#can I use the words 'full' and 'ficlet' in relation to one another? like is that an oxymoron?

[kumquats-are-gay]

a totally innocent Johnny Cage x reader imagine/blurb that won't get out of my head:

Thinking about reader and Johnny sleepily cuddling together on the couch or bed. Reader is a bit horny, though, squirming around enough for Johnny to take notice. Both of you are too tired for any real action, though, so Johnny invites you to hump/ride his thigh. He encourages you through every minute of it, insisting that you take what you need to feel good and praising you for your efforts. He'll direct you here and there with faint touches, but ultimately he wants you to get yourself off. Don't get it twisted; it's not because he doesn't want to help. No, simply watching you drowsily rut against him in a desperate attempt to get off is a thing of beauty in and of itself, and he doesn't dare interrupt that.

"Come on, baby," he coos softly into your ear, "you can do it." He lays a hand on your hip, barely there, but it's enough to spur you on. "That's the ticket..."

[incalculablepower]

I feel truly spoiled by the amount of fantastic fics I've been reading and bookmarking this month! I've picked out a few faves in this post -- not an exhaustive list at ALL!

Some of these were only uploaded in the past few weeks, some of them are several years old. If you read and like any of these, be sure to show some love to the authors in the form of kudos and comments.

Seven Words for Snow by Delphi

Sometimes when I read fiction set in the places I've lived, there's an familiar feeiling i get that reminds me of fanfic. There's something comforting about experiencing a place you know well rendered in fiction. Getting a double dose of that through Delphi's writing is a real treat in this fic as the main character (Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank!) takes the train from Union Station along the shores of Lake Ontario -- a journey I've taken myself many many times.

In one direction lay the arctic, where she meant to summer if her funds would take her that far. In another direction lay the hospitable coal port where her first ship had docked, and opposite it lay the expansive wheat fields of the prairies, and the great mountains, and the cedar rainforests of the furthest coast. And somewhere, she supposed, was the way back to Ohsweken, where perhaps the milder edges of the very same storm were blowing. 

I also recommend The Wolf Covers Its Tracks (All Us Human Extras Remix) (Werewolves in Banff! a Tragically Hip reference in the title! a deeply relatable explanation of the call of the void one experiences at Niagara Falls) and A Dream of Winter, which takes the odd line in DH about Kendra looking Native American and gives her a full backstory as a Mohawk woman from Six Nations.

Orchards by @whinlatter

How completely exciting it is to see a fic come up on @ao3feed-romione, and it's over 10k words, and it's canon-compliant, missing moment Harry/Ginny, and it's the author's first fic, and it's my BIRTHDAY? I wish I could experience reading this fic for the first time again. Something I really love about this moment in time in HP fanfiction is that there are so many authors (and I'll include myself in here, why not) who have such a deep connection with these stories. We read them at an exciting and formative time and they've stuck with us. And now, we're all grown up with grown-up writing chops and life experience and all the things that make us better at telling stories, PLUS years of thinking about these characters? It results in some of the most comforting and affirming fanfiction you can get. The nostalgic summertime vibes in this fic are immaculate, packed with some truly knockout poetic lines, and jokes I really laughed out loud at. After reading, I recommend the author's response to an ask which serves as a meta on Ginny's t-shirts in this fic.

Green Light by iota_after_dark

It's Ginny/Hermione smut! And it's sweetly sad, sensitive and hopeful. Hermione's status as the fandom broomstick (everyone gets a ride!) means Ron needs to be out of the picture and it normally follows the same formula: Ron is boring/stupid/mean/whatever; she ditches him; [insert character] steps in to show her a good time. In this fic, however, it's not Hermione's decision, and she's given the space to be a little mopey and sad in a way I find really refreshing! Also major points for my new favourite tag "Hermione wears a going out top (it's 2001!)". I've recced it before on my tumblr, but be sure to check out Essential Lessons from this author as well, a Romione fic that balances goofiness and sweetness so well.

Vetus Amicus by @floreatcastellumposts

What a beautiful parting gift to the fandom from Flo. I cried several times reading this.

alone now by Kyra

A short ficlet about Hermione's mother in Australia and memory, very powerful.

Love by @indigo-scarf

I loved this exploration of Blaise and his relationship with his mother. PS be sure to check out everything in the @harrypocter Winter Sun drabble collection -- if I recced everything I would be here all day, everything in that collection is worth your time.

the good sleep better by honey_wheeler

This is an old one, and I was sure I've read every immediately-post-battle fic there is but somehow this one slipped by me. I'm comfortable calling this one of the best, it has such a great balance of delirious humour and depth that such a moment deserves.

a louisville slugger to both headlights by @pebblysand

Okay so up there ⬆️ I had mentioned that reading a fic felt like a gift specifically for me, but then last week I got an email from Ao3 that there was a gift waiting for me and it was this fic! Jo took my stupid semi-viral post about Harry's wife Sheila and RAN with it, constructing a whole new OC and a really convincing and heartwarming world where Harry and Ginny are divorced. And Harry has married a woman named Sheila. Who he met at work. All of the meta references here tickled me so much... if you want more of my thoughts there is a massive comment I spent 40 minutes (I timed myself) writing. This is so so special to me.

The Last Enemy: The Howling Nights by @chdarling, podfic by ShootWithIntentToKill

This WIP podfic is a perfect way to reread TLE during the TLE2 hiatus. Every chapter is around 10-30 minutes long, which makes it slot perfectly into a my weekly cleaning/chores podcast rotation. Slowing down to listen to the podfic means I'm catching sooo much foreshadowing and references this time around and I love the voices the narrator has chosen for the characters, Lily and Sirius are my favourites. I love having this pod keep me company.

I hope to do this for each month going forward - I doubt other months will be this intense (I didn't read a single book this month lol) but there are always a few new and old faves I discover or revisit each month. Once again, leave a comment or kudos on these fics if you liked them!

[goddess47]

I posted 412 times in 2022

That's 76 more posts than 2021!

126 posts created (31%)

286 posts reblogged (69%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@fullmoonficlet

@ao3feed-mcshep

@cassiope25

@thekristen999

I tagged 262 of my posts in 2022

Only 36% of my posts had no tags

#teen wolf - 79 posts

#sga - 60 posts

#sterekdrabbles - 53 posts

#sterek - 43 posts

#mcshep - 39 posts

#pimping - 28 posts

#stargate - 20 posts

#full moon ficlet - 19 posts

#romancing mcshep 2022 - 17 posts

#stargate atlantis - 16 posts

Longest Tag: 41 characters

#challenge: zipper spectacular responsible

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Stargate Fests

The Stargate fandom has grown very much smaller from its heyday when any of the series were still being created. But there still are pockets of active Stargate folk who are hanging out, creating works and being merry.

The thing is that we're now also spread across different platforms and don't always get to visit together. The Live Journal and Dreamwidth folk don't always spend time on Tumblr and Discord, and vice versa. And the SGA folk don't always know about SG1 things happening. And I know there are SGU folk out there. Somewhere.

And it turns out that there were two separate "SGA Santa" fests going on at the same time in the Fall. There were a couple of folk who did both, but some of us didn't even know the other existed until it posted. That's okay, but either fest may have had a couple more participants if more folk knew they existed.

So I'm putting together a Stargate Fests list. All fests, of all types, of all durations, of all types of work, of all franchises. If it's related to Stargate, I'll include it on the list.

As an example, "Romancing McShep" is almost over for 2022, but I just ran across "McShep Month" on Tumblr. If I wasn't a Tumblr user, I would never have seen it.

I'm looking for your Stargate 'fest' - where fest is used in the broadest form of the word. If you'd like to see your fest added to the list, fill out the form: Fest Submission Form

There isn't a lot there right now, but I'd love to see a longer list... and if there's something critical that needs to be added in terms of fest details, I'd love to know what it is. I'm relying on the fest for details. I'm just looking for enough information to lure folk into looking...

The list I have so far is here: Stargate Fests List. I'm hoping it becomes a lot longer soon!

Tell me what you think!

90 notes - Posted February 24, 2022

#4

Room For Rent

For @sterekdrabbles (6/17/2022) prompts: room, cheap, brother

----

"Come in," Stiles invited.

Derek stepped into the small room and shook his head. "Nope. You're not staying here another minute."

"Derek! It's cheap and all I can afford!" Stiles protested.

"Anyone and their brother could break into this place," Derek replied, picking up a packing box. "It's not safe."

"I have no place else! And classes start Monday."

Derek took a breath. "The apartment Laura and I rented is still available... I never stopped paying rent..."

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek. "There are too many memories."

Derek hugged Stiles back. "Maybe we can make some new ones? Together."

114 notes - Posted June 18, 2022

#3

Constellations

For @sterekdrabbles 6/3/2022 prompts: expensive, bathe, curtain

-----

"I don't know, Derek," Stiles murmured. "It's pretty expensive for a shower curtain." Although Stiles had to admit to himself it was gorgeous.

Derek blushed. "I know, but, well, it makes me think of you."

"Really, big guy?" Stiles smiled as he turned to his husband.

Derek touched the material. "The pattern of stars looks like the scattering of moles on your back. Like you'll never be far away from me." A deeper flush. "Even if I'm only bathing."

"Aww..." Stiles leaned in for a kiss. "For that alone, I'd take a dozen."

Derek smiled as he returned the kiss.

120 notes - Posted June 5, 2022

#2

Way To A Man's Heart

For @sterekdrabbles (6/13/2022) prompts: harass, admit, trouble

----

The siren whooped once, pulling behind Derek.

Derek sighed. Harassment by the Deputies was part of dating the Sheriff's son.

"Am I in trouble..." Derek looked up from grabbing his license. "Oh. Hey, Jordan."

"Nah," Jordan said. "Saw you alone and thought I'd pass on some advice."

"Anything!" Derek begged.

"Pie. Sheriff loves pie and Stiles never lets him have any," Jordan grinned. "But if you bring it over..."

"Ah! Stiles can't complain... as much," Derek replied.

"Yup!"

"Thanks! That will be helpful," Derek admitted.

As he drove off, Derek wondered if any of Nana's recipes were in the vault.

142 notes - Posted June 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

As Advertised

For @sterekdrabbles (6/8/2022) prompt: year, sign, super

-----

"Rwarrr!" Eli extended his fingers like claws and swiped at the teddy bear.

"Umm... what?" Derek was confused.

Stiles shrugged. "We saw a sign in the Asian food section of the supermarket that said this is the year of the Tiger. So. Now we're a tiger."

"Oh!" Derek watched as his son pretended to pounce on the defenseless teddy bear.

"It's kinda cute," Stiles said as he leaned against Derek.

Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles and dropped a soft kiss on the side of his head.

"Just like his dad," Derek replied with a smile.

Stiles kissed him back.

146 notes - Posted June 9, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[songsofadelaide]

 ₊˚ʚ₊˚✧ ﾟ. Fic Masterlist

My AO3, where you can find my full work.

 ₊˚ʚ₊˚✧ ﾟ. Fics I have shared here. Please use the tag #songsofadelaidewrites💛 for easier access.

💛 Gojo Satoru Masterlist

🍀 Mari's Fic Collections

♡ - Author's fave

💛 My Hero Academia

✦ Providentia [iida x reader, AO3 fic] ✦ A craving [bakugou x reader]

💛 Haikyuu!!

✦ Solstice [kageyama x reader] ♡ ✦ Covet [atsumu x reader] ♡ ✦ Invisible String [oikawa x reader]

💛 Jujutsu Kaisen

✦ Up The Winding Stairs [gojo x reader au] [WIP] ✦ The Loneliest Time [gojo x reader au] [WIP] [tumblr fic] ♡ ✦ There Will Be Rain [megumi x reader au] ✦ In Your Dreams [geto x reader au] ✦ Paraselene [yuuta x reader au] [WIP] ♡ ✦ This City at Night [gojo x reader] ✦ Collections (Published on AO3) Year 2006 Fics | In The Wind Fics

✦ Asleep Among Endives [gojo x reader] — Masterlist Chapter 1 - Twilight Chapter 2 - The Sun Chapter 3 - Ordinary Days ~ Interlude— In the Quiet ~ Chapter 4 - Side by Side [WIP] ~ Epilogue ~ [WIP]

✦ From Here to There [jjk x reader fics, also on AO3] — Masterlist 1. rilakkuma stickers [gojo] 2. what is a family? [megumi] 3. 17:35 [nanami] ♡ 4. glamorous sky [geto] ♡ 5. fever dream [gojo] 6. shadows as one [megumi] ♡ 7. oranges [gojo] 8. be cool [gojo] 9. embrace you [yuuji] 10. promise ring [geto] ♡ 11. joined in a dream [gojo, 7 Dec] 12. shadows three [megumi. 22 Dec] 13. papa's girl [megumi] 14. waltz of four left feet [higuruma] 15. luminescence [gojo] 16. rules of engagement [gojo] ♡ 17. favourite person [gojo] ♡ 18.number one fan [gojo] ♡ 19. my blood [gojo] 20. guilty as sin [gojo] 21. bottom of the basket [gojo] 22. drunk words are sober thoughts [gojo] ♡ 23. scent of first love [geto] 24. cantarella [geto] 25. 02:19 [gojo] 26. nostalgia [gojo]

💛 Kaiju No. 8

✦ burning star [hibino kafka] ♡ ✦ raging tempest [hoshina soshiro] ✦ radiant point [hoshina soshiro] ♡ ✧ refulgence — a companion piece to radiant point ✧ candor — another side story to radiant point ✧ flare — another side story to radiant point ✦ stardust [hoshina soshiro] ✦ untitled [hoshina soshiro] ✦ cosmic [narumi gen] ♡ ✦ prism — a side story to cosmic [narumi gen]

💛 Fire Emblem Warriors: Three Hopes

✦ Dear Love, Dear My Home Series on AO3 ✦ Windburn [Holst Sigiswald Goneril x Reader, AO3 fic] ✦ Luminous [Faerghus noblemen x Reader ficlet collection, AO3 fic] ♡ ✦ Marigold [Adrestian noblemen x Reader ficlet collection, AO3 fic] ✦ Suncatcher [Claude von Riegan x Reader, AO3 fic] ✦ Atmospherics [Balthus von Albrecht x Reader, AO3 fic] ✦ The Moon and Back [Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd x Reader] ♡ ✦ Race Against the Sunset [Felix Hugo Fraldarius x Reader] ♡

💛 Other fandoms I love

✦ Blue Beryl + Return to Versailles [triangle strategy | roland x reader, on AO3] ✦ Meet me in the Afterglow [chainsaw man | aki x reader] [tumblr fic] ♡ ✦ Call it Magic [attack on titan | jean x reader] [WIP] [tumblr fic] ♡ ✦ Means Something [dungeon meshi | laios x reader] ♡

✦ Mari's Masterlist ✦ Mari's Prompts ✦ Mari's Archive ✦

 ₊˚ʚ₊˚✧ ﾟ. My Linktree, where you can find my other writing-related socials.

Please don't copy, plagiarise or repost my works to any other platforms. Your likes, replies, comments, and reblogs are always a delight to receive! 💛

[cdroloisms]

haha your snippit abt the dispenser got me thinking.

