#flogan

[peridotglimmer]

Flogan my beloved.

They're absolute idiots and I love them (even though it's been 30 years since I last wrote them).

[timeless-secret-santa]

IT'S MAY 30th!!!

Prompts are open for our Timeless Fest 2024!

Just some quick reminders:

All Timeless Ships are welcome! ✨

Please remember you only have to claim a prompt on AO3. Links are in this previous post!⬅️

You can start creating as soon as you claim your prompt.🤯 You DO NOT have to wait for sign-ups to close. The sign-ups close late because we want to leave the fest open for people to join in at any point between now and August 31st.🕰️

We will not be sending individual reminders/check-ins like we do with Secret Santa. Instead, we'll be posting sporadic reminders on our socials!✅

If you have any further questions, do not hesitate to ask! We look forward to creating and sharing some amazing stuff with you all!

[sassagain]

it’s 2021 and i miss timeless and garcy

remember our favorite show and those guys we adore 🎄

(this will break your timeline, gird your loins)

[skywinchesters]

Garcyatt Aesthetics

[rainsaysthings]

Spot the Difference

BONUS:

[Flynn] Wyatt, I need you. [Wyatt] It’s happening!

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

Number 11 from the prompt list, if you have not done it yet 😊

Ugh I had to wait to answer this one because SOME HELLSITE, not naming names here, deleted @qqueenofhades again and therefore @timeless-season-four and this is tied into the latest episode, Unsinkable. So uh probably go read that first.

This prompt comes from this list here, the quote chosen being, “I love you as certain dark things are to be loved.”

There’s no real light where they are. Only pinpricks of it, tricks of the light that seem to slide over the shapes around them, like looking for rainbows in oil slicks. But that’s all right. She doesn’t need to see. That’s what she has her fingertips for, and right now, those fingers are sliding over every curve of him that she can reach, the bridge of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw, the broad slope of his shoulder.

Flynn barely stirs. He just survived a sinking ship, swimming in freezing water, and then (thoroughly) fucked her, so Lucy supposes he’s allowed to lie there like a log for a bit if he feels like it. She’s just scared. So, so scared, that he might not be real.

In the dark, she can breathe as raggedly as she wants, and let her hair fall across his chest, and press her forehead to his. Flynn reaches up, his fingers clumsily finding her hips, keeping her steady as she settles on top of him - not, this time, out of carnal pleasure but simply to press together, to feel how solid he is, to keep as close as she can. In the dark, she can let out her fears, silently, and hold him, tightly as she wants to.

“Are you warm enough?” Lucy asks. He must be warm. He has to be warm. She won’t lose him to hypothermia, after all this.

“I’m warm,” Flynn mumbles, his accent thick, his lips barely moving.

Lucy brushes her lips over his closed eyes. He was so cold when she first grabbed him. His clothes were freezing and weighed about as much as he did, they were so waterlogged. She kissed his fingers over and over until they were no longer tinged blue, but still, she fears, she fears...

I love you. It’s not something to say right now, although she’s sure Flynn knows it already. But they’re too tired for the conversation that’ll have to happen afterwards. So she just thinks it instead. She pushes his hair back out of his face, learns him by touch alone, and holds him until she feels like she is the darkness, wrapping around him, hiding him from the world, from pain, from danger.

This is far from the ideal spot. They’re in a random storage room of some kind. But she wouldn’t trade it for a palace right now. Lucy presses her forehead to his, feels Flynn’s breaths even out into sleep, and sinks her heart into his ocean.

_____________________________________________________________

Flynn wakes up and for a wild second is sure he’s gone blind.

Then he remembers - finding the tattered remains of a lifeboat (the irony is not lost on him), Lucy, kissing her like it was the only thing that could save him (maybe it was), finding a random, unoccupied space--

Lucy’s on top of him now, her breathing a bit ragged, but when he reaches up and pushes some of her hair out of her face, she doesn’t stir. Asleep, then. But not at rest.

He’s not sure he... Lucy has been walking a line, he knows, between being forthcoming and being respectful, when it comes to what they are to each other. And it’s not that he’s doubted her. But he’s not sure he actually understood how much she - for him - until he saw her face as he staggered out onto the deck. It was blazing. It was a campfire in the middle of the woods, it was a lighthouse in a storm, it was a candle in a haunted house. And she’d kissed him, like--like--

Part of him wants to shake her. To say, don’t you know? Don’t you know what measure of man you love? Why would you do that? Why would you let my ink stain your pages? Lucy means light, and he is the opposite of that, but God, Mother Mary, someone, give him the softness and courage to love her back the right way because for some reason despite all of it, Lucy loves him. He cannot deny the press of her lips against his skin, her sighs in his ear, her warmth taking him in. He can’t insult her by ignoring it or dismissing it. And all he wants is to be worthy of it.

All this time and he’s still looking for absolution.

Flynn’s fingers tangle in her hair as he gently combs it back, hampered by his lack of sight, and he secures his arm further across her waist so she doesn’t slip off him and fall. They need to find Rufus and Wyatt, they need to get off, get home... but maybe just a little longer, he’ll let her sleep. Because here, in the darkness, he feels he’s loving her as he’s meant to - and for better or for worse, the way Lucy seems to want to be loved.

__________________________________________________________

Wyatt likes to keep himself busy when he’s upset and right now is no exception. Lucky him, there’s plenty of help needed on a ship that’s taking in survivors from a horrific shipwreck, and he runs around fetching blankets, food, water, taking down names of survivors, reuniting people, comforting children, and drying the tears of newly-made widows. It’s great fun, oh yeah, puts him right back in the Alamo, right back in fucking Kuwait and Afghanistan, but at least it’s not leaving him alone with his thoughts.

And his thoughts are really... not great.

There’s really no doubt what Lucy and Flynn are up to. Um, well, maybe not that specifically. If Wyatt had just gone swimming in below zero temperatures he sure wouldn’t be able to get his dick up. But they’re kissing, and cuddling, and being fucking adorable and in love somewhere on this fucking ship and Wyatt really, really, really...

He inhales the stinging sea air. Grips the rails. Stares at the dark void where he thinks the horizon is until everything evens out again. It’s dark out here on the deck, and cold, but he needs it. Needs the chill. Needs a little... self-flagellation.

Because he’s not gonna make the same mistake a third time. Jess, then Lucy, now... he’s not gonna focus on what he wants and wallow in how much it hurts him. He’s going to love someone right, for once in his stupid life.

It’s not the kind of love that is sung about, or shown in films, or gets everyone screaming at a television show for five seasons. It’s the kind of love that’s hidden under a blanket fort at midnight during a sleepover. The love at the back of a movie theater. The love you can only think about when nobody else is around, the love you tuck very carefully in between the curve of your heart and that shadowy other thing that science can’t detect but everyone knows is there.

Wyatt tucks it there now, and warns it to stay. Sit. Quiet. Good boy.

The sky looks like spilled oil, colors at the corners of his eyes, and that, Wyatt thinks, that’s what this love looks like.

[wellwhataboutme]

(insp)

[extasiswings]

Flogan prompt: “My roommate just told me to stop growing my beard because if I get any more handsome, he’s gonna have to fuck me, but what he doesn’t know is that I want that” I WILL GIVE YOU MY SOUL

I am the worst because this has been in my drafts since…summer of 2018, but in my defense that was A Summer™ followed by A Year™. I did find my old google doc though and managed to cobble together an ending for these absolute disasters SO! 

Wyatt Logan is a good person. He works hard, he goes to class, he gets decent grades, tries to get along with people, is pretty well-liked—that’s not to say he’s never fucked up, because he’s definitely fallen down some bad rabbit holes, but for the most part he’s a good person.

Which is why he doesn’t understand why the universe is torturing him like this. “Like this” meaning with his roommate, Garcia Flynn. Or, more specifically, with Flynn’s facial hair.

It starts the week before midterms—Flynn’s working as a TA for not one, but two different professors and between office hours and time spent studying for his own finals, he shaves maybe once over several days. No big deal—every time Wyatt sees him, Flynn looks more exhausted than anything else and Wyatt has his own exams to worry about. He brushes it off and figures they’ll both fall back into their normal routines soon enough.

Except…Flynn doesn’t. Instead he just…stops…shaving. Or at least only does it enough to get clean edges on his carefully cultivated facial hair. And if the scruff was attractive when coupled with a Flynn who was running on fumes, once Flynn starts getting actual sleep again? Then it becomes downright sinful.

(Look, Wyatt knows he’s not 100% straight. He’s slowly but surely been working on accepting that. But there’s a difference between acknowledging he may hypothetically be open to hooking up with a guy one day and actively having to stop himself from shoving his roommate against a wall and kissing him. And that desire is…a lot to process.)

It would be one thing if they were back to two years ago, when Flynn was just Wyatt’s TA for German and it didn’t matter if he featured in Wyatt’s fantasies every once in while because Wyatt only had to see him once a week. Now, they’re friends, they live together—if something were to happen now, if it went badly, that would be a disaster. A complete disaster.

So, Wyatt says nothing, resigning himself to suffering in silence. And Flynn still doesn’t shave.

Clearly, the universe has it out for him.

[Read the rest on ao3 HERE]