#fusion's fics

[fatherfigurefusion]

I've got this comment on my latest D4DJ fic, and I just wanted to know if it was a bot or not.

This writing sounds like AI, but I just wanted to make sure, in case this person wants to do art for my fic.

[gieoki]

LOVE FINDS THE GIRL

[oh-no-its-bird]

In the running for my all time favorite incredibly niche naruto fanfiction trope has to be "Obito somehow knocks Kakashi up (omegaverse, trans Kakashi, whatever, doesn't matter) and fucking dies before either of them realize (with things going as they did in canon) leaving Kakashi to deal with the consequences and do his best to pretend like the very obviously an Uchiha baby does not belong to Obito. Bc Obito is literally The Worst and very much well known to be at fault for most of the war. But also there's literally only 4 Uchiha out there so his options to cover this up are incredibly limited"

I've only ever seen it done 2 times but man if it isn't funny as fuck (and kinda tragic) every time

Love when they involve Sasuke as an uncle and go down the route of pretending Itachi was the dad bc at least Itachi was exonerated for his crimes while Obito remained The Big Bad(tm) in the hearts and minds of quite literally everyone in every country, so like, lesser evil. Very funny

I need to see more of those tbh, peak comedy

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[anotheroceanid]

Tbh i feel like Athena would be in panic in the WTHB x Athenide fusion for many reasons but the implication i'm thinking rn is the fact that her daughter (bc screw you Poseidon, Percy/Perse is still hers) is either pregnant and missing or someone kidnapped and is probably going to try and get her pregnant

She definitely would!!! All the options are terrible, and I can see her putting all the blame on Poseidon that Percy disappeared (after all, when Persephone disappeared, Zeus had all to do with it). In a situation such as that, even Athena wouldn’t act rational.

In a lighter topic, Athena would be absolutely pleased with her grandsons. What do you mean Luke just said he doesn’t have a dad? Isn’t he adorable!!! Oh, Hector killed a few romans? She hopes he had fun!!! Milo is gaslighting his way out of trouble? He is such a brilliant child!!!

[deancaspinefest]

When You Least Expect It

Author: FriendofCarlotta | Artist: seidenapfel

Posting on Sunday March 16

Ever since his father’s death, Castiel has been lonely. His job as a staffer for Congresswoman Kelly Kline can only fill so many of his hours, but his attempts at dating have been unsuccessful. A bright spot in his day is the tall stranger who shares his train platform during the morning commute. If Castiel could find someone as handsome and apparently successful as this man to share his life with, he’s sure his loneliness would be a thing of the past. One day, the stranger falls onto the train tracks during a robbery gone wrong and Castiel saves his life. With the man — Sam — lingering in a coma, Castiel quickly finds himself adopted into the raucous, cheerful circle of Sam’s family. There’s just one problem: as the result of a misunderstanding, Sam’s family believes that Castiel is Sam’s boyfriend. The situation only gets worse when Castiel finds himself falling fast and hard for Sam’s older brother Dean. Will Castiel ever be able to tell Dean and his family the truth? And if he does, will they still want him in their lives?

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

The man in the trucker hat is now demanding updates on Sam’s condition, scowling at the doctor as if it’s his personal fault that Sam is currently unconscious.

“And who are you?” says the final member of the group — a boy of about fifteen or sixteen.

Unfortunately, this question is addressed to Castiel.

He opens his mouth to say that he was present for Sam’s accident and will be leaving now. But the doctor, obviously relieved to have an excuse to cut short his conversation with the irate cap-wearing man, says, “Yes, that’s what I’d like to know! Visits on this ward are restricted to family only.”

“But he is family!” Out of nowhere, Garth has materialized in the room, all lanky limbs and smiles and the shiny rainbow pin on his scrubs. “That’s Castiel, Sam’s boyfriend.”

Oh god. This is the single worst situation Castiel has ever been in. Not only has he been caught in a lie, but he’s been outed in front of an entire blue-collar family who probably won’t take any too kindly to the suggestion (the likely untrue suggestion, just to make this situation even more tangled) that their precious son is queer.

“His boyfriend?” Sam’s mother asks, eyebrows rising as she studies Castiel. She looks absolutely thunderstruck.

“Sam is queer?” the older woman chimes in. “But he never said.”

“I thought it was only Dean,” says the woman with longer hair.

“I thought Sam was dating that god-awful Ruby woman,” the man in the trucker hat growls.

“Sam doesn’t owe it to anyone to come out before he’s ready,” the boy says, with the easy confidence of the very young. “And Mom, you can’t just go around talking about Dean’s sexuality. It’s not for you to share.”

“The fact of the matter is,” the doctor interjects, in a futile effort to raise his voice above the commotion, “only family members—”

Castiel chooses this moment to rise out of his chair, grab his coat and start backing away from Sam’s hospital bed. If he has to flee the room, being upright will at least put him in a slightly better position to gain a head start.

“Mr. Novak here also saved Sam’s life.” That’s Officer Lafitte, who for some reason known only to him still hasn’t left the hospital and has now materialized in the room next to Garth. “When Mr. Winchester was pushed onto the tracks, Mr. Novak jumped down to pull him to safety.”

Absolute silence falls over the room. After the previous chatter and chaos, the sudden absence of noise makes Castiel’s ears ring.

“You did?” Sam’s mother whispers, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. “Oh. Oh, come here.”

Castiel’s eyes dart to the doorway and the promise of sweet, sweet freedom, but before he can dash away, Sam’s mother has pulled him into the tightest hug he can remember receiving in years. Possibly ever. His father, for all his good qualities, wasn’t much of a hugger.

“Son,” the man in the trucker hat says, clapping Castiel on the shoulder so hard that he thinks his knees might buckle if Sam’s mother weren’t holding him up. “I think you’d better tell us everything.”

Keep reading on Ao3 after Sunday March 16 🌲Find more 2025 Pinefest previews here 🌲

[twistedapple624]

Merlin - Mulan both start with an M, right?

I had a vision today while listening to 'I'll make a man out of you'.

You know that scene where Chang takes his shirt of and Mulans head pops out of the line up all googly eyed?

Now imagine it Merthur!!!

Au where Merlin somehow (by accident or mistake) gets recruited into Camelots army (they are desperate) and Arthur has been tasked with whipping the new recruits into shape.

Other recruits may include: Gwain, Lancelot, Percival & Elyan!

Leon is Arthurs right hand trying to help and I imagine Agravain as the guy in the big hat criticising everyone!

Que training montage and chenanigans in line with the movie!(Don't think Merlin will be quite as successful in training as Mulan tho.. unless he cheats ofc)

Merlin gets one of his funny feelings and fake a letter from Uther that they need to meet up with the main army right now!

Magic reveal instead of gender reveal!

Mushu sized Killghara blabbing about destiny and even tinier Aithusa causing trouble?!!

The knights in drag??? (yes plz)

Just so much potential!!! 😍

[half-a-life-left]

shadics

[threebea]

I'm sure someone has made this joke before but:

Fox: welcome to my brother my brother my brother my brother my brother my brother and me an advice show for the modern clone. I'm your oldest brother CC-1010, Fox.

Wolffe: What up Wolffe-Verse!? It's the leader of the pack ow ow awooo! CC-3636, Woooooolffe!

Cody: Hi Wolffe-Verse, it's me, your highest ranking clone brother, and Marshal Commander of 7th Sky Corps, CC-2224, Cody.

Fox: ..........you know we did discuss how we were going to do the intro. I made notes. Cody you're the second oldest you should be second. Wolffe... I don't even know where to start.

Wolffe: I told my Jedi about the holo-cast and he asked me if I'm an influencer. I decided to go with it. Hi General.

Cody: Hi General Koon. Wait so you've just decided you're an influencer?

Fox: What are you influencing? This was supposed to be a general advice show about armour maintenance and regulations soldiers are unclear about!

Wolffe: I'm making waves.

Fox: what waves? No one is even going to listen to this!

Cody: 7th Sky is. Because it's an order. Influence away Wolffe.

Wolffe: Cody gets it.

Fox: I don't think he does!

Cody: How about our first question, Fox?

Fox: Fine. Hello Brothers, long time listener first time writer-- this is our first episode.

Wolffe: it's the influence.

Fox: (gritting teeth) I'm a commander and I've gotten close with my Jedi. Really close. Like. Really really close. The Regs say you can't fraternize with civis, but is it cool to fraternize with your Jedi--what the--Bly is this you!?

Cody: Absolutely fine, next question.

Fox: No it isn't! It's a significant power imbalance!

Cody: Listen to Mr. doesn't have his own Jedi over here--

Fox: (voice drops) oh no. I have one now. And if you're listening Vos, I will find you. Mark my words. You can't hide forever.

Wolffe: wait, does that guy want to sleep with his Jedi? They're like our dads.

Cody: not everyone has the same relationship you have to your Jedi, Wolffe... And some of us are into dads.

Fox: I quit the show!

[ronnierosest]

Zakkura "So he never initiates, never asks, and waits." - inspired by a fanfiction we're friends, right? (very adult) by totosheadset

[fatherfigurefusion]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63885013

Conquering the Bourgeoisie

Wenona’s braids getting loosened by her constant tossing and turning? Cute. Wenona’s flushed cheeks getting stained with tears of laughter? Cute. The way her eyes squeezed shut? Cute. The way her wide smile is on full display? Very cute.

But the cutest part of all of this?

That laugh.

Based on @chell-min's headcanon of Wenona having an adorable laugh and Ulysses getting flustered.

[5ueckers]

pretty girls

pairing : azzi fudd x reader

warnings : smut.

notes : azzi 😍💞💓🌸💗💗🪷💖🥰💝💘🌼🌺🌺❣️💞💞💞 thats all.

words : 1898

you and azzi collapse onto the couch in the dorm, exhausted. drunk. annoyed.

tonight was a dud, to say the least. you’ve barely had any time to go out and have fun, like you should as college students, because of basketball and junior year being the absolute worst when it comes to your workload. and then, on the one night you do have off, free of practice for the next couple days and all your homework turned in, both the guys you planned on spending it with turned out to be absolute dicks.

yours had seemed nice enough, in the beginning. he’d been the one ask you out after over a week of staring you down in your shared econ class, take you, azzi, and the football player she’s been talking to out to some club in hartford, and then back to his place after a couple hours of dancing and taking shots. but just as he’d gotten you back to his dorm and out of your clothes, he’d said something so boyishly disgusting, it’d taken real reserve for you to not to slap him before pushing him off of you, re–dressing, collecting your things, and getting the hell out of there.

it’d been pure coincidence that azzi texted asking if you could meet with her as you’d stumbled out of werth tower, phone in one hand and your heels in clutched in the other. you’re not sure what happened with her and her football player— it couldn’t have been good, judging by how her makeup was running. you’d felt bad, and held her hand the whole uber ride back to the dorm, the pad of your thumb caressing the back of her hand.

“want a water?” you ask the girl, tiredly. you’re still very much inebriated and standing could result in a pretty embarrassing fall.

she nods, though, and so you decide to risk it, stumbling into the kitchen and at one point using the wall for support. you grab two bottled waters and pad back into the living room, handing one to azzi and sighing as you sit back down next to her, close. you can feel the heat from her body radiating onto you.

“that fucking sucked,” you gripe, recalling the night, earning a weak, drunken laugh from azzi.

“dudes…” she says, rolling her eyes and taking a sip of her water, eliciting giggles from yourself. a single word is enough to get her point across; men fucking suck.

“ugh, and i’m still wet,” you murmur to yourself, the alcohol in your system removing any filter you’d have otherwise. you and azzi are close, so this is probably the least provocative thing you’ve said to her tonight; you both laugh at the statement. you shift uncomfortably and tug at the end of your dress. you need to get out of this chiffon and take a long, hot shower.

azzi turns to look at you, one of her curls falling out of place. she still looks so pretty, even though her makeup had gotten messy. her big brown eyes and perfect, clear skin and full lips. how could anyone fumble her and live with themselves?

“what?” she giggles at how long you’ve been looking at her.

“nothin’,” you smile back. “you’re just too pretty to be crying over some guy.”

then, azzi leans in and kisses you. she pulls back to assess your reaction, before kissing you again when you don’t look petrified or disgusted. you let her slip her tongue into your mouth this time, and surprise yourself with the little moan that comes with it, eyes fluttering closed. your back naturally arches to push up against her.

you lose track of how long you make out before azzi’s hand finds it way to your knee, resting there gingerly, “can i…?”

“like, finger me?” you ask dumbly, because fingering is definitely a step above kissing. plenty of girls that are straight and just friends kiss each other, even make out. but you and azzi are crossing into the territory of actually having sex.

seeing as you play basketball, the conversation of sexuality has obviously come up before, often. every other morning, actually, as paige feels the need to recount her sexcapades to you all. you hadn’t really thought about yours until you got to uconn, and then decided to quietly give yourself the title of unlabeled, while still just hooking up with guys because that’s all you knew. you didn’t think azzi…

“it doesn’t have to mean anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she assures you, her tone surprisingly casual, like she’s trying to convince you to try a new drink at the bar or attempt a shot you haven’t tried before at practice, not breach the basis of your close but purely platonic relationship. “we’re just having fun.”

you consider your position— on the couch, in the dorm, basically out in the open. the other girls had gone out, too, to ted’s, of course. but knowing them, with a schedule this clear, they won’t be home any time soon. and wet is an understatement; you’re practically aching down there, you need to be touched so bad. what could it possibly hurt?

“okay,” you say, finally, a smile slowly spreading over your features. azzi pecks your lips once more before sliding her hand further up your leg.

never having done this before, you’re nervous as you part your thighs, just slightly, still confined by the tight dress, but then her hand is there, warm palms caressing your skin and inching closer and closer towards your core. you gasp when her fingers finally graze the thong you’d put on, feeling a rush of wetness between your folds at the small contact.

“is this still okay?” your friend asks, voice barely above a whisper, and you nod, almost embarrassingly quickly. so she keeps going, experimentally rubbing you through your underwear and you keep gasping, bordering on whimpering with every touch.

“here,” azzi climbs off of the couch and positions herself between your knees, encourages you to push yourself forward by grabbing onto your hips and finally pushing up that dress. when she finally gets you out of your thong, carelessly tossing the garment aside, it’s less like she’s actually trying to get you off and more like curious touching, unknowingly sending you closer and closer to the edge as she spreads your lips open, drags her index finger up from your slit to your clit. “you are really wet,” she muses, pulling her hand away, bringing her thumb and index finger together just to pull them apart and watch as a thin string of your arousal connects them. you blush, suddenly embarrassed, thighs twitching. “it’s okay, just relax for me.”

she smiles up at you so sweetly, and you’re trying to, throwing your head back and closing your eyes and trying to even out your breathing, but then she’s bringing her face toward your cunt, flattening her tongue against you and licking upward, sending shockwaves up your spine, and you can’t help but squirm and whine. “open your legs a little wider, y/n… good girl,” she instructs, and your head practically feels like it’s swimming at the words, unbelievably sexy in her voice.

“a–az,” you want desperately to grasp at her hair, but know how long it took for her to style her curls, so you opt to just fist your hands into the sofa and cry out when she sucks your clit into her mouth.

the way azzi’s using her mouth so well and holding your legs open with a firm grip on your thighs makes you wonder if this is her first time with another girl, too. she doesn’t look grossed out by the taste or confused on how to make you feel good. if anything, when she drags her tongue down from your clit to your entrance, licking into you, she seems all too happy to responsible for the long, drawn out moan it elicits from you, and repeats the motion until you’re practically crying. when you feel your heart start to hammer against your chest, you know you’re not going to last much longer.

azzi removes her mouth from your pussy, but quickly replaces it with a pair of fingers, working over your clit at high speed while she presses wet kisses to your thighs. all it takes is a few more flicks of her wrist to make you cum, thighs trembling and toes curling into the carpet. she doesn’t stop playing with your clit until your moans turn into winces, signaling that you’re being overstimulated.

you feel almost delirious as azzi climbs into your lap, arms looping around your neck. it feels almost natural for you to place your hands on her waist, looking up at her like she hung the moon. “was i good?”

“i can’t feel my legs, i think,” you rasp in response, earning laughter from the girl, before she leans down to kiss you, the taste of your own cum potent on her lips and tongue.

as the kiss intensifies, you just go with the flow, letting your hands slip past the hem of the crop top azzi had worn. you push the fabric up until its bunched up at her chest, glad to find she went braless, and, tentatively, take her breasts into your hands, fondling them gently. azzi chuckles at your obvious nervousness and lack of experience, but her laughter quickly melts into soft moans as you take one into your mouth, sucking firmly— you don’t think you’ve ever heard a prettier sound. you don’t think you’re going to be able to just go without ever hearing that sound again.

releasing her nipple, you let your free hand travel down to the button on azzi’s shorts, popping it open, and pulling down the zipper with haste. despite the constricting denim, your hand still fits into the opening, past the hem of her panties. you figure it can’t be much different than getting yourself off with your own fingers, so you just go by what you’d do if you were on your own, rubbing slow circles into azzi’s clit to work her up before quickening the pace.

she buries her face into your neck, moans muffled as her hold on you tightens— you take that, and how wet she is, as a sign that you’re doing it right, and continue until you feel her physically shaking in your arms. “fuck, y/n, i’m gonna—” she cuts herself off with a high–pitched moan, and you continue to rub her clit through her orgasm until she stops grinding down against your hand. you rub her back, also, feeling that you’re actually kind of good at this. that you could get used to it.

the exhaustion from the night seems to hit you both like a brick, all of a sudden, and you both just sort of slump over in that position, limbs tangled and all.

[nyoclosmom]

me and @tremordusk have been working on a harlivy!agathario au since. well. the show released lol.

ANDDD we posted it today woooo

here ya go

ANYWAY. i hope you read it. cus. i made a lot of art for it lol

[that-mystic-knight]

One door closes and another one opens…or something along those lines

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Idea #100: Harry Potter, but make it Conclave

While driving somewhere for work the other day, I was struck by the most perfect, most terrible crossover for this, my 100th Terrible Fic Idea. Because at some point during that drive my mind went: Ralph Fiennes played a character named Tom in Harry Potter; he also played a character named Thomas in Conclave (2024). The rest, as they say, is history.

Or: What if, after dying in the Forbidden Forrest, Death sent Harry Potter to a universe where Tom Riddle was adopted by the Lawrence family as a child?

aka the keep the earth below my feet fic

Just Imagine It:

When Harry dies at the end of DH, instead of meeting Dumbledore in King's Cross, he encounters (the Angel of) Death, who grants him a boon for collecting their missing personal effects: Harry can either return to his old life, where it's very likely he'll die again in the battle now raging around him, or go on to his reward.

Now, Harry is in a pretty dark place at that moment. He has, after all, just committed suicide by Dark Lord. The idea of going straight back into a war that has cost him everything is so anathema to him that he decides to go to his reward. Naturally, he assumes this to be some sort of afterlife where he can meet his parents and see Sirius, Remus, &c again-

-but instead he's dropped into a fairly ordinary muggle living room somewhere in the near vicinity of Guildford, where an old man in clerical clothing is putting things into boxes.

Meanwhile, four months after the events of the conclave, things are running smoothly in Pope Innocent XIV's Vatican.

Joseph Tremblay has been publicly defrocked for simony but not excommunicated from the Church; Aldo Bellini has replaced him as camerlengo and been given the instruction to root out corruption wherever he finds it - a task for which Goffredo Tedesco is an unexpected ally more often than not, though there's serious talk of soundproofing whatever office the pair happen to find themselves in. The former dean Thomas Lawrence has been invested as Secretary of State and has become Vincent's closest friend and advisor.

Then, shortly after Easter, Thomas receives word that the last of his siblings has died and left her home in Guildford to him.

This is somewhat of surprise, but not how one might think. The Lawrence family had adopted twelve children from orphanages around London over the years; Thomas had merely been the last and youngest of these. The real surprise is that Iris Evans née Lawrence had outlived all her children and grandchildren so that her estate might fall to him.

Thomas takes a sabbatical to handle the arrangements and is in the middle of packing up her things when a young man in bloody, threadbare, dirt-stained clothing appears in the middle of his sister's living room.

The situation is tense at first, but a kindly old man offering Harry food, tea, and a place to rest breaks down a lot of barriers, and this and the stress of having recently been dead causes the truth to spill out.

Thomas takes the knowledge his houseguest is an unwitting wizarding refugee from a war in another universe much better than one might expect a priest should, in part because before his adoption his name had been Tom Marvolo Riddle and he'd attended Hogwarts before seminary. (Not, of course, that he's ever thought of himself as Tom Riddle. He's been Thomas Lawrence since he was fifteen months old and has lived his life as such. He's never had the slightest interest in tracking down who his biological family might be.)

After much arguing - and many cups of tea - they agree to pass Harry off as Thomas' sister's great-grandson, whose care has fallen to Thomas for lack of other options. Harry's hesitant to accept at first - hell, Harry can barely allow himself to accept a change of clothes - but he's got nothing and no one in this universe. Not to mention that he looks closer to 14 than 17 after his encounter with Death.

(Besides, from what Thomas knows of his eldest sister's family, it's possible that Harry might actually have been her great-grandson in another universe. And even if he wasn't, Thomas is unwilling to abandon a child in need.)

And so Thomas ends up bringing Harry back to the Vatican with him.

