,” Rick begins, shoulders slumping under the weight of what he knows is coming. God, he died alone. “Let me start by saying that I’m not sorry about the state of my rover. I science’d her so well, she kept me alive for hundreds of sols. She belongs in a museum.” A few of the older crew members laugh at that. “And then let me actually be sorry for what you’re gonna find inside. If, by some miracle, I’m not on Earth, then my body is inside the rover. Turns out, there’s only so much Martian-grown potatoes can do to keep you healthy. As I’m writing this-” Rick’s voice breaks again. “-As I’m writing this, I haven’t been able to move very far beyond the rover in weeks. My eyesight is fading, and my hair is almost gone. I fucked up my leg getting here, and let me tell you, the feeling of bone grinding against bone is nothing short of nauseating.” 

A hand on his elbow reminds Rick to relax his vice-grip on the paper before he rips it. 

“I’m skin and bone. I realized I wasn’t going to make it about 2 months ago, and decided to make my final resting place closer to where I could be found. So here I am. Attached you’ll find individual notes addressed to a bunch of different people, and I would really appreciate it if you guys made sure they all get to where they’re supposed to go. Inside the rover, you’ll find all the data I could manage to store onto the computers I brought with me. If the original HAB is still standing, you can get the rest of the data.”

Rick’s face is streaked with tears, now. 

“And just know that, even though I died cold, hungry, and alone- I died doing something I loved. And that’s made it all worth it.”

[orangetubor]

Thomas for blorbo bingo..? (and maybe Sahrah??)

Tom Tom:

And sahrah:

As for how I 'wasnt a fan initially' of my own oc, she used to just be a regular guy and then I made her crazy

[nightwings-robin]

Miss Martian (btw I love Aqualad he’s literally best boy!)

I don't have strong feelings about M'gann but the fandom was pretty mean to her back in the day and she didn't deserve that. and come on, "Hello Megan" is silly but in a good way

[otpcutie]

Muse (0.3k)

Summary (Spidershield, M): Steve finds himself tempted.

Contains: Married Steve (to Peggy), Peter is a little shit, adult Peter, mutual pining, age difference, infidelity, thoughts of cheating (more on AO3)

A/N: this includes a prompt I received for Steve Rogers + garden, pencil and lemonade!

@queer-it-up-bingo (August card) fill: swing both ways / @fandom-free-bingo (pride edition) fill: free space / @eclipsingbingo fill: age difference / @fandombingo (Wonderland card, light) fill: down, down, down & (Martian card) fill: free space / @hurtcomfort-bingo fill: restrain

@multifandom-flash (beehive, 1018) fill: bi-wildered

Steve’s hand moved in experienced, focused strokes, as his pencil scratched against the morning paper. Unexpected and intoxicating, his drawing bloomed aside an abandoned crossword puzzle. The lead almost glistened in the sunlight, mimicking a trickling water-droplet Steve was eager to capture on paper…

Almost as much as with his tongue.

Steve lifted his gaze—towards the real masterpiece that was sitting by the pool—when his skin prickled with an abrupt flush of heat. He found Peter’s eyes on him, brimming with envy. 

Peter leaned back on his palms, kicking his legs slowly back and forth in the water. He tilted his head back to give Steve a tantalising view of his neck, droplets of water trailing down his chest and through the hairs that covered his stomach, disappearing into the band of his shorts.

Peter’s throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, caressed by the water. 

Steve was left wanting. Yearning. 

♥︎ Continue on AO3 ♥︎ My Masterlist ♥︎

[evadne01]

Emrys and the three Queens

@fandombingo: The Martian Bingo - This Earned Only Silence Broken By Gentle Sobbing

@fandom-free-bingo: Maritime May - Hunted

@multifandom-flash: Global Forgiveness Day & Apologies - Heartfelt Apology

@julybreakbingo: Unhappy Conclusion or Meeting Under Bad Circumstances

@badthingshappenbingo: Killing in Self-Defense

@thebo3bingo; Merlin’s Magic Is Revealed

@eclipsingbingo: Reunion

@seasonaldelightsbingo: five nights at freddy’s: “You look just like your father.”

