#thimbles fics

[atmilliways]

What if an AU where Steve actually didn’t graduate, but he’s pretending he did and that he just didn’t get into any colleges because if his parents find out he’ll be out on his ass. He’s eighteen, able to intercept any messages the school does happen to send home, and after Starcourt he changes his emergency contact to Robin’s parents or something.

But it starts with being called into the principal’s office to receive the news. He’s an athlete and the school’s golden boy, so the principal tries to give him an out. He’s a good kid, just obviously got derailed in his studies sometime during junior year… maybe by drugs. Is he *sure* he wasn’t pressured into buying anything by Eddie Munson?

At some point the principal tells Steve point blank that if he sells The Freak out, he can graduate and not have to repeat. All of this can just go away.

Steve still says no, he didn’t get anything from Munson. He’s barely ever talked to the guy. (He’s not even lying—Tommy always took care of that stuff back when Steve still threw parties, albeit with Steve’s money.)

He doesn’t know that Eddie is in a chair just outside the door waiting for his own special “you flunked” audience.

-

Eddie is chewing rabidly on his hair because he knows that if he were offered this deal he would’ve sold King Steve out in a second, and it’s making him feel like a complete shitstain.

He is not offered that deal, which is why he uses his longest sewing needle to puncture a sloooow leak into all four of Principal Higgins’ tires less than an hour later. But this means… he only has a few months of summer break to decide if and how he should thank Steve for not throwing him under the bus.

[thatbakedpotato]

you ever read a fic that changes the literal trajectory of life? that renders you incapable of picking up another piece of literature? cause same.

[wannaeatramyeon]

I‘m having the cramps of my life, so anything comforting with Jake? Thanks author >_<

This isnt really that comforting but this is sorta sweet and fluffy at least. Damn, hope your cramps are over soon anon!

Jake Kim x Reader: Bubble Tea

G/N. Sweet + fluffy.

Jake keeps the flirting surface level.

Innocent enough for you to just roll your eyes and scoff if you saw, but enough for the barista to fall completely for his charms.

He's cool and sweet and friendly without being creepy. Slipping in some self deprecation in the brief exchange. Notes the name badge pinned on their apron and remembers to use it when he says thank you after ordering your favourite. An extra cold, extra sugary monstrosity that he has committed to memory.

Then when it's rung up, Jake pays for your bubble tea.

....Not before asking for a discount with a cheeky wink, and he's rewarded for his efforts with 50% off and a loyalty card as the barista simpers behind the counter.

(He isn't sure his charm is worth that much and schools the surprise off his face. Either way, he's not going to complain.)

Even though it's still grossly overpriced and his wallet is mostly full of lint and he has waited in line for 30 minutes, when he sees you in the park at the usual meeting spot, he hands it over to you with a smile.

Because after the first sip, you let out a sigh and grin at him, telling him he's the best, and he forgets that this one extortionate bubble tea means two more evenings of cup noodles.

To be honest, as long as you keep looking at him like that, he wouldn't mind eating cup noodles for the rest of his life.

You offer him a taste and he shakes his head, instead signalling to your lips.

You lean in and Jake meets you halfway. Giving you a smooch, loud and a little obscene and tells you that you're sweet enough for him.

[notluceo]

Pastel pencil and ink inspired by the latest chapter of the aptly named “Heartbreak and Other Foreplay” by @travelingneuritis

Super quick piece because I should be studying but this scene has been living rent free in my head all week

[3-frogs-in-a-trench-coat]

Selfshiptober Day 5 - All Dressed Up/Blade

(Note: I don't remember where I found this divider from. If anyone knows the creator, please feel free to comment below and tell me, so I can give credit.)

"Are you ready?" Phoenix asked, grinning as they twisted their head side to side, looking at each partner.

The throuple stood at the entrance of a Ren Faire. An event that Phoenix has been wanting to show their partners for a long time.

They were all dressed up for the occasion. Phoenix was in a light tan, loose fitting tunic with a green colored cloak. Faux leather gauntlets on each arm. Dark brown knee high boots with baggy Renaissance styled pants, being held up by a faux leather belt that had handmade (fake) potion bottles hanging from one side.

Aza, standing to Phoenix's left, was wearing a high necked, form fitting tank top with baggy Renaissance styled pants, and a hooded cloak that hung loosely from his shoulder. A pair of belts with pouches which hung loosely on his waist and faux leather shoulder armor on his other shoulder, seemed to be the only items on him that broke through the shades of black that mainly made up the majority of the outfit. According to Phoenix, this outfit was one that a "Past DnD thief character that they had, used to wear. Which they thought might suit Aza for the occasion."

Thimble on Phoenix's right, was only wearing a simple outfit of Phoenix's.

Based off of another role-playing character of Phoenix, this outfit depicted what their character would often wear. A simple tunic with baggy medieval pants, leather wraps that would wrap around the feet into the form of a shoe, distressed looking arm wraps, and a loose belt attached at the waist.

Phoenix had insisted that Thimble wear this outfit, due to its lightweight appearance and, in Phoenix's words, "They thought the style would look cute in Thimble." (They were pleased to find out they were right.)

The throuple proceeded to walk around the event. Roleplaying with other event-goers and merchants, tasting the food and drinks, and watching some of the acts.

At one point the throuple ended up buying 2 walking sticks. One which was lightly stained and twisted to a spiral shape with the top ending into a makeshift cane handle for Aza, and one which was carved with an intertwining plant design which Phoenix gave to Thimble.

Honestly, Phoenix was ashamed to admit that they rushed everyone to the faire earlier that day. And as a result, had forgotten to remember to bring their canes. The throuple had ended up needing that extra support, so the young bard offered to buy their partners a walking stick each, hoping it would suffice. Throughout the day, Thimble and Phoenix would disagree on who'd use the walking stick, as Phoenix's painful knees were starting to bother them. Aza had originally offered theirs, but Phoenix refused to accept. Thimble refused to accept this, and would make Phoenix take turns with them throughout the rest of the day, with Aza's acceptance.

A few hours into the event, the throuple decided to stop and watch a reenactment of a medieval joust play out in the middle of the faire. Horses were adorned in medieval garb, as were the riders atop them. Armor shining under the sun and and dust lightly being kicked up into the air from the horse's hooves.

Cheering ensued as the joust started. Ending in a mix of gasps and more cheers as people lightly discussed the results.

To Phoenix, it had ended way too soon. But spending that small break from walking and getting caught up in the action with their partners, made them more than happy.

The throuple decided to end that part of the day with drinks, before walking around the rest of the area to look at items for sale and get caught up in the atmosphere around them.

There was one particular booth which seemed to interest Phoenix. It was ran by a self proclaimed black smith. Who of which seemed to be busy making a blade within her stall.

They watched for several minutes as she would flatten the metal and shake it into a decorative sword. Stopping midway as she noticed the throuple's presence. Smiling at them, she straightened her back with a stretch, before greeting the 3 of them with a warm welcome and showing her wares.

One of which had particularly interested Phoenix.

It was a decorative cutlass, with a handle mixed in hues of light green and gold. It was a pretty simple sword compared to some of the others on display, but something about its simplicity seemed to draw Phoenix in.

Noticing them take interest in it, the merchant sat it down and offered to let Phoenix get a closer look.

They were allowed to hold it and show both partners, who were standing off to one side.

Phoenix ended up purchasing it, but not before the woman offered to etch something into the blade at no extra cost.

(She claimed that she could tell Phoenix was interested in her blade, which was actually one of the first ones she had made for this event. And would be more than happy to add on to the young bard's joy today.)

Immediately after hearing this, Phoenix knew what to do. On one side they asked for the name "Thimble" to be etched into the blade, and on the other side, "Aza."

After paying for and walking off with the newly etched sword, (which was also very kindly wrapped by the merchant, to protect it and others while walking around the faire.), Phoenix grinned as they gently patted the sword. With their partners' names on it, it will serve as a constant reminder of how Aza and Thimble will always give them the strength they need to get through anything that may come their way.

Now a few more hours into the day, the throuple decided to leave. Picking up dinner and spending the rest of the day discussing what they enjoyed about the ren faire, and eating their food.

Aza would end up helping Phoenix hang up the sword on the livingroom wall. And as the bard passed by it on their way to bed that night, they would stop to admire it. Smiling as their heart and mind were overcome with love and joy from their partners. They were lucky to have them. And they couldn't wait to see what else life would bring them.

Taglist:

@faerie-circle-ships

@sennamybeloved

Feel free to comment on here or message me, if you want to be added to the tag list! ☺️

[pennybunpirate]

My ability to resist drawing tiny Ed dissolved thanks to this sweetest little fic by @spirker , where we are graced with the image of Ed drinking tea from a thimble(!!!!) and I had to.

