#as for ashton pov scenes

[daydadahlias]

I know the fic isn’t even over yet but js if you ever wanted to write some of mim from ash’s POV 👀 I would be tuning in 👀

lol let’s finish this version first and then talk!!!

[dragonflame36]

I love the CR community but my god y’all take shit way to seriously. The whole Laudna being worried about Imogen thing was clearly just a joke, Laudna wasn’t acting like serious Laudna she was acting like old chaotic Laudna. The amount of people I’ve seen be oh my god this is unhealthy, she doesn’t trust Ashton who’s next. If you rewatch last nights episode you’d see Marisha didn’t know they left and didn’t know where they were going or what they were doing.

To me Marisha was role playing herself missing all that information that’s it. So from Laudna’s POV Ashton and Imogen just disappeared and she doesn’t know where they went or even knew they were leaving. Genuinely it’s not that serious, I’d like to remind all you this is is a game and this is IMPROV not everything is some elaborate scene with tons of subtext some of it is just comedy and stuff they do for fun.

Also Laudna isn’t being any different towards Imogen, she’s always been extremely protective flash back to her threatening Ashton if anything happened to her and flash back again when she said she’d murder literally everyone if something happened to Imogen. Their relationship is really no different at all and some of y’all are just being weird and trying to find weird things where there is none.

There is only so much time and the amount of people going OMG no one’s talking, like yes not everything will be talked about, having a 5 hour session of nothing but 1-1’s would be fun for us the cast not so much. They’ve only been reunited for really like 5 episodes and 3 of those have had 2 hour long combat encounters there has been no time really for insanely long conversations. We’ll get some conversations eventually but y’all got to be fucking patient.

Lastly Marisha didn’t get this relationship sprung on her Matt confirmed on talks that Marisha and Laura have discussed Imogen and Laudna’s relationship. Matt said Marisha was shocked it happened then and there because she didn’t know it was coming but Matt even said Marisha probably knew about Imogen’s feelings so can we please also put that to bed that Marisha has had zero idea about a possible Imogen/Laudna romance.

[good-ol-lisa]

Fics I wanna see but are too lazy to write: a documentation

Bayview Trio spending one last night with each other before Maeve goes to Peru

Addy and Maeve antics in Peru

Knox + Phoebe directly after the the rooftop scene in oouib (even though oouib isn’t actually canon 😚😆)

Bayview Crew go to see the barbie movie

Bayview Four Movie night

Knox tells Maeve that he’s in love with Phoebe (she knows)

Luis and Knox man-bonding

Rojas family dinner with Nate and Luis

Phoebe goes to therapy (pls girl get some help)

Owen and Lucas meet and become besties

Just an entire novel about the rest of Cooper and Kris’s life together

Bayview Four graduation

Bayview Trio prom!

Nonny and Phoebe watching the Bachelor

Knox and Maeve babysitting (it would go so bad)

Luis’s culinary adventures in France

Nate’s dad making best friends with Maeve, Knox and Phoebe throughout the course of their senior year

A fic from stan’s pov.

Bayview Trio vacation (+Luis)

Krisper + Knoxbe double date (so cute)

Natewyn + Maevis double date (chaos)

Knox running to Phoebe’s apartment after finding out that Nate and Addy found her and she’s safe

Phoebe and Knox tell Owen they’re a couple

Myers/Lawton family dinner (minus Emma 😀)

Ashton’s baby shower

Seriously can’t get enough fics about Phoebe meeting Knox’s sisters (but read grace’s it’s the best)

Bayview Four group project (+Luis)

Maeve confronting Cooper about telling Luis not to ask her out

Bayview Crew road trip with Ashton driving

Bayview Crew ‘dress up as each other’ party

Bayview girls slumber parties

Phoebe and Maeve having girl talk and Knox being awkward

Iris Adelaide is introduced to her army of aunts and uncles

The first time Phoebe and Maeve got coffee after Phoebe's truth was exposed

Also can't get enough of Phoebe and Knox first date fics <333

Cooper meeting Kris's family

Phoebe and Maeve sneaking Knox into the Rojas's family home for an illegal sleepover

Luis, Phoebe, Knox, Nate and Bronwyn group hangouts while their friends are gone

Eli's first month living with the Prentiss girls (specifically, living with Addy)

Bayview Trio crying at graduation despite having the worst high school experience of all time

Feel free to add to this! :D

[whatsnewalycat]

Designated Person | Chapter 3

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 3: Puzzle Pieces

Series Summary: When posting bail for Frankie Morales, your former employer and former lover, you unwittingly designate yourself as his third party custodian during his pre-trial release. Your often tumultuous relationship with him is given a new set of rules and put to the test. Can the two of you co-exist peacefully, or will you crash and burn?

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 8.2k+

Content / Warnings: Reader POV, nannying, infant / toddler, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship, flashbacks, awkward conversations, first date, first kiss, platonic (???) cuddling, confrontation, argument

Notes: Yeeehaw hi, friends. I don't know that I've mentioned this previously, but "reader" is like mid-to-late 20's for the purposes of this story, so there's a bit of an age gap there. And there was a power imbalance with their relationship to begin with and stuff so I'm just putting that out there. This chapter gives big "Bike Scene" by Taking Back Sunday vibes if you're into that lol. That's all I have for now! Thank you for reading.

[ Tag List ] [ AO3 ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ Series Masterlist ]

Finally, it’s quiet. 

You’re not sure if it’s a full moon or what the fuck is going on, but today has been particularly hellish in the Howard household. 

The youngest two children, Ashton and Jaxson, are four and three, respectively. Which can be great when they play together, or when you find activities for the three of you to do while the oldest is at school. But then there are days like this, when neither of them want to do the same thing and both of them want your undivided attention. You can barely finish appeasing one before the other starts crying. 

To add to the chaos, when the eldest Howard child, Emmaleigh, came home from school, she promptly stomped up the stairs to her bedroom, then slammed and locked the door. As Jaxson tugged on your shirt and screeched for you to continue reading names of different species of whales pictured in his animal encyclopedia, you tried to coax her out of the room to tell you what was wrong, but she wouldn’t budge. 

On days like this, by the time Marla gets home, you’re essentially a bundle of nerves with knotted muscles. 

You take another peek into the family room, where Ashton and Jaxson are settled into the cushy microfiber sectional watching Finding Nemo. They both seem content and neither of them notice your presence, so you tiptoe up the stairs to the main level, into the kitchen. 

With a heavy sigh, peel the electric blue post-it note off the dull, cream colored vinyl countertop. The message, written in Marla’s neat, rounded hand, reads: OK to DoorDash dinner. 

“Thank fucking god,” you mutter under your breath, then pad over the dark hardwood floor to a laptop sitting open on the dining room table. As you place an order for food from a local burger joint, you mentally give thanks to Marla again. Not only will dinner from Emmaleigh’s favorite restaurant lift her spirits, but it takes a load off your mind. 

You’ve nannied for about a half a dozen families, and Marla is the most easygoing mom you’ve dealt with by far. Generally speaking, you’ve found your families with two or more children are less rigid than families with one child. You think that Marla is especially lax because she’s a single mother and, as the founder and CEO of an adult toy company, a bona fide hashtag girl boss. She knows that her children can be a handful and isn’t immune to giving in to their demands for junk food and screen time. 

Your last job, with the Morales’s, was much more structured. Angie had very specific instructions, typed up the night before and automatically emailed to you at 6am each morning. Of course, you could have pinpointed her as type A during your interview, when she pulled your resume out of a color-coded accordion file of potential candidates, followed by a pre-printed list of questions she used to jot down your responses. 

Her shiny red fingernails were long and pointed to sharp tips that clacked against the tabletop of a local coffee shop. Round, brown eyes with little flecks of gold looked up from her questionnaire to you as the interview came to a close. 

“The hours are 7 AM to 6 PM, Monday through Friday. My husband gets home at 4, but I would need you to stick around and make dinner while he helps with Sarah.”

“Oh, ok,” you nodded, frowning in confusion at the overlap. 

She leaned forward slightly, as if letting you in on a secret, and explained, “He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. I love the man but he’s useless in the kitchen.” 

You chuckled at this, grinning, “I get that a lot, actually. I just don’t usually get an extra set of hands to help me with the kids.” 

“He’ll stay out of your way, don’t worry,” she winked, then took another cursory glance at the questionnaire before telling you, “Well, you’re definitely the most qualified person I’ve interviewed. I think you’d be a great fit for us. What do you think?“ 

“Is- is that a job offer?” you stammered. After your last family’s mom was laid off a month prior, you were abruptly out of work. This was the break you desperately needed. 

Her cherry red lips curved into a disarming smile and she nodded, “But, if you need time to think about it-”

“No,” you interjected, almost a little too forcefully, then softened and added, “I’d love to.” 

Before noon on your first day working for the Morales’s, you had grown attached to Sarah. The six-month old baby had a chocolate soft serve swirl of hair right at the top of her head like a crown, and it wiggled like jell-o every time her big bobble head would sway and jostle. Her deep brown eyes were round and expressive. Whenever you had one-sided conversations with her, she'd coo and babble in response, raising or furrowing her eyebrows, like she was contributing even though she couldn’t understand a lick of what you said. 

After laying her down for a nap, as you tiptoed down the hallway away from her bedroom, a picture frame hanging on the wall caught your eye. You stopped to examine the photo of Mr. and Mrs. Morales from their wedding day.

Angelica’s pearly, knee-length dress hugged her hourglass shape. A white tulle shawl hung over her shoulders and draped down her arms, rhinestones scattered across the fabric. Her jet black hair was loosely pinned back, save for a few strands of long, wavy bangs left to frame her heart-shaped face. Her makeup was done up as fiercely as it was that morning and during your interview. Razor-point black winged eyeliner painted on behind her long, black lashes. Perfectly arched eyebrows. Her alluring lips were shiny and red, just like her fingernails.

Who you assumed to be Mr. Morales wore a fitted black suit, but no tie. He had bronzed skin and broad shoulders that pulled his posture straight. The man’s brown hair showed the beginnings of curls, his sparse facial hair trimmed close to the skin, save for a pronounced mustache. He had a strong nose and chin. His dark brown eyes and dimpled smile made your stomach flutter. 

The happy couple stood next to each other on the steps of what looked like either a church or a courthouse. Mr. Morales had one arm tucked behind his bride, whose hands were clasped around a small bouquet of white lilies. Both leaned their heads towards the other while they faced the camera and flashed the kind of practiced smile reserved for professional photographers. 

Blood rose to your cheeks when you realized you were staring at the groom and attraction was pooling between your thighs. You glanced around self-consciously, then down at the floor as you made your way to the living room. 

For the remainder of the afternoon, time worked like a garrote, twisting around your neck, tighter with each minute that drew you closer to 4:00. 

When he came home, you were participating in tummy time with Sarah. She babbled and blew spit bubbles at you, careening her wobbly baby head around to focus on your smiling face. The heavy door to the garage opened and slammed shut. Your heart skipped a beat when he ascended the stairs and looked around, doling out a polite smile and wave to you. 

“Hi there,” you greeted, then asked Sarah in baby talk, “Is that your daddy? Do you wanna go see him?” 

She cooed. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you chuckled, then rolled to your knees and propped her on your hip as you stood. 

“How was she?” he asked, tilting his head with a smile to Sarah. The dulcet baritone of his voice reverberated through your chest. You swallowed hard as you realized that he’s so much more handsome in person. 

“She was great! Woke up from a nap about an hour ago, then she ate 8 oz from her bottle. Did a little tummy time, as, um, as you can see,” you handed her off to him. As you did this, his hand slid over yours accidentally. It was rough and warm and made your stomach flip. Your heart was thudding like you had just run a marathon. 

He nodded at Sarah, copying her wide dimpled smile, then met your eyes, “Ang said you might need my help while you cook?” 

When he made eye contact with you, all the air left your lungs and your brain short-circuited. He blinked in anticipation of your response, causing you to snap out of your daze, stuttering, “Y-yeah, sorry, um- yeah,” you winced in embarrassment, “She wanted me to make dinner when you got home, said you could help with Sarah while I do that.”

When you looked back up again he was smirking at you. That did not help the state of your composure. Your face was like a heat lamp and you averted your gaze, “I can get started on that now.” 