@hurtcomfort-bingo: Pick Your Poison - Depression

@lyricalescape: Dying On the Inside

[hardly-an-escape]

Among the Stars We are Reborn

Square: A4 - Creature: Phoenix Rating: T Word Count: 5399 Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Warnings: No archive warnings apply Additional Tags: Dreamling Bingo fill, Creature: Phoenix, canon divergent, future fic, established relationship, science fiction, speculative fiction, space travel, Hob Gadling throughout history, Hob Gadling in space Summary: Some centuries in the future, Hob has taken to the stars, working as a freelance researcher and courier. He is on his way to one of Jupiter’s moons on a research mission when Dream joins him, and together they search for the elusive Ionian phoenix. Read on AO3 | fill for @dreamlingbingo

The funny thing was, it was never quiet in space. Hob had thought it would be, that first time he’d left the planet in his own ship... At some point he’d had formed the idea that once he got up there by himself, once he left the public spaceport and the press of overpopulation behind, he would leave the noise behind, too. Find, at last, a pure silence, the likes of which he hadn’t experienced in all his long life. Space, he’d thought, under the right circumstances, could be free of everything, of bugs and advertisements and other people, of every little noise. He’d been wrong.

The funny thing was, it was never quiet in space.

Hob had thought it would be, that first time he’d left the planet in his own ship.

Commercial spaceflights were loud, of course, and always had been – as bad as planes were, back in the day, and maybe even worse, during the longer flights to the Mars colonies – industrial-sized rockets generating industrial-sized noise ferrying care packages and flour and crying children across the solar system instead of cross-country. But at some point he had formed the idea that once he got up there by himself, once he left the public spaceport and the press of overpopulation behind, he would leave the noise behind, too.

Find, at last, a pure silence, the likes of which he hadn’t experienced in all his long life. Space, he’d thought, under the right circumstances, could be free of everything, of bugs and advertisements and other people, of every little noise.

He’d been wrong.

It wasn’t just that his little ship, new as she was, made her own small moans and groans on that first test run beyond the edge of Earth’s atmosphere. The crackle of the radio, the hum of the engines, the muted whistle of the air purifier – all these sounds could be turned off, and Hob had done so. He’d shut down everything but the most basic life support and floated in the liminal space between the Earth and the Moon for a full ten minutes, a tiny soap bubble in the darkness. He’d breathed deeply, taken his mind away from the sound of his own heartbeat, and listened.

Turns out, space makes its own music.

As the years went by, he gained a variety of descriptions of the music from other spacefarers who’d heard it too. Some of the more fanciful freelancers called it celestial jazz and discussed at length whether it followed a particular meter, if it was chromatic or pentatonic in scale, and other musical terms Hob barely understood.

A group of missionaries he met on a remote Martian outpost insisted that the music was the means by which God was expressing themself directly to the universe.

Scientists talked about background radiation and planetary resonance and something called vacuum atmospherics on which he read several papers before deciding, ruefully, that there were some mathematic principles which he would simply never understand.

He’d asked Dream about it, once. Had even shut down all systems like he had that first time, just to listen. (He still does, occasionally, because whatever it is, it is beautiful.)

What is it? he’d asked. You must know.

And Dream had smirked that particular Endless smirk that drove Hob mad, and drawn him away from the viewscreen and its twinkling miniature Earth.

Stars dream, too, Hob Gadling.

And that had been all Hob had been able to glean from his lover on the subject.

Hob’s ship was not a thing of beauty. Her design was far too boxy and utilitarian for that. But Hob loved his snug little vessel with an almost obsessive affection. She reminded him of a camper van he’d had in the 1960s, or the massive rolltop desk he’d put in his study in the late 1800s, everything folded away in neat drawers and cubby holes, not an inch wasted. He reveled in it every time he made ready for a trip: packing away his clothes and gear, choosing rations, replacing the air filters, checking the water purifier and the drip lines on his tiny hydroponic garden.