[itsa-me-lily]

First of all, anyone with pets, this fic may fuck you up. It fucked me up and I wrote it. So please keep that in mind before reading this fic. This is for sure some of my own personal trauma I used to flavor this, that and my tears.

Second THE PIGS ARE OKAY IN THE END I PROMISE, spoilers I know but I felt like I needed to put that in advance

Third here is the other Simon & Thimble stuff (Here is MPS AU Masterlist)

Fourth @nightunite I want to blame this on you but this is honestly all me

Content warning; anxiety, panicking, pet illness, discussion of pet death, concern that violence has been committed against reader, concern that reader is injured, angst

You were not a woman who needed her husband, but fuck was this a time you wanted him.

You had suspected something was up with boys. You couldn't tell if they were eating, and neither would come running to the edge of their enclosure to greet you when you came home. You tried not to panic, tried to ignore the tendrils of anxiety that wrapped around your lungs to strange them. This time was different. You weren't some kid who just graduated college and didn't have a clue. You knew better this time.

So you mixed up your CritCare, made the next available appointment with their vet, and remained determined that everything was going to be fine.

Then the wheezing started.

You had been on the cusp of sleep, your phone mocking you with the announcement of one am. You knew you needed to sleep, and yet you hadn't been able to. In the dark you could admit that you were scared. And that you had a reason to be.

You hadn't made the pull out bed, instead just planning on sleeping on the couch as is, incase something happened. You're thankful you had. It made scooping both Jiji and Tombo to abscond to the bathroom easier, the three of you sitting against the door as the hot running shower filled the tiny room with steam. It would help. It had to.

Only it didn't. Ten minutes later and they still sounded so terrible. You could feel the fear starting to churn your stomach. What if you couldn't fix it? What if you were too late again and-Your breath hitched as you tried not to spiral. It had to be different this time but-your eyes burned as you tried to ignore the urge to cry. You were so alone. Simon was out on some overnight lieutenant training, and you were alone in your bathroom with your boys who were absolutely everything to you and they sounded so sick and what if you couldn't make them, what if it was just like last time where you tried and tried and it still didn't make them any better and you lost them and-

You can't help the sob that ripped out of your chest, holding the boys a little tighter. You needed to do something. You have to do something because your boys needed you to. Sniffling, you tried to unlock your phone to check where the ER vet is, only it opens to the conversation you had with Simon.

'If anything happens call Soap.'

You were sure that Simon had probably meant if there was some sort of human emergency, when he had offered up his best friend, but you were desperate. Without really thinking about it you were dialing the Scot, breath hitching as you tried to get it under control. The endless ringing just made the anxiety wring your insides. You were about to give up when at the last second a voice came on the line, disoriented and thick with sleep.

"'ello?"

"J-Johnny?"

You hadn't meant for your voice to crack when you said his name, but just hearing another person meant that you didn't have to try this alone and the relief that crashed over you made you a little weak.

"I need help."

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish, liked to think that he was a man prepared for anything. He was a solider, a demolition expert, he could make anything blow with just the right amount of faith, trust, and c-4. He was ready to fly out to whatever corner of the world needed him to kick ass.

He was not ready to hear Ghost's wife, which that was an odd sentence in and of itself, almost crying down the line as she called him in the dead of night. You hadn't even finished saying his name and Johnny was already rolling out of bed, looking for anything to throw on.

Image after terrible image flashed through his mind as he heard your plea for help. Had someone broken in? Were you hurt? One awful thought struck him of you cowering somewhere until the person determined to get revenge on Ghost found you. No. He couldn't panic. You already sounded distressed and he couldn't help you if he lost his head. Johnny was a professional.

"Hen, need you to tell me where you are."

"At-at the house-"

"Is anyone else there?"

"N-no."

Johnny would have sagged with relief if he wasn't so busy shoving his feet into his boots and already halfway out the door. Not a break in, at least as far as you were aware. It didn't rule out you being hurt though.

"Listen I'll be there in ten, don't move."

"But the boys-"

Looking back, Johnny probably should have let you finish before ending the call, but in his defense he had a twenty minute drive to cut in half, and an LT to notify. He wasn't really sure what the relationship between the two of you was, but he had been there the night Ghost had overheard some private talk about you, and Ghost hadn't taken kindly to it.

Of course, the private needed to be socked a few times given what he was saying, but still, as far as he had known his LT hadn't even wanted to be in the spousal program until Price threatened him with extra psych meetings. Then next thing Johnny new Ghost was defending your honor and asking him to keep an eye on ya when he was out of town. So whatever the hell was going on between the two of you, Johnny wasn't going to fuck it up.

Which was how he was now at the closest emergency vet visit, trying to keep you from crying further while someone looked at your guinea pigs. Even he could admit the poor guys had sounded awful in the car.

He had tried not to push, even if he had been frustrated when he had first arrived at Ghost's home. He had spent ten minutes driving like the devil was chasing him, imagining you laying there with a broken neck or worse, and you had been perfectly fine, standing there at the door talking about needing a vet.

Johnny had had half a mind to give you an earful of what constituted as a past midnight call for help, but before he had the chance to, your face had crumbled and it was over for him. He was taking you and two guinea pigs to the vets.

He watched as you picked at your cuticles, seeming to need some sort of distraction, though he couldn't tell how well it was working given the way you seemed to be staring at the floor. Just as he was about to reach out to stop you from making yourself bleed for the third time, his phone started vibrating in his pocket. He was pretty sure he knew who was calling at this hour.

He didn't even bother checking the ID before answering, stepping away, not that you noticed.

"Hey LT."

"Status report MacTavish."

"Missus is okay. The wee ones got taken back. Now we're just waiting."

"...Thank you Johnny."

That was unexpected. Sure Ghost wasn't a complete bastard, but the genuine gratitude that came through the line was...shocking. He didn't know if it was for driving you while you were upset or even just being there. He wasn't sure if Ghost even knew.

"Any time Simon."

"How is-"

Johnny didn't mean to cut the man off, but a man in mint green scrubs had come out calling for last name Riley, and he didn't want to leave you alone to get whatever news was coming.

"They just called for us. Update you later."

He probably shouldn't have hung up just like that, but well he figured Ghost would appreciate the dedication to keeping you upright this evening.

It was an upper raspatory infection, is what Soap told him the vet had said. Simon didn't know how two guinea pigs who never left the house got infections like that, but according to Soap who had said according to the vet, that you had caught it early enough and a course of antibiotics would help.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he remembered getting Soap's messages, at first the worry that something had happened to you, and then the concern later when it was clear that it was the pigs.

Simon knew you had some sort of trauma in regards to them. There was no way that the level of hypervigilance you had in regards to them wasn't. He had seen it other service members before. Hell he lived it, that constant nagging feeling that if you weren't aware of everything all the time, then something was going to get you. It hadn't been until he had asked about the two wooden boxes on your nightstand that he had started to understand.

You'd had two other guinea pigs before, pets you had gotten to sooth the loneliness right after college. And of course you loved them, loved them just as much as you loved your boys now. Only you hadn't known then what to look out for with sick guinea pigs.

Simon could remember the sad look in your eyes as you had brushed your fingers along the top of one wooden urn. You had tried so hard to nurse them back to health, did everything you could, went to the vet as often as you could afford to, but you had been trying to catch up to a loosing race. Simon had pretended not to notice how you had tried not to let any tears spill over as you explained it all to him. So now, with Jiji and Tombo, he could see how that would probably send you spiraling.

Really he owed Soap at least a drink the next time they went out, even if at four in the morning the Scot had tried to brush off any gratitude from when he reported to Simon that everyone was back home where they were supposed to be. He knew he didn't say it enough, but Simon was grateful that Soap had his six, and in this case yours.

Pulling up to the driveway, Simon braced himself for whatever laid waiting for him at high noon. It was the best possible anticlimactic. You asleep on the couch clear bags under your eyes, and two little pigs poking their heads out of their hideys to see what was going on now.

Making his way over he knelt down next to the cage, watching as Jiji stuck his head out a little further to even accept the gentle brushing of Simon's finger. The antibiotics must have already been helping.

"Alright you two, it's time to get better now. You can't go breaking your mum's heart."

Edit;

Jiji and Tombo make a full recovery and are back to being their adorable menacing selves in no time. Baker thankfully never got sick because he was being quarantined due to the ringworm

Also this is incredibly emotional for me, because I loved all my boys I've had, and I'd do all over again, the medication runs, vet visits, syringe feedings, if it meant that they got better. So even if it's in this world, to have piggies get better means a lot.

[sunlightmurdock]

The Parent Trap | 0.4 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

♡ In which, after a couple of years of listening to Peyton and Parker Bradshaw complain about their parents’ custody agreement, Grandpa Mav’s meddling goes a little bit too far.