While retreating into the kitchen, you pulled out your phone and found the recipe Mrs. Morales sent to you. He followed you into the kitchen, sans baby, heavy work boots clunking against the fake honey oak linoleum flooring. You tried to act as normal as possible when you turned to the fridge and he was already there, bending over to get a beer out of the crisper and asking, “You want one?” 

As desperately as you wanted to say yes, abso-fucking-lutey yes, it was your first day with this family, so you declined. 

“Do you drink?” he questioned further, still hanging over the open drawer in the fridge when he peered up at you. 

You nodded, “Yeah, but…” 

He fished out a second beer, then pushed the crisper closed with his foot and stepped away from the fridge, chuckling, “I think you need it.”

Teeth clenching your tongue flat, you fought the urge to tell him to shut up. You approached the open fridge and retrieved the necessary ingredients before nudging it closed with your hip, “I don’t know. I don’t want your wife to get mad at me. Um, drinking on the job and all.” 

While you told him this, he twisted the cap off of one bottle and put it on the counter next to him, then the second, which he placed on the stovetop for you. As he stepped back and leaned against the counter to face you again, he said, “I won’t tell on you, don’t worry.” 

Your heart was in your throat attempting to strangle you. You turned around and flashed a joking eye roll at him as you accepted the bottle, “Sure.”

He winked, grabbing his beer as he pushed off the counter towards the living room, calling back, “Let me know if you need anything.” 

“Um, yeah, same,” you laughed nervously. 

Frankie slams the passenger side car door shut and you put the car into drive, “How’d the meeting go?” 

His seatbelt locks in place with a click. He stretches out in the seat that’s now constantly set to his preference: slid as far back as it can go, reclined to a wide, obtuse angle. His knees settle far apart and he looks out the window, pressing his fingers to his lips as he shakes his head. 

Your nostrils flare at this annoying lack of response, but you try again, “I already ate, do you need me to stop anywhere for you?” 

He doesn’t move when he mumbles, “I’m fine, thanks.” 

You roll your eyes and turn the radio up in an attempt to dampen your irritation with his brooding. 

After arriving at home, both of you trudge inside to your separate bedrooms. You strip off your day clothes and replace them with a baggy, tie-dyed t-shirt and a pair of black cotton shorts. Your skin still feels too tight, muscles too tense for comfort. 

Fuck, you want a beer. Or a lay. Or both. Some kind of release. 

Your phone buzzes from your nightstand, so you grab it and find a new message notification from Tinder. 

> RORY:  > You free tomorrow night? 

With a grimace, you toss your phone onto your bed, then exit your bedroom to find Frankie rummaging through the fridge for something to eat. He has also made a wardrobe change into lounge wear, retiring his hat for the evening, sporting a pair of gray sweatpants and an old, weathered Metallica t-shirt. 

“Did you change out of your crabby pants, too, or are those on under your sweats?” you tease. 

He scoffs and glances over at you, “I’m not crabby.” 

“Sure you’re not,” you tiptoe past him into the living room, where you collapse onto the couch and turn the TV on. 

Flipping through Netflix for a while gives you little inspiration. The chair in the dining room groans as Frankie sits down to eat whatever he was able to find. You holler to him, “Whadda you wanna do tonight?” 

“Besides get hammered?” his response from the dining room table is muffled by the food in his mouth. 

“Obviously,” you snort.

“Mmm,” he hums, pauses for a beat, then sighs, “Fuck, I don’t know.” 

You scrunch your nose up and try to brainstorm ideas. Immediately your mind plummets into the gutter, reminding you how fucking hard he made you cum on Monday. The memory electrifies your skin and sends your heart racing in your chest.

It was so fucking reckless. 

Reckless and perverse and so fucking hot you wanted to tear your own skin off afterwards. 

Whatever the opposite of that is. 

“Do you wanna do a puzzle?” you call back to him. 

At first he snickers, “A puzzle?” But then another moment passes and he asks, “What kind of puzzle?” 

“I have a few. Let’s see,” you squint up at the shelf on your wall that’s lined with boxes of board games and puzzles, “Freddie Mercury, pandas, space, or gnomes.” 

You hear him chewing as he soaks in these options, then he says, “Freddie Mercury.” 

While he finishes eating, you clear off your coffee table and pull the box down from the shelf. 

“A thousand pieces? Goddamn,” he sits down on the floor across the table from you, dusting his hands off before sifting through the box of puzzle pieces. 

“We don’t have to finish it tonight,” you tell him as you scoop some into your hand and pick through them, “Try to find the edge pieces.” 

The two of you isolate all the jigsawed pieces with at least one flat side and spread them, shiny, printed side up across the table. As you click a few together, Frankie’s cell phone rings. 

When he pulls his phone out of his pocket, your eyes flick to the screen and see Angie’s contact photo. It’s a selfie they took together while on vacation in Australia, their smiling faces shiny with sweat and rosy from booze. Your stomach knots. 

“Hey,” Frankie answers. 

His dark eyes scan the room and meet yours. You immediately drop your gaze to the puzzle pieces and hum to yourself as you blatantly eavesdrop. 

“Yeah, does that still work for you?” 

There’s an indistinguishable soprano response from his wife. 

“Let me check,” he says to Angie, then holds the phone to his shoulder and mumbles to you, “Hey do you think you could give me a ride tomorrow morning at 10?” 

You nod without looking up at him. 

“Yeah that works,” he tells her, shortly followed by, “Ok. Yep. Love you, bye.” 

A stake plunges through your heart. 

He puts the phone back in his pocket and resumes his thorough examination of the puzzle pieces, eventually mumbling, “Thank you, by the way. For giving me a ride.” 

“Sure,” you glance up and flash him a quick smile. When you turn your attention back to the puzzle, you ask, “Are you excited to see Sarah?” 

“Yeah,” his voice is lifted and warm, and you can tell he’s smiling, “Fuck, I miss her so much.”

What you want to say is I do too, because it’s the truth. That attachment you had to her never really went away. But it seems pointless. 

“Are you guys doing anything or just sticking around the house?” you ask. 

“We’re gonna go to the zoo, then Ang is gonna throw something together for dinner,” he clicks two puzzle pieces together and hums thoughtfully to himself. 

“Is she still super into penguins?” 

He chuckles, “Yeah. Last time me and Ang took her, she started screaming every time we tried to leave the exhibit.” 

You laugh and shake your head, “Every goddamn time. I always had to bribe her with ice cream.”

“She’s so stubborn,” he grins and sits up on his knees to lean over the puzzle and get a closer look, “Just like her mom.” 

A weight pulls at your stomach. You feel obligated to ask, so you do, “How are things with you and her mom?” 

He’s quiet as he contemplates this, staring at the shiny pieces, thrumming his fingers against the table. With a sigh, he answers, “I don’t know.” 

You try to keep your breaths metered, as to not give away the thudding in your chest. Adrenaline-spiked blood whooshes in your ears. 

Frankie continues, “Things were better when I got arrested, but, you know…” 

Your eyebrow raises on its own accord, but you don’t comment. If things were better, why was he doing blow and driving drunk? Nope, none of your fucking business. 

Not my chair, not my problem. 

“I’m kind of nervous about it, actually,” he admits quietly, “Spending time with her and all that. I really want things to work.”

“Why?” your mouth asks before your brain can tell you to shut the fuck up. 

“She’s my wife. And- and the mother of my child,” he scoffs and shakes his head, “I love her.” 

The sharpness in his tone drives the stake in your heart down further. Your eyes flick to his and see that he’s studying your face, stare hardened to steel. Those three words eat away at you. What he said was: I love her. But you know what he wanted to say was: I love her. 

You nod in response, dropping your gaze back to the puzzle. Your body moves autonomously, clicking a few puzzle pieces together, scanning for matching patterns, while your mind plays it over and over. 

I love her. 

I love her. 

I love her. 

Static buzzes in your chest. Your throat feels tight, so you clear it, then tell him, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to pick you up afterwards.” 

“Why not?”

“I have a date,” you inform him, glancing up to gauge his reaction. 

“Oh,” he murmurs, then frowns, “That shouldn’t be a problem.” 

Silence settles over the two of you. It’s just the scrape and click of puzzle pieces across the tabletop and hums of contemplation. You notice the way he seems to get buried in his thoughts, pressing his fingers to his lips, gnashing his jaw back and forth. A sick satisfaction roils inside you. 

You decide to call it a night when the edge of the puzzle is put together. When you sink into your bed, you open Tinder and send a response to Rory. 

< ME: < Definitely. What’re you thinking? 

The message is opened immediately, and he responds. 

> RORY:  > Wanna get dinner? 

< ME: < Yes please :)

> RORY:  > Pick you up at 6? 

< ME: < It's a date

The BBQ place Rory takes you to is busy and loud, its high ceilings making plenty of space for every noise to ricochet off the wood paneled walls down into your eardrums. You’re seated across from him, resting your chin in your palms, elbows pressing into the wobbly table top as you listen to him talk about his job as a personal trainer. When you shift in your seat, your legs stick to the black vinyl upholstery, and you wince at the sensation.

Your eyes trail his rigid biceps that pull his t-shirt sleeves taught. A faded black tribal tattoo peaks out from beneath the white fabric. From the shirtless pictures on his Tinder, you happen to know he has a whole collection of douchey tattoos lining his sun-tanned, muscular body, but you might be willing to overlook that. 

You mark his tattoos down in the “things you don’t like” column in your brain. 

Rory is conventionally attractive in a very masculine way, his face all hard angles with a dimpled, squared off jaw. Straight, white teeth are almost always visible behind the peak of his thin, bow-shaped lips.

He seems like the kind of person that has a standing appointment with a hairdresser that knows exactly how to trim his hair into a close, neat cut without him giving instructions. You’re willing to bet he takes a shower at exactly 6 AM every day, then applies just enough product to make his golden brown hair stand at attention. He probably food preps and has like six hard boiled eggs or something equally rich in protein for breakfast each morning. 

Every part of him seems disciplined and routine. Stable. You mark that down in the “things you like” column. 

When he asks you what you do for a living, you tell him, and he asks how you got into the nannying business. 

“Growing up, I took care of my younger siblings all the time. I’d babysit for the neighbors and stuff, too. It just naturally evolved after I graduated high school,” you tell him, meeting his stunning hazel eyes with an easy smile.

“Do you have a big family?” he crosses his arms on the table and leans in. The off-kilter base of the table responds, shifting towards him. 

You nod, “I have an older brother and three little sisters. My brother, Ben, is two years older than me. My sister, Marlene, is four years younger. Then there’s Leah, who was born two years later. And Rachel is the baby, who came a year after Leah.” 

“Five kids,” he marvels, “Wow. No wonder you had to help out so much.” 

You smile politely at this, although you know your role as their caregiver had more to do with your parents’ active social calendar than the sheer number of children. 

“Do you want kids?” Rory inquires, his brow furrowing in a way that tells you the answer is important to him. 

“Oh, definitely,” you respond, take a sip of your water, then continue, “I don’t know about five, that seems like overkill, but more than one for sure.” 

This seems to please him. His lips curl into a smile. 

“What about you? Do you have any siblings? Want any kids?” you stab the ice in your glass of water with the straw, then return your eyes to his. 

“Two brothers. I’m the middle child,” he rubs his hands together and smirks, “And, yes, kids are no doubt a priority for me.” 

You smile and nod in acknowledgment. Mark it down in the “things you like” column. 

His eyes linger on yours and you feel blood rush to your cheeks. The waitress appears with two trays of food, placing them on the table. As you eat, you find out that Rory was born and raised close to where you were, in another coastal town off the Gulf of Mexico. He was transferred to Kissimmee about two years ago as part of a job promotion. 

“What brought you here?” he questions, then picks up the ribs on his tray and tears a chunk of meat off the bone. 

You shake your head, “Moved here with my ex-boyfriend. He was from the area originally. I needed to get the fuck out of my hometown, so he suggested moving here.” 

You kick yourself for mentioning your self-exile from Ruskin, and hope to god he doesn’t ask why you needed to leave. First dates are no place to recount the ruthless campaign ran against you until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

“What happened with him?” 

A sigh of relief expands your lungs. You answer, “Fell in love with his high school sweetheart.” 

“Wow, that blows,” he frowns, “Been there. Cheated on. It feels terrible.” 

