#fic: under 500

[brandileigh2003]

Wolfstar "Hidden gems" underrated fics

~~~please give these authors love, fandom engagement with writers is down and it means more than you know. ~~~

I saw a post about lesser known fics yesterday and decided to try to boost some of my faves. They are under 500 kudos and deserve so much more. (I know that kudos and hits don't mean much at the end of the day, but...)

Feel free to comment or reblog your own fics or your favorites that fit!

-love finds a way by@littleoldrache Jurassic Park au ft disability and trans remus (you really can't go wrong with any of Rachel's fics though, they're amazing)

-The Standard Book Of Spells by Imparfait no voldy hogwarts au

-Tender is the touch (of someone that you love too much) by @purplefiction-ao3 (wip) multiple pov journey of remus waiting for heart transplant

--Engaged for 43 years by @halfravenhalfclaw sirius proposes at first sight at 11, follows til the afterlife (divergent)

--This Is the Way the World Ends by @blitheringmcgonagall sad but beautiful MCD

-Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations by TheQueerTailor Sixth year has just started and Remus is barely keeping up. He's just sixteen but it feels like his body is falling apart.

-Tertiary Colors by krabapple mpreg 1st war divergent, potters live (check out other fics too!)

-Black's Anatomy by @grasslesss greys anatomy fic, remus has lupus

-Give Me A Sign by @theresthesnitch soulmate fic, remus is deaf. (Wip)

-Sweets and Books by Writer_INFJ_2w1: bookshop au, chronic pain

-Babysitting For Dummies by Middleofamoment (37k) au raising teddy get together (theres a sequel and 3rd to come)

-Rarer Than One in a Million by Sp00nhater wolfstar is so soft and sweet, meet in hospital

-Tic Tic Boom by @fictionboysarebetter : Hogwarts fic, remus has tourettes (wip)

-The Ups and Downs of Inevitability by depressed_and_nauseous (check tags deals with heavy topics) remus is in Poppy's care for his safety (wip)

-Small Bones of Courage by Anonymous mcd, please read tags, sensitive topics. Later in life lycanthropy is terminal for remus.

-Flight of Destiny by @lucigoo sapphic wolfstar meet on plane (Luci also has lots of beautiful fics)

-Birthday Blues by YouBlitheringIdiot @blitheringmcgonagall :Sirius is turning sixty and he is appalled...

-Give Quarter to Old Men - @krethes series with older wolfstar

-lazing on a sunday afternoon by peachyybabe domestic slice of life

-I choose you to love for the rest of my life by Writer_INFJ_2w1 sapphic wolfstar wedding

-Puppy Magic by @demonbanisher thefifthmarauder17 magical divergent

-Consider the Lotus by busaikko: Sirius goes with remus to register at the ministry after the prank to show realities of lycanthropy

-Grow As We Go sapphicselene: post 1st war divergent, wolfstar in therapy

-From the Patient Files of Remus J Lupin, 1971 by TheQueerTailor

-While I breathe, I hope by MarigoldWritesThings by @marigold-hills divergent where remus left school after prank

-Without You by daffodilsonaprettystring Titanic mcd (wip)

-Blinded Fate by FatedEcho- Star wars meets wolfstar (wip)

-catch me on the way down by raggedypond

--To die, as lovers may by @moggetbright vampire Sirius and Hunter Remus

-The First Train Home by @houndsinheaven look into 76 and 95

-The Streak by @greyfavorite Remus dressed as a cowboy

-Francesca Syndrome by @coralsunset and diplobeanz: pining Remus

-You Drive Me Crazy by @klilyr based on you drive me crazy

-lights over harvest moon by @shoopsthereitis get together

-maybe time running out is a gift by messrsrarchives @roblogging mcd sickfic

-Love at First Bloom by viwrites @just--vi flower shop au with pining and chronically ill Remus

-cosmic entanglement by @maladaptivewriting wolfstar in every universe!!!!

-Meet Me In The Exosphere by @euripidestrousers top gun au

-Remus lupins guide on how to (not) become a quidditch seeker by Girl_rotting

-we grew up in spite of it by peachyybabe wip, remus has a twin, mcd

-beautiful boy by peachyybabe wip, mcd, based on beautiful boy

This is technically over "kudos cap" but i really don't see it rec'd enough:

-Wishes on Stars by Quietlemonhush, TherestheSnitch fairy tale: remus wishes for a friend

**this post was made in Nov 2024, so hopefully some of these numbers have changed and you've made some authors' day 💙💙

[steddiehyperfixation]

not so tragic a thing after all (steddie ficlet)

Eddie has an essay due in two days. It’s a big one, the last one of the semester, of the year, the one that will make or break his grade and determine whether or not he finally gets to graduate high school. 

And he can't write it. 

As in, he's been sitting at his desk and staring at a blank piece of lined notebook paper for hours, bouncing his leg and tapping his fingers and twirling his pencil but not producing a single word. It's not that he doesn't understand the prompt or that he doesn't know what he's going to write about, because he does understand it and he does have ideas, he just can't write it. There's some block in his brain, something that keeps him stuck there and anxious, feeling each unproductive second slipping by like a physical thing brushing past him, but still unable to make himself write. 

Eddie's always struggled with essays. Out of all the subjects, he has the lowest grade and the highest number of missing assignments in English Lit. Which is such counterintuitive bullshit because that's his favorite subject, and it's because it's his favorite subject that he's failed it every year. 

It's like this: If Eddie doesn't understand a math assignment, he doesn't care, he'll just scribble in some bullshit numbers or turn it in incomplete and take whatever grade he gets with an impassive shrug and zero damage to his self-esteem. He's just not a math guy, and that's fine. Same with science or history. But he is a words guy. Eddie is a storyteller, a writer, a lyricist; words are his weapons, his outlet, his safe space, his identity. He takes pride in his ability to artfully string his words together, and a shitty grade on a shitty essay is something he takes personally. He'd rather not turn in anything at all than turn in a collection of words he's not proud of. 

Right now the words aren't coming together just right in his head and so his hand refuses to move to write them. He tries to tell himself that it's okay if it's not quite right, that something written, even badly, is better than nothing written, and that he's only guaranteed to fail if he fails to turn this in. It doesn't have to be good, it just has to be done. He tries to force his hand to move, to write something, anything, but the signal isn't getting from his brain to his hand because his fingers continue to twirl his pencil between them rather than curl around it and press the lead to the paper like he wants them to. He just keeps sitting there and staring and fidgeting and not writing like he's been doing all day, all week, all month. 

Eddie berates himself for being so stuck, yells and shouts and curses at himself to get his shit together and just write. But he doesn't, won't, can't. The seconds keep pushing past him and the deadline inches closer and closer and his page remains blank and he's so goddamn frustrated he's on the verge of tears. 

There's a knock on the front door that makes Eddie jump and then a knock on his bedroom door that makes him shove his shamefully empty paper under a book and out of sight as Wayne pokes his head into the room to tell him, “Your boy’s at the door.” 