And, crucially, she was all his.

Even the New Inn, way back when, hadn’t really been all his. There’d been investors and mortgage holders and zoning committees and eventually the National Heritage List to contend with, and while Hob had been the one to pick the lighting fixtures and design the wooden inlay on the bar, it had always been fundamentally a group project. Not to mention that its very purpose was to serve as a gathering place, a safe space for anyone who happened to walk through the door.

Not so his spaceship. All right, he hadn’t built her himself – despite his best efforts, he would never be more than a mediocre aerospace engineer – but Hob had spent weeks at the dealership, poring over schematics and blueprints, personally choosing the design of every single cubic centimeter. The sales associate had leered a little when Hob insisted on a double-wide bunk, given that all the other specs were for single occupancy – but he was paying cash, not financing, so it wasn’t like they were going to argue with him.

He’d known it was worth a little leering, the first time he and Dream had wrapped their arms around each other and gazed out the tiny porthole window at the stars, so close you could almost reach out and touch them.

Dream had been with him when his ship was delivered to the public spaceport nearest Hob’s flat. They’d walked around her together, Dream smiling slightly as Hob enthusiastically described the engines and pointed out the retractable heat shields. His long fingers had trailed over the official designation engraved on the side – Hob still thought of it as a license plate, like on his car – and he’d raised an eyebrow.

“I know,” Hob had laughed. “Can you believe it?”

“You did not choose this number on purpose?”

“Believe it or not, no. They’re automatically assigned during manufacture, randomly generated so each one is unique. This is pure human coincidence, my friend. Or maybe fate, who knows – we’ll have to ask your brother. Not that he’ll tell us.”

Dream had traced the numbers again: UKCS-001389, big and bold. Then he’d smiled.

“Come, take me inside,” he’d said. “I would see that my beloved will live well among the stars.”

Hob had locked the hatch behind them.

Later, after Hob had showed off every corner and cubbyhole, and after they had thoroughly evaluated the comfort and structural integrity of the double-wide bunk, they’d sprawled together, fingers finding new patterns on familiar skin.

“Have you given any thought as to what you might name her?” Dream had asked idly.

“Some. My first idea was to call her the Robin.” Hob had sighed. “I liked to think of that name flying off to the moon and other planets – but it was already taken and the UKSA doesn’t allow for duplicates.”

“And your second choice?”

“Well,” Hob had turned and run the backs of his knuckles down Dream’s cheek. “I do have another idea. But I wanted to ask you about it first. I was thinking… well, you’ve told me so much about her… I was thinking, I might name her Jessamy.”

Dream’s head had turned slowly toward Hob, an inscrutable look in his eye.

“I know it was a while ago now, even by our standards. But she was with you for so long. She loved you, protected you –”

“And failed, in the end,” he’d said thickly. “And died.”

“She didn’t fail. And I don’t think her death is the most important thing about her. I mean, I don’t think it’s bad luck or anything, you know? It’s only one bad moment in a long, long string of good ones. And, you know,” he had stumbled gamely on, “I like the idea that part of her – part of you – would be traveling with me. A new adventure. It would make me feel… close to you, if she were with me. When you aren’t here.”

Dream had simply looked at him, for a long moment, and then pushed him onto his back and rolled on top of him, kissing him slowly and sweetly and deeply.

“Even after all this time, the depth of your heart never fails to astonish me. I would be honored,” he’d said, “if Jessamy were to fly again with you. And so, I think, would she.”

The next day, Hob had gone to the nearest Space Agency office, waited in an interminable line, and officially registered UK Civilian Ship 001389 as the Jessamy.

A week later, she flew for the first time. Or again, depending on how you measure it. And thus the newest chapter in Hob’s long life had begun.