“That it does,” you mutter, pushing kernels of corn around the white plastic bowl on your tray, “He told me about it when it happened, at least. And they’re really happy together. Got married and had kids and all that.”

“No offense, but he’s still an idiot,” he declares with conviction, “I mean, who would do that to someone as gorgeous as you? Besides, cheaters are all scum.”

The compliment warms your insides. You smile demurely and bat your eyelashes at him outwardly, while inwardly you make a mental note to never mention your past with Frankie to him. 

After you finish eating, Rory pays the check and drives you back to your house. The living room is illuminated through the window facing the street. When he puts the car in park, he glances up at it and frowns, “Do you live with someone?” 

“Yeah,” you chuckle nervously, “I have a roommate. They must’ve come home while we were out.” 

“Can I walk you to your door?” His voice is low and sultry. 

You bite your bottom lip and nod. 

He tells you to stay put as he comes around the car to open your door for you. As you walk side-by-side up the cracked sidewalk that leads your house, his hand finds the small of your back. There’s a nervous energy pulsing through your veins, thickening with each step. 

When you reach the foot of your porch steps, he turns to you, meeting your gaze and holding it, “I had a really good time tonight.” 

You face him, and his hand slides to your waist. A tingle spreads across your chest and heats your cheeks, “So did I.” 

His eyes flick to your lips. He leans in. You mirror the movement, eyelids fluttering closed as his lips meet yours. He tastes like peppermint and smells like conifer trees. The kiss is mechanical and his hand is stiff at your waist. It doesn’t awaken anything hungry within you, but it’s nice. 

When you pull away, you look up at him through your eyelashes, “Goodnight, Rory.” 

“Goodnight,” he smiles wide, big white teeth taking up half his face. 

When you open the front door and step inside, Frankie is mid-movement, sitting down on the couch. 

“Hey,” you call as you lean against the closed door and pull off your wedge sandals. 

“Hi,” he responds, sitting up straight. 

It amazes you how much the one syllable says. The slightly panicked upward inflection, the tensing of his shoulders, how out-of-breath he seems. He rests his elbows on his knees and leans forward, hands clasped together, knuckles white.

You drop your purse on the ground, “You getting anywhere on the puzzle?” 

He hums and nods, “I’ve assembled quite a few mustaches.” 

You tiptoe across the carpet and kneel down opposite him, scanning the clumps of puzzle that he’s managed to complete. It entrances you immediately, your fingers and brain working in tandem, making the world fade into the background. Some time passes before you feel Frankie staring at you. You look up at him and meet his eyes, “What?” 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head and smirks. 

You blink at him and raise your eyebrows, “Bullshit.” 

His smirk breaks out into a smile that tugs at your heart, the way his eyes crinkle into crescents and his cheeks dimple. He drops his gaze to the table and taps his lips, then shrugs, “You just look really nice. That dress was a good choice.” 

“Thanks,” you mutter, returning your attention to the puzzle, ignoring the flutter in your chest. 

“How was your date?” he asks, trying to seem disinterested, even though his shoulders hunch up to his ears and his jaw clenches. 

“So good. I think for our next date, we’ll get married,” you tease, glancing up to flash him an amused smile. 

“Hilarious,” he rolls his eyes. His knee starts bouncing and he inquires, “Have you been seeing him for a while or is this a… recent development?” 

“It was literally our first date,” you raise an eyebrow at him, then shrug, “He was nice, though. We have a lot in common. I’ll probably see him again.” 

He shifts in his seat, but says nothing, so you don’t say anything, either. You find a few more puzzle pieces that correspond and click them together. 

“How was the zoo?” you inquire, looking up to search his face, noting his far-away eyes and pouting lips. 

“Good,” he answers with strained positivity, “We’re gonna do something next Saturday. Not sure what yet.” 

“That’s good,” you tell him. Your voice is dripping with an overly ripe kind of sweetness that seems disingenuous and repulsive. By the way he blinks up at you with a droopy, blank expression, you’re certain he senses it, too. Blood rises to your face and you bite down on your tongue, pulsing your teeth against the soft muscle, savoring the sharp pain the motion causes.

You take a deep breath in, exhaling through slack lips that make a buzzing pbpbpbp sound, then ask, “What do you wanna do for dinner tomorrow?” 

He frowns, “Whatever you want, I don’t care.” 

“Good talk,” you mutter under your breath, then rise to your feet, “Do you need to use the bathroom before I take a shower?” 

Frankie shakes his head without looking up from the puzzle. His fingers press against the pillowy flesh of his lips. You feel an urge to scream at him, to push his buttons somehow, anything just to get him to react, but you drop it. 

Once you’ve showered and changed into comfier clothing, you return to the living room and find Frankie laying on his side, curled up on the couch, a pillow wedged between his cheek and his hands. Jungle Boogie by Kool & The Gang is playing behind the opening credits of Pulp Fiction on the TV. You approach with caution, “Do you mind if I join you?” 

“Not at all,” he answers and goes to sit up. 

“You can stay there, it’s fine,” you tell him. He relaxes back into his previous position as you grab a blanket and pillow from a wicker basket next to the TV, “Want a blankie?” 

“Fuck yeah.” 

His enthusiastic response brings a smile to your face. You grab another blanket and drape it over his body before settling into the opposite end of the couch and stretching out. He seems stiff when you pile your legs on his over the middle cushion, so you pull your knees up a little further, closer to your body. 

“I wanna ask you a question but I want you to know it’s ok to say no,” he says in a somber voice. Your heart immediately starts sprinting. 

“What?” you furrow your brow and look over to meet his eyes, but he’s staring at the TV with a blank expression. 

“Will you cuddle with me?”

Your stomach flips upside down. You search his face in question, unsure what to say. No, probably. The two of you literally just had a conversation about keeping your relationship platonic less than a week ago. What the fuck? 

He finally glances at you and sees the confusion. His forehead creases and his foot starts bouncing under your calf. 

He elaborates, “I’m freaking out right now and I think it would help. No funny business, though, I swear to god. I just…”

As he trails off, his eyebrows part and face softens. He shakes his head like he can’t explain it further. His eyes are shiny in the light of the TV and he looks like he’s tearing up. You’ve never seen him cry. But the panic can do weird things. You’re well acquainted with the panic, unfortunately. 

You swallow hard and nod, “Y-yeah, that’s fine.” 

There’s a momentary ruckus while the two of you scoot and reconfigure. Your back settles against his chest and one of his arms tucks under your cheek. The other wraps around your belly, drawing you close, “You comfy?”

“Yeah,” you answer. 

“Are you sure this is ok?” he asks. His voice is low and shaky. It vibrates against your skin and sinks down into the marrow of your bones. If you’re still enough, and keep your breaths shallow enough, you can feel his bass drum heart pounding in his chest at a bpm familiar to you. 

“Yeah, it’s fine, Frankie,” you assure him, enveloping his hand at your belly with your own. He takes a deep breath and the exhale tickles your ear.

On the TV, Jules Winnfield and Vincent Vega are chatting about hash, but you can barely pay attention. 

Frankie’s warmth is a sedative. It always has been. Much to your disdain, you hope the feeling is mutual. And you think it could be, because his thudding heart seems to slow. His body relaxes against yours. 

And it’s so unfair how he can make you feel like this. How, one second he makes you so nervous you could puke, or so frustrated you want to scream in his face, then the next he’s holding you and it’s like your soul is finally resting here with his. 

You think about your date with Rory. He was a gentleman and seems like he’s stable and nice enough. The kiss was fine, good even, but not electric. And that’s fine, because in your experience, first kisses are almost always lackluster. 

Your first kiss with Frankie was like lightning, though. 

Months passed working for the Morales family and you came to be more comfortable with Frankie being around while you cooked dinner. Your conversations were mostly functional, about Sarah or things around their house. But you found him charming and your crush only grew more intense. 

Sometimes you would watch Sarah on Saturday nights so he and Angie could go out on a date. One of these Saturdays, they came home at 1 AM, and Angie was hammered. 

She stumbled up the stairs and plopped down on the couch next to you. Her black hair was mussed and she was all giggly. She said something in Spanish to Frankie, and turned to you, “Do you wan’ chicken strips?” 

“You- you don’t have to feed me, that’s ok, Mrs. Morales-” you stammered, going to stand up and get ready to leave.

“Oh hun, call me Angie, I’m begging you,” she grabbed your arm, “And stay, please! Chicken strips! Come on, hang out with me.” 

“Um…” You glanced around to gauge Frankie’s reaction, but he was in the kitchen preheating the oven, so you nodded, “Sure, ok.” 

“Yay!” Angie clapped, then sprawled out on the couch and propped her heels up on your leg, “Do me a favor, hun, take these off for me?” 

You chuckled and examined the shiny silver clasp of her stilettos, working to undo the strap across her foot as she asked, “So what’s your deal, are you single, do you have a boyfriend, girlfriend, what?” 

“Ang, come on,” Frankie chided from the kitchen as he pulled a few beers from the fridge. 

“What? I’m just asking!” she scoffed at him, then tilted her head at you with a hazy drunk smile, waiting for you to answer. 

You managed to unclasp her shoes, despite her wiggling, and they thudded to the floor one by one.  

Frankie walked past, handing an open beer bottle to you, then another to her, before sitting down on the loveseat. He kept glancing over at you and Angie, then up at the TV, which was playing King of the Hill. 

“I’m single, yeah,” you sighed and took a sip of beer, “Unfortunately.” 

“Hey, nothing wrong with that, girlie. Enjoy it while you still can.” Angie said, then set her full beer bottle on the ground and groaned, “Oh my god I have to get out of this fucking dress. I’ll be back, don’t go anywhere.” 

She marched off into their bedroom, swaying gently as she walked. This was all very amusing to you because you had never seen her be anything but intimidatingly perfect. 

You pulled out your phone and scrolled for a bit, sipping at your beer while waiting for her. Every once in a while, you found yourself looking over at Frankie, who was picking at the label on his beer bottle with his eyes glued to the TV. 

A shrill beep from the oven indicated it was preheated. He rose to his feet and walked down the hallway to their bedroom. You heard the click of the door closing, then he returned to the living room and asked, “She’s passed out, do you really want chicken strips?” 

“No, not really,” you chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear and dropping your gaze to your beer bottle. 

“And you don’t have to stay or anything like that, no pressure,” he advised. 

You glanced up at him and got caught in his dark, warm eyes for a moment before you shook your head, “No, I’ll stay and finish this, if that’s ok.” 

“Of course, make yourself at home,” he assured you with an easy smile, then sat down in the middle of the couch, just a foot away from you. 

And you fucking knew what you were doing by staying. That’s the worst part. Attraction hung thick in the air between your bodies. It dampened your skin and condensed inside you. 

Every so often in the weeks preceding, you caught him staring at you, and vice versa. More and more, the eye contact lingered just a bit longer than appropriate. Just long enough to make you wonder. It seized your heart and pumped all the blood in your body between your legs and up your neck. 

The prospect of his affection was on your mind all the fucking time. Every time he’d laugh at one of your jokes, or brush up against you in passing, or find a reason to touch you intentionally, you wanted it to last forever. 

But you didn’t initiate anything. You were content admiring him from afar, wondering if his lingering looks meant he wanted you, too. He was at least fifteen years older than you, married, and your fucking employer. There was no way in hell you would risk your livelihood by making a move on him, no matter how tempted you were. 

If he pursued you, though… that would be different. And you desperately wanted him to. 

“I’m sorry about Ang,” he said, leaning back against the couch, “She drank a lot tonight.” 

You chuckled and shook your head, “Totally fine. We all have to let loose every once and a while.” 

He hummed in agreement, and your eyes flicked to his, and they were so intent on your face that your heart started racing. 

“And how do you like to let loose?” he rumbled, his gaze dropping to your mouth. 

Your lips parted. You managed to quirk a brow and breathe, “Are you sure you wanna know?” 

Frankie sat forward, taking your beer and setting it on the ground. You could smell his whiskey-soaked mouth. The woody scent of his cologne. His hand rested on your knee. A shiver jolted across your skin and you swallowed hard. 

“I think I might know,” he murmured, sliding his hand down further, setting his thumb into motion against your tender inner thigh, leaning closer. 

