#one day i'll finish this fic

[nateslehky]

happy wip wednesday homies <3

“Thank you for your help,” says Cale seriously. “I appreciate it, really.”

Nate swallows. “Okay.”

“I just–I wish you would relax sometimes.” His lips turn upward into a tentative smile. “I thought you were. I liked that you were.”

“I was,” says Nate earnestly. “This is–was–the first time I’ve felt relaxed in forever." 

Nate stares down at his calloused palms, unsure how to explain the restlessness that sneaks beneath his veins whenever he isn't actively pushing towards his goals or how he struggles with slowing down as a result. All the words he hates–useless, inadequate, pathetic—are whipping through his brain as if in a high-speed food processor, combining into a jumbled mess.  He can’t figure out a way to pick them out and present them to Cale in a way that makes any sort of sense.

Eventually, he just shrugs his shoulders and offers, "I like helping, is all.”

It's an insufficient explanation, but Cale nods as though he understands.

“I know. It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

A flush crawls its way up Nate’s neck. He wasn’t aware that Cale had favorite things about him. 

He has no idea how to respond, but Cale just continues, “I wish you’d let others help you more. That’s all I meant earlier, truly. I was stressed with hosting and everything and it came out wrong, I think.”

He drops his hand from Nate’s arm, but the warmth of it remains.

“You help me,” says Nate after a moment, voice thick. “All the time.”

[helianthus21]

excuse the bad pics as always (low quality book that's already falling apart) but i feel so validated having written this part before even reading qotd:

[jayparked]

the way i've been trying to write this jake fic for WEEKS NOW and i opened the google doc, got an idea for sunghoon and typed 1k words for a sunghoon fic instead....

[part-timewonders]

Snippet Sunday Monday

tagged by @glitterwitch1, thank you!! <3 I wish I had jonsa to post for you instead lol

tagging: anyone who wants to play along, because I think all writers need an excuse to post more of their WIPs.

here's some prideshipping that I've been working on for months... in which a magical milkshake (don't ask) sends Kaiba to Aaru months earlier than the events of DSOD.

“I’m not going to spend all day in your bed.” It takes a few seconds for Seto to realize how that sounds, and he merely hopes that he’s not blushing as red as he feels.

“You’re welcome to,” Atem says after a moment, clearly trying to hide his smile while Seto glares at him. “I have a senet board. I can teach you the rules no one in your modern world has ever gotten right. And I’ve never been defeated.”

A clear taunt. Seto wonders if he’s too easy to read, but the thrill of the challenge is irresistible.

Later, the afternoon light finds the two of them sitting on two large cushions across from each other, a low table in between with Atem’s senet board set on top, abandoned mid-game in favor of hesitant conversation and a pitcher of honeyed beer.

“A gift from my father,” Atem had explained hours ago when Seto examined the small ivory pieces curiously. “I was surprised to see it here—I suppose Set had it buried with me when he…”

“When he created your tomb?”

Atem had been surprised. “Yes. But how did you know?”

Seto had hated himself, briefly, for bringing up his dreams when he knew Atem would be curious about them, but there was still a way to come out on top here. “Teach me to play, and I’ll answer your questions.”

[andthatisnotfake]

17 please 😊

Share the previous 5 sentences.

“So… My secret santa is someone I’ve been trying to get rid off for nearly two decades, but she just won’t let me go!

Tayce tosses a pillow at her, but she laughs and hugs A’Whora tightly, murmuring that she loves her, but adding an insult just to be on brand. Her present is a beautiful large black belt, completelly stoned and shining as it reflects the light in the room.

“I stoned it myself!” A’Whora declares, and Tayce gives her another hug, lifting her up from the ground this time.

Next it’s Tayce, who picks up a large pink bag, immediately giving away who she’s gifting.

“Ellie!” Asttina shouts, before Tayce even has a chance to say anything. “Hey!”, she admonishes her friend, but she smiles as she hands Ellie the bag.

[feathercreates]

"Old friend... I miss you so much. I'm so sorry."

[teastainedprose]

Too Sweet - Ch. 1 (Cooper Howard x Reader)

A settler selling wares in Filly catches The Ghoul's eye. Inspired by a Tumblr post asking for an angst fic to Hozier's Too Sweet. 1,753 words | [AO3] No warnings yet, only innocent flirting. Banner from @eupheme

The first time he spots you, Cooper thinks nothing of it. Sure, you look a little less worn down compared to the usual rabble roaming Filly. Certainly scrubbed a little cleaner than most but so were the rest of your companions. The lot of you are a curiosity for sure, but he's seen plenty of attractive women over the ages and known a handful carnally. He's not the sort of man to let a pretty face distract him. No, you don't get a second glance from the ghoul as he goes about his business. 