“For Christ’s sake, Wayne, he's not my boy.” Eddie rolls his eyes at his uncle. He drops his pencil and stands, grateful for the distraction. “Told you a million times, he's just a friend.” 

“Uh huh,” Wayne says, which isn't an argument but very much sounds like one, the way he drags out those syllables with a sort of deadpan disbelief. 

Eddie valiantly ignores him and pushes past him to open the front door for Steve. “Hey, Harrington. What're you doing here?” 

“Uh-” Steve shrugs, looking almost like he doesn't quite know what he's doing here himself. “Missed you, I guess? It's been a minute.” 

Eddie's been isolating himself the past couple weeks, canceling on Hellfire and band practices and hangouts, insisting he needs to focus on his essay. He didn't realize any of his friends had taken notice. 

“Oh, and I brought snacks!” Steve adds brightly, holding up the bag of chips in his hands like he just remembered it was there. “Thought you might need a break from your schoolwork.” 

“Oh.” Something warm blooms in Eddie's chest and tugs a smile from his lips as he moves aside to let Steve in. “That's sweet, thank you.” 

Steve returns the smile, stepping inside. “Anytime. So - how's the essay going?” 

“Uh, yeah, it's kind of not,” Eddie admits with a self-deprecating sigh, running frustrated fingers through his hair. He nods for Steve to follow as he heads back to his room and pulls the stupid blank page out from its hiding place to show off his failure. “Been at it for weeks and I still can't seem to get a single goddamn word down.” 

“Hm.” Steve frowns a little at the paper for a second, but his attention appears to be far more focused on the book the page had been shoved under: a well-worn copy of Romeo and Juliet. He smirks as he picks it up and reads the title aloud, teasing, “Didn't take you for a romantic, Munson.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “It's what the essay's on.” He snatches the book back before Steve can start to flip through it and read anything he's written in the margins. “And it's not a romance, it's a tragedy - which is exactly what I was going to write about, actually, if I could just write it.” Eddie sits down heavily in his desk chair, glaring at the blank paper. “Was gonna argue that people tend to focus too much on the romance of it all, but they're missing the point entirely, and this tendency to over-romanticize the story completely overshadows and trivializes the actual themes of the play. It’s not about love, not really, or at least not in the ways people think. It’s-” 

His tangent stops short as he notices Steve beginning to rifle about his room - setting the bag of chips down on the nightstand, grabbing a pencil off the desk, scooping a random spiral notebook (his math notebook, as it happens) off the floor. Eddie turns sideways in his chair and looks at him strangely. “What are you doing?” 

Steve turns the notebook to a blank page and sits down on the edge of Eddie's bed, already starting to scribble words across the paper. “I'm taking notes,” he says, like it's obvious. “Don't let me interrupt you.” 

Eddie's eyes narrow. “Are you patronizing me?”

“No, no, of course not.” Steve's reassurance is quick and comes with a rapid shake of his head. He looks over at Eddie, expression earnest and genuine as he says, “I’m just interested in what you have to say. I wanna know what you think Romeo and Juliet is about. If it's not romance, what is it?”

Eddie regards him skeptically at first, answers in a measured tone and glances warily at the pencil continuously scratching ‘notes’ onto Steve's paper. But the more he speaks and the more Steve engages with such honest reactions of interest and encouragement, the more Eddie gives into the tide of thoughts in his head and lets them spill from his mouth with increasing enthusiasm: He describes the inherent tragedy of a life cut short which could've been prevented, rambles about the reality of being young and stupid and consumed by emotion, rants about the mortality rate of blind bigotry and prejudice, and waxes poetic about love itself being something tragic and dooming, occasionally grabbing the book and reading out lines of the actual poetry to illustrate his points. 

When Eddie's well of words on the subject eventually runs dry, Steve continues writing for just a few seconds longer before he glances up with a grin and stands to toss the notebook and pencil onto the desk next to Eddie. “There's your essay,” he announces. “Well, kind of. You might want to rearrange it a little-” 

“Steve,” Eddie cuts him off, staring at the open notebook covered in the scrawl of Steve's handwriting with wide-eyed disbelief. He looks back up at him. “You wrote my essay for me?” 

Steve shakes his head. “You wrote it. I mean, it's all your words exactly as you said them, all I did was transcribe it.” He shrugs. His tone and expression are still casual and light, but the hunch of his shoulders and the way he shoves his hands in his pockets now speaks to a sudden shyness as well. “You said you just couldn't get the words down, I know what that's like. I get that way too sometimes - just…stuck - where the thoughts and the intention are there but the action is just frozen. It helps to talk it through, but it also helps to kinda separate yourself from the task a little too. I thought if I could do that first step of getting the words on paper for you, it might make it easier for you to copy some of it down and then start to write it and reorganize it on your own, might get you past that block…” 

Eddie kind of really wants to kiss him right now, feeling young and stupid and consumed by emotion. He leaps to his feet and hugs Steve fiercely instead. “Thank you.”

Steve nearly stumbles from the force of the hug and lets out a startled laugh before returning the embrace. “Don’t even know if it worked yet. Thank me after you finish your essay.”

Eddie shakes his head against Steve's shoulder. “Thank you just for trying - just for being here, even. I’m sure there are much better ways you could've spent your Saturday than listening to me ramble about Shakespeare, but you stayed here anyways and made an effort to help me when you didn't have to. I appreciate it.” 

“Nothing else I’d rather do. I like listening to you talk; I like how passionate you are about your opinions, even if they are a bit cynical.” Steve pulls back with a smile, squeezing Eddie's shoulders for a second before dropping his hands. “It's gonna be a killer essay.” 

Eddie beams at him, the warmth in his expression a reflection of the glow that's unfurling in his chest again.  He plops back down at his desk and picks up his pencil, hovering it over his own blank paper as he looks over the words - his words - that Steve had written. He takes an anticipatory breath…and starts to write. 

Steve was right, restating the words once they've already been written down by someone else does depersonalize it enough to make Eddie finally able to write it and it does get him past that initial block. Soon he's able to move on from simply copying down the words and begins to add new ones and make edits. A laugh escapes him like a cheer, a short burst of something giddy with satisfaction and relief. He's writing, and writing and writing and writing, the words flowing from brain to pencil to paper perfectly and with ease, the way it should've been from the start. 

Steve hangs off to the side at first like he's trying to give Eddie space to work, but ends up slowly drifting closer. When Eddie cheers, Steve's hand goes to his shoulder again, giving it another squeeze, encouraging and proud. His hand then stays there, thumb idly rubbing across Eddie's shoulder blade as he watches the other write. Eddie feels like he's got electricity running through his veins.  

Somewhere within the next hour or so, three pages and two sheets of paper later, Eddie slams his pencil down and sighs with finality, “Done!” This earns him another shoulder-squeeze from Steve and a bright smile when Eddie looks up at him. “You are a fucking lifesaver, Harrington, I don't know what I would've done without you.” 

“Glad I could help,” Steve says, his smile turning sheepish and his hand finally dropping from Eddie's shoulder as he gives a modest shrug and adds, “I’m sure you would've managed on your own, though.” 

