#you are more than welcome to use this ficlet as a prompt for a longer fic or whatever

[pouralaura]

pinned post: writing

spoiler alert: most of it is about the devil guy

my take on Raphael is very whimsical and indulgent; I like to highlight his flaws (pride, namely) and his weird idiosyncrasies. I generally write him with some more borderline taboo proclivities and as a bit of a fetishist because, to me, that's decadent and indulgent and the height of whimsy and core of his character. my Tav (both the faceless version I use in my longer fics and my own Eris), meanwhile, is also very prideful, but she's extremely self-aware and in her own head about it all the time. she finds Raphael pathetic and endearing and incredible; Raphael finds her to be his perfect vice. they're absolutely apeshit about each other in everything I write and they're both big time switches

asks open, prompt fill requests are more than welcome, and I am always open to taking comms through DM here or on twitter!

fic links below (all explicit, please heed the tags when you get there):

who will burn who: a university AU in which Professor Raphael and his favorite student have a Mutually Pleasurable Arrangement (read: he gets her off during his class and she gives him her underwear which he then enjoys thoroughly)

teeter: an exploration of Raphael and Tav in Act III and how they're far too proud to admit their feelings for one another, even when things escalate and become extremely sexually charged between them

I won't speak of love: a oneshot focusing on Tav's indecision and dislike for playing the hero, where her time with Raphael is the only thing that makes her feel normal and in control of something for once

your pout or your fist: a VERY silly pre-relationship oneshot in which Raphael taunts Tav with a portrait of himself and Haarlep in Tav's likeness and she gets extremely salty and horny about it

Indulgences: a theatrical and dramatic oneshot where Raphael and Tav enjoy a little priest and confessor punishment roleplay teehee

tomorrow means nothing: a white lotus AU where Raphael is a hitman and Tav is a pretty young thing who can't stop running into him on vacation

debasement: this one is feet. I wasn't kidding about the fetishist thing. but it's not about the feet, it's about the indulgent whimsy of it all and how Tav embraces it and indulges him in turn. give it a shot I swear it's actually really fun

other stuff:

if the shoe fits: a lil Astarion x Tav fic that was literally just an excuse to put a pretty man in a corset and thigh-high boots and write about him using said boots in extremely explicit ways

tumblr-exclusive ficlets:

reflection (my Eris x Raph)

hold your applause (potatocrisp's Zarra x Raph)

anyway, hope you enjoy!

you can find me on twitter and ao3 at the same @.

[ailendolin]

prompt 4 for robin & humphrey!?

Hi anon! Sorry it took me so long to write your prompt - it was surprisingly hard to come up with something for "Holding hands" for those two. I hope you'll like your ficlet!

List of prompts is here. Filled prompts are here, here, here and here on AO3.

Prompts are closed.

————

Change

For a long time, it was just Rogh and the headless man.

The sick people tended to keep to themselves – they were a group, a family. Rogh remembered what that felt like, and he understood not wanting to welcome a stranger into their midst and why they were drawn to the dark room below the house that was built in the place their village used to be. It reminded him of the cave he once called home and he sometimes envied them the safety it provided. 

It had been many Moonahs since he’d felt safe anywhere, or at home. He’d had a family like theirs once too – a ghost one, years after his living one had moved away one harsh winter and never returned. There had been four of them, bound by the Stones to the land they roamed, and they had huddled together at night to look up at Moonah just like Rogh had once done with his children. Death had not felt so lonely back then – not until one by one, the light took them away.

When the last one left, Rogh thought he would be next. He waited and waited but the light didn’t come. Instead, new people died and stayed for a while. They too eventually left with the light and Rogh – Rogh could no longer bear to say goodbye to anyone so he stopped saying hello.

The ice came and went and one day disappeared altogether; people settled and moved on; wars were fought and won and lost until eventually, the big house was built and fancy people started to live where mammoths used to graze. Rogh, just like the sick people, mostly kept to himself in those days. He did not care for the raucous laughter at dinner or the pretty dresses the ladies wore but he did notice the house growing dark and silent after the young boy returned from France with an even younger bride. Rogh couldn’t help but pity them both. He might be sad in death but at least he had been happy in life – something they clearly would never be.

Every now and then he looked in on them, watched the lad paint his sorrows onto canvasses and the girl find solace in her books. When one had been dead as long as he was, time became difficult to grasp. One minute, the lad was sitting at the end of a very large table having lunch with his young wife in sorrowful silence and the next, a man with dark circles under his eyes was sitting in his place, looking like he bore more weight and worries on his shoulders than any man should.

And then he was lying on the floor with his head parted from his body and Rogh thought, oh, and laughed.

When he found the head still lying where it had fallen a week later, Rogh was no longer laughing. It was clear the man had been dealt an even crueller fate than he had been, so Rogh decided the least he could do was search for the body. It had the tendency to wander off, aimlessly, and he eventually found it waist-deep in the lake. When he reached for its hand, its skin was warm and Rogh tried very hard not to think about how long it had been since he had touched anyone like this when he pulled the body back towards the house and the room where its head was lying and carefully directed its hands to it.

“Oh, that’s a relief!” the head said with a sigh once it was reattached to its body. “Thank you so much, err…”

“Rogh,” Rogh grunted.

The man smiled and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Rogh. I’m Sir Humphrey Bone – though I suppose you know that already.”

Rogh shrugged and shook the hand like he had seen the livings do. It was a foreign gesture but the pressure felt nice and when Humphrey let go, Rogh’s hand tingled pleasantly from the touch.

It became a thing – him finding Humphrey’s body and leading it back to its head. There was something about holding the body’s hand, even for just a short moment, that eased the ageless ache in his heart just a bit. And it was that small, infrequent contact that softened his battered soul enough for him to seek out Graham and Mary when they died rather than keep to himself like he used to. With them around, death was easier to deal with, and the never-ending task of finding Humphrey’s body and reuniting it with its head slowly became an afterthought.

But Rogh, even after he became Robin, never forgot those first few years he spent alone with Humphrey. And when the light took Mary away, he found Humphrey’s body just before dawn, took its hand and led it to its head just like he’d done all those years ago so they could mourn the passing of a friend together until a new day dawned and the sun rose over the land like it had always done, unwavering, unchanged.

[mthofferings2023]

FestiveFerret

See FestiveFerret’s existing works here.

Preferred contact methods: Email: festiveferret88@gmail.com Discord: festiveferret Tumblr: festiveferret

Preferred organizations: - Assistance Dogs International - Girls Who Code - Innocence Project - Médecins San Frontières (Doctors Without Borders) - National Disaster Search Dog Foundation (See the list of approved organizations here)

Will create works that contain: Romance, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, rom com, non-power AUs (college, coffee shop etc), a/b/o, dub-con, pining, tropey nonsense (soulmates etc). If you’re not sure if I’m up for something, please contact me! I may be open to doing a sequel/timestamp to one of my fics, but it’s not guaranteed (especially for collabs) so please check first if that’s what you want. My wheelhouse is tropey romance with angsty pining and Big Moment get-together at the end and meet-cutes with lots of fluff and banter.

Will not create works that contain: Underage (T-rated high school AU is fine, no graphic underage or one under/one over-age situations), non-con, torture (this is fine if it’s a setup for H/C or an otherwise happy ending, but I won’t write torture porn with no resolution–writing pain, I can do!), dark/evil, unhappy endings, permanently unrequited feelings, death, fantasy/medieval AUs, OOC, CW fix-it (or anything at all about the Accords), anti-Endgame (including fix its for stuff you didn’t like about it), bathroom kinks, age play, daddy kink, pet play. Again, contact me if you’re not sure!

  -- Fic or Other Writing --

Auction ID: 1153

Will create works for the following relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark - MCU, Ultimates Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark - MCU Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark - MCU Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton - MCU

Work Description: I’m offering a custom fic written to your prompt. It will be at least 3k words long, but is unlikely to be longer than 5k. I like to be involved with my prompter, so if you’re someone with a lot of ideas who likes to ramble about your favs and see those rambles included in a story, I’m your ferret! I can also work with short prompts and no input, but there’s no telling where the story will end up. I like to take tropes and flip them on themselves. I’m happy to have more than one pairing in a fic, but I won’t end any of the pairings I write in favour of another’s endgame (reach out to me if you want to know which characters I'm happy to use as the "bad ex"). There are some fics of mine that I may be willing to write a sequel or timestamp for (please check first) but I’ll be less flexible about which prompts/ideas I accept for those, if any. I can do shippy AUs of movies, but as this is a short fic, it likely can't be the whole plot. I don’t write gen or friendship fic, but I will write established relationship. I prefer not to write pure porn/pwp, but I can add a bit of smut if you like. By request, my winner will have access to my wiplist/plot bunny hutch, if you don’t have a prompt of your own, and can optionally pick one of those. If you have any questions at all about what I will or won’t write, please contact me! I have examples of all the ships on my AO3 and you can see full fics between 3-10k here plus all my ficlets here

Ratings: Teen, Mature, Explicit

Can pods bid on this auction? Yes - Podbids welcome!

CLICK HERE TO BID ON THIS WORK

The auction runs from October 22 (12 AM ET) to October 28 (11:59:59 PM ET). Visit marveltrumpshate.com during Auction Week to view all of our auctions and to place your bids!

[rmd-writes]

dearest raw/rae

🧃🌻🌿 and 🪐

Lola darling! 💖

🧃 ⇢ share some personal lore you never posted about before

I'm pretty sure you wrote it into fic, but I went skydiving when I was 21 and amended the terms and conditions on the waiver they make you sign so that I wasn't actually waiving all (or any) liability in the event of injury or death lol

🌻 ⇢ tag someone you appreciate but don't talk to on a regular basis

Taking "regular" loosely here because it varies from not talking for weeks to talking almost every day sometimes, but @actual-sleeping-beauty is very smart, and also the sweetest and does things like sending my kid (and me!) the prettiest customised swiftie friendship bracelets with a lovely note explaining why she'd chosen the song/lyric for each bracelet 💖💖💖

🌿 ⇢ give some advice on writer's block and low creativity

hahahahahahahaha *deep breath* things that have kind of worked for me in the past have been doing some low pressure writing - taking prompts for drabbles or ficlets. Doing that forces me to just write, usually in a short period of time and sometimes just the act of getting words out there means they start working again.

Otherwise, I quite like vibing in other people's gdocs in the hope that some of their creativity will spark mine again.

🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

I no longer have the plague

my pole/aerial studio - both because I have so much fun learning but also because it's an amazing and very welcoming of all folks of any flavour place and my classes are full of lovely people

a long time internet friend recently went through something very sad, but seeing those of us who've been online friends for more than a decade now come together to find a way to giver her tangible support, even though for the most part we're just profiles on each other's instagram pages these days has made me a little weepy with happiness

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Okay, okay…so I saw this once. Thought it was really sweet and I know how much you write random pairings so for the roommates AU:

Ori/Bifur

(If not, hit me up and I can rec another.) 😂

Dear @sunnyrosewritesstuff...This was a peculiar one, but I am always up for a challenge.