It's not until your laughter catches Cooper by the ear that he starts paying attention. Jerks his head right round at the sunny sound, attention diverting from the bounty board as he watches you engage with a customer. You laugh again, a merry delight that lights your face right up while the elderly woman you're chatting with laughs along. She's made brighter for being so close to you while you've suddenly become the sun in Cooper's eyes. A brightness he has to squint at when he looks over again to drink you in. His long-dead heart decides that it's about time to do a little flip.

That's a sensation he's not keen on feeling. Cooper hums under his breath, frown settling on his worn lips. He tugs the brim of his hat lower, turning away as he tries to focus on the task at hand. No good can come of fancying any sort of infatuation on a smoothie like you. You're not the sort of creature deserving of the trouble he could bring.

Yet Cooper finds he can't quite help himself. Wasteland life is full of little pleasures and looking at you sure counts as a bit of pleasure. Why not indulge?

The rest of the day as he sits waiting for a client to show, his eyes flicker over you. Wherever you're from, it's certainly kinder to you than what most folks in the Wasteland see. You almost look as soft as some fresh-faced Vaultie, but he can see that your hands are well-worn as you exchange produce for caps. A farmer of sorts. Homesteader.

He listens with a keener ear to the gossip swirling about you and those in your group. A little settler band situated out east, closer to the mountains and closer to what manages to grow green. He picks up that your lot wanders in every few weeks with produce to sell, or trade to stock up the settlement the collective group runs. 

Idly, he wonders what horseshit sort of ideology your commune might be sunk into, but if you're looking to spread a new sort of gospel none of your ilk seem keen on sharing it here. You're a welcome addition to the economy of Filly and it's clear that many enjoy the taste of hope this band of settlers bring in with their harvest. Cooper figures that's indoctrination enough from the harsh reality the Wasteland offers up.

Cooper finds himself wandering over to Ma June's place under the pretense of stocking up on supplies. There's suspicion in her eyes as he drops his intended purchases onto the counter but that's not out of the ordinary. There's always suspicion in the looks Ma June gives him, but she'll take his caps all the same.

"Say, now what's with that group of lil' farmers hauling in their produce like that? Can't imagine those soft-lookin' sorts making their way all the way here unmolested," he drawls out. His smile is crooked as Cooper counts through his caps to pay.

"Settlers, but the well-armed sort. No point in trifling with them. Too well-liked here for their fresh food supply they haul in," Ma June pulls the caps towards her, gaze fixed on the ghoul as she mutters. "They'll trade with ya, but keep out of their business. Ya hear?"

A hum escapes Cooper as he considers this, leaning onto the counter while glancing out the dusty window towards where you stand at the stall. He casually stashes his purchases into his saddlebag while going on conversationally.  "Well- Is that so? They a regular sort of fixture here in Filly now?"

"Have been setting up that stall going on half a year now. Surprised you've yet to come across 'em. Best cherry tomatoes you'll find in the Wasteland." Ma June eases back, arms crossing over her chest as a sour look settles in place on her worn face.

Another speculative hum escapes Cooper as he digests this information before he tips his hat to Ma June and goes on his way. Which happens to lead him straight to your stall.

Once there, Cooper casually plucks up potatoes, a handful of cherry tomatoes, and okra. All of it looks as vegetables should, the sort he would have found at the grocery store before everything went to shit. 

"How much for this lot?" He sets the small bounty atop the open space on the stall. Cooper gives you his Hollywood smile that would charm the pants off of any woman in bygone days, except now his face is a leathery wreck and his teeth are yellowed with age. Most people instantly flinch away in disgust.

Not you.

You smile like the morning sun towards him as you step closer while dusting your hands off on your pants. The bit of dirt smeared on your face only seems to enhance your features in Cooper's eyes. The look you give him is almost shy once you meet his gaze, smiling warmly up to him. 

Cooper finds that curious. He's familiar with a scowl or grimace of disgust when anyone looks him in the face, but here you are gracing him with an easy smile. A customer is a customer, he figures, and he'll do well enough. Yet, your friendliness doesn't feel like an act. Even after all these years, Cooper Howard still can clock other actors.

"Fifteen caps for the whole lot, but I'll throw in an extra sweet potato for the smile." You wink. Wink right at him as your smile grows. "They're good for ya, handsome." You add casually, the smile tugging up further into a cheeky grin. Your expression shifts. Playful. Coy. Interested.

Ain't that something? Cooper doesn't falter at the full force of your attention. He's too old and worn for that, but he sure does grin right back with a twinkle in his eye. Even an old ghoul like him can enjoy a pretty thing like you openly flirting with him.