“This is a bad idea,” you warned him in a whisper, but brought yourself closer to his beckoning lips, insides coiling tight, begging for you to just fucking do it. 

“Terrible idea,” he agreed, brushing his nose against yours, bringing his hand to your chin, holding it as he took the plunge and pressed his lips against yours. 

The kiss was a slow peck that lingered with heat, and when he peeled his lips from yours, murmuring, “Sorry-” you grabbed onto his shirt and pulled him back in, all hot-blooded and eager, savoring the softness of his pillowy lips, the harsh liquor burn on his breath. You couldn’t help but whimper as his tongue rolled wet against yours. He renewed it with hungry urgency, cupping your cheeks, pulling you closer, both of you completely lost and breathless. 

You tried to sit up, to get closer, to crawl inside him if you could, but knocked over the bottle of beer with a sharp clink. Both of you jumped apart at the disruption. 

“Shit,” he hissed and stood up, striding to the kitchen. You stood up, too, trying to catch your breath and regain your composure. The spell was broken. The weight of what just happened crashed down on you all at once. 

You snatched your purse up off the floor just as he came back into the room with a wad of paper towels. 

“I’m sorry-” you faltered. 

He shook his head, “No, no, don’t worry, it’s fine.” 

“No it’s not fine, you’re-” your eyes darted to the closed bedroom door where his wife was sleeping and whispered, “You’re married. And- and- I work for you, I’m an idiot. I just have a stupid crush. An- and I won’t do it again.”

“Hey, no, don’t-” his voice was pleading and soft. He reached out to you but you shook your head and dropped your eyes to the ground, crossing your arms. 

“I have to go, but I’ll see you on Monday, ok?” you pushed past him to leave. 

The whole drive home, the whole next day, you were so fucking mad at yourself. You had never done something like that with your employer. It was unprofessional and wrong. 

Yet… 

The kiss consumed you. It’s all you could think about. You wanted it to happen again. You wanted it to go further. It set you on fire and the flames felt fucking exquisite. 

And now, as Frankie is holding you, nuzzling against your shoulder, and you feel whole and calm and safe like you can’t with anyone else, you wonder for the millionth time if you’ll ever find this with someone who loves you back. 

You drag the silver tines of your fork across the barest section of your ceramic plate just to watch Frankie squirm at the ear-piercing squeak. Family dinner again. A stalemate for who goes first again. 

“I’m gonna keep doing this until you start,” you advise, then make the noise happen again, “I can do this all night.” 

He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, sending his cap onto the floor behind him, “It’s just gonna start a fight.” 

“I don’t give a shit,” you blink and prop your chin up on the heel of your palm, “Not saying anything will also start a fight, so…” 

Frankie just swings his head back to neutral and stares at you, his arms crossed, elbows resting on the table. 

You scrape your fork against the plate and smirk at him. 

“Jesus fucking Christ fine,” he groans, running his hands down his face before crossing his arms again. His eyes meet yours and he opens his mouth to speak, letting it gape for a moment, then admits, “While we’re living together, I think maybe…”

He snaps his mouth shut into a straight line and drops his eyes to your picked over plate. You rub the tines back and forth against the ceramic rapidly, “Just say it, come on, Franklin.” 

He glares at you, half joking, and scoffs, “You know that’s not my name,” then he reaches across the table, trying to snatch the utensil from you hand, “And I’m gonna take that goddamn fork away-”

“The fuck you are,” you laugh as you pull it away from his reach, then try to coax him to complete his thought, “While we’re living together, you think maybe…?”

“I think maybe we shouldn’t have other people over,” he tells you quietly, sitting back in his seat with a sigh, meeting your eyes for a moment before dropping them to the table. 

“What do you mean by other people?” you search his face. 

“Dates, you know, like,” the muscles in his face tense as he clenches his jaw and grinds his teeth together. 

You drop your fork on the plate and cross your arms, “Like the guy I went out with last night? Like you don’t want me to date other people while you’re living here? Really?”

“Like I don’t want to hear you getting fucking railed-”

“This is my fucking house, Francisco, and we are not dating,” you bite off, “Just because you’re jealous doesn’t mean I have to be abstinent-”

“I’m not asking you to take a fucking vow of celibacy, I’m just saying I don’t want to see or hear that shit when I’m here,” he argues. 

“Because you’re jealous,” you state. 

“Sure,” he shakes his head, “Whatever.” 

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite,” you spit. 

“What?! How?” he barks, throwing his hands up at his sides. 

“Do you know how many times I had to see you and Angie kissing and holding hands and making fucking goo-goo eyes at each other?” you grind out, shaking your head in disbelief, “But I can’t have people I’m dating in my own house? Ok, Frankie.”

“That is not the sa-”

“Bullshit,” you lean into the word as you hurl it at him, then scoff and tell him, “When I went to Australia with you guys, I heard you fucking her every single night. Did you know that?” 

His eyes flick to yours. He’s scowling like a sullen child. 

“Then you would wait until she fell asleep and- and you would come to me,” you feel the pain from this buried memory surfacing in your chest, burning behind your eyes, “And you smelled like her, and I was-” a sob bubbles up your throat. Tears roll hot down your cheeks, and you meet his eyes so he can understand, “I was so fucking in love with you, Frankie.” 

His face softens and his shoulders sag. 

“So I really don’t want to hear how uncomfortable my love life makes you while you’re living here,” you sniffle, then wipe your eyes with your hands. He searches your face, but doesn’t say anything. You bite down on your tongue and hold it for a moment, then ask, “Did you ever think about how it was for me? Seeing you two together?” 

His adam’s apple bobs in his throat. He shakes his head. 

“I didn’t think so,” you mutter, looking down at your half-eaten plate and pushing it away with a sigh, “I won’t have sex with anyone when you’re here. But I’m not going to ban people I’m dating from my own house just for your sake.”

He nods, “Ok.” 

Both of you stew in this silence, soaking in the words that were exchanged. It’s not uncomfortable, just heavy with the weight of the conversation.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Frankie looks up at you. 

You search his somber face, “Tell you what?” 

“That it hurt to see me with her,” he presses his elbows into the table, clasping his hands in front of his mouth, “I mean, obviously, I should have known, but…” 

“I didn’t wanna lose you,” you shrug loosely, gather all of your guts in a bundle and tell him, “If I told you, it would come down to choosing between me or her. And… you’ll choose her every time.” 

He sits with this information, staring down the hallway to his bedroom, but so much further. His chest expands with a deep breath, and he exhales, “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

You fight the urge to comfort him and tell him it’s ok. Instead, you nod in acknowledgment. 

“I was really shitty to you for a really long time. And- and you’re right. I’m a fucking hypocrite,” he furrows his brow and rolls his head on his shoulders to look at you, “Why did you even agree to this?”

“To be fair, this is not what I thought was going to happen when I bailed you out,” you chuckle, then release a heavy sigh, “But, I mean… I probably still would have done it if I knew. I care about you. And I want you to get better.” 

The corners of his lips curl upward just a little, eyebrows lowering as he murmurs, “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” you smile warmly and wait a moment before stretching the smile out wider, “Ralph is gonna be so proud of us.” 

Frankie laughs, his dark eyes folding into crescents, and nods, “He’s gonna put a gold star on my worksheet tomorrow.” 

You push your chair back and stand up, yawning as you stretch your arms towards the ceiling. 

He gets to his feet, too, grabbing his hat off the floor and putting it back on before piling dishes from the table into a stack, “You going to bed, or you wanna puzzle it up?” 

“I’m down to puzzle,” you grin, “As long as we don’t fall asleep on the couch again, my neck is fucking killing me.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” he snorts, taking wide strides to the sink, “I’m gonna do the dishes, but I’ll be there in a minute.” 

With a nod, you tiptoe into the living room and kneel before the coffee table, examining all the fragmented parts of the puzzle still left to put together. Slowly but surely, it’s starting to resemble a bigger picture. 

You’ve always found puzzles to be comforting. 

Something about the heap of jigsawed pieces when you open the box. All of them broken and indistinguishable in their own right. How you put them together, bit by bit. Proceeding even when it seems impossible. How, eventually, they all come together to make something beautiful. 

[ Next Chapter ]

[lespetitesmortsde]

Okay okay.

For the fic asks.

11 - library au??

Hello, friend!

11. Was there a scene that you hadn't originally planned to include? Why did you decide to fit it in?

Oh gosh. Okay. There have been so so many. My original plan was very loose. I had a few plot points, a vague timeline. Ashton and Laudna going for coffee after work, the forthcoming pre-work hang - both of those were unplanned. This latest chapter's swap to a mostly-Imogen POV. Them going into the woods to process some things together. I didn't plan for their first friend date at Imogen's to be a horseback ride (or to be, like, 16K or whatever it turned out to be for those chapters). Dusk and Laudna actually going for dinner - also a surprise! But that one I had to write/keep in because there was no narrative reason to prevent it - in that moment, Laudna wasn't waiting desperately for a sign from Imogen (as in canon).

Truly, so much of this fic happens in the moment. It's kind of mind-boggling. Also, I wrote 24 and 25 pretty much back-to-back and when I went back to edit 25 recently, I was like. "I don't remember writing this." SO.

I think the why is both much more simple and much more complicated. It felt right. It's where the story wanted to go, so who am I to try and shape it otherwise?

Anywho, thank you for asking!

More fanfic questions? Feel free to ask!

[utilitycaster]

unpopular opinion: i'm actually enjoying ashton, laudna, and orym not being part of the party. (actually, idk if this is unpopular, but i'm assuming it is since they're the top 3 fandom favorites.) it's nice letting guest pcs (plural!!) shine, and while i do really like the missing three, i like the current group dynamic more LMAO. it's a refreshing break in the status quo and i kinda dread when we switch povs since i feel like the party will feel a bit empty with just the three arguably most level-headed party members

Like...75% agree? I agree that other than Ashton, all the characters with like, enough backstory and weird shit going on to actually carry an arc are in Team Wildemount, so it's kind of like, what will the other three even do. I also love Deanna, FRIDA, Uthodurn, Molaesmyr, the Greying Wildlands, and so forth.

The 25% disagree is literally someone show me the patient zero for "the other half is the most level headed!" idea and I will combat them behind the regional gas station/coffee shop/grocery store that is most convenient for us. Sure, Orym is levelheaded, I will absolutely agree on that but like. On what FUCKING planet is Laudna not the most cloudcuckoolander character of them all, and yeah I'm including Fearne and FCG in that what with the dolls and the general inaction and lack of awareness and the fact that a formative influence for her was known Not Levelheaded Person Delilah Briarwood. I mean, I love Ashton to bits, I do, and I think they're capable of taking the lead when absolutely necessary, but also their solution to the average problem is to break something. He's much smarter than Grog but his conflict resolution skills are like, roughly on par. You know the scene where Yasha deliberately gets herself beat up because she feels guilty? Ashton basically just wakes up and does that on a low level every day. They are such a mess.

[j-nipper-95]

Fic Rec (plus late Six Sentence Sunday) Monday!

Ok, so I’m late posting this, but oh well. It’s being posted!

I’m not sure if my tumblr notifications are working properly at the moment (I know I missed at least one tag last week, so if I’ve missed your tags the last couple of weeks I’m sorry, I’m not ignoring you, tumblr is acting up!) but I’m still alive. I’m back, and I have words to share!

July’s Camp NaNoWriMo has been amazing for getting words down for COTTA, and I am finally back on track with following the El Dorado plot line again! I managed to double the word count goal I had by 1am this morning, so all in all, a very productive month. So without further ado, here’s six(teen) sentences from that! Thanks for the tags @artsyunderstudy @theearlgreymage and @hushed-chorus (and anyone else if I’ve missed your posts!!)

Baz POV

“Get in the back,” he grunts, nodding at the truck. “I’ll cover you.”

“With what, Snow?”

“Just do it.”

No. I won’t leave him.

“They’ll shoot you on sight,” I say (I plead, I almost beg. Don’t make me face the thought of losing you, Simon). “I can’t get over there without your help,” I add. If there’s one thing I can count on right now, it’ll be Simon’s inner heroism.

“Bet you can,” he says, without thinking.

“Two shillings say I can’t.”

The challenge in my voice is enough to make him turn to glare at me. And knowing how much it irritates him, I cock an eyebrow and tilt my chin up to look down my nose at him.