Dream gets let out of prison and he talks constantly, whatever is on his mind. And he's positive all the time. To a fault where people walk over him. And it doesn't make sense because he was tortured right???? But after an incident they find out it's because he hates the sound of silence and needs constant reminders that other people are there. Also he was punished for any negative emotions in the prison so his default is happy now,,,

hi anon !! this concept makes me SO goddamn sad ,, the idea that he Has to be happy bc anything else would mean punishment im so *punches the walls*

this ,, ficlet is honestly. pretty ooc, not really related to the ask at all, and mostly an excuse for me to cry abt c!dream and c!punz for an excessive amount of time (technically the vote on twitter was supposed to have this as c!sapnap pov, but i just wrote one for him so i went for c!punz instead. mostly bc i wanted to write him LMAO). hopefully someone enjoys it despite *gestures vaguely* all of that mess

tw: trauma, disordered eating, implied torture/abuse, blood, injuries, unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional distress, thoughts of murder/mercy killing, mentioned animal death, dark content

In the end, it’s all rather anticlimactic, the complete opposite of Dream’s vault and the whole fiasco of adrenaline and theatrics that had made up that day. Quackity ended up having one too many drinks, bragged about the wrong thing to the wrong person - Punz doesn’t know the specifics, only knows that one thing has led to another and suddenly Sapnap was screaming at his ex-fiancé, sword pointed at his chest and tears streaming down his eyes in the middle of the Community House floor, everyone else stood around and watching. A look into Quackity’s office said everything he didn’t - the chests and chests of used and new tools, shiny and sharpened and completely rusted over with blood and everything in between. There’s been a balled up shirt in the wastebasket, completely unsalvageable from how saturated it was with blood, more red than white, and perhaps most chilling of all the calendar, marked with X after X in red pen, going back months and speaking to their utter failure to see what had been happening all but right in front of them.

With Quackity down, Sam caved not too long after, and with his input getting into the prison was no challenge at all. The only thing holding them back were bad memories and the tense, worried edge to Sam’s jaw as he led the small group of them - himself and Sapnap, actually entering the facility, Bad and Puffy waiting outside - carrying them through winding corridor after winding corridor and lava pit after lava pit, until they’d come to stand before a chasm filled with flowing lava, slowly draining before the main cell.

“I- I have to warn you,” Sam had muttered, uncharacteristically hesitant, “it looks…pretty bad,” and Punz would’ve questioned him further, but the lava had fallen far enough to reveal the topmost edge of the cell, so they let Sapnap hound the Warden for information as they directed their full attention on the cell itself and holy shit.

Nothing Sam said could’ve possibly have prepared them for the sight - it was a complete fucking bloodbath, crimson painting the walls and smeared over the floor and splattered over every visible surface like some abstract art experiment gone wrong. The stench of iron and burning flesh and viscera was awful, even over the gap marked by the still-draining lava. Punz strained his eyes; at the very back of the cell, huddled, unmoving, was a similarly bloodstained shape that must’ve been Dream. They remember the crack of Sapnap’s knuckles meeting Sam’s face and breaking his nose, remember themselves chucking a pearl and feeling along Dream’s neck desperately for a pulse - everything beyond that became a swirl of voices and panic and crying that makes their head hurt to think about, so they don’t.

Recovery is…messy. The physical side had been bad enough - pulling Dream out of the cell, barely breathing, limp in his arms and far too light, all Punz could think about was a sheep he’d found a year ago, frail and struggling to breathe, one he’d ended up killing - quick and painless - with a sword through the skull because it seemed kinder than letting it suffer. Watching Dream struggle on the bed, laid up in Bad’s mansion because none of them knew if he’d survive going any further, body resisting the potions they’d slowly forced down his throat after being so over-saturated on them, temperature spiking and heat baking into his skin like the lava from the prison had been imprinted onto his body, Punz feels the same strange mixture of pity and unease, wonders if it’d be a hell of a lot kinder if they just put him out of his fucking misery.

Still, because Dream is a stubborn bastard, against all odds, he ends up surviving - his fever breaks, the potions begin taking effect, and a few tireless, aching days later his eyes flutter open, lucid for the first time in a week. Punz isn’t even in the room when he wakes, only knows that it happens because the too-quiet room suddenly erupts in noise and activity, muffled thumps and sounds of a struggle undercutting Bad’s frantic calls for someone to help, anyone, and they run into the room to find Dream thrashing on the bed, wounds reopened and blood dripping onto the sheets, eyes wild and wide as his head whips from side to side so hard Punz is half-afraid that he’ll straight up break his neck. Somehow, worst of all, not a single scream falls from his lips, nothing but muffled whines squeezing past his mouth, clenched shut, and for a singular, awful second they wonder how long it took before he realized that screaming was useless.

Fortunately enough for them, or unfortunately, it’s not like he can tell the fucking difference anymore, the panic and strain end up with Dream passing out altogether, and they trade uneasy glances with Bad before going to clean off the worst of his wounds. If everything they’re doing feels hopeless, dressing up wounds that’ll be torn open hours later when Dream is awake enough to feel fear but not much else because he’s forgotten what it’s like to not be afraid - well, that’s for them to think and everyone else to pretend not to agree with.

Weeks pass along the same vein - Dream wakes up, panics; they try to calm him down, fails; he falls back into unconsciousness, and they move on and pretend that they’re cleaning up wounds from battle and not from someone that’s literally been tortured for months on end. People stop by, occasionally; Puffy spends more time than not inside the mansion, but hardly ever enters the door into Dream’s room, Sapnap and George drop by occasionally with potion brewing supplies that the rest of them can’t go out to get; once, he’d gone out to the front door to find a chest with an enchanted golden apple, sender nowhere in sight. He knows that the server is busy; Quackity’s admission had brought more than a few secrets to light, and from what they understand, the political fallout has been pretty damn messy. Still, he stays in the mansion, and watches.

He doesn’t exactly know why he stays. They’re not a stellar healer, not beyond what they know to dress their own wounds, and spend most of their time doing odd-and-ends tasks for Bad, who looks more tired than ever. Maybe it’s because he’s seen Dream at his worst more than the rest of them, had been there through his entire fall from grace, watched as his eyes became clouded with anger and madness and a single, desperate hope that he’d chased at the cost of his world and himself. Maybe it’s because they have no ties to the rest of the server - not to Las Nevadas, falling apart under the scrutiny of the eyes that now fall upon it, not Snowchester, caught up in the chaos, not the Badlands, half-dissolved after the fiasco of the Egg and with Sam’s actions having just come to light. Maybe it’s because above everything else, he feels guilty.

They’d thought the prison was the answer. It’d seemed too simple, back in that Vault - a perfect answer, because everyone else was perfectly happy to watch Dream die another time and some part of them had clenched painfully at the thought even thought they knew it was for the best. The prison meant that he’d be alive, if angry, and at some point when he had the time or the nerve or the guts he could go and visit, and they would talk, and Dream would be angry but with time maybe he could even understand.

They hadn’t wanted this. He can’t imagine anyone wanting this.

“Punz?” They don’t jump at the voice at their back, they don’t, but Bad still has a tiny, tight-lipped smile when they turn around anyway, eyes creased in the corners and still not as bright as they’d been before the Egg. Bad looks at him knowingly, setting a bowl of soup into his hands. “For Dream, if you can get him to eat.” He shifts a pointed gaze towards the door. “Maybe you two could talk.”

“About what?” The words come out harsher than they intend, and they take a moment to bite back the mostly self-directed anger that Bad doesn’t deserve to receive the brunt of. “I just-” he waves his hand in the air, trying to articulate the mess that is his relationship with Dream without the words to explain it. “I don’t know, man.”

“You don’t have to talk about everything,” Bad says, calm as always, eyes flicking down to the bowl of soup in his hands. “Just start with the soup.”

Punz sighs. “I’ll try.”

He enters the room in a single, fluid motion, mostly because he knows that if he were to stop at the door then he’d never actually make his way in. Dream flinches back when they enter, eyes going wide and stance going rigid, and the familiarity doesn’t make the sight any easier to bear as they wait, as always, for Dream’s eyes to clear enough for him to realize he’s in the mansion and not stuck in that same obsidian hellhole.

“I brought soup,” they say, finally, when Dream looks up. Dream’s lips twitch up in what he probably means as a smile; between the still-healing gashes on his face and the fear that flashes over his expression, still, it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Thanks.” Dream looks away. “I’ll eat it later.”

Liar, Punz thinks tiredly, moving closer to set the bowl down on the nightstand by the bed. They frown as Dream’s expression goes slack and distanced, again, eyes fixed to stare blankly at the wall once again.

“You should have some now,” he tries, careful to keep his words even. “You need the calories.”

“I’m good,” Dream says, automatic, just shy of sincere. “Thank you.”

“Dream,” they don’t quite succeed at keeping a displeased sigh from falling from their lungs, and bite back a curse at themselves when Dream pulls back with a silent flinch. It’s so goddamn hard, to talk to this version of Dream, both of them feeling around the edges of their relationship like walking on goddamn eggshells. A few months ago, he would’ve straight up called Dream out on his bullshit, get it through his thick skull that the whole ‘I’m fine and don’t need anyone’ act was stupid and completely failing to convince him. Here, they bite back another sigh, look forlornly at the bowl of the soup on the nightstand, sure to go uneaten once again, and force themselves to sound completely neutral when they speak again. “Alright. You’ll have to eat at some point, though.”

“Mmhm,” Dream hums noncommittally, once again staring at the wall. Punz stares at his hands. This is so fucking pointless.

“So,” they say after a few seconds, Bad’s words echoing in their head - they can try to make an effort to talk, sure. It’s just that Dream’s not going to cooperate. “How are you, man?”

The words come out stilted, awkward. He looks up to watch Dream’s expression, as the other man begins to gnaw on the inside of his cheek.

“I’m good,” he says, words deliberately light. “You?”

“Dream…”

“I’m fine.” Dream’s voice sharpens suddenly, breath hitching, before he shakes his head and turns his head away. “I’m fine.”

Punz looks at him incredulously. “Are you serious? Do we need to get into exactly how not-fine you are?” They wave a hand in his direction, jaw clenching when he rears back. “Do ‘fine’ people lose their minds from someone waving at them, now?”

“I-” For a second, Dream glares at him, eyes burning with a familiar, irritated fire that Punz knows all-too-well from having it directed at him a few too many times, before it suddenly dies and Dream is swinging his head back to the bedsheets, hands tightening on the cloth as he stammers. “I- What do you want?”

Punz breathes a soft sigh, regret blooming in the center of their chest. “Sorry,” he mumbles, careful to keep their gestures overly-telegraphed and away from the other man’s face. “I’m just- you’re not okay, man. No one’s expecting you to be okay after...all of that.”

“But why?”

Dream’s voice is small, nearly a sob, and Punz directs wide, alarmed eyes to where he’s hunched in over himself, knees pulled to his chest, hands staring at the sheets pulled over them. “Why?” he says, again, quieter, lip trembling slightly.

“Because you were tortured,” Punz begins, words slow as they watch Dream’s expression, trying to pull out the thoughts behind his averted eyes, “Because the cell was inhumane, and nobody deserves to be treated like that. Because you were hurt very, very badly because of what we did, and none of us are expecting you to be fine right after going through months of trauma.” He pauses. “You know that, right?”

“But I’m out,” Dream says, quiet, disbelieving, instead of answering their question. “I’m out of there. It’s over. It’s- everything’s good,” he whispers, more to himself than to them, hands curling into fists and then uncurling. “I’m- they said I would never get out. And I’m outside, and it’s not- not the cell, and I get real food, and Quackity doesn’t visit anymore,” he shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut as his breath catches in his throat. “I’m happy- I should be happy. Right?”

“Oh Dream,” the other man flinches back, breath quickening, and Punz’s hand stops short from where he’d almost let it fall onto the other’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be happy, man. Not- not after all of that. Not if you’re not ready yet.” Dream’s eyes, wide and wet, rise to look at their own, and they feel more than hear the soft, wounded noise that leaves their lips. “It’s ok to be hurt. It’s ok to be scared. No one’s blaming you, alright? No one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

This, more than anything, seems to be the breaking point, because Dream collapses forward, hands flying up to pull at his tangled hair before Punz manages to ease them away and into his own hands, watching as he grips onto them until his knuckles go white. His breathing shudders, quiet, even his sobs muffled as to make as little noise as possible, and they murmur meaningless croons and hums as he cries into their chest.

“I wanna- I wanna be okay,” he hiccups, and Punz smooths his hair back behind their hand.

“I know,” he swallows around the lump that has risen in his own throat. “I’m sorry.”

[carewyncromwell]

[Ficlet] Gonna Hit Rewind

Hi guys! So this is a little drabble inspired by a prompt by my friend @drinkyoursoupbitch​, where I show what my MC, Carewyn Cromwell, was up to during a certain scene in the Harry Potter series! 

Before we begin, just a couple of notes --

Post-Hogwarts, Carewyn becomes a lawyer for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement -- you can read more about her life as an adult here, if you’d like! When it comes to the Order of the Phoenix, Carey-Bear doesn’t formally join, instead providing covert assistance while staying autonomous from Dumbledore (who she doesn’t really like as a person) and looking “subservient” to Fudge’s wishes. Later on, this becomes very useful after the Death Eaters take over the Ministry in 1997: when the Battle of Hogwarts begins, Carewyn actually helps take back the Ministry by placing Umbridge under citizen’s arrest and temporarily taking charge until Kingsley Shacklebolt is officially appointed Minister. Carewyn’s outfit in the sketch enclosed below is inspired by this design. Musical accompaniment for this ficlet were “Leave Me Alone” by Michael Jackson (for Carewyn’s conversation with that...certain family member in the aforementioned sketch) and “Turn Back Time” by Derivakat (which inspired the title of this drabble!). And in regards to Carewyn’s negative attitude toward Time Turners...that is 110% my mother talking. When we read Harry Potter and the Cursed Child together, she absolutely hated that it involved time travel, as she found the whole idea ridiculously confusing and illogical. (The whole climax of Prisoner of Azkaban was even her least favorite aspect of the original Potter books. 😂)

Hope you enjoy -- and much love, Soup dear! xoxo

x~x~x~x

“Down here, down here,” panted Mr. Weasley, taking two steps at a time. “The lift doesn’t even come down this far…why they’re doing it there…”

They reached the bottom of the steps and ran along yet another corridor, which bore a great resemblance to that which led to Snape’s dungeon at Hogwarts, with rough stone walls and torches in brackets. The doors they passed here were heavy wooden ones with iron bolts and keyholes.

“Courtroom…Ten…I think…we’re nearly … yes.���

As Arthur Weasley rushed down the hall toward Courtroom Ten, he was unaware that in Courtroom Seven, the door of which was left slightly ajar, Carewyn Cromwell was speaking to her estranged uncle, the new head of the Cromwell Clan, at that very moment, nor that their conversation would ultimately determine Harry’s fate in that courtroom happening just three doors down. 

“You’re not supposed to be here, Blaise, and you know that full well.”