Now that he’s heard it, Cooper decides your voice is sweet as a silver bell. The sort of soothing tone that reminds him of rain softly pelting a windowpane. It's the sort of sound that makes him wish to stay and listen for a while, tucked into the warmth that he suddenly wants you to offer up. He wants to get you talking to hear more. Wonders how he can coax you into a conversation.

That’s a fucking stupid idea. Cooper mentally shakes himself free of the passing fancy, head tilting ever so slightly as he peers down at you from the shadow of his hat. "Mhm. Ain't trying to get me hooked now are you, sweetheart?

"Something like that." 

“Well now, reckon vegetables ain’t the worst sort of vice a man can get lost in.” Cooper still can’t help himself. He lets his eyes wander right down your body before flicking back up to your face, what sort of vice he’s pondering made clear.

That flush on your cheeks blooms all the hotter as you laugh for him, the sound an utter delight when directed his way. You smile, sweet and shy now as you pluck up a hefty sweet potato to set beside the rest of his purchases. 

“Oh, well-” You start, stop with a small shake of your head as you smile all the wider. Utterly disarmed.

Cooper counts out the requested coin with a speculative hum, mirth sparking in his eyes as it seems he’s rendered you speechless. It’s down-right adorable if he’s being honest with himself. You’re a right little temptation he’d like to play with further. A dangerous thought.

Setting the coins onto the counter, he's swift in sweeping up his new bounty and stowing it all away into a pouch within his saddle bag. This close you're too bright and Cooper knows he's in trouble. Best to break away before you pull him into your orbit in full.

“You take care of yourself now, sweetheart,” Cooper drawls. He tips his hat towards you and turns away with spurs clicking. You watch him go, cheeks still flaming.

You know who he is. The Ghoul, the most famous Bounty Hunter the radiated Wastelands has to offer. You've heard all the rumors and truer tales about him all your life but nothing could prepare you for seeing him in the flesh. A dangerous sort of creature. A man who always brings his bounty in. 

You'd been watching him all day, stealing glances as you work. Now that you've seen him up close and personal? You're down-right fascinated. He’s nothing like the monster the stories painted him out to be. At least, he certainly wasn’t monstrous to you. There’s something captivating about him. Charming, even. 

You’ve seen ghouls before, of course. You know their kind as some live on the settlement with you. The majority end up shambling and ungainly, limbs no longer listening as the radiation rot wars with their regeneration abilities. A confusion that makes most of them uncoordinated and awkward in their transformed bodies, but The Ghoul? He’s got a swagger to his step that reminds you of those cowboys you’ve seen on ancient holotapes. 

He’s been lurking at the edge of your awareness all day, your head cocking in his direction to listen to the cadence of his voice as he bartered for bullets and talked business outside of the bar over yonder.

A thrill had jolted through you the moment he started to move towards your stall. The nervous energy thrumming through you had been made all the worse when you met The Ghoul’s gaze for the first time. A woman could find herself lost in such eyes and you’d certainly tripped right into them. Boldly meeting this stranger’s gaze and enjoying every second his attention was on you.

Shame he left so quickly. You sigh, turning back to count out bottlecaps he’d left as you turn your attention back to work. Best not to think about it. You’re unlikely to see that legend ever again.

[thebibliosphere]

I don't know if I'll ever finish it, but occasionally, I am reminded that I started writing crackfic based on a dream I had after playing too much Garden Life and also reading too many Nightwing comics, and I'll open up the document and laugh myself sick at how awful a time Slade Wilson is having in my haunted flower shop AU.

He's been ripped body and soul out of his genre and into a cozy Hallmark movie with undercurrents of cosmic horror, and there's nothing he can do about it. Worst of all, the human he kidnapped is unkillable. At least by him.

---

Slade took a menacing step forward, then stopped dead in his tracks, unable to move another inch. "The fuck."

He looked down at his boots, struggling to uproot them from the dirt-strewn floor. When that failed, he gave up and took a desperate swing across the shop counter. The little witch didn't even flinch. She didn't need to. The same invisible force wrapped around his arm, holding it in place as he strained his outstretched hand toward her neck.

"What the fuck did you do?" he demanded, arm shaking as sweat began to bead down his brow.

"Me?" she asked, far too innocently, like butter wouldn't melt in that smug, annoying mouth. "Bless your heart, dearie, that's not me. That's the plot armor."

"Plot what?"

"Armor," she repeated slowly for him. "I know you're familiar with the word. I've seen that discounted Spirit Halloween ensemble you call a costume."

Slade snarled, renewing his efforts to crush her windpipe. "I know the word. What does it mean?"

"It means I'm protected. The story can't advance without me, so you're stuck with me." She smiled sweetly. "Lucky you."

"Story? What story? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"This one," she said, gesturing around them as though that explained anything. "The one we're in. The one you pulled me into. The one I can't leave until you figure out whatever the fuck you're supposed to be doing. So if you could hurry up and do that, that'd be great. I've got shit to do, and it doesn't involve holding your hand through whatever bullshit character arc crisis you're going through."

"Lady," Slade breathed out through gritted teeth, "you are fucking insane."

"Oh, sweety," she drawled, leaning across the counter and causing his arm to draw back of its own volition, not allowing him to get a hold of her throat, as she patted him condescendingly on the cheek. Clearly, whatever bullshit proximity magic she was pulling didn't apply to her ability to touch him. "You don't know the half of it."

[amogus-real-not-clickbait]

part 1 of a little comic / art sequence that i've been working on! :D it's part tribute, part experimenting with brushes n colors and trying new thingz :]

| 1 | 2 | ... |

and thus continues my endless quest of spreading the carrot fics like a plague! if you've seen my art floating around you probs already figured that this au holds a very special place in my heart, forever and always!!

if you haven't heard of it, it's a fic series by @crowned-ladybug called carrot soup!! it made me wish i could speak colors and i need more people to share my struggle xd

go check it out if you're into sweet voice lore and qpr level gayness and just wanna feel warm and soft and warm (hurt/comfort my beloved) <333 there are some heavier themes cos everyone's traumatized but they're working through it! be sure to check the tags and stay safe! <3

[minnow-doodle-doo]

Jason and Bruce, 20 years later. Jason stops being Red Hood and becomes a nurse and a dad. (This is the ending of the Pinkies Up series, sorry spoilers lol)

[leiascully]

Visitor & The All The Choices We've Made-verse

I don't think I've actually ever made a post of all of the Visitor-related fics, so here it is, inspired by the anon from the other day. All links are AO3 links, although all fics can also be found on my blog with a little digging.

Visitor At least he's guaranteed to see her once a year. (30K, written pre-revival, angst & PTSD to happily reunited)

Resident They have missed every other date they might have held significant - birthdays, anniversaries, days of mourning, days of celebration - but they will keep this appointment. (34K, the Scully-POV companion to Visitor)

Between A Rock And A Hard Place Tad O'Malley makes Mulder and Scully an offer they can't refuse. (12K, Visitor-compliant rewrite of My Struggle I)

Home Again Mulder and Scully investigate a mysterious murder in Philadelphia as Scully deals with her mother's failing health. (18K, Visitor-compliant rewrite of Home Again)

A Mann's World "When was the last time we had a lizard monster, anyway?" (17K, Visitor-compliant rewrite of Mulder & Scully Meet The Were-Monster)

Bonus materials (revival era):

Taurus Season Surely she could find some worthier trigger for her nostalgia than a mid-size American sedan with roughly the same design scheme as a dentist’s waiting room. (700 words, sometime during S11, a meditation on the road)

Mrs. & Mr. Spooky Spurred by an encounter with Tom Colton, Scully buys a birthday gift for Mulder. (1.5K, unrelenting fluff)

Bonus materials (pre-revival):

A Cabin In The Woods Mulder and Scully, on the run, stay for a while in a cabin in the mountains in Montana. A series of interlacing vignettes. (14K, a few months of respite and the Montana Mountain Woman)

Housewarming A walk in the woods near the unremarkable house; a fall night; a fire in the fireplace. (1.4K, what if the unremarkable house felt like the cabin?)

[pearlcaddy]

lockwood & co appreciation week 💀 favorite ship

Locklyle [insp]

[ughgoaway]

thinking about drunk teacher girlie out on a night out with the women of the 1975 and the drunk phone calls that follow, of course.

✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿

you sneaking off to the bathroom to call matty after a couple of guys hit on you, and it's just drunk rambling about how much you like him.

"and there was this really tall guy. like wayyyy taller than you-"

matty cuts you off mid-sentence, saying, "Alright, I don't know if I needed that bit of info, but -"

"SHH MATTHEW LISTEN. he was all like 'oh you're so hot you should come home with me', and I finally got to say 'no, I have a boyfriend.' Isn't that so cool!!"

"very cool my love," I like to think it's the first time you use the term "boyfriend" when talking about matty to him, so he gets a little flustered at you finally saying he's your boyfriend. but he doesn't put too much weight on it, considering the whole "drunk out of your mind" thing.

so yeah, it's early on in the relationship. And whilst obviously, matty knows you like him, but he didn't quite know how much.

"and I just think you're so pretty. I used to always tell my friends about your pretty curly hair." You ramble, slurring your words, but matty can still just about make out what you're saying, "I want to do your hair. Will you let me?" You perk up immediately at the thought, and matty can't help but lightly laugh at how excited you sound.

"Of course darling, you can do it tomorrow, yeah?" matty is already grabbing his keys as he talks to you, preparing to inevitably come pick you up

"Mmm, yeah. then we can have a shower together. and I can steal your nice shampoo, the lavender one." You're leaning against the sink as you talk, and you can feel yourself getting more and more tired with each word.

"Will you come get me matty, m'tired. and I wanna see you, my pretty boyfriend. " You complain, and before you even finish your sentence, you can hear the engine roar to life on the other side of the phone.

"Be there in 20"

//////

matty manages to get there and soon wrangles you away from charli, who at first doesn't recognise matty and shouts at him for "kidnapping! wait, or is adultnapping?"

after minimal fighting and a lot of flirting from you ("Do you know you're like, really hot? a proper dilf. " "Yes darling, that's the 3rd time you've told me I'm a dilf, thank you though.") Matty gets you in bed, but before long, you start whining about your makeup being on.

"ughhh it's gonna be so bad for my skin. but m'too sleepy. oh well!" You try to flip over and burrow into the pillows, but matty stops you and pulls you to sit up before running off you get your makeup wipes.

"Nope, it'll only take 3 minutes, and I'll do it for you, sweetheart. You just sit there and look pretty, yeah?" You hum happily at being called pretty, and stay on the bed trying not to fall asleep sitting up.

Matty quickly searches his cupboards for anything you've left behind on your nights staying over. he stumbles across a pack of makeup wipes and briefly remembers you saying something about just them not being enough. But honestly, the way your eyes are drooping, he knows it's more about speed than technical skill at this point.

he gently wiped at your eyes, making sure to get the mascara off, "because I know it always burns your eyes, baby. just a few more wipes, I promise."

soon enough, you're passed out snoring on the pillow, and matty is getting you comfy before settling beside you.

///////

now... the next day at school? hellish. 30 screaming 6 year olds + a killer hangover is not a good combo. and you almost feel like scolding carly for convicing you to go out, but to be honest, you were just as bad an influence.

matty brings you a coffee at lunch, "knew you'd be absolutely hanging, sweetheart. was no trouble popping in, really." he says with a sweet smile and a takeaway coffee.

you immediately have a few sips of the coffee, sighing happily as the hot liquid falls down your throat. you put the drink down after chugging a little bit too much at once, but that's forgotten as soon you pull matty into a deep kiss as a token of your appreciation.

After a few seconds too long with a little bit too much tongue for a kiss at school, matty pulls away a little bit dazed and blinking hard. "I'll bring you coffee everyday if that's the welcome I get, fucking hell"

So he brings you coffee whenever he can get away from then on, switching to herbal tea once you get pregnant with baby healy no.2 <3

[charmwasjess]

It was a tough choice between Vampire, time travel and Twelve 4, but I'm too curious to see if Sifo will spill the soup over Yan's grand padawans head (that would be a shame) or if the meeting will be somewhat civilized. So Twelve 4 please?

Hah, it's 50/50 so far. This is of course, the long overdue next chapter of Twelve Months to Murder Count Dooku, which involves Dooku abdicating and running off with Sifo-Dyas, trying to start an actual life together, except they're... well, you know, both idiots who don't know how to exactly live as normal people. Then Obi-Wan shows up! --

“You knew my Master?” 

“Of course I did.” Sifo-Dyas let a thin smile cross his lips. “I taught Qui-Gon how to cook.”

Obi-Wan laughed abruptly, surprised. A nice sound. “Well, he wasn’t very good at it.”

“He gets that from his Master, not from me.” Sifo-Dyas found himself laughing back before he caught his own mistake in wording, the wrong tense. The blood welling to the surface of a cut. It was so hard to keep the past tense in mind when it came to the matter of Qui-Gon Jinn. 

“The two of you are… together?” Obi-Wan tilted his head slightly in the direction of the single bedroom, as if inquiring, but his tone made it clear it wasn’t exactly a question, that he had drawn his own conclusions. 

“Yes,” The word felt good in Sifo-Dyas’s mouth, like a perfect bite of something wonderful. 

“From back in Temple days, or when he became Count…?”

Sifo-Dyas took his attention from his soup to regard Obi-Wan, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s a bit of a personal question, isn’t it?” 

“One of my tasks,” Obi-Wan predictably flushed. “This decision makes you a part of the Lost Twenty. I’ve been asked to gather data on the contextual circumstances of your leaving the Order and…” 

“...and does the Council wish to know which one of us goes on top, as well?” He met Obi-Wan's eyes levelly. “In fact, our partnership is equal in everything."