Read the rest on AO3 >>>

many thanks to @tryan-a-bex for the beta read!

green = complete, orange = WIP

[endlesstwanted]

I Have a Heartache that Won’t Go Away

Fic created for @augustwritingchallenge, day 1 | Canon Divergence

Fandom: Chicago Fire

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Pairing: Sylvie Brett/Joe Cruz/Brian "Otis" Zvonecek

Tags: Canon Divergence season 8, Best Friends, Idiots in Love, Polyamory

Summary: With Sylvie in Fowlerton, Brian doesn’t know how to move forward with an empty room in their home. He talks to Joe about it, and they figure out their next move.

Wordcount: 1k

Also created for: @eclipsingbingo | Roommates / @fandombingo, Martian edition | They’re gone. + The Little Prince | “I was too young to know how to love her.” + Wonderland | “Tell me the truth.” / @fandom-free-bingo, Pride edition | Best Friends Getting Married + Plural edition | Mourning a Lover / @multifandom-flash, April events: National Ex-Spouse Day | Forever Fling + March events: Compliment | Outhumbling Each Other / @julybreakbingo, July Break 2024 | Having feelings for their best friend but being happy that they’ve started dating someone else

Excerpt:

“Capp’s not going to be our roommate,” Brian shook his head before Joe could finish the sentence. He grabbed his walker and started his way back to the living room, hoping Joe would follow him and the conversation.

“Then we have to keep looking for someone.” Joe arrived first and accommodated a few cushions on the couch for Brian to sit down.

He’d been off of work since the fire in the mattress warehouse and started physical therapy only six months before, so while he learned to walk again after the fall he had in that basement, he had a lot of time to think. “Or …”

“Or what?” Joe raised one eyebrow, and moved to put Brian’s walker beside the couch.

“You saw Sylvie on the phone the other day. She seemed … off, don’t you think?”

Continue reading on Ao3 here!

[faketrex]

Summer Fic Reading Challenge: August 1st

No bingo yet! I've been reading non-strategically, just slotting things into spaces on the card when they fit.

My reading list thus far under the cut... fic recs, fic recs, get them while they're hot. Mostly RWRB, one Merlin.

Free space: "As the poets say, it’s independence day" by TheLurkingContessa

RWRB. Henry is a writer, Alex is a law student with an OnlyFans sex work (and naked cleaning) (and foot pics) side hustle. So very funny and so very hot and so very charming–and now there's an Alex POV sequel, too!

AO3 link

Road trip: "This Is More of a Comment Than a Question" by @caterpills

RWRB. Publicist Alex is forced, kicking and screaming (figuratively), to accompany author Henry on a book tour. Could it be possible that sparks fly, maybe? I've just gotten started reading this WIP and am already enjoying it immensely.

AO3 link

Crossover or fusion: "Yes, it's an emergency!" by @cricketnationrise

RWRB/The Martian fusion. Cricket wrote an Alex POV The Martian fusion piece a while back and I loved it, so I was excited when she posted this new Henry POV sequel-slash-accompanying piece. Did I love it? Of course! It turns out that Henry pining away over Alex is just as satisfying as Alex pining away over Henry (and, you know, life on Earth... because Alex is stuck on Mars).

AO3 link

Under the influence: "say what you mean (and mean what you say)" by @schweetheart

Merlin. Arthur is cursed to tell the truth, sort of. "Truth spell" is a classic trope in the Merlin fandom, with good reason, and schweet is a skilled writer who knows exactly which parts of the story to tell to make it supremely, exceptionally satisfying.

AO3 link

Mission fic: "come home with me" by smc_27

RWRB. Alex is a real estate agent, Henry is house-hunting, and their mission is to find Henry a house. (And fall in love.) It's one of the most difficult missions out there, if you ask me. (Finding a house, I mean.) A delightful read.

AO3 link

Sports AU: "Naturally adapted for bodily exertion" by @kiwiana-writes

RWRB. What, I ask you, is the epitome of "Sports AU" as a concept? Ancient Greek Olympics, clearly. Do Henry and Alex wrestle naked, covered in oil? Of course they do. Thank goodness (and kiwiana)!