“I wouldn't have. I would've failed,” Eddie says seriously. “I was fighting an epic battle against my brain and I would've lost, would've doomed myself to yet another year of pointless high school existence, if you hadn't swooped in and saved me like a goddamn knight in shining armor.” He cracks a grin and stands to dip into a melodramatic bow. “I am forever indebted to you, my liege.”

Steve laughs, and it's a beautiful sound. “You're being dramatic.” 

“I’m allowed to be.” Eddie straightens and grabs his essay off the desk, holding it up and shaking the papers. “This is my golden ticket out of high school, man, you have no idea how much this means to me.” 

“Well then, we should celebrate.” 

“We can finally eat those chips you brought.” Eddie moves around him and reaches to grab the bag of chips on the nightstand, but Steve catches his hand. 

“Screw the chips,” Steve says. “This calls for a proper celebration. How about we go get dinner somewhere? My treat.” 

Eddie glances down at his hand in Steve's. “Are you asking me out, Romeo?” he asks as he looks back up, a teasing edge to his grin so he can play it off as a joke if he needs to. 

“Depends.” Steve rubs his thumb over the back of Eddie's hand, eyes flicking across the other's face almost nervously. “What would you say if I was?” 

Eddie’s smile softens and he finally curls his fingers around Steve's hand. “I'd say yes.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Then yes,” Steve says, his face breaking into a bright and beautiful grin, “I am absolutely asking you out.” 

Another cheer of laughter bursts out of him, giddy now for an entirely different reason. “What are you waiting for then, big boy?” Eddie holds Steve’s hand tight, already starting to drag him from the room. “Where are you taking me?” 

Steve laughs as well and lets himself be pulled along for a second before taking the lead as they head for the front door. “You’ll see.” 

To Wayne sitting on the couch watching some game on the TV, Eddie shouts over his shoulder in passing, “Finished my essay, we’re going out to eat!”

Wayne nods in acknowledgement. His eyes flick to the boys’ joined hands, a knowing smugness in his expression as he mouths subtly to Eddie, ‘Your boy.’ 

Eddie just grins in response, and then he’s out the door. 

Steve takes him to a diner, Eddie’s favorite one, and it makes his chest warm again that Steve knows that. They grab a booth in the corner, hidden from prying eyes. Steve makes fun of Eddie for dipping his fries in his milkshake, Eddie makes fun of Steve for covering his directly in ketchup. It’s all talking and laughing and easy banter, same as it’s always been since they’ve been friends, except now Steve holds his hand and hooks their ankles together under the table and peppers smooth compliments into the conversation that have Eddie grinning and blushing like crazy. The famed Harrington charm is in full effect, moves and lines he’s sure Steve’s used hundreds of times on hundreds of girls, but now they’re just for him, woven so easily into the dynamic that already exists between them, and Eddie basks in it. 

It’s the best first date he could’ve asked for. 

Perfect gentleman that he is, Steve even insists on walking Eddie to the door when he takes him home. Steve kisses him on the porch then, soft and sweet and promising, and Eddie’s starting to think that maybe love isn’t so tragic a thing after all… 

Maybe he needs to rewrite his essay. 

(also on ao3)

[semperama]

I've had a few drinks, so I'm gonna speak my truth: If it's over 500 words, y'all need to put it on AO3.

[thevioletcaptain]

🌵🤠🙄

Crouched down behind the bar at the back of the room, Dean pushes bottles around until he finds the little box of cactus-shaped cocktail sticks left over from Jack’s “Green Stuff” themed birthday party (Dean’s given up on questioning the kid’s requests) and holds them up triumphantly.

“Got ‘em!”

Sam peers around the back of his recliner and narrows his eyes as Dean makes his way back to the couch and plonks back into his seat, shaking a few out into his hand and sticking them into several cubes of cheese and deli meats on the platter he’d set up earlier.

“What are those, pickles?”

“They’re cactuses, man. They’re thematically relevant to the movie. Y’know, cowboys, deserts, cactuses.”

“Oh my god, I told you we are not watching it again,” Sam groans.

“Well, it’s what’s playing in the Deanplex tonight, and there’s only one screen, so—”

“The Deanplex? Really?”

“You kept whining about me calling it the Dean Cave,” Dean reminds him. “Reap what you sow.”

“Dean. I’m serious. No more Tombstone.”

“It’s a classic!”

“So is Citizen Kane, but we don’t need to watch it six times a year!”

Dean makes a face. Slaps Sam’s hand away when he tries to take one of the cubes of colby jack before he’s had a chance to stick a cactus in it.

“Okay, one? Citizen Kane is boring as fuck and you know it.”

“Not the point,” Sam huffs.

“And B? What are you talking about, six times? Who’s watched it six times?”

Sam stares, then raises his hand to count them off on his fingers.

“We watched it on your birthday,” he starts, raising his index finger.

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s one of my favorite movies. Choosing the movie is a time-honored birthday tradition.”

“So then why did we have to watch it on my birthday?”

“Hey, that’s on you, man. Not my fault you struck out on your date and came home when me and Cas had already hit play.”

“I didn’t strike out, Eileen had to—”

“And anyway, that’s only two times, so—”

Sam raises his second and third finger and cuts him off.

“We watched it again on Valentine’s Day.”

“Again, when you were supposed to be out! I don’t see why I have to suffer just because you can’t seem to manage to get a date with Eileen to continue past 7pm.”

Sam ignores the dig and lifts his fourth finger.

“We watched it on Jack’s birthday.”

“His choice, and as we’ve established: it’s birthday tradition,” Dean reminds him, and shrugs. “Kid inherited my good taste genes, I guess.”

“That’s not — that doesn’t make sense on literally any level.”

“Says you.”

“You’re not even his father!”

“How dare you say that about my son,” Dean says in exaggerated horror, and Sam grits his teeth, visibly making the decision not to push that particular argument, even as Dean can tell how infuriated he is.

He lifts his thumb.

“And then we watched it again two weeks ago, and— fine, yeah, that one I’ll give you, ‘cause it was like. The anniversary of that time we had the hunt in Tombstone when Cas just came back from the dead, so. Fine. But dude. Two weeks ago. It’s only July and we’ve already watched it five times this year. We are not watching it for a sixth.”

“It’s National Day of the Cowboy, Sam! How are we not gonna watch the best cowboy movie of all time on the Day of the Cowboy?”

“You’re still arguing about this?”

Cas’ voice floats over from the doorway, and Dean looks over to see him wearing the denim Western shirt Dean bought him for the occasion. The pearl snaps glint, silvery in the light from the TV screen where Tombstone is loaded and ready to play.

“Yeah, ‘cause Sam’s being unreasonable.”

“I’m not—”

“You realize I left to drop Jack off with his friends almost an hour ago,” Cas points out.

“Remind me again what he’s doing with his friends,” Dean says, and looks at Sam to see his reaction when Cas answers.

“They’re celebrating National Day of the Cowboy by watching the Dollars trilogy in Eliot’s backyard.”

“Sounds like Jack and his friends are getting into the sprit of the holiday,” Dean says pointedly.