♡ warnings: mentions of divorce throughout the fic, flashbacks to arguments and unhappily married people. Idiots who still love each other and don’t know it, drinking / being drunk, flashbacks and references to sex, minors dni, wc: 4.8k

…

“I’m not being mean, I just think he smells weird,” Parker decides with a shrug, moving the little silver dog six spaces and narrowly missing her sister’s monopoly of hotels on the right side of the board. She lifts her gaze and looks at you, just daring you to challenge her logic. “It’s not mean if I’m just saying what I think.”

Peyton’s lips twitch as she shakes the dice in her hand, but she doesn’t add any commentary this time. You narrow your eyes across at your outspoken daughter, finding so much of your ex-husband in the amusedly defiant way she stares back at you.

“What does he smell like, then, Parks?” You challenge.

“Wood.” She answers with a shrug as her sister rolls a solid twelve and picks up the thimble to skip along the board in front of her. Peyton pokes her tongue out in concentration, like it’ll do anything to prevent her solid twelve from landing her right on the Go To Jail space. She growls in frustration and falls back dramatically onto the carpeted floor. She has spent most of this round in jail. You’re beginning to feel sorry for her, but it’s hard when she has some of the best properties and a business strategy that should probably concern you as a parent.

“Well, he is a carpenter.” You remind her, picking the dice up and shaking them in your hand. With that, the man in question rounds the corner with two glasses and two juice boxes balancing in his hands and a smile plastered across his face. This is now the fourth time that Chris has met your children, the first being a month ago.

He seems to be growing on them if Parker is actively trying not to be mean this time. You still haven’t gotten your girls to ‘fess up as to which one of them buried his phone in the backyard like a wild dog. Like you wouldn’t notice when your hydrangeas started ringing.

“Here we go, an apple, an orange, and two coffees.” Chris hands out the drinks and struggles bending his remarkably inflexible legs into a crisis-crossed shape. They made him be the phone piece — you’re certain that it’s to taunt him about the burying incident — but he’s being a champ about it.

Peyton looks down at her drink and hums, “I don’t want apple anymore. I’ll take an orange juice, big guy.”

In the years since you last hung out with Maverick, it’s so easy to miss the little Mitchell-isms working their way into your kids’ vocabulary. Your head whips around, far more concerned with what she said rather than where she got it from. Chris turns his head towards her, opens his mouth and quickly shuts it again, readying himself to get back up. Your eyes widen as you turn to find your eight year old smiling back at you.

“Then go and get an orange juice, P. Don’t be rude.” You correct her with a stern frown. Suddenly, the apple juice isn’t as much of an issue. She stabs the straw through the hole with her eyes narrowed in Chris’ direction, but this is still a big improvement from last time.

This was never going to be easy, but in the weeks since you introduced your girls to your boyfriend, you have to admit that you thought it would be easier than this. You’ve never heard either one of the girls talk about their dad as much as they do when Chris is in the room.

“Dad knows that she prefers orange.”

“Well, she asked Chris for an apple juice and that’s what she got.” It’s hard not to grow tired when you know it must be wearing him down too. You take the dice and drop them suddenly into Chris’ toughened palm. He softens in comparison, simply smiling back at you.

“So, did you guys get up to anything fun when you were at your dad’s last weekend?” He tries. If they want to talk about their dad, he doesn’t mind — he gets it. It makes you feel even worse.

“Yeah.” Payton deadpans, staring across at him like dirt on her shoe. “What did you two do while we were gone?”

Your head turns towards her again. Chris answers coolly.

“Your Mom sold that new dress she was working on. Cool, right? — We went out to dinner to celebrate that. Other than that, it’s pretty quiet around here without you guys.”

He’s looking at the board, busy moving his piece. He doesn’t know your children the way that you do. He misses entirely the split-second in which they glance across at each other. They find you narrowing your eyes at them.

At once, they’re saved by your ringtone. Another glance is shared between the two of them as you push up from the floor and head for the hallway to answer your call. In your absence, Chris’ piece lands on Peyton’s Park Row property, with the hotel sitting on top.

His brown eyes flicker up to find the eight-year old staring at him expectantly.

“You know the rules. Cough up.” She demands, in a tone she knows she isn’t allowed to be talking in. By the look on their little faces, Chris almost instinctively reaches for his real wallet rather than the colourful little notes sitting beside him.

When you walk back into the room, the first thing that you notice is the silence. Looking between the twins and your boyfriend, your frown deepens. “What’s going on?”

“Chris lost. He’s out of money.” Peyton explains calmly, flicking through her stack of ones like she’s Vito Corleone all of a sudden. Chris turns to look at you and simply wiggles his eyebrows, giving a shrug of defeat as he moves to stand.

As much as you find reflections of your ex-husband in them every day, it tugs at your heartstrings to see pieces of yourself in them too.

“You okay?” He asks, cupping the back of your neck, craning his neck to look at your face. Your palm catches his arm, sitting against his bicep as he pulls you closer.

Parker kicks her sister and they both turn their heads to watch.

You lower your voice to a whisper, fighting to keep the disappointment off of your face. “Yeah… The sitter just canceled.”

“Oh.” He sighs. You’ve been talking about this night for weeks, it’s not often that you get to go out with your friends now that you’ve all got grown-up commitments. “D’you think Bradley could watch them?”

“He’s out of town for a work thing.” You explain dejectedly, leaning in to Chris’ touch as he swipes your hair delicately back from your face.

Watching him hold you close, Parker starts to consider burying his phone once again. Or dropping it in the toilet. Or maybe pouring honey into his work boots that she saw by the front door.

Or maybe, if she was staying true to the source material, she could get him on a camping trip and push his mattress out into the middle of the lake. But he’s bigger than Meredith Blake was, and she’s smaller than Hallie Parker was.

The honey will do.

“I’ll watch ‘em.”

Bradley was out of town on a work thing. He was gone from Tuesday ‘til Friday, he told you that. He got in a little after nine and thought about having a beer, but didn’t. Instead, he just sat on his couch and tried to find a show that would keep him up long enough that he wouldn’t wake up at five in the morning.

He woke up at 1am, his neck stiff and the show two episodes ahead of where he thought it should be. Groaning, he had pushed himself off of the couch and decided to head to bed when he had gotten the text.

The conversation he had with Parker last weekend crossed his mind instantly. They had spent hours talking about fate; what is was, if they believed in it. If Bradley hadn’t startled himself awake by snoring, he would have missed the text completely.

He slipped his phone out of the pocket of his jeans with one hand, rubbing at his tired shoulder muscle with the other, squinting down at the bright screen.

Please pick me up from the Hard Deck when you see this.

He hasn’t ever made you ask twice.

Chris offering to watch the girls had come completely out of left field. It had almost caused a full-blown argument, but that man just seems impossible to get angry with. Stroking your hair and calming each one of your nerves step by step, he swore to you that he just wanted you to have a good time, that he could handle two little girls.

Bribing them was clearly the only way this was going to work, and it seemed like Chris had that in the bag. Emergency numbers set up and ready, allergy information written on the fridge and a borderline military debrief with your twins had left you practically trembling with anxiety, but had gotten you out of the house nonetheless.

You hadn’t planned on getting this drunk. The plan was to go, have a couple of drinks with your friends, and Uber home after a couple of hours. It never works out that way.

In fact, you can barely keep your head up straight when you hear one of your friends call out over the music. “Is that Rooster?”

Blinking doesn’t help you see straight. The loud music, and the bodies in the way, and the irregular lighting doesn’t help either. You squint and finally find him. Wearing jeans and a tight fitting black t-shirt, heading straight for you.

When you squint harder, you expect to realize that it’s not him.

“Rooster!” The second that he reaches you, your arms are around his neck and your chest is pressing into his. You haven’t hugged your ex-husband like this in a long time. “What are you doing here?”

He wrinkles his nose, untangling your arms from around him so that he can get a good look at your face. It’s been a long time since he saw you this dressed up. Hair, make-up, heels. The dress looks familiar but he can’t quite place it.

“You texted me.” He watches your eyelids falling shut, blinking heavily and irregularly as he explains to you. He steadies you by your arms. “You wanna go home?”

There’s a disgruntled groaning sound before you try to look around at your friends. At this point, Rooster makes an effort to be polite and greet them all. After all, they were his friends too, once. They’re all as shitfaced as you.

“Come on, mama. I’ll take you home,” He decides for you, hugging you against him like your own feet aren’t secure enough for his tastes anymore. You fall all too willingly against his chest, your cheek pressing into the fabric of his shirt while he tries to keep the attention of your friends. “Does anyone else need a ride?”

