#NEW MOLLY FIC?!

[superdorkcat]

Found throughout European folklore, a changeling is a substitute left when a human child has been kidnapped by a supernatural being, commonly a fairy. However, nothing is said of when a child willingly goes to the world of fairies.

-------------

Timmy Turner is an average kid that no one understands… who lives in Dimmadelphia instead of Dimmsdale. This leaves him without the support network of AJ and Chester but with a teacher and a babysitter just as bad as Crocker and Vicky, as well as parents whose actions aren’t played for laughs like on the show.

Chloe Carmichael (who’s here both because Timmy deserves a sister and because I CAN FIX HER DAMMIT) has the opposite problem. Stuck in the shadow of her absentee activist parents, every ounce of her self-esteem is derived from helping others, which has resulted in her becoming consumed by toxic perfectionism. She’s constantly held up as an ideal child by adults who see her as nothing more than a pawn, alienating her from her peers. She may look like a little miss perfect, but in reality she’s completely alone.

Enter Cosmo and Wanda. Unlike canon, each fairy is assigned a specific godkid regardless of marital status. Meaning that Wanda is assigned as Timmy’s fairy godmother to give him the structure he needs while Cosmo becomes Chloe’s fairy godfather and helps her learn to accept making mistakes. Due to living in the same city and having fairy godparents who are a married couple, Timmy and Chloe quickly become friends. And then they find out that, after they grow up, they’ll never see Cosmo and Wanda again and won’t even have the memory to mourn their loss. So they do what any pair of broken, desperate children with the ability to make anything they wish for come true do - they wish that Cosmo and Wanda were their parents.

This wish has the unforeseen effect of making them changelings, children in a transitory state between human and fairy. Of course, the fact that fairy godparents go to miserable kids means that Timmy and Chloe aren’t the only ones that have wished for their fairies to become their parents. There’s also Remy (because of course the kid used to getting everything he wants would jump at ensuring he’ll never lose the only person who ever gave a damn about him), Molly and Dwight (the two kids who got sent to the Wishing Well with Timmy in the show), and maaaaybe a reworked version of Winston (Jorgen’s godkid in the Oh Yeah! era).

Now, the kids are enrolled in Abra Prepdabra’s designated but not always used Changeling Class in order to learn how to control their developing powers while also finding out just what trading the normal world for the magical world entails.

I could go on, but I'm gonna leave it here for now. I'm calling this the "Changeling Effect AU".

[bigfootsmom]

helicopter snippet pleaseeee?🫶🏻❤️

sure, I’ll use it as my wip wednesday <3

thank you to the lovely @diazsdimples @tizniz @eddiebabygirldiaz @try-set-me-on-fire for the tags <3

His stomach churns and bile burns at the back of his throat. He swallows it down, forces it back into the pit of his stomach. He shoves it down with the panic and the fatigue. It takes everything in him. It takes the dregs of his long empty reserve of energy— his insides bloody and raw from scraping up every ounce of strength he has.

Tommy has to keep it together. He has to stay standing.

He has to keep his eyes on Evan. Evan, who is getting further and further away, Tommy’s vision tunneling and fading. Something that was supposed to be the shape of Evan’s name sticks in his throat.

He has to stay with Evan.

He has to stay.

He has to.

He—

Tagging anyone who has anything they want to share <3

[gregorovitch-adler]

Gingerbread House

Molly woke up with a start. Seeing feeble daylight outside her bedroom window, her heart pounded and threw away her duvet. She was going to be late for work!

She got up from the bed in a hurry and grabbed her phone from the night stand to check the time and date.

To her unbelievable relief, it was Christmas, and it was ten in the morning. She sighed.

Molly walked to the bathroom to get ready for the day. She wanted to do something special for the day even though she lived alone. She had been looking forward to Christmas this year for a couple of months now. It was going to be a treat for herself this time.

She got out of the shower in a bathrobe and went to the sitting room of her flat to go through some of the take- away menus.

She had collected them on the few occasions she had gone out in the past with her colleagues.

Molly spread out the menus on her coffee table and sat down on the sofa. She knitted her brows as she went through the bakery options in the various menus.

None of the cakes or other items were standing out to her.

She sat straight on her sofa when she suddenly got reminded of something: her grandma's Gingerbread House recipe that she had given to Molly privately.

The recipe was her grandma's secret, and she had only shared it with Molly a year before she passed away. Molly used to be her favourite kid in the family.

Molly took a deep breath and dabbed at her left eye to stop herself from tearing up on this occasion.

She got up from the sofa and headed straight to the kitchen. She had things to do today.

**

Prompt: Gingerbread House by @fluff-cember

Tags: @helloliriels @lisbeth-kk @jamielovesjam @calaisreno @keirgreeneyes @gaylilsherlock @topsyturvy-turtely @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear

[itinerant-monk]

Finished version of the first of my in-fic fanart series for my companion InuYasha fanfic Journey 1986 which is an AU set in the 80s. In the fic, Miroku is a spiritually gifted warlock and heavy metal fanboy in a local band who probably aren't as good as they think they are. But hey, like Def Leppard said: It's better to burn out than fade away.

Now to work on the next few introduction pictures.

[padfootastic]

hello! i am back with yet another…thing. thank u for the tag @lovelymasks <3 (i realised, upon second reading, that this was supposed to be a sunday snippet but i’m an idiot n therefore this is now a saturday snippet mwuah)

I think you should go to a Healer, Sirius. 

Why, he’d asked, flippant. What was there to do with a Healer when you were a convict on the run? Besides, Sirius was wrong in a way that couldn’t be made right. He was past the point of return. Healers would’ve barely known what to do with him before Azkaban, let alone in the condition he was in now. 

Because you look like a stiff wind will blow you over, Harry’d answered, though the answering flippancy didn’t quite land the way he intended because what Sirius heard was ‘Because I don't want to lose anyone else.’ 

What Harry didn't say, and Sirius didn’t want to hear, was ‘Because I can’t lose another parent.’

He quietly acquiesced after that. The trembling, hopeful smile growing on his godson’s face was enough to wipe away all apprehensions after that. 

Until now, when Harry was at Hogwarts, and he was second guessing this whole business. 

Did he really need a Healer, like, really?

One look at the mirror in front of him gave him a solid, sturdy answer. 

He was dressed in his old rags and it was a testament to the conditions of Azkaban that clothes from when he was younger, before hitting his final growth spurts, were barely just fitting him now. Sirius’ back was almost constantly bent these days--all days spent curled up in a ball seemed to have reshaped his skeletal structure, who knew--each vertebrae gaining a distinct notch in the column of his skin. His stomach was a fascinating blend of too small and too bloated. He couldn’t keep anything down, but he wasn’t able to eat much either. A mystery for the ages. 

Less said about his face, the better. Sirius wasn’t vain, never had any reason to be, but there was a certain…pride he’d maintained, a level of outward appearance that was considered bare minimum for a Black, a conditioning he’d never managed to shake off. 

It was that conditioning itching at him now, turning him away from any reflective surface before he could see his distorted features, grotesque and inhuman, staring back at him. 

And ultimately, it was that, he realised with a shameful sort of guilt, that pushed him to see a Healer. Not his godson’s pleading look, not concern for his wellbeing--but leftovers from an upbringing that he hated, his mother’s words he couldn’t stop hearing, his father’s sharp commands. 

Ultimately, it was his blood that made him give in, as it always did. 

further tagging @jmagnabo92 @soopsiedaisies @groundzero-v 💜

[bcolfanfic]

fyi ignoring that i have my anons off on main and sending gossipy or snarky things here unrelated to mota or mota fic is an instant block. thanks!

[toomanyhyperfixations]

Imagine that Molly becomes so depressed and lonely after losing Scratch that she eventually "gives up the ghost" the same way he did. When Scratch eventually comes back, he has to help bring her back to life the same way she did for him.

[venisonsteak403]

The Epithet on drugs saga or: A really weird epithet erased comic: The First act: Pt4 aka: the end of the First act

[fruitzbat]

user subs on ao3 are so funny. every time I post something, two people get a ping in their inbox that informs them that the monsterfucker lesbian is monsterfucker lesbianing again. perfect. no notes.

[midnight-els]

I have been BUSY at the fic factory the past couple of weeks. This one, written for @sparkleplatypuswriter at their suggestion, was a joy and a challenge to write, and I'm pretty pleased with it.

where the spirit meets the bone (5205 words) by elselsels Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: For All Mankind (TV 2019) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Molly Cobb/Margo Madison Characters: Molly Cobb, Margo Madison Additional Tags: feelings and sex ft. margo's fold out office bed, Established Relationship, Post-Season/Series 02 Summary: Molly tells Margo about her glaucoma.

[tornrose24]

She felt like she had seen the dull man before, even though she swore that she never saw him that often. But it was mainly his face that was giving her strong deja vu. What was it about his face that looked familiar to her?

-Or-

What if Molly was a bit more attentive in regards to a certain gloomy citizen having a face that looked identical to Scratch’s?

[iobsessoverfictionalmen]

Preview of Discovering the Past

Years ago, Severus Snape made a mistake. He has since spent a lot of time trying to forget about that particular mistake.

In the summer of Harry Potter's fifth year after his trial at the ministry, a picture that Harry has never seen before prompts him to ask questions about someone from his godfather's past.

Then Remus Lupin arrives with a mysterious book called The Lost Hero and Severus can no longer hide from the mistake he made right before his graduation from Hogwarts.

[kindahoping4forever]

Any recommendations on some good 5sos fics/one shots? I’ve been struggling to find new works that are good.

I don't have much to point you to in the land of x reader fic (the writers I'm familiar with seem to largely be on hiatus) but if you're interested in consistently active and consistently brilliant slash authors, in my mind you can never go wrong with the works of @burstingsunrise (galacticsugar on ao3) or @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue on ao3) 💙

[gregorovitch-adler]

Hello! Back with a new fic.

Fandom- BBC Sherlock

Pairing- Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Molly Hooper/Jim Moriarty

Words- 9k

Rating- M

Warning- Graphic Depiction of Violence

Title- The Spider

Summary-

A certain consulting detective had caught Jim's eye for a long time now. How was Jim supposed to get his attention? More importantly, how was Jim supposed to meet him in person?

Jim was trying to figure this out.

Author- Gregorovitch on AO3

I hope you like this! Check it out. 😊

Edit: The challenge for the month of May, i.e., "Spider".

@sherlockchallenge

[mitsuki91]

Back on my hp new gen dead dove... I translate the chapter where all started. The first idea.

Please please please READ THE TAGS AND TW! I will not consider myself guilty if you read something you don't want to.

The hunter

Summary:

Molly stood for a few moments staring at the empty door, wondering about her cousin.

Why was Rose always so dull and indifferent? Could it be that she didn't really care what others thought of her?

Did she, too, harbor unmentionable secrets?

Link:

[urhoneycombwitch]

roommate!Eddie Munson x roommate!Reader

foreword: have u ever had a buddy so good you jack off with him <3 roommate!Eddie x reader fic for ya. link to roommate!Eddie mlist here

cw: drug mention, R wears a bra, has breasts (implied to be large enough to “spill”) + V, no pronouns used only petnames, nipple play, R is queer (talks about Molly Ringwald in a sexual nature <3), praise kink, mutual masturbation, but as friends, we’re all normal here okay, we Do Not talk about our hidden feelings in this one soz

wc: 2.3k

___

An unfortunate shift of the pillows supporting your body pulls you from the depths of sleep, consciousness surfacing, breaching with a soft huffy groan. 

Waking up on a normal day is hard enough. Waking from a good dream, one where someone’s head was between your legs and everything was swelling lush with heat? Now that’s torture. 

You burrow the cold side of your face under the covers, eyes still screwed shut in defiance of being awoken before the dream could pay off. There’s a heartbeat pounding near the apex of your thighs; with one leg stretched out and the other draped around the curve of your body pillow, your hips roll forward automatically, seeking friction.

The soaked front of your underwear drags against the pillow’s seam, catching your clit on the next glide of your hips. Another soft moan, breath fanning from your parted lips. If you can stay in this grey area of sleep and waking, maybe the horniness will swallow your mind back to the dream…

When someone’s hand brushes your bare shoulder, your movements freeze. Goosebumps prickling in the palm-owner’s wake, you blink against the morning light pouring in through your bedroom window and try to orient yourself.

Your head is nestled in the curve of someone’s neck, left arm tucked secure around their chest. Leg hitched over their waist, cotton boxers band digging at the plush of your thigh- something else solid and warm trapped against their stomach.

A snuffle from your human body pillow, and the waking world hits you sideways, all at once- Eddie. You’d fallen asleep with Eddie last night, after helping him play-test a new hybrid strain and dancing to records all evening, until you both collapsed in a heap of giggles. In your bed. 

Which means that you’ve been humping Eddie’s leg in your sleep. And the thick length trapped under your thigh belongs to him, too. 

Before you can even fully process or think up an escape plan holding the least amount of embarrassment for you both, Eddie’s stretching the arm that isn’t cupping your shoulder up and out with a long yawn. 

His hips shift, pressing himself into your leg unintentionally, and you can feel the moan that rumbles through his body- at your ear, vibrating under your hand on his bare chest. Eddie mumbles something incoherent and sleep-addled, pulling you in closer, nosing at the crown of your head.

“Uh-” your voice comes out half-squeak, half-croak, not fully pushing off Eddie but keeping your frame tight enough to roll away at a moment’s notice. “H-hey.”

Eddie’s palm smooths down the plane of your upper back, stopping at the wide band of your bra. He makes another noise, this time a bit less sleepy- and then he, too, freezes, all those points of contact along the length of your own body stiffening, muscles tensed with realization. 

“Oh, fuck. Shit.”

Eddie’s voice is like rocks on pavement, three shades of gravelly, really not helping your whole ‘wet as a river’ situation, one that he can probably feel leaking onto his bare leg at this point. He doesn’t immediately roll away, though; he remains in that freeze-mode, tense and poised, holding you against the span of his side still.

Well. As frozen as one can be with a throbbing case of morning wood.

“I guess we… fell asleep,” you say, carefully, adopting the same cat-like stillness, the pause before a big leap. “Sorry-”

“You’re sorry? I’m sorry. Jesus.” Eddie uses the hand that’s not cradling your shoulder to scrub down his face. This close, nestled into his neck, you can feel his loose hair tickling your cheek, the light scratch of his day-old stubble against your forehead when he speaks. “I’m gonna… go take care of this. And then maybe. Breakfast? Christ. Can’t think. All my blood’s elsewhere right now.”

You breathe a chuckle. His arm is still wrapped around you. 

“Yeah. Okay. Or you could just- take care of it. Here, I mean. With me.”

Eddie’s breath stops, actually stops, then stutters back into steady rhythm under your hand. “...yeah?”

He sounds unsure but curious, excitement bleeding into the edges of that one word as your thumb sweeps across the spot where his ribcage meets. “Yeah. Be doing me a favor, too- I was kind of in the middle of a… a good dream. Prob’ly me that woke you up, anyways.”

Eddie’s hand drops from your shoulder, slithers back to his own space, disrupting your head rest briefly- until you realize he’s doing it to make enough room for you both to stretch out flat (on your mattress that was barely designed for one full-grown person). 

“A good dream,” Eddie parrots, as you both re-situate under the thin cover of your floral-patterned top sheet. Shoulder to shoulder, skimming the heat from each other’s bare skin as you stare resolutely at the ceiling, there’s a frizzy mass of black hair in your periphery. A hint of a smile in Eddie’s voice as he asks, “What were you dreamin’ about?”

You can feel the rippling shift of his bicep as his arm moves, hand sliding unseen beneath the sheets- a sharp inhale as his hand finds purchase over the bulge in his boxers. 

In response, your own hand follows the contoured path to the spot below your navel, toying with the band of your panties before slipping underneath. Cupping yourself, feeling the heated slick coat your fingers before dragging it back up to rest your middle against the beating pulse of your clit- “Ah- um. Was dreamin’ about. Uh. Molly Ringwald.”

A few days from your latest John Hughes marathon, it’s the first feasible famous person that comes to mind. Luckily, Eddie just laughs, in a stilted gasp when his fist finds his aching cock- “Oh, fuck- yeah? Redheads do it for you these days?”

“Uh huh.” Maybe if you keep the focus on someone else, you’ll both be able to come out of this event unscathed. Walk away with your hands clean- er. Well. Nope. 

A better analogy is gonna have to wait, because your abdomen’s tightening with each pass of your wet finger over your clit, pleasure licking and sparking, the usual slow-build to orgasm forming with shocking rapidity.

“What was she doing?” Eddie, sounding strained and strung-out already (really makes you wonder how long you’d actually been using each other, in sleep, grinding and working the other person up), hand moving in long strokes- “In your dream, I mean. Licking you out? Did she use fingers?”

It’s not like you haven’t heard Eddie’s dirty talk before- in fact, you helped cultivate it, years ago when he was nervous for a third date and wanted some advice. You’ve coached him on sex techniques, he’s given his own expertise, you’ve both appraised the other's nudes, for christ’s sake- this is just a natural extension of your friendship. Your closeness. 

Eddie’s feeling awfully close, now, his arm bumping against yours with each pass of his fist over his dick, your leg periodically grazing the downy hair of his shin as your hips jolt upwards, into the electricity stemming from the pad of your finger. 

Choking on your words around a bright surge of pleasure- “Y- yeah. Her mouth. Fingers. All of it.”

“Fuck.” Eddie’s form lurches, doing a half-crunch forwards- risking a glance, you catch a glimpse of the sweat beading at his temples, the dark slant of his brow in concentration, jaw working through the grit of his teeth- “Why don’t you use some fingers, then.”

Like he’s got you under some sort of command spell (because you’re not touching the alternatives with a ten-foot pole), you obey, middle and ring fingers curling into the tight channel of your cunt. There’s a spot you hit on your front wall, gummy and responsive, muscles reacting on instinct by contracting and spasming around your fingers.

You’re close already, panting, head tipped back against the bottom sheet, neck bared, eyes squeezing shut at the wave of pleasure that begins to pulse insistently. “I’m- fuck, Eddie. Keep talking, please-”

“So good,” Eddie says, almost funny in how quick he is to interrupt your pleading. “So good for me. Sound so wet, too, bet you’re soaking…”

You are, in fact, rivulets of slick joining into one just under the globes of your ass, cooling and sticky, a bit uncomfortable but since it’s laundry day and you feel this good you can’t really bring yourself to care.

A half-gasp whimper as you writhe your pelvis up, again, chasing that edge, tantalizingly close, the wet noises from your weeping cunt and plunging fingers spurring Eddie on.

“That’s it, baby.” He’s encouraging even in his own heady fog of pleasure (must’ve had a good sex-talk coach), voice low and rough at your ear as he drops his chin to get closer. “Tell me what you need, hm? Lemme get you there.”

“Need you- you, to…” Frustrated by your lack of breath, in lieu of communicating with words you slide your fingers from yourself, seeking Eddie’s hand before you can overthink the action. You leave a trail of slick against his hip bone, and Eddie releases himself to give you his hand- moaning, cock twitching, as you coat your own heated wetness over his dry palm. 

This time, when you both get your hands back on yourselves, it’s with a tandem whine, Eddie’s ending with a hiss through teeth- “Fuck. Fuck, yes. So wet. So good.”

“Yeah?” Like you never left, your pussy molds easily to the shape of your three fingers again. Your other hand leaves your side to paw at your clothed breast, nipples peaking through the lace. “I gotta- I’m gonna take my bra off. Please.”

You don’t actually wait for permission, but Eddie gives it anyways as you slide the cups down, babbling encouragement- “Shit, sweetheart, yeah. Whatever you gotta do. So good for me, tellin’ me what you need. Good job.”

One day, you’re gonna regret telling Eddie you get off on praise, but not today; with one nipple pinched firmly between thumb and forefinger, your other breast spills to the side, resting against Eddie’s upper arm.

He groans, from his toes, fist slipping over his cock with ease thanks to your contribution. The sounds filling your small room are obscene, sex-dipped moans and glossy wet hand movements all reaching a crescendo as both your hips jerk up at the same time.

Keeping the same pace against your clit as Eddie’s keeping on his dick, the spark of pleasure has turned into a roar that swims up to your ears, a white-out of an orgasm fast approaching each time the heel of your palm slams into your clit. 

“Eddie- jesus, Eddie- Eddie Eddie Eddie-”

You’d feel sheepish about how desperate you sound if Eddie wasn’t matching your energy two-fold. His lanky frame thrashes when your speech devolves into a repetition of his name, keening as his fist staves off tipping over the edge with a tight ring at the base of his cock- “That’s it, baby, y’can do it, angel. Come on. Come with me. Please, please-”

With a final cruel twist to your breast, you come undone, orgasm spooling heat throughout your whole system, Eddie’s name unraveling in a long cry. Eddie follows you, fucking up into his fist, ropes of cum shooting to the top of the sheets tent he’d made, hunching against the spasms crawling up his abdomen. 

You ride the last of your orgasm out on the stretch of three fingers, releasing your nipple when the pressure turns to a twinge of pain. Under the covers, your bare chest heaves around the stretched elastic band of your shoved-down bra; with shaky, uncoordinated hands, you reach behind and beneath yourself to undo the hooks, flinging the offending clothing in the general direction of your hamper.

Eddie chuckles, breathless, bellows of his ribs nudging your forearm as he sinks back into his (your) pillow. “Christ. Good thing it’s laundry day.”

There’s no room for shame, no ounce of you that wants to dwell on what this could mean, right now- although there’ll be plenty of time for that later. As it stands, you’re both swathed in a quiet, post-sex bliss, neither wanting to disturb the peace. 

In a dreamy haze, you take note of little things- the drag of Eddie’s pinky against the back of your hand. The glint of his rings stored in a neat line atop your nearby dresser. A block of mid-morning sunshine from the window cast over the bed, prickling at your legs with warmth.

After a few minutes of this, Eddie sits up, mumbling apologies when you snatch the sheets to keep yourself covered. “You want first shower?”

He looks at you over his shoulder, down the lovely arc of his nose, brown eyes tender and staying on you for a beat too long. Squirming under his gaze, you find anywhere else to look (other than the pale slope of his back, smattered and dotted with freckles), shaking your head. “Nope. All yours.”

You flick your interest back to the ceiling as Eddie pulls up his boxers, grimacing at the mess he’s made of your sheets; before leaving, he bends to scoop up your tossed bra, snapping his own underwear to emphasize- “I’ll start this load before showering, then I’ll come back for your bedding.”

At your nod, Eddie leaves to clank around in the laundry closet; then there’s a rusty squeak of the shower handle, a subsequent rush of water, and Eddie’s pleasant husky humming floats down the hall through the open doors. 

You roll onto your front with a contented sigh, burying your nose in the pillow Eddie was just lying on- it smells like him, now, smoky and spicy and familiar. 

You spend the rest of his shower time coming up with a good excuse to save this pillowcase from being washed.

___

for more roommate!Eddie content: masterlist