So, here is your ficlet:

A compelling tale

Words: 625

Characters: Ori &(/?) Bifur

Ori was but mildly surprised to learn that he had been put into a room with another person; it made sense that Dori would try to keep an eye on Nori and, anyway, their youngest brother rarely minded being sent to bunk with someone else.

It would only be for a few days while they rested before the final stretch of their journey and Ori deemed himself to be – by nature and habit – such a discreet fellow that he did not foresee any complications or conflicts to arise from this arrangement.

The hunched-over figure by the fireplace was familiar and even a welcome sight; Bifur was not a dwarf of many words and – as Ori was notoriously shy – he was relieved to have the taciturn elderly warrior rather than his more ebullient kinsmen for a roommate.

As soon as he noticed that he was no longer alone in the room, Bifur waved Ori forward and leaned back in the chair that was too big and too broad even for his impressive frame.

“You’re a story-teller, are you not?” he asked in his gruff voice, using their secret language openly in the privacy of the closed room; Ori knew that he was suffering from his inability to speak any other language, especially because Khuzdul did not allow for many conversations with people outside of his own race.

Nodding slowly, the younger dwarf climbed onto the second chair and stared into the flames for a moment; after all his people had gone through, pretty tales about daring heroism and epic victories were not on the forefront of his fellows’ minds. He understood that.

“Tell me one!” Bifur demanded, lowering his piercing eyes and forgetting about the trials and tribulations that lay ahead of them for a moment.

Of course, he was too old to be on this quest and the lasting wounds he had sustained in previous battles left him ill-equipped for trekking through the different realms, but there was strength in him yet, and he hoped that he would be able to put it to good use in the name of his king and people.

Indulgent tenderness warmed his eyes now as he gazed upon that young dwarrow – bookish, shy, and incredibly brave – fiddling with his sleeves and sucking on his lower lip as he tried to come up with a story that might amuse and delight his senior.

They had once been like that, Bifur reminisced, wide-eyed and eager in their resolution to contribute to the glory of the Khazad as much as they could.

As Ori peeled out of his thick, woollen coat with a bright smile, Bifur reached over and gave his hand an encouraging squeeze.

Weariness weighed him down inexorably and he was yearning for a distraction from the bleak future that awaited them.

As Ori haltingly started narrating a story that had sprung from his own thoughts, Bifur decided then and there that he would ferociously defend and protect that invaluable, generous mind with all the might left in that failing body and aching heart of his.

Indeed, for the first time in long years, words seemed sweet and enchanting to Bifur again as he listened patiently to the mellow voice of the future scribe as he described an intrepid princess confronting a terrible dragon to save the spell-bound hero of the story.

It was only when he ended his marvellous tale in a truly fortunate wedding that Ori realised that he was still holding the gnarled, skilled hand of one who had once made toys for him cradled in his own.

He was happy beyond what any words might have been able to return the favour and the gift of solace and pleasure once bestowed upon him before the end.

So, @fellowshipofthefics here's the second prompt I've gotten for the Weekend WIPs game :)

Lots of love from me

[swanimagines]

STUFF I DO:

YOU NEED TO PICK ONE OF THESE WHEN REQUESTING, DO NOT SEND ME A REQUEST LIKE "character x reader, I don't care what it is, I'm happy with anything!", also requests like "character x reader, the actual plot is up to you, but please just make it fluffy" fall under this, I need some kind of idea. If you do send me a request like those two examples, I'll be turning it down, even if I do have ideas of my own for them. If I take one request like that, I'll soon have 50 other requests that are also "plot is up to you"-requests, and then it's hard to explain why I did your request but not theirs. I do have some characters I have A LOT of ideas for nobody requested, but "character x reader please" requests stress me out even with them because taking in one "anything for x" means I'll very likely also start getting "something for this character" for characters I have 0 ideas of my own for, and then it's hard to explain why I did your request but not theirs.

If you don't have any ideas, use my prompt list. It gives me SOME direction of what kind of fic do you want, more than "just make it fluffy" but less than the oven-ready pie, and it soothes my nerves to have a direction like that. If you're truly ok with anything, pick a prompt by random or request a shuffle song fic for your character, as the control is given to my Spotify in that case. (Remember that with prompt lists, you are not allowed to give me any kind of plot, they're meant for people with no ideas + those who want to be surprised)

Also, if you want to send me multiple requests, you're welcome to! But send each request in their own ask!

---

Regular imagines/ficlets (a small scenario, e.g. having your first kiss with [character], saving [character]’s life or [group] arranging a surprise birthday party for you. May be long, may be short, I write it for as long as the prompt carries me)

Example: Could you write an imagine where Kurt Wagner (from newer X-Men) gets insecure when he sees another guy flirting with you?

Headcanons (small situation, e.g. dating [character], min. 10 bullet points, could get up to 50+ bullet points)

Example: Could you write headcanons on how Katniss Everdeen would take care of you when you are sick?

Preferences (add a small situation, e.g. sibling!reader or their child!reader crying after they got bullied and how [specify 2-10 characters within the same fandom] do in such a situation. Note that you need to specify the characters by names, so "Gotham Villains", "Grishaverse main characters" or "TMR boys" no longer qualify. You need to say which Gotham villains, which Grishaverse characters, which TMR boys. Otherwise I could leave your fave(s) out because I don't remember to include them or I just assume you don't want them because they're a smaller character. Remember that if you have more than 10 characters you want me to include, you're welcome to send in another ask with the rest of them and I'm kinda doing it in two parts. Note that they may have a long time in between them, so I'd recommend including your absolute faves in your first ask if you're going to send in 2 or more.

Example: Could you do a MCU preference with Steve, Loki, Thor, Carol, Natasha and Peter Parker where they comfort you after you got a panic attack?

Oneshots (longer pieces, meaning 1k+ words, often containing multiple scenes, they also need a larger/longer request or I will most likely turn it down)

Example: Could you write a Pin Hawthorne oneshot? Reader is feeling really down because they have seen Pin and Zoe getting close. They try to do their job at the stable, but keep snapping at everyone because they're so on the edge. Pin then attempts to offer comfort and a listening ear, but reader keeps pushing him away and they have a fight about it, because reader lies to Pin that they've gotten sick of him. But a few days later, they talk again and it ends up in them admitting their feelings for each other.

Scenarios (a character + fandom + small situation + add 2-10 settings where that situation happens, like character + kisses and settings could be first kiss, daily/regular kisses and goodbye kisses, I’ll either do a preference-like thing out of it or a mini "fic" under every scenario, about 100-200 words each. Feel free to state which one you want, if you won't, I'll decide it myself)

Example: Could you do romantic cuddle scenarios for Jesper Fahey? Sleepy cuddles, comfort cuddles and cuddles after a tickling attack?

Fluff alphabets (tell me a character with whom you want these, I'll write "fluff alphabets" for that character. A for affection and I'll tell how the affection with that character would be. B for boldness, how bold that character is with showing their feelings. C for cuddles, how they cuddle, if they like to cuddle. Etc etc, all the way til Z. All the fluff alphabets will always use the same "template" so it would be easier and simpler, and people would know what to expect)

Also a note: if you like one of my fluff alphabet takes for a character, you're free to ask me to write a longer piece from that (it will be an imagine or a oneshot)!

Example: Could you do fluff alphabets for Regina Mills?

Example 2: Could you write a longer piece for Regina, based on prompt M from your fluff alphabets for her?" (Unlocks after the said request has come out!)

Prompt fics (meant for people who either don't have any ideas but want to request or for people who want to be surprised. You send me a prompt from one of my prompt lists + character + fandom. And as a clarification, don’t add any kind of an additional plot or scenario, I will cook it up on my own!! You can request a female reader if you don't want it to be gender neutral as I write gn readers if not asked to write them a female. Note that you are allowed to also make up your own dialogue/word/setting/hug/kiss prompt, just don't steal it from anyone else's prompt list, I'll find out if you've stolen it)

Example: Could you do B62. “I have always loved you.” + Robin Buckley?

Song fics (character + fandom + song, don’t add any kind of an additional plot or scenario, I will figure it out on my own!! I'll write a piece based on that song. You can request a female reader if you don't want it to be gender neutral as I write gn readers if not asked to write them as female)

Example: Could you do a song drabble for Jerome Valeska + I'm So Sorry by Imagine Dragons?

Shuffle songs (my Spotify decides the song, you decide the character! Just request "[Character] + [Fandom] + shuffle song please!" I'll take my playlist containing all the songs I've saved, put it on a shuffle and write a piece based on the first song that comes up. And again, you can request a female reader if you don't want me to write them as gn, as gn reader is my default)

Example: Could you do Dick Grayson (Titans) + shuffle song?

Timestamp fics (a character + time, e.g. [character] + 2:46pm, the piece will be placed at that time of day/night, don’t add a plot, you can request a female reader if you don't want it to be gender neutral as I write gn readers if not asked to write her a female)

Example: Could you do Beth Harmon + 10:42am?

Title fics (a title you made up + character, e.g. [character] + “Don't Look”, the piece will be inspired by the title somehow, don’t add a plot, you can request a female reader if you don't want it to be gender neutral as I write gn readers if not asked to write her a female)

Example: Could you do a Diaval (Maleficent) fic with the title "Heart's Desire"?

Dialogue fics (a dialogue-based piece, a conversation between a character and reader about a topic, for example a Benny Watts piece where he teaches reader to play chess, or a Kaz Brekker x reader where Kaz got wounded and reader talks to him while patching him up to distract him from touch)

Example: Could you do a dialogue drabble where Ariel (Disney) and you talk about the sea?

(I WILL NOT DO MULTICHAPTERS BY REQUEST, you can ask me to write a part 2 for a piece (including a plot) but please do not send me requests like "character x reader multichapter series please, [plot], at least 15 chapters please!" I've received so many of these in the past and just, please don't)

FREDDY CARTER'S CHARACTERS SPECIALS

Freddy Carter’s characters preferences + a simple situation (like reader confessing they like them). I'll write a short description of how they'll react to that situation. Example. Also, if you want an expanded version of any of my Freddy's character takes, feel free to send it and I'll try to make a oneshot out of it. Just send a "hi, could you write a oneshot out of [character]'s take from [preference set]? (This will apply ONLY for these Freddy preferences, not regular preferences, at least not for now)

Example: Could you write a Freddy's characters preference where you come home badly wounded?

Freddy's characters fic collections. Tell me a situation, I'll write the same situation as a small fic or a oneshot for all his characters. So basically an expanded version of preferences, but each piece is its own fic.

Example: Could you do Freddy's characters drabbles + they overhear reader confessing/talking about their feelings for them to someone else?

[catzy88]

As a 90s kid, I kept coming back to a fic idea based on the 90s/00s teen movies where the popular guy starts dating the unpopular girl because of a bet. Naturally, the girl finds out about it at some point. Cue drama and angst, but the guy is remorseful and apologizes to the girl with a big gesture, like running after her to an airport just as she's about to take off. She, of course, forgives him and they kiss and live happily ever after.

Now, imagine this, but with McEichel and a lot more dark and angsty.