“I merely wished to speak with the Minister, little Winnie -- you are aware of how much our family still supports the Ministry and, by extension, your career, are you not?”

Carewyn fixed Blaise with a very cold blue eye. “And I suppose Lucius Malfoy speaking with the Minister down here mere moments ago had nothing to do with you making an unscheduled visit?”

Blaise cocked his eyebrows, his identically colored and shaped eyes narrowing under them.

“I can sense you trying to enter my mind, Winnie,” he said very softly, his eyes rippling like light blue flames despite the hardness of his face. “It won’t work. You couldn’t reach my thoughts when you were a girl, and you can’t reach them now.”

His voice became cooler, to the point of sounding condescending. 

“Whatever questions you have, you know your uncle would be more than willing to answer them, if you merely ask nicely.”

‘Answer’ -- ha! Carewyn thought to herself scornfully. Lie your face off, more like. But even so...if I’m going to get what I need, I need to keep him talking...

Carewyn went very quiet, considering Blaise carefully and her next words even more so. 

“...Are you or are you not associating with Lucius Malfoy?” she asked softly.

“You might recall that he and Father were business associates back in the day.”

“Of course I do. That’s why I’m asking. Or have you forgotten where Grandfather’s activities sentenced him -- where they sentenced you, until you were able to bribe the Minister to reduce the rest of your family’s sentences?”

“Our family, little Winnie,” Blaise corrected her, a notable, fiery edge to his voice.

You all may be related to me by blood, but you are not my family, Carewyn thought fiercely, but she once again bit her tongue. If she provoked his temper the way she was tempted to, he’d be less likely to talk to her. 

When she didn’t respond, Blaise continued. 

“Lucius Malfoy has always had a working relationship with the Cromwell Clan. It’s only natural that we speak from time to time, as two patriarchs of prominent magical families.”

“Magical families with certain reputations, you mean,” Carewyn said very coolly. 

“Cornelius Fudge thinks very highly of Lucius Malfoy.”

“And of you, thanks to your impressive acting. But that doesn’t extend to everyone else, and you know it.”

“Of course,” said Blaise with a very cool smirk. “That’s something we have in common, isn’t it, Winnie? Putting on a charming face to get what we want, and not caring who hates us for it?”

Carewyn didn’t care enough to argue this point -- she’d already had this sort of discussion with Rakepick several times back in the day, and she knew that it meant Blaise was not only trying to divert the conversation, but also was absolutely full of it. 

You’re acting like this fact makes us just as bad as each other, Blaise, but it doesn’t. Even if we have some similarities in our methods, that does not make us the same. I’ve never terrorized people to try to advance myself. I’ve never manipulated or forced anyone to join a criminal organization. I’ve never masqueraded as my nephew in order to try to manipulate my niece into selling her soul and her freedom just to save him. However much I’m not perfect, I’m head-and-shoulders above you, when it comes to the moral high ground.

But honestly, there was no point in arguing with people like Blaise. It wasn’t like she’d ever convince him that everything he thought was wrong -- that Muggles weren’t inferior, Charles Cromwell was an abusive monster, and everything he and the Cromwell Clan did to try to get Carewyn, Jacob, and Lane back under their control was reprehensible rather than justified -- and she didn’t feel enough passion to try. Especially not when there were more important things happening at that very moment...

Harry would be in the courtroom by now. She had to hurry.

Although Carewyn tried to keep her face stoic, her brain was working very fast. Her eyes drifted away, off toward the far wall of the courtroom where the Wizengamot benches were lined up.

“...Look,” she said slowly, her voice becoming a little softer, “my Legilimency has become very sensitive, in this line of work. It allows me to read people’s intentions and feelings very quickly, even when I’m not actively trying to. And Lucius Malfoy...he doesn’t see you as an equal, but as a pawn.”

Blaise’s eyebrows came down over his eyes, but he didn’t respond.

“You and the rest of the Cromwell Clan only got out of Azkaban because you were able to appeal to Fudge,” said Carewyn, “but if you’re associating with the wrong people, that could very quickly sour. Your position will become uncertain again, and you won’t be able to protect them -- especially if Fudge gets the kind of control over the Wizengamot that he wants...where charges and judgments are laid down based on favoritism more than legality. We’re already seeing it with how Fudge is now treating Dumbledore and Potter, after how much he always sucked up to them. End up outside of Fudge’s good graces, as they did, and the same might befall you. I realize that you and Malfoy...”

Are Muggle-hating bigots.

“...have similar politics,” she said at last very stiffly, “...but Lucius Malfoy’s politics are far more extreme than yours, and although the courts decided there wasn’t enough evidence to prove his methods were also...we both know that’s also true. If he falls, he will drag you down with him -- and if you take the fall for his actions, he won’t lift a finger to help you.”

Carewyn forced herself to look Blaise in the eye. 

“Grandfather’s dealings with R got you all in enough trouble. You bought yourself and the rest of...our family a second chance -- something many others did not get. Are you sure you want to endanger that?”

Blaise considered Carewyn very carefully as she spoke, his blue eyes boring into hers critically. By the end, they’d actually widened.

“...Are you actually expressing concern for us, Winnie?” he asked very lowly. 

Carewyn scoffed. “Don’t misunderstand me, Blaise -- I don’t really think you all deserved a second chance in the first place, after everything you’ve pulled.”

Her blue eyes became a bit more solemn. 

“But truthfully...I’m not that upset that you were released from Azkaban. Dementors...they’re wretched creatures. I’ve seen what they can do to people.”

Her expression darkened.  

“...I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, however terrible they are.”

Something confused and almost disgusted rippled over Blaise’s face, making his nose wrinkle.

“Ugh -- and here I’d thought you’d actually weeded out that weakness in your heart...”

Carewyn’s red lips came together tightly, but she didn’t reply. The two stared each other down for a moment, before Blaise finally exhaled.

“Very well, Winnie -- you want to know why I’m down here?”

He reached into his scarlet robes and pulled out a gold chain, on the end of which dangled a tiny gold hourglass. 

A Time Turner. 

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed upon it. 

“Lucius Malfoy has expressed quite a bit of interest in my old department, when we’ve spoken,” murmured Blaise. “One sub-section in particular -- one where records of magical predictions are kept.”

Carewyn’s eyebrows furrowed. “Prophecies?”

“They are truly a fascinating thing,” said Blaise, his voice sounding rather airy. “So much value is placed on them -- too much, one could argue...just as one puts too much value on all attempts at ‘future sight.’ Alas, the section of my old department that Malfoy was interested in was not my area of expertise -- my area was in the study of Time, specifically backwards-facing. We did occasionally dip into the study of forward-facing time magic, but more in the sphere of inevitabilities -- things that evolve naturally in nature, every season -- not human affairs. Unfortunately when I was there, there was an employee monitoring the perimeter of the section I meant to enter -- I couldn’t have explored further even if I’d wanted to.”

“So Malfoy wanted you to stop by your old desk and pick up something that might help him or someone else enter the Department of Mysteries?” Carewyn asked. “Why?”

Blaise shrugged. “He didn’t say.”

“And yet you have a suspicion as to why?”

Blaise’s eyes narrowed upon Carewyn’s face, not angrily, but almost darkly. 

“I may no longer work for the Department of Mysteries, Winnie, but I cannot discuss the more classified branches of their work too deeply. That is part of the Vow I made when I first joined the Department -- it forces me to speak in hypotheticals and vague descriptions more than specific details. But I fear no random stooge using this tool to try to enter my old department, whether Malfoy or otherwise. In fact,” he added with a smirk, “I would frankly love to see them try.”

He ignored Carewyn’s critical, confused expression and pressed on more seriously. 

“You’re not a stupid girl, Winnie. I know you know what’s really going on, under the surface. Me offering assistance to Lucius Malfoy early on is merely how I intend to earn enough favor to keep my family safe, should the worst happen.”

“And what is that?” asked Carewyn.

Blaise cocked his eyebrows again. “Ask your mother. She remembers the First Wizarding War just as well as I do -- how it all started before.”

He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

“Blaise.”

Carewyn speaking his name and sharply grabbing his arm holding the Time Turner made him stop. 

“If you wish to provide Lucius Malfoy useful information,” she said lowly, “you can tell him that that employee was not there by accident.”

Blaise looked back over his shoulder, startled. Carewyn closed her eyes tight, trying to block out the intense nausea rippling over her. 

“He’s there to make sure Malfoy’s superior can’t reach what he wants,” she murmured. “There are many more, just like him, all with the same goal. It doesn’t matter when you go there -- there will always be someone there who will keep him away from what he wants.”

Blaise stared at Carewyn, his eyes narrowing in bewilderment. 

“...Why are you telling me this?” he whispered. 

Carewyn swallowed back the lump in her throat. 

“I haven’t worked with time magic like you have...but people aren’t supposed to be in two places at once. That I do know. A lot of problems have been caused by people trying to mess with time. Mum told me that once in the 19th century, a whole bunch of people’s lives were erased out of existence, all because someone messed around with a Time Turner...”

“Ah, yes, Eloise Mintumble,” said Blaise, sounding as darkly amused as a bully might upon seeing one of their usual targets wearing a particularly obnoxious dress. “Tried to go back more than a few hours and ended up changing things so dramatically that she both erased 25 people out of existence and aged her body five centuries and died upon return trip. A rather fascinating case study.”

“You’re disgusting,” Carewyn said coldly. But she got back to the task at hand, her voice hardening. “Even if Malfoy couldn’t get what his master wants from the Department of Mysteries with that Time Turner, he could still do irreparable damage with it. If all Malfoy needs is assistance, to believe that you’re helping him and for you to earn enough esteem that the Cromwell Clan stays safe...then give him the intelligence I’ve given you. Don’t give him that Time Turner.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, his lips spreading into a rather condescending smirk. “Why? Because it’s wrong, little Winnie? Because it’s illegal and immoral, and ‘not the right thing to do?’”

“I’m not foolish enough to appeal to you with morality, Blaise -- I know you don’t have any,” spat Carewyn. “I’m asking you not to do it for your own self-preservation. For the Clan’s. ...For your family’s.”

Blaise’s smirk actually slid off his face. Carewyn held his gaze as best as she could, even with how ill she felt. 

“I may not be one of those who takes turns standing watch in your old department,” Carewyn said very softly, “but Jacob is.”

Blaise’s face went rather white, and Carewyn knew she’d struck a cord. For as cruel, selfish, and immoral of a person as Blaise was, he still saw his family -- all of it -- like his personal belongings. And he “took care” of his belongings. He wanted complete control over them and, like Charles before him, he never respected them as people, nurtured them, or gave them any freedom...but Blaise didn’t want anyone touching “his things.”

The older man’s jaw clenched as a rather dark glint flashed through his eyes.

“...I see.”

His teeth still bared, he extended the hand holding the Time Turner’s gold chain and, very slowly, lowered it into Carewyn’s hand. 

Carewyn’s eyes softened in relief.

“Thank you.”

Blaise exhaled heatedly through his nose.

“Jacob always was a fool,” he growled, his voice full of resentment. “Risking his life for people like that Muggle filth who abandoned you and your mother -- ”

“Better than selling his soul and freedom to serve the person who locked my mother and all of you up like prisoners,” Carewyn shot back rather coolly.

Blaise’s eyes flashed angrily. “You will not speak ill of your grandfather, Winnie! Everything he ever did in his life was for us, including you, your brother, and your mother, and I will not have you forgetting that!”

“Crow that lie as much as you want -- it won’t ever make it true.”

Blaise seethed as Carewyn pocketed the Time Turner in her robes. Slowly, his temper cooled enough that his lips spread back out into a rather vindictive smirk.

“For the record, Winnie...Time moves in a loop. If Lucius Malfoy were to use the Time Turner after I give it to him a half-hour from now, the effects would’ve already been felt by us by now. We would have heard about someone having broken into the Department of Mysteries before our conversation even started. The fact that we are not hearing that means that he never receives the Time Turner from me. So, in fact, it was already clear that I would give you the Time Turner before I actually did -- ”

“Oh, shut your trap,” Carewyn said tiredly. Just listening to Blaise wax on was giving her a headache. “I don’t even want to try unpacking all that time travel rubbish. All I care about is that Malfoy and his ilk can’t try to mess with time, now or ever.”

She turned on her heel and strode for the slightly ajar door. Pushing it further open, she then looked back over her shoulder at Blaise. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to take care of. Stay out of trouble, or I will not hesitate to prosecute you.”

Blaise’s eyes were very cold even around his smirk. “If there’s anyone who should be warned to stay out of trouble, it’s you, Winnie. I’m not the only one who’s aligned themselves with people who could drag them down, if they fall.”

“Perhaps,” said Carewyn mildly. “But my friends will catch me if I fall, just as they have before. Just like I always catch them. That makes all the difference.”

She walked away, her heels clapping against the black tiled floor as she strode to the end of the hall, listening at the door of Courtroom Ten. She could hear several voices talking inside -- after a moment, she recognized two as Amelia Bones and Cornelius Fudge. 

“...certainly described the effects of a dementor attack very accurately. And I can’t imagine why she would say they were there if they weren’t -- ”

“But dementors wandering into a Muggle suburb and just happening to come across a wizard! The odds on that must be very, very long, even Bagman wouldn’t have bet -- ”

“Oh, I don’t think any of us believe the dementors were there by coincidence,” said a very misty, serene voice from inside the Courtroom.

Carewyn’s shoulders relaxed, even as her eyes rolled up toward the ceiling.

Dumbledore. He’d made it in time. 

Exhaling heavily, Carewyn quickly turned back around and walked briskly back down the hallway, back upstairs toward her office. On the way, she walked by Blaise, who was now deep in quiet conversation with Lucius Malfoy, and Carewyn and Malfoy coldly stared each other down as she passed.

x~x~x~x

Carewyn hated keeping the Time Turner in her desk. She wanted to be rid of the thing immediately, but she knew she had to be patient. 

Around 11:00, just before lunchtime, Carewyn asked to borrow a Dungbomb from Tonks and covertly dropped off it just outside the Auror Department on her way back to her tiny office. The resulting smell resulted in the entire floor clearing out, until someone could deal with the smell. Carewyn herself, however, stayed in her office and powered through, spraying some Muggle air freshener to try to mask the smell. 

I forgot how much I hate Dungbombs, Carewyn thought dully. Oh well...desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess.

Keeping the files on a case she was working on open on either side of her, Carewyn read through them every-so-often as she pecked away at a letter she had to write. This letter had to be concise and to the point, if its recipient was going to know it was safe and exactly what she had to do, to help keep Harry Potter from getting unjustly expelled. 

Right on time, three hours after Harry’s hearing, Carewyn’s Legilimency picked up the feeling that someone was approaching her office. A moment later, there was a knock on her door. 

The ginger-haired lawyer exhaled heavily, her eyebrows knitting together. 

“Come in,” she said. 

Although she kept her voice level, she already felt a headache coming on. She knew who was on the other side of that door -- and sure enough, when it opened, in came tall, silver-bearded Albus Dumbledore, dressed in long midnight-blue robes. 

Carewyn’s eyes hardened as the Hogwarts Headmaster closed the door behind him.

“Hello, Carewyn,” Dumbledore said pleasantly. 