Maybe they do, maybe they don’t — maybe their own husbands will get up and come get them. Rooster won’t leave them without knowing they’ve got a way home, so you know that once you feel the outside chill on your skin he must have made arrangements for them.

He sighs quietly and jerks you as he tries to get a better grasp. Outside, you can finally hear him properly.

“Honey, you need to walk. Use your feet.” He tells you, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary. Your head is lulled against the swell of his shoulder, you haven’t moved your feet since he grabbed you, and yet you’re moving towards the car perfectly fine.

Everything is happening in chapters. You’re skipping ahead and losing parts, not paying attention to much. Things aren’t spinning yet, but they sure are blurry. You manage to talk back anyway.

“I don’t.” You answer, head turned towards the sky. It occurs to you, briefly, that you’re going to be horrifically embarrassed about this tomorrow. Your feet try, then trip, and his hold on you tightens.

“What did you drink? — You alright?” His arm around your waist pulls you closer, your head lulling off of his shoulder and awkwardly onto his moving chest. You hum contentedly.

“I had a good time.” You whisper.

He sighs something about you throwing up in his car and you’re faintly aware of the sound of a car door unlocking.

“C’mere, honey. Just sit right there. I’ve got some water. You wanna sit and get some fresh air with me?” Maybe there are pauses in between — maybe he says it all slower than that, but you can’t really focus. Or open your eyes.

You know that he has guided you to sit against the tailgate of the Bronco because of the way your feet dangle. As a mother, you hate this car. As a girl who fell in love with Bradley Bradshaw — fuck, you love this car.

“Wanna drink somethin’ for me?” Rooster offers the bottle to your mouth and winces as you draw your head sharply away from it. He grabs your shoulders and stops you from teetering over.

You’re not sure how, but you settle into his side and find that his arm remains there. Draped around your shoulders as you rest your head against him.

It takes a while, but Rooster gets you to drink. It’s anyone’s guess as to how long you sit on that tailgate sipping from that water bottle, but his arm around your shoulder feels nice anyway — even if he’s just rubbing your back because he thinks you’re going to puke.

When things start to come around a little more, you’re laying across the two backseats and hugging the water bottle like a teddy bear. Your head is spinning.

“You alright back there?” Rooster calls to you, making you frown slightly and lift your head. Passing by traffic lights and street signs, the world turned on its axis as you try to push yourself up and ultimately give in to staying laid down.

He’s really here. Some way or another, you really forced this man to carry you out of the bar and spend his Friday night babying you. You want to know if you called, or texted, or if he was just in the bar and saw you — you thought he was away for work — but that’s all too embarrassing still.

Your mind is too cloudy for that level of conversation, your words still don’t sound quite right.

“You even didn’t question it.” Your body sways as he pulls to a stop at a red light, your focal point on the soft top of the Bronco swaying with you and kickstarting that dizziness all over again. With a swallow, you close your eyes. The swaying continues like the leather seats below you are actually built into a speedboat as opposed to a seventies classic car.

“Did you put that seatbelt on yet?” His dad-voice comes from the front. Eyes still shut, this makes you smile. You don’t even remember him telling you to. He peers at you through the rear view mirror. “Question what?”

All you offer him is a small shrug, not interested in a seatbelt in the slightest in your current state. This next sentence requires a deep inhale first, but is interrupted by a hiccup. “I text you out of the blue and you just… show up. Didn’t even check to see if it was for you.”

Bradley bites at the inside of his cheek, brows drawing together as the light turns green and another check towards the mirror confirms that you still aren’t wearing a seatbelt. He huffs and the car pulls sharply to the side, making you groan in complaint.

The radio plays on as Bradley stops at the side of the road and unclips his own seatbelt, then gets out of the car. Your poor brain hasn’t even had time to catch up before he’s pulling the door open and half-climbing in. You blink as he appears over you.

With the door still open, he’s just illuminated by the street light. His eyes have always looked so soft in the dark. The slight pout of his lips, the sharpness of his jaw, the bump in his nose. He’d started out with the most innocent of intentions, but as he leans over you across the backseat, it becomes clear that you’re both struck by the same abrupt chord of familiarity.

This is far from the first time that the two of you have been in this position. In fact, this is exactly how things started out the first night you hooked up.

He swallows above you. There’s a wonderstruck look on your face that makes his ears burn red. Your eyes search over his face and with each inch they cover, he watches them flood with remembrance. Warm pink spreads across his cheek, extending down his chest. It makes your lips twitch to think you can still get him to blush.

“Come on, sit up.” Bradley whispers, gently taking each of your hands in his and pulling you upright. “Let’s put your seatbelt on.”

Silently, you don’t fight him on the matter and Bradley knows that’s a win in itself. It’s not the first time he’s had to wrangle you into this car after a few drinks either. Your eyes are just on him, and he swears that’s where the heat on his face is coming from. His fingers fumble to get the buckle into the clasp.

The second that he hears that click, he’s withdrawing from the backseat and climbing back into the driver’s side. You stare at the rear view mirror as he pulls away from the curb. In truth, you had forgotten how gentle he could be with you.

“Thank you.”

He glances up at the mirror, then back at the road.

“Thanks for picking me up. Sorry that I’m…” The pause facilitates a deep inhale that stops you from hiccuping mid-sentence. He watches you sheepishly ready yourself to continue. “Such a mess.”

This, makes him smile. It spreads across his face just as easily as the pink hue had, taking over his features.

“Honey, we both know I’ve seen worse.” Oh god, he remembers. He said it so casually too, like he’s reminiscing on a fond memory. The memory isn’t quite as fond for you, but then again, you don’t remember too much of it. He used to always tease you about it.

The night you met him was your twenty-first birthday, and you were flirting all night, but then you had gotten way too drunk and he had to carry you home — with you fighting him the whole way. He called you alley-cat for two months afterwards. Your feral behaviour had clearly caught his eye, though, because he started hanging around the Hard Deck a lot more afterwards.

Things hadn’t ever seemed that serious in the Hard Deck. Everything was easier back then. The career you have now is exactly what you wanted, but you can’t pretend that some days you wouldn’t rather have a handsome aviator leaning over a bar and telling you jokes to make your shift pass faster.

He takes one more look up at the mirror and smiles again, this time because he finds you already not trying to smile back at him.

“God, I had such a crush on you that summer.” The second that you’ve said it, you have to stop yourself from slapping a hand over your mouth. Closing your eyes will do. You can feel him staring either way.

It shouldn’t be weird to acknowledge. You were married for over five years. In love for a good while before that. Of course you had a crush on him originally. But it’s at the forefront of both of your minds that it still feels like yesterday that you were sprawled along this backseat, stomach bursting with butterflies as he unbuttoned your shorts for the first time.

The salt on his skin, the smell of his cologne mixed with sunscreen and sweat. The way his curls dry after he’s been in the ocean. The way the sunset hits the browns of his eyes. The freckles on his shoulders, dipping into the valleys between his muscles.

The brush of the same moustache you had been making fun of for months against the most sensitive parts of your skin and with it — the realisation that you actually loved that moustache.

Shivering through the late summer evening heat, whispering his name to the stars as his smart mouth worked between your legs. He drove around with the top down a lot back then.

He remembers everything about getting to know you. Getting taunted relentlessly by Hangman because of the way he blushed when you used to tell him his drink was on the house. Almost falling off of his stool craning his neck to get a better look at you behind the bar. Making sure you were invited to every beach outing. The first time he kissed you, and the way you were looking up at him before.

“Sorry, that was—“

“It’s alright.” He interrupts. When he closes his eyes at the next stop sign, all he can think of is the sight of your wet footsteps leading up the steps on his back porch. You had come from the beach. He had known he was going to find you in his shower inside. It was the first time he had ever come home to you. You were barely dating back then.

He looks at the mirror, wondering if you remember that time in the shower.

You’re not thinking about the shower. Fingers spread out, trailing the seams in the leather, you’re thinking about the last time you had sex in this car. So different from the first time. Bradley had known your body so much better, the two of you were so much more comfortable together.

The girls were with your parents for an entire weekend while the two of you were out of town for the wedding. Before the reception, Bradley had tugged you outside and bunched your pretty dress up around your middle. Closing your eyes and letting your fingers inch across the seats, you can still remember his breath fanning across his chest, the low grunts as he drove himself into you. His arms wrapped around your body, your forehead resting against his bicep and your legs around his waist.

“Rooster.” You rarely call him that anymore. It’s the first name you knew him by, since all of his work buddies called him that. Bradley was something that came letter, something that felt more for just the two of you. The last thing you would say most nights. Goodnight, Bradley. It’s been a long time since you said that, but you know it would feel just the same coming off of your tongue.