Psst. Here's a playlist of the songs I was listening to while writing this:

The Smashing Pumpkins - Never Let Me Down Again

The Smashing Pumpkins - Bullet With Butterfly Wings

Red Hot Chili Peppers - Parallel Universe

My Life With The Thrill Kill Cult - A Daisy Chain 4 Satan (Acid & Flowers Mix)

Oasis - Talk Tonight

Jack seduces Connor at the Combine and steals his first everything. (First everything except going first at the Draft.) Jack just wanted to see if he could do it, and because he was jealous of Connor getting drafted as the overall #1 draft pick. But for Connor it was real. He fell in love with Jack, hard. And when Jack suddenly, and cruelly, saying it was just a game, dumps Connor, he goes into a downward spiral.

Connor starts partying a lot, so much so that it starts affecting his hockey, too. The hockey world is shocked: The Next Next One, the Savior of Hockey isn't saving anyone, the least himself. Sex, drugs, and hockey, baby! Before Jack, Connor was a good Canadian boy, but after... After, he becomes a shameless slut, snorting coke at nightclubs, getting into bed (or any surface, really) with anyone willing. By the time the World Cup of Hockey rolls around, approximately one third of the NHL has f*cked Connor McDavid more than on the ice.

But Connor is still madly talented, so he's selected to team North America. And sure, Jack has been vaguely and uncomfortably aware of what has been going on with Connor. (The NHLers are a bunch of gossips.) But he hadn't imagined it would be this bad. He observes from the sidelines Connor's erratic behavior, but things don't come to a head until one night, when the Young Guns are celebrating a win at a club.

Connor had disappeared early on, but at some point in the evening Jack sees him near the bathrooms with some guy who is aggressively pushing Connor against the wall. The guy seems to be saying something into Connor's ear, and with a smirk he takes both of Connor's hands into his and pulls Connor into the men's bathroom with him.

At this point, Jack sees red. He's not even really sure why, because he doesn't care about Connor, but this is his team mate. If nothing else, he needs to make sure Connor doesn't do anything that compromises the team and their chance to win. So, he goes after Connor and the guy to the bathroom. What he sees there, makes him absolutely livid.

The guy has Connor bent over a sink, with Connor's pants halfway down, and the guy in process of getting his own pants undone. The thought that couldn't they have gotten at least to a stall where everyone wouldn't be able to see them, hysterically makes it's way to Jack's head. His feet move him without him even noticing, but in the next moment the guy is on the floor, holding his face where Jack had punched him.

Aside from getting the guy away from Connor, Jack decides to ignore him and turns to look at Connor. Connor who is staring at Jack with eyes blown wide and mouth open. His pupils are dilated and he's sweating, but he's still the most beautiful thing Jack has ever seen. And suddenly he doesn't remember why he ever left Connor behind.

And sometime after that, after they've gotten back to the hotel and Connor has sobered up, they have that much needed talk they should've had ages ago. It doesn't magically make everything okay, because Connor will still have to battle with addiction and Jack will have to earn Connor's trust, but it's a road they're willing to take. Together.

[themirokai]

This Matthew the Emotional Support Raven ficlet was inspired by a prompt from @once-in-a-blue-moon-rising which you can see below. Please give the original post some love as well.

Dream sat at a table in the library, slouching in the comfortable chair with his long legs stretched in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He was reading a not-yet-written novel by a teenage girl in Denmark. It was quite good and he was considering what dreams he could send her that would inspire and motivate her to bring the book into being. 

He was aware - as he was aware of so many things - when Matthew crossed from the waking world back into the Dreaming. He felt Matthew enter the library shortly thereafter, and then wingbeats were followed by a soft landing on the table. Dream did not look up from his book. 

“Was it a dreamstone, Matthew?” 

Something hard thunked on the table. That was unexpected, but still not enough to make Dream put the book down. 

“No,” Matthew said, “not a dreamstone.” 

Dream hummed and turned a page. “Very well. Thank you.” 

He had read another two paragraphs before he realized that Matthew hadn’t left yet. 

“That’s all for now, Matthew. You are free to go.” Again Dream turned his full attention back to the book. 

Talons clicked closer to him on the wood and feathers rustled. The hard object was pushed along the table. 

“Was there something else, Matthew?” 

“Um yeah, actually.” 

Dream read another sentence while he waited for Matthew to elaborate but when no further comment was forthcoming he finally put down his book to see Matthew directly on the other side.

Source

“Yes?” 

“Um, I got this. For you.” Matthew ducked his head and pushed forward a large sapphire pendant. “I know you had to let your ruby be destroyed and this isn’t magical or anything, it’s just a rock but it’s a pretty rock and I dunno I thought you might like it.” He made a shrugging gesture with his wings, but the look on his face was distinctly hopeful. 

“This is of the waking world,” Dream said. “How did you acquire it, Matthew?” 

“Window was open in the fake-dreamstone-lady’s house.” 

“You stole it?” 

“Well,” Matthew shifted from foot to foot, “I mean, yes, technically, but she’s a bad person! She was taking money from people by convincing them that she had a dreamstone! Is it really stealing if it’s from a bad person?” 

“Confidence artists have existed for nearly as long as humans have been telling stories,” Dream told him. “Their use of their own dreams and the dreams of their marks is fascinating.” He picked up the sapphire and held it up to the light as he spoke. It was lovely. 

“Ok, but this con artist left her window open. Furthermore, I am a raven and it is shiny. Really any raven in the area could have done the exact same thing.” 

Dream lowered the gem and studied his unconventional raven with a sigh, but couldn’t keep the smile from playing at the corner of his mouth. 

Matthew shifted uncomfortably. “Look, if you want I can take it back I guess.” 

“No,” Dream said, looking down at the gem again, “I accept the gift in the spirit in which it is given.”

Matthew’s expression brightened. “Really? You like it?”

“I do. It is beautiful, Matthew. Thank you.” 

Dream pulled the chain over his head and the sapphire sat in the center of his chest. 

“You’re welcome!” Matthew fluffed his feathers proudly. 

Dream sat back in his chair and reached for the book. “I am going to be reading for a while longer,” he looked away from Matthew so as not to convey any preference, “you may stay if you wish.” 

“Yeah, I guess if you don’t mind some company.” Matthew took a tentative step closer. 

Dream felt himself smile and reached a hand toward the raven. Matthew stepped on and Dream brought him to his lap, where Matthew quickly settled. 

“Is this ok?” Matthew asked. 

Dream found his page in the book and began stroking the feathers of Matthew’s back with his free hand. “Yes, Matthew. This is okay.” 

It was, Dream idly mused, far more than that.

~~

UPDATE: There is now art of this story by the fantastic @wyvernquill! Check it out and give it some love!

I previously asked for prompts of real ravens and I have one still waiting to be written. Work has been kind of brutal lately so it may take me some time to get to, but if you send me a picture or a video of a real raven, I will (when real life permits) write you a ficlet inspired by it!

Master post of my Matthew the Emotional Support Raven ficlets

[eenasbabysmom]

WiP Wednesday

Here's the only thing I've written since the F!NMJ ficlet, and it's another planned prompt response. I think I'll have it finished up in the next couple of days though . . .

PROMPT: What if JC saved Qin Su instead of JGY?

Ding!

When Qin Shuang opens her eyes, nothing makes sense. She is aware of a rocking motion, gentle but uneven, that pushes her body side to side. When she opens her eyes, she does not see the cracked windshield, the steering wheel, or even the white of a deployed airbag as she had expected. It's dark wherever she is, and though she knows she is seated, this definitely isn't her car.

"Guniang?"

The voice seems to come from far away. She blinks slowly, still concerned with the change in her surroundings. Her eyes take in the wood panels, the thick off-white of the curtains, and the longer off-white of the fabric covering the opening of what she is amazed to find is a carriage. She can faintly see the outline of a person just beyond the fabric, and the bobbing heads of the two horses that must be pulling the carriage forward. The sights and sounds are becoming clearer, the faint tlot-tlot of horse hooves on the dirt road, the rustling and creaking of the carriage tires, and the quiet murmur of voices outside, of the people walking alongside. As the world sharpens into greater focus, she finds herself becoming more and more confused.

"Qin-guniang?"

It is the sound of her family name that startles her into reaction. A distracted "hmm?" of acknowledgement leaves her lips as her eyes find the previously unnoticed companion beside her. A young woman with a long braid slung over one shoulder, clad inexplicably in a pale yellow daopao. She sees a sheathed sword clutched tightly in the stranger's hand-is this one of Yongyong's cosplay things?

What the actual fuck is happening?

"Are you all right?" the girl asks, brows pinching together in concern. Qin Shuang feels her eyebrows knitting themselves together in a mirror of the young girl's expression. She opens her mouth, to respond or to ask another question, but snaps her jaw shut when she hears a faint whirring sound just to the side.

[Activation Code: ~what the actual fuck is happening~

System automatically triggered. Initiating system boot-up. Please bear with us for a short moment.]

Qin Shuang whips her head around, trying to find the source of the weird female 'I am a Hal 9000' bot voice. A quick glance at her unknown companion confirms it wasn't her, and then a subsequent look back terrifyingly confirms that the mystery girl is not moving, blinking, or breathing-frozen in time.

Ding!

[System is now online. We welcome your entrance into the system.]

The voice reverberates in the space around her, bouncing off the walls of the carriage and somehow also seems to bounce off the walls of her skull. The voice is everywhere and nowhere.

Qin Shuang whips her head around, the faint unrest from before becoming a full-blown panic now. "Who's there? What's happening?"

[This system is based on the developing concept of ~a few extra braincells would have saved them all~. We hope to provide you with the best experience and it is our sincere hope that during the course of your experience, you can achieve your desired result of 'less deaths and a happy ending for a female just this fucking once'. Please allow another moment for system activation to complete.]

"Are you all right?" The strange girl is moving again, leaning in closer than before. "Qin-guniang?"

"Yes, of course," slips past her lips before she can even really think about it. The rising swell of questions and panic-laced accusations sits heavy on her tongue, but doesn't move.

Ding!

[System activation successful! Binding your role: Qin-guniang, the young mistress of Laoling Qin sect, 'Qin Su'. Weapon: Zai Zhihui Sword. Starting B Points: 100]

The other girl is frozen again, and as Qin Shuang frantically looks about, she sees that stillness has infected everything else around her. It's like someone hit pause on the scene and somehow she's exempt.

[willowbird]

For the prompt thing, could you do 2 for au, 4 for trope and 5 for prompt with andreil?

Hogwarts au, meet messy, "you have the emotional capacity of a brick"

Dearest anon, how did you know that I have been literally aching for an excuse to do something with a hogwarts au?

For context, because idk if I'll be able to explain it in the ficlet, Andrew and Aaron have been raised by their real father, Joseph Minyard, and his wife, Betsy Dobson, since the twins were seven. Andrew instinctively retaliated against an abuser with magic when he was in foster care, bringing him to the attention of whatever the US's ministry of magic is called (I forgot). They found his dad, who is a British wizard, and also discovered Aaron's existence. The twins, upon meeting each other and finding out they were wizards, chose to stay together and go with their dad rather than risk potentially being separated in whatever system the US magic people has for orphaned magic kids.