“You got my message from Tonks, then?” Carewyn asked. 

“To come straight to your office as soon as I arrived, but to not let anyone see me entering? Yes. Though I daresay the evacuation of this floor thanks to the smell of Dungbombs helped with that considerably,” said Dumbledore, and his light blue eyes twinkled. “I presume it has something to do with why some members of the Wizengamot were asking what I was doing back here so soon, and why Cornelius looked even more sour at my presence than usual.”

Carewyn’s face was twisted in a deep frown as she finally took the Time Turner out of the drawer and put it on top of her desk. 

“The time and place of Harry’s hearing was changed three hours ago, with no notice,” she said stridently. “The hearing originally scheduled for 11 o’clock instead was moved to 8 o’clock at 7:58 this morning. The letter was sent by owl to Privet Drive at 7:59, right before a second letter informing Harry that because he didn’t show up for his hearing, he was presumed guilty and therefore expelled from Hogwarts. Both letters arrived at 8:52. The Order wasn’t informed of the change until a little after 9, but was also informed by Arthur Weasley that you’d had the matter well in hand and had arrived miraculously early.”

“And so they felt no need to send me any post regarding the matter,” presumed Dumbledore with a dewy smile. “But in order for all of that to have happened, I will have to go back and ensure it does happen -- isn’t that so?”

Carewyn nodded curtly as she handed the Time Turner and a sealed envelope to Dumbledore. 

“Three turns back should be enough -- you don’t want to risk changing too much, by arriving too early, and I have a closed-door meeting with Chester Davies prior to that. Give this letter to me as soon as you arrive in the past. As soon as she...escorts you out, head straight for Courtroom Ten. You should arrive just after Harry does -- it shouldn’t raise as much suspicion if you make it to the courtroom after Harry, since he was already in Arthur’s office when he first received word of the change...”

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with some mischief. “Clever as always, Carewyn, my dear. You do the Order very proud.”

Carewyn’s eyes flashed. “I’m not doing this for you or your ‘Order,’ Dumbledore, as you know full well. Jacob was completely at R’s mercy after he was expelled from Hogwarts, and I don’t want to even think about where Potter might end up, if the same thing happened to him. And if Jacob’s guarding something in the Department of Mysteries, I don’t want to make it any easier for You-Know-Who and his goons to get the drop on him.”

Dumbledore’s calm didn’t shift, though his eyes did turn a bit more solemn. “And as always, Carewyn, your cleverness is only rivaled by your caring for others.” 

Rising to his feet, the Headmaster tucked the envelope inside his robes and then picked up the Time Turner. 

“I’ll be seeing you,” he said cheerily, “or, should I say, ‘I will have seen you?’”

And with three turns, he’d disappeared.

Carewyn gave an exhausted, groan-like sigh.

“I hate Time Turners,” she muttered to herself.

x~x~x~x

When Dumbledore appeared in Carewyn’s office out of the blue at 8 o’clock that morning, the ginger-haired lawyer reacted with a lot of irritation and suspicion. Those feelings weren’t helped when Dumbledore handed her the letter addressed to her, and yet written in a hand identical to hers.

Carewyn,

First of all, yes, I know you recognize this handwriting. This isn’t a trick -- it’s just the work of a Time Turner: specifically the one Dumbledore’s holding. On that note, ask him to hand it over and then smash it. We have more than enough problems in the here and now: no sense in adding more time travel rubbish to the pile. 

Now that that’s been taken care of, let’s get to business --

The time and place of Harry’s hearing was moved just a minute ago. It now starts at 8 o’clock in the morning in Courtroom Ten. Don’t worry, Arthur’s already been notified and is ferrying Harry as we speak, but Dumbledore needs to get down there right now. Kick him out of your office, nice and loudly -- there are people outside who could overhear, and you don’t want anyone to think you and Dumbledore are on good terms. Which, fortunately, you’re not. 

Now that Dumbledore’s out of your hair, let’s go over what you need to do -- 

Blaise has sneaked into the Ministry, specifically the bottommost floor near the Department of Mysteries, on Lucius Malfoy’s direction. No, Blaise isn’t a Death Eater -- just short-sighted and self-serving as ever. The point is that he has a Time Turner on his person, which he cannot be allowed to walk away with, under any circumstances. You’ll be able to catch him leaving the Department of Mysteries if you go downstairs in the next fifteen minutes. He’ll be meeting Lucius Malfoy around 8:30, in the middle of Harry’s hearing, so don’t let him walk away without getting that Time Turner away from him. Don’t come at the issue straight-on, though -- you can appeal to Blaise to give it to you willingly. Just keep him talking. Once you have the Time Turner, you can hold onto it until Dumbledore arrives in your office at the time that was originally scheduled for Harry’s hearing, so he can use it to go back far enough to arrive at Harry’s hearing on time. 

I know, this Time Travel stuff is absolutely bloody ridiculous. But at least this way Malfoy won’t be able to use the Time Turner Blaise stole to cause even more havoc. 

Burn this letter as soon as you’re done reading it. We don’t want anyone coming across it. 

Good luck. 

As for Dumbledore himself, he arrived at Harry’s hearing right on time, all according to plan. 

“Ah,” said Fudge, who looked thoroughly disconcerted. “Dumbledore. Yes. You --er -- got our -- er -- message that the time and -- er -- place of the hearing had been changed, then?”

“I must have missed it,” said Dumbledore cheerfully. “However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early, so no harm done.”

[daddy-hakoda]

How did Hakoda and Kya discover their mommy/daddy kinks?

-Bazongas Fan

Ah, Bazongas Fan—I can tell that you and I are already going to be very good friends. 😂

Thank you for another ask that is honestly making me think! 🤔 Think in a good way? Maybe…maybe not. 😅 But you’re still making me think!

Enjoy this ficlet chronicling how a couple of grown adults accidentally discovered the daddy kink!

“Something wrong, sweetie?”

Hakoda didn’t need his wife to tell him as much. The fact that she’d been home from the clinic for a full forty-five minutes without taking off her heels was evidence enough that something was bothering her.

“No, I don’t think so. Well…ummmm…maybe? Actually…yes. There’s definitely something wrong.”

“Did another patient ask you to measure their dick?”

“Oh no! Not that, thank Tui…it’s not work related at all, actually.” Kya sat beside him on the couch and wrapped her arms around her middle. “It’s about Sokka…and Suki. When they were visiting last week, I was passing by the laundry room, and I, uh…I overheard them…”

Letting his newspaper droop closed, Hakoda tossed it onto the ottoman and gave her his full attention. But his wife just kept chewing on her bottom lip, her brow furrowed as she tried to decide how best to continue. “So…you overheard them playing Pai Sho? Eating seal jerky? Having a tickle fight?”

“You know what I’m talking about, mister!” Kya spat, jabbing his chest with her finger. “Don’t tease me! I didn’t mean to hear any of it! But I did, and…”

Hakoda raised an eyebrow and clasped his hands on his knee. “Spare me the details. Actually, spare me everything, if you don’t mind.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to describe it to you,” Kya groaned, rolling her eyes, “There was just this thing that Suki said…something that I didn’t expect a girl with, you know, two mothers to say.”

Hakoda grimaced. He wasn’t sure what Kyoshi and Rangi could possibly have to do with this, but he didn’t want to know—for his sake and theirs. “This conversation just became a lot more confusing…and, frankly, a lot more uncomfortable. Honestly, it might be best if we decide to forget about—”

“She was calling him ‘Daddy.’”

“Oh. Wow. Okay.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s weird.”

“I know.”

“Sokka isn’t her dad.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why it’s weird.”

“Suki even doesn’t have a dad.”

“Glad we’re on the same page, sweetie.”

Squinting across the room at nothing in particular, Hakoda tried very hard to think about why a talented college athlete would refer to her classmate-turned-tutor-turned-boyfriend-turned-fiancé as ‘Daddy’ during sex—and he tried to do so without imagining it happening.

“Do you think she as some sort of…disorder?”

“Koda, I don’t know—weird things that people call each other in bed isn’t exactly my specialty.”

“Did you try to WanShiTong it?”

“Not yet—but if I’m going to search for something like that, I’m using your phone!”

“Alright, go ahead,” he grumbled, fishing his phone out of his pocket and typing in the passcode: 3-4-5-3.

Handing it over to Kya, he watched her open his browser app, but quickly looked away when she began to type into the search bar. His morbid curiosity was growing by the second, though, and he couldn’t help but watch her out of the corner of his eye.

“Spirits,” she murmured, tapping, swiping, and scrolling, “That’s…kinky.” Kya read with wide eyes, the screen lighting up her face.

“Is it the kind of kinky that requires therapy?”

“Uhhhh…no…I don’t think so. It seems like a—oh, here’s a definition: ‘Daddy — a name referring to a male sexual partner, usually one taking a dominant role during intercourse.’ And here it is used in a sentence: ‘Spank me, Daddy. I’ve been a bad girl.’”

As Hakoda listened to his wife read, all he could think about was her down on all fours—head low and ass raised—looking over her shoulder at him as she said those exact same words.

“That’s…interesting…” he rasped.

“Sure is. To be perfectly honest…I kinda like it...” Kya tossed aside the phone and turned to look at him, her eyes hooded and lips curving into a smile. “…and I think that term could have very wide application. A mother-of-two in her late thirties might refer to her handsome, hunky husband as Daddy when she’s feeling particularly needy. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I do.” Hakoda pulled his wife onto his lap, giving her tush a brazen squeeze. “But only so long as the handsome, hunky husband and the mother-of-two agree to forget where they heard it in the first place.”

“I’ve already forgotten,” Kya murmured, rolling her hips against the stiffness in his jeans, “Although…you might be interested to know that WanShiTong said there’s a counterpart to Daddy.”

“Hmm? What’s that?”

Her hand darted out, fisting his collar and bringing their lips less than an inch apart.

“Mommy.”

[youhideastar]

Hello! If you're interested in writing, I would love to read a ficlet with some dom Shea Weber. I love your characterization of him in To Be Seen Aright. It would be interesting to see how his scene negotiation style has changed after his experience with Sid. Like, I imagine that he won't settle for vague "I don't know what I like" talk from inexperienced subs anymore. I don't care who the sub is, but I would love to see Shea hyper-vigilant for the sub's failure to use his safeword in a scene.

This is a great prompt, anon! I think your read of Shea is absolutely right. There’s a ficlet below - it’s not expressly safeword-related but I hope it fits the bill!

“Are you going to put him out of his misery?” Pekka had asked.

Shea had known exactly who he was talking about. There’s only one person on the team who turns bright red every time Shea’s within five feet of him and stares fixedly at the ground whenever Shea happens to meet his eyes. “Lindy? Isn’t he--I thought he was yours.”

Pekka had looked mildly appalled. “I’m not going to collar my backup--fuck, Shea, what a mess. I can’t imagine. No, he kneels for me sometimes, but not--we don’t fuck, and I don’t have any claim on him. So...” He’d given Shea a significant look.

“Yeah, fine, we’ll see.”

It didn’t take much. That’s the thing about someone pretty much throwing themselves at you - all you have to do, when you’ve decided you want to catch them, is reach out your hand. And now Lindy is sitting on Shea’s bed and--

And being too agreeable, Shea thinks, cursing himself for being suspicious. He’d thought he was careful before, but Sid showed him he was full of shit. Now he’s second-guessing.

“Have you done breathplay before?” he asks. He’d brought it up originally as a test, honestly - it wasn’t the kind of thing a sub should be doing in a first scene with a new dom, and Lindy should know that. But Lindy had said yes, so easily, just like he had to everything else, and now Shea can’t shake the urge to push.

“I’m twenty-three - I’m not a virgin,” Lindy says, looking hurt, which isn’t a yes.

“So, no.”

Another sub might lift his chin, stubborn. But Lindy doesn’t even look up from the floor as he says, “I know what I want.” It comes out in a whisper.

Shea opens his mouth to argue, then shuts it. Considers. “What do you want?” he asks instead.

For one thin fraction of a second, Lindy looks up and meets his gaze. “You,” he says softly, once his eyes are on the carpet again. “I know you know that. Everyone knows. I know I’m... obvious, I know they laugh. I don’t care. I’m not good at hiding things. I just want you. Anything you will give me.”

“And so you’ll say yes to anything,” Shea says. Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck.

Lindy hesitates. “No,” he says, surprising Shea. “Not anything. I--I’ve thought about it. I really have. What it would be like. If you...” He blushes, and reaches for Shea’s hand, drawing it up and setting it at his throat. Shea can feel his pulse; feel the soft vibration of his breath. The room feels ten degrees hotter, all of a sudden. “I really do. Want you to.”

“Uh. Okay,” Shea says, trying to drag his brain back on track. “Uh, that’s good. But, uh, still not something you should do with a dom you don’t know well. Especially not when it’s your first time doing it.”

“I know you,” Lindy says quietly.

“Not enough,” Shea says, withdrawing his hand. He puts the force of his dominance in the words, but he doesn’t raise his voice. He’s not angry. This just isn’t a point on which he’ll be moved.

Lindy’s shoulders sag. “Okay.” Then he bites his lip, looking unsure. “Is there--is there anything you still want to do with me?”

Shea’s glad, actually, that Lindy’s looking at the floor, because he can’t imagine what kind of facial expression he’s making right now, but it’s probably not dignified. “Yes,” he says. For fuck’s sake. “Yes - all the stuff we talked about before that! The impact, and the bondage, and the blindfold--”

“Oh!” Now, finally, for the first time, Lindy looks Shea in the face, full on. “Oh,” he repeats, and then he smiles, purely joyful. “Good. I’m--that’s good.”

“And then,” Shea says, a little less sure of himself, “you’ll--you’ll know me better.”

“I--oh.” Lindy gives him a different smile - small and secret. Like they’re co-conspirators. “And eventually I’ll--I’ll know you enough, maybe. Hmm?”

“I hope so,” says Shea, and he means it.

[mydarlingwitcher]

Jaskier bribes Geralt into coming to one of his classes to show some point about how life on the road blah blah blahblah and Geralt just sits in Jaskier's chair glaring at all the giggling students, one of them even calls him Mr. Pankratz on their way out

First of all, I need you to know that when I read this in bed last night I snorted so loudly at Mr. Pankratz! You genius, you.

I wanted to write a short drabble about it, because the idea is just so good (and we’re all in love with the professor!Jaskier art, right?), then it somehow snowballed into a 1k ficlet. Because I have no control over my brain. So now let’s slap a very dignified title on this thing and call it a day lmao

Professor Pankratz brings his himbo husband to class

Geralt surprises Jaskier by travelling back from Kaer Morhen a fortnight earlier than planned.

Of course, when asked, he simply states that they’ve had a mild winter and there was no sense in loitering inside the castle walls when he could have picked up a few contracts along the way.

“Naturally.” Jaskier agrees with a knowing smile. For once, he refrains from calling the witcher out on his bullshit. That’s one of his many ways to show Geralt that he missed him, being mindful of the man’s appreciation for quiet after a taxing journey.

Just like Geralt is always more prone to soft touches and casual gestures of affection, after he’s been away from his lover for so long. It’s the sweetest thing, really. Like the first bite of a warm pastry filled with jam.