Obi-Wan’s slight blush turned crimson. 

Far from the satisfaction he’d expected, now Sifo-Dyas felt cruel for tormenting this earnest young Knight who had lost so much, who had washed up here on his doorstep on such a swell of confusion and grief. 

“Look, I… just… sit down, alright?” Sifo-Dyas softened his tone with effort, sighing. “I’ll pour us some tea and we can talk properly. You were Qui-Gon’s, and Qui-Gon was Dooku’s. That makes the two of us a kind of… family. We should know each other.”

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 26 - Nightmares

title: almost unintentionally

fandom: hermitcraft smp

continuation of days 8 and 23, the sleep cycle au!

~

They’re holding him down.

They’re always holding him down, tying him up, hurting him—

They snap a muzzle around his face and he thrashes, he can’t he won’t, they can do anything to him but not this—

He can’t see, blinded by fear, but he knows, somehow, that he’s in the room with the burning floor. He gets a moment’s respite, a moment to claw at his face with mittened hands, before he feels the floor begin to heat up beneath his bare feet—

Ren wakes with a gasp.

For a moment, he thinks he’s still back there, on that stupid folding table with those idiots coming for him, ready to hurt him and restrain him and for what?

He snarls, and snaps his teeth, and raises his hands to defend himself—

But there’s no one there.

He’s alone in his bed, the sheets wrapped tightly around his body. The shadows around his bedroom are innocuous, and none of them hold the faces of his tormentors.

That’s . . . what, the sixth nightmare in six days? He needs to get a grip.

Ren kicks his legs free of the sheets and sits up, pushes his sweaty hair out of his face. It’s still dark, which means he should probably try to get back to sleep, but he feels sticky and overstimulated and a shower sounds really nice right about now.

He strips quickly, his soft pajama pants dragging like sandpaper against his legs. Really overstimulated, then. He might need to break out the weighted pillow for this one.

He picks up his communicator, but doesn’t check it. He just carries it with him, in case someone needs to reach him in an emergency.

Ren leaves the light off in the restroom when he limps in (his feet are still recovering from their burns, curse them, and each step is less than pleasant), just turns the shower on and waits for the water to heat up until standing is uncomfortable, then steps into the tub, settling into the shower chair that he’d borrowed from Scar.

The hot water falling onto his shoulders and head feels heavenly, switched to the highest pressure possible so that it practically drums into his skin. Ren sighs and melts under it, runs one clawed hand through his hair.

They hadn’t even wanted him. Not really. He was just bait, bait for Doc and Tango to follow.

Bait.

Ren’s fingers clench in his hair.

He’d gotten off easy, all things considered. Some bumps and bruises. Scratches on his face. A broken rib, quickly healed by a potion. Some burns on his feet that kept him on bed rest for a couple of days, but nothing major.

(Nightmares, every night, reliving the captivity.)

Better than Tango, who hasn’t spoken to anyone since.

Better than Impulse, who had been tortured the entire week and forced to stay awake.

Better than Mumbo, malnourished and trembling, left there for two months, no one searching for him.

Better than Doc, his entire goshdarn arm missing, his horns shaved down to nubs, his mechanical eye mangled, his molars pulled and more.

Xisuma wants them all to go to therapy. Probably for the best, but Ren feels a little like a baby, pulling up with his tiny problems compared to the others. So what, he’s got a couple of lousy nightmares. That isn’t the end of the world. That isn’t worth wasting some professional’s time.

Cleaning himself would probably be a good thing to do in the shower, so Ren grabs some shampoo and squeezes it into his hand, massaging his scalp aggressively. He didn’t check the bottle, but when he smells roses he realizes that he grabbed Bdubs’s shampoo. Good, it’s better for his thick hair.

He likes the smell, too. It makes him think of Bdubs, of his tight hugs and chipper smile. It smells fresh, not too overwhelming.

It’s calming.

He rinses it out, eyes closed to allow for the suds dripping down his face.

He hadn't bathed during his captivity. His body had grown grimier and grimier, sweat staining his days-old clothes, his usually well-trimmed beard getting scratchy and stubbly. He'd hated it, hated the feeling of his clothes against his sticky skin, hated that he couldn't do anything about it.

He rubs a bar of soap along his skin now, as if cleansing himself of the memories. The shower chair makes it a bit awkward to wash everything, honestly. He should get around to returning it to Scar soon, now that he's no longer in the phase of needing to wrap his feet in plastic to keep the wounds dry for every shower. He's pretty much recovered, six days after the ordeal.