He hums from the front seat, but doesn’t look.

“Could I sit up front with you?”

“Yeah, sure— let me—“ Too late. He hears your seatbelt unbuckle and knows what’s coming next. Sure enough, as he’s going at a steady forty along Palm Avenue, you swing one foot unsteadily over the console and wobble in the direction of the passenger side. “Baby—“

It’s out of instinct, purely because you’re stressing him out. You plop down into the passenger seat and turn your head to look at him. Wordlessly, both of you decide to pretend you didn’t hear that.

For his peace of mind, you tug the seatbelt across your body and clip it in.

“We’re in so much trouble if the girls take after you.” He teases, the smile in his voice cutting through the tension. You giggle beside him.

“Me? — Do you not remember what happens when you get too familiar with a bottle of tequila?” You answer back, eyes closed and a silly smile on your face. You remember. You remember having to carry him, practically dead weight, into your bed from the living room and spend the night rubbing his back while he threw up the next morning.

“Yeah, we’re in big trouble.” Rooster scoffs, pushing his fingers through his hair. You stare across at the tattoo on the inside of his bicep as he rests his elbow against the door.

You’re still drunk enough to blame the alcohol when you reach across and take his free hand as he steadies the wheel with the other. His gaze flickers down as you loop your fingers through his. “We weren’t that bad.”

This time he laughs.

“We weren’t? — So you don’t remember—“ He’s still grinning when he stops himself, already turning into your street. You two don’t talk about that stuff anymore. You’ve moved on. Those funny little stories are private now, entirely his. Your boyfriend sure as hell wouldn’t want to hear them.

He looks over at you as he slows down to pull up to the curb.

You’re already looking across, staring at him with a look he hasn’t seen in a long time. The smile that you flash him makes him think of that first year. Then, you close your eyes and exhale, “I remember everything.”

Even with the radio playing, there’s a silence that sits between the two of you as the car pulls to a stop. It’s at that point that everything in your orbit starts to spin, forcing you forwards and making you whimper. Bradley’s already out of the car and jogging around to your side as you catch your head in your hands and try to breathe.

“C’mere, honey. I’ve got you.” He reaches around you to unbuckle you from the car, pulling you out by your underarms and holding you against him as he shuts the door. It’s still not the most graceful procedure, but he’s gotten better at it. You’re not exactly making it easy for him as you wobble back and hit your head on the window.

“Oh shit, are you okay?” He breathes out.

“I wanna go to bed.” You complain, wobbling forwards and this time crashing into his chest. He secures one hand on the back of your head to keep you there, pretending like he isn’t checking whether or not you have a bump. Even now, he can’t seem to turn the dad-reflexes off. You sigh into his shoulder. “Take me to bed.”

His free hand finds your waist and he glances down, finally clocking where he remembers this dress from. You wore it the second night of your honeymoon. He remembers this dress very well — he used to carry a picture of you wearing it in his wallet. He’s ninety-percent sure that the twins were conceived because of this dress.

“Yeah, you’re going to bed, baby. Nearly there.” In truth, by the time he has carried you to the door, Rooster has almost forgotten that you have a boyfriend. He’s expecting the same sweet old lady that you’ve been hiring for years to answer the door. That’s why he makes no effort to peel you off of him.

Rooster stares at Chris, while Chris looks between the two of you. You’re barely awake and clinging to your ex-husband’s shirt, he’s holding you at the waist, keeping you standing. Chris looks barely awake, still fully dressed. Clearly a man who has been waiting to hear from you for hours.

“Is she alright? — What happened?” His reaction is positive. Rooster appreciates that much about him. Still, he can’t stop thinking about what Maverick said. If Chris becomes permanent, Bradley’s entire family becomes his.

“She just had too much to drink, she called me for a ride home. I gave her some water and stuff, but—“ Rooster starts to explain, propping you up and holding you halfway. It’s unclear if he’s supposed to just pass you over. He doesn’t know if this guy even knows where you keep the products you remove your make-up with.

“She called you?” Chris challenges. There it is. There’s the anger that Rooster was waiting for.

“I wouldn’t take it personally. She’s shitfaced. She just needs to get some sleep and—“

“Yeah,” Chris steps one foot outside and reaches for your waist. You fall compliantly towards him, the toe of your shoe dragging along the ground as he tucks your arm over his shoulder and props you up. “I’ve got her. Get home safe.”

Rooster’s face doesn’t give away anything. He’s not immature anymore. He wants you to find someone who can give you, and by default his kids, everything that you could ever need. That’s why he keeps his mouth shut. He can think whatever he wants.

“Sure, yeah. Can I just ask… uh… where’s the sitter?” He was so close to walking away and just getting back in his car, but it’s after two now. If that old lady is still here, she would have made it known. As sweet as she was, she loves to complain.

“I watched the kids.”

Bradley raises his eyebrows at your stone-faced boyfriend. Once again, his face gives away nothing. “You did?”

…

Tags:

@khaylin27 @fudge13 @slutford @averyhotchner @hangmanscoming @diorrfairy @thedroneranger @phoenix1388 @perpetuelledaydreaming @princess76179 @cherrycola27 @wkndwlff @xoxabs88xox @galaxy-moon @sugarcoated-lame

[nextstopparis]

i really just need good like mid to long length fix recs please i’m begging

hey bestie, i didnt know if you had any specific type of fic in mind or just length and what u consider mid so here are a few fics with 25k+ word counts and thats basically all they have in common🫶 also these are all more or less merthur im so sorry. i hope u find something new here!!!

Arthur, Sincerely by MerlinLikeTheBird (47.8k) (THE FLUFF IN THIS MADE ME CRY also its canon era)

To Begin Anew (need ao3 acc) by ohHeyThereBigBadWolf (27.7k) (ive read this like five times. i think about it constantly. canon divergence)

that lightning-strike feel by TheLurkingContessa (32.5k) (cmon merthur training with weapons together??? also canon era)

An Illusion of Sorts by lordvoldemortsnipple (133.7k) (ive also read this like 3 times which is sorta insane bc its 100k+ words omfg… modern au w magic)

Annum Inanis (The Empty Year) (need ao3 acc) by anonymintea (43.2k) (i DIED. canon era)

Charting Stars On A Stained Glass Ceiling by mornmeril (80k) (my note on ao3 under this is just OHMYGOD a bunch of times so. future au with magic)

a thimble of light for an acre of sky by celaenos (36.2k) (THIS IS NOT MERTHUR well theres like a hint of merthur at the very end but mostly its pendragon siblings and morgwen. I DIED. canon divergence)

Chasing Spring (ok TECHNICALLY this is a series but overall its 58.7k words so) by Gimli_s_Pickaxe (god merlin au do i really need to say anything else. canon era)

Keep the Magic Secret (73.5k) (i feel like i cant say I DIED again or else it’ll start losing its meaning to you but really i did. canon era)

M-RYS by mornmeril (123.2k) (ive also read this three times and was actually just craving a reread yesterday so. hmm. future au with magic)

We Pull These Jobs To Make A Little Money (No One Gets Hurt If They Don’t Act Funny) by leashy_bebes (48.9k) (this fic left me speechless all i could muster in my ao3 notes was “oh my god” not even capitalized like it shook me to my core. modern au)

You’ve Got My Heart, I’ve Got Your Hand by FervidAsAFlame (29.3k) (ive read this about five times it makrs me cry its so sweet i Love Them. modern au)

The Tournament of All Magicks by Cori Lannam (corilannam) (41.3k) (CMONNNN merlin fighting in a TOURNAMENT??? cmon. ohh craving a reread for this one too now… canon era)

The Future Soon by lady_ragnell (30.2k) (i loved this fic so so much. like theres just something about the vibe of it that im obsessed with. could also be the enemies to lovers thing. modern au with magic)

Sweeter Dreams by Tierfal (35.3k) (FREED VIVIAN OF MEN! i mean what more could i want. canon divergence)

Truth Is a Whisper by seperis (25k) (im being so serious go read everything by seperis. everything. GO. FIRST TINTAGEL bc that is my fav fic of all time probably but its 20k words so i couldnt put it here. GO!! theyre my fav author it took EVERYTHING not to rec all their fics. canon divergence)

Accidental Memory in the Case of Death by derryere (74.9k) (theres just something so. So. I DONT KNOW. overwhelming about them in this. its reincarnation au which might be why. one line made me cry)

The Ivy Crown by dayari (derryday) (252.2k) (ive read this three times. look at the word count. i will probably read it again. green knight au thing. theyre just. ohmygod)

Dower the Stars by RurouniHime (40.6k) (LISTEN. actually idek what i can say about this. except for the fact that its the PERFECT FIC. literally. its perfect. im especially in love with arthur and gwens friendship in this but anyway. canon divergence.)