And not even Jaskier, for all his lyrical prose and dewy-eyed emotions, could have imagined a future like that for the both of them. But against all odds, it works. Summers circle back to misty autumns, icy winters give way to springs and their bond grows fonder, steadier and all the more fiery for it.

The bard doesn’t say much that night, but he does draw a hot bath for Geralt and he scrubs his back, unknotting the tension in those broad shoulders with a nimble touch born of intimacy.

“Hmm, I needed that” Geralt murmurs once he’s drying his hair with a towel that smells like lavender. It means thank you, but also come here.

They tumble into bed together not one minute later. It’s been four months and they’re eager, so thrilled to stroke and lick and bite, to plunge and sink deeper.

They’ve dreamt of this so many times.

After, when the window is cracked open and the smell of sex blends with their languid breaths, Jaskier rolls over and slings an arm across Geralt’s flank to draw him closer.

“Come teach my class with me tomorrow.” He whispers in the witcher’s ear. He’s sporting a neatly trimmed beard these days, and it tickles Geralt’s neck in the most tempting way.

Geralt chuckles dryly, but the lack of an immediate quip tells him that Jaskier is serious. It’s a little scary how often they can read their minds by now.

“Don’t think so. You’re the teacher, Jask. I’ve got nothing to tell them.”

“But you’re the reason I’m still alive and teaching in the first place. Besides, you can just sit there, look pretty and answer some questions. My students have heard a lot about you, they’ll adore you.”

“Jaskier, no, you know I don’t-”

“If you say yes now, I won’t ask you for another three years.”

Geralt considers it as Jaskier nips at the nape of his neck. “Deal.”

How awkward can it be anyway, the witcher asks himself as they walk inside a small classroom on the following morning.

Pretty fucking awkward, as it turns out.

“Good morning, professor!” A couple of students pipe up, before a dozen pairs of young and excitable eyes zero in on the massive, leather-clad man standing next to their teacher. Even without his swords, there’s no mistaking who he is.

“Melitele, is that-”

“It’s Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier’s muse!” Someone hisses with unabashed glee.

Geralt glares at them, wide-eyed and scowling, and they stare back. Trust a bunch of green singers and poets in training to call him, a witcher of Kaer Morhen, a blasted muse to his face.

“Yes, we have an acclaimed guest with us today, and I’m expecting you all to be on your best behaviour.” Jaskier announces with a flourish of his hand and a smile that’s equal parts dazzling and menacing.

And fuck it if that doesn’t turn Geralt on a little.

But this is decidedly not the time for it, so he dumps all of Jaskier’s books and scrolls on the desk and he just sit there, feeling very much like he’s trapped in a Kikimore’s nest.

Meanwhile, Jaskier prompty busies himself with returning the lastest assignments, taking the time to bestow a comment or two on each student. It’s clear that his pupils hold him in high regard, but they’re not afraid to interact with him.

Geralt remembers a couple of tales about Jaskier’s education, and how literacy was beaten into him with a stick, to quote the bard. It’s a thought that sits uneasy in his stomach, even now. Which is why he feels a surge of admiration witnessing his lover in his element.

He’s not playing the lute yet, but he’s composing a symphony nevertheless, carefully guiding and encouraging every young man and woman.

Then he launches into a full analysis of an epic poem and the merits of adapting a story to the metrics of a contemporary ballad, talking fast but never rambling, and no one is staring at the witcher anymore.

Geralt crosses his arms and listens, his cool exterior still in place, though Jaskier can definitely tell he’s amused. He flashes him a smug smile.

The class soon nears its end and Jaskier goes to stand behind Geralt, placing a hand on his shoulder. A couple of students most definitely mask an aww with the turn of a page or a cough.

“Now, as you’ve been such lively listeners, let’s see if our guest would like to, um” He tilts his head and meets Geralt’s wary gaze, “Answer a few questions, absolutely not related to his personal life?”

Four hands shoot up immediately. Geralt groans.

The questions are actually nothing like he expects.

“Did you ever meet Filavandrel again? Would you say your advice had some influence on his decision to change the rules of succession?”

“Was your life any different during the plague?”

“How does it feel to have inspired many tales that will live on as popular folklore?”

Geralt does his damnedest to give passable answers using as few words as possible. He’s sure no one is very impressed, but if they’re disappointed, they don’t show it. Smart brats.

As soon as Jaskier declares that their time is up, he stands up in one fluid motion and he heads towards the door with a brief “Hm. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Pankratz!” A girl answers politely. That stops him dead in his tracks.

Mr. Pankratz?

“What the fuck, Jaskier.” He mutters as he turns around and fixes his lover with a stunned glare. The man throws his head back and chortles, and the whole classroom bursts into laughter after that.

Geralt doesn’t remember ever blushing for such a trivial thing. For a second, he’s legitimately hoping some monster will emerge from a dark corner and swallow him whole.

Jaskier teases him about it later, but not that much. And he more than makes up for it when he drags Geralt to his chambers.

All in all, Geralt doesn’t regret visiting him in Oxenfurt. Quite the opposite.

[adiwriting]

Sunday Mornings 5/?

Notes: This one is slightly more angsty than most as it’s a hurt/comfort ficlet dealing with Alex post a PTSD episode. But I felt it was still appropriate to include because who doesn’t need to see Michael being the soft, careful, loving boyfriend we all know he’s capable of being? And who doesn’t want to see Alex get loved on? 

Week 5: 

This is really not how Alex planned on spending their Sunday. In fact, Michael had specifically mounted a new television in their bedroom so that they could marathon Netflix from bed all day. They’d planned on grilling steaks for dinner and then were going to take a drive out to the desert to watch the stars like they used to when they were kids. 

In absolutely zero versions of his plans did he expect to be sitting on the couch numb and trying to come down from an episode as Michael switched back and forth from doting boyfriend wanting to make sure Alex was okay, and cleaning up the mess that has become the living room. 

See, approximately two hours ago, they’d been startled by a very large crash that had triggered a PTSD episode. Turns out, there was a leak in the roof and after the last few days of heavy rain, the water had eventually caused part of the ceiling to cave in. Which was all good and fine, nothing to panic over, truly. Except, for a moment Alex hadn’t been 30 years old and lying in bed with his boyfriend in his own home… Instead he’d been 17 and it hadn’t been a crash he’d heard, so much as the slamming of a door hitting the wall as it was thrown open. And that moment had been enough to cause Alex to be trapped in his brain for the next hour and a half. 

Michael had understood in a way nobody else could. When the crash first went off, Alex has a foggy recollection of Michael jumping out of bed instantly and using his powers to throw the dresser against the door. After that, Alex had dissociated. Everything was blank and the only reason he knows that he had a panic attack is the way his body now aches in a specific kind of exhaustion that only comes after being in full blown panic mode for an extended period of time. 

It’s funny, everyone is always careful around Alex with things like guns and fireworks. They always assume they understand what his PTSD triggers will be and relate it back to his time in the military. His triggers are both more complicated and simpler than that. They’re raised voices. Hands on his neck without warning. A hammer hitting a nail. And, apparently, the sound of the ceiling falling in. 

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. He knows he needs to stand up and help Michael. The living room is filled with water and bits of plaster. There’s probably not any saving his keyboard, though Michael assures him that he can fix anything. The guitars had thankfully stayed dry despite their cases being soaked. There’s a crack in the coffee table and… 

Honestly, Alex can’t bring himself to care. The entire thing, all of this, feels so far away despite the fact that it’s happening right in front of him. 

He curls up on the sofa, lays his head down, and stares blankly ahead. 

“Why don’t you go back to bed,” Michael says, kneeling right in front of him. “I can get this all sorted out.” 

Alex just shrugs. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t say what he should — that he doesn’t want to be alone right now. That he just needs Michael to hold him for a while longer. It’s stupid. Michael is doing what he needs to be doing. He’s trying to stop the water from continuing to come into the house and do even more damage. If Alex was more aware, he would care. When Alex comes back to himself, he will care. And he’ll be appreciative that at least one of them was cognizant enough to act. 

But right now, Alex is alone and scared and just needs to feel like he’s loved by a single person in his life. 

Michael reaches out to place a hand to Alex’s cheek, careful not to get close to his neck. “I’m going to get the water to stop, the rest of this will keep until later, okay?” 

Alex nods. 

“I love you,” Michael tells him firmly. It’s exactly what he needs to hear, but the words get lost in a fog before they reach his aching heart. He simply nods again, knowing he’s supposed to be saying it back, but unable to find the words. 

Michael stares at him for another minute or two. Alex tries to call up the energy to say something, but he just can’t. Michael leans over and kisses his forehead before standing up and getting back to work. 

Michael could have been working for hours. Alex doesn’t really know. Time passes and Alex feels all of it and none of it. Each second feels like a stab in the heart and each breath in takes a conscious effort on his part. But then, the sun begins to peek through the clouds and Alex could have sworn that Michael said it wasn’t going to stop raining until the afternoon. Regardless, time passes and eventually Michael is in front of him, pulling on his hands until he stands up and Michael leads him back to bed. 

****

They are watching Netflix and Alex is settled in between Michael’s legs, laying back against his chest. Michael’s arms are around him, hugging him from behind while his chin rests on his shoulder. Every so often, Michael kisses his neck and whispers loving words into Alex’s ear. It’s exactly what he needed and he loves Michael that much more for knowing that without Alex having to ask. 

“I’m sorry I ruined our plans,” Alex whispers. It’s the first thing he’s said since the whole ceiling incident. 

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Michael assures him, nose nuzzling into his hair. Alex can feel Michael trying to get him to look at him, but he can’t, not yet. He’s still too embarrassed over the entire thing. Both for the panic attack, and for how clingy he’s been since. 

“We were supposed to go out and see the stars,” he argues. 

Michael grabs his chin and gently guides him until he’s looking out the window. A flash of lightning lights up the entire room. Has it been raining long? he wonders.

“You were saying?” Michael says. It’s soft, he’s still being careful with Alex, but Alex knows if he were to look at Michael right now, he would be wearing that smartass smirk of his.  

“I don’t want to be like this,” he admits. 

Faster than Alex can process, Michael moves and is sitting in front of him, staring him down. The energy in the air is crackling and Alex should probably be scared, but it’s Michael, so he’s not. 

He cradles his face with his hands and says very firmly, “You are not broken, Alex.” 

“But I—” he starts to argue but Michael cuts him off. 

“We all have shit. I wasn’t exactly chill when it happened either. There is nothing wrong with you.” 

Alex wants to believe him, but it’s hard. He can still remember the ways in which his dad used to taunt him for having panic attacks when he was younger. Alex knows that it’s not his fault that his dad used to beat him and now he has PTSD from it. He knows that. But knowing something is logically true and really feeling it are two very different things. 

“Listen, I can promise you that there is going to be a day where I lose my shit completely and you have to be the calm one taking care of my ass. And when that day happens, you’ll cuddle me, remind me that I’m loved, and do whatever else I need and never once judge me just as I don’t judge you,” Michael says with complete certainty. “We all deal with things in our own way. You and I had a shitty childhood, so of course we were triggered by a loud noise. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I just want to be past it,” Alex whispers, leaning his forehead against Michael’s. He closes his eyes and draws on Michael’s strength, it helps. 

“You are,” he whispers back. “You became so much better than the man he tried to raise. You’re strong and fierce and yet still open and vulnerable and loving. So fucking loving.” 

Alex takes a shuddering breath and allows Michael’s words to sink in. It’s easy for Alex to hear his dad’s voice in his head during his weakest moments… But even back when they were 17, Michael’s kind words always found a way to drown out his self-doubts. He takes several more calming breaths before he reaches out to wrap his arms around Michael’s shoulders. 

He opens his eyes again, starting to feel more like himself again. Michael smiles at him and gives the deepest sigh before saying, “You’re so fucking beautiful, I just can’t.”

Alex blushes at that. Michael’s hands are at his hips and his thumbs have snuck under his t-shirt to rub soft circles against his bare skin. 

“So what you’re saying is that you’re only with me for my looks?” he teases, tentatively, trying it out. 

Michael barks out a surprised laugh, moving until he’s straddling Alex. 

“Absolutely,” Michael says with one of his trademark cocky smiles. He runs his hands through Alex’s hair, settling at the back of his neck. 

Alex tilts his head up to kiss Michael. It’s a slow kiss. Neither of them push for more, but neither of them rush to pull away either. When they do finally come up for air, Alex realizes that he’s still pretty tired from the day’s events, but he feels back to normal at least. 

“Thank you for dealing with the ceiling,” he says, running his hands up and down Michael’s back, giving his boyfriend goosebumps. 

“It’s not dealt with yet,” he explains. “I fixed it enough that the living room wasn’t going to keep flooding, but tomorrow, I’m going to have to get up there and patch the roof properly.” 

“I can call somebody for that,” he tells him, wanting to make sure he doesn’t feel obligated. Tomorrow is Michael’s only other day off.

“Like hell you will.” Michael looks offended. “You think I want you calling Mrs. Ramsey’s son? I don’t need you mooning over some overjacked construction guy. I saw the way you used to look at him back in high school. No thanks. He does shitty work. Nobody is touching that roof but me.” 

“I did not used to moon over Conner,” Alex argues. 

Michael snorts at that and Alex rolls his eyes. 

Okay, perhaps he’d had a mild crush on Conner back in freshman year. Who hadn’t? Conner had been a senior and the star quarterback and anyone with eyes could see how attractive he was. But it wasn’t like Alex had ever even talked to the guy. 

“You just want me to moon over you,” Alex counters. 

Michael has been consistently spending his days off finding various projects around Alex’s house. First it had been fixing the fan in the bedroom. Next, he’d worked on the plumbing to make sure that the bathroom sink could get cold water. Currently, he’s been slowly replacing the bad floorboards around the house. Alex hasn’t complained. He loves coming home from work and seeing Michael deep in whatever project he’s working on… And Michael caught on after the third time Alex had practically jumped him. 

“Obviously,” Michael says, leaning in to give Alex another kiss before climbing off his lap and settling back against the headboard. 

“Are you going to wear an orange vest and one of those tight little shirts?” Alex asks, snuggling into Michael’s side as he picks up the remote and resumes playing the show they’ve been watching. 

“I’ll wear whatever you want me to, Babe,” Michael says, wrapping his arm around Alex and placing a kiss to the top of his head. 

Alex is suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of love and safety and forever. 

“I love you.” 

“Yeah, you’d better,” Michael says with a laugh. “It’s gonna be hot as balls up on that roof.” 

Alex sits up and shakes his head. He’s serious. Michael’s amused smile fades into a soft one that Alex knows he reserves just for him. “I love you too.” 

Alex settles back into his arms and they watch the show until it reaches the opening credits. Alex is about to reach for the remote to skip past them when he hears Michael whisper a soft, “You scared me today.” 

Alex closes his eyes in shame. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize, I’m not mad,” Michael says. “I just… I’m saying it wasn’t easy for me to watch you like that. I’m glad I was here and could help, but… it was still scary.” 

Alex takes a deep breath. Yeah. He’s sure it was. “I’ll talk to my doctor about adjusting my meds.”