(look, I've been thinking about this A LOT okay?)

The following scene would take place the summer before the twins' fifth year. They are fifteen, Kevin is sixteen, Neil is fourteen.

Please be aware that all these characters are a lot younger and significantly less traumatized. I mean, shit still happened to them, but they all get rescued from their abusive home lives a lot earlier than in canon.

---

Andrew Minyard had lost a bet.

It was a really shitty bet, and Andrew should have known at the time that he was being fucking set up. But, well - what was it that broody fucker always said? Oh. C'est la vie. Or something. Whatever.

Point being, Andrew made a stupid bet and then he lost and it was really his own damn fault. Now he was stuck going to stupid Kevin Day's stupid house to play stupid broom-ball over summer break when he could have been basking in the wonders of muggle efficiency like television and air conditioning. What made it worse was that his mom had been so damn delighted that he was going over to a friend's house, too, and Andrew didn't usually have it in him to smash her hopes and dreams when she was so genuinely happy for him.

So. Here he was, broom in hand (because if he had to do this he was at least going to suffer with the familiarity of his own fucking broom), staring up at obviously haunted creaky old manor house that Day apparently lived in.

"Great," he grumbled to himself. "Just.. great." Andrew did not like ghosts, did not like them one fucking bit. They always wanted to chat you up and had absolutely no respect for personal space.

The longer he delayed, though, the longer Day was probably going to force him to participate in his bullshit "training camp", so Andrew straightened his shoulders and trudged up the cracked stone staircase that lead up the hill to the front door of the house. The very second Andrew had both feet on the dilapidated front porch, one hand reaching for the knocker, the front door began to swing slowly open. You know, as they were wont to do in creepy old ghost-infested houses owned by wizards.

Without waiting for a welcome (because the door fucking opened for him, that was invitation enough), Andrew strolled inside. He didn't even flinch when the door slammed shut behind him.

(Okay, maybe he jumped a little bit. Just a little.)

No one was waiting for him in the foyer, because of course that would be too easy. At least the inside of the house didn't look as abandoned as the outside did. On the contrary, the foyer was well-lit and free dust and cobwebs. It opened up into a round sitting room that looked lived-in rather than haunted, personal affects strewn about here and there in vaguely organized chaos and family pictures on the mantle above the fireplace.

This, Andrew had learned quickly upon his introduction to the magical world about seven or so years ago now, was fairly common when it came to magical families living in and around muggle neighborhoods. Sure, there were wholly wizarding villages, but not a ton of them. Most of the magical community had to coexist or at least peripherally exist with the muggle one. With the work of a couple of charms and a heavy dose of aesthetic, a magical family could live comfortably without the muggles looking too closely - and even if they did look closely, it was the haunted old house at the end of the street so strange things were bound to happen around it, right?

Homey as it may be on the inside, it was still actually haunted, though. Andrew had a good sense about ghostly lairs and this was definitely one of them.

Heaving a sigh, Andrew moved through the sitting room and ventured deeper into the house. The sooner he found Kevin, the sooner he could leave.

The rest of the house, Andrew swiftly found, was an uncanny combination of the haunted image it presented to outsiders and the cozy haven of the front sitting room. The hall leading off the sitting room was normal when you looked down it heading away from the sitting room, but when Andrew looked back over his shoulder it was like looking into something out of a cheap horror film (of which Andrew had viewed many, much to his father and brother's chagrin, but his mother liked to critique them with him).

Andrew checked each door he came across. Some of them were locked. Some opened into perfectly normal coat closets and bathrooms. At least one of them opened onto an actual cemetery where a bunch of ghosts were playing croquet. Andrew quickly shut that door before any of them tried to talk to him.

It was when he came to the staircase, however, that he finally started to get somewhere. Voices could be heard when he hit the first landing, but they completely vanished when tried to move beyond it - either further up the stairs or out into the hall. Turning to inspect the walls, Andrew realized that one of them wasn't actually a wall at all, but an illusion -- his hand right through!

"This is getting ridiculous," Andrew grumbled to himself as he stepped through the goddamn fucking wall.

He found himself in a wide, clean hallway bathed in the bright sunlight that was streaming in from the skylights placed every few feet. From one of the open doors a bit down the hall, Andrew could finally make out the words of what was obviously an argument.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not going to your bloody school, Day?!"

"You can't just not go to school, Neil! The Ministry will have your wand, and then where will you be?"

"Oh come off it, do you really still buy into all that regulatory shit? They can't track me if I'm not a student unless they have an open warrant out on me. I could turn the corner store into a giant anthropomorphic pig that pisses coffee and they wouldn't know it happened until the story hit the local news, and even then they'd have a hard time tracking me down, considering those lazy twats barely even know how to read let alone track a rogue wizard."

"Galloping Gargoyles, Neil. Where in Merlin's name do you come up with this shit."

"It's called an imagination, Day. I was able to foster one while not being indoctrinated into the sheep-brain miasma that is Ministry-approved wizarding society."

This 'Neil' was getting more worked up as he spoke, spitting out his words like he was crafting a very pointed hex. There was the scuff of footsteps and a shadow fell across the hall as someone stepped toward the hall. "I'll be leaving now, thanks. Have fun being institutionally programed to fit the conservative mediocrity."

A larger shadow blotted out most of Neil's. "You can't just go, Neil!"

There was a scuffle, then a short kid wearing oversized robes stumbled into the hall. "Try and bloody catch me then, you lumbering infant of a Bandersnatch!" And then the kid turned and bolted down the hall -- right toward where Andrew had paused to eavesdrop on their conversation.

Now, Andrew was all ready to step aside. This was none of his business, after all. If this mouthy kid wanted to run away and join the circus or something, more power to him. He, also, thought school was a nightmare. But then Kevin stumbled out into the hall and shouted, "Andrew! Block him!"

And, well. Look. This was all fucking Kevin's fault. Kevin and his stupid cross-House quidditch club and his obsession with running drills. It was also Nicky's fault, for forcing them all to go so they could bond or what the fuck ever the purpose was. But Kevin shouted 'block!' and Andrew had spent two years as a beater and one year as a keeper and, well, reflexes kicked in.

He blocked.

Except, he had spent two years as a beater, and he was holding a broom. So.

His arms moved on their own, and it was a mighty, vicious swing. The next second the kid was flat on his back, gasping to try and catch his breath. Kevin loped over on legs too long, shooting Andrew an appreciative grin that Andrew kind of wanted to punch off of him.

"What.. the.. actual... fuck..." the kid - Neil - wheezed from the floor.

Now that he was officially drawn into this mess, Andrew allowed himself to indulge his curiosity and slung his broom up against one shoulder to approach the fallen boy. He felt a little bad (okay, more than a little), so he figured he'd offer him a hand up at least. Except, when he got to the kid and looked down he was shocked to find just about the prettiest boy in the whole Nimue-cursed universe.

(Andrew's gay awakening had happened when he was twelve years old. The keeper of the Gryffindor quidditch team smiled at him and told him he'd make a pretty good beater. Andrew had tried out for his own House team the very next week, and it had all been downhill from there.)

Andrew cleared his throat and opened his mouth to say something cool and unbothered, because that's what you did when you met someone pretty and wanted to impress them. Instead, like the utter dork that he was, he said, "Red hair and a hand-me-down robe? You must be a Weasley."

"What the fuck is a Weasley?" the sharp, pretty boy on the floor shot back through gritted teeth, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

Kevin's obnoxious shadow fell across the both of him and he sighed, putting his hands on his hips. "Don't mind Andrew, he remembers everything he hears and has a tendency to regurgitate random lines from other things when he feels awkward or anxious."

"Don't mind Kevin," Andrew followed up conversationally, "he's an insufferable know-it-all with a tendency to overshare and force people to play stupid broom-ball when they should be having a perfectly air-conditioned summer break."

"You emotionally wound me."

"You have the emotional capacity of a brick, don't try me Day."

Kevin rolled his eyes. Neil honed in on Andrew with eerie intensity. "You have an air-conditioner?"

Aha! Mission accomplished: cute boy impressed.

Andrew smirked. "Yup." He popped the 'p', feeling quite good about himself, his earlier bumble placed in the back of his head where he could obsess about it later.

Neil's narrowed eyes scanned him up and down, then relaxed, the blue of them bright and intelligent. He looked like he was figuring something out about Andrew but Andrew had no idea what or why. It took some effort, but instead of squirming he met Neil's gaze full-on. After a long moment, Neil seemed to have made a decision. He pushed himself up to his feet and nodded. "Alright then. You play quidditch?" He gestured to Andrew's broom with the jerk of his chin.

He hadn't noticed it earlier because he'd been so fascinated with the argument itself, but now that he could focus on Neil's voice, Andrew realized that there was something of about his accent. It wasn't that it seemed fake but more that it... it reminded him of his own, back when he'd been younger and had only been in England for a couple of years. He remembered being teased for it, and getting into a lot of fights because of that. Well, he remembered getting into fights because Aaron was also teased, and no one picked on his brother but him.

"I thought you were going to run off and join the circus." Andrew arched a brow.

Neil wrinkled his nose. "No. I'm still not going to your stupid castle school." He paused and looked from Andrew to the broom back over to Kevin and sighed. "But... one or two games of quidditch before I go can't hurt."

Kevin looked overjoyed. He grinned at Andrew and Andrew supposed that they really must be friends now, because he felt quite pleased about that.

"Great!" said Kevin. "Let's go! We should be able to get in some warm-up rounds before the others get here!"

"Others?" Andrew and Neil said with identical inflections of disdain. The sound of an echo startled the both of them and the looked at each other. Then, Neil smiled.

Andrew supposed a day without AC playing stupid broom-ball wasn't so bad after all.

Fun little prompt things

[ailendolin]

Whump Wednesday - 7 - Bill (2015)

Title: Comfort [AO3]

Fandom: Bill (2015)

Characters / pairing: pre-Gabriel/Ian set directly after the film

Prompt: “I brought you a blanket.” (x)

Warnings: injury, low self-esteem

A/N: Whump Wednesday is a (somewhat) weekly thing where I write a little hurt/comfort ficlet, sometimes based on prompts I find online, sometimes based on asks I get. Right now, I'm very much into the Six Idiots' stuff, so if there's something you'd like me to write for Ghosts (i.e. more Thomas/Nigel or Thomas & Julian), Yonderland (Ho-Tan/Vex, Dissectus/Voltari) or Bill (Ian/Gabriel) you are more than welcome to send me an ask with the fandom, characters and your prompt.

————

Comfort

“Knock knock.” Ian opened his eyes to see Gabriel peeking around the door to his room, a slightly sheepish look on her face. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

Ian shook his head. “No. I was just daydreaming.”

“May I come in then?” Gabriel asked. She held up the bundle in her arms. “I brought you a blanket. In case you might be cold.”