Snow opens his mouth to argue but snaps it shut when we hear the Now Next almost at the corner we’ve just run around.

“You’re on.”

And then Jas also tagged me in a fic rec post, so here’s a few I’ve been enjoying recently!

Someone Wicked by @artsyunderstudy ([E, 53.9k, Carry On, complete]

I had the chance to beta read this fic with @cutestkilla and oh my God it was a rollercoaster of emotions and tender smut and I loved every single second of it!

Normal AU, complicated family relationships, religious guilt, chronic pain rep, escort Simon, this fic had me hooked from the second Ashton pitched it to me! It’s angsty and soft and emotional in all of the ways we’ve come to expect from her fics, and it ticks all of the boxes.

Ashton managed to tackle some really tough emotions and relationship dynamics in this one, and I don’t really want to say any more and risk spoiling any of it.

Check it out if you haven’t yet, but just remember it is explicit with plenty of on page smut/sex scenes!

More Than Friends by @fatalfangirl [E, 19.9k, Carry On, incomplete]

This fic updated today. It was a good day!

Simon and Baz are roommates, and having survived lockdown together their feelings are becoming much more than platonic. Both of them like the other, but neither is willing to compromise their friendship.

Another Normal AU, this time ‘friends with benefits’, featuring lots of unhealthy coping mechanisms, a sexually promiscuous Simon (which I for one am loving!), Baz as a writer, and some new tags that were added today (trigger warnings for mentions of past ab*se and panic attacks).

This fic is updating currently, and I cannot wait to see what Stacy has in store for the boys! (Again, it’s explicit, so minors begone!)

What Remains After the Storm by @hushed-chorus [M, 86.3k, Carry On, complete]

When I tell you this fic had (and still has) me in a fricken chokehold, that’s an understatement! I still think about this fic on a daily basis, and Demi’s writing is simply stunning.

A fantasy/historical fiction(ish) AU, with fae, curses, much pining, and plenty of cute goats.

Simon is a goatherd on the edge of a fishing town, and while he’s not entirely trusted by the townsfolk, he’s not outright despised either. He works the land, and always pays his tithe to the fae. Until he pulls something from the ocean. Or rather, someone. When Baz flees his fae captors and returns home, he and Simon have to work together to help him remember his humanity.

This fic. Oh. My. GOD! Every update had me on the edge of my seat. Do yourself a favour, and go and read this fic. Especially as Demi is considering writing more in the same AU!

Strictly Professional by @palimpsessed [E, 38.5k, Carry On, complete]

This fic completed a couple of days ago, and I didn’t have time to finish reading it until this morning, and my god was it worth the wait!

Simon is a new recruit at Baz’s firm, and he’s joined the company just in time for the professional conference. But not in time to get his own hotel room. Cue only one bed forced proximity fast burn get together!

This fic pays off so quickly in the best way possible! The emotions Pal has managed to get into such a short space of time for the boys is incredible, and had me so invested in this relationship! Baz trying to remain professional, Simon’s unabashed flirting, neither of them managing to keep their hands off each other. Again, every single box ticked!

The Selkie and his Boy by @hushed-chorus [T, 21.8k, Carry On, complete]

It’s very rare that I pick up a T or G rated SnowBaz fic. I usually go for M and above, but once again, Demi had me hook line and sinker with this one.

Every year, Baz and his family holiday in Cornwall (can I just say how much I love Demi’s writing about Cornwall? It’s so nice to see the South West represented in fic!! As a Dorset girl who holidayed a lot in Cornwall as a kid, I love this so much!). Everything goes to plan … most of the time. One year, he meets a boy with bronze hair and blue eyes that utterly captivates him, and who he expects to spend the whole summer getting to know.

But the boy never shows up the next day. Or the next. Or indeed for the next several years.

Flash forward seven years, and an embittered Baz finally meets Simon again, and finds out why Simon never came back all those years ago.

An AU where Simon is a selkie, Baz is still a vampire, and Mordelia is unabashedly sassy!

Tagging (for both SSS and fic recs): @artsyunderstudy @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @aristocratic-otter @palimpsessed @larkral @orange-peony @dragoneggos @prettylightsbigcity @stardustasincocaine @fatalfangirl @cutestkilla @ileadacharmedlife @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @ebbpettier @martsonmars @erzbethluna @hushed-chorus

[ludinusdaleth]

Ira Wendagoth and Lord Asriel

ooooh cr and *hdm*! wasnt expecting the latter thank you

for ira:

First Impression: so, heres the funny strange part. as matt described him i realized he looked exactly like a LOVER i had in a recurring dream. a noseless fae monster. i am still trying to process that the nightmare king was in my dreams. additionally the second matt namedropped ira many of us went crazy knowing that was also the name of a somnovem member.

Impression Now: my terrible husband <33

Favorite Moment: when he talks to the bells after realizing they're on the same side and you see his harsh creepy exterior partially give way to a new level of friendliness, and all of his actions in the kreveris infiltration, namely watching him become fearful seeing his former bosses and using his highest spell slot to save fearne

Idea for a Story: id love a general book or comic of his backstory and pov in this campaign!

Unpopular Opinion: oddly enough it doesnt seem like finding him hot is unpopular? hes the hot boy of this campaign and im surprised & pleased with that! so i assume my actual unpopular opinion would be that i genuinely rarely find what he does as too cruel or evil simply because the context of a fae doing it makes it kind of funny & natural. am i supposed to be mad at him when hes having a laff

Favorite Relationship: with fearne, laudna, fcg, ludinus, ashton, & morri

Favorite Headcanon: while i think he naturally looks how he does, like to assume he has a shitton of caustic burns and old scars that add to his design. he never had lips but maybe the area around his face is cracked & peeled like dead skin. his ears are still long & sharp but insanely battered and clawed to shreds. and maybe he experimented on himself to "enhance" his body.

for asriel:

First Impression: he was actually among the first characters i knew of in hdm. a mutual nonstop reblogged gifs of him and i was intrigued by the aesthetic & story promise of "james mcavoy in another ya adaptation where he looks harsh as hell, seems distant to his kid, has a snow leopard, and is staring at beautiful northern lights"

Impression Now: oh hes sooooo ludinus coded

Favorite Moment: stated above, the scenes of him in book one in the north, and also, of course, him sacrificing himself with marisa coulter to kill metatron

Idea for a Story: i think his purpose in the story is pretty fullfilled but id have liked to have seen his reaction when his daemon became a damn snow leopard, the coolest thing it possibly could have settled into being

Unpopular Opinion: i think maybe im not as crazy as everyone else seems to be about him & marisa as a couple but good for yall

Favorite Relationship: his scenes with lyra are brutal in all the best ways, and it's funny to say his best interactions are with a fragment of himself but i really enjoy any scene with him & stelmaria

Favorite Headcanon: him & ludinus would have every reason possible to get along except theyre too similar including in snootiness & arrogance (even if lud doesnt believe he has any lol) the two would fight SO much and give everyone in a 70 mile radius a headache

[tragedybubbles]

5 points in a star!

5 seconds of summer x member!reader

words: 5k

warnings: just some sadness over the lockdown. English is not my first language, this is a really old piece but I wanted to put it here and also first time making a reader first pov fic.

summary: being the fifth member of five seconds of summer has always been about being together during highs and lows. The only difference from the past, was that now, you all don't have to sing just to the stars anymore.

You settled back in your seat, relaxing shoulders and trying to remain calm. Taking a deep breath and, upon hearing the words of permission, smiling at the camera.

“Hello, hello, I'm y/n y/l/n and this is WIRED's self-complete interview, where I answer the most researched questions about myself.”

After finishing the introduction, the production handed you the first plate of Google searches.

“To be honest, I'm freaking out” you took a deep breath again, leaving the board in your lap “I'm usually accompanied by four guys to answer all the questions for me.”

You started to giggle when you heard the laughter of the people behind the cameras. Muttering an 'I'm ready', lifting the plate, arranged it so that you could read and propped it up on your legs.

“'What does y/n do?'” reading out loud and throwing the sticker on the floor. You gave a big smile, proud “I'm part of a band called 5 Seconds of Summer, I'm the keyboardist and also vocal when we need it.”

“'What does y/n wear?'” pressing your lips together, looking at the papers on the floor “Usually some boots with high heels, I have to at least try to compensate, you know? It's hard to stand next to four Australians who are almost six feet tall.”

You shrugged, grinning at the camera.

“'What does y/n listen to?' Stupid jokes and good music.”

“'Does y/n have a tattoo?'”you stared at the plate for a while “Great question! But my grandma's watching, so I'll just go to the next one.”

You get excited, happy by the smiles in the room, always used to noise and chatter, a warm atmosphere.

You placed the question board on the floor, soon having another one being placed in your hands.

“'y/n how tall?'” moving your head in denial mode, you laugh a little “That's a secret that will be buried, let's just say I'm average, I swear.”

You waved your hand, pulling out the tape of the next question.

“'y/n sang Wonderwall?' Yes, I did, and I think every beginning singer in the world did too” you laughed, shaking your head, remembering your mother recording the performance while you danced with the new sandals she got you for Christmas. You pulled out the last tape.

“'y/n dating?'” you gave a surprised sigh, smiling directly at the camera “am I?”

卌

You were leaning against the window, your body occupying two seats of the bus. The camera in your hands, recording some scenes for the band's tour diary.

“Is it just me or is there smoke coming out of the bus?” Your conversation with the camera was interrupted by Mike.

Randall approached, asking everyone to get off as soon as the bus stopped on the roadside.

“Come on, let's go.” you walked to the last seat, shaking Ashton until he woke up.

Luke got off the vehicle, looking at all the cars passing by and then, noticing the huge amount of smoke coming out of the transport.

“Is it on fire?!” a sleepy Ashton asked, stopping beside him.

Hemmings confirmed, watching Ash throw his blanket and pillows on the grass, he sat down.

“Are you really going to lie there?”

“I don't think this is the sort of thing they'll fix quickly.”

Soon you were at the bus door, but instead of getting off, you threw yourself onto the grass, rolling over until you were near the two men.

“Do you guys always come here?” you asked, smiling. But your pose was shattered when you had to wipe grass from your mouth.

Looking at the bus, you pick up the camera and record again.

“Our bus is on fire! It couldn't handle all our talent.” focused the lens on the smoke “Is this a good time to sing Easier?”

“It's a bad time to be singing anything.” Calum grumbled, sitting down on the grass as well.

You stared at him, shrugging.

“Until they fix it, we can have a party on the road!”

“A terrible idea, I give you five seconds to think of a better one.” Hood grumbled.

“Calum, you can go down by the road and hitchhike.”

“y/n, do you know the little voice in there?” Mike approached, putting his finger on your forehead. “It would be nice to ask her opinion about what you're going to say before you speak.”

You laughed, showing him your tongue. You looked at the vehicle again.

“The bus's kinda hot though…”

卌

Luke was sitting on the couch, throwing Chips at Mike to get his attention.

“For God's sake, man, what do you want?” he turned to him, throwing his arms up.

“I'm bored!”

“Good morning, family!” You opened the door, smiling and speaking loudly.

“What happened?” Clifford grimaced.

“What do you mean, my dear friend?” You opened your arms, good humour exuded from every pore “Why can a bad day be a bad day just because you woke up on a bad day, but a good day can't just be a good day because you woke up on a good day?”

You raised your eyebrows, wiggling them suggestively. The man rolled his eyes.

“Let's do something! It's a day too beautiful to stay inside.”

“It's raining, y/n.” Michael replied, clicking his tongue.

“Let's go in the rain!” Luke stood up from the sofa, getting excited at the idea.

“That's the spirit!” you got even more excited, being infected with Hemmings joy.

“Wasn't a rehearsal the reason we are here?” Mike asked no one in particular “You guys can't be serious, is anyone listening to me? It's a terrible idea.”

Ashton watched Clifford's drama, not really wanting to take a side, but already putting on his shoes.

“It's like watching an episode of SpongeBob.”

Calum laughed upon hearing his friend's observation, getting up from the sofa and walking to the door.

Luke and you were dancing in the street, the sky was closed, almost no light sneaking through the clouds. The raindrops falling on both of them as they swirled on the asphalt.