Michael doesn’t say anything in response, but if the way he squeezes Alex’s arm is any indication, it’s the answer he’d needed to hear. 

The credits end and they both focus their attention back on the show. 

Tagged: @callieramics​​

As always if anyone wants to be tagged, let me know!

[thelastspeecher]

Best Revenge AU - Finally, Some Ford Content

Ford has been suspiciously absent from all of the ficlets I’ve posted thus far in this AU, and while I’ve talked a bit about his role, I haven’t gone too in depth.  So, here, for everyone craving some Best Revenge AU Ford, I’m here to satisfy that craving.  Finally, some Ford content.  Enjoy.

—————————————————————————————— 

              Ford slowly woke up.

              Shit.  I stayed the night, didn’t I?  He sat up. The man he’d slept with the night before was already up and getting dressed.

              “Mornin’.”

              “Good morning,” Ford said hesitantly, realizing to his horror that he couldn’t remember the man’s name.  “Um…”

              “I can make ya some breakfast ‘fore I send ya on yer way,” his one-night-stand said.  “I’ve got to check in on my sister first; she’s startin’ a new job today. You can find yer way to the kitchen and make yourself some coffee while I’m talkin’ to her.”

              “…Okay,” Ford mumbled.  The man finished dressing and left the room.  Ford hesitated for a moment before dressing as well.  He exited the bedroom.

              Which way is the kitchen?  Ford chewed on the inside of his cheek and turned left. He followed the hallway down to a living room.  One corner of the room had a colored rug, baby toys, and a playpen.  He said that he lived with his sister, right? Maybe she has a child.  Ford wandered into the adjacent kitchen.  His jaw dropped.  There was someone sitting at the kitchen table.  Someone he recognized.

              “Holy shit, Stan?!” Ford said.  Stan looked up with a frown.

              “Hey, keep it down around Junior.”  His eyes widened.  “Ford?!”

              “I- you-”  Ford’s gaze landed on the infant in Stan’s arms, greedily drinking from a bottle of milk.  “Is- is that your child?”

              “Yeah.”  Stan rubbed the back of his neck.  “…Sorta.”

              “What do you mean by-” Ford started.  He was interrupted by the arrival of his one-night-stand.

              “Oh, I see ya met my sister’s boyfriend,” he said. Stan groaned loudly.

              “Lute.  How dark was the nightclub where you found last night’s lay?”

              “Didn’t pick him up at a nightclub.  Found him at the library when I dropped off books fer Angie,” Lute said cheerfully.

              “Look at his face.”

              “Hmm?”  Lute looked at Ford.  He paled. “…Oh.”

              “You managed to hook up with my no-good twin,” Stan said.  The infant in his arms began to fuss.  “Aw, it’s okay Junior,” Stan cooed.  “I know, Uncle Ford is scary, especially his face.”  Ford crossed his arms.

              “We have the same face, Stanley.”

              “Since Lute didn’t realize we were related when he picked you up, I don’t agree,” Stan said tartly.  Ford sighed.  “You better get going before you make Junior even more upset.”

              “I’m not going anywhere until I find out what you’ve been up to and why you’re holding an infant that you said is ‘sort of’ yours,” Ford said firmly.  Stan scowled.

              “Lute, kick him out, will ya?”

              “No.”

              “Lute-”

              “I think it might be good fer the two of ya to reconnect,” Lute said.  “Don’t you think the lil bean would like an uncle from yer side?”

              “He won’t know what he’s missing.”

              “Okay, fine.”  Lute smirked.  “How do ya think Angie would want ya to act under this circumstance?”  Stan glared at him.  “You know full well that Angie would want ya to use this opportunity to reunite with yer twin.”

              “…Fine.”  Stan adjusted his hold on the infant.  “Why didn’t you come to the kitchen with Ford, Lute?”

              “I wanted to check in on Angie, but she’s still sleepin’.”

              “Yeah.  Since she’s starting her new job, I figured I’d feed Junior.”  Stan grinned down at the infant.  “He can’t be happy he’s getting his breakfast from a bottle instead of a boob.”  Lute rolled his eyes.

              “Crass, Stanley.”

              “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

              “You catch up with yer twin while I whip up some eggs,” Lute instructed, already opening the fridge.  Ford walked over to the table and sat in the chair next to Stan. He peered closely at the infant.

              “So…”

              “So…” Stan parroted.

              “What’s his name?”

              “Stanley Junior,” Stan said.  He frowned.  “Well, he’s not really a Junior, since he’s got his mom’s last name instead of mine. But he’s named after me, so we call him Junior.”

              “Ah.  And, um, how old is he?”

              “Four months.”

              “Four months?  Are babies supposed to be that small at four months?”

              “Doc says he’s definitely smaller than average, but that he can probably catch up pretty quick,” Stan answered.  He removed the now empty bottle from Junior’s mouth, then burped him.  “He’s a good kid.”

              “Is he yours?” Ford asked.  Stan set the empty bottle on the table.  “You said he ‘sort of’ was.”

              “If you were anyone else, I woulda left that part out,” Stan muttered.  “I hate your guts, but I’m not used to lying to you.”

              “Pardon?”

              “Biologically, he’s not mine.  He’s my girlfriend’s ex-husband’s.  But with how bad things got between Angie and Max, she decided not to tell him about Junior.”

              That’s a strange coincidence.  Didn’t Max Hillcrest at work recently go through a divorce?  What was his wife’s name again?

              “I was dating Angie, so I stepped up,” Stan continued with a shrug.  “And Angie named her kid after me.  I’m the only dad this little bean’s ever known.  If things go well, I’ll be the only dad he ever knows.”

              “Little bean?”

              “That’s what Angie called him while she was pregnant with him.  It stuck.” Stan smiled fondly at Junior. “Isn’t that right, bud?”  Junior giggled.

              “You’re raising another man’s child as your own?” Ford asked, his brain desperately trying to catch up with all he’d been told.

              “Yep.”

              “Why?”

              “I love Angie.  I love Junior.  Why wouldn’t I?” Stan asked, a hint of a bite to his tone.  Junior settled in his arms, smacking his lips happily.

              “Fair enough,” Ford said, deciding to back off. Some tension left Stan’s shoulders. “Other than dating pregnant women and taking in their children, what have you been doing since we last spoke?”

              “You mean, since Pops kicked me outta the house and you didn’t say anything or use your power to summon me in secret at any point for years,” Stan said flatly.  Ford opened and closed his mouth a few times.

              “…Yes.”  Ford cleared his throat.  “When we were younger, I remember you wanting to follow in Mom’s footsteps.  I haven’t seen any pyro heroes around here, though.”

              “Hold up, what?” Lute asked.  The brothers looked over.  Lute stared at Stan in shock.  “Stanley, you wanted to be a hero when you were a kid?”

              “Most supers do.  And like Ford said, our mom was a hero.  I looked up to her.”  Lute was still staring at Stan.  Stan sighed. “Obviously I didn’t do that, Gucket.”

              “Yer mom is a hero?”

              “Retired.  What’s with the third degree?”

              “You understand why that information is important in our line of work, right?” Lute prompted.  “Does Angie know?”

              “Duh.”

              “Why don’t I?”

              “‘Cause I’m not sleeping with you,” Stan snapped. “Even though I’m apparently your type.” Lute turned red.

              “Wait.”  Ford held up his hands.  “Wait. Stanley, am I reading between the lines properly?  Are you- are you a villain?”

              “Maybe I am.  Maybe I’m not,” Stan said.  He met Ford’s eyes.  “But whether I am or not, you know better than to snitch.”  Footsteps sounded.  Stan looked over.  An exuberant smile broke across his face.  “Look who it is!  The hot new professor!”  Ford looked as well.  A young woman stood in the doorway, wearing athletic shorts and a T-shirt she was practically swimming in.

              Presumably, it’s one of Stan’s.  The woman smiled at Stan.

              “I don’t mind it much when ya say it, but I sure hope no one at work calls me that.”

              “If any creepy coworkers do, let me know,” Stan said.  “I’ll handle it.”  The woman grinned viciously.

              “Oh, darlin’, ya know I’m fully capable of handlin’ it myself.”  Stan grinned back.

              “Good point.”  He held up Junior.  “Junior, say hi to your mama.”

              “Aw, he’s too young to talk yet,” the woman cooed. She walked over to Stan, took Junior from him, and sat at the table.  “And I don’t know if his first word ‘ll be ‘hi’.”  She began to lift her T-shirt.

              “Whoa, hey, uh, Ang, you don’t need to whip your boobs out,” Stan said quickly, glancing at Ford in distress.  “I fed him while you were sleeping.”

              “Oh.”

              “Also, we have a guest.”

              “Hmm?”  The woman lowered her shirt and looked up.  “Oh, my apologies.”  She smiled at Ford.  “My name is Angie McGucket.”  Ford felt himself pale.

              McGucket?

              “Dr. Angie McGucket,” Stan corrected.  Angie chuckled.

              “Yes, I have a doctorate,” she said.  She cocked her head, her eyes boring into Ford. “I’m guessin’ yer Stan’s no-good twin I’ve heard so much about.”

              “I- uh-” Ford stammered, still reeling from hearing his ex’s last name dropped so casually.

              “Geez, you make it sound like all I do is talk about Ford,” Stan said, rolling his eyes.  “That’s wrong.  All I do is talk about you and Junior.”  Angie laughed.

              Angie and Lute do appear to have the same nose as Fiddleford.  How could I have been so blind?

              “So, Stanford, what brings ya here?” Angie asked.

              “I brought him home last night,” Lute said.

              “Hmm, that seems out of character fer ya,” Angie said to Ford.  She shrugged. “Just goin’ off the stick-in-the-mud that Stan described to me.”

              “Why do you keep insulting me?” Ford asked. “This is the first time we’ve met.”

              “Maybe, but I also feel like I know ya pretty well,” Angie replied.  She bounced Junior in her arms.  “Stan took a while to start tellin’ me ‘bout ya, but once he did, he had a lot to say.” She smiled.  “Most of it was negative, sure, but some of it was positive.”

              “Angie, shouldn’t ya be gettin’ ready fer work?” Lute asked.  Angie groaned.  “I’ll make ya some nice breakfast while ya dress ‘n whatnot.”

              “Ugh.  Fine.” Angie handed Junior back to Stan, kissed his cheek, and left the room.  Ford coughed politely.

              “I, um, I should probably leave,” he said. Lute looked over.

              “Ya don’t want to stay fer breakfast?”

              “Your sister isn’t the only one who has a shift starting soon.”

              “Shift, huh?” Stan said, raising an eyebrow.  “Where’s the big shot genius working?”

              “Well, uh…”  Ford rubbed the back of his neck.  “I have been working on my own personal research, but to pay the bills, I’m currently employed as an executive assistant.”  Stan snickered.

              “Isn’t ‘executive assistant’ just a fancy word for ‘secretary’?” he asked.  Ford flushed. “You better get going, then.  Whatever doctor’s office you work for definitely needs you manning the front desk.”

              “Stanley,” Lute scolded.  Ford swallowed his retort.

              He’s been remarkably civil, let him be childish for one moment.

              “…See you later?” he suggested.  Stan froze.  “I mean, the fact that we were able to talk without fighting is, I think, a good sign that we can bury the hatchet.”

              “Ford.”  Stan met Ford’s eyes.  “Junior was here the whole time.  That’s why I didn’t shout or knock your block off.”

              “…Oh,” Ford said softly.

              “But…”  Stan sighed. “I’m not against making up.  Just know that the next time you and I are in the same room, it’s open season if Junior’s not there.”

              “Fair enough.”  Ford managed a smirk.  “I think you’d be surprised by how well I can hold my own now.”  Stan rolled his eyes.  “Goodbye, Stanley.”  Ford leaned over to smile at Junior.  Junior stared at him with wide eyes.  “Goodbye, Junior.”  Junior giggled.

              “Bye,” Stan grunted.  Ford waved goodbye to Lute and walked out of the house.  Beeping sounded from his pager.  He pulled it out of his pocket with a sigh.  The message made him sigh again.

              I swear, I’m the only person who can fix the wifi at work.  Everyone else either doesn’t know how or isn’t willing to do one of the secretary’s responsibilities.  Ford shook his head.  He put his pager away and began the long walk to work.  A building full of superheroes and not one of them can unplug a router.

[ilkkawhat]

Any tips for first time writers? Specifically any tips and tricks for writing CSI stories and the Nick/Greg ship? Trying to stay in character and make the story interesting like a show episode instead of a boring text procedural is hard.

lmao as someone who is forever insecure about my own writing when it comes to keeping the characters in character, I think something to keep in mind is that you may view a character differently than someone else--and sometimes those views align with others, and most of the time it's better than what's presented in canon, and it can be really difficult to get confident about that, but I think that creating anything, even if it's not just writing--drawing, giffing, photo edits, etc, you do know and love that character enough to bring them to life under your hands and it's something that's just so like, poetic about keeping these characters alive, even if the show offed them or the show is cancelled, in these works (honestly the song "poet" by bastille says this best imo) and you may end up discovering parts of yourself as you explore these characters in depth, you'll learn more about them, too, and the more you write, the more confidence you will gain

but be weary of the validation trap (says someone who falls into it literally every time I post a fic)--do not rely on comments and feedback to let you know you're doing it "right." the fact that you're getting thoughts into words onto paper is good enough, and you are good enough and even if you don't end up sharing it, you still did something special that nobody else has done before, and that, is amazing!

I'm not gonna lie, a huge weakness of mine that I feel I've known ever since I started writing CSI fic is that I really don't do well in making cases for the CSIs to work on--and even when I do, the case is usually forgotten by the end of the fic and I end up just kinda focusing on the emotions between the characters and describing their feelings and actions the best I can and unfortunately the plot sometimes suffers because of that.

I guess it really depends on what you want out of your story--do you want a really intriguing case and basically make an episode of CSI, or do you want to kind of bend out of the procedural drama, and just write something fluffy like Nick/Greg going on a roadtrip or something actiony like them getting into some sort of trouble? (as I often do lmao)

Something that does always help me when I do decide I want an actual like, "plot" to the fic beyond just playing around with the characters and making them do things or experience things is that I'll make myself a very flexible outline--which I will admit, at times, does kinda drain the fun out of the actual writing part but I found that I'll try to write chapters/fics in segments in this way, like I'll have the start of a fic, and then when I feel like I need to break but want to write what I got going next, I'll have something in brackets like: [Self deprecation at home/drinking, evil Nick in the mirror?] (for agony), and sometimes maybe a bigger summary, and sometimes less to just kinda remind myself of what I wanted to accomplish with a fic

BUT know that there are gonna be things that pop up sometimes. twists that come to you halfway through a fic--or if you're lucky, you'll find that your reader friends will kinda give you a twist to add in (my fic Last Breath is the greatest example of this--I originally was gonna do like, 12 chapters but then @dannilea said "HEY MK GIVE NICK AMNESIA" and then the fic got doubled in length lmao) so don't feel confined to any sort of outline. go with the flow, go with what feels right for you.

I know it's a lesson I'm still learning myself, but do not pressure yourself with these sorts of things. there are no deadlines. you're not doing anything wrong. if you don't like something you wrote? don't delete it (i've deleted so many things--fics, my entire blog, old art and gifs I did and it's one of my biggest regrets that I carry with me and god...it just hurts) but don't be afraid to tweak, re-write or rework if you need to--I know ao3 has an option where you can even say something is a "remix" of another work if you write a fic and then somewhere down the line, decide to expand on it or change it up? (I think it's meant for that at least, I haven't done that sort of thing....yet)

and that's another thing--you'll always be learning new things as you keep writing. I've been writing since I was like, twelve years old. Had a long ass depressive gap (though I did still write some things, just not...as intensely as I used to) before I came back to the CSI fandom (which I never felt I contributed to before, when I joined tumblr I posted some caps but that was about it, it really wasn't until 2018 that I started giffing and writing and three years later lmao here we are!) and there are just hard lessons you do learn--like I said, the validation trap and pressure and all of that

but motivation wise, something I've been (trying) to do is write at least 100 words per day. Doesn't have to be a specific fic, doesn't have to be anything I intend to make a fic, but just...getting the words flowing. But again, no pressure, because I recently had another depressive bout and went 33 days without writing and it climaxed to me having another mental breakdown swearing I was never gonna write again and damn near deleting everything and giving up.........only to start writing again the next day (and full disclosure, I did have a friend helping me literally every day with that and if they read this, I hope they know how forever grateful I am that they convinced me to keep going and I would not actually be here without them)

You will need to recharge, you will need to be mindful of outside stresses that may be impacting your creative energies. And sometimes, you can try doing things not relating to writing at all. Make a playlist of songs that make you think about the fic; if you can, draw or make photo edits of the fic. find a friend to bounce ideas off of--so many of my fics were enriched by that, I can't even begin to list them all lol.

But above all, again, just know that what you're writing is unique to you, nobody else will be able to write the way you do, and that is just...so special. writing can be difficult, it's exhausting, it's a thankless job at times but when those words start clicking together and your fingers just keep typing/writing, you'll just kinda get this like, rush like nothing I've ever been able to match.

and lmao I know you said specifically CSI and Nick/Greg and feel like I got sidetracked--but the great thing about CSI is I feel like you'll have excuses to put them in situations given their line of work, but like I said before, you can bend out of the genre a little bit. Have Nick and Greg go on a vacation, or make an AU (even something as wild as a sci-fi AU--honestly Specimen Stokes is the most fun I've had in writing the past three years) or if you do want to stick to canon, and don't want to make a whole new case or elaborate on the details--play with an established episode. If there was a Nick focused episode, what was Greg doing and vice versa? Did they talk about things afterwards, or did something happen leading up to the episode that made them act a certain way around each other?

I'll honestly find inspiration also just watching the episodes--something I've been doing in these past few months of my rewatch is making little ficlets about the episode, like I wrote one about Nick and Greg post 6x02 elaborating on the breathplay that Greg hinted about earlier in the episode, or I made a revenge fic for 14x12 where that douchey abusive husband went after Nick, etc. So sometimes it helps to dive back into canon and play in that sandbox too

I hope these tips can help get you started and honestly, don't feel obligated to agree or do any of these things I listed above. We all have different ways of going about writing, and it is just one big learning process and something I don't think I'm ever gonna perfect or master in any sort of way--(not to say I think I'm the worst writer in the world but I just...try to humble myself and not believe I'm the best or better than anybody else cause that's part of the validation trap, you get those ideas in your head and then it can destroy you when you realize you're definitely not)--and there will be times you get heavily discouraged, but...you just gotta keep going. keep pushing. find outside encouragement, but don't rely on it. practice a lot of self care and don't pressure yourself to finish or share or write more than you think you can. just...let it come, and enjoy the ride

I honestly feel like I'm one of the least qualified to say all of these things, but I really do hope it helps and hey, you already got one cheerleader, me, who will be excited to read whatever you share!

[ad1thi]

frequent (emergency room) flyer | AU-gust Day 6: Hospital AU

AU-gust masterlist

i wrote this a while back, and a couple of people seemed interested in more, so here is another piece in that AU. tagging @m-e-i-c-h-a-n, @severelytinyeagle and @warmachinesocks (who was the original prompter) and im sorry if you asked for a continuation and didn’t get tagged. note: this can be read a stand-alone fic (but reading the original ficlet will help)

I’m begging you, please help me out here and get me something edible, I’m so tired of hospital food (from this prompt list) 

//

After his first visit, Bucky isn't expecting to see Tony again. Despite how garish the burns had looked on his arms, the actual injury itself had thankfully not been that bad - and Tony only needed to come in one more time for a check in, just to make sure everything was healing well. It was a short visit, nothing to write home about and Bucky privately wished that the injuries had been a bit more severe.

Not too severe, because he didn't want Tony hurting himself, but severe enough that it warranted a couple more visits. Of course he kept that particular inclination to himself, because it wasn't normal to want your crush to be hurt and it was unbecoming for a doctor to want an injured patient, but it was there - in the back of his mind.

When Steve pages him a month later and tells him that he's got a repeat customer, and he ducks into A&E to see a familiar mop of hair; he's secretly pleased.

"What are we looking at?" he asks Steve, holding his hand out for the chart. Steve passes it over with a grim face, "His roommate brought him in. He was unconscious. Apparently he's been locked up in his lab for the past week, and when his roommate went to check on it - he was slumped against his desk. We managed to get him conscious again, and it looks like a case of a lack of food and drink."

Instantly, Bucky regrets the way he felt when he first found out that Tony was back in A&E. He nods sharply at Steve, and pulls back the curtain to see a pale Tony on the bed, and a black kid who can't be more than a few years older than Tony standing near the side of the bed.

"Bucky!" he croaks when he looks up, lips stretching out into a wide smile. He pulls at the black kid's sweater, "Rhodey look - it’s Bucky!"

"I can see that Tones," Rhodey says in a wry tone, and holds his hand out for Bucky to shake. "James Rhodes, but this punk likes to call me Rhodey."

"Doctor James Barnes," he says back, "also cursed with a bestfriend who gives out terrible nicknames. You must be James the original."

Tony gives him an indecipherable look, "You remembered."

Bucky can't tell him that he's played the weekend that Tony was in the hospital in his mind on repeat, revisiting the memories like they’re treasure, so instead he clears his throat and asks, "So what brings you to my neck of the woods this time?"

Tony opens his mouth to reply, but Rhodey beats him, "He doesn't know how to eat. Don't even start with me Tones you know it's true. Doctor," he turns to Bucky with pleading eyes, "maybe you can knock some sense into him. Explain to him that human beings need sustenance three times a day and they can't survive on coffee and ramen."

Bucky frowns, "You've only been having ramen and coffee? Tony you need vitamins, you need protein. While it's possible that you just fainted because of hunger, I'm going to keep you around for a couple of days. Run some tests to make sure you haven't given yourself scurvy."

His lips twist into a pout, and Bucky has to tamp down the urge to lean down and kiss it off his face. "This is all your fault," he glares at Rhodey mulishly, "I'm stuck in a hospital instead of at my lab like I should be. All you had to do was splash some water on me and this whole thing could've been avoided."

"I did, you didn't wake up" Rhodey says, obviously not rising to Tony's bait. He oddly reminds Bucky of himself, back when Steve wasn't a hunkering man made of muscles and Bucky had to wrestle his four foot ass in bed because he couldn't go five steps without dissolving into a coughing fit. "Besides, what're you complaining about? Now you've got all this free time to ogle at the doctor you've been talking my ear off about for a month."

Tony's cheeks pink, and Bucky excuses himself before he does something he's going to regret.

(Like find out exactly what Tony's been saying about him to his bestfriend)

/

Thankfully, Tony doesn't seem to have any serious illnesses apart from a mild case of dehydration and malnutrition; but Bucky keeps him under observation to be sure just in case. He's heard horror stories of students cracking under the pressure at MIT and almost starving themselves to death, and he's got a special interest in making sure that Tony doesn't become one of those horror stories.

Besides, he's fairly certain that Tony can afford the medical bills.

The downside of Tony not being at high risk of death is that Bucky can't justify visiting him often. So he does the next best thing, he assigns Steve to Tony. It's standard hospital procedure to have a nurse dedicated to their VIP patients, and it soothes something inside Bucky to know that Stevie is looking out for him.

What he fails to take into account, is the fact that Steve and Tony are remarkably similar people, and are therefore bound to clash.

"I can't take it anymore!" Steve bursts into his office, interrupting what was promising to be an extremely rewarding fifteen minutes of sleep at his desk, "He's so - UGH!"

Steve tugs at his hair, and Bucky gestures at the couch in his office, wincing when Steve slumps against it face-first.

"Use your big boy words Stevie," he says in what he hopes is a calming tone, "Who's got you so worked out?"

"Your ickle Tony," Steve props his head up and says in a scathing voice, "Is the most infuriating person I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. It's like he wants to die. I don't know what you see in him Buck, honest to god, he drives me crazy."

"What did he do?"

"He refuses to eat!" Steve moans, but when he notices the expression on Bucky's face he backtracks a little, "He eats, but like ridiculously small amounts. His tray is never empty, and one time - I even caught him shovelling food under his plate to make it look like he'd eaten it. The kid is going to kill himself if he goes on like this."

Bucky wants to go over there right now, but he's got patients that can't wait. "I'll visit him after my rounds today," he promises, "find out what's going on."

When he enters the suite that they've put Tony in, he's in the middle of a very heated conversation on his phone. His skin is no longer pale, flushed full with colour, but he's still too skinny for Bucky's comfort.

"No Pep I -" he looks over when the door slides open, and his face transforms into a smile, "Bucky! Pep, let me call you right back."

Whoever it is on the other line is clearly not happy about Tony cutting the line on them because he hears the beginning of what sounds like yelling - but Tony ends the call before they can get anywhere. He cocks his head and bats his eyes at Bucky, "What can I do for my favourite doctor?'

"I'm your only doctor Tony," Bucky says with a chuckle, "Nobody else is willing to treat you." It isn't a lie, but it isn't the complete truth either. Bucky is Tony's only doctor, but only because he put dibs on any future Tony related visits. So it wasn't that nobody else was willing to treat Tony, it was more that Bucky wasn't willing to let anyone else treat Tony.

"So, what's this I hear about you not eating food? Keeping you under observation for malnutrition is counter-productive if you're not eating Tony." Tony frowns at that, his face twisting like he's had something sour.

He hears out and clasps Bucky's hands, looking up at him with wide eyes, "You have to help me. You gotta get me out of here. They keep trying to make me eat hospital food," he says 'hospital food' in a hushed tone, like he's worried Stevie is going to jump out with a tray and shove it down his throat.

(Knowing Stevie, it was completely possible)

"Tony," he says gently, "You have to eat. It's for your own good. You're dangerously low on vitamins and protein, and if we don't get that stuff in your system you could be running the risk of serious illness. Then you'll be shackled to a hospital room for the rest of your life, with no choice but to eat hospital food."

Tony contemplates that for a second, brows furrowing in concentration. "Okay, how about a compromise? I'll eat hospital food, two times out of the day, if you smuggle me in a cheeseburger for lunch."

"How about this? You eat hospital food all times of the day, and I'll buy you a cheeseburger when we discharge you?"

"You mean like a date?" Bucky suddenly becomes intimately aware that Tony is still holding his hand, "You asking me out on a date Doc?"

Bucky wants to say no, he knows that he's supposed to say no, but what comes out is, "Not yet."

Tony's face twists at that, before smoothening out in comprehension, "It's because I'm your patient isn't it. There's rules about this stuff, ethics or whatever."

"I could lose my license over it," Bucky admits, "not to mention that you're still in college."

"I'm a master's student," Tony says breezily, "I'm older than I look. I turn 22 this May. So how long?" Bucky makes a quizzical noise at him and he explains, "How long until it's okay for you to date a patient?"

"6 months," Bucky rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, "There's a bit of debate on it, but six months is pretty standard."

Tony nods, "I can do six months. I can wait six months."

"You have to stay out of the hospital for six months," Bucky says weakly, "No malnourishment, no lab accidents, you can't even get a scrape on your elbow, otherwise I could get written up."

"I can do that," Tony says confidently, and Bucky knows that he should talk him out of it, but he smiles toothily at Bucky, and he's gone, "I can wait six months for you. Can you?"

"Six months," Bucky says back, and it feels like a promise.

Fin

[ficsyoumayhavemissed]

beautiful how it all pours out — hazkaban, @hazkabaan 

486 words / One Shot / Harry Styles x Louis Tomlinson

after an argument, harry reflects on the things he loves about louis.

Do your heart a favor… take just a few minutes to read this incredibly sweet and soft little fic. Don’t forget to thank the author for the loveliness with a kudo or comment.

guide you home — @nauticalleeds 

809 words / One-Shot / Harry Styles x Louis Tomlinson

It’s been a while since Harry’s been able to appreciate the night sky, been a while since his life wasn’t full of hectic schedules and interviews and jet lag. He looks at the sky a little longer, watches the stars blink back at him and thinks about another bright presence he’s been missing.

Taking out his phone from his pocket, he thumbs at his screen to open a new message.

Full moon tonight, he types, and presses send. He keeps the app open, expecting the message to come instantly.

It does.

(based on "such great heights" by the postal service.)

This little ficlet is so sweet and atmospheric and the whole time all I could think about was Canyon Moon! Go and give it a read, I promise it’ll put a smile on your face.

Out of My League — kikikryslee, @flamboyantommo 

1.413 words / One-Shot / Harry Styles x Louis Tomlinson

How did I wind up here? Louis thought to herself as Harry stuck her tongue down her throat. Again. The two of them were currently on the beach, cuddled together on their towels. It was nearly two in the morning, so they were actually all alone. It was just them, the sand and the ocean waves. --- Or, the one where Louis and Harry realize that a bachelorette party is the perfect time to start a relationship.

This one is just ridiculously sweet. They’re so honest and vulnerable with each other and the scenery is immersive that it feels like you’re there with them, one of the sand corns on the beach, happily watching along.

Like It’s The Only Thing I’ll Ever Do — cherrylarry, @beelou 

4.469 words / One-Shot / Harry Styles x Louis Tomlinson

"Wait," Liam stops. "Harry is proposing to Louis on the same day Louis is proposing to Harry?" "Yes! Isn't that exciting?" Lottie yells. "So! I want you to make sure their plans stay the same and they propose on the same day, at the same time. It would be so romantic, don't you think?"

No matter how many people try to plan the perfect proposal, the only thing perfect about it is how they always do things their way. We, in our own way, propose you go give this fic a read!

If you let me be your man — lightswoodmagic, @lightwoodsmagic​ 

5.129 words / One-Shot / Zayn Malik x Liam Payne / explicit

“Do you need help?” the man asked again, and Zayn brightened. He did need help with his heat, and the fact the man had asked just proved he was supposed to be Zayn’s alpha. Perfect.

“Yes, need to go home,” Zayn sighed, pleased when the man pulled him closer, away from a few alphas watching him with interest. “Need my nest.”