She looked a little awkward as she stood there hovering on the threshold between the hallway and his room, almost as if she was unsure whether her presence would be welcomed or not. A warm, unfamiliar feeling tugged at Ian’s heart. It had been a long time since anyone had cared about him in any way, let alone so much they wanted to make sure he was comfortable, and yet here Gabriel was doing just that even though they barely knew each other. It felt odd, knowing someone was concerned about him, but Ian would be lying if he said Gabriel’s attention and company weren’t welcome.

He offered her a small smile.

“Thank you,” he said, voice breaking slightly. He cleared his throat and gestured for her to come into the room. “That’s very kind of you.”

Gabriel’s eyes softened as she stepped forward. “It’s nothing, really.”

With infinite gentleness and care she spread the blanket over him, even going so far as to tuck it in around his shoulders so no chill would manage to creep under it. Her hand briefly brushed against his skin – no longer feverish, thank god – and Ian had a second to marvel at the kindness of her touch before she pulled it back.

“How’s your leg?” Gabriel asked as she sat down on the edge of his bed, mindful of the limb in question.

“Better, I think,” Ian said softly. He managed to wiggle his toes under the blanket without wincing. “The pain is bearable now.”

Gabriel smiled. “I am very glad to hear that. You have given us quite a fright, Ian.”

This wasn’t the first time Ian had heard this. Both Bill and Anne had said similar things to him just yesterday when his fever had finally broken and he’d opened his eyes to this strange room and their worried faces for the first time. He knew their relief to see him awake had been genuine and yet he had trouble believing their words. They had no reason to help him, let alone hope for his recovery. There was nothing to gain from it. He was a stranger to them and they to him, and their kindness truly baffled him.

And then a thought struck him: they probably expected him to pay them back – for the room, the medical supplies, the care, unaware that all he owned were the clothes he wore and not much else. When they found out–

Ian’s eyes dropped to the woollen blanket. “I promise I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

Gabriel let out a soft breath, almost like a sigh. Her hand found his ankle and even through the layers Ian could feel her gentle touch.

“I really hope you won’t,” she whispered. Her smile trembled. “I think I would miss you terribly.”

She gave his ankle a lingering squeeze before she pushed herself to her feet. “Goodnight, Ian.”

Ian watched her go with a heavy heart, knowing he would miss her too, illogical as it seemed. Already the room felt empty without her, and colder. He pulled the blanket – her blanket – a little closer around himself and closed his eyes. He had a feeling sleep wouldn’t come for him this night.

[psychovigilantewrites]

Somniloquy

Pairing: Tim Drake/Reader

Genre: Uh.. Short sort of smut? Hardly NSFW 

Word count: 1,700

A/N: surprise lol I wrote this on a whim to try to get over my writers block. didn’t help for Red Who but I did come up with this (eventho I’m not supposed to write anything new but hey it’s just a ficlet so)

The first thing Tim noticed when he stirred awake was that he was staring at a ceiling that wasn’t his own. Even in the dark he noticed that the beams were differently positioned. The second thing he noticed, and it probably should have been the first, was the warm body against his own. 

Right. 

He had gone to your room earlier that night as per your request. Something about helping you out with an Excel sheet. You had brought out your laptop and set it on the bed- but that was all he could remember. He must have fallen asleep the moment his body felt the invitingly soft mattress. 

He had been up for around sixty hours, so he didn’t really blame himself for falling asleep this time. 

He did, however, curse at the fact that he happened to fall asleep in your bed. It was the first time he had ever slept next to you and regrettably didn’t even remember it. 

Tim looked down at you to assess the situation. There you were, his closest friend and legally his adoptive sister, all snuggled up against him with your head on his chest, an arm snaked around his waist, and your legs- 

He gulped. 

Your legs were hiked up against his own, which made the position not as innocent as he thought it was, since his thigh was in between your legs. 

He felt his dick filling up. 

Trying to stop his body’s natural reaction to being in close contact with the girl he was not supposed to have a crush on but did anyway,  he tried to think of random facts. 

A hippopotamus secretes a red colored sheen of natural sunscreen derived of two pigments called hipposudoric acid and norhipposudoric acid to protect itself against-

You shifted closed to him, wrapping your legs tighter. 

There are twelve cranial nerves, the first being the olfactory nerve, second is optic, third is oculomotor, fourth is trochlear, fifth is trigeminal- shit, your breasts were pressed against his chest weren’t they?  Don’t look, don’t look, don’t- ah, fuck. 

One side of the spaghetti strap you had on had fallen down your shoulder, revealing the top of the soft flesh of your breast that was squished against him. 

Despite how hard you were making him, your breasts were definitely not the thing that made him like you. No, it was the way your eyes sparked with curiosity whenever he started rambling about whatever was on his mind that day, it was the way you just sat down and listened instead of rolling your eyes and scoffing like everyone else. 

But your breasts were nice, too. 

He took a deep breath. 

A nuclear bomb that is fission in nature is when an amount of fissile material like uranium or plutonium is forced into supercriticality that causes nuclear chain reactions by either- 

Did he hear that right? 

He looked down again to see if you had woken up, but judging from the cute frown you had, you were still fast asleep. Odd. He swore he heard a-

Your hips moved, ever so slightly, against his thigh. 

Fuck, that was probably what woke him up. 

Within the thirty seconds of blinking awake, you had managed to make his mind run through three different topics to stop himself from gaining a massive erection, but you were probably already grinding on him even before. 

Oh, no. No, he wasn’t supposed to put himself in this situation. He even refused to fantasize about it, and distracted himself every time he did. It even worked for a while, him just pushing away any feelings of lust or heart aching love or affection for you. 

But now? God, he had regretted everything. Because of his inability to accept his emotions and kept on bottling it up, now it was spilling at the seams. 

It had been three weeks since he had ejaculated, and his body is now definitely feeling the effects of repressing himself for so long. 

“Mmm,” you hummed, pushing your head into his neck, lightly thrusting his thigh. 

Tim tried not to wonder what you were dreaming about. 

Now, he had to think of a way to get up without waking you from what he assumed was a pleasant dream. 

Strangely enough, his mind came up blank. 

Was it a Freudian slip of sorts? He usually would be able to think of ten different scenarios to get himself out of a situation. 

Did that mean he didn’t want to leave your side? 

No, he had to. Because if he stayed any longer, he would be so riddled with guilt that he wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye the next day. He wasn’t like Jason who could smoothly brush things off, or Dick who would probably have even helped you- what was he even thinking? They didn’t see you that way, because Tim was the only one who was stupid enough to fall in love with someone he shouldn’t have. 

But, he’s only known you for about two years. 

Tim shook that little annoying voice away. That small voice that was always void of logic and objectivity, the one that would have gotten him into trouble a long time ago. 

It had been a minute since he had woken up, and now he was fully hard, all previous efforts thrown out the window. 

He had to leave, whether it woke you up or not. 

But the moment he moved a muscle, you had tightened your arms around him again, and even let out the tiniest moan. 

“Tim.”

He froze. 

Double checking again, he saw that you were still asleep, because you hadn’t stopped grinding yourself on his thigh. 

Were you really dreaming about him? 

And against his principles and his rationality, his curiosity won. At least, he made sure it was curiosity and not just his throbbing cock tenting his boxers. 

“Are you awake?” he whispered, just to make sure. 

Instead of replying, you grinded yourself onto him even harder. He could feel it, the slight dampness of your shorts against his thigh. Did that mean you were so wet that you had leaked through your panties? Or were you even wearing any panties?

Tim hardly ever let his mind wander like how he did, but he just couldn’t take it anymore. Months of blocking out or pushing away everything. Even when he jerked off, he had tried his best to not think about you, only failing on a few occasions. Hell, his masturbation sessions were mainly just for release, not even for pleasure. 

Now he felt like his mental capacity was stretched out, as if he was a rubber band on the brink of snapping- so he allowed himself to fantasize for once in his life. He’d deal with the guilt later. 

“What are you dreaming about?” he prompted, letting his hand settle on the back of your head. The human brain could still process things while someone slept, and sometimes it could hear things. 

You probably weren’t in your REM phase, as you wouldn’t be able to move so much. Most somniloquy happens during the third stage of a NREM phase, as did sleepwalking. 

You moaned, a little louder than before. 

Tim had a recollection about sleep stages back when he was researching Mad Hatter’s brainwashing technique. Something about how mental activities differed from stage to stage. If he remembered correctly, during REM sleep was when your mental activity would be more towards hallucinatory content, and NREM sleep more thought-like. 

Thoughts and memories about daily things, like brushing your teeth or tying shoelaces. 

Did that mean that you regularly thought about him that way? 

Well, one thing he knew was that people rarely remember anything during the NREM stage. 

“...Baby?” he tried, and automatically winced. It sounded odd coming from his mouth, but at the same time, he liked giving you a term of endearment. 

“Mmm,” you responded. 

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Baby,” he whispered with more confidence. 

“Tim,” you sighed, “Mmm… want.. Mmm.”

“What do you want, baby?” he asked, swallowing hard. He could feel his heart thundering against his chest, his cock painfully unattended to, all the while you were breathing heavy breaths against the skin of his neck. 

“Come,” you moaned, your pitch slightly higher. 

He choked. “You- you want to come?”

“Tim,” you said again, your hips moving faster and faster. 

He felt like he could come in his pants without even touching his dick- that was what three weeks of no masturbation and you grinding on his thigh was doing to him. 

“Come then, baby,” he panted. 

“Ah, Tim, ah!” your voice went even higher. He looked down at your face and saw the deep frown still etched on your forehead, and your mouth hanging open in a small “O”. Your body tensed for a few moments, and then slumped, relaxing into his side, stilling. 

Godgodgodgodfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen fuckfuckfuck

Finally, he reached down to palm his hard cock, gasping when he felt the jolt of pleasure at the welcomed friction. He thumbed the head and felt that his precum had leaked through his boxers. 

He was close, oh so close. 

Giving his cock a couple of squeezes, he then started stroking rapidly and as quietly as he could through his boxers. 

Then, his toes curled and his muscles tensed, feeling the warmth spread from his belly all the way to his chest, pulsating. 

“Fuck- shit,” he choked, trying hard to muffle his cries. Tim knew he was usually loud, but he couldn’t afford to be this time. 

His chest heaved as he calmed himself down, the guilt finally kicking in. He was going to carry that feeling for a long time. 

***

“Hey, sorry I passed out on you last night,” Tim apologised, looking sheepish. He took the seat across from you at the dining table at breakfast. “I’ll help you out after this, okay?”

You were disappointed that you woke up alone that morning. 

“It’s all good,” you grinned at the black haired boy with circles under his eyes. “You could have slept the whole night, you know. You’re sleep deprived, Tim.”

“Nothing I’m not used to,” he shrugged, looking down at his plate. “You sleep well?”

“Oh yeah,” you chuckled to yourself, “It’s vague, but I’m pretty sure I had the best dream of my life.”

Tim choked on his orange juice, some of it spilling down his chin. For some weird reason, he tend to choke on his drinks a lot. You had stopped asking why since he always looked horrified whenever you did, so you assumed it was a health condition. “O-oh yeah? What was it about?”