“It’s not a holiday!”

“They’ve set up a projector to show the films on the side of the barn,” Cas goes on.

“Okay, so hey— a compromise,” Sam offers. “Why don’t we just watch the Dollars trilogy?”

“…oh, did you think we were only watching Tombstone tonight?” Dean asks, bemused. “Dude, that’s just the appetizer. We’ve got a whole damn buffet to get through.”

“I hate you so much,” Sam tells him, but he’s already given up. He snatches up several pieces of cheese and slouches back in his chair. “Start the damn movie.”

“Hey, man,” Dean says, and settles into the couch, spreading his arm for Cas to settle against before he kicks his cowboy-booted heels up onto the edge of the coffee table and hits play. “You’re the one who keeps crashing date night.”

[written for this prompt game] [find me on ao3 as imogenbynight 💚]

[inexplicablymine]

FIVE FICS UNDER 500

Thank you @happiness-of-the-pursuit for the AMAZING and wonderful idea to do a 5 rec list of work recommendations that are currently under 500 kudos. Lovely fantastic I am so excited. Two of these are finished and three are WIP’s that I think deserve way WAY more love than they are currently getting when they update.

1. One Too Many Mornings by @orchidscript 15K | M | Finished Work

This is my white whale. It emotionally held me tight and I think about it constantly almost a year later. It is a Surfer AU and the way Orchid wrote Henry’s relationship with surfing and water still gives me chills.

2. Décollage by @cultofsappho 18K | E | Finished Work

Alex as a photographer and Henry as a pottery boy and throw them into art school in NYC and you truly have the makings for an au that I could read forever. This work is spectacular both as a character study AND as a wonderful exploration of firstprince in a delightful setting.

Everything after this is a WIP (BUT NOTE THEY ARE ALL GETTING REGULARLY UPDATED I WOULDN’T DO THAT TO YOU)

3. Claremont 2008 by @happiness-of-the-pursuit 17K | M | Work In Progress

What if Ellen gets elected in 2008. That’s it, that’s the premise and it’s done so beautifully I am so angry that it doesn’t have more reads. Everyone should have eyeballs on this fic, you should be frothing at the mouth for updates because I know I am.

4. Hold on get ready for the ride by wilmonflicker 45K | E | Work In Progress

Professional Footballer AU (soccer for the Americans) where they are both on the same team and boy does it get STEAMY. This work is wonderful and I love how the author really leaned into the characters decisions. I find myself cheesing so hard at every update because the story brings me that much joy.

5. On Thin Ice by @pirates-against-heterosexuality 60K | E | Work In Progress

HOCKEY AU. Literally need I say more? Well I can it’s written phenomenally well, and I am a Check, Please! fan and an avid reader of any kind of hockey romance I can get my hands on ~ this is the real deal, thank me later when you fall in love with this story.

You will find me shouting in the comments of all of these. Truly every last one of them I love these works so dearly and I want everyone to read them.

Okay now that you are back from these lovely stories I have an open tag for everyone to share some fics under 500 ~

but I am also going to directly tag @anincompletelist @kill8a @tintagel-or-cockleshells @three-drink-amy and @welcometololaland I would LOVE to see some of y’all’s favorites under 500 :)

[ditzyredrobin]

Exhaustion is No Stranger - Shrike!Verse snippet

Tim chuffs a quiet laugh. “I don’t know, Dick, I’m just-“

He cuts himself off, trying to find the right word, unable to pinpoint the exact feeling.

“You’re just what?” Dick urges gently, eyebrows drawn together in a look of concern.

He looks so damn sincere, eyes so vivid and blue and so patient as he watches him fumble over his words. It’s too much and, truthfully, he’s the last person to deserve this level concern.

He looks down at his lap, twisting his fingers into knots.

“You’re just what, Tim?” This time it’s Jason, his back pressed against the arm of the sofa. His arms are crossed over his broad chest in a no-nonsense kind of way. “You gotta talk to us. We can’t help you if you don’t let us, got it?”

Tim takes a shuddered breath and shrugs half-heartedly. He was too much—for his parents, for Bruce, and eventually, if not today then soon, would be for Dick and Jason soon. It’s the way it’s always been, eventually everyone gives up and leaves him, so what’s the point?

He wants to cling onto what they have just a little longer.

Just a little bit longer.

Dick sighs and moves to stand out of his crouch. Tim’s his heart sinks for a moment until he realizes his not leaving. Instead, Dick slides in beside him. In one fluid motion, he’s sat sideways in Dick’s lap, with his arms wrapped around him.

Tim gasps at the suddenness, but doesn’t fight it. With Dick, there is no fighting it. He just lets him adjust him until his comfortably sat in his lap, face pressed to the crook of his neck. His hair is still damp from his shower, and he smells of his tingling tea tree and mint shampoo.

He doesn’t seem to care Tim is still in his body suit, fresh off of patrol. But if he does, he doesn’t say anything, just tucks him in a little closer.

Tim’s eyes feel hot.

“I’m so tired,” he says in a small voice.

And cue the waterworks.

Hot tears wash down his cheeks. It’s stupid. He didn’t mean to share it but when he opens his mouth, it’s all that comes out, because he is. He’s so. Damn. Tired.

“Oh, Timmy,” Dick murmurs in his ear.

[chaosclimber]

mechanic

Robyn knew that his dads had been talking about cars, ever since he’d gotten his license last year. And while it had seemed to bring up some tension, they kept it pretty well under wraps. But now, Orpheus was finally getting theirs, and the subject was on everyone’s minds. 

So, it really didn’t surprise either teenager when their dads asked them to sit in the living room after dinner. He and Orpheus exchanged glances, and Robyn could barely contain his excitement. But still–best to let the adults broach the subject. They always were more open to what he wanted when they brought things up first. And Robyn had plans for his first car. 

His Da was the first one to talk, one leg bouncing gently the way it did when he was deliberately trying not to fidget with his hands. “...Ok. So now that you’re both driving, it’s…time to consider cars. Financially, your father and I can certainly handle getting you both cars. But there are going to be limits. You will not be getting brand new top of the line sports cars by any means.” 

That was ok. That…was perfect, actually. Robyn didn’t want a new car at all…though, he would really need to search for what he wanted. He tuned out a lot of the finer details that came after. Orpheus was paying closer attention, anyway, he could always double check with them as he researched. His mind was fixed on the end goal. His history-class project partner was the daughter of an old car collector. And her dad had recently come across a ‘69 Corvette Stingray, in a truly gorgeous blue. The guts would practically need to be rebuilt from scratch–which is where the research would have to come in, he wanted to source parts as close to original as he could. But he was capable of taking on the project. And Stacy’s dad had already promised he’d cut Robyn a good deal for the beauty.

“Robyn. Robyn, are you listening?”

“Sorry, Da, I was thinking.” He blushed a bit at getting caught.

“I can see that.” The response held just an edge of laughter, though, so he wasn’t angry about it. “What are you considering?”