This is naturally a surprise and sets the Curia gossip mill running. Those who’d known Thomas as a young man are especially confused. ("Thomas, you’re the most repressed man I’ve ever met. How is it there’s someone who looks just like you forty years ago running around?" "Your memory must be failing, Aldo, if you think I ever had that much energy. Or that much hair.")

But the real bulk of the fic is what comes after - about how a child groomed to fight other people's battles all his life finds closure when the war is finally over and there's not even anyone to bury because even that has been taken from him - about how a child who was never allowed to live for himself learns how to exist without the weight of expectation on his shoulders - about how, "What had the most profound impact on me [...] was the moment when someone reached down to take my hand, drew me up by their side, and called me their friend. Not for gain, not for prominence or wealth, but because that man saw a small child who needed help, and he provided it [x]". This he does surrounded by those who only want the best for him and how have no expectations other than he grows into a happy, healthy adult.

It's all very pastoral and at least partially religious (dealer's choice on how much of it is finding peace and how much is finding god) given the setting, but at the end of the day the fic should be about how healing sometimes can only come after someone reaches out and says let me help.

I have very little plot for all of this, mostly vibes:

Thomas eventually finds out that he was a genocidal would-be dictator in another universe and feels immense guilt over it, especially since he and Voldemort share more than just an origin story - parseltongue, wandless magic, and the like. Again, it should be the realization that it was the hand freely offered by the Lawrences that kept him from going down that path. This doesn't stop him from wanting to help Harry, but does confuse the matter for a bit.

Vincent, of course, has a lot of experience helping former child soldiers and victims of genocidal warfare, he just hadn't expected to need those skills in the Vatican. Or for a child who is nominally his best friend's nephew. The truth comes out eventually, but even before that he's Harry's favorite person to talk to. (Thomas doesn't mind; Vincent is his favorite person too and he's just glad Harry has someone he trusts.)

Aldo too eventually learns about the Wizarding World (perhaps Harry has very violent, very magical nightmares), but has parallel arcs of 1) being angry his friend of forty years never confided in him that he had magic, 2) having extreme difficulty coming to terms with the existence of magic, even after it's repeatedly proven to him; and 3) fretting that there's a whole community that the Church is not engaging with and has no formal representation at the Vatican. Oddly enough, it should be Tedesco who helps the most with each of these, being the only other Wizard in the College of Cardinals.

Harry's journey is slow, but by the time he graduates he's in a much better place then when he first arrived in this universe and should vaguely encompass Éowyn's lines, "I will be a shieldmaiden no longer, nor vie with the great Riders, nor take joy only in the songs of slaying. I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren." Maybe he decides to become a healer or aid worker or follow in Vincent's footsteps as a missionary in underserved parts of the world, but whatever he decides, he always knows he has a family and a home to come back home to.

Bonuses include:

Harry never being quite certain what's going on between Thomas and Vincent. Maybe they're codependent platonic soulmates like he and Ron and Hermione once were, maybe they're carrying out an affair behind closed doors, maybe it's something complicated in between - Harry doesn't know and never asks. All he knows is it works for them and he'd never begrudge the adults who've done so much for him their happiness.

Harry never being quite certain what's going on between Aldo and Tedesco either. Are they each other's nemeses? Are they enemies with benefits? Are they even really enemies and not just antagonistic life partners for whom arguing is foreplay? Or is the arguing merely pulling each other's pigtails because they're both too repressed to realize they're attracted to each other? They agree on more points than they disagree, but invite schism every time they fight on the minutest points of doctrine - yet always seek each other out to argue with and never seem to tire of it. In the end Harry decides he simply doesn't want to know. There are some things in life he's better not knowing.

Multiple references to Sylvester II being the first - and so far only - Wizarding pope.

At least three jokes about cardinal-nephews, the first arising from the American media seizing on a poor translation of some international news article referring to Harry as the cardinal's nephew; and

Vatican City being a character as much as Hogwarts is in canon.

And that's it. That's all I have. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back if you ever do anything with it. (And look forward to a spam of 100th Terrible Fic Idea celebration posts in the coming days.)

More HP Ideas | More MISC Ideas | More Terrible Fic Ideas

[anotheroceanid]

WTBH×TTG Athena *watching as Luke makes Apollo cry... again*: You're doing wonderful darling!

Athena: I haven’t been so proud ever since Perse cursed Hercules for being absolutely unbearable 🥹