You turned away and smiled to yourself, “A cute boy I’ve been crushing on for a while now.”

[randomfandomimagine]

💫 AU | 🖤 Angst | 💚 Angst With A Happy Ending | 🎄 Christmas | 🐻 Familial | 🌟 Fave | 💛 Fluff | 🎁 Gift | 🎃 Halloween | 💙 Hurt / Comfort | 🏳‍🌈 LGBT+ | 👤 No Reader Insert | 🌼 Platonic | 🌈 Pride | 🎵 Songfic | 💕 Soulmate AU | ❗ Trigger Warning | 💘 Valentine’s Day

Marvel / MCU Masterlist Part 2

MARVEL

Deadpool

Fantastic Four

PS4 Spiderman

Raimi Spiderman

Spiderman: Into The Spiderverse

The Amazing Spiderman

X-Men

MCU

Series

A Place Where I Belong [Steve Rogers x OC] [WIP]

Tony Stark

Gif Imagines

Tony Comforting You When You’re Upset 🎁

Headcanons

Tony Taking Care Of Titan Reader

Prompts

“Stay with me tonight, please”

Peter Parker

Gif Imagines

Comforting Peter After Tony Dies 💙

Telling Him You’re A Lesbian 🌈

Stargazing 💛

Peter Worrying You’ll Get Hurt Because Of Him 💚

Spending Hanukkah With Peter & May 🎄🕎

Drabbles

Loss 🖤

Stress Relief 💙💛

Headcanons

Dating Peter Parker 

Dating Peter Parker Being Tony Stark’s Daughter 

Peter Parker In Relationships 

Peter Parker’s Weird Animals Lover S/O 

Spidey Saving You 

Peter/Liz Love Triangle 

Peter Parker’s Nurse S/O 

Peter’s Bubbly S/O 

Peter’s S/O In Infinity War 💕🖤

Crushing on Peter Parker/Spiderman 

Spending Halloween With Peter 🎃

Spending Valentine’s Day With Peter 💘

Prompts

“I brought food”

“That’s my twin sister, you idiot”

“You look so perfect standing there” “Are you quoting a song?”

“Am I cute enough? Can I get a kiss? Please?”

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way…”

“Maybe it would be better if I just dissapeared”

“Sometimes home isn’t four walls, it’s two eyes and a heartbeat”

“I can’t let you go because what if something happened to you?!”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me!”

“I think you make a cute Spiderman… But Iron Man is still the cutest”

“You’re Spiderman? Wait, you’re Spiderman!”

“Are you really taking his side against me?” “Go then, leave! See if I care!”

“It’s you!” 💕

“Not you!” 🖤

“I will never be more than a friend to you, won’t I?”

“We never know what we have until we lose it”

“I miss him so much, Y/N…”

“I’m your Spider-nurse”

Oneshots

So Much For The Genius 💛

Special Like You 💚💛

Spider-Pal 💚💛

Aesthetics

Peter Parker

Steve Rogers

Gif Imagines

Steve Looking After You When You’re Sick 💙

Steve Comforting You About Your Powers

Being An Avenger With Wings & Dating Steve

Teaching Steve How To Use His Phone

Drabbles

Badass And Beautiful

You’re Beautiful 💙💛

Biggest Fan 💛

Headcanons

Dating Steve Rogers

Steve And Videogames 

Steve’s Shy S/O 

Steve���s Caring S/O 

Steve’s Artist S/O 

Steve Crushing On Reader

Hugging Steve

Steve Taking Care Of Your Broken Leg

Prompts

“You got in a fight?! Are you okay?!”

“Let me hold you for a bit longer” “I love your laugh”

“I’ll keep them safe” “And I love you, don’t you know?”

Oneshots

Speak To My Heart 💛

Priority 💙

Aesthetics

Steve Rogers

Thor Odinson

Prompts

“And when the clock struck 12… I was erased from his memory”

Natasha Romanoff

Gif Imagines

Natasha Teaching You Self Defense

Drabbles

Love 

Prompts

“We all know I have a hard time trusting people, but I trust you”

“Kiss me now”

Oneshots

Truth Or Dare 

Clint Barton

Gif Imagines

Cuddling During A Thundersdtorm [Deaf!Clint]

Headcanons

Dating Clint Barton

Prompts

“Guess I should have knocked”

Aesthetics

Clint Barton Hufflepuff 

Bruce Banner

Gif Imagines

Helping Bruce Control The Hulk

Headcanons

Dating Bruce Banner 

Prompts

“Come back to me, I know you’re in there!” 💚

Wanda Maximoff

Gif Imagines

Accidentally Calling Wanda Pretty 

Going On A Date To Theatre With Wanda 💘

Wanda Loving Your Buzzed Hair

Headcanons

Wanda’s Insecure S/O 💙

Aesthetics

Wanda Maximoff 

Bucky Barnes

Ficlets

Steal Your Pain Away 🌟💚

No Hope 💛🖤

Drabbles

Sick Cuddles 💛

Pumpking Carving 🎃

Headcanons

Dating Bucky Barnes

Dating Bucky Barnes Being Tony’s Sibling 

Jealous Bucky 

Prompts

“You still find another way to amaze me, and I love you for it”

“Go back to sleep”

“Stay awake!” “I won’t loose you too” “I need you to wake up”

Aesthetics

Bucky Barnes 

Soft/Morning Bucky

Loki Laufeyson

Gif Imagines

Being Welcomed Into Asgard By Loki 

Coming Out To Loki As Pan & Genderfluid 🌈

Loki Comforting You About Your TVA Job

Headcanons

Loki’s Autistic S/O 

Loki’s Genderfluid S/O 

Loki Falling For Artist Reader 

Prompts

“Need help with that?”

“Shut up, Loki” “Make me”

Aesthetics

Loki Laufeyson 

Stephen Strange

Headcanons

Dating Stephen Strange Being Tony’s Daughter 

Stephen Strange’s Sweet S/O

Stephen Being Vulnerable About Reader

Aesthetics

Stephen Strange 

T’Challa

Headcanons

Dating T’Challa

Prompts

“Y/N, don’t worry. I am alright, I promise”

“I actually feel the same way”

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” “I don’t feel so....” 💙

Peter Quill

Prompts

“I think you’re falling for me”

Maria Hill

Headcanons

Being Maria’s Mutant Child 🐻

Prompts

“I don’t hate you, if anything I hate myself for hurting you”

Michelle Jones

Prompts

“You’re a nerd” “You’re so cute”

Nebula

Prompts

“Can you do that again?” “I thought you didn’t like affection” “I don’t mind it as much from you”

Vision

Gif Imagines

Vision Helping You With Homework

Scott Lang 

Gif Imagines

Scott Showing You His Magic When You’re Sad

Carol Danvers 

Gif Imagines

Reuniting With Carol & Helping Her Get Her Memories Back

Pietro Maximoff

Headcanons

Pietro & Speedster Reader

Prompts

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you“ “You’re blushing”

Sam Wilson

Prompts

“Don’t give me the puppy eyes”

Yelena Belova

Gif Imagines

Comforting Yelena 💙

Being Natasha’s Adoptive Child & Meeting Yelena 💚

Accidentally Confessing To Yelena

Headcanons

Your Life With Yelena After The Red Room

Alexei Shostakov

Gif Imagines

Reuniting With Alexei

Misc

Gif Imagines

Steve Reuniting You With Bucky 

Reuniting With Bucky And Peter 

Sharing Music With Peter & MJ 🎁

Preferences

First I Love You  💛

Dentist Visit 💙

Affectionate Gestures 💛

You’re Badly Injured 🖤💙

Scars 🖤💙

Bad Relationships 🖤💙

Smoking Habits 

Fainting Spells 

They’re Jealous 

Asking You Out  💛

They See Your Scar 

They Cheer You Up 💙

They Walk In On You Changing

They React To Your Pixie Cut

They React To You Not Taking Your Meds

Their S/O With Fire Powers

Headcanons

Bucky And Steve’s Short S/O 

Avengers Hogwarts Houses

Tony Stuck In A Closet 

Avengers Reacting To British Shield Agent

Thor & Loki’s Self-Conscious S/O 

Avengers Reacting To Reader With Anxiety 

Avengers Reacting To Badass Reader 

Reader With Powers Creating Scary Creatures

Prompts

“What did you do?!” “I’m sorry, I panicked!” “So you hit him with a wrench?!”

"Congratulations Tony, you finally have the child prodigy you wanted so much”

Oneshots

Attraction

The Power Of Love [Thor & Loki]

Fics

Cousin Pete [After Endgame] 💛👤

He Was My Son [Infinity War, Irondad] 🖤👤

Dead Or Alive [Endgame] 🖤👤

Father [Endgame] 👤

[lambourngb]

This Hard Journey

Fic prompt: “There’s something you should know…” Michael Guerin Day 2. This picks up after yesterday’s “This Hard Life” - a part of interconnected ficlets of an AU after the shed, where Alex doesn’t join the Air Force. Mentions of Malex and an Alex/Other here. Finished on ao3 here.

***

He finally got a dog, was all that Michael could think as he sat outside of the house that matched the address Max pulled from the DMV.  They had always wanted to get a dog together, but with pet deposits and the tight budget for rent and food, that had always been a non-starter for them. Not anymore.

The quiet shaded street just off of the Buchanan Arts District was lined with old-style Craftsman homes among the peppered in new, renovated sprawling McMansions born of the house flipping obsession during the real estate boom. New construction sprouting between old, mature trees, juxtaposing progress with tradition.

Alex had chosen one of the older homes, untouched by the remodeling fad with a large fenced in yard filling the property footprint, and a dog house that mimicked the main house in style. Two solid years of song-writing had rewarded Alex with financial security, and of course, after three years living in cramped efficiency apartments and noisy neighbors with Michael, the first thing Alex would want again was a house. The roots of his upper middle class childhood were never far away.

Pressing his forehead against the steering wheel, Michael worked to gather the courage that kept him propelled down the over 1,100 miles from Roswell to Nashville. He had made it here, the least he could do was knock on the door instead of freaking out over the fact that Alex had a house with a mortgage while all Michael could muster in the two years since was buying a bank-possessed Airstream.

At least it was better than sleeping rough in his truck again, something he had done when he fell behind on the rent after Alex had left.

Michael took a deep steadying breath and pushed himself out of his truck. The spans of sidewalk suddenly seemed longer than I-40 through Oklahoma. Another deep breath, the irony of borrowing Alex’s self-soothing habit not lost on Michael at all, he tucked his left hand into a pocket to hide the old damage and knocked firmly on the front door.

There was a long silence extended, shoving anticipation into chagrin as Michael turned his head to peek at the tiny side-carport, confirming there was a car there. A loud, chorus of deep barks picked up from within the house. The dog sounded big, but none of that registered as he picked up Alex’s voice, muffled and indistinct.

“-calm down, buddy. Stay- no, stay- It’s probably Daddy’s new speakers arriving-”

After two and half days of driving, Michael had perfected his speech to Alex. It hit every open wound between them, from the fact he was sorry he hadn’t gone with him, to the weak but true explanation that he wasn’t ready then, but he was now. Then finally the big dice throw, the gamble of everything, that every city needed a good mechanic, Nashville was no different, it was no pressure- but maybe? Maybe they could start over?