[blakbonnet]

for @spirker Connie's tiny!ed fic where ed is barely one thimble tall wrecked me actually 🥺

[canisalbus]

Okay, its game night and tonight's game is monopoly. Can be Vasco/Machete only or you can also include modern versions of the fic characters, you choose

Who's winning? And more importantly, who's taking this way too seriously?

Vasco (horse and rider) has gotten bored and largely given up, he's messing with people's houses and hotels and stacking them on top of each other, fiddling with his phone and wandering into the kitchen to get a snack and stretch his legs every ten minutes or so.

Vittorio (thimble) is winning. He doesn't seem to follow a specific strategy but has played his cards well and luck evidently favors him. He owns the most properties and is the most financially stable player by far. He's been the quietest of the bunch all night and feels shyly pleased about being at the top, but gets very apologetic when someone lands on one of his high-rent locations and he has to take money from them.

Machete (howitzer) and Piero (tophat) are taking it way too seriously. Both have agreed that Vittorio may be invincible at this point, but they're on a head-to-head battle for the second place. Everyone else has expressed willingness to call it quits but they're way too competitive to give up until one has clearly and objectively beaten the other. Machete has fancier and more developed streets but he keeps ending up in jail more often than anyone else. Piero is the banker, owns three of the four railroads and is trying to get the last one from Machete.

Maurice (battleship) was the first to go bankrupt and has retired from the game, now he's mostly chilling with Vasco and giving moral support to Vittorio. He's getting sleepy and peckish and thinking of maybe getting late night takeout on his way home, but he doesn't quite have the heart to leave yet. At 11:56 he joins Vasco in the kitchen to make grilled cheese sandwiches that will surely give him heartburn next morning.

Alonso (racecar) was just a little too rude last time and he wasn't invited.

[50shadesofoctarine]

Why you should write that AO3 comment:

Hello! I am an AO3 author and professional fandom dipshit. This is an "essay" on why you should leave that comment on the fanfic you just read.

Table of Contents:

"Commenting is too much effort!"

"I don't know what to write!"

Do you want more fanfic?

Fan creators are human beings, not AI content generators.

You can count it as charity work on your metaphysical taxes.

"Commenting is too much effort!"

Yes, writing a comment takes energy. I'm an introvert, I get that. I have two counter arguments to this point.

AO3 comments are not the SAT:

This is a comment from my latest fic, Quantum Entangled.

Three words and a heart. It requires zero consideration, it isn't specific to the fic, it's something you could copy-paste, even. A comment like this is better than nothing. I'll let my reply from AO3 explain why:

"You know what, I appreciate this way more than you'd probably expect. The temptation to lurk is a strong one, both for social anxiety reasons and internet content-consumption culture reasons. But when people lurk, I can't tell that they've enjoyed the story. The more people that lurk instead of interacting, the more I assume that my work wasn't good enough, irrespective of the reader's actual feelings. So this was a very welcome comment to read. Thank you for indicating your enjoyment. I will endeavour to write more stuff for you to lurk on in the future. :)"

A comment like this, one that is as thoughtless and low effort as possible, is still a comment. Something that denotes a reader's interest. Because, and I can't be clear enough about this, I HAVE NO OTHER WAY OF KNOWING THAT YOU LIKED IT. Kudos and comments are my only window into the reader's experience.

Sure, I'd love more detailed and thorough comments on my work, but, if that expectation is the thing that's going to stop you from commenting at all, I'd prefer the bland copy-paste appreciation.

Onto my second argument.

Do you know what also takes effort? WRITING THE DAMN FIC:

You do not get to complain about being forced to type a congratulatory handful of words after reading that 200k slow-burn fantasy au. Do you know how many hours went into that thing? Do you? Because I can guarantee that it was A LOT. All that writers are asking for is a single emoji. A kudos, at the very least. Consider the effort that went into the creation that you've just experienced and give just a thimble full of it back.

Authors lay out a feast for you to devour. They're only requesting a "thank you".

"I don't know what to write!"

Like in the previous example, an AO3 comment can be as simple as three words saying that you appreciated it. Just an acknowledgement that you were there. It doesn't have to be fancy.

But if you want fancy...?

Here's one of my comments, from Tishae's Better Together.

Let me break it down for you.

"Stunning. This au is so well developed. I love how you managed to maintain tension after the point that they discover that their feelings are requited. This was brilliantly paced, and the action (esp the ending) was so engaging."

The comment opens with appreciation. (Think of it as a sandwich with love as the bread. It starts and ends with my enjoyment.)

There are specific details about what I liked.

"If I may ask, what was the crime that the Metatron committed? Maybe I'm bad at reading between the lines or maybe I missed something, but I'm really curious as to what dirt they have on him. Victimless? Bad enough for imprisonment, but not so morally reprehensible as to make Anathema reveal it? Did he embezzle? That's all I can really think of."

Continues with a specific question about the story and plot.

Shows that I was critically engaged and actively considering the story.

You don't have to have questions about every fic that you read, but don't be afraid to ask them if you do. I love it when people ask me about my work.

"Thank you for the delicious food. I honestly thought that you were going to have Crowley's final look be something in grey (black and white being the theme of the show, metaphorically representing separation/binary, so Aziraphale was uncomfortable with it due to the implications. Grey, symbolising unity/shades of grey as an idiom, would then be the biggest middle finger to the Metatron) but I do really like what you came up with."

Gratitude.

Thoughts about how I read the plot. (This is something I particularly love to read as an author. Please tell me what's going on in that funky lil' brain of yours!!)

"I'm hoping this comment provides plenty of dopamine. If the task activation and instant gratification parts of your brain light up, you might be more likely to write GO content again. Love your work, thanks for sharing it. I hope you gain 3 inches of metaphorical dick length. Please keep writing."

Encouragement to keep writing. (This is the best way to ensure that creators remain in the fandom)

A funny comment to sign off.

Now that you know what to comment, let's start on the real reasons why you should.

Do you want more fanfic?

Fun fact! Fanfictious Authoria are a species that sustain themselves entirely on a diet of brain worms, unfinished WIPs, and kudos. As one of the three fundamental food groups, removing kudos from the fandom ecosystem causes a complete collapse of the natural order. In times of unprecedented scarcity, entire populations of Fanfictious Authoria can die out completely. This means that the production of fanfiction, in that particular region of fandom, stops entirely, often causing major ecological damage, and the subsequent deaths of fan species in the same genus. (Like the Fanfictious Artia, or the Fanfictious Editour, both of which subsist on fanfiction based diets to survive.)

In conservation efforts, experts are imploring readers to donate kudos and comments toward any fandom region that they want to stay alive.

But I digress.

When I want more content, I tell the author. Ask and you shall receive; it's the best way to convince an author/artist to make more.

My comment on @mrghostrat's And They Were Streamers

You liked it? Then COMMENT! Not for the author's sake, but for your own. You want to see the ending of a WIP? Well, it'd be a terrible shame if the author gave up on it because they thought no one was reading... They don't know that you enjoy their work until you TELL THEM. They're not psychic, you have to help them hear you. Commenting on the things you like influences the creators of said things to attribute the act of making content (and, notably, making the type of content that specifically appeals to you) with the dopamine hit of reading your reaction. Treat them like Pavlov's dogs. Ring the kudos-bell.

Fan creators are human beings, not AI content generators.

They have real human feelings and real human egos. The contemporary attitude towards media engagement is skewed towards algorithmic, instant, and uncritical consumption. This is pumping straight gasoline into the beautiful lakes of our fandom ecosystem. Fandom cannot afford to treat its creators like mechanical text generators. We are not an unfeeling assembly line, only there to produce content. We are enthusiasts, engaging in our hobby. No fan creator has to show you anything. They are fully within their rights to keep their works hidden in their computer files, never to see the light of day. Every fanfic on AO3 is only there because someone had the grace to share it with you. You are not entitled to an author's work, just as they are not entitled to your kudos. We have a mutually beneficial arrangement. Do not forget your part in this symbiosis.

It's a problem that extends beyond AO3. Tumblr is a less enthusiastic place than it used to be. Fandom as a whole is drifting towards a consumption mindset. I, for one, am sick of it. Reblog things, like them, share them. Make fanart of fanart. Who gives a shit? Do the cringy thing. You don't have to cultivate your blog aesthetic. Be who you are, like what you like, and have enthusiasm about all of it. Fandom should be an expression of radical self acceptance. Embrace it. Leave essays about fics that you liked. Reblog the essays of other's when you see them. Exist in the mutual joy of seeing and being seen. You are not just an external observer, absorbing content from a distance. You are here too. Wave back at us. Say 'hi.'

You can count it as charity work on your metaphysical taxes.