Hood smiled, running towards the two and joining in the dance, his steps making you laugh and clap your hands.

“If you don't want to come and dance, you'll have to sing for us!” you screamed, as if there were no other options available.

Irwin looked at his friend still sitting on the couch, the two exchanged glances.

“Okay, okay.” Mike stood up, taking off his cap and placing it on the nearest dresser.

Ash stood in the doorway, smiling, he reached for his mobile phone, recording the scene. It seemed a moment too special to not be remembered.

You entered the garage, slamming the door brutally.

“What do you think you're doing?” crossing your arms, you stand in front of the four of them.

“It's over, birdie, get over it.” Mike grumbled, throwing the tennis ball against the wall. The pet name almost made your anger go away. Almost.

“Clifford, have you gone mad?” he frowned, looking at his three friends, seeing them in the same situation. “This is a nightmare, I must have drunk something by mistake, you can't be serious!”

You had no answer, hands dropped to the sides of your body, a feeling of helplessness taking over. You hated to see them sad, but despondent about their dream? Your dream? This was even worse.

“Come on, we're the star band, right?” you stared at your four best friends, saying with obviousness. The boys begrudgingly murmured agreement, even if they didn't know exactly what that phrase meant, it seemed important to you, so they weren't going to disagree, even if it was hard to believe they were close to being something great.

You kicked Ashton in the leg, signaling for him to stand up, and did the same to Calum, but giving his boot a light kick.

“Come on, guys! We're not an opening act anymore! People don't come a long way to see someone and then bump into us. People come a long way to see us! People like us, Mike! They like our music! Awards are nice and nominations are nice, but we're being recognized by people who have us for inspiration! Is there anything more valuable than that?”

You stared into his eyes, couldn't believe in the dream without Mike, there was no 'us' without Mike.

“Stars, Cliff, stars.” you smiled at him “Five points.”

卌

Irwin approached you, one hand holding a camera.

“Are we recording this?” you frowned at the camera, tapping Ashton lightly on the shoulder.

“It's a music video, I think that's the idea.”

You snorted, shooing him away.

“You know what I mean.”

“We'll have a Behind the Scenes too.”

“Oh, that's nice” you said, this time with a lot of excitement in your voice “I didn't know you were going to be the cameraman this time.”

“It's a special occasion, I decided to interview the stars, I started with you because you're everyone's favorite.”

“And the first person you find.”

“That too.” The man agreed, looking around the venue, people were walking everywhere. “How are your emotions recording such a special clip?”

“Honestly, I've cried so much I don't think I have any water left in my body.” you were laughing as soon you finished the sentence, even if it was a little bit true. “Look at this…”

You took out your wallet, showing him and the camera some of the photos in there.

“This is me at Easter, I was very happy for the egg that comes with a hamster. I was also too old to have been disappointed when I discovered that the hamster wasn't real.”

“It's a lovely picture, you and your father look very much alike.” Ash commented, running his hand over it.

“Do you think so?” you looked at him, watching him confirm. “That's my stepdad.”

You started to laugh, making him laugh too, even if he was a little stunned.

“How many years have you known me, Irwin? Honestly…” he denied it with his head, facing the camera while grimacing and laughing.

The two were interrupted by Calum, who walked in between them, hugging them both and changing the subject.

“How long do you guys think it took to find a child that looked like you? I mean It must have been hard to find one as pretty as me.” Hood said.

“They found Calum very quickly.” Luke approached, denying the previous sentence.

“Luke was gone in a few minutes, just some kid walking down the street.” Cal stared at the camera as he remained with a laughing face.

One of the production men walked up to them, calling them to the outside footage.

The four of them followed him, finding Michael already outside. you perked up when you saw the yellow car parked.

“Can I climb on the bonnet? Please let me on the bonnet!”

“Please be careful.” Randall said as you crossed and leaned on Calum to sit down.

After the four of them settled down and the pictures were taken, they tried to record some of the scenes.

“Wasn't there a busier street?” you complained, getting a slap on the back of your head from Ashton. You looked at him, offended.

“Okay, I think you're all clear for today.”

“Humpf, saved by the gong, Irwin.” you pointed, getting down from the bonnet and running to the vlog camera, new ideas already in mind.

“I'm going to get something off my chest and if this doesn't make it into the video, we're in trouble, I'm going to run for my rights. If they put me in another wool sweater, we’ll have a serious issue. I'm sweating so much I could fill a swimming pool. And another thing, I'll never get used to the snacks here. On my next trip, remind me to fill a bag with just coconut snacks, you can fill my DM's, if I forget again it won't be for lack of a reminder…”

you took your eyes off the lens, watching everyone start to get ready to leave, soon having Hemmings take her attention.

“Luke just picked up his backpack, it's like watching an episode of Dora the Adventurer, hold on, I'll show you.” you talked to the camera, soon turning it to show the man with the backpack on his back “5sosfam, you can thank me later!”

卌

“Why can't I connect?” Luke complained,

“Honestly, who let Hemmings mess with the Bluetooth? We want to get there next week?”

“It was between him and Calum.” Ash replied, settling into his seat.

“Why would it be between him and Calum?!” you frowned, buckling your seatbelt. You were in the last seat in the car, behind Ash. “And why am I back here?”

“Because you lost the bet.” Cal replied, finally getting into the car, making you snort.

“Take it easy on her, she's still upset that the carpool karaoke is with us and not James Corden.”

“No I'm not.” you crossed your arms, staring at the window “That man missed his chance, we're the best band nowadays, we're the band of stars!”

Luke took his eyes off his mobile phone to see her. It was a fact that you had always been their biggest fan.

“Not to mention that he always expects some member of the band to leave.” Michael sat in the driver's seat, placing his drink in one of the cup holders.

“'Turn your mouth away, Clifford. We can’t say the d word.”

They all suddenly looked at you, expecting some explanation.

“Disband” you whispered, like you were a toddler saying a bad word in front of your parents.

You held Calum and Ashton's seat, getting between them both and whispering again “'Are we allowed to cuss in this video?”

“Yes, but if Randall asks, we didn't authorize it.” Ash blinked, laughing.

Michael started the car, soon directing them to their destination. Luke finally plugged in his mobile phone, starting to talk to the camera.

“Come on, we've got our song coming out soon, called 'No Shame', the third single from the fourth album, the first single of this year, 2020.”

“And it's so fucking good.” You nodded to the camera, shrugging as Hemmings turned back to face her again.

“And we're in the car together, normally we go separately.” Luke turned his attention back to the camera, gesturing as he spoke “Actually, we're always together.”

“Always together.” Mike repeated, trying to stay present while paying full attention to the track.

“For various reasons we're always together” he said again.

“I'm never not with these guys, I love my siblings” Ashton emphasized, making them laugh.

The five of them sang the first ‘hey's’ of 'She looks so perfect' together, dubbing the lyrics. Calum looked over at you, doing along with you and Ash, a sloppy dance.

After a few minutes of performances and conversation, the playlist alternates between old and new songs.

“I'm going to be sick, for God's sake.” you threw yourself on the seat, placing your hand on your forehead.

“What's wrong?” three worried glances turned your way.

“No, not like that.” you laughed, so many years of friendship and they still hadn't gotten used to your drama. “It's out! The album's out!”

You showed the mobile phone screen, where the band's twitter page posted the cover and links to access it.

“Our album is finally out! You can order it now by clicking on any of the links.” Ash waved your phone, showing the camera the post. “IT'S OUT!”

Michael began shifting in his seat as he heard 'Girls talk boys'.

“I just realized, we're in the same places as when we shot this clip.”

“I'm telling you! I'm always in the backseat!” you complained, throwing your hands up in the air as you nudged a laughing Calum.

“You were the ghost, dove, what did you expect? To drive the car?” Irwin questioned, even though in your head it wasn't such a bad idea.

You loved to play the ghost, you loved the costumes, you loved them even more when you all were dressed to match. You still had the Three Blind Mice costume in your wardrobe, and wouldn't give up on the idea of convincing Ash to dress up as Eugene.

“Favorites are shown when they decide who sits on the arm of the sofa in interviews.” Mike grumbled, hearing affirmations from the back seats.

“Ash still had the audacity to stretch out and knock me over.” you stared at the window, trying to recognise the way they were going.

“To this day Jimmy comments about us being the first celebrities he didn't have to scare to fall on the floor.” Luke punctuated, biting his mouth.

“Next time, me and y/n will have the sofa to ourselves.” Calum declared, tucking the hat on his head.

“We don't have to go on a sofa one, can you imagine all of us in one of those Buzzfeed animal interviews? Puppies or kittens, I'll take both.”

“It would be five dogs to give one to each, it's easier to take the ones from home.”

The conversation was interrupted by a noise.

“Was that a fart?” Luke stared at Calum, watching him make the noise again.

“Are you playing with a fart app? How serious is this vlog?” you asked, laughing.

“I can't believe you can put farts in it.” Hemmings said, surprised.

“Oh my god, that is so stupid.” Ashton began to laugh along.

Luke picked up his mobile phone, switching to one of the songs. Just as the beat started, they heard an excited shout coming from the last pew.

“THIS!” you began to dance and sing excitedly to 'Strip That Down' by Liam Payne, soon gathering all the boys for the performance.

“So put your hands on my body and swing that round for me, baby, swing it” the choreography was made sloppily, while changing your voice tone to sing all the parts “Ah! I love this song.”

“Almost our entire discography played here and I didn't hear y/n say it.” Ash looked at the camera, raising his eyebrows and getting your tongue as an answer.

The next song played, Luke introducing it.

“And this is the first track from our album, Red Desert.”

卌

“What's up? What song is it going to be?”

Calum asked, the band of the instrument already placed around his neck.

“How about When you walk away?” you clapped your hands together. Ash stared at you “Come on, I'm a widow of unreleased and forgotten songs.”

“Meet you there sounds like a good warm-up, then we'll rock it out with some album tracks…” Luke hinted, watching you give in.

“First of all, one rule” Michael held up his finger, soon pointing it at you “No pulling my trousers down during rehearsal.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes.

“I've only done it once!” you tapped your foot, walking over to the keyboard.

“Actually, it was three, if you count the ones with cameras off.” Hood shook his foot, laughing.

“You know, Cal, I had an idea for us…”

“No way. - You're in a band, y/n, we're not going to do a routine on stage.”

“One day he'll give in.” you whispered, watching Ashton smile at you and wink, as if your idea might one day come to reality.

The feelings were varied, euphoria mixed with apprehension, which didn't make for a good match with a teenage mind.

“You know, every time I dare to question if all this is worth it, or if we're even capable, I look to the sky.” you stared at the boy, giving a brief smile.

“You look at the sky?” he squinted his eyes, arching one eyebrow.

You took a deep breath, thinking of the best way to explain the feeling you had. Taking the boy's hand, guided him to the backyard, and sat down on the grass, looking up.

“I imagine myself in a stadium. Each one of these stars is a fan in the audience, excited about the opportunity to hear us play. - Sometimes the sky has fewer of them, sometimes it's all black, but that doesn't mean all the stars are gone. You can still play for them.”

卌

You straightened up in your chair, making a mental note to buy a more comfortable one. Always ended up procrastinating on such a task and, now in quarantine, you were suffering even more for not doing the purchase.

You stared at yourself at the computer screen, looking at your own "scenery" while the four men talked. You had the device in your reading corner, besides the books, some paintings of the five of you adorning the wall.

“We could start by talking about y/n being banned from asking fans for help.” Ash made a suggestion, raising his eyebrows.

“What do you mean? What's wrong?” Luke asked, finally sitting up after trying to straighten out his seat again.

“I made the mistake of allowing people to remind me to buy a Brazilian candy bar, and now there's nothing on my timeline but bookmarks and reminders.” you shrugged.

“The worst part is that now y/n has a lifetime supply of candy because their mother sent a box. Their grandmother sent a box. Their aunt and uncle sent a box.” Michael held up his fingers, enlisting for emphasis, as he laughed at the situation “And not only that, but a company sent a box after their name went on the trend.”

You covered your face with your hands, hiding the desperate laughter.

”We can record something, who puts more candy bars in their mouth? Who can sing with candy in their mouth?”

“y/n wants to use us!” Calum commented, pointing at the you, who laughed, getting excited trying to deny it.

