#fic titles ask

[fanficfanattic]

SO many good ones to choose from but if I have to pick: tell me more about James Tart Hurts Jamie Before His First Game Back and/or Will Sees Jamie Injured & Hears Convo With Dad!

Both are great choices! And dark! Great, dark choices. 💜

James Hurts Jamie Before His First Game Back

The team is furious because why the fuck isn’t Jamie Tartt there for the game? It’s his first game scheduled after his return. Coach had given him a second chance. They’d just about gotten to the point where he wasn’t being fully isolated. And then he pulls shit like this!

Only Ted was defending him; that Jamie took the game too seriously to pull shenanigans like this. With Beard staring into the middle distance. While Nate was saying under his breath that Ted just didn’t want to believe the worst in anyone.

Then Rebecca is striding into the room, calling for attention. Ted tries to warn her that now might not be a good time.

“I assume they are upset because of Jamie?”

Will Sees Jamie with a Mysterious Injury and Overhears Jamie Talking to James

Below is dialogue without any of the rest of the stuff required for storytelling lol. I only have the outline really. Here’s a small taste.

Roy “He’d have gone to Lasso.”

Ted starts to panic. Explains what he saw and then:

Ted “I, um, sent him a note with Coach. To counter what his dad had been shouting.”

Nate “What did the note say?”

Ted “Way to make the extra pass.”

Roy “What the fuck did his dad say if that was your counter?”

Ted “Seems Jamie’s hesitance to pass came from his dad disliking when he did so.”

Beard “You had me give him a note, which means he’d absolutely have thought I knew why, and assumed that I also agreed with his dad’s methods. So you and I were out, Nate probably seemed like a bad idea, and Roy an even worse one.”

[steddie-as-they-come]

everybody talks

i could not tell you what this is. i wrote it all in one sitting. enjoy or whatever

It starts with the graffiti.

Scribbled in thick, permanent marker across the boys' gym lockers.

STEVE HARRINGTON FUCKS EDDIE MUNSON

The custodian tries half-heartedly to scrub it off, but he only manages to get about a letter and a half off the locker before his shift is over. It's back up by the next day anyway.

Half the school is walking on tiptoes around Steve, waiting for him to blow up and demand a manhunt for the culprit.

The other half is snickering and laughing as he walks by in the halls.

Steve doesn't give two shits. He holds his head up high and walks onwards, ignoring the laughs and the kissy noises. He needs to graduate. He needs to not get eaten by a terrifying monster from an alternate reality. More pressing things happen to Steve Harrington than grade school graffiti.

Until he turns the corner and sees Eddie Munson glaring furiously at his closed locker.

He doesn't speak to him. Even if the graffiti isn't a big deal, there's no need to add any fuel to the fire.

Eddie finally steps forward and wrenches open his locker door. The crowd milling in the halls begins to laugh.

Papers spill out, dozens of them, cascading over the floor and burying Eddie's shoes. One slides all the way to Steve's feet.

He looks down automatically.

There's an atrocious drawing of two stick figures bent over each other. The one on the bottom has two lines of curly hair, while the one on the top has a singular swooping line of graphite.

Great.

Steve swiftly scoops it up and crumples it in his fist, shoving it in his pocket. He'll toss it out later.

As he hustles past Eddie, steadfastly not looking in his direction, he thinks he hears Eddie mutter, "Every class period."

Steve turns a corner, and the train wreck that is Eddie's locker is gone.

He slides into his seat, knowing the band girls who sit in the back corner of the classroom are whispering about him, but finding he couldn't care less.

The teacher starts class.

He reaches into his pocket and slides the crumpled paper between his fingers, over and over.

Steve raises his hand. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

The teacher nods and waves him away, and Steve scrambles out the door, rounding the corner.

Eddie's still there, kneeling by his locker, trying to scoop up papers.

Steve kneels next to him. "Hey."

Eddie jumps like an alley cat that's been spooked. Steve could swear his hair starts bristling, puffing up.

"Your majesty," Eddie finally says, glaring back at the pile of paper like Steve'll disappear if he doesn't look at him. "To what do I owe the pleasure."

It's not really a question.

Steve answers it anyway. "Came to help," he says simply, picking up a piece of paper that has EDDIE MUNSON X STEVE HARRINGTON written on it in bold letters, surrounded by stupid little hearts. "After all, my name's on half this stuff."

"How kind," Eddie said. "Keeping me distracted while your buddies key my van or something?"

Steve reels back. "Huh?"

"I'm not dumb, Harrington," Eddie says, crumpling up another sheet of paper. Steve can barely catch EDDIE HARRINGTON on it before it's balled in Eddie's fist. "I get this is a prank or whatever. I just can't understand why you'd involve yourself with me. The King and the Freak."

"'Cause I'm not the King anymore." Steve says, standing to drag a nearby garbage can closer. It's already half-full of papers. "You sure don't listen to gossip, Munson. Billy beat my ass and I lost every friend I had. So. I think it's a prank on both of us."

"Oh."

Eddie, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, shuts the fuck up. Steve had seen people lose their meals to his impassioned school cafeteria rants, but it only takes Steve Harrington to shut Munson's infamous mouth.

Wait, that sounds wrong.

They keep cleaning in silence - relatively. Steve starts balling up the papers and tossing them at the trash can, unable to stop himself from hissing out a yes! if he makes the throw.

"Impressive," Eddie says dryly. "Can you do this?" He raises one hand in the air like he's about to take a pledge, and in the other he folds and rolls a slip of paper until it's shaped like a joint.

Steve chuckles. "Nope." He takes the fake joint, and it comes undone in his palm, revealing the same crude stick figure couple from earlier.

Right.