The door swung open, and like a bag of spilled marbles, all of Michael’s words scattered away from him.

“Michael?” Alex’s polite smile for an expected delivery dropped into disbelieving shock. He did a comical double take, looking back into the house, then to Michael, then over Michael’s shoulder. The classic Chevy truck parked on the street chased away the shock. “Jesus Christ, it really is you.”

“Alex.” Michael swallowed, his eloquence gone. “You look good.”

They had had three years together, and during that time Michael had seen so many different versions of Alex Manes. He had seen Alex tired, dark circles shading his eyes more consistently than eyeliner with an off-kilter alien antennae from the Crashdown. He had seen Alex resolute, using his shoulders to impart a warning in his black clad Wild Pony shirt to any drunk who dared to give him a hard time. He had seen Alex awkward, as he helped Michael with his chores at the Foster’s ranch when it came to cleaning out a cow pen or pulling the twine efficiently off baled hay. He had seen Alex ashamed, as Michael patiently explained during their first grocery store visit that the EBT card only covered certain items.

This Alex was new. Clean, well-rested, skin clear and not tight on his cheekbones from lean meals or bloated from cheap food. An earring shined from his ear, he was dressed in a soft v-neck shirt and artfully cut frayed jeans. Good was an understatement.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here- I’m here because Isobel got married, and um, she wanted to invite you, but I talked her out of it. I’m sorry. I mean for that, but also for like, everything. Not following you here was something I regretted every day since, but I thought- I thought I had to stay back then, but I don’t anymore- and there’s something you should know-” 

“Babe? Is that our new speakers at the door?” A new voice called out, cutting off the word vomit that was spilling from Michael’s mouth beyond his control.

A male voice.

The wince and apology on Alex’s face told Michael everything he needed to know. Well. He probably should have seen that coming. Only Alex’s reaching out quickly to grab his hand as he turned away stopped him from bolting from the house.

“No, not our speakers, but an old friend from back home is here-” Alex called back, before turning back to make deliberate eye contact with Michael. “He wanted to stop by to say hello.”

A tall well-built black man came into view, holding a squirming pit bull in his arms, walked toward them both with a bright welcoming smile, “A friend from Roswell? An actual flesh and blood human who knows you? I was starting to think you were an alien, Alex.”

“Just because you’re related to half of Nashville and went to school with the other half, Dennis, doesn’t mean I sprouted from a pod-” Alex shot back playfully, clearly picking up a well-worn argument. 

Like a couple. A real couple. With a house and a dog. Michael licked his dry lips, forcing his muscles upward, they probably had retirement accounts. In two years Alex had built something more secure than he had in the three years in Roswell.

“Well any friend of yours, Alex, is one of mine,” Dennis greeted, turning his head to avoid an excited dog kiss before transferring the bundle of fur into Alex’s arms in a fluid movement of trust. “I’m Dennis, welcome to Nashville, um-?” he prompted, extending his left hand to Michael.

“Michael Guerin,” he answered politely, before Michael lifted his left hand awkwardly from his pocket and offered his right in return. His name didn’t alter the warm smile on Dennis’s face. Ah. So he must be a nameless ex for Alex then. Swallowing hard, Michael continued, this time a little meanly, “this hand doesn’t shake so well after I got on the wrong side of a hammer, sorry. But good to meet you.”

The stutter of the clumsy interaction hid Alex’s wince and flash of pain of the reminder. 

Feeling no joy from that, Michael picked up the conversation lightly, “I’m a friend from high school. Been doing some transport work, and a job sent me here to pick up a car to drive back to Roswell, so I thought I might stop in and see what the famous Alex Manes is up to…”

“I’m not famous, I just write the words,” Alex protested quietly, before backing away from the doorway. “We were just about to have lunch, if you want to stay-”

“He’s famous, don’t listen to him,” Dennis interjected proudly. “Did you hear that new song from Paramore? Alex wrote that.”

“Oh I know, I have all the singles Alex wrote,” Michael smiled, looking around the house and at the couple with another deep breath. “I’m his biggest fan, I think. But um, thank you, I can’t stay, I gotta hit the road back to-” he started to say home, but that hadn’t been true for a long time. “Back to Roswell.”

*** 

Hours later with his heart heavy, Michael checked into his room at the Super 8. Normally the expense would have bothered him, but after his day, he figured he was entitled to a little bit of spoiling. And if it was sad that plain wrapped soaps and tiny shampoo bottles constituted spoiling, well, he was content with that.

The clunky black case of his small portable DVD player was propped open on the hotel bed. It was a hand-me-down as technology and electronic gadgets moved into smoother, more versatile means. For him, it was perfect to watch a borrowed DVD in his Airstream since he lacked cable.

With the entire contents of a motel conditioner in his hair, Michael started the paused video file. The shaky dark footage started playing, the sound crackling with amateur hands, before the clear, strong voice of Alex Manes filled the air. 

It was probably pathetic to watch this cribbed footage from YouTube, but the romanticism that fueled his journey down 1-40 was also the same sentiment that preserved this moment in amber for Michael. Pulling open his old notebook from high school, he let Alex’s voice singing about love and loss carry him through the calculations of point atmospheric entry and the parallax distance of habitable stars.

It would be a hard journey, but Michael didn’t know any other kind at this point. Roswell wasn’t his home. Nashville wasn’t going to be home either, but the universe was ever-expanding, surely there was a place for Michael?

[adiwriting]

Sunday Mornings 4/?

Notes: While this is the 4th ficlet in this verse, it’s technically the first thing I wrote for this verse. I was working to fill a prompt “watching them sleep” and it got away from me like most things. So I’m excited to finally get to post this part. It’s my personal favorite so far, so I hope you all enjoy! <3

Now on AO3

Week 4: 

The feeling of the sun warming his face slowly pulls Alex out of a blissful dream. Not quite ready to move his body yet, he turns his head to the nightstand and opens his eyes. It’s 5:55am. He’s tired, sure, but years in the military have taught him that attempting to go back to sleep now is futile. His body is wired to be up between 0500 and 0600 everyday, no matter how little sleep he got the night before. 

He yawns and turns his head to look at the source of his exhaustion. He can’t help but smile at the sight of his boyfriend. Michael spent the night last night, as he has most nights since they got back together a month ago. In fact, the only reason Michael isn’t in his bed every night can really only boil down to a stupid comment Maria had made about them moving in together. Michael still feels enough guilt over their breakup to have insisted that they are most certainly not living together. Alex would be mad at him for the entire thing, but he can’t bring himself to be. One, he too still feels how awkward things are with Maria and he loves her enough to want to be sensitive, even if she hadn’t always been sensitive towards him. And two… Michael can say he’s not living here all he wants, but the evidence speaks for itself. 

Michael’s black cowboy hat is hung on the hook on the door, where Alex used to hang his favorite Air Force hoodie. The same hoodie that now permanently rests on the back of the couch because Michael always wears it like a blanket when they watch movies together. There is an ever growing pile of change accumulating on the dresser from where Michael regularly empties his pockets when he comes in to change out of his jeans. Next to Alex’s bottles of lotions and various meds is a bottle of warming gel that Michael uses whenever his hand acts up. Hanging up in the closet are several of Michael’s clothes that Alex put there when he’d pulled his laundry out the other day and realized that half of the clothes were Michael’s rather than his own. Over by the full length mirror is a pile of the only 3 pairs of shoes that Michael owns. 

No. Michael doesn't live here. His things have just been slowly taking over Alex’s space… And Alex loves it. 

He bought this house last year and fell in love with its character, but it hadn’t really started to feel like home to him until the day there were two toothbrushes by the sink instead of one. 

Alex stretches carefully and tries not to groan at the way his shoulders pop. His body is particularly achy today, which he equates to a combination of lack of sleep and the enthusiasm that they’d gone at it last night. He’s going to have to talk Michael into a massage later.

Once his body is decently stretched out — or at least as stretched out as it can be without waking Michael — Alex rolls over onto his side to watch his boyfriend properly. 

Michael is always beautiful. It’s a fact. But the truth is, there’s something particularly entrancing about the way the morning sun hits Michael’s tanned skin. Alex allows himself to stare in a way he can’t get away with when Michael is awake. Not without Michael teasing him for it. 

He starts with his hair. Frizzy and all over the place. A combination of Alex’s hands constantly threading through and pulling whenever they have sex and the fact that Michael moves when he sleeps. A lot. The sun makes his hair glow like a halo, which is all too fitting. He reaches out and gently pulls a curl away from Michael’s face so that he can focus his attention there next. 

Alex watches the quick, constant movement of Michael’s eyes underneath his lids. He’s always thinking. Calculating. Planning. Inventing. When they were kids, Michael told him that his head was constant chaos that only music could quiet. Knowing what he knows about Michael’s past, he can see why Michael had chosen that word. But chaos doesn’t describe Michael’s brain. Not anymore. He’s just brilliant. He’s wicked smart and never stops thinking. Michael processes information at an inhuman rate, which Alex would equate to his alien DNA if he didn’t know that neither Max or Isobel share in his genius level intellect. 

It’s not rare for Michael to wake up in the middle of the night having somehow solved some complicated problem in his sleep. It’s why Alex had started to keep a journal on Michael’s side of the bed, so that he won’t have to get up at 3am and tear the house apart looking for paper so he could write down whatever complex equation he’s just solved. 

Alex runs his fingers across Michael’s forehead gently. He loves that brain. He firmly believes that Michael could solve the world’s biggest problems if he tried. And though Alex won’t risk the fight by bringing it up, he seriously hopes that Michael gets his degree one day so that the world can benefit from his genius. Roswell is too small for a brain like Michael’s. 

Alex traces the line of his nose and bites back a giggle when Michael scrunches it up in response. He’s so adorable at times that Alex truly marvels that anyone can honestly believe his tough guy act. Michael is so soft and tender with Alex. Even when they weren’t together and every other word out of Michael’s mouth was a sarcastic dig meant to goad Alex into a fight, Alex had always been able to see the vulnerability in Michael’s eyes. It was part of what sent Alex running so often. He always had a genuine fear of breaking and in turn, getting broken. 

His palm moves to cradle Michael’s cheek and Michael’s head leans into the touch, turning his head to kiss his palm. Even in sleep, Michael is constantly seeking him out. It’s moments like this that make Alex question how he ever felt insecure about Michael’s feelings. Maybe if he had just trusted in their love earlier… 

“Stop. Sleep,” Michael grumbles, seemingly cutting off his anxiety spiral before it could even start. 

“I’m not tired,” he teases, but Michael is silent, having already fallen back asleep. 

Alex’s hand drifts down to Michael’s neck and he cringes when he notices a bruise to the right of his collarbone that wasn’t there yesterday. Alex has always been incredibly careful about hickeys. He’d had to be. And by the time he’d felt safe enough to risk it, he was at an age where it was no longer socially acceptable. Thankfully, this one should be mostly hidden once Michael puts on a shirt, so hopefully he won’t be too annoyed with Alex. 