“We're going to live on paçoquinha.” Luke spoke up, the word sounding funny to his ears.

“Can we continue on the subject of y/n's mistakes?” Michael continued.

“What did I do this time?” you asked, playing offended as scratching your foot.

“Did you stop singing out of the blue?”

“Oh, it wasn't even that long!” you answered, putting your arms around your waist, laughing at Hood's face. You could never keep a straight face around them.

“You never explained to us what happened.” Hemmings took another sip of his drink.

“You know that moment when you have an inner epiphany and become self-conscious about where you are?”

You received several 'no's' in response, even if Calum had understood a little of the feeling. Laughing, you mumbled a few words, trying to simplify the situation.

“I don't know how to explain it, I just went 'wow, look at the size of this crowd, what a huge show I'm in' and forgot that I was the singer of the show.” you shrugged, following the others in their laughter.

Your voice lowered gradually, but you kept your smile. Hood arched one eyebrow, as he stared at his best friend's camera. He found the behavior strange, a small worry already growing in his chest. Ever since the wave of internet attacks, Calum had remained apprehensive about y/n's emotions.

“If you could be anyone in the band, who would you be?” Ash questioned them, biting his lip as he thought and pulled everyone's attention.

“What kind of question is that?” Calum fiddled with his teacup.

“I would choose myself, because I would still be best friends with the four of you.” Luke shrugged, looking past the computer.

A few seconds of silence perpetuate itself.

“Now whatever answer we give ourselves, we'll be terrible human beings, thank you, Luke” Mike complained, making Ashton laugh.

You smiled, moving your hand on the camera, trying to pretend to pimp Hemmings' hair through the screen.

“I should put the video of Ashton singing Good as Hell on the internet, we need to flesh out the quarantine. Things have been a little restless.”

“What's your problem with peace?” Irwin narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms.

“What do you love about it?”

“If you don't want peace, I could take it from you, if they've already freaked out on your timeline over a piece of candy, imagine when they find out about your fan twitter account.” Ash teased, laughing at the nonchalant look on your face.

“This is blackmail! And the only thing I do there is say shit about you.”

Luke laughed, watching the story unfold.

“y/n's user is calumhood8love.” The man exposed, watching you almost choke on the drink.

“Eightlove?” Mike frowned.

“Yeah, infinite love, like the infinity symbol but on the side, you know?” you tried to explain yourself while you took a breath of air, your throat hurt from laughing so hard “Come on, I thought I was really smart for that…”

After the call ended, you went to your home studio in order to get some work done. Having no success tyoure, decided to take what was needed to the living room, but failed in this task as well.

Staring at the instruments in front of you, the electric guitar and keyboard were placed on the otyour side of the sofa. You were sure that if they were not inanimate beings, they would be judging you right now.

On your lap, a notebook of scribbles and ideas lay open. You would have liked to make more progress, but only one sentence was written: "open the window, hear sounds of people.”

you didn't know what to do, if you should just concentrate on finding your lyrics or invest in some melody that would fit.

“i can see smoke coming out of your ears.” the voice came out of the cell phone, Dominic grimaced.

“This sucks, I feel like crap, I can't produce anything.” He shoved his notebook in his face, wanting to scream.

“Do you want me to be honest? I think you're making this into more of a problem than it is. You're visualizing your frustrations in this song, y/n.”

you huffed, crossing your arms and looking at him from behind the cell phone screen.

“Normally I would have been able to expose them in the lyrics, but even that didn't work.”

“You don't have to talk to me about it if you don't want to.” Harrison shrugged, "Can't you talk it out with Mike? You guys talk a lot, don't you?

“I don't want to bother them with this kind of silly stuff, not to mention that they would worry about nothing.”

“Haven't they been your best friends for, like, a decade? Do you really think it will bother them?” he raised an eyebrow, clearly disbelieving the speech.

“Do you sell this advice?”

“If you didn't want an enlightening conversation, you know you called the wrong person." he said, laughing.

“I just want this all to be over soon.”

“Me too, you owe me a visit.”

“I can't wait to land in the land of the queen again!” he held his arms up, smiling.

“Are you all free this month?"

“I think we only have one to do, the one for reading the thirsty tweets, you know?” And a few online interviews, but not with all of us...

“So we'll talk more soon, I need to go record some stuff, you know…”

“Yeah yeah, no problem, good night Dom.”

And he hung up the phone. You were about to do the same with your phone when he got a message.

I left a box of cookies on your doorstep, hope you're feeling better, y/n

P.S. They are the animal ones —Cal

卌

It was the first time in a while that the band had reunited, after a week in great isolation, the four of them made their way to the Irwin residence.

Calum, Michael and Luke were in the kitchen, finishing setting the table. Ash excused himself, going into the hall to look for his other bandmate, a good few minutes had passed since you had left to go to the bathroom.

The man found you standing in the living room, with his new album, Superbloom, in your hands.

“It's amazing, Ash.” you said, noticing his presence.

Ashton smiled, even happier with his work after seeing your eyes light up as you complimented him.

“Can you believe we paid three bucks for you to play and now you have, like, 300,000 views on a video?”

The drummer's mouth tightened as he saw the tears come to your eyes, and he had to restrain himself from being carried away by his emotions as well. He came closer, giving you a tight hug.

“You don't know how proud we are of you, Ash. Even though I think it's absurd that I wasn't invited to do a duet” you said, your head resting on his shoulder.

He pulled away, clicking his tongue and putting his arms around your waist, as if he was really affected by the sentence. Your drama made Ash laugh and you smiled, that was the intention.

“have you guys had your moment or should we put everything back in the oven?” Mike appeared in the doorway, raising his eyebrows.

They both looked at each other, you quickly nodded and stared at Ash.

“He always gets sad when he's not called in for a group hug.”

“Maybe he's sad because he wants the four of us to hug him and smother him with love.”

“Or maybe he's sad because he's starving to death and none of his friends care.” Michael put his hand on his forehead, letting out a sad sigh.

You walked over to the man, pushing him by the shoulders and walking with him to the kitchen.

Ashton held up his album, reading again the dedication he had made to you and smiling at his own words.

He put the gift close to his bag and walked back to the kitchen.

“Mike, quick question.” you nudge your friend, sitting down next to him “How much do you want to drink the water from this pickle jar?”

[natewynoou]

crazy idear here (angst warning)

what if addys mother decided to get back involved in her life and she opens up to nate about it, like what her mother was like/what her childhood was like with her mother. and to comfort her nate opens up about his childhood a little and they bond over it?

im a sucker for angst and my own mom is getting on my nerves. also i absolutely love your oouil work!

Honestly, I know I used to post a lot about the relationship between Nate and Bronwyn, but I regret not posting about Nate and Addy's friendship because it's just so perfect. We didn't see much in the first book, but it was clear in OOUIN that Addy and Nate sort of became eachother's anchors when it came to the whole 'dealing with stupid emotions' shit.

I wouldn't know how this would pan out in either the book series or on a screen, but I can imagine that it would be probably my favorite scene of all time.

Throughout Addy's POV in OOUIL, we see her relationship with her mum, and how Addy ultimately feels alone. Ashton had managed to escape that life, get a good degree, and then find true love in Eli. I feel like at some point between the end of OOUIL, and before Addy's birthday in the bonus chapters, her and Nate began slowly hanging out, and she just breaks down to him, and he listens. Because if anyone knows what it's like to like in that kind of environment, it's him.

I honestly love the relationship between Nate and Addy, and I hope that in OOUIB Karen explores that more, since the two of them are POV characters.

I'm so sorry that I saw this really late! I hope that you're doing okay, and that you an your mum have managed to figure things out. Believe me, as an eldest daughter know how mothers can me.

[stargabs]

Hello! I'm planning on writing an Ashton/Orym fic and part of it is gonna be in Ash's pov. I remember you posting about how your partner noticed Ashton's mannerisms and connected it to chronic pain. Would it be okay if you could ask him to point me to a scene or an episode I can see that? I wanna be able to write Ashton properly. Thank you for your time!

I'll ask him, but we don't do a lot of rewatching so I'm not sure if I can give you exact episodes or scenes. My partner clocked it pretty early, like even in the first episode- start with the scenes of Ash in the Crook House. One big thing to pay attention to is that after a fight, Ashton is usually the first to suggest they go sit somewhere or rest. There are a few times where he just kind of crashes after a long day, and they show their exhaustion more than any other character, because just the pain on its own takes more out of a person. The more tired Ashton is, the more Taliesin shows the pain by rubbing his head, making noise if Ashton gets up, having them self-medicate (drink a ton), that sort of thing. Also, swearing has been scientifically shown to help lessen pain. There's a reason our guy has long passed 500 "fuck"s on the show.

My partner just added that there's also a reluctance when they wake up (because sleep is one of the few times the pain is deadened), but they force themselves to get up anyway. He's also usually the first to throw himself into a fight because "He's already in pain, what's a little bit more?" It's a different motivation than protective Orym, self-flagellating Yasha, or when Grog chased the battle high.

I can also tell you that with my experience as someone with a partner who has chronic pain, it's clear that Ashton has good moments/days and bad moments/days. Depending on how you want to write the relationship with Orym, someone with his high perception would definitely key in to how much someone they care about is hurting on a moment to moment basis and be ready with coping mechanisms if needed. My partner specifically is very sensitive to touch but also loves soft touch from someone he trusts and is very close to. Something as simple as tracing his shoulders/back with my fingers can bring a lot of relief and feel like a very intimate moment... Do with that what you will.

I'll let you know if any specific scenes come to mind, but I hope this helps!

[daydadahlias]

do you ever struggle with choosing which character’s pov your fics will be in?

this is a great question and yes i DO which is why I keep an ongoing CHART! of all my fics to try and make the POVs I use (and also the smut <3) balanced and diverse. Typically, though, I choose the POV based on who I want to spend more time describing. Like, if I want to wax poetic about Ashton's titties, he can't be the POV character. bc nobody really wants to read a scene where, like, your main character stands in front of a mirror and goes "damn... my titties look so good." yknow.....

[littledrummeraussie]

for the fanfic ask - 62 with any part of getaway series pls

62. In the getaway series, is there a deleted scene/idea you wish you could have included?  Why did it get cut?

The thing about the getaway series that when I started writing it I was still writing my fics in 1st POV, but at that time I started to switching to the whole 'you' thing. So originally the series was and is written as a 1st POV story (but I posted it in 2nd), and therefore it did include some personal... let's say detail.

And that is the whole play with the sun and the moon nicknames, which came from the obvious fact that Ashton has his moon tattoos, and well, I have a sun tattoo (and not because of him lol). But since I wanted the fic to be inclusive this little detail (reader having a sun tattoo) was deleted from all the parts, and whenever Ashton kisses it or nuzzles it it's usually 'covered up' with him kissing the reader's wrist.

But there was one part in you kept me breathing under the water which got deleted from the posted version entirely because it was discussing the origin story of reader getting her sun tattoo, which is actually something Ashton drew for her during a date.

I'm not sure if I dare to post it, but who knows... maybe if you babes are interested :)

[captainsupernoodle]

listen, there's a hell of a universe next door by storm_petrel - star wars/the mandalorian, 12k, din/luke, M

As it turns out, no one ever taught Luke how to tie a little green baby to his back one-handed, but Luke thinks he's pretty gods-damned good at problem-solving under pressure, thank you, and the baby is at least semi-cooperative. When he's sure the kid is strapped in as tight as he can get, Luke pauses, and reaches back. His fingers graze the wide point of the baby's fuzzy ear. "Well, kid," says Luke, and his voice is a little rough, but not bad, all things considered. "Carrying you on my back while getting the absolute banthashit kicked out of me, at least this feels familiar."

Or: Luke Skywalker solves a number of life-or-death problems, makes some new friends, falls abruptly in love, and gets shot into space, all in the same day.

some ever after no one could predict by QueenWithABeeThrone - critical role campaign 2, 15k, T

“My tent,” said Una, “is spoiling the landscape.”

“Yes!” said the satyr. “It’s getting in the way of the view. Look, see?” He flipped the notebook around to show her a rather well-drawn landscape, with a much taller tent than the one she actually had poking up out of the grass like a rather majestic—

She covered her mouth, turning her laugh into a cough. “That’s a very flattering view of my tent,” she said, not quite able to keep herself from smiling.

or: over thirty years ago, Una Ermendrud went into the Feywild and met a satyr named Garmelie. thirty years later, Caleb reunites with his godfather.