Steve had forgotten what they were doing here.

Evidently, Eddie had too. He looks down at the drawing, then snatches the paper from Steve, tossing it in the trash, two spots of pink high on his cheeks.

He scoops the last of the papers into his arms, dumping them in the trash can. "You can go back to class," he tells Steve, settling down with his back against the locker.

"What are you doing?" Steve says, slightly caught off-guard by the dismissal.

"Seeing if those pricks will try to do it again." Eddie says, folding his knees up to his chest. "They do it all the time. I think there's a jungle's worth of trees just being used to make shit for my locker."

"You're just gonna guard it?" Steve asks.

"Sure," Eddie says, picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. "What else have I got to do?"

Steve plops himself down next to Eddie. "I'll guard with you," he says stubbornly.

"Seriously?" Eddie asks, like Steve's particularly slow. Steve's gotten that tone of voice a lot in his life.

"Yeah." Steve says. He parrots, "What else have I got to do?"

"You're just gonna fuel the rumors, dude." Eddie says. "My name's mud around here. You know that damn well."

"Sure," Steve shrugs. "But it hasn't been half-bad hanging out with you, and I don't care what these jackasses think of me anymore. Bigger things to worry about."

They settle into a comfortable silence, watching the students pass by, their whispered comments and curious glances bouncing off the duo. Eddie taps his fingers rhythmically on the ground, humming a tune Steve doesn't recognize but finds oddly comforting.

He reaches into his pocket to feel the small paper, then tugs it out. Is it dumb that a stupid drawing is making him think about himself this much?

"Hey, Eddie," Steve starts, hesitating. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," Eddie says idly.

"How do you... I mean, when did you know you were gay?" Steve asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie's expression turns to one of suspicion, but he answers anyway. "I guess I always knew, deep down. But I really figured it out in middle school." He looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye. "Why?"

Steve bites his lip, considering his next words carefully. "I think I might be... different too. I mean, I've only ever dated girls, but lately, I don't know. I feel... something."

Something means he worried for weeks when Billy beat the shit out of him because suddenly all these feelings were tugging at his brain. Feelings for people like Eddie Munson.

Eddie's eyes widen slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. (What? Steve's not looking at his lips. Huh?) "Steve Harrington, the former King of Hawkins High, might not be straight? Now that's some gossip I'd actually pay attention to."

"Shut up," Steve mutters, but he's smiling too. "I'm serious."

"Well..." Eddie trails off. "We can try it out?"

Steve's heart skips a beat. "Huh?"

"We can try it out." Eddie repeats. "But, uh," he leans close, his breath ghosting over the shell of Steve's ear. "Just so you know, I prefer to be the one on top."

Weeks later, the school is overtaken by a new kind of graffiti. Papers plastered to every surface, a spiky handwriting (usually used to write setlists and D&D character sheets) adorning each and every one of them.

EDDIE MUNSON FUCKS STEVE HARRINGTON

[justaz]

when merlin asks arthur for things, the king is usually inclined to give him what he wants but it is not always guaranteed such as when his emotions cloud his judgement. but merlin’s surefire way of getting arthur to give in? he steps into his space, lays a gentle hand on his arm, and says “arthur, please” and he folds like a house of cards.

[jae-in-a-trenchcoat]

I think Darius finding ao3 on Brooklynn’s computer is gold (based on this)

[braxix]

Next up: All of Valinor is confused on where Elrond came from. Finrod decides to play detective and finds out Elrond called Maedhros atya this one time. He puts 2 and 2 together and gets 5. Everyone is confused.

[erinwantstowrite]

I've been meaning to ask, but is the title for LoF a reference to something or a song lyric?

<3 <3 <3

the chapter titles are references to songs (all of them are meticulously chosen) but the title itself is a reference and a connection to the story itself.

"Leap of Faith" comes from Spider-Man's 'Leap of faith" quote (mostly inspired by Miles in ITSV), and it also sort of ties in to the fact that Dick is a Flying Grayson and etc. It symbolizes how many times Peter has to put his trust into people and himself during the story.

"Catch Me, if You Can" is directly from Peter. Peter's taking a leap of faith as both Spider-Man fighting his first big enemy and as Peter Parker, trying to trust people. He's trying to trust the Bats to help him in this strange universe, and also trying to trust Tony and the others back home to come looking for him. He's asking them to catch him when he jumps for it (which is also a reference to the Flying Graysons, being acrobats that have to trust their partners to catch them).

((Basically, the title could be shortened to 'Trust Fall' lol))

In the chapter where Batman and Spider-Man play tag with the sticky notes, "Catch me if you can!" is a reference to the title (*cinema sins ding noise*) and a hint that it connects to Peter and everyone trying to catch up to him. They've basically been playing tag this entire time, with Peter being a few steps ahead of them, and this is the turning point. Batman catches up to Peter because Peter finally decides to play the game the way it's supposed to be played. It's one big metaphor for how the arcs have been going

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

So for the fic title thing? Coffee & Chaos?

DEAD TIRED.

Danny moves to Gotham where he ends up opening a coffee shop titled: Chaos Cup because he's found out all food/drinks he makes comes to life. However: it's tastier then ANY other food, and healthier. Also, you don't need to like kill the objects. It's more 'giggly bubbles' and 'cooing cookies'.

So Danny can make this amazing kind of food and drinks, and opens a place in Gotham where he pretends to be a meta who has this weird power. It's very much a 'haha' trend for some, but most come back because it is delicious.

And one of them is Tim Drake who freaking LOVES this place. The coffee is delicious and the treats? He loves it. (He also likes biting into a cookie shaped like a cat that meows while holding eye contact with Damian who is a second away from murder). There's also the cute owner.

Summary: Just... silly? Not really 'coffee shop AU' as Tim makes sure that he never crosses a line. Cute fluff to.

Pairings: Tim/Danny

Notes: It would be so much fun to have Dani be a toddler here because Tim being a dad is so much fun to me. But also: imagine Danny being the 'future ghost king' and Tim having to go through trials to win his hand or there being a courting process.

[malfiora]

Can't Get Enough

by captainBAEhab

Tags: GrayWing, getting together, previous DickKory, fluff, thirst traps

The first time they met was...less than stellar. Kori had been raving about her new boyfriend for ages and finally got to introduce him to the Titans during their annual holiday party. "You'll like him, he's from Gotham," he'd been assured.

Nightwing is curious – until in walks the princeling of Gotham, Dick Fucking Grayson. There's a blissful moment in which he thinks (knows) this is a mistake, but, nope, Kori is greeting him with a kiss and heart eyes. How had they even met? And what could Kori have possibly seen in him?

He watches to find out. Dick waltzes around, flashing his best paparazzi smile at the Titans and regaling them with ridiculous socialite stories. What's worse is that everyone else is actually charmed by this, if the faint blushes and waving hands are any indication.

When Dick finally makes his way over to him, he gives Nightwing a sweeping look and his smile tightens to a smirk. "You, I know," he declares. "My family's cleaned up enough of your messes."

And so Nightwing vows to hate the guy, even if the others vouch for him.

"Oh, c'mon, he was trying to be nice," Troia says. No.

"Yeah, isn't that just how Gothamites say 'hello'?" Beast Boy tries. Nope.

Nightwing gets the last laugh when Dick and Kori break up three months later.

---

Or so he'd thought. As fate would have it, night shift in Gotham falls to Nightwing one weekend. Batman and Robin are off world, Red Robin is on the West Coast, the Batgirls are on the other side of the world for a "mission" (read: vacation), and Red Hood won't return his calls. And apparently some upstart gang thinks it's the perfect window to kidnap a Wayne for ransom. But not just any Wayne, oh no.

Dick Fucking Grayson is sitting in the middle of a dingy room, gagged and tied to a folding chair. Nightwing removes the zip ties first and the gag absolutely last. As soon as he's able to, Dick pushes off the chair to stand but immediately falls back into it with a grunt.

"Whoa, take it easy," and Nightwing scans him for injuries. "Looks like your ankle is sprained."

"Doesn't matter, the girl –"

Nightwing raises an eyebrow. "What girl?"

"The other victim." Turns out, the upstart gang is more daring than they initially seemed and kidnapped two hostages. "I'm not leaving her, I have her my word."

It's a bad idea, he should complete Dick's rescue before going back for another hostage, but Dick's eyes are burning with determination and it's crumbling his resolve. "Fine," Nightwing sighs, "hang onto me."

They hobble down the hall to another dilapidated room. Huddled in the corner is a girl, probably a preteen, with smudged glasses and a shock of red hair. She launches herself at Dick the moment she sees him and hugs him around the middle.

"Hey, Carrie," he says through a pained smile and he pats her head. "I told ya I'd come back for you. And I brought a friend."

Carrie peeks up at him and smiles. Nightwing crouches so he's level with her. "Hey, Carrie, my friend here's a little hurt, so I need your help. Is that okay?" She squeezes Dick tighter but eventually lets go and nods. "Awesome. I need you to go a few steps ahead of us and tell me if you see or hear anyone coming. If you do, make this signal with your hands." And he flaps his hands like a bird.

"Like this?" She imitates the gesture.

"You're a natural."

Carrie diligently checks around every corner as Nightwing supports Dick through the building. Either the goons all left or they get extremely lucky, but they don't encounter anyone, and soon enough they're free of the lair. GCPD arrives a minute later with paramedics, so Nightwing gives Dick over to the paramedics and calls it a day. But not before he watches Dick smile down at Carrie and offer his hand to her while they wait for her parents.

See, he's never seen this side of Dick before. Warmth, protectiveness, concern for someone and something other than his hair and his fancy clothes and gaudy cars. It's...weird and vulnerable and a little precious, and so now Nightwing is curious – what else is there to Dick Fucking Grayson?

Which, of course, leads him to Twitter. He scrolls through Dick's posts and retweets, just skimming, all the way back to when he first created it, just as part of his investigation. It's not obsessive if he's only looking, right? It's a patchwork of silly ramblings, vague political statements encouraging Gothamites to vote without endorsing anyone, links to interviews with various Waynes, and photos of charity events. Normal, even a little thoughtful. Must be Dick's PR team, right? Except that wouldn't explain the thirst traps.

There aren't many, but they're there, sprinkled into perfectly innocuous posts. Hashtag-no-filter selfies of him allegedly just waking up, post work out poses, fit checks in various dressing rooms, just there, for everyone to – FUCK.

He accidentally liked one of the posts.

And so now Nightwing is faced with a dilemma: does he un-like it and pretend it was a mistake? Or leave it there and act nonchalant? Dick is going to get the notification either way, and moment now –

"Well hello there 😏" comes the DM notification from @ not_a_dick_joke and nonononono this can not be happening right now. "Glad you liked the pic! But here's a more recent one" and sure enough Nightwing gets an alert saying he's got a photo.

Dare he? Should he open the messages to see? Well...a peek couldn't hurt at this point. Lo and behold, it's another thirst trap, this one of Dick with his shirt half unbuttoned and holding a sign with a scribbled 'to my savior' on it.

Nope. That's enough Internet for the day. Nightwing logs off of Twitter and considers deleting the app for five whole minutes before doing something more productive like polish his wingdings again.

---

And everything is fine for another couple weeks, in which Dick definitely sends more selfies and Nightwing definitely looks at them and leaves him on read and this is definitely normal and healthy behavior for both of them. Until it isn't.

@ not_a_dick_joke: is getting kidnapped the only way I'll get you to talk to me? okay then 😊

What...what does that mean? Holy fuck, is Dick Fucking Grayson going to get himself kidnapped just to get Nightwing to talk to him? That's just...(stupid/hot/crazy/sweet).

So naturally, Nightwing must check on him. He drops by Wayne Manor, onto a balcony he's seen Batman use before. Sure enough, Dick is there, waiting, elbows leaning on the balustrade. He grins when he sees Nightwing.

"So that did the trick, huh? I was wondering what I'd do to get you over here if that didn't work." And then he's tugging at Nightwing's wrist and pulling him inside the manor. "C'mon, I wanna show you something." He tossed a wink back at him. "Something I can't post on Twitter."

[indiaalphawhiskey]

Fake summary please for this made up title:

Flip me off and I’ll flip you over

🎸 Flip Me Off and I’ll Flip You Over

It had been an honest mistake, hand to God.

Louis had seen him last night, two rows away from the front, eyes closed and mouthing along perfectly to All This Time, his sweaty tendrils framing his forehead and the sleeves of his Faith in the Future tee artfully cut off.

They had made flirty - some would even say, obscenely heated - eye contact under the bright lights.

That’s how Louis knew about the dimples; that’s why Louis ran to the barricade three songs too early and a little too far to the left. He didn’t actually see if one of the hands that had so desperately clutched at him belonged to Dimples, but he’d thought it safe to think so. (No one stood that close to the stage, totally dolled up in their little outfit just to make eyes at the artist all night and not try to touch him. Please.)

But the thing was, Louis was also just a wee bit hungover this morning; cranky, headache-y, and severely under-caffeinated after a late night at the club and an inhumane five a.m. radio interview call time. Not to mention being unceremoniously manhandled into the car by Joni after some fans got a tad too excitable at the entrance.

So when he saw Dimples for the second concert in a row, now strategically stationed outside his dressing room wearing leather trousers in 36 degree weather, smiling at Louis like that…

Well, he’d just kind of… assumed.

“Bit too early to be this thirsty for a back room shag, darling, innit?” Louis snarked over the pounding in his head. Though he squeezed his eyes shut behind his dark sunglasses, he didn’t miss the startled look on Dimples’ face.

“W-wh—” he stammered, seemingly bewildered. “I—I beg your pardon?”

Louis would roll his eyes at the impeccable feigned innocence if he wasn’t so dizzy. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he peeked one eye open at the same time he lifted his coffee up to his mouth. Caffeine would save him.

He smirked a little at the deep blush on Dimples’ cheeks; at how caught out he clearly was. The movement only made Louis’ head hurt more.

“Posh little thing, aren’t ya?” He observed off-handedly, wincing at the reverberating sounds inside his head over the brim of his cup. Out of the corner of his eye, he clocked the pen in Dimples’ hand and he tipped his head as far as he could without giving himself vertigo to point at it. “Want me to sign your chest or something? Will that get you to leave me alone?”

Dimples narrowed his eyes at Louis in what seemed like the perfect cross between confusion and annoyance. “Ex-cuse me—”

“Come on then,” Louis interrupted impatiently. With a heavy sigh, he gestured with his palm to hand over the pen. “Just lift up your shirt and let’s get this over with—”

“Oh good, you’ve met!” Oli’s voice was so loud it made Louis flinch. Well, it was either his volume or the two forceful slaps he clapped on Louis’ back as he beamed as Dimples. “Louis Tomlinson,” he said, with a dramatic drumroll-type tone to his voice, “meet the legendary Harry Styles, youngest senior concert critic in Rolling Stone magazine history!”

To say those were the absolute worst words Louis could have possibly heard at that moment would have been incorrect. Mostly because the absolute worst words Louis could have possibly heard at that moment were the next six: “He’s here to review your tour!”

Louis lifted his horrified gaze to Harry’s face slowly. Their eyes locked, anger flashing across Harry’s features as he crossed his arms over his chest. Ironically, the lanyard of his press pass was now painfully obvious where it hung around his neck.

“Charmed,” he deadpanned.

Whoops.

— or, Louis Tomlinson’s World Tour was off to a great start until he royally fucked up by mistaking a world famous concert critic for a groupie. Then again, it’s not like anyone said Harry Styles couldn’t be both.

[talktonytome]

bucktommy au> airline pilot Tommy x cabin crew Buck. They get caught making out in the crew bunks while they're supposed to be resting during a long haul flight

ty for the prompt! I had fun with this one 🩷 ✈️

Tommy’s nearing the end of his sleep shift, when he’s suddenly jostled awake by a warm mass of solid muscle on top of him, a head perched on his chest. Evan. He smiles before opening his eyes, then takes a moment before blinking himself fully awake. When he rubs the sleep from his eyes and he blinks into focus, Evan’s bright blue eyes and dimpled smile greet him.

“Hey, you,” he mumbles, leaning in enough to press a chaste kiss to Evan’s mouth. 

“Hey yourself, Captain Kinard,” Evan greets him, lowering his voice and tilting his head in that way he does when he flirts. Oh, he’s playing dirty, using his title like that. 

“Evan,” Tommy groans. The man gives him a shit-eating grin and Tommy should protest, he really should, but damn, he can never refuse him. “Shouldn’t you be in the cabin?”

“Eh, Ravi’s covering for me,” he shrugs. “I missed you.” Evan straddles him properly now and starts mouthing at his jaw and down his neck. There’s not much room to move; the cabin crew bunks are barely big enough for one grown man, let alone two big guys like them. Tommy settles on gripping Evan’s hips, holding on for dear life as he works to unravel him. 

“C’mere,” Tommy cups the back of Evan’s neck and brings him down for a thorough kiss, the kind that leaves him breathless and makes him feel like he’s flying, the prelude to more. It’s all teeth and tongue and desperate, knowing they don’t have much time. Anyone could come in at any time- the crew is always in and out for their turn to get some shut-eye. 

Evan leaves his mouth momentarily, on a mission to suck bruises on and beneath his clavicle; a proper pilot can’t go around visibly covered in hickies, after all. Tommy roams his hands across every part of Evan he has access to- down huge, muscled biceps, across a strong, broad chest and his sides, feeling the notch of every rib along the way.

Evan’s rutting down onto him now and oh, the friction is amazing. Tommy thrusts up, matching him in rhythm, then cups his face with two big hands, bringing him in for more kisses. Evan moans and Tommy has to remind him to keep it down. “Shh, baby,” he mouths against his lips. 

Suddenly, there’s a loud cough a few feet away and both men freeze. 

“Captain Kinard.” And of course, it’s Hen, one of his co-pilots. She clears her throat. “First Officer Han asked me to find you, wanted to go over some things before rotating, but I can see that you’re… busy,” she tries and fails to hide a smirk.

“Erm,” he says smoothly. Evan’s no help, as he shakes with laughter, hiding his face in Tommy’s chest. “I’ll uh, I’ll see him up there shortly, Captain Wilson.” 

“Sure, I’ll tell him you’re finishing up inspecting things down here,” Hen grins and Tommy knows he’ll be getting shit from both her and Howie later. With that she pivots and walks away, leaving them alone once more.

Evan lifts his head up from Tommy’s chest and gives him his signature puppy eyes. “To be fair-"

“Don’t,” Tommy cuts him off. “They’re never gonna let us live it down,” he sighs. 

“So is now a bad time to tell you everyone knows, um, about our inspections?” 

“What?!” Tommy squeaks. 

Evan leans up to kiss his nose and slots his thumb on the cleft of Tommy’s chin.

“Why do you think nobody comes down here when we’re together? Well, except for today, apparently.”

Tommy can’t help but chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief- of course this is his life. And he wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

[widebrimmedhatsblog]

Happy WIP Wednesday!

a variety of WIPs today: each number is a different fic i've been working on

1.

“Xaden,” she says, suddenly urgent, because he’s making sense. He’s making too much sense. The impulse is always there, to tell him things just because she loves him. She wants to be talking to him all the time, and she wants him to know every part of her, every inch, every curve and bend, and stay. She wants him to see what she’s hiding and she wants him to stay.  She needs him to stay more than she wants him to know. 

(more below the cut)

2.

Violet still can barely see the inside of the cave, with the water on her goggles, so she hears his voice before she sees him.  “I didn’t know we were having company.”  She flings her goggles from her face with such haste, they fly from her hand, then smash into the cave wall, glass shattering.  “Well,” he notes, “someone’s a bit violent, aren’t they?”

3.

“Oh…” Ridoc says, slowly, “This is about your mom.”  “This,” Violet declares, “is about an abuse of taxpayer dollars. Ridoc, how do you, as a taxpayer, feel about my mother wasting the money of hard working Americans to make this guy follow me around?”  Xaden looks at Ridoc with thinly veiled suspicion. Maybe he doesn’t believe Ridoc is a taxpayer. Violet wouldn’t blame him. 

4.

He walks faster, taking the stairs two at a time. Violet’s raised her shields, which also cannot be good. He prods at them, not hard, but just enough to demonstrate that he is prodding. He would like to speak to his wife.  She drops them an inch. “I want to talk about it in person, Xaden, and I can’t keep it in, otherwise.”  She raises them, right back up, and he tries not to let himself sink. It’s fine, probably. She just wants to talk to him about something upsetting, but they’ve been through upsetting things before. They’ve won wars, and they freed his country, so they can do this. Unquestionably, they can do this. Whatever this may be.  And she wants his help. That has to count for something. When she needs something, she calls for him.

[hippolotamus]

Hiiiii Hippo 💕💕💕

Buddie fic title:

If only I knew you had electric fingerprints

-❤️🪐

Hiiii Saturn!!!! So lovely to see you here! You said Buddie. Please know you have my eternal gratitude for forgiving my slip into Diaz Family Feels. 💞🦛

After the debacle of broken salad bowls, 'I think you should go home' and 'This is your mess now', Eddie thought that he and Chris had worked through the biggest tangles of dating in the Diaz household. Introducing Marisol was almost a non-event. Eddie might even go so far as to call it a success.

He will now admit that line of thinking was more than a bit premature and naïve on his part.

Maybe it was his own growth and evolutions in the relationship department that led him to assume Christopher wouldn't face the same issues. And, well, technically he didn't. No, Eddie's son dealt him an entirely new, foreign set of tribulations. A one-eighty of Eddie's nesting instincts where Christopher is leading on five different girls. Five!

Wasn't it just last year they were discussing how much shirt sleeve was acceptable to show? What the hell happened?

And, OK, it's a new world with new methods of communication and apps and how teenagers interact with each other. Eddie likes to think he isn't completely stupid, because he tries to stay informed about current trends that he would honestly rather not know about. But no article or discussion with the school guidance counselor - or Frank - could have prepared him for tonight. No tips, tricks, signs to watch for could have fortified him for the devastating blow of 'We loved her and she left us anyway' and 'I can't remember her voice anymore'.

When Buck emerges from Chris's room, Eddie is still leaning against the wall, crushed under the weight of a thousand emotions and questions, attempting to prevent his heart from spilling past the walls of his chest. To keep it from slipping through the makeshift cage where his fingers press bruises into his skin, just below his collarbone.

Buck squeezes Eddie's shoulder before wordlessly leading them to the kitchen where he pours them both a glass of water and he waits. Waits for Eddie to speak, because it's what they do. They don't press. And maybe they should - more or earlier - but that's another thought for another day. For another version of Eddie that doesn't feel like the ground has been ripped out from underneath him.

"I don't- How am I supposed to-" Eddie blows out a harsh breath, frustrated that he can't form a complete question. That there is no entry in the non-existent Parenting Handbook for how to tackle this scenario.

"Eds," Buck says the nickname so carefully, so gently, like his tongue is shaping it from the most fragile glass. His hand tentatively slides across the tabletop until it's resting on top of Eddie's own. "You don't need to have all the answers or know exactly what to do."

"I know I don't. It's just-" He cuts himself off, huffing out an unamused chuckle. Because he doesn't know.

And, look, Eddie is fully aware that he doesn't have to be one hundred percent in control all the time, but it doesn't make him hate whatever this is any less. This combination of lost and thrown off course; of sad, bitter anger muddled together with desperation. His own eagerness to bargain for a way to make this situation more palatable. A pathetic yearning for the chance to go back. To never enlist and close himself off. To splurge on the digital camera with video recorder so he could capture a truly ludicrous amount of everyday, mundane moments.

How many hours of footage might they have collected? Of simple things like Shannon chopping vegetables or putting on makeup before a night out. Her and Eddie slow dancing in the backyard to music only they could hear. Or her laughing, bright and bold, as she smudged dirt and filth across Eddie's cheek after he showed her how to change the oil in her car. The way he pulled her in with his own grimy hands, pressing their mouths together so he could swallow the sound.

He blinks rapidly to keep tears from falling as he wonders how many instances would have featured her rolling her eyes - exactly the way Christopher does now - and shoving her palm in front of the lens.

But he'll never know because he's stuck with the choices he made. That they made. He can tell their son stories, bring him for graveside visits, and offer small souvenirs of the time Shannon had on earth, but that's all Eddie can do. He can't replicate what it was like to be in her presence. He can't convey how she was soft and gentle and all the things Eddie isn't, while also being sharp and spirited. How she smelled like peonies and summer rain.

Whatever he has to offer is two dimensional. Framed photographs, memories stored in his mind. Some of them also stored in Chris's though Eddie suspects in a completely different way. Hopefully in a way that doesn't taste as much like guilt and regret for things left unfinished and words left unsaid. Words like-

Dear Christopher.

He swallows hard around the phantom taste of sea spray from the Pacific Ocean, has the urge to claw at damp, sun-warmed sand that isn't there. And god only knows how his best friend has any idea what's scratching at Eddie's brain, but he does. And Eddie is so, so grateful when Buck rubs his thumb across Eddie's knuckles and asks if he should stay or would Eddie rather it just be him and Chris.

As much as Eddie would like Buck to be present as an extra layer of protection, he knows this is something he has to do himself. Even though, as he walks Buck to the front door, promising to call later, he gets the distinct feeling he won't actually be alone.

In the low lighting currently casting shadows around his bedroom, Eddie's fingers tremble as he reaches for the small safe in the back of his closet. A simple design meant to hold important, precious things. The metal dial is cool under his fingertips, easily manipulated as he rotates it right and left and right again until the door pulls open.

It's been years since he read the words written in Shannon's flowing script, but he knows them like he knows his own name. He traces over her loops and arches, wishing, like always, that he had more time. That he could put off performing this errand for a few more years, decades, lifetimes. Even if he knows it's only for selfish reasons. Because he owes this to Chris and to Shannon. It's on him to follow her instructions and deliver this remaining link between mother and son.

He holds the folded pieces of paper in his hands, feeling something familiar wrap around him that isn’t the usual despair. Something that's more like spun gold flowing between the note and his skin.

Eddie bites back a sob as it dives beneath the surface to wind its way around nerves and spill through blood vessels on its way to his heart. As a calm takes root, anchoring in all four chambers, unfurling and flourishing. As the room, that typically smells like lavender fabric softener and the fancy vanilla linen spray Pepa bought for him, is permeated by the overwhelming scent of Texas nights - filled with crackling humidity wrapped in silvery starlight - and velvety pink peonies.

He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing it in, inhaling deeply to his core like it might allow him to hold onto this moment forever. When at last his lungs protest, forcing him to exhale, his eyes flutter open again.

Eddie closes the door to the safe, hearing it shut with a satisfying click.

"Thank you," he whispers, letting his gaze drift to the letter once more before he walks down the hall to pass it to its rightful owner. His son. Their son. A living, breathing tether between past, present and future.

He knocks on the doorframe, briefly saddened by the sight of Shannon and Christopher’s picture turned face down on the desk. It only makes him more sure he’s doing the right thing.

“Hey, buddy…”

For additional Feels™️ may I recommend

[zzoomacroom]

Retired amnesia Dream + coma Hob for WIP ask game please 🥺🥺🥺

Thank you for the ask! @linzod asked about this one too, and I'm super excited about it! I only have it outlined so far, but I'm hoping to write it once I'm done with the mpreg fic.

So Murphy is just some guy, as far as he knows. He's an artist, and he's kind of a shut-in with no friends and no life to speak of. He starts having really vivid dreams that, unbeknownst to him, are showing him memories of his past life. He also keeps having these recurring dreams where he meets with this guy named Hob who seems really familiar and keeps telling Murphy that he's real, he's been looking for him, he's trapped in the Dreaming and he needs Murphy to find him in the waking world. Murphy doesn't believe any of it, thinks his unconscious mind made the whole thing up, and he's like, "great, I'm so lonely that my sleeping mind made me an imaginary friend." But then he keeps finding clues suggesting that Hob is telling the truth. He goes to the White Horse and, even though it's abandoned and boarded up, he recognizes it from his dreams. He also maybe finds mentions of Hob in historical texts, the drawing of them from the 1789 meeting, etc. So now he understands that it's all true, and he has to find Hob and hopefully regain his memories in the process.

Now I'm going to put what's happening from Hob's perspective under the cut, because it's a plot twist that would be revealed later in the story.

So how did they end up in this situation? Well, after the Wake, Hob became more unhinged than ever and couldn't accept that Dream was dead. So he planned to do a whole "Dream of a Thousand Cats" style thing and have a thousand people dream that Morpheus is alive again. But in order to organize and orchestrate this whole plan, Hob puts himself into a magically induced coma so he can stay in the Dreaming and make sure the plan works. But once it does, he finds himself stuck there. The mysterious and sketchy person he hired to put him into this coma has disappeared, and now he's trapped with no way to wake up. Morpheus keeps finding him when he dreams, so Hob is overjoyed about that but heartbroken that Morpheus doesn't remember him and doesn't believe any of his dreams are real. Eventually, Morpheus finds Hob in the waking world, wakes him up, gets his memories back, and they live happily ever after.

I don't want to give too much away, but I will say that this fic will also feature Death, Delirium, Daniel, Lucienne, Matthew, Johanna Constantine and Mad Hettie.

Hopefully I'll actually be able to get it written before too long 😭

[megamindsupremacy]

So, way back when I was a wee little cringe nerd (tentatively affectionate), I was absolutely bonkers obsessed with Percy Jackson. I also had basically zero access to the internet and only an extremely vague idea of what fanfiction was, and I definitely wasn't immersed in the fanfiction culture of the time. So that meant whenever I had Thoughts and Ideas, I was writing those fuckers straight into my class notebooks for all the world but especially my teachers to see. That being said, I just remembered my very first ever fanfiction idea, of which I wrote three pages of looseleaf in my seventh-grade social studies class with my best friend in between assignments. Which I will now elaborate on as an Adult because honestly, what else do I have a semi-popular Tumblr blog for?

The basic idea is that, in the Son of Neptune, instead of heading straight for Camp Jupiter, Percy very vaguely remembers that the mysterious Annabeth lives very close by. He skids down the hill next to the Caldecott Tunnel, but instead of crashing into the highway, he lands in the back of a pickup and is carried away by a very panicked+annoyed driver who wants the kid in the back of his truck out.

(Please imagine Frank and Hazel, standing guard, watching some random kid go screaming down the side of a hill on a serving platter while pursued by gorgons, land in a pickup, and, still screaming, swordfight said gorgons. Who get whacked out of the air and run over by a school bus. Can you fucking imagine)

(Please also imagine Juno, waiting invisibly next to the road, also watching Percy go screaming by in a truck. She had been waiting there to give Percy her mysterious "choose safety or your memories" spiel but now he's fucking gone)

The pickup driver pulls over to the side of the road near the bay and tells Percy to get the fuck out of the back of his car. Percy, seeing the gorgons in hot pursuit in the distance, makes the logical move and jumps straight into the bay. He lets instincts and muscle memory guide him to the edge of one of those fancy neighborhoods that border the edge of the water. He continues following muscle memory and instincts and ends up at Annabeth's house, and he knocks on the door.

Fredrick, opening the door: Percy Jackson??

Percy: ...who are you

Fredrick: you exploded my car four years ago! my daughter has been looking for you for months. ANNABETH COME DOWNSTAIRS I FOUND YOUR BOYFRIEND

Percy: HUH WHAT

Annabeth gives him a flying tackle hug and Percy is 60% confused, 40% relieved because finally this is someone he remembers. Annabeth starts talking about how they need to get Percy to CHB stat, everyone is so worried about him, they knew Jason had had amnesia but it had been so long they weren't sure if Percy was still alive, etc etc,

Percy is nodding along in confusion and pretending he knows wtf she's talking about.

Juno appears in the Chase house. She's mad as hell that a) percy isn't already in Camp Jupiter and b) he's with Annabeth (derogatory). She teleports Percy straight into CJ but Annabeth manages to hang onto him and come with.

They land on the near side of the Little Tiber, where Frank and Hazel are reporting on the weird screaming demigod in a pickup that had gone by twenty minutes ago. Juno realizes she accidentally brought Annabeth along and is Very Unhappy about this.

"Romans, I bring to you the Son of Neptune-" ("I'm the son of a planet?" Percy muttered). "For months he has been slumbering [etc]. Instruct him in your ways, induct him into your legion. As for the daughter of Minerva…” The Romans gasped, staring at Annabeth. Juno curled her lip, shooting an icy look at the girl. Annabeth snarled wordlessly in response. “She is extraneous. Do with her what you will.”

Juno disappeared

More will be added in the reblog

[thursdayinspace]

Made up title: The Ginger Invasion

ohh okay. that is so very clearly sick!fic?!

Mulder is sick. He never gets sick, and it's awful. It's terrible. He can't even get out of bed, that's how terrible he feels. He tries, he does, but finds himself on the floor after only two steps. The room is spinning, his stomach is extremely angry at him, and he doesn't know how other people do it. He's been beaten up, he's been shot, he's been tortured, but he thinks this bug, whatever it is, might finally be the thing that defeats him. He can't even go to the bathroom.