AO3 link

Multichapter: "here is a map (with your name for a capital)" by @alasse9

RWRB. My note-to-self about this one says, "Amazing gentle What if Rio went differently? AU" and that's pretty much how I would like to describe it to you. To say it differently, though: I love RWRB canon, but I have to say... I might love this version of events just as much.

AO3 link

[payaso-gomi]

ohmygodiforgottodothething-

Tagged by @hexusproductions! Thank you for the tag!!

Taaaagging @libertys-lovers @magicalmousey @white-meadow @sillysiha @murder-at-the-bingo-hall and YOU 🫵 (untagged individual who might be in the mood to see their faves get vibe checked)

[fandombingo]

Fandom Bingo Masterlist

Fandom Bingo is a low-pressure multifandom bingo event where you can get a 5x5 card for any fandom you want. We also run mini-bingo events (usually 3x3 cards) where each one is based off of a fandom chosen by the mod.

Fandom Bingo runs year-round and signups never close. Mini-bingos will run when we have time, and signups for each of them tend to stay open for about a month, but there is no time limit for completing your cards, and all AO3 collections will remain open indefinitely.

All bingos are multifandom!

Fandom Bingo:

Event Post

Rules and Signups

Card Queue

AO3 Collection

Completion Form

Mini-Bingos:

Reverse: 1999 Bingo -- Event Post | Signups (closed) | AO3 Collection | Completion Form

The Little Prince Bingo -- Event Post | Signups (closed) | AO3 Collection | Completion Form

Wonderland Bingo -- Event Post | Signups (closed) | AO3 Collection | Completion Form

Martian Bingo -- Event Post | Signups (closed) | AO3 Collection | Completion Form

Neverwhere Bingo -- Event Post | Signups (closed) | AO3 Collection | Completion Form

Trope Flashes:

Superhero Trope Flash -- Event Post | Signups (closed) | Card Queue | AO3 Collection

[as-close-to-normal]

Liquid water on Mars was not on my bingo card.

Anyways don’t drink the water on Mars. We all know how that ended.

[skitskatdacat63]

obviously sebson😌 also martian? for the ship bingo

Hello fellow sebson truther 🤭

Sebson:

Literally husbands that got married in 2015, you are so right, and I was also there. They are so underrated to me!!!!! The original emotional support rivals okay 😭😭😭 they're just very special to me and make me soft and I love them okay??? Grace, you understand 🤧🤧🥹🥹🥹 Clutching all of their podium pictures to my chest. I feel like I have the 2011 season podiums burned into my brain atp even though I've not even watched it yet, because it's sebson season pt2

Martian:

Mentally ill about them in a bad way because every other week, we get some new thing(i.e. Seb's Germany 2008 post as of late), and I just cease to be a normal person for the next 48 hour period. I talk about their lore so much......

Tbh Martian and Sebson go hand in hand for me; combine them, and they are my favorite ot3 of all time!! But I feel very similarly, in terms of my passion for them. But like Martian is if I want something more toxic and Sebson is if I want something softer y'know!!!

[madame-mongoose]

Blorbo Martian? I know ur also insane about the little guy, I just wanna know in what way <- Wants to study you in a bug box

MARVIN MY BABY SWEET we got our first bingo 💖💖💖

[otpcutie]

Okoye aesthetic

"I'm not a spy who can come and go as they so choose. I am loyal to that throne, no matter who sits upon it. What are you loyal to?" -Okoye.

This was so pretty to make! I hope the people who voted for her like it <3

Includes @fandombingo (Martian card), fill: survived the storm & (Wonderland card, dark), fill: "How fine you look when dressed in rage." & (Wonderland card, light), fill: free space / Gen Prompt bingo, fill: minorities/characters of colour/women of canon

♥︎ My Masterlist ♥︎