“Stacy’s dad has that gorgeous Corvette. I’d put the work in myself, you wouldn’t need a mechanic or anything…”

“...We’re not going to put more money into your car than Orpheus’s, ducky.” He held up a hand as Robyn was about to protest. “I’m not saying no. But any parts you need beyond that price point are going to cost you.” 

“Thank you!” He popped up off the couch and hugged Hob first, then Dream. “I promise I won’t abandon it like the Lego sets!” 

A couple days later, he was just passing the Master bedroom on his way downstairs when he overheard his name. 

“Robyn’s vintage car idea does pose a slight issue, you know.” Dream’s deep voice sounded…almost amused.

“Oh?”

“The child who actually wants a car won’t have a functional one for quite some time.” Oh. Oh no. He hadn’t thought of that part. 

“...I’m sure Orpheus will share until the ‘Vette is road-ready.”

“...I suppose that would work. But only if they want to–I’ll not force them to share as a teenager.”

“Of course.”

@domaystic

crossposted to AO3

[rockingrobin69]

Certainly

They went to three different venues and Harry was beginning to feel a bit like goldilocks in that story about the bears: the first place was too small, the second too dear, the third didn’t smell right. Yes, it didn’t smell right. Because apparently Draco was a connoisseur of scents, of sorts, and the patchouli and sandalwood was giving him a headache. They bickered all the way back to the parking lot.

About silly things: the washing they forgot to take out of the machine and the season for sheep-shearing, rocks versus stones and would a giraffe wear a tie at all to begin with. What if it was getting married Draco asked and Harry said then it would be in a full fucking tuxedo, wouldn’t it and they both snorted, still annoyed, and looked away at the sky where the rain they’d promised on the telly never came.

Draco’s fingers were clammy in his. It was muggy, and a little disgusting, and Harry was hungry and also possibly developing a slight headache. Not the sandalwood but the constant fucking blather, which truly was reeking. Harry wished he was smarter and just didn’t engage.

Was engaged, to be married, to this absolute arsehole. Grabbed Draco’s arm just before they got to the car, pressed their foreheads together. Breathed.

“We’ll find a place eventually.” He meant: it doesn’t have to be this hard.

“Maybe,” Draco huffed. He meant: it probably won’t be easy either.

“We can always get married in our back garden.” You know I’ll take you anywhere.

“You can always go fuck yourself in the back garden.” Take me somewhere better than our own bloody garden.

“Shut up.” Kiss me, you git.

“You shut up,” Draco said, and put his arms around Harry, probably meaning something with it, too. Didn’t kiss him. Took Harry’s chin and lifted it up just a touch. “I can’t believe,” he swallowed, blinked those never-ending eyelashes, “we’re actually doing this.”

“Yeah. We’re doing this.”

“Getting married.”

“The whole thing.”

Draco’s eyes were huge against his. “Are you sure,” he stopped again. Wrinkled his nose, bit his bottom lip. This thing in Harry’s chest went rampant, lightweight and impossibly tight. He kept thinking, it’s going to rain, it’s going to finally happen and we’ll get soaked and have to run to the car and we’ll tell this story when people ask, we’ll have the rest of our lives to tell this story, this one right here.

It didn’t rain. The air was stuffy and oddly warm, and although it threatened to, it never rained.

Still he kissed him, in the parking lot of the hotel that didn’t smell right. Draco made a little sound into his mouth, soft and surprised, kissed back. He was a fucking arsehole and they might just end up getting married in their back garden after all. It’ll be a disaster, whatever they do, but this moment will always smell like this: disgusting and warm and Draco.

Yes. Harry was sure.

[onthewaytosomewhere]

'If you loved me, you'd let me have the last one.'  & Firstprince please lovely 💛💛

not sure how this one turned smutty ... alas that is where we are tho lolz - but in a novel for me moment i wrote smut in under 500 words

this can also be found on ao3 if you'd rather

smut under the cut!

“If you loved me, you'd let me have the last one …” Alex is cut off by Henry’s lips on his. “I think it’s just that you want to be the first to provide,” Henry says, kissing down Alex’s throat as he pushes himself up off where he rests on Alex on the sofa in their office. “I think it’s only fair, after all your dick calls to me,” he says, rolling Henry onto his side so he can run his hand along Henry’s cock through his boxers. Alex moves so Henry is underneath him on the sofa and slides his t-shirt up, placing kisses as he moves down between his legs. Henry arches up into him, and Alex knows he will get his way. He makes quick work of removing Henry’s boxers and doesn’t waste any time getting his mouth on Henry’s cock. It doesn’t take long to get him close to the edge, and Alex can tell he’s trying not to buck up into his mouth. He hollows his cheeks and sucks, and Henry is coming down his throat, a huff of a laugh slipping between his lips that still makes Alex smile all these years later. It takes a moment for Henry to catch his breath, but he soon has Alex on his back, boxers tossed to the floor and working him toward orgasm. Alex knows it won’t take long, knows he could have come earlier with a bit of rutting against the sofa. While he’s done that many times, he knows that he needs to feel the heat of Henry’s mouth around him this time. Wants to feel the way Henry is now hollowing his cheeks just right to provide the perfect sensations as he slides his mouth along Alex’s cock. He’s trying so hard not to rock up into Henry’s mouth as he gets closer to completion. He feels his balls tighten, and his spine arches as he comes into Henry’s mouth. Alex lies on the couch panting, attempting but failing to get his hands on Henry to pull him up. Luckily, Henry understands and crawls up to place a kiss on Alex’s lips. It’s chaste and beautiful, but Alex needs a bit more; he pulls Henry in and kisses him with everything he’s got left. As much as he loves having Henry’s lips wrapped around his cock, he’ll never tire of getting to kiss those lips. Feeling them pressed against his own and laying claim to them whenever he wants is one of the best things about being in the same place for the last few years.

[lookedlikethebins]

i was asked about married g&c matty and george's routine for saying goodnight, and i wanted to see if i could answer in under 500 words! (498 thank you very much)

Matty was just about to turn away from their bathroom mirror when George called to him again.

“Matty? You alright?”

“Yeah, coming!” Matty wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—for a third time—before turning off the light and exiting their bathroom. “Sorry.”

“Grow more teeth, did you?” George asked, lifting his eyebrows as he looked Matty over.

“You know, I thought I’d be done with spots the minute I started going grey. But,” Matty motioned to the bump on his cheek—and the thin layer of ointment he’d smoothed over it, “apparently not. I look equally pediatric and geriatric.”

“I don’t think anyone is thinking that,” George said, quietly shaking his head as he picked up Matty’s book he’d left open, face-down on his pillow before getting up to brush his teeth. George closed it over (with a proper bookmark for once) before placing it on his own nightstand. “I’m not thinking it,” he added.

Matty turned his lamp off before sliding back under the duvet and slouching back against his pillows. He looked over at George, backlit by his own side lamp and surrounded in a warm, golden halo. “I just wanted to look good before I started to look old,” Matty sighed. “Ridiculous as it sounds.”

“And you think you don’t?” George didn’t pose it as much of a question. But rather a gentle invitation to be argued with. To be proven wrong.