Everything hurts. He's too cold, then too hot, his head is pounding and Scully will be wondering why he isn't at work. He should call her. What time is it? He doesn't know.

"Mulder?"

He just about manages to lift his head and there she is, Scully, in his bedroom doorway; she turns on the light and it hurts his eyes, but even as he squints against it the glow of her red hair in the sudden brightness is enough to make him let out a relieved breath. "Hi." He hates to admit when he needs help. But he needs help. And help just showed up.

"Oh god, Mulder," she says, crossing the room in a few quick strides, and as she puts a cool hand on his burning forehead, he knows he's gonna be okay now.

--

He drifts in and out of sleep. He's lost all sense of time; it doesn't matter. He opens his eyes and sees her hovering above him, hair falling over her eyes as she leans down to put a cool cloth on his head. He wakes up and sees a flash of red, turns his head to see her putting a cup of tea on his nightstand. She helps him to the bathroom, and even with how small she is she manages to hold him up -- he looks down on the top of her flaming red hair and feels such a rush of affection it makes his heart clench in his chest. The back of her head as she stands and looks out of his window. Her hair fanned out all around her as she naps on the other side of his bed, seemingly unafraid of catching whatever it is he's not dying of, she has assured him that he will be fine. He's already starting to feel better.

When he closes his eyes, the light of the room turns to orange sunrises behind his closed lids.

"You really don't have to stay," he tells her after the first time he manages to make it to the bathroom on his own.

"I know I don't have to," is all she says, and makes him sit in the chair she dragged into the room while she changes his sheets.

"I'd be okay on my own now," he insists.

She turns towards him, pillow case in her hand, and looks unsure. "If I'm invading your privacy -"

"No!" he interrupts her quickly. "No," repeats, shaking his head. He can do that again without making the room spin out of control. "You aren't. I promise."

"Good." She sounds relieved. "Just let me know when you've had enough of me."

The chances of that ever happening are below zero, he thinks. "What about work?"

"I called Skinner yesterday" she says," and told him we were both sick. He doesn't expect us back for another two days at least."

"What if you get sick too?"

To that, she just shrugs. "That's a risk I'm willing to take. I'm not just going to leave you here, Mulder."

This is not the right time to tell her that he loves her, he thinks, but it is one of those moments where it's hard not to. "I'd take care of you too."

"I know," she says, and gives him a smile. "I've never doubted it."

"Scully?" He waits until she meets his eyes again so she can see how much he means this. "I really, really appreciate your invasion."

She turns her head away but she can't hide the smile that's taking over her face. "Anytime," she promises, and he believes her.

There's a red hair on his freshly-washed t-shirt. She must have left it there when her head brushed against his chest as she guided him over to the chair.

He leaves it there.

[mollywog]

Roommate

Fake Fic Ask Game by @vasilissadragomir

🐑 (fake set of fic tags): modern au roommates, mutual pining, jealous!katniss, hot chocolate, meddling!Prim, misunderstandings

She’s smiling down at her phone when Prim snaps her fingers in front of the screen, “Are you even listening?”

“Oh! Yeah! Sorry,” Katniss says, placing her phone face down on the table.

“Who are you talking to anyways?” Her sister eyes the phone with curiosity and Katniss covers it with her hand lest Prim resort to snooping, “are you seeing someone?! You’re giddy, it’s weird”

“God no,” she has no desire for that, “Peeta’s doing a grocery run and asked about snacks.” They were going to watch Jurassic Park tonight and he’d sent her a picture of a bag of frozen Dino nuggets.

“Sounds cozy. What does Nutmeg think about her boyfriend Netflix-and-chill-ing with his super hot roommate?”

Katniss rolls her eyes, “Clove’s not in the picture anymore.” She doesn’t get it. Peeta’s the best, but his taste in women is the worst. She’d taken to giving them petty nicknames rather than learning their real ones. The latest had been a real cloven hoofed bitch.

“Oh,” Prim perks up, “So, are you gonna make a move?”

God, not her too! Maybe she’s been talking to Finnick. He keeps insisting she’s in love with Peeta. She’s not and the accusation is annoying, “No,” She says, tone firm, “Peeta and I are friends. Just friends.”

“Hmm” her sister sounds unconvinced.

“Hmm what?”

“I think you like him.”

“Of course I like him, he’s my friend.”

“Come on Katniss. You talk about him constantly, you spend all your spare time together, and you’ve hated every girl he’s ever given a second look.”

“Yeah, because they all sucked.”

“- his dick, and you were jealous.” Prim adds.

Katniss bulks, “don’t talk like that. Who raised you?”

“We all know who raised me. Don’t try to duck the topic! So, you’d be fine with him dating someone you approve of?”

Katniss shrugs, “of course,” it’s a trick question, because she can’t imagine anyone good enough for him.

“What about me?” Prim says, as if following her line of thought, “I must meet your standards. What if I started dating Peeta? You wouldn’t have a problem with that?”

“Didn’t know you were interested.” Why does her voice sound so high all of the sudden?

“I don’t know; maybe it’s all your glowing about how great he is. Answer the question.”

“I mean it would be weird, because you're my sister,” she says haltingly, “but obviously I think you’re amazing,” she briefly imagines Peeta leading Prim to his bedroom, and wants to vomit.

“So you’d be completely fine if I asked him out?” Prim eggs.

Her discomfort is overcome by a flare of annoyance at the challenge. “Want me to put in a good word for you?” She snarks.

“Nah.” Katniss exhales, feeling a little lighter. Maybe this will finally put the whole thing to rest, but then her sister continues with a smirk, “I’m a big girl, I don’t need your help.”

Part 2 | Part 3 or Ao3