He spent longer there than it took for him to heal.

Isn't that weird?

Isn't it weird that this whole thing elapsed two weeks, and nothing more?

Ren shakes himself—physically, even, his hair slapping against the wall of the shower. For him it lasted two weeks. Impulse is still having trouble sleeping, Tango hasn’t been seen by anyone. Doc won't be alone. Mumbo doesn't talk.

He doesn't even have it bad.

He wishes he could fall asleep under the spray of the shower. He feels calmer here than he has in days, worried over nothing serious.

But he can’t hide in the shower forever.

Even so, he takes a couple more minutes, just sitting there and basking in it, before he reluctantly switches off the shower, the last couple drops bouncing off his chest. Then he stands, grimacing at the wet seat against his bare skin—fine while the shower was on, unbearable now that it’s off.

He rubs his wrists while he towels off. There’d been divots in the skin there when he was first rescued, but they’ve filled back out with a health potion and time. They’re still a bit bruised, but no longer tender to the touch.

Barely anything.

He limps back to his bedroom, grabs a fresh pair of boxers out of his dresser. It’s the last pair—he’ll have to do laundry. Might as well do it now, seeing as he doesn’t exactly plan on going back to sleep. Heck, then he’d have a nice, toasty, good-smelling pile of laundry to flop onto. That might lull him into sleep.

Knock-knock-knock-knock.

Ren scrunches his eyes closed for a moment. What time is it? Is it still early enough to reasonably ignore visitors?

He squints at the wall clock—three in the morning. Yeah, it is.

But he won’t do that.

He grabs a t-shirt out of his dresser and pulls it on over his head, clumsily sticking his arms through the holes. It’s a little bit small—probably belongs to Scar. Then he makes his slow way out of his room and to his front door, which he opens without checking to see who might be there.

It’s Doc.

Doc, his horns missing, his arm unfinished, shadows of bruises still painting his face.

Doc offers him a half-smile. “Hello.”

“How’d you know I was up?” Ren rasps, and he suddenly realizes he hasn’t drunk any water since getting up, making his voice still heavy with sleep. 

Doc lifts his communicator (in his organic hand, his mechanical arm not entirely reconstructed). “You stopped being AFK. Did you move your communicator?”

Ren doesn’t think about how that means Doc was already awake, watching the server list. He just shrugs, turns around to head back to his room, leaving the door open in his wake.

Doc follows him in, his footsteps heavier than Ren’s, all the way back to his bedroom, where Ren starts grabbing the various articles of dirty clothing strewn about his room and throwing them into the half-full laundry basket in his closet. Doc doesn’t move from the doorway, simply observing.

“Did you just shower?”

“Mhm.”

“Mind if I use your shower? Scar said you have his chair.”

Is that what Doc came over for? Ren shrugs.

“Go for it, dude.”

Doc leaves, and a few moments later Ren hears the sound of the shower running again, so he finishes gathering up the clothes and throws them all into the washer.

It’s too early to be doing chores, but Ren’s already started, so he picks up the dirty dishes in his room and takes them all to his kitchen sink, where he starts scrubbing methodically.

There aren’t too many. He finishes it quickly (though not quickly enough, his feet aching where he stands) and finds himself sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the dark floor.

He’s tired.

He’s been tired since they got out, and it doesn’t seem to be letting up any time soon.

The shower turns off.

Ren sighs, runs a hand down his face. He needs to shave. It can wait until morning proper, but he doesn’t like the stubble on his cheeks.

How long will the laundry take? Probably thirty minutes. Have thirty minutes passed? No, it would beep its freaking head off to let him know.

He’s so tired.

After a couple of minutes of staring at the floor, he hears the restroom door open. He listens idly to the rustling of Doc making his way back to the room, then the way the floorboards creak under his weight as he crosses the bedroom.

Doc rummages through Ren’s dresser without asking, pulling out a shirt and throwing it on awkwardly, his half-completed robotic arm still wrapped in dripping plastic. The shirt is one of Doc’s own, and he growls frustratedly as he shoves his arm through the sleeve, then tears off the plastic and balls it up.

Doc misses the trash can when he tosses the plastic, but he doesn’t try again. He just comes round to the other side of Ren’s bed and rolls in, shoving the blankets away.

“You need to sleep,” Doc grumbles. “Lie down.”

Ren sighs.

Then he complies, slumping back against the pillows. He only resists a moment before leaning into Doc’s slightly damp shirt.

Doc takes it one step further, wrapping his good arm around Ren and holding him there. The heavy weight of his arm feels nice, and Ren buries his face into Doc’s shoulder where the neckline of the shirt has slipped slightly, letting him shove his nose into Doc’s fur. It smells like citrus, orange and lemon, good and clean.