His hand travels down Michael’s chest. He stares at the dark hair, one of the most noticeable changes from when they were seventeen. Alex hasn’t been with a lot of men, but virtually all of the ones he’s been with manscape. Which is fine. It’s understandable. It’s not like anybody wants to worry about hair in their mouth when they are kissing their way down someone’s chest. But damn, there’s something about the dark hair on Michael’s tanned chest that always gets him going. 

It’s unfair really, because it means that Alex is pretty much always turned on whenever Michael is shirtless. Which is all of the time. The man has some kind of personal problem with wearing shirts. 

He drags his index finger through the darker patch of hair on his stomach and he feels Michael’s muscles tense under his touch. Before Alex’s hand can dip under the sheet currently protecting Michael’s modesty, the man grumbles something incoherent and rolls over onto his stomach, snuggling into Alex’s side. 

Alex sinks back into the pillow, his one arm pinned under Michael’s head. He moves his free hand up to play with Michael’s hair. Michael hums in content, but doesn’t say anything more or do anything to signal that he’s truly awake. Alex closes his eyes and tries to relax. While he isn’t likely to fall back asleep, that doesn’t mean he isn’t content to lay here for hours while his boyfriend does. This is the kind of stuff Sunday mornings are made for. 

Isn’t this what Maroon 5 was getting at? Cause, yeah. Alex never wants to leave. 

He buries his nose in Michael’s hair and breathes in deep, taking in the smell of rain and dollar store shampoo that is uniquely Michael. It smells like love and safety. Like home. 

God, twelve years of loving this man and Alex didn’t think it was possible for that love to continue to crow. Each day he’s proven wrong. See, he’s starting to learn that these small moments together… the quiet unassuming moments… They are a thousand times more powerful than the big, dramatic moments that rom coms are made of. Because right here? At this moment? All he can think about is the ending of the stupid Grinch movie when his heart grows three times in size. 

That’s how Michael makes him feel. Like his heart is constantly growing, aching with joy but always wonderfully welcome. Waking up next to Michael in the morning is one of those painfully sweet moments that pull at his heart. And maybe it won’t always feel like this. He hopes it does. He doesn’t want to get used to this, because he doesn’t ever want to stop realizing how lucky they are that they managed to come together after twelve years of will they won't they. Alex hopes he appreciates the magic of waking up next to Michael because he never wants to grow complacent in this relationship. 

“You’re being creepy again, and it’s too early,” Michael grumbles, not even bothering to open his eyes. Instead he throws his leg over Alex’s hip in an attempt to snuggle even closer. 

Alex rolls his eyes at the argument they have most mornings. “Why is it creepy?” 

“Because you’re studying me like you’re plotting the best ways to murder me in my sleep.” 

Alex laughs at that, shaking Michael who reaches out to pinch him in his side and demands he stop so that he can rest. 

“No murder today,” he promises, kissing the top of his head. 

Michael’s hand moves up to rest at his heart and Alex reaches out to grab at his wrist to keep his hand in place. “I love you.”

Michael does open his eyes for that. Alex meets his gaze and the only way he can describe the way Michael is staring at him is fond. 

“I love you, too,” Michael says, lifting his head just long enough to kiss Alex. “Go back to bed.”

“We’re already in bed,” Alex teases, earning him another groan. 

“Go back to sleep. And get better dad jokes before we have a kid, please.” 

Michael bringing up a kid is enough to stop any teasing that Alex would have likely continued with. Though his stupid boyfriend clearly doesn’t realize the gravity of what he’s just said, because he’s already fallen back asleep. Alex can tell he’s not just faking it either because he’s lightly snoring in that way that Alex really shouldn’t find adorable but does. 

Dad. Him. 

It’s an interesting thought. One he honestly hadn’t considered. The thought of bringing another Manes into this world is frankly terrifying. Alex would be satisfied if the family name died out with him and his brothers. But thinking of having a child with Michael? A little Guerin baby? 

Yeah, that thought gives him plenty to think about for the next two hours while Michael sleeps. 

Tagged: @callieramics​​

As always if anyone wants to be tagged, let me know!

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Prompt: Hobson’s choice

A Hobson's choice is a free choice in which only one thing is offered. Because a person may refuse to accept what is offered, the two options are taking it or taking nothing. In other words, one may "take it or leave it"

--

Vietnam AU [and follow-up to this ficlet]

Fraser’s Ridge, North Carolina

June 1975

Three weeks since General Dougal MacKenzie had arrived - unannounced and uninvited - on the doorstep of the home his estranged sister had made with the husband he had never cared to know. Seeking a place to escape the world.

Three weeks of Jenny and Ian and Jamie and Suzette finding small projects to occupy his time: organizing the books in the library by genre and then alphabetical order; sharpening and straightening all of Mrs. Crook’s kitchen knives; ironing and carefully re-folding all the formal linens for the dining room.

Three weeks of shuttling Claire back and forth to her work at the rehabilitation clinic in Boone, silent save for the tinny voice of Patsy Cline over the radio for each 30-minute drive.

Three weeks of sitting up late with Murtagh FitzGibbons Fraser - his comrade-in-arms thirty years past - sipping whisky and sharing quiet memories of the horrors they had endured in Belgium and France.

He was present, but distant. Separate. His suitcases were still packed, standing by the door, gathering dust.

“How much longer do you think he’ll stay?” Claire rummaged through a drawer in her bureau, searching for the pearl earrings Jamie had given her for her last birthday. 

“God only knows,” he sighed, lacing up his boots, sitting at the foot of their bed. “I suppose when you’re a general, and there isn’t a war to be fought, you can make your own rules.”

In the mirror of her bureau she watched him rise, cross the room, and slide his arms around her waist - hands sheltering her four-months-pregnant stomach, lips caressing the side of her neck, eyes locked on hers in their reflection.

“He doesn’t have an anchor. And he’s looking for one here.”

Jamie nodded. “Da was just seventeen when the war ended - he wasn’t young enough to fight, but Murtagh was. Murtagh enlisted in late ‘43, and he and Dougal served in the same platoon. He’s never talked to me about anything specific that he did or saw...but I know it was bad.”

Claire slid her hand over Jamie’s, squeezing gently.

“He met Suzette in Paris, after the Allies took back control. She...she had been badly treated by the Germans. I suppose they fixed the broken bits of each other. And that’s why he brought her home, brought her here. Da said it was hard, really hard for Murtagh when he came back. But he had Suzette - and our family - as his anchor.” 

Gently he turned her shoulders to face her.

“As we are each other’s anchors, mo nighean donn. You - and this little one - you keep me in this world.”

She flushed. “Speak for yourself. But what are we going to do about Dougal?”

He frowned. “He never forgave Mam for marrying Da. He never made the time to know any of us. And now he’s here. It’s...it’s very hard for me, and for Jenny. But we’re not children anymore. The past is the past.”

“Though it has a habit of coming up in the present,” she said quietly.

He leaned toward her. Kissed her forehead. Savoring the feel of the baby between them.

“It does. We just need to help him find his anchor.”

---

They sat in a semi-circle on the back porch, watching the sun set over the mountains. 

Dougal - looking so much older in a work shirt and jeans; Murtagh; Fergus Fraser, Murtagh and Suzette’s much-treasured only child, newly arrived home after wrapping up his latest stint reporting overseas; Jamie and Claire, holding hands on the bench; and Jenny Fraser Murray. 

For a while they listened to the sounds drifting from the open windows in the house: Mrs. Crook and Suzette washing the supper dishes, Ian reading a bedtime story to his rowdy children, the static crackle of the radio Jenny always left on in the laundry room.

“Tell me about Angola.” The ice clinked as Murtagh sipped his whisky.

Fergus sighed. “It’s about as bad as it gets. An armed Communist uprising, with anti-colonial undertones to boot. My sources on the ground told me that the CIA is sending covert support to the opposition. Meaning, our government is siding with the apartheid regime in South Africa.”

“And that’s about as bad as it gets,” Jamie remarked, his fingertips tracing abstract shapes on Claire’s shoulder

“It’s a classic Hobson’s choice.” Dougal shifted in his chair. “There’s only one option - support the rebels, and in so doing support everything that comes with that - or do nothing. But we can’t afford to do nothing.”

“Why not?” Jenny turned to face her uncle. “And why do we even need to make a choice at all? Haven’t we learned our lesson, fighting Communists in faraway lands? That hasn’t ended so well, for any of us.”

“The logic is that this time, we’re just supporting others in the fight.” Fergus idly tapped his fingers on his knee. “Rather than lead the fight ourselves.”

“I don’t know if that’s any better,” Claire interjected. “And I don’t want to have to patch up the men who come back from this.” 

“It won’t come to that.” Dougal sipped his whisky. “We’ve learned our lesson.”

Claire set down her glass of ice water. “I’m going to speak plainly. I know that I’m not a Fraser or MacKenzie by blood, Dougal - but we have something in common.”

Dougal’s brow furrowed. Jamie’s hand slid to the center of Claire’s back, offering silent support.

“We’re outsiders,” she continued. “Scarred by our own battles. Coming to this beautiful place for refuge. Am I right?”

Slowly he nodded.

“When I came back from Viet Nam, it was hard. So hard. But I didn’t focus on the past - I could only focus on the future. That way, all I could think about was opportunities.”

“All right.” His voice was thick with skepticism. “Where are you going with this?”

“You have your own Hobson’s choice, Dougal. To become a full part of this family, to look forward rather than backward. Or to accept the alternative. And you need to make up your mind, because I’m tired of everyone else dancing around the topic.”

Dougal stood. Outraged. “Are you telling me to leave? Who the hell are you, thinking you have the authority - ”

She stood, afire with feeling. “I know you never forgave Ellen for marrying Brian. But they’re both dead. And I know you regret abandoning your family. But that’s in the past. I know you still have nightmares about France, and Korea, and Viet Nam. But let us help you. Let us let you process that. Let us support you. Let us help you move forward. Because that’s what family does.” 

She swallowed. “You know - I don’t have any family. I was married before, and I thought my husband could be the family I’d always wanted. But I didn’t understand the true meaning of family until Jamie welcomed me into this family.  And it stuns me that you won’t accept that gift.”

Dougal sank to his chair. Smashed his whisky glass against the porch.

Claire glared at him, chin quavering.

“I have fucking nothing, Claire. And I don’t need help.”

“You have everything, Dougal. If you’re willing to open your eyes and heart.”

Jamie stood beside his wife. “She’s right. Will you choose us, then?”

Blearily Dougal looked up at them - and then over at Jenny, Murtagh, and Fergus. Waiting. Watching.

He sighed. Deflated. Defeated.

“I don’t know how,” he croaked.

Jenny crossed the porch, and crouched beside him. “Let us show you.”

Dougal scrubbed his face with his hands. “You’ll need to. God forgive me, I’ve lived more than six decades and I still know nothing.”

The wind rustled the trees. The first stars sprang into the darkening sky. And General Dougal MacKenzie cried silent tears as one by one, his family embraced him.