The man pulled back, brow furrowed, but Zayn could see his dilated pupils and the harsh set of his jaw. “Your nest? Okay love, let’s go. What’s your name?”

“Zayn.” He smushed himself against the man’s side as he led Zayn outside with a hand at the small of his back. “You smell good.”

There was a low chuckle that Zayn felt in his toes as they wandered towards his room. “Thank you, so do you."

Or, Zayn can't help but trail after someone's scent when he starts his heat in the middle of their history exam. The man offers to help Zayn get home safely when he literally runs into him, but Zayn mistakenly thinks it's an offer to help with his heat.

This sweet soulmate AU that was written for the ABO Fest is criminally underrated. A quick read and absolutely worth checking out!

I can’t do this alone (sometimes I just need a light) — Only_angel_28, @beau-soleil-louis​ 

7.858 words / One-Shot / Harry Styles x Louis Tomlinson

“Harry,” he says after another contemplative moment, “can I hug you?” It’s been...well, Harry doesn’t actually know how long it’s been. Less than an hour, probably, but already Louis says his name like it’s safe in his mouth, and now he’s opening his arms like Harry could be safe there too. “Please,” Harry nearly sobs, and sinks into him the way butter melts on toast. It’s an apt metaphor, really, because what Louis is giving him is as essential and sustaining as a loaf of bread to a starving man. His basic need for physical affection is as vital as his need for sustenance, for sleep, and he can’t believe he’s allowed himself to ignore it for so long. Or: Harry is having a rough time. Louis is the kind stranger who makes him smile again.

This fic makes you want to go find someone who is having a meltdown in a card aisle and just offer them kindness and human touch because sometimes that’s the most essential need a person can have. The way emotions are described in this fic is so deeply relatable that reading it will make you feel understood on a fundamental level. Don’t deny yourself the warm hug that is this fic!

Secrets of Eden — HappyPrincess, @pattern-pals​

31.158 words / One-Shot / Harry Styles x Louis Tomlinson

Trying to lift the secret of her mother's death, a curse that seems to have run in their family line for centuries, Louis has been dealing with bureaucracy, empty ruins in the moors, and a desperate ghost. But when she arrives in a small town that sleeps in the mountain's shadow, and is taken in by four girls and an ageless woman, she realises that nothing could have prepared her for the truth.

This fic gives so much intrigue and has so many wonderful, mysterious and original ideas! The plot is surprising at the right times and comforting at others and the writing just makes you feel like you’re right there with them, uncovering these age-old mysteries alongside the beautiful girls of OT5.

We’re acutely aware of the goings-on in the world right now and want to use the minor reach this blog gives us to support the #blacklivesmatter cause. 

One of the many perks of fandom is that you have the option to remain faceless. However, we feel it’s important to support openly Black creators and creators of Colour. @twopoppies​ has compiled a fantastic list of such creators that we consciously kept in our minds when choosing which fics we were going to read this month and will keep in mind as we go forward. 

Another thing we want to bring attention to is this petition to the OTW. Creators are asking ao3 and the OTW to implement stronger anti-racist architecture (for example, making certain issues require major archive warnings) on their site and explicitly state their plans to become a more comfortable space for BIPOC creators. You can read up on it here. 

Lastly, we would like to draw your attention to this valuable post by @pattern-pals​ titled “some easy ways to not white wash Zayn in your fic.” 

If you have the means, we encourage you to donate to BLM or similar anti-racist organizations where you live. Here’s a link to split your donation between 70+ different bail funds in the US. 

We hope you’re all safe in the midst of this pandemic and the protests around the globe. xx FYMHM

[mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea]

Fic Writer Questions

I was tagged by @mcfiddlestan so yay! Fic-y question thingies.

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

57. About to be more than that, though, because I'm working on several next parts to several series, and I assume they count that as individual works.

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

324,681. Again, that's about to go up several times.

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Well, that gets fun because what I have on AO3 is mostly Marvel-related with one tiny Hannibal ficlet, one Bill and Ted, one M*A*S*H (that was by request and likely will never be a repeated fandom as much as I love the show), one Zohra Greenhalgh (Contrarywise and Trickster's Touch). Now, what I've written in the past as a fandom was Jay and Silent Bob, and that will NEVER happen again. But yeah, mostly it's Marvel and mostly these days Avengers-related with some X-Men still thrown in for flavor.

4) What are your Top 5 fics by kudos?

Hey Jealousy 378

Far away you were made in a sea just like me 354

(Mis)Understanding and a No-Good Woman 300

Saving the Future...Again 294

Supernaut 283

Yeah, I'm not that popular.

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I respond to all comments I get. I know that for some people it takes a lot of guts to comment, and I think that needs to be acknowledged, even if it's a simple thanks.

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don't write a lot of angst, and usually by the end of a fic, I prefer to have it happy and not angsty. That said, I'd have to say that it's a toss-up between these small fics:

I know you’ll be a star In somebody else’s sky

Seemed like he knew me, he looked right through me

All the losing and the knowing

Sunset

Time After Time

I have angst in my stories. Some. They mostly seem to be sass and humor and romance and cuddles and sex and making out, but the angst is only a tool to keep the characters fighting and on their toes.

7) What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

I've got several series going now, so I won't count them in since technically, none of them have ended yet. I thought about putting that Never Piss Off a Telepath; Or How Logan Opened His Mouth and Said a Stupid Thing just because that's one of my funniest fics, I think, but I would have to say that the happiest ending may be in Two Turtle Doves, which is a Charles Xavier and Raven Darkholme as children/brother and sister at Christmas fic, and the ending still really makes me smile a lot when I re-read it.

8) Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I haven't yet, technically. I started an X-Men/Avengers/Wicker Man (1973 version) one after all of the Brian Michael Bendis AvX bullshit storyline, and I may eventually finish it. I was angry. I wanted Steve Rogers to pay. I lashed out in the fic. Or was going to. The other crossover I'm planning (and even hinted at it in Spinning on that dizzy edge (I kissed his face and kissed his head) will be a Tony Stark/Chris Knight (Real Genius) fic, taking place not long after Chris graduates and is working for Darlington. I've got another one in mind that I've made notes for that's an Avengers/Flash Gordon (1980 version with all the flash and color and Queen songs), and then I just finished watching Boardwalk Empire, so there's a 1920s Marvel'verse AU, though I guess that's not really a crossover.

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Hahahaha! Funny you should ask. I received my first ever hate on To get it right even a little / and that little grudging and awkward the other day. In fact, the hate was the first comments I got. I've deleted it, and I did report it but AO3 couldn't do anything about it because the person who commented used a name but wasn't logged in, so they couldn't have their IP traced. But it was all full of "you should kill yourself" and "I hope you're raped" because they claimed to be a Stucky shipper (in fact their moniker was "stuckygirl") and that Steve and Loki were a horrible ship because Loki is just a nasty greasy villain. Blah blah blah. I was more amused by it than anything, especially since there's a chance that the person who commented was a stalker of one of my besties who keeps trying to lash out at them and may well have decided to lash out at me as well. Who knows? Who cares?

10) Do you write smut?

Oh yes. As much as I can get away with. Smut is life. Smut is harmony in the universe. Smut is KFC's 7 herbs and spices.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so. I have no idea how to figure that out.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Again, I don't know. How would I find that out?

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope. I've rp-written before, but I've never co-written a fic.

14) What’s your all time favorite ship?

I don't just have one. Sorry. FrostIron, WinterFrost, FrostShield, WinterIron, Stucky, Stony, Scogan, IronDiamond, DiamondFrost, DashingFrost, DiamondClaws, and I may soon get to see how much I love DiamondShield.

15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

That may be the X-Men/Avengers/Wicker Man one. I have to feel the anger to finish that one off, I think, and I've pretty much decided that neither Brian Michael Bendis nor AvX exist, so.

16) What are your writing strengths?

I think humor and sarcasm are two of my biggest strengths, to be honest. I didn't realize it till I started adding it in almost organically, and that's pretty much where it is for me. I'd say the ability to convey emotions, expressions, touch, and romance are right up there, too.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

Well, outside of the writing itself, trying not to be discouraged by people's lack of comments and kudos on my fics to the point of not writing is a writers block-inducing weakness, but I think I'm getting over that mostly these days. Trying to find the right balance between explication, "showing," and description, though I've also recently decided that description is not a weakness because I want to make the settings pretty visual.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I think there's a fine line that this concept dances on. I LOVE to do it, but I also now want to make sure that it works smoothly into the story. I try and provide translations in the notes when I do it. I try not to overdo it, but I think it's necessary. It's the same thing as writing in accents. That's also dancing a fine line because you want to give a flavor of the accent, but you don't want to overwhelm the readers with dialect and accent. Not unless you're Stephen King and you've just written Dolores Claiborne.

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Okay, the first fanfiction I ever wrote was when I was about 13, and it was a Children of the Corn Mary Sue. It was in pencil. Wrote it start to finish. And it has since gone to the gods in the circular altar.

The first fandom I consciously wrote for was Jay and Silent Bob, and yes, I still have those stories, but they no longer exist online since @jcrewguy blessedly took down his sites. Those fics will never see the light of day again because I don't like the movies anymore.

20) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Nope. They're all my babies, and I love them equally. I can't pick a favorite.

Tagging: @scottxlogan @elvenferretots @mistressofmuses @izhunny @jcrewguy @chaotic-hypnotic-erotic @kleenexwoman and honestly anyone else who wants to do this.

[pebblysand]

[SEPTEMBER ‘21] - THE LIFE/WRITING UPDATE NO ONE ASKED FOR (AND SOME QUICK LINKS)

well, hello hello, welcome, it is september first and hogwarts is back in session, haha! where’s your letter, did you get it? i hope so!

in true gryffindor fashion, i’m a summer person. i like parties, the beach and hot weather, so i’m currently working hard, trying to delay the inevitable return of autumn and the dreaded back-to-school mood by staying in sunny southern france for a few more days. i’ll be back in dublin on saturday where, as per usual, rain has been scheduled to occur upon my return lol.

Anyway, before diving into more life/writing updates, here are some quick links to different blog pages you might not see on mobile :

to read my fics [updated]

to read my original work

fic recs

to read my tumblr rants about stuff

[NOTE: i am currently not accepting prompts. i already have a backlog, folks.]

Castles (chap 9) ETA: optimistic? 19 September. realistic? october.

links extended a/n-s: chapter v ; chapter vi & vii ; chapter viii

[more life/writing updates under the cut]

what i’m reading:

i’m actually quite happy with my book reading this month. i read a friend’s short-ish (27k) story, as well as two full books, and started a third. i wanted my holidays to be a time of catching up with missed reading opportunities, and it definitely was.

first, i read three rooms by jo hamya. i picked this one up because it was recommended by my bookshop, was written by a BAME author, marketed as a ‘millenial’ literary fiction novel which i’m always a sucker for, and the cover looked intriguing. the story is that of an unnamed narrator in her early/mid-twenties, navigating the end of her masters degree and her first job in london. to be honest, as i previously said in another post, i don’t particularly fancy myself as a book critic so i don’t really like to say negative things about the books i read. as an author, i know how hard things can hurt when people are talking about your writing sort-of behind your back and i’m always paranoid that the author might one day see what i’ve written, lol. this being said, what i will say about this book is that while not bad, it wasn’t really a fit for me. the writing is very good, crisp and quick just the way i like it (though if you get irritated by the current trend of not using quotation marks for dialogue, you might get irritated by this), but i just found it hard to relate to the characters. i think you will like this if you like books that are more about their setting and their world rather than plot or character. the author is really good at describing current britain, life in london, the book is brilliant at describing the millennial ‘world’ of social media, politics, etc. but its main character seems to just aimlessly float through her life without any sense of self or purpose, which i personally found very frustrating. the book addresses issues of class, poverty, temp contracts, housing prices, discrimination but it feels very much like a matter-of-fact statement rather than an actual argument to change things. the other characters are mildly more purposeful but very single-purpose and while the novel is interesting but it didn’t really make me feel anything beyond an intense desire to grab the narrator by the shoulders and scream: do something! three stars.

then, i read incendiary by chris cleave. full review here. this book is just unreal and the best fiction i’ve read in close to a year. if i could give ten stars i would.

i’ve now started an american marriage by tayari jones. unless you’ve been living under a rock, this has probably been recommended to you a billion times already, but what can i say, i’m always late lol. i’m only about 100 pages in but seems promising.

in terms of fanfic, i honestly haven’t read much bar this one fantastic spooks au of which i really wish there was more of. i have trolled all of livejournal and dreamwidth to find the rest and came up empty. tragic.

what i’m writing:

funny how the girl on a writing break still managed to put out circ. 9,000 words in a month, lol. granted, pick me choose me love me was written in july, but still.

this being said, i do feel like i took time off and i do feel way better than i did back in july. looking back, i was exhausted and burnt out and felt like i was mostly writing to fulfill people’s expectations, rather than to make me happy. i’m now feeling much more confident with my words. the story that i did write this month was a self-indulgent bit of fun because it was written for a fandom no one cares about, and rather liberating, if i’m honest. i think i needed to write something for me and my audience of three again, and it was great. i genuinely love that story. i do think that if you want to give it a try, it might be one of those that can be read without having watched the show in question because it’s about a side character so a lot of what’s in there is original rather than show-related. if you do want to read it, it’s here: listening to that angel choir.

in terms of upcoming projects, i’m happy to announce that i’m actually excited to get back to castles, which is exactly what i wanted this break to achieve. i’m waiting until i get back to dublin to get back to work but i’m ready to dive back in and honestly can’t wait. as i said above the cut, i would love to put it on the 19th September but i’m not sure that i’ll manage to whip out next chapter this quickly. it’s not unheard of, so we shall see. also, castles is turning a year old on 16 sep, which is absolutely fucking insane. i certainly did not think it would be this massive of a project when i undertook it, lol. the numbers on it both in terms of wordcount and appreciation/hits give me vertigo so i try not to look at them but honestly, i can’t thank you all enough. i know i always say this but i come from very small audiences and fandoms and the amount of love i’ve been getting this past year thanks to all of you has meant the world. thank you.

in terms of one shots, i’ll be mostly focusing on castles this month, so i probably won’t write anything else. this being said, for those of your on tumblr, just be aware that you might see me repost some of the tumblr ficlets that i posted on tumblr these past few months on ao3 soon-ish. i initially decided to keep them on tumblr alone because they were too short but i’ve been having anxiety about tumblr collapsing and these things disappearing into the ether. so, don’t be alarmed, they should be the same, just reposted.

what i’m doing:

honestly, this month has been amazing, especially the past three weeks. i’ve been able to relax, see family & friends, went hiking, had my birthday, hired a boat - it’s been fab. as alluded to before, i’ve also been having fun rewatching spooks, which is definitely a series worth watching, even ten years after it ended. i find it even more fascinating in light of what is going on in afghanistan at the moment, and of course the presence in the show of rupert penry-jones whom i think every straight woman with a pulse fancies, is an added bonus.

anyway, i hope you’re all doing well. see you next month for pumpkin spice lattes (yeah, look, i’m a basic white girl) and the beginning of my seasonal depression.

lots of love,

pebblysand.