To understand George was looking at him—had been asking him to just come to bed already—with acne treatment on his face and more grays than the day before. With more eye creases and smile lines than Matty had ever noticed but was grateful his body had calculated for him; a way to show how much a grin had become a habit for Matty. It was the closest way to ever properly thank George.

“Thank you, George,” Matty said, trying anyway. He refrained from reaching over to hold George’s cheek, resting his thumb on the etched echoes of complementary smiles of years past then appearing by George’s eyes. “’night, baby.”

George reached for his lamp, putting them in the familiar darkness of their bedroom: just the two of them, apart from the slivers of moonlight exposed as their curtains shifted in the evening breeze. “Good night, love.”

Matty rested his hand on George’s shoulder and guided him in the dark. Not that George couldn’t make out Matty’s shape—or that they hadn’t been sharing the same space for so long, George needed any help. It was always just an excuse: for Matty to touch and George to be touched.

“Love you,” Matty said as George settled: one arm draped over Matty’s waist while the other was tucked between their pillows. “I love you, George.” Matty’s words, soft and quiet as they were, announced where he was in the dark. Told George where his lips were.

“And I love you,” George said, following Matty’s words back to their source.

[firstelevens]

and 22 for sambucky, perhaps?? 🍯

22. don't say yes

It is, technically speaking, Sam’s fault that he ends up where he does. Usually, there’s a little more nuance, but this time around, it’s completely on him.

His mother had been fond of saying that eavesdroppers were bound to hear things they didn’t like, and little Sam had only had to test this theory a few times before deciding that she was right. The lesson had worn off at some point, though, as high school and college came and went, and as keeping your ear to the ground made all the difference as a soldier and later as a superhero.

But Sam doesn’t mean to eavesdrop on Bucky. Not really, anyway. 

He pulls up to Bucky’s newly-purchased cottage and goes around back to drop off Sarah’s spare wheelbarrow. All afternoon at the docks yesterday, Bucky had been making noises about working on the garden at the new place, setting up a vegetable patch and hauling around some of the bricks left behind by the last owners to make up a little retaining wall.

When Sam had asked just how much experience Bucky had with growing vegetables, he’d mentioned that his Ma had kept a victory garden during the war, and then gone quiet until the boys burst in and demanded his attention. Bucky had gone back home not long after, and Sam had figured that the wheelbarrow and the extra gardening tools he’d pulled from the shed might be some kind of peace offering.

He sets the trowels and gardening gloves on the back porch and leaves the wheelbarrow nearby. It’s more habit than anything else that has him stopping to examine the boards and the porch railing, checking for rot or cracks. Sam doesn’t even realize that Bucky’s bedroom window is open, not until his voice carries out of it and into the yard.

“I promise I’ll be back soon,” he’s saying. “It’s just a quick errand.”

Sam furrows his eyebrows. He’d maybe expected Bucky to be on the phone, but it sounds like he’s talking to someone who’s there with him.

“The hardware store is close,” says Bucky, and the warmth in his voice is unmistakeable, “and the nursery’s not that far, either. I’ll be an hour, tops.”

He tries not to, but Sam can’t help but strain his hearing, trying to catch the reply from whoever is up there with Bucky. He can’t make out any words, but that doesn’t make him feel better. It’s 8 AM on a Saturday; whoever it is could easily just be tired.

It’s far too easy a leap from that particular conclusion to just why someone might be at Bucky’s house in the morning and too tired to really speak. Sam feels queasy all of a sudden.

Bucky had turned down an invitation to have dinner with them last night, and he’d left the docks in the late afternoon instead of hanging out like he usually did. Sam had assumed that he was going back to work on the house while it was still light out, but maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe Bucky had gone into town, or to a bar somewhere. Maybe Bucky had brought someone home with him, and that someone had stayed the night.

Sam is just trying to convince himself that there’s a perfectly platonic, rational explanation to all this when he hears Bucky’s voice again.

“Baby,” Bucky says, somewhere between affectionate and chiding. “Sam’s gonna be here any second; you know I can’t just leave him hanging.”

That’s not how you talk to a one night stand, Sam realizes, with a sinking feeling. That’s how you talk to someone who’s been around for a little while, and who plans to stay that way.

Had he missed the signs somewhere? Had he misread all those conversations that he’d thought were moments with Bucky, even when they’d been on their own separate world-saving missions? All the text messages and the scraps of time they’d caught together in New York or DC or here in Delacroix?

Bucky shyly admitting that he’d put an offer in on a house in town had seemed like a confirmation of something, like establishing solid ground for them to take those first steps together. Now, though–now Sam can’t help but wonder if that solid ground isn’t his to tread, if Delacroix was the choice not because it’s Sam’s home but because it’s someone else’s.

“You’ve got to give me my shirt back, Sweets; I can’t go out without it,” comes Bucky’s voice again, and this time, Sam makes himself step back, intent on hustling back to the truck and booking it out of here before Bucky realizes he was there at all.

He’s already drawing up an excuse in his head, trying to strike the right balance of a reasonable last second cancelation and nothing that’ll worry Bucky too much, but the extra distraction proves to be the last thing he needs. Sam runs right into the wheelbarrow, which falls against the nearby stack of bricks with an extra-loud clang, reverberating outwards like a bell.

“Fuck,” Sam murmurs, and has just enough time to right the wheelbarrow before Bucky is calling out the window.

“Sam, is that you?” Sam doesn’t say yes at first, still trying to salvage his escape plan, and Bucky calls out again. “Sam? Are you there?”

It’s only latent self-preservation instincts that remind him it’s probably a bad idea to make the former Winter Soldier think that there’s someone skulking around his property uninvited, and he finally makes himself answer.

“Yeah,” Sam calls back. “It’s me, sorry.”

There’s no response for a moment, and then the door to the back porch opens. Bucky is smoothing down his t-shirt like he just pulled it on, and Sam’s stomach lurches just a little.

“Hey,” Bucky is saying, “sorry I’m late; I just got caught up with- wait, what’s that?”

It takes Sam a beat to realize where he’s pointing, distracted as he is by Bucky’s ruffled hair and the pillowmarks on his face. Even as part of him grapples with what he’s just learned, he can’t help but feel happy that Bucky seems to have slept through the night.

“It’s a wheelbarrow,” he finally manages to say, like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world. Sam clears his throat, but it does nothing to ease the sudden tightness he feels there. “Thought you might need one, for your garden and all. Plus, uh- we had some spare trowels and stuff at the house. No sense in buying new ones if you don’t need them.”

Bucky looks as surprised as he always does when he’s on the receiving end of a gesture like this, but he thanks Sam warmly. “If I supply coffee and snacks, d’you think Captain America might throw in his help along with the wheelbarrow?” he asks, grinning. 

Sam smiles in spite of himself. “Maybe, but it better be some fancy coffee.”

“I think I can make that happen,” says Bucky, nodding. “You about ready to head out? Is there anything we need to take with us to the hardware store?”