Erinus alpinus by greymoores - critical role campaign 3, 6k, G

She hums, tuneless but thoughtful. “Can I have your name?”

Sally used to say she was stolen by the Fey. That she was a changeling who escaped. Ashton doesn’t know who she is or why they know this, but he knows that the correct answer to her question is, “No. But friends call me Ashton.”

He tenses, waiting for anger. He’s surprised when her response comes in the form of a twinkling laugh, bright like fireflies. “Clever.” Has he ever seen a firefly? “My friends call me Fearne.”

Ashton ends up in the Feywild after their fall

Gotham High by Unpretty - batman, 17k, WIP, T

Between freshman and sophomore year, Bruce Wayne had a growth spurt. He did not get any better at socializing.

standalone scenes of outsider pov of bruce wayne in high school

shine between everything by intimatopia - trigun, 2k, T, vash/wolfwood

A lot of things were technically real while being practically unachievable. True love was a pipe dream, the illusion that there was somewhere any of them could put down what they carried.

In which soulmates are real, but Wolfwood and Vash are something else.

[5sosxqueen]

Luke

< Part 1 , < Part 2 , ~Part 3~ , Part 4 >

Well, aren't I doing great at keeping schedule?

Warnings: depictions of illness, vomiting, inaccurate medical scene, choking

Written in 2018

Published (Wattpad) - Feb 01, 2018

Word Count: 1650

Updates are every Tuesday and Thursday

Also Available on Wattpad and AO3!!!

Part 3:

Ashton's POV:

     Poor Luke looked so small in my arms. I hate that this is happening to him. I looked up from Luke and frowned at the sight.

     Michael had tears freshly streaming down his face. I held my hand out for him which he gratefully accepted. We were all trying to be so strong for Luke, we didn't have time for our own feelings.

     Michael sniffed, which in turn caught Luke's, unwanted, attention. "No, Michael, please don't cry... I should be the one crying, not you." Luke turned and closed the distance between them in a much needed hug as both of them wept.

     Calum was seated in the front and had pivoted around in his seat long ago. I could see it in his eyes that he longed to comfort the upset lads, but being where he was made that difficult.

     "Guys... Luke's going to be ok..." He looked over to Cash and the dam burst. "Right???" Even Calum, who was normally so strong in these situation was an emotional wreck now. Even I had some tears falling.

     "Some pathetic lot we are right...? You can't eat and none of us can seem to stop crying!" Michael exclaimed before breaking into a very small fit of needed giggles, causing a albeit small chain reaction.

     "And here we are. Would you guys like to wait a minute to compose yourselves before we head in?" We all looked toward Luke who nodded.

     "Yes please, thanks Cash." Calum said with a small smile forming on his face, even with tears still spilling from his eyes.

     "Of course." Cash responded.

     It took a couple minutes before we felt ready to go in. Being with a medic had it's perks. He talked to the doctor and luke was almost immediately brought into a room. Luke laid down on the bed and was out like a light within seconds. We couldn't blame him either.

     "Poor lad must be so damn tired." I stated the obvious, earning looks that just screamed 'no really?' I put my hands up in defense and we all turned as a knock echoed the semi silent room.

     "Hello guys. I'm Dr. Annist. So I heard from this gentleman," she gestured over to Cash. "That Luke hasn't been able to eat, and what little he had managed to consume yesterday, wouldn't stay down." We nodded. "So has he said why he can't eat?"

     "He is having trouble swallowing." Calum confirmed.

     "Ok, I know you have already done this- is he asleep?" She asked, cutting herself off upon noticing a sleeping Luke. Again earning a nod from all of us. "We are going to have to wake him up, I'm afraid." I walked over to Luke.

     "Luke, babe, the doctor is here and she needs to talk to you." I said gently and tapped his shoulder.

     "Mmm... Already? That was fast..." Luke questioned. He licked his chapped lips and sat up, looking at the doctor. "Sorry about that." He said somewhat groggily.

    Dr. Annist smiled at him. "It's not a problem Luke. I get that all the time. As I told your friends my name is Dr. Annist." She shook his hand. "So I know you have already done this, but we are going to need you to try to eat something for us. If that doesn't work, I will need to watch you swallow with this camera." She explained holding up a tiny camera on the end of a snake-like device. Luke reluctantly agreed.

     She grabbed a sickness bag, causing Luke's face to scrunch up. He knew the outcome wasn't going to be a positive one, but he prayed that it would not lead to that again. She walked out of the room and came back with a wrapped sandwich in her hand. "Ok honey, here you are." She handed it to Luke. He was much less than thrilled to have to do this a third time.

      He unwrapped the sandwich and took a cautious bite and chewed as much as humanly possible. He swallowed it the first time successfully and couldn't hold back a smile. This continued for a couple minutes. It was a slow process, but he succeeded in eating one half of the sandwich.

     "Maybe I don't have to be here after all..." He said with a shaky smile.  His face dropped as he picked up the other half of the sandwich. He took a deep breath and took another bite. A few bites in he started choking. "Da- *cough* mnit- *cough*" again after 45 seconds Cash was forced to perform the heimlich remover on him, for the second time in two days.

Luke's POV:

     'Damn pressure on my stomach, it feels awful. I think that's really what made me sick last time.' I thought as I felt bile rushing up my throat. I speedily grabbed the sickness bag and held it to my face just as vomit rushed out of my mouth. Dr. Annist rubbed my back as I continuously wretched and heaved up the sandwich. "Huh... Heh... Mmmmn." I whined and wretched loudly again. I felt the familiar sting of tears in my eyes. I had way more in my stomach than the last time, so I knew that this episode would last a while. I slowly lowered the bag as I felt safe to do so. I knew it wouldn't last long, but I felt ok enough for now.

     "Are you done?" Dr. Annist kindly asked. I shook my head knowing that I would start up again soon. I leaned back and placed a very shaky hand lightly on my stomach as it gurgled angrily. I closed my eyes and took several deep breathes, willing the nausea to go away. "Luke can I take that bag and grab a fresh one for you? That might help ease your stomach a bit." I opened my eyes and looked at her and gave her a quick thumbs up, after a couple seconds of thought. She took the bag from my hand and turned to grab another one.

     My stomach growled and gurgled. I whined pittifully as I felt a hot burning rising in my throat. I pressed my fist hard against my lips as I coughed. She rushed over to me with a new bag and as soon as I had it in my hand, it was against my mouth as I dry heaved. I bolted upright and puke splashed heavily into the once clean bag. My eyes felt ready to pop out of my eyes as I began to panic. I hate throwing up normally, but this is so severe. It's freaking me out that I can't keep anything down no matter how hard I try. "You're ok Lukey, breathe buddy." Michael told me when he saw me panicking. I heaved and heaved for 10 minutes before the relentless heaving turned to dry heaving, which turned into light gagging, then hiccups.

     I handed Dr. Annist the bag again and she took it and threw it away. She grabbed two more, opened one, and gave it to me. She handed me a water. "Go ahead and rinse your mouth out and then take a couple sips to clear your throat out when you're ready." I took the cup and took some water, swished it in my mouth and spit it into the bag. I gagged slightly, due to my gag reflex being a bit hyperactive at the moment. "You ok?" I nodded and took a few small sips of the water.

     I felt my stomach do some highly uncomfortable flips and swallowed against the mounting nausea. I breathed deeply and felt the nausea subside. "So we are going to be putting a camera down my throat right?" I looked up at her. She was shocked at the bluntness of my statement.

     "Yes, we are doing that. Are you ready for that? We can wait." She tried to persuade me to wait a minute to let my stomach settle more. I felt like I could handle it though.

     "It's fine, let's get this over with." I said with a sigh forcing myself to a sitting position.

     "No, no. This is best done laying down." She lighlty pushed on my chest to lay me back down. "Ok I need you to lay flat on your back and look up with your head, rather than your eyes." I did that as uncomfortable as it was. "Ok honey, this is not going to be comfortable and I'm going to need you to try not to cough at all. Swallow when I tell you to." I gave her a thumbs up. "Open your mouth sweetie." I opened and she started snaking it down my throat. I felt the need to cough, but did my best to suppress the urge. "Swallow." I did and I tightly wrapped the sheets on the bed as I broke into a sweat. It felt like I was being choked all over again. "And again." I continued to follow instructions. I felt someone grip my hand and I released the sheet and held their hand. I felt tears pouring down my face. She was right this was very uncomfortable. "Ok, I'm going to start taking it out. Now you need to cough." As soon as she said that I broke into a fit of coughs. It getting taken out was way worse than it going in.

     "So do you have your answer?" I asked once the camera was out of my mouth.

     "I do... Unfortunately it looks like you have something called Zenker's Diverticulum. It is the outpouching of the weakened areas of the esophagus which usually leads to difficulty swallowing and regurgitation. It often causes the choking as well, but that is why you've been vomiting."

     "So what can you do to stop this? Is it curable?" Ashton asked.

     "It is not curable, treatable yes. We will need to...."

[allsassnoclass]

I posted 5,602 times in 2022

537 posts created (10%)

5,065 posts reblogged (90%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@calumsash

@lukemichaelcalumashton

@chamaleonsoul

@tirednotflirting

@jbhmalumm

I tagged 5,506 of my posts in 2022

Only 2% of my posts had no tags

#luke - 1,322 posts

#michael - 1,245 posts

#ashton - 1,184 posts

#calum - 1,122 posts

#5sos - 877 posts

#video - 308 posts

#ask - 307 posts

#muke - 259 posts

#:) - 244 posts

#malum - 218 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#why would they not be intentional with their title choice??? why do people assume that because it’s called 5sos5 it’s not fitting/creative?

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

unpopular opinion apparently but i like 5sos5 as a title! luke said that this feels like a self-titled album so i like that it has their name in it (the name that they refer to themselves as), i think that the fact that it’s a palindrome would appeal to them because the symmetry/being the same forwards and backwards could reflect how they’re just as dedicated to the band as they were at the beginning and how this album is going to have a lot of self-reflection in it, and honestly i feel like “this is the 5th album from 5 seconds of summer” is as accurate of a description as you could get and sums up the album in a way no other title would be able to

96 notes - Posted May 11, 2022

#4

👀👀👀

126 notes - Posted May 25, 2022

#3

bad omens mv 🤝 lie to me mv

commenting on knowingly/willingly staying in an emotionally one-sided relationship via car crash metaphor

128 notes - Posted September 26, 2022

#2

apparently today is fanfiction writer appreciation day! shout out to fic writers for sharing creative, heartfelt, emotional, fun stories with us.  this fandom is so lucky to have so many amazing writers and to have built a fantastic writing community, and i’m so thankful to get to read and experience such wonderful work!

134 notes - Posted August 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Fanfiction Writing Asks

Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?

Where do you get your fic ideas?

Do you share your fic ideas, or do you keep them to yourself?

How do you choose which fics to write?

How many wips do you have?  What fandoms/pairings are they for?

What’s the last line you wrote?

Post a snippet from a wip.

Post an out-of-context spoiler from a wip.

Does this word [chosen by asker] appear in your current wip?

Do you work on multiple wips or stick to one fic at a time?

Do you write scenes in order, or do you jump around?

Do you outline your fics?  If yes, how detailed are your outlines?  How far do you stray from them?

Do you listen to music while you write?  If yes, what have you been listening to recently?

What is your favorite location and position to write in?

What’s your favorite time to write?

Do you write by hand, on your phone, or on your laptop?

Do you have a writing routine?

Do you enjoy research?  Which fic of yours required the most research?

Do you enjoy creating OCs or do you prefer to stick solely to canon characters?

Do you prefer writing AUs or canon fics?

Do you prefer writing chaptered fics or one-shots?

Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process?  How do you come up with titles?

Is writing the beginning, middle, or end of the story easiest? Hardest?

How do you choose whose POV to write in?

What’s your favorite part of the writing process (worldbuilding, brainstorming/outlining, writing, editing, etc)?

What’s your least favorite part of the writing process?

What area of writing do you feel strongest in?

What area of writing do you want to improve in?

What’s something about your writing that you’re proud of?

See the full post

6,567 notes - Posted April 27, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →