#under 1k words

[wolfmoonwildflowers]

Bigger Dreams (Davrin x Rook fluff)

Read it on ao3 or keep reading below ✨

Word Count: 940

Rating: T

Rook uses she/her pronouns but is otherwise undescribed.

No CWs, just a couple of smooches and more warm/fuzzy feelings than should be legal.

Summary: Davrin and Rook share a cozy evening by the fire. Absolutely tooth-rotting levels of fluff packed into under 1k words. Not enough fanfic exists of this lovely, precious man (elf) so this is my contribution.

“I could get used to this,” Davrin drawls, dropping his pack to the ground near the entrance to his quarters. 

Rook peers around at him from the nest she’s made in his chair, grinning. “Get used to what? And how did you know I was here?” She resists the urge to reach out and make grabby-hands at him even as her imagination conjures scenes of them curled up here together, in front of the fire.

“Coming home to you sitting in my chair, safe, and warm, and waiting for me.” He leans over the back of said chair and kisses the top of her hair. 

Home. Home. Anywhere with him could be home.

She tips her head back so that she’s looking up at him upside down. Davrin huffs a laugh before dropping delicate kisses onto the tip of her nose and the corners of her mouth. “Let me go wash up. I’ll be back, aewnya.”

Hopefully he would be gone long enough for her to finish the chapter she was reading. Once he returned she knew it would be impossible to focus. These are the problems you want to have, she thinks, watching him pull the door shut on his way out.

—

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts, dodging her lips. “None of that until you’ve eaten.” He settles in the chair, pulling Rook comfortably into his lap and handing her a small plate full of fresh fruit and cheese with bread. 

She scowls but there is no weight behind it; Davrin had a sixth sense for knowing when she’s forgotten to eat. Rarely did his senses lead him astray. While she works her way through the meal, he busies himself. There is something so precious about watching him fuss with the thick woven blanket, making sure it covers her feet where they rest on the arm of the chair. This cozy comfort of domestic bliss, no matter how fleeting, is all-consuming. She could happily stay like this, with him, forever. She would never grow tired of it.

“Thank you for bringing me dinner,” she hums, leaning to sit the plate gently on the floor.

Davrin pulls her against his chest, one arm around her slightly-bent knees, the other around her shoulders. She presses her face to his neck and lets out a contented sigh. 

“Anything for you,” he promises.

And she knows he means it. Not in the grand-romantic-gesture way — although he would mean that, too, she knows — but rather in the quiet, mundane way. The way he brings her food when she’s forgotten to eat. The way he makes sure her feet are never cold. The way he wraps his arms around her and keeps her from falling apart. They had found a surprising reverence in caring for one another like this. It was more than she could have ever hoped for. He was more than she could have ever hoped for.

Rook finds exhaustion catching up with her, soothed by the rise and fall of his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Her eyelids are suddenly so very heavy. She almost misses the soft murmur of his voice, stirring when his fingers brush the hair from her face. 

“Hm?”

“Stay here tonight,” he repeats, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

She smiles, teasing. “Trying to lure me into your bed, are you? Scandalous.” Her eyes are still closed but she can feel his smile in return, the corners of his mouth pulling up against hers before he kisses her. The press of his lips is so gentle that it makes her chest ache.

“You have no idea just how many scandalous things I plan on doing to you,” he whispers. Rook’s eyes flutter open at that, but Davrin just smirks. “But not tonight. Tonight, I only want one thing — one thing more than anything else in the world — and that is to fall asleep with you in my arms.”

“Has anyone ever told you to try dreaming bigger?” Rook jokes, raising her hand to trace the line of his lips with her fingertip.

“You’re right, as always.” He kisses the pad of her finger, then pretends to consider. “Let me see… a bigger dream, hm… Okay, I’ve got it. The thing I want more than anything else in the world is to kiss you right before you fall asleep so that you will dream of me.”

“Bigger,” she prompts.

Davrin plays along, happy to indulge her. “I want your face to be the first thing I see when I wake up.”

“Bigger.”

“I want those things for more than just one day. I want them every day.”

“Bigger,” she insists, gasping and giggling sleepily when he rises from the chair and makes to carry her to the bed. 

Getting under the covers like this is no easy feat. Neither of them want to let go of the other. Eventually, Davrin shifts, guiding Rook’s legs around his waist. He cradles her close to him, pulling back the blankets and hefting both of them onto the mattress.

“I want you to imagine a future with me,” he whispers, making sure she’s comfortable before reclaiming his place on top of her and leaving featherlight kisses along her jaw. 

The heavy weight of his body is so comforting, so real. Rook scratches gently along his scalp, humming at the way she can feel the tension in him melt. 

“It’s going to go to my head, you know,” she says, finally.

“What is, aewnya?”

With one hand still stroking his hair, she lets the other hand search for his. Their fingers intertwine. “Being able to make all your dreams come true.”

—

Footnotes:

aewnya - my little bird

I haven’t finished the game myself but from what I can find on the internet it doesn’t seem like Davrin has any pet names for Rook SO I bastardized Tolkien’s elven language and made my own. Linguists, avert your eyes; I am so sorry for this sin.

aew Sindarin, noun, meaning (small) bird

-nya Quenya, pronominal suffix, 1st person sg. posessive, “my”

[purrgilpawkins]

Full Frontal Assault

Summary: A retelling of Chai and Peppermint’s first meeting with a slight anatomy change.

Pairing: Chai & Peppermint

Warnings: n/a

Notable tags: humor, trans Chai

Chai slowly opened the heavy, metal door at the end of the damp, dark tunnel to reveal an even darker room on the other side.

“Uh, hello? Cat-bot…?” He called out, trying not to think about the likelihood of spiders, robotic or otherwise, being just out of his sight. He slowly made his way into the room.

Before he could call out to the sassy cat again, something tightened around his ankle and Chai was sent flying upwards, a scream tearing from lips. His face smacked against what he assumed was the ceiling and just as quickly as he went up, he came right back down, bouncing back up briefly just before he could hit the floor as well.

Now hanging from his foot, upside down and dizzy, Chai attempted to regain his bearings as he heard a clink and a clonk of footsteps coming closer to him. As his eyes readjusted to the sudden light that only seemed to brighten up the entrance of the room, out of the darkness occupying the rest of the space came a woman, pointing a gun directly at his face.

The beat in his chest quickened as he eyed the weapon. Wanting to act like he wasn’t just a little bit intimidated, Chai bravely (stupidly) looked away from the woman and toward his dangling leg.

“A rope snare?” He started, trying to play it off cool. “What are you, a cartoon character?”

A look of curiosity crossed the woman’s face as she brought the gun back from Chai’s face and squatted down to his level.

“So that’s where the magic happens, huh?” She said, more of a statement and less of a question. She then reached out with her gun, moving it toward the player in his chest before she let out a squawked gasp. Her gun went back to her quickly and her face seemed to grow darker as she looked at Chai’s chest in…shock?

Chai, concerned that some kind of horror movie shenanigans were happening to his chest, quickly looked to that very area. Player where his heart should be…a few freckles here and there…his least favorite mole just under his left boob…wait.

“Hey!” Chai yelped in a panic, reaching up to pull up his shirt to cover his breasts, “Quit looking!”

He felt the telltale heat of a blush overtaking his face as the woman brought her gun up sideways to cover her eyes as she finally looked away.

“Sorry! Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting…” she gestured with her gun toward Chai, still looking away.

“Boobs?”

“…Yeah.”

Chai huffed, looking back up at the rope around his ankle before a smirk took its place on his face.

“Guess that’s why they call it a booby trap.”

The woman in front of him tsked as she fired a shot from her gun, snapping the rope with the bullet and forcing Chai to land flat on his face.

[nikolai-alexi]

For @jegulus-microfic Prompt: Savour WC: 890

Tags: bipolar James, manic episode, very unreliable narrator, bipolar Barty Crouch Jr, psychosis hallucination, mild violence, James is extremely touch adverse during a mania episode like this, Regulus is Going Through It, James gets the wrong impression eavesdropping on Reg/Barty/Evan’s conversation while they think he’s asleep, Reg is overwhelmed and guilty, James is Unwell, Evan is over everyone’s shit and really doesn’t like James’ friends, Barty is a good friend, Sirius/Remus/Pete don’t just abandon James in this they’re there and they probably went to go get help but James has no clue what’s going on around him really so they just aren’t featured, Evan still holds a grudge against Sirius specifically and (though he won’t admit it) he feels angry on James’ behalf because none of them realised he was struggling so he’s an ass to them, apparently manic episodes are a lot harder to write when you can’t remember what your own are like when you have them

James is aware he shouldn’t be laughing. He’s aware of the stares branding their way under his skin. He feels acutely every disgusted look thrown his way and he hears every scoff. He’s aware he shouldn’t be laughing. But he can’t stop.

Someone has turned off the party’s music. Unfortunate, that. If they kept it going maybe he could pass it off that he’d just drank too much. It’s worked for him before. He still can’t stop laughing. His lungs burn for oxygen and his stomach is cramping and his vision is blurry and his skin is crawling and he can’t stop fucking laughing.

He can’t tell how long it takes until his hysterical laughter subsides into maniacal giggles, “Savour it,” he chokes out, still giggling, “Perfect fucking Potter isn’t so perfect!”

He throws his arms wide and spins a circle in the middle of the common room, still giggling, “Someone ought to call the Prophet! Let them know that the only thing James Potter actually is, is fucking crazy!”

He thinks he’s lost his glasses, because whoever is standing in front of him is unrecognisable with how blurry everything is.

“C’mon, J,” they say. Oh! It’s Barty! Barty knows alllll about being batshit fucking crazy, doesn’t he?

His glasses are set back on his face with very careful movements. Barty knows what James can be like like this. He probably doesn’t want another broken nose. James isn’t sure he’d feel it if someone broke his nose. Would he feel it if he broke his own nose? Or would he only think he felt it because he knew it was coming?

“No one is going to break anyone’s nose, James,” Barty says, sternly, in a voice that sounds eerily similar to Regulus’ ‘shut up and quit being stupid’ voice. He must have spoken aloud. Oopsies.

A shadow appears behind Barty, and before James knows it, his body is flying through the air. Is he trying to run from it? Fight it? Who knows. He doesn’t. But he can’t stand that stupid fucking shadow starring at him. There’s a sharp pressure on the side of his head and everything goes black.

Next thing he knows, he’s hearing hushed voices to the side of him. He doesn’t have the energy to open his eyes, so he just stays still and listens.

“Why the fuck would you knock him out, Barty?!” Regulus’s voice is high, despite being quiet. He must be really upset about something.

“Reg,” Barty sighs, it sounds like he’s been repeating the words for a while, “He went to attack, what I assume was, one of his hallucinations and came after me as a result. You know we can’t restrain him. He just panics and hurts himself. The only thing I could do to get him out of there and keep him safe was knock him out.”

The breath seems to exit Regulus’ chest in one swift ‘whoosh’, “Yeah,” he sighs, “I know,”

A chair slides roughly across the floor, “It’s not your fault, Reg,” Barty murmurs quietly.

Regulus scoffs, “I should have seen the signs. I should have known he was going to have an episode,”

“Bullshit, Regulus. You’re in the middle of your OWLS prep. You’ve been holed in the library for the last two weeks. How many times have you even gotten to see him in the last month?”

Someone stands up and begins pacing, James reckons it must be Regulus. He always paces when he’s agitated, “That’s just the thing, Barty! I haven’t seen him more than once or twice since the Quidditch match with Gryffindor and Slytherin. I’ve been too damn busy to notice anything was wrong!”

A new voice chimes in, “Sit the fuck down, Regulus,” Ah, Evan’s joined the fray.

James can nearly see the death glare mixed with a pout that Regulus sends Evan as he plops ungracefully into his chair.

“Potter is not your responsibility. No, shut the fuck up and listen to me, Regulus,” James wants to chuckle, because only a Rosier can talk to Regulus like that and get away with it, “Potter is not your responsibility. You both discussed how stressful these next two months were going to be for you. He understood and respected your need for space, and other than making sure you’re taking care of yourself, he hasn’t pushed. You haven’t seen him more than a couple of times, how would you have noticed anything was wrong?”

Regulus makes a distressed noise, but doesn’t interrupt.

“Potter is not your responsibility. If anyone should have noticed something was wrong, it should have been your brother, or Lupin, or Pettigrew, or hell, even McGonagall. But they didn’t. And that’s not your fucking problem. That’s on them.”

“You’ve said it yourself, Reg,” Barty says, quietly, “James is really good at hiding this from people. He kept it from his best friends, his teachers, and classmates for six years. Hell, I deal with the same shit he does and I didn’t even connect the dots until the beginning of this year.”

There’s a resigned sigh from Regulus. James thinks he might be scrubbing a hand down his face like he does when he’s stressed. The thought makes guilt pool in his gut.

“I know you’re right,” Regulus says quietly, “It’s just…a lot. Right now. It’s all just a lot to deal with right now,”

And James can’t stop the sound that’s something between a crushing sob and hysterical laughter bubble out of his throat. Here I go again, he thinks, destroying everything good in my life because I’m too fucking much. He blacks out again.

[fangbangerghoul]

What Did I Get Myself Into?

My Time at Sandrock fic Fem!builder Ghoul x Owen Ghoul finds the confidence to try to socialize like the rest of the Sandrockians WC: 993 Chapter 1: Playdate?

New mini fic up and live on Ao3! Just like the previous one I am challenging myself to keep each chapter under 1000 words. I won't lie it's been a little hard. I always feel the urge to write 10 more paragraphs but have to stop myself.

Please enjoy the first chapter under the cut and feel free to click on the link within the title to show it love on Ao3!

The sun was baking the sweat against her skin as she dragged a pile of old dusty wood back towards her shop. This particular wood pile had a few boards in it that would prove to be quite useful to her for her current project. Once Ghoul was inside the fenced area of her home she gave in and dropped the heavy boards, letting them fall to the ground and trying to wipe some of the dust off her hands. It was still only nine in the morning but she felt done for the day. Ghoul wasn't sure why she decided to drag the boards across the desert like that and a part of her felt like she should have chopped them up into smaller pieces. 

She knew it didn't matter now because the deed was done and her lips and tongue felt as dry as the area that surrounded her. Ghoul pushed her green bangs out of her face and looked out towards the Blue Moon Saloon that was basically her only neighbor. She could see the faint build of Owen and he seemed to be waving out towards her. She felt flutters in her stomach, anxious and unsure if he was waving at her or not. She gave a small shy wave back. 

Owen seemed to do a different motion with his hands now. She couldn't quite tell from this far but it was enough to beckon her forth. She looked around herself trying to decide whether she should pack up the wooden boards or not but ultimately decided that they would be fine where they were for now. 

Ghouls feet lead her to the saloon and Owen was standing there beaming at her as she walked up. 

“I hope you aren't working yourself too hard in the morning.” The warmth of his voice caused the redness in her cheeks. “I must admit I slept in today but if you've been out for a while already care to come in for a drink?” 

“I think I can afford to stop for a moment.” She said sheepishly. She always was a bit angry at herself for how small she felt around him and how easy it was to suddenly not know how to speak. It wasn't his fault, directly at least. 

“I have a few commissions I need to finish before the evening but I must admit I am thirsty.” Her tongue licked her lips subconsciously as she said this to him and she couldn't help that her eyes were focused on the bulkiness of his broad shoulders. Thankfully she thought he didn't notice. 

“I won't hold you up for too long then.” He winked at her, flashing a toothy grin. She followed his lead as he held the door open for her and stayed close behind. The saloon smelt of the usual fresh herbs, cooked food, and oak wood. Owen went ahead behind the counter and started to grab glasses to fill. Ghoul reached into her pocket and grabbed some gols to pay him. 

“Don't you dare.” He warned her playfully. The large glass full of root beer was ready on the counter. “You can come and buy some dinner tonight but this drink is on the house.” 

Ghoul looked at him suspiciously, always feeling slightly uncomfortable when he gave her things for free. She was never sure how to repay him and no matter what she gifted him, his response was always the same. It had gotten to the point where she made a little game out of it for herself and started to give him random pieces of old parts and berries. 

“You're too kind.” Was all she could manage and as she sipped on her foamy glass he sipped on his own. His eyes always seemed to stay glued on her when they were within proximity, watching to see if she enjoyed herself. She placed her glass down after drinking half of it down. It coated her throat with cool sugary sweetness. 

“Would you…” Ghoul began, tapping her index finger on her glass handle. She was trying to find the courage and the words for what she wanted to ask. “Would you want to hang out today?” 

She regretted it as soon as she said it, the vulnerability of it. Asking for companionship was something she didn't do very often and she expected him to say he was busy today anyway. There was even a small part of her that did wish he would reject her offer so maybe her face would stop flushing when he spoke to her or the flips her stomach would perform would cease to be. She finally looked at him after asking and his brows were raised in surprise and his mouth slightly parted. Ghoul wondered if he was trying to find a gentle way to reject the request. 

“Yeah, I would love that.” He spoke with a small sigh as if the pressure within him finally spewed over like steam within an engine. “I think Grace can take over for a few hours. It has been awhile since someone asked me to spend the day with them.” 

Her heart faltered for a moment before revving back up to its regular beat. She was surprised and now even more anxious because she hadn't fully expected him to accept nor was she sure what in the hell she could take them to do. There were those commissions she had to finish and deliver and perhaps he would be willing to give her company during that. She chugged the rest of her drink before letting the glass fall back to the counter then wiped the foam off of her mouth. 

“Well…um..let’s head out when you are ready then.” She tried to sound confident but she was still bewildered that he even agreed to her offer. 

“After you builder.” Owen gave the willful command as he put both their used glasses behind the counter. 

[rosieblogstuff]

2x04 X-Ray + Penny tag: What happens after Mac escapes Murdoc's turture room and emerges from that manhole...

For the June Flashfic Writealong June 18 Prompts: "A bad penny always turns up" and "Help":

Mac’s arms shake as he pushes up against the manhole cover. It’s heavy iron, meant to be lifted from the outside. He can barely manage to keep himself from falling off the ladder as he presses against it. Rumbles come and go from the other side. Cars. The road he’s about to emerge onto is going to be a busy one, but busy is good. Busy means lots of bystanders. He can disappear into the crowd. He can’t hear Murdoc in the tunnels right now but he knows the assassin is down there, still following him. And he can’t go back. He can’t. He can’t.

(more on AO3)

[silverdragonreads]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: James Bond (Craig Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James Bond/Q Characters: James Bond, Q (James Bond) Additional Tags: 007 Fest, Poetry Day, Price most dear universe Series: Part 4 of a price most dear universe, Part 18 of Ato's 007 Fest Fan Creations Summary:

Poetry is the language of the past, present, and future,

[juni413]

editing my fic rn, and it actually isn't that bad.

[anurapoda]

Content Warnings: Blood, Death, Gore

Words: 680

Wrote this back in December without much thought or planning, was supposed to be a distraction from another oneshot I was writing that gave me hell lmao. I'd love to rewrite this sometime soon, as when it was originally made I knew nothing about Etho and Bdubs relationship - but for what it is it's decent.

------------------------------------------------------------

Bdubs pulled his hand away from his side, hissing in pain as he saw the scarlet blood dancing from his fingertips and dripping onto the hard stone below him. He should have known better then to trust Ren, should have known better then to make him king.

Maybe if he had taken even a moment to consider the consequences of his actions, of how Ren had been the last time he had been given the title of king, he would have thought twice about it. Maybe then he wouldn’t be on the floor of the crastle, blood tainting his tanned hands as he bled out from the stab wound inflicted upon him by a wolf he had once considered a friend, a king.

“Bdubs.” The king had growled when they returned from the vault, so unlike how he had acted in front of his former subjects. “You imbecile, you allowed them to dethrone me!”

The man had tried to protest, had tried to explain how they had done all they could have to protect the crown. Though it was for nothing, Ren was far past reasoning. His eyes had begun glowing a bright red, his claws grew in size, and he slashed at his advisor with no care for how he had pleaded. Screamed. Wailed. 

By the time he had finished his assault Bdubs was barely clinging to life. Though the Red King seemed to have no intention of finishing him off, as he marched from the crastle with a harsh laugh.

“They will pay for not obeying me, just as you have.”

Bdubs wasn’t sure how long it had been since the king had left, he was only aware of time passing at all thanks to the various pings on his communicator. Though he didn’t have the strength to check why the chat was so busy, he could guess it had something to do with the Red King. He just hoped that the hermits could bring some sense back to Ren, void knows the wolf hybrid didn’t want to hurt any of his friends. Especially not Bdubs.

The pings eventually died down, and as they did Bdubs allowed his eyes to lull closed. The tears in his body had long since stopped hurting, instead leaving him painfully numb. Though he could feel his energy slowly draining from him, and as he took a deep breath he knew he wouldn’t be here when he awoke next.

Bdubs Bled to Death

----------------------

Bdubs gasped for air, sitting bolt right in bed as his hands ran over his body. Checking for the open wounds, the claw marks left by his king, the marks that cost him a life. His hands returned to his face clean, if not a bit shaky.

“Bdubs?”

The gentle voice pulled the man in question's frantic eyes towards the other person in the room. A white hair man with mis-macthed eyes and a mask covering the lower half of his face, the man who Bdubs would never forget.

“Etho.”

The two stared at one another for what felt like an eternity, though even that didn’t feel long enough before the white haired man moved from his position on the chair in the corner of the room to beside Bdubs. He offered the smaller man a hand, and he accepted it without question.

“What happened?” Bdubs asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

“Power got to Ren's head, X handled it though.” Etho said, rubbing circles into the other man's palm as he continued. “No one could find you and then all the sudden there was a death message. What happened?”

The smaller man bit his lip, leaning his head against Etho's shoulder with a sigh. “Power got to Ren’s head.” 

Etho nodded, and the two stayed in silence after that. No matter how simple of an answer it was, they both knew what it meant. Even the hermits who hadn’t taken part in 3rd life knew what happened when Ren was king, knew what he had done. He had been forgiven of course, but they still remembered.

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[rafeandonlyrafe]

distraction

words: 400

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming

“no, it’s fine.” you sigh, flipping your hair over your shoulder as you pout at rafe, his skin illuminated by the lamp placed on his desk, casting the room in warm light. “you don’t love me anymore, whatever.”

rafes fingers pause their flying over the keyboard as he finally looks over to you, chair swiveling as he faces where you are perched on the edge of his desk. “baby.” he says firmly, a warning in his voice.

“no, no, it’s alright.” you wave your hand like its dispelling his warning. “you don’t love me. you won’t let me sit on your cock. it’s fine.” “princess.” rafe reaches for your hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. “it’s just that i’m busy, darling. i really have to get this done.”

“i’ll sit super still until you’re finished, won’t be a distraction, i swear.” you promise, shifting your hand so you can wrap your pinky around rafes, shaking it to prove your point.

rafe sighs before using your interlocked fingers to pull you closer as you squeal with happiness of finally getting your way. you straddle rafes lap, having already taken your underwear off from under your skirt before entering rafes office, knowing exactly what you wanted from him.

“you’re already hard.” you giggle, reaching between your bodies to undo rafes pants, his bulge clearly straining.

“i got hard the second you walked in the room, bunny.” rafe sighs, leaning back and lifting his hips to let you tug his pants and underwear down to expose his stiff cock.

“then why didn’t you let me ride you?” you whine.

“work.” rafe gestures vaguely towards the computer, not wanting to explain what he has to get done, not when you are lining yourself up with his cock and sinking down with a moan.

“fuck.” rafe groans, one hand coming to grip your ass as you settle against his lap, arms wrapping around him as you lean in, resting your head against his shoulder.

“thank you.” you press a kiss to his neck. “love you.”

“love you too baby.” rafe says, moving his chair back in so he can continue to type. “be still for me, yeah? fuck you after i finish.”

“mhm.” you mumble into his neck, satisfied that you've got rafe stretching your insides, satisfying your craving. you know you won’t be sitting still for long, it’s just a matter of who breaks first, you or rafe.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @emma77645 @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk

[purrgilpawkins]

Burning Love

Summary: After an encounter with Hotstreak, Virgil takes it upon himself to kiss and make Richie better. (Also available on AO3)

Pairings: Richie Foley/Virgil Hawkins

Warnings: n/a

Notable tags: fluff, established relationship, first degree burns, aloe vera usage

“Ow!” Richie yelped, snatching his hand from Virgil’s grasp and the Terrorsome Tweezers he was using to remove the fabric stuck to Richie’s hand.

The fabric that stuck to his hand after Hotstreak had managed to catch Gear off guard, grabbing hold of said hand just as he’d been about to take off, and burning Gear’s glove badly enough so it wouldn’t come off without a fight. Luckily, Static had come to the rescue before Hotstreak could do any real damage.

Back at the Gas Station, the dynamic duo checked the damage and both heroes had determined it wouldn’t require a doctor’s assistance (not that they’re knowledgeable enough to make that call.)

Virgil sighed an ever patient sigh and gently took Richie’s hand in his, pulling it back toward him to resume his ministrations.

“Chill, Rich. I’m almost done,” Virgil said, trying not to feel guilty over Richie’s flinching that accompanied every plucked piece of synthetic fabric.

With another piece plucked and another hiss of pain from Richie, Virgil clicked the tiny tweezers together twice as he turned Richie’s hand over and back, looking for any more bits of the gruesome glove. Virgil sighed again, relieved that the worst was finally done, and placed the tweezers beside himself on the rickety coffee table he was using as a chair. He then reached out for the bottle of aloe lotion, stubbornly not looking at the table as his hand bumped into a roll of bandages and the tweezers he’d just placed down. Finally, Virgil’s hand found the smooth plastic bottle and picked it up.

“I’m done tweezing, dude. You can stop bracing for impact.”

Richie opened his eyes a smidge and untensed his shoulders at the sight of Virgil squeezing the lotion into his hand. Setting the bottle down, Virgil began rubbing his hands together, coating his hands completely, and reached out to take Richie’s hand in his once more. Richie inhaled sharply, bracing for sudden pain, but exhaled upon the immediate relief at the cool feeling enveloping his uncomfortably hot hand. As Virgil rubbed it in, he couldn’t help but be glad that Richie’d had the foresight to buy the aloe for electrical burns (both of the technological and Static variety.)

After the thorough rub down, Virgil reached back toward the table and grabbed the roll of bandages he’d knocked around before. He waited for Richie to finish shaking his hand to dry the lotion and began wrapping it loosely and delicately. Once carefully wrapped, Virgil tore off the end and taped it in place, placing the roll back on the table and doing a final inspection of Richie’s hand.

“Am I gonna make it?” Richie joked.

“Maybe,” Virgil mumbled, bringing Richie’s hand to his lips and tenderly kissing the back of it.

Richie’s face flushed immediately and he looked away from Virgil, embarrassed at his bright red face and dopey grin he couldn’t quite control. Virgil gave his hand another kiss and Richie squeaked.

“Dude.”

Virgil smiled mischievously and gave Richie’s hand another kiss before releasing it. Richie took his hand out of Virgil’s range and rubbed at it affectionately, still trying to wipe the stupid grin off his face. Virgil gave Richie’s cherry tomato face a once over before gasping loudly. Richie snapped his head toward him at the sound.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Virgil brought his hands up and cradled Richie’s face in between them. “You didn’t tell me Hotstreak got your face too! Here, lemme make it better.” He then pulled Richie’s face toward his, peppering kisses on Richie’s reddened cheeks, making them even redder. It’s a wonder how Richie didn’t pass out with all the blood rushing to head.

“Virg!” Richie giggled as Virgil went back and forth between cheeks, leaving no bit of skin unsmooched. Richie pushed Virgil back slightly amidst the laughing from them both, wrapping his arms around Virgil’s neck and leaning in to press their foreheads together. “I think,” Richie said in between laughs, “I’ll be alright, V.”

“I dunno, Rich,” Virgil began, trying to hold back his own laughter, “your lips are looking a little pink. Hotstreak might’ve gotten you there too.”

“Hmm, you may be right about that, dude. Guess you should kiss ‘em and make ‘em better. Just in case.”

“Well, I mean, if you think it’s necessary…”

“Oh, yes,” Richie said seriously, “very necessary.”

Virgil and Richie leaned in at the same, lips pressing softly against each other, noses pressing less softly against each other. The kiss broke quickly as the two couldn’t keep their laughter in anymore.

“Man, you are such a goof.” Richie wiped at his eyes, trying to catch his breath.

“Yeah, but I’m your goof, you goof,” Virgil responded with a grin, giving Richie another quick kiss as he took Richie’s bandaged hand in his.

[nikolai-alexi]

For @jegulus-microfic Prompt: Bath WC: 975 (ahaha look who’s a day late again 🤦🏻)

Tags: this is very Regulus centric with a side of Jegulus but it felt right for the prompt, regulus’ trauma regarding water is front and centre, basically this is all about exposure therapy

Title: “Here. Real. Fine.”

Regulus is shaking. He’s in a battle of wills with the porcelain tub on the other side of the loo. The double vanity he shares with James is digging its marble countertop into the small of Regulus’ back with how hard he’s pushing into it. The pain helps ground him. He stares at the tub.

This trauma is old. It’s been years since the cave. He shouldn’t still be this weak. He’s perfectly able to give Harry baths without panicking, so why the hell can’t he do the same? He used to love taking baths. He loved getting the chance to relax for once, to pour fancy salts and scents into the blistering hot water, drop a bath bomb in, dim the lights, light candles, and read a book. He wants that again. He wants to not be afraid of the bathtub or the rain or going to the water parks that Harry loves so much. He wants his fucking life back. Now that he has one, he wants to enjoy it.

He breathes in deeply. You can do this. It’s just like giving Harry a bath, he thinks. He shoves himself forward roughly, stumbling with the intensity of his own push, and comes to the edge of the tub. He ignores his shaking hands as he turns the valve for the spigot.

Water comes rushing out and he jolts with surprise even as he watched it come out and has to turn the spigot off again. He growls under his breath and turns it back on. The water rushes out again, but he doesn’t jolt. Good. That’s progress. Now he needs to drop the stopper into place and let it fill. It takes him several long minutes before he has the courage to do it.

A deep breath with closed eyes. He listens to the sound of the water running and reminds himself of all the ways it sounds different that the cave.

There’s no echo here. The walls aren’t suffocating him with their stone faces. It’s bright here, the darkness isn’t an oppressive force closing in around him. The water is warm, hot even, on his hands. He isn’t in the cave. He’s at home, in his bathroom, by his tub. There are no hands coming out of the water to drag him to the depths. He can do this.

He sets the stopper over the drain and watches the tub fill. He turns the spigot off when it’s full. He doesn’t move.

He breathes in.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

He is calm. He can do this.

He toes his socks off and chucks them to the side. He takes a moment, staring at the water like it might come alive at any moment, even though he can see through it. He slips his (James’) joggers off his hips and lets them fall in a puddle on the floor. He sits precariously on the edge of the tub, and slowly slides his left foot in.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. He isn’t in the cave. The water is warm. The water is clear. He can do this.

He gets his foot placed on the bottom of the tub. The water is up to his knee. The water is warm. He feels…okay? He thinks he’s okay. His heart is racing and he’s clammy, but he’s not panicking. He’s doing okay.

His right foot is easier. The left one is already there. There are no hands. He’s okay. He gets his leg submerged to the knee with no pauses. He’s okay.

He made sure the water was shallow enough for him to sit down in without it rising to his chest. He’s not ready for that yet. But even knowing how shallow it is, he very slowly and very shakily kneels down into the tub. His breath stutters and shakes out of him, like even his very lungs are shaking inside of him with fear. He simply kneels there, hands and arms tucked tightly against himself and covering his face, closing his eyes and willing himself not to pay attention to the flashing memories of the dark cave, decaying hands, and encapsulating pain. He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s not there. He’s in his and James’ lovely little cottage, where Harry leaves toys on every available surface and James’ office is covered in photos of the three of them and Regulus’ potions lab had to be moved out to a shed in the back garden because he kept forgetting the baby-proofing charms over the basement door. He’s here. He’s real. He’s okay.

His breathing levels out. He lets his hands fall from his face and opens his eyes. The water is clear. He lets his hands drop until they’re under the water too. The water is warm. He’s okay.

A giddy and slightly hysterical laugh bubbles out of his throat. He’s actually in the bathtub and in the water. Two years ago, he would have never thought it possible. He feels brave and strong and capable. He never thought he could feel those things.

He stays in the tub until his fingers prune up, swishing the water back and forth with his hands, tentatively touching his face with it, reassuring himself that he’s still here, and the water is still clear. His feet have long since fallen asleep with pins and needles, but there’s a wide smile stretched across his face.

He’s so far in his own world, that when he goes to get his towel, he’s surprised to see it’s already being held open for him. James is standing in the bathroom with a bright grin on his face as he wraps Regulus into a towel with a warming charm attached to it. He drops a sweet kiss onto Regulus’ forehead after wrapping him tightly into the soft towel.

“Well done, love,” he murmurs against Regulus’s dark curls.

Regulus doesn’t say anything back, he’s completely mentally exhausted, but his chest blooms with pride.

When he tells himself that he’s okay this time, he thinks he might actually believe it.

[silverdragonreads]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: James Bond (Craig Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James Bond/Q Characters: James Bond, Q (James Bond) Additional Tags: Music Day, 007 Fest Series: Part 6 of Ato's Head Canons, Part 11 of Ato's 007 Fest Fan Creations, Part 3 of a price most dear universe

[wingedcat13]

It's time to work on Synoverse again folks

[frostyblustar]

Nico watches Percy poison Akhlys.

Day 2 of Percico Week - Powerful Percy (prompts by @percico-nicercy-events )

(Heavily inspired by Chapter 48 of House of Hades by Rick Riordan - Also this idea has been out there for ages)

Percy looked like a corpse, and Nico suspected he did too. Death mist did this sort of thing to a person, it was completely normal. Still, Percy looking so lifeless while still traversing Tartarus was a ghastly sight. Nico couldn’t see how he himself looked. When he looked down, he only saw fog. Maybe that was too thin to use as a descriptor, white smoke would be more accurate.

Akhyls was the goddess of misery, and the death mist. She claimed that this gift of smokiness, which would let them go unseen by monsters, was only viable if death followed. Well that sucked, but it was obvious her intention was to betray them from the beginning, so Percy seemed already ready to put up a fight. Nico took out his own sword, but it just looked like smoke. Riptide was the same it seemed, and did nothing to the goddess.

Nico could guess his weapon was under the same effect, so he didn’t attempt to use it. Instead, when Percy was lunged at, he put himself in front of the other. He took the blow hard, crashing into the ground as the goddess tried to tear into him. Despite feeling lighter and almost like he was smoke himself, he could still feel the sensation of claws digging into his flesh.

Before he could try handling this situation on his own, Percy was yelling. “Hey, Happy!”

He shouted more pleasant things about the goddess of misery, angering her to the point she was completely now focused on Percy instead of Nico. Nico could do nothing but watch as she screamed that they would both die. They would be sacrificed to Night. Their deaths would be painful. Wow, it sounded great.

Nico tried to get her sights back on him, since there was no way he was going to let Percy face her on his own. Despite his own fear, he cared about Percy too much to let himself run or hide. “Cheerful! Hey, over here Smiles!!”

Nothing, he meant nothing.

He sat up and watched while the plants that followed the goddesses steps started spewing sap, the poison flowing towards Percy. The poison settled around him, and Nico tried calling out more positive exclamations, but it was as if he wasn’t even there. Maybe the smoke had dissolved his form into nothing.

Percy laughed. That made Nico freeze. It wasn’t a cheerful laugh. It was broken, exhausted. Forced out in a wheeze that indicated Percy’s dehydration from their journey through Tartarus. A grin was on his face, and Nico couldn’t help but be mesmerized. In such a dire situation, Percy was showing a hidden side of himself. Nico didn’t mind it at all, but he worried about Percy’s mental state.

The pool of poison that had accumulated around Percy suddenly started flowing towards the goddess. “What is this?” She exclaimed with a disgusted look on her face.

Percy could control poison? He wasn’t sure how it was possible. Poseidon's domain was water, not poison- Though poison did have water in it…

There wasn’t much time to think it over, Percy continued to smile as the goddess started to cough. The poisonous fumes of her own creation were eating away at her. It was oddly terrifying, but also so cool. Percy was defending him, and that didn’t help the crush he still had.

Akhyls deserved this for sure, Nico wasn’t against this fate for her. However, Percy didn’t seem like the killing type. Him and Percy didn’t operate on the same moral code. He may find eye for an eye fitting, but Percy certainly did not think the same.

The grin wasn’t truly his, and the happiness he was taking in watching the goddess choke to death even as she tried to run away wasn’t him. Nico got up, and with no hesitation, he put a hand on Percy’s shoulder. He needed something to lean his weight against, Percy just happened to be a viable option is all.

“Percy, it’s okay. We’re safe.” His voice was soft and reassuring, he was keeping it low due to the lack of water.

The look of satisfaction melted away from Percy’s face, and his hands dropped as he let the goddess run off. He took one look at Nico, and suddenly he was back to normal. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you badly?”

Nico couldn’t help but smile a little at Percy’s concern, responding in a voice just as horse. “I’m fine. That was… Awesome, Percy.” He felt a little breathless.

“Was it really? I almost killed her.” Percy’s eyes were the same pretty shade of sea-green, even though he looked near death. Nico wanted to stare at them forever, but he would never be able to.

“But you didn’t. You stopped. This place does things to people, Percy. That wasn’t your fault. She threatened our lives, so you threatened hers.” Nico tried taking Percy’s hand, but they were smoke. “C’mon, we need to keep moving.”

Day 1 here

Check out my ao3 for longer Percico stories :)

[rusalka52]

marauders 70s-80s music headcanons

+complimentary playlist

cw: fluff, a bit of angst for Remus but that’s expected

1.8k words

A/N: I like 70s-80s music, I like the marauders, why not mix the two? I’ve noted a few bands that the boys would like plus their favourite songs (that I’ve linked to youtube so you can go listen to them) and a small short story regarding their favourite band. The songs on the Spotify playlist range from the 1960s’ to before October 1981 so they’re all canon accurate. Hope you guys enjoy this while I write part 3 to Tell me I’m pretty !!!

Sirius:

-Favourite musicians: he’s the world's biggest poser I'm so sorry to say this. Sex Pistols, Queen, the Ramones, David Bowie, the Cure, Talking Heads, the Clash. He’s a massive Queen fan too. He had an orgasmic reaction when he heard “Bohemian Rhapsody” for the first time, but let’s be honest who didn’t?

-Favourite songs: “Bodies” by the Sex Pistols because it says the word ‘fuck’ a lot and it bothers Walburga. He also loves “I wanna be your dog” by the Stooges because he thinks he’s funny.

-He might be a poser but he’s MY poser. It’s the 31st of August 1977, the last day before the start of his seventh year and coincidentally the last day of the Sex Pistol’s secret tour of the UK. And Sirius was not about to miss it. Before leaving for Plymouth, where the gig was, he made sure to pack his trunk and ensure that James would bring it safely to King’s Cross station the next day and they would meet on platform 93/4. The gig was amazing, exhilarating and the alcohol was definitely flowing. Everything was going as smoothly as it could for a punk concert until the next morning. When Sirius opened his eyes he was greeted by the bright blue English sky, the shining sun and a sharp pain in his lower back. After checking his surroundings he intelligently deduced that he had gotten so drunk he passed out in the middle of a field. Panic starts to set in as he checks his watch and notices that he only has one hour to get to London before the train leaves him behind. Once he finally manages to stand up, ignoring the throbbing headache and the increasing feeling that he’s going to vomit everything he’s consumed the entire summer, he starts rummaging through his backpack praying to any entity that will listen that he did not lose his wand. Luck seemed to be on his side as he still had the wand neatly secured in his bag. He quickly apparates to King’s Cross station and after throwing up for 20 minutes in the bathroom and spending another 10 washing his face and making sure his hair looks sexy and rugged he finally meets the rest of the Marauders in their usual carriage at 10:58 am, 2 minutes before the train is set to leave. His clothes look and smell like actual shit but he doesn’t care, thinks it makes him look more #punk #rock #anarchy. God, I cannot stand him (/affectionately)

~

James:

-Favourite musicians: a bit more old fashioned when it comes to music, big fan of the Beatles, the Doors, the Kinks, Queen, and Nico and the Velvet Underground because they’re Effie’s favourites.

-Favourite song: “Sunny Afternoon” by the Kinks. No further comment. Hums it during class, quidditch practice, while he studies, while getting ready. The rest of the guys cannot stand him anymore, he drives them mad with the constant humming. Lily learns to tolerate it after they get married and little Harry always giggles whenever he hears it.

-One of his earliest childhood memories involves the singer Nico. Being an only child he used to spend hours every day with his mother, Effie, while his father was at work; once he comes back home they practice Quidditch in the back garden of course, little James flying on his practice broom and catching any quaffles Fleamont tosses his way. One Tuesday morning like any other Effie was making pancakes for James (the blueberries positioned in such a way that they formed a smiley face on the plate -the only way that James would even consider eating his fruit). James was sat on one of the kitchen counters drinking some apple juice and watching his mother cook while some muggle song played in the background. She loved to listen to the radio and hum and groove along to whatever song was playing while busy with chores around the house -truly how did those contraptions even work? How were there so many little singers stuck in the small box? Little James would wonder constantly. No matter how many times his father explained electromagnetic waves and radio signals to the 7 year old he would always remain baffled. “Oh dear, I simply adore this song! Come! We must dance!” His mother exclaimed as the radio show host announced the next song: “These Days” by Nico. Effie turns the stovetop off, turns up the volume on the radio and picks up James. As Nico’s melodic voice fills the kitchen, once she starts singing the first verse, Effie hums along, holding James tightly in her arms. After a few seconds she puts him down from her embrace -he is a growing boy after all!- and grabs his small hands twirling him around while he cannot stop giggling. If anyone asks James what happy memory he picked attempting to conjure a corporeal patronus he would talk about that one time in third year when “his Lily-flower” smiled at him, or the Gryffindor Quidditch team’s victory against the Slytherins in their second year, but deep down James knows that him and his mother dancing together in their kitchen when he was 7 is the only memory that will never fail to make him smile.

~

Remus:

-Favourite musicians: Joy Division, David Bowie, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Jefferson Airplane, the Clash and post 1981 the Smiths

-Favourite songs: “Werewolves of London” by Warren Zevon, another jokester like Sirius. He also loves “Queen Bitch” and “Moonage Daydream” by David Bowie. Post ‘81 “I want the one I can’t have” by the Smiths

-Remus was ready to spend the summer holidays of their 3rd year alone. He heard James mention on the train carriage on the way back something about his family spending the summer in Spain, Sirius had written to him saying that he was grounded for the whole month because his mother caught him smoking cigarettes and Peter, he had no clue where that boy disappeared off to. That was until one hot August morning when he heard an owl scratching at his window. Not just any owl, the Pettigrew’s owl! He immediately opened the window letting the clumsy small bird inside. The brown barn owl -her name was Marjorie he was pretty sure- upon seeing the food in Remus’ hand releases the letter from her beak, snacks on some owl treats and immediately flies off. Remus chuckles at the animal and opens the letter which obviously came from Peter seeing as it was written in his chicken scratch handwriting and complete with spelling mistakes.

“Dearest Mooney,

Mummy asked me to invite my freinds over for a sleepover. James is in Spain and Sirius is still grounded. Do you want to come over? 3pm on Monday!! Cant wait to sea you! We can eat snacks and watch films and listen to that new record your mum got you for Chrismas that you've been raving about all year!

I look fourward to seeing you!

Chat later, Pete :D

P.S. sorry if Margie bites, i am still training her…”

Remus instantly got excited when he read the letter and got to writing his response straight away, obviously accepting the invitation to the sleepover (not like he had anything else to do). He truly could not wait to show Peter the Hunky Dory vinyl he got. He immediately packed it in his bag ready to show it off.

Monday finally arrived and the two boys met up, went to buy muggle sweets from the corner store first, and then they walked around town for a bit trying to decide which board game to play; they landed on “Battleship” and that was the first thing they did upon entering Pete’s room. “Hey, Wormtail, can I show you the vinyl now?” Remus asks meekly after the second round of their game ended. “My goodness, Rem! Yes of course, I nearly forgot! Come, follow me to the living room, that's where the record player is!” The two boys sat in a comfortable silence, enjoying each other's company, the voice of David Bowie serenading their peaceful moment, which was intermittently interrupted by Peter’s mother offering them cookies or cake or tea or juice. The night ended with the boys quietly sitting in the same living room while a 1 am showing of “The Exorcist” played on the tv screen. The pair ran up to Peter’s room terrified and hid under the covers within 35 minutes of the start of the film.

~

Peter:

-Favourite musicians: ABBA, Blondie, the Beatles and Jefferson Airplane. But mainly ABBA. Has been watching the eurovision song contest every year with his mum. From start to finish, even the semi-finals. He complains about the winners every time, except in ‘74 when ABBA won.

-Favourite songs: all of ABBA’s discography. He truly can’t pick only one favourite. Rip Peter Perrigrew you would have LOVED Mamma Mia! (2008)

-Massive Blondie fan as well and no shame about it. The Potters were hosting the 1978 Halloween party and everyone HAD to show up in costumes otherwise they wouldn’t be welcome. Remus went as David Bowie with the lightning bolt drawn on his face, Sirius thought that a werewolf costume would be the funniest thing in the world, the newlyweds decided on a couple’s costume, James went as Danny and Lily went as Sandy from the film Grease that had come out over the summer. Peter had no idea what to go as. He was between dressing up as either a rat, which could be funny to the people who knew about his animagus form, but really lazy to outsiders, or something classic like vampire or zombie. He was racking his brain trying to come up with something, looking around his messy flat in case inspiration struck when suddenly out of the corner of his eyes he spots Blondie’s new album cover, “Parallel Lines”. Oh, he knew what he had to do.

Usually Peter was one of the first guests to arrive at any party he was invited to, helping the host set the table, fixing any decorations etc. but not this time. This party Peter decided to be “fashionably-late, darling”, as Sirius would put it, a fact that surprised everyone. No one at the party expected the meek and timid Peter Pettigrew to show up in a white mid thigh length dress, matching open-toed heels, a white ribbon around his upper arm, white pearls, courtesy of his loving but slightly confused mother, topped off with a blonde and black wig. James was quick to snap a picture of the moment, calling Peter affectionately “Debbie Harry’s fat cousin.”