“Keralis,” Ren mumbles.

Doc hums. “Couldn’t find my bodywash.”

“Probably just as good. He’s always bragging about how expensive it is.”

“Rich bastard.”

Doc’s chest rumbling against him is comfortable, homey. Ren’s eyes droop; he yawns.

“Haven’t been able to sleep so well,” Doc admits quietly, in the darkness of Ren’s room. The washer whirs somewhere in the distant background. “Nightmares.”

Ren’s been having nightmares, too, but he can’t help but feel guilty. They can’t be anything compared to Doc’s.

“About what they did to you,” Doc continues, and Ren freezes.

What?

“What?” he says aloud, pushing back a bit to see Doc’s face. “I—but I was fine!”

Doc’s eyes are closed, his brows furrowed. “I saw you,” he says, after a long moment. “They showed me you. With—with that muzzle on. I know you hate those things.”

“I—”

“What they did to me hurt,” Doc says. “What they did to you hurt, too.”

“It’s . . . it’s different,” Ren says weakly.

“I don’t think so.”

Ren sighs. “I don’t want to argue about it, dude. I’m too tired.”

Doc shrugs. “Okay. We’ll talk in the morning. But you went through hell, too, dude. You don’t have to feel bad for us just because you think we had it worse.”

Typical. Typical Doc, always guessing exactly what he was thinking.

Ren doesn’t respond to that.

He just snuggles back up against Doc and lets himself fall asleep.

When he wakes up a couple hours later from another nightmare, terrified and ashamed, he’s still in Doc’s warm hold.

So Ren lets himself doze. They both deserve a lie-in, he thinks.

The laundry can wait until later.

[adhd-merlin]

beltane

written for the @merlinmicrofic april 2024 round, for the prompt: Tradition. Gen, Merlin/Gwaine (Established Relationship), Implied Golden Era/Court Sorcerer Merlin, Post-S5, Canon Divergence; 500 words

The tent flap opens suddenly, revealing a pair of bare feet under a green tunic. The sound of laughter and music, previously muffled, spills clearer into the tent – and then Merlin’s face appears, half-lit by the light of a nearby fire.

Upon seeing Gwaine, Merlin breaks into a grin. “Here you are,” he says, as if Gwaine were the one who had disappeared without warning. Merlin drops to his knees and the tent flap flops down after him, taking away the source of feeble light. He mutters a spell, and a glowing blue orb appears from nowhere, casting a gentle light over them.

The flower crown on Merlin's head, already askew, starts sliding off as he crawls forward. He instinctively grabs it, upsetting his precarious balance and toppling sideways. 

Gwaine props himself up on his elbows. “You alright there?” 

“Yeah,” Merlin says, arse up in the air and cheek to the ground. He pushes himself back up with some difficulty, holding the flower crown aloft in one hand. Once he’s sitting up, he drops it on Gwaine’s head. “It suits you,” he says then, clearly imbued with good cheer, and other spirits of an earthier sort. God knows what the Druids put in those cups.

“Thank you,” Gwaine says. He pushes a leaf away from his eye. “Where have you been?” 

Merlin lies down with a sigh. “Here and there,” he says, with a vague hand gesture. “I tried sneaking off to find you, but they wouldn’t let me go.” 

“It's alright,” Gwaine says. “It's why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Merlin rolls onto his side. “Have you seen the Great Bonfire?”

“Yes,” Gwaine says – for he has indeed. “About that.”

Gwaine’s not an easy man to shock – and he's not shocked, exactly – but one can hardly walk past so many people partaking in the old horizontal refreshment without remarking upon it.

“What's the deal with…” He hesitates. Merlin waits, looking clueless about where the sentence might be going. “...all those couples,” Gwaine continues, “coupling.”

“Oh! It's to please the White Goddess.” Right outside their tent, a Druid seems to be trying very hard to please the goddess and someone else besides – and being, from the sound of it, at least half-successful. “They believe children conceived on this day are blessed, and that She will favour them in life. So… It's tradition.”

Gwaine takes off his flower crown and closes the small gap between him and Merlin. “I see,” he says, pressing himself against Merlin's front. “Well. If it's tradition.”

Merlin hooks his foot behind Gwaine's legs and runs a hand over his back. “Of course, you and I cannot conceive a child,” he sensibly points out.

“Seems rude not to at least make an effort.”

Merlin laughs into Gwaine's neck – a sound infinitely more delightful than any of the wood flutes and crouths being played outside. He rolls atop Gwaine, pushing him on his back with a kiss, and they proceed to join the Druids in their Beltane celebrations.