“About that,” says Sam, trying to keep his breathing even, “I was thinking maybe it would be better if we rescheduled? I, uh- I know weekends can be busy, and maybe there’s stuff that needs your attention, so we can-”

“Sam, this is the stuff that needs my attention,” Bucky says. His eyebrows furrow after a second, and realization crosses his face. “Oh, wait, do you have something you need to do? Is the motor still giving you guys trouble on the boat? Because we can just head over there instead; the hardware store can wait, but Sarah can’t miss that afternoon charter.”

It would make for a good excuse, but the boat is just fine, and if Sam said otherwise, Bucky would insist on coming along to help. “It’s not that,” Sam says. “Sarah’s all set for the charter. I just didn’t want to take you away from anything important, or pressing, or, I don’t know, more enjoyable than a trip to the hardware store and the nursery. You know Hank and Lottie are going to want ten minutes of gossip for every ten minutes of shopping.”

“I’m counting on it,” Bucky says, giving Sam a slightly odd look. “I want to hear what the deal is with that new couple who just bought the flower shop.”

Sam shrugs. “Just want you to remember that it might take a while, that’s all.”

Bucky waves a hand. “I have time,” he says. “Might even be able to squeeze in a trip to the coffee place so I can put a down payment on your help with the garden.”

That, weirdly, is the final straw for Sam. He may be quietly jealous of this unknown person who’s loath to let Bucky out of bed in the mornings, but they deserve some consideration, at least. If Sam’s partner was going to spend the day gallivanting around after promising to be home as soon as possible, he’d want to know.

Just as Sam opens his mouth to finally address the elephant in the room, Bucky is continuing on, as oblivious as ever. “Let me just grab my shoes,” he’s saying. “And then we can head out.”

He turns and opens the backdoor again, but just before Bucky can step inside, they’re met with the loudest, most plaintive meow that Sam has ever heard. It’s followed by a few more: short, sharp mews of complaint, very clearly addressed at the person deemed responsible.

For a second, Sam’s brain processes ‘there is a cat in Bucky’s house and it’s mad at him’ to mean that a stray cat got in through an open window and found that it couldn’t get out. Then he looks back at Bucky and finds him sitting in the doorway, now cradling a tiny white kitten in his left arm.

The cat is mewling loudly at him, with more force than such a small animal should have, and Bucky…Bucky is nodding along to the complaints, murmuring comforting nonsense back. 

“I know, I know, you told me not to go,” he says, gently petting the cat. “Sorry, baby. I should’ve taken you with me, huh?”

There’s one last meow in response, softer than the others, before the cat curls up in Bucky’s arms.

Sam, still astonished, glances from the upstairs bedroom window to Bucky and the cat and back again.

Sorry, baby, Bucky had said. You told me not to go.

“Wait, you were talking to your cat?” asks Sam.

Bucky frowns, looking confused. “That’s what this animal is called, yes. And I’m currently talking to her, so…yes to that, too?”

“No, I mean earlier,” says Sam, before he can stop himself. He feels his eyes go a little wide.

“Earlier when?”

“Uh, nothing. Never mind. Are you gonna introduce me to your cat, or what?”

But Bucky’s persistence is one of his best and most annoying qualities. “Earlier when, Sam?”

With the same consideration that he gives to a particularly risky throw of the shield, Sam makes himself answer. “Just when I got here. A few minutes ago, that’s all.”

“You heard me talking?”

“Yeah,” says Sam. “Your window was open and I was bringing the wheelbarrow around. I heard you saying you’d be home soon, and calling someone pet names, and I made an assumption. I guessed wrong, that’s all.”

Bucky arches an eyebrow. “So you were eavesdropping, then?”

“I was doing a favor for my friend and bringing him a wheelbarrow that’s almost as ancient as he is,” says Sam, his voice dry. “Not my fault you project like you’re on Broadway and aiming for the cheap seats.”

That gets a snort of amusement, at least. Sam steps onto the porch and takes a seat beside Bucky, holding out his hand for the cat to sniff.

“Sam, this is Alpine,” Bucky says. “Alpine, this is Sam.”

Alpine seems to deem Sam trustworthy enough, because she settles back down in Bucky’s arms and doesn’t tense when Sam runs a gentle finger along her back.

“How long have you had her?” asks Sam. “How’d I miss this cat hair on your extensively black wardrobe?”

“Two weeks,” says Bucky, “and I now own about a dozen lint rollers.”

“That’ll do it, I guess.” Sam laughs quietly. “You know the boys are going to want to meet her as soon as possible, right?”

“Sarah asked me to pick them up from school on Monday; I thought I might bring them by to see her then.”

Sam hums in acknowledgment and wonders if he’ll ever get used to the way Bucky has neatly folded himself into their lives. 

He doesn’t get a chance to ponder it for very long, though, because then he feels eyes on him, a vibranium shoulder pressed into his own.

He has about two seconds to brace himself before Bucky asks, “So if you heard me talking to Alpine and didn’t realize I was talking to a cat, who did you think I was talking to?”

It’s been a long time since Sam acted or felt like a teenager, and he’s not proud to say that he defaults to a classic 16 year old response: shrugs a shoulder and says, “I don’t know,” as nonchalantly as he can,

It does not work.

“Sam,” says Bucky. “Seriously, it’s Saturday morning. Who would be at my house at 8 AM on a Saturday?”

Sam shrugs again, but this time he makes himself answer, even if he can’t take his eyes off his lap. “Someone who fell asleep here, maybe.”

“Fell asleep here? What does that even-”

“Buck, I know the aw-shucks routine was a real hit in the forties, but you don’t need to go around pretending not to know what sex is now.” Sam means for it to sound light, but the words feel sharp as he says them.

“That’s not what I was trying to do,” says Bucky, and Sam might be imagining it, but there’s something careful in his voice now. “I just didn’t think of it.”

“Right,” says Sam, flat. “Of course not.”

Because only someone with a definitely-more-than-a-crush on their friend and superhero partner would hear three sentences through an open window and immediately assume that they had a romantic rival. Normal people with normal feelings about their friend and superhero partner wouldn’t be fazed.

Part of Sam is searching for an exit strategy again, trying to figure out the best way to wriggle out of this so he can contend with the embarrassment in peace for a while before things go back to normal. He would break out an excuse to get going, except that Bucky is still talking.

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t have come to mind before,” he’s saying, and Sam wants very badly for this conversation to end so he can be swallowed by the earth. “I just, um- I haven’t thought about entertaining people that way in a while, because there’s someone I’m interested in.”

It’s a medical miracle, Sam thinks, that he can feel like someone has punched him in the stomach and yet his curiosity still manages to seize control of his mouth and ask questions. “You sure you don’t have that backwards? It feels like the sort of thing that would be on your mind more, not less.”

He feels Bucky shrug beside him. “We’re taking it slow, I think.”

“Oh?” asks Sam, suddenly beset by chaste visions of Bucky sharing a milkshake with someone at the retro themed diner in Chalmette.

“Yeah,” says Bucky. “Not even any real dates or anything yet.”

Blessedly, the diner and the milkshake disappear. “No dates at all?” asks Sam, because apparently he likes pressing on bruises.