My final appeal is a moral one.

Commenting on AO3 is just a kind thing to do.

You are your actions. Are you the kind of person who does the kind thing when no one is watching? When no one will care?

Fanfiction is a hobby, and I'm not here to guilt you about how you spend your leisure time. I'm only here to say that there is a kindness you could be giving the world.

If you are one of the people that performs this kindness, I thank you.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

For the audience challenge - how about pregnancy themed fics? ❤️

Well, this is a popular one... 🤭

Smut

Domesticity: Reader gets worked up watching Spencer with kids. He notices. (Content Warning: Breeding kink, established relationship (married), unprotected sex)

Santa’s Gift: Reader asks her husband what he wants for Christmas. (Content Warning: Spencer/Reader have a son, Christmas mention, mentions of the Santa story, established relationship, breeding kink, unprotected sex, trying for a baby)

Thimble of Honey: Fantasy!AU, Fairy!Reader. Spencer falls for the fairy in his garden. (Content Warning: Fantasy elements, Magical!Reader, Fairy!Reader, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, brief allusion to breeding kink/pregnancy, marriage mention, nickname “Princess”)

Different Kind of Daddy: After a rough day, Reader has good news for her husband. (Content Warning: Oral sex (female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, DD/lg kink, alcohol, Reader’s weight is implied)

Fluff

Painting by Numbers: Spencer is still a little worried about his pregnant wife painting the house.

Practice Run: Spencer and Reader take on Derek’s challenge to babysit.

Impromptu: Reader learns some shocking news when a case lands her in the hospital. (Content Warning: Hospitals, unexpected pregnancy, concussions)

Moral of the Story (Series): (NSFW) Spencer has a surprise for you on the night before you two get married. (Content Warning: Unprotected sex, breeding kink, marriage, jokes about infidelity, Garter removal/toss)

Keep reading for Angst Fics & Series !

Angst

From the Tree: The kidnapping case becomes personal when Spencer and Reader get a call from their nanny. (Content Warning: Kidnapping, fighting, knives, children in danger, guns, death (minor character), murder, happy ending)

Stork Song: Spencer and Reader try to find intimacy again following a terrible loss. (Content Warning: miscarriage, trouble conceiving, potential infertility, crying, yelling (brief), grief, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, vague references to divorce (does not happen)

Phoenix (Series): (NSFW) Spencer Reid had a secret, and now you have a funeral to attend… Rewrite of the Emily/Doyle arc with Spencer taking Emily’s place. (Content Warning: gun violence, major character death (faked), heavy portrayals of grief, heated arguing/yelling, pregnancy/miscarriage)

Lily of the Valley (Series): (NSFW) Unsub!Spencer was found guilty but mentally ill after the torture and murder of several men. He finds solace in his psychiatrist at the institution. (Content Warning: institutionalization, state hospital, Doctor/Patient, Major Character Death (not shown), Mentions of death/murder, public sex, penetrative sex, forced sedation/tranquilizer use, needles, kidnapping, displays of force/violence, rough sex, chemical and physical restraints, knives/cuts, blood, reproduced/false depiction of a rape scene, DubCon (in that neither party wants to be violent, but both feel it is necessary), tearing clothing, choking, crying during sex, pregnancy discussion, guns, yelling, arguing, murder, death, stabbing, implied threats of assault on a woman)

Thanks for reading!

[leupagus]

Half of this fic is just me looking for more excuses to put in all the cool women that the show wrote out

Still working on the next chapter for the GOT rewrite from hell, but I had to write a little about how the fuck menstruation works in Westeros (other than "oh you can get married now!" which I refuse to believe is the norm) and also to introduce the Sphinx:

The next morning, Shireen woke up to find blood on her shift and a sharp sort of twist in her stomach, as though she'd swallowed a molten pin. The blood came out easily enough, with frantic scrubbing in the basin, but the pain grew over the course of the morning.

"It's your flowering," said Maester Alleras briskly, when she went to him in a tightly-controlled panic. "How old are you?"

"Fourteen," said Shireen, realizing the date. Her nameday had passed two weeks ago.

"And what do you know of flowering?" he asked, smiling slightly at her blush. "Forgive me, but Northerners have queer ideas of teaching their children about these matters. I do not wish to presume your level of education."

"I know it can last for a week or more," Shireen said, thinking of Mother's cycles, how she would confine herself to her rooms to endure the pain in solitude and prayer. "It's very painful and disgusting, but it allows me to bear my future husband's children and therefore is a gift from the gods."

"Hmm. Well, that is what you were taught, at least," grunted the maester. He got up from his desk, rummaging through the cupboard behind him. He was a tall, skinny young man with the deep brown skin and tightly-coiled hair of a Summer Islander, and shared their fondness for brightly-colored nails: they seemed to dance along the shelves until he plucked out a jar and presented it to her with a flourish. "This will help with the pain, and stop the bleeding after this cycle. People of the North use it a great deal."

"Is it moon tea?" Shireen asked, taking it gingerly and wondering at Maester Alleras's use of the term Northerners, which sounded different from People of the North. Perhaps in the Summer Isles, everyone on Westeros was a Northerner. "Why do they use it so much here?"

"It is," he confirmed, "and as for why..." He shrugged. "I've only just arrived in Winterfell, you understand, and as you may have guessed—" this said with another smile— "I was born elsewhere. But from what I've gathered, they must be careful when they have children. The North can only feed so many."

Shireen thought of Fire & Blood, which Father had read to her as a child. The Winter Wolves had been a company of Northerners, who had answered Lord Cregan's call to fulfill the Pact of Ice and Fire with Rhaenyra Targaryen. They'd been greybeards who had knowingly marched to their deaths, for such was the custom of the North back then: at the start of each winter, the old men of each keep and castle and holdfast would choose amongst themselves who would go out into the snows. Some would return home in the spring, having endured the cold or escaped it to find their fortunes in southron lands; most would not.

"Put a thimbleful of this into whatever tea you like best," Maester Alleras continued, gesturing at the jar, his fingernails catching the light as it streamed into the rookery. "Once a day, and come back when you need more."

"Shouldn't I ask—" Shireen bit her lip.

But the maester caught her meaning; his eyes narrowed. "Shouldn't you ask your parents? Yes, I suppose you should. But they should be here to be asked, and they should have told you the truth."

"What's the truth?" Shireen asked, instead of admitting that Mother and Father had never told her anything about it. She couldn't imagine either of them even mentioning the subject. All her information had come from books, or from Mother's complaints.

"The truth is that if a cycle is painful and lasts for a week or more, that is the sign of an illness, not the will of a god. The truth is that you may well find it disgusting, but it is merely something our bodies do and should never be a source of disgust or shame to you or anyone else." He glared, though it did not seem directed at her. "And as for 'bearing your future husband's children,' the truth is that they are your children, just as much as his — indeed more so, unless he carries them about for the first nine months after their birth. But you will not be a woman grown for at least another two years, and any man who wishes you to bear children until at least that time is unworthy of your hand or your love." He sat back down, his half-dozen maester's links chiming musically. "Now run along, little princess."

Lady Sansa was just outside the door, with her brother beside her. "See, I told you she smelled funny," Rickon said triumphantly.

Shireen scowled at him. "Shut up." It was kind of him, she supposed, to have worked out that something was wrong and to wait for her outside the maester's chambers. But Rickon Stark was the sort of friend who was difficult to be grateful for.

"Yes, please do, Rickon," Lady Sansa said, pressing a businesslike kiss on the crown of Rickon's head before turning him round by the shoulders and pushing him down the corridor. Rickon protested, but went all the same, and Lady Sansa turned back to Shireen. "Moon tea?" she asked, nodding at the jar.

Shireen resisted the impulse to hide it somehow. It is merely something our bodies do and should never be a source of disgust or shame. "Yes, my lady," she said.

"Come along, then," said Lady Sansa. "I have some excellent tea from the Arbor. How does that sound?"

"Could I have a hot water-skin, too?" Shireen asked, as Lady Sansa looped her arm through hers.

"Of course. And the lemon trees in the greenhouse have given up their first fruits — we'll have lemon cakes for lunch instead of venison." She smiled and Shireen thought that even if Sansa Stark never took another husband or had children of her own, she was still all the mother that the North ever would need.

[twilightarc-gm]

🧡GASP!!!! 🧡🧡 AMAZING!! 🧡🧡🧡 I LOVE!!!🧡🧡🧡🧡

//sounds of high key love and affection//

A little gauche inspired by @twilightarc-gm ‘s fic

[3-frogs-in-a-trench-coat]

Selfshiptober Day 1 - Confession/Night:

Divider made by @enchanthings

Phoenix leaned back in the couch, propped up only barely by the couch arm.

A soft plush blanket, mixed in random patterns of dirt and moss as if it had come from the earth itself, was wrapped around their body. Hanging loosely from their shoulders as they curled up under it.

The house was silent, other than the soft white noise caused by the electrical appliances within the house. Their partners, Aza and Thimble, were gone. They had left earlier without barely any explanation. Just a simple "We'll be back soon. Thimble promised to help me with something tonight. We'll be back soon.", before both partners left the front door, closing it behind them and causing a barrier between them.

Phoenix swore that Thimble's tail had a sort of extra flick to the swish of his tail. A restless looking feeling as his feet seemed to make small, subtle hops on the ground.

Excitement, perhaps? Impatience? Phoenix couldn't tell. These past few days have been hard on them so they could have just imagined it....

Phoenix looked down at their phone. 12:00 AM. It's pretty late... Where ARE they? Is everything ok?

Sometimes around this time they'd all be cuddling up on the couch or in bed, telling each other any remaining bits of their day that wasn't discussed earlier that day, or they'd be cuddled up on the bed just simply enjoying each other's presence. The warmth of their bodies gently pushed up against each other giving a sense of calm and belonging to the three of them... Phoenix wished that's what they were doing right now... They needed the company. This silence. This loneliness... The darkness seeping in from outside the house...

They sighed dejectedly. Closing their eyes as they hoped to be within their partners' embraces soon.

"------"

What was that? A voice?

"--------?"

There it is again. A bit louder this time.

Phoenix stirred. They didn't want to open their eyes yet. It was safer here, cuddled under the blanket, enveloped by the darkness their closed eyes had caused. Whatever these noises are, they sounded almost like Thimble. But that can't be right. Phoenix was alone right now...

"Phooooenix." A teasing whine was hinted within the voice, as the empty spot on the couch beside them seemed to slightly dip underneath the pressure. Was someone sitting by them?

"Mmmh." Phoenix moaned softly, straightening their body slowly. The blanket falling from their shoulders as they did so.

Their eyes opened in slits. Blinking a few times as they tried to make out the shape beside them.

"Wha-?" Squinting for a minute before their vision finally cleared, Phoenix couldn't understand what was happening before them.

Thimble was hopping in her seat, claiming excitedly "They're awake they're awake!" To Aza, who was just walking though the front door. Arms full of grocery bags as they slightly limped through the doorway. Shutting it behind him with a simple bump of an elbow towards the open door.

"Ssshhh they just woke up dear. Give them some time." Came Aza's stern yet gentle reply. A slight smile escaping their lips as they walked towards the kitchen.

"What's happening? H-How long have I been asleep?" Phoenix asked out loud, mainly to themself. Their hands shuffling among the couch cushion as they searched for their phone.

Grabbing it, they turned it on. 12:30 AM.

Have they really been asleep for 30 minutes???

"We went out to get you something! We-"

"WE'LL tell you more about it later once you wake up more. Right now Thimble has to help me get ready. Is that right?" Aza interrupted, giving Thimble a look that said "Now's not a good time." With a hint of excitement laying underneath.

Thimble stood up with a gasp, trotting towards the kitchen before it started rummaging through the grocery bags, a big grin on their face.

Phoenix's heart skipped a beat. A slight feeling of warmth slowly building within them. But something was still bothering them...

Standing up, they hesitated for a moment. Looking towards the kitchen with a distant look just as Aza walked out. His steps faltering as the couple's eyes met each other.

"...Phoenix?"

Before he could say anymore, Tears began to stream down Phoenix's face. Aza watched as they slowly brought a hand up to one cheek, looking at the test that came off of it.

"I-I....." They tried to speak, but couldn't seem to form any words.

Aza walked over to them. Half embracing them and half rubbing their back in a gentle, calming motion.

"What's wrong? Would you like to tell me Hun?" His eyes were full of love, voice full of concern.

Aza gently let go of Phoenix as the bard sat back down on the couch. Feet on the cushion and knees propped up, so they could hug their legs to them tightly. Chin propped up on the tops of their knees.

"I-" Phoenix sniffed. "I'm sorry..."

Aza's head perked up at this. "Sorry? What for?"

Phoenix's head lifted up slightly to look at Aza. Meeting their gaze for a second before looking away.

"... I've..... Heard you and Thimble talking lately... I know you're both worried about me... I've been acting out lately... Stressed. On edge... I don't leave the bed or the couch much." They wiped some tears away from their face, before looking down at the black rose tattoo on their hand. Tracing the lines of it gently with a finger.

"Phoenix, you have nothing to apologize for. We love you. We know you've been going through a hard time. We just want to make sure you're happy."

"I know!" Phoenix's posture stiffened. They didn't mean to snap at him.

"I'm-I'm sorry... I know..... But I just... I just can't stop feeling like I'm a bother to you and Thimble. Especially because of why I've been acting so different... I don't know... It's dumb." They looked away.

The couple sat in silence for a minute. The only sound being the clattering of dishes coming from the kitchen.

Suddenly Aza's hand brushed Phoenix's cheek. Gently turning their face towards him.

"Please. You can tell me what's wrong. I promise nothing you're feeling will ever be dumb to either of us."

Phoenix hesitated. Their eyes darting around the room to look at anything but Aza.

"I feel..... Like you guys might leave me..." Phoenix's head dipped slightly in defeat. "I know you won't, but I can't stop feeling that way. Sometimes I just tell myself that I might be too much for you. That my chronic pain might be too much for you. That I might get in the way or be too dumb or end up being too useless. I-" They were interrupted as Aza leaned over to embrace them. Their bodies pushed against each other creating a barrier of warmth and a comforting weight against Phoenix.

Aza's head nuzzled by Phoenix's face.

"Phoenix... I PROMISE you. We will never leave you for any of these things. I know Thimble and I both will always love you. If you deal with any pain flare ups, we'll help you rest and make you comfortable. If you're depressed or stressed, we'll help you get through it together. Please. I never want you to feel like you're not good enough for either of us. We'll always be here for you. And I know you'll always be here for us. Ok?"

Aza pulled back slightly, trying to get a glance at Phoenix's face.

Phoenix looked back at their partner. Face red and puffy from the tears. Eyes and nose runny. They felt like a mess. But in that moment, they didn't care.

They smiled at him. Sniffing as they did so.

"Thank you Aza." They whispered. Struggling to get words out again.

They sat like that for a bit. Both looking at each other with a gentle smile. An understanding showing within eachother's eyes.

*BANG* "Oh!" A sudden commotion came from the kitchen.

The partners jumped in their seats. Looking back at Aza, Phoenix could hear a slight nervous chuckle come from his throat.

"Let's go show you why we left earlier." Aza said, standing up before offering hand to Phoenix.

They grabbed it gratefully, wiping their face with a sleeve as they did.

The couple walked to the kitchen. A mess could be seen immediately from within.

Thimble was looking at the two with a wide grin on her face. Tail swishing happily behind them. Some flour was seen in random spots on their face and clothes. A bag of sugar spilled out into a small pile on the counter.

A tray of what looked like.... Lumps? sat on the stove.

"I couldn't wait any longer so I made them myself!" They exclaimed proudly.

Phoenix chuckled. They couldn't help it with the way their partner was acting.

"What DID you make?" Phoenix asked with a slight chuckle.

"Cookies!" Their tail flicked at their answer, causing a small cloud of flour on the floor behind them.

Aza walked over to Thimble before explaining further.

"We know you've been going through a lot lately.... Thimble wanted to try to make you something to help cheer you up, and suggested cookies. We thought we could surprise you with some. But now that you know-"

"Now that you know, we can make them together!" Thimble interrupted, hopping from one foot to the other happily.

Phoenix didn't know what to say. They were happy. Grateful. They felt.... Loved.

"Th-Thank you" they muttered. They didn't know what else to say. They walked over to their partners and embraced the both of them. Not caring if any of the flour on Thimble would get on them.

The next hour was spent baking cookies and frosting them. The throuple making light heart comments and tasting cookies along the way.

When they were done, a plate was piled with cookies, most of them with bites taken out of them, (Thanks to Thimble.), and the throuple looking like a smiling mess with flour and batter on them, but with big grins on their faces over the fun they had.

The rest of the night was spent cleaning up the kitchen and themselves, before cuddling in bed. Giggling and talking about what they enjoyed doing the most, before they began to slowly fall asleep.

Phoenix was the last to fall asleep. Their eyes slowly fluttering closed as they remembered their earlier conversation with Aza. Their partner's words playing again in the head.

Phoenix sighed in content. Knowing that no matter what happens the three of them will always have each other.

Taglist:

@faerie-circle-ships

@sennamybeloved

(Feel free to comment on here, or message me if you want to be added to my taglist! ☺️)