“No dates,” echoes Bucky. “But errands, sometimes.”

Sam furrows his eyebrows, finally turning to look at Bucky. “Errands?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, errands. Like, grocery store runs, or gardening,” he says, and it seems like the corners of his mouth are turning up. “Or even trips down to the hardware store and the nursery.”

Sam blinks. “Wait, what?”

There’s clearly a grin on Bucky’s face now. “I mean, I’m assuming that the hardware store doesn’t count as a date, because if it were a real date, I’d be getting flowers instead of a wheelbarrow.”

There’s a rushing in Sam’s ears as he processes Bucky’s words. For a moment, he can’t seem to make his mouth work. When he finally does, his voice is embarrassingly creaky, like he hasn’t spoken in days. “Next time,” he croaks. “Next time, it’s flowers, I promise.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, his smile widening. “Next time, then.”

“Okay,” echoes Sam. “It’s a date.”

[happiness-of-the-pursuit]

Hi! So I feel like there's a lot of really great fics that have gone under the radar in the RWRB fandom, so to try to spread some love to those fics and their authors I want to recommend five fics under 500 kudos (as of posting this)! Also hoping to inspire some others to share.

In no particular order:

Sharper Head, Wilder Heart by Dawg1515: a canon-divergence fic where Alex is trans but not out, and the Queen decides to arrange a relationship between Henry and the First "Daughter." This author also has some other great trans RWRB fics.

As the World Falls Down by 3bowtruckles: another canon-divergence that imagines RWRB if it had happened in Covid times

i don't wanna be alone (so don't you get lost) by @saltfics: one-shot, monster apocalypse AU, Alex and Henry are still FSOTUS and Prince of Wales

Crowning Glory by schmulte: Princess Diaries 2 AU, need I say more? Also this author co-wrote a fabulous Bridgerton AU.

Here Comes the Sun by bibliosoph: Alex and Henry in NYC in 1969, for anyone who loves historical AUs. This is probably one of my all-time favorite fics and I can't believe it has less than 200 kudos.

I don't know/couldn't find the usernames for some of these authors but if people know them let me know and I'll edit this!

Encouraging @inexplicablymine @read-and-write- @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @suseagull04 @daisymae-12 (five people for five recs lol) to share some recs because I know y'all must have some fics you think deserve more love, but no pressure :) also anyone else who sees this!!

[crispyjenkins]

imma need y’all to stop posting 2,000 word fics on here without a readmore

[myheartalivewrites]

Five fics under 500

Rules: 5 fic recommendations that are currently under 500 kudos. Let’s give these fics the love they deserve!

Thanks for tagging me @cultofsappho and thanks to @happiness-of-the-pursuit for the lovely idea. I've really enjoyed seeing everyone's recs on my dash this morning and have added loads to my MFL.

I'm still weirded out by this new RWRB reality we're living in where somehow having less than 500 kudos on a fic means going unnoticed, when only a couple of months ago things were VERY different. TBH, it doesn't mean anything to me. Sometimes works just don't get the numbers for no reason I can work out.

Here are fics 5 I dug out from the depths of my bookmarks:

Friday November 22, 1963, 12:30 pm CST, Dallas, TX (RWRB) by @historicallysam: a really cool historical AU, set around the Kennedy assassination, where Alex is a Secret Service agent and Henry is a doctor.

Not Like This (RWRB) by @illiteratemaya: a New Girl AU. I loved picturing Henry as Nick and Alex as Jess.

you weren't mine to lose (wanting was enough) (RWRB) by grayofmydayoldtea: a super yearny Alex and Liam moment from high school, told from Liam's POV.

i know you've been thinking of us (RWRB) by smc_27: FWB, coming apart and then getting back together again, the yearning makes me feral.

breaking cameras and bones (but not hearts) (Heartstopper) by sargent: A roller derby AU, with photographer!Charlie and uh... roller derby person?!Nick. Very sweet and funny.

I haven't been able to find all the authors on tumblr, but if any of these is yours and you want me to tag you just let me know!

I'm tagging five of my lovely readers and commenters to let us know what their favourite underrated fics are: @gwiazdziarka @daisymae-12 @letloverule1111 @bitbybitwrites @lamsfan1 AND the writers above AND anyone else who wants to share some fics they love 💜

[juliets-roller-derby-awesomeness]

THERES A DESPEREAUX EPISODE NEXT

but it's 3:45 am and i need to sleep

but shawn wanted to propose

but that scene of them kissing in the doorway

but despereaux

but he drunk dialed her and asked her to move in

but he wants to go to ikea

[ditzyredrobin]

JayTim Week Day 2

Dawn / Space / Star

Just a snippet of of day two. And yes, chicken and stars is superior (take that Jason).

-

“Campbell’s chicken and stars, really? If you’re going to burn the house down, at least pick the good stuff.”

Tim closes his eyes and counts to ten. A deep breath in through his nose, a deep breath out through his mouth, hoping it’ll help a little with the mounting emotions.

It doesn’t.

Trapped in a blanket, burrito-style, and reinforced by Jason’s arms, everything in him is screaming for him to flee.

Jason is pissed. Not kick his ass pissed, but it’s a close thing. It maybe even closer if he weren’t sick. Or maybe he was closer than he thought because he was sick and didn’t tell anyone. But Dick had a day job in Blüdhaven, he was an EMT, and Jason was on Official Red Hood Business™️.

Plus, he was fine. He had been watching his temperature. If it had gotten about 101.5, he would have called someone—Bruce, or Alfie, maybe Dick if he was feeling bad enough. But it all should have been fine.

He was fine.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Jason, I wasn’t going to burn the house down. It was just a minor series of unfortunate events that lead to some minor smoke.” Tim snaps back for the nth time in as many minutes. “Plus the classic is gross.”

Jason stares at him for a long moment with a pinched expression, his eye twitching. “The building had to evacuate.”

“So? That doesn’t mean I was going to burn the apartment down.”

“There are scorch marks on the stove and you destroyed one of my favorite pans. Which you owe me for, by the way. I paid good money for those.”

“Dick has done worse. At least I didn’t set off the sprinklers.”

It’s true and on more than one occasion.

He doesn’t laugh, instead it only serves to make him angrier. “This time! You didn’t set off the sprinklers this time. You’re damn lucky you didn’t get hurt. Both of you are, frankly.”

Tim rolls his eyes and wiggles in his cocoon of Jason, and comforter, and Kevlar, testing the waters and how much could he move.

He wasn’t the biggest fan of being carried around like a helpless damsel but being in Jason’s arms usually made it bearable, he smelled of cigarettes, and chewing gum, and that unique, undefinable smell that could only be described as purely Gotham. He was safe and warm, like a cup of chai in the winter, warming him from the inside out.

But his hold on him now wasn’t comfortable. It was like being caught in an iron vice, or bear trap. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, and every fiber in him screamed run. Red Hood was far too close to the surface and it frankly made Tim want to vomit. Everywhere.

If he hadn’t known any better, he would say the pit was starting to ooze up again. But Jason’s eyes were so blue it almost hurt.